An Affair to Remember

by

Lancer47

AKA

STFarnham

See Chapter One for Disclaimer & Notes

Chapter Four

Las Vegas

Late Thursday Morning

-- -- --

I woke up from a sound sleep feeling contented, well rested, and at one with world. I looked over at Jennifer, my wife for a few more days anyway, as she opened her eyes and smiled at me.

"And how are you this fine morning Mrs. Giles?" I asked with a broad grin.

"I'm excellent, Mr. Giles, and hungry, I might add."

"I'm not at all surprised, we certainly must have burnt up quite a few calories last night. Shall we bathe and find some food?"

"Works for me."

Neither one of us was ready to continue our frantic love-making into the morning, the energy just wasn't there. But we did have a languid, exploratory bath in the most peculiarly shaped tub I had ever seen. After the bath, she took an interest in my shaving – watching me carefully run my freshly stropped blade up my neck and over my chin. It was strangely intimate. When I suggested that she allow me to shave her legs sometime, she actually started to hyperventilate. I could feel my own pulse increasing, too.

Afterwards, we went down to breakfast. This time we went all out: Eggs Benedict, coffee, orange juice, cantaloupes, bacon, a variety of breads, it just went on and on and the company made everything taste even better than usual. Then we decided to take a stroll around the gardens to work off the food.

oo oo oo

As we walked around the botanical garden, I was thinking about my night with Rupert, I mean, how could I not? I hadn't had a night like that in too long to think about. So when my damned phone buzzed I was very put out. But, duty calls, so I answered, "Shepherd."

I listened for a minute then replied, "Keep me informed Gibbs, call Agent Smith any time day or night when you have updates." And hung up. Important to know about an attack in Virginia, yes. Did I need to know all the details? No. Did I need to fly back? No. Excellent, I thought.

-- -- --

As we trod the path through the flower display, I was thinking about my night with Jenny, I mean, how could I not? I hadn't got my ashes hauled like that in too long to think about. So when my damned phone rang I was very put out. But, duty calls, so I answered, "Giles."

I listened for a minute then replied, "Keep me informed Xander, call Faith any time day or night." And hung up. Important to know about an attack in Virginia, yes. Did I need to know all the details? No. Did I need to fly back? No. Excellent, I thought.

oo oo oo

I decided the rest of the weekend would truly be a vacation. I asked Rupert to clear his schedule, and I would do the same. I put my phone on 'Take a Message', then I added Agent Smith's number to my recorded message, then I signaled Agent Smith over and instructed him to answer all calls, forward anything to me that he felt couldn't wait until Tuesday morning, but otherwise don't bother me. I would only answer his calls, that way, I wasn't completely out of touch, but with any luck, I wouldn't be bothered for anything less than a direct attack on a Navy ship. He nodded expressionlessly, and said he would pass the word to the others. Then Rupert and I disappeared into our room and didn't come out until Monday morning.

-- -- --

I called Faith on her cell and told her not to bother me until Monday morning for anything less than an apocalypse, and even then, only if it was imminent. She laughed knowingly and told me to have fun. Dawn and the rest of the junior Slayers had already left for Cleveland, a quick look at my inbox showed nothing important, so I closed the door behind me, closed the computer, and joined Jen. We didn't come out of the room until Monday.

- -

Washington Navy Yard, NCIS Office

Friday Morning

Gibbs stalked off the elevator with his ever-present coffee cup in hand. He took a sip, realized it was cold, and tossed it into a trash can. He held out his hand and McGee passed on a hot cup.

"OK people, what do we have?"

McGee said, "According to young Ms. Crandell, they were attacked by two people, a man and a woman, wearing Halloween vampire masks. They were a very violent couple, and she doesn't remember all the details of the attack, but eventually they were driven off, the girl helping the injured guy. She tried to claim they'd brought the shotgun, but in fact, it was Harrison Crandell's. Like many Marine officers, he's fascinated by guns and has a nice collection. He just bought this one a couple of days ago, a used Browning 12 gage over-and-under Superposed. He paid $1800.00 for it. I'm really surprised he wasn't able to kill the home-invaders with it."

"Isn't that kind of an expensive gun for a junior officer?" asked Ziva.

Gibbs said, "A Marine Captain can afford toys like that, especially if they're single and don't have too many other expensive hobbies."

"Oh. OK," said Ziva, "Captain Harrison Crandell should be out of ICU today. His condition has been upgraded to 'Guarded'. I expect to interview him this afternoon. I'll check out his finances this morning. And, as you know, we found little Samantha Crandell last night. She escaped without injury but she's with her sister at the hospital right now; they need to find someplace to stay. The hospital has been making noises about them being there unnecessarily."

"Ask the older sister, she would surely know if there's some other relative around. Otherwise, call Child Protective Services."

"OK. Tony and I have been investigating the senior Crandells. So far, nothing jumps up, no surprising expenses. They lived within their means; between the two of them, their means are pretty good, were, I guess I should say. Bank accounts and phone records seem perfectly normal. We're still digging, but I think I'd be very surprised if they we're involved in anything illicit."

Tony agreed, "Yeah, we're still looking, but so far they look about as aboveboard as anyone living near Washington DC could be."

Ziva wondered, "Could there be anything at Sealift Command? Some sort of blackmail or spy stuff?"

"Hmm," said Gibbs, "I doubt it. Sealift command moves Naval cargo and supplies around the world, it's a pretty dull operation as far the Navy is concerned. That's not to say that it isn't important, it's just not an adventure. I doubt they have all that many secrets either. Communication codes would be about the only thing I would worry about. Although, some of their cargo includes things like munitions, so theft and security is always a worry."

Ziva picked up the evidence bag with the two business cards. "This is interesting, but it may be irrelevant. This organization, Council Antiquities, Ltd., is a private company, based in London, England, that deals in antiques. Particularly very ancient ones. They have expertise in ancient languages and sometimes fund Archaeological digs. Museums know who they are – they do a lot of authenticating. They also get involved in negotiating between Museums and governments when there are allegations of theft involving artifacts. But most surprising, they run a series of boarding schools for gifted girls; but they are consistent, I have yet to find anyone who knows much about these schools."

Gibbs asked with a frown, "How did an antiques company end up running boarding schools?"

"No idea, boss. What's even more disturbing is that Council Antiquities is in turn funded by an outfit called The International Council of Watchers. The ICW, also based in England, is even more secretive. But, they've been called in by government agencies – including our government – to consult. About what I haven't been able to find because it's so highly classified, whatever it is. The only undisputed fact that I could find is they are a very old organization. Like centuries old. Even weirder, some of the British Government Officials that I talked to suggested that I don't inquire any further – as if they were somehow off limits."

McGee looked up, "Oh ho! Shades of conspiracy theories! Are you sure you haven't been reading the Weekly World News?"

"No, McGee. One card says 'Dawn Summers'. She's the newly appointed vice-president in charge of Research and Acquisitions. Seems awfully young for the job, but I'm told she's very good. She recently graduated from Oxford University with a doctorate in Ancient Languages. The other, Rupert Giles, took over as CEO a few years back, after a terrorist bombing in London took out almost all of the people at the Council Headquarters. They've been rebuilding ever since."

Tony frowned thoughtfully. He walked over to Ziva's desk and looked at the evidence bag. He said, "Rupert Giles. I just saw that name somewhere, where was it?"

Everyone looked blank.

"Got me," said McGee.

Ziva lifted her eyebrows and shrugged.

Gibbs said, "Should you think of something, you will let us know?"

"Yeah."

"OK," said Gibbs, "while this Antique Firm seems interesting, and is certainly worth following up, there is no indication that they are involved in home invasions, is there?"

A chorus of "No's," echoed around the cubicles.

"OK, so, is there any evidence that points to the actual perpetrators?"

"Well," said Ziva, "there are some fingerprints that don't belong to the family. One we identified as a petty officer third-class Zimmers. He was a cook whose last duty station was in Boston. But, according to our records, he died four months ago. Some kind of accident with a cooking utensil that resulted in him bleeding to death. His fingerprints being found at a recent crime scene in Virginia is just bizarre. His prints were on top of others, and they looked fresh. I mean, you know how old fingerprints get harder and harder to lift, these were easy. I'm leaning towards database error."

"Death by a cooking accident? How likely is that?" asked Tony.

"It wasn't a cooking accident, it was a cooking utensil accident. It occurred in a friend's garage, apparently while he was cleaning a charcoal grill."

"Yeah, that doesn't sound any more reasonable," said DiNozzo.

McGee tapped away industriously at his computer. After a minute or so he looked up and said, "There is one connection: Zimmer was a cook at the Boston Navy Yard. Our Captain, who was recently promoted, was the Executive Officer at the Navy Yard at same time. He got new orders to the Pentagon about ten months ago. They only thing is, that's pretty darn tenuous. Zimmer would likely know the name of the Executive Officer, but the reverse is probably not true. I mean, Captain Crandell might well have had reason to talk to the Chief Cook, you know, to approve menus and inspect the kitchens and such, but not with the guy who cooks the vegetables."

"So," said Ziva, "did Zimmer have it in for his old XO? And come down to murder him? I'd think that'd be hard to do while he was dead and buried."

Gibbs said, "Better check his grave, see if the corpse there is actually Zimmer's. Ziva and Tony, go!"

DiNozzo said to Ziva on their way out, "Grave duty, wonderful! You couldn't get us something good, no, you got us on the graveyard shift! Geez Ziva, what did I do to deserve this?"

"Tony, I thought 'graveyard shift' just means the midnight to eight AM work shift."

"It does, I was just doing a play on words."

- -

Tony and Ziva stared glumly at an obviously desecrated grave just outside of Boston. "Do you think there's a body down there?" asked Ziva.

DiNozzo stared at the disturbed soil and bits of broken casket that littered the ground. "It's hard to tell, isn't it? Now if there were such things as vampires, I'd say no, there's no body – a vampire dug his way out of the casket. But there isn't any such thing, is there? So there's only one thing to do; we've got to disinter the body."

"Oh no, no way am I gonna help dig up a grave!" exclaimed Ziva.

"You've been watching too many movies Ziva. We aren't going dig, we're Special Agents. We'll watch while other people dig. People who know how to operate power shovels."

"Oh, yeah, OK. You had me worried there."

"You got your camera? Get some pictures, we need to get a warrant.

It was only a few hours later that the grounds keeper shut off his John Deere backhoe and clambered off the rear seat. He joined the NCIS agents who were peering into the shattered remains of the casket he just unburied and deposited on the ground. They were shaking their heads, and when he looked, he shook his head too. "Damn," he exclaimed, "some sick fuck stole the body!"

- -

Washington Navy Yard, NCIS

Early Tuesday Morning

oo oo oo

I got into my office a six AM, Tuesday. As I started to go through the open case files, bringing myself up-to-date on everything that had happened since I went on vacation, I mused about my 'marriage'. We took care of the annulment on Monday morning. (I opened another case file and read while I simultaneously mused.) It was sad, I think both of us would have liked to continue on, but, me, the Director of NCIS, married to a foreign national? I just didn't think it would work. (I flipped to yet another case.) Of course, if he lived in Washington DC, or Virginia, or anywhere else nearby, I would have made it work. But London? Not possible. But we had each others phone numbers, and maybe in the future ...

"What the hell?" I exclaimed out loud to my empty office. I had reached the Crandell home invasion / murder case. I read through it and found – Rupert Giles' business card at the crime scene? This was going to take some explaining, and worse, some of that explaining was going to have be from me, in the worst case scenario anyway. Let's see, where was Rupert going to be this morning, oh yeah, Cleveland. I dug out his card and found the number.

- -

I was still on Nevada Time, which meant to me this was four in the morning. Except it was seven here in Cleveland. But I was still so buzzed by the previous four days that I couldn't get back to sleep. Ah, Jenny, Jenny, Jenny, I thought, wherefore art thou? I shook my head, no, that was not to be. We were adults, with big responsibilities and no time for halfway-across-the-world romance. It just wouldn't have worked. It was a drug-induced affair that was a lot of fun for a week but had long term difficulties. I got up and sat down at my desk, and opened my laptop. I started to go through the events of the past week, trying to catch up, trying to forget Jen, at least for now. The most important event would have been Heather Crandell. Her parents were murdered and her brother gravely injured right in front of her as she fought off two vampires in her kitchen. Xander and Buffy had retrieved Heather and her little sister; both were now ensconced in the downstairs guest room. Xander plus all the girls in the house were taking turns in relays to provide comfort and human contact to the bereaved sisters. The little one, Samantha, kept asking about her brother. According to the hospital records, which Willow had hacked into, (sigh), Harrison Crandell was out of the ICU and his prognosis was 'full recovery'. So, we could call him. It would do all of them good to talk to each other. Maybe I should extend an invitation to Harrison, but I'd better see what Heather thought first. Maybe she wouldn't be comfortable with him so close to being able to find out about her Slayer duties. On the other, he may already know, or at least suspect something strange.

My cell phone rang. When I saw who was calling, I brightened up considerably. "Jenny my dear, what brings you to call this early?" I said happily into the phone.

"Rupert," she said, a little colder than I expected, "is Heather Crandell one of your 'wayward' girls?"

"Why, uh, yes. Why do you ask?"

"Because one of your business cards was found in the kitchen of her murdered parents."

"Well, that's not surprising. Heather attended our summer program recently, and naturally my card would be there as an emergency contact number. In fact, Heather and her sister are both here, at the Cleveland home, right now. Why are you involved?"

"You have Heather and Samantha Crandell?" she asked. Again, she seemed a little cold to me.

"Yes, they needed someplace to stay while the investigation goes on. Plus, I think it highly unlikely that they will ever want to go back to their house."

"I see." She was thawing a bit. "NCIS is involved because both of Heather's parents were active duty Naval Officers, and Harrison is an active duty Marine Officer."

"Really? I didn't know that," I said, "have you made any progress on the investigation?"

"You know I can't talk about that."

"Oh yes, yes, of course, but I just wondered... Well, never mind," I said.

"OK, I'll get back to you later, Rupert."

"Goodbye Jenifer," I said.

I sat back in my chair, stared out the window, and thought about the implications of this development. This could be a very sticky wicket.

oo oo oo

I sat at my desk and stewed. But the more I thought about it, the more it seemed just a massive coincidence. I hoped. My phone rang. "Yes?"

"Director!" sang Abbey, "you're back! I'll be right up!" and she hung up without giving me a chance to answer.

A minute later Abbey sailed into my office, clanking moderately, with a manila folder in her hands.

"Good morning, Abbey," I said, "do you have the blood test results?"

"Yep. She laid a couple of papers on my desk. "I ran our standard tests, and I came up negative for any of the abnormal things we might be looking for. Everything seemed hunky dory, so I put it on the back burner. Till this weekend when I studied the numbers. You understand, it all looks normal, except one thing. You see the GHB level?" She pointed at a graph, "It's absolutely at the average normal level in the blood and urine sample for both you and Mr. Giles."

"Wait, I don't understand, I thought GHB was a drug? I didn't know there were normal levels."

"Well actually, every cell in our body contains gamma-hydroxybutyrate. It's classified as both a nutrient and a neuro-transmitter and is probably necessary for life – the precise mechanisms are not fully understood though. It's when you start adding more than you're supposed to have that strange things happen – everything from a good nights sleep, to a certain amount of loopiness, to forgetfulness, and finally, if you're really unlucky and ingest way more than you should, death. That's the side effect responsible for making it a controlled substance." Abbey danced a little as she explained, then did a quick ballet style death scene at the end.

"Oh," I said. "Somehow I missed that, I thought it was just a date-rape drug."

"Oh it is, in the right amount – or wrong amount, really. It also has a number of legitimate medical uses, so when used properly, it's good stuff."

"OK, so continue, what's the problem with the samples?" I asked.

"First, understand that normal levels are really very low compared to induced levels. So when I saw that the levels I measured were in the normal range, it didn't raise any red flags. Now in the saliva sample the GHB ratio was just a touch high. It's still in the normal range, you understand, so it doesn't really mean anything. Except, one problem, the ratio between the samples should all be exactly the same. There is no earthly reason for the GHB ration in saliva sample to be different from the blood and urine samples, unless you had just ingested some within the previous few minutes. But that makes no sense, if you had ingested any, it would have been the night before, right?"

"Right," I nodded, starting to feel like my world was going to come apart.

"So I got the original samples out of the evidence locker and ran the tests again. This time, all came out at exactly the correct ratio, across the board. All within the high end of normal range. This would normally mean nothing whatsoever, if it wasn't for the first test, which was different, even though it was from the same sample. Do you see where I'm going with this?"

"Someone tampered with the lab results," I whispered, as I sank into a swamp of miasma.

"Yeah, somebody walked right into my lab and faked the results on my computer! Not good, Director, not good at all! Not only is it gravely dishonest to change lab results, it's criminally irresponsible! And worse yet, if we don't figure out exactly what happened and who did it, it could potentially screw up the chain-of-evidence on other cases, too."

Oh my aching head! "Can you explain to me why someone went to the trouble of changing the results of two out of three samples, when if they had just left well enough alone, we wouldn't have noticed anything wrong?"

"The only thing that fits, Director, is that they thought the GHB levels would prove to be artificially high. Why did they think that? Only because they must have slipped something into your drink the night before and didn't realize that it had already metabolized into normalness by the time you took the samples. Then of course, the fact that they missed one sample could just be because I didn't test the saliva samples until the next day, Sunday morning. Probably didn't expect me to be at work then."

I closed my eyes in pain. Oh Rupert, I thought sadly, did you play me?

- -

TBC

Author's Notes:

OK, that's the end of the easy chapters. The next one (or two, or perhaps three) are much harder to write. For one thing, I know that I need at least one emotionally charged scene, and I'm slow at that kind of dialog. I've already written most of the last chapter, so all I need to do is get from Step 4 to Step 7, but it'll probably be about a week before I get the next chapter ready to post. But hang in there, this story has grabbed me by the short hairs and won't let go until I get it done.

The second note: don't take my science seriously. I researched GHB on the net, then added stuff that sounds good (I hope), so the result is fiction, unless I got it right by accident.