Truths and Covert Lies: Chapter 37
It was 0600 Zulu when phones around the world began ringing.
Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs was still at his desk at NCIS, despite the hour—0200 in Washington, DC. The MCRT had gotten a call the afternoon before about a possible embezzlement case through the Pentagon. That wasn't something that would usually require overnight work by the MCRT, but they had been on-call for the weekend and in a rare bout of charity, he offered to take it off the hands of the Pentagon team so they could enjoy their weekend.
Sometimes, he wondered if it was his lingering guilt about switching weekends with Special Agent Paula Cassidy a few years before that prompted such actions.
He was still squinting at his computer screen, no closer to figuring out what the lines of numbers meant than he had been a few hours before, when he detected the presence of someone standing by his desk. "What?" he barked, his eyes not moving toward the tall, thin blond agent he knew was standing there. He didn't bother to hide his annoyed sigh when she still didn't say anything. "Speak, Sopko," he ordered.
"Uh, sorry, sir—Gibbs," she replied quickly, prompting another sigh. At 0200, it was far too early—or late, depending on how one looked at it—to be dealing with the newest probie.
"What do you need?" he asked again when she still didn't say anything.
"The analysis of the account," she said, thrusting a small stack of papers onto his desk. "Uh, I don't think this is an embezzlement case at all—at least, not what we would usually think of as an embezzlement case. Nobody is taking money off the account for their own use, or even, I guess, for the use of a corporation or a third-party…" She trailed off at the look on Gibbs' face before picking up again, her eyes falling to the printouts now on Gibbs' desk. "I think everything about the account is fake. Both the deposits and the withdrawals since the account was opened in FY 2007 violate Benford's law." She glanced up and misinterpreted the blank look on the supervisory field agent's face to mean that he wanted her to explain further. "Uh, Benford's law is also called the first-digit law. When you have numerical data from a real-life source, there's a non-uniform—"
"Sopko," he interrupted. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Forensic accounting, sir—Gibbs. I specialized in fraud detection at Ernst and Young before I joined NCIS. I'm a CPA. I thought you knew that." Her normally pale face was now bright red in embarrassment. He was about to tell her that he didn't know anything about her personnel file—as always, Vance had put her on the team without any input from him when he didn't bother doing the busywork the director requested—but the ringing of his phone interrupted him before he could even begin. He frowned at the offending piece of plastic before grabbing for the receiver.
"Gibbs," he barked into the line, wondering who the hell would be trying to reach him at work after 0200.
"Turn on ZNN. You're going to want to see this." Director Vance hung up the phone before explaining further. He frowned again, this time at the dial tone, before he began barking out orders.
"McGee. ZNN. On the plasma," he said. The temporarily senior field agent also frowned, but scrambled for the remote sitting on his desk until the news network was displayed, and as one, all three of the junior agents' jaws dropped. Gibbs found himself wishing the coffee place stayed open later than 2200.
The image on the screen was of several official-looking people, most armed, on the opposite side of crime-scene tape as the camera, but what had gotten their attention was the banner along the bottom of the image: Mossad Director Eli David Assassinated At Mauthausen-Gusen Concentration Camp Memorial. Gradually, the words being spoken by the unseen journalist began to register. "—morning, while on a visit with his daughter to the Mauthausen-Gusen Memorial outside Mauthausen, Austria. Sources say that Director David's grandparents were killed at a sub-camp outside Vienna during the Holocaust and that this was his daughter's first visit to the Memorial. The shooter is confirmed to be Austrian citizen Klaus Öggl, who was fatally shot by a Mossad officer in the late director's security detail. For security purposes, no names or images of the detail will be released. It is rumored that Öggl may be connected to a Neo-Nazi organization in Vienna. Investigators are still working to confirm that Director David was the intended target of this attack. All other members of party, including the late director's daughter, have been confirmed to be unharmed. For those of you just tuning in, this is Rebecca Gargas of ZNN, live at the Mauthausen-Gusen Memorial, where Mossad Director Eli David was fatally shot earlier this morning."
Gibbs was pretty sure she wasn't lying when she claimed it was a live broadcast. He had seen a familiar figure on the screen, similarly dressed but lighter-haired than the other men, pull out a cell phone as he paced behind the bench where another familiar figure was sitting, unmoving. This time, he knew even before his own cell phone rang who was calling him after 0200. "We see it, DiNozzo," he said without a greeting. "How's Ziva?"
He was met with a brief period of silence and watched as the DiNozzo on the screen faced the camera. If he waves, I'm smacking him right back to Agent Afloat, and this time, he's staying. The on-screen DiNozzo didn't wave. He just turned and walked away from the cameras, presumably to move out of Ziva's earshot. "Don't know what the reporters are saying, Boss, but the shooter's Klaus Öggl. Definitely Neo-Nazi. Guy had a swastika tattoo on his left chest, now decorated with a double-tap to the heart, courtesy of none other than Director David's own daughter. Yeah, Ziva's fine." His voice was heavy with the angry sarcasm he used to cover up any number of other emotions.
"Reporter said it was a member of the security detail."
This time, a sarcastic laugh. "Yeah, they would say that," DiNozzo replied in a mocking tone. "Pretty embarrassing for Mossad, that their hand-picked security detail for the director can't get to the bad guy before a woman on vacation wearing a skirt and heels. She'll probably be getting some sort of Mossad super-ninja medal for that." There was a pause, and when the vacationing agent spoke again, most of the sarcasm was gone. "She's pretty pissed, Boss. Don't know if that's because someone just killed her father or because she had to take matters into her own hands. Either way, she's not talking to me. Not talking to anyone. The Memorial's director somehow found a rabbi willing to come out here on a Saturday. Tried talking to her. Not a pretty picture. Feel kinda sorry for the guy." Gibbs watched on the plasma as the on-screen DiNozzo turned to face the camera again, as if speaking directly to the agents half a world away. "There's something not right about this, Boss. The trip out to the concentration camp was last minute. Nobody was supposed to know. How did Öggl find out? How does a completely unknown Neo-Nazi sneak into a closed memorial packing heat?"
"You're asking the right questions, DiNozzo."
"Yeah. Unfortunately, the Austrian version of the FBI isn't. They're ready to close the case and ship Director David's body back to Israel. You gotta come out here, take over the investigation. That was the one thing Ziva's said in a language I understand: 'Get Gibbs and McGee. There is more to this than meets the gaze.'" Gibbs imagined DiNozzo giving a sarcastic smile. "I tried to correct her English, but she wasn't really in the mood for that."
"We can't just go into a foreign country and take over their investigation."
His words were met with silence. "Talk to Vance. He was friends with Director David. Or look at it as a private request from the only surviving family member. We've done that before."
"When we had a legitimate claim. We don't this time."
"You gotta find a way, Boss." He heard the well-concealed plea in DiNozzo's voice and knew this wasn't about finding who killed Director Eli David; it was about doing right by Ziva. It was a feeling Gibbs could understand.
"Oh, we'll find a way," Gibbs replied. He didn't care what it took. "You tell Ziva we'll be there just as fast as the Navy can get us there." He hung up the phone before his senior field agent could respond. "Go home, McGee. You have an hour to pack your bags. Don't forget your passport."
"Boss?"
"Ever been to Austria?" He didn't wait for a response before turning his attention to his two temporary agents. "Sopko," he began, before he started flipping through the pile of mail that had been left on his desk earlier that day. "Consider yourself a part of the Pentagon team until we get back. Work with them on the embezzlement case."
"Well, it's not really a—"
"Don't care." He tossed most of the mail into the garbage. "Tomblin, you'll be with Special Agent Arnold." He gestured to the other side of the divider. "Both of you, go home, get some sleep, enjoy your weekend, report on Monday."
"We're not going with you?"
"Nope." He glanced down at the remaining piece of mail on his desk, a postcard of a pink hospital looking over a bright blue-green ocean, and tossed it in his desk drawer without reading it. He already had his phone out to find the fastest transportation to Austria as he rose from his desk. One last glance at the plasma screen before he left the squad room revealed the out-of-focus image of his senior field crouching down in front of a bench where his Mossad liaison sat. He couldn't see any details, but he imagined a look of relief on Ziva's face as Tony brushed a lock of hair away from her face while he spoke to her and told her to sit tight, that their team was coming, and soon, they'll be going home.