Chapter 21

Thirty years ago...

Tim was reading. Sam couldn't see what it was, but he was reading. This was the first time he'd been home during the day in almost a month. He and Naomi were walking carefully around each other after their last argument. Some painful things had been said on both sides and they were trying not to go back to that.

It was an uneasy truce, but it was working so far.

Today, though, Naomi was gone all day, getting some time to herself, and Sam was home with Tim. So far, Tim hadn't really spoken to him. Sam might as well not even be there. Tim was just reading. The house was almost silent, and the silence wasn't pleasant as far as Sam was concerned. It just seemed to emphasize the growing separation between him and his son.

He didn't have to let that be the way it was, though. While he didn't want to interrupt Tim if he was really interested in what he was reading, he also wanted his son to know that he didn't have to sit around all day while Sam was there.

He walked into the living room.

"Tim? What are you reading?"

Tim jumped and sat up. He looked at the book and then held it up for his dad to see.

"Encyclopedia Brown, Boy Detective," he said aloud. "Is it good?"

"Yes. I like it. It's a puzzle," Tim said. "It's always something that no one else can figure out, but Encyclopedia Brown does. He even solves cases the police can't solve, and I get the chance to do that, too, when I read."

"Do you want to keep reading?"

Tim put the book down and looked at him with an expression that could only be evaluating, although it was too old an expression to be on a seven-year-old's face.

"Would we do something if I didn't read?" he asked.

Sam smiled. "Yes. If you wanted to."

"Like what?"

"What do you want to do?"

Tim started chewing the inside of his cheek as he thought about it. Sam let him, even if he wanted to get his son to hurry up and make a decision. Instead of just being a simple question, Tim was considering it like it was a life-or-death decision.

"I want to go to Palomar Observatory," Tim said, finally.

"Palomar?" Sam asked, in surprise.

"They have a really big telescope and they let people see it! My teacher told me about it!"

"I've never been there," Sam said. "Do you know where it is?"

"On Mount Palomar," Tim said, reasonably.

Sam knew that Palomar was somewhere nearby, but he had no idea how to get there. He chuckled.

"Well, then, we'd better get out the atlas and see where Mount Palomar is."

"You don't know?"

"Nope."

"I thought you would know."

It was almost like he'd disappointed his son by not instantly knowing the way. Sam tried to keep smiling.

"Dads don't know everything."

"They don't?"

"Nope, but good dads want to learn. So if it's not too far, we'll go, Tim."

"Really?"

"If it's not too far. If it is, then, we'll have to wait and go another day when we have more time. Okay?"

Tim furrowed his brow, but he nodded.

"Let's get the atlas. We'll find it together."

"Okay."

Tim picked up his book, carefully marked the page he was on, and then, ran to get the atlas. It had been a long time since they'd been able to go on a family trip. In seconds, Tim was back in the room with the atlas.

Together, they opened it up to the page for southern California.

"Okay, Tim. Where are we?"

Tim looked at the map.

"Remember to find San Diego, first."

Tim ran his finger across the map.

"There's San Diego!"

"And where are we?"

"North Island Naval Air Station," Tim said.

"And that has to be close to the water."

"Yes. It's an island!"

Tim looked around some more.

"There it is!"

"Good. Now, let's find Mount Palomar."

That took a little longer, in part because Sam himself didn't know exactly where it was. He knew it was north of San Diego.

Then, Tim let out a shout.

"I found it!"

He pointed down at the map. Sure enough, there was a small label for the observatory. The road looked like it was going to be a beast to drive up. Lots of switchbacks, and it was on a mountain. So it was probably steep as well. Still, Sam looked at Tim eager expression, and he knew that he was going to say that they were going to the observatory. He didn't care how far it was. Tim wanted to go, and Sam had the time to take him.

"It looks like that'll be a couple of hours," Sam said. "We'll need to leave your mother a note, just in case she beats us home."

Tim nodded and ran to get a piece of paper and a pen. Sam looked at the map and hoped that he wouldn't regret driving that road.

But when Tim came running back into the room, a big smile on his face, he couldn't imagine regretting it. He'd be spending time with his son, and for once, there would be no interruptions because they'd be away from phones. No sudden meetings. No questions. Just Sam and Tim, driving to the Palomar Observatory.

Tim gave him the paper and pen, and Sam wrote a quick note.

Naomi,

Tim and I have gone to Palomar Observatory. I've never driven there before, but we're taking a map, so hopefully, I won't get us lost. I'm estimating a couple of hours both there and back, plus however long Tim wants to stay when we get up there.

I love you,

Sam

Tim and Sam took the note into the kitchen and set it prominently on the counter. Then, they grabbed some snacks to eat along the way and got in the car.

It was a long drive.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Present...

Ducky groaned as he looked at the sea of cars around him, but calling one of his friends at Metro would be a good way to pass the time, and if secrecy was really important, this was a good place to make the call. The idea that anyone would be waiting for him to make a call while stuck in a traffic jam was absolutely ridiculous.

He couldn't help but chuckle at the fact that he had more friends at Metro than Gibbs did. It wasn't really a surprise, given Gibbs' personality, but it was fairly entertaining.

He decided to call a detective he knew fairly well. Jordan had introduced them at a social function and they had found a lot in common, including, amazingly enough, an interest in cricket. Ducky had not found many Americans who shared his passion for the sport.

"Detective Lewiston."

"Hello, Detective Lewiston. It's Dr. Mallard. Do you have a moment?"

"Sure. Don, what has you calling me right now?"

"I'm currently stuck in traffic, and I need a favor, if you can do it."

"Oh, you're in the jam on the parkway?"

"Yes. Any chance of it getting cleared up soon?"

"They'll have one lane open in about ten minutes, but that'll still leave things moving real slow."

"I was afraid of that. I missed the last exit and I am definitely stuck here. That's not my reason for calling, however."

"So what is?"

"I was hoping that you might be able to issue a BOLO, but not officially."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that people would know to look for a particular car but it wouldn't be spoken of officially and there would be no record of it."

"I don't know, Don. That sounds pretty sketchy."

"I realize that, but there is a good reason for it."

"Well, could you tell me what that reason is?"

"We are trying to find one of our coworkers. He is trying not to be found, but it is vitally important that we do find him." Ducky hesitated and then decided to give one more piece of information. "...before others do who have much less savory motives."

"I take it that you can't tell me anything more than that?"

"I'm sorry, no. I can't. I can only say that the man we're looking for is a good person and what he is doing is trying to right a wrong. He's just going about it in a very dangerous way."

"I see."

There was a silence. It lasted about a minute. Ducky tried to be patient because he knew that what he was asking was difficult. Lewiston was a very by-the-book person, and he didn't like bending the rules, let alone breaking them. However, he was also someone who, much like Tim, saw things as black and white and didn't like when they got gray.

"Okay, Don. I'll do it. I can't make any guarantees because I'll have to be careful about who I tell about it."

"I understand that, and anything you can do is more than I could hope for."

"And you just want the car?"

"Yes. We know he's probably not driving it, but if we can find it, it may give us a sense of where to start looking."

"Okay. Lay it on me."

"The car is a Porsche Boxster. Gray. I believe it's a 2006 model. Maryland plate, number 3AB 532."

"License plate 3AB 532," Lewiston repeated. "Okay. I've got it."

"We think he is probably relatively close to the Metro area, perhaps a 200-mile radius?"

"That's a wider area than I was expecting. I really can't guarantee anything."

"I know. Believe me, I understand your reticence and I respect it. If you decide that you can't go any further, I will accept your decision completely."

"Good. This wasn't what I would have expected to hear from you, Don."

"I know, and normally, I wouldn't ask you, but I know that if anyone could manage it, you could, and I trust you."

"No need to butter me up, Don. I already said yes."

Ducky chuckled. "Buttering up always helps, but it also has the virtue of being the truth."

"I'll get going on this right away, but I don't know how long it'll take to get results, if we get any at all."

"Understood."

"I've got another call coming in. Good luck getting through the traffic jam."

"Thank you."

Lewiston hung up and Ducky did the same. He had known there would be some reluctance, but as he had said, Lewiston was about the best person he could ask.

Suddenly, the cars ahead of him began to inch forward. Any motion was better than none, so Ducky set his phone down and prepared for a slow crawl toward freedom.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim groaned as his attempt to get into the Department of Defense servers failed yet again. It would certainly help if he knew exactly where he needed to go, but he didn't. It wasn't even that he could just focus on the Navy side of things because, with Charles Leadore's file missing, probably suppressed, there was no telling where the information might be, if there was any to be found.

He looked at his watch and realized that he'd been at this for more than six hours without a single break. He was not only hungry, but he also needed to answer the call of nature. ...and his laptop needed recharging.

Tim stood and staggered. His legs were definitely cramping a little from his position on the floor. His back was hurting a little, too. He stood and stretched, arching his back and trying to limber up a little bit.

Before leaving the shack, he looked out the windows, checking to make sure that no one would be around to see him. Satisfied that he was still alone, he left the shack. First, he walked to the car and hooked the laptop up to the battery for recharging. Then, he headed for a convenient tree, far enough removed from the building to keep the smell away and to (hopefully) keep any curious animals away.

Having finished his business, he walked back into the shack. It would take some time for the laptop to recharge, and he figured that he could take some time to recharge himself. That meant water and granola bars and a couple of crackers.

As he ate his meager meal, he considered what else he might need to do to get into the DoD. He knew he could do it. It was just a matter of how long it would take. The DMV had been no trouble, but then, the DMV wasn't holding national security information. He would just have to keep trying until he got in. He knew other things to try, different angles to come at it.

"I'll make it," he said.

He got up and started pacing around the shack, thinking about how he'd get into the Department of Defense.

"I got into the CIA in one night. Why can't I do this?" he asked himself.

Then, he laughed.

"Because I don't have Gibbs hovering over my shoulder threatening my life if I don't do what he wants right when he wants it."

Once he'd thought of that, he had this image of what Gibbs would be saying to him if he was here.

"You've already screwed up your life, McGee. Why are you taking so long doing what you came out here to do? If you're going to be stupid, at least be quick about it. I don't care what it takes. Get it done!"

Of course, that was way too wordy for Gibbs. Well, maybe that was a little uncharitable, too. Surely, Gibbs would understand the motivation behind Tim's decision.

"Yeah, but he'll still want to kill me for not telling him in advance."

It was true, but Tim still felt he'd made the best decision. Sure, they'd be trying to find him. He was certain of that, but he'd done his best to keep them from getting involved in something that could end their careers. Maybe he could use the help, but unlike others on the team, he didn't want to have their help at the expense of their jobs. He wasn't going to have that on his conscience for the rest of his life, no matter where that life was spent. In fact, maybe it would be best if they were really mad at him. Then, they'd be less likely to be upset if he went to prison. They could just think that it served him right for being so stupid.

Then, he saw movement out the front window, interrupting his thoughts.

A car!

He ducked down quickly and waited as the car approached and then passed by the house. He tensed until he couldn't hear the car any longer. Then, he let out a whoosh of air as he exhaled in relief. No sign of being observed, no sign of curiosity. Just a person driving down this road on their way to somewhere else.

Okay. It was back to work. He walked back to his car and checked the battery. It was full enough for another few hours of use. Nodding to himself, Tim carried it back into the shack and set up his system once more and stared at the screen. It had been a long time since he'd done these all-day stints at hacking or cracking encryptions. He wasn't really used to it anymore. It was draining, but he figured that he would adjust, just like he had in college. With a smile, he figured that he was spending about as much on food as he was in college, too. He hadn't had a lot of extra cash on hand as an undergraduate.

He cracked his neck, popped his knuckles and took a deep breath. Time to get going again.

"I can do this. I can do this. I have to do this."

If he failed, all this effort wouldn't mean anything. It was all well and good to say that it only mattered if you gave it your best shot. In this case, best didn't mean diddly-squat if he didn't succeed. This only mattered if it worked. If not, then, it was a total and complete failure. A waste of time, a waste of effort, a waste of life.

So I can't fail.

He took one more deep breath and dove in.