***If you're reading this as the story's posted, be sure this is the THIRD part you're reading tonight. Don't want anyone to miss anything.***
One Less - Part 32
by joykatleen
In the NCIS office aboard the Roosevelt, the feeling was one of stiff discomfort. Three men in the small office made it crowded, and for some reason the ship's heater was blowing full steam, making it almost unbearably hot in the room despite the winter temperature outside. Fredrick had duct-taped a file folder over the vent. It cut some of the incoming heat but did nothing to decrease the heat already there. Opening the door would have helped, but Gibbs had nixed that idea. He didn't want the presence of three agents on the ship to become too widely known if he could help it. A small fan in the corner did little but blow around the overheated, stale air.
Then there was the emotional undercurrent. Gibbs had said little to Agent Fredrick since they'd arrived. As soon as Gibbs walked through the door, Fredrick had apologized, taking full responsibility for both the delay in reporting Ferrara missing, and for not catching the string of connected attacks. Gibbs had nodded his acceptance of Fredrick's apology, but had done nothing to indicate forgiveness. DiNozzo knew it wasn't Gibbs' style. But he'd expected his boss to at least bring Fredrick into the investigation. Instead, Gibbs had done most of his interacting with DiNozzo, sparing few words for the Agent Afloat.
For Gibbs' part, he just wasn't in the mood for it. He supposed Fredrick's explanations made sense, on both fronts. He wasn't sure he'd have made the connection between the attacks himself without the extra information they had. And if Ferrara had been showing signs of dissatisfaction with his life as Fredrick had said, Gibbs might have waited, too. Might have. But Gibbs wasn't going to coddle him. It just wasn't his style. Fredrick would have to come to terms with his role in this thing on his own time.
Based on the information Abby had given them, Fazio's lame attempt at hiding his partner's identity, Lewiston's failure so far to report aboard, and his own gut, Gibbs was virtually certain that Lewiston was their second dirtbag. DiNozzo and Fredrick had come up with a list of sixteen sailors and Marines most likely to have been the third man, based on known association with Fazio and Lewiston, and their lack of Navy alibi. The two men were seated at the small table, reading SRBs and talking in low tones, trying to cut the number down. Gibbs – unable to help with the files since he still didn't have his reading glasses – sat in the desk chair with his leg up on the trash can, watching the clock. It had been over an hour.
Gibbs was frustrated. He hated being out of control, especially when they were this close to a resolution. He should be kicking down doors, handcuffing suspects, dragging the bastards down to interrogation. Not sitting here waiting. He'd never been very good at waiting.
The phone on Fredrick's desk had been ringing off the hook, Gibbs answering it each time with increasing annoyance. With less than four hours to go before 'all aboard,' it seemed everyone wanted to talk to the Agent Afloat. Several sailors who'd gotten into civilian legal trouble while ashore these past months had to be cleared to sail. A list of new weapons possession requests arrived by fax, and each one had to be approved or denied by NCIS before they could cast off. A newly-arriving sailor had been caught with nearly 1000 tablets of what he claimed was prescription-strength Tylenol, but what the medical officer checking in personal medications believed to be Oxycontin. For that one, Fredrick told the MP who called that unless the sailor could come up with a prescription for the narcotic – and a damn good excuse for why he was carrying so many – he was not sailing with them. They'd leave him and his crime for the Norfolk office to deal with. It was a busy time for any Agent Afloat, and Gibbs knew Fredrick had set aside the routine stuff in favor of helping them. He supposed he ought to be grateful. But mostly, he was just pissed.
An hour and a half after they arrived, the phone rang again, and again Gibbs snatched it up with ill-conceived irritation. Only this time it was for him. McGee.
"Nicky picked Lewiston out of a six pack," he reported. "And the sport shop owner picked both Fazio and Lewiston as the two he sold the flash bang kits to."
It was coming together.
"There's still no sign of Lewiston or Fazio's car. The Norfolk office has an agent on the house, in case he returns there, and they're contacting all known relatives and associates not on the Roosevelt."
"Good," Gibbs said.
"Ziva's back. The cell phone in the trash at the house is Ferrara's," McGee said.
"Really?" Gibbs said with pleased surprise. Sometimes the bad guys were their own worst enemies.
"Yup." McGee, too, was pleased.
"Document it. Then put together arrest warrant requests for both of them, but don't submit them. We might be able to use Fazio to get the other two."
Gibbs hung up and relayed the information to DiNozzo and Fredrick.
"Two down," DiNozzo commented.
Fredrick spoke up. "We've got it down to seven. Five Marines and a medic from Fourth Platoon, First FAST Company out of Norfolk, plus one hospital medic, a poker partner of Fazio's."
"That's manageable," Gibbs said. "Either of the sailors aboard?"
"Let me check." Fredrick got up and moved toward the computer. Gibbs lowered his leg to the floor and pushed the desk chair out of the way. Fredrick pulled over the chair he'd been sitting in and went to work.
"The hospital medic is. The platoon's at Camp Allen until the end of the month, when they're scheduled to deploy to Gitmo."
"You want us to bring them in, Boss?" DiNozzo asked. He stifled a sudden yawn.
"Not yet. Fredrick, why those seven?" Fredrick glanced at DiNozzo, who nodded encouragement.
Fredrick started running them down. He was nervous at first, expecting Gibbs to challenge him on every point. But when Gibbs just kept listening, and occasionally nodding, he settled in. He'd justified the inclusion of the first three – the surviving members of Lewiston's former unit – when a tapping on the door interrupted him. Fredrick got up to admit Goetz.
"Master Chief, good to see you again," Fredrick said as he made way for the older man to enter.
"I got him to talk about it. But I don't know if it's enough," Goetz said to Gibbs, nodding at Fredrick's greeting. DiNozzo got up, offering his chair to Goetz. The retired sailor dropped into it, shed his crutches and started unbuttoning his shirt to remove the microphone.
"Did he admit it?" Gibbs asked.
"Sort of. He admitted he passed on the information, and he obviously knows and approves of what they're doing. But he never actually said 'I told them to commit assault and murder.' The best I could get was he told them to do what they could to 'help me overcome my sin'."
"Damn it," Gibbs said. He washed his hand over his face. "Let's hear it."
Goetz pulled the recorder out of his waistband and handed it to DiNozzo.
"I don't know how loud I'm going to be able to make this go," Tony said.
"You can play it through the computer speakers," Fredrick offered. Gibbs nodded his agreement. Fredrick retook his chair, attached an audio cable to the recorder's headphone jack, made a few adjustments on the computer itself, and rewound the recording.
"How far back?" he asked.
"Maybe, forty-five minutes?" Goetz said. Fredrick nodded and watched the time counter roll back. Out of chairs, DiNozzo sat on the edge of Fredrick's desk.
The first stop wasn't far enough: The priest's voice came loud and clear through the computer's small speakers. Fredrick went further back, and a group of voices.
"Too far. I was still in medical," Goetz said. Fredrick nodded and moved it forward.
When he finally had it, the four men sat in silence as the conversation played.
Thayer and Goetz started out with small talk. The priest was surprised to see him, wondering what he was doing aboard. Goetz offered his story about visiting old friends. It worked, since Goetz had left the ship's last cruise unexpectedly, and this was his last opportunity to see them before they deployed again. They chatted about the war, the upcoming cruise, people they'd worked with who'd moved on to other duty stations.
"You can bump it up a bit," Goetz said. "It took awhile to get to the subject."
Fredrick fast-forwarded it in short bursts, stopping occasionally so Goetz could check the conversation. He heard what he was waiting for and told Fredrick to go from there.
They listened for a minute or so more as the conversation waned. Then Thayer asked Goetz if he'd like to give one last confession to his old priest before they sailed. Goetz seemed to think about it, then agreed. There were sounds of movement and some grunting and bursts of breath. "It's not as easy for me to kneel as it used to be," Goetz explained to the men in the office.
The agents listened intently as Goetz went through the preliminaries. It had been nine months since his last confession. He spoke of committing many lesser sins: He'd gotten angry, used foul language, told small lies. He'd failed to attend mass regularly. He hadn't taken communion.
"Is there anything else, my son?" Thayer asked.
"I..." On the recording, Goetz's voice fell off. In the office, the three agents waited. Gibbs glanced at Goetz and saw that his head was down, his eyes closed. He was holding his rosary, the beads wrapped through his fingers.
"I have often struggled with sexual sin," Goetz's voice, softer now, came through the speakers.
Gibbs made a 'cut it' motion with his hand at his throat, and Fredrick stopped the playback. Goetz looked up at them.
"You okay with this? We don't all need to hear it," Gibbs said. He cast a meaningful glance at Fredrick, who frowned. Goetz looked at Gibbs for a moment, then a brief smile of appreciation appeared and he nodded.
"I'm hungry," Goetz said and stuffed the rosary into his pocket. He grabbed his crutches. "Lunch is still on. You care to join me, Agent Fredrick?" he asked. Fredrick looked from Gibbs to Goetz and back.
"Good idea," Gibbs immediately backed him up.
"What?" Fredrick asked. His disbelief at being dismissed was obvious. "You can't..."
"Bring us back something when you're done," Gibbs overrode his objection. "And some coffee." With a barely-disguised look of resentment, Fredrick stood.
"Fine," he said tightly. "After you, Master Chief." The two men left the office, the door closing with a loud clang behind them.
"You want me to go with them?" DiNozzo asked in the ensuing silence. He yawned again, and Gibbs gave him a glare.
"Just play it," Gibbs said.
to be continued...
That's it for tonight. Enjoy. And let me know what you think, will you please? Feedback keeps writers writing. joy