Scorched Earth
Chapter 4
May 22nd, 2016
Marine Corps base Quantico
11:19 AM
Team Gibbs scans the scene in front of them. Quite gruesome, they have to admit. Their petty officer lies in a pool of his own blood, bruises cover the visible parts of his body. He's still in his uniform, lies helplessly on the sidewalk, in this apparently quiet part of Quantico.
Well, this going to give this neighborhood a bad name.
"What do we have here, McGee?" Gibbs inquires flatly.
Kneeling next to the body, Tim takes his first curious look at their man-down, while Ellie takes pictures and Wells tries not to step on anybody's toes. It's a young man, Mid-twenties if he had to guess, with dark hair and tanned body. Grabbing on his left hand, McGee checks for the fingerprints match in the system.
"Well?"
Standing up, he pulls on his cap, "This is Petty Officer Abdullah Farah, 27," he finally says. Bishop titles her head, "Middle Eastern," she says the obvious.
Tim nods, "Egyptian born," he answers.
"Ducky?" Gibbs asks, turning to the Medical Examiner.
"Well, if this isn't just a sad, sad sight to the eyes, my boy," the pathologist says melancholically as he examines the body, "Cause of death seems to be a gunshot wound to the sternum," he points at the man's bleeding chest, "Lividity suggests that some of those bruises," he points at a several on his arms, "happened post-mortem," he exhales somewhat dramatically, "This seems to be a classic execution… but any further examination will have to wait until we deliver him to the morgue," a pause and then, "My bag, if you please, Mr. Palmer."
"Right away, Doctor Mallard," the young man replies.
Hovering over them, stands Gibbs, who seems like deep in thoughts; Ellie snaps some more photos.
This is going to be a long day.
May 22nd
'The Train' Neighborhood, Tel Aviv, Israel
Late night
Miriam knew the moment she crossed Florentine neighborhood into this one, that it was a bad mistake choosing this shortcut. Holding the casefile close to her chest, she quickens her footsteps, trying not to think about all the druggies and robbers waiting to pounce. Seriously, what was she thinking? In her classic getup and expensive shoes, she stands up like a hooker in a synagogue.
The only noise at this hour is the echo of her clicking hills, going faster by the minute. Crossing the road, a deep stench of urine and smoke hits her abruptly, and she has to fight the nausea.
Glancing around, she takes in the almost collapsing buildings of old people who cannot afford anything better and further down the road, the part inhabited by African refugees who chose to dwell in this part of southern Tel Aviv, looking for better lives than in Darfur or Sudan. This neighborhood is infamous for being neglected and dangerous, and the last thing she needs is to become fresh pray of a robber or rapist, while holding onto a very valuable casefile.
The noise of a screeching tire breaks through the silent night, forcing Miriam to come into a sudden halt, and turn around.
From north-west, a dark sedan speeds down the road, right towards her direction, slowing down when nearing her.
Her heartbeat quickens, and she can only mumble "Uh-Oh" before two dark figures, their heads covered with ski-masks, spring forth from the car, pouncing at her.
One of them grabs her from behind, their hand, covered in black leather gloves, grasps at her neck in near-strangulation attempt, while the second guy tries to snatch her casefile.
'The casefile'! She thinks. There's no way of her letting them have it. The information it holds is way too valuable and classified.
"No," she's trying to protest, but the grip of the one holding her prevents any further struggling, and with a quick move, the second creep takes hold of her case.
That's when she hears the sweet voice of the one holding her back. A gentile, sickening voice of a young woman, "Stay put, Miriam," she whispers… "We have no issue with you… We'll take what we came in here for, and leave."
The bitch knows her name, huh? Well, that's hardly reassuring, and she's not going down without a fight. Reaching back, trying to force her arm away, she realizes it's like trying to bend metal. The woman is slander, but has amazing strength, and she knows what she's doing.
She's again trying to free herself, and a searing pain in her leg takes her by surprise. She has no idea how this happened, but she's suddenly face-down on the sidewalk, glancing up to notice them hovering over her.
"If you're going to kill me, just do it," she says, shutting her eyes closed, trying to hold back a scream of pain.
The other dirtbag tilts his head at her, almost curiously; "Don't look for us, or this," his voice is hoarse and deep as he gestures towards the casefile, now in his hold, "You'd be better off, forgetting what happened here tonight. Tell your boss that Ziva David is dead, and that is all he needs to know."
He backs away towards the car, and Miriam, still laid down on the sidewalk, tries to slowly move, her body still not fully cooperative. The woman, though, she waits a second longer, Miriam not sure for what reason.
But then she speaks, "A war is about to break out, Sister," she tells her hurriedly, "Make sure you're well sheltered once it does." With that, she joined her partner.
And before Miriam knows it, they're both gone.
Marine Corps base Quantico
Midday
"Lt. Brown," Bishop clicks her tongue, flipping open a small pad, "What can you tell us about petty-officer Farah?"
McGee takes his seat next to her, in front of the table, letting her have this one. "Umm," The young Lieutenant scratches his head awkwardly, "Farah was one of my best men," he says after a short pause, voice a bit shaky, "I still can't believe he's gone. I mean… who would do this?"
A sigh, and then, "He just returned from overseas deployment," The Lt. responds, "He was so glad to be stationed here, along with his unite. He was trying to make a good thing out of himself, to blend in, to belong… I can't even believe… after everything he's been through… now this…"
At this, McGee arches and eyebrow, "Can you go into more detail?" he requests.
Another pause and then, "Look… Everybody around here knows who Abdullah Farah was. Born in Cairo, his family immigrated to America after some radicals burned down their church in Cairo. Being Christian in a Muslim country was never a safe thing, so after one crisis too many, they moved to the states. But he had a rough time, hung out with bad crowd… We all know he had this thing with…"
"…with..?"
"Computers. A true computer whiz. A professional hacker. When was 17, he hacked into the wrong kind of system, if you get what I mean. Stole some cash."
"Did he?" McGee ponders, "How much are we talking about, here?"
"About 1.7 million, if I'm correct."
"Whah!" Eleanor's eyes widen, "And he didn't serve time for it?" She doesn't recall reading anything about it in his file.
"He was given a choice. Military or 'The Big House'. He made the right choice, retrieved whatever he took. We felt honored to have him with us."
Bishop nods, "Did anybody in your team have any problem with him?" she asks.
Shaking his head, Lt. Brown replies, "Oh no. My men loved him, he was like a brother to them all. He was well respected here."
Nodding in understanding, Bishop asks, "Did you know of any happenings in his life? Changes in behavior? Was he stressed or on alert, lately?"
Thinking deep, the Lt. says, "Now when you mention it, he did seem a bit nervous in the last couple of weeks. I asked him about it, and he said then that it's just some problems he has with his sister. Nothing too big."
McGee opens his pad, "I guess we're talking about Fath'ia Farah, Abdullah's next-of-kin," he says, "I read she's his older sister. Currently lives in New York."
Bishop offers a slight nod, "We'll contact her soon enough," she quietly says, "As well as visit his house." Facing the Lt. again, she asks, "Anything else you can tell us?"
He's hesitating, but comes to a decision minutes later, "I think he night have regressed to hacking again," he cracks.
Bishop didn't see that one coming, "Wait, what?" she asks, "Why didn't you say… what makes you say that?"
"Well, I visited his house a few times in the last month, and he was always busy on his laptop. At first I thought nothing of it, but he was a bit obsessed. I noticed some codes written on the board behind him at his home-office, but I didn't think too much of it until now. I'm sorry, ma'am, I should have said something earlier." He's deeply embarrassed.
"Yeah, you should have," McGee replies, then turns to Bishop, "If he hacked into the wrong kind of system, again, it may be what got him killed," he thinks aloud.
"We need to get hold of that laptop," Bishop concludes, then turns to Lt. Brown, "Thank you for your time, Lt. If you can think of anything else that can help us, please don't hesitate to call."
Petty-officer's Farah's house is quite fresh and clean, considering. The walls recently wallpapered, furniture brand-new, house clean from dust or mess. A few photos are in the livingroom, most of them with his team, one of them with a short, beautiful woman they guess is his sister, Fath'ia.
On the wall in the kitchen the nation's flag is hung, McGee mumbles, "A real patriot… from what it seems he felt proud of serving," and Bishop silently agrees. Walking silently through a sided hallway, they open the door to what seems to be the private office, and then…-
"Whoooaaoh," Bishop's eyes widen at the sight, "This is officially…outstanding."
You can say that again. It is indeed Farah's private office, but the office itself is hidden behind a mass of files. Papers stick onto every wall, on them scribbles of what seems to be letters and numbers, ordered in some sort of unreadable codes. Digits and numbers, letters and doodles, on the wallpapers, wrap- sheets and notes, those cover the room, overwhelming the agents.
On the wall in fronts of them, they see a huge black poster, filled with certain codes Bishop has trouble understanding. The pattern looks familiar, though. It's a mix of letters and numbers, written randomly and right above them, there's a questioned marked in white, "Are you ready for a challenge"?
"Wow," Bishop says again, "I think it is a safe bet to say Farah was hacking again." She enters the room, looking around, "I mean… what the hell is this?"
Blinking, obviously fascinated, it takes McGee exactly three seconds to figure it out, "It's Hex language," he mumbles aloud.
She clicks her tongue. That is why the pattern seems familiar.
'It's Hexadecimal numeral system. Computer language. It's a use of certain coding. Its base is 16. 16 symbols, usually numbers from 0 to 9, and ABC letters.' She learned about it briefly at the NSA. Though cracking this kind of language is not something she tried before.
McGee approaches the board loaded with unreadable codes, overwhelmed by the riddle they hold, "He obviously was trying to crack some kind of Hex-code. And look," A certain line among the huge mix of them is in bold, "It may be this one…" he writes it down, "82… d3… 54…aa…"
"Do you know what it means?" Bishop asks, nearly impatient, "Can you make anything of it?"
"As if, right now? Ha. No. This is some serious hacking system Farah was trying to break through. It's going to take some time to figure out. This is way out of my league," he admits, still amazed.
Bishop scratches her head awkwardly, before making her way to the work-desk, reaching for the laptop, "We're going to need this," she says shortly, "I bet Farah was trying to crack this encryption."
McGee agrees, "I believe we have everything we need," he says, "Let's go."
May 22nd,
Neve Sha'anan neighborhood, Tel Aviv, Israel
Late Night
It's not a common thing, for Captain George to make housecalls. However, when he picked up the cellphone and heard Miriam's frantic voice telling him of this night's events, he knew he had to come. Reckless captain aside, he was a good gentleman, and came to make sure the girl was alright.
It is only an hour later when they first began their "real talk".
Pacing around her small apartment, George hesitates. Assembling the pieces, he thinks aloud, "Spoke cryptically. Acted fast, with apparent physical capability. Didn't kill you… You probably know as well as I do who those people were."
Biting her lip, Miriam states, "The Mossad."
He nods, taping his chin with his index finger, "I guess they figured out that we're looking into the farm-house fire case. Fact that they went this far as attacking you on the street tells me we hit a nerve. There's something they're hiding. And considering your finding, they're probably right in the center of it." After a short pause, he turns back to Miriam, folding his hand on his chest, "We didn't make copies of all the information… I need that casefile back".
With a snort, she says, "I don't usually doubt your physical capabilities, George. But you're still an old man. Tough, but going gray," at his narrowing eyes, she smiles, "They were young and healthy, like I bet most of their combatants are. What exactly are you going to do? You can't charge at them, you have no idea how or where to do this."
Nodding again, he releases his folded hands, letting them drop next to his body. "You're right. Which is why we're going to use some extra help," at her tilted head, he replies, "You still have the number of our American contact, don't you?"
Her forehead clears in understanding, she answers "Of course," with a slight smile, "Heard he went off grid, but I'm sure he'll be willing for another mission or two, if necessary."
"Good to hear," comments George shortly, "I'd like you to call him first thing. Tell him what we're dealing with here, and that I expect his call back. You take a day off, Miriam. You need it."
Smiling at him with gratitude, she gently replies, "I'll inform the hospital I had a little 'mishap', but thanks, George."
"Don't sweat it," he makes his way to the door, "Oh. And put some eyes on that bruise. It's starting to swell."
With that, he leaves.
May 23nd, 2016
NCIS building
Gibbs bursts into the sterile room, a gush of wind follows his dramatic entrance, "Talk to me, Ducky," he requests shortly.
Turning to face Gibbs, he smiles at the agent, "Well, hello, Jethro," he greets, "And well," he hovers over the body again, his hands digs into the tissues, "Like we analyzed at first, it was indeed the gunshot that finished our poor man's life," he lets in, "Which was after several and cruel beatings to the legs, neck and chest. Those techniques are common among several guerrilla organizations in the Mid-East; first were the cruel beatings, then- lights out with firearm."
Gibbs nods, "He had something they wanted," he hums.
"And when he failed to give it up, they killed him," Ducky finished.
"You think there's terrorist involvement?" Gibbs inquires, "Thought it was about cyber-crime."
"It could still be," Ducky offers a shrug, "But those who did it were professionals who knew what they were doing, if there were not radicals, they knew how to mimic them quite well."
Which complicates things even more, if possible.
"Thank you, Ducky," Gibbs replies, before exiting the room, "Keep me posted!"
"You know I will!" Ducky calls right after him.
May 23nd, 2016
NCIS building, Abby's lab
Same Time
Abby sits infront of her computer screen, clicking the keyboard hurriedly, while next to her sits McGee, looking at a piece of paper, scratching his head awkwardly.
"Oh!" he calls abruptly, making Abby jump, "Sorry. But try this. "ac 22.. 7…9."
With a sigh, the repeats the combination, then groans, "No, that's not it…" she detaches from the keyboard to rub her eyes, "Surprisingly, another dead end."
"Argghhh!" McGee grunts, frustrated, "It has to be it! Otherwise, we enter base 15, which makes no sense at all!" he writes down another combination on the note, then draws a big X on the last two combinations attempted, "We've been over this for 5 hours! How complicated can a one simple code be?!" he's about to explode. Computer language never disappointed him that much.
Abby makes a face, "Seriously, McGee?" she asks, "The guy was trying to crack this thing down like his life depended on it. Which is kind of ironic, considering the circumstances his life probably ended. You really think you could crack this code in no time?" she snatches the paper out of his hand, gaining herself a "Hey!", checking the encryptions he wrote down, "Give me that. You probably calculated this all wrong."
"So, now you're a hacker, too?" McGee folds his arms on his chest, "Abby, you have no idea about computer language. And this is Hexadecimal system."
"- It's pure math for big boys," she brushes it off, staring at the paper with concentration. "Hang on a second," she clicks her tongue, "Of course it doesn't make sense, McGee!" she looks at him with disappointment, "You were supposed to change each one to decimal first!"
He just states.
"Even I knew that!"
Still staring.
He snatches the paper back from her, trying to figure out what she meant. Then it all began to make sense. "0x82. 0xd3," he mumbles, writing it down with shaky hands, "0x54. 0xaa… IP to decimal equation should give…" he calculated, "130…211…04…170".
He gazes at Abby, who then enters the combination hurriedly. The browser starts loading process.
McGee's chin drops, "Did we just crack this thing?" he mumbles, amazed.
The page completes loading process; they're faced with a black screen, on it, written in white, there's the greeting, "Welcome back, ^Agent 37^."
"I guess we did." Abby says.
The page links them to another, when McGee says, "It's "RDeX" code that we should put here. We need the first part of the third combination."
The fact that they opened the first gate into solving whatever it is Farah was hacking, was like an energy-shot to both Agent and Forensic scientist.
It was another ten minutes before they were let into the final page. Another black browser, with foreign language letters.
It's when they're finally in, when MgCee gasps, and Abby's eyes widen.
"What the hell is this?!" she calls, astonished.
Two floors above them, a young man picks up his cellphone after the third ring. "Hello. Yes, good morning. Who is this? Ah. Of course. I didn't recognize your voice. Lovely to hear from you as always," he opens up his personal drawer, greeting his partner good morning, as she just entered the squad-room, "Yes, I see. Well, I'm sorry to hear that. Oh. What? Ah, you don't say…. Well… It sounds interesting," he smiles to himself, "Why won't we discuss it in about 7 hours, once I'm back from work? Ok? Lovely. Always good to hear from you, Miriam. Goodbye."
May 23nd, 2016
NCIS building, Abby's lab
Later
"Do you have something for me, Abby?" Gibbs asks as he burst into the room. Nodding once at McGee, he asks, "You cracked this code down?"
Abby, still shocked, says, "Oh, but we did, Gibbs. And if by "Got anything", you mean, got my mind blown!" she spreads her arms in emphasis.
McGee, next to her, seems overwhelmed, so he leaves it to abby, "Once we converted the code to Decimal and RDeX combination, we came across this IP and web addresses," she points at the screen behind her, which had several windows open. "The 'big secret' behind the address was nothing but emails with someone called 'The Black Queen'. Probably s cover." She approaches the screen, "First thing I came across was information, about NCIS."
Gibbs' forhead wrinkles, and McGee says, "This guy was gathering information about NCIS operations. At first we didn't make much of it, but the more we looked into it, the more we were left stunned. It held at least 20 pages of information regarding specific NCIS agents."
Gibbs' face changes into menacing alert, "Who?" he asks.
"You." Abby says with emphasis, "And Tony. And I'm not talking about cases only. He was looking into your lives. Cases you've solved, the women you married. Hell, the name of Tony's first girlfriend."
"How did he know or why did he take interest into both of you, we don't know," says McGee, "But the real problem here is, he wasn't gathering information about you for himself. He passed it on to whomever he was contacting."
Gibbs take it all in. He doesn't yet know what to make of the information given to him.
"And that's not even the half of it," Says Abby.
"I'm listening," replies Gibbs.
"Once with continued with cracking the code, it offered us information written in foreign languages. If to be precise, three. Arabic, Hebrew and Farsi. We couldn't make sense of it all, but we did find the final piece of the puzzle, which left us confused out of our minds."
Gibbs is silent. Abby approaches the computer, opens up another window, the one last portal to the riddle.
A round symbol with Hebrew letters is visible on the screen. The pattern seems familiar, and it takes about a second for Gibbs to recall where he knows it from.
"Familiar? It's the exact symbol as it appears on their headquarters building," she rolls the page down, offering him but a glance into what they discovered, "Farah was trying to heck into Mossad's main system, and it seems like he succeeded."
They all fall silent.
"Gibbs, what the hell did we just get ourselves mixed-up in?!"
TBC
