Silent Misery R&R - Chapter 28
by HidingInSight
Fornell's back had begun to ache, and his left leg had gone to sleep when the sound of a ringing phone made them both jump. Gibbs groped in his pocket for the offending item. It took a lot more work than it ought to have to find the phone and answer without opening his eyes.
"We're ready to start with Montero, Boss," came McGee's voice. He sounded like he was calling from the moon. Gibbs grunted a response.
"You want us to wait for you? To observe, I mean?" McGee asked. Gibbs tried to speak, cleared his throat, and tried again. He couldn't make the words form. He held the phone out to Fornell who glanced at the caller ID as he took it.
"What do you want, McGee?" Fornell asked.
"Is he alright?" McGee asked.
"What do you want?" he repeated.
"We're ready to start with Montero. Does he want us to wait for him to observe?"
"No," Fornell said. "Who's doing the interrogation?"
"Ziva and I're gonna take Montero and Alejandro, with Agents Madsen and Young as seconds. The third guy'll be handled by Stephanovitch and Jackson."
"Good. You get him, McGee."
"I will," the younger agent said, and clicked off. Fornell closed the phone and pocketed it. Gibbs had the paper towels in both hands and was clenching his fists around them. His eyes were open now, though Fornell was pretty sure he wasn't seeing anything.
"It's gonna be alright," Fornell said softly, for what was probably the hundredth time this week. "We'll get through this."
"Yeah," Gibbs said, his voice barely more than a croak. He cleared his throat again.
"Say it," Fornell said.
"What?" Gibbs asked, and turned his head towards the G-man.
"We're gonna get through this."
Gibbs stared at him, then gave a wry smile as his eyes focused. "I tried that on DiNozzo yesterday."
"Did it work?"
"Yes," Gibbs said.
"So say it. We're gonna get through this."
"We're gonna get through this," Gibbs repeated.
"You believe it?"
"Yeah," Gibbs said. "Gonna be different on the other side, though."
"We always are," Fornell said. Gibbs nodded.
"You ready to go back?" Fornell asked after a moment. Gibbs nodded without speaking.
They got to their feet, slowly. Fornell stretched his back and stomped his foot a little to get the circulation going. Gibbs jerked as a spasm shot across his low back, putting a hand on the stall wall until it passed. The feds' eyes met for a moment. Fornell grinned and Gibbs shook his head.
"Sucks to be old," Fornell said.
"Better than the alternative," Gibbs said.
"Most of the time," Fornell agreed.
As Gibbs tossed the paper towels and went to the sink, Fornell took advantage of the moment to relieve himself. Gibbs rinsed his mouth and washed his hands. A minute later, Fornell joined him.
Gibbs finished first and reached for the door. It didn't move. Fornell reached around him and turned back the deadbolt. Gibbs paused for a second, holding the handle. He turned back and bobbed his head in thanks. Fornell smiled a little in return.
As they reappeared on the balcony overlooking the squad room, Gibbs felt his blood pressure rise again. This time it was frustration, and maybe some anger, at the sight of DiNozzo sitting at his desk with Abby hovering nearby.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded when he hit the lower landing and made the turn.
"Is it true?" DiNozzo asked, looking up and back over his shoulder.
"I tried to stop him, Gibbs," Abby jumped in. "But he was going to drive himself if I didn't bring him and I didn't …"
"Stop," Gibbs said, holding up a hand to her as he came around to stop in front of DiNozzo's desk. She snapped her mouth shut.
"Is it true?" DiNozzo repeated. He was wearing jeans and a comfortably-worn Ohio State sweatshirt. Gibbs noted that he looked much better than he had yesterday, and not just because the bruises were one day lighter. It took a second for Gibbs to realize what it was: The despair he'd seen on Tony's face at his apartment was gone.
"Is what true?" Gibbs asked, refocusing.
"Did McGee get them?"
Gibbs sighed. "Yeah. Who told you?"
DiNozzo's expression twisted a little while he thought about making something up or refusing to answer at all. "I could tell something was brewing when I talked to you. So I called McGee. Where are they?"
Gibbs declined to answer. "What are you doing here?" he asked again instead, his tone less demanding this time.
"I wanna be there."
Gibbs shook his head. "Not a good idea."
"Who's doing the interrogation?" DiNozzo asked.
"It's being handled," Gibbs said. "You need to be at home."
"I want to be there," he repeated.
Gibbs turned to Fornell. "Go watch. Don't throw anything. There's no room in the budget for new glass."
Fornell nodded and turned away.
"Fornell," Gibbs called and the fed turned back. "If anyone's gonna kill him, it's gonna be me."
"And me," DiNozzo interjected.
"Understood," Fornell said and left.
Gibbs turned back to DiNozzo. "Go home."
"Gibbs," DiNozzo said, stretching the name out in something close to a whine.
"McGee and David will handle it. Rule 10."
"Oh come on, Gibbs," DiNozzo said with some derision. "How could we possibly be more personally involved in this case than we already are?"
"They'll handle it," Gibbs repeated, his tone brokering no further argument. "Abby, take him home. And keep him there."
"Yes, Gibbs," Abby said.
DiNozzo tried one more time. "At least let me stay until they're done. Find out how it went."
"Go home. You're not supposed to be here for another week." Gibbs took a breath before continuing. "I'll come over later."
DiNozzo sighed, recognizing defeat when he heard it. "Fine."
"I really tried to stop him, Gibbs," Abby spoke again.
"I know. He won't do it again."
28-28-28-28-28
After they left, Gibbs stood for a moment in the empty squad room. The lights were off, the space well-lit by sunlight streaming through the skylights above. It was unusual for him to be alone in here. In fact, Sundays were just about the only time when there were even odds of it happening. Weekday evenings and overnights belonged to the Middle East analysts, whose contacts were 12 hours ahead of the Western World. Friday overnight and Saturdays were when the weekday work overflow got done. Sunday nights were the beginning of the week for the night staff, who sometimes came in early. Which meant the only time anyone could bet on having the place to themselves was the 24 or so hours between whenever the last day-shifter working overtime left on Saturday, and when the first third-shifter arrived early Sunday evening. Being alone in the big room was usually nice. Given the reason why he was here, Gibbs noticed the emptiness more keenly than usual.
Gibbs sat down behind his desk, moved a stack of papers off his keyboard, and turned on his computer. He'd been out of the office most of a week and the administrative work he hated so much had piled up. While he waited for the computer to boot up, he rifled through the papers. He had to lean back and squint a little to read. The only thing that caught his attention was a reminder that it was time for Tony's salary step review. What a pain in the ass. Every year right before an employee's work anniversary, their immediate supervisor had to complete a performance review so the employee could get their raise. Gibbs usually just checked the necessary boxes without commentary. His people deserved their raises, but that didn't mean he had to do more than the bare minimum required to make the bureaucrats happy. If there was a problem with the performance of anyone on his team, they either fixed it immediately, or they weren't on his team long enough to need a step review. Gibbs himself was years beyond the highest government salary step for his job classification and hadn't had a formal evaluation in a long time.
His computer beeped it was ready and Gibbs set the paperwork aside to check his email. Same thing: Nothing that needed his immediate attention. He let his eyes lose focus. How had they split up the tasks in interrogation? They'd want to get it done as quickly as possible, which meant they'd each pair up with one of Fornell's feds, leaving the third until after. Two possibilities there: They'd either start with Montero and Alejandro – and Gibbs would bet McGee would pull rank and take Montero himself – or, they'd each take one of the men who'd watched and save Montero to work together after.
Gibbs stood and rode the elevator up to the break room. He looked through the cupboards until he found a travel mug someone had left behind and started the coffee machine. Holding the mug under the drip, he let it fill before sliding the pot in place. It wasn't great coffee, but it would do. He carried the full mug back through the building and sat behind his desk again, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes. He felt drained. He didn't think he'd ever been this sick. Just the thought of eating again made his stomach twist a little.
There was something in what Tobias had said in the bathroom: His unstable stomach wasn't the whole story of why he didn't want to eat. It hadn't escaped his attention that eating finger foods and drinking soup didn't seem to bother him, but he choked every time he put a fork or spoon in his mouth. There was definitely something there. Even as he considered it, his mind shied away and he sat forward, opening his eyes again.
Carrying his coffee, Gibbs got up and went to the windows overlooking the Anacostia River. He didn't take advantage of the view often enough. The river wasn't used by commercial traffic, but boats from the Seafarer's Yacht Club and other private craft sailed up and down on a regular basis. He had launched the only boat he'd ever finished building from the Club when he'd delivered it to Mike's granddaughter Amira. God, he missed sailing. Maybe he'd start building a new one.
Gibbs pressed his palm against the glass. It was warm. In the winter, he could tell how cold it was outside by the temperature differential between the warmth of the indoor air and the cool of the glass. Today, with the sun warming the glass on the outside and the air conditioning off inside, it was much warmer that it would be during the week. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against the window, and looked as straight down as he could. The trees outside had reached maximum height years before, just below the middle of the windows. One thing the Capitol had going for it was a plethora of arborists. Combined with the efficiency of the Navy, it wouldn't surprise Gibbs if the trees hadn't topped out within an inch of where they'd been predicted to reach.
He could just barely see the memorial monument installed after Harper Dearing tried to blow them all up. "Never again," Gibbs whispered, as he often did when he put eyes on the monument. During the restoration, he'd briefly thought they were finally going to get rid of the orange paint in the squad room. Afterwards, he was kind of glad they hadn't. There was a familiarity about the shades of citrus that meant home.
"Screw it," Gibbs said aloud and pushed away from the window. With coffee in hand, he strode across the big room and down the back hall to the interrogation rooms. Gibbs stopped at the first observation room he came to and paused with his hand on the doorknob. He took a breath, tightened his grip. Took another breath. And another.
"Damn it." He stepped back. There were legitimate reasons why he shouldn't be in there. Same ones he'd given DiNozzo. But he was pretty sure that wasn't why he was hesitating.
Gibbs moved further down the hall toward the back elevator. He patted his pocket for his keys. Not there. He'd left them at home in his mad dash out the door. Turning again and resolutely not looking at the interrogation room doors, he returned to his desk. Gibbs pulled open his center desk drawer and searched through the junk there until he found an unlabeled brass key on a White House souvenir keychain. Determined now, Gibbs moved as quickly as he could up the stairs to the executive level and Leon Vance's office. Gibbs rapped on the door with his knuckles before sticking the building's master key in the lock. His shaking hands made him fumble a bit.
When the key turned, Gibbs pushed through and went straight to the Director's desk. He shook the computer mouse to wake it up, revealing Leon's login screen. His user name was already there, the cursor blinking in the password box. Gibbs closed his eyes for a second, digging for recall. He'd watched Leon enter his password many times, and remembered a discussion they'd had over the frustration of having to change it every 60 days to meet agency security protocols. Leon had developed a habit of only changing the last part of it, according to the date he was forced to change it. Putting that together, Gibbs typed the first four letters of Leon's wife's name in all caps, followed by two digits of the current year, followed by the first three letters of the current month in small letters. Incorrect. You have two attempts remaining.
Gibbs repeated the first six characters, using the first three letters of prior month. Incorrect. You have one attempt remaining. The six characters again, followed by the first three letters of two months ago, and the login screen disappeared, replaced by Leon's desktop picture.
It took a minute, but Gibbs found the proper icon and opened up the building's camera feeds. Since his security clearance as a senior lead agent was as high as Leon's, he could have done this from his own desk. But he couldn't have done it on the big screen, and he couldn't have been sure it would be done in private. He ran the mouse down the list until he found the three icons representing the interrogation rooms. Without clicking on anything, Gibbs moved over to the counter below the large monitor on Leon's wall and picked up the remote. He turned on the monitor, switching the source from cable TV to the computer. A mirror of Leon's desktop appeared on the screen.
Gibbs took a seat at the small conference table facing the big screen. Resting his fingers on the edge of the table with his thumbs hooked underneath and his forearms and elbows on the chair arms, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out through pursed lips. He did it again, and then again. He knew what he was about to see and hear. This time, he would be prepared. The images would not get to him. He would be centered, and calm, just like when he watched any other interrogation video on any other topic. He kept it up, breathing in and out, for almost two minutes before opening his eyes and reaching for the remote.
28-28-28-28-28-28
Fornell sat straddling a chair, his elbows on the seat back and his face less than two feet from the glass separating observation from interrogation. On the other side of the one-way mirror, McGee and FBI Agent Tom Young were sitting at the table with their backs to him. Facing them across the table was Montero and the fourth man from the golf club. The lawyer.
They'd been working Montero for most of an hour. The lawyer interrupted almost every question, keeping the agents from developing a rhythm. Despite the objections, Montero talked a lot. More than he should have, probably, but he gave up little. He openly admitted he'd had sex with the lieutenant who'd brought the case to NCIS, but claimed it was consensual. He admitted enjoying rough sex, and seemed to revel in the reactions he got out of his lawyer when he described the violent encounter with the lieutenant in detail. He insisted – with a smile on his face the entire time – that if she claimed it was rape, it meant she'd been embarrassed by how much she'd enjoyed it. She might say that now, but she'd never say it in court, of that he was certain. Though he couldn't see their faces, Fornell could tell by body language the agents in the room weren't giving Montero the satisfaction of reacting to his claims. In Observation, Fornell wanted to beat the smug look off his face.
Montero told them his sex drive was so high he needed multiple partners just to keep up. He bragged about having sex with dozens of different women every month. He claimed every one of them had consented to rough games, and every one of them had enjoyed it. He admitted that more than one had claimed rape afterwards, but he'd never been charged with any kind of sex crime. Why would he? He had the full, informed consent of everyone he bedded and he could produce the names of dozens of satisfied partners if they'd like.
Yes, he admitted, he sometimes gave his sexual conquests money. Sometimes he gave money to their family members. Merely gifts. He laughed at the idea that he was operating as a street lender. He was involved in many, many businesses in the Capitol Region, all of them very profitable, none of them illegal. Why would he need to get involved in predatory lending? Anyone who needed fast money could visit any payday loan or title loan establishment and get whatever they needed.
When asked, he told them in graphic language that yes, he frequently had sex with men. After all, a hole was a hole, right? And besides, men were tougher, could take it better. At that, Fornell clenched his teeth so hard he could feel the tendons in his neck stretching. Montero explained that enjoying the tight ass of a young man, especially one who hadn't previously indulged in such activities, didn't make him gay. It made him a connoisseur. There was nothing better than busting the cherry of a virgin ass. Especially when the owner of the ass had to be convinced a little.
"Goddamn son of a bitch!" Fornell jumped to his feet, the chair bouncing forward into the wall below the glass. The tech monitoring the interrogation turned around, startled. Fornell stuffed his hands into his pockets. He fought with everything he had the impulse to go in there and strangle the smug bastard.
Montero continued in that vein for several more minutes while his lawyer tried to shut him up and Fornell paced in front of the glass mumbling curses under his breath. It wasn't until McGee tried to get specific about where he'd been last Tuesday that Montero became evasive. He didn't really recall where he was that afternoon, nothing special had happened. It was just another day. He worked some, had sex more than once, went to a club in the evening. Like any other day.
Agent Young asked about his commercial property holdings in the Capitol Region. Montero declared his business interests were broad. Did he own a warehouse outside Fort Washington? Possible, but he wasn't sure. They'd have to ask his business manager.
Without mentioning Gibbs and DiNozzo by name or position, McGee asked about two men he might have come across on Tuesday afternoon. Montero claimed ignorance. Trying to pin him down, Agent Young asked him again who he'd been with last Tuesday. When he claimed not to recall names, McGee asked him to tell them what he did recall.
Montero described a beautiful woman, the daughter of a business associate. She was almost six feet tall, blonde everywhere and not an ounce of fat. They'd spent the night at his house on Monday night. He'd taught her many lessons about sex and pain, and how glorious it could be when the two were combined. He thought perhaps it might have been ten or eleven o'clock in the morning before she left, though he couldn't be certain. He had never asked her name.
Then he talked about a very young-looking Asian woman with small feet and incredible flexibility who enjoyed taking two cocks at the same time while tied in excruciating positions. Didn't speak a word of English, but she understood his needs well enough. If he remembered right, he'd spent time with her in the early evening that day. She was the very willing friend of a friend, and they'd enjoyed her together. No, didn't know her name, either. And he declined to give his friend's name.
Oh, and of course there was the delightful older man with the sweet mouth and the tight ass he'd spent some time with early in the week. That might have been Tuesday. Or maybe it was Monday. The man who had invited his young friend to watch as Montero enjoyed himself. And he had enjoyed himself. Immensely. The older man had begged Montero to take him while he was tied up, and Montero had gone along willingly enough. Not much fight in him, though. Couldn't even finish before he started to bleed. Was that the two men McGee was asking about?
Which was when the door to interrogation smashed open and Fornell exploded into the room.
... to be continued ...