Disclaimer: NCIS and its characters do not belong to me and this story is not intended as an infringement of copyright. It has been written solely for entertainment and no profit has been made from its creation.
MISTAKEN IDENTITY
Chapter 21
"Yes, Sir, I understand…thank you, Sir," Vance said, placing the telephone receiver back in its cradle before looking up at the anxious eyes of his lead agent.
"He'll do it?"
"SecNav has a security conference with the Joint Chiefs scheduled for tomorrow – he will not be contactable for at least twenty-four hours," Vance said. "Without his consent, the Attorney General cannot give the FBI jurisdiction of this case. That's all the time you've got Gibbs, twenty-four hours. Make them count."
With a cursory nod, the lead agent turned back for the door, stopping abruptly when the director spoke again.
"There's something else. With one of own being accused, we can't afford any allegations of impropriety or evidence tampering on our part."
"We've shared every new lead, every autopsy and forensic report! What more do they want?"
"The FBI wants to process the evidence themselves."
"The damn FBI wants to hang DiNozzo out to dry, Leon!" Gibbs countered angrily.
"I don't like this any more than you do...so I offered a compromise."
"What kind of a compromise?"
"We have a world class Medical Examiner and Forensic Scientist at our disposal. I told them if they are worried about impropriety, they are welcome to send someone to oversee the processing."
"They agreed?"
"They're sending over their own ME and Forensic Scientist right now. You better let Dr Mallard and Miss Scuito know to expect company."
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"Jethro, my good man!" Ducky called as the lead agent entered the autopsy room, ubiquitous coffee cup in his hand. "I'm afraid if you're here for my reports on our three most recent Salvadoran guests, you are somewhat premature. Mr Palmer and I have just invited guest number one to centre stage."
"Better hold off on that, Duck, looks like you're about to get company," Gibbs told him.
"Let me hazard a guess – my counterpart from the Hoover Building," the ME said.
"The FBI is coming here? Why?" Palmer asked.
"If I am not mistaken, Mr Palmer, I believe it's because the FBI believe that our own Anthony is implicated in the shooting of their agents."
"But they're wrong, Tony wouldn't murder anyone!"
"Of course not," Ducky said calmly. "Actually, Jethro, I'm rather surprised that the FBI agreed to the autopsies being conducted here and not in their own facilities."
"Thank the director for that, Duck."
"Well, not to worry – the more the merrier I always say. Looks like we might have time for that cup of tea after all, Mr Palmer."
"Need to talk to you about Tony," Gibbs said. His face showed no expression but his friend of many years recognised the deep concern in his stark blue eyes - a look that appeared only when those closest to him were in serious trouble.
"Of course," Ducky said, removing his gloves and turning to his young assistant. "Mr Palmer, would you be kind enough to entertain our next guest while I speak with Agent Gibbs?"
"Entertain, Doctor?" Jimmy asked, his confused gaze flicking between Ducky and the corpse on the table.
"Etiquette and social graces need not cease just because one has passed on, Mr Palmer, I'd have thought you would have known that by now. Don't be shy, introduce yourself!"
"Oh...right, Doctor," Palmer said, looking even more confused.
Gibbs followed the ME into his office, choosing to lean on the doorframe rather than taking a seat.
"You wanted to discuss Anthony," Ducky stated.
"Maxwell said Tony was taking strong medication. Could that be clouding his memory?"
"The medication prescribed by Doctor Maxwell is very strong pain relief. It is the severe head trauma that more than likely caused Anthony's memory loss."
"So the painkillers will help?"
"Now, Jethro, you know I can't possibly be expected to provide an accurate diagnosis without even seeing the lad."
"Best guess."
"For a short while, perhaps."
"Perhaps?"
"The medication will alleviate the majority of Anthony's symptoms for several hours at a time."
"But…"
"But it will only suppress the effects of the injuries, it will not treat or cure them. The longer that young man goes without hospital treatment, the less effective those painkillers will be. It is imperative that we find him as soon as we possibly can."
"I'm working on it," Gibbs replied with a quiet determination.
Although the conversation appeared over, Gibbs made no attempt to leave and the astute ME appraised his friend thoughtfully, recognising the former Marine's rare need for reassurance.
"You'll find him, Jethro and whatever obstacles that await that boy, he'll be fine."
"What makes you so sure?"
"I'm sure because it's Anthony…that young man has been blessed with a God given talent for beating the odds."
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Leaving Autopsy, Gibbs headed past the elevator, walking toward the forensic labs then stopped suddenly. With a small tilt of his head he turned in the opposite direction and opened the door to the stairwell. He paused for a moment before taking a seat on the stairs beside a pensive McGee.
"You okay?" Gibbs asked, taking a long final draught of his coffee.
"I'm sorry, Boss, I…I just needed a minute…I'll get back to work," the younger man said rising quickly to leave.
"Sit," Gibbs ordered gently, watching as McGee resumed his seat on the stairs.
The bruising on his face was offset by the stark white medi-strips holding his split eyebrow together. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and held his NCIS badge in both hands. He gently fingered the black band he'd slipped across the centre of the badge as a sign of respect.
"I've seen Tony do this a dozen times – even for agents he didn't know," McGee said.
"DiNozzo was a cop. He doesn't need to know them – it's enough for him to know that a fellow agent died in the line."
At the lack of response, Gibbs waited a few moments before speaking again. "You need to take the day, McGee?"
"No!" McGee answered firmly. "I need to be at work, Boss. Tony's still out there somewhere…he needs our help."
"Yes he does," Gibbs nodded at the expected reply. "Something else on your mind?"
"I was just…I was just wondering if Aaron would be alive right now if he had been Tony's probie instead of mine."
"That's not what got him killed."
"I know…I just wonder if maybe I was too soft on him," he laughed humourlessly. "No one could ever accuse Tony of being soft on me. I can't imagine you were soft on Tony, right?"
"Drove him harder than he drives you. Kicked his butt so many times, I thought they were gonna have to surgically remove my boot from his ass."
McGee grinned at the image. "He was that bad?"
"Nope, he was that good. Needed a kick in the pants or a slap to the head to keep him focussed, bring out the best in him. Why'd ya think he drives you like he does?"
"Cause he enjoys it," McGee said with a wry grin.
"Besides that," Gibbs said, a smile ghosting across his lips.
"Maybe that's it…maybe that's where I went wrong."
"Morrison's death…was not your fault, McGee. You can't be DiNozzo any more than he can be me. We're all different, we do our best but sometimes we lose people."
"Aaron died saving my life, Boss."
"He died a hero. Don't tarnish that by blaming yourself. You wanna blame someone; you get back to work and find whoever did this."
A sound escaped from McGee's throat, a hybrid of a sob and a laugh.
"Something funny?"
"I just remembered something Tony told me the night Erin Kendall was murdered," McGee said.
"The young woman who witnessed the murder of a petty officer from the window of her apartment?"
"Yeah…after she was murdered, Tony told me that I could sit there and second guess what I should or shouldn't have done and never get the answer, or I could get back on the job and catch the bastard."
"Good advice," Gibbs said, climbing to his feet.
Breathing deeply and setting his shoulders, McGee stood tall and met the lead agent's gaze.
"Thanks, Boss," he said.
Gibbs watched fondly as McGee, with his focus restored, took the stairs two at a time on his way back to the bullpen.
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Gibbs walked unnoticed to Abby's large refrigeration unit and removed a Caf-Pow for his favourite forensic scientist. Since the C-4 explosion a few days earlier, Abby had not replaced her sound system, giving the lab an unfamiliar depressing feel.
Leaning back against the wall, he watched as Abby paced anxiously back and forth waving several sheets of paper in the air.
"Okay men, listen up!" she told her much-loved forensic equipment. "I know you're tired but we have a serious situation here. Tony's in trouble and he needs our help. You remember Tony, that sweet, lovable guy that comes in here and makes me smile and pushes all your buttons when he thinks I'm not looking!"
"That's what he does best," Gibbs said, causing Abby to swing around in surprise.
"Makes me smile?" she asked.
"Nope, pushes buttons. DiNozzo was born pushing buttons. Thought you'd already finished that ballistics report."
"I did but I must have missed something, Gibbs!"
"You check it?"
She nodded sullenly. "I've been over it and over it. I'm, like, totally positive I didn't make a mistake but I keep hoping to find a one. I've run the comparisons three times and each time the tests confirm that the bullets removed from FBI Agents Higgins and Cole came from Tony's weapon."
He leaned across to place the caffeinated beverage in front of her and placed a warm callused hand on her tense shoulder.
"Tony didn't shoot those agents, Abs."
"I know that, Gibbs, Tony would never do something like that," Abby said without a trace of doubt. "But you heard Caldwell, he's convinced that Tony is this crazed gunman running around killing FBI agents."
"Caldwell's an ass."
"All those other times when Tony has been accused of murder, we've always found the evidence that proved he didn't do it. I can't find it this time, Gibbs! I feel like I'm letting him down!"
"You could never let Tony down, Abs…or me," he said, wrapping her in a hug. "But he needs you to stay focussed, especially now."
"Aww…thanks Gibbs, you always know...wait! Why especially now? Has something happened? You know something that you're not telling me. I can tell because you get that little squinty, twitchy thing in your left eye." She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "It's okay, Gibbs, whatever it is, I can take it."
"FBI is sending their forensics specialist to process the evidence with you."
"No, Gibbs! I can't take it!" she exclaimed.
"Abs, I know you prefer to work alone but either we agree to this or the FBI processes all the evidence themselves. We need to do this…for Tony."
"You're right, Gibbs!" she said, taking a huge pull of her Caf-Pow. "This is no time to worry about myself – so what if the last person who worked in here tried to frame Tony for murder and then kill me! What are the chances of that happening again, right? Not the framing Tony for murder bit, cos that seems to happen with startling regularity, but the trying to murder me bit…oh, wait…that seems to have happened a lot, too. But my Tony needs my help and I will not fail him!"
"Good girl," he said, starting for the door.
"Wait, Gibbs! I'm not done yet!" Abby called and waited for the lead agent to return to her side before holding up the melted and burnt remains of a cell phone.
"Tony's cell," he stated.
"Correct, my silver-haired super-sleuth!" Abby replied. "As you know the cell was recovered from the warehouse fire. McGee, totally didn't think I could do it but I just kept trying and trying and I'm, like, so close, Gibbs, I can feel it!"
"English, Abs."
"Okay, from what I've been able to recover, so far, Tony must have used the UDTD…that's the User Data Transfer Device to transfer the data from Torres' cell to his."
"Tony got the data?" Gibbs asked, feeling his adrenalin start to pump through his veins.
"Yep! The problem is repairing the damage so I can retrieve the rest of the data. If I can get that, I can access Torres' ESN!" she said excitedly.
"I thought McGee said that even with an electronic serial number the GPS thing had to be active to allow a trace."
"He did and he's right!"
"Abs!"
"There's no doubt that Torres would have disabled the GPS function in his cell, but, using the data that Tony transferred, I should be able to find Torres' network provider and have them reactivate Torres' GPS without him knowing. Then we can trace his cell."
"How long?"
"A few hours…maybe less if the scientist from the FBI knows his electronics."
"Stay on it," he said, placing a chaste kiss on her cheek.
The prospect of a viable lead put the spring back into his step as Gibbs strode to the elevator with a smile ghosting across his lips. His senior field agent was seriously injured and God only knows where… but, still, he had obtained vital information that could give them the break they were looking for. He waited until the elevator doors closed behind him and he allowed a moment of pride for his agent. "Atta boy, Tony!"
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Needing to clear his head and get some fresh air, Gibbs went for his regular coffee run. He cursed softly at his cell as the recorded voice advised that he had no new messages. "Dammit, Kort, where the hell are you?" he muttered, knowing time was running out.
He returned to the bullpen, desperate for a breakthrough, and placed a coffee on the desks of his exhausted agents. "Ziva!"
"Interpol are working with the El Salvadoran Policia Nacional and have detained ten high ranking members of the prison authority. All have been under suspicion for sometime and all signed papers for the early release of prisoners without judicial approval," Ziva reported. "It will take some time for them to locate any illegal payments and trace the source."
"Dammit, we don't have time!" Gibbs growled.
"I am aware of that, Gibbs," Ziva replied. "It appears our inquiries have sent up flags at Homeland Security and the State Department. The director has received requests for them to be read in as a matter of urgently."
"Tell 'em to take a number," the lead agent replied.
"I believe the director has already done so."
"Where's McGee?"
"Right here, Boss," McGee replied breathlessly. "I just met with ICE Agent Forster-Yates…"
"And?"
"And…you told me to speak with her personally, no emails, no cell phones…"
"I know what I said, McGee, what did she say?"
"Right…er…she checked the records at the US Customs and Border Protection. Four different teams performed the four random checks conducted on Lopez Industries shipping containers during the last six months."
"It is highly unlikely that members of all four teams acted dishonestly," Ziva surmised.
"So we got nothin'!" Gibbs stated.
"No, I think we may have something," McGee replied. "Julia said that all orders for random searches are given to US Customs and Border Protection at least forty-eight hours in advance."
"Plenty of time for someone to tip off Lopez," Gibbs said.
"But you said four different teams conducted the searches," Ziva said.
"Yes, but one man received all four orders and assigned the teams – Senior US Customs Officer, Brian Wallace."
"Pick him up! Take Ziva with you!" Gibbs said, reaching for his ringing cell as his agents grabbed their gear. "Wait!"
The agents stopped in their tracks, exchanging confused looks as Gibbs continued his conversation with his usual brevity.
"Good job, Abs, send the address to McGee's PDA."
Gibbs rounded his desk and removed his weapon and ID, then snatched the keys from McGee's hand as he headed for the elevator.
"Boss?"
"Abby was able to access the data Tony transferred from Torres' cell. She's tracking him now – we've got a location."
"Tony got the data?" McGee asked in surprise.
"Tony got the data," Gibbs confirmed with more than a modicum of pride. "Ziva, call Ducky. I want him with us when we find DiNozzo."
"What is our destination?" she asked.
"Alexandria, we'll give him more on route," Gibbs said, brimming with anticipation as he led his team from the office.
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The agency sedan turned into a newly zoned residential estate. The semi-developed area was littered with building sites and houses in various stages of completion. The developer had gone bankrupt and all work had stopped until the matter was resolved in the courts.
McGee switched his cell to speaker. "Abs, are you sure we're in the right place? Looks like this estate's been abandoned for some time."
"Signals clear, McGee," she replied, her voice echoing through the vehicle. "You're almost there, take the next left, then it's approximately 500 yards on the right side of the street."
"Got it, standby," McGee said, as he and Ziva did a final check of their weapons and equipment.
"Gibbs?" Abby said timidly. "Remember your promise...bring him home!"
"Gotta find him first, Abs," Gibbs replied solemnly.
As the car proceeded around the corner, the agents were startled to see a Metro PD squad car already parked at their intended destination. Across the lot, a uniformed cop was speaking with a woman and two young boys. Seeing the agents arrive, the cop walked toward them.
"NCIS, what have you got?" Gibbs asked, flashing his badge.
"Two boys taking a short cut through the estate found a dead body near the bushes," the cop replied, nodding his head toward the bushes. "Male caucasian, middle to late thirties, tall, dark hair...GSW to the back of the head."
Gibbs' gut clenched painfully and he refused the dark thoughts further licence as he started toward the bushes. "You ID him?"
"Not yet, I didn't want to touch him until the crime scene was cleared."
Gibbs stopped several feet from the body, McGee and Ziva at his side. Steeling himself against the worst possibility, he took the last few steps and crouched near the head of the body. Lying prone in the dirt, the right side of the face had been horribly disfigured and the dark hair surrounding the neat bullet hole was matted in blood. For a moment Gibbs' heart stopped until a closer look confirmed the man's identity.
"It's Carlos Torres," he said, his calm voice belying his overwhelming relief.
"McGee!"
"Going to talk to the kids, Boss," he replied, walking in the direction of the mother and her children.
"Ziva!"
"I will start processing the scene," Ziva jogged back to the car.
"Wait!" the uniform cop objected. "I've already called for a coroner's van. Our ME's a crotchety old bird, he'd kick my ass into next week if his crime scene is disturbed."
"My crime scene now," Gibbs stated, noting that Palmer had pulled the NCIS coroner's van to the kerb a safe distance away. Whistling loudly, he waved his arm, signalling for the ME's to join them.
"Who's that?" the young cop asked, noting the diminutive figure in the beige hat walking their way.
"My crotchety old bird," Gibbs replied.
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For the first time in almost a week, Gus managed a dreamless sleep. Ten solid hours of drug assisted slumber, free of fleeting visions and scattered, confusing images of people and places that were vaguely familiar but whose identity steadfastly refused to follow him into the waking world.
Despite the desperately needed rest, he still felt sluggish. His head ached dully but the mind-numbing pain was gone – at least for the moment. He heard voices coming from the adjoining room and struggled to his feet. When he'd collapsed earlier, Bricker had thought for certain that Lopez would consider him too great a liability and would order him killed. Looking around frantically for his Beretta, he found it on the nightstand and tucked it into the back of his jeans.
He frowned - it didn't make sense that Lopez would wait until he was rested and then kill him. Perhaps his services as a weapons specialist were still required after all, or maybe Lopez had decided to proceed with Gus' plan of striking the COL warehouse.
Miguel Alvaro opened the door to the bedroom, the shaft of light from the outer room shooting spikes into Bricker's brain. Gus was shocked to learn that Torres was dead – one failure too many as far as Lopez was concerned and another example of how dangerously obsessed the man really was. Gus needed to finish this job and get the hell out of there.
By the time Bricker had taken a hot shower and had a few bites to eat, Lopez had returned and joined Alvaro, Diaz and Salinas in the sitting room. All listened attentively as Gus reviewed final preparations for their unauthorised sojourn to COL's Pax River Warehouse.
"You're sure about this?" Alvaro asked. "You're sure the four of us can pull this off."
"Absolutely," Bricker replied. "Whoever installed the security equipment left a black spot - a corridor, thirty feet wide, with no camera coverage. We time our arrival to coincide with the change of shifts for the guards – we can back the truck right up to the fence and cut through the wire."
"The wire's not hot?"
"Nope, someone got a little too complacent – thought they had enough high-tech equipment inside and didn't bother about electrifying the fence."
"What about the feds? They've been all over us," Lopez stated. "Torres couldn't prevent that, what makes you think you can?"
"The feds would never expect us to hit something this big," Bricker stated. "We get in, get what we need and get out, twenty minutes, tops…that is…if you have my money."
"You have just told us how to get in and out of this complex undetected," Lopez said. "I could kill you right now and save my money. You disappoint me, Bricker, you are not as clever as I thought you were."
"If you think I told you where all the cameras and sensors are, you're not the savvy businessman I heard you were," Bricker countered. "If you want the ordnance and you want your people in and out safely – I want my money – now!"
Lopez glared at the audacity of the younger man.
"Come now, Bricker, if I give you the money now, how do I know you'll do the job?" Lopez asked with a hint of anger infiltrating his calm façade.
"I want my money now or you can lead this operation yourself. Although, I'd recommend you change your shoes. You really don't wanna be traipsing through the rain and the mud in those Salvatore Ferragamos."
The two men reached a dangerous stalemate. Bricker's green eyes were hard and steady and showed no sign of fear or intimidation. He knew he was taking a huge chance. Lopez was a man not used to failure or dissension – the demise of Carlos Torres laid testament to that fact. Lopez' kohl-dark eyes burned with fury then suddenly his mouth twisted into a forced smile. He reached a gloved hand into his overcoat and removed a stack of banded hundred dollar bills, handing the money to Bricker.
"Ten thousand now, ten thousand when the job's done," Lopez said.
"Deal," Bricker replied, placing the money into a deep pocket in his jacket.
"We are leaving for El Salvador in two days," he said. "I need another lead man and you appear to have the "attributes" I'm looking for. You will, of course, be well paid."
"Well, your staff superannuation plan is impressive," Bricker said with a wry smile as he tapped the money in his jacket pocket. "But your down-sizing methods are a little harsh. If it's all the same to you, I think I'll remain freelance."
Lopez continued to assess the younger man as Bricker's attention returned to his team. He questioned each man, ensuring they all knew exactly what they needed to do. Lopez was intrigued. Rarely did he find a man with the cojones to look him in the eye and disagree with him. Bricker had accomplished all that had been asked of him and more – even after being seriously injured. Lopez had never been one to take no for an answer. If Bricker successfully completed the job at COL, he could name his price – Lopez was determined that the younger man would join him in El Salvador.
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Director Vance glanced up from reading a report as Gibbs entered the office and approached his desk. He sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.
"This is not good," he said.
"DiNozzo didn't kill Torres, Leon," Gibbs answered definitively.
"I agree but knowing it and proving it are two entirely different things," the director replied. "The ballistics and autopsy reports I just finished reading say that Torres was killed by a bullet to the back of the head, fired from DiNozzo's weapon."
"Still doesn't mean Tony fired the gun."
"No it doesn't but it's getting harder and harder to convince the FBI of that. Speaking of the FBI, they're sending an agent over for an update of your investigation," Vance said.
"Caldwell?" Gibbs said, almost spitting the name.
"Your buddy Fornell," Vance replied. "What else do you have?"
"Torres had the name of Senior US Customs official Brian Wallace, in the speed dial of his cell. Wallace was probably calling Torres whenever a Customs search was scheduled."
"You send Ziva and McGee to pick him up?"
"Thought about it," Gibbs said. "But Wallace would have only dealt with Torres. With him dead, Lopez has got to get those weapons out of the country and he'll need Wallace's help to clear Customs."
"So you think we should leave him where he is, have him watched and let Lopez come to us?"
"Doesn't help us find DiNozzo but it may help us get something on Lopez," Gibbs said, his frustration evident. "My sources from SouthCom said the CIA has greatly increased its presence around the El Salvador and Honduras border."
"Quite a coincidence – and we all know how you feel about those. Anything from Kort?"
"Nothing."
"Probably just as well, the man's a rattle snake, you never know which way he's gonna strike," Vance stated.
The sound of Gibbs' cell brought the discussion to a temporary halt as Gibbs spoke succinctly to the caller and hung up.
"I'll keep you posted," Gibbs said as he turned to leave the office.
"You got something?" Vance asked.
"An appointment with a rattle snake."
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Waiting by the Lincoln Memorial, Trent Kort growled his displeasure as the howling wind and torrential rain turned his umbrella inside out and rendered it ineffectual. Cursing under his breath, he threw the useless item in a nearby trashcan, wondering what possessed him to choose an outdoor meeting place in such inclement weather. He leaned forward and, catching a glimpse of his image in the reflecting pool, adjusted his collar.
"DiNozzo owes me fifty bucks," Gibbs' voice sounded from behind him. "He told me vampires cast no reflection…seems they do."
"And here I was thinking our relationship had taken a turn for the better," Kort answered sarcastically.
"I can't help what you think, Kort" Gibbs shrugged. "Been trying to contact you for days."
"This might come as a shock to you, Gibbs, but I'm not one of your flunkies that jump whenever you call. This is your dime and I need to be back in my coffin before the sun rises – what do you need."
"I want to know about a CIA operation that's mounting on the El Salvador and Honduras border."
Kort smiled humourlessly. Dressed in a dark trench coat, his perennial five o'clock shadow and almost bald head gave him the look of a character from a B-grade gangster movie and Gibbs knew the man's motives could be decidedly sinister. With his senior field agent in desperate trouble, Gibbs would be willing to deal with the devil himself if it helped him get to Tony.
"CIA operations are classified, you know that," Kort said in his unhurried, baritone voice.
"Then, tell me what you know about Matteo Lopez."
The CIA operative stared back at him impassively. "Any particular reason why I should? Last time we met, you said we'd evened the score."
"Changed my mind," Gibbs replied with a shrug. "You still owe me from the Siravo case. I'm here to collect."
Sighing theatrically, Kort replied.
"Lopez came to the USA from El Salvador in 1990 as a war-refugee."
"Already know that."
"Yes, but did you know that he was an active member of the El Salvador Resistencia Revolucionario, a rebel guerrilla faction who fought against the military-led government in the civil war. He is allegedly involved with as many as a dozen wealthy Salvadoran ex-pats, financing and supplying weapons and ordnance to ESRR."
"Allegedly?"
"Okay…not so allegedly."
"I was under the impression that ESRR were disbanded at the end of the civil war."
"They have regrouped and are preparing an insurgency to over throw the Salvadoran government. Even got themselves a ready-made army. As many as three hundred Salvadoran prisoners, all serving sentences of twenty to life, have been released from prison without judicial processing during the last six months on the condition they fight for the ESRR."
"Not much of a deal, get released from prison and risk being killed fighting someone else's war."
"El Salvador has 19 prisons, designed for a total of 7,500 inmates," Kort explained. "They currently house close to 20,000. A large percentage of those inmates belong to rival MS and Mara 18 gangs."
"Odds of survival are better on the outside," Gibbs quickly concluded.
"ESRR have accumulated a huge stockpile of weapons and explosives just over the Honduran border. We believe they were shipped from the US and we've been watching Matt Lopez for sometime now."
"The CIA believed Lopez was involved in something of this magnitude, yet you did nothing?"
"Like you keep telling me, Gibbs, the CIA has no criminal jurisdiction on US soil. If we want Lopez – we have to wait until he leaves the US to get him."
"Why don't you cut the crap? The CIA has an obligation to pass that kind of information on to the appropriate government agencies. A lot of good men would still be alive if that had been done," Gibbs argued. "Hell, I've got a man undercover who's working it right now!"
"If you're talking about DiNozzo, my sources tell me that he isn't working it – he's running it!"
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A/N El Salvador Resistencia Revolucionario is based on a guerilla organisation that fought against the military-led government during the civil war in El Salvador, however, I changed the name to protect...well, me!
Thank you, as always, for your wonderful support. Big, big, big, big chapter coming up next! Hope you'll join me, L