Chapter Nine
Tampa

By the time Tony and Michelle catch up to Gibbs, he's with Tim and Ziva in the bullpen. "Boss, would you mind letting us in on it?"

"Come on, DiNozzo, do I have to draw you a map?"

"A GPS fix would be–"

"Who is it that had the resources to challenge NCIS and nearly wipe us all out? They wanted to bring in a 'new world order'."

"McGillicuddy, Crocetti and Morrison." Tony's unable to raise any inflection in his voice. He would prefer to go the rest of his life without ever saying those names again. The three head a large, mysterious organization, and the Cold Case they'd last featured in had cost a dear price indeed, the lives of nine Agents, nine good friends.

"The Forces of Reformation. Bob DiMarco said the same thing before he died. Did you think that beating them, wiping out their leadership and seizing all their assets was going to slow them down?"

"Well, now that you mention it, boss, yes." The trail had led to some of the upper level terrorists, but not all, and then the trail had cooled, gone cold.

"They're International, with enough resources to corrupt one of us into betraying all he stood for. They murdered eight of us – nine counting DiMarco. They murdered him long before he died when they corrupted him, got him to betray everything we believe in. Did you think when they dropped out of sight that they'd gone away?"

"No, boss," he admits. He could have hope, but hope accomplishes little.

"Pulling everything we have on them since the last known one of them left American territory," McGee reports.

"Re-sending Interrogatives to Interpol and other European law enforcement facilities," Ziva interjects.

Michelle hurries to her desk. "Preparing an Affidavit for an International Warrant for all financial records including Swiss-controlled assets. We won't get those, but I'll try anyway."

"DiNozzo."

"Loading my Sig." He's sure Gibbs has a far more constructive instruction.

"The case was turned over to NCIS Naples. Get the SAIC on MTAC, let me know as soon as he's ready. I'll be with the Director."

xxx

Shepherd accompanies Gibbs when DiNozzo reports that Arám Ben Turabi, Special Agent-in-Charge of the Manama, Bahrain District Office, is ready for the teleconference from half a world away.

"We've had some progress tracing your 'McGillicuddy, Crocetti and Morrison'," the bearded man says. Gibbs is aware of the man's reputation; he drives his people in merciless pursuit of perfection and his base has an enviable record of accomplishment. Gibbs likes him already.

"I suppose it will come as no surprise," Ben Turabi says in heavily accented tones, "that there is no one by two of those names associated with any covert operation we've been able to identify."

"Not a bit," Shepherd assures him.

"We have been able, however, to identify this man," a few keystrokes received by the technicians at the side wall and a swarthy face appears on a supplementary screen to the left of the main one, "who we believe answers to the name 'Antonio Crocetti'." One would need a very good imagination for this man to look Italian. Gibbs wonders why the long stretch.

"He is Krikor Ohanian, a frequent visitor to your country over the past nine years. He heads an unofficial, unacknowledged branch of the Iraqi government. Officially he has no status. Unofficially he is very powerful in -" the word he uses translates to 'No', a concept with chilling implications, "whose main purpose is providing locations, funds and resources for terrorist training camps." The second of three supplementary screens to the left of the main one displays a map with the suspected if unconfirmed location. "He has been cautious in keeping his association and activities above reproach, while in actuality he is a scoundrel of the lowest order."

"You've had no luck at all with McGillicuddy and Morrison?" Shepherd had hoped for more over the past few months.

"It cannot be said, madam Director, that we have had luck with 'Crocetti'." Gibbs gives Shepherd a curious sidelong glance. It's clear this man hasn't gotten the message about her preferred manner of address. "All we have is unconfirmed Intel that he might be the man you seek. If we had evidence that could withstand scrutiny we would act, but–"

"Bring him in."

x

Ben Turabi sits back away from the camera. "Madam Director, you must understand–"

"I understand that an atrociously powerful warship is in the hands of an unknown power and that this man represents one of our few tangible leads," her tone bites. "Bring him in on my authority, that's an order."

Ben Turabi is still discomforted, but "Yes, madam Director."

"In the meantime, keep me informed on the progress of tracking down the other two. Reports every six hours."

"Yes, madam Director."

When the screens go to the test colors, Gibbs observes; "He wanted you to think about the fallout of bringing Ohanian in."

"You're the last man I'd expect to lecture me on the International ramifications of my decision."

"Naah, I don't even use words like 'ramifications'. I only care about results - and the more toes stepped on, the better I like it. But I do use words like 'tipping our hands'. Ohanian doesn't know we know he's Crocetti."

"If it'll keep another crew alive I'll sleep well. Maybe you're rubbing off on me -"

"You could do worse."

"- but there are days I think 'to hell with it, expand Gitmo to cover the whole island and send all of them there; give them a couple crates of knives and let them wipe each other out'."

He starts up the ramp. "Works for me."

x

"What about the scientists from Creek?"

When Gibbs turns back, Shepherd hasn't moved, her posture indicates the conference is not over. "DiNozzo and David brought them in. They're bunkered in Building Three."

"I'll bet that went over well." The building is useful for computers and little more.

"It'll do. I want them close and that was the only available place. Cyber Crime went through it, shut and locked down all the machines; they can't even check their email. Lamb's team's doing the screening; they say they'll be through the lot by tomorrow afternoon. Anyone they think might be off-color will get the works."

"Wish we didn't have to do it this way. We're talking about a lot of good people."

"No time for any other way. Guilty until proven innocent it'll have to be."

Shepherd had given Gibbs and his team the lead, there's no time to be second-guessing their decisions. "How about Mary Narz's trail?"

"NSA thinks it went cold."

"Not as cold as they think. Somehow the Joint Chiefs' order to forget about her got misfiled, but I think that's no secret." Shepherd had assigned Melanie Kelman to continue the investigation into the agent's mission and her murder. With her eidetic memory, Kelman has no need of written records. Gibbs had been 'read into' her assignment at the start of the Millennium debacle.

"I'm going to have another go at Karmichael soon," he tells her, continuing up the ramp. "In the meantime he's being kept under twenty-four hour interrogation. He'll break for somebody."

xx

"We have an ID on Crocetti," Gibbs announces as he strides into the bullpen, "he's Krikor Ohanian." He gets less than halfway through the spelling when he's cut short by a bark of laughter from DiNozzo, who stands beside Michelle's desk.

"No you don't, boss."

Gibbs turn is slow, his manner deadly. "I don't?"

"Krikor Ohanian is the real name of Mike Conners. The actor? He played Private Eye Joe Mannix in the 60's. Crocetti's secret identity is a secret identity."

Gibbs comes almost nose-to-nose with DiNozzo. "Are you telling me we're looking for Mannix?"

"No. That is he'd be about 80, give or take a ... I'm going back to my desk now."

"Good idea." He takes in the rest of the team, not attempting to contain his aggravation. "We have nothing on Jackson McGillicuddy, Herbert Morrison or Antonio Crocetti. Weeks after they killed nine of us and this case was ripped away from us we have nothing!"

"I wouldn't say we have nothing," McGee counters. "We have McGillicuddy who either used the supposed maiden name of Lucy Ricardo from 'I Love Lucy' or the whole name of Connie Mack, who owned the Philadelphia Athletics. Morrison is the real last name of John Wayne and Crocetti is Dean Martin..." he wilts under Gibbs' stare. "We've got nothing."

"I wouldn't say we have nothing, Special Agent Gib–"

"You had better pray you have some real information, Lee!"

"Palmer, sir. We know the several corporate addresses they used were between Liberty and Ellis islands, inside the Rocky Mountains and on the lawn of the White House."

"Your time's up."

"We know they're bold enough to operate openly - brazenly, in fact. They had no mail contacts but their registered addresses were established. They had a dummy company that celebrated an alleged 75th Anniversary but they do no actual business of any kind. The building they were tracked to was real but they weren't tenants. Unlike some clandestine organizations that utilize dummy companies for sources of income, we never did find any income for them."

"It was funneled through Swiss accounts."

"Yes, sir." She doesn't point out that she knows this so well. She'd run into walls so many times trying to track the funds that she had to stop herself from checking for bruises.

"Our research after the assault on DiMarco's nephew's house," DiNozzo cuts in when Michelle pauses for breath, "shows the ones we killed had impeccable histories."

"Of course they were impeccable; they were erased and substituted like Narz's!" Things are so clear - and infuriating - when viewed in hindsight.

x

"They erased Narz's history because NCIS Pensacola gave her the cover of a traitor, but did they erase everyone's?" DiNozzo cuts in.

"They did enough of them," Gibbs' aggravation mounts with frustration.

"But did they erase everyone's? Remember, at that 75th Anniversary which was no such thing, for a dummy company that did no business, the reason for the party was to celebrate the success of 9/11."

"The story got out," Ziva picks it up, "only because several participants became intoxicated and blather-mouthed the whole plan."

"Blabber-mouthed," DiNozzo interjects.

"Later." Gibbs doesn't want the train derailed.

"The ones who got arrested for D&D," Michelle Palmer interjects, "were given desk appearance tickets. When they didn't show, Florida authorities were still too overwhelmed by the aftermath of the 9/11 attack to care about out-of-state drunks at a private party."

"Run them, Palmer. Credit cards, bank–"

"I already have one, sir. I have a link on Bradley Kaplan at 3427 Nelson Street, Lexington Virginia. There has been a charge at DelMonico's Restaurant for dinner last evening."

"Tony, Ziva, pick him up."

"On what charge, boss?" The incident at the hotel had been years ago.

"Violating a desk warrant, of course."

"Now why didn't I think of that?"

"Sir, I–" Michelle's protest dies at Gibbs' glare. She looks past him to DiNozzo. "Have a nice tr–"

"Boss!" McGee's explosive call turns heads and they see the color drain from the appalled man's face.

"What is it, McGee?"

"Three missiles have …." He can't say it, but uses his keyboard to activate the plasma screen between his and DiNozzo's desks. When the news image appears on the wide screen, there's no need for words. Each agent feels a cold wash through them, at odds with the inferno depicted in cruel detail on the screen.

A blue band at the bottom of the screen identifies the building as part of Tampa College. The tall structure is a conflagration. The right half of it is gone.

x

The image contracts to show the burning building as an insert to the upper left of a newswoman. Her tone shows she is using all her effort to give a dispassionate report. The chilling details only confirm the agents' certainty.

"If you are just joining us," the woman says, "News 8 has a crew on the scene of a massive series of explosions that have devastated one of the buildings on the campus of the University of South Florida; Tampa. We return live to Patrick Holbrook at the scene."

The image expands again, this time to a harried middle-aged man who speaks loudly to be heard over multiple alarms and still approaching sirens. The scene, about half a city block behind him, is chaos obscured by thick black smoke. The right side of the blazing building is reduced to rubble, flames leap from what remains of the roof and from every window.

"Sandra, police and emergency personnel are not letting us get any closer to the scene, but we have confirmed reports of what seem to be three missiles that came in low from the east. I have with me here -" the camera draws back to reveal a young woman, possibly a student, her body and clothing covered with a white film of dust or worse, "Martha Tompkins who was on the scene when the missiles struck."

"I was - I was way over there!" Her finger stabs the air toward a plaza opposite the front of the blazing ruin far behind them. "The first one came up behind me, right [bleep] over my head! I was reading and it came right over my [bleep] head!"

"Ms. Tom–"

"It hit the [bleep] Science building and blew a [bleep] hole in it. There were bricks and smoke and [bleep] flyin' everywhere! Then another one roars over my [bleep] head and goes into the hole! It just goes in, blows out the walls and blows everythin' to [bleep]. The whole [bleep] buildin' starts to go down, the whole right side, then another [bleep] rocket hits it and just blows the [bleep] thing to [bleep]!"

"Thank you, Ms. Tompkins." Holbrook gives an obvious high sign to a colleague and the dust covered woman is drawn off. Holbrook may be relieved but the woman's explicative laden report sets the scene better than any dispassionate recounting of the facts.

"Patrick," the anchorwoman's voice comes over, "do we have any idea of the number of fatalities?"

"No, but I've been informed classes were in session. Authorities are withholding any names pending the notification of fam–" Gibbs silences the report.

It's half a minute before anyone can break the silence.

xx

Director Shepherd stands at the forefront of as many Agents as can crowd into MTAC. She wants her people briefed on this only once. On the main screen is a huge image of Chief of Naval Operations DePardu. The upper auxiliary screen at the left shows an aerial view of the destroyed college building. The smoking wreck is still ablaze and might burn for hours to come.

The middle screen shows a satellite image of the ocean east of that area, the area too wide to find a 500 foot long ship. The lowermost screen is a tactical estimate of the path of the missiles assembled from eyewitness reports at the scene and from others further from the school.

"I can't spare more than a few seconds for you, NCIS." DePardu tells them. The haggard man has evidently not slept since the catastrophe began. "A half hour ago the President increased the National Terror Alert Level to Red. As of this morning, all Naval and other bases are on Alert in anticipation of a surprise attack." The man's grim voice prepares them for the revelation to come. "On the way in, the missiles changed course and we were unable to intercept them in time."

"How many were killed?"

"We have no reliable figures. There are thousands registered at that University and they were caught unprepared. This is a disaster on the scale of 9/11 and it's only begun. Millennium can cause unimaginable damage now that it's directing its attack against civilian targets. Are your people any closer to a solution?"

Though Shepherd glances at her computer team, she doesn't need to read their faces. "No."

"We think we have a lead on who is behind this," Gibbs interjects.

"At this point, I'll take whatever you have."

He doesn't wait for Shepherd's nod. "A terrorist conglomerate known to us only as 'McGillicuddy, Crocetti and Morrison'. The names are fake. We dealt with them a few months ago but lost them overseas."

"I'm on my way to a meeting with the President," DePardu tells them. "I'm going to recommend full joint operations among all Federal Agencies, full disclosure and coordination. Inasmuch as this is a Navy problem – and I can't believe I'm recommending this – I'm suggesting NCIS be put in charge of the operation.

"There's going to be a hell of a lot of flack over this, but more so over the attack itself." DePardu declares. "We don't have time for turf wars or pissing matches, we've got to solve this and that means everyone has to pull together. We'll sort out the details later. Find your answers fast; I need them yesterday."

The screen goes as black as their future.