The insurrection of Lucas

by Pascal in Quebec

Very strong "M" contents; They bought him. They used him like an animal in a circus show. They abused him like a rubber doll. They injured his body, damaged his health and now tried to erase his soul. Well, somebody should have reminded them that Lucas was nobody's fool. He would now have the pleasure of reminding them the facts himself.

2. Chapter 2

SeaQuest – The Insurrection of Lucas

Chapter 2; I have a jig, you have a saw; let's make us a puzzle

Enter the bureaucrats!

(NCIS – opening theme)

Sunday, May 10, 2020; 15:11pm

Diefenbaker Military Hospice; HAZMAT remedial containment

Vancouver City, British Columbia, Canada

NCIS special agent Anthony DiNozzo sauntered back into the break room with a new bag of food, not Tim Hortons this time, since their last attempt had died an inglorious end on the floor during the shoot-out with the treasonous fakers who tried to play them like first year probies. It's funny how people who watch movies and TV never realize those little things like where the heck does all the food and drink go when the bullets fly and the bodies drop... Oh, well, food for thought... Speaking of which...

"Heads up Ziva! We're having greek for a change! So! Voila for madam; a well done chicken souvlaki with rice and salad. For our little medical genius we have a plate of doner on pita with greek potatoes, salad and rice. For our beloved and most munificent Boss we offer the ever popular sirloin steak with mushrooms in wine sauce, scalloped potatoes and salad. And for myself, the ever suave and debonair Truly Very Special Senior Agent, an incomparable plate of salmon mediterranean with greek potatoes, salad, rice and stuffed vine leaves." Tony took a mock bow as he handed the meals around and finished with a flourish as he set his very late lunch at his place. "The chef appreciates your many plaudits for his great culinary arts, my good patrons, and wishes you a Bon Appétit!"

Ziva was smirking in good cheer at the byplay as she watched her colleagues go about their mealtime routines. Gibbs methodically plowed through the plate like a marine assaulting a beach: from one side to the other in grim silence. Tim was busily reading and typing one-handed on his laptop while absentmindedly pushing the pita-wrapped sliced doner meat into his mouth at constant speed and bite size like an automaton. Tony ate while lazily perusing a leftover copy of the Canadian National Post newspaper, his affected mannerisms a vestige of his rather plush childhood amongst the children of the elite and then Remington Military Academy's unyielding stance on presentation and decorum. Her own nervous way of pecking at everything all at once in no particular order was both a symptom of nervous energy from the truly mind-blowing minefield of international politics the case represented and also just her natural playful nature that translated to sometimes erratic patterns in innocuous activities.

They were half-done with their meals and even McGee had started to concentrate more on his food than the data on his monitor, a sure sign he was at this point beyond famished. The novelty though was the closed, aggressive set to his youngish features. The thirty-four year old male was not one to hold grudges or display them but there it was. Intriguing, yes... Gibbs was frowning deeply, one would say angrily, as he chewed like a bear through a good fine steak as if it were his Drill Instructor's raw uncooked boot soles instead. Something irked him and that meant a lot of hurt for somebody real soon. Tony was nitpicking his meal apart, eating most but moving about a third of it around his plate without really realizing he was doing it as he kept gazing at the same page of the newspaper for some twenty minutes to date. Ziva knew she herself was not immune to the odd energy or vibration in the air. She truly enjoyed the meat of her brochettes but had mostly gone through the salad and rice, shredding and nibbling her chicken pieces like they were tasteless cardboard cubes. There was a dreary dullness in the atmosphere and she knew not the cause. She felt this weirdness as if a dense grey fog was slowly descending upon them, like fall in England; a murky, depthless bank of lead-grey smog that engulfed the material world and blocked all senses.

(Frederic Chopin – funeral march)

The break-room door open and three people entered: two canadian marines in body armor with UEO-reg pulse rifles in hand flanking a distinguished older black male who wore a slightly out of date 3-piece steel-grey business suit and raincoat with a polished aluminum briefcase at his left hand. The man stopped two feet away from Gibbs and extended his hand. "Alan F. Delaney, senior case manager, US General Accounting Office. I hear that you are the guys who have point for the SeaQuest's multiples situations for Uncle Sam?"

Jethro stood up and shook hands with the man before proceeding with his usual short introductions to his team. "Yep, we are. To this point anyways. I'm Gibbs; that's David, McGee and DiNozzo. What the heck is GAO doing in Canada so bloody fast anyways? You people don't usually come into a crime scene or accident area until every john, dick, dick's dog and the dog's fleas have had their say."

Delaney snorted in amusement at Gibbs' phrase. It was all too true that while GAO was a federal law enforcement agency with weapons and badges like the FBI and ICE, it was also in fact staffed mostly by accountants and data crunchers. Field investigators were just that: investigators who went on site to find books, registers and computers to copy them and bring back for the non-mobile analysts to crack. In fact, under normal protocols, the GAO usually received its data and material proof from agencies like NCIS or the FBI and so they rarely went physically into the others' patch. It was both more efficient, safer and avoided conflicts with the rest of the damned alphabet soup of sister-agencies that populate the Washingtonian way of governance.

"I wish dearly I could have stayed away from this beached whale of yours, but the Powers Above saw fit to reroute my morning flight out of Washington State to LA for a Northern direction instead. I was in Seattle for an inspection of some errors in the inventory manifests for a pair of Arleigh-Burke destroyers that were suddenly missing about four dozen pounds of tactical Semtex each and it was the fifth error with similar materials this month. We caught a 3rd class seaman in the packing and palletizing warehouse who had gang ties and sudden increases of cash expenditures. You get the rest... Anyways, I have experience with beached ships that have been totaled out; it will be my fourth in my GAO career but I worked in maritime insurance before that for three decades; I processed a dozen derelicts at sea, three arsons for insurance fraud and four bombings for political reasons. It seemed to the bureau in DC that I might have some expertise to lend you. I was given orders to report to you and then forward to the office any physical materials that you have so they can build the case framework ASAP and give data-crunching support to the other agencies."

Turning to the two marines, Delaney thanked them and asked if they could now leave. After getting a salute and confirming with NCIS people they would be responsible for him, the soldiers left the americans alone. The older black man sat at the table the agents were using and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his face and neck. Placing the fabric square back in his pocket, he grimaced in disgust and asked the fatidic question. "Do you have ANY idea of what kind of clusterfuck went down aboard the ship for the helmsman to ditch her in our best neighbor's front driveway? Or was it computer error in the NavSat array? Nobody told me anything to date"

Following an absent gesture by Delaney, the agents resumed picking at their meals at a sedate pace as McGee surprised them by taking the pole and speaking up with their basic lay of the land to date.

"Well, inspector Delaney, it wasn't mechanical, cybernetic or human error at the conn. It was willfully done by the ship's Chief Computer Analyst while he was practically dying on a gurney in the Vancouver Port Authority's admin center. He had been fearing that Bridger would go 'Stark' soon and he was right. The captain psyched out some of the crew into following him instead of the Law so the CCA left the ship, grievously injured by Bridger and his people, to get help from the Canadians. Once there, he opened some remote surveillance programs and saw that captain Bridger's clique of followers were destroying records and prepping the boat for silent run to escape the harbor and the Law. That's when he used an illegally modified smartphone to get into some back doors he put in the system just in case of something like this happening. He's the one who ordered the ship to beach and wreck itself."

The GAO inspector rubbed the side of his nose with a long index finger, thinking of the legal and political ramifications for the US government, NATO and the UEO. The relationship between the three were tense as it was since the old UN had been tanked out and replaced by the UEO some seven years ago. And the NATO members were not particularly happy with the USA's stance on international affairs and global security. The spate of recent US and UEO attacks against targets that were not actually aggressive or dangerous had seriously damaged the credibility of the USA as leader of the Free World and made the UEO look like Washington's gang-bangers rather than a fully functional alliance.

(JAG – opening theme)

As the older gentleman was turning to McGee for a question, the door to the break room opened again to let in a trio of people. The same two marines from before and a different american from a different service. And judging by the cane, badges, shoulder pads and age, it was a high ranked US Navy heavy hitter. Oh, joy!

The distinguished venerable white gentleman walked slowly to the table as he waved the people to stay sat and pulled himself a chair. Now sitting comfortably, he elongated his leg and stood his cane against the table side. Looking over the partially finished food he grimaced and shook his graying head in sympathy for the people in the room.

"Ah, well, I see you're having about the same reaction I had on the plane over here" He spoke in urbane washingtonian accents with a slight southern drawl that was barely perceptible. "I had a meal included in my ticket but it just wouldn't go down easy, so I kept myself to coffee and toasted bread. It seemed the wiser choice, at least until dinner tonight. My name is Bud Roberts, admiral and judge for the department of the Judge Advocate General of the US Navy. I'm the guy who usually ends up sitting over your cases. Nice to finally meet in person the people the last five SecNav's had so much to say about."

Gibbs wiped his mouth, his plate completely cleaned out, and commented glibly: "What is it this week? Is every piece of brass in DC taking vacations up north? We were aboard the Ginsburg about to disembark, he was in Seattle and you were...?" He gestured in a playful 'gimme' way to get the older man talking.

Admiral Roberts just leaned backwards in his chair to take a bit more of his weight off his prosthetic leg and aching back. He was not getting slimmer with age, and the blasted rainy weather in BC this time of year was not helping him out with the phantom pains in his missing limb. "I was actually on a US Airways scheduled flight from Pearl Harbor where I gave a lecture to some three hundred ship captains and senior officers about the changes in recent International Border Law and the Chinese's construction of artificial islands near Japan's waters. My layover in BC was scheduled in the flight plan, but I wasn't supposed to get off the plane until Los Angeles where I was due to Meet Madam Lange at your NCIS Office of Special Projects for a classified briefing. It was about SeaQuest actually. We had recently received complaints, some seriously concerning informations, from an inside source that made us at JAG want to have a reliable insider to evaluate and report the crew's status and happenings for the rest of their tour. I guess we were a bit slow on the switch, as the saying goes."

Ziva placed both elbows on the table, her hands joined together into a single fist to rest her chin upon them. "That inside informant would not happen to be called Wolenczak by any chance? For he is somewhat indisposed at the moment and his social calendar for his return is already, shall we say, occupied? I do believe we have first rights and the fullest team in place, yes?" She commented, playful as ever all the while observing the reactions of both older men as they sat quite contentedly.

Delaney snorted to choke his laughter whilst Roberts just smiled the small, knowing smile of those who know more than everybody else in the room, even about themselves. "No, the informant wasn't Wolenczak, although the name is familiar to me. For classified reasons. Our informant is actually held by the Canadians at this point and I have to speak to them about releasing her to my custody so I can get my side of this quilt patched up to fit with yours. Since she wasn't part of Bridger's clique, she should come out easily enough, especially since CCA Wolenczak will no doubt vouch for her. There won't be many that get that honor, I'm afraid." He completed his thought sadly.

Gibbs was now worried, and his gut was beginning to churn acid far more than needed by the large 16 ounce steak meal he had just eaten. "You know the name 'Wolenczak' from where, exactly, admiral Roberts? We hadn't heard of him before which is damned weird considering which ship he served on and the fact he had 2 full departments reporting to him. How in Hell could this CHILD fly under the radar without being noticed?"

Roberts rubbed his lower face in tiredness and responded in low, slow words. "If I read the situation correctly, it comes from Pennsylvania Avenue. The Oval Office wanted him in that boat, regardless of what story you might hear from the crew about his father and admiral Noyce over at USNI and UEO Fleet Command. The President trusted Lucas Wolenczak to hold the reins in case Bridger went back to his old habits of acting out, of being the 'Maverick of the seas' like when he was last in active service a decade ago. Anything else, I don't know. Yet. I have made a few calls since I landed, but nothing came back as everything is still too fresh for everybody."

(The Agency – opening theme)

Before any comments could be made, the door opened again for the usual pair of marines with two people under escort this time. They looked quite unremarkable in their grey suits and raincoats. Even the woman of the pair looked miserably plain and nondescript, without any make-up or adornment. The marines had obviously gotten the feel of the situation as they didn't even come into the room all the way; they just opened the door to let the people in and then left just as fast.

The female agent spoke up while presenting her badge simultaneously with her colleague. "Field agent Connor Lafferty and Senior Maritime Strategies Analyst Elizabeth Tea Lord, US Central Intelligence Agency, field office of Seattle. Who's the masthead on this shindig? And did anybody see the guys from the Bureau? I think we lost the FBI reps somewhere in the parking lot but we can't seem to be certain it was even them. It might have been Immigration & Customs Enforcement; they and ICE all look the same from a distance."

The male grunted and quipped unkindly "If they didn't all dress in the same brand of cheap suits and actually wore their name-tags we could identify them better. But then again, as long as they're not NSA of Homeland, the beavers shouldn't sic too may grizzlies at us."

Seeing the questioning gazes from all around, the woman CIA agent rolled her eyes and explained: "NSA and Homeland have mandates to operate inside US borders only. If they crossed over into Canada, it would immediately spark a procedural and jurisdictional war to make even the most pedantic paper pusher in DC give up their emails and faxes for an early retirement. I myself would ask for duty as a field analyst in Iraq; it would be messier but much faster and far less painful."

The communion of understanding gazes answering her comment meant she could go forward with another subject, so she did. "Any news from the SeaQuest's senior staffers yet? What about the guy that beached her? Do we have him yet or are we declaring a shadow war on his hide to hunt him down?"

Gibbs answered for his team. "We have him. Maybe not for long, but we have him. He's still in the operating theater getting put back together to look like a human again. If he ever wakes up, we have to contend with the fact he has multiple concussions and deep-brain lesions. He was poisoned repeatedly, including Synthium radiation. He has several infections from being refused treatment for his many conditions for THREE days before he fled the boat. At this point, IF he wakes up, we don't have any guarantee that he'll be lucid, able to communicate or even be remotely like his old self. Until he opens his eyes on his own power and speaks, nothing can hinge on his testimony or giving explanations of anything. Is that enough of an update?"

(Ketèlbey – In a Persian Market)

The multiple people in the room were mulling the gory detailed report when the door opened again for the marines and a gaggle of suit and raincoat wearing persons. The Canadian soldiers seemed to retreat even faster than before. Given the quantity of bureaucrats and badges in the room, nobody really blamed them, not out loud at any rate.

A middle-aged asian woman wearing a deep-blue suit with an armored aluminum briefcase attached to her left wrist raised her badge towards the people assembled around the table and asked out loud: "Divisional Supervisory Agent Lu Lwan Kwe, Federal Bureau of Investigation, division of nuclear products tracking and recovery. Does anybody know why the bloody blue blazes there are emissions of Synthium coming from this facility? It's not authorized to have any. And where the fuck is the base-born twit in charge of radiology? If I have a meltdown to report, you can bet I won't do the admin on it alone!"

Tony DiNozzo quipped to McGee: "Quite the charming fellow, isn't she? It's nice to know that professional curtesy and good manners are still the norm amongst the diverse branches of the public services." He completed in his plushest, snobbiest tones.

As one of the woman's two male colleagues was about to raise his voice to blast DiNozzo, the door opened to disgorge yet another suit-clad human but the escort marines didn't even show in the doorframe this time.

As the black male, middle-aged and quite comfortably so judging by the paunchy waistline and straining jacket buttons, lifted his badge to present himself, Ziva beat him to the punch and exclaimed out loud happily. "I remember you! You are from the immigration services! You were at the DC offices where I took my citizenship tests two years ago! Did you get a promotion? Or were you also just passing by like every one of us to date?"

The man shrugged, put his ICE badge in his jacket pocket so it hung visibly and responded: "Nah, I asked for a posting here in Vancouver because my youngest daughter got accepted at University here. She starts in early June for a summer session and then the regular classes in Fall. My wife decided to join us since she would have stayed home in DC all alone with the cats and the In-Laws next street over. Apparently, when i'm not there to moderate, my mother gets on her nerves." The man's whole body shook with laughter as he finished the punchline of his joke "I don't know why she thinks that! My mother gets on everybody's nerves all the time, not just when I'm absent! He, He, He!"

(Full Metal alchemist - Amestris)

After the grunts, groans and some snorts were done, the FBI woman again tried to get the center of the floor to get what she thought were pressing answers. "Okay, now that we laughed about the in-laws of this guy, can you tell me where the damned radiologist is and why is there Synthium in the building? The counter's going nuts tracking it!" she affirmed while waving her Geiger counter around for people to see.

Timothy McGee raised his voice to answer agent Kwe's question: "That is because our prime informant, CCA Wolenczak was contaminated by Synthium during the mess aboard SeaQuest. He had some inside of him and as the doctors have been operating on him, I guess that any body fluids and operation refuse would be irradiated and would leave a trail around the hospital. If the level of radiation he got is as bad as he reported when he was at the Port Authority, then just the fact he was breathing could have contaminated the air, the furniture, the medics' clothing. In fact, any clothes he had, the bandages and emergency cast, the bedsheets and all that is probably 'hot' and needs to be scrapped."

The woman's congested facial expression told them she did not like what she heard. They didn't know just how much she didn't like it. Noyce had payed her and her tag-alongs a nifty sum to finish this job quickly and then get lost. How was she supposed to find the little bastard if the counter was going off like a church bell every damned meter she walked inside the hospice?

"Okay then, where is this Wolenczak fellow? We need to contain the chemicals and make sure nobody gets their hands on it. It's USA nuclear material and proprietary to the Department of Energy, as well as the US Navy. Who do we talk to to get this guy in quarantine and dialyzed to get the stuff out of him?"

(Star Wars – Duel of the Fates)

McGee squinted his eyes at the woman and slowly moved his hand towards his sidearm, a move than was seen and matched by Ziva, Tony and Gibbs. Admiral Roberts took his cane left-handed by the barrel, his right hand grasping the rounded pommel. Agent Delaney coughed and cleared his throat, reaching a hand inside his jacket for a handkerchief to cover his mouth; or so it seemed. The ICE agent moved sideways and out of the ways inconspicuously as everybody was concentrated on the fool that just proved she was faking.

"You never worked with radioactive materials before, have you, amateur?" the scornful, scathing voice of McGee was heard to lance out through the sudden silence. "Once a radioactive substance has entered the body, that's it; you can't remove it and blood dialysis will do zilch to any condition the guy has. Does the idiot who employ you have nothing but medical neophytes and complete lackwits to chose from? Honestly! In the day and age when they teach the basics of nuclear mechanics and radiation dangers to elementary school kids! Heurgh!"

The woman dropped her briefcase that only looked chained to her wrist and brought up her right hand, 9mm Browning pistol firmly in place. Her partners seeing the gig was up stood at each side and raised their own weapons to cover their section of the room. As the males were now in place, the woman snorted and replied "So that's how the other infiltrator got whacked. She fell for a pretty boy with a few papers tacked to his wall. Bah! I'll get this done and the enemies of America the Great will know fear again! No one will ever dare resist the power and all-might of the Admiralty again! God Compels!"

The two men responded automatically "God Compels!" in tune to their leader just as the entry door opened again to let in yet more suits. The ensuing combat was even more brutal than it was short.

The newcomers forewent drawing weapons when they heard the religious proclamation from the traitors; they just went for a straight tackle at their exposed backs. As the three terrorists for hire shot randomly in the far side of the room, the people at the table scattered and retaliated as they could.

First kill went to Ziva who threw one of her many blades at the head of the man on her right as he tried to get back up and free himself from the person who downed him. The blade rammed into the crown of his head and drilled its way through his brain causing instant death.

Second kill went to the venerable old admiral Roberts who separated his cane's pommel from the barrel to reveal a three foot long, two-edged blade of titanium steel alloy. He used it as the last act of his career and life to do an'L' cut on the woman: across the right mid-thigh hard enough to separate the whole limb and upwards from the crotch to under her chin where the blade jammed into her throat and skewered her brain from under.

With his weight, the pains in his legs and lower back, and some sort of vertigo he had suffered from all year long, he was never going to move fast enough to avoid her retaliation shots or those she let loose in her death throes. That was okay with Bud. He had lived a good life, his wife and two kids would live longer and safer because of this and he could go join his mother in heaven in peace to await his brother and their families.

And maybe, for once, they wouldn't think ill of poor, fat, cowardly Bud Roberts who chickened out of real service by joining JAG instead of the marines or another outfit of the Navy. He died in battle against traitors and terrorists, giving his life in Service to Good, Morality and Law. He passed with a firm, satisfied smile on his lips, even as seven point blank shots shredded through his thorax, his vital organs and reduced half his spine to shards of bone.

Not a single shell made it out of his thick frame, as even in death Bud would not allow harm to those he stood in defense of. And if making a wall of his corpse was the solution, then far from him the idea of taking a lesser path that would let the enemy through to harm decent folk.

Bud welcomed McGee's three bullets in her head as he died from the multiple bullet wounds and poly-traumatic injuries inside his chest. They were rather superfluous at that time but still welcome. When dealing with terrorists who destroy all of Law and society, Bud had never thought there was such a thing as 'overkill' or 'sufficient measures'.

The old admiral's sacrifice gave the venerable agent Delaney time to gang up with the ICE agent to take out the third man as Gibbs and Tony shot him in the belly. They both pulled smaller Walther pistols from their jackets' inside pockets and shot the unknown criminal from each side simultaneously. With no less than 9 slugs inside his torso, it was a miracle that the man hadn't died from sheer shock, let alone blood loss. When they were through interrogating him, he would wish that he had died.

The Canadians were now fed up with American trash and violence sullying their country, their Nature and now their hospitals weren't even safe anymore! And it was a military hospital on a Navy Base for crying out loud! How in the fucking Moose totem spirit's well hung bollocks had they penetrated their defenses twice the same day! The series of new orders, regulations and protocol changes that would come down the pipe that evening would shake up Canada-America relations quite badly and show the USA that even their frigidly placid northern neighbor can be roused to anger when somebody puts an effort in it.

Oh, joy! More bureaucrats!

(SeaQuest – opening theme)

Sunday, May 10, 2020; 18:00pm

Diefenbaker Military Hospice; Admin building, conference room 2-B

Vancouver City, British Columbia, Canada

"This is the Global Network's local 6'o clock News from Vancouver, British Columbia in Canada. We bring you tonight exclusive footage and news from the site of the deliberate beaching and scuttling of the SeaQuest, flagship of the UEO Alliance and technological pride of the US Navy."

As the news anchorwoman's prattle faded in the background as the sound of the television was lowered, the people assembled in the conference room took seats at the long table and served themselves coffee and donuts, tea and scones, sandwiches and some finger-snacks to fill the hole in their stomachs until the end of the official briefing slash inter-departmental conference. In other words, they were meeting to discuss who got what part of the investigation as the problems kept piling up and the witnesses and material evidence were scattered in a foreign power's land. And wasn't that weird of the canucks to suddenly insist so much on the fact they were separate from the USA and, yes, they were foreign to each other...

The conference room double doors opened to let in a nondescript man escorted by a squad of Canadian Marines fully decked out in body armor and pulse rifles at the ready. The bayonets and grenade launchers on the rifles were not missed by anybody in the meeting. Neither were the pistols, combat knives and extra munitions hanging from their belts and tactical vests.

The man in the brown 3-piece suit with a small red canadian flag pin on his lapel addressed the assembly in a low, even voice that carried all over all the same. "I am Agent Jean Tremblay from CSIS; the Canadian Security & Intelligence Services. I have the deplorable duty to inform you that your colleagues from the FBI have been found dead in an abandoned vehicle in the forested part of the road between Vancouver City proper and the Navy Base where we are. All five members of the delegation were peppered with shrapnel indicative of modified flash/bang grenades that shoot out small plastic balls or BB pellets. The terrorists were obviously in a vehicle of exactly similar make and model so they just took the electronics package from the FBI car and put it in theirs with some tweaking to fool the gate guards. The investigation is ongoing."

The man then went to sit at the table, near the presenter's podium. All the americans in the room were deep in thought about how many of their citizens, their country's finest servicemen, had died today just to quiet the voices of those who would speak against the fanaticism and depravity of what was essentially a handful of perverts and rather ordinary law breakers. Why the hell did this admiral and that captain have so many twisted people volunteering to back them up?

The double doors opened up again to let in more people in brown suits of diverse cut and materials. Even the two women wore female versions of the blasted things! Eurgh! Bureaucrats! Was there no end to them? The Universe responded 'No!' as there was another group right behind the first, all dressed in business suits in various shades of blue this time.

"Ah! Our colleagues have arrived at last!" Agent Tremblay exclaimed in fake joyfulness as he contemplated the americans with feelings that fell far short of neighborliness. "I believe you will recognize the people in brown as being the Ministry of Justice and those in blue from our Ministry of defense. They flew an express from Ottawa just for you good folk. Now if we could..."

The man was rudely interrupted as the double doors opened to let in a group of four Mounties that were escorting another batch of suit-clad functionaries. They introduced themselves as the BC Child welfare department and the Canadian Immigration and Citizenship bureau. As they finished their spiel, another add on walked in and brandished a badge saying he was from the Mounties' cyber crimes' division and here to speak about a Mr Wolenczak's contributions to several ongoing cases of internet manufacturing and distribution of child porn and classified secrets.

Gibbs was experiencing the beginning of a slow, ponderous headache. He was again feeling as if he was adrift on dark blue seas with a steel grey sky overhead and no land in sight. They were literally drowning in cheap-suited briefcase-toting paper-waving bureaucrats and it didn't end! There were another two at the door waiting politely to be introduced! Why, God, oh why?!

McGee was both salivating at the thought of what the RCMP cyber squad could share and dreading the mounds of paper he would have to shovel through to get aforementioned goodies. Would it be worth it? So many questions and so much paperwork to fill to get the answers...

DiNozzo was on the verge of an aneurism as he had never seen that many suits in the same room and he worked at the bloody NCIS headquarters less than a half hour's drive from the bloody Capitol! Was it 'pile up the suits day' in here or what? Even the ritzy galas from his childhood had not had that many prancing, fawning peacocks in suits! What had he done to his mother to deserve this?

Ziva was slowly but methodically making herself smaller and less visible in order to have a clearer route to the small side door that led to the service corridor with the washrooms and fire exit. Her survival instincts were firing on all cylinders and she didn't think for a second that her psyche would endure the presence of so many officiously supercilious drones in the same room, especially not with the many grievances they all had. It was days like this she honestly wished she had stayed in MOSSAD; the terrorists in the Arab countries at least were decent enough to not force you to write your own autopsy report in quadruplets before killing you like these people did!

Finally! We got rid of the bureaucrats!

(SeaQuest – opening theme)

Sunday, May 10, 2020; 21:00pm

Diefenbaker Military Hospice; Admin building, conference room 2-B

Vancouver City, British Columbia, Canada

It had been a dismal three hours of introductions, job descriptions and then the inevitable turf wars about who got what part of the investigation and why. Except that unlike the Americans' way of shouting, threatening and invoking the constitutional separation of powers, they had been stuck on the hand brakes with apologies, politely asked permissions, politely asked derogations, patiently explained treaty of extradition clauses and even more patiently politely explained clauses in the NATO and UEO treaties about member jurisdiction and sovereign borders in case of one member's soldiers being involved in crimes on the other member's land. All very politely. Which meant very slowly, redundantly and with the same theme being explained in three or more ways to make certain everybody of every level of education or administrative background could get the same understanding.

The blasted canucks were pissing on them in a roundabout way without showing it or actually insulting them while it happened. Every American in the conference room knew it, felt it and, contrary to their nature and education, had to grin and bear it. The large contingents of Canadian Marines and Mounties still had not left the room after all. So making threats against the bureaucrats' overly slow and cautious approach wasn't going to happen with assault rifles and grenade launchers pointed at their backs.

Maybe the beavers had learned something from their southern cousins after all...

In either case, Gibbs and team were incredibly happy to be out of that room as each of them would prefer sleeping on the bare concrete floor of the HAZMAT ICU than go back to the rest of that meeting. Apparently, the Canadians had kept a few last minute items to discuss amongst themselves about the refugee status and immigration of Lucas Wolenczak as he had requested 'Political Asylum' before being doped up for surgery. And he had signed the blasted counter-fucked papers to boot! The State Department was never going to let any of them live that one down. Ever!

Gibbs passed a hand over his short grey hair in despair of getting anything near a clean resolution for this mess. The kid's request clearly put him in a judicial limbo that would favor the Canadians and allow them to data-mine the runt for everything he knew before it was passed on to the Americans. At the same time, they were the ones who had picked up Bridger and Westphalen on the other side of the SeaQuest when the evacuation was going on. Not that it would do them good; Bridger was grievously injured and now comatose but expected to survive if greatly diminished as a human. He had lost both legs and an arm as well as part of his facial structures from fights aboard before the ship ever came close to the harbor.

The woman doctor was even worse. She had been severely damaged by the uprisings aboard ship already but was still mobile. What did her in was that she suffered irreversible chemical and biological poisoning when the cabinets in her lab had crashed and burst open all around her when the ship beached. She had been comatose just like Bridger when their gurneys were taken out by the emergency chutes. She wasn't expected to ever wake up. In fact, she should die during the next 12 to 16 hours if the toxicology panel the Canadians gave them were accurate. McGee sent them over to Ducky and Abby already but his own expertise, which was considerable in point of fact, was that: "she's already expired her due date and is just hanging on to make matters worse for everybody as it's her natural temperament, Boss".

Damn! Jethro didn't know what it was in the air, the water, the food or the case but Timothy was in one bitching mood ever since he had come to this town. Tony had stopped teasing and antagonizing him after the young engineer had subtly hinted he could hack his phone and reveal the full list of his non-female conquests to the entire world. When Tony had replied "I'm not gay or bi, McGoof-off! What kind of a threat is that?" well Tim had deadpanned right back "I can make you as queer and flaming hot as I want, Tony, and create all the cyber trails that I want to make it true. Care to bet on it?"

Let's just say that the day had been a bit more quiet and work-oriented after that. Even Ziva had been weary around Tim and she had NEVER been afraid of him since she met him. Even Gibbs would be hard pressed to tell you why or how, but Timothy had managed to make him wince a few times today. Maybe it was the two bloodbaths in the same day. Shoot-outs were always bad. The fact they both happened in the same hospital explained a lot too. But it was perhaps the fact that Tim was the one to spot the traitors both times. And he was royally brassed off that somebody, as in a group of hot-wet-cunt snorting he-whores in DC, had thought it was okay to enslave a kid and then hurt him to keep him quiet while they molested and raped him on top of extorting high quality work product for free.

The more Gibbs thought about the situation, the more he saw that Timothy was visualizing the events as what could have happened to him as a teenager if he had been faster and more intelligent. His father was an admiral and he had eyes on becoming one of the joint-chiefs-of-staff during his career. What could he have offered or paid-off in order to get that? Some of his son's work time or designs? Letting them imprison Tim somewhere until they had what they wanted from him with his dad's blessing? Yes, Jethro could see that McGee was affected personally by the case. He could understand the why and how. He could also see how the bloody cock-shakers in DC and the Pentagon would go about saying it was legal: they had the boy's father sign papers and authorizations and then had a priest of some sort bless it all in the name of some religious/confessional foster care agency for white christians that doesn't exist anywhere but on paper in an admiral's drawer somewhere.

No, this case would not end well. And with Bridger completely out of service and physically invalid for the rest of his days, any guardianship they had contrived was now defunct. That meant Lucas was temporarily free and the Canadians would process the refugee claim as such. Not that they would do otherwise, given it was Bridger that lead the effort to demean, humiliate, hurt and maim Lucas thus making him unfit even by the widest definitions of parental power. Unless of course you were one of those Jesus-freaks in DC. Those guys wouldn't let something like life, health or welfare of the child interfere with their great and mighty authority to break the kid and force him to suck them off in proof of their glory. Bastards! Bloody, fucking, child destroying bastards!

I-see-you-too in ICU

(SeaQuest – opening theme)

Sunday, May 10, 2020; 21:44pm

Diefenbaker Military Hospice; HAZMAT remedial containment

Vancouver City, British Columbia, Canada

The american NCIS never thought they would be happy to be back in the small dreary waiting room in the HAZMAT block but after several hours in a conference with over FOURTY bureaucrats from different countries and more coming in the next days, it had been a boon to escape back into the silent solace of isolation.

They walked into the waiting area to be confronted by a full squad of canadian marines in full gear and brand new scanning arches with an X-ray machine like in the airports. Obviously, somebody decided to step up their game and take things seriously in here.

Jethro pointed the badge on his jacket pocket. "Gibbs, NCIS. I'm the lead investigator for the US side of things."