Chapter 16 – Converging on the House
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I knew this had to be the place, Klara thought as she was lead into the office of Dr. Johansson's personnel manager/bookkeeper. I watched three deliveries of heavy equipment and electronics made here in 90 minutes. Here, to a quiet-looking suburban house.
The young woman with spiky blue hair, 1950s rhinestone-rimmed glasses, and attire Abby would admire, got up from her desk and extended a hand for a shake. "Hi, I'm Nell," she said, smiling. "You're here about a position?"
"If you have one open. I understand you're expanding. I was just downsized from my job and am looking for work," said Klara, mentally wincing because the science classes she'd taken in college had been so long ago. Armstrong had only walked on the moon a few years before. This child might not know who he was. Klara tried to will forgiveness into her mind.
"Let me go talk with Dr. Johansson for a moment. Won't you have a seat? And can I bring you something? Coffee? Water? Tea?"
"Coffee would be wonderful, thank you. Cream, and one sugar, please."
"Sure thing. Be right back."
Nell touched Klara's shoulder briefly as she went by, and the same odd feeling washed through Klara that had happened when they shook hands. It was indescribable. She started thinking. Now if this house is where they had Alvarez, then McGee might still be here. I've got to search this place…
- - - - -
Tim went over the circuit diagrams, glad to see that he did understand them a little better now than he had days ago. Still, he found it a bit hard to concentrate. The room seemed warm, and not just because it was getting late afternoon sun—curtains mostly kept that away. The occasional Nell who came in seemed to be floating as she walked. Tim shook his head. The psychosis must be starting. He hated to think of that, of all his talents (which he admitted were outweighed by his shortcomings), he valued his keen mind the most. To lose it to a horrible illness—the thought terrified him. Even if I get out of this place, if I can't be cured, I may need a caretaker for the rest of my life…How will it be when I recognize only a few people, and don't trust even them?
Diode, capacitor, inductor, nor gate, xor gate...what exactly is Johansson building?? He looked at it again and again, and a horrible feeling came over him.
The diagram, labeled Serendipity, showed a large device that looked like it might be a weapon.
If it was, then Tim knew he had a greater obligation than ever to try to shut Johansson down.
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"Thanks so much for your interest…" We'll let you know if something suitable opens up—Klara already knew that line was coming. She wasn't expecting to hear, "When can you start?"
Klara smiled. "Now, I guess."
"Now? Oh, well, that's awesome!" said blue-haired Nell. "Let me take you up to Dr. Johansson's lab."
- - - - -
Gibbs tore up the highway to Silver Spring; Ziva and Mickey riding with him in the NCIS truck. Mickey had called Balere and Joe; Ziva, Tony; they would all rendezvous at the park where Alvarez had been shot.
"I wish you would have told us about Klara this morning, Gibbs," Joe scolded lightly when they met. "I feel we've lost valuable time here."
"I didn't know it was going to come to this," said Gibbs, "and I didn't have authorization to look for McGee then. Let's cut the talk and get to work. DiNozzo, where were you and Schultz looking? Where do you think she is now?"
Tony swallowed. "We'd gotten a list of properties that had recently changed hands, and were going by that. The trouble is, Schultz has our notes on that; not me."
Ziva smiled. "Have you forgotten that I live here in Silver Spring? Since I dream of owning a house someday, I go through the real estate section of the Sunday news paper thoroughly, and commit much of it to memory."
"Do tell," Tony said, smiling now.
- - - - -
Nels looked at Tim skeptically as he entered the lab's outer office. "You have nothing better to do, Agent McGee?"
"Nope," said Tim, not looking up.
"I still can't allow you access to a computer, with your skills, but I am willing to provide you with paper and a pen. In case you have any…farewell notes you want to write to family or friends. While your mind is still lucid."
You bastard. Tim managed to keep his face expressionless. "No, thanks; I'm good."
Nels ran a hand through his hair. "Another strange American expression. What are you good at? No, don't tell me; I'm not that interested." He walked back into his lab.
Score one for our team. Tim smiled to himself, and then sobered. He's either convinced that I will be losing my mind, or he's trying to convince me of it.
I feel totally lucid so far. Let's think this through…
Suppose he's telling the truth. What harm, then, could come of me working in the lab? Doesn't make sense.
If he's not telling the truth, is he afraid that I'll discover what he's up to? And maybe get away, like Enrique? Does he know Enrique's gone? Will he take that out on me?
At this point, I guess it's too much to hope that anyone would be trying to find me…
A surge of hope went through him. Enrique! He'll contact NCIS; tell them where we were being held, and then…
Just as quickly, his hopes were dashed. They won't come. Gibbs, Ducky and all are probably still really mad at me for messing up the evidence around Lt. Peskarev's body. I am in so much trouble over that…Then he wondered if this was just the paranoia talking. Shut up, paranoia.
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Shortly thereafter, Tim looked up briefly as a new person entered his peripheral vision. There were four Nells who regularly were in and out of the lab, he knew, but just about any Nell might be up here at one time or another. He did a double take, and almost fell off his chair.
Schultz!!
Immediately he resumed his tired, bored look. Schultz was being guided by that blue-haired bookkeeper Nell. Her gaze swept the room, but she gave no sign of recognizing him. Still, why else would she be here if not for me? Enrique must have reached NCIS! And Klara got in here undercover! The others may be close by! The Nell lead Schultz back out.
This made him more determined than ever to crack this case. If only I could get 15 minutes at a computer, I could look up what these circuit connections likely mean…
- - - - -
Jenny hung up her phone and let out the relieved sigh she'd been holding in. The SECNAV would do the press conference to announce the finding of Alvarez; her presence was not required. Right now, she didn't much care if there was a rebuke in that or not.
What to do about Klara? Just because the team leader had turned in her firearm and her badge didn't mean squat. Jenny hadn't had time to do any paperwork yet, whether as resignation or termination of employment. She didn't want to do it now, either. She wanted her team leader back, even if they'd have to go through words over Klara's ko-ing Jenny. You don't throw away good personnel just because you disagree with them. You learn to work around your differences.
Perhaps the hardest part was in admitting that Klara had been right. Jenny should have stood up for McGee just as much as she had stood up for Alvarez. The SECNAV knew this. Deep down, Jenny had known this all along. McGee was important. All her people were important. McGee might be key to the Persian Gulf operation that was coming up within the next year; that was part of why she'd been teaching him the Arabic card game Basra. He'd need not just to know it, but to be very, very good at it.
So far he'd been a quick study, and would soon surpass her knowledge. Then she'd have to call in a local expert to continue his studies. But I'm getting ahead of myself. First, we have to rescue McGee. If he's still alive…
Cynthia buzzed her on the intercom. "Director, I've tried Agent Schultz' work and personal cell phones, several times. No answer on either."
Jenny frowned, and covered her eyes with one hand. She must have gone back to look for McGee. I hope she hasn't gotten herself in a hole… "Try again in an hour, please, Cynthia."
"Yes, Director."
Drumming her fingers on her desk, Jenny thought and then called Gibbs. "Jethro, while you're looking for McGee, keep an eye out for Klara, too."
She could almost hear his grin. "Her employment hasn't been terminated?"
"No, not yet. If she gets herself into trouble, I don't want to have to argue with the insurance company as to whether she was covered or not at the time. It's much easier just to have her stay covered."
"Good thinking." Now there was an audible smirk. "We're in Silver Spring, tracking leads. So far nothing yet, but we'll let you know."
- - - - -
"Nils Ekerot is Swedish. Our shooter, Marthe Lindholm, is Swedish," said Balere. "I don't believe in coincidences."
"The, uh, Swedish embassy isn't located in Silver Spring, I take it?" asked Tony. "That could explain a concentration—well, two—Swedes in this town. If this is where Ekerot is."
Mickey checked his blackberry. "Nope. M Street NW."
Ziva hung up her phone. "The Montgomery County assessor's office has no record of a Nils Ekerot, as a land owner, a taxpayer, etc. However…I did ask the nice lady about recent property transactions, and one not too far from here was to a Nels Johansson. I believe that name to be Swedish."
"Dual identity?" Gibbs wondered, and his cell phone flew to his ear to ask Abby to find out anything she could about said individual.
Joe looked dubious. "I do believe in coincidences. Over 70,000 people live in Silver Spring; it's not at all unlikely that a handful or more are Swedes."
"We'll stake out the house while we're waiting for Abby's reply," said Gibbs. "Joe, Balere; you two do that. Don't move in, though, without my say-so. We don't want to tip them off. Mickey, Ziva; canvas the town. Show Ekerot's picture around. DiNozzo—you're with me. Let's see if we can get a visual on the house from the street behind it. We'll stake out the house from the rear."
- - - - -
The sun lowered, and Tim got up to draw the blinds against the rays. No one was watching him, and he took a quick peek out the window. Suburbs. Where, I wonder? All he could see was large lawns, tall houses, and what looked like a church steeple. All towns look alike, he thought, and let the blinds flap against the windows.
"Agent McGee?"
"Um, yes?" Tim turned quickly at the voice. It was a grumpy-looking woman, who really wasn't that grumpy at all, he'd learned.
"It's dinnertime, Agent McGee. Would you like to eat in your apartment, or up here, so you can continue to work?"
"Up here, please."
Grumpy Nell managed what, for her, passed for a smile, and went away. In ten minutes she was back with a tray with roast beef, green beans, and potatoes, with a slice of apple pie for desert.
All of the other Nells, and Nels, too, were gone…they must all eat at the same time. Tim found himself alone in the outer office. He was pretty sure no one was in the lab itself. Were there any cameras spying on him? Unlikely; Nels had seemed genuinely surprised when Tim had come up the stairs to the lab. He must be confident in his outer security. And must trust his workers.
As quietly as possible, Tim crossed the floor and entered the lab. The lights were low, and sure enough, no one was present. Tim dived for the first computer her saw. It was password protected. Nell; he typed, and he was in. Just like that. He's way over-confident, Tim thought with a smile.
He typed in the particulars of what he could interpret from the circuit diagram, and found a file on the computer.
It was in, apparently, Swedish.
He hadn't intended to go on the 'net; he knew he'd be too tempted to contact NCIS, and he didn't have time for that. Besides, Schultz' presence meant they were on to Johansson anyway. But he needed to know what the file said. Copying a few paragraphs; he tried an available translation program. It was rudimentary, though, and choked on the transmission.
Nervously, he checked his watch. Seven minutes gone by already… In desperation, he turned to a source he knew could do the job. NCIS was permitted by the National Security Agency to use their powerful translation resources. He got into NCIS, and then figuratively hurled the paragraphs at the resource.
The answer came back in under a second.
This is the model for prototype number 6 of the Bio-Electrical Override Device. It will be able to eliminate communications over a vast distance. The BEOD is augmented by the use of tiny capacitors in a human operator's body...
"Dear," the voices were scarcely more than whispers. "You mustn't linger here." "They'll catch you. Oh, do hurry; they're on their way back now."
"Thanks," Tim murmured to the two Marthes, who were barely visible. He deleted his work from the computer and closed it down, slipping back into the outer office just in time to put a forkful of pie in his mouth as two of the Nells came in.
Well, now I know some of it.. There is a weapon, and I'm part of the operating plan.
So if it's to be used before I'm full-blown psychotic, or dead like Peskarev, it'll happen tomorrow or the next day...