Epilogue One
At quarter after one in the morning Supervisory Special Agent Martine Joswig lets herself into her apartment and locks the door behind her. She's monumentally tired and grateful she no longer has to disguise it, so mentally and physically exhausted it's an effort to get her sluggish brain to think any thoughts other than 'bed'. Kicking off her high heeled shoes as she walks, she decides to put them away tomorrow, for the moment grateful to feel the comforting carpet on her bare feet.
Going into her bedroom and to the ivory colored writing desk beyond her bed, she tugs the band holding her pony tail in place and drops it onto the table, shaking out her black hair. She shrugs out of her jacket, hanging it over the back of the chair before the desk. Then she pulls off the black leather shoulder harness holding her Sig, drapes it over the chair and lets it hang over her jacket. Next she unbuttons her red blouse, removes it and lays it on the bed. Now clad in her red bra and black skirt, she bends down, pulls the Sig from its holster, thumbs the safety off, whirls and levels the gun in a two handed grip at the man standing in the bedroom doorway.
"You Idiot! I almost blew your head off!" She raises the gun and slips the safety back on. "What are you doing here?"
"Watching you undress," he says, coming into the room as she sets the gun on the desk behind her. "And that's not the head I really like you to blow." He comes closer to the foot of the bed and pulls her close.
"I was wrong," she tells him lovingly, "you're not an idiot. You're a disgusting, sexist animal," she puts her arms about his neck, molding her body to his.
"But you'll never cure me." He kisses her, his hands fervently stroking her body and Martine's thoughts are no longer about sleep. They're still about bed but sleep will come later when she's finally more relaxed. As they cling to one another, their hands hungrily exploring one another's heating bodies, she feels the tension of the day replaced by far more pleasurable tension.
x
She kisses him, her hot passion burning her as she presses her body to his, enjoying the feel of his hands exploring her flesh, igniting her. His lips slip to her throat and she groans loudly as fiery sensations flare through her body. Her cries increase in volume with every breath as his hands consume her. His lips at her throat drive her mad, rip lustful groans from her. His hand behind her undoes the tiny hooks of her red bra and she feels it slip away even as she tugs at his clothing. She doesn't draw back even to let the bra be pulled away but clings to him, hungrily kisses him. Her tongue duels with his, her right hand grips his hair and she doesn't let him pull away. Martine wants to devour him, wants him to force her onto the bed beside her and take her with merciless hunger.
She registers the pressure at her left ribs a moment before a barely muffled gunshot, still loud to her ears, blasts searing pain through her. She stiffens in shocked agony as the bullet cuts through her body from left to right side. It pierces her lungs and heart to erupt out her right side. Agony vies with astonishment. Her lips are still trapped against his, her scream smothered. Her wide eyes are locked upon his, and she can't find the love.
Martine's knees buckle as the second shot explodes into her. The agony of the second bullet tears through her. Angled slightly downward, it slices through her left lung, under her heart and pierces her diaphragm, puncturing her liver before erupting out of her body. She sags in his arms. The pain is so intense she never truly feels the third bullet tear through her stomach and lower liver to also rip out her right side.
Martine falls backward to slam to the floor, her right arm slapping the mattress, knocked back across her body and then to fall to her side into the blood pooling beside her. Her very last sight as agony blurs her eyes is the emptiness in his eyes above her. She tries to speak, but her cough brings blood to lips that can only form her soundless question: Why?
Her Sig is on the desk beside her, miles away. She can feel the blood gushing...
Her eyes close. There's nothing but darkness.
x
The man walks out of the room, his clothes covered with her blood. He'll need the overcoat he'd left in the stairwell down the hall. He slips the thick leather glove over his bloody hand to push open the door. He leaves the apartment and closes the door unlocked behind him.
Epilogue Two
McGee, accompanied by his temporary partner, Chaplain O'Mallory, enters Headquarters the following morning, feeling vastly satisfied. It had taken hours to wrap up the case last night. When McGee had finally driven O'Mallory back to the Rectory following her first Citizen's Arrest and the statements she was obliged to give, she had been extremely grateful to her old friend for all he'd done. She does, however, make it a point to be present this morning, meeting him downstairs in the garage so they can arrive in Operations together.
Though the location of the incriminating evidence had been obtained in a very unorthodox manner, through very questionable legality, that manner had proven effective indeed. Late in the night a team had entered Samson's apartment, carrying a warrant with no one to present it to. They ported the warrant on the wall in accord with the letter of the law and then scoured the apartment, retrieving every piece of photographic evidence in whatever media it was stored, be it negative, print or computer file.
Samson is presently in a holding cell downstairs, his disposition to be determined. His boxes of treasure sit upon Ziva David's desk, ready when the Alpha Shift team assembles with one of NCIS' newest recruits.
Siobhan cannot bear not to be present for the dénouement. She's cautiously undemonstrative in her gratitude this morning, even when the pair rode up alone in the elevator. Were he to ask, she'd say it's because he's still hurting from the wounds received during his captivity. The truth is that Siobhan, shaken to the core by this close call, doesn't want to touch anyone.
McGee has no time to empty his equipment into his desk drawer before being drawn into the conference with the rest of his team. Last night's operation was not only unorthodox, it was unauthorized and extra-legal in the extreme. Had it been less than a complete success, he's sure he won't survive Gibbs' response.
This morning McGee and O'Mallory are in their usual attire, rather than last night's green Army fatigue uniforms. Of McGee's temporary unemployment Gibbs chooses to say nothing, and in the celebratory atmosphere no one is about to remind him.
x
"What are we going to do with them?" Michelle Lee asks, looking over the boxes, soon to be safely ensconced in the Evidence Lockers. They're filled with thickly stuffed manila envelopes, a name written across the upper edge of each. There's an appalling number of envelopes, each representing a victimized woman.
"I don't know, Lee," Gibbs counters, "what do you suggest?"
She knows from his tone that he has definite plans; it remains only to see if her judgment jives with his. She hopes so. "Since a confession obtained under duress, especially such duress as reported is inadmissible and a good, or even a bad, lawyer would challenge it and Tim's - sorry, Special Agent McGee's - actions were unorthodox, unauthorized and constitute numerous illegal acts, we cannot prosecute Edward Samson." She's sorry to see the distress on O'Mallory's face.
"However, we can return the photographs to the victims of the scheme. If they wish to file suit against Samson, they are well within their rights to do so. How the photographs were obtained may well be judged to be irrelevant."
Gibbs looks about the bullpen at his team. "You heard the lady." He hardly needs to tell them what to do next; obtain IDs from the envelopes. They already know each contains a front page with the particulars on each victim, so there will be no need to examine any contents. They are simply to start making calls.
Gibbs reaches into one of the boxes, searches though the thick manila envelopes for a moment, withdraws one and extends it to Siobhan. It will not be needed as part of a stack of evidence.
She steps back, revolted. "Please - burn them."
Gibbs is quite content to hear this decision. "McGee, show her to the incinerator."
"I'm just happy this is all over," Siobhan declares to her old friend as he takes the rejected envelope. "Even though I knew what was really happening, my heart still turned over when you threw him out of that helicopter."
"You really threw him out of a helicopter, McGee?" Gibbs demands.
"Well, er," he does not want to say it. "Yes."
He slaps McGee's arm. "I've always wanted to try that. I didn't think you had it in you."
"Right out of 'Mission: Impossible'!" DiNozzo enthuses, wishing he'd been there to see it.
It takes McGee a moment to turn off his initial apprehension and enjoy the compliment. "Just luck to have a very grateful movie producer on my side."
x
Several weeks ago, while driving home from work, McGee had come upon a burning house and had rushed in, pulling out Kimberly Vitale, teenage daughter of said movie producer. The man had been monumentally grateful, enough to give any reward Tim McGee might ask for. McGee now considers them even.
"Now get back to work - you've had enough Leave."
"I spent it at my desk," he protests over the sound of the elevator ringing.
"Your own fault, I gave you the chance."
"Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs!" Abby cries, running into the bullpen in typical elation, "you've gotta see this! Hi, Siobhan, congratulations!"
"Thanks," she answers, barely keeping up with the 'Caf-Pow!'-energized woman.
"See what, Abs?" Gibbs asks, trying to keep her focused. He doesn't bother to try to rein her in.
"Remember when I broke the programming on all those brainwash disks you confiscated from Sam Richards' patients?"
It had only been a few weeks ago. "What did you find?"
"Well, I'm done examining every one of them. I had to be sure there were no variations in the coup d'état. Coup d'état, I love that word. Those words."
"Abby." He should've reined her in.
"Once you filter out all the hinky music which is supposed to send you into La-La land, you're left with a series of progressively worsening suggestions that ultimately become directions. They're so low and so fast the ears can't hear them - but the brain does. Stage One starts out nice and mellow, a bit of resentment, a bit of aggravation, but by the end of a few hours of it you're ready to hurt somebody. It goes on over and over all night, every time you try to sleep.
"Later versions reinforce the need; you actually get addicted to the music and you've got to keep coming back to it. That's why I was having so many problems, I came in in the middle of the program, so to speak. Outwardly you're fine, you're programmed to act like nothing's going on, but inside you're turning into a brainwash junkie."
x
DiNozzo is about to interject a movie title, Gibbs is ready and silences him with an upraised hand.
"They get worse as you go along," Abby says with a grateful 'thank you' Sign gesture to Gibbs, "but every single one of them contains the kill command. You're supposed to kill the one you love the most - presumably your husband or wife who's in the Service, then do yourself the same way. Murder-suicide was supposed to eliminate witnesses that could trace the plot back. Even if the subject can't self-terminate then and there, he or she is to do it as soon as possible. "The instructions get more specific as the disks are switched one for another, presumably as Richards got to know more and more about you, but even 'Stage One' will be enough to make you kill on command if you listen to it often enough."
"Abby." He does not actually say 'get to the point', his tone does.
"Well, every one of them had the very same kill command - all but one."
x
This news is as significant as it is unpleasant, and no one has to work too hard to reach the same conclusion. "Another Doctor?"
"That's my guess too, but how could it happen that one of the disks wound up in the group Richards had?"
"DiNozzo, David, check the histories of every patient, did anyone see anyone else but Richards? McGee, get back on that secret pocket thingy in his computer, tear it apart until you find something. Lee, you and I are going out to interview this woman with the different disk," he turns to Abby, "who is it?"
"Mrs. Ann West, her husband's Major Tom West, Army."
Gibbs pulls out his cell phone. He wants Col. Hollis Mann of Army CID in on this one from the top.
x
DiNozzo has one last concern before leaping into the work. "What about this command? Could it be triggered accidentally?"
"Nope. Just like Richards' bunch, the code words are so obscure you'd never hear them these days. They're from pairs of children's cartoons from years and years ago. They probably don't run them anywhere but in the Museum of Broadcasting. He used 'Courageous Cat and Yogi Bear'. This other one is 'Secret Squirrel and Batfink'."
"Well done, Abby," Gibbs says, "get–"
Tim feels the tug of his Sig being yanked out of its holster from behind. He whirls and feels his blood turn to ice.
Siobhan, a terrible, blank-eyed stare locked upon him, holds the gun inches from his face.
Abby's whisper is loud in the stillness. "Oh crap!"
ooo
To Be Continued…
ooo
Next Episode: Swiss Knife:
Tragedy overwhelms the Agents as an unknown enemy declares war on the NCIS.
