As promised, Jethro jumped headfirst back into work first thing the following morning. His boss' vehicle had been left abandoned by some sort of ranch and while his field agents went through it, Jethro spoke to the lady who found the silver SUV.

After talking with the witness, Jethro walked back over to his team to see if they'd found anything of use. "We got anything?"

"Director left his cell phone in the car, Boss." McGee got out of the front seat of the SUV and turned to him. "Mrs. Vance called a couple of times wondering where he is."

"Any prints?" he asked.

Ziva shook her head. "Totally clean."

Vance's head of security got his attention. "Gibbs."

Turning around, Jethro walked up to the man. "Wallace, what the hell happened?"

"Well," Wallace explained, "we landed at Andrews at 22:30. I thought we should drive the director home, but he wanted to get his SUV at the Navy Yard."

"How was he when you left him?" he asked.

"He was tired," Wallace said, "but fine. We all were. It was a long flight. I was at home at about 0100 when I got a call from Mrs. Vance. She was worried."

He dipped his head slightly. "Wallace, go home." The younger agent hesitated to leave, which wasn't entirely a surprise. "Go on. Get some rest."

As Agent Wallace took his leave, Jethro turned around and walked back over to where his field agents were standing.

"No blood or signs of a struggle," McGee said as he approached.

"I'll call SecNav," he replied. Jethro glanced between all three field agents as he spoke. "Get the director's family into a hotel, start a perimeter search, BOLOs, FBI, police."

All three field agents nodded and immediately moved to do as ordered, his Senior Field Agent being the only one to speak. "On it, Boss."

Now standing on the dirt road alone, Jethro looked out upon the massive area of field and farmland land around him, stressed and concerned. He'd yet again become the acting director under less than ideal circumstances. "Where are you, Leon?"

Leaving the team from the Washington Field Office that was already canvassing there to work, Jethro made his way to the Navy Yard, checked in with Ziva regarding the move to a hotel, and headed up to the director's office to call Secretary Jarvis and see if the director had anything there that would help them.

"Nothing yet, Mr. Secretary." I can only get so much done so fast. "We're still trying to reconstruct Director Vance's movements last night."

Secretary Jarvis evidently didn't like that answer. "I want answers, Gibbs."

He tried to reassure the man. "Sir, as soon as we know anything, I'll get back to you."

"Good," SecNav said. "Then I'll let you get back to work. Keep me posted."

As Jethro hung up the phone, his attention was pulled to knocking on the office door. A second later, one of his field agents walked in. "Yeah, McGee?"

McGee swiftly started briefing him. "We've reviewed the parking lot security tapes. The Director went straight to his SUV. Never entered the building. He exited the Navy Yard through the Sixth Street gate at 2330."

Jethro sighed, quickly deciding their next move. "Check the GPS in Vance's car. See if you can pick up any stops he made, or his route."

"Already on it," McGee informed him without missing a beat. "Also, we've got calls out to Homeland Security and Metro P.D for their street cams too."

As McGee was making his way out of the office, the younger agent found himself nose to nose in the doorway with Dr. Ryan who'd apparently decided to pay him a visit.

"Oh!" Dr. Ryan said. "Sorry, Agent McGee."

"Are you here to help or to make things more difficult?" he drawled.

"I can do without the sarcasm, thank you." Her expression softened slightly. "I heard what happened. Leon's a friend. I just... I'm here to offer whatever assistance I can."

"Thanks," he said. "Appreciate it."

Before anything else could be said, Jethro's cellphone started ringing. Not bothering to look at the call display, he answered the call. "Yeah, it's Gibbs."

"Gibbs," the man on the other end of the line said, "it's Leon."

As the voice and words registered, Jethro let out a breath of relief. "Director.

Locating and talking to Vance, who'd very clearly been drugged, answered a couple of questions and left them with several more. Director Vance woke up in a crypt next to a decomposed body with a note reading, 'Your king is vulnerable.' on its chest. And that wasn't the strangest part of it all, either.

The body that Vance woke up next to was that of Navy Lieutenant Derek Whitting. The man was killed during the same incident that killed Harper Dearing's son Evan. There was definitely some symbolism and meaning going on, especially since Dearing left a jaw of a horse for them to find. A colourful biblical reference.

Down in autopsy, that was apparently the topic of the morning. It didn't take much for Jethro to ascertain what it was that Ducky was discussing with Palmer when he walked in. "Six dead and twenty-two injured on that fateful day."

"So, out of the six, why use Lieutenant Whitting?" the assistant M.E asked.

"First to go, Palmer!" he explained as he approached them. "Whitting was on the same deck where the bomb hit."

That little factoid had evidently piqued Ducky's professional interest. "Well, that would certainly provide a certain psychological relevance." Jethro had been thinking along the same lines as him. "If Whitting was indeed the first to suffer in the explosion, perhaps Dearing is now pointing a finger at who might suffer next."

He dipped his head slightly. "NCIS."

"Why?" Palmer inquired, more than a little confused. "It's not like we were responsible for what happened on the Brandywine."

He shook his head, an idea coming to his mind. "Not directly."

Leaving autopsy, Jethro headed up to the squad room to see if his team had anything new for him and to get them to look into something for him.

"You got anything on Dearing's location?" he asked as he walked in.

"Nothing yet, Boss!" McGee said. "All previous cell phones have been disconnected."

"BOLOs are out across the board," DiNozzo said.

"And all the private airports are covered," Ziva added.

He glanced at them. "I need you to an old case file from twelve years ago."

"On it, Boss." DiNozzo shot him a questioning look. "Details?

"Three young sailors played a practical joke on some officers," Jethro explained.

It was an illegal wire case in 2000. Jethro had been a participating agent. It involved a steamy liaison between a male and female officer. Someone videotaped the encounter, making it a felony, then played it for the whole crew to see. "They violated federal law. Didn't go over well with the brass. The case agent was Blake Larson."

"Retired Special Agent Larson," McGee said aloud as he started typing.

"And you think this has something to do with what is happening now?" Ziva asked.

I'm wondering if Evan Dearing wasn't one of the three sailors. "Find it."

It took a couple of hours, but McGee and DiNozzo were eventually able to find the old archived file downstairs that he was looking for. Unfortunately, Jethro now understood why Harper Dearing had said that recent events were Jethro's fault.

Seamen Jeffrey DeRosa and Evan Dearing flipped on Seaman Bennett who filmed the affair Bennet was discharged, but because of DeRose and Dearing's cooperation, they didn't face the same fate. After the investigation, Dearing's son Evan was reassigned to the U.S.S Brandywine dying in the attack soon after.

Harper Dearing blamed Jethro for getting Evan reassigned to the destroyer.

Blake Larson, who had been retired for ten years now, lived on a farm, raising horses. When NCIS went to speak with the man, the house blew up, killing the retired agent who was inside. The explosion was recorded by Dearing, who then left a message for Gibbs on that same camera.

"Hello, Agent Gibbs." He wanted to reach through the camera screen and strangle the smug look right off the arrogant bastard's face. "Some people need to learn from their mistakes. Others don't deserve the opportunity…. Like former Agent Larson there. The terrorist attack that killed my son, Evan, did not need to happen." Nor did yours, you smug son of a bitch. "These recent attacks, the vulnerabilities that I have pointed out, they needed to be disclosed. In sacrificing a few, I have saved thousands of lives. And now it's time to stop pointing out flaws." Jethro knew where this was going well before the words had left Dearing's mouth. This was all about revenge now. "Now... it's about something else entirely. Now it's about Evan."

Yep, Jethro was right. Dearing was done exposing the Navy's weaknesses for what the man perceived as the greater good. Now he just wanted revenge for his child's death.

As much as he absolutely abhorred the man's recent actions, a small part of Jethro did sympathize with him. Losing your child cut you right to the quick. The pain of it was absolutely excruciating. A wound that never really heals.

His mentor's words from maybe five years back came to Jethro's mind. "I don't know how you didn't go crazy when you lost your little girl. Maybe you did for a while."

His mind then wandered back to '91 for a minute.

He swallowed his second glass of bourbon in a manner of minutes, trying to compose himself. He'd just come back from his girls' funeral, and it felt like he couldn't breathe. It was the first time Jethro had been back since he'd deployed to the Gulf and the first time that he had been home - if you could still call it that - since he had been notified that his girls were killed. When he shipped out in mid-January, Jethro never expected that his family would be gone when he got back. That he would be returning from his tour to an empty house.

Pouring himself a third glass and taking a swig of the dark amber liquid, he placed the glass of bourbon down on the counter. He then spotted a piece of paper that had fallen down beside the fridge. With a sigh, Jethro leaned over and picked it up.

The feeling in his chest immediately tightened. It was a picture of the three of them as a family that his bubbly eight-year-old had drawn. Kelly loved drawing and made it a habit to cover the fridge and his workshop with different pictures.

Jethro refused to look away from the crayon drawing, even as his lips trembled and his shoulders heaved, refusing to give in. His dark lashes were heavy with hot tears and his hands were clenched into shaking fists as he desperately battled against the grief.

Jethro took a shaky breath and swiped at his eyes but the tears were coming anyway. He was trying so damn hard to keep it all together, to keep his head on straight, but it just felt like he was dying on the inside.

He took another swig of his drink, accidentally slamming the almost empty glass down on the counter a little too hard, shattering it. Then, before Jethro registered it, he had put his fist through the nearby wall, yelling "To hell with him!" loud enough that if any of his neighbours were outside, they probably heard him. He wasn't present enough of mind to care, though. Tears were still streaming down his face as he did so. His hand was bleeding from the punch, but Jethro didn't have the energy to care. He continued slamming his fists against the kitchen wall a couple of more times, before he stopped, collapsing against the kitchen floor, feet firmly planted on the hardwood.

The noisy sobs wracking against his chest echoed through the empty house.

He made one choice and Dearing made another in their grief. What he took exception to was the taking of innocent lives like the man was currently doing.

The almost suffocating sense of grief and loss that came with losing a child, though… Yes, that was something that Jethro understood all too well.