The Heisenberg Research Facility was everything that Gibbs thought that it would be: a large square brick building, several stories tall, connected to three other large, square brick buildings by short rectangular brick enclosed walkways. The windows were fairly small, easier to prevent stray sniper bullets from making their way inside. The bottom two layers of windows were barred. The grounds around the area, what hadn't been paved over for parking, was magnificently manicured, and Gibbs wondered idly if Heisenberg had found some Navy corpsman with a landscaping background to direct that part of the think tank.
A think tank was very clearly what the Heisenberg was. Gibbs had been in enough of them to recognize the type, the curious juxtaposition of ultra-security with uber-brains wandering about and requiring re-direction into their various ivory towers. NCIS badges weren't enough to permit Agent Gibbs and Officer David into the facility; their ID's and likenesses got run through a computer database until the lieutenant, junior grade, in charge of the front desk for the day was satisfied that they weren't foreign terrorists trying to sneak in with a nuclear missile tucked in among the coins in Gibbs' pocket. Officer David in particular came in for her share of scrutiny.
It took too much time. Gibbs leaned on the desk, using his height to lean over the lieutenant. "Are we finished here?"
Ziva, given the opportunity, could have informed the young lieutenant (JG) that that particular note in Gibbs' voice indicated that dire consequences would occur if the task were not completed within the next few seconds. Fortunately for the facility, either the lieutenant or the computers that he was working on understood the need for haste, for the computer chirped submissively.
The lieutenant handed over two plastic badges. "Wear these at all times, sir, ma'am," he instructed. "Now, if you'll just step through our metal detector?"
Enough. Gibbs sighed. "Lieutenant," he said with obvious patience, "both Officer David and I are carrying weapons, and we intend to keep them exactly where they are. Now, either let us through, or call down whoever runs this place."
"Sir—"
"Now, lieutenant." Whip crack.
The lieutenant (JG) caved. "Yes, sir. Calling, sir."
It took far less time, Gibbs noted, and not only one but two upper-level flunkies arrived in far less time than the computer had taken to clear the two NCIS agents. Fine with him; as long as he got to the top and didn't take all day to do it.
"Special Agent Gibbs," the military one greeted them. "Officer David. I'm Captain Beck, with Naval Operations. This is Dr. Petra Dovely, head of Project Three Research. What's this about?"
Gibbs took the lead. "Captain, we found a dead body on some nearby property."
Dr. Dovely gave an exasperated snort. "Are those crazies at it again? I suppose they're blaming us for this. How did we do it this time? Ray guns from the UFO at Area 51?"
Gibbs stayed polite. "No, ma'am. Our medical examiner is still determining the cause of death." He glanced around for effect; he already knew that the lieutenant and all six of the enlisted types were listening intently. Gossip had value, and the security people knew it. "Is there some place that we can talk?"
"Certainly, Agent Gibbs," Beck said, riding roughshod over Dovely's muttered "I've got better things to do." Beck held out a welcoming arm. "Right this way."
The room that Beck brought them to was a well-furnished small conference room. Furnished well enough, Gibbs thought, to pay for his pension for the next decade and then some. Didn't matter; they were there on business. Gibbs waited until they were all seated and then held out a picture of the dead man; a clean one with the eyes closed and very little blood showing. "Recognize him?" The answer had better be yes.
It was. Dr. Dovely sucked her breath in, going pale. Gibbs was suddenly very glad that he'd waited for everyone to sit down. He'd never dealt well with fainting females. Beck was more in control. The captain merely tightened his lips, already thinking ahead to what this meant for the facility that he was in charge of. "Yes. Yes, I do," he told Gibbs. "That's Commander Ricky Rickover, my liaison officer for Project Three. Dr. Dovely's project." He gave himself a moment. "How did it happen?"
"My M.E. will be performing the autopsy shortly."
"Who did it?"
Already assuming that it was murder, Gibbs noted. "That sounds as though you have reason to believe foul play, captain."
Gibbs could see the rotation of thoughts behind the steel gray eyes, wondering how much to tell NCIS. "Agent Gibbs, we are sitting in one of America's finest think tanks. Any one of our enemies would pay several fortunes to get the technology that is being developed on these premises; we've foiled several attempts already over the past three years alone." Beck gave a brief, humorless smile. "My job is to be paranoid, Agent Gibbs. What have you got?"
As if Gibbs would simply hand over the case. Gibbs' return smile was just as humorless. "A dead body, Captain Beck, that belonged to your liaison officer. Who would want him dead?"
"He was—" Beck stopped himself. A new thought intruded. "Actually, no one."
"No one?"
Beck lifted his shoulders. "Commander Rickover was in charge of one of our projects; Dr. Dovely is the senior on the research side. Commander Rickover was well-liked by his subordinates, had no enemies that I am aware of."
"Could he have been killed over the research?"
"Possibly, but unlikely." That was the point that Beck was getting to. "As I said, Commander Rickover was in charge, but he was not a scientist. He was not developing the science or the technology, merely guiding it to the most useful endpoint from the view of the military. He simply didn't have enough knowledge to make him a valuable target. Frankly, Dr. Dovely here would be of far greater use to an enemy program looking to design the same technology."
Gibbs focused on Petra Dovely. Mid-thirties, he decided, and probably single. No ring on the finger and a driven, hungry look in her eye that suggested that bothering with a significant other would get in her way. The hair was short; attractively styled but clearly looking for a minimum of fuss and bother. That didn't upset Gibbs; fuss and bother did. She looked soft—slender, but from too much rabbit food rather than exercise. Working out took time away from research. A lettuce sandwich could be wolfed down in between feeding samples into whatever analysis machine they went into. "That true?"
Dovely shrugged. "Probably. That's what they tell me."
"And who are 'they'?"
Odd smile. She gestured with her chin. "Captain Beck. Commander Rickover. Others."
Not going anywhere with that line of inquiry.
Ziva rescued the discussion. "What are you working on?"
Silence. Beck and Dovely exchanged glances.
Beck was elected. "I'm sorry, Officer David. The work that we're doing here is classified. Eyes only."
Gibbs leaned back in his chair. "Did you miss the part of the identification process that said we're both cleared, Captain Beck? Fill us in."
"Agent Gibbs—"
"We both know that I can call my boss, who will call your boss's boss, who will call your boss, who will call you. I'd rather not bother my boss. She's occasionally temperamental, and she won't go after me. She'll go after the person responsible for disturbing her other priorities to straighten out people with an inflated sense of their own worth. Do I make myself clear, Captain Beck?"
Beck considered his options, and liked none of them. He settled on the least noxious. "What I'm about to tell you doesn't leave this facility, Agent Gibbs, Officer David."
"I'll be informing the rest of my team, Captain Beck."
Beck started to object, then thought better of it. It was going to happen whether he liked it or not, and arguing right now would get him nowhere. "If the word gets out, Special Agent Gibbs…"
"If the word gets out, it won't be because of any of mine," Gibbs responded. "Can we get on with this? What is this Project Three that Commander Rickover was overseeing?"
Beck gestured to Dr. Dovely. "Doctor?"
The scientist was more forthcoming. "Stealth technology, on an individual scale. More and more our armed forces are being required to conduct covert operations, go to places where being seen is a drawback. In battle, the ability to move undetected with the naked eye will give our fighting men and women the advantage that they so desperately need. This technology is almost reality."
"We have stealth technology, and have had for several decades," Ziva said. "We have eye in the sky satellites. We have planes capable of avoiding radar."
"This is different," Dovely told her. "This technology will allow a single soldier to enter a building unseen, do the task, and leave undetected. This is stealth designed for the individual. Think of it as a technological ninja, Officer David." She couldn't help the smile; clearly Petra Dovely was proud of her accomplishment. "Would you like to see it?"
"No," said Beck.
"Yes," said Ziva, at the exact moment.
Beck sighed. He didn't roll his eyes, but it was a near thing. "All right. You already know this much." He rose to his feet. "Come with me."
He led them to a large room that had been decked out to look like a large office space. Desks littered the floor with chairs tucked underneath them. There were a couple of file cabinets dotting the edges of the room, along with a small safe in one corner. A large picture frame with a stick drawing of a treasure chest hung on the wall at one end. There were no windows.
There were, however, four large soldiers, all clad in fatigues. Gibbs was not a small man, yet these men made him look average. Each carried a handgun in a holster at their waist that might have qualified as a missile launcher if Gibbs hadn't known better. A long and deadly knife was tucked behind it and, from the looks of things, Gibbs wouldn't have been surprised if there were a number of other hand weapons secreted on their persons.
That wasn't all that they had. Clearly these men had trained daily and hard: muscles rippled under toughened skin and the boots that they wore showed evidence of travel over hard ground for many miles. These were not weekend warriors. These were marines to be used when it was important to get the job done. They may have had weapons, but they were equally as dangerous without them.
Gibbs waited for Beck to explain why he'd brought them to this training room. Gibbs recognized the type of place, had even trained in something similar when learning terrorist assault tactics. Not all battles were fought in open fields, and knowing how to handle himself and a team inside a closed room was valuable.
Beck didn't waste any time. "This is the Alpha Squad, Agent Gibbs, Officer David. Master Sergeants Franks, Medford, Aiello, and Rubrovitch."
"Gentlemen," Gibbs greeted the soldiers, Ziva nodding and sizing them up at the same time. "I presume that this squad is charged with the practical end of the research?"
"Exactly," Beck said. "I think the best way to help you understand our work is a short demonstration." He indicated the large office style training room. "This is where we conduct our preliminary testing as well as training. You see the picture at the end of the room?"
"The treasure chest gets to be the target." It would do for an exercise.
"Behind the frame is a safe that can be locked," Beck told them. "We won't lock it today; we're not doing any time trials. Our goal is to show you how the new technology can impact what we're doing on the world stage. Let's assume that this is the office of an enemy intelligence agent. He has placed information in that safe. The 'mission' today is to remove that information from the safe and bring it to those who can act upon it. First, let's see how a single man would fare under normal circumstances. Oh, and for the purposes of this demonstration, we are going to assume that it's dusk, the optimum time for suit use. The lights are going down." He turned to the soldiers. "Anyone care to volunteer?"
Gibbs was well aware that each of the four had been assessing him as well. He covered the smile that wanted to emerge. The volunteer was in for a shock.
All four offered. No surprise there. These were men who moved forward by taking on hard tasks. 'Assaulting' an NCIS officer would be a joy ride. 'Permission' to assault a 'cop'? Icing on the cake. Of course they'd offer.
"Sergeant Franks," Beck selected. "Your 'mission' is to remove the papers from the safe behind the picture and bring them to me. Your only 'weapon' will be a demo knife." Another explanation to the guests: "We only use these specialized plastic training knives during these demonstration missions, Agent Gibbs, in order to minimize serious injury. These knives will leave a red paint mark where they touch but cause no serious injury." A small grin. "We will assume that if Sgt. Franks puts a red smile across your windpipe that he's 'killed' you. Your job will be to 'guard' the safe, and prevent Sgt. Franks from taking the papers. Again, for purposes of the demonstration, we'll keep it to knives." Beck glanced at the gun that Gibbs kept discretely in his shoulder holster. "In order to prevent damage, Agent Gibbs, I'm going to ask you to remove your weapon. You can put it on this table here. Just a precaution, you understand."
"Completely," Gibbs assured him. He turned to Ziva. "Officer David? Would you care to do the honors?"
"I would love to, Agent Gibbs." Ziva's eyes were shining. She carefully removed her own shoulder holster and, hiking up her pant leg to show off a shapely calf, detached the sheath with a long and wicked looking knife to place the sheath on the table beside her gun. She picked up one of the 'training' knives and replaced it into the waist of her pants.
To his credit, no expression crossed Sgt. Franks' face, but Gibbs could read the dismay in his eyes.
"Something amiss, sergeant?" he asked.
"Uh...sir? Ma'am, please don't take this the wrong way, but I'd feel bad if you were to be hurt." Franks towered over the smaller Israeli woman.
"Thank you, sergeant." Ziva was gracious. "I appreciate your concern. I, too, do not wish to injure you. I will be careful as well."
"Uh…" That wasn't quite what Franks meant.
Gibbs took pity on him. "Go ahead, sergeant. Oh, and don't hold back. It wouldn't be much of a demonstration if you did that."
"Uh… yes, sir." Franks gulped, trying to figure out what to do. He now had two conflicting directives: 'don't hurt the little NCIS agent' and 'don't hold back'. He flicked a glance at Beck and came to an independent decision. Hurting the little NCIS agent would be more damaging to his career than following the senior NCIS agent's directive. Franks would take it easy while trying to make it look good. Lots of arm-flailing would do, as long as the arms didn't connect with anything that came equipped with silky dark hair cascading down her back.
Ziva took up a position in front of the picture, 'guarding' the treasure. Beck turned down the overhead lights to simulate dusk. The room took on a darkened appearance, making the edges of the desk blur and the lines more indistinct.
Franks, with one more doubtful look at Captain Beck and his buddies, ambled forward through the line of desks as though he was a courier. He looked like a gorilla bearing down on the much smaller 'guard'.
"Hello, ma'am," he started to say.
He went for the first move. He reached for Ziva's shoulder, intending to grab and yank her off balance. Putting her down to the floor with a 'knife' strike to her throat would be easy after that.
It didn't work. Ziva knocked his arm aside, whirled in so that her shorter reach became an asset, and rammed her elbow into Franks' ribcage. He whoofed, and staggered.
Ziva wasn't finished. Another twist, and her leg swept Franks' out from under him. Already off balance, Franks dropped to the floor and landed on his back.
End of chivalry. The 'small NCIS female agent' suddenly turned into a 'worthy adversary'. Franks was finished with 'being careful not to hurt the little lady'.
He lashed out with his own long legs, tangling with Ziva's and dropping her to the floor beside him. Franks rolled over, pulled out his practice knife and went for her throat.
Ziva grabbed his wrist, deflecting his aim. She wasn't strong enough to prevent him from a direct blow, and she didn't bother to try. Every attempt that Franks made, she knocked off-kilter and harmlessly toward the floor.
It couldn't go on. Franks' greater size and strength would eventually win out. Back on her feet, Ziva used the next tactic: she grabbed his wrist, the one with the knife, and squeezed on the pressure point. And squeezed some more.
No sound but that of heavy gulping of air. No grunts that a lesser man would have uttered under the same agony in his wrist.
The knife dropped out of suddenly nerveless fingers, clattering toward the floor. Ziva plucked it out of the air in one swift motion and twisted Franks' arm behind him in a classic half-Nelson. She rammed his chest onto the desk with a jolt that rattled the furniture, placing the 'knife' against his ribs. "Yield."
A moment of futile struggling, then Franks tapped out on the wooden desk in the classic surrender.
Ziva let him up, handing him the 'knife' hilt first. "Thank you, sergeant. I enjoyed that very much. You are a worthy opponent."
Franks looked a bit stunned at the turn of events. He accepted the knife. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am." He looked a bit sheepish, Gibbs noted, and wouldn't meet the eyes of the rest of Alpha Squad. His colleagues were clearly going to give him a hard time. Not in front of guests, but later on Sgt. Franks would be the butt of more than a few jokes.
Not Gibbs' problem. He was more interested in what would happen next.
Beck ignored Franks' obvious discomfort. The sergeant would get a chance to redeem himself. "You see what has happened in a normal situation," Beck said. "Sgt. Franks wasn't able to get to the target. Now let's try it with our new stealth technology, under the same conditions: dusk, with the same weaponry, with the same guard." He gestured. "Sgt. Franks?"
"Sir." Franks started shucking his clothing, revealing a dark gray cat suit affair that clung to every muscle in his body. He even doffed his shoes, leaving himself in stocking feet that the gray stuff covered over. As a last move, he pulled a hood from behind his neck over his head and down over his face.
Even as Gibbs watched, the soldier faded into the dusk. This wasn't just any cat suit that the man had under his fatigues. This was new technology at work, and Gibbs was impressed. He was looking straight at Franks, and he could still barely see the outline of the man in the dim light. If he looked hard, Gibbs could see that the cloth was thinner at the eyes, presumably so that the man could see without the bare skin giving him away.
"Officer David, are you ready?" Beck called out.
"Ready," she replied from her position 'guarding' the 'treasure'.
"Go."
Suddenly, Gibbs could no longer see Sgt. Franks. The man had slipped away into the dusk. Was he there, along the side of the room? Gibbs thought he could see the barest hint of an outline, a faint heat shimmering, then he wasn't sure. What he was sure of was that Dr. Dovely was grinning like a Cheshire Cat, standing beside Captain Beck, watching this scenario play out a heck of lot differently than the first.
Ziva too looked confused. She had watched Franks advance the first time; now she couldn't see him. She scanned the room, her 'knife' held at ready.
There! A noise from one side—Franks had stumbled carelessly against a desk. Gibbs couldn't see him, and he wasn't at all convinced that Ziva could either, but right now hearing was more valuable than sight.
Three seconds later Franks was holding Ziva's chin high, his 'knife' having traced a line of 'blood' across her neck. He'd come from the opposite side, having drawn her attention away by tossing something for her to hear and turn toward.
"You're 'dead'," he announced, victory in his voice. He released the Israeli agent, and pulled wide the frame of the 'treasure chest' to remove the papers. "I win."
Ziva ran her fingers across the red line on her throat, smearing the dye used to simulate blood. She was gracious in defeat. "Excellent, sergeant. I never saw you. Most impressive technology," she acknowledged. "In the hands of a skilled soldier such as yourself, extremely effective."
"It has drawbacks." Dr. Dovely was clearly pleased at this demonstration. "It works best under low light conditions, and isn't designed for daylight. It can't be used with any type of body armor; too bulky, and restricts movement."
"Still, for stealth work it would be of great benefit." Ziva fingered the cloth on Sergeant Frank's arm, feeling how soft it was, almost like silk. Gibbs could see the hunger to acquire an outfit for herself on Ziva's face. Most women, he reflected, liked getting a new dress. Ziva would be much happier to have one of these cat suits in her wardrobe. "How does it work?"
"Nanotechnology," Dr. Dovely tried to explain. "Microscopic lenses reflect or absorb light, based on a pre-determined set of protocols, and that diverts light in the fashion that you have just observed."
Gibbs tuned out. Science stuff; it was why he kept Ducky and Abby and McGee around, so that he didn't have to deal with it. A cell phone was the limit of his needs, and a computer was pushing it. "Commander Rickover knew all of this stuff."
"He knew the basics," Beck said. "He didn't know enough to be of much value to an enemy agent. As I've said, they'd be much more likely to go after Dr. Dovely here, or even some of her technicians."
"Actually, the suit itself would be more useful," Dr. Dovely put in. "Reverse engineering; any half-way competent researcher could discover the principles and duplicate this in a year or two."
Gibbs had already moved on to the more pertinent parts of the investigation. "Is there any chance that knowledge of this technique has seeped out into the intelligence community?"
Beck was up on those details. "The community knows that we're working on stealth technology, and that it's designed for covert operations. Beyond that, nothing is known."
"Are you certain of that?"
"Fairly."
"Ziva?" Gibbs turned to the Mossad agent.
"The international intelligence community was aware of your work some two years ago," she said as if reciting from a report. "It is also known that it is useful in undercover work, that it works on a single operative, and that it could be used for operations such as the demonstration you have just given us. The exact technology is still a secret, but several organizations are working on their own versions as well as ways to protect against it. It is estimated that duplicates will be available within three to four years. If a sample can be obtained, that lead time could be reduced to as short as six months."
"Thank you, Officer David." Gibbs turned back to Captain Beck. "I think we can safely say that there is some knowledge of your technology out there, and that various organizations would like to get their hands on it. Would you agree?"
"Uh… yes." Beck wasn't pleased, but there wasn't much that he could do.
"I'm going to suggest that you review your security protocols very carefully, colonel," Gibbs advised. "It wouldn't surprise me to learn that someone was trying to subvert Commander Rickover in some fashion. We'll work on the details of his demise, while you try to prevent any further information from leaking out. Agreed?"
