Leroy Jethro Gibbs, the seasoned Supervisory Special Agent and leader of the Major Crime Response Team at the NCIS Navy Yard, woke up abruptly at 0400 hours, his intuition sounding a loud and ominous warning. Something was brewing, something that didn't sit well with him, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. The darkness outside seemed to mirror his mood as he got out of bed, a deep frown etched on his face. He walked to his backyard, the crunch of gravel beneath his feet the only sound breaking the stillness of the morning. The air was crisp and cool, carrying the scent of damp earth and new beginnings, but Gibbs' mind was already racing with the possibilities of what the day might bring.
As he began his morning routine of burpees, the physical exertion did little to shake off the feeling of unease that had settled in his stomach. He pushed through the exercises, his movements swift and precise, but his mind remained preoccupied. After completing his routine, he headed back inside to brew a fresh pot of coffee, the aroma filling his kitchen and providing a brief moment of comfort. He poured himself a cup, the hot liquid a welcome respite from the chill of the morning, and took a sip as he made his way to the shower. The water was hot and invigorating, but even its soothing effects couldn't wash away the sense of foreboding that had taken hold of Gibbs. He dressed quickly, his movements economical and practiced, and headed out the door to pick up his senior agent, Tony DiNozzo. Tony, still recovering from a broken arm sustained during a confrontation with Rivkin in Ziva's apartment, had been relying on Gibbs for transportation to and from work. Gibbs knew that waking Tony up at such an ungodly hour would not be well-received, but he also knew that his agent would suck it up and get moving.
As he arrived at Tony's apartment, Gibbs could sense his agent's annoyance, but it was quickly replaced by a look of concern as he took in Gibbs' expression. Tony knew better than to ask questions when his boss was in this kind of mood, so he simply nodded, grabbed his gear, and followed Gibbs out the door. The drive to the Navy Yard was quiet, the only sound the hum of the engine and the occasional sip of coffee from Gibbs' cup. As they arrived at the Navy Yard shortly before 0600 hours, Gibbs and Tony headed to the cafeteria to grab a couple of fresh cups of coffee before settling in at the bullpen. The caffeine was just what Tony needed to shake off the remnants of sleep, and as they sipped their coffee, he couldn't help but notice the way Gibbs was subtly scoping out their surroundings. It was a habit that Gibbs had developed over years of experience, a constant awareness of his environment that had become second nature to him.
Tony, meanwhile, was observing his boss, trying to read the signs and get a sense of what was going on. He knew that Gibbs' gut was rarely wrong, and if his boss was on high alert, then something was definitely up. As they sat there, the silence between them was comfortable, a testament to the years of trust and understanding that had developed between them. Tony was content to wait, to let Gibbs reveal what was on his mind in his own time, and so he simply sat back, sipped his coffee, and waited for the other shoe to drop. Just as Tony was starting to feel more alert, more aware of his surroundings, a presence made itself known, and he could sense that the answers they were looking for were about to be revealed. The air seemed to vibrate with anticipation, and Gibbs' eyes narrowed, his gaze fixed on some point beyond Tony's shoulder. It was as if he was waiting for something, or someone, and Tony's curiosity was piqued.
Leon Vance, the seasoned Director of the Naval Criminal Investigative Services, woke up at the ungodly hour of 0400, the darkness of the room only illuminated by the faint glow of the alarm clock on his nightstand. He was alone in the guest bedroom, having relocated there after a quiet night with his wife, Jackie, in their marital bed. The reason for this temporary relocation was the late call he had received from his superior, the Secretary of the Navy, Phillip Davenport, requesting his presence at his office at 0500 hours for a crucial Multi-Threat Alert Center (MTAC) briefing, scheduled to commence at 0530 hours. Not wanting to disturb his wife and children, Leon had set his spare alarm clock in the guest bedroom, ensuring he could rise and prepare for the early meeting without disrupting the household.
As he quickly went through his morning routine with his characteristic efficiency, Leon's mind couldn't help but wander to the reason behind the Secretary's urgent summons. What could have prompted such an early and presumably important briefing? The questions swirled in his head, but he pushed them aside, focusing on getting ready. After a swift and silent preparation, he left a pot of steaming hot coffee for Jackie, accompanied by handwritten notes of encouragement for his children, hoping to start their day on a positive note despite his early departure. He then leaned over to gently kiss their sleeping forms, careful not to wake them. With the morning routines completed, Leon headed out into the early morning traffic of Washington D.C., a city that was slowly awakening from its slumber. The drive to the office was a blur of dark streets gradually giving way to the first hints of dawn. He arrived at 0505 hours, a few minutes ahead of schedule, and swiftly made his way through the familiar corridors of his office. He turned on his computer, swiftly scanned through his calendar to ensure he hadn't missed any other important notifications, and then made his way to the MTAC, navigating through the mezzanine with a sense of purpose.
Leon entered the MTAC with five minutes to spare, a testament to his punctuality and respect for the time of others. At exactly 0530 hours, the connection was established, and Leon Vance's professional demeanor kicked in as he greeted the Secretary of the Navy, who was audibly yawning on the other end of the line. Despite the early hour and the evident sleepiness of his superior, Leon maintained his composure, his greeting polite and crisp: "Good morning, Secretary Davenport. I'm ready when you are, sir," he said, his voice firm and alert, a stark contrast to the sleepy tones of the Secretary. The formalities out of the way, Leon leaned forward, his eyes fixed intently on the screen in front of him, ready to absorb every detail of the briefing that was about to commence.
Phillip Davenport, the Secretary of the Navy, greeted Leon Vance, the Director of NCIS, over his computer screen: "Good morning, Leon. Prompt as usual," he said, his voice firm and commanding.
Leon Vance, a man of few words, replied with a hint of respect, "Good morning, Mr. Secretary. How can I be of service?" He stood up straight, his eyes locked on the Secretary's, awaiting his instructions.
Phillip Davenport took a deep breath: "That will come afterward. I had an interesting conversation with one of your agents at 1900 hours last night. One Timothy McGee," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly as he awaited Leon's response.
Leon's expression changed, a hint of surprise crossing his face. "Agent McGee? I was under the impression that he didn't have the clearance to contact you," he said, his voice laced with a hint of curiosity.
Phillip Davenport leaned forward: "He doesn't. But he has access to another set of higher credentials. Do you know anything about that?" His eyes seemed to bore into Leon's, as if searching for any hidden information.
Leon Vance nodded, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Ah yes. Timothy McGee is the oldest son, though disowned, of Four Star Admiral John McGee. I'm not surprised that Agent McGee knows of his father's credentials, although he is not one to use his family connection for personal gains. It is not uncommon for us at NCIS to forget that he is Navy royalty," he said, his voice filled with a hint of amusement.
Phillip Davenport's expression turned serious once more. "I am glad to hear it. Agent McGee had called me with urgency, with a wealth of information that you would be very interested in," he said, his voice low and deliberate.
Leon Vance leaned forward, his eyes locked on the Secretary's. "I am listening," he said, his voice firm and attentive.
Phillip Davenport took a deep breath before continuing. "Agent McGee is behind the Cyber outage that befell Mossad last week. He was searching for information about Saleem Ulman, the mastermind behind the terrorist group Al-Shabaab and its activities in Somalia. Mossad had been targeting him and they sent agent Ziva David after him. Agent McGee has reasons to believe that she had been taken," he said, his voice filled with a sense of gravity.
Leon Vance's eyes widened, a hint of surprise crossing his face. "Agent McGee successfully hacked Mossad?" he asked, his voice laced with a mix of shock and admiration.
Phillip Davenport nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "He did. He will be leaving Andrews Air Force Base at 0600 hours today, heading toward Camp Lemonnier. I have already filled out the paperwork that approves of McGee's presence in Djibouti, and all of his intel was forwarded to Rear-Admiral Policz as soon as he forwarded them to me," he said, his voice firm and commanding.
Leon Vance's expression turned thoughtful, his eyes narrowing as he considered the implications. "If this is planned correctly, Agent McGee's operation could result in an unbelievable coup: the death of Saleem Ulman, the rescue of Ziva David, the gain of an extraordinary asset, and a serious upper hand against Mossad, perhaps even the destruction and elimination of terrorism in the horn of Africa altogether. I assume you would like me to co-sign on Agent McGee's mission," he said, his voice filled with a sense of excitement and anticipation.
Phillip Davenport leaned back in his chair, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "You are leading the counter-intelligence against Mossad. It's your directive, Leon. That being said, McGee's intel has undergone nearly eight hours of verification, and the men at the base are chomping at the bits to take down Saleem Ulman," he said, his voice firm and commanding.
Leon Vance nodded, his eyes locked on the Secretary's. "That makes most of the MCRT aware, in some sense, about our counter-intelligence project. I'll have them sworn in as enforcement if push comes to shove. I'll sign McGee's mission paper and add my name to the operation," he said, his voice firm and resolute.
Phillip Davenport nodded, a sense of satisfaction crossing his face. "Very well, Leon. I will send you the update when I receive it from Rear-Admiral Policz," he said, his voice firm and commanding.
Leon Vance nodded, his eyes locked on the Secretary's. "Thank you, Mr. Secretary. Until our next talk," he said, his voice firm and respectful.
As the line went dead, Leon Vance took a few minutes to gather his thoughts, reflecting on Agent McGee. From their first meeting where McGee showed himself as a hesitant and abstaining member of his team, McGee had come a long way, transforming into a confident and proactive agent who was willing to take risks. Going so far as to hack Mossad, McGee is currently undertaking a trip to Djibouti to possibly rescue Ziva David, his former Mossad liaison officer, a testament to his bravery and loyalty. If he was honest with himself, Leon Vance had expected Agent McGee to inform his team of his thoughts and intentions before taking such drastic actions. McGee was usually a by-the-book kind of agent, and his decision to forgo protocol and chain of command had caught Vance off guard. He was curious as to what had caused McGee to deviate from his usual behavior, and he couldn't help but wonder what had driven him to make such a bold move.
As he left the Multi-Agency Tactical Command (MTAC) to head back to his office, he glanced down at the bullpen and was met with a familiar sight. Leroy Jethro Gibbs, the team's leader, was sitting at his desk, his face etched with a deep frown, his eyes fixed intently on some unseen point. Nearby, Anthony DiNozzo was slowly coming to, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, his usual charming smile nowhere to be found. Vance decided that this was the perfect opportunity to address the situation, and instead of heading to his office, he changed course and made his way down to the bullpen. Taking the staircase down to the pen, he approached Gibbs and DiNozzo, his expression thoughtful and measured. "I think it's time we had a little conversation," he said, his voice firm but controlled. "Both of you, please join me in my office." With that, he turned and headed back up to his office, expecting Gibbs and DiNozzo to follow, and ready to get to the bottom of the mystery surrounding McGee's sudden change in behavior.
Timothy McGee, a skilled computer consultant and a valued member of the Major Crime Response Team, woke up at 0400 hours, his mind racing with anticipation. As he jumped off his bed, he couldn't shake off the feeling that today was going to be a day like no other. With a sense of urgency, he quickly made his bed, a habit that had been instilled in him since his childhood by his navy family. He then headed to the shower, letting the cool water wash away any remnants of sleep, and began to mentally prepare himself for the long day ahead.
As he got dressed, McGee picked up his phone and laptop, making sure he had all the necessary tools to stay connected and work on the go. He glanced at his watch, noting that he had just enough time to make it to Andrews Air Force Base before his flight. With a deep breath, he grabbed his bag and headed out the door, locking it behind him. The drive to the base was uneventful, but McGee's mind was preoccupied with thoughts of the mission ahead. He arrived at the base with 35 minutes to spare, giving him just enough time to go through the necessary security checks. As he pulled up to the entrance, he was greeted by a stern-looking military police officer who inspected his car and searched his belongings.
Once he had cleared security, McGee was escorted to the plane, where he was briefed on his official mission. He was told that he would be transporting classified documents from various federal agencies, including the FBI, Army CID, NSA, and DOD, to NCIS agent-in-charge Roberta Wells and NCIS Senior Field Agent Stanley Burley, who were stationed on base. His role was to assist Agent Burley and Wells with their investigation, and to provide any necessary technical support. However, McGee knew that this was just a cover story, designed to keep curious eyes and ears away from the real reason for his trip. The truth was that he was heading to East Africa to support a sensitive operation, one that involved the entire US Military and had high hope of getting accomplished in the upcoming days. As he boarded the plane, McGee couldn't help but think about the real purpose of his mission, and the risks that came with it.
As the plane took off at exactly 0600 hours, McGee closed his eyes and said a silent prayer. He prayed that his colleague, Ziva David, was safe and sound, and that the operation would be completed by the time he arrived in Djibouti. He also prayed that his teammate, Tony DiNozzo, and their team leader, Leroy Jethro Gibbs, wouldn't kill him when he returned. The flight ahead of him was going to be a long and grueling one, lasting a whopping 15 hours. McGee hoped that the report he had sent preemptively the night before would help speed up the operation, and that he would be able to provide valuable support to the team on the ground. His main priority was to help take down Saleem Ulman, notorious terrorist and head of Al-Shabaab, and to rescue Ziva if needed. As the plane soared into the sky, McGee settled in for the long haul, his mind racing with thoughts of the mission ahead. With a deep breath, he steeled himself for the challenges that lay ahead, ready to face whatever dangers and obstacles came his way.
Eli David, the seasoned Director of Mossad, had been awake for the past seven hours, indicating that he had risen from his slumber at the ungodly hour of 0400 hours, local time in Tel Aviv. As he sat in his office, sipping his coffee and reviewing the preliminary report on the recent cyber attack, he couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. The Mossad network and its servers had been secured less than twelve hours ago, and the initial assessment suggested that no sensitive documents or information had been compromised. However, the virus that had attacked the network had been a peculiar one, targeting the structural framework of the system while inexplicably leaving the files intact.
As Eli delved deeper into the report, he began to realize that the virus's behavior had been more than just a random act of malice. Its complexity in application, coupled with its surprising simplicity in destruction, had been a deliberate design choice, intended to provoke and annoy the Mossad team into eliminating the virus without taking the time to examine its inner workings. This, in turn, would have prevented them from developing effective countermeasures against similar viruses in the future. The fact that no one had thought to analyze the virus itself before destroying it now seemed like a glaring oversight. A task force had already been assembled to track down the creators of the virus, despite the fact that all digital clues had been meticulously erased. Eli had vowed to himself that those responsible for the attack would be brought to justice, extradited to Israel, and punished to the fullest extent of the law. The mere thought of it filled him with a sense of determination and anger.
As he continued to read the reports, which highlighted the significant changes to the network's structure and protocols, a sudden and disturbing thought struck him, causing his eyes to widen in horror. He swiftly grabbed his phone and speed-dialed his trusted right-hand man, Amit Hadar, ordering him to dispatch reinforcements to Ziva, who was currently operating in Somalia. A surge of anger and frustration coursed through his veins as he realized that he had been so distracted by the cyber attack that he had neglected to provide his daughter with the support she needed, despite her warnings about potential traps set by Al-Shabaab. Eli knew that he had lost his composure, allowing his emotions to cloud his judgment. As the Director of Mossad, he should have maintained a level head, prioritizing the safety and success of his operatives above all else. The fact that he had been late in responding to his daughter's request for reinforcement weighed heavily on his mind, and he couldn't shake off the feeling of guilt and worry.
Despite his desire to call Ziva and inform her that reinforcements were on the way, Eli knew better than to contact her in the middle of the day, especially when she was in the midst of a critical mission like taking down Saleem Ulman. He restrained himself, releasing a frustrated sigh as he returned to his report. Though his mind was preoccupied with concerns for his daughter's safety, he had every confidence in her abilities and those of her team. He was certain that she would succeed, with or without his intervention, and that thought gave him a measure of comfort as he continued to pour over the reports, searching for any clues that might lead him to the perpetrators of the cyber attack.