One Less - Part 15
by joykatleen
It took a phone call to Capt. McNally before the Roosevelt's chief physician would give Ziva access to the carrier's medical records. Active duty military personnel were not protected by civilian patient confidentiality laws, but the military equivalent meant they had to show probable cause before the records would be opened. Figuring Gibbs would not want to wait for a military warrant, Ziva tried several other ways to get into the records and was at dead ends until McGee told her McNally had been very cooperative. Twenty minutes later, she had what she needed.
McGee himself wasn't so lucky. He lined up the SRBs on all 12 victims and tried to draw parallels. He found what Goetz had found, and the connections they already knew, but nothing more. The search for flash-bang grenades was a little more illuminating. He was just wrapping it up, covering his bases one more time, when Gibbs appeared in the squad room, fresh cup of coffee in hand.
"Ziva," he said, as he sat at his desk.
"Five men with injuries that might indicate they were in a fight sought medical attention in the ship's infirmary the night of Petty Officer Demmings' assault or in the three days following. Specifically, there was one Marine and one sailor with head injuries. The sailor sustained a witnessed on-duty injury the morning after the attack. The Marine came in later in the day, saying he had hit his head on his rack the night before. He was diagnosed with a concussion. The doctor noted that when he pressed for further details on how the injury occurred, the Marine was evasive."
"Sounds promising. Where is he?" Gibbs asked. It took Ziva a minute find him.
"Private Tadhg O'Sullivan," Ziva said, stumbling over the unfamiliar first name, "…is currently housed at Marine Corps Brig Quantico. According to their files, he was convicted of aggravated assault on a fellow Marine last July. He received a demotion from Corporal to the lowest enlisted rank, forfeiture of pay and allowances, and 12 months confinement. He is scheduled to be dishonorably discharged in June."
"Nature of the assault?" Gibbs asked. This was sounding better by the minute.
"It was a bar fight. O'Sullivan's story was that they were drinking together and got into an argument. He said the victim threw the first punch and when he fought back, the victim fell backwards over a bar stool and hit his head. He fell briefly unconscious. The next morning, O'Sullivan was unable to wake him. The victim had suffered a cerebral bleed, and the delay in treatment resulted in permanent brain damage."
"Does the victim match our profile?" Gibbs asked.
Ziva's eyes widened, and she turned back to her computer. "I will check."
"Anything else?" He asked. Ziva looked back up at him.
"Only that Lt. Junior Grade Holbrook also sought medical treatment several hours after Petty Officer Demmings' return to the ship. He had a broken nose. He told the corpsman that he had slipped while climbing into his rack."
"Lot of that going around. McGee," Gibbs turned to the younger man.
"Flash-bang grenades are Class Three destructive devices, regulated by ATF. Federal rules for purchase on the legal market require an ATF tax stamp, which you can't get without fingerprinting, a background check, and a sign-off from the chief LEO of the locality. They are more strictly regulated in most states in the Northeast, including DC, Virginia and Maryland, where unauthorized possession is a felony."
"On the street?"
"Available, but not widely. Since 9/11, ATF has cracked down on the sale of all classes of destructive devices. But since they don't actually cause any destruction, they're not high on the terrorists' wish list, so ATF doesn't spend a lot of time worrying about them."
"What about on board the Roosevelt? Could they have gotten them there?" Gibbs asked.
McGee nodded, but not enthusiastically. "Possible, but not likely. On average, there are five Navy and three Marine units assigned to the ship that have them in their arsenals. As of last Saturday, only one of each were aboard, preparing for departure this weekend. No thefts have been reported, and none of the units have requisitioned replacements since the ship docked."
"What about reloads?" Gibbs asked.
"Reloads?" McGee said with a frown.
Ziva piped up from her desk. "Flash-bang grenades do not fragment, so the casing is reloadable. The chemical load, the igniter, and the pin come in a kit. If they took it from ship's stores and recovered the casing from the scene, they would need a reload kit to put it back together so it would not be missed." Gibbs nodded approvingly at her.
"I'll look into it," McGee said.
"What else?" Gibbs asked.
"Nothing," McGee said with an internal cringe. Here it comes.
"Nothing?" Gibbs said. Disbelief was clear in his voice.
"I compared every aspect of the victims' SRBs and as much of their personal lives as I could access and didn't find anywhere that all twelve came together. The only point of common contact is the Roosevelt itself. There's no project, duty station, assignment, club or recreation team they all had in common, even considering the passing time. I looked at the banks they use, the places they like to shop, their family's churches and schools, everything. There are commonalities, but nothing that matches across all twelve.
"The closest I got was that nine of them use the Navy credit union in Norfolk, and six of them worked on the Toys for Tots drive, in three different non-consecutive years. The only commonalities are the ones we've already found."
"Look harder. There's got to be something."
Ziva spoke again. "The victim who was injured in the fight with Corporal O'Sullivan does not appear to fit our victim profile. Witnesses at the bar said the two men had been drinking together for some time before the incident. They began arguing, and it quickly got physical. Apparently, the fight was over a woman they'd been talking to most of the evening. They had both consumed a significant amount of alcohol."
"Naturally," Gibbs said. Marines. He took a breath. "Ziva, take a look at the victim files. A new set of eyes might help. McGee, stay on the flash bangs."
The agents went back to their work. Gibbs called Quantico to set up an interview with O'Sullivan. The Watch Commander suggested that in light of the approaching storm, it might be better to wait until morning. Gibbs looked out the windows that dominated the long wall of the squadroom, then glanced at his watch. Barely four o'clock and it was nearly dark outside. The snow had started in earnest, the wind blowing it in gusts against the glass. He could barely make out the lights on the buildings on the opposite side of the Anacostia River. It was going to be a bad storm and Gibbs took a second to wonder if Nicky would be alright in his warehouse. Refocusing on the conversation, Gibbs agreed that the interview could wait and arranged for the Marine to be brought to D.C. in the morning.
"You two take what you can work on and go home."
McGee and David exchanged looks. This was certainly odd.
"Boss?" McGee said.
"The storm is coming in. With DiNozzo out of town, I can't afford for either of you to end up in a wreck. Go home."
Leaving them gathering their gear, Gibbs went down to Abby's lab to give her the same message. He found the forensics tech studying something on the large monitor at her center console and taking notes on paper. It was a page of text, nothing fancy, like from a letter or a book. Her music was subdued, appropriate for a stormy afternoon.
"What'da you got?" he asked from right behind her shoulder, making her jump a little. She'd been deep in thought.
"Geez, Gibbs, make some noise, would you?" she replied with exasperation, then answered his question. "It's a journal."
"Like a diary?" Gibbs asked. The text was small enough that he had to squint to make out the letters, though Abby seemed to be having no trouble.
"Yeah. Only men don't write in diaries, they keep journals. It's Petty Officer Ferrara's."
"Where'd you find it?" Gibbs asked.
"On a flash drive he was keeping in his prosthetic."
"At the bottom of the socket in a small cutout space covered with cotton," Gibbs said.
"Yes," she said, surprised. "You knew?"
"Saw the space for it on the running leg. What else was on it?"
"There's some letters to friends and family, something that's probably a story he was writing in his spare time. The biggest file is called 'journal.' That's how I know what it is, but I can't read it. It's encrypted. Looks like Greeking."
"Greeking?" Gibbs asked.
"It's what typesetters use to fill the space when they lay out a dummy page. Random blocks of words to show what the page will look like when you put in the real text. But I think this is actually a word substitution code. Look." She hit a few keys and the computer focused on a small paragraph, bringing it into larger focus in the middle of the screen.
"So combine center friend grape standard so suppressed house testing center orders so license fire cruising small," Abby read aloud.
Gibbs stared at the screen, then at her.
"And that means something?"
"Oh yes, without a doubt. I think he's using one word to replace another. For example, in that sentence, 'so' is in there three times. It's probably a conjunction, or a pronoun. One of the small words we use all the time. It's like when you were a kid, using a simple letter substitution code where A means F or something like that. If you have the key, you can break the code. But without it, it's much harder, if not impossible."
"But you can break it, right?" Gibbs said.
"Eventually, probably," Abby said with a shrug. "The file doesn't ask for a password, and there's no obvious way to get it to translate the text. It might even be an English vocabulary-based language that he created himself. In which case, it'll mean we'll need to learn the language before we can read it."
"Can't the computer translate it?" Gibbs asked. He sipped at his coffee. It wasn't as good as what he got from his dealer down the street, but it would do in a pinch.
"Not this one, not without a frame of reference, a guide to the structure of the language. If the guy really did create his own language, he might have been working with it for years, and the translation key might not even exist anymore, except in his own mind. Of course, if we had access to the CIA mainframe…"
"Not yet," Gibbs said quickly and with an internal flinch. He'd authorized McGee to do that, break into the CIA, awhile back when it was critical that they get some information from the spooks that couldn't be found anywhere else. But he'd paid for it. Big time. And it wasn't something he was ready to venture into again so soon. At least not unless they had to.
"With what I've got down here, if it is an original language, it could take weeks. Unless I get lucky."
"When has that happened lately," Gibbs grumbled, and he shook his head. "The storm's coming in. You should head home."
Abby moved over to look out the windows of her lab. They were high in the wall, at ground-level outside. She could see the darkness, and the snow being blown against the windows outside. A pair of uniform-clad legs went rushing by.
"Okay. I'll take a copy of the drive with me. Oh, and I pulled the deck officer's logs for the nights with common DNA signatures. Thought it might help."
Gibbs looked at her. "How?" he asked. She looked at him strangely. He wasn't usually slow on things like this.
"The logs'll show who was off ship the nights of the attacks. If they show someone was ashore both nights when common DNA was found, it'll at least give you somewhere to start."
"Just about everyone who's not on duty goes ashore when the ship is in port," he said. "There's going to be a lot of commonality."
"True. But it might at least narrow it a bit, right?" She looked hopeful, and a little uncertain.
Gibbs sighed. "Yes, it might. That's good thinking, Abs. Send it to McGee to work on." He leaned in to kiss her cheek.
"You should get some sleep," she said when he straightened. "You're not yourself."
"I know. You need a ride?" he asked. Gibbs knew she often took public transit to work from her home in Alexandria.
"No thanks. I was supposed to meet a friend for dinner. We'll probably cancel, but he'll take me home."
"Be careful," he said, and headed out, dumping his now-empty coffee cup in the trash as he passed it. That was a pretty obvious move, pulling the logs. He was a little embarrassed that he'd not only failed to think of it himself, but hadn't even seen the potential in it when Abby brought it up. He must be more tired that he thought. And the pressure in his head, which was rapidly approaching his tolerance threshold for untreated pain, certainly wasn't helping any.
Gibbs descended one more floor to the second basement, where he found Ducky also working at his computer.
"I was just about to call you," Ducky said when he saw Gibbs swish through the doors. "I have the summation of the medical reports on our victims."
"Did you get the information on the two new ones?"
"Indeed I did. More of the same, except for Petty Officer Demmings, who was fortunate enough to come out of his encounter with our suspects relatively whole." He rolled his stool over to the printer and pulled off a sheaf of half a dozen pages. He stapled it together and presented it to Gibbs.
"Sum it up for me?" Gibbs asked after he patted his pocket and realized his glasses were still up on his desk.
"The goal behind the attacks becomes very clear when they are placed side by side," Ducky began. "There is no doubt they were intended to end careers but not destroy lives. With several notable exceptions."
"Ferrara," Gibbs said. "And Hutchinson."
"And Major Ortiz. Though I believe there might have been something else going on there."
"Master Chief Goetz said the same thing. He thought that one was personal." Gibbs pulled up a chair and sat.
"That's certainly one interpretation. I received his records from time of injury through his discharge from the Navy. Upon reviewing them, I have come to a different conclusion."
"Which is?" Gibbs asked.
"I believe he was attacked at least twice, by two separate individuals or groups. On close examination of the report of his injuries, it appears the initial attack, occurring the night he went missing, was similar to the others, if a little more severe. He suffered a head injury, fractures to his legs, and multiple blunt-force traumas. Then, between 24 and 48 hours later, he was attacked again. That was the when the rape and the brain trauma occurred."
"How do you know that?" Gibbs asked.
"Because, Jethro, I am as good at what I do as you are at what you do." Ducky smiled pleasantly at him, and Gibbs conceded the point. Ducky went on.
"The healing of his physical injuries progressed along two discernable timelines. Also, the x-rays of his skull show one fracture crossing over another. It's like glass broken twice. The first, less serious, fracture showed minute signs of healing before the second was inflicted."
"So he was beaten then wandered around in Dubai for a day or more before he was beaten again?" Gibbs was skeptical.
"Or, he was held captive by someone and beaten more than once over the course of several days. The report does say he was found five days after he went missing," Ducky reminded him.
"So is it part of our series or not?" Gibbs asked.
"I believe initially it was," the medical examiner confirmed. "My theory is that our suspects attacked him, did their damage, then left him like they left the others. But he didn't regain consciousness immediately. Then, either someone else found him and held him for several days, committing additional assaults on him, or he awoke confused and disoriented and sought help in the wrong place. Either way, his injuries were compounded after the initial attack was concluded. After they left him."
"Dubai wasn't exactly Pro-American at the time. Might have just been because he was alone and not Arabic," Gibbs mused.
"Exactly," Ducky confirmed. "Still, he wouldn't have been in such a position had not the first attack disabled him to whatever extent it did. So, you can still make a case that they were responsible for the entire outcome."
"I thought case building was what I did, Duck," Gibbs said.
"Forgive me," Dr. Mallard said with a smile. "As for Lt. Hutchinson and Petty Officer Ferrara: If this is a conspiracy, as Abby told me she has discovered, with one or a few individuals at the top pulling the strings, and a group of Marines or sailors at the bottom doing the dirty work, then perhaps what happened to the Lieutenant and Petty Officer Ferrara was a break down of discipline."
"Meaning?" Gibbs asked. There was something there, but with his head pounding like it was, and the information Ducky had just given him bouncing through his thought process, he wasn't getting it.
"We can assume the head of this conspiracy is a true believer. A zealot. He wants homosexuals removed from the Navy. He has no particular problem with them in society, which is why he's not having them killed outright. He just doesn't want them in the service." Ducky paused. Gibbs nodded.
"But the people he's having do his work might not be so disciplined. Maybe some of them are more homophobic than others. Maybe the ones who participated in those two attacks got carried away. Is there any indication the people involved in Lt. Hutchinson's case repeated?"
Gibbs' mind scanned back to the lesson Abby had given him on the DNA samples.
"I don't think there was any DNA recovered from Hutchinson's assault."
"Well, it could explain why the severity of the injuries is so inconsistent. If those committing these crimes are constantly changing, then the level of force might as well."
Gibbs nodded again.
"Were you able to find Major Ortiz's remains?" Gibbs asked. He'd called the medical examiner earlier in the day, explaining what he wanted. Ducky had been as livid as Gibbs was over the disrespectful treatment the Marine had received.
"I was. Master Chief Goetz was correct: Shortly after his death, the Major's body was signed over to AFIP here in D.C. for autopsy and educational study. There, he was shown significantly more care in death than he'd received in the last year of his life. When they had learned all they could from him, the record was sealed at the request of the Department of Defense and the family was contacted and asked for their wishes on final disposition. They showed no interest in services or burial. Per protocol, the body was cremated and the ashes put into storage. They are scheduled to be disposed of after July 1, 2012 if no one comes forward to claim them. I took the liberty of beginning the process of having the remains transferred to our custody."
"You can do that?" Gibbs asked.
"When it comes to the deceased, I can do almost anything. Surely you know that by now," Ducky said with a touch of a grin.
Gibbs smiled in return. "Thank you, Ducky." He stood and stumbled a little, grabbing for the desk top as his vision grayed over.
"Jethro! Are you alright?" The older man had a hand on his arm, stabilizing him. Gibbs blinked hard and felt the pain in his head suddenly settle into a spot between his eyes.
"Yeah, fine," Gibbs said. He gently pulled loose of Ducky's hold and rubbed the back of his neck. "Headache."
"How long have you had it?" Ducky asked.
"It's been building all day. But I'm fine." He took a step away. He would be fine. Mind over matter.
"Have you taken anything for it?" Ducky asked. He pulled open his desk drawer and took out a bottle of white tablets, not needing to wait for Gibbs' negative response. "You really need to take better care of yourself. Coffee and adrenalin can only carry you so far."
"Too much of one, not enough of the other," Gibbs said. Ducky shook two pills out of the bottle and held them out to Gibbs, who took them and held them in his hand.
"Take them," Ducky said. He held out the bottle. "And if it's not better in two hours, take two more."
"Yeah, alright," Gibbs acquiesced. "You should go home. The storm's coming in."
"I had planned to leave just as soon as I delivered that report," Ducky said, indicating the pages Gibbs held in his left hand. "And now I have. Does Abigail need a ride?"
"She's covered. Thanks for the insight. And for Major Ortiz." He started away.
"Take the medicine, Jethro," Ducky called after him. Gibbs waved back at him with the report.
Gibbs woke suddenly from a fragmented dream. It was Iraq again, but the scenes were incomplete, broken by images of Shannon and Kelly and their lives together, of critical events he'd barely survived in the service and since, of friends who hadn't survived at all. He jumped to his feet, looking around to orient himself. His desk. The squadroom. His cell phone ringing in his pocket. It all came back to him: He'd taken the pills Ducky had given him, then – not at all sure he should face driving in the storm in his condition – he'd laid his head on the desk to wait for the pills to kick in. He'd obviously fallen asleep. The cell was still ringing. It must have been what woke him. He yanked it out, holding it at arm's length to read the caller ID. A Washington number he didn't recognize.
"Gibbs," he answered.
"Gunny! They came back!"
"Nicky?" Gibbs confirmed. "Who?"
"The Marines! They came back. They were looking for me. I got away." Nicky was out of breath, clearly agitated.
"Where are you?"
"At the Metro Station, near the deaf college," Nicky said. "They came back. They were looking for me. I ran here. What if they followed me?"
"Are you inside the station?" Gibbs stood up, looking over the half-wall that separated their area of the squadroom from the Middle East desks. He snapped his fingers until he caught the attention of one of the agents not on the phone.
"Get Metro PD on the phone," he ordered, and though the agent was not in his chain of command, she recognized the urgency in his voice and jumped to it.
"I'm in the entryway," Nicky said. "I don't want to go into the tunnels."
"Alright. I'm going to send Metro Police to pick you up."
"No! No police. Look, I gotta move. They might be coming."
"Nicky, wait! I'll come get you," Gibbs said.
"I gotta move, Gunny. I'll be at the back of the dining hall on campus in 10 minutes. It's safer there. Can you find me?"
"Yes. Wait for me there."
"I'll try. Hurry," Nicky said, and the line went dead. Gibbs snapped his cell shut and grabbed his coat and gun.
"I've got Metro on the line," the agent called to him from over the wall.
"Never mind." Gibbs said as he rushed out.
to be continued...
I am grateful to those who've reviewed. As pleased as you are to get a new chapter, I'm double that to hear from those who are reading. So make my morning, will ya?
:o)