Chapter 5
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Angrily, Tony took a last look at the material he'd printed out and then shoved it off his desk and into his for-the-shredder bin with such force that the small container tipped over. This caused him to swear at it and accuse its ancestors as well.
"I doubt that the plastic from which it came cares much, Tony," Ziva remarked.
This caused him to level a finger at her, but he held back the reply he was going to make.
"I have not found anything yet, either," she said. "But I have not stopped looking."
"Well, stop looking," Gibbs growled, having just stepped out of the elevator. "This case is over for us."
"But, Gibbs—"
"Got suspects in custody and gathered enough evidence to put them away. JAG says it's one of the best jobs this team has ever done…also one of the fastest. The case is closed. What more do you want?"
"Justice," said Tony.
"You can't have that, or retribution. That's not in our scope."
"I don't want it for me. I want it for some guy in a hospital bed who may still die of burns if he gets an infection, which they say happens all too often. He doesn't deserve that."
Gibbs sighed. "No. We never do."
Ziva clasped her hands tightly. "Gibbs, the case does not feel closed. Tony and I—we think there is more to it than those two midshipmen who claim they found the shells on a fishing expedition off the coast."
"It does happen, now and then, Ziva."
"Perhaps. But is the terrorism angle fully closed out? If not, Annapolis—or somewhere else—might be open to another threat."
Gibbs studied them, and then said at length, "Build a case. Convince me, and I'll let you reopen it. You have until the end of the day."
Ziva and Tony got busy on their computers while Gibbs went out in search of coffee. "It may take a lot to persuade him," Ziva remarked.
"I noticed. I don't know why he's being so stubborn about this."
"You think he does not care about McGee."
"That's ridiculous."
"You think we want better for McGee than Gibbs does, then."
"I don't know. Maybe."
"Why is that?"
"Because McGee will always be the weakling of the group, and Gibbs feels he has to protect him. Even McGee recognizes that."
"That is foolish. McGee has seven years experience as an agent."
"Doesn't matter. You and I are willing to see him as an equal—almost. Gibbs isn't. This irks our Probie."
"Aha! You still call him 'Probie!'"
"Force of habit. I know McGee's felt down about this—"
"He recognized the shells for what they were! That is something that we could not do. At least, I do not think I could. And I am certain that you could not."
Tony frowned at her little dig. "But that'll all be forgotten if there really are more terrorists behind this…"
She wadded a piece of paper into a ball. "That is true. McGee needs a big win. Rather, we need a big win to keep McGee's name on top."
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A testament to their dedication, they actually had something when Gibbs returned with his coffee.
Ziva put files up on the plasma screen. "Our suspects in custody: William David Wallis and Jerry no-middle-name Horne. Both are from well-to-do New England families; both got into Annapolis based on a letter of recommendation from their Congressman."
"Like so many other prospective midshipmen," Tony chimed in. "They claimed not to have known each other before meeting at Annapolis, but…"
"…their mothers are actually cousins," Ziva said, clicking to bring up drivers licenses for two middle-aged women. "Bad move. This is easy enough to find out, once it was determined that their mothers were born in the same town. Both of the mothers were in their late teens in the mid 1960s."
"Both were members of SDS. That's—"
" 'Students for a Democratic Society'," Gibbs filled in. "Radical group, sometimes militant, investigated by the FBI and who knows what else. Even the NIS probably had some files on them. So?"
"Not just members. They were demonstration leaders; we've found that much." Tony held his breath. It wasn't much to go on, yet.
Gibbs waved his free hand. "Oh, all right. Go with it, Realize that you have to put it aside if a case—" But Ziva was already pounding her keyboard and Tony was on the phone. Secretly, Gibbs hoped that they were right.
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Within two hours they had links too coincidental to be dismissed without investigation. Ziva led off. "Shera Morrison Wallis and her cousin, Elizabeth Kristen Traynor (she kept her maiden name), both attended Yale at the same time in the same graduating class, the class of 1974. Both had already attended SDS meetings while in high school and were vehemently against the Vietnam war."
"Wallis went into Yale to study physics. She got a job as a research/developer at a munitions plant. Traynor started out on the same route—oh, you're going to love this, boss. She works in chemistry/explosives development." Tony waited a beat. "For the Navy." He nodded to Ziva who clicked up the image of Traynor's Navy ID.
Gibbs breathed. "Okay, we now have an official case. I'll alert the Director."
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How did the son of a radical get into the Naval Academy? How did a radical wind up as a Navy officer?
In MTAC, Gibbs spoke by video connection with Traynor's superior officer. "Captain Chavez, Lieutenant Commander Traynor has been working under you for how long?"
"Let me see…since I took this command, fifteen years ago, Agent Gibbs. We're both about ready for retirement, I think." The white-haired man smiled.
"Has she ever espoused radical ideas? Made you wonder about her…loyalties?"
"Of course not. She's as good a lab worker-slash-developer as you'll find."
"You know she has a son at Annapolis."
"Yes, sir! I've known Jerry since he was a pup. Wrote a letter of recommendation for him, at Elizabeth's request, though I think the Congressman's letter held more weight."
"Yes, sir. What is the Commander working on now?"
"That's classified, Agent Gibbs…"
Ziva spoke up. "Do you know if her family likes to go boating, Captain? Pleasure boating?"
"Yes, ma'am. They own a nice 40-footer. They like to go out for a little deep-sea fishing."
Aha.
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Tony placed a phone call. "Probie! How ya doin'? I'm glad to catch you awake."
"Awake, but a little fuzzy."
"Well, I won't keep you long. I just need to pick your brain. These shells—any idea where they could have come from, if they didn't really wash up from the Chesapeake?"
"No idea."
"Think, Tim. Did they say in your class what the likelihood was that WWI shells would be lining the American coast?"
There was a pause. "The instructor said it was unlikely. Stuff is found, now and then; some fishermen in Massachusetts pulled up shells with mustard gas in their fishing nets a few months ago. But it's believed that there's really very few WWI shells just laying around, waiting to be found."
"Go on…"
"Hmmm…so maybe mine came from someone's private collection."
"I've heard of strange collections, McGoo, but that's about the strangest."
"Yeah. It's lame. Forget it. I'm going to go to sleep now."
"Wait! No! That didn't come out right." Tony had lowered his voice almost to a whisper. Mentally, he was kicking himself. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you." Deep breath. "You still with me?"
"…Yeah."
" So let's assume that someone is collecting these, uh, old-fashioned weapons-of-less-than-mass-destruction. Illegally. What does FLETC say about how many a terrorist might need to form an attack?"
"You have to look at a terrorist's objectives. Mustard gas might kill a few to a small number of people, and injure many more. It's frightening. But it would probably only be stage one in a multi-stage attack. You get people afraid after a round of mustard gas, and then you go in for a strike with the really deadly gases: phosgene or chlorine."
"Ye gods. That makes perfect sense. Got to run, Probie!" He added, "You get better soon!" but then realized the phone connection had ended.
"Get better soon," he mumbled again.
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"Lieutenant Commander Elizabeth Traynor's family boat is docked in the Chesapeake," Ziva announced shortly afterwards. "The marina fees were paid just last month. Normally, it is kept closer to their summer home in Maine."
"She take much vacation time lately?" asked Gibbs.
"Her leave records show that she had indeed taken several days of annual leave this year. Her vacation time balance is down to 32 hours."
"Where has she been?"
"Banking records show a lot of activity in this area, instead of her home in Connecticut. She made an ATM withdrawal in Maryland, near Annapolis, just two days ago. She is staying at a hotel there."
"Her husband?"
"Still in Connecticut. He has a business there and puts in long hours."
"Theory, boss," said Tony. "Suppose the commander has been waiting…for years and years…for the right chance to get back at the so-called 'military industrial complex'. Suppose that's been her plan ever since she signed on with the Navy. Maybe her cousin Wallis is in on it; maybe she's not."
Vance came up to them. "The SECNAV was so proud of McGee's save at Annapolis that he was happy to put the thumbscrews to Captain Chavez. The top-secret project that Commander Traynor is working on involves finding potential uses for old poisonous gases that were supposedly 'destroyed' but which we all know were stockpiled after WWI."
Ziva hung up her phone. "Shera Wallis is on vacation. She's checked into the same hotel as her cousin in Annapolis."
"Maybe they're just here to bail their darling sons out of jail."
"Or maybe…this is stage two," said Gibbs. "Let's go!"
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"Hi, uh, Captain?"
"Ensign, ma'am," the youthful officer smiled. "Ensign Javon Hendricks. Can I help you with something?"
The two middle-aged women in street clothes looked a little bashful. "Sorry," said the one who had spoken. "I try to learn, and I just can't tell the ranks by the insignia!" She looked around the vast space of Bancroft Hall's Rotunda. "What a beautiful building! We, uh…we wanted to see our nieces. They attend the Academy."
"How nice. You ladies must be very proud of them. If you will go over to the information booth there at that far wall, the person on duty will help you find them."
"Thank you so much, Ensign," said the other lady. "Maybe we'll just sit down and catch our breath first. We've done a lot of walking and the day is warm."
"There are benches all around. Take your time, ladies, and enjoy your visit to Annapolis." Tipping his hat and smiling, the ensign walked off. The women returned the smile and made for a bench in a dimly-lit area, near an exit.
"There, Elizabeth; do you have everything?"
"You've asked me that a hundred times, Shera. Yes; everything's neatly packed. The canisters in this tote bag will open on a 20-second timer. We'll be just going out the door then."
"How lethal did you make the concentration?"
"Oh, very lethal."
"Well, let's get on with it, shall we?"
"I think so. I'd like to stop for dinner at a place Jerry mentioned in one of his emails. Wonderful Spanish tapas, he said. But it's best to go early because seating is limited."
"Let's do it now, then!"
"All right. Get ready…" Lt. Commander Traynor fiddled inside her plain blue tote bag, a Navy gift shop purchase, and in a moment a soft hissing was heard.
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The agents burst into the Rotunda. The spot on the Academy with the highest concentration of people—particularly now that classes were over for the day—seemed the most likely place for an attack. The pictures of the two women were engraved on their minds.
"There!" Tony pointed. Two women, across the Rotunda, were just getting up from a bench.
The team crossed the floor in seconds. "NCIS! Federal agents!" Gibbs thundered, and he and his team all had their guns drawn.
The women looked shocked and were rooted. "Oh, dear," said one. "This is very awkward…"
Suddenly the other woman dashed for the exit. Gibbs blocked her way. "You don't understand!" she shrieked. "Let me out!"
"Gibbs—I smell…hay!" Ziva cried, and looked around. She immediately found the tote bag, and, prepared, threw a containment sack over it. It would buy them a little time. "Evacuate the building!" she ordered. "This is phosgene!"
"How can we evacuate—oh, silly question. Never mind," said Tony, who then pulled the fire alarm that was just a foot away.
Thank you, McGee, he thought. Gibbs may not have faith in you, but I do.