CHAPTER THREE
"I got a match, McGee!" McGee looked up to see Abby beaming at him as she merrily waved a piece of paper in his face. "Dr. Thomas Yancy. Late of the Lakeland Research Group."
Smiling his thanks, McGee took the paper and immediately started searching the databases. It didn't take long for McGee to find a substantial amount of information on Dr. Yancy. He was a nuclear physicist with degrees in bio and mechanical engineering. He had been employed by Lakeland Research Group, an innocuous sounding name for a very large defense research and development group. Deftly, McGee hacked into to Lakeland's files and learned that Yancy had been had been the originator of the Antares project and heavily involved in its development. Until recently. McGee frowned. Until the Navy became directly involved, which included Admiral McGee.
McGee tapped his chin thoughtfully. He couldn't find any definite information, but it appeared that as soon as the admiral came on board, Yancy was kicked off. Coincidence? McGee shook his head. Hardly. The two men must have butted heads and McGee had no doubt who would have come out on top. Yancy never stood a chance. But, was he the kind of person to seek revenge with a gun? McGee studied the ID photo from the man's personnel file. He was a thin, gray haired man, his pale blue eyes distant and cold. He had the look of someone who wouldn't take kindly to being booted from his own project.
McGee began making calls, trying to locate the doctor. No luck. He tried tracking the number his file indicated as a cell number, but had no luck with that either. Perhaps Yancy didn't have it with him. He certainly wasn't using it. The last call recorded had been two days previously. McGee glanced at his watch. It was almost ten p.m. He rubbed his burning eyes as he considered his options. He obviously needed to talk to Yancy's boss or co-workers at Lakeland but it was too late tonight. That left one other option. One he dreaded. He could go talk to his father.
He glanced around the quiet office. Tony and Ziva were supposed to get off duty at nine. He picked up the phone and dialed Tony's number.
"Hey McGee, what's up?"
Tim licked his dry lips. "Hey Tony. Do you know if my father is still at his office?"
"Well, he was still there when we left. I heard him tell Morales he'd be probably there until at least ten. Why? Something up?"
"I think I might have a lead. A researcher from the Lakeland Research Group left the Antares Project when my father took it over. I need to ask Dad if he thinks this guy might hold a grudge."
There was a long pause before Tony spoke again. "You sure you want to do that, Tim?"
No, he did not want to do that, but he couldn't hide from his father forever. He had to prove to the admiral that he had changed. He was not that frightened little boy anymore.
"It'll be okay, Tony. I can handle this."
"You want me to come with you?"
For a moment, Tim thought he might agree, but then sighed. "No thanks, Tony. It's probably better I go alone."
"Okay, buddy. But you call me if you need me."
"Thanks, Tony. I appreciate it."
Slowly, McGee hung up. He wiped his hands along his pants leg. He could do this. Really. He could. It was just his father for Pete's sake. He'd faced ruthless killers and crazed soldiers hopped up on drugs. He'd been shot at, blown up, and beaten. Surely talking to one admiral couldn't be worse than any of that.
"Of course it can," McGee muttered as he gathered together his things. Much worse. He took a deep breath, shouldered his backpack and headed out.
On his way, McGee made a call to agent Morales who wearily informed him that his father was now at home.
An hour later found McGee outside his father's D.C. condo. The admiral kept it for all those late nights he was forced to spend in the city so he didn't have to drive back into Virginia.
"You sure you wanna do this now?" asked Morales meeting him at the door. "The admiral isn't exactly in the most pleasant of moods." He glanced back, his face tight.
"The admiral is never in a pleasant mood." Tim's knuckles were white on the handle of his briefcase. "I might as well get this over with now."
Morales simply grimaced and led him further into the handsomely appointed living quarters. McGee took a deep breath. He could detect the faint odor of his father's aftershave. A fleeting image of a very small boy feeling safe in his father's arms flashed through his mind as he moved forward. It was gone as quickly as it had appeared.
The warm hardwoods and rich red of the walls would have seemed inviting in almost any other setting, but now, all Tim felt was a sense of near panic. His mouth was bone dry and he wondered if he was going to throw up. He gritted his teeth. This was ridiculous. All he wanted to do was ask his father about Dr. Yancy. That was it. So why did he feel like he was going into the Spanish Inquisition? He had to get a grip. Couldn't let his father see his fear.
"Alright, what is it now?"
Tim started, suddenly aware that he was standing in a large book-lined study. An impressive painting of the U.S.S Constitution hung framed on the wall to his right. Straight ahead, his father was glaring at him impatiently over the vast surface of his cherry wood desk.
For a moment, Tim stood speechless, his thoughts scattered to the wind. It was an all too common occurrence when faced with his father. How often as a boy had he practiced and practiced something he wanted to say to his father only to forget it all once the moment came. Mentally, he shook himself. I won't let him do this to me again.
Tim took a deep breath. "I'm sorry to disturb you, sir. But I have a question to ask and it may point us to the alleged shooter." He opened his briefcase and pulled out a photo of Dr. Yancy placing it on the gleaming wood before his father. "Do you know this man?"
Admiral McGee glanced down for just an instant. "Yeah, I know him. Tom Yancy. One of the biggest idiots in the industry. What about him?"
"Um," Tim swallowed fighting to keep himself in professional mode. "Is there any reason Dr. Yancy might have a problem with you? I know he worked for the Lakeland Research Group, and I noticed that he was taken off the Antares project once you became involved."
The admiral's eyes narrowed for a moment, then he laughed as he leaned back in his leather chair. "Exactly what are you saying? You think Yancy tried to kill me? That guy hasn't the guts. He was a spineless coward. You'd like him."
Tim tried to ignore the jibe as he rubbed his palm against his leg. Damn his nerves. "I haven't been able to contact Dr. Yancy, and I thought you might be able to provide some insight into his personality or motives."
The admiral's frown deepened as he leaned forward. His eyes bore into Tim's. "How the hell do you know anything about Yancy to begin with? I happen to know that Lakeland files are certainly not accessible to the public or NCIS or anyone else for that matter. You know it's illegal to hack into private files, right? I mean they do teach that in wannabe cop school right?"
McGee's face warmed as his anger rose. He lifted his head and glared back at his father. The man looked so damn smug and arrogant. Tim was sick of it.
"NCIS is not some wannabe cop organization. It is a highly respected criminal investigative service. And right now, we're trying to find out who is trying to kill you. I'm sorry the Secretary of the Navy didn't feel you were worthy of being assigned your own secret service detail say like the president, but we're the best you're going to get. You don't want to cooperate, fine. But don't insult the agency just because I decided it was better than going to that damn Academy."
Tim stopped, a cold chill ran down his spine. Did he just yell at his father? He felt a surge of panic but he quickly pushed it down. This was long overdue. He lifted his chin and said nothing.
Admiral McGee stared long and hard then slowly began to clap, a harsh mocking laugh echoed in the in Tim's ears. "Oh bravo! Won't stand up for yourself, but you'll stand up for your little team. How nice." He stopped clapping and stood up until he was toe to toe with his son.
"Alright Tim, now let me tell you something. I had such high hopes for you. You were going to be a credit to the McGees. You certainly had the brains to follow in mine and your grandfathers' footsteps. We McGees have been serving in the navy since Sean McGee fought alongside John Paul Jones. Well turns out I couldn't have been more wrong. You were a sorry ass little punk as a kid and you're an even bigger one now. You let people run all over you, beat you up, treat you like dirt."
"And you never lifted a finger to help me." Tim's voice was soft, full of the pain he tried to hide.
"Why the hell should I? They weren't my battles. They were yours. But didn't I sign you up for Tai Kwan Do? You lasted what, all of a week? First hit and you were out of there. All you wanted to do was play with your damn computers. There is more to life than computers, Tim. Damn sight more. I tried to whip you into shape, teach you how to defend yourself. And what did you do? Ran to your damn grandmother. That woman coddled you until you were nothing but an overweight, overeducated, mama's boy. It was disgusting. I had other officers laughing at me behind my back."
Tim's face burned, but he refused to back down. "I learned more about life and love from Penny than I ever learned from you." He fought to keep his voice from cracking. "You were never around for me and when you were, you were constantly bullying me. You were worse than the kids at school. Nothing I ever did was ever good enough for you. I got a perfect score on the SAT and what did you say? Nothing. Not a congratulations or job well done. I never got any positive feedback from you in my entire life. How was that helping me?"
"God," the admiral rolled his eyes. "Are we going back to the "poor little me, my daddy doesn't love me" crap? Get over it, Tim. My father didn't coddle me and look where I am today. Do you think he patted me on the head every time I did something well? Hell no. It's what he expected of me and so that's what I did. I didn't whine about how he didn't love me or tell me what a good boy I was. Unlike you, I respected my father and got respect in return. When you've done something worthy of my respect, then we'll talk. You need to meet my assistant, Lieutenant Owens. He'd show you how a true Navy son should behave." He studied McGee a moment then shook his head. "Nevermind. Any lessons Jason could convey would be lost on someone like you. He's got far more important things to do. As do I. You're dismissed." With that, the admiral returned to the stack of papers on his desk, completely ignoring his son who stood fuming before him.
Tim didn't know what to do. His first reaction was what it always was: obey his father and quietly leave. But there was a rebellious spark that had been fired up and he was determined to have the last word. He reached down and retrieved the photograph from the desktop.
"I think it's pretty obvious that Dr. Yancy had any number of reasons to want you dead. Good night, sir." With that, Tim turned on his heel and stormed out.
Morales met him at the front door, his eyebrows raised. "Hope you got what you wanted."
Tim hesitated and wiped his brow. He suddenly noticed a collage of photos on the wall. He paused to study them. There were a number of his sister, Sarah, a couple of his grandmother, and his grandfather, another admiral. There was even an old one of his mother, who had left the admiral a number of years ago. He smiled gently as he studied the images. Tim's then eyes narrowed as he noticed several photos of his father standing with his arm proudly around a young naval officer. To any outsider, they would think the young man was the admiral's son. There were, however, no photos of Tim. Not one.
McGee suddenly felt completely drained as he turned away from the photos. He'd been a fool to harbor any hopes his father loved him. "No more than I expected." With his head low, Tim slid out into the dark,damp night.