Chapter 9
Gibbs went over to his desk and pulled out a book from a box that was beside his desk. "Operation: Dead Wrong is done," he said, handing the book to Mac.
"They did a nice job on it," she said, looking at the cover, which showed a gold Navy SEAL trident symbol being stabbed by a K-Bar knife and bleeding, against a white background. On the back was a photograph of Admiral Kent, before he retired.
"Did you ever read the dedication?" Gibbs asked.
Mac shook her head. "I didn't see one," she said.
"It was the last page of the book," Gibbs said. He put his reading glasses on, opened the book, and began reading.
"In memory of Willy, Apple, Detroit, Oak, and Wingit. May you finally be at peace. I am so sorry it took so long to tell your story, consequences be damned.
Megan and Jonathan, I miss you two so much. Meg, you were the light of my life. Jonathan, I was so proud of you, even when your choices left something to be desired. I'll see you both soon.
Tom, my grandson; I am so proud of you, not for the sailor that you are, but the man you have become. She's a good one. Be smart, and make her yours.
And finally, this book could not have been made possible without the encouragement, support, and kindness of the most wonderful nurse I have ever been blessed to know. Mac, I love you like the daughter I never had. Thank you for giving me the courage to write this book. May you find love and happiness in all of your days. He's not perfect, but he's a fine man and he'll make you happy. Take care of each other, as you once took care of a grumpy old man with too many ghosts."
Gibbs looked up at Mac, in time to see her eyes filling with tears. Wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand, she said, "I know those books are probably going to have to go into evidence once this is over, but do you could make a copy of one 'disappear', maybe?"
Gibbs smirked. "Bet on it."
As Lieutenant Kent's plane wasn't due to arrive for a few more hours, Gibbs used the time to make sure the books were given to the right people. When he left Vance's office, the director was already opening the book and starting to read.
St. Michaels got a copy, and Sasha put it on an acrylic easel display with a sign saying that the book was available for order and all proceeds from the sale of the book would be going to a local veterans help center in Admiral Kent's name. The DoD reception area got a copy, with the secretary promising to keep an eye out for anyone who reacted funny to the book. As for the senior retirement residence where McEntire was, they got several copies as well, including McEntire's daughter, who had expressed interest in the book when told about it.
The visit to McEntire proved to be less than helpful, as the elderly man was diagnosed with what his daughter, Barb, said was Stage Seven Dementia, or Very Severe Cognitive Decline, otherwise known as Late Dementia.
"He's at the stage where he's basically a baby," Barb said to Gibbs and McGee. "No bowel or bladder control, no ability to communicate, he can't even feed himself or walk without help."
"So his chances of recognizing someone are pretty much non existent?" McGee asked.
"Pretty much. Why is NCIS interested in my father?" Barb asked.
"We're investigating the death of one of his former SEAL teammates," Gibbs explained. He showed the woman a photograph of Admiral Kent and asked, "Do you recognize him?"
Barb shook her head. "No. I knew Dad was a SEAL, and he retired with honors, but I got the impression there were a few things he didn't like to talk about. Do you know when Admiral Kent was with him?"
"About 1965. They were on a mission together, in Palestine, and something went wrong," McGee said.
Barb shook her head. "I don't remember Dad ever really talking about anything in 1965. Like I said, I got the feeling there was a lot he didn't like to talk about."
"Would you mind if we showed your father a picture of Admiral Kent, see if something triggers?" Gibbs asked.
Barb nodded. "But if he starts getting agitated or anything, I want you to stop."
"We will, ma'am. We're not interested in hurting or upsetting him," McGee promised, watching as Gibbs carefully approached the frail old man, who was staring at nothing, a blanket across his knees, as he sat in his wheelchair. "We just need to know if he knows anything."
"Mr. McEntire, my name is Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS," Gibbs said gently, kneeling beside the chair. "Do you recognize this man?" he asked, holding up the photo of Admiral Kent so McEntire could see it.
McEntire stared at the photo and a moment later, a soft moan came from his throat. His hand came up and he tried to bat at the photo, his brow furrowing.
"I think he does," Barb said, watching as her father started rocking and mumbling lounder. "And I don't think he's too happy."
"His name is Thomas Kent," Gibbs said. "You knew him as Tommy Boy in Palestine."
McEntire suddenly gave a strangled yell and started waving his arms, narrowly missing Gibbs.
"Okay, that's enough," Barb said firmly, catching her father's hands and wrapping her arms around his shoulders, trying to comfort him. "No more. Whatever happened then, Dad doesn't want to remember, and it's best left alone." A nurse joined them, glaring at the two agents.
"I agree," Gibbs said, putting the photograph away, not wanting to upset the frail old man any further. "Thank you for your time."
"If your dad has any old stuff from his Navy days, photographs or anything from around 1965, would you let us know?" McGee asked. "There's a guy we're trying to find who may have had a hand in the mission that we're investigating."
Barb nodded, still comforting her father, who was starting to settle down, but was still clearly upset about something. "I'll check around, see what I can find."
Gibbs gave her his card in Reception. "If anything comes up, or someone you don't recognize comes in, asking about your father or Admiral Kent, call me immediately, and an agent will come running," he said. "Your father served his country; the least we can do is keep him safe."
"Thank you, Agent Gibbs. Do you know what happened in 1965? What was so bad that Dad won't talk about it?"
"Your father and Admiral Kent were part of a mission in Palestine that went badly wrong," McGee said. "Several good men died as a result, and we think someone is trying to prevent the story of that mission from ever surfacing. Admiral Kent wrote a book about the mission, and his time as a SEAL, which included several missions with your father, and we suspect someone wasn't too happy about that."
Barb nodded. "I'll see what I can find. Dad was a bit of a hoarder, and I haven't had a chance to go through his stuff. I will do so as soon as I can, and if I do find something, I will let you know."
"Thank you," Gibbs said.
"Could I get a copy of that book? I'd like to read it, just out of curiosity," Barb said.
"We'll make sure you do. When it's ready, we'll drop it off here for you," Gibbs said.
"Thank you," Barb said. "And I'll check my father's stuff as soon as I get home. I have to admit, I'm curious."
"But be careful," Gibbs said. "LIke we said, someone wasn't too happy about the book being written, and if you think something's wrong or you think you're being followed, you call us and let us know."
"Understood," Barb said, a determined gleam coming into her eyes.
"Gutsy woman," McGee said, as he and Gibbs drove back to NCIS.
"Let's just hope she doesn't get hurt," Gibbs said.
Now, Gibbs watched as a familiar man in a Marine combat utility uniform, carrying a large rucksack over one shoulder, and a cargo bag in the other hand, disembarked from a cargo plane at Quantico. His face lit up when he saw Gibbs and Mac, and he picked up his pace across the tarmac.
Then Mac was being lifted off her feet and hugged tightly, a hug Gibbs suspected Lieutenant Kent was getting just as tightly, before kissing her with what Gibbs was sure was within an inch of her life.
"Thank God you're safe," Lieutenant Kent said, setting his girlfriend back down on her feet but proceeding to place light kisses all over her face, to which she giggled softly. "You're not hurt or anything?"
"No, I'm fine, I swear. Agent Gibbs and his team have been keeping me safe," Mac said, smiling.
"Yeah? Then explain this mark," Kent said, tapping the side of her face, where there was still a bit of a mark from April's earlier assault.
"I walked into a door," Mac said.
Kent smiled down at her. "Nice try on the lying, sweetheart. I recognize that mark. Got it a few times myself from April's damn rings."
Mac ducked her head. "Fine. You're right, April does have one hell of a hit."
Kent chuckled softly as he and put his arms around her. "Thought so."
"This is Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS," Mac said, introducing the two men to each other as they headed inside the airport and back to the car Gibbs was driving. Gibbs and Kent shook hands.
"Welcome home, Lieutenant. I just wish it was under better circumstances," Gibbs said.
"Same here," Kent said. "Have you made any progress with the case?"
"Well, we know what the mission was about, and we know why it went bad," Gibbs said. "We know who's still alive and who isn't, but we're still trying to locate a few key players."
"Mac says you published the book," Kent said.
"We did. No takers so far, but we're watching closely," Gibbs said.
Kent nodded. "Mind if I take Mac home tonight? We have some catching up to do."
Ignoring the blush that blossomed on Mac's face, Gibbs nodded. "Keep your gun loaded and with you at all times."
"Always," Kent promised.
Later that night, Gibbs checked his email and discovered an email from Barb Eckers nee McEntire, with a series of photos attached.
"Agent Gibbs, I found these pictures buried in a box in one of my dad's trunks. I've sent you pictures of both sides because they look like they include Admiral Kent when he was younger, as well as who I think are some of Dad's SEAL buddies. I don't know if any of them are of any use, but let me know if there's any you want to take a closer look at. Barb."
Attached to the email was about a dozen pictures and Gibbs quickly put them up on the plasma, with Torres joining him.
"What are these, boss?" the younger agent asked.
"Pictures Barb Eckers sent me," Gibbs said, studying the photos. "She found them with her dad's stuff."
"Mr. McEntire?" Torres asked.
"Yeah," Gibbs said absently. "There. Who is this guy?" he asked, pointing to a face they didn't recognize. It was a dark-haired man and he appeared to be in deep conversation with Chief Petty Officer Baldwin.
Torres quickly grabbed the face and started running it through their facial recognition program. "I don't know, but we'll find out."
Vance joined them, curious. "These our SEAL team members?" he asked.
"Yeah," Gibbs said. He identified them, and Vance studied one of them.
"That mark on this guy's hand, can you enlarge that?" Vance asked, pointing to the hand of one of the men. Torres did so, and Vance's brow furrowed. The hand belonged to Petty Officer Williams. "What happened to this guy?"
"That's Petty Officer Williams. He died when he couldn't get out of the way of a rocket because he was pinned down," Torres said. "According to Admiral Kent, they were never too sure if they found all of the remains of his body after that night."
"Why?" Gibbs asked.
"Damned if I know where, but I'm sure I've seen that mark on someone's hand before, from somewhere," Vance said.
"Is it possible Williams didn't die in that explosion?" Torres asked. "In Operation: Dead Wrong, Admiral Kent says he lost sight of Williams during the firefight, and only had radio contact with him when the rocket hit. And a blown-up body could make identification pretty difficult, especially without DNA confirmation."
"But why?" Vance asked. "What do we know about Williams?"
"Not a lot. We didn't have digital files back then and even now, a lot of files still haven't been converted to digital," Torres said, pulling up what they had managed to find on Petty Officer Williams. "Born in 1941 in Denver, Colorado, he joined the Navy when he was eighteen and became a SEAL when he was twenty-two. Clean record, from what we can find, but no family, living or otherwise."
Vance shook his head. "I'm sure I've seen that mark somewhere before."
"Do we know where he's buried?" Gibbs asked.
"Records say his remains were sent back home to Denver," Torres said, reading.
"Damn," Vance muttered.
"You thinking Williams faked his death?" Gibbs asked.
"I don't know what to think," Vance said. "We don't have any DNA to compare anything to, so digging up Williams' grave would be pointless." He shook his head. "No, until I know where I've seen that mark, Williams is still a ghost."
Then Gibbs' phone rang. It was McGee, telling him to turn on the news. "What's up, McGee?" Gibbs asked, doing just that.
"Fire crews are responding to an address belonging to Barb Eckers," McGee said. "Neighbours reported hearing an explosion just before the fire started, so the fire department is currently thinking gas line explosion."
"But?" Gibbs asked, watching the live report.
"But, I just called the senior home, where Mr. McEntire is, and the nurse just checked on him. They're calling the cops now, because it looks like he was suffocated to death," McGee said.
"Get over there," Gibbs said.
"On my way."
"Problem?" Vance asked as Gibbs snapped his cell phone shut.
"Yeah. Someone just murdered McEntire, and possibly killed his daughter," Gibbs said, striding out of the bullpen, Torres right on his heels.
