One Less - Part 39

by joykatleen

Again, it was the smell of coffee that woke Gibbs. For a moment, that's all that registered. Someone was brewing good coffee. Then his body checked in. Oww. He was too old to be sleeping in chairs.

Gibbs opened his eyes and stretched his arms up over his head. His neck and shoulders were stiff. He flexed his hips, curving his back forward, and froze as the bruised muscles in his low back spasmed. Damn. He was definitely too old to be sleeping in chairs.

"Good morning." Gibbs looked up. DiNozzo was just coming out of the bathroom in his boxers, a towel draped over his bare shoulders.

Gibbs tried to answer. But his mouth was stuffed with cotton, and all that came out was a mumble.

"Coffee?" DiNozzo asked. He poured a mug full and brought it over. Gibbs took it gratefully. He took a gulp, swishing it around in his mouth.

"Mine?" Gibbs asked, his voice a little clearer. He always kept some of his grind in his go-bag. He couldn't stand hotel coffee. Even the so-called 'gourmet' stuff.

"I figured you wouldn't mind," DiNozzo grinned.

"Hmm," Gibbs said through another gulp. DiNozzo used the towel to rub rapidly at his head, then dumped it on his bed. His hair was sticking up in all directions.

"You gonna need to get up soon?" DiNozzo asked. Which was the point at which Gibbs realized he really had to get up.

"Yeah. Now."

DiNozzo came over and pulled the wet towel off Gibbs' leg. The ice had melted hours ago, soaking the brace, his leg, and the pile of towels on the floor.

"There's a blow dryer in the bathroom you can use to dry it," DiNozzo suggested. He reattached the straps and handed Gibbs the crutches. Gibbs put the coffee mug down and stood. A strong head rush blacked out his vision for a second and made him sway. He managed not to groan. It cleared after a moment and he hobbled to the bathroom.

A phone rang in the room. Gibbs heard DiNozzo talking, caught the pleased tone of his voice, and leaned out of the bathroom.

"Nicely done, McEarlyriser. Take the rest of the morning off." DiNozzo hung up and turned to Gibbs.

"Lewiston showed up."

"Where?"

"He's at DePaul Medical Center in Norfolk. With his lawyer."

Lot of that going around, Gibbs thought with an internal growl. DiNozzo continued.

"McGee says he came in last night. Gunshot wound to the left thigh. The ER called Norfolk PD to report the GSW. They sent an officer, but the lawyer wouldn't let them talk to him. McGee had some kind of snooper thing in NPD's computer that alerted him when the officer called in his report at shift change this morning."

"Did they arrest him?"

"Not yet. Getting shot isn't illegal. Once McGee told them he was ours, they agreed to hold him until we got there."

"Good. This place have a restaurant?" Gibbs asked.

"Yup," DiNozzo said.

"We'll go down after we eat." He returned to the bathroom.

The ortho doc at Bethesda had been right: The brace did not smell good wet. Gibbs sat on the toilet lid and unstrapped it again. The swelling had gone down, but the pain was still present. Nagging, not sharp. Nothing he couldn't tolerate.

Gibbs rubbed one of the hotel's complimentary soap bars over the wet parts of the brace before doing as DiNozzo suggested and using the hotel's blow dryer on it. Cherry almond wasn't really his scent, but it was better than wet canvas.

That done, he finished cleaning up. The gauze bandage over the stitches on his neck was turning gray, so he replaced it with a large band-aid from his kit. The shallower cut was healing nicely. It probably wouldn't scar. Gibbs couldn't say the same for the larger one. Another to add to his plentiful collection.

When both agents were dressed and ready, they went to breakfast in the hotel restaurant. They didn't hurry: DiNozzo had called Norfolk PD and confirmed Lewiston wasn't going anywhere. Gibbs had three more cups of coffee and was feeling pretty good by the time they got to DePaul two hours after McGee's call. Gibbs had slept through the night without further disturbance, and the effects of the shots had been minor. He hadn't even thought it necessary to take any more Vicodin.

A Norfolk Police officer was sitting in a chair across from the suspect's room in the ER when they arrived just before 10:00. Gibbs leaned on his crutches and spoke with the officer briefly. It was as McGee had told them: They'd gotten a call from the ER about a gunshot victim, but it had taken more than an hour to get an officer available to talk to him. Then, the lawyer had refused the officer access. They'd decided to sit on him until they could rule out his involvement in any of the multiple shooting incidents that had occurred overnight in the tri-state area. They hadn't yet made it to the NCIS 'Be on the Lookout' request Ziva had called in when McGee called their dispatch.

DiNozzo showed the officer a picture of Lewiston he'd downloaded from the sailor's service file. The officer confirmed that was who he was holding, then agreed to transfer him to NCIS' custody. He offered to stick around and help, but Gibbs waved him away. With a handshake, he left them.

Gibbs stepped through the doorway into the small room. The second man from Nicky's warehouse was lying flat on the gurney, his left leg elevated on a stack of pillows. A fresh bandage was showing below his boxers, ending just above his knee. An IV in his left arm was flowing clear fluids, and a heart and blood pressure monitor was attached to his right bicep. His eyes were closed and he looked almost as pale as the sheets he was lying on. Blood loss, Gibbs figured.

"Can I help you?" This from an older man sitting in a chair on the far side of the bed.

"NCIS," DiNozzo said, and showed his badge. "Who are you?"

On the bed, Lewiston stirred and his eyelids fluttered. He opened his eyes and raised his head off the bed to see who had come in. He looked at DiNozzo without response. But when his eyes met Gibbs', they widened with instant recognition.

"Peter Benedetto. I'm this man's attorney, and he's not answering any questions."

"We're not here to ask him any," Gibbs said.

"He's under arrest," DiNozzo said and pulled out his cuffs.

"For what?" Benedetto demanded. He stood up, putting himself between the agents and the bed. He wasn't a tall man, shorter than either of them by several inches. Gibbs watched him straighten his posture to try and make up for it.

"Impersonating a federal agent, assault on a federal agent, conspiracy, illegal use of an explosive device, witness intimidation, interstate flight to avoid prosecution… I miss anything Boss?" DiNozzo asked.

"Don't forget murder," Gibbs said.

"Oh yeah, and murder," DiNozzo finished up. He moved forward, forcing Benedetto to take a step back.

"Murder?" the lawyer said, and turned to glance at Lewiston.

"He didn't mention that?" DiNozzo asked. He quickly sidestepped Benedetto to move around to the far side of the bed. "Don't you hate it when that happens?"

"My client is injured," Benedetto objected as DiNozzo snapped a cuff around Lewiston's right wrist.

"This won't hurt him," DiNozzo said. He secured the other cuff to the bed rail. "As soon as he's released from the hospital, he'll be formally charged." He tugged on the cuffs to be sure they were secure, then returned to stand next to Gibbs.

"He's going to be admitted," Benedetto said.

"That's fine. It'll give him some time to think about what he's going to say to us," DiNozzo said.

"He's not answering any questions," Benedetto repeated.

"We're still not asking any," Gibbs said. "But he might want to reconsider."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"Because we've got Fazio and we've got Rosario, and they're blaming it all on you," DiNozzo said. "Besides, first one to spill always gets the best deal."

"What do you mean?" Lewiston spoke up for the first time.

"Quiet, Danny," the lawyer said without turning to look at him.

"No, I want to know what he means," Lewiston said. He reached over to push a button on the bedrail, and the top of the bed slowly rose. "What kind of deal?"

DiNozzo shook his head regretfully. "Sorry, your lawyer says we can't talk to you."

"Danny, don't say anything," Benedetto said. "They're just trying to get you to incriminate yourself."

"I want to know what they're offering," Lewiston insisted.

"I demand that you leave this room, immediately," Benedetto said to the agents.

"Doesn't sound like that's what your client wants," DiNozzo said.

"My client is under the influence of narcotic pain medication. He's not capable of protecting his own interests right now. Leave."

If that was true, and Gibbs supposed it might be, they couldn't go any further. He twitched his head slightly toward the door.

"Think about it, Petty Officer Lewiston," DiNozzo said as he turned to follow Gibbs out. "Based on what Rosario and Fazio have told us, they'll get a slap on the wrist and you'll go down for capital murder. If you've got a different version of events, we'd love to hear it."

"Leave!" Benedetto said.

Outside the small room, Gibbs sat in the chair the Norfolk officer had abandoned.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs said.

"Go find out if what the lawyer said about pain meds is true, and if he's really going to be admitted. On it, Boss," DiNozzo said. Gibbs nodded his agreement and DiNozzo headed for the nurse's station.

Alone in the hallway, Gibbs listened to the room across the hall, trying to get a read on what was going on inside. He couldn't hear words, but the tone was tense. The lawyer and his client were clearly on opposite sides of the issue they were discussing.

Gibbs really wanted access to this guy. Lewiston couldn't possibly have been in charge of the conspiracy, but Rosario had said the attack on Ferrara had been Lewiston's idea. Putting two and two together, it was clear Lewiston had recruited Rosario, maybe Fazio as well. Which means he might be the only one of the three who had first-hand knowledge of the conspiracy, and who was running it.

From the information he'd gotten from Rosario, the circumstantial evidence they had, and Gibbs' interview with Fazio, there was no doubt in Gibbs' mind that Fazio had been involved in Ferrara's death. But they had no concrete evidence on him other than Abby's expert opinion that he'd left his boot prints in the warehouse. If he could get past Fazio's lawyer, he could probably use Rosario's statements to get more out of Fazio. Like how big a role Lewiston had actually played, and whether or not Fazio knew about the priest's involvement.

As for Rosario, they had him dead to rights, assuming they could hang on to the confession. Gibbs was pretty sure they'd done everything right on that one, but you never knew with lawyers.

The DNA matches they'd made between the sample under Ferrara's nails, the blood from the warehouse and the samples from Lewiston's house would go a long way toward convicting Lewiston, even if Gibbs couldn't get him to confess. But Gibbs wanted him to talk, to give him what he needed to nail the priest. And for that, he needed access.

Hearing Tony's footsteps coming toward him, Gibbs glanced up again. He felt a split-second stab of jealousy at his second's easy, pain-free stride. The younger man moved without thinking, without aches or pains or any of the consequences of a life hard-lived that Gibbs dealt with every day. It had been years since Gibbs was free to just get up and go, without reminders of what he'd put his body through. Considering the career they were in, Gibbs had no doubt DiNozzo would eventually start feeling his age. But you couldn't tell that today.

"What?" DiNozzo asked, catching Gibbs' stare. Gibbs cleared his expression.

"What'd they say?"

"He had a couple shots of morphine, and they're going to admit him. He didn't remove the slug, and the wound is infected."

Damn. This was going to complicate things. He was certain this upscale civilian hospital didn't have a secure unit. So they'd have to put a guard on him, make sure he didn't slip away again. It would be so much easier for them on so many levels if Lewiston was at a military hospital, which is probably why the lawyer had chosen to bring him to this one.

The answer came to him on the heels of that thought. Lewiston was supposed to have reported aboard the Roosevelt yesterday. When he didn't show up before shove-off, he would have officially been reported AWOL. Since he was government property, if the MPs found him they could take him into custody and he'd be transferred to a navy hospital. Especially if Gibbs called in a favor. If Gibbs could plant the right words in the right ears, he could have Lewiston picked up here and taken to the nearest naval hospital, where Gibbs would have a hell of a lot more access to him. Hell, he might even be able to get him transferred to Bethesda, if he could get Gelfand to help.

Gibbs opened his phone and called the Master at Arms at Norfolk. DiNozzo listened with growing pleasure as Gibbs explained there was an AWOL sailor at DePaul Hospital, and then told him – off the record – why Lewiston needed to be picked up and transferred to Portsmouth as soon as possible. The Master at Arms agreed to arrange it as soon as he could.

The voices in the room rose and fell, and finally fell silent after almost half an hour. DiNozzo had gone for more coffee and another chair, and they waited impatiently. Gibbs called McGee – who despite Tony's grant had not taken the morning off – and got him working on a warrant for Lewiston's medical records. The slug had been removed and saved, standard procedure for any hospital, and they wouldn't need a warrant for that. But civilian medical records were tightly held.

Almost an hour passed before the lawyer came out of the room. He was clearly surprised to see them.

"Why are you still here?" he demanded.

"We like it here," DiNozzo said. He waved his cup at the lawyer. "Good coffee."

"You can't question my client," Benedetto said.

"Yeah, yeah," DiNozzo said. "Whatever." Gibbs glanced over at him. Whatever?

"If you so much as ask him how he's feeling, I will have you up on charges," the lawyer warned.

"You don't represent service members much, do you?" Gibbs said. Benedetto frowned.

"I can't see where that's any of your business," the lawyer said.

"I didn't think so," DiNozzo said. "You might want to check your law before you go threatening federal agents. As agents of the Naval Criminal Investigative Service, we can ask members of the navy and Marine Corps a whole lot of questions before any line is crossed."

The lawyer stared at him. He was fumbling for a response to that.

"He is represented by counsel, and you may not question him about any crime you suspect he committed outside the presence of counsel."

"So we can question him about crimes you were there to see him commit?" DiNozzo asked. When Benedetto gave him a confused look, DiNozzo gave him a big grin. "Grammar. It's an art."

"Just stay away from him," the lawyer said shortly. "I have another appointment I have to get to. He is under the influence of narcotics, which I'm sure you've confirmed by now, and he is unable to intelligently consent to waive his Fifth Amendment rights. So don't even try."

The lawyer strode down the hall away from them.

"Love those lawyers," DiNozzo said as he watched Benedetto turn the corner out of their sight.

"He's got good timing," Gibbs said.

"Oh?" DiNozzo asked, and Gibbs gestured behind DiNozzo in the opposite direction from where the lawyer had gone. DiNozzo turned that way to see two men in blue NWUs approaching the nursing station down the hall. They had MP bands on their upper arms.

"Very good timing," DiNozzo agreed.

The MPs took Lewiston into custody for violating his order to deploy, and arranged to have him transferred to a secure unit at Portsmouth Hospital. Once his need for medical monitoring had decreased, they'd be able to move him somewhere closer to the Navy Yard. The emergency room doctor who'd been treating Lewiston agreed to sign off on the transfer, as long as the move was made by ambulance with medics aboard. The MPs already had one on the way. Lewiston was strangely ambivalent about the whole thing: He didn't object when the MPs appeared in his room and told him he was being transferred. He only asked if he could call his family before they took him. The senior officer agreed.

Gibbs and DiNozzo waited until Lewiston was loaded into the ambulance, in case the lawyer reappeared and threw a fit. It wasn't that Gibbs didn't think the MPs could take him, it was just that he didn't want them to decide the hassle wasn't worth it. When Lewiston got to Portsmouth, the legal coordinator there would make sure his lawyer was notified.

"So what now, Boss?" DiNozzo asked after Lewiston was on his way.

"Home," Gibbs said. "Rosario's given us all he has, and there's nothing more we can do with Lewiston until he's off pain meds. Even if we could get around the lawyer. No reason to stay here."

xxxxxXXXXXxxxxx

Ziva called when they were an hour out of Norfolk. Gibbs had tried to reach her earlier and gotten only voicemail. He was once again stretched out on the back row seat.

"Radkoff said Lewiston was not in charge," Ziva said.

"Who's he say was?" Gibbs asked.

"He still claims not to know. But Radkoff says he knew Lewiston when he was involved, and Lewiston was definitely not one of the conspirators at that time."

"You get any other names?"

"Two," Ziva said, with a hint of pride in her voice. "It took some convincing, but he finally gave me the name of the friend he recruited for the attack on Lt. Hutchinson, and the other sailor who participated. He said those were the only two involved. One is aboard the USS George Washington. The other is an Information Systems Technician Second Class currently assigned to Naval Support Activity Mid-South in Tennessee."

"What'd you have to give him?"

"A few smiles. Some hair flips. I put on a bit of a show."

Gibbs smiled internally. "Run the paper. See if those names work with what we know. And check the duty schedule for the guy at Mid-South, find out when he's due to work. We'll be back in a couple hours."

"I will meet you there." Gibbs was lowering the phone to close it when he heard her voice again.

"What?" he asked her to repeat.

"Can you tell me why there is a Navy Base in the middle of the country? Nine hundred miles from the ocean?"

"It's only 400 from the Gulf of Mexico," Gibbs replied, just because, and this time he did hang up.

"Radkoff gave her the names of two he says attacked Hutchinson," Gibbs told DiNozzo.

"Can we get them?"

"One's on the George Washington," Gibbs said, knowing DiNozzo would understand that meant the sailor was aboard the only permanently forward deployed aircraft carrier in the fleet, and out of reach for the moment. "The other's in Tennessee."

"What's he doing there?"

"He's an IT at NSA Mid-South."

"We have a base in Tennessee?"

Gibbs gave him a look in the rear view. "You've been with the navy eight years, DiNozzo. I'd expect that from Ziva."

"Hey, I can name every naval base and air station on the eastern seaboard. It's not like we've spent a lot of time anywhere else in the last eight years."

"Used to be NAS Memphis. Now it's a logistics and administration facility." Mid-South was one of only two bases the navy had in completely landlocked states. The other one, NAS Fallon in Nevada, was a natural location for a Naval Air Station, being as it was in the middle of thousands of miles of absolutely nothing. Mid-South didn't even have that going for it. Gibbs had wondered, when he first learned of its existence, how much graft had changed hands generations ago to put a navy base so far inland.

"So, we gonna bring him here?"

"If it works with what we know, the two of you can fly out there and talk to him tomorrow."

"Great," DiNozzo said. "I haven't been to Memphis in years."

They stopped for lunch in Richmond and arrived at the Navy Yard just past 4:30. Ziva was sitting at her desk in the Sunday-quiet squadroom. She was wearing a low-cut blouse and tight slacks. Definitely not work fare, but it had probably done wonders for Radkoff. Tony growled at her in admiration as they walked in.

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs barked, and Tony jumped.

"Got it, Boss," he said then smacked himself in the back of the head. Ziva smirked at him.

"Thank you," Ziva said to Gibbs. When he was sitting at his desk, she put up the SRBs of the two sailors Radkoff had named, detailing their backgrounds. As Gibbs stared at their pictures, most of what Ziva was saying rolled off him, except to note that neither of them had a record of discipline problems, and they were both Catholic. She'd found nothing that would preclude them from being involved.

Ziva also reported that Abby had found no additional DNA matches between the sailor who had attacked Petty Officer Demmings and subsequently been killed and any other samples they had. That would have been too easy, Gibbs figured. On the other hand, it would have meant one less to bring to justice. And justice was definitely the desired end result in this thing.

When Ziva was finished her update, Gibbs told her to make arrangements for two seats to Memphis. They would use whatever they got from the stateside suspect to try and work up a warrant for the guy on the George Washington.

While she got on that, Gibbs went through the messages on his desk. There weren't many, it being the weekend, but one caught his eye. Gregor had called. Please call when he had time. No emergency.

Gibbs made the call. The older man made some small talk, then got to the point.

"I've been talking to Nicky. I'd like to hire him, to work part time at the store. The job would include room and board, here, at my place."

"Okay," Gibbs said, for want of anything better.

"I'm just wondering if you think that's a good idea," Gregor said.

"Couldn't hurt. He might not stick around," Gibbs cautioned.

"I understand. But maybe if he had someone looking out for him, making sure he knew he was expected to be somewhere. It might make a difference."

"It might," Gibbs said.

"He said he's tried to work in the past, but he got too many stares. Can't imagine that'd be a problem on the Navy Yard. At least not if people knew where the scars came from."

"Probably not."

"So you think you can make it happen?" Gregor asked. Gibbs was thrown for a second.

"Me? What's it gotta do with me?" he asked.

"He'll need security clearance if he's going to be coming around regularly. They don't let just anyone work around here, you know. Without a badge, the sentries are going to turn him away."

"Is he on board with this?" Gibbs asked.

"He is. He's excited about the idea of being able to earn his way again."

"Yeah, alright. I'll see what I can do tomorrow."

Hanging up, Gibbs scribbled a reminder note on the back of the message paper. In the midst of all this, it wouldn't surprise him a bit if he forgot all about this conversation as soon as something broke. And something was going to break.

That done, Gibbs asked Ziva about McGee. Ziva said he'd been in and out of MTAC all day. He told her and DiNozzo to go home as soon as their travel arrangements were made, then rode the elevator up. He found their youngest team member there in the dark, working the keyboard in front of one of the consoles. The screen above his head was blank. He was casually dressed in jeans and a t-shirt with the tour dates of some rock band splashed across the back. Gibbs didn't think he'd ever seen McGee working in true weekend clothes. Even when they'd on occasion dragged him out of bed, he was always more professor than student.

"What're you doing?" Gibbs said from behind him. McGee, who'd been absorbed in his work, jumped a little and looked over his shoulder. Gibbs suppressed a smile. Good to know he still had it, even on crutches.

"Oh, hey Boss. Welcome back. I'm still tracking Ramey."

"Anything?" McGee got up and pulled over a chair for Gibbs to sit.

"I left a message last night, told him we needed to talk to him about an accident he might have witnessed sometime last week. I wasn't specific. He hasn't returned the call yet, but he hasn't made any other calls since I left the message, so maybe he's just got his cell turned off. Meanwhile, I've been tracking his debit card transactions."

"Is he still here?"

"As of half an hour ago. It looks like he's doing the tourist thing. Yesterday it was gift and coffee shops at three Smithsonian Museums. Today, he's been buying souvenirs at the monuments. His last purchase was drinks at the KC Café at the Kennedy Center."

"He got tickets for something?" Gibbs asked.

"Not that I've been able to find. They have a free show at the Millennium Stage every night at 6:00." McGee shrugged. "Maybe he's there."

"Where'd he spend the night last night?" Gibbs asked.

"At the Hotel Monaco."

"Really?" Gibbs asked. That was surprising. The Hotel Monaco was a luxury boutique hotel in downtown D.C., halfway between the Capitol and the White House. You couldn't get a room there for less than $250 a night. Certainly not what he'd expect on an E-5's salary.

"He entertaining?" Gibbs asked.

"Room service for two after midnight last night, but only Ramey is registered."

So, he'd spent the night with someone. Probably his girlfriend, which would explain the city tour. Of course, he could have spent the night with a pro. But working girls usually didn't spend the day seeing the sights.

"You said he's booked to fly to Montreal tomorrow. Is the trip for two?"

"He only paid for one flight. But the resort package is for two."

Curious. "He booked at the Monaco again tonight?"

"Yes."

Which meant Ramey would be in Washington until his flight tomorrow. They had plenty of time to find him. If nothing else, they could meet up with him at Dulles in the two hours he had to be there before departure.

"You been here all day?"

McGee nodded.

"Alright. Let's pack it in. If he doesn't call tonight, we'll find him in the morning."

to be continued...

I'm making progress, friends. Slow but sure. It won't be long now before the story is finished, and then I'll be posting as quickly as I can edit. Thanks for still being here. To those new reviewers who've popped up, I'd thrilled you've joined us. Hope to hear from all of you again. Your words made me smile. joy