Chapter 44
Thursday, May 31, 2007
6 a.m. EDT
Contrary to the legends about Leroy Jethro Gibbs, the man did sleep.
He hadn't gotten much sleep overnight, however. After Colonel Mann and her associates left his house, Gibbs decided to get some shut-eye on the cot in his basement, while Franks took the couch upstairs. Sleep came quickly to both men, who, despite the presence of a dozen suits inside and near the house, nevertheless slept with loaded handguns underneath their pillows.
Gibbs forgot about the very loud alarm clock on his workbench. It did its job, and woke him up right at 5:45. He stretched, then trudged upstairs to make breakfast and coffee. Seeing Franks snoozing on the couch, he turned on the TV in the kitchen and lowered the volume as not to wake up his friend and mentor.
-This is ZNN, the Satellite News Network, simulcasting on our sister channel, HNC. Here's the headlines at this hour:
Allied and Pact forces worldwide remain on high alert, following skirmishes over the Persian Gulf and the border between the two Germanies in the past few hours.
ZNN has learned from its bureau in New Delhi that India Prime Minister Manmohan Singh, also the Secretary-General of the Non-Aligned Movement, has spoken with the American and Soviet Ambassadors to India, hoping to use them to reach their countries' leaders so he could speak to them directly about brokering a peace treaty.
Back home in the U.S., both the House and Senate reconvened at 5:15 a.m. to vote on two items: approving the Rock Act, which effectively would turn the media over to government control, and reinstituting the draft. As you see in this live shot, Capitol Hill is swarming with military guards. The White House, the Pentagon and other federal government buildings also are under heavy guard at this hour.
Police presence has as much as tripled around the Soviet Embassy in Washington and Soviet consulates around the country. Five people were arrested in San Francisco after attempting to rush past police and engaged armed guards in front of the local Soviet consulate.
Coming up next: Carol Costello will talk with Katharine Weymouth, the publisher of the Washington Post, about the Rock Act—
Gibbs took the TV remote and clicked through the channels until he found a black-and-white episode of The Andy Griffith Show. With Andy, Opie and Aunt Bee talking in the background, Gibbs cracked open some eggs over the skillet.
A short while later, Franks woke up to the smell of scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and coffee. He sat up on the couch and saw Gibbs staring at him.
"Probie, why don't you just tell me 'Mike, get your ass over here. Breakfast's gettin' cold'?" Franks grumbled, without complaint. Gibbs smiled, and went over to the refrigerator to get some butter and molasses. The men had time to eat, and almost finish their coffee before Gibbs's phone rang.
"Gibbs," he said, and the person on the other line told him about a dead Navy SEAL discovered by a Metro police officer on foot patrol. Always prepared for any situation, Gibbs got up, grabbed his NCIS cap and jacket from a coat rack next to the dryer, and told Franks he was coming along.
On the way to the crime scene, Gibbs got a call from an unknown caller. "Who is this?", he asked.
"Hollis."
"Hollis? Are you—"
"Listen. Meet me and others at the park near the old Pentagon Centre, take the back way in."
"'Back way in'? Tell me—"
"Sneak in, don't be seen. Get there by 10:30. We're going in, early."
"Early?"
"Early. We go tonight, there's a good chance we get caught by the wrong people. We go now, we probably don't get seen at all. You in or out?"
Gibbs looked at Franks. "You said 10:30. I just caught a case."
"You have three agents, one who should have his own team now, two who probably will lead their own teams in time, and a Mossad agent who can probably protect them all by herself. Again, Jethro. In? Or out?"
Gibbs paused. "In. But I go to my crime scene first, check it out, hand it off. Then Mike and I head out."
"Good enough. See you then, and stay safe," she said before hanging up.
Franks had watched Gibbs throughout the entirety of the call. "Hollis?"
"Looks like the 'field trip's happening a lot earlier than tonight, Mike," Gibbs said.
Rock Creek Park
7:16 a.m.
Gibbs's truck — followed as discreetly as possible by two of the suits, in a very conspicuous shiny jet black Ford Expedition SUV — pulled in front of a Metro DC police cruiser. He and Franks got out of the truck and began looking for whichever police officer was in charge, and found their man about 50 feet away.
A middle-aged man in a light blue shirt and dark blue tie stood next to a woman who was squatting over what looked like the victim. Gibbs barely recognized the woman from having visited the NCIS morgue as a guest of Ducky's a few years ago, but didn't know the man. Time to take care of that, thought the NCIS agent as he briskly walked their way, ignoring the dull ache in his knee while putting on a pair of the gloves he and his team always wore at crime scenes.
"You must be Gibbs," the man said, reaching into his right pants pocket to pull out his badge and ID. "Detective Sportelli, Metro PD."
Sportelli glanced at Franks. "You the new director? This guy must be a pretty big deal if you're showing up—"
"Hell no," Franks growled. "Retired NIS agent Mike Franks."
"My mistake. Saw the news on TV about that woman Shepard getting killed; they showed the picture of the guy who replaced her — McAndrews? — okay. Well, he's not here, so I guess this is a run of the mill case."
"There's never a 'run of the mill' case, and this man's a pretty big deal to someone, maybe including the killer," Gibbs said, taking a few moments to look at the victim. The deceased laid face-up, dressed in civilian clothing, and a very prominent wound in his chest. The African-American looked to be in his early 30s and, Gibbs thought, was big enough to play linebacker for the Redskins and, as a SEAL, wouldn't be an easy kill.
Was he a SEAL, though? "You find ID on him?", he asked Sportelli. The detective shouted at an officer, who went to his squad car and came back with a clear bag that contained a leather wallet. Gibbs took the wallet out of the bag and quickly found what he was looking for. The body now had a name: Chief Wendell Sears.
"Figured this guy would be overseas, if he were Navy," Sportelli said. "Could be fake."
"That'll be for my people to determine," Gibbs said firmly, to remind the detective that this was an NCIS case — his case — now.
Gibbs handed Franks the bag to hold onto and told him to give DiNozzo and Ducky a call to see where the rest of the team were at, and took a look around the body. Ignoring Sportelli and the woman, Gibbs looked at the small blood pool under the chest. He really wanted his people there to take over the scene, and Ducky's initial thoughts on the timeframe and method of death.
Instead, he had to make do for the moment with the people around him. He knew Sportelli wouldn't give up the scene until Gibbs's team arrived, so Gibbs turned to someone who he didn't know, but gambled on trusting on account of Ducky's brief mention of her as a friend and colleague years ago.
"So you worked with Dr. Mallard?", Gibbs asked the woman, who was momentarily confused as to who he was talking about. Then he saw the recognition, and a broad smile, on her face.
"Ducky," she said. "He certainly is a friend, and a colleague. We've known each other quite awhile. You must be Gibbs."
"Yep. And you?"
"Oh. Jordan Hampton. Doctor Jordan Hampton. The new Medical Examiner of the District of Columbia. The man who had the job before quit. I was told he took his family out west, to some place in Oregon, he thought would be safe." If the worst came to pass, she didn't say, although Gibbs read it in her eyes. "I'm surprised Dr. Mallard's not here."
Gibbs looked over at Franks, who held up one finger on his right hand. "Less than five minutes away, Dr. Hamilton," he said, glancing at her and then down at the body. "You got anything I can use right now?"
"Whoever did this to him had to have some kind of advantage on him, or maybe knew him pretty well," she said, as a couple of more vehicles arrived and pulled off to the side of the road nearby. Gibbs saw the NCIS examiner's van, and a blue Chevrolet SUV. Ducky and Palmer got out of the van, and the rest of Gibbs's team out of the SUV.
"Guess I'll take over, now," Gibbs said to Sportelli.
"You can have it," the detective replied.
The rest of Gibbs's team arrived, and after catching them up on the victim, Gibbs had Kate, McGee and Ziva wait with Ducky and Palmer, and pulled DiNozzo off to the side.
"This is your case, DiNozzo. Call me if something goes haywire, but otherwise I'll be off the grid for a few days."
"What's going on, Boss?" DiNozzo said, knowing Gibbs wouldn't hand over control of a case unless he were under orders, or working another case. "The mustache pull you off?"
"Me and Mike's working something," Gibbs said. "I'll let you and the rest of the team know as soon as I can. For now, you're in charge."
"They—"
"They'll listen to you, Tony. This is something I've got to get taken care of."
DiNozzo saw the concern, fear and gravity in his mentor's eyes. "This thing. How serious is it?"
"Big. Bigger than you imagine," he said. "Gotta go."
Gibbs was closer to his truck than to his team, but walked out of his way to go to them. "DiNozzo's running point on this one," he told them. "Got something that Mike and I gotta take care of."
"Gibbs?" Kate said. "Take care of what?"
"DiNozzo's in charge," Gibbs replied, and said nothing else despite her and the others' pleas. When DiNozzo arrived to take charge of the scene, Gibbs and Franks were on the road, heading towards their destination.
Arlington, Virginia
The former Virginia Highlands Park
11:00 a.m.
-lots going on here in the District and throughout the nation, and the world. This is WTOP 103.5 FM and WTWP 1500 AM, Washington, D.C. We'll go now to CBS News at the top of the hour.
(CBS News Radio sounder airs)
This is CBS News. I'm Christopher Glenn.
Police in New York City have arrested 47 protestors at an impromptu peace gathering in Times Square that started peacefully but soon turned rowdy. Chris Silber reports:
"A crowd estimated at 3,000 began gathering in Times Square just after 7 a.m. Eastern, in time for the start of the television network morning shows. Six men and women in green T-shirts with peace signs, guarded by a dozen men and women in black T-shirts, also with peace signs, stood in the intersection of Broadway and 47th as the crowd grew. By 9 a.m., New York City police had shut down Times Square both to foot and vehicle traffic; cameras and reporters from local stations and national networks, including CBS, were recording the leaders calling for the United States and Soviet Union to cease hostilities and agree to live in peace.
Nearly 40 minutes later, a few dozen protestors began arguing with NYPD officers, and minutes later several protestors appeared to attack four officers standing in front of a squad car two blocks away on 45th Street. Within minutes, over a hundred police officers, including members of the NYPD's SWAT Unit, descended on Times Square to restore order. New York Police Commissioner Frank Reagan:
We live in troubling times, and although we enjoy the rights to assemble and to protest, right now we must exercise those rights in an appropriate manner, at appropriate times, in appropriate venues. I do not doubt the organizers meant well, but these impromptu protests are hotbeds for those who would mean them, and all of us, harm. I wholeheartedly commend and support our officers who did an extraordinary job of keeping the peace in a situation that could have quickly turned into tragedy.
At this hour, the NYPD is being assisted by New York National Guardsmen in clearing Times Square, which remains closed to all traffic. Chris Silber, CBS News, Times Square in New York City."
The British Army was called in to break up a similar protest in London's Hyde Park that turned violent. The BBC reported three deaths and dozens more injured after the mood of the protest, organized by musicians John Lennon, Freddie Mercury and Pete Townsend, turned rowdy when members of the banned leftist political organization One Earth, One Government clashed with British military veterans.
Indiana National Guardsmen were called in to break up rioting this morning at FEMA camps around Indianapolis. The camps have seen protests the past few days over food and medicine distribution and from residents who want to go back home. A five-mile area around the site of the bomb that destroyed the Indianapolis Motor Speedway on Memorial Day remains closed to civilians; portions of surrounding Marion County are being reopened to residents pending federal and state inspections and other factors. This is CBS News.
President Boehner signed the controversial Rock Act into law this morning…-
"Turn that crap off, Jethro," Franks grumbled, reaching to push the power button on the truck radio before Gibbs could react.
"Got something against the news, Mike?" Gibbs said as he looked out towards the large complex of buildings where they would go, once Hollis and her people arrived. With his truck parked just south of the intersection of the former Hayes and 15th Streets, on the southbound lane right next to the park, Gibbs kept an eye out for them and for anyone else.
"If I wanted to hear propaganda I'd listen to Radio Moscow," Franks said. "When's the last time you heard anything about Indianapolis? It ought to be the lead story on every newscast and in the newspaper. You hardly hear much about anything going on there. That's the Rock Act for ya."
"Kate called me last night, before Hollis and her people showed up," Gibbs said. "Her uncle, the governor, said nobody's going into the city anytime soon because of the water supply. Much of it's contaminated and not all of it by the bomb."
"Russians?"
"Or their friends. FEMA thinks some of the reservoirs were 'spiked' right before the explosion—"
"Which no one is saying was a nuke. If that wasn't a nuke, then these things burnin' a hole in my pocket aren't cigarettes, either. Whatever it was, it was an act of war, and why in hell the President's not already declared war makes no damn sense."
"War on who, Mike?"
"The Soviets. No way the Islamists or the cartels could've built a nuke that powerful."
"Maybe, Mike, it's because once we go to war with the Soviets, it's over."
Franks conceded Gibbs' point, and decided to change the subject. "If we're gonna listen to the radio, then the least you could do is let me see if there's some decent music to listen to—"
"They're late."
Franks started to speak, paused a moment, then spoke. "Maybe they're taking their time gettin' here, Probie. Wasn't easy to sneak in past those Arlington cops back there, near that old Exxon station. Hell, whoever's running that thing up there" – Franks pointed to the nearby complex – "probably already knows we're here."
"Hollis told us how to come in here, Mike."
"She said the park, Jethro. Not on the street. Hidin' under a couple of trees ain't gonna cover us."
"Wanna go out and look around, Mike? You've been complaining about not being able to go out and smoke since we left Rock Creek Park."
"Not my damn fault you don't want any smoke inside your truck, Probie," Franks said, with a smile. "And I didn't survive all those years working for NIS by being a fool; I'll light up after they show up and we get out of this thing."
Franks settled for the moment for chewing a piece of gum, scanning the area for any sign of anyone else besides them. "They'll show up, Jethro. Don't worry. My gut tells me they'll be here before you know it."
"Probably," Gibbs said. "Something's wrong."
"What do you see?"
"Nothing, yet."
"What's your gut telling ya?"
"I know what she said about tonight, Mike. Something doesn't seem right about—"
"Jethro." Franks pointed behind them. Gibbs looked in his rear-view mirror and saw a plain-looking black van pulling up behind them, slowing down about 20 feet away.
"I see it," Gibbs said.
"Your girlfriend own a black van, Probie?"
Gibbs reached for his SiG-Sauer, pushing the growing sense of dread out of his mind. "On my six, Mike, but keep your eye on the facility."
Both men got out of the truck and headed towards the van. Gibbs was relieved to see Sloane behind the steering wheel and Langer besides her, but kept an eye out for any sign of unexpected company.
"I don't like this, Jethro," Franks said as the pair slowly made their way to the van. "This whole area's restricted, or it's supposed to be, but nobody's around."
"You're wrong—"
"The damn Pentagon less than a mile away is swarmin' with security and soldiers. This place, if it's what she says it is, oughta have a whole damn Army division here protecting it."
The side door of the van opened, and Gibbs saw Hollis waving him in; as he approached the van, he saw Teague and Cooke both holding semi-automatic weapons, looking ready to fire at will. Both men got in, sitting on buckets set out for them.
"Jethro, I hope you're not married to that truck out there," Hollis said.
"Hollis…" Gibbs said with a groan.
"We're going to have to abort," she replied. "We got intel on the way over suggesting we're running into a trap."
"It's reliable, Boss," Langer said to Gibbs. "Contact within the Bureau who knows about the ring said there's a civil war of sorts between those who want to open it up to the public and those who want to keep it a secret."
"When did your contact reach you?" Gibbs asked.
"Not long after I called you when you were at Rock Creek Park," Hollis said, apologetically.
"Jesus, lady," Franks interjected. "You ever hear of a cell phone!?"
"Mike…"
"Don't 'Mike' me, Jethro! For all we know we might be walking into a trap—"
"Which is why we need to leave," Sloane said, looking outwards towards the complex. "This van's sturdier and more powerful than she looks. Zero to 60 in two seconds, we'll be out of the line of sight in sec—"
Gibbs's hand was on Sloane's wrist before she or anyone else knew it, keeping her from being able to take the van out of park and into reverse. Gibbs barely saw Hollis chop down on his arm above his wrist, hard enough that he loosened his grip on Sloane's wrist long enough for her to slip her wrist out of his grasp.
"You do that again and I'll chop your head off, Jethro," Hollis said in a menacing tone. "Literally."
Gibbs glared at her, she at him. Franks saw Cooke and Teague with their handguns pointed downwards and their fingers on the trigger, and reached over to put himself between Gibbs and Hollis. "Colonel," Franks said to Hollis, "does the situation warrant not investigating this ring that you and your people spent half of last night trying to convince me to visit?"
"It does, former Agent Franks, and in my opinion it also warrants us withdrawing imm—"
"DUCK!"
Franks found himself knocked down to the van floor by Sloane, who was trying to cover him. In the corner of his eye, he saw Langer dragging Gibbs downwards and Hollis diving between Langer and himself.
A second later, he heard an ear-splitting explosion that cracked the front window of the van and caused it to shudder for a few, long seconds. That was followed by another explosion that Franks figured wasn't too much further ahead, and probably aimed at Gibbs's truck.
Hollis was the first of them to look up, and she glanced at Gibbs, then her team and then Franks. She — and the others — saw flames about five feet in front of the van, through the cracked front window, and flames not far away, near the truck.
Then she noticed the old Cadillac in the intersection that wasn't there before, and a glint from inside the vehicle.
Sniper.
Her training kicked in almost before she could think of what she needed to do.
"HIT THE DECK!", she yelled, and seconds later the windshield and front grille of the van were peppered with gunfire. "Cooke! Give me the key," she barked, while crawling towards the back of the van, and a locker. She took the key, used it to open the locker, then pulled out a couple of semi-automatics. After handing them to Gibbs and Franks, she took another semi-automatic for herself.
"We're gonna have to fight our way out of this one," she said, checking the ammunition in her weapon. "Question is, are they with the General or are they garden-variety Spetsnaz?"
"Doesn't really matter at this point, does it, Hollis?" Langer said.
"Nope," she replied. "Jack, you get out of here. I'll get out and draw fire while you—"
Gibbs reached and grabbed her by the arm, with more force than he wanted and with far more fear than he wished. "You."
"I won't ask my team to do something I won't do myself," she said, turning away from Gibbs to head for the back door. He stopped her before she could turn the handle.
"I'll go," he said. "You take Mike and your people—"
"My turn to play hero, Jethro…I love you, you bastard."
He stared at her, speechless, as she turned the handle. "Do me a favor. Don't name that boat in your basement after me…Jack. You heard my orders."
She got out, and he leapt out of the van behind her, both to cover her and to shoot at whomever was trying to kill them.
As they ran back towards a large tree to use for cover, he saw one of the assailants, dressed in all-black garb that he had seen somewhere before, during one of Jenny's mandatory intelligence sessions. North Korean Special Guards, he though; North Korea had lent use of its military and intelligence resources to the Soviets over the past ten years, and these special forces were probably doing the equivalent of contract work for the KGB. Whoever they were, they were bad news, at least for Hollis and himself and the five friendlies stuck in the van.
Gibbs reached in his pocket for his cell phone; he was going to have to call in McAllister on this one, and deal with the consequences later. But he only felt his wallet and keys, and cursed. It must've slipped out of his pocket in the truck, he thought. Damn these pants DiNozzo told me I had to buy.
Looking over at Hollis, Gibbs saw a flash of anger and surprise in her eyes as she shot at the enemy. He remembered her telling Sloane to get the hell out of here, and winced when he noticed the van was still there. Is it drivable? Gibbs ducked to see if there was any fluid leaking from below the engine, but couldn't tell from his distance.
Out in the intersection, one of the vehicles moved further east, and Gibbs knew the assailants were trying to get a clear line of sight on them. If they had a missile to fire at the van…
"We're going to have to 'Bonnie and Clyde' it to draw their fire, Jethro," Hollis said, breaking Gibbs's train of thought. Her comment clarified in his mind that he wasn't likely to make it out alive.
"We're not going to make it," Gibbs replied.
"Maybe not us, but they can," she said. "Bonnie and Clyde."
"You mean Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid."
"Yeah. Got my movies mixed up. All this time and I had no idea you were a movie aficionado."
"Nope. I saw it when I was in basic training, and again when DiNozzo brought his DVD player over to watch with me."
"You remember how that movie ended?"
"Yeah. Freeze-frame."
"I'm taking a few of them with me," she said, running out from behind the tree before Gibbs could say or do anything to stop her.
Law enforcement personnel are trained to run to the battle, trained to overcome a human's natural tendency to do whatever it takes to survive. As an officer in the United States Army, Hollis Mann had undergone hours of training to become a soldier. Yes, she was an investigator — unlike NCIS, the Army's Criminal Investigative Command (often referred to as CID) pulled its agents from the ranks of active or reserve Army personnel — but at heart she was a soldier. Especially in light of the ever-present and growing Soviet threat, which had manifested itself in front of her.
As she ran towards the three vehicles and those firing at her from behind and within them, the ring came to Hollis' mind. She pushed it aside to think of her teammates, and of Gibbs, who she heard yelling and firing behind her. She put his face in her mind's eye.
Then she felt a sharp pain in her stomach, and felt herself falling, and thought it was strange that she didn't feel herself hitting the street.
Her mind began to drift, even as she saw the backs of her teammates — her friends, her comrades-in-arm — run towards the battle, then stop. Had they been hit? No…they're turning around? Fight! Or run like I order – ord —
Hollis screamed in agony at the intense pain that abruptly manifested itself back into her stomach, and sensed that her strength was quickly ebbing. The pain subsided a little, but enough that she could retain her concentration for one more thing.
She saw Jethro to her left, and saw the blood splatter on his pants and shirt, and for the first time figured out why her stomach was hurting so goddamned much.
Only then did it dawn on Hollis that it was now or never to say her last words. This man, this enigma, this bastard, this man of honor would hear them, and she wanted no one other than him with her, now.
"Hollis. Stay with me. Cooke's calling for backup." She could see the fear that he was losing her in Gibbs's eyes, and she mustered her best smile to try to reassure him.
"Is alright, Gibbs," she said in a near-whisper. Her energy was running low and about to run out, and the sky began to turn dark. "Come closer."
He put his ear next to her lips. "In my jacket. Pack-et. Yours. Give the letter to Jo. Says you're on the team."
"Hollis, you can tell her yourself," he whispered, as Franks and Sloane made their way over to them. "Stay with us. Backup's comin'."
"Je-throoo," she said, drawing out his name. "Do me a favor."
"Anything."
"Your next ex-wife. Don't be…be ass. Tell her…why my name's on…boat…tell…her…you love her…"
The light went out in her eyes as she exhaled her last breath.
Gibbs shut his eyes tight for several long moments. When he opened them, they were more moist than he wanted, and he noticed the others around him. Hollis's eyes were closed.
"Probie. She's gone," Franks whispered.
"Did we get the bastards?" Gibbs said in a low roar.
"Jethro—"
"DID WE GET THE BASTARDS?" Gibbs screamed, the full force of his fury being directed at, but not to, his mentor. "DID WE GET THE ASSHOLES WHO DID THIS?"
Franks grabbed his mentee's shoulders firmly and looked him right in the eye. "Ever last goddamned one of 'em, Probie. They won't hurt anyone else ever again."
"That'll do," Gibbs whispered, then looked at Franks and Langer, the two still-living people there whom he trusted the most. "Help me get her into the van. We're going to Ducky's."
"That's impossi—" Teague said, shutting up at a glance from Langer.
"Joanna, let me," Langer said. "Boss. We can't. That'll draw attention we don't want right now. There's a safe house in Manassas. We can bring Ducky there a helluva lot easier than we can take you to him right now. Trust me."
"Ducky's," Gibbs repeated.
"Probie," Franks interjected, with a soft, but firm, voice. "The man's right. We gotta go to their safe house. We sure as hell can't stay here. This place'll be swarmin' with God knows who in minutes. If you don't trust them, if you don't trust Langer, trust me."
Gibbs pondered Franks's advice, while Langer, Cooke and Teague picked up Hollis's body and carried it to the van.
"I trust you, Mike," was all Gibbs said from the time they walked to the van, during the ride to the safe house, and while Teague and Cooke cleaned up Hollis's body the best they could.
Gibbs stayed silent even as flashing red and blue lights lit the darkened living room and kitchen of the safe house, and during the subsequent knock on the door.
Langer opened the door after consulting with Teague.
McAllister was there.
Gibbs had so, so many things to say, but squelched all of them deep inside his soul for the moment.
