Chapter Nine
Planning the Assault

Thirty minutes after making this astounding promise, Ducky is back in the Squad Room, a single sheet of paper in his hand. Jimmy has joined him, unable to stay away from the curious situation. "A most fascinating document," he announces with particular satisfaction. "This is the first time I have been called upon to translate this particular code. It is, of course, familiar from long use but I have never enjoyed the occasion to–"

"Ducky."

"Ah, yes. Well, it describes the hidden vault beneath a warehouse in the Rock Creek region –"

"427 Upshur NE," Ziva announces. McGee had triangulated using visible landmarks; Ziva beats him to the report.

"Indeed. Well, if one enters and proceeds seventy feet inward from the front door, one comes to a particular pair of stacked crates. They are not crates, however. Pull the southwest corner of the supposed crates open, one will find it to be a door to a flight of stairs that lead downward to the laboratory."

"Just one entrance?"

"It would seem so."

x

Gibbs doesn't like it. "McGee, Lee, you finished with that map?"

"Just about."

"Well, let's see what you've got," he looks expectantly at the large plasma screen mounted on the wall between McGee's and DiNozzo's desks. The screen brightens to reveal a map composed of cubicles collected to the left side, the right given over to larger rooms outfitted with enough symbolism to distinguish them as an operating theater and supporting rooms. Added to these are a collection of theoretical spaces designated by red lines to indicate they're supposition only, no adequate view having been obtained.

"Where's that door from the warehouse?"

Using his mouse, McGee inscribes a rough circle midway along the long wall at the bottom of the screen, between the confinement cells on the left and larger facilities on the right.

"What do you think, boss? Three teams be enough to hit it?" Gibbs' hand comes up quickly, whacking the back of DiNozzo's head. "What was that for?"

"One entrance in the middle of a facility, probably guarded by heavily armed personnel with unobstructed vision throughout? They'll pick us off like ducks in a shooting gallery."

"Air!" Ziva exclaims.

"What, you want some?" DiNozzo just cannot seem to leave well enough alone.

"No, Tony, I am fine. But if they are underground, they have to have vents to pump air in, several of them in fact, and as many out-take ducts."

"McGee?"

"One moment, boss." He checks the photos, and gradually circles are marked at various spots on the diagram.

"That'll do," Gibbs decides. The man can find the rest of them later; it's enough to know they are there. "How big are those vents?"

"I'm guessing twenty five to thirty inches. There's only one picture with a man in it to provide scale."

"Big as vents go but still a tight squeeze, especially if you have to move fast." DiNozzo concludes. "Hope no one's claustrophobic." He catches Gibbs' glare. "Forget it, boss, you and I would get stuck like a cork, and the Probie wouldn't have a prayer."

"I can fit," Lee announces.

"Yes, you could; Ziva too." Gibbs decides.

"If 'Chelle can fit, so can I." All eyes turn to the much taller man standing close to Lee. "Come on, I'm an ectomorph."

"You've been watching too much Star Trek, Palmer."

Jimmy turns on DiNozzo, glad to have a target for his aggravation. "It means I'm tall and thin. I'm even thinner than 'Chelle," he turns his attention back to Gibbs, "and I'm used to squeezing into tight places."

Michelle looks away, wishing she could stop the blush that rises to her face.

"I mean–"

"Yeah, we get it, Palmer."

"And Mr. Palmer and I will certainly be needed, Jethro."

Gibbs looks at the man beside him, feeling the situation falling out of control, but Ducky gives him no chance to refuse.

"You are going to need experienced medical men to help deal with those women. We have no idea what their conditions are, but some of the pictures show surgery that at that unknown time was not yet healed. And given the choice between crawling through ducts and becoming a target in a shooting gallery, I was not named for that. I definitely prefer the former."

"All right, we're going to have to find some way of getting in there and getting those people out safely. McGee, you find any other entrances?"

"No, boss, but I did find something useful."

x

In the past few years, satellite technology has advanced to the point where almost anything on the planet is visible, at surprising resolution, to anyone with a computer. Companies like Google have made a specialty of making these images available to the public. With the input of an address, you can see anything at all from space. Real time images are not available to the public; that requires satellite time at prohibitive costs, but a static image is available to anyone for the price of a modem.

Thus, McGee is able to bring up, on the large plasma screen, the image of the building they seek, the photo having been taken an unknown amount of time ago. "Whenever this shot was taken, you can see this warehouse is one of a row."

"Kind of looks like the same layout where you and the Probette were held," DiNozzo notes and cannot help but voice the observation.

"Don't remind us." It's still a painful memory, which itself led to a nightmare incident neither agent wants to remember. Tim has been using medications designed to prevent the burns on his body from evolving into scars, and knows Michelle hasn't told anyone, not even Palmer, what physical and emotional scars she carries from the torturous day.

"The point," he continues, "is that there seem to be cameras installed at every corner of that building."

The resolution of the most greatly magnified image is poor, and taken from high above it is very indistinct. That is a problem with images generally available to the public; they lack the resolution of military surveillance hardware. However, there are few other explanations for the dark spots set on each side of each corner of the white building.

"If those are cameras," Gibbs concludes, "they have overlapping views of both sides."

"That looks like an HVAC unit on the roof," DiNozzo points out. "Looks like a big one; a lot of power to cool down a warehouse. Wonder why no one noticed?"

"You get what you pay for, DiNozzo. If someone wants to shell out big bucks to keep some crates cool, the AC company's not going to give a damn." Gibbs points to upright cylinders at either end of the roof. "That's what does matter, air outlet units, maybe with an exhaust fan."

"That is our way in," Ziva declares.

"The buildings across the street are about twenty feet higher. That's where I'd put sentries." He reaches for the phone, keys in a number and doesn't have long to wait. "Abs, that friend of yours from NASA,"

/You mean Ashton?/ The tech had helped them once before, using an orbital satellite to track a suspect's car.

"We need a way to see what's happening on a couple of roofs without being spotted."

/I just IM'd him an hour ago, he'll be glad to have his fingers on me twice today,/ her teasing tone flows with sensual innuendo, but he's too focused to fall for her this time. /He did that on the sly, using a satellite that was supposed to be down for repair; I don't know if he has another waiting./

"I'll take what I can get."

/When do you need it?/

He checks his watch, not about to launch an assault in broad daylight. "Six o'clock."

/I'll get right on him,/ she assures him in an equally saucy tone, but Gibbs hangs up on her.

x

"McGee, I want a detailed map of that place. Sort those images and put them on our pocket thingies. DiNozzo, hunt down the inspection records; I want to know when that place became more than a warehouse, and what the city thinks it is now. If you can't find out, tell me why you can't and who screwed up."

"On it, boss."

"Ziva, find out who installed that AC, get a map of the vents. Do they lead to the basement?" He has no doubt the lower level didn't resemble the lab it is now, but there will be records. Perhaps the company had been told the owners were going to be storing perishables, perhaps they'd been told nothing. Either way, he needs a map.

"Lee, lay in some climbing gear, couple hundred feet of rope, knotted at two foot intervals; also plain black jackets, hoods and gloves. Ducky, how are your climbing skills?"

"It will be just like my spelunking days in the caves of Wales. Did I ever tell you about the time–?"

"Tell me about it later. You go from one roof to another," he tells Ziva, Michelle, Ducky and Palmer, "drop down the exhaust shafts, work your way down to that lab and position yourselves where you can clear shots. You'll have to take out all those people you can hit, disrupt things so DiNozzo, McGee and I can make it in the front door and down the main stairs."

x

"Jethro, you're not planning on opening fire on these people, are you?" Ducky is appalled at the thought, seeing on Jimmy Palmer's face the same distress. It's one thing to infiltrate and cause a diversion, but this brings a whole new level for the medical men.

Gibbs turns to his old friend. "Not exactly; here's what you're going to do for us…."

As he outlines his plan, Ducky smiles in anticipation. He turns to the young man beside him. "Come along, Black Lung; we have work to do."
Gibbs looks curiously at the departing men until Tony captures his attention. "Believe me, Boss, you're happier not knowing."

xx

"These launchers, not to be confused with guns," Ducky says, indicating the four, pistol-like devices in the case when they rendezvous in the Squad Room at sunset, "contain twenty darts in each clip, each with a 400 mg ampoule of chlorpromazine. It will take only moments to take effect, but will render the subject unconscious for about an hour."

"An hour will be plenty, Duck," Gibbs assures him.

"I obtained them from the Bethesda Psychiatry Department. They are distasteful, but there are times when they are necessary. I am normally not in favor of using drugs, but given the alternative of these or bullets, they are definitely the lesser of two distasteful evils."

"It'll at least keep them off your table."

"I prefer not to do autopsies upon people whose demise I have hastened."

"We'll try to keep casualties to a minimum, but after what they've done I'm not going to go easy on them."

Ducky remembers Crystal Britizze, bound face down upon her bed, screaming in agony, her withdrawal coupled with frenzied, drug-induced terrors. "Nor shall I."

xxx

Abby Sciuto stands with Jennifer Shepherd in the MTAC complex. On the screen before them is an energetic bearded man surrounded by electronic control panels.

"I'm getting a good image; you getting this, NCIS?"

"You are the man, Ashton!"

"Tango One, are you getting this?" Shepherd asks into her own wireless microphone. The image on the main screen switches to a wide, elevated shot – elevated to geosynchronous orbit. Now that the sun has set and the ambient temperature has begun to drop, two distinct points of red and yellow stand out on each of two roofs across the street from the target, a third is stationary on the roof of that building.

/We have it,/ Gibbs' calm voice sounds in her ear.

She wonders how it always it that the tenser the situation, the calmer he sounds. "We have to assume they are using night vision or infrared goggles. Have your teams approach with caution."

/Gee, why didn't I think of that?/

"This is no time for sarcasm, Tango One."

/Never a better time. Going to silent; Tango One out./

Shepherd looks to Abby beside her, closing her hand about her microphone. "There are times I just want to smack him."

"Why don't you?" she quips.

She recalls the 'debriefing' in the boxing ring; her best punches had barely fazed him. "I'm afraid he'd enjoy it."

xx

The agents have taken up a position on the end of the street, near the fire escape ladder of the last warehouse on the block. "What's the range of these darts?" Gibbs asks Ducky.

For once the man's answer is succinct. "They are accurate up to 100 feet, but I would advise no more than 80."

He measures the distance with his eyes. It's 160 feet to the end of the trio of warehouses. "All right, get up there – quietly."

xx

Having made their way as silently as possible up to the roof across the street from the target warehouse, DiNozzo and McGee close cautiously upon their prey. They're fortunate in that the buildings on this side of the street are office structures rather than warehouses; there are more barriers to hide behind.

David, however, has a more hazardous trek. She must traverse two buildings before reaching her prey, and with far less cover. She can only keep low, close to the rear of the buildings and hope the guard before her is fatigued enough not to expect a covert assault.

She can see him now, superimposed upon the night sky. He is holding a rifle cradled in his hands, and his attention is on the street below. Very slowly she breaks cover, approaching as stealthily as possible, goes down on one knee and takes careful aim.

x

"Tango Four to Tango One," Gibbs hears the woman's quiet voice in his ear. "Target dispatched."

"Tango Three, ditto," McGee reports.

"Tango Two, my man's having a nice long nap."

"Glad to hear it, Two. All of you get back here on the double. Remember, we don't know when check-in time is."

x

When the Assault Team, plus Ducky and Jimmy, are reunited by the ladder – though Ziva remains above and in contact by radio – he addresses the group. "When you're in position and ready to lay down covering fire, don't say a word. Ziva, you'll tap your radio once. Ducky, you hit yours twice; Lee, three times; Palmer, four. The three of us don't go in until we've received all of your signals. Pick your best targets. If we make it to the bottom door without triggering an alarm, I'll give a measured five taps. When you hear the fifth, start shooting."

Lee ascends the ladder, followed by Ducky and Jimmy, and the others move away as far from the corner as they can before taking up a position across the street, where they hope they are out of the field covered by the cameras aimed at the front and side of their target.

On the roof, the four make their ways to two high standing exhaust vents.

Jimmy pulls off his sneakers; Michelle, when she removes her high heeled shoes, looks down at his feet. He, at least, has socks.

He removes, as quietly as possible, the rotating mechanism that assists in drawing air upward through the exhaust shaft. Going down the air conditioning vents is out of the question; there is no way to get into them without interrupting the flow and giving themselves away. He lowers the long, knotted rope down the shaft, then reaches down to boost Michelle up and into the vent.

"Wait a second, will you?" she appeals from the top. Jimmy pauses, looking to the other vent at opposite corner, where Dr. Mallard and Ziva are preparing to lower themselves by their own rope into the air duct. Michelle closes her eyes, relaxing her muscles and begins slow, steady breaths.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," she assures him, eyes still closed.

She doesn't seem afraid, or fighting down apprehension. He glances toward the others; they are already entering the shaft. When he looks to the petite woman beside himself, she seems relaxed but focused on much more than the job. "What are you doing?"

"I'm infusing myself."

"You're whatting yourself?"

Her breath changes to a sigh, but she doesn't open her eyes. "Ever since what happened with Greg Martin and George Franklin, I do not go into a dangerous situation without appealing for help from the Goddess to lend me her power. Think of it as charging your batteries. It's not complicated, but I really do have to concentrate."

Jimmy, watching the woman, wonders again if he is ever going to understand her, deciding again that he's simply going to have to accept that he never will.

In her mind Michelle pictures the light that surrounds her, the power of the Goddess she reveres, entering her body, suffusing it until she can actually feel it filling her. The divine force enters her until her cells feel as though they are bursting with raw power and energy; life filling her in a way she has tried – and failed – to explain numerous times. She knows Jimmy will never get it. That does not make it less real, however, certainly not for her.

x

When the woman before him opens her eyes, she seems different to him in a way he cannot define. Certainly she is straighter, more visibly confident. Perhaps, he tells himself, she believes she is stronger and so she is. In whatever way she's different, she is no longer apprehensive.

"I wish I could do that."

"Learn the path to the Light," she offers; an old offer she wishes he would take.

"I think we'd better learn the path to the basement before Agent Gibbs wants to know if we're in position and we're still up here."

She checks the tranquilizer gun secured firmly to her hip. "'Lay on, Macduff'."

He helps her into the vent. "'And damn'd be him that first cries, 'Hold, enough.'"