Chapter 46

Friday, June 1, 2007

8:10 p.m. EDT

Washington, D.C.

WJLA-TV

As you can see behind me, dozens of U.S. Army soldiers whom we in the media have been told have just returned from Afghanistan, are surrounding the Soviet Embassy. You can also see dozens of protestors defying the martial law order, and police trying to keep them separated from the line of Army personnel, who are protecting the embassy itself

New York City

WCBS-TV

both LaGuardia and JFK are taking on dozens of flights from World Pact countries, We know the Cuban and Bulgarian consulates have been evacuated, with all personnel heading east, off Manhattan Island, towards both airports

Indianapolis, Indiana

Indianapolis Star website

BOEHNER: SPEEDWAY BOMB

DETONATED BY THE SOVIETS

Anti-Soviet protests all over the state

Residents in FEMA camps 'want blood'

John Lennon, speaking to MTV:

I'm…I'm bloody speechless. I don't know what to do, what to say. They aren't listening to the people. They aren't listening to the sane people in their own governments. I've done something I haven't done in years, not even when Paul and Linda were killed in the plane crash. I prayed, to God. I asked God to intervene. Maybe I'm talking to the bloody wind. It can't hurt. I'm scared to death, you know?

WHAS-AM, Louisville, Kentucky, open lines for listeners, 'Jeff' from Salem, Indiana talking with host Joe Elliott:

I lost people up there, man. I got family and friends, people I went to school with, living in these FEMA camps and they ain't going home. Everyone here in town knows someone who died or knew someone who died or someone living in those camps. Yeah, I'm pissed. (Bleep) Bernie Sanders, (bleep) the Democrats, let's bomb the (bleep) out of the Russians. They attacked us. Why haven't we dropped a bomb on Leningrad or some other city of theirs? Huh? We that damn scared of them? I'm not. No one here in Indiana is. They show their (bleep) heads around here, we're blowing them clean off their shoulders.

Notice from an Exxon gas station, Fairfax, Virginia:

OPEN 8 AM TO 4 PM DAILY PER STATE AND LOCAL MANDATES

10 GALLONS PER VEHICLE, NO EXCEPTIONS

CURRENT PRICE IS 5.49 PER GALLON, WE RESERVE THE RIGHT TO REVISE THE PRICE AT ANY TIME WITHOUT PRIOR NOTICE

THREE ITEMS OF FOOD AND BEVERAGES PER CUSTOMER ONCE PER DAY, NO EXCEPTIONS

DRIVE-OFFS WILL BE DEALT WITH SEVERELY AND SWIFTLY; ARMED GUARDS ON SITE WILL SHOOT WITHOUT WARNING IF SITUATION WARRANTS

Drudge Report

Wyoming the last state to declare statewide martial law…

'Patriot' groups fighting Russian-born residents in streets of Chicago…

37 dead after crowd rushes police protecting Publix supermarket in Jacksonville…

Reverend Billy Graham: 'The only answer now is in Christ Jesus'…

Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists move Doomsday Clock to 30 seconds before midnight…

AMERICA UNDER SIEGE

SOVIETS REMAIN SILENT

CONGRESS TO MEET SATURDAY IN CLOSED SESSION

EVERYTHING'S CALLED OFF

Sign on the front lawn of a home in Omaha, Nebraska:

We're gone for awhile. Please don't take anything from our home. And please say a prayer, that the Russians don't take our homes and families and our lives from us.

Washington

Leroy Jethro Gibbs's home

8:47 a.m. Eastern Daylight Time

Two black SUVs pulled up on the lawn of the empty two-story house across the street from Gibbs's house, and he and Franks watched the rest of Gibbs's — their — team get out of the vehicles.

Without saying a word, Gibbs waited on his people as they got to the house and walked through the front door held open for them by a suit. He followed Franks, who himself walked in behind Ducky, the last person in the line of people briskly heading towards the basement stairwell. Gibbs nodded to the suit standing upstairs outside the stairwell before making his way to the workbench; everyone else were either standing by the bench or by the boat that took up a significant portion of the center of the basement.

"Mustache let you bring us here, Boss?" DiNozzo said, breaking the silence. "Things must be real bad for that to happen."

"What's going on, Gibbs?" Kate said. "I mean, really going on?"

"Is this it?" Palmer interjected. "We going to war?"

"Boss, why are we here?" McGee asked.

Gibbs didn't say a word in response.

"I have been told nothing by my contacts in Mossad that add to what has already been reported on the news," Ziva said, "or is in the briefing from Director McAllister given to us to read on the way here."

"There's a reason you all are here," Franks said, from the corner of the workbench he had taken over. "This is definitely need to know."

"Does it have to do with Hollis?" Kate asked. She, and everyone else, saw the brief glimpse of anguish in his eyes. They saw it go away an instant later, replaced by his usual demeanor, as if he shoved his personal pain to the side to concentrate on his job.

"Nope," he said with steel in his voice, enough to convince the others not to bring her up for the rest of the meeting.

"Then what is it?" Palmer said, with respect and with none of the timidity he had been known for. Gibbs noticed that Palmer didn't have his glasses on, and looked more muscular than he remembered. Gibbs then realized he hadn't touched base with Ducky enough to know about what was going on in his assistant's life. DiNozzo — who hung out with Palmer off work and probably knew him more than anyone else besides Ducky — hinted at Palmer dealing with some personal issues.

"Jimmy, give Agent Gibbs the floor," Ducky said firmly, and without admonishment. Gibbs looked at the doctor, then at DiNozzo, who mouthed 'I'll explain later'. Gibbs nodded, and looked at the clock on the wall. Then his phone rang, and he picked it up, listening and saying nothing.

"They're in the neighborhood," Gibbs said. "Oughta be here in a few minutes. When they get here, hear us out till we're done, then ask whatever you want."

"Want to give us a hint, Gibbs?", Kate asked. Gibbs started to say 'no', then reconsidered it, and answered her.

"Yeah," he said. "The government and military both have their hands in projects you wouldn't believe are on the up-and-up. This is the mother of them all. Just hear them — me — out. Trust me on this."

Before Kate, or the others, could ask what 'this' was, Langer appeared in the doorway at the top of the basement stairs. He made his way down, laptop in arm, followed by Teague, Cooke and Sloane.

Langer opened the laptop, and began to explain about the ring Gibbs and Hollis saw, as well as its sister rings around the world. Langer showed video of the ring from the Pentagon, and pictures of other rings from 'restricted areas' elsewhere in the country.

"Ask your questions," Gibbs said, and no one spoke up for the next minute. All of Gibbs's team looked skeptical to varying degrees, Palmer and Ziva being the most skeptical, and DiNozzo being the most willing to believe.

Finally, Palmer stood up and said what was on his mind, and those of his teammates. "The only reason I'm taking this seriously at all is because I know you don't bullshit around, Gibbs. But this is the craziest thing I've heard in my life."

"Fair enough," Gibbs replied. "The rest of you agree with Palmer?"

They all nodded.

"You believe me when I say that I saw something?"

They all nodded, and Ducky remained quiet while the other team members decided they had something to say, all at once, and all talking over one another. A loud whistle from Gibbs silenced them, but he knew they needed to have their say. He nodded at DiNozzo.

"Okay, Boss. I believe you and Hollis saw something," DiNozzo said. "What if it's what they — whatever's down there — wanted you to see?"

"Fair question," Langer interjected. "Wanna see the video again?"

"Could be from a Hollywood studio," McGee said.

"It's not," Teague said. "It's real."

"If it is real," Ziva said, "and there are others like it around the world, why have we not heard about them yet?"

"Panic, greed, national security, to keep our people from going somewhere that would put them in danger," Cooke said. "To keep out something on the other side from coming over here and creating havoc."

"Great," Kate said. "That thing is supposed to be our salvation, and the authorities are scared of what's waiting on the other side? Assuming it's real."

"It is, Agent Todd," Sloane said. "You have every right to be skeptical."

"It's called 'common sense', Agent Sloane," Kate shot back. "I've heard about black ops projects the government is supposedly involved with. This was an alien craft sitting in Nevada, I'd be more inclined to believe you. I take The X-Files and Star Trek for what they are: fiction."

"It's real, Kate," Gibbs said, quietly, and with more conviction than she'd ever heard from him. That unnerved her, but she didn't want it to show. She tore her gaze away from Gibbs, finding it easier to maintain her skeptical countenance with a stranger.

Sloane's look of sympathy unnerved Kate almost as much as Gibbs's tone. She turned away from Sloane back towards Gibbs only to notice her other teammates looking at their leader. Their expressions mirrored the small conflict raging inside her own mind and heart: not wanting to believe Gibbs was insane, or pulling an elaborate (if sick) joke, or anything other than he believed what he was saying, but finding it all but impossible to believe in something they regarded as real as UFOs.

"Boss, I gotta ask," DiNozzo said, as calmly as Kate remembered him ever speaking. "Are you pulling one on us?"

"No, Tony. I'm not." The tone of Gibbs's response was this is as serious as it gets.

"This some kind of psych test?"

"No."

"Something Mustache pulled out of his ass?"

"Definitely not."

"So take us," DiNozzo said. "Take us all. Now."

"Impossible," Teague said. "You've all heard what happened there. The area is locked up tight—"

"So how in hell are we supposed to get there, if that's where we end up having to go when the missiles fly, then?", Palmer said with a sharp tone and in a somewhat confrontational manner.

Palmer and the other team members followed Gibbs's eyes as he looked over at the other agents. "The Pentagon ring is off limits right now," Teague said several moments later.

Cooke suddenly had a brainstorm, and he wondered how neither he nor his teammates had thought of it before. "We can't take them near the Pentagon. We can take them to another ring," he said.

"And you came up with this just now, Agent Cooke?", Franks said, mirroring the thoughts of the other NCIS personnel in the basement.

"That's a great idea!," Kate added, with much sarcasm. "Stop talking about where we can't go and talk about where we can go!"

"But where can we go?", McGee interjected, before Cooke's fellow agents could come to his defense. "How many of these things are there? And how do you know they all don't have the same level of security — and be just as impossible to get into?"

"Assuming they're real, McMulder," DiNozzo said.

"Devil's advocate," McGee said. "Can any of you offer an alternate location that we can visit tonight?"

Cooke held up his hand to silence Teague, Langer and Sloane, then pulled out his cell phone. "How secure is this basement, Gibbs?"

"You can talk to your people, Roger," Gibbs replied, and Cooke walked to the foot of the staircase before placing his call. He spoke with someone while Gibbs's team talked amongst themselves, and Teague, Langer and Sloane huddled nearby, whispering amongst themselves.

"I wonder what they're discussing, Tony," Ziva said as she observed the huddle.

"The weather on Mars," DiNozzo cracked.

Ziva turned to look at Gibbs, who was talking with Kate. "I wonder if there is something that we are not able to see because we have closed our eyes to it," Ziva said.

"You mean closed our minds," DiNozzo said. "My mind's working just fine, Ziva, and my eyes are wide open."

"Look at Gibbs," Ziva said. "He saw something, Tony."

"Maybe it was what Mustache wanted him to see," DiNozzo said. "Aliens? Come on."

"No one said anything about aliens—"

"Then other Earths. Parallel worlds. That's Star Trek, Ziva. Major Comics. Sci-fi. Not even McGeek believes it."

"Doesn't he?"

"Do you?", DiNozzo shot back.

"My eyes are open to the possibility," she said, "but only because of Gibbs."

"Gotta admit it'd be one helluva thing if it were real," DiNozzo said. "McGee would never let me live it down."

"He wouldn't agitate you like that, Tony," she said, spotting McGee making small talk with Palmer. "How is Jimmy doing, Tony? You spend more time with him than the rest of us."

"On the surface, he's doing great," DiNozzo replied. "Thing is, I can't get past the surface."

"Perhaps McGee will have better luck," Ziva said.

McGee, in fact, had looked for an excuse to get with Palmer one-on-one, and Palmer was willing to converse, about everything from the weather to McGee's now-stalled writing career. "How's the book coming along, McGee?" Palmer asked.

"The manuscript's sitting in a box in my apartment, assuming someone's not broken in there by now. I didn't have time to get it when McAllister gave the order to leave. I've been free-writing some, but nothing's really come of it."

"Sounds like you've got a pretty decent science fiction story here."

"Already done. Stargate SG-1. That what this sounds like to me, more than anything else," McGee said. "What's been going on with you?"

"Nothing, just work." Palmer wore a Washington Redskins T-shirt that showed off his muscular, 185-pound frame. The medical examiner's assistant was no longer the slim, shy young man who had a habit of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. He was a slightly older, and much more confident, man who made the ladies' (and some of the gentlemen's) heads turn whenever he walked past. He also seemed more brooding, and DiNozzo had tried without success to find out what was going on in Palmer's head that had made him that way.

"Don't give me that, Jimmy. You're way more confident now than you were when you replaced Gerald. You're working out like a monster. Tony said he didn't work out as much as you when he played at Ohio State."

"That's ridiculous," Palmer said. "All I have is a weight set I bought from the guy down the street from Dr. Mallard's house. Tony played at a major college program. He had all kinds of equipment—"

"You're way more buff than most anyone at the Navy Yard, probably as much as the Marines," McGee said.

"So why do you not sound like that's a good thing?"

"It is, it's great," McGee said. "I oughta be down there on those things. The weight-lifting's good for you, Jimmy."

"Then what are you getting at, Tim?"

McGee paused, to make sure he didn't respond in the wrong way. "Is something bugging you?"

"No," Palmer said. "Why?"

"Because you look like…like something's going on and you're trying to hide it. Something you're trying to deal with on your own."

Palmer sized McGee up, trying to figure out what the young agent meant. "I'm not gay, if that's what you're asking," Palmer said with a smirk. "But I'm flattered, really."

McGee's mouth flew open. "That's not what I…dammit, Jimmy. You've been hanging out with Tony a little too much."

Palmer chuckled. "Probably, although some of his ideas about women make sense. Too bad I can't test them out right now."

"That's what got you pissed?"

"No, and I'm not pissed. About anything."

"Jimmy, look," McGee said. "You have friends here. If you ever wanna talk—"

"Nothing to talk about," Palmer said as he turned away from McGee to walk over to the frame of Gibbs's boat, then picked up some sandpaper to smooth out a rough edge on a plank. McGee sighed in frustration, and looked over towards Abby and Ducky, who were in the middle of a conversation.

"Uh-oh," Abby said. "McGee tried to say something to Jimmy."

"Someone needs to get through to that young man," Ducky replied. "I know Anthony's spent quite a bit of time with him during the team's long sojourn with my mother and I."

"Tony says he can't get Jimmy to open up, though," Abby said. "Something going on with his family, but Jimmy won't budge. I've tried to get him to open up. All he wants to talk about now are movies and working out. It's like someone reached in his brain and hit a switch."

"Perhaps you and Anthony will be the ones to get him to open up," Ducky said. "I have tried to encourage him to speak openly. I've even told him it would be a pleasure to see a glimpse of his old self. Mr. Palmer reacted in a manner I didn't expect."

"He didn't yell at you, did he, Ducky?"

"Nothing of the sort, Abigail. He replied in a most calm manner that I hadn't come to expect from him, and said 'That idiot's dead and buried, Dr. Mallard. I choose my words more carefully, now'. Clearly, something is going on with Mr. Palmer, and I assure you, Abigail, I have not given up on him by any stretch of the imagination."

Ducky put a reassuring hand on Abby's arm. "That is one of the most pleasant things I have observed about this team, Abigail. The banter flows, but we have gone from a group of four coworkers to a family of sorts. We're all there for one another, even when we can't be with our own families."

"Your mother's still around, Ducky, and you live with her."

"That is true, Abigail, but I cannot be there for her as much as I would like. My regular duties prevent that, and her mind is beginning to slip away, as you know. Even now I see moments when she doesn't know who I am."

"Ducky," Abby said. "I'm so sorry. I wish there were something somebody could do."

"She's lived a full life, already, and every day with her, no matter how she can be sometimes, is truly a gift," Ducky said. "How have you been holding up? Any luck contacting your brother Luka?"

"None," she said with a hint of sadness. "I emailed Agent Pride in New Orleans a month ago. He emailed me back, said he couldn't find him anywhere. There's a missing persons report out on him, now. You know what Gibbs would say: 'until you find a body—'"

"'There's always hope'…How about the nuns you had been living with? Have you spoken with them recently?"

"A few days ago," Abby said. "They're scared. There are security guards on site, now, 24 hours a day, and at the church, too. Sister Fran says the neighborhood's gotten worse since the Indianap—since Memorial Day. More looting, more fights in the streets, more cops chasing whomever. I'm scared, Ducky. That's why I'm hoping Gibbs is right about this ring, and someone's not playing a trick on him."

"Do you believe him, Abigail?"

Abby started to say yes, then put herself on pause, and thought about her answer. She looked at Gibbs, whom she knew was not someone who easily brought into such fantastic stories. For him to think this was the honest truth meant he had to have come across hard evidence — like seeing the ring for himself.

"I trust him, Ducky," she said. "I always have. We all have, and do."

Gibbs noticed Abby and Ducky looking at him and nodded back at them, then turned his attention back to the conversation between Kate and Franks.

Franks — for years Gibbs's 'boss', when NCIS was the Naval Investigative Service (NIS) and Franks led the Washington-based Major Case Response Team — had been reading up on Gibbs' team members and, when possible, getting acquainted with them.

Kate had fascinated the older man the most: the spunk Gibbs spoke of from her early days was still there, tempered by a few years of experience as an NCIS field agent. She still challenged authority, but had come to realize she had plenty to learn, especially from those — like Gibbs, Tony, and Ziva — who had more experience in certain areas. Kate had become more strident on one specific thing: that she was as capable of excelling in her job as an NCIS agent as any man, and she (and Ziva) had the full backing of former Director Shepard.

Gibbs, of course, had always had Kate's back.

Franks, in approaching Kate, had avoided the Indianapolis Bomb and instead asked her, flat out, how she would have fared if she, and not Gibbs, had been Franks' probie?

"I would have nailed it," she flat-out told him. "A lot of what I learned from Gibbs came from you, and I like to think I've done pretty well so far."

Gibbs acknowledged her with a nod.

"You hear that, Probie?" Franks said. "I don't know whether to thank Kate or ask her why on earth she's bent on bullshittin' me."

Kate chuckled, and Gibbs — chuckling right alongside her — was pleased to see her lighten up. Despite Tony and Abby's — and his own — best attempts, Kate's personality was still shaped in large part by her upbringing and her staunch Catholic faith — and, on occasion, her innate sarcasm, which had mostly been tamed but still flared up now and then.

The bombing at the Indianapolis 500 would have been psychologically devastating to most people, according to Ducky, who had taken profiling classes to add to his considerable skill set. Ducky pondered it was a miracle that Kate hadn't turned into an emotional wreck, and credited that as much to the woman's inner strength as to the considerable emotional support she had from the team.

But, Kate still wasn't out of the woods, not by Gibbs's standards. He cursed himself for not having had more time to help her. He had to rely on his team to pick up the slack. That didn't mean he couldn't do what he could do, whenever he had the chance.

"You wonder why I spend so much time down here, building boats?", Gibbs asked Kate. He pointed to the nearby frame of a boat, with Hollis's name clearly visible on the near side while Palmer, McGee and Ducky looked over the frame from the far side. "It's because he nearly drove me crazy." Gibbs pointed his thumb at Franks.

"It was for your own good, Jethro," Franks growled, good-naturedly. "You were so raw starting out I had to yell at you every night, just to get you to where the other Probies were. Gettin' you to where I wanted you took a lot longer. Kate, he ever tell you he was more like DiNozzo at the beginning?"

"I've heard that story before, believe it or not," she said. "I'm still not sure I believe it."

"It's true," Gibbs said. "It's one reason I was so hard on Tony when I brought him aboard. I didn't want him to screw up the same ways I did when Mike brought me on."

"I just can't see it, though," Kate replied. "You…seem like you've always been Gibbs, the Gibbs I've known you to be. A way different guy than Tony. I've never seen a wall full of VHS tapes and DVDs in this house. I don't think you've ever bought a VHS tape in your life."

The three people laughed. "I'll grant you that, Kate," Gibbs said.

"We're getting off track, people," Franks interjected, looking at Kate. "So you think you would've done pretty good as an agent if I'd gotten ahold of you instead of Gibbs."

"I said I would've nailed it," she replied. "And probably turned out the same, or about the same. A lot of what I've learned from Gibbs came from you, after all."

"So, does that mean you'd be head-slapping people instead of elbowin' them, then?", Franks quipped, and Kate smiled. The conversation had made Gibbs happy, and he was about to raise the subject of head-slap lessons when he noticed Cooke waving to get his attention. Moments later, all of the conversations in the room came to a halt when Cooke put his fingers to his lips and let out a loud whistle.

"I've got a destination," he announced. "Not the Pentagon, but not too terribly far. But if we're going, we've got to leave now."

"Go where?" Franks said.

"Richmond, Virginia," Cooke replied, then turned to Teague, Langer and Sloane. "Had to pull some strings."

"Fine by me," Teague told him. "Richmond?"

"Baltimore's the closest, but the whole city's gone SNAFU and is about to go FUBAR," Cooke said. "The ring's locked up tight, and you'd have to go thru blocks full of gang-bangers and survivalists and cops just looking to throw some outsider in the slammer — and the last thing any of us needs is to be stuck in a Baltimore jail."

"I'd heard from someone I worked with in Baltimore P.D.," DiNozzo said. "She said it'd gotten bad there. I turned on the local news station — WBAL, I think? — on the way here. The Sun, the TV and radio stations are working out of Annapolis, that's how bad things are in the city."

"What about Charlottesville?", Langer asked Cooke.

"Out of the question," Cooke said. "You have to have Presidential-level security clearance to get in there."

"What's in Charlottesville besides the University of Virginia?", asked Sloane. "It's a small town, like Mayberry."

"Whatever it is, the White House doesn't want anybody knowing," Cooke said. "Hagerstown's too far away. Dover, Toms River in Jersey, Bristol in Tennessee, Wilmington in North Carolina, all too far."

"So what does that leave?", Teague asked.

"Norfolk was open, but takes a little longer to get there and the way security is down there right now, we might not get in until 5 a.m. And there's the matter of the NCIS field office down there, which puts a cramp on the cover story I'd like to use."

"What cover story, Roger?", asked Gibbs.

"Dr. Mallard," Cooke said, "is the NCIS Medical Examiner's van still at the Navy Yard?"

"It's in the garage," Ducky said. "But we don't have an active case."

"Gibbs," Cooke said. "Call your director, tell him you got a tip about a victim in Richmond, at the raceway—"

"How's the Mustache gonna buy that?", DiNozzo interjected.

"He already knows about the ring," Cooke said. Noticing the mixture of confusion and horror on the faces of Gibbs's team members, Cooke followed up and asked, "didn't Gibbs tell you?"

DiNozzo and the others looked at Gibbs. "Does Mustache really know?", DiNozzo asked.

"Yep," Gibbs said.

"Hell, we're screwed," Palmer blurted out.

"No, we're not," Gibbs said, as if everything was alright. He pulled out his cell phone and called McAllister. After speaking with the director, Gibbs snapped his phone shut. "I hope you brought your gear with you," Gibbs told his people.

"Yeah," DiNozzo said, speaking for the group. "It's stuffed underneath the seats in that SUV. Not a lot of room to work with—shutting up right now, Boss."

Gibbs smiled. A stern look often did as much good as a head-slap.

"Cooke, you and the other three follow us," Gibbs said. "Kate, you're with me and Mike. The rest of you, follow in the van…let's go!"

Gibbs was almost proud of how quickly his team got up the stairs and out of the house.

Saturday, June 2, 2007

The trip from Gibbs's house to the Navy Yard was uneventful, as was the drive from the Navy Yard to Interstates 695 and 395. The caravan — the NCIS M.E.'s van, Gibbs's truck and Teague's sedan, surrounded by SUVs assigned by McAllister himself — wasn't put at risk once. Washington and the rest of the District of Columbia was, at the order of President Boehner, secured by two Army platoons and the entire D.C. National Guard. Virginia National Guard helped local police secure I-395 from the Potomac thru Alexandria.

Once I-395 became I-95 south of Alexandria, the caravan was joined by two grey Humvees with Virginia State Police markings on the sides. The missile launchers and machine guns visible on the ringmount atop both Humvees gave away that these were military, not civilian, vehicles. Police in all 50 states, and territories, and all major cities had at least four military-type Humvees in their fleets. Because of D.C. to the north, Norfolk to the south and whatever it was the feds were doing on the now abandoned UVa campus in Charlottesville, the Virginia State Police had 40 Humvees in its fleet.

Gibbs was behind one of those Humvees, and thought it a little odd that the drive from D.C. had been — so far — peaceful.

"We're either secured tight or sittin' ducks for Spetsnaz," said Franks, who sat in the middle of the back seat.

Kate looked on both sides of the interstate; at the moment, the caravan was passing near Fredericksburg. Off to her left in the direction of the town, she saw a faint reddish and orange glow. Kate didn't want to imagine what might be going on there. "I won't dispute the need to be secure when going out," she said, looking back for another glimpse at the glow; one of the Humvees blocked her view. "These military vehicles with us, though; it's a little overkill, don't you think?"

"Might be the safest way to get anywhere, now," Gibbs replied.

Traffic down I-95 was light, if one didn't count the presence of Virginia State Police sedans and SUVs at least every mile. Tractor-trailers carrying food, gasoline, medicine and other essential items went north and south, along with civilians going to and from work; the near-universal curfew hadn't excused second- and third-shift workers from their jobs. So far, according to various media outlets, people were still going to work in most areas of the country, the most notable exception being Baltimore.

Once the caravan reached the Henrico County suburbs north of Richmond, the state police peeled off and gave way to Richmond Police Department SUVs and Humvees. Once the caravan got into the city, it quickly became apparent that there was no one on the streets other than police and the occasional ambulance or National Guard vehicle. Gas stations were open, but had one or two civilian vehicles parked and at least two police vehicles. Some of the police cruisers looked like they had been through the wringer, adorned with dents, scratches and mud.

Four Richmond police vehicles — two sedans, an SUV and a Humvee — surrounded the caravan as it entered Gate 4 of the vast Richmond International Raceway complex at 1:07 a.m.. The 60,000-seat motor racing venue was well-known for hosting races from the three divisions of the NASCAR and IndyCar auto racing series, as well as concerts and other public events.

The last event held at the track was from NASCAR's top-flight Nextel Cup Series in early May. That piece of trivia was brought up by none other than Langer, who caught up to Gibbs after the caravan parked in front of the garages on the west side of the infield. It shouldn't have mattered to Gibbs, who knew little about NASCAR and had no interest in the sport.

However, his gut suddenly began suggesting something more disturbing than a pack of Spetsnaz or criminals lying in wait behind the garage bay door being lifted by two of the police officers. Gibbs looked around the darkened venue and had the thought that it wouldn't be around much longer.

He pushed aside the thought of what kind of bomb would wipe the facility off the face of the Earth, and focused on the now-open bay. One of the officers had a flashlight that she shined on a mannequin wearing a sailor's uniform.

"That supposed to be the victim?", DiNozzo asked the officer. The 'victim' had a plastic 'spork' from a fast-food restaurant stuck halfway through its skull, and was covered in ketchup. A half-full ketchup bottle lay a few feet away from the mannequin.

"You needed a reason to be here, right?", said the officer, a short, muscular woman who grinned at the sight.

"Does he have an ID?", Ziva asked.

"No," the officer said. "Call him Dale. Dale Earnhardt, Dale Jarrett. Or Jeff, Ward, Ricky, whatever you want."

Ducky made his way over to the mannequin, having left his medical examiner's gear in the NCIS van. "This reminds me of a story," he said. "Back home in Edinburgh, in Scotland, I was given an opportunity to visit a faux crime scene, at the small home of a pensioner who was the uncle of an acquaintance of mine, an Edinburgh police inspector. The pensioner had recently passed away, and have left his 'estate', such as it was, to his nephew. The nephew decided to recreate an infamous crime scene from after the Second World War where a reclusive veteran, recently returned from service in the British Army, was killed with a stab to the skull—"

"Duck," Gibbs blurted out tersely. A moment later he realized he was too gruff, but he wanted to get to the reason they all were here, and looked to the officer. "This where you go to get in?"

"Yep," she said. "See the shack?"

Gibbs squinted — his vision wasn't the best in any case, and especially in a darkened area like the vast garage bay used by the teams that competed during the NASCAR and IndyCar races held at the track. However, he did see a small, square-like building about 40 feet away, and along the wall next to a large Chevrolet sign.

He also saw another officer — a tall, slender man with a swimmer's physique — open the door to the shack. A moment later, lights came on from inside the shack, partially illuminating the surrounding area; the tall officer then opened another door inside the shack.

"That's where you're going, folks," the stocky officer told the group. "The shack over there was manned last month by myself and my partner inside, and by one of you guys."

"One of 'us' guys?", Kate said.

"Feds," the woman replied. "Follow me."

Kate and the others did as they were instructed. She was the first of the group to enter the shack, and she saw what looked like the inside of an elevator. "Two at a time," the tall officer said, and Gibbs nodded to Ziva. The Mossad officer joined Kate inside the elevator, and the elevator shaft descended. It ascended three minutes later, and it took nearly 20 minutes for the rest of the team — DiNozzo and McGee; Ducky and Palmer; Sloane and Cooke; Gibbs and Franks; and finally Teague and Langer — to join Kate and Ziva in a waiting room area a mile below the garage bay's surface.

"An elevator?", DiNozzo mused aloud. "I figured some kind of James Bond, giant magnets attached to steel cables falling from the ceiling and pulling up the floor to reveal some giant platform, rising from the bottom, that takes us to a vast underground complex—"

"DiNozzo," Gibbs said, turning his gaze from his agent to the tall officer who accompanied Teague and Langer on their trip down. "You gonna show us where this is?"

"No," he replied, as he stood next to the elevator. "Your host will, though. He should be here in a minute."

It was a four-minute wait. The door on the far side of the waiting area that Gibbs, Kate, DiNozzo and Teague tried to open finally opened on its own. A tall, African-American woman, dressed in a black business suit walked through; she scanned the room, and fixed her gaze on Teague.

"What a surprise," Teague said drolly. "I never expected to see you here, Quinn."

"I got reassigned stateside," Quinn replied. "Just as you did."

"A colleague from the Agency," Teague told the others. "Shall we," Teague said to Quinn.

"Please follow me," Quinn answered, leading the group down a long hallway that led to two Army Rangers guarding a steel door. With a nod from Quinn, the Ranger on her right stepped aside and away from a dull-orange glowing panel he had stood in front of. She put her left hand against the panel, and a few moments later the door began to open, in the opposite direction of the hallway.

The sight that awaited the group was nothing like they had ever seen in person.

For Gibbs, it resembled what he and Hollis saw at the Pentagon site; a large area with people moving around or standing. Some of the people, wearing civilian clothing or white lab coats, stood or sat at desks in front of laptops and computer monitors. Some had laptops, or palm-sized tablets. There were soldiers all around the area, several standing at attention, several armed with weapons that he was sure were ready to use at a moment's notice.

Gibbs figured he was the only person in the group who noticed what else was in the vast, stadium-sized area. He finally allowed himself to look at the area's centerpiece: a gigantic, circular object that looked like a ring of fire and electricity, hovering a foot above a ten-foot-high machine probably 80 feet long, atop a platform that was probably seven feet high. He could see through the ring, a 70-foot-wide by 70-foot-tall object, probably two feet thick.

He looked at his watch. It was 1:43 a.m. He gawked at the ring.

He looked back at his watch. It was 1:51. He looked around at his team and at Teague's people. No one looked tired, just awed; even Quinn looked as if she was amazed at the sight. Still, his people couldn't keep this up all night.

"Agent Teague," he heard McGee say from his left. "Can we see the other side?"

"Quinn?", Teague said to her fellow CIA agent, who motioned for the group to follow her around to the other side. The ring and the machine were at the back of the platform, which had a space that stretched out at least 50 feet, with a set of stairs at the end leading down to the floor.

Gibbs, and everyone else, saw the grey, barren brick wall they stood near while gawking at the ring from the other side.

"Transit about to begin. All personnel report to secure areas. Countdown one minute."

Everyone in the area heard the voice of a male with a British accent, but the voice didn't come from the speakers in the back or sides of the vast room or the front of the platform. It seemed to come from inside the ring itself.

The few people on the platform in front of the group quickly made their way down the stairs, and one of the soldiers on guard motioned for the group to step back 10 feet. The voice counted down to zero, and the ring began to rotate, and glow, and crackle.

The rear wall faded, and gave way to another sight: a trio of flags and a vast, open area behind them, visible only within the radius of the ring. The wall remained visible outside the ring.

"My God," Ducky said.

"What in hell is this, Jethro?", Franks said to Gibbs. "This what you and Hollis saw?"

"Yeah," Gibbs told him.

DiNozzo made his way to Gibbs's side. "Boss. I'll swear on a stack of Bibles that I'll never doubt you, ever, ever again."

"No need to, Tony," Gibbs told him.

"Gibbs?", Kate asked. "What's there?"

"X-Files stuff," McGee answered for his boss.

"That's what I thought when I saw this, Agent McGee," Cooke said.

"We must go through, yes?", Ziva said.

"Absolutely," Palmer replied.

The ring 'cooled down' and resumed its normal glow, and someone on the other side walked right up to it and seemed to do something — punch buttons, move levers, no one on the group's side of the ring could tell what. Seconds later, a set of stairs lowered on a set of cables from the top, until landing on the platform.

Quinn began walking, rather briskly, towards the stairs. She stopped halfway up, turned to the group, and waved them over. "Come on!", she said, with a grin. "This is the fun part."

"What 'fun' part?", Ziva asked.

"Visiting another dimension!", Quinn said. "Let's go. We don't have all night."

Palmer turned to the others. "Don't tell me we came all this way for nothing," he said, looking at Gibbs and Teague. The ex-Marine turned to the other CIA agent (that he knew about) in the place.

"We didn't, Mr. Palmer," she said. "Let's go."

The group went up the first series of steps, then the second, portable series of steps, into another world.

"'Through the looking glass we go," Kate said, the last of the group to walk through into a world that looked like their own.

She went down the stairs on the other side and joined everyone else on an identical platform. They saw civilians at desks or with laptops, and soldiers either standing at attention or walking around the area with weapons. The flags they stood in front of, however, weren't there on the other side — which had a different meaning now.

"Don't touch," McGee heard a booming male voice say from the floor, scaring him off from touching the blue and white flag in the middle. McGee, and the rest of the group, quickly saw the man who gave the warning jog up the stairs, and into plain view.

"Harry Langford, MI-6," said the tall, athletic, man who — except for his three-day-old beard — was impeccably dressed in a dark blue suit, without a tie. "You must be the, what is the saying? 'Brothers from another mother'. You look as lovely as ever, Miss Quinn."

"Charmed, Mr. Langford," Quinn said.

"What's MI-6 doing here?", Franks interjected. "Shouldn't FBI or Homeland or someone American be here?"

"If this is America, Michael," Ducky replied.

"Ah, another Brit," Langford said. "Let me show you the flags, and I'll explain," he said, holding out the flag on the left, in the center, and on the right: a close replica of the Virginia state flag; the United Nations flag; and a flag with a British Union Jack in the upper left corner superimposed against two red bars sandwiching a white bar. "Now look behind you, along the wall."

Each group member saw the British Union Jack partly visible along the near back wall of their current location.

"You're in the Dominion of Southern North America, which stretches from here to the Pacific Coast," Langford said. "The DSNA is independent, but in close association with Great Britain."

"You won the Revolutionary War?", DiNozzo asked.

"Lost. The DSNA was formally established in our early 20th century, but its roots came in what on your world, I believe, was called the 'Civil War'. We — Britain — initially agreed to support the Confederates in exchange for numerous concessions, including the end to slavery. Then we and the French found ourselves fighting the Americans after the Confederate government collapsed. The Yanks sued for peace, we rebuilt the old Confederacy, and fought the Yanks off two more times that century. Two more times again in the 20th, in both wars."

"America and Britain are allies where we're from," Teague said. "That's not the case for you."

"Not on my world, Miss…?"

"Agent Teague."

"Agent Teague. On this world, the U.S. government allied itself with greedy corporate interests, which controlled both the executive and the military by the early 20th century, and began a long alliance with Germany which culminated in the ascension of Charles Lindbergh to the Presidency in the 1930s, just in time to solidify the U.S.A.'s ties with Germany — by then ran by the Nazis. We fought the Nazis in North America to a stalemate on two fronts during the Second Great War. Hitler and his lot eventually were overcome, and with Germany split between us, the Free French and the Soviets, the United States entrenched itself into isolationism. The corporate interests completely took over the nation, expelling or killing its minorities, and have proven to be a persistent threat to individual liberty and global peace for the better part of seven decades."

"This America of yours sounds like a terrible place to live," Ducky said. "I assure you, none of these people besides me are reflective of anything like it."

Langford looked at the older man for a few moments until realizing why Ducky looked so familiar to him. "I recognize you, sir, more specifically your counterpart. He served with distinction during the Persian and Filipino Wars. A proud Scot with a million stories to tell. He was a good man. That's why I'm so disappointed to see you with this lot."

"I assure you, Agent Langford, that the integrity of each of these men and women, individually and collectively, is of the highest caliber," Ducky replied. "I am sorry your prejudice seems to prevent you from realizing that."

"I get the feeling you don't like us very well," DiNozzo interjected, before Langford could reply to Ducky.

"That would be a logical conclusion," Langford replied. "Nevertheless, here you are. And here I am, as well. I have my duty, regardless of personal observations, and I will perform it."

"Is that 'duty' to insult us?", Kate said.

"Part of it is to show you a piece of the mystery," Langford said, ignoring the latter part of Kate's question. "As fantastic as this must be to you, you are, in fact, in another dimension, similar to your own. I will show you a slice of it. Come with me."

Langford turned heel and went down the stairs onto the main floor. Gibbs caught Teague's eye, and she joined him, both going down the stairs, and the remainder of the group following them down to the floor. Langford didn't look back until he came to the door leading to a hallway, and saw Gibbs and Teague less than 50 feet away.

Sighing, the MI-6 agent waited on his unwelcome guests, then led them to an elevator like the one that took them to the ring from their own world. Langford was the last person to go up, to a garage bay, where the group — now guarded by a contingent of British Royal Marines — awaited him.

"This looks like the bay we rode down from," McGee said. "So does the stadium."

"This track, sir, holds proper motorsport," Langford said, proudly. "Formula One. Sports cars. The North American Touring Championship. Stock car racing done properly and safely. The Americans race their Fords and Chevys like a drunk lot trying to wreck on the Motorways. That isn't what you're here to see, though."

"I'm guessing it's not a darkened garage," Gibbs said, dryly.

"Follow me, Yank," Langford said. The group — surrounded by the Royal Marines — walked outside, to an open spot of the infield beneath a 107-foot-tall BP sign. Langford pointed south, and the group understood what he wanted them to see: the skyline of this world's Richmond, bright and colorful, with over a dozen skyscrapers in the distance rising above the much nearer bleachers surrounding the raceway's track.

"Holy…", DiNozzo muttered. His eye caught the featured skyscraper, a spire in red, blue and white rising high above the other buildings, higher than any building he knew of on his own world.

"Ten million people live here," Langford said. "We have our problems, but we have built a good nation with a good culture. A good people, multiethnic, proud and British."

"You love being British, don't you?", Langer said. "I almost want to go there. I hope everyone there aren't the prick you are."

"If you say so, Mr.?"

"Agent Langer."

"Ah. I keep forgetting you're American federal agents. At least you're not the politicians or the corporate masters directing their every move—"

"That's not true," Sloane interjected, with a hint of anger in her voice.

"Perhaps not now," Langford said, "not in your situation. The military's probably taken over now. Of course, they have their corporate masters—"

"I think you're viewing us through the lens of the local Americans a bit too much," Cooke said. "Maybe you ought to take a deep breath and—"

"And go back? And send you back where you came from?", Langford said. "I couldn't agree more. It's high time you go back, anyway. It's too bloody late to be up." He looked at his watch. "Even the pubs are closing now."

The MI-6 agent headed straight for the elevator. To the last person, the Royal Marines assigned to the group looked apologetic.

4:54 a.m.

Washington (in the group's home dimension)

Leroy Jethro Gibbs's home

McAllister had agents waiting on the team once they returned to their home dimension through the ring, and each agent was responsible for driving the vehicles the team had driven or rode in. Every person tried to get some sleep while the caravan — again accompanied by Richmond police, then Virginia State Police and, finally, Metro DC Police vehicles — made its way up I-95 into Washington.

Exhausted, everyone straggled into Gibbs's living room, and either fell onto the couch, or in the recliner, or on the floor. Gibbs pulled up a chair, and considered addressing the group, then thought better of it. He needed some rest, himself; after checking with the lead suit on the scene, he nodded to the women to take the beds upstairs, and he pulled a cot out of a closet, setting it up with help from another suited agent near the kitchen.

He fell sound asleep after his head touched the pillow at the head of the cot, and Gibbs dreamed of Shannon and Kelly, the three of them picknicking in a park, running through the grass, under a warm sun.

8:00 a.m.

CBS News continuing coverage

Welcome back to continuing coverage of the ongoing international situation. I'm Russ Mitchell, with me are Maggie Rodriguez and Jeff Glor. Bob Schieffer and Katie Couric are both getting some needed rest. There's been a lot that's happened in the past few hours, and we'll start in West Germany. CBS News sources confirm reports by The Associated Press, the BBC and other news outlets of a large number of West German citizens fleeing west, away from potential attack in the event of a conventional military conflict between Allied and Pact forces.

Closer to home, a Ford automobile plant in Dearborn, Michigan was attacked by terrorists overnight. Eleven are dead and dozens more injured.

Georgia National Guardsmen were called upon to put down food riots in Atlanta. Some civic leaders were upset over certain stores in some inner-city neighborhoods having been restricted to being open eight hours a day and to distribution of food and other necessities to those stores.

Portions of Denver are still without electricity at this hour. Insurgent attacks yesterday afternoon initially shut down more than three-quarters of the city's power grid. While power has been restored to much of the city, an estimated 34,000 customers are still without electric or telephone service.

An estimated 560,000 men and women have signed up at military and National Guard recruiting offices, according to a Pentagon press release. Millions of young Americans will learn at noon Eastern today whether or not their numbers will come up in the Selective Service draft lottery, the first in nearly four decades, since the Vietnam War.

There are sporadic ongoing protests against the draft lottery across the nation, primarily at college campuses. The largest, at the University of California in Berkeley, saw protestors chant 'PEACE NOW' at California National Guardsmen separating them from a group of counter-protestors from the Conservative Student Union at Cal.

Gibbs got his sleep, such as it was, and after he sat up on his cot discovered he wasn't the first person from the group to wake up.

He smelled the bacon and coffee coming from the kitchen and walked towards the kitchen until he saw the person standing over his oven, cooking eggs.

"DIdn't know you were a cook, McGee."

McGee turned his head and saw Gibbs. "Making scrambled eggs and bacon, and the coffee pot's percolating, too," the younger agent said as he stirred the eggs on one of the skillets, and reached for a spatula to flip over the bacon cooking on another skillet. "I couldn't get much sleep."

"Not any time," Gibbs replied as he walked towards the cupboard and pulled out a loaf of bread. "I'll start making some toast. Gonna need more food."

"Ronnie" — one of McAllister's 'suits', who had guarded Gibbs' house the longest — "said there's a truck coming with milk, cereal, fruit, bagels and cream cheese."

"Where's he at now, McGee?"

"Driving the truck."

Gibbs put the bread in the toaster and pulled down the lever. "He been gone long?"

"Twenty minutes. Ronnie said the director knows people. There's a place where we can get food. Lots of it."

"'Lots', McGee?"

"Not just for breakfast and not just for us. For the neighbors."

"Makes things a little easier on us," Gibbs said, reaching in his pocket. Satisfied the object he was looking for – the flash drive McAllister gave him – was there, Gibbs put it on the counter close to where McGee was cooking the scrambled eggs.

"Got something for you, McGee," Gibbs said, nodding towards the flash drive. "I'll take care of the food. Grab that, and some coffee, and head downstairs."

McGee picked up the black-and-red thumb-sized drive and turned it with his thumb and forefinger. "What's this?"

"Director gave it to me. Said you would know how to crack it and get to the files," Gibbs said. "Whatever's on it, he wants us to know."

"Does it have anything to do with what's we saw earlier?"

"Find out."

McGee poured a mug of coffee – he had learned to tolerate drinking his black – and, flash drive in his pocket, went downstairs. He found a laptop waiting for him on the workbench; he decided he'd ask who it belonged to after he decrypted the drive. Searching through the laptop's operating system, McGee found the decryption programs he helped write a few years back. This is good, he thought. I don't think I have the time to figure out a new decryption program.

Although he got more entrenched in his work, McGee didn't fail to notice Gibbs walking down the stairs into the basement with a plate of food. Gibbs had trained him to work under any circumstance while knowing where he was and who was around at all times.

"Headed upstairs, McGee," Gibbs said, looking over the younger man's shoulder at the laptop screen, which showed a series of folders. "Stop every so often, eat some food, drink some coffee. That's an order."

"Roger that, Gibbs," McGee replied. He had no idea what order the folders were in or what was in them. So he picked a random folder.

CORTEXIN STUDY

in the study, Cortexin had a pronounced and lasting effect on a variety of animal subjects during the three-year testing period at Walter Reed Army Medical Center

Cortexin stimulates the reasoning abilities of non-homo sapiens species to the equivalent of a third-grade reading and reasoning level in an average human being

reporting rates of 46.7 percent using Dalmatian canine subjects increasing in size, strength and endurance, which could prove useful on the battlefield, as cavalry or

"What the hell?", McGee whispered. He closed that folder and opened another file.

SPECIAL FORCES

two new special forces units attached to the Army:

Atomic Knights

Black Knights

Both forces report directly to CJCS, who reports in matters pertaining to these units to, in order: POTUS; SECDEF; SECARM; CSA; and CIADIR. They act alone or in tandem with other military and intelligence units

McGee went through the other folders, one by one:

project to create a soldier capable of full self-sufficiency in battle. Nicknamed the 'One Man Army Corps', the Army and Marine Corps

a similar project between French, British and West German military units named Project Heracles

testing on the Brother Eye surveillance satellites went forward at Naval facilities in Okinawa, Japan, helping coordinate U.S., Japanese and South Korean efforts to contain North Korean spy drones over the Sea of Japan

McGee didn't stop until he searched through all 48 folders on the drive. The last folder made about as much sense as anything he'd seen in the past several hours.

MULTIVERSE

CLOSED

3 10 15 26 27 28 29 30 31 40 42 43 48 49 50 51

RESTRICTED

P 6 13 14 16 18 19 20 22 25 37 39 41 45 46 47 W

OPEN

11 12 21 23 24 32 33 34 35 36 38 44 52 53 D M—