8
Chameleon
Chapter Three
"One of these days I'm going to get here before you." Tony was feeling good; they'd put another killer away and his restful Sunday had included a surprise phone call from his dad. They'd had a long talk, cleared the air about a few things, seemed like they did that a lot, and ended up laughing together. Still in a good mood this morning he'd tried to get to work before Tim so he could surprise him with coffee and a doughnut.
"Hey Tony, I didn't know it was a competition; you've been here before me a few times."
"Not many, how was your Sunday?"
"Good, took Delilah out for lunch, caught up on a few things. How about you?"
"Dad called."
"Oh...good or bad?"
Tony smiled at the note of worry in Tim's voice. "Let's say we're still talking, and he's still making promises, maybe he'll even keep one." He put Tim's coffee and doughnut on his desk and put a cup of Gibbs' favourite brew on his desk before settling at his own work station.
"Thanks Tony." Tim took a sip of his coffee and unwrapped the doughnut, no sprinkles, he smiled; Tony really couldn't stand it when he picked off the sprinkles. He didn't mind, the doughnut tasted the same, he just enjoyed the mindless activity involved in sprinkle removal.
"You seen the Boss this morning?"
"No, his car is in the lot, but I haven't seen him." Tim's desk phone started ringing and he picked up quickly. "Agent McGee...sure Boss, we're on our way." He replaced the receiver and turned to Tony, "Boss wants to see us in the Director's office."
Tony cast a furtive glance up the stairs and then back at Tim. "What did you do?"
"Me! Why would it be something I did?"
"Come on, if one of us is going to be chewed out, there's only one likely candidate."
NCIS NCIS
The dark haired man limped through the busy campus, his cane clicking on the asphalt as he made his way to the faculty library. He presented his ID, headed for the nearest vacant carrel and logged on to the University intranet. His research was almost complete and one more morning should see this part of his task complete.
Some of his fellow Assassins had scoffed at the amount of time he spent on research, but over time as one successful contract followed another and as some of them fell by the wayside, those who survived realised it was one of the things that set him apart from the ranks in the organisation. He'd come so far from the rain-soaked streets of Eastbourne, and killed so many...
If his first victim still haunted his dreams, the second had never caused him to lose a moment of sleep. He'd spent three nights at the family home in Telford, what a misnomer that had become, he had no family, he was alone. The only thing that had sustained him in the frightening, confusing days after his hurried departure from Eastbourne was the thought that the man responsible for his father's death would soon be paying for his actions. A few years in prison would at least begin to redress the balance of justice. Then it had all fallen apart, he'd arrived at court hoping to see justice done only to find his father's killer laughing outside the courtroom. Jeremy had stood dumbly uncomprehending as the barrister for the Crown Prosecution Service told him that due to a number of technicalities regarding Naylor's blood test, the case had been dismissed. He had felt the rage rising inside and had barely managed to keep his hands from Naylor's throat, particularly when he taunted him.
"Your dad was too slow; if he'd crossed the road quicker, he'd be alive today."
Jeremy had reeled back in shock and had hardly been aware of comforting hands leading him away. He'd gone back home and cried until his body ached, but as the hours passed he was filled with a new resolve, the man who had ended his father's life had to die. It had taken a few days to accomplish his task, days and nights spent following Naylor, changing his appearance regularly to avoid recognition, working out the best time to make his move.
It happened on a cool, dry night; Naylor had been drinking at his local watering hole and as usual was one of the last to leave. Jeremy followed his prey's unsteady walk home, the knife held tight in his hand. Naylor staggered into a dark alley and Jeremy watched in disgust as he began to urinate against the wall; when he was done Naylor staggered again as a heavy hand grabbed him, he heard a whisper, "This is for Matthew Stanley." There was searing heat in his chest, then nothing.
Jeremy Stanley had committed his first pre-meditated murder.
NCIS NCIS
"Tony, are you okay?"
"Oh just peachy McGee. I've got an international assassin out to kill me; I'm having a freaking spectacular day!"
Tim got back to running what had so far proved to be fruitless searches, he didn't blame Tony for being on edge; after the news they'd been given yesterday anyone would forgive him for not being at his best.
They had known something was badly wrong the minute they walked into Director Vance's office; they'd sat in silence as Gibbs outlined what they knew. He had heard from one of his NSA contacts that there was an unusual amount of chatter about a contract being issued on a federal agent, and the agent's name was Anthony DiNozzo.
Tony was initially sceptical. "Come on Boss, if we don't have people after us we're not doing our job, we're targets for some whack-job every day."
But Gibbs and Vance were in no mood to take the threat lightly, the information came from a reputable source who'd checked and double-checked the data. He'd concluded the contract had been taken up by the elusive and highly secretive Assassins and that they had passed it on to their most successful operative, The Chameleon.
Tony had grinned at that. "You kidding me? That's the kind of name they used in bad 50's B movie thrillers."
"This is no joke Tony." Gibbs pointed to the plasma. "You see that?"
"There's nothing there Boss, did you forget to click the clicker?"
Gibbs slammed his fist on the table. "So help me DiNozzo! There's nothing there because that's what we know about The Chameleon. Intel can't give us an ID, seems like no one ever sees him. He's a stone-cold killer who gets the job done and he's never been caught, not even close, he's never left so much as a stand of hair or a fingerprint..."
"Okay Boss, I buy it, what do we do?"
"We keep you safe, and we find this bastard."
They'd spent the last thirty-six hours succeeding in the first task, but failing to find any trace of The Chameleon. Tony already hated the safe house and he baulked at being followed everywhere by his protection detail.
"We'll get him Tony."
"Sure we will; damn it Tim, I've pissed off so many people."
"Nature of the job, we're always likely to be making enemies. We need to narrow it down, may take more time than you'd like, but we'll get it done. How are you doing with your list?"
"Almost half-way...told you Tim, I've pissed off a lot of people."
NCIS NCIS
"Congratulations Donald, you and William were on good form tonight."
"He's a very fine player Philip, such a pity he's only visiting." Ducky had enjoyed the evening, much more than he'd expected, they were all worried about Tony but Gibbs had insisted he take some time off, and in truth there was little for him to do at NCIS. "Ah, thank you William." Ducky took the tumbler of whisky and sniffed appreciatively. "Excellent, one of the benefits of this week's venue being one block from home, walking distance means I can have a drink, and Alan keeps a very fine Scotch. Now young man, you said you wanted a word."
They'd kept up a light-hearted conversation whenever the game allowed, sharing stories of places they'd both visited, Ducky had surprised himself by felling a little homesick on more than one occasion; he hadn't lived in the UK for many years, but somehow it wouldn't let go of his heart...
"Yes, I didn't want to mention it when the others were around but I do have to offer you my most sincere apologies."
"Gracious! Whatever have you done?" Ducky had warmed to the younger man during the evening, and was genuinely puzzled.
"I failed to recognise you! Doctor Donald Mallard, Medical Examiner at NCIS. For heaven's sake it was only recently that I read your article on forensic psychology in the Journal of Forensic Sciences."
"Good Lord, why ever would you be reading such a thing, are you a forensic scientist?"
William looked somewhat embarrassed. "To tell the truth Donald, I'm conducting research for a book."
"How exciting!"
With a slight shrug William continued, "I'm not so sure. I wanted to write a serious scholarly exploration of the criminal psyche; pitched the idea to a few academic publishers."
"Let me guess, no takers?"
"Exactly, so...and this is really embarrassing, I changed emphasis, changed my target publishers and got a few promises to read my first draft."
"Well that's an improvement, did you get an advance?"
"No, I'm using my savings to get the research done; I wish I could have succeeded without compromising on quality...writing a book on the psychology of sin was never part of my life-plan."
"Oh dear, I can see that's not quite what you were hoping for."
"You could say that, seems sin sells, genuine academic work...not so much."
Ducky didn't like to see his bridge partner looking so gloomy; was there something he could do to cheer him up, perhaps introduce him to their resident best-selling author? No, he couldn't do that; Timothy preferred to keep his two careers separate...there was something. "William, how would you like to visit NCIS? Perhaps a look around Autopsy can offer some insight into the way we go about catching criminals."
"Really?" William's smile was heart warming.
"I can offer you a guided tour as far as I am allowed, there are of course some areas which must remain out of bounds, and I couldn't allow you to observe an actual autopsy I'm afraid, but there is much of interest to be seen."
"That would be...are you sure it's not too much trouble?"
"It would be my pleasure, just bear in mind I may have to cancel at short notice if we get a new case."
"I understand Donald, I can't thank you enough."
"Not at all, it's the least I can do to thank you for helping me defeat the Bartlett's for the first time."
"I enjoyed it, as I'm sure I'll enjoy seeing your place of work."
They'd parted soon after, Ducky politely refusing William's offer to walk him to his door. "I'm not quite decrepit just yet, but thank you. I have your number and I'll call with final arrangements. Good night."
William had waved and made his way toward the Metro station, his blonde hair glistening like a halo in the street lights. This was so much better than he could have hoped, within a week he was well on his way to getting closer to his latest and hopefully last victim. To have the means to retire from this bloody business after so many years of killing, it would be so good; one more corpse for someone to weep over and he'd be done.