Prologue

It had been a very long month, a rough one for the Team and for Gibbs. Tony was still recuperating from his dislocated shoulder; Ziva's desk sat empty, nothing Tim did was fast enough, and Gibbs was more of an unapproachable bastard than ever.

Bodies had started appearing on the Base and the Yard: children's bodies, children that nobody seemed to want to claim. Five girls, ranging from 11 to 15 years old, had been found: stripped nude, bound, gagged, heads shaved, and showing signs of savage, long-term abuse. Each had been strangled. Ducky's morgue was starting to look like a macabre junior-high school; even he had been found weeping over the remains. Abby had run every test she could think of, but the bodies had been carefully cleaned before disposal: no fingernail gunk; no traces of semen; no hair or blood that didn't belong to the victims. There was plenty of GHB, though, and everyone knew what that meant. It didn't matter that they couldn't identify the dead, at least not yet. They had to find the bastard, and stop him, in order to protect the living.

Tim arrived at the office early, clutching a coffee and his bag, and logged onto his computer, scowling. He had been running searches of police databases, hoping (was that the right way to put it?) that he could find a similar case elsewhere, and yet hoping he couldn't, because that would mean more bodies. He had sent emails out to the FBI, CID, CIA, and even Interpol, desperate for leads. Replies had come in overnight, as expected.

The reply from Fornell: "Thank God, No, but I'll keep my eyes and ears open. Catch the bastard, Tim, and shoot him once for me, too." Fornell had a daughter with one of Gibbs' ex-wives, and took special offense at crimes against children. He was a good man, Tim knew, and if they needed any backup for this case, Tim was confident they would get it. He found similar messages from the CIA and CID operatives that had answered: no, sorry, good luck, and kick the bastard's ass. No answer appeared from Interpol, but then, he had doubted they would. This was a Navy problem, after all.

MaGee looked away from the computer for a moment, and tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes. There had to be something they were missing, some clue or piece of forensic evidence to crack the case, but where? They had run the girls' stats through every missing child report in the country, and had come up empty. The girls themselves seemed to have nothing in common, except for the killer and manner of death. He sighed. "Dammit, Kate, I really miss you now."

"Odd thing to say, Probie, not that I don't feel the same way, sometimes." Tony had, as usual, managed to sneak up on him, a habit he had picked up from Gibbs. He delighted in it, one of the few pleasures he had now, especially with this case. It had them all on edge. For once, though, he seemed only curious. "What brought her to mind?"

MaGee leaned back in his chair, still scowling at his computer as Tony stashed his bag, gun, and badge. The sling Tony still wore on his left arm slowed him down, but he never complained about it.

"We need a profiler for this case, Tony," he mused dryly. "Kate was a damned good one. We haven't had one since Ari took her." Tim looked up at Tony, who was now standing over him. "Not even in Ziva."

Tony nodded grimly. Ziva had been a good investigator, a top-notch interrogator, and a kick-ass agent in the field, but she had no profiler training, and all of their skills combined did not even come close to Kate's natural expertise. "If Vance can't find us one in this office, maybe we can borrow one from Fornell," Tony offered. "We need an extra set of eyes on this case. I want to catch this monster, and soon."

"Be careful what you wish for, DiNozzo, you may get it." Gibbs had breezed into the office unnoticed, sucking on his usual coffee, his now-permanent scowl carving even deeper into his face. "Vance called me up to his office; seems we have a temporary addition to the team, whether we want one or not. I'm going up to meet Officer Frost right now. You boys make yourselves useful; I'll be right back."

Curious, Magee called out without thinking. "What agency, Boss?" Halfway up the stairs to Vance's office, Gibbs stopped, giving MaGee a curious look.

"Interpol."

Gibbs jogged up the stairs, nodded at Cynthia, and waited as she buzzed him inside. Walking in, he found the Director already deep in conversation with a very petite woman. Platinum hair fell just past her shoulders: natural color, he could spot it instantly, fitting perfectly with her round Scandinavian features. A bolero jacket covered a high-collared blouse; jeans clung to curvy hips. Her makeup, he thought, was a little thick, but the shoes on her feet were quite sensible, as was the gun at her hip. She appeared around 30.

"Agent Gibbs," said Director Vance, "meet Officer Brynja Frost, Interpol, Human Trafficking Division. Officer Frost, this is Senior Agent in Charge…"

"Leroy Jethro Gibbs," he spoke up, and offered his hand, "but my team just calls me Gibbs. What brings you to NCIS, Officer Frost?"

She stood, and took his hand: a firm grip, with nothing ladylike in it. His hand might have been a gun butt. Ice blue eyes met his, and he could almost feel his blood freezing up. He saw cold, hard anger deep down, and the determination of a hunter following blood.

"I received a forwarded email from my main office late last evening," a clipped, Nordic accent, "an ironic request for help from one of your agents; I believe his name is McGee," offered Frost.

Gibbs frowned, something he did a lot of lately. "Why is that ironic?"

Frost looked at him with those eyes again, and the anger came to the surface. "Because I have been tracking the men responsible for these crimes for nearly three years now. Because I have narrowed the field down to three Navy ships, and can proceed no further. Because I have been turned away by no less than three NCIS offices and your own State Department in my investigation. Because I have been sending every piece of paperwork imaginable, to every US Naval office imaginable, and have been ignored, while young women die. Ironic, because you only decided you needed our help, when the bodies finally surfaced on your own front lawn."

Vance spoke up at last. "I have the names and office locations here, Gibbs, and I'm launching a full investigation. Meanwhile, I'm making Officer Frost an official member of your team. Get her a desk, and have her read the rest of you in to the bulk of her investigation. She has evidence that Ducky and Abby will find interesting, I'm sure." Vance paused, not liking the hostility he already saw forming between Gibbs and Frost. "Are you two sure you can work together? I would hate to have time wasted figuring out a pecking order."

"That remains to be seen, Director," Frost snapped. "I am neither your subordinate, nor his. I am not normally a team player, and there is no proper chain of command here. This has been my investigation for three years now, and until this moment, I have been treated with nothing but disrespect and open hostility by your Navy. I don't want to have my work stolen, destroyed, or devalued by someone trying to save your Navy from more embarrassment."

Vance scowled at the sting; it was like a verbal slap. "Miss Frost…"

"OFFICER Frost, thank you," she growled.

"Officer Frost, while I appreciate all the help you have offered, we do not have time to quibble over who answers to whom. Can you work with Agent Gibbs, or not? If not…

"Three years?" Gibbs stared down into those ice blue eyes again, and felt his guts freezing up. "How many bodies?"

It was the right question. She softened up just a bit.

"42. Always in groups of seven," she added, eyes misting a little, "and never native to the places they are found."

"Joint operation. We share office space, transportation, lab results, everything. I have an empty desk you can use while you're here, if you like," Gibbs stepped closer, looking down into the stony, round face. "You retain your Interpol status and rank, and Director Vance will give you whatever clearance you need to work with NCIS equipment and systems. I'm not about to disrespect another officer's work or time in the field. Our mission is to take this bastard down: nothing more."

"And I answer to whom?" quipped Frost.

"We answer to each other, and each to our respective directors. Deal?" Gibbs stuck out his hand again. She paused for a fraction, and then took it.

"Deal."

"Great. Welcome to NCIS, Officer Frost. Now," Vance stuck a fresh toothpick in his mouth, "don't just stand there, people, get to work!"

Frost bent down, retrieving an old-fashioned duffel bag. "You mentioned a desk, Agent Gibbs?"

He nodded. "This way."

DiNozzo looked up at the sound of feet on the stairs, in time to see Gibbs leading a petite blond to the bullpen. She can't be any taller than five foot two, if that, he mused. Clearing his throat to get McGee's attention, he motioned to the woman as she walked up. "Hey, Probie, looks like Interpol only sent us half an agent. You should be more careful of the emails you send," he shot across. McGee only scowled at him, and he earned the baleful look from Gibbs. The woman, for her part, turned ice-blue eyes onto his lanky form, and he could have sworn the temperature dropped 50 degrees. Gibbs looked ready to bark, he did a lot of that lately, but the blond held up a hand.

"Ignore the boy, Agent Gibbs. I have learned that such jokes usually come from males struggling with size issues of their own. His insecurities can be dealt with another time. If you don't mind, I would like to get right to work."

DiNozzo's jaw dropped open, but McGee looked delighted and Gibbs almost smiled. McGee sidled over to DiNozzo's desk and nudged him.

"Looks like they sent us the smart half, Tony. I think she'll do fine," he joked. Tony just glared at him, then turned back to watch Frost's figure, as she set her duffel onto what had been Ziva's desk, plugged in her laptop, and booted it up. When she was finished, Gibbs made the introductions.

"Officer Brynja Frost, from Interpol's Human Trafficking Division, this is my senior field agent, Anthony DiNozzo, and my computer and technology expert, Agent Timothy McGee. Yes," he commented before she could ask, "the one who emailed your office. Gentlemen: we may have an international serial killer on our hands. Officer Frost has been tracking the bastard for three years now, and so far has been stymied by a combination of politics and red tape."

DiNozzo coughed, blinking hard. "Three years, Boss?" The leer he had been turning towards Frost died on his face. "My god, how many?"

Frost looked up; DiNozzo stood a full foot taller than she did, but she knew how to freeze with her eyes, and did so. DiNozzo found himself taking one step backward, away from those eyes, before stopping himself. Anthony DiNozzo was not about to be intimidated by any woman, no matter how Valkarie she might be; he steeled himself.

"The official count was 42 when I left Lyon a month ago. It might actually be higher than that, but we do not really know," began Frost. She accepted the remote from McGee, and a world map appeared on the big screen. Red dots lit up. "These are crime scenes I have visited in the last three years; you will notice they correspond with authorized Navy ports of call." She pushed a button, and one dot flashed in northern Germany. Another button: and pictures of seven dead women appeared on the screen. "Three years ago, all of these women's bodies were recovered along the coast of northern Germany; none of them belonged to the area. At least two were Scandinavian, four were Russian, and one was from the Czechan Republic. All were brutally raped, bound, and strangled." She clicked the controller again, and another set of seven faces appeared. "College students, mostly, from…"

"Let me guess, northern Germany?" quipped McGee, clearing his throat. "Where were they found?"

Frost looked at McGee for a second, then nodded. "Very astute. The second batch was indeed from northern Germany. We identified most of these young ladies. They were found in Saudi Arabia, just south of the Suez Canal."

DiNozzo's face was robotlike. "He's refreshing his collection, then. When he finishes with one set, he discards it and gets another."

Frost nodded again, avoiding DiNozzo's face for the screen. "I believe you are correct. Notice the changes between sets four (click), five (click), and six (click). Do you see the progression?"

DiNozzo's cursed; his voice was harsh. "The girls keep getting younger. And you think this piece of filth is on one of our ships?"

Frost looked up at all three men. "No, gentlemen. I don't believe one man is responsible. I believe that there are at least three men, possibly more. Human trafficking on this scale is usually tied to organized crime; showing a lot of profit, though not as much as, say, drugs or weapons, since the criminals are 'only' dealing in humans as toys. There may be officers involved as well, in order to maintain this kind of cover-up."

DiNozzo leveled his green eyes into the blue. "What can you prove so far?"

Frost looked up, and sighed. "Nothing with certainty. But on at least seven occasions, we found semen trace inside of a victim. From the amount we found it appears a condom leaked. DNA analysis proved three different individuals, but I was prevented from cross-analysis with your DNA databanks by some of your colleagues in Europe. I have my analysis on file here," she patted a file folder, "and backed up on another data port as well, to avoid….accidents. Furthermore, there is the simple math involved. Seven women take a lot of handling. They were not starved into submission. While they were abused, they ate regularly. They also received some form of medical attention. Some victims' blood work showed recent inoculations; a few showed healing sprains; at least twenty showed chemical treatment for hair and body lice. Many had received antibiotics. Three of the more recent victims" (click) "had fresh tattoos. Many of our corpses, especially in the last year, had large amounts of GHB in their blood. Some had alcohol. Some had both. I cannot believe, Agent DiNozzo, that one sailor is capable of doing that much harm at once, and still report for duty."

Gibbs stroked his chin with one hand, while he kept the other folded across his chest. He stood at parade rest, otherwise. "You still haven't mentioned what leads you to believe there is US Naval involvement."

Frost glanced up at Gibbs, and nodded. "The ports of call, for one thing. There is no record of any of these women crossing an international border or going through an airport checkpoint. That would indicate smuggling of some sort, perhaps by water, since they were all found in coastal areas. Plus, there is the timing."

The control clicked again, this time showing three US Navy vessels: an aircraft carrier and two frigates.

"This is something else the sites have in common. Whenever the bodies show up, at least two of these three ships are in port. Sometimes the group is anchored just off the coast. At any rate, when these put in, and the men start their R&R, the bodies start appearing. Same patterns every time: law enforcement is being taunted across the globe. I've been told that it is my imagination, I've been told it is just coincidence, but I cannot believe…"

Gibbs raised a hand, and she stopped. "I don't believe in coincidence either, Officer Frost. Do you have anything further, before we visit our morgue and lab?"

She nodded, and her eyes met his. "Just one question, Agent Gibbs. Where is this squadron right now?"

Gibbs scowled at the screen, and moved closer to view the names and call numbers. Behind him, McGee cleared his throat.

"Boss, uh…"

"Spit it out, McGee."

"This squadron has been in port for just under one month. They're set to sail in three days."

Gibbs stared at the units on the big screen: one aircraft carrier, and two smaller frigates flanking it. Over 5,000 men and women between them, and he had to search for three unknown people. His thoughts flew to the junior high school in Ducky's morgue, and the high school and college age girls in Frost's files.

"The hell they are. DiNozzo, make the calls."

"On it, Boss."

TBC…