Tim stepped forward quickly when the Nell "asked" one of them to follow her. Not that there's much I can do to stop anything from happening, but still…
The Nell was going on about something while they walked. He paid little attention either to her or to the armed escorts; trying instead to absorb as much as he could about their location. The place had the feeling of a house rather than a commercial building. They entered a moderately large, metal-sided elevator with padding on the walls, and Tim decided his guess about a house had been wrong. Someone has been moving a lot of equipment. Heavy stuff, too, judging by some of the gouges in the padded coverings.
When the indicator stopped at 2—Tim noticed the highest floor marked was 3—they got off. To his surprise, this floor was more house-like: old-fashioned flocked wallpaper; wooden door frames; soft incandescent lighting; floorboards that creaked under the carpeting…His thoughts abruptly changed when the Nell opened a door to a large room. At one time this room might have been a ballroom in this 19th century (he judged) house; what might have been the site of parties, though, was now filled with shiny equipment and two padded tables flanked by instruments and cables. This is so not like the house I grew up in…
"Ah. Welcome, Agent McGee." The man Nels stepped out from behind a piece of equipment that Tim couldn't identify. "I am not surprised that you were the one to come. So compassionate, and determined to serve others…hmmph. I have looked into your background." He ambled forward. "Bright young man, no, brilliant young man who chooses a career in federal law enforcement; one open to anyone with a bachelor's degree. What a waste! You should be applying yourself to the sciences, Agent McGee, as I have."
"I like my job," Tim said, simply. "And computer work is related to the sciences." Am I saying the right things? Should I be trying to bide time?Or to learn more about this operation; maybe get on the guy's good side?
Does Gibbs have enough information to start a search for us?
"You know what I mean. You are capable of so much more." He looked Tim up and down. "You have broken ribs. From your car accident yesterday?"
"How do you know?"
"From the way that you hold yourself," said Nels, walking around him. "I also have a medical degree, among other things."
Another twist! But how does he know about the accident, unless he was behind it? I suppose he could have gotten the information from somewhere else, but, as they say, the simplest explanation is usually the correct one. "Well, then, do you have any painkillers I can take? Mine have worn off, and I left the pills back at the office," Why am I even asking this of a criminal?!
But Nels only looked a little surprised at the request. He then shrugged. "I do want to keep you in good shape. I need you to be in top form." Going to a desk, he pulled out a pad. "What were you given for the pain?"
"Uh…acetominophen with hydrocodone."
Nels nodded, and scribbled, then pulled out a cell phone. "Hello, Marty; it's Dr. Johansson. I'm going to send one of my associates over with a prescription for acetominophin with hydrocodone for a visiting friend who was in an accident. Will that be all right for her to pick it up? Yes, I know you close at nine; she'll be right there." He ended the call, and pointed to one of the armed Nells. "Nell, you go. You know Farrer's Pharmacy; just down the road. Send another armed Nell up on your way out." He handed her the prescription.
"Yes, Doctor."
Tim's heart jumped as a flash of hope raced through it. Farrer's Pharmacy! Could there be more than one? And is the pharmacist I've met there named 'Marty'? I can't remember…
"It'll be a little while before she returns, Agent McGee. In the meantime, please get up on the table and lie down. I want to do some tests."
Having no choice, Tim did so, groaning as his twisting irritated his ribs. But that wasn't his worst moment. That was reserved for the sound of Nels snapping on the restraints.
- - - - -
Alvarez faced the door to the in-law apartment grimly as the locks were becoming undone. He fully expected to see Tim shoved in, bloody and barely conscious, and he wanted to be ready to provide any aid that he could.
So he looked in wonder when Tim strolled in, waving over his shoulder, carrying a casserole dish in one hand and a plate of brownies in another, and apparently chewing one. "Tim??"
"Oh, hi, Enrique," Tim said as the door was bolted shut. "Have a brownie. They're scrumptious! No nuts. One of the Nells, the tall, brunette one, made them. She likes to cook, and I think she likes me. She made this turkey casserole, too." He put the dish in the refrigerator."
Alvarez motioned Tim to join him in the roar of the fan. "What did they do to you? You seem pretty chipper, all for being gone over an hour."
"Nels did some tests, like a physical. It turns out that he's a doctor. He did blood tests, x-rays, that sort of thing. Tests on my reflexes, too. I don't know why that should be so important, but he seemed to think it was. And he got me painkillers to replace those that I left at the office, so I'm not feeling too bad right now." Tim's smile was, in fact, quite cheerful. "No, not feeling bad at all."
"All right. I get it. You're a little loopy. Did he say what happens next?"
Tim grew serious, which in his state meant his smile dimmed just a little. "No, but I know what my next step is: I'm going to try to get him to take me on as an assistant."
"You want to find out what he's up to."
"Yes. Someone's got to. I don't really know much about electronics, but I can learn."
"Well…be careful, Tim."
- - - - -
Even before 7 o'clock the next day, Wednesday, the two NCIS teams were back at work with a vengeance. Schultz' team had gone back to Anacostia to interview more naval personnel; Gibbs' team rode the phone lines and the internet in search of answers.
"That's non-existent Nell number four scratched from Peskarev's past, boss," Tony reported, hanging up the phone. "And that lady in Palo Alto was really in a bad mood, too…Oh. It's only 3:55 AM out there. Maybe that's why. You want me to keep trying for the other three, or do we have enough data?"
Ziva joined in, hanging up her phone. "I have a preliminary sketch of Peskarev. Never married, no children; two significant relationships in her past, though she never lived with either. Both boyfriends reported that they broke it off because she was a workaholic. No community involvement to speak of, other than volunteering at her local soup kitchen every Thanksgiving,"
"She didn't spend Thanksgiving with anyone? Outside the soup kitchen?"
"Yes, I thought that was unusual for Americans and Canadians. It's a day of getting together with family, or at least friends, yes? A feast day. All cultures have those."
"Well, not everyone has family, or friends who are free on that day. And some do see it as an opportunity to help others."
"But for one as apparently dedicated to her job as she was…the Navy would have been her family. And I'm sure they celebrated Thanksgiving on the base, for all those who couldn't get home for the holiday."
"I wonder just when she became infected," Gibbs said suddenly. "I wonder when she realized it. I wonder when, or if, she realized she could infect others…"
- - - - -
Shultz' team returned in the late afternoon. "We talked to 989 people on base, and the base stealth cat that's listed as an effect rather than a pet, since the latter's not allowed."
"You talked to a cat? What did it say?" asked Tony, while Gibbs said, "I know there aren't 989 people on duty there, Schultz, and even if there were, the four of you couldn't have done that many interviews in eight hours."
"That's because you do one-on-one interviews, Gibbs," she grinned. "I gather a group of about forty and put them in a room, and do a group interview."
Gibbs rolled his eyes. She just might be telling the truth. …Nah.
"The cat," she added, "wouldn't talk. Not even with a bribe of tuna. I may have to bring it in for more cuddling, er, questioning."
"We found out," her team member Joe said, dragging the scene away from the absurd, "that Peskarev's behavior was pretty normal until she got all that extra work when those other two lieutenants were reassigned. One's now in Pensacola, Florida; the other in Groton, Connecticut. I really think we need to talk to them."
Gibbs glanced at Schultz, who nodded. "Get on it, Joe," she said, and he headed for his own desk.
"Mickey and I had a different idea," said Balere, nodding at her other teammate. "As we mentioned at dinner last night, there have been scientists visiting the base even after the end of the last project. Visiting scientists shouldn't raise any flags, unless they become repeat visitors."
"Right," said Mickey. "Two, we found, were on a study program from Italy; we've ruled them out. But three people were there a lot. One of them, a guy whose credentials say he's from the Esrange Space Center near Kiruna, Sweden. Name's Nils Ekerot, electronics specialist. He was involved with the creation and launch of Sweden's Odin satellite in 2001; since then he's been doing his own research, it seems. At least this is what he's told people; we don't have substantiation of it yet."
" 'Nils'," Tony mused. "Sounds a bit like 'Nell', doesn't it?"
"By a long stretch, maybe," said Ziva. "Are you two going to continue to check this Nils out?"
"Yes," said Balere. "As far as we can tell, he still doesn't seem to have a plausible reason for being there. And those other two scientists Mickey mentioned…We checked the base visitor log. Many of the days that Ekerot was there, so were they."
"We've done all we can at Anacostia for the time being, Gibbs," said Schultz. "Now we'll do the good, old-fashioned phone work."
"Keep us informed."
- - - - -
About this time, Tim and Alvarez had another conference next to the fan. Alvarez had just returned from his meeting/physical with Nels, no worse (he assumed) for the experience, although he mentioned seeing up to 20 Nells in the room. Tim silently wrote that off as a hallucination; Alvarez seemed otherwise in control of himself.
"Isn't it at this point in the movies that the captor is doing horrifying torturing?" Alvarez remarked, "Neither of us have been tortured yet."
"You want to be tortured, Enrique?"
"If we don't get a change of pace here, I'll torture myself. No, of course I don't want to be tortured. I just don't understand this."
"I think I do," Tim said quietly. "It's only been two days since we've been infected. Nels is waiting for the circuitry within us to grow, to the point where he can use us…for whatever this project's about."
"He did say something to one of the Nells about Sunday being the starting point. Of what, I don't know."
Tim felt his paranoia grow. No one is going to rescue us, at least not me. No one cares…I'm going to die here, if I can't find a way out…
- - - - -
He was taken aback, then, when Nels had him brought back up to the lab in the early evening. "Agent McGee, do sit down. Can I offer you some wine?"
"Should I be drinking while on these meds?"
"Well, perhaps not, then. As a rule. Nell, bring us some hot chocolate, please. Do you prefer mini-marshmallows or whipped cream on top, Agent McGee?"
"Whipped cream." Gad. Now he'll know everything about me…Oh, stop it, Tim; it's just hot chocolate.
"Enjoy," said Nels, when the Nell came back with a tray. "This is imported. Agent McGee, is there anyone much loved in your background? Your grandmother, perhaps? You have her picture on a mug,"
He's been in my apartment, dammit "My grandmother does not concern you," he said cooly.
Nels shrugged. "I am not your foe, Agent McGee, unless you want me to be. I have learned that one of your grandmothers was named Eileen and the other one, Marthe. Which is the one on the mug?"
Tim gave Nels a look of pure hatred, having some idea of where this was going.
"Answer me, Agent McGee."
A cold, hard gun barrel pressed against the back of Tim's neck. He sighed, knowing that if he didn't answer, he was doomed. "It's Marthe. My mother's mother."
"Your bestemor, as they would say in her native Norway."
Tim didn't bother correcting him, letting him know that the family had come to the US a couple generations before that, and dear Granny Hansen didn't speak more than half a dozen words of Norwegian, although she said Uffda a lot when vexed, as did many Minnesotans. It wasn't that Tim feared for his family's safety; evidently Nels had enough info on them to find them if he wished.
No, Tim knew that Marthe would be the name that would be made, in his brain, to appear all over his past until it drove him mad…just as had evidently happened with Lieutenant Peskarev and the name Nell. When he looked up at Nels, the scientist bore a triumphant, wholly evil, smile.
- - - - -
To be continued…