Chapter Eight
Red Flag
At 0800 Gibbs strides through the outer door of the Director's offices, catching Cynthia Sumner out of position by the right wall filing cabinets, not that either her announcement to Shepherd or her attempt to slow him would have any effect. He continues through the inner door at undiminished pace.
"I've decided to install the buzzer lock on that door," Shepherd says.
"Won't help."
"The only thing that stopped me to this point was the suspicion that you're right, but I give you fair warning. Some morning you're going to hit that door and bounce, and the video will go viral."
But this isn't their usual if occasional banter. The woman is stressed, angry and the sunlight shining in through the window behind her sharpens her image. "I got a call from Juliana Ryan."
Gibbs is surprised by the fact that the call came in this morning and not last evening, but the delay and Shepherd's mood tell him the conference of the directors did not go well.
He'd be truly astounded if it had.
"She's up to a million. She loaned us Agent Borin and less than thirty hours later the woman's in GWU Hospital with several broken ribs and will be out of commission for two months."
"Could be dead," places the conversation in worse stead. "Mann came within a few degrees of a broken neck. Two Marines almost died, one of double concussion, the other of a broken sternum which came two and a half inches from slicing his heart. Ziva claims she wasn't hurt but she called this morning and asked for the day off."
That request more than any recounting of the battle they could drag from the woman conveys the seriousness of her condition.
"Do you have Any good news?"
"A trend."
"I'll take it."
"So far everyone we identified, DuBois' shooters, the ones who took Cintron and Fischer and the missing Life Source Tech, had their histories erased, likely by someone like Kamal Konkani used to be. We have them up to the day they left the Service, then they simply vanish. Finances, living arrangements, everything; they drop off the grid and are gone. Not redacted, completely empty. We figure anyone else we meet will be ghosts too."
"Takes a lot."
"McGee tells me it's a hell of a lot more than a twenty second Men in Black sequence. Speaking of movies and redacted, what's up with Karen Wetzel?"
"Karen McKnight starts this morning as one of three Interns in the SECNAV's Pentagon offices. She's to keep her head down and her eyes and ears open."
He doesn't try to picture that. "And report how?"
"If she finds anything," which will mean our suspicions are correct and the Secretary of the Navy is in league with - or actually is - Jackson McGillicuddy, she is to wear red when she leaves for work on a morning. Her apartment house is being observed from a different location each morning and an Agent will contact her at a suitable time, place and manner. Not even I will know the method. I want the agent involved to tell no one how it will be done."
'Agent involved.' He supposes he doesn't need to know. First time in weeks that phrase hasn't rankled. Until they know how McGillicuddy is getting away with so much, he likes secrecy. "Sounds good."
Shepherd's boiling aggravation finally finds a vent, "It sounds like a child's version of a cloak-and-dagger scheme and the psychs agree it'll work only because no Agency would be so naïve as to try it in real life."
"The Beary Smiles School of Espionage."
"Damned right."
Gibbs' phone rings and when he pulls it from his pocket the number is unfamiliar. "Yeah, Gibbs."
He listens for twenty seconds, briefly meets Shepherd's eyes and she picks up her phone, activates the intercom to his bullpen.
Sometimes having a long time partner is invaluable.
ooo
Captain Patrick Kotzain, seated at his office desk, jumps from his chair when the LS alarm, so frigging loud it could be heard in the secure chamber meters below, shrieks at him. It's the first time he's heard it; Tom Benes had had it installed when he was Project Director and he immediately decides the man was either a masochist or deaf. More likely he was one with aspirations of the other.
Unable to yell 'Shut Off That Damned Noise!' - he's alone - he must resort to keyboard commands while wincing and attempting to endure the eardrum pulverizing blast. He silences the klaxon and makes a mental note to have the system ripped out and stomped upon.
He stabs the intercom button for the L.S. chamber, belatedly realizing he has nothing against this device. "What In Hell Was That?"
"Sorry, sir," says an unidentified voice, a failure of protocol but if Kotzain was deafened from so far away he'll forgive the omission this time. "The system seems to be set a little high."
"This is a Top Secret Project, mister." At least it was. "The Kremlin's not supposed to know about it."
"Sorry, sir. But that contact we were to look out for has appeared on the system."
"What was its approach vector?"
"There was no approach," is the astonishing answer. "It appeared at coordinates 42.137-59.496."
Those figures are too familiar. As he calculates the position based upon the last digits of each trio his blood, which had been set on simmer, boils over. At less than six and a third miles, straight line, it's practically on their doorstep.
"Which one was it?" The system had been set to alert them if any of four former members of Project Life Source came into range, something he hadn't believed would ever happen. Most especially he's unhappy with that distance. It's far too close, well in range of nearly every test they've ever run.
"Milton Kotzain. But sir, the contact lasted thirty seven seconds, then it was gone.
"Focus on those coordinates." He's right, he doesn't like them at all. "I'll be right down."
x
There are days when Kotzain appreciates the complexities of reaching the Life Source Chamber, most particularly the long double switchback corridor with the hidden machine gun emplacement, and days when he does not, but when he arrives in the heart of the LS project and looks back and up from the door at the huge screen this is a very bad day.
The outer border of the screen is a vibrant green of ambient life surrounding a long black rectangle.
"I hate that bastard," he says as he pulls out his wallet and draws from it a small white business card. He'd truly hoped he'd seen the last of Special Agent Galbs.
Gibbs.
ooo
When DiNozzo, McGee and Palmer push through the door to Shepherd's office they find the attentions of their bosses locked upon the wall mounted plasma screen and a close-up of Captain Patrick Kotzain,
Gibbs brings them up to date, concluding by handing McGee a sheet of paper. Upon it he'd written 38° 44' 55" N, 76° 57' 21" W. "That Life Thingy can't read the spot where Hagain was. What's down there?" He only cares that it's not far, but he can't place the seconds.
As McGee pulls his modified PDA from his shirt pocket, Kotzain explains that "The contact was brief, in and out in less than a minute. We can see the void area on screen. It measures 427 feet long by 173 wide, but we don't have satellite imagery, just those coordinates."
"We'll take care of that, skipper. You keep watching that area while we get to the real spot. Guide us to it." The map coordinates are a good start, but they need the exact spot.
"No problem. We have the reading on your agent Daneed, we can lock on and – "
"David isn't with us."
His eyes shift to where Palmer stands sees her eyes are wide, her body stiff. But she does shift her eyes to him and he reads apprehension forcibly smothered. Her nod is reluctant but sharp and stiff.
"All right, Captain, lock on to Special Agent Palmer and get us to him."
"We'll be right back, Captain," Shepherd says and her press on the remote control blanks the screen.
Gibbs turns to the stiff woman. "You u–?"
"Yes," is a bleat but he'll take it.
He hadn't wanted to include Palmer, not after last time, but he's down by one and she'll pull together.
God help her if she can't.
x
"We should be doing this in MTAC," is Tony's view, watching his partner's work on the too small screen.
"Not until Cyber Crime gives that place a clean bill," Gibbs declares. They can't shut the system down, it's too important and wide ranging, but let it be used for some other case, not his.
"Boss, I have the location," McGee says, "and I think you're going to hate it."
'How much aggravation?' He turns on the man. "There's nothing about this case that I haven't hated."
"Err, I know, boss, but I wasn't talking to you." He picks up the remote from where Shepherd had set it down, links it to the output of his unit, displays the image and looks to Shepherd. On the screen is a Google image of a vast, spacious area. "Potomac Airfield, Prince George's County, Maryland."
"I truly detest that bastard," she declares.
x
Years ago Potomac Airfield, a fifty acre privately owned airstrip with a single runway, was where James Dempsey and Alex Rudd had held her captive in exchange for James' brother Brian and millions of dollars in drugs.
"I don't think it's not the same building they held you in," McGee reports, "that was Hanger 3," he points out a familiar building that stands well away from its fellows, "but as far as I can tell it is very close, less than half a second in arc."
No one likes this, but it's Tony who gives the issue voice. "With all that open, level ground it's a cinch the method we used last time won't work."
"Ya think, DiNozzo?"
"I'm thinking the approach is going to be a bitch. Last time there were two men and Je – the director kept them distracted and at odds. And it did help that Dempsey shot Rudd. But if it is Jarvis he had access to the reports from back then, knows our techniques; and even if it isn't, McGillicuddy's going to have a Fortress with sentries, booby traps and the works."
"Fortress doesn't cover it," McGee counters. "If they're right about that alloy they spoke of, and it's as thick as they say it has to be, nothing short of a Blockbuster will get through."
"This won't be an assault," Tony concludes, "it'll be a siege."
"We're not going to lay siege to an aircraft hanger for the next three months," Gibbs declares and points to the image on the screen. "We need an updated picture. This tells us nothing."
"I can solve that," Shepherd says, pulling her cell phone from her pocket.
"When we get it," he tells his men - and Palmer, "we set up our assault. In the meantime," he looks hard to Shepherd, "we need an Army."
x
He doesn't get an army yet, he gets another call on his phone. "Gibbs."
/Kotzain. There's been another contact./ The man sounds happier to talk to him than he had before, and he suspects it's a realization of how far ahead these bastards are, coupled with the possibility of finding out what the hell is going on and what happened to Tom Benes. Gibbs activates the speaker, the others will need this. /Not the same one, this is seven individual points which appeared on the screen, moved slowly for a minute, then away from the void area at high speed, heading toward what appears to be a sparsely active road. There's a large area with many contacts not too far away along the same path./
"We think your void is in Potomac Airfield. That'd make the nearest town Fort Washington, Maryland."
/That looks about right. We'll keep a lock on them./
"McGee," he tosses the phone. "Put them together with you. Find where that car's going. Palmer, you drive."
"Yes, sir," she says as McGee communicates his number to Kotzain. She looks a little too relieved for his liking but that conversation will come later. Right now things are moving too rapidly for a proper dressing down.
"DiNozzo, you're with me. We'll take the airfield."
"On your three, boss!" Though it does describe adequately his position in the car, it's taken from Mann's reference earlier so he's so lucky to be out of striking range. For the moment.
"Keep your distance," Shepherd advises. "The air field and surrounding acreage is one huge plane." The pun, if one is intended, is quickly abandoned.
"Just get me my army."
xxx
Having sent Palmer off with McGee, Gibbs knows that the men of Project Life Source will direct them to the vehicle that left Potomac Airfield. He doesn't need high tech guidance to find his target, his focus is in keeping from being found. He has a set of high power binoculars in his trunk and recalls that there is a slight rise some distance from the field. He hopes that it's in a position where he can see what's going on.
DiNozzo's phone sounds as the field comes into sight.
"What's happening, McTourist?" A pause for a wondering frown. "What do you mean you're coming back?"
Gibbs signals him to turn on the speaker.
/-sure we're about a mile from the airfield./
"Where did you go, McGee?"
/According to Kotzain, the truck - it's a moving van we're a block behind - never stopped before they guided us to it. It wandered around and is on its way back. You'd better get out of sight./
"Right."
xx
From their position they have an elevated view of much of the field. When he'd started the final approach he'd parked, they'd left the car and took up positions as far from one another as possible, overlooking the area while maintaining cover.
It is ten minutes later when a white Ryder truck comes into view and drives up to three long buildings, they in sight of Hanger 3 but a considerable distance from the wide plane door. The truck stops beside the middle of a trio of hangers and, through their glasses, they see a uniformed soldier carrying a rifle exit the cab, go to the rear and raise the steel door. Another soldier jumps down and then they both assist another person down. That person, and the two who follow, are harder to see. They do not wear uniforms but their heads are covered by black hoods. Two more armed soldiers jump down from the truck.
The three hooded figures are guided to a door which swings outward and the seven enter.
Less than thirty seconds later Gibbs' phone rings. /Boss, Kotzain reports the seven signals have gone into the void./
"Yeah, we know. Where are you?"
/We stopped outside the entrance to the airfield. There might be surveillance./
"There's an elevation 648 yards from the front left corner. Meet us there."
xx
When the four are together and the target building is in sight of the crouching agents, questions abound.
"When did you catch up to them?" is Gibbs' first.
"They were already headed back," McGee reports, "but Kotzain confirmed that while the truck made a lot of turns it didn't seem to go anywhere and didn't stop."
"There are no windows in that Hanger," Gibbs tells them. "If they need full coverage to block that Life Force thingy, it'd be a tight seal."
"I'm half amazed," Tony says, "that we got the signal about Hagain. I'd think they'd keep everyone inside."
"I don't care if he went out for a smoke, as long as we got him." He doesn't point out that everyone probably goes and comes at will. It was one man who set off the alarm that had only been set the other day, and since the machine at NRL scans square miles at a time one building would otherwise not be noticed until the eggheads had focused upon it.
"There were two men and a woman, bags over their heads," Tony declares, "taken in by four soldiers."
"Those are the three scientists Lamb and his team are tracking with me," Michelle says without fear of contradiction.
"Taken out, driven around, taken back, bags over their heads, no windows in the truck," Tony summarizes. "What do you bet it's a back door, front door gimmick with their families in the back?"
"No bet, DiNozzo. Make them think their families are being held a half hour away, great way to keep them in line."
"But what are they doing," is Tony's question, "and how do we get them out?"
"I arranged with the Director for Marine and Navy Snipers, Delta Force, everything we can get in. We'll fly them right in. If this is start of shift, I want to be ready to hit them at the end.
"If possible, we get CGIS, CID and OSI to back us up."
"And Lamb and Levy?" Michelle asks.
"Wouldn't think of leaving them out."
xxx
Janet Levy hates hospitals in general and Intensive Care Wards in particular, but she fights all emotion from her face - and knows she's failed - as she opens the door to the long unit.
Seven beds extend from the right wall outward and there's a Nurse's station at the far end. Three people are here, a man in the bed closest to the station, an elderly woman two closer and Lisa is in the third from where she stands hesitating. The woman across the ward looks to her, Janet had broken protocol by using the back door, but she pulls the gold shield from her belt and holds it up. The woman returns her attention to the ring binder before her and Janet pushes the shield back onto her belt.
It's not her shield, it's Lisa's, loaned and which she's using in place of her own until her friend is on her feet and back fighting crime.
Now she lays in the third bed down, under white sheet, IV tube taped to her left arm. As Janet steps closer she sees Lisa has been properly groomed, her now blonde hair artfully arranged by someone, and the only things that move are the clear drops that fall from bag to reservoir to ultimately flow into her arm.
The sound Janet can hear most is her own breathing.
"You can wake her." The soft voice at her left announces that the nurse has come beside her but she never heard her. No, she wasn't paying attention, though she supposes a quiet tread is good for staff here.
"I didn't want to disturb her," she says even more softly. "She should rest."
"Trust me, she'll be glad of the company. All people do in here are sleep and get tested."
"Do you…." She finally really looks at the woman, most notably the pin on her uniform. "Nurse Walsh, do you know if she's been told?"
"I'm sorry. Told?"
"About her surgery, what was done?"
"No, I wasn't," comes the soft whisper from the other end of the bed. Janet's heart jumps as Lisa opens her brown eyes, but she can see they're tired. "But you know you will," is her determined whisper.
Janet steps up the space on Lisa's right side. "I'm sorry, honey."
"No, she's right, all I've done since Saturday night was sleep and get punctured."
"Yeah, you slept through Kevin and I on Sunday."
"What day is it now?"
"Monday."
"Bet Kev's chomping at the bit."
She'd love to trade small talk but she has only thirty minutes, twenty whatever now. "How do you feel?"
Lisa slowly moves her right hand below her stomach. "Ache. Feel like someone used my stomach for a punching bag."
"Close enough. Nurse?" The woman had returned to her work. "Can she get some pain killers?"
"I'll check with the doctor."
They both know that's Medspeak for 'not time yet', so they don't bother pressing.
"So, what did Ducky find?" Lisa asks.
"Ducky didn't find anything with you, thank God, but the two guys, plenty is being dug up on them. But the Director gave me strict orders, 'no investigation'. I'm here strictly to ch – to cheer you up."
x
Lisa's eyes go from relaxed to focused. "What?"
"What what?" But she knows the dodge is hopeless, they're professional investigators, interrogators and they know each other too well for too many years.
"You were talking about the surgery. What should I know?"
"Nothing." Those brown eyes harden. "It's noth…." Lisa tries to sit up, always a mistake in ICU, but winces and her hand goes quickly to below her abdomen. "Try to relax. Don't worry about anyth –"
"Damn it, bitch," is grated through clenched teeth. "Answer me."
Nurse Walsh is beside them. "Please, Ms. DuBois, lie still."
"Honey, I'll tell you everything, but please relax."
She complies, not willingly but she does relax and Walsh returns to her station.
x
"Honey… those bullets. They did - they did a lot of damage, more than… more than expected." Her partner's eyes moves from fear to dread.
"What, am I paralyzed?" She moves her feet under the sheet, but even that motion makes her wince.
"No, honey, not paralyzed."
"Damn it, Jan," she whispers, "say it."
"Leese, those bullets tore through… they… your uterus, your ovaries…."
Lisa's eyes go bright. "What are you saying?"
"They had to do a radical hysterectomy."
Her face freezes, eyes stop, lock on hers. Her head drops and her eyes go to the ceiling, the devastation within them terrible to watch.
"I'm sorry," Janet says, wishing she'd never come.
"Hysterectomy?"
It's like if she doesn't take it in it won't be true. "I'm so sorry. They're gone."
Lisa's face would crumple but won't move, her eyes locked on the ceiling, wet but won't tear, won't move. "Honey, I am so sorry."
x
"Please," is whispered so low Janet can barely hear it.
"Please what?"
"Please…" is even lower as fine vibrations shake her shoulders but are locked out of her frozen face, her staring eyes. "Go away?"
"Leese…."
Her lock is slipping, the shaking growing and her tremulous whisper is hushed. Her eyes can't hold back tears and her breath is so short and shaken the whisper can barely get out.
"Please?" trembles out of her; she won't look from the ceiling but drops trickle down past her temples into her hair. "Go … away?"
x
Janet turns, wishing she could say something but the breaking woman she leaves behind can't hear it. She goes to the door, pulls it open over the fluttering breaths, the too soft sobs. She fights her own feelings as she pulls the door open, steps through, lets the door click shut behind her to block off the grief.
There are chairs opposite her and she can't feel the one she sinks into. From her pocket she pulls a handkerchief but doesn't get it to her face before she shatters.
