Oh Where Oh Where Did the Light at the End Go?
818 for 40802
Not as much today, I was distracted by the FRELLING BLIZZARD outside. Gotta love SpringTime in the Rockies, no?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Gibbs walked in and stood directly behind Abby, waiting. Her head came up and she whirled around from the keyboard, pigtails nearly swiping his face as he leaned back to avoid them, then straightened again. “Ya got something,” it was a statement, as it usually was.
“Of course, don’t I always for you, my silver fox?” and Abby leaned to take the again bagged bomb evidence off the table behind Gibbs.
Gibbs just watched.
She leaned back again, holding up the bag with the grey block of explosive. “This,” she shook the bag, “matches nothing in our database.” She held up the bag with wires and circuitry, “And this is also like nothing in our database.” She grinned.
“Why are you so happy if it doesn’t match anything?”
“Now, Gibbs, I didn’t say it didn’t match anything.” Her chipper voice told him that something was up.
She tossed the bags back to the table and he winced.
“Gibbs! It’s disarmed.” She swung around again to tap on her keyboard, leaning slightly forward.
Gibbs sighed. “Timetable, Abbs. We’re on one.”
She looked over her shoulder at him, still tapping keys, “Well aware, oh great one.” And she stood again and walked to the wall screen, he followed.
“See here,” she pointed at squiggly lines on a chart. “This is the formula used on that explosive.” She pointed to the table behind them with a thumb, stuck out like she was hitchhiking. “And this here,” she pointed to another squiggle, “this is the explosive used on the UNCLE headquarters in New York. Chemically identical.”
“Is it from UNCLE’s arsenal?”
“Well, it was made to appear like it, at least. Hinky, huh?”
“Can you do some test on it to see if it’s from that time period?”
“You can’t carbon 14 test explosives, Gibbs. Well you could, but that test is accurate to a lot more years than twenty and all that the test would tell us was that…” she took a deep breath. “Sorry, back on topic now.” She nodded and went back to the keyboard. He followed. “No, not accurately, but I think what is important here is that it is a match for UNCLE and for no other in any database we have, including any private mad bombers we have on file,” she tapped more keys and the squiggly lines moved into one graph and did, in fact, match perfectly.
Abby turned again, Gibbs leaned to avoid flying hair and then kissed her forehead. “Good work.”
She beamed at him and then Solo and Kuryakin walked in. Abby and Gibbs both turned their heads to look, then turned fully to face the men, standing shoulder to shoulder, Abby’s platform boots giving her the two inches she needed to match Gibbs’ height.
“They’re so, ah, synchronized. Do you think they practice?” Napoleon grinned at Illya, raising a brow at him.
Illya rolled his eyes at Napoleon. “I’m sure they wouldn’t tell us if they did,” but the little smirk at the corner of his mouth negated the sarcasm and they turned toward the NCIS pair. “We’re reporting as requested.”
Abby looked from the UNCLE agents to Gibbs and back again.
“I have a plan. I need you two to keep Miss Walters’ parents occupied while Abby gets the sketch done of her kidnapper. And I need it to look…” he paused.
Illya interrupted, interpreting the pause, “Not like an interrogation?”
“We are not interrogating suspects, we are interviewing witnesses and family. But it does need to be, well, yeah, not an interrogation. We know they didn‘t kidnap their own daughter, but she might be a little more relaxed if they aren’t listening. But they‘ll be right there on the other side of the glass,” he waved a hand at Abby’s office, “with you two.” He turned toward Abby. “You promised a tour of the Lab, do that while our friends here,” he gestured to the older men, “keep the parents busy, and then show her how the computer sketching works, right?”
“Sneaky, Gibbs, I like it. What will you be doing?”
“Strategy meeting with Fornell.”
“So if I need you, you’ll be in the conference room?”
“We’ll be in the hall, Abbs.” Gibbs said it with a tone she recognized, others might hear stern but she heard the affection underneath. She glanced over and saw that the other men could hear it as well. She smiled and cocked her head to one side, then saluted with her wrong hand and grinned when she saw Gibbs trying not to grin, himself.
Abby turned to open the software on her computer that she needed as Gibbs turned to leave. On his way out, he heard Solo ask his partner, “She does know that’s the wrong…”
“Secret codes, even here, Napoleon.”
They grinned, if only briefly, and went to clean the desk and get ready for guests in their borrowed office.
***
Not as much today, I was distracted by the FRELLING BLIZZARD outside. Gotta love SpringTime in the Rockies, no?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Gibbs walked in and stood directly behind Abby, waiting. Her head came up and she whirled around from the keyboard, pigtails nearly swiping his face as he leaned back to avoid them, then straightened again. “Ya got something,” it was a statement, as it usually was.
“Of course, don’t I always for you, my silver fox?” and Abby leaned to take the again bagged bomb evidence off the table behind Gibbs.
Gibbs just watched.
She leaned back again, holding up the bag with the grey block of explosive. “This,” she shook the bag, “matches nothing in our database.” She held up the bag with wires and circuitry, “And this is also like nothing in our database.” She grinned.
“Why are you so happy if it doesn’t match anything?”
“Now, Gibbs, I didn’t say it didn’t match anything.” Her chipper voice told him that something was up.
She tossed the bags back to the table and he winced.
“Gibbs! It’s disarmed.” She swung around again to tap on her keyboard, leaning slightly forward.
Gibbs sighed. “Timetable, Abbs. We’re on one.”
She looked over her shoulder at him, still tapping keys, “Well aware, oh great one.” And she stood again and walked to the wall screen, he followed.
“See here,” she pointed at squiggly lines on a chart. “This is the formula used on that explosive.” She pointed to the table behind them with a thumb, stuck out like she was hitchhiking. “And this here,” she pointed to another squiggle, “this is the explosive used on the UNCLE headquarters in New York. Chemically identical.”
“Is it from UNCLE’s arsenal?”
“Well, it was made to appear like it, at least. Hinky, huh?”
“Can you do some test on it to see if it’s from that time period?”
“You can’t carbon 14 test explosives, Gibbs. Well you could, but that test is accurate to a lot more years than twenty and all that the test would tell us was that…” she took a deep breath. “Sorry, back on topic now.” She nodded and went back to the keyboard. He followed. “No, not accurately, but I think what is important here is that it is a match for UNCLE and for no other in any database we have, including any private mad bombers we have on file,” she tapped more keys and the squiggly lines moved into one graph and did, in fact, match perfectly.
Abby turned again, Gibbs leaned to avoid flying hair and then kissed her forehead. “Good work.”
She beamed at him and then Solo and Kuryakin walked in. Abby and Gibbs both turned their heads to look, then turned fully to face the men, standing shoulder to shoulder, Abby’s platform boots giving her the two inches she needed to match Gibbs’ height.
“They’re so, ah, synchronized. Do you think they practice?” Napoleon grinned at Illya, raising a brow at him.
Illya rolled his eyes at Napoleon. “I’m sure they wouldn’t tell us if they did,” but the little smirk at the corner of his mouth negated the sarcasm and they turned toward the NCIS pair. “We’re reporting as requested.”
Abby looked from the UNCLE agents to Gibbs and back again.
“I have a plan. I need you two to keep Miss Walters’ parents occupied while Abby gets the sketch done of her kidnapper. And I need it to look…” he paused.
Illya interrupted, interpreting the pause, “Not like an interrogation?”
“We are not interrogating suspects, we are interviewing witnesses and family. But it does need to be, well, yeah, not an interrogation. We know they didn‘t kidnap their own daughter, but she might be a little more relaxed if they aren’t listening. But they‘ll be right there on the other side of the glass,” he waved a hand at Abby’s office, “with you two.” He turned toward Abby. “You promised a tour of the Lab, do that while our friends here,” he gestured to the older men, “keep the parents busy, and then show her how the computer sketching works, right?”
“Sneaky, Gibbs, I like it. What will you be doing?”
“Strategy meeting with Fornell.”
“So if I need you, you’ll be in the conference room?”
“We’ll be in the hall, Abbs.” Gibbs said it with a tone she recognized, others might hear stern but she heard the affection underneath. She glanced over and saw that the other men could hear it as well. She smiled and cocked her head to one side, then saluted with her wrong hand and grinned when she saw Gibbs trying not to grin, himself.
Abby turned to open the software on her computer that she needed as Gibbs turned to leave. On his way out, he heard Solo ask his partner, “She does know that’s the wrong…”
“Secret codes, even here, Napoleon.”
They grinned, if only briefly, and went to clean the desk and get ready for guests in their borrowed office.
***