Trigger warning: this chapter discusses, but does not describe or depict, sexually based offenses.

A special thank you to Aquamarin28628 for advice on this chapter, and to BlackBear53, whom I pressed into service as beta-reader.

Early on a Friday morning in June, Acting Operations Manager Nell Jones arrived at the Mission, sighed wearily, and set her briefcase on the counter in the electronics lab. As she booted her computer, Eric Beale barreled down the steps and turned toward the desk that still held Hetty's knickknacks. When he saw Nell in the electronics lab instead, he froze. "Why aren't you in your new office?"

"That's not my office. It's Hetty's."

"It's the OM's, and while that's you, it's yours, just like it was Lauren Hunter's when she stepped in."

"Well, there's a ringing endorsement, Eric." He grimaced as he remembered the implications.

"Wait, No! You're not the superstitious type, are you, Nell?"

"No, No. It's not that." She looked again at the tchotchkes forty years of Hetty's service had accumulated. "It just wouldn't feel right. I'd be an interloper."

He put a soothing hand on each of her shoulders. "She'll come back. She always comes back."

Nell gave a watery chuckle. "Yeah, probably." Then her eyes brightened. "Probably with somebody else's head on a platter!"

After a few seconds, Eric looked at both his hands on his boss's shoulders. They froze. Nell's eyes darted, darted anywhere but to meet Eric's gaze.

Eric emerged first from their reverie and quickly withdrew his hands. "Anyhow, I came down here because I got an alert on that cluster-watch program we wrote."

Nell bumped his bicep. "You wrote, Beale."

"No, it was your idea for connecting dots, but anyhow…it looks for groups of service members with similar discipline marks traveling to the same place at the same time. Three naval officers involved in security lapses all going to Seattle might mean they're up to something. Well, we got a hit."

"Spy ring in Seattle? Is that what we're up against?"

"Nope, not this time. There are five marines with domestic restraining orders coming to LA this weekend."

"Hmmm. So what does it mean?"

"I'm not sure myself, but I'd like to follow it up. I'll poke around some more."

"Sounds good, Eric. But not too much: you've still got a report on the submarine case and an expense account to turn in." She shook her finger in scolding, but laughed.

"Yes, boss," and Eric departed with a mock obeisance.

The agents arrived and, with appropriate grumbling, dove into their paperwork. By ten, Eric had enough to brief Nell again, so he stopped by her makeshift office.

"Nell, do you have a minute?"

"What have you got?"

"I followed up on that cluster-watch hit. After I sorted out the guys bringing their family to Disneyland or following the Yankees out for an Angels game, here's what's left." He handed her a thick pile.

She scanned through it. "And this is just among marines and ex-marines?"

"'Fraid so. And they're all staying at the Palm Winds hotel in Baldwin Park."

"So, all-in-all, how many Marines at that hotel this weekend?"

"Twenty-three."

"Write up a preliminary report and send me everything you've got. I'll need to alert the director. And nothing to the team yet: This could get big, so we'll need to play it by the book."

"Shakespeare: did you know 'by the book,' came from Shakespeare?"

"Yeah, Romeo, and it was about kissing. Now get me that report." With eyes big as saucers, Eric left her office.

Fifteen minutes after Eric turned in his report, the big screen in ops came to life. "Please hold for the Secretary of the Navy," a captain intoned. Just as Eric regained his composure, Nell strode into ops, expelled everyone besides Eric, and closed the louvers for secure communication.

Blue curtains in a wood-paneled office came into view and seconds later SECNAV Sarah Porter and NCIS Director Leon Vance entered the screen. Nell led off the meeting. "Mr. Beale uncovered the cluster of activity. I hope he can join our discussions."

"Very well," Director Vance grumbled.

"Madam Secretary, Mr. Director, sir, Mr. Beale uncovered a group calling itself 'the Long Guns' that has booked its convention, of sorts, at the Palm Winds Hotel in Baldwin Park. A total of twenty-three former and active-duty marines will travel in from around the country. Among them are three marines who have been investigated for rape, two arrested for solicitation, and three arrested for exposure. They are also the recipients of five domestic restraining orders and a half-dozen for drunk-and-disorderly reports."

SECNAV followed up. "Leon, I wanted to be involved in this because it sounds like a modern-day Tailhook Association." She gave a sigh, "Back in '91, their 'convention' in Vegas featured hookers, strippers, and too much booze. The rapes and botched investigations ended the careers of fourteen admirals and about three hundred Naval aviators, … and one of my predecessors."

"Not only that, it led to the formation of NCIS from NIS. The Navy Department needed a more independent investigative service." Leon Vance crossed his arms defensively. "I don't need to tell you we're walking on eggshells here."

Sarah Porter leaned forward at her desk. "Right, Leon. There were four thousand guys in the Tailhook Association in Vegas. The goal this time is to take this marine group down before they get that big. This is the new Navy Department. I don't want anything even close to Tailhook on my watch."

The director took a step back, as if to gain space to think. "If this blows up, you'd probably survive, Madam Secretary, but it would end the careers of the other three of us."

She nodded in agreement. "That's why I've sent Gibbs and his team out there to handle the investigation."

Eric, stunned, tried to object. "But I'm sure Nell…we…can handle this."

Sara Porter regained the professorial air she'd brandished at Georgetown before her appointment. "The director's right, Mr. Beale. Until you brief your team and Gibbs's, you and he are the only males who know about this. We need to avoid appearing unfair to these men."

Leon Vance looked up from his cell phone. "His team just pulled out of the Navy Yard."

Nell signed off. "We'll keep you in the loop. Thank you both for your time."

"Thank you both for your good work." The words were the Secretary's, but the inflection matched that of a bulk-purchased Hallmark card.

As soon as the big screen went blank, Nell dialed Callen's desk phone. "Could you rally the troops? We've caught a case."

"We're all right here, Nell. We'll be up within the minute." He turned to the team. "That was Nell. She's apparently ended the dog-whistle routine."

His partner put an arm on his shoulder. "New boss, new rules, G."

After the team arrived, Nell prompted Eric.

"Ladies and gentlemen, meet the Long Guns." Their Marine Corps ID's filed onto the big screen, followed by their disciplinary reports. "It's an informal group of retired and active-duty marines flying in from around the country for a 'convention' at the Palm Winds hotel in Baldwin Park starting tonight. Given the double entendre in their name..."

"You mean these guys weren't all artillery?" Deeks smirked as he interrupted.

Unfazed, Eric started over. "Given the double entendre in their name and their prior run-ins with police and MP's, it looks like they'll make spring breakers look like grade-school recess."

Sam pulled his chin in contemplation. "The Marine Corps doesn't need that kind of publicity."

Eric shook his head disconsolately. "That's what SECNAV said."

"You spoke with SECNAV, Eric?" Deeks sounded impressed.

"Yeah, and I nearly fell out of my chair when she came on screen!"

Suppressed pride colored Nell's voice. "We involved him in the videoconference because he's the one who connected the dots."

Kensi echoed her partner's awe. "Your report to Vance got SECNAV's attention, Nell."

"She didn't want it turning into the next Tailhook scandal," Nell said apologetically.

Kensi persisted. "Still, those are some major kudos for you two, then." Sam nodded.

Eric's voice dropped into a grumble. "That's the best way to look at the situation: they're sending Gibbs and his team out here for it."

Deeks ground his right fist into his left palm. "It's like they don't trust her. She's smart and competent, and...and just generally awesome. They're the ones who gave her this team. Why don't they trust her with this case?"

Kensi turned her back on the team, recovered, then returned to the conversation. "This is about Afghanistan. They don't trust Nell 'cause she's Hetty's protégé."

Nell's eyes shot up. "Really, we all are Hetty's." More calmly, Nell continued. "You've got to see her reasoning. With all the women in this chain of command, it could look like a vendetta against these guys: We've also gotta watch the perceptions."

The team had not settled completely when the big screen came alive again, showing the inside of a business jet. Agents Gibbs, DiNozzo, Bishop and McGee filled the screen.

"So, Callen, you guys are the reason SECNAV packed my team into this flying tin can?"

"Nice to see you too, Gibbs."

Eric interrupted, "Actually, Agent Gibbs, sir, I guess I'm the one who should apologize."

Gibbs leaned toward the camera. "Don't apologize, Mr. Beale. I'm just giving Callen some grief. We're reading the report right now. It sounds like you're the one who connected the dots. Good work."

Resignation sounded in Nell's voice. "So what can we do 'til you get here, Agent Gibbs?"

"Whatever you think is right, Agent Jones. As I see it, it's your lead: your case."

"Rule thirty-eight." DiNozzo confirmed.

"We were just talking about perceptions, though. We need men involved."

"Don't worry. I will be. I'll sign off on anything you work up. You've got a great team there, so just count on us to help any way you need."

"Thank you, sir. I'm inclined to let you guys rest 'til you get out here. Jet lag's the worst enemy you can address right now. Can you think of anything we should be working on?"

"Not really. This is all a little outside my wheelhouse."

"Ours too." Callen echoed.

Nell followed up. "I'll ask Detective Deeks to work up a briefing on the state of the law on all the crimes we might encounter tonight. We'll also beef up video surveillance."

"Works for me. See you when we land." With a 'zip,' the screen went blank.

Nell turned to the team. "That's the plan we'll work on today, guys. Deeks, I'd like you to use your legal training to map out the state of the law on what we'll be seeing there. Keep in mind we'll be balancing the need to prevent the worst crimes against the need to convict these guys of the worst we can, in court and in the court of public opinion."

Deeks's eyes widened in reminiscence. "Professor Lisa McMurtry at Pepperdine. She's the expert on this stuff."

"That may be, but don't contact her: stay below the radar. In fact, Eric, could you set him up as a law student?" He nodded to Nell. "Library access, online access, even a clean laptop to work on at the library. What: UCLA?"

"That works. They've got an awesome library." Deeks smiled. "And the second-floor tables are great for girl-watching too."

That earned him a slug from his partner. "You're on the clock, Doofus!"

"Sounds like Sam and I are on the video feeds."

"What, complimentary upgrade from their security company, G., or something under the radar?"

Nell cocked her head as she fleshed out the idea. "I like it. A cover with the security company will work to get you back in tonight. Keep in mind that a picture is worth a thousand words, so I want them to be good pictures. Anyplace they step at that hotel, I wanna be able to count their zits."

Deeks gave a mock grimace. "There's a charming image, boss!"

Nell ignored him. "Kensi, you'll go in under cover, so until the op we'll need to keep you low-profile. Work from here with Sam and Callen. Eric will set you up as their 'home-office contact.' That way, you can check the video feeds in real-time."

As Sam, Callen, and Deeks left the ops center, Eric asked, "And after I build their covers, Nell?"

"We need to sort out the leadership." The pneumatic door hissed open for her. "Follow the money."

About an hour later, while the agents worked on the video feeds, Nell returned to the ops center. "Eric, what have you found?"

"Meet Bob Sessions, of El Monte." His driver's license came on screen. "Retired in '09. Deposited a string of checks, each for $253, and each from one of the Long Guns coming into town tomorrow. These would be the registration fees for a regular convention, but are just the expenses for the party."

"Does that include lodging?"

"Nope, just the conference room and the open bar—oh, and a banner: forty bucks."

"So where's the rest of the money going? He started with over $5,800."

"I put a watch on his bank account. He just bought about $3,000 in chips for the tables at Hollywood Park."

"That would do it. He could turn around and cash them in."

The video came up on the big screen. "Exactly. And here he goes."

"Okay, put a Kaleidoscope trace on his car. What else will be going on at this party?"

{insert line here}

As Marty Deeks returned from the library, a government van pulled up and disgorged the team from Washington. As soon as he recognized Deeks, DiNozzo joked, "You can't go in there. You're not NCIS."

Deeks stepped in front of the door and laughed, "The question is whether I should let you guys in."

Gibbs shook his hand. "How you doin', counselor?"

"I'd call it eight to ten." He opened the door and motioned courteously. "Let's go up to do the introductions."

The agents had collected in the bullpen so, by mutual consent, the meeting moved downstairs. Nell emerged from the electronics lab as Kensi called up to ops. "Eric, could you come down here? We have company."

After he sprinted downstairs, Callen began the introductions over many shaken hands. "You probably remember agents Sam Hanna and Kensi Blye and our tech operator Eric Beale. Our new Operations Manager is Nell Jones. And this is our liaison from LAPD, Marty Deeks."

Gibbs returned the favor. "Agent Callen, you remember Agents Tim McGee and Tony DiNozzo. And this is Agent Ellie Bishop, New from the NSA."

Nell's eyes widened. "Ellie Bishop? I read your work on Benham Parsa." She renewed the handshake.

With her spare hand, Bishop indicated the circle. "But this is the agency that took him down."

Gibbs narrowed his eyes at her. "Don't sell yourself short, Bishop! It was thanks to your groundwork."

Still holding her hand, she replied, "But this is the Agent Nell Jones! Her work on opposition parties in Venezuela is amazing."

"Please, call me Nell. I'm sure my Venezuela white paper is obsolete now that Chavez has passed."

"Still, it forms a background for what's going on now."

Tony rolled his eyes, let out an impatient huff, and then put a hand on each woman's shoulder. "I'm sorry to interrupt this meeting of the NCIS Analyst Guru Mutual Admiration Society…"

"What, Tony, for the NCIS Mirror Admiration Society?"

"No, McGrumpy-Pants. Its 'cause I want to go to the Bela Lugosi Museum." He punctuated his jibe with a sarcastic smirk.

"Settle down, you two. Nell, Let's patch Abby in, then you can bring us up to speed."

A few taps on Eric's keypad brought the tech lab in DC onto the screen as Abby Sciutto sprang from her hiding place below the counter and straightened her dog collar. "Hello, Everybody!"

Gibbs stepped toward the screen, "We miss you Abbs."

She shrugged. "I figure I can be more help out here."

Nell stepped in front of Gibbs. "You're willing to participate tonight, Ms. Sciutto, even with the time difference?"

"Sure, I'd go to the ends of the earth to bring down rotten, reprehensible reprobates like these. Errrr."

"Okay, then. We'll set you up as a central point of contact." She turned to her former partner. "Eric, you want the honors?"

A few more keyboard clicks compressed Abby into one corner of the screen while assorted photos and a Marine Corps ID expanded onto the rest of the screen. He dove in to his briefing. "Since we spoke, we've identified this guy, Sergeant Robert (Bob) Sessions, as the central point of contact. He received a check from everybody else, booked the conference room, and just finished taking $3000 to a back-alley meeting with this guy, with almost a dozen arrests for pandering."

Nell continued, "As I see it, we've got two objectives: to take these guys down, and to send the message to anybody else who might start a group like this. We've got the staff from two teams, we've got two missions: take out the leadership and arrest the members, so I'm setting up two cells. One—the men—will get this Sessions Guy: Agents McGee, DiNozzo, Callen and Hanna."

Deeks interrupted, offended. "Hey! What about me? Am I going in drag with the women?"

"Hah! I'd love to see it. Please, Nell?" Kensi clasped her hands in prayer.

Sam grabbed him across the chest and ran his fingers through his hair. "Your hair's long enough. They should be able to give you a page-boy up in wardrobe."

"Okay, Okay! Sorry team! Nell, please tell me I'm not going in drag."

"Not unless you want to." She smirked. "These guys actually hired a video company to record their 'exploits,' Girls-Gone-Wild style. I had in mind that you'd go undercover as a cameraman. Sam, Callen: you've already established your cover with the security company. Turns out by night you work as guards. Meanwhile, Agent Gibbs, I figure you may have crossed paths with some of these guys. How 'bout if you work from here as the men's eyes and ears?" He nodded. "Women, we'll be in the other cell, working to take down individual members. We'll go in as 'Marine groupies.' Abby, if you're willing, I'd like you to be our team's point of contact: you'll watch the video feeds and call out what we need to do."

"Thanks, Nell. I'd like that."

"So here's the challenge, as I see it. On the one hand we want to protect the women there. But on the other, we want to send a message to guys in the service anywhere, that this stuff is just plain wrong. We don't want to be seen as nickel-and-diming these guys."

"Like busting Al Capone for tax evasion," DiNozzo interrupted.

McGee turned on him. "Hey, it worked!"

Bishop cut in. "But it really didn't send a strong message. It made the career for Elliot Ness and kept the press happy, but worked only because it was the best play they had."

"Right, so we'll get a take-out dinner then work out scenarios—rules of engagement—for what we'll likely see and what we'll do about it. In the meantime, you all are welcome to our gym and pistol range."

Bishop's eyes lit up. "Agent Blye, could you show me to the pistol range?"

"Please, call me Kensi—but sure, walk this way."

DiNozzo smirked and leaned over toward Deeks. "This I've gotta see!"

"What, two hot chicks doing target practice?"

"No. Bishop doing the walk-this-way walk like Kensi."

Deeks laughed. "I'm absolutely certain Charlie Chaplin made the first 'walk this way' joke in a movie."

DiNozzo leaned in. "No, actually, it was in a Jimmy Stewart movie written by Dashiell Hammett."

When Sam noticed the look on Kensi's face, he turned to McGee. "What say we set up some hand-to-hand sparring in the gym?"

McGee had seen the same looks, and smiled as he caught on to the plan. "Sure. Let's set up a round-robin. Marty, Tony: you in? Callen?"

"Beating up on McDweeby? Count me in!"

As soon as she had dragged Kensi clear of the rest of the agents, Bishop started interrogating her. "How long have you been with NCIS?"

"Eight years, now."

"What's it been like? —I mean overall?"

"There are good days and bad days."

"Any advice for avoiding the bad days?"

"Well, the mantra around here is 'trust your training.'" Seeing Bishops puzzled look, Kensi continued. "We're always training, always mastering new skills: I'll show you the range of weapons when we get to the armory. That way, when we face danger, we dive in and let our instincts take over."

"And the scary stuff? I've heard what you faced in Afghanistan. What your guys did to get those nukes back. How do you get through that?"

"I'll bet there's no general rule. Sam, Deeks and I each got through it in our own way. I know Callen's faced his demons. The one constant has been our support network. The team, Sam's wife, my mom lately. Everybody looks out for everybody." She looked slowly around the armory and her voice quieted. "Hetty set up an amazing team."

After they stepped into the pistol range, they prepared their targets and fired a practice clip. Kensi's bullet strikes formed a tight circle on the silhouette's center-of-mass, while Bishop's made an ellipse stretching from near one hip to the other shoulder. "Let's try it again," Kensi offered.

For the second target, Kensi fired off shots with metronome-like regularity and even better accuracy. Bishop slowed down, but did not improve her accuracy.

Bishop pulled off her earguard in frustration.

Kensi smiled. "Practice, ma'am, practice."

"But seriously, I've been practicing for months now, and my shots always cluster like that."

"What? Stretched diagonally from seven to one o'clock?" A smile started to form on Kensi's lips.

"Yeah, I can't figure it out." Bishop grumbled.

"I think it's a fairly common problem. Let's do an experiment." Kensi led her to the work table, grabbed more clips and five of the pistols there—and a fisherman's spring scale. Back at the range, she pointed each downrange, then used the scale to pull the trigger. After each shot, she recorded the result on a key tag and arranged them on the bench.

She reached for Bishop's pistol. "May I?"

When Bishop nodded, Kensi repeated the test. "Whoa! Eight pounds: your trigger is the strongest one here."

"Yeah, I chose that for safety."

"That's what the safety is for. The trigger is a separate issue. Since missing the shot is naturally unsafe, choose the trigger pull strength-within the range of specifications, so it will match your needs. Let's try out these others." She selected the leftmost pistol—with the lightest trigger—and passed it to Bishop, who fired one shot, low and left, thought for ten seconds, then sent the other bullets through a tight circle on the target.

"Wow! I see what you mean!"

Kensi grabbed one from the middle of the line. "Try this one: It's four pounds, the lower end of the spec range." Another circular cluster.

"That seems right. I felt tentative with the one at three and a half pounds, and lost accuracy with my old setting, but this seems, I don't know, responsive, intuitive."

Kensi looked at the tag. "Keep in mind that adrenaline gives you extra strength."

"I know, but if I get used to this on the range, in the field it'll come easy."

Bishop nodded so Kensi continued. "Okay. When did you last clean your weapon?"

Bishop gave a sheepish blush. " 'Bout a month—thirty clips—ago."

"That would explain part of it. Let's give it a cleaning."

The two agents cleared the magazine on Bishop's gun, checked the chamber and stepped out to the work table. Soon, Bishop was disassembling her pistol and spreading it onto the counter while Kensi checked the spares she'd collected and returned them to the counter. Kensi watched as Bishop cleaned and started reassembling the gun then headed for the range. "When you finish it up, meet me in there."

Bishop worked cautiously, waited for Kensi to finish a clip, then stepped to the range to join her. They tested the pull, seven pounds, then Bishop tried it out.

Two targets later, she passed judgment: "It feels a little better. It's still a struggle though. Is there anything else we can do?"

"I'm not a certified gunsmith, so if I did anything else, it could come back and bite us. Back at the Navy Yard is one of the best armorers in the country, though. They can get you set up at five pounds, which would be in spec. For tonight, let's talk to Gibbs and see which sidearm he'd like you carrying."

Bishop looked at the floor. "I'll be fine with the one I was issued. Let's not bother him."

"Okay. Ready for dinner?"

Bishop smiled. "Let's do this."

That night, Nell led Kensi and Bishop from a ground-floor hotel room into the ballroom. "Okay, Abby," she muttered to her earwig, "just call for us whether the guys we're working are retired or active-duty."

"Got it. 'Conduct unbecoming a Marine' won't stand up in a civilian court like it would in a court martial."

"And Eric's on speed dial?"

"On faster-than-you-can-say-Caf-Pow dial, which is good because it's after midnight here."

Meanwhile Beale and Gibbs watched from ops as Agents Callen and Hanna patrolled the perimeter dressed as security guards.

"Something bothering you, Beale?"

"I'm sorry. It's just I've started using contact lenses instead of glasses, and I thought this would be a good time to try them at work. Should I change them out? I've gotten pretty good at that."

"Nah, just don't let it distract you. We've got an op to run."

When, a minute later, DiNozzo entered dressed as a party guest, Kensi batted her eyes at him. "So, Gunny, ready to show me a good time?"

He pulled her in for a big hug and whispered, "Compartmentalization!"

"This is okay. It'd be weird if we didn't flirt with you. Help me create a feeding frenzy."

"With pleasure," Sean Connery replied, as he gave her a ballroom dip, eliciting an overacted giggle.

Across the room, a shaggy blond in a "Wild Girls Videos" tee shirt was talking to himself, again. "Anything for the show, but still…"

A minute later, the flat top decorating a muscular 40-year-old tottered drunkenly toward Nell. "So, Ginger, what brings you to these parts?"

"I've always liked a man in a uniform." She rubbed against him.

"Well, I'm glad you found me. Half these guys got drummed out when they P-O'd the PC crowd that runs the Corps these days. Just being a Marine, if you ask me."

Across the continent, Abby's zoomed in onto his Marine Corps ID. "Nell, that's Charles Murcheson, married, active duty, from Camp Lejeune."

"Copy that." Nell confirmed, to both of them. "So, they call you guys the Long Guns?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And why's that?" She ran her hands down his chest.

"It's a matter of pride. Probably best if I show you."

"My room's just around the corner," she giggled.

A few minutes later, Nell led Murcheson into the room, shut the door and cuffed him. Agent Bishop looked up from the paperwork she was doing with a disgruntled, handcuffed businessman. "This guy thought I was a working girl. Yours?"

"Conduct unbecoming: wanted to cheat on his wife who's back at Camp Lejeune. Didn't you, Charlie?"

"I passed Kensi on the way in. Her first arrest is already waiting in the paddy wagon. Like lambs to slaughter."

Before long, the party started grinding to a halt, too many men having disappeared. All of them left with a ladyfriend, apparently, but over half had been booked by the NCIS women and sent off to county holding cells.

Back out on the floor, DiNozzo scanned the remaining crowd for Bob Sessions, the host. Finally spotting him, he made his way over. "Wanted to thank you for an awesome time, man."

"Better be awesome. I paid enough for these hookers. The freaky stuff is your own deal, but the basics is paid for."

Gibbs barked into comms, "That's enough to get 'im for pandering. Take him down when you can."

A few minutes later, McGee stumbled drunkenly into the ballroom. "Where is she? Where's that no-good cheating ho of a wife of mine?"

Security guards Hanna and Callen hustled over and grabbed him, then marched him over to the host. "Are you in charge, here, sir?" He nodded. "We'll need a statement from you in order to hold this guy. Can we get a minute of your time?" Another nod.

With his head, Sam motioned toward the door. "Can we talk in the hallway?"

As soon as they cleared out of the sight line, McGee miraculously emerged from his drunken rage to help in the arrest.

By the time they'd returned, a bar-fight had erupted with Wild Times Videos recording the whole thing.

Watching from Ops, Gibbs sounded resigned. "Beale, counting Jones's team, there are eight of us and six of them. Call Abby and we can get the rest of these guys for drunk-and-disorderly."

At 4:20 Eastern time, the phone rang in Abby's lab, "Gibbs wants to shut it down. I'll patch both teams' earwigs through to the same freq."

Gibbs interrupted. "Run it past Jones. We go on her call."

Nell surveyed the scene and called into her earwig, "Just a second. Let's get Bishop and Deeks to block the exits." Ten seconds later, she counted down, "Three, two one," and after six brief scuffles the last six of the Long Guns were handcuffed.

As the sun came up the two NCIS teams finished up their paperwork, and Nell emerged from her makeshift office to compliment the group. "You all did a great job. Now get out of here and sleep off the long night. Agent Gibbs and I have to brief the director and SECNAV, so when we're done, I don't want to see anybody else here." She wagged her finger, indicating each person separately.

Bishop watched with admiration and bumped Kensi's shoulder. "That's how to command. I've gotta learn that."

"She learned it from the best. That finger motion," she tried to duplicate it. "I'm sure Hetty holds the trademark on it. Have you met her?"

"No, but I've heard the legends."

"One hour watching Hetty in action and you'll decide the legends are all true."

Agent Gibbs cut in. "My team has been cheap on their expense accounts for this op, so I say let's burn the excess: D.C. will treat the LA crowd. I figure Leon owes us all that much. We'll regroup at 1800 for dinner, then catch a red-eye back to Washington."

As soon as the big screen came to life, Vance demanded. "How'd it go, Gibbs?"

"Agent Jones can address that: It's her case." The other three pair of eyes popped open.

Without missing a beat, Nell dove in. "Madam Secretary, Mr. Director, sir. A working copy of the case file is in each of your in trays. We're still working up the details, but here are the summary statistics." A spreadsheet table breezed onto the big screen.

Vance examined his copy of the data. "Impressive. Of the twenty-four involved, you arrested fourteen. That's enough to make other guys think twice before signing up for something like this again. You guys did well."

SECNAV scowled. "It's 'You all did well,' Director. It wasn't just the guys."

"Figure of speech, Sara."

A few minutes later, SECNAV concluded the briefing asking, "Well, is there anything more to discuss?"

Gibbs stepped closer to the camera, but then used his thumb to point to Nell at his eight o'clock. "Madam Secretary, when you see Hetty Lange, tell her the tribe's in good hands."