The elevator door opened into the NCIS headquarters, and Gibbs, Fornell, Frost, DiNozzo, and McGee filed out of it.
"McGee," called Gibbs, "I want an update on the trial information you were looking up."
"On it, Boss," said McGee, scurrying to his computer.
"DiNozzo," he handed the man a large manila folder, "coordinate with Abby, and find me an ID on Machete Man. His prints and DNA samples are in here."
"On it, Boss," said Tony, taking the envelope and heading for the elevator.
Gibbs turned to Fornell. "Tobias," he hesitated, "what brings you down here? I thought you were taking care of your imposter."
"Already done, Jethro. The prick rolled fast when I showed him Frost's photographs. Supposedly he knows nothing about the pedophile murders." Fornell gulped his coffee and sighed. "No names to share, though. Just his address and some bank account numbers." The FBI agent held out a piece of paper to Gibbs, who looked at it, grunted, and handed it to Frost. Her eyebrows rose with interest.
"That's my building, Agent Fornell," she offered. "Your doppelganger—Jarvis—is my upstairs neighbor. Have you secured and searched his apartment?" she asked, handing the paper to McGee.
"We're working on it right now—the warrants are taking a little time to process," Fornell explained. "I'm having trouble with probable cause."
"Then I can help you," she said coolly. "This man assaulted me in your building. By COINCIDENCE, he lives directly above me, and Agent DiNozzo found three surveillance devices in my apartment. The pedophile killer called me there twice, based on what HE observed and heard with that equipment." She pulled out a pen and a pad of paper, and quickly scribbled something down. "This is my current address. I would consider it a personal favor if you would secure and search my apartment for more evidence." She handed him the paper, then dug into a pocket and pulled out a key. "This unlocks the door. If you would bring me the rest of my clothing, I would appreciate it," she said, handing him the key.
"That should take care of probable cause," said Fornell. "Jethro, I'll be in touch," he lifted the key in salute, and headed for the elevator.
"Agent Gibbs, I need to see the email you mentioned earlier," insisted Frost. She saw the hesitation in his expression. "This is not a request. That email is evidence, and I need to see it."
Gibbs paused a moment, then nodded wordlessly and pulled up a chair for her. Bending over his computer, he pulled up the taunt and stepped back. Frost scrolled through it silently, her only reaction a thoughtful scowl. Eventually she sat back.
"I understand why you were alarmed this morning, Agent Gibbs. This IS disturbing, but it's nothing new." She motioned to her case file. "It's similar to many our serial killer has sent to other offices in Europe, just atypical in style."
"Why?" asked Gibbs, pulling up a chair.
Frost glanced at him. "Three reasons: this was sent electronically, the others were hardcopy; the subject in this is still living, but the other pictures were post-mortem; and finally the posing: suggestive instead of horrific." She chewed on a pen. "He's changing his game; I think the American phrase is 'kicking it up a notch'. The real target in this message is you, Agent Gibbs, not me. Grendel identifies you as the top cop, and is trying to shake you up. It's part of his pattern. Everyone should watch for such garbage from now on."
"You think he'll try to contact us again?" asked Gibbs, sitting back.
She nodded. "I do. Taunting law enforcement is one of his games."
"We call it 'sticking it to the Man'," explained Gibbs.
"Apparently, you're 'the Man'," mused Frost, "or at least, the first here. He may expand his circle. He mocked Tony this morning, calling him 'wop' and 'playboy'." She frowned. "I'm not familiar with the first term, but it seemed insulting."
"It's an ethnic insult," explained Gibbs. "Tony is Italian-American." He studied Frost's face. She appeared calm on the exterior, but he could tell something else was bothering her. She had taken a pen from his desk, and was absentmindedly chewing on one end. Her eyes flicked over different parts of the image, and her body alternated between tense and—more tense. "What is it?" He finally probed. "What else do you see?"
She glanced at him, and for a moment she looked worried. "This picture wasn't taken here, Agent Gibbs, it's from my flat in Lyon; I can tell by the tile. That makes it at least 6 weeks old, possibly older, because I am rarely there." She pressed her lips together, troubled. "That disturbs me more than the image: both my addresses are classified." She looked at Gibbs. "Only someone from my home office—in Lyon—would have access to both."
Gibbs felt a chill run down his spine. "Someone there is in league with our serial killer: another cop." He clenched his teeth. "You said you thought someone was hindering the investigation. This proves you were right."
Brynja nodded wordlessly, her eyes fixed on Grendel's last line:
YOU THINK YOU CAN STOP ME?
The pager on Gibbs' phone went off, making them both jump. "Yeah, Gibbs," he said, even as he closed the message and saved it. "Yeah, be right up." He turned to Frost again. "That was Director Vance. He wants us in his office." Standing, he slipped the phone back into his pocket, then headed up the stairs. Looking puzzled, Frost followed him.
Cynthia waved them both in when they reached Director Vance's door. A grave looking Vance sat behind his usual desk—even his toothpick was absent. A grimmer-looking man—tall, and Native American in his features, Gibbs thought—sat across from him. This man rose as they entered the room, his chiseled face stern.
Brynja's surprise was obvious, but she made the introduction. "NCIS Special Agent Gibbs, this is my supervisor here in the States: Lt. Howard Talon, Interpol."
The men nodded at each other, and Lt. Talon turned immediately to Frost. "Officer Frost, I'm here for your badge and gun. You are ordered to turn over all evidence and information to your replacement."
Frost stiffened. "On what grounds, sir?" she asked tersely, "and by whose authority?"
"What the hell's going on?" demanded Gibbs.
Talon glanced from Frost, to Gibbs, and back to Frost before answering. "I received the order from Lyon only three hours ago, Frost. The Director insisted I relieve you of duty, and place you on the first transport back to France, by force if necessary."
"Why?" Gibbs and Frost spoke the word together, but Director Vance cleared his throat, and all three turned to face him.
"I'll show you why," he said, turning his computer monitor towards them: a club scene paused on its screen. He pressed 'play'.
The scene came to life: the nightlife outside a bar, with people entering and exiting. The camera was obviously shooting from across the street. A couple exited the bar arm-in-arm, laughing and weaving a little: a blond and a tall man with red-gray hair. The camera zoomed in on them as they approached a car, and then again as a group of masked toughs jumped out from behind a building. A fight started, then distantly, screaming.
The picture paused again—Vance had hit the mouse—and he spoke quietly to Frost. She was bent over his desk, her hands supporting her weight, eyes closed. "This was emailed to your boss in Lyon this morning. There's a direct threat against you at the end."
"Run the tape," she rasped, and her voice caught in her throat. "Grendel just made a mistake," she said, her eyes locking into his. A chair bumped into the back of her knees, and she tottered, then sat. She looked up into Talon's impassive earthy eyes. "Thanks, Howard."
"You've seen this before?" he asked sternly.
"No," she said flatly, "I'm in it." She turned back to the frozen screen. "This is my partner's murder in Spain three years ago." She looked up at Director Vance. "When local police tried to prosecute, they couldn't find any witnesses other than me, much less videotape, and the case went cold. This cameraman whispered a few words just as I started screaming. The video camera's on-board microphone caught it. It's only a few words, but…"
"VRT can sort it out," finished Vance. "I'll send this down to Abby right away. She'll be able to isolate the sounds. Can you identify the speaker?"
"Yes. I can arrange a voice-print to match it, if we call my Lyon office," she said with some bitterness. The three men exchanged a look, which she caught. "I told you when I came here, Director, that someone was hindering this investigation. This voiceprint is proof, and there's more downstairs. There's an accomplice, and the suikari just revealed himself." She glared at the screen again, and whispered, "I've got you now, asni."
"Frost, this bastard is hunting YOU," Talon explained. "The Director doesn't want to lose another agent; that's why you're off the case, and I'm on it. I need to be read into new evidence, and you're being shipped back to Lyon."
Frost stood, and faced her superior with indignation. "Three years I've had no backup, and suddenly my boss thinks my SAFEST option is to leave, UNARMED, and take the next available PUBLIC transport to France?" She radiated anger like heat, body tensed, eyes blazing, leaning into Talon's space, her voice was quiet but firm. "If our Director WANTED me dead, he couldn't make it any easier if he handcuffed me naked to a pole!"
"Officer Frost, stand down!" insisted Talon. "This is not a DEBATE, it's an ORDER!" He stepped closer. "I agree: pulling you out is senseless. If you want to protest the order, I will gladly back you up! But until that happens, you are off this case. Now, hand over your SHIELD and WEAPON!"
The pair stood there, glaring at each other, and Gibbs sidled over to Vance, keeping a wary eye on the standoff. Catching Vance's eye, Gibbs spoke quietly. "Frost has been running this case three years. Extracting her now isn't protective, it's investigation suicide," he protested. "She has insights into this monster we don't; reading Lt. Talon in won't replace that."
Director Vance sighed. "I agree with you, Gibbs, but we have no say in the matter. Officer Frost does not work for NCIS; she's Interpol. Her Director gave an order, and she has to take it, or quit."
Frost turned towards them suddenly. "Gentlemen, you're absolutely right," she said pleasantly, a crafty look on her face.
"What?" Gibbs said, puzzled and wary.
"I haven't had a break in three years! It's a miracle I haven't had a nervous breakdown before now." She stood up, reached into her handbag, and pulled out her wallet. Extracting her shield, she pressed it into Lt. Talon's hand, and smiled as his eyebrows knit together. "No hard feelings, Howard. You're a good cop. I'm confident that you and NCIS will be able to close this case within a day or two." Unstrapping her holster from her belt, she handed him her gun. "I'm going to take some vacation time, and visit my family. I haven't seen any of them in a long time. Now, as soon as we get you read in, I'll clean my personal effects out of the desk downstairs."
"The other gun, first, Frost," insisted Talon, holding out his hand again, "and the knives at your wrists."
She grumbled, but bent over and unstrapped a small gun from her right ankle, which she handed to Lt. Talon. Rolling up her sleeves, she revealed two small flick knives, which she unclasped and handed to Talon. He stuck out his large hand again.
"And the C-4," he insisted.
"WHAT?" said Vance and Gibbs together, but she reached into her purse again, pulling out four pieces of innocent-looking Bazooka Bubble Gum.
"Killjoy," she said, dropping them carefully into his outstretched hand. Seeing the dismay on Vance and Gibbs' faces, she said "What? They're micro-charges, and stable until lit." Gibbs closed his eyes, and shook his head in disbelief.
"I have a car waiting downstairs to take you back to our office. From there you fly back to Lyon tonight," Talon said evenly. "We'll ship you your personal effects and clothing."
"I don't think so, Howard," she said, smiling sweetly. "You don't have the authority to remove me from American soil."
His eyes narrowed, "Officer Frost…" he began threateningly,
"Has dual citizenship, since her biological father is American," finished Director Vance. "And since she is not under arrest by Interpol, you have no authority to remove her from our soil. She's currently under NCIS's protective umbrella, as a witness in our joint investigation." He pulled out a toothpick and stuck it between his teeth. "Nicely played, Frost. You ever consider politics?"
"Director Vance," she said, scandalized, "there's no reason to talk dirty!"
Gibbs groaned, slapping his hand to his forehead. Talon snorted in disgust.
"Read me into this, already. We have a pervert to catch."
Tony had returned from Forensics when the trio came down the stairs, and was looking through his email as they walked up. Gibbs led Talon to his computer, and showed him the email with Frost's semi-nude form; the tall officer scowled but said nothing. Brynja walked to the desk she had been using, and began packing up her few effects into her briefcase. Tony's eyebrows went up.
"Brynja, what are you doing?" he called evenly.
She glanced up at him, then back at her packing. "I've been removed from the case—I'm officially on vacation—and have been replaced by Lt. Howard Talon." She motioned to the tall dark man standing over Gibb's computer, and he glanced up. "Lieutenant, these are NCIS Special Agents Anthony DiNozzo and Timothy McGee. They can help get you up to speed." She clicked her briefcase shut and bit her lip, thinking. "I should call my father and Max before I leave, though," she said, pulling out her phone.
"Where are you going," asked Tony, "and who is Max?"
Brynja sighed and looked up. "I'm not leaving the umbrella, if that's what you're worried about, Tony, but beyond that I'm not sure. I can stay at my father's place or at a safe house if NCIS wants to put me up. I need to shower, change, and sleep. Maximillian is my housemate in Lyon, and old enough to be my grandfather," she added, seeing the amused look on Tony's face. "Someone bugged my apartment there the way they did here in America." Cold fury replaced his amused look. "The way Grendel operates—" she shook her head. "I just don't want Max to get hurt."
"I'll take care of Max," offered Lt. Talon over Gibbs' desk. "I have friends in the Lyon PD that can extract him under the guise of a welfare check." His intense black eyes focused on Frost. "I'll need the address to your flat, and a description of Max for Lyon's PD."
Frost nodded, and scribbled something on a pad of paper, then pulled a photograph out of her wallet. "This is Max," she said, handing the photo to Talon, "and this is my Lyon address. Anybody showing up to extract him should carry a loaf of pumpernickel bread. He'll know I sent the messenger, and co-operate fully." Talon took both, nodded, and turned back to talking with Gibbs.
Tony walked over to Brynja's desk. "Did you turn in your shield and gun?" he asked, his face concerned and his voice low.
"Ja, Tony, I did," sighed Brynja.
"So what now? You can't go running around DC," he pointed out.
"I don't know," she replied, frustrated. "I can't stay here forever, or even at my father's, any more than that aircraft carrier can sit in dry dock for the next 50 years, but I'm out of ideas."
"Campfire," offered McGee suddenly. Brynja looked puzzled, so he hastened to explain. "It's what we call an informational huddle; everyone shares whatever information he or she has, and we brainstorm from there."
"Good idea, McGee," Gibbs called out, pulling up a chair, and motioning for everyone else to do the same. "Where do you want to start?"
McGee looked at his boss, nodded, and picked up the remote.
"With the Edinburg Seven, from Frost's first case," he said, pulling up a picture of Captain Jenkin's son and six other young men. "There are too many things in common for it to be a coincidence."
"Robert Jenkins is dead," offered Brynja, "he was killed in a prison riot about a year after his incarceration."
"What a coincidence," said McGee dryly, "the rest of the Seven also died in prison, police custody, or under police supervision."
"What?" asked Brynja, shocked.
McGee nodded. "Six fraternity brothers went to various correctional facilities for multiple convictions of assault, battery, kidnapping, rape, and delivery of a controlled substance. The seventh—he was the youngest involved, only 18 at the time and a pledge—turned state's evidence, and walked away with jail time served and an electronic tether." Seven male faces appeared on the big screen. "There were two American students (one of which was Robert Jenkins), one Irish, two English, one Scottish, and one French. None of them survived three years past conviction."
Tony glanced over at Brynja. Her face was expressionless, but her right hand had closed into a tight fist and her knuckles were white. He moved his chair next to hers and leaned over. "Brynja?" he said quietly. "You alright?"
She glanced at him quickly, then back at the pictures on the screen. "I haven't looked at these in a long time. It's just—bad memories. Marcois Normand is—was—my ex-boyfriend." She looked at the pictures again, and for a moment was silent. "When the trial ended he started screaming that I had betrayed him, and that he was going to make me pay. I can't believe he's really dead."
"Probie," Tony said, "is there any chance these deaths were faked?" The look on his face was calculating.
"Hard to tell, Tony. Some of them might be," McGee offered, "but some of them definitely aren't. We have pictures of Robert Jenkins' funeral and his parents' deaths to consider. A hit-and-run driver killed Matthew Tauten—the Scot on probation. It was very public. Harry Ballinger was found hanged to death in his cell, but the circumstances are suspicious. It may have been an in-house murder, and not a suicide. The rest," he eliminated the pictures of the known dead, leaving four mug shots, "I'm still waiting for confirmation on these, but they're all supposedly dead."
"So who does that leave?" asked Gibbs.
"It leaves: Marcois Normand, of France; Jeffrey White, from America; Colin Orland, from Northern Ireland; and Nigel Blakely, from England," read McGee. "Most of their bodies were damaged beyond visible recognition, and had to be identified by uniform and tags."
"How convenient," muttered Talon. "Those aren't accidents, that's an insurance policy."
"I agree," growled Gibbs. "From here on we don't consider anybody dead without forensics identifying the body. McGee, see if you can get autopsy reports on the last four perps."
"Anybody besides Jenkins have family ties to the American military?" asked Tony.
"None so far," replied McGee. "White would be the obvious choice, but his siblings are all civilians, and his parents have no military background."
"Stay on it, McGee," ordered Gibbs. "There's a link we're missing somewhere."
"Officer Frost," prompted Talon, "what do you have on this pervert? How do you read him?"
Her eyes narrowed. "He's American, because of the military ties, his accent, and the way he swears. He's charismatic. He's careful. He enjoys mind games and cruelty, which would suggest a sociopath personality, and he's methodical in his execution. There's obvious hatred towards women and girls-possibly a bad relationship with his mother. Somehow he's connected to the Edinburg Seven case, perhaps a friend or a family member, maybe even another member of the fraternity. He doesn't differentiate between the innocent and the guilty—no empathy at all. Legal and personal boundaries mean nothing to him. He understands Icelandic, so he's at least bilingual, and well educated. He may be wealthy, or well connected, to be able to afford the surveillance he's been using."
"Grendel being American eliminates your French ex-boyfriend. Wealth should eliminate most military personnel," noted Tony, "they aren't a rich bunch."
"Except this one has been financing his agenda with prostitution—and an expensive branch at that," offered Talon, stroking his chin. "Children command a higher price than adult women."
"Sick bastard," growled Gibbs.
"Agenda," murmured McGee. "Revenge, do you think?"
"Partly," agreed Brynja, "but it seems to go beyond that. He reacted like a jealous husband when I came on to Tony—it was an act we put on for the bugs this morning," she explained. "He thinks he owns me; I'm like property to him, and nobody else can touch me."
"Yet he's had you physically assaulted three times," cautioned McGee. "He's doesn't seem worried about other people hurting you."
"It's still him behind it, McNiceGuy," corrected Tony. "He's controlling the action; it's abuse by proxy, but it isn't satisfying him any more. He wants the real kick, no more stand-ins."
"And he has an ally in my department, someone who hates me with equal passion," mentioned Brynja, "someone who is willing to play his game. Grendel is into games—getting me removed from the investigation is one of his ploys, but it makes no sense."
"He's playing you like a game-fish," offered Talon. "If you run, he gives you line. If you fight, he enjoys it. He's trying to draw you in close enough to gaff."
"Why?" asked McGee, confused. "If he's as wealthy as you suspect, couldn't he just buy what he wanted? Why go to all the trouble of getting Frost kicked off the case? "
"There's no sport in that, McGee," offered Tony.
"I can't be bought, and he isn't trying to remove me from the hunt; he wants me to go solo." Frost stared at the pictures on the flat screen, and her jaw tightened. "It's one reason we have his crew in lockup; they're expendable. We can try and break them, but I doubt any of them know who Grendel really is. That's one advantage he has: he knows me, but I don't know him. Nobody does."
"I wouldn't say that," offered Tony.
tbc