"Gibbs, how's Langston this morning?" Vance asked, as Gibbs headed for his desk. The director was on the stairs, headed up.
"Better. Left Bishop with sore ribs," Gibbs said. "Dale?"
"Not her problem anymore. You talk to Agent Pride?"
"He liked her. Said her only problem was her stubbornness with regards to her physical health, but she's good people."
"Good. Until further notice, she's yours." And Vance continued on his way.
"We get a new probie, boss?" Torres asked.
"Yeah, Langston, the agent who was shot last night, protecting Bradley," Gibbs said.
"Speaking of Bradley, we just got word that he will talk to us, but only if he can also talk to Langston. Seems the fact that she saved his life kinda made an impression on him," McGee said from his desk.
Gibbs smirked. "Ducky and Kasie are with her right now, call one of them, and let Langston know."
"Calling," McGee said, picking up his phone. "Hey Ducky, Langston there? Hey Langston, this is Tim McGee. Listen, that suspect you protected last night, Trevor Bradley? He wants to talk to us, but only if he can talk to you. Feel up to it? Okay, okay good. See you soon."
He hung up. "She's on her way. I'll also call Building Maintenance and get her a desk over here."
Then Bishop came out of the elevator. "Hey, Bish, what's Langston like?" Torres asked.
"She's a cowgirl, complete with calluses, boots, and attitude," Bishop said, heading for her desk. "My ribs hurt from some of her stories from her days as a Maine game warden, so just be warned."
"Such as?" Torres asked, curious.
"Such as the time she had to deal with a randy buck going after a parked truck, scaring the occupants," Bishop said. "Wouldn't have been a problem, except that Langston knew the owner of the truck, and knew who her husband was, and the guy that was in the truck was definitely not her husband. Oh, and they were both, bad pun intended, buck naked."
McGee chortled, and Torres winced. "That would take communing with nature to a whole new level," Torres quipped.
"What did Langston do?" Gibbs asked.
"Did the only thing she could do; ticketed the lady for being on private property without permission. Couple of days later, she runs into the lady's husband, who demanded to know who the guy was that she saw his wife with. Langston refused to get between the couple, but did suggest he get a divorce and tested," Bishop said.
"Smart," Gibbs said.
A few minutes later, the elevator opened and out came Langston, Ducky, and Palmer.
"Is Bonehead Bradley gonna stop bein' so boneheaded an' tell youse whatcha wanna know?," Langston asked, joining the group, as she carefully navigated her way with forearm crutches. She wore a large dark blue pullover fleece hoodie with the Dallas Cowboys logo on it, over her dark blue sweats, over the thermal shirt Gibbs had seen her wearing earlier, and black and white Nike runners that looked like they had seen better days.
"Won't know until you talk to him. You up to this?" Gibbs asked.
"Fill me on what I need ta know 'bout him, an' I'll sit down wit 'im an' have a chinwag," Langston said.
McGee tapped a few keys and gestured at the tv screen. An image popped up of the brown-haired accountant Langston had helped arrest, then protect, yesterday.
"Trevor Bradley, registered accountant. He's managing several accounts that we suspect belong to Aaron Wilds, a weapons designer for Ashford Tech. Ashford Tech has a contract with our armed forces to help design and develop several long-range weapons," McGee said, as Torres thoughtfully pulled out a chair for Langston, who nodded her thanks, sitting down heavily.
"How'd ya find the accounts in th' first place?" Langston asked.
"Got an anonymous tip during a surprise audit by the Navy," Bishop said.
"Our cyber and accounting departments did some digging, found that contract money was being carefully funneled out of Ashford Tech for projects that existed only on paper," McGee said.
"An' Bradley was handlin' that?" Langston asked.
"He was, through laundering," Bishop said. "Dirty money goes in, clean money comes out, supposedly routed to several charities that were just nice covers for some not-so-nice weapons buyers."
"Is Wilds selling weapons blueprints that the Navy an' the Marines are workin' on?" Langston asked.
"Can't prove it yet, which is why we nabbed Bradley," Torres said. "He knows where the money goes, which means he might also know what else Wilds is up to."
"Al Capone's accountant," Langston said thoughtfully.
"Good description," Bishop said.
"Can we git 'im for illegal accounting practices, such as money laundering?" Langston asked.
"We can, and that can land him up to twenty years in jail," Torres said. "Not to mention the part about aiding and abetting weapons transactions, and selling government secrets, whether he knew about it directly or not."
"Go directly to jail, do not pass Go, do not collect $200," Bishop said.
"Oof," Langston said, wincing. "Okay, who's sittin' second chair wit me?"
"I am," Gibbs said, getting up.
"Then let's go see this fine feller an' see jest how smart he really is," Langston, managing to get up out of her chair.
"Word of caution, however," Ducky said. "Go easy on yourself. You do not want to overdo it, again."
Langston smiled at the elderly doctor. "My word, Doc. Sides, after I do th' square dance, think I'm gonna go pay Morpheus another visit."
"What does the guy from The Matrix have to do with anything?" Torres muttered.
Ducky chuckled, as Langston and Gibbs moved down the hallway towards the interrogation room. "Morpheus was also the name for the Ancient Greek god of sleep and dreams, and it is where the name morphine derives from, courtesy of Friedrich Sertürner, a German pharmacist, who discovered the drug between 1803 and 1805," he explained.
"Oh," was all Torres could say.
In the interrogation room, Bradley was waiting impatiently for them. His eyes went wide when he saw the way Langston was limping and the way she sat down heavily in her chair, across from him.
"Are you okay?" Bradley said. "Did, what, how bad was the wound?" Bradley stammered, shoving his glasses back up his face.
"Had better days, hoping t' have 'em again," Langston said. "Ya know Special Agent Gibbs?"
"We've met," Bradley said shortly.
"Good. Then ya also know why yer here," Langston said.
"The missing money from Ashford Tech," Bradley said.
"An' from what I understand, yer paws are all over th' stuff," Langston said.
"So? I'm just a paid accountant," Bradley shot back.
"An' I'm in a lotta pain an' short on a lotta sleep," Langston shot back. "Now, Imma supposta be back in my nice comfy bed, takin' it easy for a coupla days, and instead, I'm here 'cause youse said ya wanted t' talk to me. So talk, fast, 'cause I ain't in the mood fer a game of chess, which, quite frankly, I hate playin' anyway."
Bradley swallowed hard. "I want to cut a deal. Witness protection, at least."
"Not up to us, but we'll see what we can do, and that depends on what you tell us," Gibbs said.
"'Cause, honestly, Mr. Bradley, what I want is fer youse t' tell my boss what he wants ta know, my coffee, my bed, an' a chance t' go back to my nice dream of havin' Leighton Vander Esch's bare ass in my capable hands," Langston said, "and not necessarily in that order."
"Who?" Gibbs asked, staring at her.
"Dallas Stars Linebacker, and real easy on th' eyes," Langston said, grinning widely. "Whooee!" She turned back to Bradley. "I'm sorry, you were sayin' sumpthin'?"
Bradley swallowed hard. "Minimum security penitentiary, or witness protection. I know a lot of things."
"See what we can do," Gibbs said. "Talk. Is Aaron Wilds selling Ashford Tech weapons blueprints?"
Bradley nodded. "I never see the actual blueprints, I just handle the files, but from the way he was bragging the last time, yeah, he's doing that. Don't know exactly what, don't care, but my job is to make sure that the dirty money gets cleaned and that no one realizes who the buyers are."
"Names," Gibbs said.
"I don't know, but I know faces," Bradley said desperately.
"NCIS got a picture book of all th' pretty faces of th' known weapon dealers an' buyers?" Langston asked Gibbs.
"We do," Gibbs said, nodding. "We'll get an agent to show you, and go from there."
"Might be a good idea to git it all in writing, y'know, just in case Wilds decides ta test out one or two oh those fancy weapons he's dealin' with," Langston said, batting her eyes innocently.
"That's gonna take me forever," Bradley moaned.
"Hope your hand doesn't cramp then," Gibbs said, standing up, followed by Langston.
"See ya, Bradley, but really wouldn't wanta be ya," Langston said cheerfully.
As they headed down the hallway, Langston had a question for Gibbs. "Kasie says word on the grapevine is that Dale got reamed a new one by Director Vance. Any idea what's goin' on, what's goin' to happen to me?"
"I don't know about the reaming part, but I spoke to Vance this morning. You belong to me now. Dale will get what Dale gets. Are you worried he might come after you?" Gibbs asked.
"Kinda, yeah. That kinda reaming, especially if it comes from th' top boss, can be a real career killer. Seen it a few times, 'specially as of late wi' the whole police brutality an' Black Lives Matter thang, an' knowin' Dale's temper, I wouldn't put it past 'im, or his radio station girly, to make things mighty uncomfortable fer me."
Gibbs nodded. "If Agent Dale comes after you, or contacts you at all, you let me know immediately. You have every right to defend yourself. Don't start something, but do finish it. You do not have to deal with him if you don't want to."
"Right prefer it if I don't."
"Then don't, but sooner or later, you're going to have to stand up to him. When that time comes, you bring him down and you make sure he stays down. Is that understood?"
Langston nodded. "Loud as a tornado and clear as a shot ah vodka."
"Good. Now, head back home and get some rest. Leave your cell number and we'll call you if something comes up," Gibbs said.
"Understood," Langston said. "And boss?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks."
"Don't thank me yet. By the way, radio station?"
Langston grinned. "Available anytime, t' anyone, usually at night," she said.
Gibbs wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, so he just walked away, shaking his head.
In the bullpen, Building Maintenance had just moved a desk across from Torres, the way it was when Agent Alex Quinn was with them.
"How'd it go with Langston, boss?" Torres asked Gibbs as he headed for his desk.
"She got him talking. He needs photos of all known weapons dealers; doesn't know names, but knows faces," Gibbs said.
"I'll get a laptop to him," McGee said, picking up his phone to call the cyber division.
"And a pen and pad," Gibbs said, doing some typing on his computer. "Bradley's got a lot of writing to do. McGee, John Langston, Marines. He joined when Langston was fifteen, minimum age for joining without parental consent is eighteen. Find him."
"Texas, right?" McGee asked, having ended the call and was already typing.
"Right." He got back up after finding what he was looking for, and headed for the elevator. "Got to take care of something."
"Okay, I guess," Bishop said, eyes wide.
A few minutes later, McGee sent an image to the tv screen. "Meet Gunnery Sergeant John Langston. Joined the Marines when he was eighteen, clean record, plenty of commendations, number of marksmanship badges, several medals, including the Navy Cross and a Purple Heart; seems he saved a buddy's life while risking his own during a particularly nasty ambush in Afghanistan."
"Wow," Bishop said. "Where is he now?"
"Currently stationed at Camp Dwyer, in Afghanistan," McGee said.
"Any family?" Torres asked.
"You mean besides Jane? They have a younger sister, Sarah, married to a Donald Miles. As for Gunnery Sergeant Langston, I'm not seeing a spouse or any kids listed as dependants in his file, so no on that," McGee said, continuing to type. "Found their parents, Michael and Mary Langston," he said, sending some more pictures to the tv.
Bishop went up to the screen and studied the image of the older Langston sibling, his parents, and Sarah Miles and her husband. "Pull up Jane's picture," she said to McGee. He did so, and joined Bishop and Torres in front of the tv. "Jane looks like Mary, but Sarah takes after Michael. John looks like he takes after Mary, especially the eyes. Can't really tell much with the hair, but even that buzz cut says he's got black hair," she said.
"His file also mentioned a number of commendations for his work with horses, and knowing what we know about Jane, that doesn't surprise me," McGee said. "Seems he's the go-to guy for dealing with the horses around Afghanistan." He went back to his computer and did some more typing, then sent something to the tv. It was a photo of Gunnery Sergeant Langston next to several horses, with what looked like several beaming Afghan men and women.
"Save that for Jane," Bishop said.
"Any way of contacting him?" Torres asked.
"We can reach out to the base commander at Camp Dwyer, go from there," McGee said. "We'll show this to Gibbs first, see what he says."
"Agreed," Torres said.
"For now, though, we need to get back to going after Aaron Wilds," McGee reminded them.
Two hours later, they had more information. Bradley had provided them with a fountain of information, enough that the DA was willing to put him into WITSEC.
"All because one federal agent saved this guy's bacon," Torres said. "Any idea what Jane likes to drink?"
"A cold Bud," Gibbs said, back from his errand. To everyone's surprise, there was now a Dallas Stars coffee mug on what was supposed to be Langston's desk, with several Dallas Stars pens in the cup. That had given the rest of the team some ideas.
"I think we owe her a case," McGee said.
"Get Aaron Wilds first, and we'll get it to her," Gibbs said.
"Well, with what we have right now, we have more than enough to arrest Wilds," Bishop said.
"I'll call the legal department," McGee said.
Then Gibbs' cell chirped; it was Langston. "Yeah, Gibbs. Okay." He tapped a few keys on his computer and quickly found what he was looking for. "Got them. Have you responded? Good; keep it that way. Any phone messages or texts? Send them to me. Bud or Bud Light?" He laughed. "Yeah, I hear ya. Bourbon or scotch, got to be the good stuff." He snapped his phone shut.
"Problem, boss?" Torres asked, curious.
"Yeah, Dale and Rinkles from Human Resources do not know when to give up," Gibbs said, reading the emails and scowling. He tapped a few keys and read what came up on his screen, then scowled even more.
"How bad?" Bishop asked.
"They really don't want to hold on to their jobs, do they?" Gibbs muttered, sending something to the printers, before forwarding it to Vance.
"Apparently not," Torres said.
McGee put down his phone, satisfied. "Arrest warrants in the works. We should have it within the hour."
"Gear up. Let's get this bastard," Gibbs said, grabbing some papers from the printer and putting it in his filing cabinet.