Chapter 2

The Office of Naval Intelligence had office space on the second floor of a building not far from the waterfront. There Gibbs and the man DiNozzo sat in a small conference room that doubled as an interrogation place. On the other side of the closed door, McGee and Miss Ziva strained to hear, each with an ear to a glass held to the door.

"'DiNozzo'…that name's Italian; do you think?" McGee murmured.

"I would think so," Miss Ziva whispered back, frowning. "Does it matter?"

McGee didn't answer.

"Why were you at the waterfront? Looking for trouble?" Gibbs asked the stranger.

"No, uh, sir," replied DiNozzo.

Gibbs studied him, and let the man sweat for a few minutes. He noticed that the sweat didn't appear to be from guilt, but from some other, innate, fear.

"You're new to the West," Gibbs observed. "Your clothes are hardly broken in."

"That a crime?" DiNozzo asked, his eyes shifting to the side.

"Not as far as I know. Where are you from?"

"Back East."

"More specifically?"

"Baltimore."

"I can check on that, you know."

"I'm not hiding anything. I came West, looking for work. Same as a lot of folks."

"You here to pan gold?"

"Naw; I'm not so much a wilderness man. I was hoping…for maybe a job in a shop or something. If not, as a last resort, I suppose I could go to sea, but…"

"There aren't any jobs in Baltimore?"

"Not for…" DiNozzo hung his head and didn't finish.

Gibbs went on. "Who started the brawl?"

"Kinda hard to say, I guess."

"Was it you?" Gibbs' voice turned hard.

"Those guys were picking on that little fellow! Even in Baltimore we've heard of shanghaiing men. Isn't that what was happening, uh, Captain?"

"'Sergeant'," Gibbs corrected absently.

"They have sergeants aboard ships now? Is that some Western thing?" DiNozzo said in wonder.

"Marine sergeant. And yes, that looked like a shanghaiing. We've had increasing trouble with that." He eyed the stranger. "Where are you staying, DiNozzo?"

"Mrs. Barker's rooming house. I'm doing maintenance and some cleaning for her until I get a job."

"I know her. All right; don't leave town. I may want to ask you more questions."

Seeing he was free to go, DiNozzo rose quickly.

When Gibbs opened the door, McGee and Miss Ziva were at their desks, apparently working hard and certainly looking innocent. They didn't even look up when DiNozzo flew by and rattled down the stairs.

Gibbs' look was unreadable. "Miss Ziva, go to the telegraph office and send a wire to the Baltimore police department. Ask them if they have anything on an Anthony DiNozzo."

"Yes, Gibbs." Gathering her skirts as she rose, Miss Ziva strode out as swiftly as DiNozzo had.

"What'cha think of him, boss?" McGee asked.

"Hard to say, McGee. There are so many folks coming through here now. All types; law-abiding and not. All from somewhere else. All leaving something behind." He noted McGee's blush. "I wasn't referring to you, McGee."

McGee blushed again. "I know, boss. It's just hard sometimes…"

"Don't. You're on my team, and I'm glad to have you. I don't care what ignorant fools think."

"Thank you, boss."

Miss Ziva returned, waving a copy of the afternoon newspaper. "There is a mention of the waterfront brawl, Gibbs."

He accepted the paper from her; the clipping would be added to his files. "Any eyewitness reports?"

"Sadly, no." She paused. "Why do you say that in English?" she asked McGee. "A word cannot be sad."

McGee put his hands to his head. "The word 'no' isn't sad, Miss Ziva," he said, stifling a sigh. "It's just an expression. Doesn't Hebrew have expressions? Combinations of words that can't be defined by breaking them up?"

"It does, yes. I think all languages do. I merely find English…more puzzling than most."

Gibbs tuned them out, as usual. "My gut says these shanghai attempts aren't random. There must be a gang, and a mastermind behind this."

"Does this really involve us, though, boss?" asked McGee. "Is there a connection with the Navy or the Marines?"

"I don't have that answer, McGee. I'm sending you down to the waterfront, undercover, to see if you can find out if any sailors or Marines are involved. Be careful! Don't get yourself shanghaied! Get information without getting too close."

"He should not go alone, Gibbs," Miss Ziva said, looking concerned. "If he were overpowered, we would never know."

"Don't volunteer, Miss Ziva. This is no assignment for a lady," Gibbs cautioned.

"Oh, I was not planning on going there as a lady," she said demurely.

At sunset, McGee and Miss Ziva went down to the docks. Both were dressed in cheaper clothing; well-worn castoffs that fit a bit too loosely. They exuded poverty. The looseness of the clothing concealed the guns and knives they carried.

Miss Ziva was a slender woman; she would make a reedy man under the best of circumstances. But being moderately tall for a woman, she could pass as a man of average height. A little make-up gave the illusion of a shaven face. She was practiced in mimicking a man's walk—though she didn't say when or how she had learned this.

Although he knew her defensive capabilities probably outweighed his own, McGee felt protective of her in circumstances like this. It was in his upbringing. A man was supposed to protect the fairer sex. But he knew better now than to say anything like that to her. He had made that mistake only once. He counted himself lucky that she had let him live.

Ships were in. Many men labored to load and unload them. But a few, more than would be needed to act as overseers, lingered, watching, and…waiting? "Looking for conscripts," McGee murmured to Ziva.

"Criminals? They might make good labor, I suppose. If you can trust them."

"Not 'convicts'. 'Conscripts'. A conscript is someone forced into service."

"As one being shanghaied."

"Exactly."

"I can understand the syllable 'con'. The person would be against the action. But where does the 'script' come in? Do they have to perform a play?"

"Miss Ziva," McGee groaned. "Save your questions for—"

"Hey! You two!" One of the overseers was pointing at them, and heading their way. Both agents mentally kicked themselves for having let their attention wander. They hadn't meant to be noticed.

"We on private property, fella? Sorry," said McGee, inching back. Miss Ziva did likewise, without speaking. She might pass like a man in looks, but her voice was not low enough to fool hardly anyone. In assignments like this one, she would try to get by with just grunts.

"That's okay. The city owns the dockyards. Only the docks themselves is privately owned. You wouldn't be looking for work, would ya?"

"Depends," McGee said carefully, trying to sound mostly disinterested. "What work you got?"

"Good-paying work. The best."

"Temporary?" McGee asked. He turned his head to see Miss Ziva's reaction, and that was when things went black for him.

Miss Ziva lost no time when her partner was dropped like a stone by the overseer's lead pipe. Grabbing the overseer's arm, she hurled him over her shoulder to have him land on sacks of coffee beans. Around her, men cried out, snarled, and cheered. Two more moved in to grab her, but she instantly subdued them with wrist chops and kicks. Yet two more came, and both she tossed into the water.

McGee stirred, shaking his head, and unsteadily got to his feet. One would-be attacker simply ran headlong into McGee's moving fist, and was knocked out, cold. "Huh!" McGee said, proud of the chain of events. He then picked up and threw two more men into the water.

By this time most of the remaining men had fled. "Let's go," a winded McGee said to Miss Ziva.

"I am just starting to have fun," she whispered. "I have not had a chance to use any of my knives yet."

"Yeah, well, there's not a soul left to use 'em on. We should report back to Gibbs."

"Look!" she said, quietly. "Over at the steps. Is that not…?"

McGee squinted and frowned. "Yeah. That DiNozzo guy. What's he up to?"

DiNozzo melted into the dusk and was gone before they could move.