**This is a repost of the same chapter as previously posted, to correct title. No other changes have been made.**
Note: This is the second part to be posted tonight. So if you're reading this as it's posted, please be sure you read Part 19 first. Wouldn't want you to miss anything...
One Less - Part 20
by joykatleen
By the time O'Sullivan was done telling his story, McGee and Ziva were back.
"What'd you find?" Gibbs asked as he dropped into his chair. He directed Acosta to DiNozzo's desk. Before speaking, McGee glanced at Acosta, then back at Gibbs.
"He's okay," Gibbs said, and McGee nodded.
"Bauer Guns and Ammo in Arlington sold six stun grenade reloads to a pair of uniformed sailors two days ago."
"Names?" Gibbs said.
"None. The owner is retired Navy, said they sold him a story about using the flash-bangs as part of a hazing, and needing to get them back together before their CO noticed they were gone. He didn't check ID. There's security footage, but it's not much. No faces. We brought it back to Abby anyway."
"What else?" Gibbs asked.
"It took a little persuasion," Ziva said, "but he eventually gave us a reasonable description of the sailors and said he would likely recognize them if he saw them again. He remembered they were both Petty Officers First Class. They came in between 5:00 and 5:30 p.m. Monday night, bought only the reload kits, and paid cash."
"You show him Nicky's sketches?" Gibbs asked.
"He said one of them looked sort of familiar. But he couldn't say for sure it was him," McGee said. "Besides, Nicky saw Marines, right?"
"He says he did. Here." Gibbs wrote a name on a post-it note and held it out to McGee.
"Who is it?" McGee asked, reading the name. PO2 Jeffrey Hartman.
"Sailor from the Big Stick who was bragging about being involved in the attack on Demmings. Find him."
"On it," McGee said. Like the good subordinate he was, he didn't ask where Gibbs had gotten the name, but his curiosity was clear.
Gibbs waited while McGee did his thing. O'Sullivan had given him the name, and had told them what he knew of the conspiracy. It wasn't widely known on the ship, he said, but he knew of a couple others who were aware that someone was targeting gay sailors and Marines. During a poker game a few weeks after Demmings' attack, Hartman had started talking about it, bragging to O'Sullivan and three sailors at the table about how he and his compadres had taken care of the fag. Apparently O'Sullivan's reaction had passed him through some test, because a few days later Hartman asked O'Sullivan if he wanted to come along next time he went on a mission. That's what Hartman had called it, a mission. O'Sullivan had refused, for a variety of reasons, he claimed. Chief among them that when he was sober, he wasn't much of a fighter. He'd freely admitted that the idea of men in love repulsed him, and that he thought the Navy was right to keep them out. After all, they lived in pretty tight quarters in the Corps, and how would it be if on top of everything else, you had to worry about the guy next to you trying to make a move on you? Nonetheless, he insisted that if he found out one of his fellow service men was gay, he'd turn him in, not injure him to force him out. Why take the personal risk? Don't ask, don't tell was working just fine. If it became known a guy was gay, it was because he acted in a way that let someone know. If no one knew, it meant they weren't telling, weren't making a move on anyone, and there was no problem.
As much as Gibbs disagreed with the sentiment, he supposed O'Sullivan had a point. If these sailors hadn't somehow let it be known they were gay, they wouldn't have become targets. Having to keep such a secret in order to serve your country was wrong, but these guys knew the stakes going in. Maybe that's where the investigation should be focusing. What mistake had all these guys made that had exposed them?
O'Sullivan had supplied the names of the three others at the poker game plus one other Marine in his unit that he was certain knew about the attacks. He was pretty sure none of the Marines were involved, but didn't know about the sailors who'd been at the game with him. Hartman might have invited them, too. O'Sullivan also offered his best guess on who might have gone with Hartman the night of Demmings' attack.
Gibbs asked him about the other victims. O'Sullivan only knew specifics on the attack on Major Ortiz, who had been in his Expeditionary Unit. Otherwise, it had all been rumors and stories whispered around poker tables and bragged about at bars.
O'Sullivan said the ship had been abuzz about Ortiz's disappearance. A Marine Major not returning from shore leave was big news. Rumors began circulating immediately, and when the ship sailed without him, everyone had something to say about it. The Marines aboard took it hardest. Their creed dictated that they never leave a man behind. But the relief troops and supplies the Roosevelt was bringing to Iraq were desperately needed, and they'd already been delayed by bad weather across the Atlantic. The stop in Dubai was to off-load equipment which would be taken inland to small bases throughout that part of the Gulf, and to give the personnel aboard a last chance at liberty before their six-month cruise. They'd originally been scheduled to be in port a week. The extended crossing shortened it to a planned three days. Ortiz's disappearance pushed it to five. When the Captain decided they had no choice but to sail on, he'd assigned a squad of Marine MPs to stay behind and coordinate the search. It helped ease Marine minds a little, but not much.
When word came two days later that Ortiz had been found, it didn't take long for the details of the condition he'd been found in to spread throughout the ship. But despite widespread rumors that he'd been attacked by Navy personnel because he was gay, there was no hint of who might have done it.
When pressed on who could be leading the conspiracy, O'Sullivan had denied knowledge, and Gibbs believed him. Considering what Gibbs was promising him, O'Sullivan clearly wanted to give up everything he knew.
"Um, Gibbs?" McGee called, and Gibbs focused on him.
"He's dead," McGee said.
"What?" Gibbs said.
"Petty Officer Jeffrey Hartman was killed by an IED outside Baghdad in March of 2008."
"Damn it," Gibbs said, seeing their best lead disappear.
"Hartman?" Ziva said from her desk. Gibbs turned to her. "I think…" she sorted through the papers in front of her until she found a particular note.
"Jeffrey Hartman was the name of the other person who came into the infirmary with a head injury following Petty Officer Demmings' attack."
"Did he stay?" Gibbs asked. He wondered, if Hartman had spent time in the infirmary at the same time as O'Sullivan, why the big Marine hadn't mentioned that.
Ziva searched for an answer. "No. He was examined by the ship's physician with negative significant findings. Since he was not on duty, he requested and was allowed to return to his berth to be monitored by another sailor."
"What about the witness?" McGee asked.
"Witness?" Ziva said.
"Didn't you say last night that that injury was on duty and witnessed?" McGee said. "If the injury was actually from the attack on Demmings, then the witness must have lied. Maybe he was involved."
"That's good thinking, McGee," Gibbs said, and wondered why he hadn't thought of it first. Ziva did some more searching.
"The witness was a Petty Officer Sasha Radkoff."
"That's one of the sailors O'Sullivan thought might have gone with Hartman that night," Gibbs said with a hint of satisfaction. Finally, solid connections. "Where is he?"
"He's currently at NAS Oceana. A member of…" she paused and looked up at Gibbs. "The Naval Special Warfare Development Group. Isn't that the same unit Lt. Hutchinson was a part of?"
"Same one," Gibbs agreed with a nod. "He a SEAL?"
"No. A Special Warfare Combatant Craft Crewman," Ziva said.
"A Swick," Gibbs said, then explained. "A boat guy. That's what we call them. Are they on station?"
Ziva checked. "They are."
"Get him down here. Now. McGee, run these names." He handed McGee the other names O'Sullivan had offered, then turned to Acosta, who'd been watching the interplay from DiNozzo's chair.
"Lunch?"
"Sure. What about O'Sullivan?"
"We'll bring something back." His cell rang in his pocket and Gibbs pulled it out, gesturing for Acosta to follow him. He spoke briefly to someone who was obviously a friend, at one point mentioning mentioned Chloe O'Sullivan's name, which made Acosta ask: "What was that?" after he hung up. They got on the elevator.
"An old friend. Retired Captain from Navy Medical. Currently U.S. medical director for Shriners International. They run a system of children's hospitals specializing in, among other things, neurological injury rehab. The care is free and available to any child who needs it."
"I wondered how you were going to pull that off," Acosta said.
"Helps to have friends in strategic places," Gibbs said. "It's set up so family can stay. Once he's discharged, he can be with her."
Acosta smiled. "That is great. He's a good kid, he deserves a break."
As they walked out of the building, Gibbs produced one of his business cards, and using his hand as a writing surface, wrote a name and number on the back. He put his pen back in his pocket and handed it to Acosta.
"When we get back, take him to the conference room and call this number. They'll talk to him about what's next."
They walked to the BX to check on Nicky. Gibbs found him and Gregor engaged in a near-silent game of chess across the sporting goods counter. Apparently, Nicky was pretty good. A glance at the board told Gibbs that much. He hadn't played the old man himself in many years, but when he used to play regularly, he considered himself successful if he could play Gregor to a draw. He'd never won a game in all their years of friendship. It looked like Nicky was holding his own. Gregor had waved Gibbs away when Gibbs suggested maybe Nicky might be ready to go to lunch, and Nicky hadn't even looked up, too busy studying the board. Gibbs left them to it.
They bought sandwiches and chips for five at the deli down the block from the headquarters building and brought them back to the squad room, picking up coffee on the way. Gibbs sent Acosta back to interrogation with his and O'Sullivan's share, took his own, and dealt out the rest to Ziva and McGee. It wasn't Gibbs' turn to buy, but with his late arrival and the leads his team had come up with today, he figured he owed them.
Ziva, who'd been on the phone when they returned, hung up and reported that she'd spoken to Petty Officer Radkoff's commanding officer. She'd told the man that Radkoff was a material witness to a crime they were investigating, and was urgently needed at the Navy Yard. The CO seemed concerned, but readily agreed to send Radkoff down forthwith.
Gibbs ate his sandwich and listened to Ziva and McGee chat as they ate their own. When it was just the two of them, their conversation was always more gentle than it was when DiNozzo was there to add spice to the mix. Each member of his team had their individual strengths, and weaknesses. Like any group of siblings left to their own devices, they sometimes exploited those weaknesses to play gotcha. Occasionally, Gibbs felt the need to intervene. More to save his own sanity than to stop them from hurting each other. But usually it just proved to him how right this group was. They wouldn't tease if they didn't care. And God help the fool who tried to hurt any one of them: their defense of one another, physically and emotionally, was where the true evidence of love was seen.
He knew that's what it was, at its heart. Like in the Marines, the members of his team were closer than family, and each would willingly go through the fire to save any of the others. He'd seen it himself, more times than he cared to remember. It was good, it was right, and sometimes he wondered how he'd gotten so damn lucky to be here in this place at this time with these people.
Gibbs forcibly steered his thoughts back to the matter at hand. His mind was full, with too much new information. They were making the right moves, he could feel it. But this thing was too broad, with too many players. Conspiracies always were. They were walking all around the edges of it, but what he needed to break this thing open was someone who'd actually been involved in at least one of the attacks. Someone who'd personally taken orders directly from whoever was at the top. Hopefully Radkoff would be able to tell them something.
Under the Uniform Code of Military Justice, the statute of limitations on assault, even aggravated assault, was only three years. So anyone involved in attacks on the victims prior to that time had already gotten away with it. Eight victims that they knew of would never see direct justice. But there was no statute of limitations on murder. And under the theory of an ongoing conspiracy, they could charge the old crimes along with Ferrara's homicide, if they set it up right. But they needed proof that all the attacks were connected – not just random acts with common victim types – to show the conspiracy was ongoing.
If they did it right, they might even be able to charge murder on Ortiz's death. As Ducky had said, the initial attack had left Major Ortiz vulnerable, unable to prevent the second attack. A case could be made that but for the first attack, the second never would have happened. And if he hadn't been so badly wounded, he wouldn't have been left to die uncared for.
But first they needed a damn suspect. Something they were a little short on just now. If it was Fredrick, DiNozzo needed to find out, soon. Gibbs wasn't actually planning on letting Tony sail off on the aircraft carrier when it left on Saturday. But that meant they only had two more days to pull this thing together.
"You finish cross-referencing everything yet, McGee?" Gibbs asked suddenly, breaking into his team's conversations.
"Uh, I haven't finished building the program yet," McGee said. He glanced at his half-finished sandwich and Gibbs backed off. A little.
"When you're done eating," he said and McGee nodded gratefully. A thought occurred.
"Before you get back to it, go talk to O'Sullivan in the conference room," Gibbs said.
"Okay." He paused. "Talk to him about what, Boss?"
"A book deal." He watched while McGee digested that.
"Ah… a book deal?" McGee repeated back, like he couldn't possibly have heard that right.
"Yeah. He needs a publisher, or an agent, or something. Go talk to him."
"Okay," McGee repeated with obvious hesitation. Gibbs turned to his computer and didn't clarify further. McGee was a smart kid. He'd figure it out.
to be continued...
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