Summary: A protection detail quickly turns into a deadly game of cat and mouse. When the bullets start flying will Tony and Ziva be able to protect their charges? Will they be able to protect each other...A sequel to Anguish.
Disclaimer: NCIS is the property of CBS. Any copyright infringement was not intentional. Any characters that resemble people living or dead were also unintentional.
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"What've we got McGee?" Gibbs asked as he strode into the bull pen carrying a to-go tray of fresh coffee.
"Petty Officer First Class Jacob Michael Jensen. Twenty-seven. United States Navy. He's had a successful career so far. He's and intelligence operator aboard the U.S.S Essex. He was recently recommended for a promotion. His commanding officers all say he was a hard-working man and a good sailor. Well-liked by most of the men on his ship.…. He graduated from UCLA with a degree in engineering, and was immediately recruited into the Navy. Clean record, with the exception of a few minor traffic violations. "McGee said accepting the cup of coffee gratefully. They had been up most of the night processing the scene of the man's murder. They had only been able to go home and catch a few hours of sleep before coming back for another full day of work.
Gibbs nodded, looking his gaze fixed on the large screen where McGee had pulled up and displayed the man's information.
"His wife's even more of a saint than he is," DiNozzo chimed in from just behind him. Gibbs glanced at him then returned his gaze to the screen where the woman's information was already displayed.
A handsome woman with sun darkened olive skin and strong Mediterranean features and a supermodel-worthy smile stared back at him.
"Chiara Aiello Jensen, twenty-four, late wife of the Petty Officer. She's the head of the local charitable works society, regularly attends church, and even volunteers at the local senior care center…." McGee started.
"Is she here?"
"What...Erm, no boss, no she isn't."
"Why not?"
"Well we…erm….we…," McGee stammered, quailing under Gibb's burning look.
"Tony, Ziva find her, bring her in. McGee I want you to requisition the on-base security tapes, we're going to find out who did this. "
Like a well-oiled machine his team snapped into action. His two field agents grabbed their gear and headed for the elevator, clipping on their side arms. Gibbs allowed himself a small smile as he watched them walk away. The partners turned husband and wife team were nothing if not efficient. He'd been worried at first having two of his agents married. But the worry had been short lived. If anything they worked better together now that they were married. Unlikely pair though they might be.
Meanwhile McGee typed furiously at his computer his brow furrowed with concentration. Gibbs knew he would find the tapes and requisition them. He would probably find out which guards were responsible for monitoring the tapes, and where the tapes had been made and manufactured as well. McGee embodied efficiency. Always one step ahead.
Ducky and Palmer would be nearly done with the autopsy. The young medical aid was learning quickly from his far more experienced, wise, father like figure. They also worked well together.
Abby in the meantime would be down in her laboratory-lair figuring out every intimate detail about that gun. She would not only when it was last fired, but where it had come from, who had last handled it and if they had any pets. That was sweet, wonderful, hype active Caf-Pow addicted, Abby.
This was his team. These were his allies. They would find out who had committed this murder and they would take him down. Leroy Jethro Gibbs did not lead a team of sluff-off's. His team may not be perfect. They may have their oddities; their unique quirks. But they were, fearless in the face of adversity. Ruthless when it came to defending the innocent, and catching the perpetrators of heinous crime. Merciless when it came to meting out justice. They were, to a man, the most efficient, hard-working, capable team a senior field agent could ask for. They were NCIS and they were his team.
Ducky looked up when the door to the autopsy room swished open.
"Ah Jethro, just in time. Come see what I've found" he said pleasantly, his intelligent, educated, voice cutting through the soft classical music playing in the background.
"Jimmy, the music if you please," Ducky requested.
"What've ya got for me Duck?" Gibbs asked coming to stand next to the older gentlemen.
"This young man had a rough go of it I'm afraid. See these marks right here…" he pointed with a scalpel at a wash of deep purple and blue bruises that spread across the dead sailors ribcage and side.
"Beaten, Duck?"
"Yes I'm afraid so. The damage is quite severe. It continues on his backside as well. It's amazing this young man was able to function at all. He wasn't just beaten up Jethro. He was tormented to within an inch of his life." Ducky said looking down at the young man with profound empathy.
"By who, Duck?" Gibbs asked, following Ducky to the other side of the table.
"We don't know, at least not yet. Abby is working on it in her lab."
Gibbs nodded and turned to go.
"It looks like an initiation rite of some sort Jethro…." Ducky called, stopping the other man mid stride. He turned back, narrowing his blue-gray eyes.
"Yes. I was just getting to that. You really should learn some patience Jethro….."
Leroy Jethro Gibbs was not a patient man. Still he respected the medical examiner more than most.
Suitably chastised Gibbs moved back towards the table coming to stand next to the older gentlemen.
"What've you got for me Duck?" He asked surprisingly contrite, fixing Ducky with his best I'm-listening look.
Ducky wasn't fooled for an instant, but he pursed his lips and tolerated Gibb's ill-concealed impatience.
"Look here….See this mark…." The ME said pointing to an oddly formed mark on the sailor's chest, just over where his heart was.
"I almost nicked it when I was performing my evaluation. Luckily I saw it in time. "He continued, while Gibbs scrutinized it with narrowed eyes.
The skin was red and inflamed, the mark seared into his flesh, in an odd design. It appeared to be fairly recent.
"Is that what I think it is, Duck?
"I'm afraid so… and look here… the marks on his wrists only confirmed my fears. This sailor was bound and branded before he died."
"Do we know what it means?"
"I'm afraid not. It's certainly not like anything I've ever seen before, in all my study of histories and societies both ancient and modern. It's not Masonic that's for sure, though some branches of that particular sect did require their initiates to receive a brand to show their true faith. That practice has since been disavowed and is no longer a part of mainstream Freemasonry. There are probably some fanatical sects that still practice the art of branding, albeit quietly. "
"It's also not the mark of any gang that we know of. Some of them also are known to require branding. Tattooing has become the more popular practice in today's day and age amongst religious fanatics and the large groups of imbalanced, unguided, youth that call themselves gangs."
"Did you know, Jethro, that branding is considered amongst the ultimate acts of courage amongst the followers of these groups? They essentially require one to burn the symbol of his faith into himself. It is considered even more of an act of courage, bravery, and commitment if the person interested in joining can do it without screaming. Of course very few can. Interestingly enough most gang members and initiates don't ever receive brands. Most don't have the stomach for it." It's incredibly painful you know?" Ducky said, sinking easily into his knowledge of history, not even realizing that he had spiraled off onto a tangent. It wasn't until he looked up and saw that Jethro had quietly slipped away, that he trailed off into silence.
With his hands in his trouser pockets he regarded the sailor on his table with a mixture of sympathy and understanding.
"What is it that drove you to have a rod of flaming hot steel pressed into your chest? What is it that drove you to endure so much pain? So much unfathomable agony." Ducky questioned the man with soft reverence. He stood for a moment regarding the still, lifeless form on his table. Then abruptly he moved to his side, taking hold of the white sheet that would cover him.
"Well in any event...You'll tell us soon enough." He said pulling the sheet up to cover his face.
"Mr. Palmer. Tchaikovsky if you please." Duck said after he had washed his hands and moved to his desk.
Palmer, who had been watching the interaction silently as he worked on sterilizing Ducky's tools, straightened with a slight half smile. Right away Doctor," He said pleasantly and soon the sounds of violins singing the third movement of Tchaikovsky's violin concerto filled the autopsy room.
