Gibbs strode out of Director Vance's office and rushed down the stairs. "Gear up," he called to his team. This demand was quickly followed by Ziva, Tony, and McGee on his heels as they walked towards the elevator. "Director wants us to supervise the transfer of Harchman's brother from the prison to the courthouse and make sure no one tries anything funny."
The team nodded. "This one's on the down low," he added, stepping into the elevator. "Don't wanna spook 'em."
The team pulled up to the convenience store across the street from DC Central. "How we gonna play this, boss?" McGee asked.
"Carefully," Gibbs muttered. He waited for the team to get their gear from the trunk. "The escort van will be here within 10 minutes. We work in coordination with DC Central security- act like there's nothing wrong. If nothing happens, good. If something happens, be ready."
The team nodded, walking across the street and positioning themselves in line next to the prison security guards. And waited.
Five minutes later, a prison transport van pulled up and backed into the front gate. A man was led out of the front of the prison, flanked by two armed guards. He was wearing a suit that wasn't quite the right size and carrying a few files tucked under his arm, but he had been stripped of his handcuffs for the occasion.
McGee scanned the rooftops of the buildings across the street, looking for the telltale glint of a firearm hitting the sunlight. His own SIG-Sauer P228 rested on his hip, and a smaller version of the same gun was concealed under his right pant leg. He knew Ziva, standing next to him, was armed to the teeth, and had once told him that she had found more creative places to hide knives than he could possibly imagine. He was hoping they wouldn't need any of them today.
"Ten o'clock," Tony whispered, avoiding staring at the man across the street.
"Rule 35." Gibbs muttered. Rule 35- Always watch the watchers. The man was wearing a hunter green hoodie pulled up over his head, concealing his face from view. He had his hands in the pockets of his cargo pants. One of his pockets had a rather suspiciously- shaped object in it. "Go, Ziva."
Ziva crossed the street quickly, but casually, trying not to attract too much attention. She didn't particularly feel like running this guy down. She walked behind him and put a hand on the gun at her hip. "Federal agent."
The suspect turned to run, but Ziva grabbed his right arm, wrenched it backwards, and pinned him up against a tree. "Nice try. Hand out of your pocket. Now." When he hesitated, she grabbed his other hand for him and jammed it behind his back. She slipped on a set of handcuffs and turned him around, pulling the hood back.
"Commander Byers?" Commander Byers was Petty Officer Reynolds' CO, and apparently, their latest suspect. Ziva jammed her hand in his right pocket and pulled out a small revolver. She held it up and glanced across the street at Gibbs, who nodded. She led him to the convenience store parking lot and pushed him into the car.
"What's the plan?" she asked. "How are you gonna do it? Why Keith Harchman? What's so special about him?"
The commander just shrugged. "Watch him." Ziva motioned for one of the local leos they had brought as backup to keep an eye on the commander. "Carefully," she added and jogged back across the street to Gibbs and the rest of the team.
"He wouldn't say anything,"she muttered. "But he knows." Gibbs nodded. He knew that something was about to go down, but he didn't know when or why or how.
Gibbs' cell phone rang just as Harchman was being loaded into the back of the transport van. "Hang on a second," he said to the driver, who nodded.
"What do ya got, Abbs?" he asked.
"It's something so super- massively important that it might just blow your brain into teeny, tiny, little-"
"Abbs." Gibbs said.
"Oh. Sorry, Gibbs. Okay, so I was running members of Operation Jaguar through pretty much every database that I have access to and I got a hit."
"What is it?"
"It's one of the guards, Gibbs. He matched facial recognition I ran on the DC Central staff. He was one of the first people to ever receive the procedure that was being researched in Jaguar and he was supposedly hired yesterday."
"Who is it?" Gibbs asked impatiently, motioning to McGee, Tony, and Ziva to get behind the van.
"Retired Naval Officer Michael Taft."
"Nice work, Abbs."
"Get out of the van, Taft!" Gibbs yelled, drawing his gun. At his nod, McGee threw open the back door and the other agents pulled out their guns. They were met with the sight of the elderly guard holding a gun to Keith Harchman's head.
"I swear I know nothing about this little stunt," Harchman chuckled sarcastically, holding up his hands.
"Put the gun down, Taft," Ziva called. "I have a clear shot, boss."
"Negative, don't take it. We need him alive," Gibbs said. "Put it down."
"You do it first," Taft spat, his hand shaking in rage.
"Alright," Gibbs said, holstering his gun and motioning for his team to do the same. "Your turn."
"Do I smell a deal coming my way?"
"Not if you keep holding a gun to my head, asshole," Harchman muttered. Michael Taft dropped the gun and kicked it to the end of the truck.
"Get out," DiNozzo said, cuffing him.
"Where's Taft?" DiNozzo asked as Gibbs walked back into the squad room.
"Interrogation."
"How does Operation Jaguar fit into all this? Ziva, talk."
Ziva clicked her mouse and a couple of documents and an assortment of pictures shot onto the plasma. "Operation Jaguar. Started March 8, 1998 and ended June 14, 2002. Doctors injected Navy divers with a compound that made their cells more resistant to water and oxygen and nitrogen saturation. The project resulted in little success due to the fact that the procedure caused too many side effects to be beneficial to the Navy."
"We know Reynolds was killed for his pass to DC Central. What does Jaguar have to do with this?" Gibbs sipped on his coffee and looked over the documents Ziva had on the screen.
"Although this technology wasn't successful in the use of Navy divers, near the end of the project, researchers were trying to find other uses for it."
McGee jumped in. "The reason Abby had such a hard time identifying it was because it is 100% man made, and it was an early precursor to nanotechnology that scientists are using today."
"So it's worth a lot of money?" Gibbs asked.
"Millions," McGee confirmed. "The project was shut down in 2002 because it was killing more people than it was helping. A break- in occurred at one of the central labs used in the project, and some of the tech was stolen. It was suspected that further research was continued underground after the official end of the operation, but nothing was ever confirmed."
"What if the petty officer was like an old car to whoever killed him?" Ziva asked. "All these leads don't really fit together, but what if the killer got what he needed, and took everything else valuable about First Class Petty Officer Reynolds and sold it to the highest bidder?"
"They killed him for parts," Gibbs muttered. "Nice work."
Ziva sat at her desk, relieved that the rest of the team thought her theory was valid. It was the only one that made sense to her. Operation Jaguar and the attempt to break Harchman's brother out of jail on the way to the courthouse had nothing to do with each other. The Petty Officer was involved in a lot of highly classified operations, and it only made sense that the killer wanted to take advantage of everything he was involved in.
Taft wasn't the killer. She and Gibbs both knew that. But he was involved- he had bought the intel from someone. He also had to have purchased the card somewhere, because Abby proved that he didn't actually work for DC Central- he was an imposter using Reynold's access card.
McGee walked into the squad room and sat down at his computer, typing rapidly. "What is it, McGee?" Ziva asked.
"I've been trying to track the online sales of the intel sold by the killer. Call Gibbs." McGee put an assortment of documents up on the plasma. Ziva pulled out her cell phone and dialed Gibbs' number.
"Gibbs, you're on speakerphone," she called, setting the phone on a filing cabinet below the screen.
"Talk," he replied.
"Boss, I've been trying to track the buyers and seller of the intel recovered after Reynolds's death and I think I've got something."
"Go."
"Most of the intel was sold on a website called . It's fronted as a website for people to anonymously exchange secrets via an instant messaging system, but if you type in a specific URL, you have the option of becoming a platinum member."
"Get to the point, McGee."
"Yes, Boss." McGee nodded at Ziva and she clicked the mouse. A new screen popped up, advertising a subscription to the website for $30 a month. "Instant messaging is a feature available for both guests and platinum members, but when you pay the membership fee, you gain access to secure private chat rooms. I've been searching through some of them, and it turns out that our petty officer wasn't only a victim. He started selling intel on this site about 6 months prior to his death."
"Nice work, McGee. Take DiNozzo- talk to whoever runs the site. Ziva- go talk to Taft."
"Yes, Boss," they echoed, and hung up.
"You knew Petty Officer Reynolds was selling intel." Ziva leaned across the interrogation table and slammed a picture down in front of the aging guard.
"I did no such thing, young lady," Taft smirked, readjusting his ballcap that read 'Prison Security'.
"You did."
"Did not."
"I know you did! Take a look at that picture! It's a screenshot of a private chatroom that documents you and Reynolds exchanging account numbers to make a deal! We've got dozens more like them with the two of you trading intel and making money!"
"You can't prove that screen name is mine." Taft crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, tipping the front two legs off the ground.
"Actually, we can." Ziva strode to the other side of the table and placed both hands on either side of the suspect's chair. "We accessed your email account and matched it with the one you used to sign up for the website. We also analyzed your Internet history and one of my colleagues has determined that the messages were sent from your laptop."
"My email was hacked."
"Prove it."
"Look at me. Do you think I know anything about all this cyber- tech stuff?"
"I think you know enough to organize an online community that focuses on the trade of classified government intel. Does Operation Jaguar ring any bells?" She pushed down on the chair and it slammed to the ground with a loud crash.
Taft paused and seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "I'd like to talk about that deal."
"Why would we give you a deal if we don't know that you have anything useful to say?" Ziva drummed her fingers on the table and looked into the man's face. She had him backed into a corner.
"I think I want my lawyer now."
Gibbs had made up his mind. He was going to break Rule #1.. again. Never let suspects stay together. When they were together, suspects usually did one of two things. They a) kept trying to blame the others or b) took the opportunity to change their story together. Breaking the rule had some benefits though, if done in the right way. That's where Rule #51 came into play- sometimes, you're wrong.