Deep Lacerations: Chapter 27

McGee glanced up as the elevator doors opened. "Thank God," he muttered. It had been almost forty minutes since Gibbs and Gracy had left him in the bullpen with Maddie and Nate. Maddie wasn't a problem; the girl had curled up behind Tony's desk with a book and hadn't said a word. Nate, on the other hand, was as much of a terror as a four-year-old boy could be. He would run around until McGee scolded him, then sit still for about thirty seconds before he started asking questions like, where'd my mommy go, or can I have a dollar for the candy machine, or what does this do? McGee would do his best to answer the questions, but then Nate would lose interest and start running around again, which would just start the entire cycle over again.

But now his mother was back. Gracy was first out of the elevator, an angry expression on her face as she stalked toward Ziva's desk. "Nathanael," she called out, her voice leaving little doubt that it was a command. The boy froze in his tracks and sheepishly approached. She said something to him in German, her tone stern. He nodded as she finished, trudging over to DiNozzo's desk and climbing up on the chair. "And Maddie, you need to keep an eye on your brother. People are working very hard here. There can't be kids running around."

The voice floated out from behind the desk. "Okay."

After another five minutes had gone by, McGee couldn't decide if having Gibbs and Gracy back in the bullpen was better or worse than having them gone. Yes, the running around and questions were annoying, but at least they weren't as distracting the heavy tension in the room, Gibbs calmly sipping from a cup of coffee that miraculously appeared out of nowhere, Gracy glaring at her computer screen, her keystrokes angry as she muttered darkly under her breath. He contemplated pulling out his phone to text Abby and ask what had happened down in the lab, but reaching for his phone required extra movement, which he was sure the other two agents would notice and question him about. He almost jumped when something flashed up on his screen.

"Boss, I think I got something," McGee said, his voice excited as he broke the silence. He was temporarily distracted by Nate Gracy giving his sister what sounded like an angry retort in German before emerging from behind Tony's desk in a sprint. Not even hesitating, Gibbs grabbed the boy below the armpits and lifted him to his desk.

"Listen to your mother," he scolded the boy before turning to McGee. "You were saying, Elf Lord?"

"Uh, right," McGee replied, still watching Nate. "Uh, as Abby told you, she identified Afran Musawi from his fingerprints for his background check when he worked at Camp Liberty, and—"

"You just said it, McGee. Abby already told us this."

"Right. Sorry, boss." Abby had also shown them his picture, which after a few tense minutes of Gracy staring at the screen with raw anger, she confirmed as the man who broke into her house fifteen months ago, held a gun to Maddie's head, and demanded that Sonja perform an autopsy on her husband. "Anyway, he entered the country a week ago on his own passport and rented a car and hotel rooms under his own name. At first, I thought he was trying to trick us, but then I asked myself how much someone who worked as a cook at a US base in Iraq would know about electronic tracking—"

"The point, McGee!"

"He checked into a hotel in Suitland, Maryland last night," McGee finished quickly. Gracy looked up in alarm.

"The Office of Naval Intelligence is at the National Maritime Intelligence Center in Suitland," she said. "I was running names from Calypso. Lieutenant Ashley Mahida didn't report for duty today."

That was all Gibbs needed to hear. "Let's go," he said grimly, already heading for his desk to retrieve his Sig.

"Mom?" Gracy froze, her weapon halfway to her holster at the sound of her daughter's voice. She looked up slowly to see Maddie standing by DiNozzo's desk, her eyes wide and fixed on Gracy's holster. Although Maddie knew that her mother had a gun and knew how to use it, Gracy had been careful to not let the girl see it. She had enough bad experiences with guns to last awhile, and the last thing she wanted was for Maddie to put her in the same category as Musawi and the other men in their home that night.

"Mäuschen," she said gently, "I need to carry this to keep me and Agent Gibbs safe. Do you remember what your father taught you about why we have guns in the house?"

"Are you going to shoot somebody?" Maddie asked, her voice small. Gracy opened her mouth, not sure how to respond.

"Maddie," Gibbs said, bending down in front of the girl and saving Gracy the trouble of an explanation. "Your mother and I and all the other agents always carry a gun when we go to work. Most of the time, they stay in the holster and we don't even think about them, but sometimes, we have to use them to keep ourselves and other people safe." He paused, waiting for her eyes to meet his. "The good guys have guns, too, Maddie. If your mother had her gun with her the night they brought your father in—"

"Gibbs!" Gracy exclaimed, her voice furious. "How dare you—"

"She would have shot them and kept me safe," Maddie said, finishing Gibbs' line of thought. She nodded solemnly. "Because my mommy would always keep me safe." Gracy was amazed to see the faintest ghost of a smile cross Maddie's lips. "And my daddy said that Mommy's a really good shot."

The drive to Suitland was a completely silent one. Agent Gibbs knew he could have turned on the radio to distract from that quiet, but every time he thought about it, his hand squeezed the steering wheel even tighter. The silence was a penance, he knew that, and he was willing to ride it out for as long as it took. Gracy, for her part, was doing nothing to indicate that she was forgiving him for his remarks in the elevator any time soon. She seemed content breaking down her weapon, inspecting it, and reassembling it. The car didn't have a cleaning kit, so he knew that she was just doing that to distract her from the case—or having to speak with him. After her fifth time disassembling the Sig, he wondered if he should say anything, but decided that remaining silent was probably the best option at that point.

His cell phone finally provided the much-needed distraction from the things that were said and the ones that weren't. "Gibbs," he barked into the phone, more harshly than he intended. He listened for a moment, nodding slightly. "You sure? Okay. Thanks, McGee." He snapped the phone closed and turned to the CID agent. "Musawi's rental car was just ticketed on base, outside Building 251. That whole section of base is closed for demolition."

Gracy slammed the clip into her weapon one last time. "Let's go," she said, her voice tight.

"It could be another trap."

She shook her head. "He uses bodies to set traps. Until I see one, I'm going to assume Ashley's still alive." Her eyes were still focused on the windshield. "Ashley was a good kid. Calypso was her first assignment after she completed her Intelligence training. Twenty-three. That's how old she was when she went to Iraq. A twenty-three-year-old ensign, one year out of the Naval Academy. The most junior officer with Calypso by far." She paused, shaking her head slightly. "A lot of the wives didn't care much for her, but Ashley was a good kid. She didn't deserve how they treated her, and she doesn't deserve this." She finally turned to face him. "If there's a chance that she's still alive, we have to go. I'd like to have a living patient for once."

He nodded to himself as he pulled up to that abandoned building, a single blue Ford Escape parked in front. "You follow my lead," he ordered as he stopped the car. "Don't do anything unless I tell you to do it."

"Yes, sir," she said sarcastically as she opened the car door. She stopped and looked down at his hand, clasped over her arm.

"Be careful," he said, his voice low with meaning.

"I'm always careful," she shot back, angrily shaking off his hand.

"That's funny, because I could have sworn you were in the ICU a few hours ago." She glared at him and barely resisted the temptation to slam the car door closed as she got out.

They made their way silently to the door of Building 251, the one closest to Musawi's rental car. He motioned for her to grab the door, indicating that he would enter first. He felt her right behind him as he entered the large room. "Clear," he said, his eyes and gun having swept the empty main room. He glanced back at Gracy, seeing her standing stiffly, her weapon held tightly in the ready position. "You get the rooms on the right," he said, nodding toward the three doors in that direction. "I'll take the left. Kick the doors in, keep your weapon ready, and never give them time to get away or fire first."

"Got it," she said, her voice hoarse and slightly nervous. He met her gaze and nodded once before he headed to the left, her to the right.

He kicked open the first door a second after she got to her first. "Clear," he heard through his earwig. He repeated the word before heading for his second door. He was halfway there when he heard the distinctive sound of a door being kicked in, followed by a very loud, "Freeze! Federal agents!" He didn't even bother with his door as he ran across the middle space to the second open door on Gracy's side. He was almost there when he heard the gunshot.

Agent Sonja Gracy quickly scanned the first of her rooms, her eyes and Sig Sauer moving together. "Clear," she spoke into her wrist mic, hearing Gibbs reply the same. She didn't know what this building was before it had been cleared out; probably some sort of storage space, judging by the large area in the middle and the smaller, closet-like rooms to the sides. At least, that's what the rooms on her side looked like—there appeared to be more of the building on Gibbs' side than her own.

On the first glance from the outside, the second room looked exactly like the first. As she would later replay the events in her mind, she would wonder if maybe the lock had been jimmied, the dust just a little bit more unsettled around the floor, the ambience just wrong. As soon as she kicked in the door, time seemed to slow to a crawl, just like in a movie that DiNozzo would probably begin to recite in great detail. Her eyes fell on the cot in the middle of the room, the tiny figure of Lt. Ashley Mahida lying naked, her legs and lower abdomen covered in blood from countless thin cuts. At the sound of the door crashing open, her head raised slightly, her dark eyes wide with fear and alarm. Seeing her move, Gracy felt her heart begin to beat again, the dread that she had been too late ebbing away. She didn't let herself get distracted by her relief, however, because of the man kneeling next to the cot, a Marine K-Bar in his hand and a wicked grin on his face. She recognized him; he wasn't the one who greeted her at her own door and gave her orders as he kept a revolver pointed at Maddie's head. He was the silent one, the one who grabbed the microscope and microtome from some unknown place outside, who stood stoically by the French doors in the dining room, his arms crossed in front of his chest, the glare on his face all but daring her to try to make a run for it, as if it were something she would even consider with her children still in the house.

"Freeze!" she shouted, the words breaking the slow-motion reverie she had found herself in. "Federal agents!" The grin on the man's face turned dark as he adjusted the knife is in his hand, positioning it below Mahida's left breast. Before he got the chance to plunge it in her heart, Gracy fired a single shot, her body frozen as she watched him fall away.

Less than a second had gone by between her shot and her recovery, and she rushed forward, kicking the knife away from the body she didn't have to check to confirm was dead; the round right through the eye ensured that he wouldn't be getting up. "Ashley," she said gently, shrugging out of the third NCIS windbreaker she had worn in two days and draping it over the Navy lieutenant.

"Dr. Gracy?" Lt. Mahida asked groggily.

"Shh," she said gently. Although the cuts were shallow, there were a lot of them, and Gracy knew that she had lost a lot of blood. She turned behind her to call toward Gibbs, finding him right in the door. "She needs an ambulance."

He nodded, his eyes moving past her to the body on the floor. "Maddie was right," he said. "Good shot."

"I was aiming for his shoulder," she said flatly. "It's not Musawi." As if on cue, the sound of a door slamming rang out through the abandoned building, followed by the sound of footprints running.

"Stay here!" Gibbs ordered. He waited until he saw the briefest hint of a nod before he took off.