The crew now formed of habit sat in Jenny's office Tuesday morning, reading the various file copies Intel had provided from assorted media of yesterday's bomb blast. Gibbs and Tony picked up Steffen at the hospital and brought him to NCIS. The others were glad to see him, and the duke insisted on getting back to work, though he gratefully accepted Jenny's offer of a comfortable chair and a footstool.
Tim felt rather embarrassed by the photos and accounts of him (well, as Friedrich) pulling the men out of the cars; it made him sound like some sort of hero, when he was just doing his job as he saw it. He read the clippings, sighed; read some more, sighed again.
Gibbs sat down beside him on the couch. "You took an awful lot of risks yesterday."
"Y-yeah , but I had to, boss."
Oh, brother. They didn't have time for a heart-to-heart, or skull-to-skull, as Gibbs would call it (as in, boring a hole in your thick skull and pouring in a gallon of industrial-strength sense), today. But soon. If Tim lived that long.
Gibbs changed the subject. "The press is eating this up. His Highness told me that his parents have told him that the coverage is huge all over Europe. The prince is being touted by some as 'the bravest man alive' for saving those four men, all by himself. It's great publicity for Nordhavland; sure to increase their tourism. Even TIME Magazine has contacted the palace, wanting to do a cover story on him."
Tim smiled faintly. "Good..."
"But I need to talk to you about something else. Let's go out in the hall..."
- - - - -
"I am to what?!"
"Ziva, don't take that tone. You're the best candidate we have to be His Highness' – that is, McGee's – date for the Hanseatic League Ball tomorrow." At the same time as Gibbs had gone off with Tim, Jenny had just motioned Ziva to follow her into a small conference room and closed the door.
"No! Director, I'm sorry…no, I'm not sorry. But no!"
Jenny was exasperated. "What is the problem here? I'm not asking you to marry him! You just have to be decorative on his arm for an evening. Dance a little. Dance with other people, too; that'll probably be expected. That's all I'm asking! You might even enjoy it! How often is one invited to a ball with royalty in attendance?!"
Fake royalty, is what this is. Why can't she understand?! This is McGeek, as Tony calls him. We can work together, mostly, but outside that, we have nothing in common. Ziva took a deep breath. "Why not have Abby be his date? They're good friends, and have a, ah, past history."
"Too dangerous, for one thing. I need a date for him who can take care of herself. His Highness' date will be at his side most of the time, and therefore in the path of fire. We don't have the resources to be protecting Abby…Ziva? Do I need to make this an order?"
She sighed. "No, Director; I'll do it." Though dancing with McGee will certainly not be my idea of 'fun'.
- - - - -
Tim was incredulous. "Ziva?! I can't! Boss…she's lethal! I make one false step on the dance floor and it'll be..." (he mimicked cutting his throat, complete with sound effect).
"You're exaggerating!"
"I may risk my life on some missions, but I know a suicide run when I see it! And this is one of them!"
Gibbs couldn't help grinning. "No, it's not; and from your history, I'd say no, there's no 'may' about it. But His Highness can't appear at the ball dateless..."
"Well, I know I can't ask Abby. This is too risky to take her. Aren't there any other options?"
"I don't see any. It's got to be Ziva...unless you want to take DiNozzo, in drag."
Tim turned quite green. "ARRRRRGGHH! I may have to throw up! It'll take me until tomorrow to scrub that image from my mind!!"
Gibbs laughed. "Settle down. Are you all set, otherwise, for the ball?"
Tim hadn't thought nearly that far in advance. Suddenly shock hit him as he realized something he'd forgotten. "Boss, I can't – I can't dance!"
"What do you mean, you can't dance?! Everyone is capable of dancing. And I know you've been dancing with Abby a few times."
"No, I can do the modern stuff, though I think I look like that funky chicken sometimes. But I've never learned ballroom dancing!"
Gibbs blanched, then bellowed, "JENNY!"
The Director came over; Ziva following. "You screeched?" she said, with a raised eyebrow, while ignoring Ziva and Tim making faces at each other.
"McGee needs ballroom dancing lessons. Stat!"
"Well, don't look at me. He's too young to be my tango partner. People would talk. KERSTIN!" When Friedrich's aide trotted up, Jenny said, "Do you know ballroom dancing?"
"Yes, Director. And the reels and other dances done at such affairs, if you mean the Hanseatic League Ball."
"Fine. Your assignment today is to make McGee an expert dancer. Nothing less will do."
Kerstin looked at Tim. He offered her his hand. "No, first you must bow when presenting your hand, and present your hand palm up," she corrected him. He gave her a wry smile, and they went off to a vacant room to practice, practice, practice.
- - - - -
"We have a serious problem," CIA agent Nylman said to the others shortly thereafter. "We have a list of over 600 unique names to go through; and that's just people at the club function yesterday or on the list for one of the functions tomorrow. The ball has over 350 registered attendees – they sold out five months ago, when it was announced that His Highness was coming. Even if we put 10 more people on this, we still couldn't do thorough background checks on everyone before the ball starts."
"What are the alternatives?" asked Gibbs.
"There's a simple but effective one. First, allow for no onsite parking, and no deliveries to the convention center where the ball will be held that day. The convention center probably won't go for that, so we can instead insist on mandatory inspection of all vehicles parking there. The CIA will supply agents for that."
Jenny nodded. "What else?"
"Bring in a couple of hand luggage security scanners, like the FEP ME 640 DETEX or one of the L3 Communications X-ray imagers, and a couple walk-through scanners. We should also have someSloan-Sirius Tech sensor chips to detect chemical and biological agents."
"The guests will not, ah, be happy about all the security," Steffen remarked.
"Tough. Depends on how expendable you folks feel McGee is. From our point of view, one of you NCISers is pretty much like another." said Nylman. "I'm just sayin'..." he added, looking innocent.
From behind him, Tony was measuring the back of Nylman's head for a punch. Gibbs looked bland, but Jenny shook her head. Slightly.
"Can we rent all this on short notice?" Jenny asked.
"We can get it for you. We have the right contacts," said CIA agent White.
"You know, I'll just bet you do," said Tony benignly. "For all kinds of stuff. Legal and illegal; peaceful and torture."
Nylman stepped right into Tony's personal space. "You are out of line!"
"And you are out of breath mints!" Tony retorted.
"Please. Stop," said Friedrich. "Let us go forward with the plan. If there is a cost to the security equipment, Nordhavland will gladly cover it. We respect the need to secure everyone's safety at the ball, not just Agent McGee's."
- - - - -
They broke for lunch. Ziva ran out to the Navy Yard Sbarro's to get pizza for Tim, Friedrich, Kerstin and herself. "How are the dance lessons coming?" Ziva asked, before biting into her hot slice.
"Quite well. I'm sacrificing my feet so Tim learns not to tread on yours," Kerstin laughed, earning a playful poke from Tim.
"Well, that's something. You make me look bad on the dance floor, McGee, and I will kill you. With my beaded purse, if necessary." said Ziva sternly.
"Death by terrorists; death by Ziva. What a tossup!" Tim grinned. "I think I'm doing okay already, and Kerstin's such a good teacher I know I'll be ready to waltz you off your feet by tonight!"
Kestin blushed a little and changed the subject. "So, Freddy, I read online that following yesterday's news reports, you've received nearly a hundred marriage proposals at the palace," Her eyes brimmed with laughter.
"Now where were all these ladies when I needed a date in June for the Midsommar Ball?" Freddy said, with a rueful smile, and a kick at his cousin.
Ziva felt an unexplained sad tug at her heart at the news. "You don't have a girlfriend, Freddy?"
"It sounds like I have nearly one hundred now," he grinned.
Tim's eyes met Ziva's, and he suddenly understood. He gave her a smile, and she looked away, then shyly returned it. Under the table he gave her hand a pat.
"We must, ah, get back to work," Kerstin said, rising. "I never thought of dancing as work. Until now. I shall enjoy a hot bath tonight!"
- - - - -
Jenny called them all in just after 2 o'clock. "The Germania Rest Home is off the list for tomorrow. A small bomb went off there. No injuries, fortunately. The police say a timer was found. We can assume that the bomb went off early, as it was surely meant to go off tomorrow afternoon."
"We could make this investigation easier by just stopping everyone in the city who's carrying a bomb," said Tony. "It seems like that must be just about everyone!"
"If I didn't need you to do other things, that job would be yours, DiNozzo," said Gibbs.
- - - - -
It was half past seven when Tim finally left NCIS for home that evening; the city attempting to cool at night, with the success of an ice cube on a hot griddle, as August started to melt away, and only one or two more months of summer heat would be left. The setting sun reflected in riotous amber, gold and scarlet in dozens of city windows as he headed for the bus stop. It was really too dark now for the sunglasses that he had started wearing as part of his disguise.
He took them off, and for a moment, removed his boater hat, chosen because it was straw and cool, to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Being inside all day with air-conditioning could make one forget the choking humidity outside, and Washington was nothing if not humid.
The Navy Yard Metro station was his destination, and he was glad, as he reached the Navy Yard gate at Isaac Hull Avenue and M Street and removed his hat yet again to wipe off the sweat, to not have the sun beating down on him.
"Is that him?" "It is!" "Get him!"
Tim dove for cover. Those German speakers weren't either Freddy or Steffen. "Get down!" he called to the attendant at the gate, and pulled out his own gun to return fire, but found it useless over his bandages. If I can only get my phone to work...! "Boss? You still at NCIS? I'm in trouble. Yes, again! At the gate..." A zinging bullet careened off his phone, fortunately veeing in the other direction. That was that loaner phone. Gibbs is going to kill me... he thought, forgetting that he might die where he was, first...
Navy Yard Security varoomed up to the gate, and the gunmen melted away in the growing shadows. Tim was left explaining himself – it all sounded rather foolish, particularly when one of the Security people handed him a phone. "She wants to speak with you."
There was no doubt who she was. "Well, McGee, have them drive you back here," Jenny said. "We have one bed left, and I guess it'll be yours for the duration, if you can't get home safely."
"Will there be a mint on my pillow?" he asked, recklessly.
"Don't push it, McGee."
"No, ma'am."
