"So tell me, Probie Drew, what exactly does one do at a writers' convention?"
Tim ignored his colleague's comparison of him to teen girl investigator "Nancy Drew" and went back to finishing up his work for the week. It was Friday and he was hoping to leave early so he could get settled in at the hotel where the Mystery and Crime Novelists Association convention was being held that weekend. He'd been looking forward to this weekend for the past two months, and he wasn't going to let anyone – least of all Tony – sour his mood. "It's just a place for writers to meet and discuss their work, get their work out there for publishers, learn from others on how to better improve their own writing," he explained. "Some of the best mystery writers will be there to give lectures, read excerpts of upcoming novels, and answer questions."
"Sounds like a blast," Tony said sarcastically. "Why not just sit in on a class at Waverly University? It wouldn't cost you nearly as much."
"True, but I wouldn't be able to hear Randy Veux talk about his upcoming novel."
"Who?"
"Randy Veux. The Edgar winner who wrote By the Light of the Moon," Tim told him as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "He's been on the bestseller list for years now!"
"You don't know who Gary Cooper is, but you expect the name 'Randy Veux' to ring a bell with me?"
"McGee, you are already a published writer," Ziva pointed out, "so what do you hope to accomplish by attending this convention?"
"I may be published, but that doesn't mean I can't still learn and improve my writing."
"Well, I can't argue with you there, Elf Lord." Tony leaned his seat back, placing his feet atop his desk. "Well, while you're listening to some old guy talk for an hour about how to best set the mood for your crime novel, I'll be setting a different kind of mood for a much different purpose."
Tim and Ziva shared a look and an eye roll. "You're so witty, Tony," Tim told him wryly.
"It's a gift, Probie."
"What's that Tony?" Gibbs asked as he walked into the bull pen.
"My acute ability to asses crime scenes, boss," Tony replied, quickly removing his feet from his desk.
"Yeah, DiNozzo? I hope you've still got the gift, then. Dead Marine found in an Alexandria hotel. Gear up!"
Tim grabbed his gun and badge, securing them in place as he trailed behind them. "What hotel, boss?"
"Hotel Monaco," Gibbs told them as he hit the elevator button. "Ducky and Palmer are already on their way."
"Hotel Monaco?" Tim repeated.
"That's what I said, McGee. You got a hearing problem?"
"No, boss, I don't," Tim assured him as the other three stepped on to the elevator. "Though, uh, I guess you didn't mean that as a serious question."
"The doors are closing, McGee."
Tim slid in as the doors closed. "It's just, uh, that's the hotel where I'm staying this weekend."
"Are you sure?" Ziva asked.
"Positive." Tim pulled out his reservation information from his bag and handed it over. "That's where the convention is being held."
"You think the murder has anything to do with the convention?" Tony asked, grabbing the paper from Tim's hand.
"At this point," Gibbs cut in, "we don't know what we're dealing with."
"Maybe it's staged. A publicity stunt for the convention," Tony suggested. A steel-eyed glare from Gibbs shot down his idea. "Or not."
"We do not play pretend at NCIS."
"What have we got, Duck?" Gibbs asked gruffly as he entered the cool basement of the hotel. Below him lay a young man sprawled across the ground dressed in dirt-covered coveralls with the name "Nathan" monogrammed on them.
"A young man whose life was tragically cut short." Ducky was already stooping over the body with the liver probe. "He met his demise…approximately eight hours ago."
"02:00," Gibbs muttered, marking it down. "That's a strange time for people to be down in the basement of a hotel."
"He was a maintenance man for the hotel, so it isn't so strange for him to be down here. Now if he wasn't alone…"
"Someone took a tumble," Tony said as he made his way down the stairs, followed closely by Ziva and Tim. He reached out and grabbed the railing of the stairs. "Guess we need to be careful."
"It does look that way, doesn't it?" Ducky commented.
"You think this wasn't an accident, Ducky?"
"After working with Gibbs so long, Anthony, I've come to suspect murder until proven otherwise." He gently lifted the head up. "This may be of some interest," he said, pointing to the crown of the head. "The skull was cracked open here, yet when we found him he was lying face down. There was no blood on the floor indicating that his head had struck it."
"Maybe he hit one of the stairs on the way down?" Tim suggested. Looking down, he could see an occasional blood stain on the steps.
"Or maybe this hit his head," Ziva called from beneath the stairs. She emerged, holding a bloody lead pipe in her gloved hand.
"Well, that kind of kills any theory of an accident," Tony commented.
"Tony, sketch. Ziva, dust for fingerprints. McGee, get pictures," Gibbs barked out before turning back to Ducky. "Anything else you can tell me?"
"There are no defensive wounds that I can see. If he was indeed struck, then there is a good chance he knew his attacker."
"Well, he works here, so it may be another worker." He glanced around the basement, realizing that a certain person was missing. "Where is Palmer?"
"Mr. Palmer had to return to NCIS because he seemed to have forgotten to replace the gurney in the back of the van," Ducky said curtly.
"McGee! When Ducky and Palmer get the body on the gurney, I want you leaving with them."
"Me?" Tim asked. "Why?"
"Because, I don't want the hotel staff seeing you and associating you with NCIS. You're staying here this weekend and we may need you to keep an eye out for anything suspicious. I'd rather them not be on their guard around you."
"But, uh, boss, I'm not exactly here on vacation–"
"Don't worry McGee, I'll make sure you get compensated for any work you do."
"That's not quite what I meant."
"McGee, are you going to stand here arguing with me or are you going to get to work?"
Tim was quiet for a second. "I'll start taking, uh, pictures…" He walked over to the tool box that lay open on the floor across the way. "The weapon may have come from here," he called out as he gingerly opened it. Atop the array of tools was a small book covered in dark brown. He opened it and read aloud the first page. "This journal is the property of George Robinson."
"Victim's name is Nathan Robinson," Gibbs told him as he neared.
"Could be a relative's," Ziva said.
"Probably," Tim replied, flipping through the pages. "This is from the 1940's." As he stood to hold the journal out to Gibbs, a loose page in the back fell out to the floor. Tim leaned down to grab it, but Tony snatched it up before he could.
"Ooo, what have we here?" The senior field agent opened the folded page. On one side was a crudely drawn map with words written in some sort of a secret code made up of numbers, letters, and shapes. An X sat in one area of the map. "Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! We've got ourselves a pirate!"
"What does that say on the back?" Ziva asked peering at the paper.
Tony turned it over and, in the most ominous voice he could muster, read it aloud. "Congratulations to you who holds the map! In your hands you hold a map that will lead you to a treasure beyond your imagination. However, to understand the map you must first find the key which lies in Clyde Wynant's journal. Find the key and you will unlock the door to the riches."
"Well, sounds like a bit of intrigue!" Ducky said from his place by the body. "Very mysterious. That name, Clyde Wynant, it rings a bell."
"Old friend of yours, Ducky?"
"It's possible, Timothy."
"I'm still not sure this wasn't faked for McSherlock's convention thing."
"Oh, Tony! Do you really think they would kill someone just for publicity?" Ziva asked.
"Maybe they just used an old body. Recycling is all the rage!" Tony let out a grunt as Gibbs' hand connected to the back of his head. "Sorry, boss."
"I'm going to talk to the hotel staff members. Tony, Ziva: when you guys finish up, meet me up there. McGee, when you get back to headquarters, find any information you can on Nathan Robinson, George Robinson, and this Clyde Wynant guy. When you've finished that, get wired up. You're going to be our eyes and ears this weekend."
And that was that.