Deep Lacerations: Chapter 13
"Yes, thank you, Colonel," Officer Ziva David said into the phone before setting it in its cradle. She glanced up at Tony DiNozzo, the only other occupant of the bullpen at the moment. "That was Lt. Colonel Jordan Davis, Captain Hawke's CO," she explained. "He was a specialist in GEOINT, which is—"
"Geospatial Intelligence," DiNozzo interrupted. "I know what it stands for, Ziva."
"Specifically, imagery intelligence," she continued, ignoring him. "Intelligence gathering from satellite imagery. He has been working in the satellite division at Quantico since his return from Iraq five months. According to Colonel Davis, he was not working on anything in particular, but rather serving as an advisor for enlisted Intelligence personnel."
"Did you ask about Calypso?"
She rolled her eyes; after the way Gracy had attracted everyone's attention with her statements about the intelligence group, it had been on the forefront of Ziva's mind. "No, Tony, I must have forgot," she said sarcastically. "Colonel Davis knew of Captain Hawke's history with the group, but did not know much more than that. Apparently, the commanding officers of Calypso were—or are, I am not sure which—Army, and not many Marine Intelligence officers were involved. It was not Colonel Davis' primary concern."
DiNozzo frowned as he leaned back in his chair, absently tossing a wad of paper in the air and catching it as he thought about what Ziva had found out. "This can't be a coincidence, can it?" he finally asked, looking over at her. "We get a new liaison agent who just happens to know about a secret intelligence-gathering group in Iraq the day before an officer who worked with them is killed?"
"You know what Gibbs says about coincidence," Ziva pointed out.
"Yeah, there's no such thing," he said thoughtfully. Their eyes met over the desktops. "We need to find out about Calypso."
She nodded, rising from her chair as he straightened in his, starting a new search on his computer. He was momentarily distracted by the scent of her hair over his shoulder and the feel of her warm breath on his neck, but forced himself to focus on the task at hand. "Calypso was run out of the United States Army Intelligence and Security Command at Ft. Belvoir," he began. "It was organized in June 2006, and deployed to Iraq in early 2007. Commanding officer is Army Colonel Lars Hauser, executive officer is Lt. Colonel Lindsay Shaw." He frowned. "Colonel Hauser has been in his position since the project's inception, but Colonel Shaw didn't join the project until about a year ago, January 2008."
Ziva frowned. "That is not so unusual, yes? Military personnel are restationed and reassigned frequently."
"That's true," he admitted. "But just for fun, let's check to see who Shaw took over for. Maybe somebody lost their job and is out for revenge."
"Tony, that only happens in your movies," Ziva said tiredly. He waved her off dismissively and clicked through the directory ineffectually for a few minutes before Ziva sighed in frustration. "McGee would have the information already," she snapped at him.
"Yeah, well, McGee decided to act more like a famous novelist than a federal agent, and flew up to Quebec to go skiing and broke his leg," he snapped back. "Ah-ha!" His grin faded as he read the name displayed on his screen. "Major Scott Gracy," he read slowly. "Killed in action in Iraq, November 2007."
Their eyes met, both thinking the same thing. "Did you know she was married?" Ziva vocalized.
"Widowed, you mean?" Tony asked sarcastically. He shook his head. "No clue. Maybe that's why she stopped doctoring and joined CID. And Gibbs mentioned something about a confidential CID file..." his voice trailed off as he thought about the implications of a CID special agent investigating her own husband's murder. In a way, it was strangely reminiscent of Gibbs, after Shannon and Kelly had been killed. Of course, finding out what Gibbs had done had taken some computer hacking skills no one at NCIS was aware DiNozzo had-including DiNozzo. He had surprised himself that day...
Feeling the need to return to the subject after Tony had gone silent, Ziva spoke again. "Two men on the same project, both killed," she stated.
"You know what Gibbs says about coincidence," he said, echoing her earlier words.
"We need to find out about Calypso," she concluded. He nodded his agreement and turned back to the computer.
It was obvious in seconds that Tony didn't have the clearance for whatever information was within those files, as the large red 'ACCESS DENIED' message appeared. "You know what this means, don't you?" he asked Ziva. A slow smile appeared on her face as she processed his words.
"Subbasement," they said in unison.
Grabbing her shoulders, Agent Gibbs guided the still-hysterical Agent Gracy into the elevator before slamming on the emergency stop. In her state, she probably didn't know where she was or who she was with; all the more reason why he needed to be there.
She was clutching onto him as if her life depended on it, sobbing into his shoulder and clutching his shirt desperately while muttering something in what sounded like German. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close and rubbing her back in what he hoped was a comforting motion. Being only an inch or two shorter than him, it wasn't the most natural position to be in, but she didn't seem to mind. He doubted she noticed.
Neither knew how long they had been standing there when her sobs abated and she slowly pulled away from him. "Danke," she said softly. "Ich bin traurig—"
"I don't speak German, Sonja," he replied. She nodded, pulling off the latex gloves she still wore before wiping at her eyes, bringing them up meet his. Red-rimmed and puffy from her sobs, he could nonetheless see the strength in those light-brown orbs that she was struggling to hold onto.
"I'm sorry," she managed. "I don't usually…break down like that. I'm sorry."
"You're allowed," was all he said, a comforting hand on her shoulder. She nodded again and drew in a shaky breath.
"Scott and I met halfway through our junior year at Texas A&M," she began. Knowing it had little to do with the case, Gibbs really didn't care, but he sensed she needed to say it. "He was in the triathlon club and in the Corps of Cadets—Army ROTC—and those two schedules didn't always line up. He missed a couple of days of swim practice for triathlon because of formations, so he showed up at the pool during swim team practice asking for a lane. It was close to the conference meet, and I was a little on edge… Well, let's just say that I was little bit more upset about that than I should have been. In fact, when he came back a couple of days later, while I was working as a lifeguard, I kicked him out of the pool." She rolled her eyes, a small, remembering smile on her face. "Yeah, I was a bit of a bitch. But Scott Gracy is nothing if not determined, and practically the next thing I knew, I was looking into med schools in the DC area and applying for an Army scholarship."
She shook her head slightly, eyes fixed on some point in time and space distant from the elevator. "I had a direct commission after I was accepted into Georgetown, but he had to wait until graduation to get his butter bars, so I made lieutenant first. I rubbed that in until he beat me to captain, and he had outranked me ever since, but neither of us cared. We had one of those picture-perfect marriages that don't really exist in real life—you know, the two kids, place in the suburbs, the whole bit. In ten years of marriage, the largest fight we had was about the dining room set." She bit her lower lip, her eyes filling with new tears. "The dining room set I had to get rid of because neither I nor my daughter could look at it without thinking about his body lying on it."
"What about his work?" Gibbs asked gently. She shook her head.
"We didn't talk about work much," she admitted. "He couldn't say much, and was grossed out by the thoughts of autopsies and tissue samples, so I didn't say much." Gracy took a deep breath. "But I can tell you that September 11 was not a good turning point for our professional lives, and it made our personal lives a little bit more difficult as well. I was an intern and pregnant with Maddie, and I'm sure you can imagine what that day was like for Intelligence officers. He left for a tour in Afghanistan in early 2002, came back six months later and was reassigned to INSCOM. He had various jobs there before he was given the XO slot with Calypso."
Gibbs opened his mouth to ask a follow-up question, but was interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. "Gibbs," he barked, not breaking eye contact with Gracy.
"Yeah, Boss, where are you?"
"Better question, DiNozzo—where are you?"
There was a pause on the other end. "Subbasement, Boss. We've been looking into Calypso. I don't think Hawke was our first victim."
"Major Scott Gracy was," Gibbs finished for him.
"Uh, yeah, Boss. How did—"
"We're on our way down," Gibbs interrupted before snapping the phone closed. "You okay?"
Gracy nodded, wiping already dry cheeks. "I'm pretty sure I look like hell, but yeah, I'm okay."
He smiled slightly as he started the elevator. "You don't look like hell."