Chapter 4
Tim walked as quietly as possible through the galleries; his footsteps sounding loud in his ears nonetheless. Barnes, if he heard him, would likely think he was another security guard…and that caused him to regret having abandoned his badge. Still, maybe he could turn this to his advantage.
Ziva's cell phone vibrated. She put it close to her ear. "Tony! Where are you?" she hissed.
"Where I'm supposed to be! Where are you?"
"Right where I said I would be."
"Well, isn't that specific?"
"I can do without the snark, Tony. McGee is much better company than you are."
"Is McUnderwear there with you?"
"Not at the moment…he is pursuing Barnes. I am attending to a security guard who was knocked out."
"He's gone off alone?"
"Yes, he said he wanted to complete his undercover assignment by himself."
"Did he, now? Well, well, well…"
Cautiously, Tim peered into the entrance to gallery #205, at the far southwest end of the museum, which housed WWII aircraft. From a mural on the far wall, a squadron of B17 "flying fortresses" seemed to come right at him. If there were small models here…and Tim had never explored the museum thoroughly, to his regret…they would probably be irresistible to Barnes.
The lights were dimmed a bit to save energy in nighttime. Around 9 p.m. the cleaning crew would come through, and at midnight, the lights would be reduced even more. Tim hoped they wouldn't be here anywhere near that late, for the day had been unbearably long already. How many hours ago did I confront Patrician and discover Gibbs…?
His hand near his firearm, Tim eased into the gallery, which appeared to be devoid of all but the exhibits—a Zero, a Spitfire, a P-51 Mustang, and other planes; cases of ammunition, uniforms, and—
Tim suddenly saw movement near the uniforms displays. Of course! Something fairly easy to smuggle out (try doing that with a real airplane!). Think, Tim! What are you going to say to him?
Momentarily, Tim was afraid for his life. He blinked, and calmed himself by hoping the person would turn out to be with the cleaning crew. Yes, that would be funny. Afraid of someone who was armed with a mop and a pail. Stop, or I'll mop!
But then Tim got a glimpse of the man. It was Barnes, without a doubt. He was about to cut the sensors around the uniforms exhibits. Act, Tim! You wanted to go undercover. You told Gibbs you could act, and bluff your way through any situation.
You said you were creative. You said you had a mind full of actions that could fit any scenario. You had confidence in yourself, and you wanted him to see that. You wanted to do this to fulfill missing ksa's (knowledge, skills and abilities) in your job performance. You wanted to be a solid all-around field agent, promotion material some day.
You wanted to prove to everyone that you could do it, and carry the assignment all the way through.
So, act!
"Hey!" he called out. It was the first idea that came into his head, and probably wasn't the best one, but he didn't have the luxury of being able to stop and make choices. He had to trust his instincts.
Barnes looked around, and froze.
Tim remembered that he was wearing a nice suit, and that gave him and idea. "You here for the CNO's dinner, too? My name's Mallory. Timothy Mallory, Lieutenant. Assigned to the USS Kennedy." (Dang. I hope he doesn't realize that the Kennedy is thousands of miles away right now.)
Then he realized his mistake. Barnes wore the guard's shirt, and had on black trousers that would go unnoticed by someone only giving him a casual glance. "I beg your pardon, sir. I didn't realize you worked here. Some of us asked, and were given permission to explore…are you repairing that exhibit?"
"Uh, yes…yes! I'm putting the coat back on the mannequin. It had fallen off somehow." He lifted the jacket that was in his hands.
"Isn't that usually a job for the curator?"
"I help out. You know? The curators, they're overworked. The Smithsonian needs to hire more, but they won't. It's not in the budget."
"I see," Tim smiled.
"You're Navy."
"Yes, sir."
"You into collecting?"
Tim saw the gleam in his eyes, and had no doubt that Barnes had remembered his name. Barnes had been careful not to give his own name, but was probably thinking of an opportunity.
"If it's war memorabilia, then I'm your man. I favor Navy stuff, but any service war things will do; I can always trade Army or Air Force things."
"Well, friend; how would you like to make a little money?"
"How do you figure?"
"I know people who would pay really good money for this complete uniform…serious collectors. I, uh, have a spare with me, professionally made. We can put it on the mannequin and the switch probably won't be discovered for a long time."
"What do you want me to do?" Tim asked warily.
"I have to get out the main door. All the other exits will be alarmed at this hour. I need you to provide a diversion so someone in a guard's uniform can get out."
"Why don't you just wait until your shift is over?"
"I'm too nervous. I don't want to be around here any longer than is necessary."
That's for sure. That real guard won't stay unconscious for long. "So what's in it for me?"
Barnes smiled. "A cut of the proceeds. You just give me your card, friend, and I'll get in touch with you." Barnes stuffed the uniform into a small duffel bag.
"I don't think so," said Tim, reaching for his gun. "Federal agent. You're under arrest."
But Barnes moved faster than Tim had thought, and had his gun out before Tim did. Slowly, Tim raised his hands in surrender, mentally kicking himself—hard. Willingness was not enough. Undercover assignments were hard, and dangerous. They didn't always succeed. Sometimes agents died.
"Hold it right there!"
Tim was stunned by the familiar voice that came from behind him. He didn't turn around.
Barnes, though, broke into a grin, and lowered his gun. "How did I do, Gibbs?"
"Not bad, Boynton. Not bad." Gibbs strolled forward, into Tim's peripheral vision. Ziva and Tony were with him.
Gibbs put a hand on Tim's shoulder. "Breathe, McGee, before you turn blue," he chuckled.
"You set me up?" Tim asked incredulously. He followed it with a statement. "You set me up!"
The van pulled into Navy Yard. "Yes, McGee, you were set up," Ziva responded for the third time, still smiling.
"And you passed. With flying colors, mostly," said Gibbs. "You'll do better next time."
"But, I don't understand…"
Tony had beaten them back to NCIS, driving his own car. "Congratulations, McSpook!" He even applauded, gathering curious looks from other NCIS workers. Gibbs' team was a little hard to figure out sometimes.
"Can you please explain to me…"
"You wanted an undercover assignment. Badly. Unfortunately, we thought that might be how it would go for you. Badly," said Gibbs. "So, the Director and I came up with this idea, and brought DiNozzo and David in on it."
"Gibbs was never kidnapped," said Tony. "He spent all of his time in a nice hotel, until you closed in on Patrician's location. Then we got him tied up and had a little make-up applied to simulate bruises."
"Nice hotel," Gibbs grunted. "Found a boat-building channel on the cable TV."
"We let you do most of the detective work in finding him," Tony continued. You found Patrician's location, you didn't let us talk you out of—"
"Wait, wait! Back up the bus!" Tim cried, still in shock. "Patrician isn't really a—"
"A crook? A comic book shop owner? No, Patrician is his brother-in-law's name. That's who really owns the shop. You met Grant Smith, an agent out of the CRFO office. In town, visiting family."
"But…there was no case?"
"Nope."
"No stolen Navy artifacts?"
"None."
"Gibbs was never kidnapped?"
"It was all a ruse, McGee," said Ziva. "To test how you would do undercover."
At the crestfallen look on Tim's face, Tony said, calmly, "Look, Probie. I don't blame you for being a little mad. But you have to earn your stripes to be considered for a job like this. We really weren't sure you could carry it off, so it was decided to give you a test."
"Did I pass?" Tim asked, shakily, fearing the answer.
"Not at first," said Tony. "Well, you were good at getting Tim out, but then you kind of goofed in just letting Patrician go—"
"Yeah, I did," Tim admitted, feeling his face turning red.
"—which is why Gibbs blew up at you. He wasn't going to come right out and say it, but—"
"—You were so close, McGee!" Gibbs interrupted. "So damn close! And you blew it! You let your relief at 'rescuing' me cloud your judgment. You should have gotten me out, and then arrested 'Patrician'."
"Sorry," Tim mumbled, before remembering that that was an expression Gibbs didn't like to hear.
Gibbs ignored it. "Vance then wanted to call the whole thing off. Not everyone is good at undercover. There's no shame in it."
Yeah, but that's not exactly a career-builder.
"But I knew you wanted it so badly you could taste it. That's the kind of spirit that makes a really good agent. When you stormed away, I could tell it was because you expected perfection. I don't expect that, but I like my people to try for it."
"So the boss and I went to Vance to plead your case for you," said Tony. "Vance really had his mind made up. We had to argue and argue."
"And before they went to Vance's office, they told me that if you came back and decided, on your own, to fix your mistakes, then I was to let you do that. Encourage you, if that seemed right," said Ziva.
"You insisted on coming with me," Tim grumped. "Is that 'encouragement'?"
"You still had not passed the test, McGee. Going without back-up, even for an experienced undercover agent, is not a wise idea."
"McGee, you tanked big time on your first chance to go undercover, remember? You didn't have the guts back then," Tony added.
"This isn't, and can't be, about what you want, McGee," said Gibbs. "Our job is to get the work done. We have to utilize people who have the necessary skills."
"I know boss," Tim sighed. "So, Barnes—he's not really Barnes, either?"
"Carl Boynton, newly assigned to the Pentagon office. A little theatre actor in his spare time. The security guard was in on it, too; pretending to be knocked out. So was the head of security."
"I don't think the CNO knew…that was just a nice little coincidence," said Tony.
Tim paced, lost in thought for a moment. "Well…did I pass? You said I passed, right?"
Gibbs smirked. "You get points off for letting 'Barnes' get the drop on you. But other than that, you thought on your fee, and accomplished the job by yourself. Good job." He shook Tim's hand.
Tim laughed in surprise. "I passed." He then whooped. "I passed! I passed!"
"Yeah, well, come down out of the clouds, McActor. We have another undercover assignment coming up, and you'll fit the bill."
"Oh, really?" Tim asked, while Gibbs looked quizzical.
"Yeah. It's as a quality tester in a potato chip factory."
"Tony…"
"Don't like that? Well, there's talk of another assignment, that one of us might have to dress up as a call girl, and Ziva has already turned that down…"
"Tony…!"
"You're around your dog a lot. Think you can impersonate a German shepard?"
"I'm going home. Good night!"
"Good night, McCover!" Tony and Ziva chorused, and Gibbs only grinned.