RECAP OF LAST SECTION: When last we heard from the gang, Gibbs had taken a break in his 'interrogation' of Petty Officer Ramey to talk to Abby. Ramey, it turns out, was the "Watcher" who observed and recorded, but never participated in the attacks. We discovered that Major Ortiz was at one point also a Watcher, and his attack came after the conspirators discovered he was gay and had been hiding among them. Ramey admitted that his involvement came under 'orders' from the priest after the fight on board years before, but denied knowing of any direct involvement by Father Thayer. Ramey told Gibbs he thought the priest had gone into the city after Major Ortiz's attack, and would therefore know why the Major hadn't returned to the ship. This was the reason Ramey gave for the fight with the priest: he went to him asking about Major Ortiz's whereabouts and got angry when the priest said that maybe the Major didn't deserve to be a Marine. Toward the end of the interview, when Gibbs was fishing for something that would explain why Ramey didn't just walk away from the Navy once he became trapped in the conspiracy, Gibbs asked Ramey who he'd been in Washington with. That brought a fear response, and a name: Christine. Ramey showed a little backbone in refusing to further discuss his friend, reminding Gibbs that the deal had only involved telling what he knew of the conspiracy, and nothing else. Frustrated, Gibbs asks Abby to track down security video of places Ramey was in D.C., in hopes of identifying the friend.
It's Monday, and the USS Roosevelt is on its way to Florida, scheduled to begin its Atlantic crossing on Friday. Gibbs promised the Captain he would have Thayer removed from the ship by then. Time is definitely running out.
One Less - Part 43
by joykatleen
It didn't take long. Abby appeared at Gibbs' desk less than thirty minutes later with a handful of photos. McGee was still working on the audio files, a set of stereo headphones blocking out the sound of the squadroom.
"This case just keeps getting hinkier and hinkier," Abby said and handed him the stack. "Is that even a word? Hinkier. Maybe it should be 'more hinky'? I don't know cuz..." Gibbs tuned her out and looked at the top picture. It was Ramey, sitting in the window of a café, having coffee with a good-looking brunette with shoulder-length straight hair. The view was both their profiles. It was hard to tell from the poor quality of the security photo, but it looked like she was Hispanic, maybe South American. He flipped to the next photo. In the gift shop at the Air and Space Museum, standing very close to the brunette, his head partially blocking her face. Next: Approaching the entrance to the Washington Monument, a very clear shot. Gibbs looked closely at the brunette. The photo was a grainy blow up, but he thought something was a little off about her face... He put on his glasses and looked closer.
"Check out the next picture." Abby spoke directly into Gibbs ear from right behind his shoulder and he barely managed not to jump. She was getting better at that. He flipped to the next photo. This was the front entryway of the Hotel Monaco. The doorman was holding the door for two men. One was Ramey, the other was younger, with close-cropped dark hair. Again, the photo had been enlarged and the grain was pretty bad. The other man looked...
Gibbs flipped back to the previous picture, looking at the girl again, then back.
"It's the same person," Gibbs said, turning to look over his shoulder at her.
"Uh huh," Abby said with a grin. "Your guy's girl is a guy."
Gibbs put the pictures down, took off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. A whole lot of things suddenly became clearer. Petty Officer Ramey was in a relationship with a transvestite. A transsexual? A cross-dresser? Something. He honestly wasn't sure what the terms were these days. In any event, it didn't necessarily mean he was gay. Even Gibbs knew that. But Ramey had referred to it as a relationship. If Ramey did lean that way, he would have been pretty desperate to keep it from the players in the conspiracy. Especially considering what had happened to Major Ortiz once they discovered his secret. What Ramey'd said about having no choice but to play his part, about escaping the ship: In that light, it all made sense.
"Thanks, Abs," Gibbs said when he realized she was waiting for a reaction.
"You need me to ID her? Him?" Abby asked.
Gibbs shook his head. "Nah. We don't need him. Or her."
"Then my work here is done." She started away.
"Hey," he called after her. Abby turned back.
"C'mere," he waved her over, and she stepped behind his desk again. He gestured her down to whisper in her ear. "Good job, Abby," he said, and kissed the side of her head. She beamed at him.
Ramey was still sitting at the table when Gibbs returned to interrogation. It had taken Gibbs a lot longer than it should have to decide what to do with the sailor. Now that he understood more of what had happened and why, his opinion of what Ramey had done wasn't so cut and dry. He was still pissed that Ramey had let four lives be destroyed and said nothing. But with this new information, his anger became more institutional than specific. Ramey would still pay for what he'd done, Gibbs would see to it. But this was pretty powerful mitigation.
Gibbs sat down and carefully set the last two photos he'd looked at in front of Ramey. Ramey glanced at the pictures, looked away. His face colored a little. When Gibbs spoke, his voice was soft.
"This was the secret you were trying to keep," Gibbs said. Ramey nodded miserably. He wouldn't meet Gibbs' eye.
"Have you ever talked to anyone about it?" Gibbs asked.
"No," Ramey said.
"Not even in confidence?"
"No. It's not something I'm proud of."
"You struggle with it?" Gibbs asked.
"Yes," Ramey said. "I wish I could be different."
"So why not get some help with it?"
Ramey made a small sound of dismissal. "I'm in the navy. Who would I talk to about... that?"
"You were Catholic. Why not talk to your priest? To Thayer?"
"I was afraid to."
"Why?" Gibbs asked and waited, figuratively crossing his fingers.
Ramey took a breath, let it out in a sigh. He looked at Gibbs momentarily but couldn't hold it. "At one of my last foster homes, we went to a church with a bad priest. He would get drunk and spill confession secrets to whoever happened to be around. By the time he was suspended, he'd done a lot of damage to a lot of people. I stopped confessing the really bad stuff to the priests after that."
"So it had nothing to do with Thayer specifically," Gibbs said. Come on, kid. Give me something.
Ramey shrugged. "I thought maybe that's how the players were finding out who was gay."
"You have any proof of that?"
"No. Just a fear." Ramey paused, looking past Gibbs into the mirror for a few seconds before continuing.
"I believe in God, and the truths of the Bible. But my faith in Catholicism was never very strong. My mother always claimed to be Catholic, even though I can't remember ever going to church with her. When she died and I hit the system, they put me down as Catholic too. Some of my foster homes were devout, others not so much. When I went to mass, I went through the motions, but it never really meant a lot to me. Then, after I joined the navy and figured out I was gay, it seemed like one too many strikes against me. I tried to be a Cafeteria Catholic, picking what to believe and leaving the rest behind, but it didn't feel right. I still went to confession, still attended mass, but I wasn't committed. Then, when Thayer said what he did about Major Ortiz, I decided it wasn't worth the effort anymore. That's why I changed my religious preference."
"But you don't think Thayer was involved in the attacks," Gibbs said, pushing now just a little.
Ramey shook his head, looking down at his hands. "Maybe. I just don't know."
Gibbs nodded. That was the best he was going to get. He opened his phone and made a call.
"I need someone down in interrogation. Priority three," he said, and snapped it shut.
They sat in silence in the small room for several minutes. Gibbs watched Ramey, but didn't stare or try to intimidate him. There was no longer any point in it.
"I tried to help you guys figure it out, you know," Ramey said suddenly.
"Oh?" Gibbs said.
"The notes. 'One Less'? That was me," Ramey said.
"You told them to do that?" Gibbs asked.
"Not the first one. Hartmann put the note in Major Ortiz's pocket. That was the first one. When I got involved, before the next attack, they were talking about how stupid it was that he did that, left evidence. I convinced them it wasn't stupid. I told them it would make the mission more real, to leave a sign of their work. To make sure that everyone who came after knew it wasn't just random acts. That there was a purpose. They decided I was right and it became part of the pattern. I was hoping investigators would start to notice and put it together." He paused. "I thought it would happen sooner. It was the best I could do without putting myself at risk."
A sharp rap on the door made Ramey jump and turn. Gibbs bade enter. A building security officer stepped in.
"He'll need an escort out of the building," Gibbs told the officer. Turning back to Ramey, he said: "Go home." Ramey looked confused.
"What?"
"You heard me. Go home. Go back to work. Keep your mouth shut. Do not talk to Thayer or anyone else you even think might be involved in this thing or I will arrest you on a new charge of obstruction of justice and our deal will be dead."
"Just, go back to work?" Ramey asked. "That's it?"
"No, that's not it. You'll still need to testify, and you'll still face court martial when this is all over. Meanwhile, you're free to go."
"I don't understand," Ramey said.
"What part of 'get the hell out of my office' is confusing you, Petty Officer Ramey?" Gibbs growled, and Ramey stood up instinctively, his chair scraping on the floor. He took a step away from the table, then paused.
"Can I still go skiing?"
"No. Go home. Take your friend with you. Stay in Norfolk and wait for Taylor or someone from JAG to call you. Do not be unreachable."
Ramey looked down at Gibbs, the confusion still present but overshadowed by relief. "Thank you," he said.
Gibbs didn't acknowledge him, and after a moment, Ramey turned away. The security officer gestured him ahead and Ramey stepped out into the hall. The door closed quietly behind them.
The next three days were busy. McGee had found no mention of the priest on the audio recordings, meaning it was all in Fredrick's hands. The agent afloat checked in daily, but could only say he was working on it. DiNozzo and David returned from Memphis with the sailor in custody. He'd lawyered up the moment he knew what they were there for. In fact, everyone they had in custody – even Rosario – had finally gotten a clue and shut up. As they'd hoped, they'd gotten lawyer-free access to Lewiston, but all he'd wanted to talk about was what deal he could get. With what they now knew and suspected about Lewiston's involvement both as Watcher and assailant, Gibbs was disinclined to offer him anything. The only thing he might have that they'd be interested in was proof of the priest's involvement. Gibbs had hinted at that potential, but promised nothing. The next day they were contacted by Lewiston's new attorney – a proper military defense attorney – and were informed that Lewiston would not be speaking to them again unless a firm offer for a deal was in place.
The guy from the USS George Washington was their one success. On arrival in the capital, he'd done the honorable thing and immediately confessed his role in Hutchinson's assault. As disgusted as Gibbs was with the officer sitting across the interrogation table from him, Gibbs had to respect the forthright way the officer told his story. He was sorry Hutchinson had been permanently disabled. They hadn't meant that to happen. It was the other sailor who'd delivered that final kick to Hutchinson's back, but he knew he was just as responsible. He was ready to resign his commission and throw himself on the mercy of a court martial. He was also more than happy to testify against his cohort, and tell everything he knew of the conspiracy in open court.
For a few minutes during the interrogation, Gibbs thought they had something. The GW officer said he'd gotten involved a few days after the priest told him Hutchinson was gay. He had spoken with the priest about how they might be able to help Hutchinson see the error of his ways, and two days later, Ramey had come to him and said he was wanted at a meeting. It was the first independent corroboration they had. But that was as far as it went. Like on Goetz's tape, there was only the priest trying to help a sailor overcome sin. No instructions to go commit assault. So damn close, then nothing.
DiNozzo took the four active cases to Taylor for a look-over on Wednesday morning. Taylor signed off on all the charges the team proposed against Fazio, Lewiston, Radkoff, the guy from NAS Memphis, and the officer from the George Washington. From there, it was out of the agents' hands. They'd all have to testify as to the investigation, but there was no more work to be done on those cases until trial prep. A homicide and three cold assault cases solved and off their caseload. Not a bad effort for a week's work.
Gibbs spent most of the week in the office and off his feet. The director tried to get him to take some time off, to have the surgery on his knee, but Gibbs refused. Even after the primary cases were filed, there was a lot of work to be done to build cases against the 15 outstanding conspirators. Just having the evidence against them wasn't enough. The agents had to put it together in such a manner that they'd be able convince a prosecutor they had enough to convict on conspiracy to commit crimes that were beyond the statute of limitations. Again, Thayer's continuing involvement was going to be the key. It frustrated the hell out of Gibbs that they couldn't find anyone who could fill in that missing piece.
In Goetz's recording of his conversation with Thayer, the priest had admitted to asking someone to 'help' Goetz with his sin. There were four known players on that attack: Ramey, who by that time wasn't talking to the priest at all, Fazio, Lewiston and the now-dead sailor Curren. The agents hadn't known about the priest's involvement when Gibbs interviewed Fazio, and of course Lewiston hadn't said a word. So it could have been either of them. Maybe the priest was talking to a different player every time. That would account for no one knowing he was involved in the big picture. He spoke to one in confession, told that one to tell the Watcher it was time. Reasonable, but no way to prove it without Thayer's confession. There were just too damn many variables.
They spent considerable time locating the outstanding players and figuring out how to approach the arrests. Once they started picking them up, word would undoubtedly get around. Eventually, it would get to Thayer. If that happened too soon it could blow the whole thing. Gibbs finally decided the only way to do it was a simultaneous takedown. When they got word that Fredrick had what they needed – or when the Roosevelt was ready to depart Jacksonville on Friday – Gibbs would call a 'go' and teams would arrest all 15 of them immediately. To that end, they prepared full reports on the whereabouts of each conspirator and put together 15 separate pairs of agents in locales across the country and overseas. Not all of the outstanding players were still in the navy, but they were all on the radar. It was a complicated plan. Plenty of room for error. But after three planning sessions in MTAC, Gibbs was confident that they'd get most of them.
They still hadn't watched all the videos of the attacks. Though he didn't want to admit it, Gibbs knew he was stalling. He'd been watching them at random, and still had five of the 15 to watch, including the videos of Chief Goetz and Major Ortiz. It seemed every time he set time aside to watch them, something more important came up. He could continue justifying the delay, he supposed, but it was getting a little ridiculous. Still, watching sailors who were sworn to serve and protect instead beat and destroy good men over and over was one of the tougher things he'd ever had to do.
On Wednesday afternoon and Thursday morning, they caught two new cases. The first was an AWOL sailor missing four days who showed up at his home while McGee and David were interviewing the wife. They left it to his command – and his wife – to figure out the consequence of his impromptu trip to Atlantic City with an old flame.
The second appeared on its face to be a robbery gone bad. A 33-year-old Marine Sergeant had been found dead in the middle of his torn-up apartment, a large knife buried in his chest. There was blood everywhere, clear signs of a struggle. The initial theory was he'd surprised a burglar coming home. He was still wearing his overcoat, hat, and gloves, and a bag of groceries was spilled on the floor.
DiNozzo was running down the evidence they had to support that theory when Ducky called up from autopsy. Would Gibbs mind coming down for a few moments? No rush, just when he had the chance?
Since Gibbs hadn't gone to the scene, he waited until DiNozzo finished and his team had their orders before heading down. To his surprise, the Marine's body was not on the table.
"Not started or already done?" Gibbs asked as he swung into the room.
"Already done," Ducky said from his desk. "Not a difficult exam, poor boy."
"And?" Gibbs asked. He leaned against the edge of Ducky's desk as the medical examiner turned in his chair.
"Suicide," Ducky said. Gibbs frowned.
"Say again?"
"The wound in his chest was self-inflicted," Ducky said. "Without a doubt. He stabbed himself, then moved about the house for several minutes knocking things over before he fell where we found him and exsanguinated."
"Fair enough," Gibbs said. Ducky knew what he was doing. If he said the wound was self-inflicted, a hard look at the evidence his team had gathered would bear that out. Case closed.
"Should be able to clear it off your case load fairly quickly," Ducky said, as if he'd heard Gibbs' internal rumination.
"Thanks, Ducky," Gibbs said and readied his crutches to stand.
"Just a minute, Jethro," Ducky said. Gibbs settled back. "You're looking much better than you did last time I saw you."
"Couple good nights' sleep will do that for you," Gibbs said.
"Still having headaches?" Ducky asked.
"Nope."
"Nightmares?" Gibbs gave him a look.
"Who told you?" he asked irritably. "DiNozzo or McGee?"
"Neither one of them would dare risk your legendary wrath by sharing such secrets," Ducky said with a smile. "It was in your medical report from Bethesda. Dr. Gelfand was quite worried."
"No more nightmares," Gibbs said, resolved to the knowledge that Ducky, at least, had noble intentions. "They came, they went."
"Do you know why?" Ducky asked.
"Do I care?" Gibbs asked.
"Of course you do. You're one of the most introspective creatures I've ever met, and the lack of control over your own mind would have been driving you insane."
Gibbs made a sound of amused agreement. "It was Nicky," he said. "Probably causing the headaches, too."
"Probably," Ducky agreed. "How is our friend?"
Earlier in the week, Gibbs had followed through on his promise to Gregor to get Nicky a Yard pass. He'd checked in a couple of times, and each time found Nicky happily working in the BX. Looked like he was going to be fine.
"He's fine. Working at the BX, staying at Gregor's house. He seems happy."
"When did that happen?"
"Over the weekend. And before you ask, that's when the nightmares stopped, too."
"Huh," Ducky said. "Why do you suppose he got to you like that?" he asked not-so-innocently.
Gibbs shook his head. "Sorry, Duck. Not in the mood."
Ducky chuckled. "Long as you know the reason," he said, and moved on. "How's your knee?"
"Holding," Gibbs said. Truth was, the pain had come and gone over the past week. He didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. It was convenient, not to have to keep taking pain killers. But Gibbs knew that just because it wasn't talking to him didn't mean the knee was happy. Far from it. There had been times when a sudden total numbness had settled over his knee and most of his lower leg. Two days ago, he'd been worried enough about it to have Ducky take another look. Ducky had "tsked" at him, but after more than the strictly necessary amount of poking and prodding, had pronounced it not dangerous.
"I understand you're planning to make the final arrests in your conspiracy case tomorrow?" Ducky asked.
"Yup," Gibbs said.
"So the case will wrap up this weekend?"
"That's the plan," Gibbs agreed.
"Wonderful. The orthopedic surgery department at Bethesda is expecting you at 7:30 Tuesday morning."
"What?" Gibbs asked with more than a touch of surprise.
"It's been a week since your injury. The time for surgery has long passed. I understand you might need Monday for paperwork, so I took the liberty of scheduling you for Tuesday."
Gibbs shook his head. Part of him wanted to explain to the medical examiner exactly how he felt about people meddling in his life. The other part – the larger part – recognized that he occasionally needed his friends to call him on it when he didn't take care of himself.
"Whatever," Gibbs said, borrowing a line from DiNozzo. He stood and headed out. Behind him, Ducky smiled. That had gone better than he'd hoped. Jethro Gibbs could be a stubborn mule sometimes, and he rarely gave his physical and mental health the attention it deserved. So occasionally, Dr. Donald Mallard had to step in and take his reins. So to speak.
Fredrick called just after 2 p.m. on Thursday to say he would meet with the priest after dinner and make his final play. He'd been priming Thayer for a couple of days, he said, and he was confident he could get what they needed tonight. Whether he managed it or not, Gibbs would keep his promise to Capt. McNally and remove the priest from the ship before they shoved off for the Atlantic crossing tomorrow, with or without the confession.
The director tried again that afternoon to make Gibbs take time off, and again, Gibbs refused. He would be there when the arrest went down. He would look the priest in the eye and be sure he knew his immoral mission – and his life as he knew it – was over.
Late in the day, Gibbs made the tough decision not to take his entire team to Florida. He knew they all wanted to be there for the final arrest. And God knew they all deserved it. But he needed someone to physically coordinate the takedowns from MTAC, and someone to be sure all the I's were dotted and T's crossed while they did it. Gibbs would take DiNozzo to Jacksonville where he and Fredrick would make the arrest while Gibbs stayed out of the line of fire. McGee would do the MTAC thing, and Ziva would coordinate with the locals, whatever their stripe.
Gibbs sent them all home as soon as the reports on the Marine's suicide were done. The only thing left to do before they arrested the priest was to watch the rest of the attack videos and document their contents. Gibbs had McGee set the computer up in the conference room before he left. Gibbs would do this last thing himself, then cab it home.
Though they had matched the file numbers on Ramey's flash drive to the names of the victims days ago, Gibbs was watching the videos at random. First up was the second attack in the timeline, the one that took place in Jamaica. It was like all the previous ones: a sailor caught unaware, a vicious beating, words of hate. It added nothing to their case except visual evidence of the identities of the two attackers named in the log. Right from the beginning, they didn't seem to be nervous about putting their faces on camera.
Next was the video of the attack on Petty Officer Demmings, the sailor whose attack had not ended his career. The final moments were playing out when the conference room door opened softly. Gibbs swiveled in his chair.
"Hey Boss," DiNozzo poked his head through. "Coffee?" As he stepped into the room, he held up a cardboard carrier with two large cups and a paper sack from DC Beans.
"Thought I sent you home," Gibbs said. But he took the cup DiNozzo held out.
"Did you?" DiNozzo said. "You watching the videos?" He took a seat just down the table from Gibbs and opened the sack. Pulling out a large cookie, he pushed the bag toward Gibbs.
"Yeah," Gibbs said in response. He peered into the bag and took out a chocolate chip.
"How far have you gotten?" DiNozzo asked.
"Three to go." He took a bite. Soft and chewy, not too much, still slightly warm. Nice.
"Need me to take notes?" DiNozzo asked.
"I got it," Gibbs said. He paused, wondering why DiNozzo had returned. Tony bit into his cookie, watching Gibbs while he chewed. When his mouth was again empty, he said "What?"
With a mental shrug, Gibbs clicked on the next video. It was the first of the two attacks in Spain. A petty officer first who'd suffered a skull fracture and traumatic brain injury – though they hadn't been calling them that at the time. This was the first appearance of the now-dead Curren, who'd participated in two other attacks including the one on Chief Goetz. Curren and two other attackers were using short saps to hit the victim about the head and shoulders. The camera was close enough to the attackers this time that the agents could hear the sounds of each impact. A particularly hard one made a sound like a smashing melon and DiNozzo flinched, mumbling a curse under his breath. Gibbs felt the anger rising again.
When that one finished, Gibbs paused before clicking to the next. He closed his eyes and took several breaths. He could hear DiNozzo's breathing nearly in sync with his own. Gibbs gave it a minute, then opened his eyes, shook his head, and they moved on.
Second-to-last was Chief Goetz. The two agents watched in silence. Goetz had been right about the attackers' intentions: Fazio, Lewiston and Curren had made several comments during the attack about making sure he'd never run into battle again. They were clearly making sure his legs bore the brunt of the damage. Gibbs gulped at his coffee as the tape hit the end.
With nothing left but Ortiz, Gibbs steeled himself for what was certainly likely to be the worst of the bunch. He clicked open the video and waited. Right from the beginning this video was different than the others. All of the previous videos had begun with the victim walking toward them in the dark. In this video it was clearly late in the day, but still light. The camera was bouncing hard as the cameraman ran through a thin crowd of people toward something. A sudden stop, and the camera swung rapidly sideways in a motion that made Gibbs slightly dizzy. After a second, the camera settled on two men sitting on a concrete bench by the side of a busy street. Gibbs recognized the men as two of the three sailors who'd attacked Major Ortiz.
The camera watched the men for several minutes, occasionally drifting slightly as if the cameraman was adjusting his position. They were dressed in civilian clothing, jeans and button-downs, nothing that stood out. One was wearing a small day pack. The other had a fanny pack around his waist, resting in his lap. Traffic flowed by noisily in the haphazard pattern of a city growing faster than its infrastructure could handle. Other people entered the frame, passing through or stopping to stand in small groups. The agents could hear murmurs of conversation in what could have been several languages. They were all waiting for something. A bus, Gibbs realized, as he noticed the small sign on a post in the corner of the picture. The camera suddenly turned, and focused on two more men walking down the street toward the bus stop. As they grew closer, Gibbs realized it was Ortiz and Hartman, the third sailor who'd participated in this attack. They were walking mostly side by side with Hartman slightly behind Ortiz. They, too, were dressed in casual street clothes. They were talking animatedly. There was no apparent duress in Ortiz's body language until he saw the other two sitting on the bench. Then Ortiz's step stuttered and he stopped. Hartman pushed up behind him and Ortiz was jolted slightly forward. He looked over his shoulder at Hartman and they could see the sudden change in his demeanor. Fear.
"He knew it was coming," DiNozzo said softly. Ortiz tried to turn away but Hartman's position behind him kept him from going that way. Ortiz managed a half step to the side before Hartman's hand came slightly around Ortiz's body and pushed something small and square into his ribs. Ortiz froze and the fear increased.
"What is that?" Gibbs asked. DiNozzo snatched up the remote for the plasma and paused the playback, then backed it up slightly and zoomed in.
"A stun gun," DiNozzo said.
"Play it," Gibbs said, and DiNozzo did. Gibbs wondered where they'd gotten the weapon from. The stun gun was often carried by military police, but none of these men had ever been in that role. Something new to follow up on, and Gibbs made a note.
Hartman moved Ortiz to the bus stop and the other two sailors stood. They made a huddle around Ortiz. Words were exchanged, too quiet for the microphone to pick up. Ortiz was looking around, seeking an out.
Before he could find one, the bus pulled up. It was modern, red and silver. The crowd surged forward and began to board. Instead of joining them, the three sailors moved with the Major further toward and past the camera. The camera turned and followed the other men up the street. The picture bounced more smoothly this time. Walking, not running.
Hartman kept the stun gun lodged against Ortiz's ribs as they moved down the street. The men continued speaking, but the cameraman was too far back to hear. As they approached the opening to a narrow alley between two multi-story buildings, Ortiz made a break for it. He lunged sideways, managed two steps, then his body arched hard away from Hartman as the sailor hit him with the stun weapon. Ortiz staggered and was caught by his two captors. They moved him bodily into the alley, the cameraman started to run to catch up, and the beating began.
From there, it was like all the others: violence, hate, testosterone run amok. The three sailors seemed to almost be competing against one another to see who could hit Ortiz hardest. Ortiz tried to fight back, but the effects of the stun gun were far more debilitating than the flash-bangs used on the other victims.
The attackers finally ran out of steam. Like on the other videos, there were shouts of jubilation and close-ups of the unconscious, battered, and bleeding Marine. Then, they left and the video blacked out.
"No sexual assault," DiNozzo said. Gibbs was about to comment when there was a crackle of sound and some distortion on the screen, then the picture returned.
"What are you doing here, sir?" came a voice off camera. There was no one on camera, and it took a second to realize what they were looking at: Legs in the dark. A sideways view of the dimly lit legs of two people. The camera had been turned on, but not raised.
"So you took care of it?" A second voice.
"Yes sir," the first voice said.
"He'll never forget this lesson, that's for sure." A third voice, a clear tone of pride.
"Where is he?" the second voice again. Gibbs wasn't sure, but he thought it sounded like...
"We left him in an alley about five klicks south. Off Jumeirah Road and 73rd A Street." The first voice.
"Was he conscious?" the second voice asked.
"Doesn't that sound like Thayer?" DiNozzo asked suddenly. Gibbs nodded and felt a sudden spike of hope.
"No sir." The third voice.
"Will he be alright?" The second voice again. Definitely Thayer.
"Someone will find him," the third voice said. "They'll take him to the hospital. He's got ID on him."
"Very well," Thayer said. "Go on aboard."
A chorus of 'yes sirs' and the camera started swinging, the picture still sideways. It stopped, swung up, and focused on a man walking away. It was a parking lot full of cars, next to a road. The man walking away raised an arm and a white taxi immediately pulled over. As he pulled open the rear door of the cab, the man looked back toward the camera for a second.
"Freeze that!" Gibbs barked, and DiNozzo jabbed at the remote. By the time he got it stopped, the man was again turned away, getting into the cab. DiNozzo fiddled with it until the face was showing, then zoomed in. The face was not well lit, and the zooming made it lose some definition, but it was clear enough: Thayer.
"Damn," Gibbs said.
"Why didn't we know we had this?" DiNozzo asked.
"Ramey said he didn't watch all the videos," Gibbs said.
"And since he was taking the notes for the log, if he hadn't seen it, it wouldn't have been there," DiNozzo said. "But the log does talk about the meetings they had after Ortiz didn't show up. Wonder why none of them mentioned running into the priest on the way home."
"Probably didn't make the connection," Gibbs said. His mind was spinning. What did this mean to their case? Was it enough to nail Thayer? He focused his thoughts. It was something. Not enough by itself, but definitely something. Finally. It would be really difficult for Thayer to maintain his claim of complete innocence in the face of this. And it might be the wedge Fredrick needed to get the confession.
"I'd better call Fredrick," DiNozzo said, and Gibbs nodded.
to be continued...
Sorry for the long delay, my friends. This chapter is being posted from a specialty hospital 250 miles from my home. Since the last post, Dad was cycled through ICU then step down twice due to hospital acquired infections before the hospital basically gave up on him. They stopped making any attempt at progress and focused on stabilizing him and getting him out of their hospital. At 12 weeks and six days post fall, he was transferred to a new hospital that specializes in getting patients off ventilators. In the past week, there has been some improvement. But it's painfully slow.
Nonetheless, I finally finished this chapter and wanted to post. Please keep reviewing. I love hearing from you, and treasure every comment.
Oh, and here's a challenge (probably not a big one): The "Watcher" concept was NOT from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, which I've never seen and didn't know used it. Anyone know what TV Series I did borrow it from? (No internet search cheating...) Hint: You'd know it on both sides of the Pond. :o)