Fic: Alienated, Chapter 9a
Author’s Note: This first part of the chapter is for FordB on FF.Net, who wanted to see a reactionary scene of what would happen if DiNozzo managed to simultaneously irritate both Gibbs and Prime. Hope you like it! As a side note, I was doing some research on Wikipedia on the USS John C. Stennis, and according to that site, if one were to stack the required technical manuals for the ship, it would be as tall as the Washington Monument (555 feet). Got one word: DAMN!
Disclaimer: I’m running out of funny things to say in my disclaimers so, we’ll go simple. Nothing recognizable is mine. The only thing I own is the wacked out plot I’ve come up with, so don’t sue, savvy?
Chapter 9
Diego Garcia, NEST Headquarters
Gibbs was beyond frustrated. After leaving his impromptu breakfast with Captain Lennox, the NCIS team leader had poured over everything he had regarding his dead sailor. Nothing about Petty Officer Mitchell’s death made any kind of rational sense. Neither did Optimus Prime and his group, but the Gunny found it better to put that thought to the back of his mind. It made things less complicated, and for Gibbs, less complicated was good. It made him less crabby, which in turn, was good for everyone around him.
Unfortunately, it was a whole lot of complicated that was holding up his case at the present moment. Gibbs never pretended to understand technology, nor did he have the desire to learn. He had a cell phone. He could dial numbers and answer calls. He had email, and he used every once in a great while when Shepherd threatened him over it. That would have to be good enough. All the mumbo-jumbo McGee and Abby constantly talked about binary code, HTML, widgets and URLs made absolutely no sense to him. Gibbs’ idea of technical was adjusting for windage and elevation of his next shot. He was glad McGee, with all his nerdly knowledge, was working Mitchell’s laptop gizmo with the equally nerdy Glen and Maggie, but he wished it could get done a little bit faster.
It was for those very technologically illiterate and equally impatient reasons Gibbs didn’t fully understand the elation in McGee’s voice. When his probie called and told the boss he, Glen and Maggie had been able to finally crack the code on Mitchell’s laptop, Gibbs was only happy to finally be able to do some quality work and get the hell out of dodge. It was also because of Gibbs’ lack of understanding anything developed after 1970 that he missed the boat in respect as to why Tim was so pissed off as well.
Gibbs walked into the tech center and stood in front of the multiple plasma screens propped up on the walls. Bumblebee, Ziva, Ironhide and Lennox were already present. Ironhide and Lennox had returned from lunch at Will’s home while Ziva had been working the phones, trying to track down anyone related to Petty Officer Jonathan Mitchell. The man appeared to have few friends and even fewer family members. Analyzing what little he could understand, Gibbs barked a short, “All right McGee. Spill it.”
“Uh, Boss, I think we should wait for the rest of the group. This, I think, will involve all of us,” McGee responded, absently fiddling with the clicker in his hand.
Gibbs observed his surroundings. “Are we missing DiNozzo again?”
Tim nodded, his head bouncing up and down. “Him, Ratchet and Optimus.”
“Are they on their way?”
McGee nodded, shooting Glen a scathing glare for refusing to call the Gunny. “Yeah boss, I called them right after I called you when we got in. They should be here soon. Erm, I hope.”
“Good.”
McGee and Gibbs turned toward the hanger entrance and a familiar low rumble vibrated the soles of their shoes, Optimus and Ratchet rolling through the door in their alt modes. Stopping in front of the humans, both Autobots went through their transformation sequences slowly. Prime took a knee near the humans while Ratchet chose to remain standing.
“Agent McGee, I understand you’ve accessed Petty Officer Mitchell’s computer,” Optimus said smoothly, his battle mask retracted to project a more friendly posture.
Tim smiled proudly as he answered. “I have. Now we’re just waiting on DiN--” McGee stopped in mid sentence, his jaw going slack and his eyes darting toward the open hanger doors. “Oh my God.”
A startled burst of static played through Bumblebee’s speakers followed by, ‘Houston, we have a problem.’
Following McGee’s line of sight, Optimus turned his head to observe the spectacle on which every other set of eyes and optics were currently locked. Running a quick diagnostic to make sure nothing was malfunctioning, Prime reanalyzed the optical data one more time just to be sure. Gibbs and Lennox subconsciously wandered up to flank the Autobot commander, all three crossing their arms over their chests and staring incredulously at the sight before them.
Coming across the tarmac front of the hanger door was DiNozzo, Skids and Mudflap, both Autobots in their alt modes. The twins were driving parallel to each other, quicker than protocol allowed and certainly much faster than safety dictated. Anchored perpendicular to the respective roofs of each vehicle was a wooden plank, the board spanning the five-foot distance the twins were apart. Standing on top of the wooden plank and wearing the largest shit-eating grin Gibbs had ever seen was DiNozzo, legs braced and knees bent with his arms out in a surfer pose.
As Skids and Mudflap came to a halt, Tony jumped off his makeshift surfboard, landing with a little flourish and pocketed his matching Ray Ban aviators. Seeing the shocked human and alien faces, Tony threw up his hands and asked, “What? Don’t tell me none of you guys have ever heard of car surfing before! No? Seriously! I mean, wow!”
In triplet and simultaneous gestures, Will Lennox, Jethro Gibbs and Optimus Prime all reached up, and with their right hands, pinched the bridges of their respective noses. Prime let out a quiet groan of dismay, while Gibbs settled on a more appropriate growl of irritation.
“None of those are mine. Therefore, none of them are my problem,” Will announced hurriedly, spinning on his heel and walking toward McGee. Turning toward Epps as he passed, Lennox hissed, “And if you ever do something that stupid, I will shoot you myself.”
Epps threw up his hands in mock defense, still laughing himself. DiNozzo was good, and the sergeant would give him credit for that. But as Bobby glanced toward DiNozzo’s boss, he deduced he was most assuredly happy he had chosen to stay far, far away from the Minor Twins that week.
“DiNozzo! What the hell are you doing?” Gibbs barked as DiNozzo sauntered up to the group with his usual swagger.
“I thought I told you, Boss. Car surfing. Really fun. You should try it sometime, though with your--” DiNozzo was cut off by Gibbs’ hand smacking him firmly on the back of the head. “Ohh. Shutting up now, Boss.”
“Wise move.”
Not to be outdone, Ironhide stood to his full height and planted his large hands firmly on his hips. The trigger-happy superior officer didn’t bother stopping his cannon gyros from activating, optics flaring to bright blue as Barrett and Stinger spun to life. He focused his gaze down on his two disciplinarily shunted bots and raised a single hand to forestall any unnecessary blabbering from either twin. Calmly, he questioned his two soldiers. “Skids, Mudflap, what the frag were you thinking with that little stunt?”
The two twins stared dumbly up at their boss, hoping whatever response they gave wouldn’t get their respective afts shot off. Ironhide, like Gibbs, was not known as patient being. “We, uh. It sounded like a good idea?” Skids threw in a little smile for effect and shrugged innocently.
“Great.” Gibbs muttered under his breath. “They’re starting to sound like DiNozzo.”
From the other side of the hanger, a deep growl emitted from the yellow Hummer’s vocalizer. Two silver socket wrenches flew perfectly end over end across the room, making contact with the helms of their intended targets with resounding clangs.
Nearly knocking Ironhide over in his haste, the source of the projectiles balled his fists up at his sides and proceeded with the aft chewing of the week.
“Little fraggers! I will have your fuel tanks for that little stunt of yours! Do you know how dangerous that was? What if Agent DiNozzo had fallen? What if you had become distracted? I know how easily that happens!” Ratchet yelled as he stomped toward Skids and Mudflap, optics blazing and fingers pointing. Ironhide came up quietly from behind to assure the Chevys were boxed in. Feeling the full wrath of a medic on the warpath, Skids and Mudflap tried to shrink backwards in abject fear. Both jumped when they ran into the weapons specialist’s legs. Sufficiently trapping the twins, Ratchet and Ironhide parted to make room for the Big Guns, otherwise known as Optimus Prime.
Prime engaged his battle mask to increase the intimidation factor before jumping into the figurative fray. Dropping to one knee to be more on their level, Optimus spoke very clearly and very slowly. “Now, you two. I want an explanation.” Cocking his head to the side and fixing Skids with a stare, he amended, “The truthful one, Skids.”
The Prime’s pure embodiment of authority and his shifting, penetrating gaze was too much for either Chevy twin to handle. Feeling a pulse of fear from his brother, Mudflap was the first to crack. “He made us do it!” the Trax screeched, pointing his red finger frantically in DiNozzo’s general direction. “He insisted! We didn’t want to, but he begged!”
Tony was indignant. “Hey! Don’t put all this on me. You both were willing participants!”
Optimus’ left optic twitched, the simple involuntary action a subtle tell that gave away his increasing frustration. Where was Prowl when the Boss Bot needed him? Undoubtedly, Optimus’ second in command would have been able to think up ingenious and new ways to deter any further stupidity. “Agent DiNozzo made you? Really.”
Gibbs chose that particular moment to butt it. “Actually, with Tony, I might be inclined to believe them. Right, DiNozzo?”
Tony looked back and forth, quickly trying to discern which boss was the lesser evil. Who would he rather face? A pissed off Gibbs, or a pissed off giant alien robot?
Expelling hot air from his vents again to calm his overwrought processor, Prime once again addressed Skids and Mudflap. “I have tried to be patient and understanding. I had hoped your arrival to Earth would be good for the two of you so that you may learn about the culture of others. I also foolishly thought you would benefit from time spent with Agent DiNozzo. I can see now how wrong I was. The error in judgment began with me, but has concluded with you. I wish I could help you grow as Autobots, but maybe it is not to be.”
The twins exchanged worried glances. When Optimus dropped into monologue mode, it was either a very good sign, or a very bad one. There was no third direction. “Boss Bot, we’re sorry! We thought it would be fun! We--”
“OUT! Now!” Optimus Prime’s voice boomed through the smaller hanger and bounced off every available surface, the last of his patience finally snapping. “You are both to clean the energon processors immediately and you’re not to stop until I tell you so. If you finish before I say stop, clean them again. And again. I’ll come find you when I’m done taking care of business here. We’ll discuss a suitable punishment then. Dismissed.”
Skids and Mudflap grumbled unhappily as they made their way out the door. Prime could hear them clearly across the tarmac, still arguing over who was more at fault for the latest dressing down and subsequent punishment. Barely restraining the urge to pinch his noseplates again, Optimus leaned down to face Gibbs and Tony.
“Agent DiNozzo, what in the name of Primus compelled you to attempt car surfing with my twins?”
Tony’s eyes bounced nervously, finally settling on Ziva. “Uh, the power of Christ?” he said with a bright smile.
Bumblebee synthesized a laugh, The Exorcist’s famous line spilling from his speakers before he could stop it. ‘The power of Christ compels you! The power of Christ compels you!’
Optimus grimaced, dental plates grinding behind his battle mask. “Bumblebee, would you like to join the twins? I’m certain they’d love the extra help.”
The clip cut choppily off as ‘Bee whizzed through his transformation sequence. The yellow Camaro spun a rubber-burning 180 and took off, claiming to have a date far off base with Sam and Mikaela.
Prime cycled his vents harshly once again and turned to face McGee. “Might we get down to business now?”
Tim hurried forward, his remote still in his hand. Stopping just long enough to shoot Tony a look of pure hatred for irritating not one, not two, but all three bosses, McGee finally began the debriefing.
“Okay, so here’s what we know so far. Mitchell was a security fanatic and was probably obsessive compulsive, too” Tim said as he brought up various files to further back his point. Lists of lists popped up on the screen, all meticulously organized, color-coded and properly formatted. “He also had dirt on everyone, and I mean everyone. Up to and including the skipper.”
“And if you think he was all OCD over his day to day life, his hard drive was beyond ridiculous,” Glen added from his seat at the table.
Ziva tilted her head to the side. “What do you mean?”
“He was paranoid about his security, both online and in real life. It was more so online, but I have a feeling everything he did was secure.” Maggie swiveled in her seat to face the group, bracelets jingling as she explained.
Gibbs grumbled again. “That why it took so long?”
McGee looked genuinely insulted for a brief moment. Remembering it was Gibbs and therefore like talking to one of the Geico Cavemen, the MIT graduate took a deep breath. “Well, yeah. The level of encryption Mitchell had was like nothing I’ve ever seen, okay? This laptop was more secure than Omaha Beach.”
“But we got in there, McGee. Still think it took too long.”
“Boss, I had an easier time hacking the CIA than this guy!” Tim blurted out before fully processing his words. Quickly backpedaling, he sputtered, “I mean, if I well, if I ever did hack the CIA. Because I never did.”
Ratchet nearly laughed out loud. McGee hacked the CIA. The medibot made a mental note to remember that one for the next Autobot - US Government budget meeting. Prime had only disallowed any Autobot from forcibly hacking any US databank, government or otherwise. It didn’t mean that someone else couldn’t do it on Ratchet’s behalf. Ammo, in any form, was good to have. Focusing back on the conversation, Ratchet began listening in earnest.
“That is not the reason you brought us all down here, McGee. I am correct?” Ziva asked as she scanned the information on the screens.
Maggie scooted with her chair toward McGee. “Yeah. It took us all day to figure out why he had his hard drives partitioned the way he did, and then it took us even more time to figure out what the code in one of the drives meant.”
McGee picked up right where she left off. “Mitchell had most of his personal journal written in this weird code. It was a bunch of numbers and letters that made no sense at all.” McGee clicked a button and the first part of Mitchell’s journal popped up on the screen. “We didn’t understand what 2p7;13L5-29a31m61-11x2-11m13a7 meant and we all just stared at it.”
“Until Maggie figured it out. See, she saw that the numbers were actually letters and the letters told us what to do with the numbers. We started plugging things in by trial and error. Eventually we figured out that the numbers represent the base of the code and that we were looking at things in too tangible of a way,” Glen blabbered, stopping only to breathe and adjust his glasses.
Gibbs rolled his eyes and leaned over toward Prime, both leaders equally disinterested in the technobabble. “Yours go on like that too, huh?”
Optimus gave the Gunny a knowing look. “All day if I don’t stop them.”
Deciding he wanted the point sooner rather than later, Gibbs chose to interrupt McGee’s endless geek speak. “McGee! What’s the damn point?” Gibbs barked, causing both Glen and Maggie to jump in their chairs. The former Gunny was such a sharp contrast to the somewhat reserved and patient Optimus.
“I, well, it’s just that we know what Mitchell was up to, and probably why he’s dead,” Tim stuttered.
“Shouldn’t that have been the first thing you said?” Gibbs snapped in response. If he had a quarter for every time he said that to his team, his alimony payments to his three ex wives would be non-existent.
“Maybe. Do you still want to know what we found?”
“No, McGee. We don’t. We’re here for fun. Of course we do! Now spill it!” Gibbs yelled, shifting his coffee cup to his left hand.
McGee took a breath. “Okay. Mitchell was a typical computer geek. Lack of social skills, a bit of a loner, stuff like that.”
“Sounds like you, McGee,” DiNozzo threw across the room. Ziva balled up a wad of paper and tossed it with pinpoint accuracy at Tony’s head. “Hey!”
“Shut it, Tony!” Ziva snapped.
“At least I can claim to have written and published a New York Times bestseller, DiNozzo. What can you claim? That you can bong a beer in under seven seconds?” McGee shot back. “Ooh. Fabulous!”
Gibbs, increasingly annoyed with his team’s failing discipline, slammed a hand down on the table in front of him. “HEY! Focus! McGee, DiNozzo, do not make me slap you silly.”
McGee cleared his throat, stealing a look at Tony. Both agents looked visibly contrite. Cracking his neck, Tim moved on. “Anyway, his journal was the one place he could freely talk without being judged. He was almost cocky there. Once we wrote a program to decode the journal, we found this.” Tim said as Glen put up the most pertinent entry on the plasma. “Mitchell wanted fame more than fortune, and he thought if he could bring credibility to the theory of alien life on Earth, no one would be able to touch him. Theoretically, that is.”
“God, McGeek, this guy really is more pathetic than you,” DiNozzo added from his perch on the end of the table. McGee, choosing to verbally ignore his former boss, instead shot Tony a glare over his shoulder as he continued with his exposition.
“Mitchell wrote that he didn’t ever believe what the Stennis was carrying was experimental metal, so he used his power of ‘persuasion’ and blackmailed the MP in charge of the hold’s security to let him nose around for a little while. He found this guy.” McGee said as Glen clicked a picture up on the screen.
“Megatron,” Prime whispered. Gibbs and Lennox both swallowed harshly.
“Oh, shit,” Tony squeaked, remembering the name from the debriefing Lennox had conducted upon the NCIS agents’ arrival. Even offline and surely not moving, the face of the Decepticon leader was still plenty intimidating. “That’s Megatron? As in ‘I-wanna-blow-up-the-world-and-make-all our-machines-my-personal-army’ Megatron?”
Lennox nodded. “And he’s a pain in the ass, too.”
“Heard that,” Epps seconded, having wandered in late to the briefing.
Ironhide flexed his fists, physically willing his cannons to remain off line. “Continue, Agent McGee.”
“While he was nosing around, Mitchell wrote in his journal that he’d found a shard of something in the biggest robot’s chest.” Tim stopped long enough for Glen to retrieve and post the pictures of the shard, both from Mitchell’s journal and the NCIS autopsy photos, on the screen. “He picked at it until it came loose, and took it with him as his proof. He thought no one would believe his pictures, but the shard was so alien, it might just make people believe. Once it started making things do weird stuff, he knew he’d hit the jackpot. He also realized he had to get the shard off the ship.”
“And how did he manage that?” Lennox asked for the group and himself.
Glen put another set of pictures up on the screen as McGee continued to speak. “The Stennis group’s main deployment was as support to the Eisenhower and the Fifth Fleet in the Persian Gulf. She departed for the Gulf in late January of this year with a side mission to the Laurentian Abyss. She made port in early February in England, and was there for a three-day liberty before joining the Eisenhower on 19 February. Mitchell mailed the shard home to himself from England, and it sat in a PO box until he was back stateside.”
“Which wasn’t until last week,” DiNozzo added.
“Mitchell managed to get himself in a lot of trouble in only the week he was home. How?” Ziva asked, tapping a pen on her chin thoughtfully.
Maggie jumped in. “That was part of his journal, too. During the cruise, Mitchell was in an out of contact with an unnamed man who was quite intent on purchasing the shard. They had regular correspondence right up until Mitchell’s tour ended.”
“Agent McGee, who initiated the contact?” Optimus asked, shifting his position ever so slightly to ease a cramp in his stabilizing servo. The Boss Bot had a bad feeling about where this discovery could potentially head.
“The unknown buyer solicited Mitchell for the information. Mitchell never said how the guy knew what he had or if he could even figure it out. From all his notes though, Mitchell thought the guy was legit.”
“Now wait. That doesn’t sound right.” Lennox’s statement was met with nods from Prime, Ironhide and Ratchet.
“I agree, Captain Lennox. Caution may be the wisest choice of action here,” Optimus said in response.
“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. We’re just telling you what we found,” Glen responded.
Quietly listening and taking in all the information, Gibbs looked toward McGee. “Anything else?”
“Uh, yeah. One big question mark, boss. We don’t really know who this guy is because even Mitchell’s decoded notes were somewhat encrypted,” McGee started. Gibbs leveled the tech geek with an exasperated glare.
“Make sense, McGee!”
Tim babbled again. “Uh, right. What I meant to say was that Mitchell never named names in anything he wrote. All we were able to figure out so far is that there’s a meet between these two guys set for tomorrow, about an hour’s drive from here. I even have exact latitude and longitude, up to the minute and second.”
Gibbs nodded and turned toward Optimus. “We have to keep that meeting. This guy, whoever he is, is the only link we have to Mitchell and why he’s dead.”
“That would be a great idea, but seeing as how Mitchell is dead, I’d like to know how you plan on accomplishing that,” Ironhide grumbled from the side of the room.
Gibbs turned toward the computer geeks. “McGee, are you sure these guys never met face to face? Exchanged pictures? Anything?”
“That’s the one thing I’m a hundred percent sure on, boss. Mitchell recorded everything in this journal of his, and there’s no record of him ever meeting this guy in any other capacity than by email.”
“Good.”
“What are you thinking, Gibbs?” Prime asked, still kneeling at the human’s level.
Gibbs smirked. “We’re going to send in McGee instead.”
Tony’s jaw dropped in shock. “McGee? Why him, boss?” Turning toward Tim, DiNozzo added, “No offense, Probie.”
“DiNozzo, unless you understand all this computer mumbo jumbo enough to fake being Mitchell, McGee is the one I want.” The expression on Gibbs’ face left no room for discussion.
Tony tipped his head to the side. “McGee it is.”
Ziva gave Tim a small smile. “Do not worry, McGee. I am certain you’ll be just fine.”
Tim looked around frantically, Ziva’s kind words of encouragement having little effect. “Me? Me, boss? Are--are you sure?”
Gibbs walked up to be face to face with his young agent. “Well, yeah McGee. If I wasn’t sure, I wouldn’t have said it. Why? Do you have a problem with that?”
McGee shook his head ferociously from side to side. “No problem. We’re good.”
From across the room, Ratchet made his opinion known once again. “Ah, yes. I have a problem.”
“I should have figured.” Gibbs’ voice practically oozed unrepentant contempt. “What is it this time, Ratchet?”
“Your whole ‘plan’, and I use that term loosely, stems on whoever this person is believing that Tim is your Petty Officer Mitchell. What if he doesn’t? Or what if this turns out to be nothing but a robbery? What will you do then? Start shooting?”
“Hey, our intentions here are to arrest the guy and find out what he knows. We’re in the business of convicting dirty murderers, not being murderers ourselves,” DiNozzo countered, clearly offended by Ratchet’s verbal implication.
Nonplussed by the aloof NCIS agent’s unusually harsh words, Ratchet continued. “I still haven’t finished my work with the shards we have. We don’t know who this buyer is. For all you know, he’s a Decepticon. Face it DiNozzo. We don’t have enough information to go off half cocked.”
Optimus’ vents hissed while he stood upright. “Gibbs, Ratchet is right. You will need a contingency plan if things go wrong. My hope is that you’re right, that this is nothing more than a business transaction. But with at least two Decepticons still unaccounted for, it would be irresponsible to let you assume otherwise.”
“What are you suggesting?” Gibbs asked after a brief moment of consideration.
“I propose a compromise.” Optimus tilted his head in Gibbs’ direction. “I suggest you go with your original course of action and let Tim proceed with the meet as Mitchell. You can station your team close to him to give cover. We will hold short near you to provide assistance should anything go wrong.”
“I think that would work, but do you really think this is a Decepticon setup?” Gibbs queried.
“I don’t know. As I said, I hope not, but I cannot permit you to take any foolish risks.”
“Don’t think we can take care of ourselves, Prime?” Gibbs challenged.
“Quite to the contrary,” the massive Autobot replied. “I have every belief you are capable fighters. My point is that you should not have to be, at least not on our behalf. This is our war, one we brought to your world. The least we can do is provide support.”
Gibbs smirked. “I was yanking your chain, Optimus.”
His optics showing his surprise, Prime tried to cover his rapidly increasing embarrassment. “Right.” Cracking his neck wiring in a most human gesture, Optimus tried to get the briefing back on track. “Captain Lennox, Special Agent Gibbs, how do you suggest we handle this situation?”
Gibbs exchanged glances with Lennox. “We all in?” Both Lennox and Prime nodded. “All right.”
“Glen, could you put up a topographical map of the meeting area please?” Prime asked as he walked over toward the computer screens.
Pushing his bottle cap glasses up his nose for the umpteenth time, Glen said, “Sure Optimus. Hold on.” Grabbing the coordinates from McGee, Glen typed quickly.
The map popped up on the screen, the new source of information attracting the three leaders like flies on honey. Quickly studying it, Lennox’s special ops mind began to formulate a plan of attack. “This has got to be a small operation. Two, maybe three man teams at most, and no more than two teams total.”
Gibbs gave a curt bob of his head. “I agree. Anything more than that, we risk spooking this buyer more than he already is.” Settling his hands on his hips, Gibbs studied the topographical map Glen had pulled up in earnest. “The meeting is taking place here,” the Gunny said, pointing to the eastern side of Nesbitt Lake in a remote part of the Nevada desert.
“Right. There are several ridges that will give enough cover to my team and me, and we’ll also be able to see McGee from there. The Autobots are going to need more than that,” Lennox thought out loud.
Gibbs pointed to the map again, one hand still on his hip. “Well what about that big valley to the east? It’s only about a mile away, and the elevation should hide them, even someone as big as Optimus.”
Optimus shook his head in agreement. “That looks fine, Special Agent Gibbs.”
“Gibbs, I’ll be taking Epps along for the ride.”
“Fine,” came the one word response from the Gunny.
“Okay. Then we’ll go one human team and one Autobot team. Humans will be stationed just south of the meeting location. We need to be within visual distance in case McGee needs us. That means 100 yards or less. Autobots, make sure you’re within one mile. I need you to be able to cover ground in a hurry if the shit hits the fan. Prime, who are you taking?” Lennox asked, his military leadership clearly evident in how he handled pre planning.
Turning to Lennox, Optimus addressed the human military commander. “Captain Lennox, I concur with you suggestion of small teams. Would Ironhide and myself be acceptable?”
Lennox gave Optimus a look clearly saying, ‘Well slag for a processor, what do you think I’d say?’ Verbally, the young Captain replied, “Yes, Prime. That would be fine. Gibbs, are you okay with that?”
“Works for me.”
“All right. McGee, make sure you get everyone a copy of Mitchell’s journal and anything else you find pertinent. We need any and all intel we can get before tomorrow.”
“You got it, Captain Lennox.” McGee’s fingers furiously flew over the keyboards as pages of documents spit out from the printer.
“Anyone have anything else?” Lennox asked as he handed out the copies given to him by McGee and Glen.
From across the room, Ratchet’s deep voice penetrated the hanger. “I’m coming with you.”
Gibbs rolled his eyes. “Why?”
Ratchet locked optics with Gibbs. “Because I have a feeling that Mitchell’s death wasn’t just the shard reacting to something around it. He had help dying, so just deal with it.”
“Fine. Just be discreet, Ratchet.” Trying his best to ignore the obvious tension between Ratchet and Gibbs, Lennox finished, “Radios and comms for everyone. Autobots need to mask their signatures as much as possible in case this is a Decepticon trap. We don’t want to give ourselves away if we don’t need to.” Various nods met his eyes. “Make sure you read over all the information you were just given. It might just save your ass tomorrow.”
Gibbs walked over to where McGee had seated himself to reassure his probie he’d not just been fed to the wolves. “McGee, just learn as much as you can about Mitchell, like how he talks and how acts. You can probably do that from his writing, right?” Tim nodded. “Okay. Just relax. We’re going to be near you and you’ll have us all in your ear.”
Tim swallowed nervously. “Go- Got it, boss.”
Gibbs laid a hand firmly on McGee’s shoulder and spoke quietly. “Breathe, Tim. You’ll do just fine.”
“Yeah. Fine.” McGee blew out an extra large breath. He wasn’t a new recruit straight out of college any more. He had been in tight spots before and had passed with flying colors. There was no reason to believe any differently on this mission, and that’s what McGee was telling himself. Looking Gibbs in the eye, McGee was confident. “I’m good. We’re prepared. We have a plan, and three huge Autobots as backup.”
Gibbs’ face showed surprised satisfaction. “Good.”
DiNozzo butted in. “Uh, boss? Where are we in all this?”
“I haven’t decided yet, DiNozzo.”
Knowing he had more vital information, Tim called over the din of the suddenly alive hanger. “Uh, guys? Guys! There’s something else you should probably know. Guys? Guys!” Getting no response, McGee let out a shrill whistle. The group stopped and resettled, waiting for McGee to speak. “I don’t think Mitchell’s shard was the only one in existence. There was possibly one more, and Mitchell has also been in contact with the guy who apparently has it.”
“Go on, Agent McGee,” Optimus said, the lump in his fuel pump growing bigger by the moment. Silence reigned throughout the hanger.
“I haven’t been able to figure out who this third person is yet, but he’s definitely an additional shard owner. He’s also not the guy Mitchell was supposed to meet tomorrow. I wish I had more than that, but I don’t.”
“DiNozzo, David, now you two have a job. Get on that third person and don’t stop until you figure out who the hell he is. We’re going to need that information. Let me know when you have something.” Gibbs delegated before walking briskly toward the door. His voice floated backwards. “That’s good work, McGee.”
Onwards! Hi ho Silver! To Part 9b!