Nels Johansson stood at the high window on the second floor of the old house, looking out at the clouds sweeping across the sky as if in a long invading navy, sailing over this southern Maryland town. So much can be accomplished now; more than I'd dreamed of, so soon. The original host is gone, true, and recovery of the body seems less and less likely. But—there is the second generation now. And that is exciting.

Yes, inside the bodies of the two men, my creation is growing. It will multiply, bringing new life then connect its parts, and finally transmit its signals, just as I have created them to do. And then, in this alpha stage, I'll be able to start my plans to interrupt military transmissions...unless governments capitulate to me. And they will; oh, they will.

The brain remains a stumbling block, however. Too high production of the circuitry will overwhelm the brain—that was probably the cause of Peskarev's death. Too low production, and the circuitry will age, wither and die in the body before becoming useful, before being capable of transmitting. The choice, then, would be to aim high.

If the brain kills the host, well, then, there are many other possible hosts.

But these two! A decorated, high-ranking Navy officer, and a genius-level computer-tech special agent—how much havoc could be generated using them? Particularly the special agent—mixing software-defined radio capability with his rapidly-moving mind—this might be the initial fusion of human and machine that had been spoken of, and longed for, for centuries...

He signaled to an aide who was standing at the door. "Nell, prepare the lab for the first of our subjects."

This old house was a wise investment...since the former owners reinforced the place to support the weight of their many bookcases, I can easily do my lab work on any floor. And I may wind up with a number of subjects at once, so the equipment of keeping them in useful condition is not trivial in weight. The in-law apartment in the sub- basement is only a stop-gap measure. When the pens are built, then we'll see...

- - - - -

"Jen, I don't know about this...you know I prefer to work alone." Gibbs gave supervisory special agent Klara Schultz a no-offense nod from his seat to the right of the Director's desk. She eyed him back; showing her classic, squinty, almost goofy smile that she reserved for the times when she wasn't about to throttle someone, particularly someone menacing her team.

"Your team is more than capable, Jethro," the Director said patiently. "But as I just said, you're down one man, and I have the Secretary of the Navy breathing down my neck about his missing base commander..."

Breathing down my neck... Gibbs didn't quite successfully hide a smirk when Schultz snorted. At least Schultz had a winning, if sometimes salacious, sense of humor.

Jenny ignored both of them. "...so Klara's team will be working with yours on this. Find Alvarez—and McGee, of course—and fast."

- - - - -

Schultz and her team brought their chairs down to Gibbs' team's area in the squad room. Gibbs wondered, silently, for at least the fiftieth time, why there wasn't a media-equipped conference room right off the squad room that they could use. Going upstairs seemed to mean losing the personal ties the teams had to their workspace; the comforts and well-worn-in equipment that served them day to day.

Tony had made room for the poised and lovely special agent Balere LeBeouf at his desk, as he always did. She treated him kindly, as always, and delicately ignored his double entendres, as always. Mickey Power sat with Ziva. A former Chicago inner-city cop, he appreciated her rough-and-tumble ways, and she, his. Joe Wicker, the senior agent and most quiet one, took Tim's seat, and no one begrudged him that; Joe was the closest friend Tim had at NCIS, outside his own team.

"This started out as your case, Gibbs," said Schultz. "You take the lead."

"Okay. Mind you, we're still a little busy trying to corral the effects of this infection and a possible antidote; Ducky and Abby are going full steam on that. We're also trying to trace these so-called Nells. What your team can best do is track Alvarez' connections. Somehow these people knew when Alvarez was here. I get the feeling everything comes back to Anacostia. Find the leak, or the bad apple, there."

"Have you talked to the lieutenant's coworkers at the base?" asked Balere.

"Just barely. You've read the reports we filed. Everything we've done so far is in there."

"All right; it's 5 o'clock now," said Schultz. "Let's plan on working until 8, and then we can grab dinner. How about that Belgian place? You know the one. We'll meet you there then."

Gibbs kept his frown to himself as Schultz and her team departed for Anacostia. Schultz had a different work style than he did. She kept her people happy by scheduling downtime; he instead would prefer to work until it was expedient to stop. But the teams would have to work together, so he could put up with this, for awhile.

- - - - -

In their captive apartment, Tim had turned on the TV to a local station to get the 5 o'clock news. MacGyver, yeah, right...I wonder if I could take apart this TV for any useful parts without getting caught? Maybe. Without getting electrocuted? Doubtful. I'm not much of a hardware guy in more than theory...

Alvarez tapped his shoulder to drag his attention back to the TV. The news was reporting the kidnapping of a Navy commander, 'believed to have been staged by a terrorist group'. Well, not really, but fine. 'Terrorism' was a simple but powerful term that brought in viewers. People would sooner believe in stereotypical masked terrorists with assault rifles than believe in mad women named Nell.

Well, so would I, Tim thought, after a moment. Such a sweet, old-fashioned name 'Nell' was...

The report didn't mention that an NCIS special agent had also been kidnapped. Tim didn't particularly mind; he knew that special agents were ordinary, and he liked it that way.

Now they were showing a press conference with the Director. She didn't often do press conferences—this one was in front of the NCIS building; Tim knew she'd allow the Press inside only over her dead body—but there she was; the lowering sun behind her as she grimly faced the sea of microphones and cameras.

"Part of NCIS' mission is to serve notice on those who would harm or threaten our courageous men and women of the Navy and the Marine Corps," Jen was saying. "We will not rest until this matter is solved, Commander Enrique Alvarez is found, and his abductors are brought to justice."

Tim suddenly felt afraid; very much afraid, and he turned away, shaking. Not remembering his train of thought from just a moment ago, he began wildly speculating that the reason she hadn't mentioned him was because she'd already written him off as a loss, and certainly wouldn't expend any of the agency's meager funds in this cash-strapped decade of "continuing resolutions" to look for him. He started crying and found he couldn't stop.

"Tim?" Alvarez said hesitantly. He hadn't witnessed many of Tim's crying jags and didn't know how to respond. "Here, Tim; let's listen to what Jenny has to say. She's spitting out boilerplate. We can tear it apart; wouldn't that be fun? I often do that sort of thing. Not just with Jenny, of course. With all the blowhards."

Tim shook his head, and tried to make himself into a ball as he cried. Alvarez sighed, removed his jacket, rolled up his shirt sleeves and then rummaged in the refrigerator for the makings of dinner for the two of them.

- - - - -

It was dark when the two teams met at the Belgian restaurant north of the Navy Yard, joined by Abby and Ducky. The atmosphere was welcoming, but the mood not entirely bright.

Tony picked at the appetizer of tomatoes stuffed with shrimp. "The phone numbers, the addresses, everything on the business cards the Nells have given us are fake. I feel like we're spinning our wheels."
"They're con artists. Did you really expect real contacts?"
"Are you going to eat that?"
"I talked to an E-2 who said there'd been scientists in and out of the base since February or March."
"Is that suspicious?"
"Miss? Can I get another one of these beers? St. Bernardus?"
"It's suspicious because there hasn't been a new research project since the Eberly one finished in December. Most of the research has migrated to Norfolk."
"But surely some work is still done at Anacostia?"
"Some. But we're talking repeat visits by three scientists, and one in particular."
"DiNozzo; get your own appetizers!"
" 'One in particular?' "
"Ducky, dear, could you pass me the sugar?"
"For you, Balere, it would be a pleasure."
"Yes, there was, or is, a scientist who has been seen a lot. Big Nordic type. Friendly enough; seems harmless."
"What's he doing there?"
"No one seems to be clear. I haven't gone far enough up the chain to find out."
"Does anyone want the rest of my asperges op z'n vlaams? They're really good, but I want to save room for my entree."
"I wish you'd thought of that before I ordered!"
"Any luck on the chain of Nells?"
"Yeah; just before we came over here. I tell you, this case gets weirder and weirder..."
"What? Spit it out, Tony!"
"Who ordered the St. Bernardus? And the Leffe Blonde?"
"Over here, miss. Thank you!"
"You know that it was McGee who compiled the list of Nells this morning? Seven Nells to Lieutenant Peskarev? Sounds like a movie."
"Tony..."
"I'm getting there! Anyway, I just got through two on the list. Two of the Nells—Nell Bullfinch, the English teacher, and Nellie Johnson, from her school drama club—never existed."
"You're joking!"
"Guys—can I have your attention for a moment?"
"What for, Abby?"
"We're having a nice time here, and the food is great. But I'd like to make a toast to the people who aren't here with us tonight: Tim and Commander Alvarez."
" 'To McGee, and Alvarez'."

The words rose like a storm.

- - - - -

The bolts on the in-law apartment door rattled, and a cheerful older woman, one of those behind their abduction, came in, followed by two sterner looking women with guns. "Hello, dears," said the first woman. "It is time. One of you will be going through the first range of tests. Neither of you are bothered by electroshocks, are you? Or by very large needles?" Her grin was most unpleasant.

- - - - -

To be continued...