First thing the following morning, Jethro made his way to Marine Barracks Washington on 8th & I to meet with General and Marine Commandant Charles 'Chuck' Ellison.

The general was coming out of the barracks already as Jethro walked up.

He offered his hand out to the commandant. "Good morning, General."

"Gunny," the man said, shaking his hand. "Nicest morning we've had in a while. Makes me want to go for a little run."

A small chuckle left Jethro's lips. Some things never changed. It had been years since Jethro was on active duty and he was still teasing him about all the running. Character builders, as he called them. "Well, you always did like your marathons."

General Ellison smirked. "Only slightly more than a lot."

The general then gestured for them to walk and talk and had his protective detail hang back so they could have some privacy while they chatted.

"How's the family?" he inquired.

"Everyone's doing well," Ellison replied with a warm smile. "How's yours?"

"Doing well," he said. "Kelly's about to have a baby."

"Wow," the general said. "Pass along my congratulations."

"Will do," he replied.

The general adopted a more serious look. "SecNav called me. He has his concerns."

He dipped his head slightly. "I've heard them, Sir."

"I have some concerns of my own," the general added.

"You know Lieutenant Flores?" he questioned.

"Well," General Ellison informed him, "I know she was public affairs in this barracks I know she's a Marine and I know we will do whatever it takes to find her and bring her home, no matter what. No Marine is ever left behind."

That was a sentiment he agreed with. "No, Sir."

"Gibbs," the man said, "I don't care if it's you, us or those jokers at the Agency."

"You need answers," he stated.

The general nodded his head in the affirmative. "Whether she's alive or dead I will move mountains to find Lieutenant Flores and bring her home." He gave Jethro a pointed look. "We'll do whatever it takes."

"Can I hold you to that, General?" he asked.

"You've got my word," the man assured him, extending his hand.

Jethro shook the offered hand. "Yes, Sir."

Jethro met Lieutenant Commander Burke right by the coffee stand he frequented at the Navy Yard, a little surprised when the chaplain passed him coffee before he had even had the chance to order. "Got this for you."

He took the lid off. "Nice. Black. How'd you know that?"

"Well," the chaplain stated in amusement, "my old man used to say that a Marine fixes his coffee to fit his personality."

"What's that say about me?" he inquired as he put the lid back on his coffee.

"Bold, complex," Burke replied. "Strong enough to stop a freight train."

"Sounds like I'd like your old man," he said.

"Well," the chaplain replied, "he, uh, spent most of his life living in the V.A. but he had his moments." She changed the topic. "So, I went to see Joseph Flores."

"I wish we had some answers for him," Jethro said. "Guy's been through enough."

"I get men like Joseph," the chaplain informed him. "Fathers who want to protect their daughters from all the evil in the world."

"Want to keep them safe," he said. "Can't." That didn't stop a father from trying hard as hell to do just that, though.

"Well," Burke said, "little girls grow into women who end up being just as stubborn as their fathers." Jethro agreed with that little observation of hers. "I didn't know Flores, but I will bet you that there was a lot of him in her." She reached into her left pocket and pulled out a cheque she evidently wanted to show him.

"Personal check from Justin Fanniker?" he questioned.

"Friend of Gabriela's," the chaplain explained. "She sent it from Afghanistan one week before the attack but Mr. Flores didn't feel right about cashing it. He held onto it -" She held it out again. "- Because look what she wrote in the memo.

Jethro read the curt memo down at the bottom of the cheque aloud. "Love you, Dad." He then eyed the chaplain inquisitively. "He gave this to you?"

She nodded. "He signed it over to the chapel in Gabriela's honour. He said that Justin, her friend, would appreciate the gesture."

Jethro wasn't quite sure what to make of that. The first lieutenant had sent her father a $2,000.00 cheque made out to him by this buddy of hers. "Who is this guy?"

So, heading inside and up to the squad room with the chaplain, Jethro had his agents identify and back-check the young man.

Ziva jumped in to update Jethro first this go-around. "Justin Fanniker, twenty-seven, is an American contractor working in Afghanistan."

"Fanniker?" McGee asked. "As in Fanniker Construction?"

"Daddy put up half the drywall in D.C. for the last ten years," DiNozzo stated.

"And not just Washington," Ziva told everyone. "Fanniker Construction did not hesitate to profit from the war as well."

That got DiNozzo's attention. "Bid on a job in Afghanistan bank three times as much 'cause of the hazardous working conditions. I'd say Daddy sent junior to cash in."

"McGee," he grunted. "E-mails."

"Lieutenant Flores had a few personal accounts," McGee told them. "One of them very well hidden. Tracked it through Fanniker's. Dozens of messages there."

"I dreamt I was back home showing you the sky as I remember it," Ziva read aloud off of the plasma screen.

"Pretty syrupy," DiNozzo said mockingly. "She fell for that?"

The chaplain clearly had the Italian-American agent's number and didn't miss a beat. "Sincerity works sometimes, Agent DiNozzo. You should try it."

"They met at Kandahar Airfield three months ago," McGee continued to explain. "Day before the attack, he tells he loves her, but he's worried for her safety. Offers to give her father whatever he needs if she leaves Afghanistan."

"What did she say?" Ziva questioned.

"Never responded," McGee replied.

"You think she went?" DiNozzo asked.

He turned to McGee. "Find Fanniker."

"Maybe she agreed," DiNozzo suggested. "They could be anywhere by now."

"Not anywhere," McGee said. "Flight record says Fanniker Construction leased a plane from Kandahar to Virginia day after the attack."

"Anybody on that plane besides Fanniker and the crew?" he inquired

"I can't access the travel data yet," McGee informed him. "But I've been trying to track his cell, and he just placed a call."

"Give me a location," he demanded.

"Middle of nowhere," McGee commented a moment later.

Ziva eyed the map. "George Washington National Forest near Roanoke, Virginia."

He started grabbing his badge and gun from his desk. "Send me coordinates."

"I hike there in the summer," the chaplain said. "You mind if I come along?"

"Yes," he said. Jethro was honestly hoping for a few minutes without people breathing down his neck and honestly would've liked the solitary drive.

The chaplain didn't take the hint or maybe just didn't care. "I can be helpful, Gibbs. I can try to talk to him when mumbled words emanating from a gray-haired grizzly bear seem much less persuasive." He had to give her points for creative descriptions. "It's gonna take us a while to get there." She grabbed her jacket and started to follow him to the elevator. "You know, we can chitchat."

"About what?" he asked.

"Oh, you know," she replied unhelpfully, "about things. I can tell you why I embraced the clergy and became a chaplain."

Jethro eyed her, not unkindly. "I kind of like the quiet."

She reminded him a lot of Ducky in several ways, so Jethro figured he wasn't about to get much in the way of silence during their four-hour drive. Ah, well, the chaplain was nice enough and it was still a lot better than a pair of suits ordering him to work faster. That conversation still irked him.