The Gibbs Says Uncle Affair
by Gale Force
Part 9.
1. Solo, Gibbs and McGee
"I am psychic at times," Napoleon said. "But I don't know who you are."
The elder one produced his ID. "I'm Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS. This is Agent McGee."
Napoleon stood his ground. "I'd like to see your ID too, young man."
"Oh, yes, of course." McGee dug into his back pocket, pulled it out.
Napoleon squinted at it, then nodded. "Please come in, gentlemen,"he said, stepping backward, and gesturing into the room with his cane.
NCIS personnel attending conferences did not rate suites, but the rooms that Abby and Ducky had had were large and spacious, with a table at which one could work in one corner, beside the television.
Napoleon gestured at it, and Gibbs, after glancing at McGee, took a seat. McGee, who had made a movement toward the table, remained standing.
Napoleon seated himself opposite the other man, being careful to stretch out his "gimpy" leg with care. He lifted up his glasses, where they had dangled on his chest, and adjusted them on his nose fussily.
"Well, Special Agent Gibbs, you need a psychic?"
"I'm told you wanted to check in to the room next door. I want to know why."
Napoleon was a quick judge of people, and saw that this man Gibbs would not suffer fools gladly, and did not beat about the bush. Well, he would be just as forthright...well, just as forthright as possible. (If Ilya were in deep cover with the NCIS, it would not do for him to blow that cover.)
"The man who disappeared is a friend of mine," Napoleon said. "I intend to find out what happened to him."
"And how do you know he disappeared?"
"I saw the News of the Weird segment last night."
Gibbs' lips quirked. The thought of a news agency broadcasting something like that without even doing any research about it still irked him no end.
"So, Agent Gibbs, what progress have you made?" Napoleon asked.
"Damn all." grunted Gibbs.
"No suspects? No ransom note?"
"Not yet."
Napoleon nodded. "I see."
They sat in silence for a few seconds.
"How long have you known Dr. Mallard?" asked Gibbs finally.
"Oh," Napoleon gestured. "A few years."
"I ask, because I've known him for a long time, and he's never mentioned you."
"Oh? How long a time?"
"Twenty years." Gibbs gritted.
Napoleon nodded. "That is a long time. Well, I knew him before then. We worked together for a time. Then, we went our separate ways, and lost touch. But that doesn't mean he isn't still a friend of mine."
"I see," said Gibbs. "You'll want to see his mother, then."
Napoleon's eyes circled. "His... his mother?"
"Yes," Gibbs said, starting at Napoleon intently. "The woman he's been living with for the last twenty years."
"Ah," said Napoleon. "That would explain it. As I said, I haven't seen him for twenty years." Ilya's mother had died when he was a child.
"Um, Agent Gibbs." Napoleon rubbed his lip. "1983...Did you know Dr. Mallard in 1983?" That was the last time he'd seen Ilya. They'd been re-united for a few months, tracking down an escaped terrorist.
Gibbs' eyes narrowed. "Not to speak to. He was just an assistant Medical Examiner at NCIS at that time. I didn't meet him formally until 1988. Why do you ask?"
"Well, well..." murmured Napoleon. Things weren't adding up. Ilya had been a very intelligent man, practically in the genius class, but in 1983 he'd been a fashion designer, founder of the House of Vanya, and there was no way on God's green earth that he could have been moonlighting as a medical examiner. Someone who autopsied bodies and explained how he died. This Doctor Mallard...it must be just a coincidence that he looked so much like Ilya.
Such things were known to happen...Everyone had a double, as someone once said. And many an entertainer in Las Vegas made their livelihood because they looked like some movie star...why couldn't normal people have doubles as well?
"A penny for your thoughts, Mr. Sykes." said Gibbs.
Napoleon caught up his tie and cleaned his eyeglasses fussily with the ends of it. "I'm sorry. It's just...the thought of Dr. Mallard's mother. I would've thought he'd been married by now. Had a few kids."
"Dr. Mallard's mother has had health problems for many years," said Gibbs, "and he is very fond of her."
"Oh, of course. Of course."
Napoleon took a deep breath. "Well, gentlemen. Thank you for being so frank with me. I'll be here for a couple of days. I hope you'll keep me up to speed on if a ransom note arrives, or anything like that."
"You can count on it," said Gibbs, rising.
Napoleon got to his feet also, again careful to make use of his cane, and escorted the two men to the door.
After they'd gone, he turned and threw the cane onto the bed in disgust. Wasted trip...he should have done more research last night...confirmed then whether or not this Dr Mallard was Ilya...foolish of him not to have verified it before making this entire trip, plus shaving off his hair.
"I am getting old," he said out loud.
He ran a hand ruefully over his bald pate. He'd better pick up a rug today...impossible to explain that to his wife. Please god his original hair would grow back in a month or two!
Napoleon retrieved his cane and limped out of his hotel room, intent on visiting the best wig shop in the city of Norfolk.
He'd check out tomorrow morning, Napoleon decided, and return home. As for the unfortunate Dr. Mallard, Special Agents Gibbs had struck him as a very competent man, more than capable of solving that little mystery on his own.
2. Marcovitch
"Have Forbes kill our recent visitor, and dump hid body where it will not be found."
Marcovitch read the email, and felt a frisson of irritation. Not that she had any qualms about ordering the death of an innocent man, of course, but merely because she hated waste. Also, she was an efficient woman, and didn't like it when things didn't make sense, and killing this man didn't make sense. Finally, she had her sights set on being a satrap one day – THRUSH was a growing concern and always looking to promote from within – and Sapphire was her mentor.
Therefore, she called up the woman using Skype, so they could see each other while they talked.
"Madame Sapphire," she said, when the satrap had answered. "I'm in receipt of your orders regarding our recent visitor."
"Yes?" said Sapphire, raising one perfect eyebrow.
"I'd like clarification, please. Obviously, you had something in mind with our visitor, and after you received his fingerprints, you changed your mind..."
Sapphire smiled at her protege.
"It's a lesson well learnt, Marcovitch," she admitted ruefully. "I let a desire for revenge get the best of me, when I should have been concentrating on Project Polaris. That man resembled an old adversary of my parents. Turns out, that's all it was, a resemblance. So we may as well get rid of him."
"But if I may, Sapphire... this man is rather high up in NCIS - that's the Naval Criminal Investigative Service. Those people...have power. Why not...demand a trade?"
Sapphire stared at her protege, tapping one finger against her teeth.
"Marcovitch, you're a genius. Make NCIS use its investigative skills to find Ilya Kuryakin. Demand that Kuryakin be given to me in exchange for their own man. What a good plan."
Marcovitch bent her head."Thank you, Sapphire."
"Very well, Marcovitch. I have to concentrate on Polaris for the next several days. We're at a critical stage. So, you are in charge of Operation Doppelganger. Have Kuryakin sent to me here, the real Kuryakin, in chains, and I will ensure that when the next position of satrap opens up, you'll get it."
Marcovitch smiled. "Thank you, Sapphire. I won't let you down. Marcovitch...out."