Chapter 10 – May Flowers
"Here are the reports you requested, Director."
Vance looked up. His secretary had approached soundlessly, as usual. Maybe I should require him to wear bells…"Oh, thank you, Leslie. Just put them in my In box…Is there something else?"
"Um, yes, Director. You asked a few weeks ago for ideas for a fun thing for the employees…?"
"Oh, yes. Got an idea?"
Leslie relaxed a little. "Well, I was thinking something a little sporty…to get the muscles going; not too strenuous, necessarily…"
"A fitness thing. Yes; that's always good. Most of our people are too sedentary."
"Yes, sir. I was thinking…how about a bicycle race? That is, not necessarily a race, but a bicycle course. Start here in the Yard and go to some point; maybe in Virginia."
"Like my house?" Vance smiled, and then grinned at Leslie's flush. I know how he thinks! But he's already thought ahead of that. Well, I'll play along. "Not my house; not enough room, and it would be a security nightmare."
"Of course. That's why I was thinking of having the end point be a park in Alexandria. We could get a permit for a picnic and reserve a large space. Grill hot dogs, burgers, chicken and the like. Have a space for games for kids, since we'd invite employees to bring their families. But the focal point would be the bike race. People wouldn't have to participate in it to come to the picnic, but we could encourage it."
Vance nodded. "I like it. I like it a lot. When should we do this?"
"I was thinking early or mid-June, before it's likely to get too stinking hot."
"Fine. Make it happen, Leslie. Get the permits; put out a call for committees…you know what to do."
"Thank you, sir. Oh, and I have a name for it."
"What is it?"
"Since it's about bicycles, even though it's not ending at your house, it can't be anything but…" he took a breath. "…Tour de Vance."
Vance roared with laughter. "Excellent. Good work, Leslie. 'Tour de Vance.'" He was still chuckling when Leslie went out.
The MCRT's current case intrigued Vance, since it concerned a Congressman's daughter at Quantico. She had escaped serious injury, but her boyfriend, who was also a Marine, had been killed in a strange affair that pointed to a pipe bomb. Vance was getting an earful from the SECNAV on it, and had promised to make the case the agency's "top priority." How many times in my career have I used those two words? Vance thought with a wince. Nonetheless, he would push the case through. He went down to Autopsy to see what progress is being made.
"Ah, as you can see, Director, there is still nothing conclusive about this case," said Ducky, hovering over the cadaver. "Ms. Sciuto is analyzing tissue samples to see what can be found out about the fragmentation, but I think we'll find…"
Vance listened with half an ear. It vaguely bothered him that his job was to hurry results along before the Congressman turned ugly attention on NCIS, instead of worrying about seeing that a perpetrator was brought to justice. There seemed to be no way of avoiding that, however. It was always political, and always boiled down to money. Keep Congress on your side and you'd have fewer years begging for a budget from them.
He noticed that Ducky's assistant, Palmer, was lurking in the background, staying quiet. Jimmy Palmer, Vance knew, was reportedly legendary for his jokes, some of which were of questionable taste. Palmer recently seemed to make himself invisible most times when Vance came to Autopsy. Is he afraid of me? Has Mallard put a muzzle on him? Either possibility was disturbing.
Vance didn't want his employees to be afraid of him. Respect him, yes, if he had earned that. Be polite to him in deference to his position, certainly. But he was not about to cut off anyone's head or throw them in the brig. He could tolerate a little cheek from his people, and would prefer that to total…silence. He made a mental note to investigate what was behind Palmer's behavior.
Once a month (or more often, if needed) Vance received a report from the head of Intel on threats pertaining to the agency itself. Usually, there was nothing. Sometimes the report was minor, such as so-and-so who was a bitter, hardened criminal was being released from prison. In that case, tabs would be kept on the felon for awhile, but almost never did anything come out of it.
This month, a report came in over a week early, and it was marked Urgent. For Your Eyes Only.
Vance read the attached document on his computer. A threat, a credible one, had been made on the lives of all four members of his MCRT…all were named and described, and the writer promised cruel and torturous deaths.
He had to look away for a moment before reading the document again. Enough information was provided, in a rather cool manner, to leave no doubt that whoever wrote the unsigned note had indeed been watching the team.
Vance grabbed his desk phone received with sweaty palms. "Gibbs, get up here, on the double."
"Well? Isn't this where you do a little calm bluster and say, 'Leon, this probably means nothing. I'll have Abby run some tests, we'll figure out who sent it, and pick him up.'?"
Gibbs didn't look away from the printout Vance handed him. "You want me to lie?"
"You're taking this seriously? Gibbs, you must need a vacation."
"Now I think you're the one who's joking, Leon. This feels real. Very real, according to my gut. Whoever sent this means business. And it sounds like he intends to try to carry it out."
"But the Gibbs I know would tell me that he intends to keep on working, despite the threat."
Gibbs sighed. "Maybe I'm getting old. Maybe I've seen too much. Too many good agents have died, including some who've worked for me."
"You don't want to take chances."
"Oh, I'll continue to take chances—reasonable ones, with a good payoff. This doesn't strike me as one which we should be taking big chances with, though."
Vance looked at the printout again. "What do you want to do about it? We can put you all in a safe house until we catch whoever sent this. Think you four can exist together in one residence without killing each other?"
"This isn't Gilligan's Isle. I don't intend to isolate ourselves. We'll come in and do our job, and just be a lot more careful about it."
"Okay. You can't be investigating it, though. I'll put Swain's team on it."
"Fine with me."
"One more thing: I trust you to make it clear to your team exactly what the threat is, and allow them to decide, individually, what they want to do about it. If any of them want protection, you see that they get it."
"Can't imagine that they would, but I'll tell them."
"McGee's not back in the field yet."
"He should be next Monday, though. He finishes his physical therapy this week."
"Good. Watch over him."
"He can take care of himself, Leon. I wouldn't have him on my team if I thought otherwise."
"Now that's the old Gibbs bluster that I know so well. You know full well that McGee is the weak link on your team when it comes to self-defense. He's not the marksman that David or DiNozzo or you are. And with him recently winged…I'm not sure that I shouldn't order him into protective custody for his own good."
"Do that and you'll break his spirit."
"Experienced though they are, you're still responsible for seeing your team stays safe, Gibbs."
"I know."
"Well…all right. I'll trust your judgment. For now."
Vance had to go into Jackie's home office and close the door to drown out the sound of noisy children when the phone call came through. "Yes, Hettie?"
"Leon, we've checked and there's nothing on this side of the country that matches the threat you described. My guess is you've got a local thug with a personal vendetta against your MCRT."
"Okay. I just wanted to rule out any connection. Thanks."
"Tell Gibbs to take care. I am quite capable of worrying from a mere 2,600 miles away."
"I'm sure you are." Vance clicked his cell phone off.
Even though all members of the MCRT declined protection or removal to a safe house, Vance fretted. The team was good, but they were neither infallible nor invincible. Certainly not immortal. While the lab analyzed the document and Swain's team tried to dig up clues, there was no doubt that four good agents were going around with swords of Damocles over their heads.
"Daddy! Daddy! Let me in!" Small fists pounded on the door.
Vance opened the door. "What is it, Lily?"
The little girl smiled. "Hi, Daddy!" she said, and skipped away.
Kids…!
A minute later, Lily was back; fading forsythia clumps from the garden bushes in her hand. "Here, Daddy! Teacher says that April flowers bring May showers. Does this mean I have to take a shower every time I pick a flower?"
"Ask your mother," Vance hedged, while knowing Jackie would take it out of his hide.
The phone rang while Vance was in a knot over new DoD regs that would hamper some of the things NCIS did.
"Director, just calling to tell you that I'm on my way back to my ship, and to thank you for accommodating me these past five months. That extra month was a blessing."
Vance smiled. "Good to hear that, Agent Burley. How's your father doing?"
"He's much better, thanks. He's managing on his own in his house, now. With regular check-ups, he should be fine for a good, long time."
"Okay. Glad to be getting back to an Agent Afloat position?"
"It's the best job there is. Whoops; there's my ride."
Vance smiled some more as he hung up. With all of the stress of this job, it was important to recognize the good news, when it came. Burley was going back to where he belonged. Maybe Life would return to normal, now that vacation season was coming up…
But Vance doubted that there was a "normal" setting for this job.
Monday, May 17
Saturday, May 15
Thursday, May 13
Friday, May 7