Disclaimer: same as Chapter 1.
Author's notes:
- To None: I think Vance will relent in letting Ziva and Ducky talk to Tim ;-)
- To Mr. Danish and Guest: yes, this is a McGiva story, even though it won't look like it in some chapters involving Aimee Wilkins. Just keep on reading!
- To my Russian reviewer: Большое спасибо!
- To my Portuguese reviewer: I am so glad you like this story. I hope you'll enjoy this new chapter!
Chapter 20: An apparition
Gibbs was in a volatile mood as he walked down the stairs leading to the bullpen. Unconsciously quoting his immediate superior, he thought that of all the mule-headed Directors in the world, he had to have Vance!
Locking horns with Leon was nothing new; they had done it many times in the past but it had never been about a member of Gibbs' Team. The silver-haired man had thought for sure that he had the complete, absolute and indisputable control over his subordinates and they would remain at his beck and call until he would be forced to retire by the HR department. But McGee's leaving had torn into shreds the fabric of Gibbs' confidence and he was at a loss of what to do, an unusual and unwelcome state of mind. What in the world could he do with an amputated team, a sulking Forensics expert, a wall-like Director and a unanimous refusal from the Cyber-Crimes guys to work for him? Announcing to Tony and Ziva they were doomed to archive cold cases for the next six months was not something he was looking forward to – inertia would most likely prompt the Senior Agent to do something stupider than usual, and Ziva's temper would shrink away to nothing.
Any other Team Leader would be pretty concerned about his imperiled position within NCIS, but this was the least of Gibbs' worries.
His heart skipped a beat as he looked sorrowfully at Tim's desk: too neat, too quiet... It was truly a poor souvenir of the busy workplace it had once been. Gibbs sadly missed his surrogate son and, even though he hated to admit it, he was learning a harsh lesson about appreciating quiet people instead of taking them for granted. He had made a terrible mistake thinking Tim would always be in his life, providing the team with priceless data but, most importantly, keeping their spirits up with his undefeated goodness. It had been short of a miracle that Tim had been able to keep this shining soul of his over the years, even though he would have thousands of reasons to become an embittered, spiteful man: indifferent relatives, school thugs, social awkwardness thanks to his IQ, manipulating girlfriends and, on top of everything, bullying co-workers and barking-mad boss.
Yes, Tim would have had lots of excuses and yet, he never used them to hold the whole world in contempt – showing more backbone in his discreet, persistent way than all the loudmouthed idiots Gibbs had encountered in the Marines and in civil life. No wonders General Whoever-the-Hell-his-name-was had managed to snatch Tim away from them; a secret mission needed brains, not brawls and McGee was the perfect man for this kind of job.
Gibbs let out a sigh and he made a beeline to the coffee machine, as he needed a refill before breaking the news to his team that they won't get a new computer tech anytime soon. A glance at a photo on Rebecca Donaghue's desk made him remember the frame he had just finished building for the new picture of Tim he had ordered at the Iconic Image Photo Centre a few days ago; it was due to arrive in the mail today and Gibbs was looking forward to receive it. He would not take the framed photo at work, otherwise he would not hear the end of Tony's comments but at least, he could have it in the safety of his basement, next to his worktable.
He filled up his mug and walked back to his desk in record time; he could not trust himself enough to not punch a few noses on the way – the scuttlebutt knew all about the trouble he and his team were in and sarcastic remarks were not unique to DiNozzo – but he could not be involved in a fight within the bullpen, as it would spell his professional doom. Better was to run the gauntlet during Tim's absence but, as soon as the kid would be back, Gibbs would give him such a warm welcome that it would put the other NCIS agents to shame.
However, the Team Leader's stoical resolution almost went to an abrupt end after Tony asked:
"So, Boss, are we getting a new geek soon?"
The Team Leader slammed his coffee cup hard on his desk – making Ziva to raise her eyes from her work – and answered with enough ice in his voice to fill up a cold storage room:
"No, DiNozzo, we are not getting a new computer tech soon. Thanks to our past callous attitude towards McGee, the guys from Cyber-Crimes have unanimously refused to be transferred temporarily to our team. Then again, who can blame them?"
Gibbs sat down heavily on his office chair and started to type on his keyboard with a vengeance; Tony remained silent, looking at his boss with a stupefied look on his face. Ziva discreetly looked upwards and saw Vance entering the MTAC room; she would have bet a month's salary that the Director was going to talk to Tim and she wished she could do the same. She was very worried about her friend and she desperately wanted to talk to him, even for just a few seconds. Ziva knew Tim could adapt to any situation but "military base" often rhymed with "mean braggarts" always eager to give the newbies a hard time. The woman's jaw clenched painfully at the thought but her dark eyes shone with a dangerous light as she silently vowed to gut any guy who would dare raising his hand against Tim; she would hunt down the perpetrator to the ends of the Earth!
Gibbs was watching the ex-Mossad, wondering what was going through this beautiful and dangerous head but was interrupted by Tony's loud exclamation:
"You can't be serious! Does that mean we have to keep on compiling boring files?"
"That's right, DiNozzo, and it also means you'll put a sock on complains, starting right now. You may not be aware of it but they are one of the reasons why the Cyber-Crimes' guys are not interested in working for us."
"What do you mean?"
Gibbs felt like head-slapping his Senior Agent six ways to Sunday; Tony could be so infuriatingly dense, at times!
"DiNozzo, your loud disparaging of techs has won us complete hostility from the guys downstairs: they've told Vance in no uncertain terms that they would rather eat dirt than spend a minute with us. Some of them mentioned not being patient towards slandering co-workers, others asked why would they bother working with contemptuous people; and one even suggested we should take a dog to replace McGee, since this kind of animal is better considered than our teammate. Ring a bell? Vance also told me that, in spite of my direct orders, you've been yelling all over the bullpen that computer work is good only for geeks, including Tim."
"Boss, I was only joking..."
"For God's sakes, Tony! When in the world are you going to understand that nobody appreciates your humor?" roared Gibbs.
A stunned silence followed those words, and then someone in the bullpen said: "Hear, hear!"
Tony turned as white as a sheet of paper: being rebuffed by Gibbs felt alike being rebuffed by God Himself. Ziva glared furiously around, silently telling the other agents to mind their own businesses; she certainly did not appreciate her teammate's childish attitude but they did not need an audience, either.
"Boss..."
"Quiet, DiNozzo!"
"But..."
"Will you shut up? I'm getting sick and tired of constantly pulling your ass out of the fire. And I've already told you what would happen if you'd ever make fun of McGee again; can't you remember the simplest things? Sometimes I think promoting you to Senior Agent has been the biggest mistake of my life!"
"BOSS!" exclaimed Tony, genuinely shocked.
Ziva decided to step in; the situation was getting ugly and it was high time to put an end to this silly argument; otherwise Gibbs and Tony would not need to face a review board to lose their jobs and she did not like the look on their colleagues' face: some of them were smiling in anticipation, as if they expected to see Gibbs and Tony come to blows.
"Calm down, guys!" exclaimed the Israeli woman. "Now's not the time and place to go at each other's throat. We need a bit of solidarity around here, not to throw accusations to each other's faces! So let's get back to compile those files – quietly – and try to savage something of our reputation as the best team of NCIS!"
Ziva perfectly knew the correct expression but she deliberately made a mistake in order to defuse the explosive situation. Fortunately, it worked: Gibbs stopped his growling at DiNozzo to turn about and glare at Ziva.
"It's "to salvage something", Ziver."
"Sorry, my mistake," said the young woman with a fake contrite look that would not have fooled a probationer. "But we really should get back to work, hmm?"
Gibbs inwardly gave thanks to her tact, which reminded him of his dear Shannon: she had a gift to find the right words to calm down neighbors irritated by her husband's rudeness; otherwise, life would have been unbearable around their house! Before nostalgia could seize him, the Team Leader sat back down on his chair and started filling up forms, ignoring DiNozzo who was standing as still as a statue next to his desk, looking at him in absolute disbelief.
"Tony! To work!" hissed Ziva.
DiNozzo slowly went back to his desk and resumed to his compilation of files. For the outside observer, he was acting like any other agent but his blank face and rounded eyes were betraying the distress he was feeling from the argument he just had with Gibbs. One sentence, in particular, was running through his mind like a broken record, increasing his insecurity at every beat of his heart: "Sometimes I think promoting you to Senior Agent has been the biggest mistake of my life… the biggest mistake of my life… the biggest mistake of my life…"
The rest of the day went by without anyone from Team Gibbs saying another word.
Gibbs parked his car in front of his house with a sigh of relief. After another hard day at the office, a few hours of peace and quiet would be most welcome. The street was tranquil, the neighbors had all gone home to eat dinner or watch TV; the sun was setting and a squirrel crossed the sidewalk in a flash to climb up a tree at all speed, making Gibbs smile as he remembered his adored Kelly squeaking in delight every time she spotted one of them in their garden: her greatest wish had been to tame one so she could fatten it with nuts and make it sleep in her bedroom, much to Shannon's horror at the thought of a rodent roaming free within the house.
The silver-haired man got out of his car and checked his mailbox: indeed, a padded envelope bearing the logo of the Iconic Image Photo Centre had arrived. The envelope was backed with strong cardboard and a caption reading: "Photos, do not bend" had been stamped above Gibbs' address.
He wasted no time entering his house and turning on the lights; Tim's photo had been delivered and he could not wait to see how it would look like in the beautiful frame he had made out of East Indian rosewood. Gibbs had spent hours polished it until it would gleam like a mirror, and then he had bought a piece of unbreakable glass to protect the future photo from any harm. Accidents could happen quickly in his workshop and he did not want anything to happen to Tim, not even on a picture.
Maybe, if he was satisfied with the result, he would make another frame, but this time it would for Shannon and Kelly's pictures, instead of keeping them locked away in a metallic box…
All of a sudden, Gibbs dropped the envelope on a nearby table and grabbed his gun before pointing it in the direction of his living room. His gut was screaming at him: Intruder!
"WHO'S THERE?"
Only silence answered him, only disturbed by the faint humming of the fridge in the kitchen but Gibbs did not lower his guard. All his instincts were telling him he was not alone in the house, even though nothing had been disturbed. He opened the table's drawer and stashed Tim's photo inside as a precaution. Gun in hand, Gibbs quickly scanned the kitchen, the living-room, the corridors and the closets but there was not a soul in sight. Then he checked his bedroom, the bathroom and – even if it torn him apart – Kelly's little bedroom, which he kept locked at all times as a shrine to his little girl. But there was nothing there apart from painful souvenirs and a lot of dust.
His anger growing by the minute, Gibbs went to the basement, sickened by the nerve of the intruder who had dared to desecrate his inner sanctum – as his gut was already providing him with the answer of the man's identity, even though he did not have him in sight yet. But only one man in the world could have enough nerve to show his face in Gibbs' house, considering the bad blood between them. He switched on the lights and, standing at the top of the stairs, he pointed his gun at the man nonchalantly seated on his workbench, silently turning between his hands the new photo frame made for Tim.
"PUT THAT DOWN!" roared Gibbs.
The intruder kept his hold on the frame and raised amused light blue eyes to the silver-haired man, like he silently dared to make him obey the order.
"Hello, Gibbs."
"Kort," spat the Team Leader in disgust.
Trent Kort's smile increased, and then he casually ran his fingers along the rosewood like a connoisseur of fine antiques would do on a 17th-century frame.
"Nice and smooth… Good job of polishing. You're good at woodwork, Gibbs, I'll grant you that."
"Put. It. Down," said Gibbs in a dangerously calm voice while walking down the stairs, aiming directly at Kort's balding head.
"All right, all right! No need to be so fussy," said the rogue CIA Agent, placing the frame back on the workbench. "Could you put down your gun as well? Boy, considering the way you welcome visitors, it's no wonder nobody dares showing up in here."
"What are you doing here?"
"Why, you are not going to offer me a glass of Bourbon?"
"Damnit, Kort! Quit stalling, or I'll shoot you in self-defense and no jury would condemn me."
Kort raised his hands in a placating gesture:
"Hold your horses, cowboy! I'm not here to start a war…"
"That will make a nice change," interrupted a caustic Gibbs.
"… In fact, my venue here is only to ask you personally what the Hell is one of your men doing in Afghanistan."
Gibbs roared in outrage and crossed his basement in three long strides before pointing his gun right at Kort's face.
"YOU STAY AWAY FROM HIM!"
"Whoa! Calm down! I've been patient so far, Gibbs, but that whole "In-your-face" act of yours is getting a bit tedious. It may scare a few liquid-spine guys at NCIS, like that scrawny assistant Ducky keeps around but it certainly doesn't impress me, got it?" said the intruder, his blue eyes getting harder.
Gibbs had to suppress the urge to knock the CIA agent right in the face with the butt of his weapon, but Kort was as well-versed in the arts of self-defense and he knew about a hundred ways to get rid of a gun shoved in his face, with the holder as well. Grinding his teeth from powerlessness, Gibbs took three steps backwards and lowered his gun, never taking his eyes off Kort.
"That's better; now, about that glass of Bourbon…?"
"It's for friends only," growled Gibbs.
"Which may help to explain why you drink alone all the time," answered a sarcastic rogue. "But you're right, let's cut the crap. What is McGee doing in Afghanistan?"
"What do you care? And who told you about McGee?"
"Oh, come on! Did you honestly think the kid's presence would remain unnoticed? CIA had settled eyes and ears all over Afghanistan years before the Soviet invasion in 1979; an insect cannot crawl its way on Afghan soil without us knowing it. We were warned about your butterfly's landing almost immediately – and I admit having being intrigued. NCIS is at the lowest level of the government's agencies food chain and yet one of yours is sent into a war zone with a lot of secrecy surrounding him. Why has he been shipped off and sent to ISAF, Gibbs? Did the people here need a computer tech to fix the servers?"
"That's for Vance to know and for you to find out, if ever."
"Oh? So you didn't know about the kid's whereabouts, either? Must drive a control-freak like you crazy," said Kort with a mocking smile.
"I just know one thing: you touch one hair on McGee's head and I will hang you by your own entrails."
"Tsk, tsk! You really have an obsession for guts, Gibbs! But you can relax; I value my skin and thus I have no intention in chasing after your butterfly. However, I happen to know there are some people out there who would love to entrap him in their net: a pin, a piece of cork, a card and he'll be added to the vast collection of unlucky agents!"
"What?"
"You've heard me perfectly well; I've had it on good authority that some persons from others government's agencies are really puzzled by the kid's presence at ISAF. To be precise: they wonder why a NCIS agent with a genius IQ is doing here, since the Navy guys involved in Afghanistan are SEALs, SeaBees and the Marines, plus the ones patrolling in the Persian Gulf. You NCIS dudes usually deal with terrorists and smugglers on the US soil and you hardly leave DC. Well, I'll overlook that business of yours in Mexico with Paloma Reynosa, and an unauthorized expedition in Somalia to rescue your ex-Mossad damselfly. But all of a sudden, you let go of your team's best asset to send him in the middle of a conflict where friends from foes are hardly discernible and you don't even know where McGee is! Have you gone senile, on your old days?"
"I don't have to answer you!" snapped Gibbs back.
"As you wish; I can understand why McGee has been sent abroad, though. It would never cross your Director's mind to trust your loudmouthed cockroach or the Goth wasp with a mission involving brains. But believe it or not, I've come here to give you a fair warning: watch the kid's back, because terrorists are not his only worries. Like I've said, other agencies want to know what kind of pollen your butterfly is gathering and they won't stop before they'll get their answers."
"Agencies like yours?"
"Why not?"
"Then tell them to keep their noses away from McGee's business!"
"Love too, but unlike you I don't pretend controlling all the persons working in my agency. If some of my honorable colleagues want to know about the kid, they will get the information one way or another. Your butterfly has bright, shining wings, Gibbs… It would be too bad if they were severed by bloodthirsty insect collectors."
The silver-haired man repressed the urge to strangle the roguish intruder, and then he collected his thoughts: Kort had just told him Tim was at ISAF, a NATO-led security mission in Kabul. Thus, the kid was in a safe place for the time being and therefore, there was no need to panic… for now. Gibbs would call Vance and tell him about this conversation, so the Director could warn General What's-his-name and increase the protection around Tim… provided Kort was telling the truth, of course.
"Why are you telling me all this? I'll never believe it is out of the goodness of your heart."
"Nope, it is in the hopes you'll return the favor one day," answered Kort with an insufferable smile. "I like people owning me and you are a good debtor, Gibbs. You grumble and roar and yell and fuss, but in the end you always pay and that's the main thing. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to put a spanner in the works of some unsavory persons…"
Kort saluted in a mocking way and calmly climbed up the stairs, completely ignoring the threat of the gun and the man holding it. Only after the CIA agent had left the basement did Gibbs lower his weapon, his mind reeling from Kort's revelations. He had enough experience to know that stormy relations, fueled by jealousy, existed between government agencies and branches of the military; it could lead to compromised cases, botched expeditions, information leaks… and the disaster could easily be multiplied by ten when it involved people abroad on a secret mission.
And Tim… Gosh, his youngest son could find himself in the middle of a situation without even realizing it.
A few pressed buttons on a cell phone activated the speed dial of Vance's number.
"Leon? It's Gibbs. We have a problem…"
TBC…