Chapter 22 – The Marine Ball
"Thanks, but your help won't be needed, Gibbs. Enjoy your weekend."
Gibbs sat with his legs crossed, enjoying the view of falling leaves flying by Vance's window. "Ya sure?"
"Positive. Del Monico's team from the Pentagon wants the overtime. They've never done the Marine Ball; it will be a new experience for them."
"Is that enough protection?"
"The Marines have their own people on duty. It'll be enough."
"Okay. Suit yourself."
"You got another boat you're building?"
"Naw…not yet, anyway. But I can find something to do."
"Good."
"Call us if you need us."
"You trying to put a hex on the ball?"
Gibbs only shrugged.
"Well, get your best suit out of mothballs just in case."
"You'll be able to find me…I'll be the one smelling of mothballs."
The driver let Vance and his wife off at the resort hotel where the ball was being held. Vance wore a tux, and thought he carried it well, but he knew he was no match for Jackie, who looked astonishing in a sea-green gown. "I want you to remember that you're a married woman, and your husband and children will be very, very sad if you don't come home with me tonight," he murmured to her.
"Of course I'll come home with you, Leon," she smiled back. "Tomorrow's Sunday. Your day to make pancakes for breakfast."
He nuzzled her neck. "Blueberry or banana?"
"Surprise me."
He handed their tickets to the Marine guard at the door and showed his ID. The guard snapped to attention on seeing who he was. Jackie gave the guard a winning smile, and although Vance didn't say anything, inwardly he was pleased that security here asked for IDs along with the tickets. There were too many important people here who might draw terrorists. There were a number of enlisted men and women, along with the brass, who could be targets just by being in the armed forces.
There were too many people in the world with agendas; too many willing to hurt or kill other fellow beings for a cause.
Surely this venue would be safe, though. He wouldn't have brought Jackie along if he'd had any reasonable doubts about that.
He scanned the large ballroom as they entered it. There was the SECNAV, speaking to someone. A few Marines generals and Navy admirals were present. Vance also picked out the Under Secretary of the Navy, the Judge Advocate General of the Navy, the Commandant of the Marine Corps (of course), and the Chief of Naval Operations. Two members of the Joint Chiefs of Staff were here, too. And there were men in tuxes and suits who Vance guessed were probably CEOs of companies who had contracts with the Department of Defense.
But Jackie took his arm. "Look; that's Robert Chelsea. We should introduce ourselves."
"Do I know him?" Vance whispered back.
"You should. You know his wife. Bonnie Chelsea; just made admiral at the start of this year, remember now?"
"Oh." Vance was a little abashed at still thinking of the services as a place where only men advanced. That hadn't been true in years. He suspected Jackie quietly took note of these promotions; filed them away in her mind, and was prepared to use them if the right social setting came along. He let her drag to meet Admiral and Mr. Chelsea.
After about a minute, though, the SECNAV was tugging lightly on Vance's sleeve. Beside him stood Agent Charles—no, Carl—Witkovsky, team leader for the Pentagon team on duty tonight. Witkovsky looked grim. Kel Paulsen wore a placid look, which was about as upset as he ever got.
"Problem, Director," said Witkovsky. "We've received intelligence indicating that this site might be the subject of an attack."
Haven't I been through this enough this year? "From who?"
"The infromation came from the NSA and the FBI. It came in a few days ago and has just now filtered down to our level."
"Oh, for the love of—!"
Witkovsky bit his lip and tried to keep his face emotion-free. "Orders, sir?"
"What do you think, Kel?" Vance said to his boss.
"I think this isn't one of my specialties," the SECNAV replied. "Bring over some more of the ranking demigods and let's see what they want to do." He pointed out his choices.
"Do we have a room here where we can discuss this?" Vance asked while Paulsen went off to tap his chosen.
"Yes, sir. There are conference rooms outside, all around the ballroom."
"Good. We only need one to act as a war room. We'll take the closest."
While Witkovsky scurried off to get a key to the conference room, Vance took Jackie's hand. "I want you to go home."
"But Leon; we just got here!"
"I'm not going to let you be in harm's way. If this turns ugly…"
"And if it doesn't, I'll have to wait a year until the next Marine Ball."
Bravado. He had to admire that; at the same time, there was no one in the world he wanted to protect more. "Will you go sit out in the car with the driver?"
"It's cold outside! Baby; you know I'm a hot house flower."
"He can keep the heater running. We should know something within an hour, I'd think." He took her face in his hands. "Jackie, I—"
"I know," she said, simply. "You call me the instant that this is cleared up, you hear? There are plenty of people here who haven't seen my $700 dress yet."
"Can't have that," Leon agreed, giving her a kiss. He waved goodbye to her, and she to him, in their special wiggle of fingers, but he saw that she couldn't muster a smile.
He pulled out his phone. "Gibbs? Mothballs or not, you and your team should get down here on the double. In fact, forget the suits. Just wear your NCIS jackets."
In five minutes Paulsen's picked people (plus two others invited along by their comrades) plus Vance met in a conference room. Altogether there were nine people, and Vance bit back the groan he wanted to release. This was too large a group to make decisions, by far. Then again, they were military, and maybe years of strategic planning would keep them on track.
Nonetheless, it took awhile to get order. Then they had to pick a leader of the discussion. There was some bickering in this, but Vance was pleased when they finally settled on Paulsen. Presently, the door opened quietly, and Gibbs, Tony and Schmidt came in. Gibbs came and took a seat next to Vance, at Vance's nod. Tony and Schmidt just stood at the door and watched.
"Got the chatter right here," said one of the generals, tapping on his smart phone. They had no time to get data projectors and other equipment from the hotel; they would make do. The admiral read it aloud. Several people present jotted down notes, using the little notepads and pens left in the conference room by the hotel.
"The bottom line," said Admiral Chelsea, the only woman present, "is that the people on the chatter are believed to be of the same group that claimed responsibility for the attacks on the US Embassies in Africa last month. That's enough to make me sit up and listen."
"We need a plan," said someone. "I'd say we organize a committee, do a historical analysis, prepare a paper—"
"Prepare a paper!" Paulsen exclaimed, uncharacteristically sharp. "People, we are wasting precious time. Do your scholarly study after the fact. We need to be set to go with an action plan in 15 minutes. If the plan is simply to evacuate everyone, so be it. But we have to act. Gibbs?"
"NCIS and the state police have the road to here blocked," said Gibbs. "The highway runs close by, but not close enough to affect us."
"Anyone who hasn't arrived at the ball by now is out of luck," said Vance. "We'll turn them away."
"But that's—people have paid good money, at least $70 per person, to get in here!" someone else protested.
"Tough. Gibbs, I want anyone coming up the road to be picked up and held for questioning." Gibbs, beside him, nodded and signaled to Tony, who took his phone out into the hallway to make it happen.
"Wait; who put you in charge, Director…Vance, is it?"
"Homeland Security. Or Congress, if you will, who created this agency long ago. This is part of our credo, General; please let us do our job."
The man frowned, and then relented. "Okay, Director. Tell us what you want to do."
Vance and Gibbs kept the plans simple. With the loan of NCIS equipment, most of the group would pull off some specialists and search the hotel and grounds for explosives and incendiary devices. The rest would go back and mingle with the guests, acting as if nothing was wrong. If pressed as to where they had been, they would say there'd been a brief poker game.
A call back to NCIS got his technicians in MTAC to try to get infrared readings of the hotel grounds by satellite, to track anyone hiding. In addition, up-to-the-minute intelligence was requested. Vance personally made an appeal to the heads of the FBI and the CIA for any intelligence they had that might be related.
Vance thought of Jackie, in the comfortable, warm car. Why can't we have a normal night out? The thought was in and out of his head quickly as it shot back to the situation at hand.
The night bore on. The ball was due to end at 1 a.m. The bartender called out "Last call!" at 12:30, and stuck to it; closing down the bar 10 minutes later, over some protests.
Vance knew it was useless to speculate that If there was going to be an attack, it would have happened by now or If anyone was on the grounds that shouldn't be, we'd have caught them by now. The oddest things could upset a timetable, and terrorists' behavior couldn't be charted.
A very thorough search (monitored by Agent Schmidt) of the hotel found no dangerous devices. Nothing was found on the grounds, either. Vance sighed and shifted in his seat in the conference room, watching the news on ZNN. At some point this would be over. He just didn't know when.
Then his phone buzzed. It was Gibbs. "Just picked up two characters on the grounds. They were skulking in the woods. Complete with grenade launchers and a wheelbarrow full of chemical explosives, enough to demolish the hotel."
Vance sighed. "You think there's anyone else?"
"Don't know, but doubt it. There are only enough tracks in the mud to be accounted for by two sets of feet. We can continue investigating, but I think the scare is over."
"Thank God. And thank you," Vance sighed. He hung up, and then went to give the news to the other members of the war room council.
About fifteen minutes after that, Vance opened the door to his car. Jackie was asleep on the backseat, her heavy coat draped over her like a blanket. She looked like a picture.
He kissed her softly, making her stir. "Let's go home," he said.
"Is it over?" she said, drowsily.
"Yes."
"Is everyone okay?"
"Yes. Although some might be miffed that they did not get to see the ball's most beautiful woman in her most beautiful dress."
"Their loss," she said, and yawned. "Take me home."
Saturday, November 6
Wednesday, November 3