"Make a hole! Comin' through!" Gunnery Sergeant John Langston yelled, tearing through the camp, a small white business card in one hand and a bunch of papers in the other. He burst into the command building, looking for someone, then spotted him.
"Walters!" he hollered at, heading for his target, ignoring the stares.
"Gunny, what's up?" Bill Walters asked.
Langston handed him the card. "Can you verify this? Is it real?" he demanded.
The card showed the familiar NCIS logo and a name: Jane Langston, Special Agent. Underneath were numbers and an email address.
"Gunnery Sergeant, what is the meaning of all this who-ha?" Colonel Oliver demanded, coming over to them.
"I apologize, sir, an' it's a very long story, sir, but this is important," Langston explained. "I just got a parcel in the mail, a care package from Washington DC, an' it had a letter in it from my sister, Janey."
"So?" Oliver snapped.
"Sir, I haven't seen or heard from my sister since I was nineteen, an' she was fifteen. When I left home, I was told I could never come back, never talk t' anyone there ever again. I've tried, but my pa, he was a mean one, an' if you went against him, in any way, and I mean any, you were his enemy for life. Even if you were family," Langston explained.
"And now your sister's reached out to you," Oliver said, catching on.
"Yes sir. She said she was sorry for what she said when she was a kid, an' that she missed me, that Pa did to her what he did to me when she left home too. I found this business card in the envelope, an' she said she joined NCIS a few months ago, after being with the Maine State Game Wardens for nearly six years," Langston said.
"I see. And you want verification," Oliver guessed.
"Yes sir. I need to know. Is this th' real deal? These pictures look like Janey, but photos can be manipulated very, very easily," Langston said.
"Point. Walters, check it out," Oliver said.
Curious, Walters went to his laptop and accessed the NCIS employee files. It didn't take him long to find Jane Langston's file. "She's legit. Looks like she hasn't been with us for very long, but yeah, she's legit, and she's with our Major Crimes Response Team."
Langston handed him some papers, photographs, of the same woman that was on his computer. In the first one she was wearing a dark blue coat and a black cowboy hat, grinning at the viewer. In the second photo, she was leaning against an office desk, in jeans and a red and black plaid snap button shirt, a two-tone rectangular belt buckle at her waist, her hair loose around her shoulders and back, ankles crossed and wearing boots, laughing at something or someone, showing she had grown up and filled out.
"She's pretty," Walters said. "I can do some more digging, if you want, see what she's been up to, but this, to me at least, says she's real."
"Dig," Oliver said. "And you, Gunnery Sergeant, catch your breath and call your sister. That's an order."
"Yes sir! Thank you, sir."
Oliver nodded and walked off.
"I'll let you know what I find," Walter promised.
"Thanks, man. I appreciate this, a lot."
Walter nodded, and Langston left the building. He headed back to his bunk and got his phone. Then, swallowing hard, he dialed the number on the card.
The phone rang once, twice, and then a male voice answered.
"Langston's desk."
"Ah, hi. I'm looking for Jane Langston," he said, caught off guard.
"Who's calling, please?"
"It's her brother, Johnny."
The male started laughing. "Hang on. Hey, Langston, you're going to want to take this. It's Johnny. Yeah, your brother. Yes, I'm serious." Then a hesitant female voice came on the line. "Johnny?" It was familiar, older, but familiar.
He started laughing. "Hey Janey."
"Johnny! Oh lawd, Johnny! You got my number!"
"Yeah, yeah I did. So, you're a bonafide NCIS agent now, huh? Kickin' fellers like me 'round?"
"Only ifin I have t'. Gawd, I've missed you. Are you okay?"
"I'm okay, an' I'm doin' good, real good. An' you? What made you decide to put on a badge?"
"It's a long, complicated story, an' I'll tell ya everythin', I swear, but I have a strange question fer y'."
"Hit me."
And here, her voice turned serious. "Okay, my team is investigating th' murder of a petty officer. Now, he was raised in foster care, and was th' witness t' th' murder of a little young un' by th' name of Amanda, when he was' bout seven," she said.
"Oh jeeze," he breathed.
"According t' what we dug up, one of th' other foster kids, a potential witness, grew up t' be a Marine. Files say he's at Camp Dwyer. If I give you his name and position, can you find him an' prod him? He ain't a suspect, but we need t' know what happened, because the working theory is tha' Petty Officer Second Class Scotto wanted t' dig up Amanda, an' someone killed him t' keep her buried."
"Name," he said without hesitation.
"Lance Corporal John Jackson, an' it looks like he's a communications specialist," she said.
"I think I know where he might be. I'll find him. Who were the foster parents?"
"May an' Robert Wentworth. Petty Officer Scotto's letter, which he left wit th' Agent Afloat 'fore he left his posting, it spoke of abuse with 'em, beatings an' such, an' after Amanda disappeared, there were a lotta threats and physical abuse iffin anyone mentioned th' little girl, so watch yer step. Lance Corporal Jackson may not wanta talk 'bout what happened, but he needs t'."
"Gotcha."
"Oh, an' there's a kicker; we think we found 'er."
"Wow. Okay, you got a Skype account or somethin'?"
"I do. You got somethin' to write with?" There was a teasing tone in her voice and he grinned.
He wrote down her information on the notepad section of his phone. "Okay, I'm gonna go find this guy, an' see what he'll tell me. An' Janey?"
"Yeah?"
"Now that I've got your number, I'm gonna be buzzin' your ear every chance I get."
"Good, 'cause it's gonna cut both ways, brother. I give y' my word on this; what happened afore ain't gonna happen again. One way or another, brother, you an' me, I swear, I'll see you in person again. I swear."
"I believe you," he said, fighting the sudden sting of tears.
"Good. Now, go find Lance Corporal Jackson an' find out what he knows, so we can git justice fer Amanda an' Petty Officer Scotto."
"I will. Love you, Janey."
"Love you, Johnny. Git."
"Gittin'." And he ended the call. As he did, a tear slid down his face, and he swiped it away quickly.
He took a deep breath, tucked the little card and papers away safely, and went searching. His sister was a federal agent and she had asked for his help, and he was going to do just that.
Back in DC, Langston rested her chin on her desk, and rubbed her eyes, trying to clear the cobwebs.
"Wow," she said.
"That's an understatement," Bishop said, grinning.
"You found one of the Wentworth victims?" Gibbs asked, seeing the giant whiteboard Langston had hauled from office storage.
"Yup," Langston said, standing up. "Tracked John Jackson t' th' Marines, currently at Camp Dwyer, hence my request t' Johnny. Impulse thing, 'cause I didn't know he was gonna call, but it worked."
"And if he talks to Lance Corporal Jackson, rather than us, he might get more information," McGee said, nodding. "Nice. What about Angela Houston? The D?"
"Deceased. Looks like a drug overdose. In an' out o' prison fer drug an' alcohol abuse since she was eighteen. Found last year at a popular addict hangout. Coroner says drug overdose, but lab tests showed th' heroin t' be of a much, much purer quality than what Angela was known fer using, so there was a note in th' file tha' her death was a suspect suicide," Langston said.
"Ouch," Torres said.
"Joshua Cole an' Carla Hill are married t' each other an' living in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada, where they moved a few years back. Carla is a popular columnist an' Joshua is an apprentice electrician," Langston said.
"Can you get in touch with them?" Gibbs asked.
"Was gonna do so, but don' we have a suspect in Columbia Heights t' catch first?"
"Find him first," Gibbs said.
McGee picked up his phone and quickly called Thomas Montenegro's parole officer, who was more than happy to tell them where to find him. According to the officer, Thomas had violated the conditions of his parole, which resulted in it being revoked.
They geared up.
A short time later:
Torres, Langston, McGee, and Montenegro crashed through the flimsy walls of the old apartment, with Torres caught underneath. As Montenegro continued to fight, two cops, having been alerted to the situation, joined in, along with Bishop and Gibbs. They had found Montenegro in the apartment, along with several other possible tweakers, but despite the threat of their weapons, he had exploded the moment Langston tried to cuff him.
"Holy hell, what is this guy on?" Torres yelled at one point.
"Don't know, don't care, just get him!" McGee yelled back, in time to get a wildly swinging punch to the face.
In the end, two more cops had to join the fray before Montenegro was finally restrained. The arriving paramedics gave him a low dose of ketamine to settle him down, because, even in cuffs, he continued to fight and scream at something only he could see. It was only then that he settled down, but even then, he continued to whimper and moan, pulling at his restraints.
"We need him to dry out and then we need to talk to him," Gibbs told the paramedics and the attending cops. "He's a suspect in a murder investigation."
"I hate to say this, but that's going to take at least twenty-four hours, possibly forty-eight, depending on what he's been taking," one of the paramedics said. "From the way he was going at it, I'm thinking drug-induced hallucinations, and that could be caused by any number of things."
"Sounded like he was screaming at someone named Julia," one cop offered. "Kept begging her to leave him alone, that he was sorry. I've had to arrest him before, similar circumstances, and he was screaming about the same thing, but refused to talk about it once he sobered up."
"There is a Julia involved in our case," McGee admitted, holding an ice pack to one eye, where he had taken the hit. "She's quite possibly a victim."
"He ever mention the name Amanda?" Torres asked, also holding an ice pack, this one to his mouth. He was breathing carefully through, what paramedics said were, bruised ribs.
The cop shared a look with another officer. "Funny enough, yeah. During one episode, he was sobbing hysterically, telling Amanda he was so sorry. Something about not protecting her?"
"Yeah," the second cop said, nodding. "Same thing, though. Wouldn't talk about it afterwards, even when we offered to help him."
"Wonder what he'll say when we tell him we found her, and possibly Julia?" Bishop said, as one of the paramedics checked her for a possible concussion.
"Seriously?" the first cop asked, eyes wide.
"Seriously. Buried in the woods behind an old house on Cedar Street," Gibbs said. "Wentworth foster family. Found two other victims buried on the property."
The second cop got a contemplative look on his face. "You're investigating the Wentworths? Mary and Rob Wentworth?" he asked.
"You know 'em?" Gibbs asked.
"Not directly, no, but I had a rookie I trained, he pointed out this ass ugly house on Cedar Street, said he hated the place because of the Wentworths," the second cop admitted. "I think I know where he is. Give me a number and I'll see if I can find him, boot him your way if you're interested."
Gibbs gave him his card, and the officer promised to find the younger cop.
Then Gibbs checked on Langston, who was finishing up getting butterfly bandages for the cut on one eyebrow. "You good?"
"Headache. Nice feller here gave me some children's stuff, so tha'll take th' edge off," Langston said.
"I could give you something stronger," the paramedic offered.
"Thanks, hoss, but I still have work t' do, an' I need t' be awake," Langston said. "Very low tolerance t' painkillers, very high tolerance t' pain."
"Saw her sleep for nearly eight hours straight when she took two regular strength Tylenol," Gibbs admitted. "And that was just to deal with the discomfort of a bullet wound."
"Wow," the paramedic said, eyes wide. "Okay, fair enough."
"Need t' make a stop somewhere; tore my jeans in a bad spot," Langston admitted, blushing a little.
"There's a clothing store on M Street that has your Wranglers, and won't break your wallet," Bishop offered.
"Contact your brother as soon as you get back to NCIS," Gibbs said, smirking.
Torres looked at McGee. "You know Delilah's gonna laugh her ass off when she sees you."
"She already did, when Morgan accidentally headbutted me, after Johnny cannon balled me below the belt," McGee groused.