Chapter 50: The Cost
"Alright. So how about we bring in backup for the house? From NCIS?"
Bringing in more agents would mean more attention drawn to Gibbs' house, more people in the know. Backup would be a risk without clear reward.
Gibbs let his eyes wander toward the window, cloudy through the curtain, and shook his head. "I'm prepared for an attack," he admitted. "But I doubt there'll be one here."
And Gray hadn't thought it likely either. Which was why he left the kids at his house and then turned around to fight, instead of picking up stakes and running.
"The cartel is basically allowed to function in Colombia because it's politically advantageous to the government there - and to our efforts to stabilize the region," McGee pondered. "Londono is an asset in the war. But the cartel would risk that tolerance if they openly go after a federal agent on American soil. So here at least they'll probably be cautious - covert."
"They want something," Tony said abruptly.
McGee and Ziva looked at him.
"It's not an attack. It never was. O'Donnell - today was a warning. Cass has something he wants."
McGee took a careful breath. "If she's his daughter, she could be what he wants."
Tony ignored him. He stared into space, talking almost to himself as he felt his way forward.
Doing what Dinozzo did. Outsmarting the perp.
"He played his hand, let us know he's here. But not to attack. He set up a meeting . . . Why? He didn't even try to get her to come with him. That stuff about going home, forgiveness - that was a bribe. Or a threat."
He looked at Gibbs, and the others followed suit. "The kids have something he wants."
Gibbs nodded. "Maybe."
It seemed pretty damn likely.
The phone rang, startling all of them. But it was only the Chinese delivery guy, waiting out at the curb like Gibbs had told him to in no uncertain terms.
He sent Tony and Ziva out to get the food and pulled down ten dinner plates, more than he'd ever used since the last ex-wife took them out of the box and put them up there. He dumped a pile of forks and some serving spoons on top and instructed McGee to fill a jug with water and get the half-gallon of milk out of the fridge. When Ziva and Tony were back, loaded down with long, foil-wrapped platters and plastic bags, he led them down the basement steps.
The kids were sitting at the worktable, backpacks and schoolbooks spread out in front of them.
Under the shocked eyes of his agents the kids cleared their books away and set up the spread, mumbling shy thank-you's and, at Gibbs' insistence, finally serving themselves. Gibbs, being a bastard and still somewhat pissed, waited until Tony reached for a plate.
"You three," he nodded at his team. "You're relieving the watch. Go out through the backdoor."
Gibbs glanced at the clock on the wall, frowning to himself as his agents stared at him.
Whoever the watch was, they'd been out in the cold for at least four hours now.
"Out – side?" Tony, sounding doubtful. Looking at the impossibly young kids, sitting defenseless, apparently, in Gibbs' basement. And at the spareribs.
"Better grab your coats." Gibbs picked up a plate and the serving spoon and grinned, despite himself, at the sesame chicken. "It's cold out there."
They went.
Gibbs was just sitting down at his workbench when they came back in.
"There's nobody out there, Boss."
He raised an eyebrow - the not impressed one.
"We walked the perimeter and called out," Ziva added. "No one answered."
He chewed for a few seconds, thinking that over, and then looked to Alex. The kid had what must have been a pound of lo mein on his plate.
"They going to come down for me?"
Alex shrugged.
So Gibbs went up the stairs and out the back, into the cold night air.
He paused on the deck, still close to the house, and took in the sharp, dark night. The suburban rush hour was long gone. It was silent, crystal clear, and the stars were brilliant in a velvet sky.
Shame how much of his work for NCIS was indoors - the bullpen, interrogation rooms, MTAC.
He missed this.
His breath frosted pure, ghostly white in the sliver of light spilling from the door behind him.
"Your relief is here," he said quietly, words sent into the watchful dark. "And so is dinner."
The agents stood there in silence for a minute.
Waiting.
And then there was a soft scrape above them, movement in the shadows. A girl about Cassie's age dropped down from Gibbs' roof. Long, dark curly hair, pulled back. Long face, long limbs. Curious eyes.
She looked Gibbs over methodically, considered his agents. Then she slung the rifle down from her shoulder and held it out.
The rifle would have a longer range of course, and more stopping power. Better than the pistols his agents were carrying for a stationary, elevated position.
Gibbs scanned the roof. There were supposed to be three up there, and two more on the ground.
"What about the others?"
"Three for three," the girl said.
Three agents. Replacing . . . ?
Gibbs glanced around.
There were two boys visible in the yard now, standing close. Tony followed Gibbs' gaze to them and stepped back, startled.
"I'll take a shift." Gibbs reached for the rifle, grasped the barrel. It didn't budge.
"You know the house. You should stay inside."
She was quieter than Cassie. A little cooler. But just as bold.
He figured it wasn't worth an argument. Besides - she was right.
"How will my people know if someone approaching is one of yours?"
"Gray or Cop will be with anyone you don't know."
"McGee, Dinozzo - you going to recognize both of them?"
"Yeah Boss."
Alright.
Ziva was the best on the team with a rifle, not counting Gibbs. And she was the lightest of them too. He stepped back. "Ziver, you're on the roof."
The girl passed Ziva her rifle. "On the left," she gestured up at the left side of his house. "Halfway up."
Ziva nodded and with a boost from Tim and Tony had pulled herself onto the roof and melted into its shadows. Gibbs caught a glimpse of her expression before she was lifted up. She looked happier than she had in weeks.
If anyone from the cartel did show a face in his neighborhood it was going to be blown off in a hurry.
"You two on the perimeter." Gibbs gestured to Tony and McGee. "Don't be visible from the street. Don't shoot anyone you can't identify as cartel. If you do fire try to avoid a kill shot, you got me?"
He said that last loud enough for Ziva to hear it.
They nodded. Someone to interrogate and the possibility for more intel would be a lot better than less at this point, because less was definitely what they had. "Go."
They parted, heading toward the fence that enclosed his backyard.
Gibbs waved the three kids standing around him toward the door. "Food's in the basement."
He escorted them in and hovered by the top of the steps long enough to hear happy noises, and silverware. Then he put on the coffeepot and retreated to the couch.
An hour passed. When there was a slight shuffling noise from the backdoor Gibbs raised his pistol and went to meet it.
It was Kort, and two more kids.
Gibbs gestured the boys to the basement door. "Your friends are downstairs."
They brushed past him quickly, and he could feel the cold coming off them. They'd been outside.
He reacted just fast enough to grab Kort's arm as the man moved to follow them.
"You and I need to talk."
"In a moment." Kort moved determinedly toward the basement, wrenching his arm free violently. "I need to check something." And he was down the steps.
Gibbs stared after him. Then he refilled his coffee and moved back to the couch. He would give Kort five minutes.
The other man reappeared in three and sank down in the armchair next to Gibbs.
He looked strange sitting in the worn chair. The sheen of the white dress shirt under his coat caught the light like a photograph in a glossy magazine. His suit probably cost more than all of the furniture in Gibbs' house.
"Diablo has crawled back under his rock," Kort said. "We couldn't find a trace of him, or his new friends. We've secured a safe house. I have two cars outside."
To move all the kids?
"You think they'll be safer on their own?"
"Yes," Kort said firmly. "The new location is secure while your home is known. Anyway, they won't be on their own." Annoyed. "I'll be with them."
"Gray and Cassie?"
"Cass is on the roof. Spelling the guard. Gray - will probably be here soon."
"If the new location is more secure why not start moving them now? The longer they're here - "
"They're most secure wherever they are best defended, and right now that is here. I don't want to split them up for the same reason. We'll wait for the rest of them and move in one group." Kort shook his head, waved tiredly at the ceiling. "Anyway, this is just a precaution. The stunt today was likely about information for O'Donnell. Intimidation. A full on attack, particularly without the benefit of surprise - not his style. Too much exposure for the cartel. And he knows . . . " Kort leaned back into the chair. Closed his eyes. "A straightforward assault would be a bloodbath. They can defend themselves."
A pause.
Kort glanced his way. "The surveillance is secure?"
"Yeah."
The thumb drive was in a safe at NCIS, inside MTAC. Vance and Gibbs could get to it and nobody else.
"You got any leads on the FBI agents involved?"
"You know that Arena is one of the men who interrogated Gray, one of Dargas' unit?"
Gibbs nodded.
"My supervisor contacted the relevant FBI department heads. A few of them are hosting a Latin and South American security conference this week. There was a government flight into Dulles two days ago, set up specifically for the conference. Minimal security since it was all to be vetted government personnel. He must have come in under a false name and taken advantage of that flight. We tried to locate Arena, but if he's on a protection detail for O'Donnell -"
Gibbs nodded. They'd both be tucked away in a safe house, just as impossible to find as anyone in an NCIS house under Gibbs' protection.
"How'd he get the cars and the agents to conduct a chase?"
"I have no idea."
Gibbs had seen photos. Those were government cars. If they'd just disappeared or been stolen there would have been a stink across law enforcement agencies immediately - he and every other agent in DC would've known about it.
So O'Donnell had somehow convinced agents to pursue the kids, or to give him the cars to do it . . . ? And according to Kort, O'Donnell had also managed to join the conference but still fly under the radar of the department heads at the FBI . . . unless one of the heads was dirty . . . Unlikely, but not out of the realm of possibility.
Too many ifs. They needed to get Agent Fred into an interrogation room. Ask a few questions. One thing in this mess, at least, that Gibbs could look forward to. Maybe he'd get Ziva to charge the Tasers.
They sat there for another half hour.
No sound, no movement.
"You have an estimated time of arrival?"
"He said soon."
Gibbs rubbed softly at the end-of-day stubble coming in on his neck.
They had a terse conversation, proposing methods of finding O'Donnell and gradually discarding them. With the right motivation a man like that knew how to hide his movements. Protecting the kids and investigating the FBI connection were the best moves they could make on O'Donnell right now. The cartel surveillance and the informants coming in tomorrow - they might prove helpful as well.
Eventually the girl with the curly hair and three of the oldest boys in the basement appeared at the top of the stairs. They walked out through the backdoor, and a minute later, his team walked in. Followed by Cassie.
x
Gibbs stood to look her over as his agents moved into the living room.
Kort stood as well, and walked toward the basement. He stopped to whisper something to her as he passed, and Cass grinned faintly.
"The kids insisted on taking over our positions, Boss," McGee muttered.
Gibbs nodded. Cold out or not, it would be infinitely worse to sit in the basement and stare at the walls.
But Cass wasn't moving immediately to the basement steps the way all the other kids had. She'd stopped in the kitchen, not coming any farther into the house, and not retreating either.
She looked fine.
Gibbs asked anyway.
"You okay?"
She nodded, calm as always. "Don't suppose anyone shot him after I left?" she asked.
"No," Ziva said.
A grumble, kind of hard to make out as Cass tipped to the side a bit to lean against a wall. "Why not?"
Ziva ventured a smile. "Because we would have been killed or arrested by the FBI?"
" . . . Meh."
Out of the corner of his eye Gibbs registered that Tony was moving restlessly, pacing in the small space between the living room and the front hall. One hand went up to jerk through his hair, then moved absently to smooth down his shirt.
"Come sit." Gibbs waved a hand at the couch and took the armchair for himself. "Everyone else alright?"
Cassie nodded, moving forward hesitantly and sinking into the sofa. "Truck's evasive driving . . . skills banged us up. He's a maniac. But no one got hurt."
Truck?
Gibbs' next question was cut off, because at that point Dinozzo stopped and whirled to face her. And finally let loose.
"No one hurt? Really." It was a frustrated yell, absurdly loud in Gibbs' snug living room. "We don't know that yet, do we, Cop? And it wouldn't be thanks to you, anyway."
Gibbs stiffened, but Cass only sat up a little, mildly startled.
"I'm sorry?"
"No, you're not!" Tony's arms came up, gesticulating wildly. But he had the good sense to stay back.
"Tony - " Ziva said lowly.
"NO!" A roar. And then the words spilled out fast and furious. "No. You didn't tell us the plan until you knew we couldn't back out. And then you didn't have to stop, but you did. To let the others shake their tails - fine. Brilliant." Sarcastic. "And then," Tony laughed shortly, "and then you got out of the car. Eight men pointing guns at your head and you got out of your armored vehicle!"
Tony paced again. Breathed. "You need to tell us if he's your father," he ground out. "Right now. We need to know."
Gibbs glanced between the two of them. Ready to hear the answer to that, sure. Also ready to throw his agent out of the house if that's what was required.
But Cassie looked perfectly fine. Seemed able to accept, intuitively, that Dinozzo wasn't a threat to her.
"He's nothing to me," she said. "And no, I didn't have to get out of the car. But we did need to know why the FBI was chasing us, and revealing myself would make it more likely that we'd find out. We figured it was someone from the cartel. Didn't - " steadying breath. "Didn't know it would be him, obvi - "
"That is bullshit. What were you thinking!" Dinozzo's voice went up at least an octave at the end there.
A pause. And then Cassie shrugged. "I was thinking that we weren't carrying anything they really want."
"What?"
Cass carried on, still perfectly calm.
And Gibbs began to suspect that she was, at least in part, deliberately egging Tony on. Winding him up. For fun.
He shook his head and considered digging out the bottle of Motrin stashed in the downstairs bathroom. The last time he'd had to deal with this sort of up-down group reaction to stress he'd been in the Marines. And it had given him a headache then, too.
"They wouldn't get into a fight that messy and public without a really good reason," she said patiently. Dinozzo's head looked like it was about to blow off. Cassie smiled. "And there wasn't a good reason, from their perspective. The cartel trained us. Anyone with the cartel would know we wouldn't have stopped in the first place if we were carrying anything they really want."
"You're insane!"
"I was right."
"You're crazy!"
Tony stormed toward the basement, probably looking for better space to pace. Or maybe Gibbs' bourbon.
Ziva watched him go, eyes lingering on the basement door. Her gaze shifted to the front window after a moment, seeming to contemplate the night.
And then she excused herself and went after her partner. McGee's gaze followed them and returned to Gibbs, sitting motionless next to Cassie.
Tim abruptly retreated, volunteering to guard the backdoor.
Cass turned to Gibbs. Grinned. "He is funny."
He raised an eyebrow and she laughed, a high-strung note. "Tony, I mean. Gray said he would be."
He let the silence play out a bit, and smiled slightly back at her. "If you say so."
Now that the fun was over she slumped into the couch. Exhausted again, stress creeping back into her eyes.
"You want something to eat?" Gray had taken coffee with his meals in Colombia . . . "Coffee?"
She said yes to the coffee, only then taking off her coat, and he moved into the kitchen.
"Milk or sugar?"
"Milk please. If you have it."
He opened the fridge, not really expecting to have it. But at some point the carton they'd sent down to the basement with dinner had been brought back up and returned to the fridge, plenty left in it to lighten a cup of coffee.
They sat quietly for a few minutes.
"You handled that well," he observed.
She glanced at him. Knew exactly what he was talking about. "Holly's been helping me."
He nodded.
"Sorry about that," she said. "With Burnett. That was . . . " she groped, and came up with nothing. Shrugged. "I appreciate your help," she said finally. The awkward apology of a teenager.
"From what Holly told me you weren't really in control."
"Yes . . . I regret that. It's better now."
She'd misunderstood, for once. It hadn't been meant as criticism. But Gibbs just nodded, keeping it easy. "Nothing to apologize for."
Cassie met his gaze over the mug, and they looked at each other straight on for a long moment. Guilt in her dark eyes. Shame.
So different from Gray. Still young.
He leaned forward, stage whispering the confidence. "I've been tempted to do the exact same thing." Perfectly true. More times than he could count.
"It felt pretty good," she admitted, relaxing slightly. "At first. Then I lost it. Kind of scary."
"It happens."
To people dealing with stress disorders, mostly.
They sat there for awhile, Gibbs weighing the best time to bring in Vance and Fornell, thinking over the strategy for the rest of the night and for tomorrow, after Gray finally reached them and the kids were gone and safe.
The second time Cassie wiped a hand across her face the movement registered.
Her head was down, eyes fixed on the mug in her hands like the coffee in it was the most fascinating show on earth. He couldn't actually see her face. But then she did it again.
He got up and came back with a box of tissues from the bathroom, setting it on the table between them.
She didn't take one. But she did seem to rally around glaring at the box.
"I shouldn't be afraid of him," she muttered. Frustration bled into her voice.
He waited for her to go on, but she'd fallen silent. Which was probably worse. Gibbs frowned down at his own coffee. It didn't seem likely that O'Donnell would mount an attack on his house. But it would still be reckless to call in Holly.
So . . .
"Most people are afraid of men like that," he finally said.
"No. You don't - I shouldn't be, really. Not him." She collected herself, tone almost angry. "He never hurt us."
Gibbs could have let that go. But O'Donnell was here, and there were still too many holes.
"Only Gray?"
Her eyes tracked to him slowly, and she looked at Gibbs for a long moment, completely neutral. Not giving anything away.
He returned the stare. Not searching or curious, not as an interrogator. Not bluffing, either. They knew about Gray.
"What do you think you know?"
Gibbs rubbed at a smudge on the battered old mug in his hands. Kept his focus there.
"He has marks on his left shoulder and chest. We saw something similar in documentation from a human rights group doing field work in central Colombia a few years ago. Read some of the interviews they conducted." Over two hundred of them.
Gibbs met her eyes, finally, to find her looking frankly back at him.
"You don't know anything."
He never thought he did. "Who does?" he asked seriously.
"Huh?"
"Does Holly know?"
An incredulous stare. "She's not going to tell you anything."
Gibbs waited, watching her closely. Trying to figure out if that meant the kid had spoken to Holly, or if it meant Cass didn't know. Or simply that she wouldn't tell him either way.
"But you know that," she said slowly.
And then she had it. It was incredible, how sharp she was. "Holly knows, he talks to her. And Kort I think. Some of us know," she flicked a finger toward the basement. "Not the little ones."
Gibbs nodded. That was good. Gray wasn't totally alone. And not all those kids were exposed to it, thank god. He already felt ill.
She noticed. And she understood. Seemed to consider the merits of spelling it out.
"Gray - he . . . made a deal. So Diablo never messed with us." She sucked in a slow breath, kept her voice low. "With the rest of us."
Gibbs stared at her.
How the hell did he get the power to make a bargain like that.
And Jesus, why would he want to -
Now wasn't the time to ask.
And Cassie wasn't who the question was for, anyway, if he ever really wanted to know. Gibbs pressed his hands together and sat still.
"And now . . . all I can think is the deal is off," she said steadily. Ashamed. Angry. And above it all, terrified.
"We won't let him get to you."
Cassie nodded. "I know."
Gibbs studied her hunched form. She didn't believe him.
They sat in silence until Gibbs' phone rang. It was Abby.
She'd determined their equipment was clean and run the photos, but only found a few of the faces in the FBI database. The rest she'd identified as Colombian army.
a/n: As the six-fingered man put it, "Not to fifty!" But yes indeed, to chapter 50 and beyond. Thanks for reading along and for the excellent feedback.
