Chapter 17: In Johansson's Lair
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"Trouble, Pete?" Jenny looked up when Pete Jenkowski, sitting in for the vacationing head of MTAC, was ushered into her office by Cynthia.
"I don't really know, Director." The man removed his glasses and scratched his forehead. "It could be. I wanted to show you what came in a little while ago." He handed her a few sheets of paper.
"Tell me what I'm looking at."
"Yes, Director. Someone tapped into one of our systems remotely. Specifically, they went for our translator database; the Swedish portion. We captured the paragraphs submitted for translation. It describes the system for—"
" '…capacitors in a human operator's body.'" Jenny read aloud. "The Peskarev case! That must have been McGee, either looking for information or else signaling us!"
"I doubt he would signal us, Ma'am. He doesn't have the clearance to know what sets off alarms here."
Jenny snorted. "No, but he's bright enough to guess. Still, I'll grant that he mostly hacked in for the translation, for his own purposes. Were you able to pinpoint the site of transmission?"
"Yes, ma'am. Got the IP address and we automatically did a signal trace. He was connected for seven minutes; plenty of time to locate it."
"Well, where, man; where?? Lives are at stake here!" Jenny rose and stared him down.
"It looks like it's on Greco Lane in Silver Spring, in the 200 number block—"
Jenny was already calling Gibbs. At last, they had a break in the case.
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Gibbs clicked his phone to end the call and almost smiled. "That's our house, all right." He promptly called Joe while Tony called Ziva. This was the house.
They rendezvoused on a side street, after leaving Mickey to watch the house, outfitted with an Earwig. "We have to assume that the house is well-armed, and its occupants not above a touch of self-demolition, if it comes to it," said Joe.
"You mean, they'll all blow themselves up…along with anyone else who's in there," said Tony, not liking the sound of it.
"I think he's right, unfortunately." Gibbs shook his head. "We can't just knock on the door. Too dangerous."
"Should we get a warrant?" asked Balere. Seeing his glare, she turned back to the truck. "And I shouldn't have to ask, I know. I'll get right on it."
"Gibbs…"
Gibbs cupped his ear. "Yeah, Mickey."
"I got binoculars on one of the back windows. I can see Klara clearly, standing there, at a second-floor window, looking out."
"Does she see you?"
"I doubt it. I'm in a lot of shade, and 40 feet away."
"Let us know if anything changes." Frowning, Gibbs addressed the rest of his double-sized team. "Mickey has positively placed Schultz as being in the house. That's a second person we're going to have to rescue. A second variable." Even one variable was problematic enough.
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Tim felt a little drowsy after eating. He often did here; the food was abundant, and good. He was probably eating too much, though he reasoned that a weight gain should be the least of his worries.
"I think I'll go down to the apartment," Tim said to one of the Nells; a cute young brunette with large grey eyes.
She looked at him with only mild interest. "All right, Agent McGee," she said with a faint smile, and turned back to what she was doing in the lab outer office.
Tim pursed his lips and left, a little puzzled. That Nell was close to his own age, and the cutest in that age range. He'd thought his tone had been mildly flirtatious; that was how he intended it, anyway. But he'd gotten no response from her. Am I that hideous?
He went down the stairs, the circuit diagram (and a few other interesting papers he'd found) tucked under his shirt. So what if Johansson finds them missing? What's he going to do—kill me?
In the apartment he went into the bathroom (where no bugs or cameras had been found), pulled out the papers, and looked at them carefully. They were in a mixture of Swedish and English…the sign of an unbalanced mind? Or was he sharing information with someone who might not speak Swedish? He traced the connector lines with a finger.
It didn't really add up. Then he remembered what the translation had given him. A human operator was involved. A human, or maybe not-so-human-anymore operator. Needed to…
Needed to…
If the aim was to eliminate communications, was this like an electrical pulse? That seemed unlikely; this appeared to be a limited-range weapon or device that had to get close to a target to be effective; if an e-pulse were involved, the pulse would neutralize the weapon. So there was some other method of initiating destruction.
Suppose the aim was to get it into a secure space, like a federal building or military base. There would be some inspection of items brought in. If this thing was designed to look innocuous—or had an innocuous shell—it wouldn't get more closely examined than anything else going through the x-ray scanners. That meant a minimum of electronics inside. But it would then have to get its power from somewhere else.
Like the tiny circuits and capacitors and such growing inside him; dooming him.
That was Johansson's project: to bring a human host to the point of bio-electronic growth that they could carry out his plan of destruction. Linking the device somehow, physically, to the once-human host, once inside the place. Poor Lt. Peskarev had been the first test subject, and a failure; the electro-organisms had grown too fast and killed her too soon.
Tim and Alvarez had unwittingly become test subjects two and three by handling Peskarev's body. They hadn't died yet, but their systems were going downhill. At least I think we're two and three…what if there was another subject infected before us; one that we don't know about? Maybe even more than one?
Swallowing, he dismissed that thought. He felt sorry for anyone else who might have been caught up in this, but there was nothing he could do for them at the moment.
What could the target be? There were probably hundreds, if not thousands, of strategically important sites in greater Washington, from the Pentagon to the Washington Nationals ballpark when a game was playing. Since Tim had no idea, the only sensible plan was to stop the mission before it ever left this house.
I've got to get Johansson to let me work more closely with him .Whatever it takes. Whatever it takes to learn about this and stop it. And I can't let Schultz stop me.
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At that moment, Klara was in the kitchen, helping the others chop veggies and prepare food for tomorrow. She had volunteered for that, and the other two women seemed faintly glad for her help. They kept a mild, inoffensive conversation going.
Klara hadn't been surprised to hear that their name of each of them was Nell. That seemed to be the name of all the women here. Okay…so Ekerot/Johansson has a thing for women named Nell. I've seen crazier. Next topic. She was struck by the mild, almost bland charm of each one she'd met. Even the Nell with the blue hair and the hip dress seemed like a toned-down twenty-something. Maybe he's running a cult here. Remember to not drink any Kool-Aid.
"Is this how you normally spend your evenings, you two?" she asked at one point. "Preparing meals for the next day?" The question was partly conversational and partly to get a feel for the job duties. She'd thought everyone in the household had gathered at the same time for dinner, and at that point, she'd counted twelve Nells.
The taller of the two Nells turned that light smile on her. "Oh, not usually. One of us Nells goes grocery shopping twice a week. And I thought she was to do so today, but there was no fresh food when I looked in the fridge today. So I guess she'll go tomorrow."
"Did she say why she didn't go?"
"I don't think we asked her, did we, Nell?" asked the shorter, skinnier Nell.
"No, Nell, I don't think we did." She seemed unconcerned.
"What does she look like? Was I sitting next to her at dinner?" Klara pressed, a hunch forming.
The skinny one considered. "No, you were sitting between Nell and Nell," she said, as if that explained it all. "Nell is relatively tall, about your age, black hair."
"Okay, thanks." Marthe Lindholm. And they haven't figured out yet that she's way overdue. And that she took Alvarez with her. Unless…assassinating him was part of her assignment?
I'm going to need a warped mind to figure this case out. Thank heavens I already have one.
She finished chopping celery. Putting it in a bowl with a plastic wrap cover and sliding that into the large fridge, she said, "I'd like to give the lab a good look over, so I can get a good start in it tomorrow. Do you think anyone would object to that? It's almost 8 o'clock."
"I'm sure it would be fine," said the taller Nell. "Dr. Johansson often works late."
"Well," said Klara briskly, washing her hands, "I will see you in the morning, then."
She strode out into the hall, wondering, as she went, Where are they holding McGee? That she had seen him earlier in the lab meant nothing; they needed to know where he'd likely be when rescue time came. This was a tall house: three stories, and what looked like an attic above that. She'd noticed that some of the Nells had changed clothes for dinner, and figured that some of them might actually live here, probably on the third floor. And they may have McGee in the attic, she thought with a grimace. I can alert Tony tonight and we can plan a rescue attempt…but we have to know where McGee is.
Without realizing it, Klara had stopped at the foot of the stairs. She was on the ground level floor; this is where the kitchen and large dining hall were. Before she could start up the stairs to the lab, she was startled by a Nell coming up from the lower level—Klara hadn't even paid attention to the stairs that lead to a basement level. "Nell, dear, will you take this tray back to the kitchen?" said the ascending Nell to another Nell passing by. "I took dinner down to Agent McGee, but he said he'd already eaten. Though he did take the slice of pumpkin pie from the tray."
"Of course, Nell," said the younger of the two, who looked barely 18, and was probably used to being pushed around by the others.
Feeling almost dizzy with excitement, Klara squeezed her hands tightly for a minute and held in the delighted shriek that wanted to get out. McGee was in the basement! She almost went down there herself, but training took over. Always have someone at your six. She'd get Tony in here somehow, and then—
"Going somewhere, Ms. Carlton?"
She'd done undercover work many times before, and didn't even blink at being called by the false name she'd given the blue-haired Nell. "Oh, Dr. Johansson! Just home. Time to cuddle my cats."
His look was reserved, rather than the somewhat friendly look of the Nells. "That's out of the question. Weren't you told that all staff are required to live on site?"
Drat. "I'm sure that never came up in conversation."
"Let me show you your accommodations, then. This way…" He guided her up the stairs, an arm firmly at her back.
Several choice swear words came to mind, but Klara kept them to herself. I came here to rescue McGee. Now who's going to rescue me?