One Less - Part 29

by joykatleen

It was like riding a bike, Gibbs figured, as he got into the swing of using the crutches. It had been many years since he was last injured enough to need them, but the skill wasn't lost. He'd put his jacket on and moved his holstered sidearm around to the front of his belt to get it out of the way. The jacket bunched uncomfortably under his arms, but it was workable.

They stopped in the hospital cafeteria for a quick breakfast and more coffee. McGee's was better, but the hospital's brew would do. The problem, Gibbs quickly realized, was that he couldn't work the crutches and carry coffee too. He was relegated to drinking the entire cup while sitting at one of the cafeteria's many small tables before leaving the empty behind and swinging his way out to the car. This was definitely going to suck.

The sky had finally cleared, no trace of storm clouds in the bright blue sky. The temperature had risen as well. It was still cold, but it was above freezing. Might even be heading for a pleasant day. For winter in Washington.

McGee drove them across the hospital's campus to the building containing Goetz's office. Gibbs was silent for the ride, trying to figure out how to best get what he needed from Goetz. Their recent conversation had ended with the beginnings of an improved relationship between them, but this was still not going to be easy. One thing Gibbs was certain of was that however he approached Goetz, it was likely to go better if they were alone.

"Wait for me out here," Gibbs said as McGee parked in front of the building. McGee looked at him with surprise. And concern, he thought. Gibbs didn't usually explain his decisions, but he figured the kid deserved a little something. If for no other reason that that he'd remembered to bring coffee.

"We have history. He's not likely to want to talk with you there, and I don't want to force him. Call Anacostia and have them send Fazio's boots to Abby, and get their intake report. I wanna know if he had any injuries."

McGee nodded and Gibbs swung his leg out of the car. McGee brought the crutches around and with a minimum of struggle, Gibbs was on his feet. He hobbled into the building and down the long hall to Goetz's office.

Gibbs knocked and opened the door at Goetz's shout. This time, Goetz was working at a laptop, surrounded by papers. He was again wearing green scrubs. His new uniform, Gibbs realized.

"I don't have a lot of time, Gibbs. I cut my last class short and my next one starts in," he glanced up at the clock above his head. "Fifteen minutes." He turned to look at Gibbs over his reading glasses and his eyes widened. "What happened to you?"

"Little accident." Gibbs dismissed his concern. "There's been a development in your case." He hopped over to the visitor's chair and carefully lowered himself into it.

"My case?" Goetz said, surprised. He took off his glasses and set them on the desk. "How so?"

"We think we know how you were outed."

Goetz frowned. "How?"

"You said when we talked earlier that you and..." Gibbs searched his memory for the name. "Lt. Commander McDougall had been having some personal trouble."

"So?" Goetz said.

"You said you'd been talking to an old friend, getting some advice on how to make it work."

"Yes," Goetz said. "We were working it out. It would have been fine."

"Lt. Hutchinson had been going out to gay bars while in foreign ports and hiding it from his partner. He felt like he was cheating and asked an old friend to help him figure out how to come clean."

Goetz cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. Gibbs could see that had twigged something in his mind. He gave him the last piece.

"After you left the Roosevelt, Petty Officer Ferrara started to wonder about his sexuality, and its impact on his eternal soul. So he talked to someone he thought would be able to help him understand his desires. Instead, he was told what he was doing was sexual immorality, an intentional evil."

"Son of a bitch," Goetz said suddenly, his voice soft. He sat for a second with unfocused eyes, then hit the desk with his fist and shouted. "Son of a bitch!"

"You know who he talked to?" Gibbs asked. "Who you all talked to?" Goetz looked up.

"Of course I know who it is. It's the only straight person I've ever told I was gay, other than you. Commander Father Andrew Thayer. Lead Chaplain on the U.S.S. Theodore Roosevelt." He literally spat out the name.

Gibbs nodded. There it was. Their corroboration.

"How do you know what Ferrara talked to him about?" Goetz asked suddenly.

"He kept a journal. Encrypted on a flash drive he kept with him at all times. We found it on his body, but didn't get it open until last night."

"Did he name any names?"

"No."

Goetz stilled, his mind racing. His eyes went back to middle distance as he thought. "How long after he talked to Father Andrew was he attacked?" he asked.

"A few days at most."

"I'd been talking to him regularly, about other things. For years. I started talking about... that... about a month before I was attacked. We were at sea from then until we made port. In Crete."

Gibbs nodded his understanding. Both Goetz and Ferrara were attacked at the first opportunity after they told the priest they were gay.

Goetz shook his head. "All of the victims were Catholic. Of course we were talking to him. How did I not see that?"

"You trusted him," Gibbs said. "And rightly so."

"But we were all Catholic," Goetz repeated. "I should have made the connection. All Catholics go to confession eventually." Goetz looked sharply at Gibbs. "He's doing this under the guise of confession."

"Yes," Gibbs agreed with the obvious.

"No, I mean both sides of it. There's no private confessional on ship. We do it face to face. So he knows who he's talking to. And because of the particular nature of the role aboard ship, there isn't always the division between confession and counsel."

Goetz could see Gibbs wasn't getting the significance of what he was saying. He tried to explain. "In a normal priest-penitent relationship, you give confession to whatever priest is inside the box, and get spiritual or life counsel from the deacon or priest you know and trust the most. But aboard ship, with only one priest and a handful of RPs assisting, the two roles are interchangeable. It's not unusual to start out intending to confess sin and ending up having long conversations about everything from the meaning of life to the annoyance of the guy who forgets to flush.

"I didn't 'confess' to sexual immorality. We were talking about the trouble I was having in my relationship with Bill. But I didn't give his name, or his gender, on purpose. After awhile, I just slipped. Then for him, it was all about being gay. I didn't want to talk about it, but he always managed to bring it up." Goetz shook his head at the memory.

"Anyway, with that kind of lack of definition between confessor and counselor, it would be easy for him to use the time sailors are in confession to spread our secrets, tell the actual attackers who's been sinning and what they should do about it. So the attackers have to be Catholic, too." Goetz paused again. "What if that's not all he's telling?"

Gibbs frowned.

"He's got access to the secret sins of half the ship. The deep, dark stuff no one's supposed to know. He's probably got plenty of blackmail material. He might even have national security stuff." He stopped again and refocused on Gibbs. "The Captain and the XO are both Catholic. They've got code word clearance."

That was something Gibbs hadn't even considered. If the priest had broken his vows about one thing, odds were even that it wasn't the only thing. He had to get the priest off the ship now, before any more damage was done.

"So what are you gonna do? You have to get him off the ship." Goetz echoed Gibbs' internal thoughts.

"If we can get a warrant, I'll have my man on board arrest him. If not, I'll probably go down there myself, try to get him to confess."

"It won't work," Goetz said. "He doesn't have to talk to you. He'll stand behind clergy privilege, and no court in the country will make him talk."

"You got a better idea?" Gibbs asked.

"Is Commander Pauley still TR's chief surgeon?" Goetz asked. Gibbs frowned.

"Yes," he said. What did that have to do with anything?

"Can you get me a walk-on? To visit with my old CO before they sail?"

"Probably. Why?" Gibbs asked.

"Because when I'm done talking to him, I might feel compelled to check in with my former spiritual counselor, maybe give one more confession for old times' sake."

Gibbs gave him a look that clearly said he had no idea where Goetz was going with this. Goetz's return look was one of exasperation.

"If I can talk to him, I can get him to tell me why he's doing it," Goetz said firmly, as if he was stating the rising of the sun.

"Just like that?" Gibbs asked with more than a touch of disbelief. He doubted Goetz had any idea of what he was claiming to be capable of. Interrogation wasn't for amateurs.

"He was my priest for almost five years. I know him. He's got a very healthy ego. If I finally confess my 'sin of sexual immorality,' he'll be more than happy to explain how he helped me see the light by doing what he did."

Finally understanding what Goetz had in mind, Gibbs acknowledged to himself that it made some kind of sense, and that Goetz might actually be able to pull it off. But it didn't overcome the basic problem.

"Won't matter," Gibbs said. "The privilege still stands. Nothing he says to you can be used against him."

Goetz looked at him curiously, a small smile appearing. "You don't know, do you?" he asked.

"Know what?" Gibbs said, suddenly feeling a little perturbed. The expression on Goetz's face clearly told him he was missing something, and that always pissed him off.

"The privilege is mine. Not his. If I go in there as a penitent and we have a conversation, I can testify to anything he says, and I can release him from confidentiality so he has no protection. Hell, I could go in there with a tape recorder and play the whole thing for the jury."

Gibbs frowned. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure, Gibbs. I've been Catholic a long time. Check your law. The holder of the privilege is the penitent, just like it's the patient who holds the privilege between doctor and patient. Any parishioner can testify about what went on in confession, if he wants to. It's only the priest who's bound by confidentiality."

Gibbs was taken aback. He supposed it made sense. The legal technicalities of privilege were way above his pay grade, the kind of thing lawyers dealt with. It had never come up for him before.

"You'd do that?" Gibbs asked. "Set him up like that?"

"Damn straight. He betrayed me. Betrayed all of us. He broke his covenant with God and because of that, two men are dead, and ten others – including me – will never be the same. You get me on that ship, and I'll get him to talk."

"Okay then," Gibbs said with a touch of predatory satisfaction. "Let's go."

xoxoxoXOXOXoxoxox

They agreed to meet at the Navy Yard in an hour. Goetz had to arrange to cancel his classes and Gibbs still needed to change clothes. Gibbs hobbled out to the sedan to find McGee working his laptop in the front passenger seat. McGee jumped out and took the crutches from Gibbs. Once they were both back in the sedan and on the road, McGee told Gibbs what he'd found.

"Fazio's roommate is a Religious Programs Specialist. An RP2. He works with the priest."

"There it is," Gibbs said.

"The link between Fazio and Thayer," McGee confirmed. "I'm tracking his credit and debit accounts. He spent $75 at a drug store in Woodbridge, Virginia just before 10 p.m. last night, then another $40 at a market about two blocks from the drug store."

"Medical supplies and food," Gibbs said. "He's trying to manage the wound himself. Anything else?"

"Gas at a truck stop off the I-95 north of Ashland around midnight. Nothing since."

Gibbs pictured the map in his mind. "He headed back to Norfolk," he said.

"Looks like it. I updated the BOLO with his likely location and direction of travel. Nothing yet."

Gibbs nodded. "Master Chief Goetz confirmed the priest. We're going down there this afternoon to talk to him."

"You think he'll talk?" McGee asked, surprised.

"Goetz thinks he can get him to admit it on tape."

"Can we use it if he does?"

"Apparently, we can," Gibbs said. "The privilege belongs…"

McGee interrupted, suddenly excited. "To the penitent, not the priest. Of course."

"You knew that?" Gibbs asked, turning to look at his junior agent.

"Uh, yes," McGee said with hesitation. "You didn't?" Gibbs gave an exasperated sigh.

"Do I look like a lawyer, McGee?"

McGee shut up.

At Gibbs' house, Gibbs gave some consideration to trying to get up the stairs to his bedroom, but quickly decided it wouldn't be worth it. He sent McGee up to get him clothes, then shaved and washed up in the downstairs bathroom. He didn't have the time or the inclination to figure out how to shower without getting the brace wet. Maybe tonight.

His chinos went on over the brace, though it was a tight fit. The crutches would wreck any sport coat he wore, so Gibbs chose to stick with just a polo shirt. Besides, it was Friday. He slipped his holster on forward of where it usually rode, to keep it out of the way of the crutches. He'd have to toss them before he could draw, but he wasn't anticipating trouble. Nonetheless, he had never been comfortable going unarmed while on duty. He put on one brown work boot, then had McGee help him slip a sock and a similarly-colored boat shoe onto the other foot. It wasn't pretty, but it would do. He grabbed the bottle of pills Ducky had given him for his headache, what, two days ago? They would do for any pain the knee decided to throw at him today. He hoped.

On the way back to the Yard, Gibbs checked in with Ziva. She reported the house was mostly empty of personal belongings. That made sense since last night was to be the sailors' last in the house before reporting aboard. Like military personnel everywhere, if they didn't own a home they would have sent their stuff to a local storage facility before deploying.

Ziva said all the furniture was still in place. She thought it probably came with the house. The beds were made, not slept in. Each man's bedroom closet had one service uniform hanging in it. She'd found two garment bags and two sea bags packed and ready to go. In Lewiston's sea bag, she'd found one prepared flash-bang and four reload kits. That matched with the total of six reloads the owner of the sporting goods store had reported selling a couple of uniformed sailors earlier in the week. There was one set of waffle-soled boots in each bag, Lewiston's new, Fazio's old but recently resoled, Ziva told him. Gibbs figured that was probably not related to the murder: Again, it would have been normal for sailors about to deploy to be sure they had a spare set in good condition. Each man also had a laptop computer, but Ziva said they were both password protected. She'd bring them back.

The only other item of interest, Ziva reported, was a cell phone she'd found in the trash bin outside. It was relatively new, with no apparent damage. There was no power cord in the trash with it, and the battery was dead, so it was impossible to tell why it had been thrown away. But in the back of her mind – and Gibbs' as she told him about it – was Ferrara's missing cell. Surely they wouldn't have been so stupid as to bring it home? She'd bring it back and they'd know for sure.

Gibbs asked her if she was satisfied with the help the Norfolk PD officers had given her during the search. Did she need them to come down to be sure the local LEOs hadn't missed anything? She said it was fine, that with so little in the house, they'd had plenty of opportunity to tear the place apart. She would seize the sea bags and everything but the furniture, and bring it back to D.C. Gibbs told her they were likely to be headed to Norfolk later in the day, and they'd be in touch.

xoxoxoXOXOXoxoxox

Goetz beat them back to the Yard. Gibbs hadn't called ahead to authorize Goetz's entry into the building, so he was waiting for them in the lobby. He had changed clothes too, into a dark blue suit and almost matching blue shirt, no tie, a charcoal overcoat on top. His braces were under the pants. The edges pushed up against the fabric in odd patterns below his knees, and there was no sign of the braces above his knees. Gibbs realized he must be wearing what he'd referred to as short braces. His suspicion was confirmed when Goetz stood, stepping forward without locking the joints. Goetz's gait was different with the use of his knees. It was more walk and less swing. More normal. Though he still had to use the arm crutches.

Goetz didn't seem upset by the wait, just impatient to get going. Gibbs checked him in and the three of them made their way upstairs to the squadroom. Gibbs squeezed in behind his desk, shrugged out of his jacket and lowered himself carefully into his chair, pointing Goetz to DiNozzo's chair. He leaned back so he could unholster his Sig from a seated position, and locked the weapon in his drawer. Goetz took off his own overcoat before sitting down.

On the otherwise empty surface of his desk was the report from the Anacostia Detention Center on Fazio's injuries, and a receipt for his boots, signed by the evidence clerk. Gibbs picked up the injury report. He reached for his glasses. They weren't in his pocket, nor on his desk. He thought back to when he'd last had them. Yesterday, when he went home to change before the sting. They were in his sport coat pocket. At home.

"Need these?" Goetz said from DiNozzo's desk. Gibbs looked up to see him holding out his own reading glasses and trying not to grin. With a sigh, Gibbs nodded at McGee, who quickly got up and delivered them. Gibbs held the glasses in front of his eyes. Not perfect, but not bad.

He scanned the report. Two hematomas on the back of his head, a one and a half inch burn mark on the inside of the left forearm, multiple abrasions on the insides of both upper arms, two partially-healed scratches on the right side of his neck near the trapezius muscle. The hematomas were Gibbs' fault. The abrasions could be explained by packing and moving in preparation for deployment. The burn mark might be from a flash bang detonating too close, or it might be something irrelevant. The scratches might be what he'd been looking for. He turned back to McGee.

"Abby said she left the DNA samples running last night. Go see if it's done."

"On it," McGee said. He hustled away.

Gibbs' phone rang on his desk. He put down the report and Goetz's glasses and snapped it up. "Gibbs."

xoxoxoXOXOXoxoxox

A violent crash woke DiNozzo and he sat up fast, smashing his head on the ceiling of his rack.

"Damn, what the hell?" DiNozzo rubbed his head and rolled carefully out of bed. He was alone in the dark room, but light spilled through the connecting door to the office, which was ajar. He stumbled over to it and pushed through, rubbing his head. Fredrick was sitting at the table in the center of the office, reading. He was already dressed for the day. He looked up.

"About time you woke up," Fredrick said.

"What was that noise?" DiNozzo asked.

"They're loading heavy equipment," Fredrick said. "Some of it comes in hard."

DiNozzo took the other chair at the table. "How long've you been up?"

"Couple hours. I had an idea."

"Oh yeah?" DiNozzo said.

"This list of officers who've been here since 2003. I thought I might be able to shrink it some, so I've been eliminating the ones it couldn't be."

"What's your criteria?" DiNozzo asked.

"Couple of things. First I eliminated the females because of the nature of the motive. Then I removed all the most senior officers, on the theory that if it was them, there'd have been other attacks before these. I also eliminated any officer who sailed with us prior to 2003 on the same theory."

"Alright," DiNozzo said.

"I figured whoever's running this thing would have to be holding the reins pretty tight. With the way news spreads on this ship, and considering what Gibbs found out about how widely this thing was known after the fact, there couldn't have been a lot of lead time between identifying the target and the attack. It would have leaked. So if an officer was working off ship, say on TDY or a training detail, immediately before or on the day of any attack, chances are it wasn't him."

"Reasonable," DiNozzo said.

"Plus there's quite a few I can eliminate based on what I know of their personalities."

"How so?"

"Take Lt. Cmdr. Jorgenson, for instance. He's a good officer, but he doesn't have the brains to put something like this together. Lt. j.g. Norton gossips like an old woman. He couldn't keep a secret like this to save his life. And Lt. Porter. His brother is gay, and he's not particularly bothered by it. I can't see him spearheading something like this."

"How do you know that?" DiNozzo asked.

"I did his security background when he came aboard. He was assigned to an intelligence billet for the first time. The brother's orientation came up."

"What else?"

"I figure whoever it is has to be of a certain personality type. I went through the psych reports, eliminating any that came up too sanguine to bother."

"So what's left?"

"These ten," Fredrick said, and handed him the original list of officers, most of them crossed off. DiNozzo scanned the list. Two commanders, one lieutenant commander, four lieutenants, three lieutenants junior grade.

"What're their jobs?" DiNozzo asked.

Fredrick ran down the list. The eighth name made DiNozzo's gut scream.

"It's him," DiNozzo said, cutting him off.

"Father Thayer?" Fredrick asked incredulously. "Why do you say that?"

"The victims were all Catholic," DiNozzo said.

"So, so am I," Fredrick said.

"I know. And how often do you go to confession?"

"Not as often as I should. Once a month or so," Fredrick said, and the light dawned. "They were confessing their sexual desires. He's punishing them for their sin."

"Yes," DiNozzo said. He jumped up and reached for the phone on Fredrick's desk.

"He thinks he's doing God's work," Fredrick said, his voice suddenly introspective.

"Probably," DiNozzo said as he started to dial the Navy Yard. "What time is it?"

"Almost ten-hundred."

DiNozzo's eyes widened. Damn. He knew he'd been tired, but he didn't realize he'd slept that long. He hoped Gibbs hadn't been trying to reach him.

"Are you sure it's him?" Fredrick asked.

"Positive," DiNozzo said. "Well, almost positive."

Fredrick fell silent. DiNozzo could see the turmoil on his face, and for a second, thought about the betrayal Fredrick must be feeling. Not to mention he must be wondering what other secrets the priest might have told. The phone rang on the other end.

xoxoxoXOXOXoxoxox

"It's the priest," DiNozzo said when Gibbs picked up.

"Well yeah, DiNozzo, it is," Gibbs said.

"You knew?" DiNozzo asked, surprise clear in his voice.

"You're about an hour behind us. We're making plans now to get down there and talk to him."

"How're you going to get around the privilege?" DiNozzo asked.

"It's covered. Watch him today. If he rabbits, stay with him."

"Got it." DiNozzo paused. "He might have been spilling other secrets, too."

"Time will tell," Gibbs said.

"Could be something worse," DiNozzo said.

"I know."

"Every Catholic sailor and Marine who's been on this ship for the past six years could be at risk," DiNozzo said.

"I know," Gibbs repeated.

"Do you know who else was involved in Ferrara?" DiNozzo said.

"One of them was probably a Religious Programs Specialist named Lewiston, Fazio's roommate. Pretty sure he's the one Ziva shot last night."

"He turn up dead yet?" DiNozzo asked.

"Not yet. McGee tracked him as far as Ashton, headed back your way. The deck officer's supposed to call us if he shows up. The third is still an unknown. You got anything on that?"

"We're working on a list of his known associates. As soon as you've got the priest out of the way, we can start interviewing them. Wouldn't want one of them to tip him off before you get here."

"Yeah, alright. I'll let you know." Gibbs hung up.

"Is Lewiston okay?" Goetz asked from Tony's desk.

Gibbs shrugged. "Don't know. He took a bullet. It was aimed at his legs, and we know he drove at least as far as Ashton, so it's not likely life-threatening. You know him?"

"Yeah, I do," Goetz said. "And I know that if the wound's not to serious and he's got the right supplies, he'll probably manage it himself just fine."

Gibbs frowned at him, and Goetz explained. "He was an FMF Corpsman for years. I helped train him."

"Nicky saw Marines," Gibbs said to himself. The Marine Corps didn't have its own medical staff. It depended on Navy personnel. Fleet Marine Force medics were specially trained to deploy with Marine units on frontline missions. They were the highest qualified of the Navy's battlefield medics, and were almost universally accepted by Marine units as one of their own. They trained together, were housed together, and wore the same uniforms. That's why Nicky kept saying the men in the warehouse were Marines, and why he didn't recognize Fazio. Because the two he got a good look at looked like Marines. That also explained the barely-there haircut on the other man at the warehouse last night. After so many years with the Marines, it would have been second nature to him. Fazio was a ship medic, and wouldn't have had the Marine look.

Gibbs snatched up the phone and called Tony's cell back. Voicemail.

"Damn it!" Gibbs said. "What's the main number on the Big Stick?" Gibbs asked Goetz. He rattled it off.

"Why did he switch careers?" Gibbs asked as he started to dial.

"PTSD," Goetz answered, and Gibbs paused mid-dial. Goetz went on. "He'd been working with the same Marine unit for a couple years. Got real close to them. While we were on station in the Gulf the last time, he lost half his squad in an IED attack. All the survivors were wounded in some manner. Lewiston was on his own the first half hour, trying to save as many as he could and tend to his own injuries at the same time. It was a really ugly scene. The next few times he prepared for a mission, he had paralyzing panic attacks and ended up in the infirmary. He developed debilitating migraines. He was transferred stateside, but he didn't get any better. Six months after the incident, despite counsel from both the medical and clerical staffs, he was still no better, so he decided to switch ratings. Voluntarily dropped a rank, went back to A-School to become an RP."

"So he'd still have Marine uniforms," Gibbs said. He finished dialing and went through the process of getting connected to the NCIS office on board. He filled DiNozzo in on what he'd just discovered and told him to check Lewiston's crewmates. Chances were the third man was either a friend from his old unit, or another RP or Corpsman wearing Marine fatigues.

"So how do you find him?" Goetz asked when Gibbs hung up.

"He'll show up," Gibbs said.

"Just like that?" Goetz asked.

"He'll either report for duty in a few hours, or he'll run. He's using his debit card, so he's certainly not any good at running. His partner tried to hide his ID, but we knew who Lewiston was five minutes after we went into the partner's house. Not exactly master criminals, either of them."

"Lewiston is smart, or was," Goetz said. "Really sharp, before. He was an incredible medic."

"And now he's a murderer," Gibbs said. Goetz shook his head.

"I can't believe that. He was a good kid."

Gibbs decided to read him in. "One of the DNA samples from your attack matched the one we took from Ferrara's body."

Goetz stared at him, blinked. "Lewiston?" he asked.

"We don't know yet. There were three samples from your attack, and three guys at Ferrara's, but only one match. It might be another corpsman we arrested last night, Michael Fazio. You know him?"

Goetz thought about it. "The name rings a bell, but... no."

Gibbs shrugged. "Might be the third guy."

Goetz fell silent, staring down at the empty surface of DiNozzo's desk. McGee reappeared, hands empty. "Not back yet, Boss," he reported.

Gibbs nodded, but said nothing. He was watching Goetz. The Master Chief had taken the news well, but he figured the reaction would come. On the other hand, Goetz had been a medical first responder in three wars. He certainly knew how to keep it together.

"So, you gonna get me aboard, or what?" Goetz asked, and Gibbs gave a small nod of satisfaction.

"Let me make a call," Gibbs said.

to be continued...

Things are happenin' now. Thanks to all those who've reviewed. I appreciate it more than you know. If you're reading and haven't kicked in your two cents, why not give it a try? I promise not to take away points for spelling and grammar. :o)