Mending Fences chapter 3
Last chapter.
I've also just started my next story.
Chapter 3
Tony had to grin when he entered the room; Dean and Cos always sat side by side, so Cos was determinedly pushing Remy away from the saved seat. Remy, for his part, was just bugging Cos for the hell of it; he knew good and well that he was going to sit in his usual seat beside Tony. Jimmy was carefully poking at Tim’s bared back and grumbling under his breath. Ducky was watching with an amused smile. Abby was handing out drinks. Admiral McGee and his 2IC were watching with bemused expressions
Jimmy handed Tim his shirt. “Food’s here. Bruises are fading fast. You’re cleared for field duty as of now.”
“Thanks, Gremlin.” he pulled his t-shirt over his head then picked up his shirt. “Smells good. I’m starved.”
He took his place next to Jimmy, who was seated next to Ducky. Due to the addition of the Admiral and his two aides, the seating was a bit different. Starting at the head of the table was Gibbs; then, on Gibbs’ right, Tony, Remy, Dean, Cos, and Captain Adam Jones. At the foot was the Admiral, who had instructed everyone that, since he was in their territory and he felt it was counterproductive, they should address him as John or sir, and not salute, as they were not on duty with the Navy. On his right was MCPO Cliff, who admitted that he hated his first name and never used it. Then Abby, Tim, Jimmy, and Ducky at Gibbs’ left hand.
All the food was now in the middle of the table, due to Abby’s jumping up to help Cliff put everything out. She’d cheated just a bit and brought up some things from her lab to make serving a bit easier. She’d brought a huge steel bowl and simply dumped all the individual salads into it and tossed them with dressing by emptying all the tiny packets of dressing into it, then flipping them together like flipping stir-fry in a wok. The garlic bread had been put out by opening the packages and putting them at intervals down the middle of the table. The other dishes were all in front of Gibbs.
John raised an eyebrow at this but didn’t say anything.
Tim took pity on him and explained, “Gibbs serves himself first. Ducky’s usually on his right and gets second. That way they’re sure to get some. We do tend to ... inhale food.”
“I see. If there isn’t enough?”
“We’ll deal. Might send out for some more.” Tim accepted the first pan which contained baked ziti. He took a huge serving, catching the strings of mozzarella with a finger. “Mmmm. Toast, please.”
John watched the semi-contained chaos created by getting twelve people fed. He made sure that Abby didn’t get pushed aside, although he didn’t need to. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself.
Gibbs grabbed the salad bowl and started it on its way. When it reached her, Abby took some and passed it along, then looked around. “There. And I want my tea. Who the hell snitched my tea?” She glowered around and caught Dean just finishing the bottle off. “Hey! That was mine! And do not say, snoozers, losers, jerk.” Remy just shrugged, made a long arm and handed her another. “Well, okay, then.”
John cleared his throat to catch everyone’s attention. “Gentlemen...”
He didn’t get much farther as Jimmy looked around in mock panic, demanding, “Where!? Where!?” This earned him a swat on the shoulder from Tim.
“Can that. Jerk.”
“Bitch.”
Gibbs glowered, “Shut it.”
They all turned their attention back to John, who just glowered for a second, then said, “As I was saying ... Anyone have any ideas?”
Tim shook his head. His mouth was full of chicken Alfredo with broccoli and carrots. A chorus of no’s and some head-shaking followed.
Gibbs swallowed a mouthful of spaghetti and meat balls covered in parmesan cheese and said, “The bottom line is ... we got nothing. I’m sending everyone home early ... or down to the gym. We’ll start again tomorrow morning when we’re fresh. There’s something somewhere; we’re just missing it.”
John thought for a moment, then said, “It’s something so obvious that we’re not considering it to be out of the ordinary.”
Tony poked at his salad. “Mmmm. It might be ordinary to one of us ... your group, at least, but it wasn’t ordinary to ... our unsub. So ... what ...”
Captain Jones said, “I think ... Admiral McGee has the power to turn down bids on this project without submitting them higher up. That’s actually his whole job ... to weed out the unrealistic bids before submitting them. So ... who did we turn down ... that had a problem. Look at them.”
Tim nodded. “We thought of that. Nothing pinged. I’ll set up for more searches tomorrow. Maybe a fresh perspective will help.”
They all went back to their food, except for Abby. She had finished while the rest were talking, so she started picking up empties and stuffing them into a big garbage bag. “I wish there was something I could do. If there was some bit of forensic evidence, I’d be all over it. But I’ve already gone over everything with a fine-tooth comb. The bullets were common Winchester .30-.06. Not even a fancy round; just a common hunting round.”
John scowled into his coffee cup. “But that tells us something. Whoever did this isn’t military. I wouldn’t think so, at least. They don’t have access to military arms and didn’t think to buy surplus. So, what does that tell us?”
Tim frowned, “It tells us that it has to be a supplier or provider. So, I’ll go over that list of denied bids ... again. I’m ... If I ... hummm.” he stared at a wall for a bit.
John was just getting ready to snark at him when Gibbs caught his eye and shook his head.
Tim got up and wandered out, mumbling to himself.
Remy allowed, “We really need another attack. If we got dat we get ‘em good.” He waved a hand at John. “Not dat I wan’ ya shot at again, but ... No offense.” He shrugged in that Cajun way of his.
John snorted. “None taken. Where’d Tim go?”
Gibbs thought for a moment. “Back to his desk, most likely. Probably had an idea and went to set up some computer thing or other. Do not get him started, four words into any explanation and I’m so lost I’d need a compass, map, and GPS to find my ass.”
“He’s that good?”
Tony snorted. “Good? Man ... and this goes no farther than that door. Seriously.” All three men nodded. “Good. You fuck up an’ I’ll turn you over to Abby. But ... he hacked the CIA, Homeland, and FBI. Not to mention that he’s got clearance so high that he handles security for the SEAL mainframe. He cracked that in five minutes ... without Abby’s help.”
Abby nodded. “He’s so good it’s actually scary. He got pissed at ... never mind who. Totally erased their e-life. Put it all back 24 hours later without leaving a trace,” she snickered. “He’s almost as good as me.”
Dean snorted. “He’s better than you.”
“Excuse me?”
“No insult intended, but he is.” Dean nodded once as if that settled things.
Abby eyed him for a moment, then grumbled, “Bros befo’ hos. Jerk.”
“It’s not that at all. Just ... after you’ve done the things we’ve done ... well, it’s special.” Dean’s wide-eyed, panicked look made Abby laugh.
“Well, okay, then.” She started to say something, then changed her mind, instead she yelped, “Oh! Oh, darn. I so totally forgot. Here.” She pulled a printout from her purse and handed it to Tony. “Here, AJ.”
Tony took it and opened it to read. “Okay. This is sweet. Thanks Abby.”
Remy grabbed but missed. “Damn it, AJ. Secrets, man.”
“We just got permission from the Coast Guard to resume our swims. Great. All we have to do is call in advance so they know not to rush out to rescue us.” He grinned, hugged Abby, much to her satisfaction, and pulled out his phone. “Three hours to go. I’ll call now. So ... who’s up for a bit of a swim?”
It seemed that everyone was up for a bit of a swim, except for Ducky and Abby. Jimmy called Tim to make sure he was and was informed that he was due a smack down for even asking. Jimmy laughed and hung up on him. “Tim’s in.”
Tony made the call and was told that there would be a twenty-five foot Defender RB-S standing by in twenty. “Okay, guys, we got twenty to hit the water. Fins and snorkels. Go!” They all took off for the locker room at a trot, with Remy dialing Tim to get his ass in gear or get left behind.
John was startled to see Gibbs, Tim, and Jimmy head out with the rest. He got up to follow but was stopped by Captain Jones. “We better give them time to change. Besides, if we don’t hurry, all the good spots will be gone. The Barry doesn’t permit rubberneckers aboard just to watch them swim. They do put up a watch at the stern.”
“Very well.” The Admiral put his cover on, indicating that he was ready to go. The three men headed for the dock on MCPO Cliff’s recommendation and arrived just in time to see the Pod leave the locker room back door, trot across an open parking lot, the median between the lot and the boarding ramp/ticket booth of the Barry and onto the rock-covered bank of the Anacostia River. It turned out that the captain of the Barry had politely asked the Pod to stop diving off the dock, as it caused a suicide alarm every time.
Gibbs settled on a rock to put on his fins, followed by the rest of the Pod. “I swear. That watch commander aboard the Barry is an old woman. Seriously ... eight guys dive off the damn dock and someone yells suicide? When, if ever, have more than two or three committed suicide at one time?”
Dean shook his head as he put on his fins. “Don’t know. Outside of mass religious suicide ... never. Oh, look. They sent three men.” He pointed to the Defender RB-S that was cruising up at about five knots. “Sweet.”
Tony led the way, followed by Remy, then Dean and Cos, Jimmy, and Tim; Gibbs brought up the rear.
Tim took a deep breath and submerged, Tony wanted them to swim as far as they could on one breath before using their snorkels. No one had any idea how he knew how far they went but he did, and he’d call them on slacking, saying, “I’ve only got eighty five per cent capacity and I can stay under for ... like ... six minutes swimming, longer if I’m just down. So ... suck it up, SEAL.” and they did.
It wasn’t long before most of the observers lost sight of the Pod, as they were all underwater. Admiral McGee was not one of them, mostly due to MCPO Cliff, who could point out the small V’s of white water caused by the tube of the snorkel. He was interested to see that the swimmers made a tight, staggered group of three and three with one swimmer seeming to be undecided as to where he was going.
“What the hell is that one man doing?”
“Sir, that’s AJ DiNozzo. He’s their CO, so I assume he’s keeping track of who’s where and checking to see if anyone is in trouble.”
“Ah!” The Admiral nodded his understanding and went back to observing.
.
Tony stopped swimming just long enough to check his group. Tim was doing well, but his mask was filling up with water. This was not a good thing in that, if he forgot and breathed in through his nose, he’d have a snoot full of water. He blocked Tim who looked at him. He tapped his mask and signed in ASL, “Empty that.” Tim nodded, emptied his mask, and returned to swimming.
Remy and Cos were neck-and-neck, moving smoothly and silently. Tony nodded to both of them and moved on.
Dean and Jimmy were flanking Gibbs so that he wasn’t swimming alone. All three of them were swimming strongly, so Tony drifted to the back of the pod to watch. The water was a bit cloudy, but he could see silhouettes, and that was good enough.
The Defender paced them, one of the crewmen keeping track of the snorkels with binoculars. It was easy to see the small V’s of disturbed water from the boat.
They made the other side in good time and waddled out onto the bank for a quick discussion. “Okay. Tim, make sure to keep your mask empty; you breathe in a mask of water, you’re not gonna be a happy SEAL. Jimmy, you and Dean did good. No one swims alone, so I’m pleased that you paced Jet.” Gibbs nodded his thanks, but kept silent. “Remy, Cos, good work. We did good. It’s right at a half-mile across here, so we did about three knots. That’s some good swimming in this river. Let’s head back.” He started back into the water, calling over his shoulder, “Surface, this time. And push it. I want you to average at least four knots.” And with that, he surface-dived, then came up and began to swim toward the dock.
Everyone grumbled a bit, but followed easily enough.
The swim back was easier for the observers; the Pod were all just under the surface rather than as deep as the snorkel would allow. They showed up well against the deep, dark river. The flickering, wavering forms cut the waves easily, and the swim back was accomplished at the four-knot speed that Tony had demanded.
They waded out of the river about a hundred yards down from the Barry, at the end of Patterson Ave. They were met by a small group of off-duty Marines who made a habit of looking for them. The Marines handed out towels, drinks, and criticisms.
“Thanks, guys. You’re all hired.” Tony rubbed his short Ivy League with a towel. “Get yourselves a pizza. Send me the bill.”
One of the young Marines replied, “You don’t have to do that, sir. Our pleasure.”
Tony grinned at them all. “I don’t generally do what I have to do. I push it off on one of those poor fools.” He indicated his teammates with a nod. “I want to.”
“Well, in that case, thank you, sir.” The young man gathered up the towels that Tony had used and trotted off to his buddies. It didn’t take them long to gather their stuff, including the drink bottles and related trash, and decide on pizzas. The team lead returned to Tony. “Okay. Here’s what we want.” It was only seconds and Tony was authorizing payment to the nearest pizza place. “There. The order is in at Mama Cozetti’s; the pies will be done in thirty. Better get a move on.”
The young men saluted and headed out. Gibbs nodded. “Good men. Some of those young men will make good CO’s.”
Tony nodded. “That they will. I’ve called their CO. He’s putting a note in all their jackets.”
“Good.”
The Admiral and his men drove up in an SUV. No one had any idea where they got it, and it drove away at once. “I’ll walk with you.”
Tony glanced at Tim, who just shrugged, then said, “Keep up.”
It seemed that the admiral and his men were in the same shape as most middle-aged bureaucrats, not to mention the inappropriateness of their shoes and clothing; they were panting in seconds. They dropped to a normal walking pace and followed the Pod.
Tim glanced back once, then faced forward. Tony was pacing him and noticed. “What do you think he wants? Really.”
“I don’t know for sure, but ... he’s seen me run the Spartan, he’s had someone in his team checking up on me. My take? He’s realized that I’m not some useless geek and he wants to ... make amends? Get on my good side? Not that sure ... and I really don’t care. We’ll have a ... nice relationship but I’m not trusting him just yet.”
Tony nodded. “Just didn’t want you to get your heart broken. Been there.”
“Thanks.”
Tony trotted up the line to pace Gibbs. “Any idea what the hell that idiot, John McGee, is up to?”
“Nope. Not even sure he knows. We’ll just hang and be ready to pick up the pieces.”
“Okay. Good enough ... I guess.” Tony looked doubtful.
Remy had overheard, so he dropped back to run on the other side of Tony. “AJ, we family. We got his six. It all be fine.”
.
They reached NCIS and headed into the locker room to shower and dress.
Tony nodded to Remy. “We did good. I like the times and ...” he smiled at Gibbs a bit absently. “Gibbs, Tim, and Jimmy are all BAMFs. Wouldn’t worry about having any of them on my six.”
Remy threw a t-shirt and hit Tony in the face. “Me neither. Gibbs is tough as an old boot. Jimmy just ... man’s a machine. And Tim ... I swear I don’t know what his ol’ man was ever thinkin’.”
Gibbs joined the conversation. “Man is well aware he threw away flesh and blood. He’s tryin’ to make amends as best he can ... Don’t think it’s gonna work the way he thinks.”
Dean joined in. “Digimon will forgive him ... he’s that way. But he’ll never forget and won’t give him a chance to ... repeat the offense. If you get my meaning. He’ll always be a bit reserved.”
Cos agreed. “Yeah, exactly. Oops ... here he comes.”
Tim walked out of the showers just then, a lava-lava wrapped around his waist, rubbing his hair with a towel. He looked up, assumed that they were staring at his wrap, and demanded, “What? Abby gave it to me. It’s considered very com il faut in Oceania.”
The whole Pod eyed the length of cloth; finally Jimmy offered, “But ... dude ... it’s fuckin’ pink!”
Tim looked down then offered. “Not entirely. It’s ... well, orange and teal too.”
This brought about a barrage of rolled socks, wet towels and other soft projectiles. “Well, it is! Jerks.” Tim turned his back to them and started rummaging in his locker for clean clothing. “Damn. I swear, I go through more fuckin’ stuff.” He finally found a semi-clean pair of jeans and a shirt. He swore as the shirt didn’t pass the sniff test. “I’ve got to restock my ruck. This is ridiculous. Anyone have a clean shirt I can mooch?”
Dean wadded up a henley and tossed it at Tim. “Here. It’s too small for me, so you can keep it.”
Tim tugged the shirt on over his head then said, “Thanks.” He smoothed it out over his chest. “It fits ... a bit snug but ... meh.”
They all finished dressing, winding up in some variation of BDU’s.
Gibbs took charge. “Okay. Let’s all head for the bullpen for a bit. Wind up anything we’ve got going, check paperwork, and then get out of here.” On the way up the stairs he told Tim, “Tim, you know I’m havin’ burgers and dogs; invite your dad if you want. Tell ‘im to leave the staff behind.”
“Okay. Thanks, Jet. Really appreciate that.” Tim frowned slightly, wondering how this was going to go over.
Remy patted him on the shoulder. “Do’an worry. We get ‘long wit ‘im. We all off duty so it be okay.” He grinned, then trotted off to check for mail of any kind from his contacts.
They split up to go to their desks and settled in to finish the day; no one was pleased to see Admiral McGee stride up with his two satellites. “Timothy, well done. What are you doing now?”
Tim didn’t bother to look up from his typing as he answered, “Checking results, emails, and some other bits and pieces.”
“Look at me when I’m talking to you.” The Admiral didn’t seem to be able to stop poking the bear.
“I know what you look like and this is important. We’re still looking for our shooter. Sit down somewhere and decide if you want to come to Gibbs’ place for burgers and dogs. Sorry, guys ...” He glanced at Captain Adam Jones and Master Chief Petty Officer Cliff. “You’re not invited. Bonding time.”
Captain Jones showed every sign of relief. “That’s okay. I’m sure my wife will enjoy having me home on time ...” he glanced at the admiral. “For once.”
MCPO Cliff just shrugged. “Family time is good. My fiancée will approve.”
McGee just nodded. “I’ll be there. What time?”
Gibbs shrugged. “We eat at 1800. Casual dress.”
The Admiral returned to watching his son do mysterious things to his computer. He noticed that Tim had as many monitors as Gibbs did. He was a bit surprised to realize that Tim actually kept track of three at one time while the others were on static display until they were needed. He finally settled at the guest desk to watch everyone.
He realized that the three SEALs, Cale, Devereaux, and Richter were working alongside the NCIS team. He started to say something, but decided not to question it, as it was obvious that Gibbs had accepted their presence. He watched until Captain Jones cleared his throat. “Sir, you’ve got a meeting in thirty.”
“Cancel it. I’m invited to supper and ...” he glanced at his watch. “I need to go home to shower and change.” He stood up and headed for the elevators with his men in tow.
Tim glanced up, shook his head and mumbled, “Real considerate there, dude. Seriously.”
Suddenly Tony exclaimed, “Ha! Got your ass. Som’bitch.”
Gibbs eased back in his chair. “Okay. Spill.”
“Well, I got to thinking. We were wondering if it might be something he didn’t do that caused this. But it’s a bit of both. He’s responsible for oversight on this project. And doing a damn good job, actually. But ... he rejected some concrete as having too much sand. Someone actually called him down to show him. The provider was cutting corners like, whoa. So ... it was within spec, but just barely. Admiral McGee rejected it and changed providers, saying that one was playing loosey-goosey too much. Too many shipments of materials were just barely within specs. The company went bankrupt.”
Gibbs nodded. “So someone got their nose out of joint and took a potshot at our admiral. But who?”
“There’s three possibilities. One is the son of the senior partner. Two is the silent partner. And three is the senior partner himself. Tim, I sent the name to you ... Do your magic.”
Tim opened the email and did his thing. It didn’t take long to run financials, find their people, and compile his presentation.
“Okay. Everyone. We have the son, name of James Rosewood, Jr.; he’s not our perp. His alibi is ironclad; he’s in Africa on a humanitarian mission with some nut-and-berry group. Been gone for six months. The Senior Partner, James Rosewood, Sr. And what the hell is it with people and this Jr./Sr. thing?”
Tony shrugged, then interjected, “No idea, but it’s real popular with a certain class. I actually went to RIMA with a poor sap named Beauford Alexander Clement Goodbody the Fifth. Seriously ... even the nerds and geeks made fun of him.”
Everyone groaned at that, then returned to Tim’s presentation. He clicked his remote. “Mr. Rosewood Sr. is also out of the picture, as he’s in a wheelchair and has been since the collapse of a parking garage about three years ago. So that leaves the junior partner, Maximillian Franklin, as our most likely suspect. He’s been in almost complete control of the company since the accident. Mr. Rosewood Sr. works from home, but he mostly does bids and estimates. Which, in my opinion, is the main problem with the whole arrangement. He’s out of touch with costs, and his cost projections are way off the mark. So Mr. Franklin was most likely trying to close the gap by cutting corners. Who we sending to pick him up?”
Gibbs nodded to Remy. “AJ and Remy. Go.” He smirked at Remy. “And bring ‘im in alive, please.”
Remy just gave Gibbs the finger. “Jerk.”
Tony poked Remy, “Come on. I want to get this over with before we miss out on burgers and dogs.”
Remy gave Tony a horrified look. “Non, ami. We no miss dat. Allons-y.”
“Yeah, let’s go.”
They trotted out together, shoulder to shoulder
Gibbs watched them leave, then turned to Tim. “Don’t worry, we won’t stand your Dad up.”
Tim snorted. “Serve him right for all the times he stood me up. Spelling bee ... I won. He had a last-minute something with some Senator or other. High-school graduation ... I was fifteen ... Summa Cum Laude ... he was deployed, so yeah, but he didn’t even send me a card. Graduated from MIT ... not the Naval Academy. Johns-Hopkins ... still not Naval Academy. So ... If we have to stand him up, at least I’ll call him.”
Gibbs couldn’t help but wince. “Ouch. Man’s a ... No offense.”
“He’s a bad parent. I’m sure he thinks he’s a good one. And I’ll admit that he’s a good husband and a good man ... it’s just ... his priorities are skewed. Navy or nothing. Don’t worry about it. I love him ... I do. But I don’t trust him much. Something else will always be more important than me. Mom saw it but didn’t know what to do about it. Penny saw it and did the best she could. I know she’s the one who paid for my graduation car. So ... “ Tim turned his attention to getting his print-outs done.
Gibbs left it alone.
.
Contrary to popular belief, you don’t have to have a warrant to bring someone in for questioning. If you hold them for more than 48 hours, you have to get a warrant. So Tony and Remy drove to the address that Tim had given them
The house was in an obviously expensive neighborhood and looked to be in the 1.5 mil class. The car parked in the driveway was a BMW Series 7, an Alpina B7 xDrive, which started at $138,000, and this one was loaded.
Tony nodded. “Man’s gonna lawyer up before we even get back to the Yard.”
“True, too true. Sad.” Remy eyed the house with some misgivings. “Are we even gonna get in the door?”
“We’ll see. If we have to get a warrant just to pick him up ... well, I’m gonna be seriously pissed off.”
They walked up to the door and Remy knocked. The door was opened by a maid, Hispanic, older and dignified. “How can I help you?” She held the door closed with her hip and foot until she saw Tony’s badge. “Something wrong?”
“We need to speak with Mr. Franklin. Is he at home?”
“No. He went in to the office to finish some paperwork. You can come back later, or give me a number where you can be reached.” She waited patiently as Tony fished a card out of his badge wallet. He gave it to her with a slight smile. “Thank you ... Letcom? Sir?”
Tony realized that the string of letters before his name had confused her, not that unusual. “Lieutenant Commander Anthony Jethro DiNozzo, Special Agent NCIS ... Naval Criminal Investigative Service.”
“I see.” She politely but firmly shut the door in their faces.
“Well, that was a wash. Now what?” Remy led the way back to the car.
“Now we call for a warrant and see if we can’t get a search warrant for house, outbuildings, and any vehicle he owns. Wonder if he’s rabbitted.”
Remy was dialing his phone as he said, “I think we need a warrant now. I got ... a crawling on my neck.”
“Me too.”
Remy spoke with Gibbs, who agreed they needed a warrant. He told them to go to the office and wait, told them the address, and hung up.
Gibbs went to Vance, who called a judge and presented their evidence. Admittedly it was a bit scant, but the judge felt there was enough to issue a warrant for the man, his car, and his house. He was retired Navy and very sympathetic to NCIS.
They got the warrants printed out, and Vance organized a three-pronged attack, sending one crew to search the house, another to find and bring in every vehicle with Mr. Franklin’s name on it, and Gibbs’ team to arrest Mr. Franklin. Vance eyed his watch. “If you want to make it home in time to eat at 1800, you’d better put wheels under it.” He grinned at the startled looks he got. “You know I know everything worth knowing about everything going on in NCIS. Go.”
Gibbs just headed for the door. “Oscar Mike. You squids keep up.”
Tim exclaimed, “Hey!” and got a swat in the shoulder from Dean.
“Suck it up, you know you love it.”
So, Dean, Cos, Tim, and Gibbs joined Tony and Remy in front of the office building where Franklin had offices. Gibbs waved the paper in the air, announcing, “Warrant.”
They entered the building, flashed their badges at the elderly security man, and barged right into Franklin’s offices. “NCIS. Where’s Franklin’s office?”
The guard pointed, then fled the scene; he wasn’t about to stick around for the disaster that was bearing down on Franklin.
Mr. Franklin’s secretary tried to stop them, but Dean just took her by one arm and put her back in her chair. “You sit. Stay out of the line of fire ... figuratively speaking. Do not try to interfere; you don’t want to be charged with interfering with a Federal Officer.” He patted her shoulder, then hurried to catch up.
While Dean had been corralling the secretary, the rest of the group had just walked into Franklin’s office.
He jumped up and asked, “Who do you think you are? You can’t just barge in here like that.”
Tony snorted as Gibbs answered, “NCIS. Special Agent and Team Lead LJ Gibbs. You’re under arrest ... suspicion of attempted murder.” He didn’t bother to tell the man to put his hands behind his back, he just grabbed a wrist and had Franklin handcuffed in no time.
Then he got a good look at the office; it was covered with mounted heads. There were deer, antelope, a coyote, several turkeys, and a moose. He snorted softly. He was well aware that this sort of guy was a sport hunter in name only. The poor beasts had most likely been penned, like shooting fish in a barrel; expensive and childish.
But, it did prove that he thought he had the skills to pull off an assassination.
He immediately began sputtering threats, demanding that they let him go, and swearing.
No one paid any attention to him; instead, Dean and Cos dragged him out of the office and stuffed him into a car. They got in and headed for NCIS. The rest of the Pod stayed in the office and began searching it. Gibbs made a small sound and held up a rifle. “I got it.”
The rest of the search was left up to the CSI team to complete, as was the search of the vehicles and home. The only reason the MCRT ever searched anything themselves was when they were working an active crime scene, and even then they left a lot up to the techs. They were capable of doing the job, and having investigators tied up with grunt work was a waste of resources. Tony had finally managed to convince Gibbs of that by flatly refusing to waste Tim’s time, or his, on picking up cigarette butts and coffee cups.
Tony had a quick word with the Team Lead, then trotted after the rest of the Pod. They drove back to the Yard in two SUV’s; one of the NCIS mid-size SUV’s just wasn’t adequate for six men of their size. Gibbs was the smallest at six feet even and a respectable 180 pounds. Cosmo was the tallest at 6’4” and 200 pounds. The real problem was, they all had broad shoulders, and trying to put three men in the front, never mind that it was bucket seats, wasn’t going to work. So Tim, Gibbs, and Tony took one while Remy, Dean, and Cos took the other. Remy was finally over his obsessive need to stay close to Tony.
When they got back, Gibbs did something he rarely did: he turned the interview over to Balboa. When asked why, he said, “He’s one of those sorts who has to have the best of everything, all the time. Now, I’m not sayin’ that you’re second best, but he’ll think so. So ... he’s gonna be pissed off over getting arrested, and then he finds out that the ‘second string’ ...” he made air quotes, “is questioning him. That’ll make him run his mouth. Good luck, man.” He smirked, “Not that you need it.”
Balboa nodded, he appreciated the opportunity to bring in a closure, especially since Gibbs was notoriously stingy with them. “Okay. Thanks. You go off and do whatever it is you need to. If I need you, I’ll call.”
While Gibbs had been making his arrangements, Tim and Tony were happily overturning them.
.
Tim slouched at his desk, looking pissed.
Tony eyed his friend for a moment, then asked, “Okay, man, what’s got your shorts in a knot?”
“You know how long this is going to take? My father stood me up all the time. I don’t want to do him the same.”
“Okay. You print out ... our proof, and I’ll squeeze that jerk like a fuckin’ lemon.”
Dean nodded. “I’ll back you up.”
Tony grinned without humor. “No. Sorry; Remy.” Remy looked up at the mention of his name. “You’ll back me up. Tim, observation with Dean and Cos. I want you two to watch and learn.”
Dean and Cos objected to this strenuously, but Tony glowered them down. Dean whined, “But, AJ, how are we supposed to get any experience if you won’t let us work?”
“Not this time. I want in and out in twenty so we don’t stand Tim’s father up.”
That shut them both up as they realized that they were coming close to 1600 and still had to set up the grill.
It wasn’t long before Mr. Maximillian Franklin was facing something he didn’t, couldn’t, understand: people who weren’t the least bit impressed with him.
The second Tony entered the room, he started making demands. Tony let him rant for a few minutes; he might actually let something worthwhile drop. Most of the sputtering was demands: “who do you think you are;” “do you know who I am;” and a few more of what Tony called the standards. He listened for a moment, then said, “Well, Max― I can call you Max, right? Anyway ... Someone took a couple of pot shots at Admiral McGee, hitting his son Special Agent Timothy McGee instead. Now, there are only a few people who fit all our parameters, and you’re the only one in possession of a Winchester .30-.06. So ... you wanna tell me all? Or do I have to get creative?”
Max sneered and said, “I prefer Mr. Franklin. I am the CEO of a major corporation. But go ahead and get ... creative.”
“Okay. So ... here’s this ...” he slapped a picture down on the table. “And this ...” another picture. “And this ...” yet another. “You starting to see a pattern?” Several more pictures followed. “I am. You’re a cheat and a corner-cutting cumstain. People got hurt in several of those accidents. Only we’re not calling them accidents, we’re calling them attempted murder. And your little experiment in ballistics ... assassination. I’m seriously considering just arranging a little trip to Gitmo.” Tony watched Franklin for a moment; he was already sweating.
Remy eyed the man like he wanted to eat him. “Too bad we can’t do him like we do at SERE. He’d scream like a girl and babble like a runnin’ brook. But ...”
Tony eyed Remy for a moment then shook his head, looking a bit frantic. “No ... just no. We can’t do that. I’ll get fired ...” he continued in a plaintive tone. “I like my job.”
Franklin began to look really worried. “What do you do in SERE? And what’s that, anyway?”
This was just what Tony and Remy were waiting for.
Tony frowned, “Well, see, some of the trainers are more ... inventive than others. Some just go with the kick ‘em in the balls ‘till they puke. Others will tie their subject up in various ways. One favorite is to tie each ankle to the thigh then make the guy sit on the floor with his butt flat on the floor. That splays the feet out to the side. Then they tie his neck to his belt and his hands behind his back. Then they jack his arms up by tying his wrists to a hook near the ceiling. You can make a strong man cry in ten minutes.”
Remy took up the tale. “An’ den there’s old standards like water boardin’ and strappado. The first drop ain’t so bad, but by the third or fourth your shoulders are dislocated. Then there’s semi-strangulation. Tie a guy to the rafters on tip-toe and just leave ‘em. Legs get tired and he wants to drop his heels, but that half chokes him. God forbid you fall over.”
Tony nodded. “But we can’t do any of that. I’ll get fired.”
Remy just shrugged, “Suck it up, buttercup, I don’t care.”
Tony announced, “By the way, SERE training is Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape.”
Remy eyed Tony then said, “An’ how many actually escape?”
“Um ... two?”
By now Max was hanging on by a thread, psychologically speaking. He opened his mouth, closed it, breathed heavily then tried again. “I’ll talk. I swear ... all I wanted to do was scare him. I sent him an email and ... when he didn’t do what I told him to ... I took a pot shot at him. I didn’t know that other guy would get in the way. Then...” he looked like he was about to faint. “The damn thing went off a second time. I ... I mean. Oh, my God.”
Tony dropped a pen and yellow legal pad on the table. “Write it all down and sign it. And get a move on. We’re getting out of here on time for once and ... I swear, if we’re late ... you won’t like it.” Tony leaned down and breathed right in Max’s face. “See. I really hold a grudge against someone who shoots a member of my team. Either team. Jerk.”
Max started scribbling frantically, writing down what he’d done, why he’d done it, and adding details of his private life that no one was interested in. By the time his lawyer showed up, called by his housekeeper when he failed to return on time, he’d incriminated himself on several counts of fraud, supplying defective or inadequate/non-spec materials, kickbacks, and bribery… not to mention the attempted assassination.
The lawyer was furious to find out that not only was the confession not coerced and was already on file with JAG, the local Prosecuting Attorney, and several other federal agencies, but his client was on the way to DCPD to be locked up until his preliminary hearing.
Vance smirked at him and offered him a toothpick, saying, “Like one? They’re mint today. Really relieves stress.” The lawyer glared at him. “No? Okay. Then I suggest you get your ass out of my building. Good day.”
.
An hour later everyone was gathered in Gibbs’ back yard, including Jimmy and Ducky; Abby had been invited but begged off to see Junkyard Rejects.
Gibbs started the grill, then announced, “It’s charcoal tonight, so it’ll be about an hour before I can even start cooking. AJ, make patties. Someone peel onions, please.”
Tony took over the meat at once, while Remy picked up the bag of onions and settled at the picnic table to peel them. Tim joined him to slice them as they were peeled.
There was a bit of the usual banter and name-calling. Gibbs had to call them to order once; Tim and Dean were getting a bit too rough with knives in hand. They both settled back to their tasks, Dean on what they called “tater patrol” with some help from Jimmy.
They were laughing when Admiral McGee walked around the house. “I rang, but I heard you laughing, so I came around. I hope that’s okay.”
Gibbs nodded to a lawn chair. “Have a seat.”
“Does anyone need any help?” John was determined to make a good impression. Penny had raked him over the coals for twenty years over the way he’d treated Tim. He now realized that most of their problems were his fault, and he was ready to admit it.
Tony eyed the preparations. “No, thank you, sir, we’ve got it well in hand.”
“No ‘sir’ here. We’re all off duty. I’m just John.” John noted that Tim looked pleased by this.
John settled on a chair to watch the group get ready.
Tony was still patting burgers into shape, placing them on a tray as he did so. John noticed that he wet his hands between each one and wondered why. “Tim?” Tim looked over. “Why is he wetting his hands?” John nodded in Tony’s direction.
“Don’no; he just does.” Tim turned around and watched for a second before yelling, “Hey! AJ! What’s with the wet your hands thing?”
Tony waved slightly greasy hands at him. “Keeps the meat from sticking. I still need to wipe them off when they get too greasy, but it really helps.”
“Thanks.” Tim turned back to John. “And now we both know. An’ I’ll warn ya ... just to be on the safe side ... do not play darts with AJ. Poker with Dean. Or shoot against Jet or AJ.”
Gibbs interjected. “Or you. At least with a side arm. You can’t shoot worth shit with a long arm, but anything else and I wanna be on your side.” He turned his head. “Someone put the fries in.” Jimmy nodded and put the three trays of potatoes in the hot smoker.
Tim laughed. “Well, I don’t see the use ... never mind that; I just don’t have that skill set. If we need someone sniped, you’re our man. I’m good with short- and mid-range weapons and have all the skills needed to do effective flash/bang and enter. And, of course, there are my world-shatteringly exceptional computer skills.” He ducked a tennis ball and some sort of mangled Nerf ball. “Asshats. All of you, asshats. Jealous ones.”
This led to Dean and Cos jumping him and dragging him onto the grassy middle of the yard. “Gang up! Gang up!”
Tim swore at them, half laughing, half pissed. “Damn it! Get off me. Jerks.”
Dean grabbed Tim by the wrist, trying for an arm brace; it didn’t work, as Tim eeled out of his grasp and bent over to grab his ankle. When he straightened up he put Dean off balance by holding his ankle as high as he could. Dean squawked and fell on his ass. Cos made a grab for a head lock and found himself in one instead. Tim gave him a Dutch Rub, then jammed a shoulder into his stomach. Cos swore as Tim got him in a fireman’s carry and started hopping in place.
“Digimon, damn it, I’ll puke down your neck. Put me down, jerk.”
Everyone else was laughing at their antics until Gibbs called them to order. “Tim, put Cos down. If he pukes on you you’re not using my shower.”
Remy yelled, “Hose for you, homme. An’ dat cold as a witch’s heart.”
Tim dropped Cos and gave Remy the finger. Remy just chuckled, “Non, ami, yo too ugly.”
Gibbs mostly ignored the carrying on and busied himself with putting the burgers on the grill. “Burgers are on. Dogs in five. Get the table set. John, you could go to the kitchen and help carry out things.”
John didn’t take offense; Penny always said he was too aware of his rank for his own good, so he was really trying to lighten up. He was fairly successful.
When he reached the kitchen, Remy was already putting things onto the small table by the door. He glanced around the kitchen, then did a double-take. The table in the middle of the room was made of exotic woods with craftsmanship that indicated a master’s hand. “Nice table.”
Remy nodded, handing him a bowl as he did so. “Dat it is. Jet made it. He got such a hand wit’ wood. Amazin’”
“Gibbs made that?”
“Did do.” Remy handed a basket lined with paper towels to Dean. “Fo’ de fries.”
John took the hint and went out with the bowl. He put it in the middle of the table then turned back for another. Tim followed him to start bringing out the buns, condiments, and the rest of the salads.
When they had everything on the table, Gibbs pointed to the foot of the table. “John, sit there. The rest of you yahoos, sit it.” Everyone scrambled for their usual places.
John realized that the spot he was in actually belonged to someone. “Whose place am I sitting in?”
Tim smiled. “Ducky’s. He’s playing bridge tonight. Championships. I hope he brings in the card.”
“Brings in the card?” John looked at the huge piles of food and wondered how much would actually be left. He’d already noticed that every man had two dogs and two burgers on a huge glass plate. “And why is everyone eating off a trencher?”
Tony chuckled and answered that first. “We all eat like two football players so we gave up on regular plates. Ducky found these at Dollar General. They’re service liners. You’re supposed to put plates on them. Keeps the linens clean.”
Dean answered the first question. “The Bridge League of DC gives out trophies shaped like a playing card. An ace of Spades, if I’m not mistaken. The usual gold, silver, and bronze. So they say they brought in a card if they win, place, or show.”
“I see.” John realized that he felt exceptionally awkward. He didn’t really know these men and didn’t relate to them very well. He knew they were all uncomfortable as well. He decided to keep his attempts to reconcile with Tim more private from now on; but he did think he’d made a bit of headway.
Tim was of the same opinion; he watched as his father tried to make conversation with his friends, but he was too aware of his rank and too unaware of social conventions among lower ranks off duty. He was ADMINISTRATION, in capital letters, and everyone else was subordinate, in lower case. While, with the Pod, everyone was equal, period. They obeyed orders from Gibbs and Tony because they had earned the respect needed to make any order reasonable, no matter how odd it seemed.
John noted how much Tim was eating and remarked, “Maybe you should take it a bit easy there. You always had a tendency to be a bit chubby.”
Tim just helped himself to another burger before he replied, “Out-grew that before I was twelve. Ducky’s on me about my diet already. He wants me eating 3500 calories or more a day. I’ve lost ten pounds in the last month.”
Tony took up the defense, “Ten pounds that you can’t afford to lose. Eat!” He plopped a spoonful of baked beans onto his plate.
Tim nodded thanks, as his mouth was now full of slaw.
John subsided, flushing a bit.
Gibbs took pity on the man and changed the subject. “Cleanup is me, Remy, and Tim. The rest of you police the yard. Admiral, we’ll be done in about thirty. You can hang or do ...” he waved a hand, “whatever. No one’ll care.”
John decided to go ahead and leave; the awkwardness was really getting to him. “I think I’ll leave. I did promise to call Penny tonight, and ... I’m not sure how the times line up.”
Tim shrugged. “That’s too bad ... that you need to leave already. Where is she?”
“Vienna.”
“Which Vienna?” John gave Tim an odd look. “There’s a Vienna or New Vienna in twelve states. Actually, Ohio has Vienna, New Vienna, and South Vienna. So I’m assuming you mean Austria. But it’s one a.m. there, right now so ... Suit yourself. Wouldn’t put it past her to be up. If you’re leaving, I’ll walk you out.”
“I think I should.” John turned to walk out with Tim by his side.
Tim ambled along, taking his time, hoping that his father didn’t feel like he was trying to hustle him out the door. John paced him.
“Well, I’m glad to see that you have true friends. I always worried about that.”
“I’m fine. AJ’s ... always got my six. Remy’s his bud and 2IC. Dean and Cos ... they’re part of the Pod. Gibbs is my boss and good friend. And there’s Jimmy and Ducky, and Abby. I’d name off a few more but ... this bunch is my family. Not blood, but family I chose.” Tim ruffled his Short Ivy League. “Father ... what do you want?”
“Well, short and to the point. I like that. I ... I’ve always intended to be a good father but ... first I was deployed more than I was ashore. Then ... well, you didn’t live up to my expectations and I didn’t realize that it was way too late to try to force you into a mold ... one that you didn’t fit anyway. So ... I’m hoping that we can have ... a cordial relationship. If you’re interested, that is.”
Tim nodded. “I am. It’s going to be a bit hard. You’re busy and so am I. But I’d like to try to get together whenever you’re not busy and I don’t have a case. All we can do is try.”
John offered Tim his hand, which Tim shook. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your friends. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye, Father.” Tim watched as his father ―he’d never think of him as dad― got into his car and drove off. “Well, that wasn’t awkward at all.”
Gibbs’ voice from behind him didn’t even make him flinch. “Nope, not at all.” Gibbs patted Tim’s shoulder. “Let’s get back. You’ve got chores.”
So Tim turned around and headed back to the comfort of his chosen family.
I've also just started my next story.
Chapter 3
Tony had to grin when he entered the room; Dean and Cos always sat side by side, so Cos was determinedly pushing Remy away from the saved seat. Remy, for his part, was just bugging Cos for the hell of it; he knew good and well that he was going to sit in his usual seat beside Tony. Jimmy was carefully poking at Tim’s bared back and grumbling under his breath. Ducky was watching with an amused smile. Abby was handing out drinks. Admiral McGee and his 2IC were watching with bemused expressions
Jimmy handed Tim his shirt. “Food’s here. Bruises are fading fast. You’re cleared for field duty as of now.”
“Thanks, Gremlin.” he pulled his t-shirt over his head then picked up his shirt. “Smells good. I’m starved.”
He took his place next to Jimmy, who was seated next to Ducky. Due to the addition of the Admiral and his two aides, the seating was a bit different. Starting at the head of the table was Gibbs; then, on Gibbs’ right, Tony, Remy, Dean, Cos, and Captain Adam Jones. At the foot was the Admiral, who had instructed everyone that, since he was in their territory and he felt it was counterproductive, they should address him as John or sir, and not salute, as they were not on duty with the Navy. On his right was MCPO Cliff, who admitted that he hated his first name and never used it. Then Abby, Tim, Jimmy, and Ducky at Gibbs’ left hand.
All the food was now in the middle of the table, due to Abby’s jumping up to help Cliff put everything out. She’d cheated just a bit and brought up some things from her lab to make serving a bit easier. She’d brought a huge steel bowl and simply dumped all the individual salads into it and tossed them with dressing by emptying all the tiny packets of dressing into it, then flipping them together like flipping stir-fry in a wok. The garlic bread had been put out by opening the packages and putting them at intervals down the middle of the table. The other dishes were all in front of Gibbs.
John raised an eyebrow at this but didn’t say anything.
Tim took pity on him and explained, “Gibbs serves himself first. Ducky’s usually on his right and gets second. That way they’re sure to get some. We do tend to ... inhale food.”
“I see. If there isn’t enough?”
“We’ll deal. Might send out for some more.” Tim accepted the first pan which contained baked ziti. He took a huge serving, catching the strings of mozzarella with a finger. “Mmmm. Toast, please.”
John watched the semi-contained chaos created by getting twelve people fed. He made sure that Abby didn’t get pushed aside, although he didn’t need to. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself.
Gibbs grabbed the salad bowl and started it on its way. When it reached her, Abby took some and passed it along, then looked around. “There. And I want my tea. Who the hell snitched my tea?” She glowered around and caught Dean just finishing the bottle off. “Hey! That was mine! And do not say, snoozers, losers, jerk.” Remy just shrugged, made a long arm and handed her another. “Well, okay, then.”
John cleared his throat to catch everyone’s attention. “Gentlemen...”
He didn’t get much farther as Jimmy looked around in mock panic, demanding, “Where!? Where!?” This earned him a swat on the shoulder from Tim.
“Can that. Jerk.”
“Bitch.”
Gibbs glowered, “Shut it.”
They all turned their attention back to John, who just glowered for a second, then said, “As I was saying ... Anyone have any ideas?”
Tim shook his head. His mouth was full of chicken Alfredo with broccoli and carrots. A chorus of no’s and some head-shaking followed.
Gibbs swallowed a mouthful of spaghetti and meat balls covered in parmesan cheese and said, “The bottom line is ... we got nothing. I’m sending everyone home early ... or down to the gym. We’ll start again tomorrow morning when we’re fresh. There’s something somewhere; we’re just missing it.”
John thought for a moment, then said, “It’s something so obvious that we’re not considering it to be out of the ordinary.”
Tony poked at his salad. “Mmmm. It might be ordinary to one of us ... your group, at least, but it wasn’t ordinary to ... our unsub. So ... what ...”
Captain Jones said, “I think ... Admiral McGee has the power to turn down bids on this project without submitting them higher up. That’s actually his whole job ... to weed out the unrealistic bids before submitting them. So ... who did we turn down ... that had a problem. Look at them.”
Tim nodded. “We thought of that. Nothing pinged. I’ll set up for more searches tomorrow. Maybe a fresh perspective will help.”
They all went back to their food, except for Abby. She had finished while the rest were talking, so she started picking up empties and stuffing them into a big garbage bag. “I wish there was something I could do. If there was some bit of forensic evidence, I’d be all over it. But I’ve already gone over everything with a fine-tooth comb. The bullets were common Winchester .30-.06. Not even a fancy round; just a common hunting round.”
John scowled into his coffee cup. “But that tells us something. Whoever did this isn’t military. I wouldn’t think so, at least. They don’t have access to military arms and didn’t think to buy surplus. So, what does that tell us?”
Tim frowned, “It tells us that it has to be a supplier or provider. So, I’ll go over that list of denied bids ... again. I’m ... If I ... hummm.” he stared at a wall for a bit.
John was just getting ready to snark at him when Gibbs caught his eye and shook his head.
Tim got up and wandered out, mumbling to himself.
Remy allowed, “We really need another attack. If we got dat we get ‘em good.” He waved a hand at John. “Not dat I wan’ ya shot at again, but ... No offense.” He shrugged in that Cajun way of his.
John snorted. “None taken. Where’d Tim go?”
Gibbs thought for a moment. “Back to his desk, most likely. Probably had an idea and went to set up some computer thing or other. Do not get him started, four words into any explanation and I’m so lost I’d need a compass, map, and GPS to find my ass.”
“He’s that good?”
Tony snorted. “Good? Man ... and this goes no farther than that door. Seriously.” All three men nodded. “Good. You fuck up an’ I’ll turn you over to Abby. But ... he hacked the CIA, Homeland, and FBI. Not to mention that he’s got clearance so high that he handles security for the SEAL mainframe. He cracked that in five minutes ... without Abby’s help.”
Abby nodded. “He’s so good it’s actually scary. He got pissed at ... never mind who. Totally erased their e-life. Put it all back 24 hours later without leaving a trace,” she snickered. “He’s almost as good as me.”
Dean snorted. “He’s better than you.”
“Excuse me?”
“No insult intended, but he is.” Dean nodded once as if that settled things.
Abby eyed him for a moment, then grumbled, “Bros befo’ hos. Jerk.”
“It’s not that at all. Just ... after you’ve done the things we’ve done ... well, it’s special.” Dean’s wide-eyed, panicked look made Abby laugh.
“Well, okay, then.” She started to say something, then changed her mind, instead she yelped, “Oh! Oh, darn. I so totally forgot. Here.” She pulled a printout from her purse and handed it to Tony. “Here, AJ.”
Tony took it and opened it to read. “Okay. This is sweet. Thanks Abby.”
Remy grabbed but missed. “Damn it, AJ. Secrets, man.”
“We just got permission from the Coast Guard to resume our swims. Great. All we have to do is call in advance so they know not to rush out to rescue us.” He grinned, hugged Abby, much to her satisfaction, and pulled out his phone. “Three hours to go. I’ll call now. So ... who’s up for a bit of a swim?”
It seemed that everyone was up for a bit of a swim, except for Ducky and Abby. Jimmy called Tim to make sure he was and was informed that he was due a smack down for even asking. Jimmy laughed and hung up on him. “Tim’s in.”
Tony made the call and was told that there would be a twenty-five foot Defender RB-S standing by in twenty. “Okay, guys, we got twenty to hit the water. Fins and snorkels. Go!” They all took off for the locker room at a trot, with Remy dialing Tim to get his ass in gear or get left behind.
John was startled to see Gibbs, Tim, and Jimmy head out with the rest. He got up to follow but was stopped by Captain Jones. “We better give them time to change. Besides, if we don’t hurry, all the good spots will be gone. The Barry doesn’t permit rubberneckers aboard just to watch them swim. They do put up a watch at the stern.”
“Very well.” The Admiral put his cover on, indicating that he was ready to go. The three men headed for the dock on MCPO Cliff’s recommendation and arrived just in time to see the Pod leave the locker room back door, trot across an open parking lot, the median between the lot and the boarding ramp/ticket booth of the Barry and onto the rock-covered bank of the Anacostia River. It turned out that the captain of the Barry had politely asked the Pod to stop diving off the dock, as it caused a suicide alarm every time.
Gibbs settled on a rock to put on his fins, followed by the rest of the Pod. “I swear. That watch commander aboard the Barry is an old woman. Seriously ... eight guys dive off the damn dock and someone yells suicide? When, if ever, have more than two or three committed suicide at one time?”
Dean shook his head as he put on his fins. “Don’t know. Outside of mass religious suicide ... never. Oh, look. They sent three men.” He pointed to the Defender RB-S that was cruising up at about five knots. “Sweet.”
Tony led the way, followed by Remy, then Dean and Cos, Jimmy, and Tim; Gibbs brought up the rear.
Tim took a deep breath and submerged, Tony wanted them to swim as far as they could on one breath before using their snorkels. No one had any idea how he knew how far they went but he did, and he’d call them on slacking, saying, “I’ve only got eighty five per cent capacity and I can stay under for ... like ... six minutes swimming, longer if I’m just down. So ... suck it up, SEAL.” and they did.
It wasn’t long before most of the observers lost sight of the Pod, as they were all underwater. Admiral McGee was not one of them, mostly due to MCPO Cliff, who could point out the small V’s of white water caused by the tube of the snorkel. He was interested to see that the swimmers made a tight, staggered group of three and three with one swimmer seeming to be undecided as to where he was going.
“What the hell is that one man doing?”
“Sir, that’s AJ DiNozzo. He’s their CO, so I assume he’s keeping track of who’s where and checking to see if anyone is in trouble.”
“Ah!” The Admiral nodded his understanding and went back to observing.
.
Tony stopped swimming just long enough to check his group. Tim was doing well, but his mask was filling up with water. This was not a good thing in that, if he forgot and breathed in through his nose, he’d have a snoot full of water. He blocked Tim who looked at him. He tapped his mask and signed in ASL, “Empty that.” Tim nodded, emptied his mask, and returned to swimming.
Remy and Cos were neck-and-neck, moving smoothly and silently. Tony nodded to both of them and moved on.
Dean and Jimmy were flanking Gibbs so that he wasn’t swimming alone. All three of them were swimming strongly, so Tony drifted to the back of the pod to watch. The water was a bit cloudy, but he could see silhouettes, and that was good enough.
The Defender paced them, one of the crewmen keeping track of the snorkels with binoculars. It was easy to see the small V’s of disturbed water from the boat.
They made the other side in good time and waddled out onto the bank for a quick discussion. “Okay. Tim, make sure to keep your mask empty; you breathe in a mask of water, you’re not gonna be a happy SEAL. Jimmy, you and Dean did good. No one swims alone, so I’m pleased that you paced Jet.” Gibbs nodded his thanks, but kept silent. “Remy, Cos, good work. We did good. It’s right at a half-mile across here, so we did about three knots. That’s some good swimming in this river. Let’s head back.” He started back into the water, calling over his shoulder, “Surface, this time. And push it. I want you to average at least four knots.” And with that, he surface-dived, then came up and began to swim toward the dock.
Everyone grumbled a bit, but followed easily enough.
The swim back was easier for the observers; the Pod were all just under the surface rather than as deep as the snorkel would allow. They showed up well against the deep, dark river. The flickering, wavering forms cut the waves easily, and the swim back was accomplished at the four-knot speed that Tony had demanded.
They waded out of the river about a hundred yards down from the Barry, at the end of Patterson Ave. They were met by a small group of off-duty Marines who made a habit of looking for them. The Marines handed out towels, drinks, and criticisms.
“Thanks, guys. You’re all hired.” Tony rubbed his short Ivy League with a towel. “Get yourselves a pizza. Send me the bill.”
One of the young Marines replied, “You don’t have to do that, sir. Our pleasure.”
Tony grinned at them all. “I don’t generally do what I have to do. I push it off on one of those poor fools.” He indicated his teammates with a nod. “I want to.”
“Well, in that case, thank you, sir.” The young man gathered up the towels that Tony had used and trotted off to his buddies. It didn’t take them long to gather their stuff, including the drink bottles and related trash, and decide on pizzas. The team lead returned to Tony. “Okay. Here’s what we want.” It was only seconds and Tony was authorizing payment to the nearest pizza place. “There. The order is in at Mama Cozetti’s; the pies will be done in thirty. Better get a move on.”
The young men saluted and headed out. Gibbs nodded. “Good men. Some of those young men will make good CO’s.”
Tony nodded. “That they will. I’ve called their CO. He’s putting a note in all their jackets.”
“Good.”
The Admiral and his men drove up in an SUV. No one had any idea where they got it, and it drove away at once. “I’ll walk with you.”
Tony glanced at Tim, who just shrugged, then said, “Keep up.”
It seemed that the admiral and his men were in the same shape as most middle-aged bureaucrats, not to mention the inappropriateness of their shoes and clothing; they were panting in seconds. They dropped to a normal walking pace and followed the Pod.
Tim glanced back once, then faced forward. Tony was pacing him and noticed. “What do you think he wants? Really.”
“I don’t know for sure, but ... he’s seen me run the Spartan, he’s had someone in his team checking up on me. My take? He’s realized that I’m not some useless geek and he wants to ... make amends? Get on my good side? Not that sure ... and I really don’t care. We’ll have a ... nice relationship but I’m not trusting him just yet.”
Tony nodded. “Just didn’t want you to get your heart broken. Been there.”
“Thanks.”
Tony trotted up the line to pace Gibbs. “Any idea what the hell that idiot, John McGee, is up to?”
“Nope. Not even sure he knows. We’ll just hang and be ready to pick up the pieces.”
“Okay. Good enough ... I guess.” Tony looked doubtful.
Remy had overheard, so he dropped back to run on the other side of Tony. “AJ, we family. We got his six. It all be fine.”
.
They reached NCIS and headed into the locker room to shower and dress.
Tony nodded to Remy. “We did good. I like the times and ...” he smiled at Gibbs a bit absently. “Gibbs, Tim, and Jimmy are all BAMFs. Wouldn’t worry about having any of them on my six.”
Remy threw a t-shirt and hit Tony in the face. “Me neither. Gibbs is tough as an old boot. Jimmy just ... man’s a machine. And Tim ... I swear I don’t know what his ol’ man was ever thinkin’.”
Gibbs joined the conversation. “Man is well aware he threw away flesh and blood. He’s tryin’ to make amends as best he can ... Don’t think it’s gonna work the way he thinks.”
Dean joined in. “Digimon will forgive him ... he’s that way. But he’ll never forget and won’t give him a chance to ... repeat the offense. If you get my meaning. He’ll always be a bit reserved.”
Cos agreed. “Yeah, exactly. Oops ... here he comes.”
Tim walked out of the showers just then, a lava-lava wrapped around his waist, rubbing his hair with a towel. He looked up, assumed that they were staring at his wrap, and demanded, “What? Abby gave it to me. It’s considered very com il faut in Oceania.”
The whole Pod eyed the length of cloth; finally Jimmy offered, “But ... dude ... it’s fuckin’ pink!”
Tim looked down then offered. “Not entirely. It’s ... well, orange and teal too.”
This brought about a barrage of rolled socks, wet towels and other soft projectiles. “Well, it is! Jerks.” Tim turned his back to them and started rummaging in his locker for clean clothing. “Damn. I swear, I go through more fuckin’ stuff.” He finally found a semi-clean pair of jeans and a shirt. He swore as the shirt didn’t pass the sniff test. “I’ve got to restock my ruck. This is ridiculous. Anyone have a clean shirt I can mooch?”
Dean wadded up a henley and tossed it at Tim. “Here. It’s too small for me, so you can keep it.”
Tim tugged the shirt on over his head then said, “Thanks.” He smoothed it out over his chest. “It fits ... a bit snug but ... meh.”
They all finished dressing, winding up in some variation of BDU’s.
Gibbs took charge. “Okay. Let’s all head for the bullpen for a bit. Wind up anything we’ve got going, check paperwork, and then get out of here.” On the way up the stairs he told Tim, “Tim, you know I’m havin’ burgers and dogs; invite your dad if you want. Tell ‘im to leave the staff behind.”
“Okay. Thanks, Jet. Really appreciate that.” Tim frowned slightly, wondering how this was going to go over.
Remy patted him on the shoulder. “Do’an worry. We get ‘long wit ‘im. We all off duty so it be okay.” He grinned, then trotted off to check for mail of any kind from his contacts.
They split up to go to their desks and settled in to finish the day; no one was pleased to see Admiral McGee stride up with his two satellites. “Timothy, well done. What are you doing now?”
Tim didn’t bother to look up from his typing as he answered, “Checking results, emails, and some other bits and pieces.”
“Look at me when I’m talking to you.” The Admiral didn’t seem to be able to stop poking the bear.
“I know what you look like and this is important. We’re still looking for our shooter. Sit down somewhere and decide if you want to come to Gibbs’ place for burgers and dogs. Sorry, guys ...” He glanced at Captain Adam Jones and Master Chief Petty Officer Cliff. “You’re not invited. Bonding time.”
Captain Jones showed every sign of relief. “That’s okay. I’m sure my wife will enjoy having me home on time ...” he glanced at the admiral. “For once.”
MCPO Cliff just shrugged. “Family time is good. My fiancée will approve.”
McGee just nodded. “I’ll be there. What time?”
Gibbs shrugged. “We eat at 1800. Casual dress.”
The Admiral returned to watching his son do mysterious things to his computer. He noticed that Tim had as many monitors as Gibbs did. He was a bit surprised to realize that Tim actually kept track of three at one time while the others were on static display until they were needed. He finally settled at the guest desk to watch everyone.
He realized that the three SEALs, Cale, Devereaux, and Richter were working alongside the NCIS team. He started to say something, but decided not to question it, as it was obvious that Gibbs had accepted their presence. He watched until Captain Jones cleared his throat. “Sir, you’ve got a meeting in thirty.”
“Cancel it. I’m invited to supper and ...” he glanced at his watch. “I need to go home to shower and change.” He stood up and headed for the elevators with his men in tow.
Tim glanced up, shook his head and mumbled, “Real considerate there, dude. Seriously.”
Suddenly Tony exclaimed, “Ha! Got your ass. Som’bitch.”
Gibbs eased back in his chair. “Okay. Spill.”
“Well, I got to thinking. We were wondering if it might be something he didn’t do that caused this. But it’s a bit of both. He’s responsible for oversight on this project. And doing a damn good job, actually. But ... he rejected some concrete as having too much sand. Someone actually called him down to show him. The provider was cutting corners like, whoa. So ... it was within spec, but just barely. Admiral McGee rejected it and changed providers, saying that one was playing loosey-goosey too much. Too many shipments of materials were just barely within specs. The company went bankrupt.”
Gibbs nodded. “So someone got their nose out of joint and took a potshot at our admiral. But who?”
“There’s three possibilities. One is the son of the senior partner. Two is the silent partner. And three is the senior partner himself. Tim, I sent the name to you ... Do your magic.”
Tim opened the email and did his thing. It didn’t take long to run financials, find their people, and compile his presentation.
“Okay. Everyone. We have the son, name of James Rosewood, Jr.; he’s not our perp. His alibi is ironclad; he’s in Africa on a humanitarian mission with some nut-and-berry group. Been gone for six months. The Senior Partner, James Rosewood, Sr. And what the hell is it with people and this Jr./Sr. thing?”
Tony shrugged, then interjected, “No idea, but it’s real popular with a certain class. I actually went to RIMA with a poor sap named Beauford Alexander Clement Goodbody the Fifth. Seriously ... even the nerds and geeks made fun of him.”
Everyone groaned at that, then returned to Tim’s presentation. He clicked his remote. “Mr. Rosewood Sr. is also out of the picture, as he’s in a wheelchair and has been since the collapse of a parking garage about three years ago. So that leaves the junior partner, Maximillian Franklin, as our most likely suspect. He’s been in almost complete control of the company since the accident. Mr. Rosewood Sr. works from home, but he mostly does bids and estimates. Which, in my opinion, is the main problem with the whole arrangement. He’s out of touch with costs, and his cost projections are way off the mark. So Mr. Franklin was most likely trying to close the gap by cutting corners. Who we sending to pick him up?”
Gibbs nodded to Remy. “AJ and Remy. Go.” He smirked at Remy. “And bring ‘im in alive, please.”
Remy just gave Gibbs the finger. “Jerk.”
Tony poked Remy, “Come on. I want to get this over with before we miss out on burgers and dogs.”
Remy gave Tony a horrified look. “Non, ami. We no miss dat. Allons-y.”
“Yeah, let’s go.”
They trotted out together, shoulder to shoulder
Gibbs watched them leave, then turned to Tim. “Don’t worry, we won’t stand your Dad up.”
Tim snorted. “Serve him right for all the times he stood me up. Spelling bee ... I won. He had a last-minute something with some Senator or other. High-school graduation ... I was fifteen ... Summa Cum Laude ... he was deployed, so yeah, but he didn’t even send me a card. Graduated from MIT ... not the Naval Academy. Johns-Hopkins ... still not Naval Academy. So ... If we have to stand him up, at least I’ll call him.”
Gibbs couldn’t help but wince. “Ouch. Man’s a ... No offense.”
“He’s a bad parent. I’m sure he thinks he’s a good one. And I’ll admit that he’s a good husband and a good man ... it’s just ... his priorities are skewed. Navy or nothing. Don’t worry about it. I love him ... I do. But I don’t trust him much. Something else will always be more important than me. Mom saw it but didn’t know what to do about it. Penny saw it and did the best she could. I know she’s the one who paid for my graduation car. So ... “ Tim turned his attention to getting his print-outs done.
Gibbs left it alone.
.
Contrary to popular belief, you don’t have to have a warrant to bring someone in for questioning. If you hold them for more than 48 hours, you have to get a warrant. So Tony and Remy drove to the address that Tim had given them
The house was in an obviously expensive neighborhood and looked to be in the 1.5 mil class. The car parked in the driveway was a BMW Series 7, an Alpina B7 xDrive, which started at $138,000, and this one was loaded.
Tony nodded. “Man’s gonna lawyer up before we even get back to the Yard.”
“True, too true. Sad.” Remy eyed the house with some misgivings. “Are we even gonna get in the door?”
“We’ll see. If we have to get a warrant just to pick him up ... well, I’m gonna be seriously pissed off.”
They walked up to the door and Remy knocked. The door was opened by a maid, Hispanic, older and dignified. “How can I help you?” She held the door closed with her hip and foot until she saw Tony’s badge. “Something wrong?”
“We need to speak with Mr. Franklin. Is he at home?”
“No. He went in to the office to finish some paperwork. You can come back later, or give me a number where you can be reached.” She waited patiently as Tony fished a card out of his badge wallet. He gave it to her with a slight smile. “Thank you ... Letcom? Sir?”
Tony realized that the string of letters before his name had confused her, not that unusual. “Lieutenant Commander Anthony Jethro DiNozzo, Special Agent NCIS ... Naval Criminal Investigative Service.”
“I see.” She politely but firmly shut the door in their faces.
“Well, that was a wash. Now what?” Remy led the way back to the car.
“Now we call for a warrant and see if we can’t get a search warrant for house, outbuildings, and any vehicle he owns. Wonder if he’s rabbitted.”
Remy was dialing his phone as he said, “I think we need a warrant now. I got ... a crawling on my neck.”
“Me too.”
Remy spoke with Gibbs, who agreed they needed a warrant. He told them to go to the office and wait, told them the address, and hung up.
Gibbs went to Vance, who called a judge and presented their evidence. Admittedly it was a bit scant, but the judge felt there was enough to issue a warrant for the man, his car, and his house. He was retired Navy and very sympathetic to NCIS.
They got the warrants printed out, and Vance organized a three-pronged attack, sending one crew to search the house, another to find and bring in every vehicle with Mr. Franklin’s name on it, and Gibbs’ team to arrest Mr. Franklin. Vance eyed his watch. “If you want to make it home in time to eat at 1800, you’d better put wheels under it.” He grinned at the startled looks he got. “You know I know everything worth knowing about everything going on in NCIS. Go.”
Gibbs just headed for the door. “Oscar Mike. You squids keep up.”
Tim exclaimed, “Hey!” and got a swat in the shoulder from Dean.
“Suck it up, you know you love it.”
So, Dean, Cos, Tim, and Gibbs joined Tony and Remy in front of the office building where Franklin had offices. Gibbs waved the paper in the air, announcing, “Warrant.”
They entered the building, flashed their badges at the elderly security man, and barged right into Franklin’s offices. “NCIS. Where’s Franklin’s office?”
The guard pointed, then fled the scene; he wasn’t about to stick around for the disaster that was bearing down on Franklin.
Mr. Franklin’s secretary tried to stop them, but Dean just took her by one arm and put her back in her chair. “You sit. Stay out of the line of fire ... figuratively speaking. Do not try to interfere; you don’t want to be charged with interfering with a Federal Officer.” He patted her shoulder, then hurried to catch up.
While Dean had been corralling the secretary, the rest of the group had just walked into Franklin’s office.
He jumped up and asked, “Who do you think you are? You can’t just barge in here like that.”
Tony snorted as Gibbs answered, “NCIS. Special Agent and Team Lead LJ Gibbs. You’re under arrest ... suspicion of attempted murder.” He didn’t bother to tell the man to put his hands behind his back, he just grabbed a wrist and had Franklin handcuffed in no time.
Then he got a good look at the office; it was covered with mounted heads. There were deer, antelope, a coyote, several turkeys, and a moose. He snorted softly. He was well aware that this sort of guy was a sport hunter in name only. The poor beasts had most likely been penned, like shooting fish in a barrel; expensive and childish.
But, it did prove that he thought he had the skills to pull off an assassination.
He immediately began sputtering threats, demanding that they let him go, and swearing.
No one paid any attention to him; instead, Dean and Cos dragged him out of the office and stuffed him into a car. They got in and headed for NCIS. The rest of the Pod stayed in the office and began searching it. Gibbs made a small sound and held up a rifle. “I got it.”
The rest of the search was left up to the CSI team to complete, as was the search of the vehicles and home. The only reason the MCRT ever searched anything themselves was when they were working an active crime scene, and even then they left a lot up to the techs. They were capable of doing the job, and having investigators tied up with grunt work was a waste of resources. Tony had finally managed to convince Gibbs of that by flatly refusing to waste Tim’s time, or his, on picking up cigarette butts and coffee cups.
Tony had a quick word with the Team Lead, then trotted after the rest of the Pod. They drove back to the Yard in two SUV’s; one of the NCIS mid-size SUV’s just wasn’t adequate for six men of their size. Gibbs was the smallest at six feet even and a respectable 180 pounds. Cosmo was the tallest at 6’4” and 200 pounds. The real problem was, they all had broad shoulders, and trying to put three men in the front, never mind that it was bucket seats, wasn’t going to work. So Tim, Gibbs, and Tony took one while Remy, Dean, and Cos took the other. Remy was finally over his obsessive need to stay close to Tony.
When they got back, Gibbs did something he rarely did: he turned the interview over to Balboa. When asked why, he said, “He’s one of those sorts who has to have the best of everything, all the time. Now, I’m not sayin’ that you’re second best, but he’ll think so. So ... he’s gonna be pissed off over getting arrested, and then he finds out that the ‘second string’ ...” he made air quotes, “is questioning him. That’ll make him run his mouth. Good luck, man.” He smirked, “Not that you need it.”
Balboa nodded, he appreciated the opportunity to bring in a closure, especially since Gibbs was notoriously stingy with them. “Okay. Thanks. You go off and do whatever it is you need to. If I need you, I’ll call.”
While Gibbs had been making his arrangements, Tim and Tony were happily overturning them.
.
Tim slouched at his desk, looking pissed.
Tony eyed his friend for a moment, then asked, “Okay, man, what’s got your shorts in a knot?”
“You know how long this is going to take? My father stood me up all the time. I don’t want to do him the same.”
“Okay. You print out ... our proof, and I’ll squeeze that jerk like a fuckin’ lemon.”
Dean nodded. “I’ll back you up.”
Tony grinned without humor. “No. Sorry; Remy.” Remy looked up at the mention of his name. “You’ll back me up. Tim, observation with Dean and Cos. I want you two to watch and learn.”
Dean and Cos objected to this strenuously, but Tony glowered them down. Dean whined, “But, AJ, how are we supposed to get any experience if you won’t let us work?”
“Not this time. I want in and out in twenty so we don’t stand Tim’s father up.”
That shut them both up as they realized that they were coming close to 1600 and still had to set up the grill.
It wasn’t long before Mr. Maximillian Franklin was facing something he didn’t, couldn’t, understand: people who weren’t the least bit impressed with him.
The second Tony entered the room, he started making demands. Tony let him rant for a few minutes; he might actually let something worthwhile drop. Most of the sputtering was demands: “who do you think you are;” “do you know who I am;” and a few more of what Tony called the standards. He listened for a moment, then said, “Well, Max― I can call you Max, right? Anyway ... Someone took a couple of pot shots at Admiral McGee, hitting his son Special Agent Timothy McGee instead. Now, there are only a few people who fit all our parameters, and you’re the only one in possession of a Winchester .30-.06. So ... you wanna tell me all? Or do I have to get creative?”
Max sneered and said, “I prefer Mr. Franklin. I am the CEO of a major corporation. But go ahead and get ... creative.”
“Okay. So ... here’s this ...” he slapped a picture down on the table. “And this ...” another picture. “And this ...” yet another. “You starting to see a pattern?” Several more pictures followed. “I am. You’re a cheat and a corner-cutting cumstain. People got hurt in several of those accidents. Only we’re not calling them accidents, we’re calling them attempted murder. And your little experiment in ballistics ... assassination. I’m seriously considering just arranging a little trip to Gitmo.” Tony watched Franklin for a moment; he was already sweating.
Remy eyed the man like he wanted to eat him. “Too bad we can’t do him like we do at SERE. He’d scream like a girl and babble like a runnin’ brook. But ...”
Tony eyed Remy for a moment then shook his head, looking a bit frantic. “No ... just no. We can’t do that. I’ll get fired ...” he continued in a plaintive tone. “I like my job.”
Franklin began to look really worried. “What do you do in SERE? And what’s that, anyway?”
This was just what Tony and Remy were waiting for.
Tony frowned, “Well, see, some of the trainers are more ... inventive than others. Some just go with the kick ‘em in the balls ‘till they puke. Others will tie their subject up in various ways. One favorite is to tie each ankle to the thigh then make the guy sit on the floor with his butt flat on the floor. That splays the feet out to the side. Then they tie his neck to his belt and his hands behind his back. Then they jack his arms up by tying his wrists to a hook near the ceiling. You can make a strong man cry in ten minutes.”
Remy took up the tale. “An’ den there’s old standards like water boardin’ and strappado. The first drop ain’t so bad, but by the third or fourth your shoulders are dislocated. Then there’s semi-strangulation. Tie a guy to the rafters on tip-toe and just leave ‘em. Legs get tired and he wants to drop his heels, but that half chokes him. God forbid you fall over.”
Tony nodded. “But we can’t do any of that. I’ll get fired.”
Remy just shrugged, “Suck it up, buttercup, I don’t care.”
Tony announced, “By the way, SERE training is Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape.”
Remy eyed Tony then said, “An’ how many actually escape?”
“Um ... two?”
By now Max was hanging on by a thread, psychologically speaking. He opened his mouth, closed it, breathed heavily then tried again. “I’ll talk. I swear ... all I wanted to do was scare him. I sent him an email and ... when he didn’t do what I told him to ... I took a pot shot at him. I didn’t know that other guy would get in the way. Then...” he looked like he was about to faint. “The damn thing went off a second time. I ... I mean. Oh, my God.”
Tony dropped a pen and yellow legal pad on the table. “Write it all down and sign it. And get a move on. We’re getting out of here on time for once and ... I swear, if we’re late ... you won’t like it.” Tony leaned down and breathed right in Max’s face. “See. I really hold a grudge against someone who shoots a member of my team. Either team. Jerk.”
Max started scribbling frantically, writing down what he’d done, why he’d done it, and adding details of his private life that no one was interested in. By the time his lawyer showed up, called by his housekeeper when he failed to return on time, he’d incriminated himself on several counts of fraud, supplying defective or inadequate/non-spec materials, kickbacks, and bribery… not to mention the attempted assassination.
The lawyer was furious to find out that not only was the confession not coerced and was already on file with JAG, the local Prosecuting Attorney, and several other federal agencies, but his client was on the way to DCPD to be locked up until his preliminary hearing.
Vance smirked at him and offered him a toothpick, saying, “Like one? They’re mint today. Really relieves stress.” The lawyer glared at him. “No? Okay. Then I suggest you get your ass out of my building. Good day.”
.
An hour later everyone was gathered in Gibbs’ back yard, including Jimmy and Ducky; Abby had been invited but begged off to see Junkyard Rejects.
Gibbs started the grill, then announced, “It’s charcoal tonight, so it’ll be about an hour before I can even start cooking. AJ, make patties. Someone peel onions, please.”
Tony took over the meat at once, while Remy picked up the bag of onions and settled at the picnic table to peel them. Tim joined him to slice them as they were peeled.
There was a bit of the usual banter and name-calling. Gibbs had to call them to order once; Tim and Dean were getting a bit too rough with knives in hand. They both settled back to their tasks, Dean on what they called “tater patrol” with some help from Jimmy.
They were laughing when Admiral McGee walked around the house. “I rang, but I heard you laughing, so I came around. I hope that’s okay.”
Gibbs nodded to a lawn chair. “Have a seat.”
“Does anyone need any help?” John was determined to make a good impression. Penny had raked him over the coals for twenty years over the way he’d treated Tim. He now realized that most of their problems were his fault, and he was ready to admit it.
Tony eyed the preparations. “No, thank you, sir, we’ve got it well in hand.”
“No ‘sir’ here. We’re all off duty. I’m just John.” John noted that Tim looked pleased by this.
John settled on a chair to watch the group get ready.
Tony was still patting burgers into shape, placing them on a tray as he did so. John noticed that he wet his hands between each one and wondered why. “Tim?” Tim looked over. “Why is he wetting his hands?” John nodded in Tony’s direction.
“Don’no; he just does.” Tim turned around and watched for a second before yelling, “Hey! AJ! What’s with the wet your hands thing?”
Tony waved slightly greasy hands at him. “Keeps the meat from sticking. I still need to wipe them off when they get too greasy, but it really helps.”
“Thanks.” Tim turned back to John. “And now we both know. An’ I’ll warn ya ... just to be on the safe side ... do not play darts with AJ. Poker with Dean. Or shoot against Jet or AJ.”
Gibbs interjected. “Or you. At least with a side arm. You can’t shoot worth shit with a long arm, but anything else and I wanna be on your side.” He turned his head. “Someone put the fries in.” Jimmy nodded and put the three trays of potatoes in the hot smoker.
Tim laughed. “Well, I don’t see the use ... never mind that; I just don’t have that skill set. If we need someone sniped, you’re our man. I’m good with short- and mid-range weapons and have all the skills needed to do effective flash/bang and enter. And, of course, there are my world-shatteringly exceptional computer skills.” He ducked a tennis ball and some sort of mangled Nerf ball. “Asshats. All of you, asshats. Jealous ones.”
This led to Dean and Cos jumping him and dragging him onto the grassy middle of the yard. “Gang up! Gang up!”
Tim swore at them, half laughing, half pissed. “Damn it! Get off me. Jerks.”
Dean grabbed Tim by the wrist, trying for an arm brace; it didn’t work, as Tim eeled out of his grasp and bent over to grab his ankle. When he straightened up he put Dean off balance by holding his ankle as high as he could. Dean squawked and fell on his ass. Cos made a grab for a head lock and found himself in one instead. Tim gave him a Dutch Rub, then jammed a shoulder into his stomach. Cos swore as Tim got him in a fireman’s carry and started hopping in place.
“Digimon, damn it, I’ll puke down your neck. Put me down, jerk.”
Everyone else was laughing at their antics until Gibbs called them to order. “Tim, put Cos down. If he pukes on you you’re not using my shower.”
Remy yelled, “Hose for you, homme. An’ dat cold as a witch’s heart.”
Tim dropped Cos and gave Remy the finger. Remy just chuckled, “Non, ami, yo too ugly.”
Gibbs mostly ignored the carrying on and busied himself with putting the burgers on the grill. “Burgers are on. Dogs in five. Get the table set. John, you could go to the kitchen and help carry out things.”
John didn’t take offense; Penny always said he was too aware of his rank for his own good, so he was really trying to lighten up. He was fairly successful.
When he reached the kitchen, Remy was already putting things onto the small table by the door. He glanced around the kitchen, then did a double-take. The table in the middle of the room was made of exotic woods with craftsmanship that indicated a master’s hand. “Nice table.”
Remy nodded, handing him a bowl as he did so. “Dat it is. Jet made it. He got such a hand wit’ wood. Amazin’”
“Gibbs made that?”
“Did do.” Remy handed a basket lined with paper towels to Dean. “Fo’ de fries.”
John took the hint and went out with the bowl. He put it in the middle of the table then turned back for another. Tim followed him to start bringing out the buns, condiments, and the rest of the salads.
When they had everything on the table, Gibbs pointed to the foot of the table. “John, sit there. The rest of you yahoos, sit it.” Everyone scrambled for their usual places.
John realized that the spot he was in actually belonged to someone. “Whose place am I sitting in?”
Tim smiled. “Ducky’s. He’s playing bridge tonight. Championships. I hope he brings in the card.”
“Brings in the card?” John looked at the huge piles of food and wondered how much would actually be left. He’d already noticed that every man had two dogs and two burgers on a huge glass plate. “And why is everyone eating off a trencher?”
Tony chuckled and answered that first. “We all eat like two football players so we gave up on regular plates. Ducky found these at Dollar General. They’re service liners. You’re supposed to put plates on them. Keeps the linens clean.”
Dean answered the first question. “The Bridge League of DC gives out trophies shaped like a playing card. An ace of Spades, if I’m not mistaken. The usual gold, silver, and bronze. So they say they brought in a card if they win, place, or show.”
“I see.” John realized that he felt exceptionally awkward. He didn’t really know these men and didn’t relate to them very well. He knew they were all uncomfortable as well. He decided to keep his attempts to reconcile with Tim more private from now on; but he did think he’d made a bit of headway.
Tim was of the same opinion; he watched as his father tried to make conversation with his friends, but he was too aware of his rank and too unaware of social conventions among lower ranks off duty. He was ADMINISTRATION, in capital letters, and everyone else was subordinate, in lower case. While, with the Pod, everyone was equal, period. They obeyed orders from Gibbs and Tony because they had earned the respect needed to make any order reasonable, no matter how odd it seemed.
John noted how much Tim was eating and remarked, “Maybe you should take it a bit easy there. You always had a tendency to be a bit chubby.”
Tim just helped himself to another burger before he replied, “Out-grew that before I was twelve. Ducky’s on me about my diet already. He wants me eating 3500 calories or more a day. I’ve lost ten pounds in the last month.”
Tony took up the defense, “Ten pounds that you can’t afford to lose. Eat!” He plopped a spoonful of baked beans onto his plate.
Tim nodded thanks, as his mouth was now full of slaw.
John subsided, flushing a bit.
Gibbs took pity on the man and changed the subject. “Cleanup is me, Remy, and Tim. The rest of you police the yard. Admiral, we’ll be done in about thirty. You can hang or do ...” he waved a hand, “whatever. No one’ll care.”
John decided to go ahead and leave; the awkwardness was really getting to him. “I think I’ll leave. I did promise to call Penny tonight, and ... I’m not sure how the times line up.”
Tim shrugged. “That’s too bad ... that you need to leave already. Where is she?”
“Vienna.”
“Which Vienna?” John gave Tim an odd look. “There’s a Vienna or New Vienna in twelve states. Actually, Ohio has Vienna, New Vienna, and South Vienna. So I’m assuming you mean Austria. But it’s one a.m. there, right now so ... Suit yourself. Wouldn’t put it past her to be up. If you’re leaving, I’ll walk you out.”
“I think I should.” John turned to walk out with Tim by his side.
Tim ambled along, taking his time, hoping that his father didn’t feel like he was trying to hustle him out the door. John paced him.
“Well, I’m glad to see that you have true friends. I always worried about that.”
“I’m fine. AJ’s ... always got my six. Remy’s his bud and 2IC. Dean and Cos ... they’re part of the Pod. Gibbs is my boss and good friend. And there’s Jimmy and Ducky, and Abby. I’d name off a few more but ... this bunch is my family. Not blood, but family I chose.” Tim ruffled his Short Ivy League. “Father ... what do you want?”
“Well, short and to the point. I like that. I ... I’ve always intended to be a good father but ... first I was deployed more than I was ashore. Then ... well, you didn’t live up to my expectations and I didn’t realize that it was way too late to try to force you into a mold ... one that you didn’t fit anyway. So ... I’m hoping that we can have ... a cordial relationship. If you’re interested, that is.”
Tim nodded. “I am. It’s going to be a bit hard. You’re busy and so am I. But I’d like to try to get together whenever you’re not busy and I don’t have a case. All we can do is try.”
John offered Tim his hand, which Tim shook. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your friends. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye, Father.” Tim watched as his father ―he’d never think of him as dad― got into his car and drove off. “Well, that wasn’t awkward at all.”
Gibbs’ voice from behind him didn’t even make him flinch. “Nope, not at all.” Gibbs patted Tim’s shoulder. “Let’s get back. You’ve got chores.”
So Tim turned around and headed back to the comfort of his chosen family.