Chapter 6 – Furlough

Tuesday, March 2

It was a snowy day; not much snow was predicted, but enough to make the commute to NCIS a nuisance. Particularly, Vance thought, for the many workers who came by Metro and had to make the half-mile walk from the Navy Yard station. The late-winter storm matched the gloom that hung over the agency—the reality of furloughs had set in.

Granted, there was always hope: Hope that Congress would break the logjam and things would get back to normal without a single day's work or pay being lost. But there were no signs of it yet. Vance had given the affected people two weeks' notice…two weeks in which, he was sure, there wouldn't be a lot of work done.

Sitting in his office with his blinds mostly closed against the dismal weather, Vance sipped his coffee and sighed. Even if the budget came through this week, some damage had already been done, as a certain number of people were bound to have put out feelers for other employment. The doubt, the fear, of being a step away from unemployment gripped not only them, but their colleagues, who wondered if they might not be next.

"Director, I have the tallies you asked for."

"Thank you, Leslie. Good work," said Vance as his secretary deposited a file in his in-box and then went back to his desk. The furlough hit close to home for Vance, for Leslie was…barely, but still was…one of the 10% who were 'last hired'.

Leslie was keeping a brave face to it, and in fact, he'd known all along that he'd be part of the group, should furloughs come. He didn't dwell on it, but did his work, although his face was pinched and the casual, snarky humor was gone. Vance reflected that Leslie only seemed to be snarky when he was feeling happy. It was an odd character trait.

Dang. I'm going to be lost without him.

Ten per cent of my people, gone. How will we get by?

The only dim ray of hope in all of this was that these were furloughs, not layoffs. Furloughs implied no real break in employment; people retained their slots on the payroll and their benefits. They just didn't come to work and therefore weren't paid for a period of time. Not that the distinction meant a lot to people who had to pay mortgages, buy clothes for growing kids, and every day make sure there was food on the table. In many states, furloughed people were eligible for unemployment benefits after a week or so. Leslie had already done the research and had prepared for Vance a list of web links to send to employees enquiring about this (so far, 49 inquiries).

On top of this, there was the frustration of the immediate cause of the furloughs. There was no point in keeping the acquisition of the SIGs quiet: the news would leak out, and then it when it did, it would look like a cruel cover-up. Still, it was hard to counter the argument that getting new equipment meant more to the agency than having employees…no matter how much that new equipment was needed. It was incredibly bad timing, but that was Fate.

All I need is for a furloughed agent to pawn his gun and then claim it lost.

Or for one of them to 'go postal' on us.

How could he even deal with the latter? Agents had to bring their firearms into the building. Federal regulations said that the SIGs had to be with them; they couldn't leave the guns at work. All that Vance could think to do was deny access to NCIS buildings to those furloughed (how? Provide a list to the guards? Make them turn in their IDs?). That, and meet with the middle-management to make sure that they understood to report immediately any employee who seemed to be acting upset. Non-furloughed employees could be just as upset about the furloughs as the 10% were.

For the first time in months, Vance reached for the bottle of antacids he kept in his desk.

Wednesday, March 10

Gibbs came into Vance's office, unannounced, while Leslie was at lunch. "Still no word?" Gibbs demanded, pulling up a chair without invitation.

Vance decided a rebuke wasn't worth it; not under these conditions. "Nothing. The SECNAV is doing everything he can, but he says the Senate is stonewalling him."

"Leon, I can't run an MCRT without a team."

"All you're losing is David."

"No, it's more than that. Stan's father has had problems and Stan can only work mornings now. Tony's off crutches but is still doing physical therapy. That leaves just McGee to go out in the field with me."

Vance sighed. "Normally, I'd let you detail in an agent from anywhere you chose, but I can't do that now, Gibbs. We're going to be stretched too thin. Did you know that of the 10% being furloughed, almost 60% are agents? Our luck in hiring thirteen months ago has come back to haunt us."

"What about the class at FLETC now?"

"They're being furloughed, too. We're letting those who want to stay on site, at least for the time being. It would be cruel to force them to pay for transportation home and back when this is over." Vance grimaced. "I feel so dirty about all of this. I hate to look at the list of names. I see a face…or imagine one, for the people I haven't met. How's David doing?"

Gibbs shrugged. "She doesn't talk about it much. She's already arranged for McGee to water her desk plant. She says she wants to finish her reports by the end of the week, so she's not taking on any new cases…This is hard, Leon. After all the lengths she went through to prove herself here, and to become a citizen…"

Vance laughed without mirth. "Welcome to the new economic reality. I hated to do that to her, but…

"You could have picked people at random, you know. Or made everyone take, say, one or two days off a week."

"I considered those and dismissed them. No one ever believes that 'random' choices are really 'random'. And we have enough work to do here without tying people up figuring out a days-on, days-off schedule…don't frown at me like that, Gibbs. Don't you think I've tried to see a way out of this?"

"I guess. I just hope this doesn't drag out. Soon there will be rumors going that the FBI is out to buy us."

"Seems to me that I already heard that joke."

"Not surprised. I started it yesterday." With a half-smile, Gibbs left.

Monday, March 15

On this, the first day of the furloughs, Vance found HQ to be subdued. Of course just a 10% drop in people on board (which for HQ was actually closer to 11%) shouldn't make that much difference in the sound level. Maybe it was just the way that people carried themselves. The security guards at the front entrance were being more careful about checking employee IDs. Vance had, in fact, ordered that the furloughed people turn in their IDs to their supervisors before leaving work on Friday (or Saturday or Sunday, depending on their work schedule). There would be arrangements made for them to get the IDs back when the furlough was over.

Vance looked at the long sheet of notes that Leslie had left for him, detailing where on the computer he kept Vance's schedule and dozens of other things that Vance would have to review every day to keep the agency running. (He knew he'd also have to answer all of his own phone calls. That thought alone was enough to make a strong administrator cry.)

With luck, nothing really bad would happen in the meantime. They'd all just be…a little inconvenienced.

That thought lasted until shortly after noon.

Gibbs' phone call almost bellowed in his ear. "You want evidence of what being 'stretched thin' can do to us? I had to send McGee out alone to question a guy with a possible link to drugs going into Quantico. McGee got shot! What do you think about that, Leon?"

"Don't take down my eardrum, Gibbs. How is McGee?"

"Don't know yet. He was able to call 911 by himself. DiNozzo and I are headed for the hospital."

Gibbs had hung up. Vance hadn't asked the obvious question—Why weren't you with him? Gibbs, he knew, would already be kicking himself over that.

He would probably say, Burley wasn't in yet and I'd be needed if a new case came in. Both were valid reasons.

But a man was now wounded—who knew how badly—all because of staffing shortages.

And the new guns hadn't even been handed out yet.'