Chapter 3 – Getting the band back together
It was just on 5:30 pm the next day when Tony got the call. He was sitting calmly at his desk, shuffling through some innocuous paperwork while his mind sorted through solutions to his other, more pressing, problem.
"DiNozzo," he answered on the third ring.
"I've got something." The line went dead.
Tony froze with the receiver still planted firmly on his ear staring down at the phone as though mere mental anguish would somehow revive it. His eyes rose slowly from the desk to meet McGee's and an unspoken message passed between them: it was time. Tony placed the handpiece gently in its cradle and the two agents rose as one, fell into step, and headed for the elevator.
Abby looked up as they entered the room then craned her head to look behind them to ensure the coast was clear.
"Whatcha got Abs?" asked Tony.
"Well the locket itself has been wiped clean – no surprises there but what they failed to do is open the locket."
"What's in the locket?"
"Well, nothing. But caught in the rim, where the two parts seal, I found a mix of silicon, oxygen and aluminium – three of the most common elements on earth."
"You found clay," McGee clarified, settling on a stool – it looked like this was going to be a long Abby ride.
"Correct," Abby bestowed a smile over McGee. "Clay: the precise composition of this clay may or may not lead us to the exact place where the actual murder took place."
"So the locket doesn't help us," Tony grumbled.
"Oh contraire, ye of little 'ozzo'."
Abby smiled smugly making Tony grimace - her torturous games could last a while. He looked across to McGee who was observing proceedings with the bemused expression of one who had watched this episode too many times.
"Because," Abby continued, "this is the chunkiest chain I have seen since I was chained up to ….well let's not go there. The point is: people go to all the trouble of wiping fingerprints off the ornament and yet completely ignore the chain itself, even with loops this thick."
"You got a fingerprint off that?" Tony was unconvinced.
"Correction, I got ten partial prints from different parts of many different fingers."
"And you can search for that?"
"Ordinarily: no." Abby walked around behind McGee, leant on his back and began absently circling her index finger in his hair. "Unless you have a computer geek willing to spend half the night creating a search engine to match up partial prints across your database."
Tony was suddenly humbled by the depth of McGee's friendship.
"And," Tony prompted.
Abby gave the top of McGee's head a quick scrub to erase the circular pattern she had ingrained in his hair and walked over to her keyboard.
"And this." One stab of a key and a haggard face replaced Gibbs' on the screen in front of her. "Meet Monsieur Derek Dejavou. The multiple partial prints were enough to give us an 82 percent hit."
"I know him."
Abby, Tony and McGee spun guiltily at the sound of Ziva's voice.
"You're not supposed to be here," Tony strode quickly towards her to block her view of the screen.
"I am still part of this team," Ziva protested.
"It's not that," Tony whispered hoarsely. "It's just that this action is not exactly sanctioned by your friend, The Director."
"She is not on my team." Ziva glared at Tony. "The reason I am being transferred back is because I have contacts and knowledge about international activities. If you wish to utilize this vast knowledge, you will have to make haste."
Tony stood a few inches into her personal space but she held her ground, her chin up defiantly.
"Please, Tony," it was a quiet plea, "I want to help you."
Tony looked deep into her dark eyes and for a moment he had the impression that, in another time and place, they could have been more than just friends. Perhaps if they had a chance to just start over… "OK," he relented finally, stepping aside so Ziva could view the picture again. "Tell us what you know."
"French: a head of a certain sleeper group stationed in your country for at least 5 years. Involved in international arms dealing, he works for…"
"La Grenouille?" Tony guessed.
Ziva looked at him sharply. "Almost: for his competition, then his successor. They use a number of safe houses. I can list about a dozen off the top of my head but my information is not up to date. Give me an hour and a phone and I may be able to renew some old acquaintances."
"Do it," Tony hissed, turning his back on her. "Abby get the evidence back up here, we've got a long night ahead."
An hour later, Abby, McGee and Tony were sitting around a large table "borrowed" from the tea room. The contents of three large evidence boxes lay scattered across the surface. From the back room, Ziva's voice could be heard negotiating information in a guttural tongue.
The sound of evidence shuffling turned to stony silence as Abby's door slid open.
"Only me," called Jimmy, carrying a large fragrant container.
"Ahh, sustenance," Abby sighed contentedly.
"You told Palmer?" Tony growled.
"Hey, we're getting the band back together," Abby defended.
"Don't quote Blue's Brother's at a time like this."
"I was hungry," said Abby cheerily, hovering impatiently over Jimmy, "and food was Jimmy department."
"Hope you got enough for two more, Black Lung," came Gibbs' laconic voice.
They turned to seek Gibbs and Ducky standing in the doorway.
Tony rose in agitation. "Ah Boss, this is, ah, kind of personal. The Director would kill you if she knew."
"What's she going to do DiNozzo: fire us?" Gibbs pointed out as the two older men joined the group. "Is that curry, Dr Palmer?"
Palmer's eyes ping-ponged around from Gibbs to Ducky to Tony and back again to Gibbs again. "Ah: yes sir."
"Fine choice, my boy," Ducky congratulated him. "There's nothing like a good curry to catch a criminal on the run."
