Chapter 2- The TAD
A/N: I'm using the same SECNAV that I had created and used in stories long before the show gave us a SECNAV. I like mine better; he's a nicer fellow.
Tuesday, January 6
"Yeah, okay. You take care. Don't hurry back." Gibbs snapped his cell phone shut, and now allowed himself the sigh he'd held in. He looked up, having felt the presence…yes, there was Vance, at the balcony, looking down on his realm.
Many people working in the squad room thought that the Director could stand on the balcony and listen in on their conversations. It was a myth that none of the directors had ever sought to put straight. In reality, the carpet and the baffles around the workstations absorbed sound well, and at best, only indistinct murmurs could be heard up on the balcony. Leon Vance, being a wise director, made better use of visual cues, such as facial expressions and body language, to get an understanding for what was going on. Like now.
He read minor annoyance and bitterness on Gibbs' face, and knew that something was involving his team, and, ultimately, Vance. Vance trotted down the stairs.
"Just got off the phone with DiNozzo," Gibbs said. "He broke his leg skiing. Doctor is advising him against travel for a week."
"Blonde, brunette, or redhead?" Vance asked with a smile.
"Didn't say, although I suspect the chasing of something female was involved."
"Double whammy. Burley, I was going to send you to the Pentagon next week, but it looks like you'll be needed more here."
Stan Burley nodded. "Sure thing, Director."
From the corner of his eye, Vance could see tension in Tim and Ziva. Now what?
Friday, January 9
Thought you'd want to know was the subject line on an email from the SECNAV.
It was in regards to the agency budget. Of course Vance would want to know about that. NCIS, along with most of the rest of the federal government, had been operating under a "continuing resolution" since the start of the fiscal year, last October. Congress, as usual, was caught up in finger-pointing when it came to the economy, and, also as usual, was willing to keep agencies waiting for their operating funds. This meant that the money available to them was the same as last year's. Nothing for hiring or equipment replacement or anything else.
The agency had sunk a ton of money into replacing every single SIG Sauer that the agents carried. Every last one. There hadn't been a large firearms purchase in over 15 years, and many of the guns were aging. That had been desperately needed, and the contract was signed in 2009 for that. (This over the idiotic complaints of a few senators who proclaimed that federal agencies should be required to buy American products.) The sigs should be delivered in a few months.
Vance had carefully timed the order last year, hoping and praying that when delivery time arrived, the money would be in the budget for the balance due. Naturally, the SECNAV had approved of the purchase, but in that face-to-face meeting, he'd given Vance a warning look. Be prepared to scramble if you're still under a continuing resolution by then.
And so they were. The SECNAV's email gave no ray of hope as to when the budget impasse might be resolved. Currently, the resolution extended through February. After that…even law enforcement agencies could never say never to possible layoffs.
It was maddening. The new sigs were absolutely necessary. But day-to-day expenses had to be paid, too. Salaries. Gear. Transportation. Technology. Building overhead. The cost of water and electricity to NCIS' facilities didn't go down just because there was a continuing resolution.
Vance sighed. He could restrict voluntary overtime for now, but he would put off the difficult decisions for as long as he could…and pray that Congress would break the impasse soon.
Tuesday, January 13
He had lunch with the SECNAV one day. Kel Paulsen wasn't a fancy eater; too many years on a ship had washed away his taste buds, he claimed. Eating at the food court aboard the Navy Yard suited him, and avoided the security hassle of going off base.
Vance actually liked the lasagna he could get at the food court, and so didn't object. He waited until Paulsen had had a few bites of his hamburger before asking, "So, what brings you out our way, Kel?"
Paulsen stopped and took off his glasses to clean them. "Got a challenge for you, Leon. You probably won't like it."
"What is it?"
"Funding works in mysterious ways. Someone in the House has a 19-year-old kid who's all excited about becoming an agent down the road. She's studying criminal justice at Princeton. Wants an internship."
"Interns are helpful, but they have to be managed. The hours it takes away from our regular duties to work with them—"
"I know; I know. But as I said, funding is mysterious. This Representative has put together a special bill appropriating enough funds to float 500 interns this summer in various agencies, including NCIS."
"I'd rather just have the money," Vance grumbled. "Wasn't there a study done once, on the percentage of interns who actually signed on with their agency after graduation? The numbers weren't very high."
"Yes; I remember that study. It was done by a young guy named Leon James Vance. Whatever happened to him?"
Vance snorted and sipped his soda. "I'm just saying…"
"I know. But, a), you do get something out of those interns, and b), you don't have a choice. If this appropriations bill passes, you'll have to take on your proportionate share of interns. I would imagine you'd get up to 30. You can put them anywhere in the country you like."
"I'll put it on my agenda," Vance sighed. "So, what's going on with you these days?"
"Things are good. Grandchild number four is due in a week; Jane is flying out to Phoenix to help out our daughter for awhile. This is her first baby."
Vance smiled and wished them well. He noticed, though, that as usual, Paulsen talked little about himself. Who does the SECNAV go to when he has troubles? The Joint Chiefs of Staff? The President?
He shook his head slightly. No, Paulsen was, despite his mild demeanor, chock full of military discipline. He would suck up any problems he had, like a good sailor. It was comforting to have a boss like that.
Arriving back at NCIS, Vance took a detour through the squad room. He liked to keep a finger on what was happening in his world, and so made a point of going through the NCIS departments frequently. He also did it so he wouldn't be perceived as a boss who just hid out in his office.
He could hear Stan Burley's voice rising before he approached the MCRT area of the squad room. "…they're serviceable guns, of course, but out-of-date. A good weapon is your best line of defense; trust me. You want better guns than these old hacks."
"They seem good enough to me," Tim said, pulling his firearm out of his drawer and looking at it.
"I take good care of my knives," said Ziva. "They have never let me down."
"Never was a knife-man, myself. But the agency's getting new sigs. Newer models. You'll be glad to put the old ones away, then."
"New models? Where did you hear that?" Tim frowned, looking doubtful.
"We would have heard of that, were it true," Ziva agreed.
Vance grimaced. So that was it: McGee and David thought that Burley was coming off as a know-it-all, and that annoyed them. "New models of what?" Vance asked innocently, coming up.
Tim and Ziva eyed each other. At least they weren't tattletales, but Vance knew they wouldn't be.
To his credit, Burley spoke up. "I was just telling these guys, Director, that I'd heard that the agency was doing a complete replacement of its firearms. All new SIG Sauers. My CO mentioned it a few weeks ago."
"It's true," said Vance. "It's long past time that we got new stock. With luck, we'll have them this spring."
"What will happen to the old ones?"
"Well, you'll turn your current firearm in, and get a receipt for it. Some of the old ones will be saved; just a few. The best of the rest will probably be sold to local LEOs. Most will probably be destroyed."
"Sometimes," Tim said softly, "you think that no one cares about your safety, out there on the lines. And then something like this, a new firearm, comes along. And you realize they do care."
Not responding, Vance went up to his office. Days could come up with the strangest, and greatest, revelations.
Thursday, January 15
Vance looked up as Leslie Baker appeared in his doorway. "Director, Stanley Burley would like a few minutes of your time at your earliest opportunity."
"About?"
"He said it's personal."
"How is his father doing?"
"I haven't asked, and he hasn't said."
"All right. I think I'm free most of the late morning. If the team isn't out in the field, tell him he can see me at 11:45." It was best to slot subordinates at the quarter hours, unless you knew that the subject was vital. This gave them a sense of a limited time.
Stan Burley arrived at 11:45 on the dot. "Thanks for seeing me, Director."
Vance offered him coffee and water; Stan took the latter. "What's on your mind, Agent Burley?"
Stan frowned and looked from one side to another, and carefully looked to see that the door was closed. "Director, I appreciate how accommodating the agency has been with me, allowing me to work TAD here in DC so I can be here for my dad, but…"
Vance raised an enquiring eyebrow when Stan didn't continue, and this gave him the push to go on.
"…but it's been hard. Really hard to get into the swing of things here."
"Why is that?"
"Oh, a bunch of reasons, I guess. Working for Gibbs again after so many years. We've both changed a bit, and yet stayed a lot like we were. Working with Ziva and Tim…they're so comfortable working together, and they tried to be nice to me, but I feel like a 5th wheel. And it brings out the worst in me."
"Oh?"
"I hear myself trying to sound impressive and important. Like I must be better than them because I've been doing this a lot longer than they have. And I hate it when I say things like that. I think they really think I'm a blowhard; a pompous ass. Gibbs has been an agent longer than I have, and you don't see him showing off. He just gets the job done, without calling attention to himself."
"And what would you like me to do?"
"Well, tell me truthfully if you think I should stay on here. Maybe I wasn't cut out to be a team player. I think I've always done best when I've worked alone, and was my own boss. That's pretty much what it's like for an Agent Afloat, you know. There are all of the ship's officers, but when it comes down to it…you and you alone are the voice of law enforcement."
"I know," Vance said, folding his hands. "I served my six months as an Agent Afloat and loved it. Best experience of my career. But…trying new things broadens you. It gives you new insights into your routine, and should make you a better agent."
Vance waited. Burley had a great record, and Vance didn't want to see him implode under stress.
"There are a lot of positions for agents," Stan said, avoiding Vance's eyes. "Cybercrimes. I'm not as swift with a computer as some of these kids are, but I'm good at reasoning. Or Intel. I've seen the world, Director. That must count for something in experience."
"Of course it does."
"I'm just not sure…that the MCRT and I are a good match."
"Agent Burley, you've been here only a few weeks. I know the MCRT is a high-pressure position, but it can be a tremendously rewarding one, too."
"You're not going to reassign me, then."
"I'm asking you to hold out a little longer. I think it and you can learn from each other. If you make an effort to listen to McGee and David, you can learn from them, too, and then maybe you won't feel the need to 'show off'."
Stan's head sunk, and he was clearly disappointed. But then he looked up and said, calmly, "All right, sir. I'll try."
"Good man," Vance said, and shook his hand.
He had no doubt that that described Agent Burley. He could only hope things would smooth out now.