Chapter Three
Defining the Enemy
When Gibbs returns to the bullpen with Ensign Carolyn Stillwell and Jimmy Palmer, the desks are back where they belong. He knows that rewiring the computers and so on will take longer than he'd allotted, but he sees DiNozzo and McGee were smart enough to hook up everything on his desk first. Now the men, and Michelle, work on organizing their own desks while Ziva leans a hip on the edge of hers, supervising.
"One thing we should be searching for," Ziva David comes over to tell him when Gibbs is settled, "is her Sanctuary." Stillwell sits in a chair beside Gibbs' desk and Jimmy takes a station behind Michelle's chair, not completely crowding her but certainly close enough as she picks up to pay attention. "Every Mossad Operative creates his or her own," Ziva continues, "but the technique is neither exclusive nor unknown." She steps into the central area, the better to address the gathering.
"The basic sanctuary serves as an armory and a stash for money, alternate identifications and occasionally a safe place in which to hide. They are secret and occasionally mobile."
"Meaning we could be looking for a small mobile home, RV or trailer," Gibbs concludes, not liking the prospect.
"It is not unknown."
"Where's yours?" DiNozzo interjects.
She turns to him and the room's temperature drops five degrees. "I am an NCIS liaison." She intends to let him conclude, if he wishes, that she would no longer use one.
"That is need-to-know," she says to counter the conclusion. The smile she gives him before turning back to Gibbs is almost a smirk, as though to say 'figure out for yourself if and where it is'. She sees in his eyes that he'd love to take up the challenge. She tries to decide if she should threaten to kill him, but in Carolyn Stillwell's presence she keeps to the point.
"The sanctuary will appear innocuous, may not even be recorded as being owned by her. I have been searching credit card and other records since my computer was restored to me. I have yet to find it."
"Liz took $6,000 from our joint account two days ago," Carolyn Stillwell tells them.
No one needs elaboration. With such an infusion of cash, Elizabeth Stillwell can stay off the grid for an extended period - probably long enough to execute Rolonio.
x
Gibbs gets up, approaches the plasma screen on which is displayed William Rolonio's Maryland driver's license, the better to read the man. "DiNozzo, what do you have on Rolonio?"
"Not a lot, boss," he admits, anticipating a headache, but he has a good reason for the delay. "We've been busy putting–"
"Later."
"Later, boss. Well," he turns back to the enlarged image of the license, not tempting fate to bring Gibbs closer, "we have Rolonio's address and I can head out there, look around. Finding his shop's as easy as looking in the yellow pa–"
Seeing Gibbs' expression, he quickly shuts up. He knows the supervisor has no intention of letting Stillwell know her sister's case hadn't been their top priority.
"You and Ziva." Gibbs doesn't have to be more specific. "McGee, Palmer," he turns to them, "and Palmer, what is this Tal Shiar?"
The trio exchange glances. By tacit agreement McGee takes the question before Gibbs' patience is strained. "The Romulan Empire was conceived in the original show of the late '60's, but didn't get into real detail until the 'Next Generation's' second season in 1993. It was intended to relate to the Roman Empire just as the Klingons equated to the Soviet Russians, even to the core planets being Romulus and Remus, after the brothers who founded Ro–" He sees Gibbs' expression just in time.
"Well, the Romulan Empire was developed in more detail in the several succeeding series and movies. The Romulans were described as being creatures of contradiction, but on the whole they were intelligent, ruthless and arrogant but neither vicious nor cruel. They control their own civilian population through the same methods that real life dictatorships use: secret police, martial law, informants and heavy penalties for lack of loyalty. The Tal Shiar was charged, on the whole, with keeping the administration in power by whatever means necessary."
"Those groups generally do not encourage private vendettas," Ziva points out.
"Do you think 'Zabeth' will stand down if one of her Tal Shiar bosses tells her to?" Gibbs doesn't believe so. It can't be that easy.
"I doubt it," Jimmy, tucked into the position of safety behind Michelle's desk, mutters.
x
There's a moment of deadly silence. When Jimmy becomes aware of it, he notices his wife staring up at him in wide-eyed consternation and looks at Gibbs.
"WELL?" the man demands impatiently.
"I – er – that is –." Michelle slaps his leg with the back of her hand. Suddenly this out-of-the-way spot doesn't seem so safe. "I think she might make herself into a conserg."
Gibbs' eyes do a remarkable impression of phaser banks building to full power.
"A sleeper agent," Jimmy finishes quickly.
"I agree," Ziva interjects.
Jimmy's grateful for her help in breaking Gibbs' phaser lock. "That is, if she's fixed on killing the guy, she might not take any other orders. She'll just make it in her mind that he's not superior enough to give the order."
Gibbs had been afraid of that. How do you work the system when the rules can keep changing? "Who is superior enough?"
"The - uh - Praetor. That's like the Em–"
"I get it. McGee, get on that infernal machine of yours and find this Tal Shiar leadership." Normally he would never consider involving an outsider in their operation, but nothing about this situation is normal. "I want everything they know about her. If Starfleet is the enemy, she'll stick closer to her own people." He turns back to the cornered pair.
"Palmer ... and Palmer, everything you have on the television and movie versions of this thing, on my desk within the hour. Zabeth'll probably be more like them than the other game people. We need to know how she thinks. Ziva, find this Sanctuary. Receipts for rentals, supplies, hell, weapons."
The agents rapidly turn their attentions to these duties and Gibbs stands, waving to Stillwell. "Come with me."
xx
In MTAC, Gibbs and Stillwell face the huge image of Captain William Bronskie. "I'm going to have to hold on to your ensign for a while."
"Why?"
"She's a material witness in an ongoing investigation."
The huge face darkens. "We ship out in 31 hours."
"Might take longer than that, skipper." He doesn't want it to, but he has no way to predict how long the hunt will take.
Bronskie has no trouble with a prediction. "I want her aboard in 30 hours." The screen goes to a chromabar test pattern.
Stillwell looks up at Gibbs, her face a mask of distress. Confronting her C.O. hadn't been high on her comfort list; now she dreads returning to the Enterprise. "What are you going to do? How can you solve this in a day?"
"I'll worry about that. Meantime, I'll send an agent back home with you, in case your sister tries to contact you."
xx
"McGee," Gibbs barks from the bullpen entrance, not looking at the startled man as he continues on to his desk, "gear up and come with us. Palmers, you ready with that Tal Shiar stuff?
Michelle doesn't remind him he gave them an hour - ten minutes ago. "Almost ready, sir."
"Ziva, have Marie Watson meet us in the garage in five with an overnight bag. She'll stay with Ensign Stillwell."
Ziva picks up her phone, not daring to say the word striving to leap off her tongue. She doesn't want to see Watson's face either when she gets this order.
"Then you and DiNozzo hit that Florist Shop."
She makes a greater effort for silence.
xxx
Gibbs wants to see the Stillwell apartment. Getting a signature on a Consent-to-Search form is easy; he'll let Michelle Palmer sweat the fact that since the sisters don't share a room, the search will have to include Elizabeth's bedroom, which is beyond Carolyn's right to authorize.
The apartment door opens to the living room, and he directs Ensign Stillwell to stay with Agent Marie Watson while he and McGee look around. He wants to take in the dwelling in a systematic and orderly examination, and for that he doesn't need a guide.
Beyond the huge living room, to the left are two side-by-side bedrooms, the right one of which is identified as Elizabeth's. Kitchen and bath are on the opposite side.
x
Elizabeth's room is disturbing, Gibbs feels like it'd be like walking into DiNozzo's head if DiNozzo were a Trekkie. Posters on the walls are supplemented by framed pictures and enough props and memorabilia to outfit a movie. The bookcases that surround them are crammed with seemingly every Star Trek book ever published and Gibbs fears there might even be some pre-release galleys. He sees McGee reach almost reverently for a 40-year-old ray pistol. "Touch it for a headache."
"Err, yes, boss." He puts his hands into his pockets - crime scene protocol - but Gibbs sees he can't erase the longing from his eyes as he looks at a black and gold 1960's flip-top radio, or maybe it's a sci-fi prediction of a cell phone? It sits on top of a dresser next to a sleeker, silver, slightly curved ray gun.
The problem with these artifacts, Gibbs realizes, is that he's seen them before. "Aren't those from the wrong side?"
"Federation equipment, yes. There's also a Romulan uniform," Gibbs hadn't missed the very wide-shouldered garment hanging outside the closet, "and over there is a disruptor." On a shelf, upright on a display stand, sits an ornate hand weapon. Some guns are designed to look dangerous, some threatening; this one looks evil. It's a weapon that enjoys its job.
The only thing that looks normal, maybe because it's closed, is the thin black laptop sitting on the table in the far corner, and even this has a disturbing sticker pasted upon the lid. A tiny blue light flashes at one second intervals. "Check it out."
They already wear latex gloves. McGee lifts the lid and in seconds the hibernating machine awakens. The symbol on the center of the screen is the same as the one adhered to the top of the machine, a stylized bird of prey with outstretched wings, clutching in its claws two globes. The starry background has on the right side a large green spaceship, also seemingly reminiscent of a bird in flight but with what seems to Gibbs to be a lot of wasted open space in the middle.
It's firing a green ray downward to the left into the saucer of a white ship that Gibbs privately admits he recognizes. The heavily damaged white ship is definitely losing this fight.
McGee calls up a list of the ten most recently accessed files, opens each of them in turn into separate windows. All are MS Word documents. "Uh-oh."
Gibbs hates 'uh-ohs'. "What is it?" The words on the screen are gibberish, not even letters in any language he's ever read. The symbols are angular, seem to be–
"It's in Romulan."
"Well, what's it say?" McGee looks back at him, distress such as Gibbs frequently wants to hit etched upon his face. "Come on, you spoke that lingo when we hauled in Robert Miller." They'd found the supposed kidnapper of his alleged daughter disguised as a Klingon at last year's Halloween costume party. "Why can't you read it?"
"That was Klingon, not Romulan."
Gibbs gives him his best glare. If the man knows one, why couldn't he be efficient and know the other? After all: "Neither one's a language."
"Someone did create a key, they even used to teach college classes in it. I was going with a–."
Gibbs waves him to silence, doesn't want to hear about McGee's former loves; particularly when the man's getting married in two days. "You telling me we need a Romulan translator?" He's already changed his mind once, has decided there is no way he's going to bring in someone from Stillwell's RP group. Outsiders can't be trusted not to mess things up and he's already dealing with finding one psycho.
"I can translate it. The key will be out there ... some website. The font's just a commercial program, it uses simple transposition. It'll be just like any other encryption."
"Bag it." He turns his attention to the rest of the room. There has to be something normal in here.
x
It takes long enough searching through Trekkian minutia to find it. When Gibbs does, it's in the blank notepad coupled with the woman's datebook. "There's some impressions here."
McGee crosses the room and shines his maglight onto the paper, tilts the beam to different angles, changing the intensity from focused to diffuse. Try as they do, no change yields a sufficiently legible impression. They can almost see indistinct words and numbers, but the impression isn't firm enough to read.
"This is a job for Super Sciuto." McGee, seeing Gibbs' expression, immediately regrets the joke.
Fortunately, the rest of the black leather bound folder is far less obscure. Just as Elizabeth's journal had been in English, so is her address- and date book. Rolonio's address, phone and other particulars are prominently noted. Future dates are meticulously documented, particularly tomorrow's dinner date.
"They broke up," McGee reminds him, avoiding a head slap because the reminder is reasonable. "Do you think they'd keep the date?"
"Adolfo's in Dupont Circle, that's halfway across town. We need to know why it's significant. You got that computer ready?"
"In the bag."
Gibbs walks out with the black booklet.
xxx
Zabeth checks her PADD, confirming the schedule for her target. She'd spent considerable time and effort documenting his habits while she'd worked her way into his confidence, but she doesn't want to rush this assignment. Her knowledge of Commodore Rolonio's habits is her greatest weapon. She knows the man's projected movements, but she must choose the place of termination with care. Her orders were specific, but the application is open to interpretation, based upon changing circumstances.
This is neither Romulus nor even Earth. This planet is primitive, level C on the Richtor Scale of Culture, perhaps most closely approximating Earth's early 21st Century. In some ways this is beneficial, in some ways not.
Rolonio, assigned to oversee a Federation conference, still cannot operate openly on this backwater planet any more than she can. If she's to avoid calling attention that could jeopardize her assignment, she cannot work openly. She needs a plan as daring as it is careful: dispatch the target and make it safely to her shuttle without being caught by the local authorities. Primitive though they are, she's sure they will not take kindly to her mission.
That is why she is armed with, not a disruptor, but a native projectile weapon and also carries appropriate documentation for it. The document bears the fictional name of her undercover persona, 'Elizabeth Stillwell'. Though the native projectile weapon is of limited range and woefully inefficient, it won't be noticed as a disruptor would be and it will kill.
Complex plans are inefficient, hers is simple: acquire the target, choose the optimum location and time, execute him and get back to the ship.
Thence to Romulus.