Trev
"Okay, I got the British and Germans to open their databases for us," I said. We were all in Abby's lab, awaiting the rest of the fingerprint results.
"You got that done with a phone call?" Gibbs asked.
"Pulled a few favors," I explained. I would need to take a shower later. I hated working with those entitled, snotty, Oxford-grad, old-boy pricks at MI6. The BND was another story, however.
"What about the Russians?" Abby asked.
"Considering that the FSB has a death order out on me if I ever enter Russia without their permission first," I said, "They're not willing to be charitable."
"DiNozzo," Gibbs demanded.
"I tried the sister's work, home, even managed to find private cell phone, no answer on either," Tony said, "I put a call into NYPD, see if they can stop by her residence, but they're not in any hurry."
"Trev, you still got that friend in the NYPD?" Gibbs asked.
"Please, Kate Beckett and Mike Royce are almost family," I said, "I'll see if I can organize for a little voice to call out 'help meeeeee', when they reach the residence."
"You've been working on that Little Voice thing," Willie said.
"Thank you."
"Kate, talk to the victim's coworkers again," Gibbs ordered, "I want his daily schedule. DiNozzo, McDonald, neighbors, coffeemaker, anyone he saw on a daily basis that does not involve work. Trev, my office."
That doesn't sound good. Mentally counted my sins as I headed to the elevator, closely following Gibbs. When the elevator doors closed and he hit the emergency stop button (It's the reason why I only took the stairs) and turned to me.
"You okay?"
That was unexpected, "Just working the case, Boss."
"You never call me 'Boss'."
"Things change," I said.
"It was you're idea to open up the investigation to the British and the Germans," Gibbs said, "Your reason was a 'gut feeling'."
"You get them all the time."
"But not you," Gibbs said, "You get hunches, you have reasons for making the decisions you do."
"You know that the stab wounds are consistent with what has been taught in my family," I said.
"Then educate me on your family history," he ordered.
I took a deep breath, "We were part of the royal family in some distant way, Russian aristocracy. Because of this, when Lenin took over, my great-great-grandfather and his two brothers fled. My grandfather came here. His two brothers fled to Germany and Britain."
"You're looking to see if one of your relatives from out of country," Gibbs said.
"Problem is I don't know the last name of the family from before we came to the States," I said.
He flicked the switch again, restoring movement to the elevator, "Find out."
Kate
"Thank you, Sergeant," I said as he exited the conference room. It was the last of the Intelligence specialists that Petty Officer Omar worked with. I learned one thing for certain.
Never expect Intelligence specialists to give you just what you are looking for. They always give you sooooooo much more.
I would spend rest of the day going over my notes. On the plus side, I had a new lead we could follow.
"Petty Officer Omar had a girlfriend," I said as I entered the bullpen, "His coworkers didn't know who she was, but they caught him making a personal call at work."
"Only reason you keep a girlfriend a secret from buddies like that is if it's someone you could get in trouble for being with," Trev said.
"This isn't Romeo and Juliet, and the Montagues and the Capulets have been at peace for a while," I pointed out.
"No, Trev's right," Gibbs said, "He's breaking the rules."
"Foreigner," Major McDonald said, "When you work with Top Secret projects, like Intelligence Specialists, there are some rules you have to follow. Things like dating foreigners, for example."
"Technically, only CIA has written down rules about that behavior," Trev said, "But it doesn't need to be written."
"Yeah, Jon here knows all about-"
"Willie," Trev warned. My interest was piqued.
"I'll check his phone records, see if I can track her down," I said.
"I'm busy trying to see if I can get FSB to send their DC rep down here for a sit down to see if I can convince them to open their fingerprint ID system to us," Trev said.
"Tony is down with Abby, we found a place where the victim liked to eat with a lady, late twenties, early thirties, black hair, accent. Always paid in cash, but we managed to get them on video. Seeing if we can improve image quality. I'm pulling call history, see if I can track her down," Willie said.
"Kate, work with Major McDonald," Gibbs ordered, "Trev, get me access to the Russian database.
"Working on-" he was interrupted by his phone, "Trev... Previt... khah rah SHOH..." he continued in Russian.
Something was off, though. I've heard Trev speak Russian. When he does, he usually sounds more... excited than this. Happier. It's like he's been dreading this conversation.
And then I see him pale. Like he's just heard something he's been dreading, "Ubiistov?" he said. He continued his conversation for another minute before hanging up the phone, obviously shaken.
"You okay?" I asked.
He gulped, "Fine."
I looked at Willie. He looked suspicious too, but he mouther "Later".
Trev picked up his phone again and dialed. He said, "This is Agent Trevodur, NCIS, I need to speak with the FSB representative. Tell her it's about the Ubiistov crime family," he waited, "Agent Aristova? I'd like access to your database.
Trev
Agent Darya Aristova was about five-eight, with her really pale skin contrasting with her very dark hair. She spoke with the typical Russian accent accented by her typical Russian smokers rasp.
"You think your killer is Ubiistov?" she asked.
"I have a hunch," I said, sipping my coffee. We were in the break room, enjoying a warming cup of coffee. At least, I was. She couldn't enjoy coffee without one of those unfiltered Russian nasty cigarettes.
"I will need more than hunch," she demanded. At one time I would have found the accent a turn-on. Now, though, I let foreign women no access.
"You're gonna go with a hunch because you've cut your teeth in organized crime in St Petersburg. Then again in Moscow," I said, "You've seen what the Ubiistov's have done' if you can get at them in any way, you will leap at the chance."
"You sound confident," she said.
"Because I am."
She mulled it over, "Fine, but if he's a member of family, he extradited back to the Federation."
"And if he's a soldier?"
"Keep him," she said, "We do not need another of their soldiers in our prisons."
"Deal," I said, "Time to meet our forensic scientist."
Abby's Lab
"This vaunted American Forensic Scientist?" she asked as she entered the lab, "This is CSI Lab?"
"We are not CSIs," me and Tony said.
"Just give her the access codes to the FSB Fingerprint Database," I said.
"Hi," Abby said, "you must be the FSB rep here in DC. I'm Abby. What's Russia like? I've always wanted to see St Basil's cathedral. It seems really cool and neat with it's strange architecture..."
"It like she punches me with words," Darya said. It was the most accurate way I could describe it.
"This is Abby Scuito," I said, "Abby!"
That stopped her, "Right, FSB database," she quickly pulled up the login screen.
Darya looked at the keyboard uncertainly, "Alphabet is-"
"Is not Cyrillic," I finished, "Abby?" she quickly pulled up an on-screen Cyrillic keyboard. Darya thanked her and input her password.
"You have access to the Federation's fingerprint system," she said, "I need a smoke."
"How long until we get a match?" I asked.
"Not long, three, four hours," she said.
"Four hours?" Abby scoffed, "Our own system takes twelve."
"We have more servers."
"It's true," I said, "Pieces of shit, but a lot of pieces of shit."
"Are you insulting our computers?"
"Yes I am."
"Good, you are not fool."
"I still don't think we will find a match within four hours," as the words left her mouth, her computer dinged, "Say anything, I kill you and leave forensic evidence."
"Is she serious?" Darya asked.
"We've never been able to tell," Tony said. Oddly, he was keeping a distance that was unusual for him. I don't think he trusted Aristova. Good. Neither did I.
Abby stared at the file in confusion. It was written in Russian. She couldn't even pronounce the words. I translated, "Teras Petrovich Androv. Served two years in Russian juvie , released as a twelve year old. According to his- I'd guess you'd call it parole officer- he's been working as a clerk at a local business that has no ties to the mafia."
"He is soldier for Ubiistovs," Aristova said, "How you say, signs match, no?"
"How do you figure?" Tony said.
"Ubiistovs like to recruit from young orphans," Aristova said, "Send to school, give education, creates loyalty to the family. During schooling, they... educate, I think you say, teach how to accomplish their tasks."
"When I was working in Russia, I learned quick that Ubiistov soldiers could freakin shoot," I said.
"So, shooting, murder, enforcement," Tony said.
"Ubiistov is small, but it controls half of Moscow and and a large area in St Petersburg," I said.
"I had informant, he said that large shipments are coming to America," Aristova said, "It may be that Ubiistov's are trying to create foothold in America."
"Not a happy thought," I said, "Alright, he's a soldier, which means he's our problem. I'll escort you out, Agent Aristova."
"It was pleasure to meet you all," she said on our way out.
Major Theodore T. McDonald, USAF
"Three calls in the past week to a prepaid cell phone, under the name 'Scarlett O'Hara," I said, "Foreign lady who likes Gone with the Wind, where have you been all my life?"
"I thought you couldn't date foreign girls," Kate said.
"Doesn't mean I can't fantasize," I said, "Any way to trace it?"
"If she paid with a credit card, maybe," she said.
"What about these?" I asked, highlighting a residential number, "occurs maybe once every month going as far back as last year. Last about an hour, too."
"Hmm," she said, deep in thought, "Good call, I'll look into it."
"McDonald," I froze. I know that voice.
Kate tried to look up. I stopped her, "Maybe if we just ignore her, she'll just go away," I whispered. She looked at me like I was crazy.
"I now you hear me, McDonald."
Damn. Time to face the music... and the mother of Jon's child.
"Hi, Alyssa..."
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