totally not my fault, III: son of totally not my fault
Since I'm not writing this (but I apparently am) and I'm not doing it linearly, there's no reason for me to put the scenes in order, yeah? Comes before this and after that. And, hey, a tag. Now I need to see about an icon. And maybe a working title...
eta: fanwiki page on Hollis Mann, since she's not a regular character.
On the website (one page)
On LJ: One | Two| Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten
Director Shepard called her and Gibbs into her office at 1200.
"I have had three very interesting conversations today," Shepard began as soon as the secretary closed the door behind her. "The first was from the director of the Air Force Office of Special Investigations. He said that we might have accidentally stumbled upon a lead into one of their existing investigations and would I be so generous as to make my agents available for debriefing and to hand off the case. The second was from your boss, Colonel Mann, reporting that he'd gotten the exact same message. And the third came from the Pentagon, from the office of an Air Force two-star I've never heard of, asking for an appointment."
Shepard sat forward in her seat and folded her hands neatly on her desk.
"What the hell are you two up to and why does the Air Force care so much?"
Hollis looked over at Gibbs, who gave her a minute shrug that she correctly interpreted as the particular brand of indifference to politics that made him a brilliant investigator and a piss-poor ally in a bureaucratic fight.
"Honestly, ma'am, I have no idea why the Air Force is interested," she answered. "We've had a break-in at Fort Meade, possibly preceded by a suspicious death, and we've had a murder at NAB Little Creek followed by another break-in. Our suspect profiles, such as they are, indicate a group of five men with training by the Marines and possibly the IDF. Neither Doctor Feng nor Doctor Kennedy were present or former Air Force personnel and we don't have a single piece of evidence stamped 'property of the United States Air Force.'"
They were operating under the possibility that the five men were mercenaries and/or traitors, but there was the possibility that they were still working for some government alphabet soup agency and this was sanctioned, lawful or not. In which case it still didn't explain why the Air Force had the lead.
"General O'Neill is showing up at 1500," Shepard told them. "Before that time, I want to know why the Air Force is interested and whether that interest should supersede our own."
"We had a man murdered on Navy grounds," Gibbs said evenly, as if one dead civilian employee trumped the entire military political game. "Our interest is in finding out who did it, not in covering the Air Force's ass."
Shepard rolled her eyes and pointed to the door. "You can be noble on your own time, Jethro. I am not going to fight the entire Pentagon so that your sensibilities aren't bruised. If you want me to cash in favors for you to keep this case, you're going to have to give me something more than old-time aphorisms and a couple of foot-stomps."
They went back to the bullpen.
"McGee, get me anything and everything on an Air Force Major General O'Neill. Break into whatever you have to. DiNozzo, find me any connection between Feng and Kennedy and the Air Force. See if any of their previous employers had military contracts or even if they lived in driving distance of a base. Where is David?"
"Abby's," McGee replied, already typing.
"Doing what?" Gibbs asked when nothing else was added.
"Abby wouldn't say," McGee answered with a frown. "She just said that only Ziva could come down."
"I'd suspect she's seeking advice of a female nature," DiNozzo said, "but she asked for Ziva, who knows absolutely nothing about that."
By the time David returned five minutes later, the official photograph of MG Jonathan O'Neill was up on the plasma.
"Girl talk?" Gibbs asked archly.
David looked confused for a moment. "No, Arabic talk," she replied. "She is processing evidence for another agent and needed translation help."
"She doesn't have a dictionary?" Hollis asked.
"These were not words that are in most dictionaries," David said with a wicked grin, then sobered when Gibbs's own expression didn't change. "Was there something you needed from me?"
Gibbs gestured for her to go to her desk, which she did.
"You're not speaking, McGee," he said.
"That's because... right, nevermind," McGee trailed off. "Major General Jonathan 'Jack' O'Neill, Director of the Office of Space Intelligence based out of the Pentagon."
"Space Intelligence," Gibbs repeated before anyone else could. "He's our liaison with the aliens?"
Everyone chuckled. The others because it was ridiculous on the face of it, but Hollis because she'd been in the Army for twenty years and knew that that didn't mean that it didn't exist anyway.
"More likely he's the guy running the military's spies on China and Russia and other space programs," McGee said once everyone had stopped snickering. "He's a pilot, but he seems to have started a second career on the ground -- his postings are mostly in covert action units, STS and its quieter siblings, that sort of thing. Multiple decorations, most without unclassified citations. He's been in his current position for less than a year -- and he spent only about a year as a one-star, going by the date on his recommendation for promotion to general officer."
"So the Air Force got this case because O'Neill's got wings?" Hollis mused aloud. "Is this all some space tech espionage thing?"
"They got it for more reasons than O'Neill's favoritism," DiNozzo said. "Feng and Kennedy both paid Colorado state income tax from 2004 through 2006. Which is entertaining and amusing because, according to their employment histories, neither of them ever worked or lived in Colorado."
Hollis exchanged a look with Gibbs, who grimaced right back.
"Where in Colorado?" she asked, knowing the answer.
"El Paso County," DiNozzo announced triumphantly. "Home to Peterson and Schriever Air Force Bases and, *dun-dun-dun*, NORAD."
Missile defense and space programs. Fabulous.
"From 2004 through 2006, Feng was supposed to be in Texas and Kennedy was allegedly in Cambridge," DiNozzo went on. "Of course, we didn't do background checks on them going back that far, possibly because we assumed their current employers might have. Considering their security clearances and all."
"Plenty of time to correct that," Gibbs said.
"Right," DiNozzo agreed, then turned to David. "Texas or Massachussetts?"
"Texas," David answered, standing up to get the file DiNozzo was holding up for her. "I like the accent better."
By the time 1445 rolled around, they had established that it was highly probable that neither Feng nor Kennedy had ever been to Texas or Cambridge, respectively, although the covers were well done, which was why it was only 'highly probable' and not 'certain.' They went up to Shepard's office and briefed her on what they suspected; Shepard didn't tip her hand, but Gibbs seemed to think that she'd go to bat for them.
General O'Neill was escorted past the bullpen by a security agent a few minutes after they got back downstairs, an O-5 in USAF service uniform trailing behind. O'Neill had the weariness of a man who'd run a lot of miles to get to middle age, but Hollis didn't confuse that with softness or weakness. Quite the opposite. His staff officer -- guy's posture screamed 'jet jockey' even before he got close enough for Hollis to see the wings -- greeted them with a friendly smile and a muted southern twang that was meant to put them all at ease and assure them that his boss meant no harm, but Hollis didn't bite. O'Neill had come here to close down their investigation and he -- and Lieutenant Colonel Mitchell -- seemed to believe that they'd have no trouble doing so.
"What are the odds that OSI is even investigating this?" she asked Gibbs as they watched the trio head upstairs to Shepard's office. "I'll bet you an evening's work of sanding that there's no open casefile and no agent assigned."
"I don't want you wrecking my boat," Gibbs replied, nodding at Mitchell, who'd turned back to look at them as he made the last turn on the stairs.
Ten minutes later -- nobody storming out of Shepard's suite, no voices heard, no calls to get upstairs and explain themselves -- and Hollis's cell phone rang. It was her deputy; this case was taking most of her time, but she had other ones open and a unit to run, even if she wasn't doing a lot of it hands-on at the moment. Duplasse was calling for a reason, though -- one of her cases had had its court date pushed up and the prosecuting officer was on his way over there now to prep her for testimony.
"I gotta get back to the farm," she told Gibbs once she was finished. "Let me know what happens."
He nodded and she left.
She got back to her office and breathed the familiar air of Army with something like relief. And then she found all of the crap that was waiting for her and there was a brief second when she remembered that she already had twenty years in (twenty-two and counting) and didn't need to do this anymore if it wasn't fun. But that was only a brief second, because Duplasse was already waiting with folders in hand and a list of fifteen things that had been too trivial to mention over the phone but were also important enough to bring up before she got locked in a room with the JAG lawyer.
The prep took too long -- brand-new lawyer, old-hand investigator, bad combination -- and then there was the rest of what Duplasse hadn't had time to explain and, before she knew it, it was after eight and the office was almost empty. Her phone had no messages, which didn't mean anything except that L. Jethro Gibbs hated voicemail. She went home, took a slab of tilapia out of the freezer and broccoli out of the fridge and while the two were achieving edible temperature, she gave up and called Gibbs.
"Do we still have the case?" she asked him as soon as he picked up.
"I'll tell you in a minute," he said.
"Should I call you back?" He didn't sound rushed or harried.
"No, you should open the door," was the reply. "I've got my hands full."
She found Gibbs in her doorway, cell phone in one hand and six-pack in the other. He walked by her with an insouciant peck on the cheek.
"Do we still have the case?" she called after him, closing the door and her cell phone.
He held up the six-pack. "It'd have been bourbon if we were going to drown our sorrows."
eta: fanwiki page on Hollis Mann, since she's not a regular character.
On the website (one page)
On LJ: One | Two| Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten
Director Shepard called her and Gibbs into her office at 1200.
"I have had three very interesting conversations today," Shepard began as soon as the secretary closed the door behind her. "The first was from the director of the Air Force Office of Special Investigations. He said that we might have accidentally stumbled upon a lead into one of their existing investigations and would I be so generous as to make my agents available for debriefing and to hand off the case. The second was from your boss, Colonel Mann, reporting that he'd gotten the exact same message. And the third came from the Pentagon, from the office of an Air Force two-star I've never heard of, asking for an appointment."
Shepard sat forward in her seat and folded her hands neatly on her desk.
"What the hell are you two up to and why does the Air Force care so much?"
Hollis looked over at Gibbs, who gave her a minute shrug that she correctly interpreted as the particular brand of indifference to politics that made him a brilliant investigator and a piss-poor ally in a bureaucratic fight.
"Honestly, ma'am, I have no idea why the Air Force is interested," she answered. "We've had a break-in at Fort Meade, possibly preceded by a suspicious death, and we've had a murder at NAB Little Creek followed by another break-in. Our suspect profiles, such as they are, indicate a group of five men with training by the Marines and possibly the IDF. Neither Doctor Feng nor Doctor Kennedy were present or former Air Force personnel and we don't have a single piece of evidence stamped 'property of the United States Air Force.'"
They were operating under the possibility that the five men were mercenaries and/or traitors, but there was the possibility that they were still working for some government alphabet soup agency and this was sanctioned, lawful or not. In which case it still didn't explain why the Air Force had the lead.
"General O'Neill is showing up at 1500," Shepard told them. "Before that time, I want to know why the Air Force is interested and whether that interest should supersede our own."
"We had a man murdered on Navy grounds," Gibbs said evenly, as if one dead civilian employee trumped the entire military political game. "Our interest is in finding out who did it, not in covering the Air Force's ass."
Shepard rolled her eyes and pointed to the door. "You can be noble on your own time, Jethro. I am not going to fight the entire Pentagon so that your sensibilities aren't bruised. If you want me to cash in favors for you to keep this case, you're going to have to give me something more than old-time aphorisms and a couple of foot-stomps."
They went back to the bullpen.
"McGee, get me anything and everything on an Air Force Major General O'Neill. Break into whatever you have to. DiNozzo, find me any connection between Feng and Kennedy and the Air Force. See if any of their previous employers had military contracts or even if they lived in driving distance of a base. Where is David?"
"Abby's," McGee replied, already typing.
"Doing what?" Gibbs asked when nothing else was added.
"Abby wouldn't say," McGee answered with a frown. "She just said that only Ziva could come down."
"I'd suspect she's seeking advice of a female nature," DiNozzo said, "but she asked for Ziva, who knows absolutely nothing about that."
By the time David returned five minutes later, the official photograph of MG Jonathan O'Neill was up on the plasma.
"Girl talk?" Gibbs asked archly.
David looked confused for a moment. "No, Arabic talk," she replied. "She is processing evidence for another agent and needed translation help."
"She doesn't have a dictionary?" Hollis asked.
"These were not words that are in most dictionaries," David said with a wicked grin, then sobered when Gibbs's own expression didn't change. "Was there something you needed from me?"
Gibbs gestured for her to go to her desk, which she did.
"You're not speaking, McGee," he said.
"That's because... right, nevermind," McGee trailed off. "Major General Jonathan 'Jack' O'Neill, Director of the Office of Space Intelligence based out of the Pentagon."
"Space Intelligence," Gibbs repeated before anyone else could. "He's our liaison with the aliens?"
Everyone chuckled. The others because it was ridiculous on the face of it, but Hollis because she'd been in the Army for twenty years and knew that that didn't mean that it didn't exist anyway.
"More likely he's the guy running the military's spies on China and Russia and other space programs," McGee said once everyone had stopped snickering. "He's a pilot, but he seems to have started a second career on the ground -- his postings are mostly in covert action units, STS and its quieter siblings, that sort of thing. Multiple decorations, most without unclassified citations. He's been in his current position for less than a year -- and he spent only about a year as a one-star, going by the date on his recommendation for promotion to general officer."
"So the Air Force got this case because O'Neill's got wings?" Hollis mused aloud. "Is this all some space tech espionage thing?"
"They got it for more reasons than O'Neill's favoritism," DiNozzo said. "Feng and Kennedy both paid Colorado state income tax from 2004 through 2006. Which is entertaining and amusing because, according to their employment histories, neither of them ever worked or lived in Colorado."
Hollis exchanged a look with Gibbs, who grimaced right back.
"Where in Colorado?" she asked, knowing the answer.
"El Paso County," DiNozzo announced triumphantly. "Home to Peterson and Schriever Air Force Bases and, *dun-dun-dun*, NORAD."
Missile defense and space programs. Fabulous.
"From 2004 through 2006, Feng was supposed to be in Texas and Kennedy was allegedly in Cambridge," DiNozzo went on. "Of course, we didn't do background checks on them going back that far, possibly because we assumed their current employers might have. Considering their security clearances and all."
"Plenty of time to correct that," Gibbs said.
"Right," DiNozzo agreed, then turned to David. "Texas or Massachussetts?"
"Texas," David answered, standing up to get the file DiNozzo was holding up for her. "I like the accent better."
By the time 1445 rolled around, they had established that it was highly probable that neither Feng nor Kennedy had ever been to Texas or Cambridge, respectively, although the covers were well done, which was why it was only 'highly probable' and not 'certain.' They went up to Shepard's office and briefed her on what they suspected; Shepard didn't tip her hand, but Gibbs seemed to think that she'd go to bat for them.
General O'Neill was escorted past the bullpen by a security agent a few minutes after they got back downstairs, an O-5 in USAF service uniform trailing behind. O'Neill had the weariness of a man who'd run a lot of miles to get to middle age, but Hollis didn't confuse that with softness or weakness. Quite the opposite. His staff officer -- guy's posture screamed 'jet jockey' even before he got close enough for Hollis to see the wings -- greeted them with a friendly smile and a muted southern twang that was meant to put them all at ease and assure them that his boss meant no harm, but Hollis didn't bite. O'Neill had come here to close down their investigation and he -- and Lieutenant Colonel Mitchell -- seemed to believe that they'd have no trouble doing so.
"What are the odds that OSI is even investigating this?" she asked Gibbs as they watched the trio head upstairs to Shepard's office. "I'll bet you an evening's work of sanding that there's no open casefile and no agent assigned."
"I don't want you wrecking my boat," Gibbs replied, nodding at Mitchell, who'd turned back to look at them as he made the last turn on the stairs.
Ten minutes later -- nobody storming out of Shepard's suite, no voices heard, no calls to get upstairs and explain themselves -- and Hollis's cell phone rang. It was her deputy; this case was taking most of her time, but she had other ones open and a unit to run, even if she wasn't doing a lot of it hands-on at the moment. Duplasse was calling for a reason, though -- one of her cases had had its court date pushed up and the prosecuting officer was on his way over there now to prep her for testimony.
"I gotta get back to the farm," she told Gibbs once she was finished. "Let me know what happens."
He nodded and she left.
She got back to her office and breathed the familiar air of Army with something like relief. And then she found all of the crap that was waiting for her and there was a brief second when she remembered that she already had twenty years in (twenty-two and counting) and didn't need to do this anymore if it wasn't fun. But that was only a brief second, because Duplasse was already waiting with folders in hand and a list of fifteen things that had been too trivial to mention over the phone but were also important enough to bring up before she got locked in a room with the JAG lawyer.
The prep took too long -- brand-new lawyer, old-hand investigator, bad combination -- and then there was the rest of what Duplasse hadn't had time to explain and, before she knew it, it was after eight and the office was almost empty. Her phone had no messages, which didn't mean anything except that L. Jethro Gibbs hated voicemail. She went home, took a slab of tilapia out of the freezer and broccoli out of the fridge and while the two were achieving edible temperature, she gave up and called Gibbs.
"Do we still have the case?" she asked him as soon as he picked up.
"I'll tell you in a minute," he said.
"Should I call you back?" He didn't sound rushed or harried.
"No, you should open the door," was the reply. "I've got my hands full."
She found Gibbs in her doorway, cell phone in one hand and six-pack in the other. He walked by her with an insouciant peck on the cheek.
"Do we still have the case?" she called after him, closing the door and her cell phone.
He held up the six-pack. "It'd have been bourbon if we were going to drown our sorrows."