Chapter Ten
Debriefing
Since returning to Headquarters, McGee has tried to keep from thinking - except of the Investigation or of Ziva David. Normally these two things wouldn't present difficult choices, but his normally ordered mind is shaken. He's not sure he'll be able to find answers to any of his dilemmas. It is after fifteen hundred, with one hour to go before he can clock out and it'll be nearly evening and he can call Shav from home when Gibbs strides into the bullpen and stalks up to his desk.
"What have you got, McGee?"
Fortunately, he's ready with a concise report. "Boss, I examined both computers and haven't found a single connection. The Joralemons and the MacDiamonds lived on opposite sides of the city. Going by their calendars I can find nothing to connect them. I'm going through their contact lists but haven't found any matches for names or places."
Gibbs knows how much McGee hates to make such an admission but he can hardly expect miracles. The consolidating of four lives to find a pattern is not something that can be done in an afternoon, no matter how good the Agent is. It's just too large a job.
"You've got three hours." He turns his attention to the others and the multitude of cardboard boxes spread out among the three desks. They contain every file folder from the drawers of Dr. Samuel Richards.
"Before you ask," DiNozzo tells him, "these are the records of six hundred sixty two patients going back three years, one hundred seventy nine of which are currently active. Of the four hundred eighty three that remain, sixty two became inactive in the last six months. These two hundred forty one are split more or less equally among the three of us according to gender."
Gibbs looks at the tall piles obscuring Lee and David's desks and the stack on DiNozzo's. "Split better."
"Yes," Ziva says, obviously resuming an argument begun in Gibbs' absence. "I said I would expect that you would love to gain some insight into the private thoughts of his female patients."
"There's only so much Dr. Phil and Oprah a man can take."
Gibbs strides over to Lee's desk, takes a pile and brings it to DiNozzo's, indiscriminately doing the same with a stack from Ziva's. The end of the resorting leaves more files deposited upon DiNozzo's desk than on either of the women's.
He returns to his desk, finds the signal light flashing on his phone. He picks it up and presses the button, a few moments later puts it down and starts for the stairs. "I'll be in MTAC."
xxx
Gibbs had always thought of the huge command center as being inappropriately reminiscent of a theater, with rows of seats facing a movie viewscreen. There he finds Director Jennifer Shepherd standing before the huge screen, her back to him. He descends the ramp, remembering that the last time they had been together in this room, it had been for a very unpleasant encounter. That had been with a pair of officious Army Generals and their not very veiled threats, "You sent for me, Director?"
It would be 'Jenny' if there weren't two Operators manning the control board to his left. When she turns to him, he's glad it had been 'Director'. He slows to a cautious stop.
Jennifer Shepherd has always had, Gibbs thinks, smoldering eyes, but now words like 'molten' or 'incendiary' come more readily to mind. She turns her head very slowly to the Operators, her voice held in very careful check. "Dismissed."
Fiery as her eyes are, the word is glacial and, though the men would do their best not to look like they're slinking out, they evacuate without losing a second. They never look at her. When the door closes behind them Shepherd stands perfectly still, her fists clenched at her sides, every muscle in her body taut, hard as iron.
Gibbs waits for her to speak first. It takes a very long time and when she finally does her voice is toneless, her lips tight. "The SecNav and the Chief of Naval Intelligence were just on the line. First several key Scientists of a Government 'think tank' get killed, we capture the killer and the one who compromised vital secrets and we let them get away - never mind that the Army took them - left hand not knowing what the right is doing. We are continuing to fail to capture La Grenouille, then someone kills several innocent people in an attempt to kill Abby and the Government has to pay out a barge-load of money in indemnities. Now Navy wives are murdering their husbands and immediately... For fifteen minutes, in front of two technicians, they reamed me a new one and I had to stand here and take it."
Her voice drops from contained fury to appeal. "Please tell me you have something that's worth what I had to endure."
Gibbs looks at his old partner, his friend, his Director, hardly able to picture the moment she has described. She is madder than he has ever seen her and with far too much reason. He'd be apoplectic at half of that.
He shakes his head, says "Nope," turns and walks away.
x
Shepherd's fury is overwhelmed by outraged astonishment as she watches him leave. "Special Agent Gibbs!"
Halfway up the ramp he turns back to her, "I don't have a blessed thing to give you, Jen. But I can tell you where you can get my report."
Turning again, he continues up the ramp and out the door.
Feeling her blood pressure erupt, tightly containing a shriek of fury, she stalks after him.
xxx
Tim McGee, feeling more and more unable to focus, finally decides to do something about the thoughts that keep dragging his mind from work. He picks up his phone, dials a private cell phone number. He doesn't have to wait too long for a woman's voice to answer. /Hello?/
"Shav, it's me."
/Hi, 'me'./ There is much more pleasure in her tone than he'd been afraid there would be. He'd half expected to hear the quiet 'click' of her phone being closed.
"I know..." Suddenly he's uncomfortable. For the past two hours, ever since he'd left her, he'd known what he wanted to say. Now every word has vanished from his skull. "Look, I know you said to call tonight, we could talk, but things are pretty hectic. I'm not sure I can."
/That's all right./
"No, it–" He reins himself in sharply. "No, it isn't. The - the truth is I have to see you. I have to talk to you - about - about what happened at the Fair."
/We will talk, Timmy; but now's…. Now's not a good time./ He can hear how distracted she is, he's obviously interrupted something.
"Listen, I know when we can talk. There's... There's kind of a dinner party coming up on Tuesday and I was thinking..."
/Yes, Mr. Palmer invited me. It's at Ricardo's, isn't it? I have it in my calendar./
This is even more surprising, but he tries to take it in stride. "Then you're already going. Good. I can... I could pick you up–"
/Timmy,/ she cuts him off, but then there is a long, uncomfortable silence while she obviously hunts for the words. Her voice drops low. /Timmy, you're going to be with Ziva David. She is your date. I could not - it just wouldn't be appropriate./ He can hear her mind change. /Maybe I shouldn't go./
"No, please, I didn't mean–!"
/Doctor Mallard is escorting me. That's already been arranged./
Of course it would be, Tim realizes. An unescorted lady at a dinner party would be anathema to the man's sensitivities, and her presence as his guest would raise no concerns from Ziva or even Abby. What could he have been thinking of?
/You and I, Timmy, we know where we stand, but others might read something into it if... Timmy, I have to be careful if I'm going to maintain a working relationship with all your people. I'm Enkiss' Chaplain. I'm... It - we know where we stand - at least I think we do - but - it just... wouldn't be appropriate. You understand./
"Of course," he agrees. She hadn't allowed it to be a question. He just wants the conversation to be over, before anything else goes wrong. He wants to whack himself in the back of his head - with a brick. He cannot believe he's been so stupid. He's taken an uncomfortable situation and escalated it to the level of a near disaster. "I'll see you Tuesday."
/See you Tuesday./
"I love you."
x
His heart turns over. The words had slipped past his lips. He had intended to say 'goodbye', but that was not the word that came out!
There is profound silence on the other end of the line as he wishes again that he could smack himself in the back of his head. He's not certain, as he listens cautiously, if she's still on the line or has already hung up and missed his words. But he's afraid to speak and afraid to hang up.
It's a very long time before he decides she had indeed gone and he's safe. He's relieved and is about to hang up when he hears her soft words, barely a whisper. /I love you too, Timmy./
The line clicks dead and he's left holding the receiver.
x
McGee tries not to allow his head to clunk down hard upon his desk, fearing to announce his stupidity to the entire office. He rubs his eyes, tries to ease the strain upon them and to convince himself he hasn't just kicked his entire world into the bucket.
He feels his cell phone start to vibrate. Pulling it from his pocket, he finds a text message on the small screen. [Captive].
Glancing across the bullpen, he finds Ziva David's desk vacant. Standing up, doing his best to hide a smile of anticipation and a grimace of agonizing guilt, he glances to Tony and Michelle on either side of him; "I'm going to get some fresh air."
"Bring some back with you, Probie." DiNozzo appeals from behind a wall of files.
He walks away, his grin widening. He will bury his confusion and concern in what he truly has and forget his conflicting emotions by totallyburyingthoughts of Siobhan in total concentration upon Ziva.
He is absolutely through with conflicting emotions and anticipations and confusion and ambiguity and duality. He is on his way to see Ziva, and in answer to DiNozzo's appeal, what he's going to be getting he will certainly not bring back.
x
Boarding the elevator, he presses the top button. Exiting on that level, he turns left and proceeds down the long corridor to the Emergency Exit at the end. Glancing back to make certain no one has stepped out of any office, he finds the area empty. He pushes the unlatched door, steps into the dimly lit stairwell.
He had introduced Ziva to this sanctuary some time ago, and it had immediately become for her a setting for a private game. It became an indulgence into a secret something so different from the norm for them that no one who knew the woman would believe it of her. Exclusive to this place is an indulgence they've enjoyed several times already.
When he steps in and the door closes, he finds Ziva in the corner, pressed back apprehensively against the hanging folded fire hose. She wears only a small black bra completely inadequate for the job demanded of it, a smaller black thong and a look of utter terror. Her clothes, and her reserve, are folded aside.
"Please, sir," she gasps, pressing to the folded fire hose; trapped, terrified, helpless, "will you not let me go?"
"No," he starts to pull his tie loose.
She raises her hands, not to protect herself but in surrender, her arms pressed against the fire hose, emphasizing her vulnerability. "Do not hurt me! I will do whatever you want. Please do not hurt me!"
He smiles, advancing on her. He has never hurt her in any of their faux struggles and all of her screams he has ever had to muffle have never been of pain or fear….
xxx
Twenty minutes after leaving MTAC Jennifer Shepherd is clad in a grey NCIS gym shirt, shorts and sneakers, heavy blue gloves on her hands and a heavily padded blue guard encasing her head. She squares off against a similarly attired Jethro Gibbs in the elevated ring. There is no bell, no cheering crowd and no clock. "I'm not supposed to be doing this," she points out as they dance about, sizing one another up.
"Come on, Jenny, it's only fair. I'm the one not pushing my team. We could have answers for you but I decided to go easy on them - and I don't particularly care what you had to go through as a result."
She grins, snapping a left jab at his face that gets past his guard yet still barely nudges him. "I know what you're doing."
"You don't even know what you're doing. Morrow should never have left. If you were any kind of Director you'd know what your teams are accomplishing, who's sleeping on the job and you wouldn't have to have the SecNav ream you a new-"
This jab has more feeling behind it, slipping past his 'careless' guard and catching him solidly on the jaw, snapping his head back. But he shakes it off easily, his grin mocking her. "You're soft - too long behind a desk. No wonder James Dempsey took you so easily, you couldn't even fight back. And Bob, your driver, paid the price! He died because you're such a weak-!"
A rapid series of hard punches driven by real rage nearly get past his now earnest guard, but not well enough. He taunts her more, his accusations far more biting, much worse than being responsible for the death of a friend and loss of a husband and father.
x
Twenty minutes of unremitting abuse and revenge later they sit together on the edge of the ring, legs dangling, head protectors off. Jenny breathes heavily, her red hair plastered to her head. Her chest heaves, the wet shirt adhered to her body and she feels infinitely better than she has in months. "Thank you," she gasps.
"We should have this kind of debriefing on a regular basis."
"I don't think I could survive," she admits, panting for air.
"Ready to hear my report now?"
"Sure," she leans against him, wiping the sweat from her face with her shirt. "Lay it on me."
x
He just reaches the end of the condensed report when the door across the room swings open and DiNozzo comes in. "Boss, I–"
He had tracked Gibbs down through the Director's check-in with her Secretary but he's unprepared for the sight as they grasp the taut upper rope and boost themselves to their feet in the ring. He is especially not ready for the sight of NCIS' Director with her wet tee shirt plastered to her body.
"What is it, DiNozzo?"
"Well, er, I thought you'd like to know that we..." That shirt really is plastered admirably to her–
"Spit it out, DiNozzo!"
"Sally MacDiamond is a patient of Samuel Richards under her maiden name 'Callahan'."
Gibbs grasps the ring rope, swings under them and land on his feet, an impressive feat while wearing gloves. "You've saved yourself a debriefing."
"Boss?"
"Operations Policy D942-A; you'll be getting a memo on it. Agents who turn in unsatisfactory work will meet here with our Director - where they'll be inspired to do better."
Tony looks up at the woman as Gibbs passes; she smiles and thumps her blue gloves together twice. DiNozzo smiles back but it gradually falters as disbelief is replaced by two realizations: First, Gibbs is neither a liar nor a joker - Rule 7 notwithstanding. Second, it sounds just unlikely enough, considering Government thinking, to be true.
His smile faltering further, he follows Gibbs out. He gets as far as the door, however, when: "Agent DiNozzo!"
He turns, looking up at the woman, "Yes, Ma'am," he responds crisply.
"Remember, your Annual Evaluation comes up next week." She thumps the gloves together once. "I'm looking forward to it."
"Yes, Ma'am," he acknowledges and departs, now with even less confidence.
xxx
When the five Agents stop at the wooden door of the Psychiatrist's office their manner is vastly different than at their earlier collective visit. Then they had been projecting an air of cordial efficiency, interested in conversation and information. This time all know where their guns are.
Gibbs presses the button by the door, but in the seconds that follow the expected buzz does not sound. He pushes it again. They distinctly hear the muffled tone across the room even through the door.
Another moment's wait. Gibbs has had enough. "Ziva."
The woman drops to one knee and pulls a small packet of tools from her pocket. She selects two and uses them to manipulate the cylinder, works swiftly and silently. "Go."
Gibbs pushes the door open, Ziva moves to her right as the door swings wide and she hears the distinctive sound of metal clearing leather all about her. She draws her own Sig as she quickly rises to follow the others into the room. The Agents spread apart, widely separating as five pairs of darting eyes take in everything in the room.
There's no motion to attract the eye, the most arresting sight is directly before them. LeeAnn Rynager lies on the floor on her right side beyond her overturned chair, her body facing the white wall. She's crumpled into the space behind the glass topped table that serves as her desk. The wall is splattered with a spray of blood.
DiNozzo and McGee, closest to the inner door, take positions on either side of it, guns ready. The others spread to cover the room from three angles and signal their readiness. DiNozzo pushes the unlatched door with his foot and it quickly swings inward.
Samuel Richards lies facing them at the base of the wall between his glass topped table/desk and the fabric covered couch to the right. His right side is awash in blood which covers his stomach. There's a small hole in the center of his forehead. Blood has spattered the clear glass desktop before his overturned leather chair, which has fallen in the opposite direction. The wall and window behind the desk are awash in gore.
A rapid flicker of eyes proves there is no one else present. Lee and David turn from their positions to quickly check closets and bathroom, quiet reports of 'clear' virtually the only sounds in the offices. Guns, no longer needed, are returned to holsters and the team, split between the rooms, look at the two corpses.
"Two dead, separate rooms. Both shot in the head, no guns in sight…. If this is another murder / suicide," DiNozzo concludes grimly, "it's a good one."