Chapter 3
Good men must die, but death cannot kill their names.
-Unknown
Tuesday, June 6, 2007
Silver Spring, Maryland, U.S.A.
3:15 p.m. EDT
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Juliana Fern Todd had been sound asleep on her couch.
The Senior Special Agent for NCIS's Major Case Response Team based out of Washington was supposed to be taking the day off. The NCIS Chief Psychologist called it her mental health day; Julie told anyone who asked "it'll be my Me day. Just me, a nice glass of wine, a warm bubbly bath and my babies to keep me company."
Her Me day started with a broken water pipe, followed by her four four-legged canine 'babies running four blocks down the street (she caught up to them another block away) and by a weirdo who insisted on talking to her about the benefits of the Vulcan IDIC (Julie has always been Team Star Wars, not Team Trek).
Julie's Day From Hell continued with her alarm system going off accidentally (the cat tried to pry herself through a window), a neighbor who wouldn't quit ringing her door bell until she was assured Julie wasn't dying (Julie assured her "no, Alma, I'm not dying nor do I plan on doing so anytime soon") and culminated in an argument with another neighbor over the height of the grass on her front lawn.
All that, as of mid-afternoon. It was no wonder that Julie, too tired to continue, collapsed on her couch and fell asleep.
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Julie's "babies" – an ageless Jack Russell terrier named Toni; Abby, a black cat; Jethro, the big German shepherd; Claude, the basset hound; Abby, the black cat who triggered the alarm system and the neighbor's concern; and a golden retriever she named after herself – kept her company.
The basset hound was his – Marcus's. The others were hers, although they all belonged to her, Marcus and the rest of the team.
They had been fed and watered, she was pretty sure, before she fell onto the couch; she'd get up and take care of them, again, after she got up. Given how the day was going for the athletic, blonde, 41-year-old-going-on-29, that probably would be in the next hour.
And she felt like crap. She needed rest, not misery.
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Only the Second Coming, or the incessant barking of her "kids", could wake Julie from her slumber – that, and the ringtone on her NCIS-issued smartphone.
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"I hear it, I hear ya," she muttered, as Julie the golden retriever began licking her face. Julie the dog had woken up Julie the human that way several times; sometimes Julie the human wiped her face afterwards.
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"C'mon. Stop it," she said, as she fully woke up, realizing all of her kids were next to her, and that her phone was ringing.
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The phone would not stop ringing, she decided. Whoever was on the line could be anybody. Whether she was 'fake-nice', snarky, or in an ass-kicking mood depended on who was calling her without leaving a voicemail.
She hit the green button on the screen and put the phone on speaker. "This is Very Special Agent Juliana Rose Todd," she said in a mock-happy voice.
"Julie. It's Marcus."
Damn it. The last man on Earth I want to talk to right now. "Hey, Marcus. I, ah, can I call you back—"
"We caught a case," he said, and this time she swore for real, glad her mother wasn't there to hear her use the f-word. As always, he took Julie and her quirks in stride. "How soon can you be ready?"
"A case? We have the day off," Julie said, as Toni the terrier jumped in her lap before she could get up and stretch. "Rock Creek Park or Norfolk or whatever, Balboa can handle. He came back for stuff like that—"
"Julie, it's not that kind of case," Stewart replied, filling her in on what Katie Yates had told her. "Here's the thing…Katie tells me the people are different."
A chill shot up Julie's spine. "'Different'."
"This isn't the team that could have been that we met in 2014. This is the team that could have been from…if Haswari hadn't done what he done."
Julie figured out the implication moments later. "Marcus. Is she—"
"Katie says she is. Katie talked to the girl who looked like Abby Sciuto. Katie saw them all. Including the Mossad officer. She saw Mike Franks. Katie saw her—"
"Kate."
"Yeah."
"My twin sister is dead, Marcus. They're all dead. All dead."
"These people, Jules, they're alternates, doppelgangers," Marcus said. "Just like before. There are thousands of people at that stadium. We need to get there, and find our people—"
"Our people died 12 years ago, Marcus," Julie said, with an eerie calmness. "The ones from that other world, weren't them. Neither were those zombies that Black Hand creep threw at us—"
"No, they're not the people we lost. But they're like them, and I want you and Carl and Brooke and Dorney at RFK to find them before the DEO or Luthor or someone in this damn city gets the same idea."
"Marcus…you say Katie told you Kate was there."
"I just said that," he said a moment later. "If you leave now, the others should get there about the same time. I'll call them—"
"How are you gonna get there?"
"I'll ask the director to send me a Marine copter, after I talk to the rest of our team—"
"I'll call them. You call the director. He doesn't like it when we talk to each other before we talk to him."
"'Better to seek forgiveness than ask permission'. Just tell them to get there."
"After I explain to them what's going on?"
"I'm watching live video on the ZNN app on my phone, Julie. They already know."
Julie reached for her TV's remote and punched in the number for ZNN. "I'll call them now. You get to the stadium. We'll meet you there."
-California Governor Jerry Brown has declared a State of Emergency, following the lead of the governors of four other states: Georgia, Kentucky, Puerto Rico and Texas. During his brief address broadcast this afternoon, Brown said FEMA and state authorities estimate over 3 and a half million people appeared through the wormholes—
-the Dow has not closed, but is down 62 points since news of the wormholes first broke hours ago—
-GBS News has confirmed the Justice League branch operating out of Detroit is assisting local police and FEMA in setting up an estimated 60,000 refugees at Ford Field and another 15,000 at Little Ceasar's Arena. Comerica Park, which was set to host a baseball game between the Detroit Tigers and the Coast City Pilots, is now accommodating another 10,000 refugees—
-taking Superman's suggestions and opening up convention space in downtown Atlanta, along with Philips Arena and the soon-to-be demolished Georgia Dome—
-some surprising news here in London: two men claiming to be the late John Lennon and Freddie Mercury have met with Sir Elton John and Sir Paul McCartney—
-the liberal news media won't give my guest the time of day, but I will! He's asking a very good question: are these 'refugees' aliens in disguise? Perhaps, Appellaxians? HMMMM….-
-the White House has no comment yet on the developing story other than 'President Luthor is monitoring the situation and will address the nation at 6 p.m. Eastern'-
3:24 p.m.
Washington, D.C.
The Navy Yard
NCIS Headquarters
Special Agent Carl Long patiently waited to go through security at the facility's main entrance, thankful he had thought to get himself and his teammates some coffee, and that he had put the four cups in a box.
"You're good, sir," the guard said to the tall, muscular Black man who had been mistaken by the occasional visitor as an actor from a Major Comics Netflix streaming show. He took that, and the ribbing from his teammates, in stride.
Right now wasn't the time for levity, though. Something crazy was going down, and he had the gut feeling that something he'd leave for the capes to deal with would be his problem to deal with, too.
The four video screens above the elevator showed CNN host Wolf Blitzer, shots of talking heads on msnbc, Senator Mitch McConnell on Fox News Channel and a shot of the New York Stock Exchange from LexNews. More talking heads, he thought. Same old, same old.
He briefly pondered checking his iPhone for messages, but since he had set it to receive only work-related texts and calls – and it had been blissfully silent for the past four hours – Long left it in his pants pocket. He stepped into the elevator – alone - that would take him to the third floor, and to the MCRT's bullpen.
I was looking forward to a nice, quiet day, he thought, as the elevator made its way upward. Haven't had many of those in awhile.
The doors opened onto a third floor in a state of frantic activity; three people brushed past him without excusing themselves, all talking on their mobile devices. He stepped out as four more people hurried past him into the elevator, and he took in the scene: anyone on the floor was either talking on a phone, or into a monitor, or looking at one of the video monitors.
Long turned to the large monitor to his left, the one above the portraits of the criminals making up the NCIS Most Wanted List – among them Ari Haswari, Ra's al Ghul, the second Joker, Paloma Reynosa, and Marcel Janvier – and saw what looked like a science-fiction video show. He looked closer and saw the chryon noting the broadcast was an ABC News Special Report showing a wormhole appearing in the middle of the Navy Pier in Chicago.
"Special Agent Long!" he heard, turning to his right to see Special Agent Marcelo Balboa. "That's happening all over the world, Carl."
"Not just the country?"
"No. It started happening about four hours ago. Things blew up within the last half-hour."
"That's when I started hearing people talk about it."
"It hit a whole lot of people by surprise. And a lot of people weren't told what was going on. We think the big man was one of them."
Long turned around and looked towards the stairs, and the Multiple Threat Assessment Centre at the top of them, and towards the office of Director Maurice Drake he knew was in the hallway past the MCRT. "Maurice usually is on top of things."
"He may be on top of this too, or not. He may be trying to catch up. He's walked in and out of that MCRT upstairs three times in the past hour."
"Thanks. You hear from Marcus or Julie yet?"
"No – but Brooke and Dorney have."
"They should've called me, too."
"Check your phone."
Long pulled his phone out and saw that it was in low-power mode. "Dammit," he muttered. "That's why I haven't heard from them. One percent." He held the display up and pointed to the icon showing the battery was down to one percent.
"Remember the old phones you could swap the battery in and out of?", Balboa said, pulling his battery case off his own phone to hand to Long. Since all special agents used the same phones, Balboa's case would work on Long's phone. "Take this. I'll requisition another, or if they're stingy, I'll get one from CyberCrimes. They have a stash of them."
"Ask them if they have a spare mag charger," Long said. "You know where Brooke and Dorney are now?"
"MTAC," Balboa replied.
"Better get up there, then," Long said as he put the case on his phone. "Thanks." Long ran to, and up the stairs leading up to MTAC. He expected the Director would be on top of things; he hoped the situation itself would be manageable, and not another mess like the Black Hand debacle – or another alien invasion.
3:34 p.m.
Manassas, Virginia
Intersection of Prince William Parkway and Balls Ford Road
Stewart pulled his jeep over to the side of the road, watching the NCIS-requisitioned Hughes OH-6 Cayuse light observation helicopter land in the intersection, with four Manassas Police vehicle blocking traffic in all directions. He saw a Marine run right towards him, grabbed his go bag and ran out, meeting the Marine halfway.
"Lieutenant Juan Montano Jr., sir, here to take your keys and drive your vehicle back to the Navy Yard," the Marine said as Stewart handed him the key fob. The OH-6 had not powered down.
"That thing behind you looks like it came out of a M*A*S*H episode," Stewart said.
"That may be, sir, but she's good and sturdy and gets the job done," the lieutenant said.
"Don't wreck my jeep and enjoy the weather; it's a nice day out," Stewart said, running to the OH-6. "The way traffic looked going into D.C., we may actually beat you there."
He got inside the vintage helicopter, and shook the hand of the pilot, Lieutenant Erin Turner. "Thanks for the ride, Lieutenant, though I've got to admit I expected something a little newer."
"Don't let appearances fool you, sir. 'Jessie' will get you where you need to go safe and sound – and fast. We'll land near the FEMA camp near the north end of the stadium, Agent Stewart," she said as the copter lifted off the pavement and headed east. "ETA" – estimated time of arrival – "is 30 to 35 minutes."
"We are a long way from Washington," he said. "But a half-hour?"
"Jessie may be…seasoned, sir, but she can go, up to 175 miles an hour. We won't go quite that fast, but just about."
"Do I want to ask?"
"Let me put it this way…if she was a stock car, Jessie'd wake them boys and girls up and give them a race."
3:39 p.m.
RFK Stadium
While his team talked amongst themselves on what their next move should be, Gibbs looked at the stands, in particular the press box. There was something different about it, from when and DiNozzo went to the RFK Stadium they knew to see the Redskins from their own world play.
He thought he remembered the press box hanging over the lower deck. The press box he was staring at didn't have club seats directly underneath it, like the ones the Redskins built in-
My world.
He noticed five different types of people in the club seats and press facilities, but he only was interested in the one person who had been watching his people and himself since they had arrived.
"Boss? Boss? Where are you going?", DiNozzo called out as Gibbs walked away. DiNozzo, Kate Todd, Mike Franks and Jimmy Palmer began to run after him when Gibbs stopped, turned around 180 degrees and held his hand out.
"You stay here, no matter what," Gibbs said.
Kate sighed in frustration as the dogged ex-Marine made his way through the crowd, away from she and their team. "Why does he always do that?", she said to no one in particular.
"Maybe I taught him a little too well," Franks said to her. "What in hell is he up to?"
"I think we ought to find out," she replied as she began walking towards Gibbs' direction. Franks ran up to Kate and put his hand on her upper arm, causing her to stop.
"No. We stay here, keep everyone together, just like Jethro said," Franks replied. "That doesn't mean we can't watch him from here and figure out what it is he's doing."
"We'll watch him, then," she said. "What is he up to?"
In the stands, Katie Yates made her way down from the press box, trying to stay incognito, trying to adhere to that rule that Marcus and Julie had about not letting 'them' see you while you're watching them. She felt strongly she was doing badly but she couldn't come up with a solid reason as to why.
She looked around for an empty seat to sit in, but every seat in the stadium was taken and more than a few people were sitting on the steps between sections. From what she had heard, hundreds of people had been put up in the concourse.
Some of these people looked familiar. They weren't anyone she knew or worked with personally; they were people she had seen at the coffee shop, a restaurant, or the bookstore. She suddenly realized she hadn't thought about the people in the stands; who they were, where they were from, how confused many of them were, how upset some others were.
What had happened wherever it was that they came from, she thought. What was it like to go through that wormhole that the FEMA people had specifically told 'volunteers' like me NOT to discuss with anyone?
Like most people who worked for the government, Katie had heard whispers of cases of interactions between the Justice League and military personnel with people from parallel universes. Could those people who looked like Gibbs and Julie's sister and the others – could all of these people – really be from one of those universes?
Omigod. That has to be what's going on.
For the moment, Katie put the issue of the Gibbs team lookalikes – and the origins of these 'refugees' - aside. She looked around the crowd, this time for who else was here. She reckoned that there were about 3,000 FEMA people here – and not all of them looked the part.
So who's Agency? Bureau? Homeland? DEO? There's nobody from NCIS, just me.
She looked around again and decided Marcus and the rest of her team couldn't get there soon enough. She'd stay where she was, sitting in the aisles, and decided to resume looking for the Gibbs lookalikes.
"Haven't seen this many people here since my buddy and I saw the 'Skins play the Meteors," she heard a man say, sitting in the aisle seat two seats down from hers. "Came back the next year, when they played the Cowboys."
Katie realized she had a golden opportunity fall in her lap: talk to somebody, figure out who they are, where they're from, anything else that the FEMA people didn't mention in that meeting yesterday. Like Dwayne Pride said, 'learn things'.
"I'm not much of a sports person myself," she said, looking out at the crowd. "I've been to a few concerts – me and my girlfriend saw Shania Twain here last August."
Then she realized how rude she was, staring at the crowd and not talking to the man next to her. She turned to her left to introduced herself and gasped a moment later. "Oh God!"
"Nope, just an NCIS agent," he said with a smile, attempting to put her at ease while reaching for his ID badge in his back pocket. He showed it, and she stared at the name next to the photo:
Leroy Jethro Gibbs.
