***If you're reading as the story's in progress, be sure this is the second part you've read tonight. Don't want anyone to miss anything.***
One Less - Part 31
by joykatleen
The car Goetz lead them to was a battleship gray Chrysler PT Cruiser.
"Nice color," Gibbs said as he waited for Goetz to let him in the passenger side.
Goetz smiled. "I thought it was appropriate. You can throw the crutches in the back." He clicked the auto locks and Gibbs opened the rear door. He laid the crutches across the back seat, slammed the door, and hopped up to climb in the front. He could feel an ache in his knee that told him it was probably time to take a pill, but it could wait. Goetz sat sideways in his seat, then slid his own crutches over his shoulder to rest upright behind him. He lifted his legs into the car and got settled, then turned to look at Gibbs, who had done virtually the same thing.
"Not as easy as a year ago," Goetz said. "But better than six months ago."
Gibbs nodded. He noticed immediately that the car was outfitted with hand controls. Of course Goetz wouldn't be able to drive with his legs. He'd figured it was something like that.
"Navy paid for the driving rig," Goetz said casually as he started the car. "The car, too. There are some benefits to retiring on a full scholarship plus disability."
Gibbs nodded. Getting to 20 years was the goal of every career military man. It meant a tax-free pension based on retirement rank, medical care for life, and various other perks that almost made retiring worthwhile. Goetz had received full retirement benefits despite being two years short because his injuries were considered line of duty. Gibbs himself had received disability benefits for several years after his injury. By the time the benefits ran out, he'd been well-ensconced at NCIS and didn't need it anymore. The Navy took care of its own, until it didn't have to anymore.
The drive wasn't long, only a couple miles across the river. Like Andrews, Naval Support Facility Anacostia was very high security. This time, it was the President's Helicopter Squadron HMX-1 – better known as Marine One – that made it so. Gibbs showed his credentials at the gate, and Goetz provided his retired military ID, and they were asked to state their business. When they had, the guard directed them to the correct helicopter pad. Nowhere near the one the President's birds used, they knew.
When they arrived where they'd been directed, Gibbs had to double check the location. The aircraft sitting on the pad wasn't Navy or Marine. It was an Army Blackhawk, the workhorse of the Iraq and Afghanistan war efforts, and way more helicopter than necessary to transport them. The nose of the aircraft was to their right, the sliding door on that side open. A man in a Marine flight suit and fur-lined flight jacket was sitting in the doorway, eating a sandwich and drinking from a large plastic travel mug. He watched them get out of the car, and observed them with a bland expression as they approached. He put his sandwich down and dusted his hands on his flight suit before standing to greet them.
"One of you Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs?" he asked.
"Retired. But that'd be me," Gibbs said. He braced the right crutch between his body and his arm and offered a hand.
"Major Tom Aziz, Third Company, First Marines." He shook, then turned to Goetz.
"Ian Goetz," Goetz introduced himself and shook hands, again leaving off his former rank. Gibbs wondered why he was doing that, but let it lie.
"What are you flying this bucket for?" Gibbs asked. It was very unusual for a Marine pilot to be flying Army aircraft. It was a matter of Corps pride. The pilot smiled.
"TR's bringing half a dozen of them over to Camp Victory on this cruise. I'm one of the few in my squadron not certified to fly it, and my CO has decided I need to learn. When this milk run came up, he decided it was a good time for some practice."
"You're not certified?" Gibbs asked. A female voice from inside the helicopter spoke up.
"Don't let it worry you, Gunny, he's got the skill." The other pilot leaned back around her seat so they could see her through the side door. "And besides, I've got a steady hand on the stick."
"That'd be Major Carla Mallick," Aziz said, gesturing to her. "She is certified. I understand we're to take you to the Roosevelt, best speed."
"Affirmative," Gibbs replied.
"You guys must be important. They've cleared us a space on the flight deck."
"Not important. Just need to be there, and we're not exactly up to making the drive. But we'd like to make a little less of a splash. Can you put us down off ship, but somewhere close?" Gibbs asked.
Aziz considered. "I suppose we can. How unobtrusive do you want to be?"
"How unobtrusive can you be?"
"We can put you down at one of the hangars on the other side of the station. It'll be a few miles from the ship, and just another rotor craft coming in. No one will pay any attention."
"That'd be fine. We're trying to keep this trip under the radar." If Goetz arrived on a military transport, landing on the flight deck, tongues were going to start wagging. Especially if he arrived with an NCIS agent. Better that it just be a casual drive up and walk on. DiNozzo had driven to Norfolk. He could pick them up wherever the pilot dropped them, and Goetz could go aboard alone.
"Understood," the Major said.
"What's your flight time?" Gibbs asked.
"It's 116 nautical miles, we cruise at 150 knots. Wind was behind us on the way here, so it'll take a little longer back," Aziz said. "So, about 45 minutes, give or take."
"You couldn't have just said that?" Major Mallick called from the cockpit.
"Gotta at least sound like I know what I'm doing," Aziz called back.
"Oh, yeah, that oughta help," Mallick said.
"I'll need to make a call before we take off, arrange for a pick up," Gibbs said, interrupting them. The banter was familiar, almost comforting, but he didn't have time for it.
"Fair enough. Either of you gonna need a hand boarding?"
"Maybe," Gibbs admitted.
"Alright, stand by one." The pilot picked up the remains of his lunch and wrapped it up, pulling open the right-hand cab door to stash it and his coffee mug.
Without waiting, Goetz sided up to the open door. He turned so his back was to it, sat on the edge of the door, and swung his legs up and around so he was sitting on the chopper's floor. With both crutches in one hand, Goetz shuffled on his butt across the floor to the front row seat furthest from the door, then reached up, used the seat harness as a trapeze, and swung himself up into the seat. Gibbs was frankly impressed.
"Nicely done," Major Aziz said from where he'd been watching.
"Not so hard, when you're used to it," Goetz replied. He bent over and picked up the crutches, stuffing them down between his seat and the helicopter's wall.
"Your turn," Aziz said to Gibbs.
Gibbs also sat on the edge of the door, but not being used to it, he handed the Major the crutches. He lifted his bad leg up into the helicopter, then bent the other knee so his foot was on the floor of the chopper, grabbed at the harness on the nearest seat, and stood shakily on his good leg. With a few short hops, he fell into the seat one down from Goetz.
"I'd give it a seven," Aziz said. Gibbs gave him a look.
"You lost a couple of style points on the landing," Aziz added. He stowed the crutches on the floor between the rows of seats as Gibbs fastened his harness.
"All in?" he asked. When both men nodded, he took a quick glance at their harnesses to be sure they were secure, then handed them helmets equipped with radio headsets and microphones. The helmets were protocol, the radios a bonus. Gibbs accepted his, but didn't put it on. Instead, he pulled out his cell and dialed DiNozzo as Aziz slid the door shut and climbed into his seat in the cockpit. DiNozzo actually answered this time. A short conversation later and Gibbs hung up, pulled on his helmet, and signaled the pilots that he was ready.
The two pilots quickly ran down the pre-flight checklist, Aziz talking through it aloud, his voice confident. When Mallick agreed he'd done it right, they powered up the helicopter. Within minutes, the rotor blades were turning full power. Through the radio in his helmet, Gibbs heard Mallick check in with the control tower. Half a minute after that, they got takeoff clearance. There was the familiar feeling of being pressed back into his seat, followed by a sense of unstable weightlessness as the helo lifted a few inches off the ground. It hovered, rose a few more feet and hovered again as Aziz got comfortable with the weight the two men added to what had been an empty bird on the way here. Satisfied, he let the helicopter auto-rotate 180 degrees, pulled on the stick, and they were away.
Gibbs was a comfortable flier. As soon as the helo was in stable flight – and he was confident Aziz knew enough about what he was doing that they weren't likely to crash into the Virginia countryside – he felt himself starting to drift. The muffled sound of the rotors cutting the air and the vibration of the hull lulled him almost immediately into that place between wake and sleep where his mind was able to relax.
He could not have guessed how much time passed when he suddenly became aware of a murmur in his ears. Gibbs opened his eyes and glanced at the backs of the pilots. They were talking, he could see in the occasional sideways glances they gave each other and the movements of their heads. But they were talking to each other, not to him. The internal intercom was set up so that conversation between the pilots was restricted to their own headsets. If they wanted conversations between them to go to the passengers, they had to flip a switch. Similarly, the conversations between passengers stayed in the back, unless the pilots chose otherwise.
So if it wasn't the pilots... Gibbs turned to glance at his seatmate. Goetz was leaning against the side of the helicopter with his eyes closed, his lips moving slightly, working something through his fingers. As soon as Gibbs realized what he was holding, the murmurs became words. Goetz was reciting the Rosary.
Gibbs tuned him out. He couldn't understand the attraction of Catholicism. Too many rules, too much structure. He liked a little more freedom in his religion. Gibbs supposed his biggest complaint about it was the wall the religion put up between man and God. When he had something to say to God, he said it. He didn't need a priest to talk to God for him. And he certainly didn't need to be confessing his sins to any man. Ordained by God or not.
Still, Gibbs knew that for those who truly embraced it, the Catholic religion was central to their lives. As important to them as the Marine Corps had been – and still was – to Gibbs. But there had never been anyone in his chain of command he would have trusted with secrets as big as the one these men had shared with the priest. He'd known few people in his life who'd earned that level of trust from him. Certainly no one he knew now, though his old mentor Mike Franks came pretty damn close. And he supposed DiNozzo was getting there. Still, he couldn't imagine sitting down with either of them and pouring out his heart. He couldn't imagine pouring his heart out to anyone. At least not without a great deal of alcohol on board.
There had been times in the past when people Gibbs trusted had betrayed him. He knew that pain. But never to the level of what the priest had done to Goetz and the other men. He took a minute to try and imagine how he would feel if it had been him. He usually tried to avoid that kind of introspection. But given what Goetz was about to do, Gibbs figured he owed it to him to at least think about it.
The murmuring in his headphones stuttered, then stopped, and Gibbs looked back at Goetz. The Master Chief had his eyes open and was looking over at him with an intense look on his face.
"What?" Gibbs asked.
"Are they tuned in?" Goetz gestured to the pilots.
"Majors?" Gibbs called through his headset. There was no change in the position of either pilot. "Nope."
"What if I can't get him to say it?" Goetz asked.
"Then we'll get him another way," Gibbs said.
"That simple?" Goetz asked.
"Sometimes," Gibbs shrugged. "Sometimes it's hard. We've ID'd him. That's the hardest part, usually."
"What about the rest of them?" Goetz asked.
"We'll get them, too. It's just gonna take some time."
"Which you don't have a lot of," Goetz said.
"Some of them aren't on the Big Stick anymore. They're not going anywhere. There's no rush to get to them."
"The statute of limitations on Hutchinson has almost run," Goetz reminded him.
"We've still got a month," Gibbs responded. "It won't take that long."
Goetz fell silent. He was still fingering the rosary beads in his hands.
"I'm not sure about this," Goetz said after awhile.
"Second thoughts?" Gibbs asked.
"No. And yes." Goetz took a breath. "It's not smart, you know, to be messing around with eternity."
Gibbs looked at him, curious.
"What I'm going to do, help put a priest in prison. It's probably not on the list of things a good Catholic is supposed to do."
"Neither's conspiracy to commit murder," Gibbs said.
"I know. I know he's got to be stopped, and I know this is the best way to do it. But I'm not sure what it's going to do to me. There are consequences, even to doing the right thing. Eternal consequences. I'm just trying to align what I know is right with what my beliefs require of me."
Gibbs wasn't sure what to say about that.
"You're a faithful man with strong morals," he said finally. "You know what's right. How can you believe something is moral if it keeps you from doing what's right?"
"There's more than one level of right. A priest can't turn in a confessed criminal, even though it would be the right thing to do by society's standards. He can't marry a couple who are clearly in love, who deserve to be married, if one of them isn't Catholic. Catholics have children they can't afford to feed, because using birth control is a sin." Goetz paused, sighed. "There are restrictions my beliefs impose that go against societal expectations. This feels an awful lot like one of those."
"So you'd just let him go on hurting people, destroying lives, because your religion makes him untouchable?"
"Of course not," Goetz said with a touch of impatience. "But he's been a man of God, ministering to those in need, for his entire adult life. What he's done is wrong, but doesn't he deserve a chance to repent? To see the sin he's committing and change it?"
"He deserves the same chance at rehabilitation that every felon gets: In prison" Gibbs said. "Saying he's sorry isn't enough, even if he actually is. The system demands justice, and retribution. He has to pay for his crimes. Even the Bible says that."
"The Bible says vengeance belongs to the Lord, not to man," Goetz countered. "What right do I have to seek vengeance for what he's done to me? To us?"
"Is that why you're doing this? To get back at him?"
Goetz didn't answer right away. He let his Rosary fall into one hand and closed his fist around it.
"I want to. I really want to punish him for what he's done."
"There's nothing wrong with that," Gibbs said. "It's what we do. It's why we have a Navy."
"No, it's not," Goetz argued. "We have a Navy to protect our country and our citizens from those who would do us harm."
"Which is exactly what you're going to do by helping us arrest this priest."
Goetz fell silent again.
"It feels wrong," Goetz said after a minute. "I've spent my career saving lives and reducing the impact of injuries. Putting this man away will do that, too. But what if God doesn't see it that way? What if by doing this thing that feels right in this moment, I'm condemning myself in eternity?"
Gibbs didn't answer right away. He was no expert in theology. He wanted to just tell Goetz to do the right thing now and worry about later, later. But the Master Chief was right about one thing: What he did here was going to stay with him forever. However long that might be.
"I can't tell you what to do. I can only tell you that you're in a unique position to help us take down a man who has betrayed everything he, and you, believe in. Who has perverted his oath to God and used his ministry to destroy lives. If you decide you can't do it, we'll get him another way. It'll take longer, but we'll get him. Having your help could make it happen today. It is the right thing to do. As for your eternal soul, that's way above my pay grade."
Gibbs paused a moment before continuing. "I can also tell you this: The God I pray to would not want your fear of Him to keep you from doing what you know is right."
Goetz considered him, then nodded once. He leaned against the bulkhead and closed his eyes again. He did not resume his prayers.
When the helo's attitude changed twenty minutes later, Gibbs had just begun to drift away again. His mind had been working on 'Plan B': What they were going to do if Goetz decided not to go through with it. There was a clicking sound in his ears signaling an open channel and Major Mallick's voice came over the radio.
"Time to wake up, gentlemen," she said. "We'll be landing in a few minutes."
"Copy that," Gibbs said. Beside him, Goetz sat up straight in his seat and stuffed his Rosary in his pants pocket. The helicopter began to lose altitude. Gibbs looked out the windows and saw they were cruising maybe two thousand feet above the James River, headed south toward Newport News. He watched as they passed over a highway bridge and continued to descend. A sweeping left turn, another bridge, and they were looking straight at Naval Station Norfolk.
Only about half of the Station's 14 piers were occupied. The Roosevelt was easy to spot. She was the only carrier on station and the largest thing in the water. He idly picked out each of the other ships in TR's carrier strike group. Even the submarine USS Albuquerque was present, her upper hull looking like an oil slick in the water, her sail and rudder poking up through it.
Maj. Aziz called in to air traffic control and got his approach vector. Air traffic in the area had to be coordinated between military bases, small public and private airports, and Norfolk International. Threading a small aircraft through it was tricky business. In response to the tower's instruction, Aziz made a 90 degree right turn over the Craney Island Naval Reserve and looped a wide, descending, counterclockwise circle over the land toward the airfield at the opposite side of the station. The hangars got bigger in the windows, the helo began to power back, and the ground rushed up at them. The approach felt fast to Gibbs, and he braced himself for a hard landing. But at the last second, the big bird pulled up slightly and seemed to float weightless for a moment. Then its wheels touched the ground with a bump so slight, Gibbs wasn't sure they were actually down. It wasn't until a second later when the pitch of the rotors began to drop that he was certain.
"Nicely done," Gibbs said into his radio.
"I told you, he's got the skill," Maj. Mallick said with a smile clear in her voice. She reached up to cut the engines and the rotors ground to a halt.
Getting out of the aircraft was easier: Gravity was on his side. With only a few grunts and a slight slip, Gibbs had both feet on the ground. He leaned heavily on the crutches, a tightening and tingling in his knee reminding him that standing on that leg wasn't a good idea. With both his legs the same length, it wasn't easy to keep his weight off the right side. Shifting his left leg back a little helped. When he was in the best position he could manage, he got out of Goetz's way and looked up as Maj. Mallick came around the aircraft.
Turns out the Major was a pixie-like redhead that made Gibbs stop for a second look. Redheads had always been his weakness. This one, though, was almost young enough to be his daughter.
"They're getting younger every year," Goetz said quietly next to him. Gibbs turned sharply to look at him. He hadn't thought his second look was that obvious. But the look on Goetz's face told him it hadn't been that: The Master Chief was merely making a comment on her apparent age.
"I'm not as young as I look," Mallick grinned. "Good genes. Here." She held out a page torn from a small notebook. "Call me when you're ready to go home. Captain's got us at your service for the rest of the day. We'll be up there somewhere, running up Aziz's air miles."
"Appreciate it," Gibbs said as he took it. He slipped the phone number into his pocket then called DiNozzo to give him their location. Less than 10 minutes later, the sedan DiNozzo had used to get to Norfolk arrived. With a final wave of thanks to the pilots, Gibbs and Goetz went to the car and got in. Gibbs introduced Goetz to DiNozzo.
"So what's the plan, Boss?" DiNozzo asked as he pulled away from the helicopter pad. His eyes had widened slightly at the sight of the crutches and the bandage standing out starkly against Gibbs' neck, but he wisely didn't ask. McGee had told him Ziva had accidentally injured Gibbs, but he obviously hadn't told the whole story. DiNozzo would get the details out of McHoldout later.
Gibbs turned in his seat to look back at Goetz. There was a moment while the two men stared at each other, then Goetz took a breath and nodded firmly.
"Master Chief Goetz is going to go visit some old friends," Gibbs said. "You and I are going to figure out who went with Fazio to kill Ferrara."
"Visit old friends?" DiNozzo parroted back. He didn't get it, but he'd learned over the years that if he paid attention, the meaning of the things Gibbs said would often reveal themselves.
"Pull in somewhere," Gibbs said, and DiNozzo found a spot next to one of the hundreds of buildings that dotted the station.
"Take this," Gibbs said, and removed the recorder, wires and tape from his overcoat pocket. He held it out to DiNozzo.
"Wire him." DiNozzo took the equipment, then got out and moved to the empty rear passenger seat. Goetz turned in his seat to face him and unbuttoned his shirt to give DiNozzo access. DiNozzo rubbed his hands rapidly on his pants to warm them a little, then placed the tiny microphone against Goetz's chest, just below his breast bone. He taped it in place with the skin tape, then ran the wire down Goetz's chest to his waist, taping it every couple of inches. DiNozzo plugged in the mike and turned the recorder on. He held it in his lap.
"What we have here, is a failure to communicate," DiNozzo said, his voice reminiscent of the actor who said it first. Gibbs looked back over his shoulder at him, and Tony shrugged. He stopped the recorder, rewound, and listened to the playback. It was good.
"Are you left or right handed?" DiNozzo asked.
"Right," Goetz said.
"Alright, I need to get in your pants." Goetz's eyes widened, and DiNozzo gave an embarrassed laugh.
"On your own time, DiNozzo, not mine," Gibbs said from the front, which made Goetz laugh out loud. DiNozzo turned pink and cleared his throat.
"The recorder, it needs to go..." DiNozzo took a breath and decided the best part of valor was to run with it. "C'mon, sailor, drop your pants," he said with the best smile he could muster under the circumstances.
"Why Agent DiNozzo, I never would have guessed," Goetz said.
"Thanks," DiNozzo said honestly. Goetz grinned and undid his belt, lowering his zipper to expose blue and white striped boxers. Without further comment, DiNozzo clipped the small recorder under the waistband of Goetz's underwear just ahead of his left hip. He looped the excess wire and taped it to Goetz's belly above the recorder.
"That should do it. It's okay to take off your overcoat, but keep your jacket on if you can, it'll make the bulge less noticeable. And no dropping your pants."
"Got it," Goetz said.
"I'm turning it on now. Anything you want to say before we go on the record?"
"How's this going to work?" Goetz asked Gibbs.
"DiNozzo's going to drive us shipside. I'll stay here while you go aboard. No connection between our arrivals, and no one's likely to start talking. The OD is expecting you. He'll give you a no-restrictions walk on. You do your thing, talk to your people. When you're done, come to the NCIS office. We'll be there."
Goetz thought that through, then nodded. "Alright, I'm ready," he said, despite the hesitation still clear on his face.
DiNozzo nodded and pushed the record button. The red light came on. He silently indicated Goetz should do up his pants. When it was done, DiNozzo recited his name, the date, their soon to be location aboard the USS Roosevelt, and the fact that the recording was related to the homicide of Petty Officer Francis Ferrara. He had Goetz identify himself for a voice sample, then had Gibbs do the same as a witness. Satisfied, DiNozzo returned to the driver's seat and drove them to the parking area adjacent to the pier where the Roosevelt was docked.
"Good luck," DiNozzo said as Goetz climbed out of the car. Goetz snapped the cuffs of his crutches onto his forearms and seemed to gather himself for a moment before setting off across the parking area toward the gate to the pier. He walked slowly, placing the braces carefully before swinging forward. The parking area had been plowed, but ice was always possible. Gibbs made a mental note to do the same himself. The agents watched as he approached, then cleared, the pier checkpoint. With a nod to himself, and a silent word of encouragement, Gibbs called Abby.
"I've got good news and better news," Abby said when they were connected. "Which do you want first?"
"Dealer's choice," Gibbs said.
"There were two sets of boot prints from the night Petty Officer Ferrara died. Two from when they came back for Nicky. They're actually three different boots. The smaller set is the one common to both nights, and it's the one with the tread wear. I couldn't testify in court to an exclusive match, but I'm telling you they're the same as the boots Fazio was wearing this morning."
"Was that the good or the better?" Gibbs said with satisfaction. One down, two to go.
"That was the better. The good is the DNA. The blood drops from the warehouse last night match the sample I got from Ferrara's body, and there's a cross-match on that to one of the three samples from the attack on Master Chief Goetz. The samples from the baseball cap don't match those or anything else we have. And there's no match for any of it in the offender database."
So, it was looking more like Lewiston had been involved in Goetz's attack. Good for them, bad for the Master Chief. Gibbs wasn't looking forward to sharing that information.
"Ziva's inbound from Norfolk with some more samples. Shouldn't be long. Some of them should match, then we'll know.
"I'll be waiting for her," Abby said. Gibbs hung up and turned to DiNozzo.
"Let's go," he said.
to be continued...
Two of three for tonight. Hope you're enjoying... and feedbacking...