Rule Number Eight chapter 3
Last chapter.
Chapter three
They took a vote. It turned out that Gibbs, Jimmy, and Ducky wanted Italian; so, with Tony that was four votes for Italian and one for each of the other places, with Tim abstaining. Tony easily cut off any arguments by saying, “Put all the other names in a hat, draw them out and we’ll go to each in turn starting when we finish this damn case. For now it’s Osteria Morini. It’s close and good.”
The drive didn’t take that long, and parking was in a garage half a block away, or they could fight for a place on the street, but the Hummer was so long it took a place and a half. Tony laughed at the attendant’s face. “I’ll park it myself if you like.”
“Yeah, you do that, man. There is no way I’m gonna try to park that boat. Rules are ... I’m supposed to. But, if I have an accident, we’re not covered for something that expensive. So have at it.” The attendant waved a hand.
Tony parked in the nearest place that would accommodate the Hummer’s length and straddled a line to be sure they could open the doors. They exited the Hummer and headed for the exit. Tony stopped on the way to give the attendant his keys. The man grinned at him, put the keys in the lock box, and announced, “Just ask for them when you get back. I’m off shift in an hour, so I’ll leave a note for Guy. He won’t want to try to drive that monster either.”
“Thanks.” Tony grinned at Mark and handed him a twenty. “For your trouble.”
Mark tucked the bill into his pocket, thanked Tony, and leaned over, obviously to write his note.
They crossed the street, then walked down towards the restaurant. It was one of those places that couldn’t decide whether it was a restaurant or a sidewalk cafe. The front and both sides were fenced off from the sidewalk and had dozens of piecrust tables scattered around, each with two chairs. There was a clear walkway into the building.
The building itself was all light wood, steel, and glass. The windows took up nearly half the building, floor to ceiling. The only part that had any solid backing was the back end, the kitchen, facilities, and storage areas.
They made their way to the podium and were told that it would be about ten minutes’ wait. Tony watched as the hostess disappeared into the back area, wondering what the hell now. Gibbs was wearing his usual polo, dockers, and boots; Jimmy and Tim were wearing business casual as well. Ducky was his tweedy self, and the SEALs were all wearing blacks. They were dressed appropriately, except for ties.
The hostess came back out and said, “We were wondering what seating would make you most comfortable. We have a couple of tables that might do, or we can push two tables together. What would you like?”
Gibbs glanced around the room. He saw the perfect table. It was off in a corner, large enough, and backed by solid walls. “That one.”
“Very well. It’s not that popular with most of our patrons. They come to see and be seen.” She led them to the table, handed out menus and asked, “What will you have to drink?”
Gibbs, Tim, and Jimmy went with coffee, Tony water with lime. The rest had ice tea. The waitress made a bit of a face over that.
After studying the menu Jimmy said, “Northern Italian is a bit different. I wonder how the steak thing is.”
Tony looked at the Tagliata. “Looks really good. Dry-aged New York strip, mushrooms, onions, and black truffles; what’s not to like? If you want pasta, you get that as a side. But I’d suggest the Patate Fritti. Baby potatoes, deep fried and dressed with olive oil, fresh black pepper, and parmesan. I think I’ll have the same.”
Ducky smiled. He was very fond of seafood pasta, and the Tortelacchi sounded delicious. Ravioli filled with crab in a saffron sauce with fava beans sounded very nice.
Dean, Cos, and Tim went with Tony; Remy decided on Branzino. He just hoped that the brazed sea bass wasn’t dry, no way bagna cauda would make up for that, but the charred broccoli and chick peas sounded delicious. Gibbs went with Vitello, a veal chop on a bed of trivso dressed with panchetta cream.
Tony blinked at one item, Antipasti; Insalata Verde; red leaf lettuce, asparagus, pea shoots, green almonds, lemon $12. He shook his head. “I’m not paying twelve dollars for green salad with pea shoots. Just no.”
Gibbs shook his head. “Me neither.” The rest of the group kicked over the traces at that price too.
They also scoffed at eight dollars for a handful of fried new potatoes.
The waitress came back around to take their orders. She smiled. “Is the table okay?”
Gibbs glanced around the table. “Yeah, looks like it.” He gave his order, then handed her the menu.
“No antipasti?”
“No, thank you.”
It went around the table the same way; everyone ordered a main and side, but refused antipasti and desert.
The waitress turned in her ticket, listened while it was read off to the kitchen, then trotted off to tend her station.
Gibbs looked around, frowned, then said, “I don’t think this place was such a good idea. Looks like the servings are a bit on the stingy side.”
Tony sighed. This was always a problem; they all ate like two race horses, except for Ducky; he ate like one. “Yeah, looks like. If we don’t get full ...” he brightened. “We could go for Greek?”
Tim nodded. “Sounds like a plan to me. I just got a good look at the steak. New York strip it is, but it’s ... like ... six ounces. With about three mushrooms and a pearl onion. Not gonna fill us up.”
Ducky thought for a moment then said, “I believe Tony has the best idea, just eat what comes, then leave for a nice Greek meal. And none of this fancy-schmancy stuff. Find a good four-star family place.”
The food arrived, and their fears were realized: the portions were small. The waitress knew that something was wrong by the expressions on their faces. “Is the food unacceptable? Can we make it right?”
Ducky shook his head. “Nothing is actually wrong with the food, my dear. It’s just that the portions are a bit on the scanty side for our appetites.”
“I see. I’m very sorry, but those are the standard portions. I could see if chef will ... I’m actually not sure. Let me get someone.” She hurried away, glad that the group hadn’t gotten nasty.
The chef came to the table himself. “I understand that the food is not to your taste?”
Ducky shook his head. “It tastes very nice. It’s just that most of us eat a great deal and the portions are a bit scant. We don’t need anything to be done; the young lady has jumped the gun just a bit.”
“I see.” The Chef looked the group over but encountered nothing but polite looks back. “If there’s anything you don’t like, please say so. I’ll go back to the kitchen now.” He left to return to his cooking.
Ducky commented, “Well, the portions are a bit small, but it is delicious.”
Gibbs nodded. “It’s good, but we’ll be finding Greek later.”
Cos gave a little crow, then snarked, “See? We should’a done Greek to begin with. Tim could find us a good place after we’re done here.”
They finished their food quickly. It was very good, but Tim had guessed right, the New York strip was only six ounces and the side of potatoes was about eight tiny potatoes.
Ducky had enough, as the pasta was filling. He was satisfied, but knew the others were still hungry enough to chew the furniture, as Tony said.
Gibbs wiped his mouth with his napkin, put it to the side, then said, “Everyone done?” Everyone was. “Who’s still hungry?” Every hand except Ducky’s went up.
Ducky said, “Not especially hungry, but I could do with a sweet. Something a bit heavier than basil sorbet.”
Tony grimaced then said, “Yuck, who the hell thought sorbet made from an herb was a good idea?”
Dean and Cos agreed, but Remy shrugged, saying, “Different people, different tastes. But ... not fo’ me I don’ think.”
Gibbs signaled for the bill, which the waitress brought quickly. He put his credit card on the little tray, got out his money clip, and stripped off a ten. Tony handed him another. The waitress smiled, then blinked as everyone else at the table handed her a ten. “Oh, sir, this is way too much, especially as you weren’t satisfied.”
Tony stood, towering over the diminutive woman, patted her on the shoulder and said, “It’s not. It’s not your fault that the servings are minuscule. It tasted fine, your service was great; not your problem that we all eat like a starving race horse. Pocket that and get us checked out. Okay?”
She nodded, tucked the bills in her pocket, and hurried off to run the card.
She returned with the register receipt and the card. “Please sign here,” she dimpled at Gibbs. “And thank you for being so understanding.” She watched as the Pod exited the restaurant; sadly, she didn’t think they’d return.
The second they hit the street Tony was demanding, “Tim ... find someplace, I’m still starving. That so-called steak was more an appetizer than anything else.” Various sounds of agreement came from the rest of the group, including Ducky. He wanted a real dessert.
They all headed back to the Hummer at a dead trot, even Ducky. Tim worked his smart phone as he went. He didn’t have to worry about bumping into anyone or anything. The other men kept him from bumping into a solid object, and they avoided bumping into him.
They reached the parking garage and told Mark that they wanted their keys. He blinked at the Pod for a moment then said, “Wow! That was fast. I figured that you’d be gone at least three hours.” He looked at his watch. “That was less than an hour and a half.”
Tony nodded but said, “Thought you were off in an hour.”
“Dude who was supposed to relieve me called in. Bet the asshole got drunk and can’t get in. Not actually a problem. I need the hours. So. Keys.”
Tony took the keys and went to retrieve the Hummer. Remy was happy to inform Mark that, “Service was great, food was good. But man, small; skimpy small portions. We’re all still hungry. We’re goin’ for Greek. Tim?”
Tim fiddled a bit more, then said, “Got three places within half a mile. All Greek, all four- or four-and-a-half-star family places. I checked the prices, and they’re all really reasonable.”
Mark glanced over Tim’s shoulder. “I like that place,” he pointed. “It’s nice, clean; food’s good. They’re real Greek people, so they do it right. And a gyros platter is all I can eat.”
Tim nodded. “Sounds good. We’re not much for that fancy ambience shit. Good food, clean premises, polite servers.”
“You’ll get it with them. It’s sort of ... late ’60’s industrial ... if you know what I mean.”
Tim clicked on the web site link to check the menu. He began to read. “Wow! They’ve got a lot of stuff that you don’t usually find around here. Ducky? Can you figure out what some of this stuff is ... most of the menu is in Greek only.”
Ducky took the phone and examined the menu. “All right. Let me see. Well ... there’s the usual: gyros, moussaka, dolmades, and horiatiki, and they’ve got gigandes ... big beans cooked in tomato sauce with olive oil and garlic ... you dress it with fresh lemon juice at the table. And ... um ...keftedes, big meat balls served in gravy, no spaghetti. Piadikia, grilled lamb chops. The whole menu sounds delightful. They have galactoboureko, filo pastry with custard filling, very rich. One of my favorites. And loukoumades, Fried balls of dough dipped in cinnamon honey.”
Gibbs sighed. “Man, that’s one of my favorites and harder than hell to find.”
They found the place easily enough, pulled into the lot, and parked. Tony parked across three places right next to the sidewalk. It made the walk a bit of a stretch, but that way they didn’t take up three close-in places.
The hostess met them at the door, explaining, “Welcome. Come in. Mark called me. Seems you didn’t get enough to eat at that fancy place you went? No names mentioned. This way.” She led the way with a smile. “How’s this?”
Everyone looked around; the table was huge, well able to seat all of them without crowding. It was right in front of the kitchen doors, but there was plenty of room to move around it without bumping anyone. It was a bit more exposed than they really liked, but there wasn’t another table that would seat them all. Beside that, all the tables were in the middle of the room, with booths along two walls. The front had the register, and the back was dedicated to service.
They settled at the table, jostling each other and snarking until Ducky called them to order. “Boys, please. You’ll scare the help. Settle down.”
The waitress, whose name tag read Io, laughed. “Don’t bother. They’ll just find some other way to get into trouble ... just like my brothers. So ... what would you like?”
Gibbs sighed. “I’m starved.” He took a quick eye vote, got a bunch of shrugs, then said, “Hot and a lot. Not too heavy on the veg, no soup. Salad on the side.”
Io grinned at them all. “Well that makes it easy. Family style?”
“Fine.” Gibbs collected the pile of menus and handed them to her.
“Good deal. I’ll be bringing it out in about ten minutes. Coffee?”
Everyone wanted coffee, even Ducky. He caught Io’s eye and said, “I have had my fill. I just want a sweet.”
Io craned her neck to look into the kitchen; whatever she saw caused her to say, “Okay. Sweets ... Baklava, galactoboureko, or loukoumades. We also have those little filo cups with ... stuff. Not really Greek, but everyone asks for them.”
Ducky frowned for a moment, then suggested, “Bring whatever is convenient.”
Io nodded. “Okay, we’re preparing for the late rush. Theater patrons, party preppers… that sort of thing. We set up a buffet of casseroles, finger foods, and pre-made gyros. I’ll see what I can get you.” She hurried off to see what was available.
She returned with gyros, moussaka, dolmades, horiatiki on individual salad plates, gigandes, and keftedes; with an offer of piadikia as soon as they were grilled. The platters were a bit smaller than expected, but she said, “That’s all I could get you for first servings, but as you empty a platter, either put it to the side or signal me for a refill. Enjoy.” She left to get Ducky’s sweets.
Gibbs picked up the platter in front of his place, took a serving of dolmades, and passed it right. He nearly snatched it back as Dean tipped it a bit and slid his portion onto his plate. “Hey, be careful. And don’t hog.”
Dean snorted, but handed the platter on.
Remy had the gyros and all the condiments right in front of him, so he began to make up a sandwich. Cos, eager to get one too, reached over Remy’s place to help himself. This annoyed Remy, so he smacked Cos’s hand. Cos retaliated by snatching Remy’s sandwich. “Hey! Mine! Make your own.”
Remy started to try to get his food back, but Gibbs barked, “Freeze. Damn it, Cos, hands off. Remy, just let it go. Make another.”
Dean snickered, “Man, you been owned.”
Cos mumbled, “Jerk,” around a mouth full of gyros.
Tim sighed, “Children. Seriously,” then passed the moussaka. He tasted it and announced, “Now that’s the stuff. So good.”
All the platters made a round. The beans weren’t that big a hit; they were good but not what they were in the mood for. They asked for more gyros, moussaka, dolmades, and piadikia. Tony asked for the recipe for the keftedes, which Io smiled at.
Jimmy was quietly eating himself into a food coma, having taken a serving of moussaka, gigantes, dolmades, and piadikia. He’d also managed to snag a gyros, courtesy of Tim.
Ducky was happily nibbling on baklava and loukoumades, with a nice cup of coffee on the side. He’d eyed the galactoboureko but decided that the custard was a bit on the runny side for him. He was also keeping an eye on the group.
The Pod had been a bit subdued lately, mostly because they were all run off their feet between missions, cases, training, and reports. But they were due a vacation soon; he cringed a bit at the thought, but brightened when he realized that they actually wouldn’t blow anything up ... he hoped.
Gibbs noticed the slight smile. “Ducky?”
“Just reflecting. Vacations soon?”
“Yeah. Everyone’s beat.” Gibbs’ eyes narrowed. “Jimmy, no.” He waited until Jimmy put the wet napkin he’d been about to stuff down Dean’s neck back on the table. “Thank you.”
Dean eyed Jimmy. “Oh, dude, you were not. Seriously?”
Jimmy managed to look innocent. “Who, me?”
“Yeah, you. Bitch.”
“Jerk.”
That being sorted, they went back to their food.
Cos, due to Dean being distracted, stuffed the wet napkin down Dean’s back then gave Jimmy a thumbs-up. Dean yelped when the cold wet paper hit the back of his neck. He slapped at Cos, hitting him on the shoulder. A correction came from an unexpected place.
Io plopped a platter of gyros meat onto the middle of the table then ordered, “No horsing around at the table. Behave, you guys, or I’ll call Yaiyaí and let her deal.”
Gibbs snorted then started laughing, saying between snickers, “You’ve been owned. Completely. By a girl. Seriously.”
Io whapped him on the shoulder with a menu. “Not a girl. I’ll have you know I’m twenty.”
Gibbs shook his head. “Young enough to be my daughter,” he grinned at her.
Ducky nodded wisely. “You are, my dear, but we take your point.” He turned his attention to the table. “Do behave. I’d hate to have Yaiyaí come out of the kitchen to school you.”
They all laughed at that and calmed down. Gibbs was happy to see them horsing around; everyone was wound tighter than a dollar watch over Ducky.
Yaiyaí Helena came in just as they were getting ready to leave. She zeroed in on Ducky and Gibbs. “You make sure those boys get some ... down time, I believe you call it.” She eyed Ducky’s face. “And what the blazes happened to you?”
Ducky explained quickly, and Yaiyaí Helena shook her head. “No wonder those boys are all a-dither. And you ...” She pointed at Gibbs. “You get some relaxation too. I don’t like the look of your eyes.” She humphed and walked back into the kitchen.
Ducky chuckled and slapped Gibbs on the back. “Well, I do believe we’ve been told.”
“That we have. But she’s right. As soon as we catch that jackwad, I’m takin’ some time off.”
They paid with Gibbs’ credit card and left, piling into the Hummer with a bit of jostling and grumbling. Jimmy groaned, “Man, I ate way too much. But it was really good. Y’all lay off, I’m napping until we get home.”
Everyone laughed at that, but they also quieted down so Jimmy could nap. In fact, they all fell into a sort of zombie-like state, leaving Tony to drive.
.
Leon Vance was not a happy director. His lead ME had been attacked at a crime scene, the perpetrator had escaped, and his MCRT was pissed. The locals weren’t cooperative, a circumstance he blamed directly on Team Lead LJ Gibbs. And any lead they got on where the drugs and guns came from led directly nowhere.
So here he was at nearly 2100, trying to get the FBI to cooperate with them and hand over evidence that they needed to trace PO Reynolds. He thought he’d succeeded, as they were going to email him some information they’d gotten from a CI in the area. He was sure that Reynolds was holed up nearby, head down. He’d send the Pod out tomorrow to do a conga line search of the woods and fields surrounding the site. He was sure the locals weren’t searching as hard as they could. Local boy and all.
He wasn’t sure sending in Gibbs and Co. was a good idea, but they were his best team and experienced in boots-on-the-ground searches. But he didn’t know what else to do. So door-to-door it was.
Leon sighed, shut down his computer, and prepared to go home for the night.
.
The next morning was interesting, as Gibbs got a text from Vance first thing. This was annoying to him in two ways: one, it came before coffee, and two, it was text. He didn’t mind texting as much as he used to, but it still got his goat that he couldn’t ask questions. So he didn’t know what kind of equipment they’d need for what Vance called an off-site op.
Gibbs passed the word on to Dean, Cos, and Remy. They groaned and bitched, but agreed to skip PT in favor of breakfast so they could get in early. “I’ll organize this cluster fuck with AJ; you hold yourselves ready for damn near anything.” Gibbs called Tony, “AJ, we’re aboard the Yard by 0730, come over here for breakfast,” He hung up without saying goodbye, then started peeling potatoes.
Tony eyed his phone for a second, then yelled, “Jet called. We’re aboard the Yard by 0730. No idea why. We’re goin’ to GHQ for breakfast. Move it!”
There was bitching and moaning at Mallard Manor as well. Ducky even grumbled, but they left in time to have breakfast at GHQ without rushing too much.
Gibbs met them at the door. “Just gettin’ it on the table. Come on.”
This breakfast turned out to be one of those simple, filling things that all the men liked. Gibbs settled at the head of the table, Ducky at the foot. Gibbs started handing platters around. “Sausages; we only had bulk, so it’s patties ... shut up, Remy.” Remy, who preferred link and said so at every opportunity, just made a face. “The eggs are scrambled with herbs. Ducky likes them.” No one had much to say about that, as herbs were a sure sign that they were stateside. “Cottage fries with onions.” The next platter made its rounds. “Toast.” The next platter made the trip. “Nothing else. Sorry there’s no porridge, Ducky; we didn’t have any on hand.”
Ducky waved this away, toast in hand. “Never mind. What do you think Vance wants?”
“No idea. Bet it turns out to be nothing. Or ... something. Who the hell knows?” Gibbs was still irritated that Vance hadn’t told him anything more than be there. He eyed Ducky for a moment then asked, “How’s your head?”
“Fine. Jimmy gave me a quick checkup this morning before we came over. The cut is healing well, bruising ... as you can see ... is fading fast. And my headache is gone.”
Jimmy just nodded along as Ducky outlined the extent of his healing. “He’s fine. Seriously, stop stressing.”
Tony poked at his sausage. “Not. I mean, I’m pissed. Really, you just don’t pick on family.”
Ducky flushed a bit with pleasure. “Well, thank you, AJ. But I am fine.”
He was about to say something else when Vance called Gibbs. “Gibbs.” Gibbs put the phone on speaker so everyone could hear. “You’re on speaker.”
“Good. Sheriff Douglas called me early this morning. He’s found our PO. Seems he holed up in a cave about six miles from the house. He’s been stealing food and other supplies from surrounding houses. He also hit up a mini-mart. The sheriff is reluctant to risk his deputies on an operation like this. Frankly, I don’t blame him; his men aren’t trained for an armed extraction. They do expect to be on-site back up. How long will it take you to get ready for this?”
Gibbs glanced around the table. Tony did the same, then held up two fingers. “Two days ... minimum.”
Vance replied, “You’ve got three hours.”
Tony snarled, “Well, three hours then.”
“I’ll tell the sheriff. I’ve also arranged for you to use PO Johnson’s house as a staging area.”
Tony thought for a second then asked, “Threat assessment?”
“Low-level, but accelerating. He beat the mini-mart worker over the head with a whiskey bottle. You’re to bring him in alive, so don’t shoot to kill.”
Tony frowned over that. “You sure? I’d rather terminate with extreme prejudice.”
“Not on the table, except in dire circumstances. I’ll have equipment ready ... unless you’ve already got it.” Vance wasn’t sure exactly what the team brought home with them; he was fairly sure he really didn’t want to know.
Tony replied, “All our gear is being evaluated for performance and readying for repairs. We’ll need full gear from NCIS. I’ll text you a list.”
“Great.” Vance’s sour tone didn’t go over that well.
“Something?” Gibbs’ tone suggested that there better not be.
“No. Just do try to bring it back in reasonable condition. Dr. Mallard, I’ve been informed that you want to go along?”
Ducky snorted into his tea. “By whom, may I ask?”
“Sign-up sheet on my desk.”
“Well, I will be going then. I had not planned on it but the boys will need a medic on hand ... just in case. So ... gear for me as well.”
Tony had one more question. “What about Dorney? Where’s he in this pile?”
“I’ve already reassigned him. He doesn’t have enough experience in this style of operation to be of any use.”
Tony sighed. “Okay, good. I’ll get with him for a thank-you later.”
Vance grumbled indistinctly, then hung up.
Gibbs smirked, closed his phone, and returned to his breakfast.
Tony sighed, “Well, stuff it down and let’s put wheels under this bitch.”
They all gobbled their breakfast fast enough that it was a wonder no one choked.
Gibbs looked like he might argue with Ducky as they scrambled for seats in the Hummer. Ducky just took shotgun, as usual, and glowered him into silence. The rest of the Pod took seats as first come, first served. Tony took the wheel, barked, “You jackwads settle down, buckle up, and shut up.”
His driving proved that his complaints about Gibbs’ and Ziva’s driving skills had a basis in his own driving. He, as Gibbs complained, drove like a Turkish taxi driver on crack.
Tony merrily told him, “Bitch, bitch, bitch. You don’t see me whining over your driving.”
“Much.” Gibbs grabbed the OS bar as Tony swerved around a box truck, then cut off a pickup.
No one else said much; they just endured silently, even Ducky.
.
Leon Vance was convinced that the whole Pod was going to go off the rails. After all, he was furious at the senseless attack on his head ME. This hadn’t gone down well with the whole of NCIS. He’d had offers from every satellite office in the country. Dwane Pride had offered to come up, and he hated leaving New Orleans.
All he could do was issue reminders that they needed to bring the man in alive and relatively undamaged, and hope. He rechecked his list of equipment that Tony had requested and sighed; they were going in hot, fully armored and armed. In other words, they were going in with as much equipment on hand as they’d use for capturing an ISIS leader. He rubbed his face, thinking that there was no way this would end well.
A tap on his door pulled him from his musings, “Come.”
Cynthia stuck her head in the door. “They’re here. I called them up before they got to the armory.” She pushed the door open and let Gibbs in, followed by the rest of the combined team.
They all lined up in front of Vance’s desk and just looked at him. He sighed then said, “Very well, gentlemen, I’m sure you know why you’re here ... but I’ll say it anyway. Bring that fucker back alive and in relatively good shape. I don’t want him skating because some bleeding-heart, squirrel-kissing, tree-hugging libtard cried about unnecessary force.” He waited for them to look suitably insulted. “I know you’re better than that. Now I can say I warned you if someone is stupid enough to ask.”
Tony just nodded. “We’re more used to missions where we’re told otherwise. So ... warning noted. Now ... can we get to work?”
“Go.”
They went. Straight to the armory to get their gear issued.
They left Vance’s office and headed down to the armory, clattering down the stairs with Ducky right behind them.
This went much better than expected. NCIS did have SWAT-style squads which were used for hostage-rescue situations, B&E arrests, and other such missions. Their gear was all top of the line, so the Pod was getting the best gear available.
When the armorer saw them, he just shrugged and got out of their way, saying, “Have at it. Check with me when you pick your gear, I’ll need to write up the issue for inventory. Do try to bring the more expensive shit back in one piece. That includes you guys.”
Tony and Remy began rummaging the shelves, looking for what they needed. “Night vision?”
Tony snorted. “He’s in a cave; ya think?”
“Yeah, but maybe only two or three of us. The rest keep daytime vision.”
“Okay. Um ... any use for a door knocker?”
Remy thought for a moment, then said, “A cave doesn’t have a door, dumbass.”
Dean put the knocker down with a quick pat. “Sorry, dude, you don’t get to come.” Everyone gave him a look that silently said, “Seriously?” then went back to collecting gear.
Ducky announced, “It’s going to be hot, so be sure to get a hydration module.”
Jimmy nodded, but said, “I’d prefer they used their own. No offense ...” he glanced at the armorer, who shrugged. “But who knows when they were cleaned last ... or what with.”
“I clean them with disinfectant and bleach after every issue.”
Cos groaned. “I can’t have bleach residue, gives me the heaves. No matter how much you rinse there’s always a bit left.”
The armorer smiled at that. “Sorry. NCIS regs state what I clean with.”
There was some laugher, but Ducky reassured him, “I do know that. And it’s not on you. I’d recommend the same.”
It didn’t take them long to get vests, helmets, weapons, and comm gear organized and put into carry-alls and out to the Hummer. Dean and Tony both got some gear out of their rucks and put it into their carry-alls. Everyone had a ruck in the Hummer, so they got their hydration modules and rearranged things so they could gear up quickly.
Gibbs nodded. “AJ, drive for an hour. I’ll take ...” He was interrupted by Jimmy rattling the can. “Okay. Draw for seats. Fine.”
Jimmy shrugged. “Sorry to interrupt you, but I’m not listening to someone ... anyone ... bitching and whining like a little girl because they don’t like their seat. Draw.”
Gibbs drew, then Jimmy held the can while everyone drew a chip. They all knew better than to whine about their seats; if they did, Tony would take them onto the mats and pound them ... something to be avoided at all costs.
Once the chips were drawn, everyone took their assigned places, and they drove off.
.
It took two hours to get back to the site; the stop at the sheriff’s station was quick, but out of the way.
Tony eyed the house with a sour expression. “It’s still a dump. I’ll need two showers to get clean.”
Sheriff Douglas met them in front of the barn. “Mornin’. We’re not using the house ... no matter what Angela said. It’s filthy still, and like to stay that way. We’re staging from the barn.” He turned to lead the way. “I was thinkin’ we could split into groups with one of my deputies as guide, cover more ground.”
Gibbs sighed. “You got equipment?”
“Not enough. We’ve only got two full outfits. I don’t like it any better than you do. I’m not convinced that you’ll do any better than we could, but I’m not in charge of this goat rope. The council decided that you’re better equipped to deal with this.”
Gibbs nodded. He felt a bit guilty about starting a jurisdictional war in the first place. So he agreed, saying, “And whose fault is that? Let me guess ... not yours. AJ?”
Tony, pleased that Gibbs was trying to make amends, asked, “Why don’t we send out a couple of search parties made up of your people ... see where our Tango is? When we find him, we’ll go in and do the dirty. What we’re used to anyway.”
Sheriff Douglas thought about that for a moment, then shrugged. “We know where he is. There’s only one place he could hole up that the highway patrol chopper couldn’t find him with their FLEER. That’s Martin’s Cave. One of my deputies dressed out in hunting stuff and a .22, went in and found fresh tracks. He’s there for sure. So ... now what?”
Tony sighed, “Well, thanks for the intel. I’d have loved to be able to check out the terrain a bit ... but shit in one hand, wish in the other and see which one fills up first.”
A deputy hurried up. “He’s on the move. Jake just called in.” He glanced at Tony and Gibbs. “Jake’s been keeping an eye on the cave from the next ridge over. Spotter’s scope.”
The sheriff grumbled, “Well, shit. Any idea where he’s headed?”
“Sam thinks he’s headed for the Anderson place. They just left for vacation. He might be planning to raid them for supplies.”
Another deputy put in his two cents’ worth. “If we hurry, we can set up a crossfire in the two places he could approach from.”
They all hurried to their vehicles and took off for the Anderson residence to see if they couldn’t trap their target.
When they got there, the Pod were all pleased to see that the small house was situated in a hollow between two ridges. This protected it from wind and weather. It also provided a dead-end. There was a path in from around the end of one ridge, and a gravel drive from the blacktop ran between the two ridges. The sheriff and the deputy thought PO Reynolds would come in by the footpath. It was a longer trip, but it was under cover the whole way, while the road was cleared back nearly four feet on each side. As the sheriff said, “That will make him stand out like a bug on a plate.”
It was decided to split the group into Sheriff’s Department and NCIS. This would prevent any misunderstandings caused by trying to combine the services.
The only argument was over where each group should station themselves. Jimmy solved that easily. “Hang on a sec.” He trotted over to the Hummer, got his can out, took out all but two chips and said, “Draw. Whoever gets the higher chip gets first pick.”
Gibbs drew for NCIS and got the high chip. “Okay, AJ?”
Tony thought for a moment. “I really think he’ll take the chance of coming in on the road. We’ll take that.”
Sheriff Douglas smirked. “Really? I don’t think he’ll take the chance.”
They all went to gear up and get into position. Tony grumbled to Gibbs, “I don’t like this. No recon. No ... anything. Last time we were on an op like this, it went sideways so fast ... Seriously not happy with this whole FUBAR mess. Fuck it.”
“Don’t like it either, but orders are orders. You know the old saying. We, the Unwilling, led by the Unknowing, are doing the Impossible for the Uncaring. We have done so Much for so Long with so Little we are now fully qualified to do Absolutely Anything with Nothing.”
Tony nodded. “So true.”
They finished gearing up quickly and went to check out the terrain. The sheriff went with them to express his one concern. “Um ... don’t want to step on any toes, but ... what about the old guy?”
Tony didn’t even look his way as he said, “Ducky’s here as medic. He’ll stay with the Hummer or in the house.”
“Oh, okay, good. That’s good. I’ll let him into the house. The Andersons won’t mind.” The sheriff trotted back toward the house.
Gibbs rubbed his stomach. “I’m not sure about this whole op. Something’s gonna bite us in the fuckin’ ass.”
Tony nodded. “It is. It truly is.”
Between Tony and Remy, they soon had a crossfire set up, with Jimmy actually up a tree to get a good line of sight as far down the gravel as possible. Tony checked and announced, “Jimmy can see more than a mile. Nice advance warning.”
.
Sheriff Douglas walked up to Ducky. “Hey. Dr. Mallard, I didn’t get the chance to apologize for the other day. I’m really sorry you got hurt. Believe me when I say I took a hunk out of that deputy. He’s on desk duty for the next thirty days while I retrain him myself.”
Ducky just waved that away, saying, “Water under the bridge, my dear fellow. How can I help you?”
“Well, I thought you might be more comfortable in the house. Might set up some of your equipment ... just in case.” The sheriff grinned. “And that’ll give me an excuse to set up Helen’s coffee maker.”
“Very well. Here.” Ducky handed Jimmy’s field pack to the sheriff and then picked up his own.
“Christ on a cracker! What the heck is in this?” The sheriff was sure that Ducky didn’t carry this ruck himself.
“Oh, that is young Jimmy’s. It’s a complete SEAL Medic pack. It’s as close to a field hospital as you can get into one unit. As well as his personal gear. This ...” he held up the bag he was carrying. “Is my personal gear. Not as complete as Jimmy’s, but it’s what I can carry myself. I’ll just pop it under the table until we know if it’s needed or not.”
Ducky put his bag under the table then made way for the sheriff to add Jimmy’s.
“There. Now all I have to do is find the coffee pot.” The sheriff started opening cabinet doors.
Ducky asked, “Shouldn’t you ask permission? Where are the Andersons?”
Sheriff Douglas grumbled. “Well, damn. You’re right. I’ll see if I can get them. This is sort of a dead area when it comes to cell service. They still have a land line.” He walked to the phone on the wall. “And I need to get outside to set up the ambush. I’ll dial, then turn it over to you. Okay?”
Ducky sighed, but agreed. “Fine. I’ll deal.”
“Thanks.” The sheriff hurried off to position his deputies, convinced that he was going to see their target come out of the woods around the end of the ridge.
After setting up their ambushes, both teams settled down to wait.
.
Ducky listened to the phone ring. When it picked up, it was a woman. Ducky explained what was going on and asked if he could setup her pot.
“OH, I’m so sorry. I loaned the pot to my sister. She’s hostessing her bridge club this month. But it wouldn’t do you any good anyway. I took all the coffee with us. I’m really sorry.”
“Well, that’s unfortunate. But no harm, no foul. Have a nice vacation. And I will leave your house in the condition in which I found it.” Ducky said his good-byes and hung up.
He settled at the table to wait, wondering if there was any tea in the house. Finally, he pulled his tablet from his bag to read an article he was interested in.
Three hours later he heard a scratching at the back door. He put his tablet on the table and pulled the small, old-fashioned Colt snub-nosed .38 from its holster and waited.
It wasn’t long before PO Reynolds slipped into the kitchen from the mud room. Ducky calmly pointed his weapon and said, “Hands up. Do not make me shoot you.”
PO Reynolds blinked, then tried to rush Ducky. Ducky reacted by shooting him in the thigh. “Damn it. Now I have to mop the floor.”
Reynolds screamed when the bullet hit him and went down like a sack of shit. Ducky got out his phone and called Gibbs. “Jethro, do not panic. I just shot Reynolds in the thigh ... in the kitchen. I’m not approaching him until I have help.”
.
When they heard the shot from the house, the whole Pod headed there at a dead run. Gibbs’ phone started ringing, the ring tone the one Tim had assigned to Ducky, so he answered it. “What? Where? Okay. On the way.”
“What the hell?”
“Ducky caught our tango coming into the house. He shot him in the thigh. Wants us there ASAP.”
They were actually entering the house as Gibbs finished.
Tony grabbed Reynolds, flipped him over on his stomach and cuffed him. “Okay, Ducky. Do your thing so this jackwad doesn’t bleed to death.”
Ducky was offended and said so. “AJ, I’m offended in the extreme. I do know how to shoot someone so they don’t. Or do. Depending. I was a field operative for nearly twenty-five years, you know.” While he was speaking Ducky ripped Reynolds’ pant leg to the groin, slapped a field dressing on it, then announced, “Very nice through-and-through. Didn’t touch bone, or any arteries or veins. He’ll do.”
Tony just smirked at the sheriff and his deputies, who’d all rushed to the house when they heard the shot. “Sorry, Ducky. You’re so laid back now that I do tend to forget.”
Gibbs just smirked at the sheriff and said, “Well, we’ve all been schooled.”
The sheriff replied, “We sure have.”
Everyone laughed a bit hysterically.
Then Ducky announced, “And I need a mop and bucket. Mrs. Anderson doesn’t need to come home to a bloody floor.”
Sheriff Douglas shook his head. “One of the deputies will deal. You get that jackwad out of my county.” He gave them a casual salute then went to tell the EMT’s to get Reynolds to the local hospital for treatment.
It didn’t take them long to get their gear stowed away, call Vance for a quick sit-rep, and hit the road. Reynolds would be guarded at the hospital until he was deemed well enough to return to the Yard for questioning.
~~~
a strict search is one in which you look for only one “target.” In this case a brick of drugs or a stash of guns.
I hate Earl Grey; it tastes like gin smells. Earl Greyer has twice the bergamot oil, so it’s even worse. It’s also strong enough to strip paint, no matter how you brew it.
One-hit homicide is exactly what it sounds like. Sometimes it’s called one-punch. One blow that knocks the vic down, they hit their head just right and die. Or the blow breaks their neck.
Old saying about sleep: Never pass up a chance to eat, sleep, or shit, you never know when you’ll have another. (courtesy of my Dad who was an Army Engineer in WWII)
OS bar: Oh, shit! bar― the handhold by the passenger seat meant to help you get out of the car. (we all know it’s to hang onto when the driver is scaring the shit out of you.)
~~~~~
Chapter three
They took a vote. It turned out that Gibbs, Jimmy, and Ducky wanted Italian; so, with Tony that was four votes for Italian and one for each of the other places, with Tim abstaining. Tony easily cut off any arguments by saying, “Put all the other names in a hat, draw them out and we’ll go to each in turn starting when we finish this damn case. For now it’s Osteria Morini. It’s close and good.”
The drive didn’t take that long, and parking was in a garage half a block away, or they could fight for a place on the street, but the Hummer was so long it took a place and a half. Tony laughed at the attendant’s face. “I’ll park it myself if you like.”
“Yeah, you do that, man. There is no way I’m gonna try to park that boat. Rules are ... I’m supposed to. But, if I have an accident, we’re not covered for something that expensive. So have at it.” The attendant waved a hand.
Tony parked in the nearest place that would accommodate the Hummer’s length and straddled a line to be sure they could open the doors. They exited the Hummer and headed for the exit. Tony stopped on the way to give the attendant his keys. The man grinned at him, put the keys in the lock box, and announced, “Just ask for them when you get back. I’m off shift in an hour, so I’ll leave a note for Guy. He won’t want to try to drive that monster either.”
“Thanks.” Tony grinned at Mark and handed him a twenty. “For your trouble.”
Mark tucked the bill into his pocket, thanked Tony, and leaned over, obviously to write his note.
They crossed the street, then walked down towards the restaurant. It was one of those places that couldn’t decide whether it was a restaurant or a sidewalk cafe. The front and both sides were fenced off from the sidewalk and had dozens of piecrust tables scattered around, each with two chairs. There was a clear walkway into the building.
The building itself was all light wood, steel, and glass. The windows took up nearly half the building, floor to ceiling. The only part that had any solid backing was the back end, the kitchen, facilities, and storage areas.
They made their way to the podium and were told that it would be about ten minutes’ wait. Tony watched as the hostess disappeared into the back area, wondering what the hell now. Gibbs was wearing his usual polo, dockers, and boots; Jimmy and Tim were wearing business casual as well. Ducky was his tweedy self, and the SEALs were all wearing blacks. They were dressed appropriately, except for ties.
The hostess came back out and said, “We were wondering what seating would make you most comfortable. We have a couple of tables that might do, or we can push two tables together. What would you like?”
Gibbs glanced around the room. He saw the perfect table. It was off in a corner, large enough, and backed by solid walls. “That one.”
“Very well. It’s not that popular with most of our patrons. They come to see and be seen.” She led them to the table, handed out menus and asked, “What will you have to drink?”
Gibbs, Tim, and Jimmy went with coffee, Tony water with lime. The rest had ice tea. The waitress made a bit of a face over that.
After studying the menu Jimmy said, “Northern Italian is a bit different. I wonder how the steak thing is.”
Tony looked at the Tagliata. “Looks really good. Dry-aged New York strip, mushrooms, onions, and black truffles; what’s not to like? If you want pasta, you get that as a side. But I’d suggest the Patate Fritti. Baby potatoes, deep fried and dressed with olive oil, fresh black pepper, and parmesan. I think I’ll have the same.”
Ducky smiled. He was very fond of seafood pasta, and the Tortelacchi sounded delicious. Ravioli filled with crab in a saffron sauce with fava beans sounded very nice.
Dean, Cos, and Tim went with Tony; Remy decided on Branzino. He just hoped that the brazed sea bass wasn’t dry, no way bagna cauda would make up for that, but the charred broccoli and chick peas sounded delicious. Gibbs went with Vitello, a veal chop on a bed of trivso dressed with panchetta cream.
Tony blinked at one item, Antipasti; Insalata Verde; red leaf lettuce, asparagus, pea shoots, green almonds, lemon $12. He shook his head. “I’m not paying twelve dollars for green salad with pea shoots. Just no.”
Gibbs shook his head. “Me neither.” The rest of the group kicked over the traces at that price too.
They also scoffed at eight dollars for a handful of fried new potatoes.
The waitress came back around to take their orders. She smiled. “Is the table okay?”
Gibbs glanced around the table. “Yeah, looks like it.” He gave his order, then handed her the menu.
“No antipasti?”
“No, thank you.”
It went around the table the same way; everyone ordered a main and side, but refused antipasti and desert.
The waitress turned in her ticket, listened while it was read off to the kitchen, then trotted off to tend her station.
Gibbs looked around, frowned, then said, “I don’t think this place was such a good idea. Looks like the servings are a bit on the stingy side.”
Tony sighed. This was always a problem; they all ate like two race horses, except for Ducky; he ate like one. “Yeah, looks like. If we don’t get full ...” he brightened. “We could go for Greek?”
Tim nodded. “Sounds like a plan to me. I just got a good look at the steak. New York strip it is, but it’s ... like ... six ounces. With about three mushrooms and a pearl onion. Not gonna fill us up.”
Ducky thought for a moment then said, “I believe Tony has the best idea, just eat what comes, then leave for a nice Greek meal. And none of this fancy-schmancy stuff. Find a good four-star family place.”
The food arrived, and their fears were realized: the portions were small. The waitress knew that something was wrong by the expressions on their faces. “Is the food unacceptable? Can we make it right?”
Ducky shook his head. “Nothing is actually wrong with the food, my dear. It’s just that the portions are a bit on the scanty side for our appetites.”
“I see. I’m very sorry, but those are the standard portions. I could see if chef will ... I’m actually not sure. Let me get someone.” She hurried away, glad that the group hadn’t gotten nasty.
The chef came to the table himself. “I understand that the food is not to your taste?”
Ducky shook his head. “It tastes very nice. It’s just that most of us eat a great deal and the portions are a bit scant. We don’t need anything to be done; the young lady has jumped the gun just a bit.”
“I see.” The Chef looked the group over but encountered nothing but polite looks back. “If there’s anything you don’t like, please say so. I’ll go back to the kitchen now.” He left to return to his cooking.
Ducky commented, “Well, the portions are a bit small, but it is delicious.”
Gibbs nodded. “It’s good, but we’ll be finding Greek later.”
Cos gave a little crow, then snarked, “See? We should’a done Greek to begin with. Tim could find us a good place after we’re done here.”
They finished their food quickly. It was very good, but Tim had guessed right, the New York strip was only six ounces and the side of potatoes was about eight tiny potatoes.
Ducky had enough, as the pasta was filling. He was satisfied, but knew the others were still hungry enough to chew the furniture, as Tony said.
Gibbs wiped his mouth with his napkin, put it to the side, then said, “Everyone done?” Everyone was. “Who’s still hungry?” Every hand except Ducky’s went up.
Ducky said, “Not especially hungry, but I could do with a sweet. Something a bit heavier than basil sorbet.”
Tony grimaced then said, “Yuck, who the hell thought sorbet made from an herb was a good idea?”
Dean and Cos agreed, but Remy shrugged, saying, “Different people, different tastes. But ... not fo’ me I don’ think.”
Gibbs signaled for the bill, which the waitress brought quickly. He put his credit card on the little tray, got out his money clip, and stripped off a ten. Tony handed him another. The waitress smiled, then blinked as everyone else at the table handed her a ten. “Oh, sir, this is way too much, especially as you weren’t satisfied.”
Tony stood, towering over the diminutive woman, patted her on the shoulder and said, “It’s not. It’s not your fault that the servings are minuscule. It tasted fine, your service was great; not your problem that we all eat like a starving race horse. Pocket that and get us checked out. Okay?”
She nodded, tucked the bills in her pocket, and hurried off to run the card.
She returned with the register receipt and the card. “Please sign here,” she dimpled at Gibbs. “And thank you for being so understanding.” She watched as the Pod exited the restaurant; sadly, she didn’t think they’d return.
The second they hit the street Tony was demanding, “Tim ... find someplace, I’m still starving. That so-called steak was more an appetizer than anything else.” Various sounds of agreement came from the rest of the group, including Ducky. He wanted a real dessert.
They all headed back to the Hummer at a dead trot, even Ducky. Tim worked his smart phone as he went. He didn’t have to worry about bumping into anyone or anything. The other men kept him from bumping into a solid object, and they avoided bumping into him.
They reached the parking garage and told Mark that they wanted their keys. He blinked at the Pod for a moment then said, “Wow! That was fast. I figured that you’d be gone at least three hours.” He looked at his watch. “That was less than an hour and a half.”
Tony nodded but said, “Thought you were off in an hour.”
“Dude who was supposed to relieve me called in. Bet the asshole got drunk and can’t get in. Not actually a problem. I need the hours. So. Keys.”
Tony took the keys and went to retrieve the Hummer. Remy was happy to inform Mark that, “Service was great, food was good. But man, small; skimpy small portions. We’re all still hungry. We’re goin’ for Greek. Tim?”
Tim fiddled a bit more, then said, “Got three places within half a mile. All Greek, all four- or four-and-a-half-star family places. I checked the prices, and they’re all really reasonable.”
Mark glanced over Tim’s shoulder. “I like that place,” he pointed. “It’s nice, clean; food’s good. They’re real Greek people, so they do it right. And a gyros platter is all I can eat.”
Tim nodded. “Sounds good. We’re not much for that fancy ambience shit. Good food, clean premises, polite servers.”
“You’ll get it with them. It’s sort of ... late ’60’s industrial ... if you know what I mean.”
Tim clicked on the web site link to check the menu. He began to read. “Wow! They’ve got a lot of stuff that you don’t usually find around here. Ducky? Can you figure out what some of this stuff is ... most of the menu is in Greek only.”
Ducky took the phone and examined the menu. “All right. Let me see. Well ... there’s the usual: gyros, moussaka, dolmades, and horiatiki, and they’ve got gigandes ... big beans cooked in tomato sauce with olive oil and garlic ... you dress it with fresh lemon juice at the table. And ... um ...keftedes, big meat balls served in gravy, no spaghetti. Piadikia, grilled lamb chops. The whole menu sounds delightful. They have galactoboureko, filo pastry with custard filling, very rich. One of my favorites. And loukoumades, Fried balls of dough dipped in cinnamon honey.”
Gibbs sighed. “Man, that’s one of my favorites and harder than hell to find.”
They found the place easily enough, pulled into the lot, and parked. Tony parked across three places right next to the sidewalk. It made the walk a bit of a stretch, but that way they didn’t take up three close-in places.
The hostess met them at the door, explaining, “Welcome. Come in. Mark called me. Seems you didn’t get enough to eat at that fancy place you went? No names mentioned. This way.” She led the way with a smile. “How’s this?”
Everyone looked around; the table was huge, well able to seat all of them without crowding. It was right in front of the kitchen doors, but there was plenty of room to move around it without bumping anyone. It was a bit more exposed than they really liked, but there wasn’t another table that would seat them all. Beside that, all the tables were in the middle of the room, with booths along two walls. The front had the register, and the back was dedicated to service.
They settled at the table, jostling each other and snarking until Ducky called them to order. “Boys, please. You’ll scare the help. Settle down.”
The waitress, whose name tag read Io, laughed. “Don’t bother. They’ll just find some other way to get into trouble ... just like my brothers. So ... what would you like?”
Gibbs sighed. “I’m starved.” He took a quick eye vote, got a bunch of shrugs, then said, “Hot and a lot. Not too heavy on the veg, no soup. Salad on the side.”
Io grinned at them all. “Well that makes it easy. Family style?”
“Fine.” Gibbs collected the pile of menus and handed them to her.
“Good deal. I’ll be bringing it out in about ten minutes. Coffee?”
Everyone wanted coffee, even Ducky. He caught Io’s eye and said, “I have had my fill. I just want a sweet.”
Io craned her neck to look into the kitchen; whatever she saw caused her to say, “Okay. Sweets ... Baklava, galactoboureko, or loukoumades. We also have those little filo cups with ... stuff. Not really Greek, but everyone asks for them.”
Ducky frowned for a moment, then suggested, “Bring whatever is convenient.”
Io nodded. “Okay, we’re preparing for the late rush. Theater patrons, party preppers… that sort of thing. We set up a buffet of casseroles, finger foods, and pre-made gyros. I’ll see what I can get you.” She hurried off to see what was available.
She returned with gyros, moussaka, dolmades, horiatiki on individual salad plates, gigandes, and keftedes; with an offer of piadikia as soon as they were grilled. The platters were a bit smaller than expected, but she said, “That’s all I could get you for first servings, but as you empty a platter, either put it to the side or signal me for a refill. Enjoy.” She left to get Ducky’s sweets.
Gibbs picked up the platter in front of his place, took a serving of dolmades, and passed it right. He nearly snatched it back as Dean tipped it a bit and slid his portion onto his plate. “Hey, be careful. And don’t hog.”
Dean snorted, but handed the platter on.
Remy had the gyros and all the condiments right in front of him, so he began to make up a sandwich. Cos, eager to get one too, reached over Remy’s place to help himself. This annoyed Remy, so he smacked Cos’s hand. Cos retaliated by snatching Remy’s sandwich. “Hey! Mine! Make your own.”
Remy started to try to get his food back, but Gibbs barked, “Freeze. Damn it, Cos, hands off. Remy, just let it go. Make another.”
Dean snickered, “Man, you been owned.”
Cos mumbled, “Jerk,” around a mouth full of gyros.
Tim sighed, “Children. Seriously,” then passed the moussaka. He tasted it and announced, “Now that’s the stuff. So good.”
All the platters made a round. The beans weren’t that big a hit; they were good but not what they were in the mood for. They asked for more gyros, moussaka, dolmades, and piadikia. Tony asked for the recipe for the keftedes, which Io smiled at.
Jimmy was quietly eating himself into a food coma, having taken a serving of moussaka, gigantes, dolmades, and piadikia. He’d also managed to snag a gyros, courtesy of Tim.
Ducky was happily nibbling on baklava and loukoumades, with a nice cup of coffee on the side. He’d eyed the galactoboureko but decided that the custard was a bit on the runny side for him. He was also keeping an eye on the group.
The Pod had been a bit subdued lately, mostly because they were all run off their feet between missions, cases, training, and reports. But they were due a vacation soon; he cringed a bit at the thought, but brightened when he realized that they actually wouldn’t blow anything up ... he hoped.
Gibbs noticed the slight smile. “Ducky?”
“Just reflecting. Vacations soon?”
“Yeah. Everyone’s beat.” Gibbs’ eyes narrowed. “Jimmy, no.” He waited until Jimmy put the wet napkin he’d been about to stuff down Dean’s neck back on the table. “Thank you.”
Dean eyed Jimmy. “Oh, dude, you were not. Seriously?”
Jimmy managed to look innocent. “Who, me?”
“Yeah, you. Bitch.”
“Jerk.”
That being sorted, they went back to their food.
Cos, due to Dean being distracted, stuffed the wet napkin down Dean’s back then gave Jimmy a thumbs-up. Dean yelped when the cold wet paper hit the back of his neck. He slapped at Cos, hitting him on the shoulder. A correction came from an unexpected place.
Io plopped a platter of gyros meat onto the middle of the table then ordered, “No horsing around at the table. Behave, you guys, or I’ll call Yaiyaí and let her deal.”
Gibbs snorted then started laughing, saying between snickers, “You’ve been owned. Completely. By a girl. Seriously.”
Io whapped him on the shoulder with a menu. “Not a girl. I’ll have you know I’m twenty.”
Gibbs shook his head. “Young enough to be my daughter,” he grinned at her.
Ducky nodded wisely. “You are, my dear, but we take your point.” He turned his attention to the table. “Do behave. I’d hate to have Yaiyaí come out of the kitchen to school you.”
They all laughed at that and calmed down. Gibbs was happy to see them horsing around; everyone was wound tighter than a dollar watch over Ducky.
Yaiyaí Helena came in just as they were getting ready to leave. She zeroed in on Ducky and Gibbs. “You make sure those boys get some ... down time, I believe you call it.” She eyed Ducky’s face. “And what the blazes happened to you?”
Ducky explained quickly, and Yaiyaí Helena shook her head. “No wonder those boys are all a-dither. And you ...” She pointed at Gibbs. “You get some relaxation too. I don’t like the look of your eyes.” She humphed and walked back into the kitchen.
Ducky chuckled and slapped Gibbs on the back. “Well, I do believe we’ve been told.”
“That we have. But she’s right. As soon as we catch that jackwad, I’m takin’ some time off.”
They paid with Gibbs’ credit card and left, piling into the Hummer with a bit of jostling and grumbling. Jimmy groaned, “Man, I ate way too much. But it was really good. Y’all lay off, I’m napping until we get home.”
Everyone laughed at that, but they also quieted down so Jimmy could nap. In fact, they all fell into a sort of zombie-like state, leaving Tony to drive.
.
Leon Vance was not a happy director. His lead ME had been attacked at a crime scene, the perpetrator had escaped, and his MCRT was pissed. The locals weren’t cooperative, a circumstance he blamed directly on Team Lead LJ Gibbs. And any lead they got on where the drugs and guns came from led directly nowhere.
So here he was at nearly 2100, trying to get the FBI to cooperate with them and hand over evidence that they needed to trace PO Reynolds. He thought he’d succeeded, as they were going to email him some information they’d gotten from a CI in the area. He was sure that Reynolds was holed up nearby, head down. He’d send the Pod out tomorrow to do a conga line search of the woods and fields surrounding the site. He was sure the locals weren’t searching as hard as they could. Local boy and all.
He wasn’t sure sending in Gibbs and Co. was a good idea, but they were his best team and experienced in boots-on-the-ground searches. But he didn’t know what else to do. So door-to-door it was.
Leon sighed, shut down his computer, and prepared to go home for the night.
.
The next morning was interesting, as Gibbs got a text from Vance first thing. This was annoying to him in two ways: one, it came before coffee, and two, it was text. He didn’t mind texting as much as he used to, but it still got his goat that he couldn’t ask questions. So he didn’t know what kind of equipment they’d need for what Vance called an off-site op.
Gibbs passed the word on to Dean, Cos, and Remy. They groaned and bitched, but agreed to skip PT in favor of breakfast so they could get in early. “I’ll organize this cluster fuck with AJ; you hold yourselves ready for damn near anything.” Gibbs called Tony, “AJ, we’re aboard the Yard by 0730, come over here for breakfast,” He hung up without saying goodbye, then started peeling potatoes.
Tony eyed his phone for a second, then yelled, “Jet called. We’re aboard the Yard by 0730. No idea why. We’re goin’ to GHQ for breakfast. Move it!”
There was bitching and moaning at Mallard Manor as well. Ducky even grumbled, but they left in time to have breakfast at GHQ without rushing too much.
Gibbs met them at the door. “Just gettin’ it on the table. Come on.”
This breakfast turned out to be one of those simple, filling things that all the men liked. Gibbs settled at the head of the table, Ducky at the foot. Gibbs started handing platters around. “Sausages; we only had bulk, so it’s patties ... shut up, Remy.” Remy, who preferred link and said so at every opportunity, just made a face. “The eggs are scrambled with herbs. Ducky likes them.” No one had much to say about that, as herbs were a sure sign that they were stateside. “Cottage fries with onions.” The next platter made its rounds. “Toast.” The next platter made the trip. “Nothing else. Sorry there’s no porridge, Ducky; we didn’t have any on hand.”
Ducky waved this away, toast in hand. “Never mind. What do you think Vance wants?”
“No idea. Bet it turns out to be nothing. Or ... something. Who the hell knows?” Gibbs was still irritated that Vance hadn’t told him anything more than be there. He eyed Ducky for a moment then asked, “How’s your head?”
“Fine. Jimmy gave me a quick checkup this morning before we came over. The cut is healing well, bruising ... as you can see ... is fading fast. And my headache is gone.”
Jimmy just nodded along as Ducky outlined the extent of his healing. “He’s fine. Seriously, stop stressing.”
Tony poked at his sausage. “Not. I mean, I’m pissed. Really, you just don’t pick on family.”
Ducky flushed a bit with pleasure. “Well, thank you, AJ. But I am fine.”
He was about to say something else when Vance called Gibbs. “Gibbs.” Gibbs put the phone on speaker so everyone could hear. “You’re on speaker.”
“Good. Sheriff Douglas called me early this morning. He’s found our PO. Seems he holed up in a cave about six miles from the house. He’s been stealing food and other supplies from surrounding houses. He also hit up a mini-mart. The sheriff is reluctant to risk his deputies on an operation like this. Frankly, I don’t blame him; his men aren’t trained for an armed extraction. They do expect to be on-site back up. How long will it take you to get ready for this?”
Gibbs glanced around the table. Tony did the same, then held up two fingers. “Two days ... minimum.”
Vance replied, “You’ve got three hours.”
Tony snarled, “Well, three hours then.”
“I’ll tell the sheriff. I’ve also arranged for you to use PO Johnson’s house as a staging area.”
Tony thought for a second then asked, “Threat assessment?”
“Low-level, but accelerating. He beat the mini-mart worker over the head with a whiskey bottle. You’re to bring him in alive, so don’t shoot to kill.”
Tony frowned over that. “You sure? I’d rather terminate with extreme prejudice.”
“Not on the table, except in dire circumstances. I’ll have equipment ready ... unless you’ve already got it.” Vance wasn’t sure exactly what the team brought home with them; he was fairly sure he really didn’t want to know.
Tony replied, “All our gear is being evaluated for performance and readying for repairs. We’ll need full gear from NCIS. I’ll text you a list.”
“Great.” Vance’s sour tone didn’t go over that well.
“Something?” Gibbs’ tone suggested that there better not be.
“No. Just do try to bring it back in reasonable condition. Dr. Mallard, I’ve been informed that you want to go along?”
Ducky snorted into his tea. “By whom, may I ask?”
“Sign-up sheet on my desk.”
“Well, I will be going then. I had not planned on it but the boys will need a medic on hand ... just in case. So ... gear for me as well.”
Tony had one more question. “What about Dorney? Where’s he in this pile?”
“I’ve already reassigned him. He doesn’t have enough experience in this style of operation to be of any use.”
Tony sighed. “Okay, good. I’ll get with him for a thank-you later.”
Vance grumbled indistinctly, then hung up.
Gibbs smirked, closed his phone, and returned to his breakfast.
Tony sighed, “Well, stuff it down and let’s put wheels under this bitch.”
They all gobbled their breakfast fast enough that it was a wonder no one choked.
Gibbs looked like he might argue with Ducky as they scrambled for seats in the Hummer. Ducky just took shotgun, as usual, and glowered him into silence. The rest of the Pod took seats as first come, first served. Tony took the wheel, barked, “You jackwads settle down, buckle up, and shut up.”
His driving proved that his complaints about Gibbs’ and Ziva’s driving skills had a basis in his own driving. He, as Gibbs complained, drove like a Turkish taxi driver on crack.
Tony merrily told him, “Bitch, bitch, bitch. You don’t see me whining over your driving.”
“Much.” Gibbs grabbed the OS bar as Tony swerved around a box truck, then cut off a pickup.
No one else said much; they just endured silently, even Ducky.
.
Leon Vance was convinced that the whole Pod was going to go off the rails. After all, he was furious at the senseless attack on his head ME. This hadn’t gone down well with the whole of NCIS. He’d had offers from every satellite office in the country. Dwane Pride had offered to come up, and he hated leaving New Orleans.
All he could do was issue reminders that they needed to bring the man in alive and relatively undamaged, and hope. He rechecked his list of equipment that Tony had requested and sighed; they were going in hot, fully armored and armed. In other words, they were going in with as much equipment on hand as they’d use for capturing an ISIS leader. He rubbed his face, thinking that there was no way this would end well.
A tap on his door pulled him from his musings, “Come.”
Cynthia stuck her head in the door. “They’re here. I called them up before they got to the armory.” She pushed the door open and let Gibbs in, followed by the rest of the combined team.
They all lined up in front of Vance’s desk and just looked at him. He sighed then said, “Very well, gentlemen, I’m sure you know why you’re here ... but I’ll say it anyway. Bring that fucker back alive and in relatively good shape. I don’t want him skating because some bleeding-heart, squirrel-kissing, tree-hugging libtard cried about unnecessary force.” He waited for them to look suitably insulted. “I know you’re better than that. Now I can say I warned you if someone is stupid enough to ask.”
Tony just nodded. “We’re more used to missions where we’re told otherwise. So ... warning noted. Now ... can we get to work?”
“Go.”
They went. Straight to the armory to get their gear issued.
They left Vance’s office and headed down to the armory, clattering down the stairs with Ducky right behind them.
This went much better than expected. NCIS did have SWAT-style squads which were used for hostage-rescue situations, B&E arrests, and other such missions. Their gear was all top of the line, so the Pod was getting the best gear available.
When the armorer saw them, he just shrugged and got out of their way, saying, “Have at it. Check with me when you pick your gear, I’ll need to write up the issue for inventory. Do try to bring the more expensive shit back in one piece. That includes you guys.”
Tony and Remy began rummaging the shelves, looking for what they needed. “Night vision?”
Tony snorted. “He’s in a cave; ya think?”
“Yeah, but maybe only two or three of us. The rest keep daytime vision.”
“Okay. Um ... any use for a door knocker?”
Remy thought for a moment, then said, “A cave doesn’t have a door, dumbass.”
Dean put the knocker down with a quick pat. “Sorry, dude, you don’t get to come.” Everyone gave him a look that silently said, “Seriously?” then went back to collecting gear.
Ducky announced, “It’s going to be hot, so be sure to get a hydration module.”
Jimmy nodded, but said, “I’d prefer they used their own. No offense ...” he glanced at the armorer, who shrugged. “But who knows when they were cleaned last ... or what with.”
“I clean them with disinfectant and bleach after every issue.”
Cos groaned. “I can’t have bleach residue, gives me the heaves. No matter how much you rinse there’s always a bit left.”
The armorer smiled at that. “Sorry. NCIS regs state what I clean with.”
There was some laugher, but Ducky reassured him, “I do know that. And it’s not on you. I’d recommend the same.”
It didn’t take them long to get vests, helmets, weapons, and comm gear organized and put into carry-alls and out to the Hummer. Dean and Tony both got some gear out of their rucks and put it into their carry-alls. Everyone had a ruck in the Hummer, so they got their hydration modules and rearranged things so they could gear up quickly.
Gibbs nodded. “AJ, drive for an hour. I’ll take ...” He was interrupted by Jimmy rattling the can. “Okay. Draw for seats. Fine.”
Jimmy shrugged. “Sorry to interrupt you, but I’m not listening to someone ... anyone ... bitching and whining like a little girl because they don’t like their seat. Draw.”
Gibbs drew, then Jimmy held the can while everyone drew a chip. They all knew better than to whine about their seats; if they did, Tony would take them onto the mats and pound them ... something to be avoided at all costs.
Once the chips were drawn, everyone took their assigned places, and they drove off.
.
It took two hours to get back to the site; the stop at the sheriff’s station was quick, but out of the way.
Tony eyed the house with a sour expression. “It’s still a dump. I’ll need two showers to get clean.”
Sheriff Douglas met them in front of the barn. “Mornin’. We’re not using the house ... no matter what Angela said. It’s filthy still, and like to stay that way. We’re staging from the barn.” He turned to lead the way. “I was thinkin’ we could split into groups with one of my deputies as guide, cover more ground.”
Gibbs sighed. “You got equipment?”
“Not enough. We’ve only got two full outfits. I don’t like it any better than you do. I’m not convinced that you’ll do any better than we could, but I’m not in charge of this goat rope. The council decided that you’re better equipped to deal with this.”
Gibbs nodded. He felt a bit guilty about starting a jurisdictional war in the first place. So he agreed, saying, “And whose fault is that? Let me guess ... not yours. AJ?”
Tony, pleased that Gibbs was trying to make amends, asked, “Why don’t we send out a couple of search parties made up of your people ... see where our Tango is? When we find him, we’ll go in and do the dirty. What we’re used to anyway.”
Sheriff Douglas thought about that for a moment, then shrugged. “We know where he is. There’s only one place he could hole up that the highway patrol chopper couldn’t find him with their FLEER. That’s Martin’s Cave. One of my deputies dressed out in hunting stuff and a .22, went in and found fresh tracks. He’s there for sure. So ... now what?”
Tony sighed, “Well, thanks for the intel. I’d have loved to be able to check out the terrain a bit ... but shit in one hand, wish in the other and see which one fills up first.”
A deputy hurried up. “He’s on the move. Jake just called in.” He glanced at Tony and Gibbs. “Jake’s been keeping an eye on the cave from the next ridge over. Spotter’s scope.”
The sheriff grumbled, “Well, shit. Any idea where he’s headed?”
“Sam thinks he’s headed for the Anderson place. They just left for vacation. He might be planning to raid them for supplies.”
Another deputy put in his two cents’ worth. “If we hurry, we can set up a crossfire in the two places he could approach from.”
They all hurried to their vehicles and took off for the Anderson residence to see if they couldn’t trap their target.
When they got there, the Pod were all pleased to see that the small house was situated in a hollow between two ridges. This protected it from wind and weather. It also provided a dead-end. There was a path in from around the end of one ridge, and a gravel drive from the blacktop ran between the two ridges. The sheriff and the deputy thought PO Reynolds would come in by the footpath. It was a longer trip, but it was under cover the whole way, while the road was cleared back nearly four feet on each side. As the sheriff said, “That will make him stand out like a bug on a plate.”
It was decided to split the group into Sheriff’s Department and NCIS. This would prevent any misunderstandings caused by trying to combine the services.
The only argument was over where each group should station themselves. Jimmy solved that easily. “Hang on a sec.” He trotted over to the Hummer, got his can out, took out all but two chips and said, “Draw. Whoever gets the higher chip gets first pick.”
Gibbs drew for NCIS and got the high chip. “Okay, AJ?”
Tony thought for a moment. “I really think he’ll take the chance of coming in on the road. We’ll take that.”
Sheriff Douglas smirked. “Really? I don’t think he’ll take the chance.”
They all went to gear up and get into position. Tony grumbled to Gibbs, “I don’t like this. No recon. No ... anything. Last time we were on an op like this, it went sideways so fast ... Seriously not happy with this whole FUBAR mess. Fuck it.”
“Don’t like it either, but orders are orders. You know the old saying. We, the Unwilling, led by the Unknowing, are doing the Impossible for the Uncaring. We have done so Much for so Long with so Little we are now fully qualified to do Absolutely Anything with Nothing.”
Tony nodded. “So true.”
They finished gearing up quickly and went to check out the terrain. The sheriff went with them to express his one concern. “Um ... don’t want to step on any toes, but ... what about the old guy?”
Tony didn’t even look his way as he said, “Ducky’s here as medic. He’ll stay with the Hummer or in the house.”
“Oh, okay, good. That’s good. I’ll let him into the house. The Andersons won’t mind.” The sheriff trotted back toward the house.
Gibbs rubbed his stomach. “I’m not sure about this whole op. Something’s gonna bite us in the fuckin’ ass.”
Tony nodded. “It is. It truly is.”
Between Tony and Remy, they soon had a crossfire set up, with Jimmy actually up a tree to get a good line of sight as far down the gravel as possible. Tony checked and announced, “Jimmy can see more than a mile. Nice advance warning.”
.
Sheriff Douglas walked up to Ducky. “Hey. Dr. Mallard, I didn’t get the chance to apologize for the other day. I’m really sorry you got hurt. Believe me when I say I took a hunk out of that deputy. He’s on desk duty for the next thirty days while I retrain him myself.”
Ducky just waved that away, saying, “Water under the bridge, my dear fellow. How can I help you?”
“Well, I thought you might be more comfortable in the house. Might set up some of your equipment ... just in case.” The sheriff grinned. “And that’ll give me an excuse to set up Helen’s coffee maker.”
“Very well. Here.” Ducky handed Jimmy’s field pack to the sheriff and then picked up his own.
“Christ on a cracker! What the heck is in this?” The sheriff was sure that Ducky didn’t carry this ruck himself.
“Oh, that is young Jimmy’s. It’s a complete SEAL Medic pack. It’s as close to a field hospital as you can get into one unit. As well as his personal gear. This ...” he held up the bag he was carrying. “Is my personal gear. Not as complete as Jimmy’s, but it’s what I can carry myself. I’ll just pop it under the table until we know if it’s needed or not.”
Ducky put his bag under the table then made way for the sheriff to add Jimmy’s.
“There. Now all I have to do is find the coffee pot.” The sheriff started opening cabinet doors.
Ducky asked, “Shouldn’t you ask permission? Where are the Andersons?”
Sheriff Douglas grumbled. “Well, damn. You’re right. I’ll see if I can get them. This is sort of a dead area when it comes to cell service. They still have a land line.” He walked to the phone on the wall. “And I need to get outside to set up the ambush. I’ll dial, then turn it over to you. Okay?”
Ducky sighed, but agreed. “Fine. I’ll deal.”
“Thanks.” The sheriff hurried off to position his deputies, convinced that he was going to see their target come out of the woods around the end of the ridge.
After setting up their ambushes, both teams settled down to wait.
.
Ducky listened to the phone ring. When it picked up, it was a woman. Ducky explained what was going on and asked if he could setup her pot.
“OH, I’m so sorry. I loaned the pot to my sister. She’s hostessing her bridge club this month. But it wouldn’t do you any good anyway. I took all the coffee with us. I’m really sorry.”
“Well, that’s unfortunate. But no harm, no foul. Have a nice vacation. And I will leave your house in the condition in which I found it.” Ducky said his good-byes and hung up.
He settled at the table to wait, wondering if there was any tea in the house. Finally, he pulled his tablet from his bag to read an article he was interested in.
Three hours later he heard a scratching at the back door. He put his tablet on the table and pulled the small, old-fashioned Colt snub-nosed .38 from its holster and waited.
It wasn’t long before PO Reynolds slipped into the kitchen from the mud room. Ducky calmly pointed his weapon and said, “Hands up. Do not make me shoot you.”
PO Reynolds blinked, then tried to rush Ducky. Ducky reacted by shooting him in the thigh. “Damn it. Now I have to mop the floor.”
Reynolds screamed when the bullet hit him and went down like a sack of shit. Ducky got out his phone and called Gibbs. “Jethro, do not panic. I just shot Reynolds in the thigh ... in the kitchen. I’m not approaching him until I have help.”
.
When they heard the shot from the house, the whole Pod headed there at a dead run. Gibbs’ phone started ringing, the ring tone the one Tim had assigned to Ducky, so he answered it. “What? Where? Okay. On the way.”
“What the hell?”
“Ducky caught our tango coming into the house. He shot him in the thigh. Wants us there ASAP.”
They were actually entering the house as Gibbs finished.
Tony grabbed Reynolds, flipped him over on his stomach and cuffed him. “Okay, Ducky. Do your thing so this jackwad doesn’t bleed to death.”
Ducky was offended and said so. “AJ, I’m offended in the extreme. I do know how to shoot someone so they don’t. Or do. Depending. I was a field operative for nearly twenty-five years, you know.” While he was speaking Ducky ripped Reynolds’ pant leg to the groin, slapped a field dressing on it, then announced, “Very nice through-and-through. Didn’t touch bone, or any arteries or veins. He’ll do.”
Tony just smirked at the sheriff and his deputies, who’d all rushed to the house when they heard the shot. “Sorry, Ducky. You’re so laid back now that I do tend to forget.”
Gibbs just smirked at the sheriff and said, “Well, we’ve all been schooled.”
The sheriff replied, “We sure have.”
Everyone laughed a bit hysterically.
Then Ducky announced, “And I need a mop and bucket. Mrs. Anderson doesn’t need to come home to a bloody floor.”
Sheriff Douglas shook his head. “One of the deputies will deal. You get that jackwad out of my county.” He gave them a casual salute then went to tell the EMT’s to get Reynolds to the local hospital for treatment.
It didn’t take them long to get their gear stowed away, call Vance for a quick sit-rep, and hit the road. Reynolds would be guarded at the hospital until he was deemed well enough to return to the Yard for questioning.
~~~
a strict search is one in which you look for only one “target.” In this case a brick of drugs or a stash of guns.
I hate Earl Grey; it tastes like gin smells. Earl Greyer has twice the bergamot oil, so it’s even worse. It’s also strong enough to strip paint, no matter how you brew it.
One-hit homicide is exactly what it sounds like. Sometimes it’s called one-punch. One blow that knocks the vic down, they hit their head just right and die. Or the blow breaks their neck.
Old saying about sleep: Never pass up a chance to eat, sleep, or shit, you never know when you’ll have another. (courtesy of my Dad who was an Army Engineer in WWII)
OS bar: Oh, shit! bar― the handhold by the passenger seat meant to help you get out of the car. (we all know it’s to hang onto when the driver is scaring the shit out of you.)
~~~~~