Chapter 11: December 25, early afternoon
The mists of a bleak Christmas day behind them, Gibbs and his group hesitated beside (not in front of) the glass doors to the Navy Museum. All inside appeared black, as one would expect in the power outage…but could attackers be lurking just out of sight? Ziva, the most nimble-fingered of the group, pulled out her lock pick tools, determined to do the job silently. Then she stopped and reached to push the door open.
Gibbs' hand caught her wrist, and their eyes met. If they're inside, would they have the door locked? Maybe; maybe not. The urge to just try to turn pushing on the door bordered on overwhelming. Gibbs let go of Ziva's wrist, and she knew he was leaving the decision up to her. No. I will not push. That could give us away. Instead, she picked the lock—it was locked—and then took a step back.
There were five of them in the front door party: Gibbs, Ziva and Tony, of course; and agents Keith Blackstone of HQ and Lucy Kim of the CRFO. Gibbs signaled to Tony and Ziva, and on Gibb's finger count of three, they burst through the door, guns leveled. Kim and Blackstone followed suit as the other three made room for them, and all dived right or left, to get away from the daylight coming in through the door glass.
Freezing in place, the agents waited for their eyes to adjust to the very dim light from the tinted doors and skylights. It was a throat-catching couple of minutes: if invaders were indeed in here, the invaders would see them long before the agents could see the invaders. Five…six...please, oh please…nine…ten…come on, eyes…thirteen…fourteen… A creak sounded somewhere. To the left? It could be just the old building muttering to itself. Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine…go! They could now see each other, dimly, and scattered, creeping without a sound. In the darkness, the museum exhibits were a jumble of large black objects; impassive objects that could be hiding attackers.
Step after silent step, and no sign so far. Suspense hung thickly in the air. A third of the way through the museum, and nothing. Step, step… Halfway through, almost…step…
Kim shrieked, once, briefly, as she was grabbed from behind. The agents pounded to her location, but the attacker had released her and fled. She wheezed, feeling her throat, feeling still the pressure of the blade that had been held against it. But they had their answer. They were not alone.
Still, if the attacker had fled, that indicated that he was alone, or at least part of only a small group. That might make things easier, if true. Step, step…
And then Gibbs hit the tripwire.
There was a crash and a roar as objects flew out in all directions, and something heavy from above shattered into masonry and concrete bits and fell. Dust rose in a huge cloud.
"Boss! Boss!" Tony cried out. Keeping silent didn't matter now; they'd been found out. Not under the rubble! Please! But the reasoning was inescapable, as the agents gathered. Gibbs and Kim were missing, and probably under there.
Tony and Blackstone dug frantically, while Ziva kept a moving guard, on the lookout. The attackers could still strike. "Boss!" "Lucy!" "Answer me!!" Finally a hand was found, and Lucy was uncovered. She sat up, coughing, and holding her chest. "Cracked a rib, I think," she said, "but otherwise I'm okay."
It was another few minutes before they found Gibbs, unconscious, but breathing; a gash on his forehead. He came to after a minute, and sat up with a groan.
"All parts in order, boss?" asked Tony. "You're wincing."
"Busted my wrist, it feels like," Gibbs said with a grimace. "At least it's the left one. Give me a hand up, will you?"
But they ducked down when rifle fire cracked the air. "They are fleeing out the back!" Ziva exclaimed. They set off in jagged pursuit, hiding behind display objects every few steps.
I wish I had a working cell phone, to warn Norris and Jones at the rear. In pain, Gibbs let Ziva take the lead. Now the attackers could be seen against the daylight coming in the rear doors. Just two of them, but neither could be allowed to escape. The agents got off their own shots, and one of the attackers staggered and fell.
Faster, faster… The remaining attacker reached the back door, and swore at finding it locked. Norris and Jones came out from the sidelines and peered in. Enraged, the attacker shot through the glass.
"NO!!" Kim shrieked, and jumped on the attacker. He fought her, clubbing her with his rifle butt. It was pandemonium as the others tried to separate them, and Kim struggled with him despite the repeated blows. Blackstone, finally getting a clear angle, shot him, and all was then quiet.
The carnage was appalling for such a short round. The two attackers—dead. Kim convulsed a few times, and then died in Blackstone's arms from the head blows. He wept over this very capable young woman he'd met only days before. They could see Jones and Norris lying just outside the door. Tony threw a heavy trash barrel through the locked back doors in desperation to get to them, but it was too late…they, too, were dead.
It would always be too much to bear. Always. But still, they had to go on. The living owed the dead that much.
Retrieving the bodies would have to wait. Gibbs needed medical attention, and word had to be gotten to TPTB about the two attackers. Where is the rest of the invasion force? Tony steered Gibbs back to the NCIS building while Ziva and Blackstone ran ahead with the news.
- - - - -
Gibbs insisted that Ducky treat him in MTAC. There was so much still to do, and they couldn't afford to sideline another leader. The squad room would have been Gibbs' first choice, but it was too chaotic and crowded. He needed to be able to think and plan. Ducky splinted Gibbs' wrist, and put his arm in a sling, tut-tutting as he did so. He didn't advise his old friend to take any downtime, silently agreeing that the mission needed him. After giving Gibbs some pills for the pain, Ducky departed.
Present at this meeting were Jenny, Zelig and Conklin; Alan Becker, head of the CRFO unit; Lt. Casey Townsend for the Anacostia naval group; and, at Gibbs' request, Ziva and Tony.
"I obviously can't do all of what I was doing before," said Gibbs, getting in words before the meeting formally started. "So I'm making battlefield promotions. Ziva has the combat experience; she'll lead Team A." He saw her nod, not looking too surprised. "Tony will be my assistant; my legs, if need be." Tony too nodded, and Gibbs hoped he understood the need to watch Zelig and Conklin even more. They'd talk later, in private.
"Two terrorists dead. That's something, anyway," said Jenny. She probably shouldn't have started the meeting that way; it sounded insensitive on a couple different levels. Becker was quick to respond.
"And NCIS lost three people at the museum, Director! I'd hardly call that a victory!"
"I'm sorry. I'm not intending to slight Norris, Jones and Kim. Far from it. But we may be able to learn something about the enemy now. Charles?"
Zelig cleared his throat. "The attackers' bodies have just been brought in. I've pulled two people off the housekeeping duties to see what they can figure out about them. Yes, we don't have working computers, but until mid 2005 we were still keeping thorough paper records of terrorist groups. There might be something about their clothing or things they were carrying…"
"Bloody Arabic bunch, most likely," Becker snarled.
"I can do without the slurs, Alan," said Jenny sharply. "Charles, keep me posted. Casey, your men are preparing to do a thorough search of the yard?"
"Well, as thorough as we can, Director, given our size," said the lieutenant. "The third group of Navy and Air Force men should be arriving shortly, and that'll be it. That takes a lot out of our base, and the word I've received is that Bolling can't spare any more airmen than that. They have to keep enough to defend their site."
"Of course."
"So we're looking at 40 men now to search. They'll go through every building in the Yard; breaking in where they have to. The attackers are somewhere. We'll find 'em, but it may take some time. We may be into a second or third shift, before we do."
"I'd rather see it done right than fast," Jenny agreed. "Alan, I know I had you in charge of defense of this building, but given Jethro's new limitations, I'd rather put him in that slot. So I'd like to have you head up our offensive teams." Becker could be annoying at times, but he was also very competent.
"You got it."
"Good. So our main questions are: Where are the invaders? What have they been up to? Have they laid mines, hidden bombs, put up other booby traps? Are they preparing to invade the inhabited buildings…which as far as I can tell are just this one, the Navy admin building and its barracks, and the Marines barracks…?"
"Are they also hiding out in private property along M Street?" asked Becker.
"That's out of our scope," said Jenny. "We're not going out of the Yard."
"Why not, Director? If we can cut off the head now, it'll save us so much."
"It's suicidal, "Gibbs put in. "We have a whiteboard down in the squad room that shows ten dead. A mission like you describe would only add to it. Greatly."
Becker stood, his face purple. "Yes, it's risky, but guess what? This is war!!"
"And my NCIS people are civilian employees; not military!" Jenny raged. "We can't play God with their lives. Having them do battle at the gates has already stretched what we should be asking them to do."
"These are extraordinary times," Gibbs said quietly. "This is nothing like what NCIS ever expected to have happen. But there is a line that has to be drawn. Full-out, offensive combat outside the Yard is beyond that line. Thank God I'm not high enough up of the pecking order so that I'd have to defend those actions to a Congressional sub-committee." He smiled lightly at Jenny.
"You'll be dead by then!" said Becker. "When the gates fall—"
"They're not going to fall!" Townsend said, looking ready to go for Becker's throat.
Becker ignored him. "When the gates fall, and the attackers storm this building, all our people will be in trouble then…including the non-combatants, like Ducky, Abby Sciuto, and the Intel bunch. And all our wounded. Will that be on your conscience, Director? What's a few more—"
"ENOUGH!!" Jenny bellowed. "You are out of line, Alan. Go think about that. This meeting is over. Jethro, Ziva, Tony, please stay." When the others had left and the door was closed, Jenny let out her frustrations with a big sigh. "I swear; on his best days that man is more aggravating that you are on your worst days, Jethro."
"Thank you, I think."
"I can't be everywhere. You three, keep an eye on him. If he looks like he's about to mount this foolish offensive, notify me immediately. If necessary, I'll relieve him of command and put him in holding. For his safety and ours."
Tony nodded along with the others. That's three people I have to keep an eye on, he thought. I don't have that many eyes. "Director, do we have a squad looking specifically for booby traps in the Yard?"
"Not specifically, but that's a good idea."
"I can do that," Ziva volunteered.
"Team A might be called up soon," Gibbs cautioned.
"Probably not before dark, at the earliest. I'll only need one or two people. As long as we have daylight, we should be able to finish in two hours."
"I'll go with you," Gibbs said. Over protests, he added, "I need to stay physically active. My legs are fine, and I know what to look for, unlike those E-2s out there."
"All right," Jenny said, reluctantly. "Tony?"
"A building security assessment, top to bottom. To see the holes where the squirrels, or other pests, can get in." And I'll be watching Conklin and Zelig like a hawk.
"Fine. All right, people; let's get to it."
- - - - -
In the break room near the squad room, Abby sat in a chair beside Tim's cot. None of the other five "tenants" were in the room at this time. She checked the cloth on his forehead. Warm already. She sighed, and applied another, first drowning it in the contents of half a bottle of water; wishing it was cool water.
"Dang, I wish I could be useful, instead of just lying here," Tim groused.
"Maybe later," Abby said. "Ducky said you have to rest for awhile." Not entirely true; Ducky hadn't said anything about Tim moving off the cot. But Tim didn't need to know that.
"There must be something I can do…I have a brain, and right now it's atrophying!"
"Well, there's probably nothing wrong with you doing a little thinking…"
"For that, I'd need to know what's going on. Can you find out, Abby, and tell me? Please?"
"Wouldn't you rather I stayed with you, and kept you company?" She smiled, not at all flirtatious. Right now what he needed was a friend.
"I'd like to have you do both," he admitted. "But if everyone else is doing their job, I want to do mine. So, go, please. And come back soon."
"I will." She planted a soft kiss on his hot cheek, and went out.
- - - - -
"Ducky, he needs to get active again! You know Tim." Abby crossed her arms on her chest.
"He's in no shape to be active, Abby," Ducky sighed. "Until that infection is under control—which may not be until he can get into a working hospital—I can't authorize any work for him."
"And that's your final word?"
"Yes. Now you were asking about what's going on? Jethro's broken his wrist, for one thing—"
Her eyes grew huge. "Gibbs! My poor, wounded Gibbs! Where is he???"
"Up in MTAC, last I knew, but Abby—" But she was already out the door. He shook his head, and went to make the rounds of his injured people.
- - - - -
When he came to Tim in the break room, Ducky shook his head before approaching him from the back. "Hello, Timothy. Abigail tells me you're eager to do some work."
"Everyone else is doing their share, Ducky—"
"And you think you haven't? Dear boy, you brought the Navy back! In sheer numbers alone, that may win this for us. I'd say that's quite an accomplishment!"
Tim smiled cynically. "Are you familiar with the expression, 'So, what have you done for us lately'? That's me."
"It shouldn't be. You're wounded. Your job now is to heal yourself. Nothing more." He saw Tim sigh and turn his head away. "And you can't accept that, because you are Timothy, and you always ask more of yourself than anyone should. Let me think on it, Timothy, and maybe I can come up with something that isn't too taxing for you."
"Can I see Gibbs?" Tim asked. "He'll think of something."
Ducky refrained from saying He'll agree with me. "Not possible at the moment, I'm afraid. Gibbs is, uh indisposed."
Tim picked up on the change in Ducky's face and the fact that he'd turned away. "Gibbs is wounded?? How—how bad??"
"Nothing to get alarmed about; a fractured wrist."
"But how did that happen?? Was it at the Hull gate?"
"You really must calm down, Timothy. You're working yourself into a state. Now lie back down or I shall force a sedative on you."
Tim closed his eyes and fought tears. "Please, won't someone tell me what's going on? Please?" he whimpered.
Ducky felt his forehead. Tim was still feverish. "I—I'm not well-versed on the matter. I'll see if I can find someone to come talk to you."
"Thanks, Ducky. That would mean a lot." Then, for the first time in hours, Tim fell asleep. Ducky patted his arm, then walked out, looking grim.