Chapter 2
Sometimes, when one person is absent,
the whole world seems depopulated.
—Allphonse de Lamartine
Tuesday, June 6, 2017
Near Woolsey, Virginia, United States of America
2:55 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time
Marcus Stewart loved his job.
As the Special Agent in Charge of the Major Case Response Team at the Washington field office for the Naval Criminal Investigative Service, the former Navy SEAL loved playing action hero, detective, cop, boss and mentor. He loved bringing bastards to justice and, where possible, putting those bastards back on the road to redemption. He loved pushing his body to be as fit as a man half his age and pushing his mind to be sharper than anyone else.
Yet, when the part-African-American, part-Samoan 'action hero' took time off, to the surprise of many he often spent it on a Sunday drive.
Stewart, a Cleveland native chronologically in his mid-40s, drove his electric Jeep through rural Virginia. The audio player was off, his phone was in sleep mode, and his watch was set to show only the time and temperature and, if a case broke, set to flash every second until he answered the call from NCIS or whatever law enforcement agency needed his and his team's services.
He hoped everyone could do without him for the rest of the afternoon.
The drives along the quiet two-lane country roads and the endless acres of trees and grass helped scrub away the garbage and frustration that would build up from his job. The political snake pits he had to navigate through, the scum he came across way too often on both sides of the law, the pissing matches with other federal and civilian agencies he and his team sometimes got dragged into, all built up until Stewart had to get out of the city.
From the time he was a major college football recruit, Stewart would leave the city and its problems behind every so often, to get out in the country to clear his head. It had served him well, so far, and he saw no reason to stop now. Not even a hard workout, or an hour's session on one of the vintage video game arcade games in his basement, could clear out the crap and focus his mind quite like Mother Nature.
Still, Stewart kept his phone close by. When duty called — be it the all-too-common dead body in Rock Creek Park, or a summons to the director's office, or the occasional call from a fellow law enforcement officer outside of town — Stewart had to be ready to answer.
As he drove down the James Madison Parkway, also known as US Highway 15, Stewart looked out for a familiar stop as he entered the outskirts of the town of Woolsey.
Ever since Stewart moved to Washington in 2005, Woolsey had outgrown its small-town roots and became yet another bedroom suburb within the sprawling, heavily-populated Washington-Baltimore metropolitan area. Woolsey, however, had laws in place limiting the sprawl to protect as much of the countryside as possible. At the intersection he had just pulled up to, there were only five businesses — 7-Eleven, Big Belly Burger, Starbucks, Jiffy Lube and Walgreen's — all close together. On his right, he saw a Sunoco, a Sundollar's and a Panera Bread being built next to the Walgreen's and Jiffy Lube.
He headed left, then pulled his Jeep up to one of the battery refilling stations at 7-Eleven. He hooked the large cable to the vehicle's charging outlet, and walked inside, greeting the two women at the register as he entered.
"How you been, stranger?", asked the older lady, Madeline, a plus-sized, petite woman with a supremely extroverted personality who had never met a stranger in her life. "Been a while since you made your way out here. You been busy?"
"Better believe it," Stewart said as he poured some half-and-half in his coffee cup. Black coffee, having been a taste he hadn't quite acquired, went down a lot easier with cream and sweetener. "We just wrapped up a case. It felt great to get outside of the city for a change. It's been a gorgeous day."
"Hasn't it been?", Madeline said, as she made her way over to the coffee area, grabbing four packets of Splenda. "Don't forget these," she said, putting them down on the counter next to Stewart's cup.
"Wouldn't think of it," he replied, picking up the packets and tearing them open, then pouring the contents into his cup. "I tried that Styse stuff last time."
"The sweetener from Rann? Ugh," she said, making an exaggerated grossed-out face that made Stewart chuckle. "Honey, 30 years and we're still giving them more than they've given us."
"Really? People are living longer and are healthier. Technology's skyrocketed. We're traveling the stars now because of them."
"Yeah, honey, and we're sending them our blue jeans, reality shows and Lord knows what else with us. You know what? Maybe somebody will get some common sense and put all those politicians on a ship and send them all there and leave them."
"Now come on, Miss Maddie. Would you do that to your friends?"
Madeline and Stewart shared a laugh, and she walked with him as he picked up a ham and cheese sandwich and an apple. "Marcus, you doin' alright?"
Stewart stopped and turned to the woman whom had been one of his mentors after he moved to D.C. more than 12 years ago. "I'm fine," he said, although she didn't fully believe him.
"Define 'fine'," she said, in her calm, 'tell me how things are really going for you' tone of voice.
"Team's doing alright, all the drama's on the Hill. You askin' about Gabriel Hicks?"
"I'm asking about you. You and Julie."
"It's complicated."
"She 'Rule 12' you again?"
Stewart sighed. He had gone for a drive to put that ongoing matter out of his mind for a while. "Like I said, Maddie, it's complicated."
"You two need to work it out," Madeline said. "You're good for her and she's good for you."
"Tell her that," Stewart said in a near-whisper, hoping the young girl at the counter hadn't heard any of the conversation. Stewart was a private man and wished to keep his — and his team's — business close to the vest.
"Give her time. She's been through a lot, too. What that bastard did to Ron affected her—"
"It affected us all. He's a fighter. He'll survive. She will, too."
"Yes, with time and a little space. I would have thought all those years of experience would have taught you that."
"Every single day I wake up, I realize that there's a lot I don't know squat about and always something new to learn. I…relationships don't come natural to me. Running down the street, chasing after some bastard like Hicks, running a crazed Marine off the road, rescuing a kid or damsel in distress? Playing action hero, that's me. That comes naturally. Relationships? I've always had to work at that."
"Welcome to the club, Marcus," Madeline said. "Frank and I love each other dearly, and we're gonna die together, but we have to work at our relationship. You give of yourself. You talk to your partner. You never take things for granted. Every couple's relationships have their ups and downs. Stick with it. Stick with her."
Stewart decided there was nothing he could say in response to the woman who had been like an aunt to him for the past dozen years. He also decided that thinking about the woman whom he had loved longer wasn't going to lead anywhere but to a place of frustration, and this impromptu drive was about clearing his psyche. He took his coffee, sandwich and fruit to the register, paid with his smartphone, and went on his way. Madeline knew where, and how, to reach him if she wanted to follow up, and he knew she inevitably would do so.
He looked up at the blank 8K video screen near the entrance that usually had on a news channel, or a talk show, or a ball game. "TV's on the fritz?"
"It's a cheap ol' TV we got from Wal-Mart. Bo" – the local 7-Eleven franchisee – "paid 200 bucks for it. It went out yesterday. I told him to get something better; I think he's at Costco looking for a 300-dollar screen."
"You know what they say, Miss Maddie. 'You get what you pay for'. Probably aren't missing anything, anyway. You see one Dr. Phil episode you've seen them all."
"And you see one talking head on ZNN or Luthor's news channel, you've seen them all," Madeline said, as she reached up to give Stewart a hug. "Go enjoy yourself, Marcus. Go see a movie."
"Not a bad idea," Stewart said, before telling her she'd send her and her husband a text later on. He got back on the road and considered driving on to Catharpin, but his gut told him to go south into Haymarket, towards the Interstate. He reasoned that maybe he could finally catch the Retaliators: Infinitude War movie in 360 degree, 12K 3D; he'd always liked Robert Downey Jr. as Machinehead. That alone would be worth the $30 matinee ticket.
His watch flashed and his phone buzzed. On the third buzz, Stewart quickly pulled off the side of the road and pulled into the back of a Giant Food parking lot.
"Stewart."
"Marcus. It's Katie."
Katherine 'Katie' Yates, the Chief Forensics Scientist of NCIS since 2008, was as close to Stewart as a sister and brother could be, and she never bothered him on his days off unless it was to hang out with him, or unless she had to.
"What's going on?"
"Are you here in Washington?"
"No. I'm outside the city."
"You gotta get here now."
"Katie, you okay? You in danger?"
"I'm at RFK Stadium, on that thing they recruited me for, and I'm fine. They're probably listening in on me but it's all over the news. There's something you and Julie need to see."
"What's all over the news, Booger?" 'Booger' was his nickname for the thirty-something woman whose expertise was highly sought after by those inside and outside NCIS. "There a case?"
"There will be," Katie replied, after a long pause. "Do you have your audio player on?"
"Off. Tell me what's going on?" Katie told Stewart about the rings appearing all over the nation and, now, the world. "Okay, but what's going on at RFK?"
"Oh God, Marcus, I bet they want to keep it secret—"
"But you called me."
"Yeah, I did, right? Ohmigod, I'm going to be in trouble with Maurice. The DEO—"
"You let me worry about him. And about the DEO," Stewart said. "Tell me what you saw there."
"It's them, Marcus. I have eyes on them. I'm in one of the DC United suites. They're in the stadium-."
"Who's 'them'?"
"Them."
"You gotta give me a little more than that, Booger."
"Gibbs. His team. They're like 60 feet away from me."
"That's impossible," Stewart said. "Take a picture."
"Hold on," she said. Under a half-minute later he got a text with a photo attached; he tapped on the attachment and spent the next minute looking closely at each individual in the picture.
What in Hell am I looking at? he pondered, looking more closely at the people in the photo. That was four years ago. There's no way they could've come back here. It got set up so that they couldn't get back here.
"They're younger, Marcus," Katie said.
Gibbs was in the photo, along with DiNozzo, McGee, Sciuto, Mallard and Palmer. The blond-haired woman who was there last time — Bishop, the one whose death still haunted Stewart and the rest of his team — wasn't.
He looked again. Another man, as old as Gibbs, but balding, had FBI written all over him. There was a familiar-looking woman and child on either side of him. An older woman, being held up by a college-aged woman, were behind them.
He looked in the crowd behind them. Stan? Stan Burley? And is that Mike Franks? What the hell?
Then, there were the two women near Gibbs. Recognizing both, Stewart felt as if he had just been shot in the gut with a taser. His sister. And, Julie's sister…her.
"She's there, Marcus," Katie said, as if she had been reading his mind. "Oh my gosh, Julie's gonna freak—"
"Katie," he said, in the tone he used when his excitable forensics analyst got too excitable, "tell me again what — who — you see."
"Okay," she said, calmly enough. "I see most of the people we met four years ago…hey. I see that lady."
"What lady?"
"Diane Templeton. Remember that case a few years ago? She didn't know anywhere else to go. We talked in the lab. She had a teenage daughter who wanted to be a federal agent. Ms. Templeton said she wanted her to be an executive, or a lawyer—"
"Katie. You see a kid with these people?"
"Yeah. Holding the guy's hand. She looks, nine? I dunno…OH MY GOD. That's the father."
"Fornell," Stewart whispered. Ron Sacks had often mentioned Tobias Fornell over the years.
"Ms. Templeton's ex-husband," Katie replied.
"Would the girl be…his daughter? But why is Templeton with them?"
"What if…Marcus, what if she's not the Diane Templeton we met? What if she's another Diane Templeton?"
"That's a good question," he said. "Someone else. What world did you say those people in the stadium were supposed to be from?"
"Earth-17, I think, or that's what the scuttlebutt says. The FEMA people running this thing aren't saying anything."
"Katie, I'll call Julie, and then Brooke, Carl and Dorney; they're closer to you than I am right now," Stewart said. "I'm headed there now, but I'll have to call in a favor. Traffic's already starting to get bad."
"It's rush hour."
"Yeah. You stay out in the open, too. That's an order."
"I don't think anyone here wants to—"
"That's an order. Go out the front of that press box and through the stands. Stay out in public and get to the lower stands – where the 50-yard-line would be for a Federals game. "
"Okay," she said. "Marcus, what do I do if they find me? What if they want to talk to me? Do I ignore them?"
"If they see you and want to talk to you, then talk to them. Make them come to you. Talk to them. Might be one of the only chances we get…if they're who we think they are. In the meantime, you stay on the line with me while I make my other calls."
Stewart sped onto the Interstate 66 straight into rush hour on a Tuesday afternoon. Pulling onto the on-ramp, he pushed a button that called up the AAA map of the area with traffic patterns; the immediate area showed normal traffic, and heavier traffic around Bull Run National Park. After calling his Senior Special Agent and SSA-in-Training, Stewart realized he probably would have to make another call for extraction.
"I'm calling Julie now," Stewart said. "She's not picking up."
