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The Gibbs Says Uncle Affair

by Gale Force

Part 10.

1. Ducky

Carlton Forbes closed his cellphone with a snap and shook his head.

Kid gloves...kid gloves...always with the kid gloves. His bosses were making him treat these old men as if they were a combination of Bruce Lee, James Bond and Superman. First Kuchenko and now this Mallard fellow. When it was clear to him, and his team, that they could snap their necks with ease.

It was Marcovitch who had instructed him to put their visitor into a safe room encapsulating life as it was in 1969. Apparently Marcovitch had a thing for that era...weird, as that delightful bird could not have been born until the late 1970s, if he was any judge. And he was.

And now she was telling him to slip the old guy an old-fashioned tape recorder, to have him record a message on that, instead of on a digital recorder that made everything so easy.

He hated it when people played private games in the midst of an important job...and clearly that's what Marcovitch was doing here.

And he still wasn't to get anywhere near the man. Mustn't give the 75-year old duffer a chance to drop-kick him into next week, apparently.

Forbes sighed. Then he shrugged. Marcovitch was paying him. Marcovitch was the boss. He had his instructions and he would follow them to the letter.

Thus it was that Ducky, in the midst of watching The Ghost and Mrs. Muir with Edward Mulhare and Hope Lange, saw the screen go dark, and then be replaced by a test pattern - something he hadn't seen for donkey's years. A British voice emanate from the screen

"We interrupt your program for this emergency message. The door is about to open. Stay on the bed. If you set one foot on the floor, you will be shot."

Ducky, stretched out on the bed as he was, drew his knees up to his chest.

"I'm not going anywhere," he called out.

He watched as the door did indeed open, and a large, old-fashioned tape recorder was pushed into the room. He saw no hand, no face...just the tape recorder.

"Sellotaped to that recorder is a piece of paper with a message printed on it," the television told him. "Record that message onto the machine, then go back and sit on the bed."

Ducky folded his arms over his chest.

"Is there a problem?" came the voice.

"Before I do something for you, I want you to do something for me."

"Yes?"

"It's about the menu."

Part 2. Kuchenko

At precisely six pm, Gregori Kuchenko and his two grand-daughters got into his SUV. As was his custom on "basketball night", he took them out to dinner at a local Chilis, and then they drove onto the campus of Old Dominion University to attend the game.

Never before had Kuchenko had to act as unconcerned as he hoped he was acting now. He had to take his grand-daughters to the game, it was the routine and They'd be expecting it. But his vulnerability was increased here...if They were angry about what had happened the afternoon before...if They'd broken Ilya and he'd told them who he was...even if They'd just decided They couldn't trust him on his own anymore....

It would not be he that would suffer for Their mistrust, he knew, but his grand-daughters. If They snatched one or both, in order to have yet more leverage against him than just threatening that that's what They'd do...

Kuckenko's mind went round and round, like a hamster on a wheel in a cage...he didn't know what to do...he knew what he'd have done back in the old days, if he'd been in charge of an operation...he would have snatched a man's grand-daughters without hesitation..wouldn't have even left it this long!.

He felt a tug on his hand. "Grandpa...we can't go in yet. I've got to get my program," said Mia.

"And I want a bucket of ice-cream," said Sandra, digging into her purse. "I'll get one for each of us."

"We'll meet you at the seats," Mia told him.

"No, my dears," said Kuchenko. "It has been many weeks since I've seen what they offer for sale here...I wish to take a look. Let us look together, eh?"

As a result, the girls climbed to their seats bearing more goodies than they'd ever yet managed to score at such a game, and were chattering away happily.

Kuchenko noted that the people who normally sat on either side of them were not there. Instead, there was a beautiful dark-haired woman seated on the left...wearing an ODU shirt, and on the right, an older man...perhaps mid-thirties, also wearing an ODU sweatshirt and bearing a foam finger.

As was their custom, Mia sat on his left, Sandra on his right, and grandpa got to sit in the middle.

Also as was their custom, as soon as half-time rolled around Mia and Sandra would head downstairs and do...whatever it was they did at these times...all Kuchenko knew was that they usually returned with more ice cream.

Things had to remain as normal...he watched them head down the stairs...

"Cute kids," said the woman, with an accent he couldn't recognize.

"Yes," he said. He was not in the mood to talk...he opened up the program and stared at the text within.

"Were they with you yesterday, during the Lady Vols game?"

Kuchenko's heart went ice cold, and plummeted into h is stomach, where it remained. They had come for him...

He stalled.

"What do you mean?"

"You met a man at the end of that game. I'm sure you recall. And not 24 hours later he disappeared. Kind of strange, don't you think?"

Kuchenko listened in horror...horror which he carefully kept from his face. She was not THRUSH...they would not have approached him in such a manner... who the hell was she? Police? UNCLE? But UNCLE was dead. Nevertheless, he could not be seen to be talking to her!

She had reached into her purse...took out a photo...was handing it to him.

"Don't give it to me," he hissed through smiling lips, putting urgency into his tone. "They're watching for any contact!"

The woman's eyes flickered, then she continued extending the photo, first toward his chest and then back outward and upward, toward the man on the other side. "Give it to him," she said quietly.

The other man extended his hand, took the photo, murmuring apologies for reaching.

Kuchenko seized his opportunity. Speaking slightly louder than normal...but not so loud as to seem unnatural, he said, "Please, if you know each other you must sit together. I can move down one. Please."

And the man, smiling his thanks, switched seats with him, then leaned over and gave the other woman a kiss on the cheek.

"Discuss the photo," Kuchenko hissed. "So that it seems natural that you gave it to him."

Even as the two of them smiled and laughed and made great play of the photo, the man said out of the corner of his mouth, "We were going to do that."

Kuchenko turned to them, smiling as if amused at the sight of two young lovers. "They are watching all the time," he said very quietly. "And you know what they do to people if they do not like what they see."

"Why didn't they like it yesterday?" the man said, his face turned toward the woman's.

Kuchenko sat with his chin in one palm, so that his fingers masked his mouth, while he paged through the program. Please god the watchers would be on that side of the arena, so that they would not see his mouth moving.

"They must have recognized him, as I did, and not believe it was a coincidence," Kuchenko said. "But it was. Who'd have thought...after thirty years.... I barely recognized him myself. I..."

And at that very second, Mia and Sandra returned. "Grandpa," said Mia..."aren't you in the wrong seat?"

Mia sat next to him, between him and the man, while Sandra went to the other side.

"They are friends who wanted to sit together, Mia," said Kuchenko lightly. "What did you bring me? Chocolate ice cream, I hope?"

The two agents...for whatever agency.... did not speak to him again after that, and when the game ended they lost no time rising to their feet, inching past knees, and leaving the area. As the man scooched by, he whispered, "We'll be in touch."

And then they were gone.