Final Act for kellethmetheus
Aug. 19th, 2010 01:59 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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ncisficathonTitle: Final Act
Author:![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
flamingo55
Written for:kellethmetheus
Prompt: After Jenny's death Gibbs finds out a secret that she never told him. With the team scattered it's up to him and Tim to get to the bottom of it.
Archive: Yes, probably, but ask me first.
Genre: Gen
Pairings: None
Rating: T
Disclaimer: These are not my characters, and no money is being made.
Word Count: 3920
Summary: A mysterious note found after Jenny’s death leads Gibbs and Tim to finish what she’d started. Takes place sometime between Judgement Day and Last Man Standing.
Thanks tozaleti for all her help. It is, as always, much appreciated. :)
“Leon?” Gibbs called, pushing his way through the door. The director had summoned him a moment ago, but now was nowhere to be seen.
“Yeah,” Vance called, straightening up from behind the desk. An exasperated sigh escaped. “Drawer’s stuck. Again. Damn thing hasn’t worked right since the day I got here.”
Gibbs walked around to the other side of the desk. “Let me take a look at it.” He leaned down to study the drawer, trying to avoid bending his knees. “I can fix this - just need a couple things.”
“First, tell me what’s happening with Lieutenant Jacobsen’s murder,” Vance requested.
Gibbs brought him up to speed, then went to grab the small toolbox he kept in his desk. The drawer seemed to have something wedged near the back, and Gibbs had been working for five or six minutes to free it when the phone buzzed. “You’re needed in MTAC, Director,” came the voice of his assistant.
Gibbs looked up. “I’ve almost got it.”
“I’ll leave you to it - much appreciated, Agent Gibbs.”
A few moments after Vance had gone, Gibbs managed to pry the drawer free. As he maneuvered it back and forth on its rails, a piece of paper, folded and mangled, fluttered out from the back. Gibbs knelt and reached under the desk to retrieve it, cursing his aging body as he straightened up. Satisfied with the repair, he slid the drawer closed, then flattened out the crumpled paper he held in his hand, staring in surprise at the writing.
Russian script, written in a distinctly feminine hand.
Gibbs felt as though he’d been punched in the chest. Jenny.
Without thinking, he sank into the desk chair - Jenny’s chair, his mind corrected automatically, and read the note.
Dear Mikhail -
Friday, 10 am, at -
The note ended abruptly. Gibbs didn’t need to wonder why she’d never finished it. The date on the top - the day before she’d left for Los Angeles - told him all he needed to know. Folded behind it was another piece of paper, also in Russian, though not any handwriting Gibbs recognized.
Jenny -
Leia needs your help. I’ll explain in person. Leave a note in the usual spot.
Mikhail.
Gibbs took the drawer all the way out, searching for any other clues that might have gotten trapped. Finding none, he reassembled the desk, slipped the notes into his pocket, and left.
On his way to the elevator, he cast a disapproving look at the “team” he’d been handed. Not a single one of them he trusted to get him a sandwich, let alone with this kind of information. With a shake of his head, he punched the button for Abby’s lab.
“Gibbs!” Abby cried as soon as he appeared.
“I need a favor, Abbs,” he said, setting the note from this “Mikhail” person down on the table.
Abby glanced at it, then turned to him, perturbed. “Gibbs, this is in Russian.”
“That’s why I brought you a translation,” he said, handing over another piece of paper.
This time, she just stared. “Gibbs...” She threw her arms around him, fighting back tears.
“I know, Abbs,” he said quietly.
“Who’s Mikhail?” she asked, pulling back, composed again.
“Dunno. Was hoping you might get a fingerprint for me,” Gibbs replied.
“I promise you, Gibbs, I will extract every last bit of forensic evidence from this scrap of paper.” She looked around. “There’s no evidence bag, so....”
“Not important. This goes to me and me only.”
“You got it.” She glanced at him expectantly. “No Caf-Pow, Gibbs?”
“Get me something first, Abbs,” he called over his shoulder.
“Right,” Abby nodded, and got to work.
Two hours later, almost to the minute, Gibbs strode back into the lab with a Caf-Pow. “What ya got for me, Abbs?”
Abby’s jaw dropped. “How do you do that? No, wait, I don’t want to know. I mean I do, but I don’t. You know?”
“Abbs?” Gibbs gave her the long-suffering look she knew so well.
“Okay, I just got a match five seconds ago. Seriously, Gibbs, tell me. No, don’t. Preserve the mystery, I think. No, do. Oh....” Gibbs’ glare got her back on track. “Right. First of all, there were a million prints on that piece of paper, half of them yours.”
Gibbs continued to stare silently.
Abby sighed. “Anyway, your letter writer is Mikhail Petrovich.”
“Got an address?” Gibbs wondered.
“Nyet. You heard the part where it’s been five seconds, right?” Gibbs rolled his eyes, and Abby tapped a few keys. “Stupid CIA - I can’t get in.” She turned to him, determined, and pointed a single finger. “But I will.”
“That’s good work, Abbs,” Gibbs said, handing over the large cup. “I’ll get McGee on it - might as well make use of all those computers in the basement.”
Abby took a sip of the drink, watching him leave. She missed McGee. She missed Tony and Ziva. She glanced sadly down at the paper Gibbs had left behind. And she really missed Jenny.
*********
Over in Cybercrimes, McGee sat in front of a bank of computers. “Boss, I finished that upgrade you asked for,” one of the agents called.
“On every system?” McGee shot back.
“On it, Boss,” the man added hastily.
Tim looked up at that moment to see Gibbs’ nonplussed stare. Startled, he jumped to his feet. “They just... it’s because...” McGee stammered. He sighed, and opted for another tack. “What brings you down here, Boss? I thought we were having lunch on Thursday.”
“We are, McGee. I need a favor.” He looked around to make sure they wouldn’t be overheard, then told Tim about what he’d found in the Director’s office.
Tim took a second to process the news. “She must have been interrupted and stuffed it in the drawer,” he mused aloud. “What do you need me for, Boss?”
“Abby got a hit on a print, but the file’s locked up.” He handed Tim a scrap of paper with the name written on it.
“By whom?” Tim wondered.
“Our good friends, the CIA.” Gibbs explained, already turning to leave. “Anything you can find, as fast as you can, it goes only to me or to Abby.”
“You’ve got it, Boss.” McGee started tapping his keyboard immediately, thrilled to be doing almost field work again.
******
Later that night, Gibbs was in his basement, putting the finishing touches on his boat, when something glinted out of the corner of his eye. Further investigation found it to be a small gold earring, stuck behind a plastic bucket that sat against the wall.
Holly’s earring.
He picked it up and turned it over in his hand, noting that it appeared undamaged. It had been a gift from her grandmother, and he remembered she’d been upset when it was lost. A glance at his watch told him it was early, yet, in Hawaii, and he considered calling her right away to tell her he’d found it. He hesitated, phone in hand, when he heard McGee come down the stairs. “Got something for you, Boss.”
“Let’s hear it, McGee.” Gibbs slipped the phone back into his pocket, dumped some nails out of a jar and carefully placed the earring inside, then turned back to the boat.
Tim eyed the jewelry strangely, but said nothing. He set down his briefcase next to the workbench and pulled out a printout, looking rather pleased with himself. “Mikhail Petrovich, former KGB agent, used to work for a Russian mobster named Pyotr Zazlavsky.” He looked at Gibbs, expecting recognition. Seeing none, he went on. “Zazlavsky’s a real piece of work - he’s into drugs, weapons, human trafficking - you name it.”
Gibbs’ head shot up at the mention of arms dealing. “Any connection to the Frog?”
“Well, arms dealing, that would make sense,” Tim responded. “But I haven’t found it yet.”
“Not bad, McGee,” Gibbs said, offering him a rare smile.
Tim smiled back. “Thanks, Boss.” He hesitated, trying to figure out how to say what he wanted. “I… well, I guess I feel like it’s my way of honoring Director Shepard’s last wish.”
Gibbs nodded. “I get that, McGee.” He paused. “DiNozzo might know something about this La Grenouille angle – maybe something came up while he was undercover. Tomorrow we'll get him on the line, see if he can tell us anything,” Gibbs said, wandering over to the workbench. He looked around for a clean, or at least semi-clean, container, then poured a generous shot into it and handed it to the younger man before picking up his own drink.
“Uh, thanks, Boss,” Tim replied, somewhat reluctantly. He hated bourbon, and wondered if Gibbs would notice if he didn’t drink any. “There’s no need to wait for tomorrow, though,” he replied, pulling his laptop from the bag and flipping it open.
Gibbs continued working, letting Tim do his thing. He rarely understood what the younger man was doing, but trusted implicitly that he was good at it.
“I’m connecting through the cellular network, so it’s kind of slow…you don’t care,” he finished, seeing Gibbs’ expression. “Give me a couple minutes, I’ll see if I can get Tony.”
“Probie!” came the yell a few moments later. “How are things stateside, McLandlubber? Gibbs scare off the new team yet?”
“Not yet, DiNozzo,” Gibbs said, coming into view.
“Boss! Of course you haven’t, Boss.” He paused. “You can owe me a headslap.”
“Might not need it if you can help us out here, DiNozzo,” Gibbs said. “Do you know anything about a potential contact of La Grenouille named Pyotr Zazlavsky? Or Mikhail Petrovich?”
“Zazlavsky’s a Russian badass. Petrovich was a contact of Jenny’s…” he trailed off, remembering, then caught himself. “Director Shepard’s, that is. Used to be a KGB agent, went independent for a while, got turned to work for the CIA. Don’t think they know for sure which side he’s on, anymore. He apparently knew her through another contact of the director’s, a woman named Tatiana something.”
“You know where to find him?” Gibbs asked.
Tony shook his head. “He went off the radar about ten months ago – thought maybe he was dead, but there was a reported sighting in DC in March, so we think – we thought – that he might be in the States. If he is, there’s a coffee shop in Georgetown that he loves – I must have spent hours watching him there. Really good white chocolate caramel mocha, with little bits of chocolate…”
“Where is it?” Gibbs demanded, impatiently.
Tony gave him the address. “What’s this about, Boss? La Grenouille’s dead, and so’s…” He caught himself, then started again. “What’s this about?”
Tim relayed the information that they had. “You ever hear anyone mention Leia?”
“Leia? No.” His eyes glazed over for a second. “Wait, you mean like Princess Leia? Metal bikini…all that hair…” he drifted off.
“DiNozzo!”
“Sorry, Boss. No, no Leia.” Tony replied.
“All right, thanks, DiNozzo,” Gibbs said. “Let us know if you think of anything else.”
“Will do.” Suddenly, Tony, along with all the contents of the room he was in, lurched to the left.
“Rough seas, Tony?” Tim asked, taking probably more pleasure than he should at Tony’s green complexion.
Tony nodded, then leaned close to the camera. “Boss, you gotta get me out of here…”
“Soon as I can, Tony, soon as I can.”
The transmission ended, and Gibbs looked at Tim. “You got a picture of Petrovich?” Tim punched it up on the computer. Shoulder length blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, mustache. The guy looked like he belonged on the cover of a romance novel, Gibbs thought.
“What are you going to do, Boss?”
“Well, McGee, tomorrow I’m going to go get some coffee.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No, McGee.”
“Boss, you may need someone on your six.” He looked at Gibbs pleadingly. “Half an hour. Please.”
Gibbs just smiled. “Fine. But you’re buying.”
Tim grinned back.
**********
The coffee shop was crowded the following morning when Gibbs walked through the door. McGee was already there, sitting at an outside table with his cell phone. As he waited in line, Gibbs spotted a tall man of about his own age with dark, closely cropped hair sitting alone with a newspaper. He didn’t much look like the fair-haired man with the mustache in the picture McGee had found, but the chiseled features made it clear it was the same person. While Tim glanced in through the window, Gibbs sat down casually in the chair opposite the mysterious man. “Good morning, Mikhail,” he said in Russian.
The man visibly tensed as he looked up from his paper, but his face betrayed no emotion, a testament to his years of training. “Who are you?” came the quiet reply, in perfect, unaccented English.
“Name’s Gibbs, I am – I was a friend of Jenny Shepard’s.”
Mikhail relaxed slightly. “Yes. She spoke of you. I am sorry to hear of her death - I very much cared for her.”
Gibbs narrowed his eyes. “How, exactly, did you know the director?”
An enigmatic smile appeared. “Not as well as I’d have liked to. Jenny kept her heart to herself.” He took a sip of his coffee. “But then, you knew that.”
Gibbs just shrugged. He looked around, suspicious that finding Petrovich had been so easy. “Hell of a risk, coming here, for someone who doesn’t want to be found.”
“What can I tell you, they have the best white chocolate caramel mocha in the District.” Mikhail looked intently at the man opposite him. “What brings you here, Agent Gibbs?”
“You sent Jenny a note asking for her help just before she died.”
“I did.” He looked hard at Gibbs. “How did you come to find it? I did not realize the two of you were that…close.”
Gibbs gave him his own slight smile. “How I got it’s not important. But yes, we were close, and this is the last thing I can do for her.”
Mikhail nodded thoughtfully. “Jenny and I had a mutual acquaintance, a woman known as Tatiana Fedorova. Tatiana worked with your CIA to infiltrate the organization of a Russian man named Zazlavsky – do you know of him?”
Gibbs nodded.
“Zazlavsky kept women around for one reason only – Tatiana was his girlfriend. Unexpectedly, she got pregnant. When her daughter was born, Jenny and I helped to hide her existence from Zazlavsky – as far as he knew, the child was stillborn. Six months ago, Tatiana was killed in a car accident, and Zazlavsky learned of his daughter.” He paused to take a sip of his coffee. “Recent…changes in my life have precluded me from helping the girl. I was hoping that Jenny might have better luck.” He looked sadly at Gibbs. “Seems her luck ran out.”
A beep from Mikhail’s phone got his attention, and he flicked his eyes to the text message. “I am sorry, I must go,” he said, suddenly. And before Gibbs could say another, word, he was off.
By the time Gibbs made it outside, Mikhail was gone. He dropped into a chair next to McGee, who held up his cell phone in triumph. “Got a license plate and a photo of the car.”
“That’s a good job, McGee,” Gibbs said, standing. When Tim didn’t immediately follow, he demanded, “What are you waiting for? We have work to do.”
Upon arriving back at the Navy Yard, McGee went to work. His first task was Tatiana’s file. “CIA blocked access to her file, too, probably because she was one of their sources.” Tim said over the phone, a few minutes later. He paused, keyboard clicks filling the silence. “OK, I’m in. Let’s see… daughter Anya, born in 1995.”
“Anya.” Gibbs repeated. “So Leia is – “
“A codename. That’s it!” Tim cried. “Tony was right, just not in the way he thought.”
“You want to start making sense, McGee?”
“Princess Leia! She was hidden away from birth. Boss, didn’t you ever see… no, of course you didn’t. Leia was their code.” More tapping keys. “Ah, Boss, seems Tatiana was really Susan Hall, a –“
“CIA agent,” Gibbs finished for him.
“Yeah, and she worked with – “
“Trent Kort.” Gibbs hung up without further explanation.
Kort stormed across the squad room, and leaned menacingly over Gibbs’ desk. The rest of his “team” looked around nervously, as though unsure whether to watch or take cover.
“Kort,” Gibbs said, leaning back in his chair, hands behind his head. “What brings you to NCIS?”
“Gibbs,” Kort spat. “We need to have a conversation.”
“Conference room,” Gibbs declared. The pair was halfway to the elevator when they were intercepted by the current Director. “The two of you in my office, now.”
As the door clicked behind them, Kort exploded. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Gibbs?”
Vance looked hard at his agent. “I wouldn’t mind an answer to that question myself. And while you’re at it, you want to explain why I’ve got the Director of the CIA on my case?”
Gibbs quickly brought the director up to speed. “Leon, this girl’s in danger.”
“You are interfering with an ongoing CIA operation, Agent Gibbs,” Kort insisted.
“Interfering how? One of your agents is dead, and I’m willing to bet you didn’t have the first clue Petrovich was even in the country.” Kort’s stony silence gave Gibbs the answer he expected.
“Mr. Kort, I’m wondering if there’s anything left of your operation to interfere in,” Vance said.
Kort seethed as he looked first at Vance, then at Gibbs, both of whom seemed perfectly ready to barge ahead with or without him. Seeking to salvage what he could of his operation, he decided to share what he knew – up to a point. “Mikhail Petrovich no longer works for us.” He told them. “We’ve confirmed that he doesn’t work for the Russians, either. But he works for someone – a separatist group, most likely.”
“Does the CIA know about the girl? Does she even exist?” Vance asked.
“I’m not at liberty to say,” Kort replied.
Gibbs turned toward the other man. “It’s a simple question, Trent. Is there a teenage girl in the hands of this criminal?”
Kort gave an exasperated sigh. “Yes. Susan was never supposed to get pregnant – that wasn’t part of the plan. We only recently found out ourselves. We’ve been waiting for the right moment to see what we can do,” Kort reluctantly admitted.
“The right moment?” Gibbs repeated. “Oh, let me guess – you’ve lost Zazlavsky, too, haven’t you?” He shook his head in disgust. “I’m surprised you guys can find your way to Langley every day.”
Vance shot Gibbs a warning glance, then turned to address Kort. “It seems everyone – especially this girl – could benefit from some information sharing, here.” He looked back at Gibbs. “I know you didn’t get into that CIA file yourself.” Gibbs just stared back at him. Vance’s eyes narrowed and he punched a button for his assistant. “Get Agent McGee up here now.”
They waited in silence, Gibbs’s disapproving glare boring holes in the opposite wall. At last, Kort could stand it no longer. “Susan Hall was a bloody good agent, and I swear to you I haven’t forgotten the girl. But after La Grenouille ended up in the marina, it’s been hard to get anyone interested in this little corner of mayhem.”
Gibbs nodded, somewhat mollified.
A knock on the door indicated that McGee had arrived. “Come in,” the director called. “Agent McGee, what exactly did you think you were doing?”
Tim looked flustered, shuffling the papers in his hands. “Um, well… first, Director, I think you should know that I ran Mikhail’s plates, which were under an alias at a nonexistent address, but did lead to a real phone number. So I checked the phone records, which were under a different alias, and I saw he was paying an ISP so through them I found…“
“McGee!” Gibbs barked. “Bottom line.”
“I think I’ve tracked down Zazlavsky’s current location in Russia.”
Kort’s jaw dropped. “You’ve done what? Let me see that,” he demanded.
“Who’s interfering now, Trent?” Gibbs countered.
“Give it to me, Agent McGee.” Vance turned and addressed the group. “All of you, out, now. I’ve got a phone call to make.”
In the corridor, Kort looked at Gibbs. “Despite what you may think, I’m not a heartless bastard.”
Gibbs rolled his eyes. “No, you just figured you’d use the guy’s daughter to get to him.”
“You mean the way your director used Jeanne Benoit?” Kort replied.
“Jeanne wasn’t a thirteen year old girl!”
McGee looked nervously between the two, and was tremendously relieved when Vance appeared in the hallway.
He addressed Kort first. “Your director was pretty happy to hear that we’d found your missing man.” Turning to McGee, he instructed, “Take Kort down and make sure he has all the information you found on Zazlavsky.” Gibbs started to protest, but Vance cut him off with a sharp look.
“All right, if you’ll just follow me,” McGee said. “Director. Bo- Agent Gibbs.”
“Good work, McGee,” Gibbs said. He watched as Tim and Kort headed down the stairs, then turned and glared at Vance.
“The CIA’s got the people in place to make this happen quickly, Gibbs. We don’t.” The director explained.
Gibbs had to admit that Vance was right. “Remind me never to fix your furniture again, Leon.”
Vance laughed. “Let’s hope there aren’t any surprises in the credenza.” His expression turned serious. “If I ever leave any half-finished messages behind, I hope I have someone like you to follow them up.”
Gibbs nodded, and without further conversation, returned to the squad room.
*******
Much later that night, Gibbs carried a just-delivered pizza into the basement and set it next to the six-pack McGee had brought. Gibbs phone rang, and he answered it while Tim bit into a slice of pepperoni and mushroom. Always curious to learn more about the man he looked up to, Tim took the opportunity to glance around the basement while Gibbs talked to Director Vance. He was surprised to see a small padded envelope on the workbench. Most of the address was covered, but he could clearly make out LTC Hollis Mann on the first line.
Tim’s first thought was that Tony, Ziva and Abby were going to love this little bit of information. He had no idea Gibbs still communicated with Colonel Mann. His second thought was to remember that Tony was on a ship thousands of miles away, and Ziva was in Israel. He could tell Abby, though, and he smiled, imagining her reaction. He didn’t have much time to dwell on it, however, as Gibbs’ voice snapped him back to the present.
“The CIA has taken out Zazlavsky and his operation,” Gibbs said, as soon as he hung up.
“Anya?” McGee asked immediately.
“Is at the American Embassy in Moscow. Susan’s parents are taking the next plane,” Gibbs told him, mouth full of pizza.
McGee sighed with relief, but it was short lived. “Am I in trouble for hacking into those files, Boss?”
Gibbs laughed. “The CIA owes you a favor, McGee. Zazlavsky’s been one step ahead of them for years.”
Smiling, McGee picked up his beer and started to drink it. His expression turned somber and he raised the bottle. “To Director Shepard. May this let her rest in peace.”
Gibbs nodded, raising his own drink. “To Jenny,” he agreed.
Author:
flamingo55Written for:
kellethmetheusPrompt: After Jenny's death Gibbs finds out a secret that she never told him. With the team scattered it's up to him and Tim to get to the bottom of it.
Archive: Yes, probably, but ask me first.
Genre: Gen
Pairings: None
Rating: T
Disclaimer: These are not my characters, and no money is being made.
Word Count: 3920
Summary: A mysterious note found after Jenny’s death leads Gibbs and Tim to finish what she’d started. Takes place sometime between Judgement Day and Last Man Standing.
Thanks to
zaleti for all her help. It is, as always, much appreciated. :)“Leon?” Gibbs called, pushing his way through the door. The director had summoned him a moment ago, but now was nowhere to be seen.
“Yeah,” Vance called, straightening up from behind the desk. An exasperated sigh escaped. “Drawer’s stuck. Again. Damn thing hasn’t worked right since the day I got here.”
Gibbs walked around to the other side of the desk. “Let me take a look at it.” He leaned down to study the drawer, trying to avoid bending his knees. “I can fix this - just need a couple things.”
“First, tell me what’s happening with Lieutenant Jacobsen’s murder,” Vance requested.
Gibbs brought him up to speed, then went to grab the small toolbox he kept in his desk. The drawer seemed to have something wedged near the back, and Gibbs had been working for five or six minutes to free it when the phone buzzed. “You’re needed in MTAC, Director,” came the voice of his assistant.
Gibbs looked up. “I’ve almost got it.”
“I’ll leave you to it - much appreciated, Agent Gibbs.”
A few moments after Vance had gone, Gibbs managed to pry the drawer free. As he maneuvered it back and forth on its rails, a piece of paper, folded and mangled, fluttered out from the back. Gibbs knelt and reached under the desk to retrieve it, cursing his aging body as he straightened up. Satisfied with the repair, he slid the drawer closed, then flattened out the crumpled paper he held in his hand, staring in surprise at the writing.
Russian script, written in a distinctly feminine hand.
Gibbs felt as though he’d been punched in the chest. Jenny.
Without thinking, he sank into the desk chair - Jenny’s chair, his mind corrected automatically, and read the note.
Dear Mikhail -
Friday, 10 am, at -
The note ended abruptly. Gibbs didn’t need to wonder why she’d never finished it. The date on the top - the day before she’d left for Los Angeles - told him all he needed to know. Folded behind it was another piece of paper, also in Russian, though not any handwriting Gibbs recognized.
Jenny -
Leia needs your help. I’ll explain in person. Leave a note in the usual spot.
Mikhail.
Gibbs took the drawer all the way out, searching for any other clues that might have gotten trapped. Finding none, he reassembled the desk, slipped the notes into his pocket, and left.
On his way to the elevator, he cast a disapproving look at the “team” he’d been handed. Not a single one of them he trusted to get him a sandwich, let alone with this kind of information. With a shake of his head, he punched the button for Abby’s lab.
“Gibbs!” Abby cried as soon as he appeared.
“I need a favor, Abbs,” he said, setting the note from this “Mikhail” person down on the table.
Abby glanced at it, then turned to him, perturbed. “Gibbs, this is in Russian.”
“That’s why I brought you a translation,” he said, handing over another piece of paper.
This time, she just stared. “Gibbs...” She threw her arms around him, fighting back tears.
“I know, Abbs,” he said quietly.
“Who’s Mikhail?” she asked, pulling back, composed again.
“Dunno. Was hoping you might get a fingerprint for me,” Gibbs replied.
“I promise you, Gibbs, I will extract every last bit of forensic evidence from this scrap of paper.” She looked around. “There’s no evidence bag, so....”
“Not important. This goes to me and me only.”
“You got it.” She glanced at him expectantly. “No Caf-Pow, Gibbs?”
“Get me something first, Abbs,” he called over his shoulder.
“Right,” Abby nodded, and got to work.
Two hours later, almost to the minute, Gibbs strode back into the lab with a Caf-Pow. “What ya got for me, Abbs?”
Abby’s jaw dropped. “How do you do that? No, wait, I don’t want to know. I mean I do, but I don’t. You know?”
“Abbs?” Gibbs gave her the long-suffering look she knew so well.
“Okay, I just got a match five seconds ago. Seriously, Gibbs, tell me. No, don’t. Preserve the mystery, I think. No, do. Oh....” Gibbs’ glare got her back on track. “Right. First of all, there were a million prints on that piece of paper, half of them yours.”
Gibbs continued to stare silently.
Abby sighed. “Anyway, your letter writer is Mikhail Petrovich.”
“Got an address?” Gibbs wondered.
“Nyet. You heard the part where it’s been five seconds, right?” Gibbs rolled his eyes, and Abby tapped a few keys. “Stupid CIA - I can’t get in.” She turned to him, determined, and pointed a single finger. “But I will.”
“That’s good work, Abbs,” Gibbs said, handing over the large cup. “I’ll get McGee on it - might as well make use of all those computers in the basement.”
Abby took a sip of the drink, watching him leave. She missed McGee. She missed Tony and Ziva. She glanced sadly down at the paper Gibbs had left behind. And she really missed Jenny.
*********
Over in Cybercrimes, McGee sat in front of a bank of computers. “Boss, I finished that upgrade you asked for,” one of the agents called.
“On every system?” McGee shot back.
“On it, Boss,” the man added hastily.
Tim looked up at that moment to see Gibbs’ nonplussed stare. Startled, he jumped to his feet. “They just... it’s because...” McGee stammered. He sighed, and opted for another tack. “What brings you down here, Boss? I thought we were having lunch on Thursday.”
“We are, McGee. I need a favor.” He looked around to make sure they wouldn’t be overheard, then told Tim about what he’d found in the Director’s office.
Tim took a second to process the news. “She must have been interrupted and stuffed it in the drawer,” he mused aloud. “What do you need me for, Boss?”
“Abby got a hit on a print, but the file’s locked up.” He handed Tim a scrap of paper with the name written on it.
“By whom?” Tim wondered.
“Our good friends, the CIA.” Gibbs explained, already turning to leave. “Anything you can find, as fast as you can, it goes only to me or to Abby.”
“You’ve got it, Boss.” McGee started tapping his keyboard immediately, thrilled to be doing almost field work again.
******
Later that night, Gibbs was in his basement, putting the finishing touches on his boat, when something glinted out of the corner of his eye. Further investigation found it to be a small gold earring, stuck behind a plastic bucket that sat against the wall.
Holly’s earring.
He picked it up and turned it over in his hand, noting that it appeared undamaged. It had been a gift from her grandmother, and he remembered she’d been upset when it was lost. A glance at his watch told him it was early, yet, in Hawaii, and he considered calling her right away to tell her he’d found it. He hesitated, phone in hand, when he heard McGee come down the stairs. “Got something for you, Boss.”
“Let’s hear it, McGee.” Gibbs slipped the phone back into his pocket, dumped some nails out of a jar and carefully placed the earring inside, then turned back to the boat.
Tim eyed the jewelry strangely, but said nothing. He set down his briefcase next to the workbench and pulled out a printout, looking rather pleased with himself. “Mikhail Petrovich, former KGB agent, used to work for a Russian mobster named Pyotr Zazlavsky.” He looked at Gibbs, expecting recognition. Seeing none, he went on. “Zazlavsky’s a real piece of work - he’s into drugs, weapons, human trafficking - you name it.”
Gibbs’ head shot up at the mention of arms dealing. “Any connection to the Frog?”
“Well, arms dealing, that would make sense,” Tim responded. “But I haven’t found it yet.”
“Not bad, McGee,” Gibbs said, offering him a rare smile.
Tim smiled back. “Thanks, Boss.” He hesitated, trying to figure out how to say what he wanted. “I… well, I guess I feel like it’s my way of honoring Director Shepard’s last wish.”
Gibbs nodded. “I get that, McGee.” He paused. “DiNozzo might know something about this La Grenouille angle – maybe something came up while he was undercover. Tomorrow we'll get him on the line, see if he can tell us anything,” Gibbs said, wandering over to the workbench. He looked around for a clean, or at least semi-clean, container, then poured a generous shot into it and handed it to the younger man before picking up his own drink.
“Uh, thanks, Boss,” Tim replied, somewhat reluctantly. He hated bourbon, and wondered if Gibbs would notice if he didn’t drink any. “There’s no need to wait for tomorrow, though,” he replied, pulling his laptop from the bag and flipping it open.
Gibbs continued working, letting Tim do his thing. He rarely understood what the younger man was doing, but trusted implicitly that he was good at it.
“I’m connecting through the cellular network, so it’s kind of slow…you don’t care,” he finished, seeing Gibbs’ expression. “Give me a couple minutes, I’ll see if I can get Tony.”
“Probie!” came the yell a few moments later. “How are things stateside, McLandlubber? Gibbs scare off the new team yet?”
“Not yet, DiNozzo,” Gibbs said, coming into view.
“Boss! Of course you haven’t, Boss.” He paused. “You can owe me a headslap.”
“Might not need it if you can help us out here, DiNozzo,” Gibbs said. “Do you know anything about a potential contact of La Grenouille named Pyotr Zazlavsky? Or Mikhail Petrovich?”
“Zazlavsky’s a Russian badass. Petrovich was a contact of Jenny’s…” he trailed off, remembering, then caught himself. “Director Shepard’s, that is. Used to be a KGB agent, went independent for a while, got turned to work for the CIA. Don’t think they know for sure which side he’s on, anymore. He apparently knew her through another contact of the director’s, a woman named Tatiana something.”
“You know where to find him?” Gibbs asked.
Tony shook his head. “He went off the radar about ten months ago – thought maybe he was dead, but there was a reported sighting in DC in March, so we think – we thought – that he might be in the States. If he is, there’s a coffee shop in Georgetown that he loves – I must have spent hours watching him there. Really good white chocolate caramel mocha, with little bits of chocolate…”
“Where is it?” Gibbs demanded, impatiently.
Tony gave him the address. “What’s this about, Boss? La Grenouille’s dead, and so’s…” He caught himself, then started again. “What’s this about?”
Tim relayed the information that they had. “You ever hear anyone mention Leia?”
“Leia? No.” His eyes glazed over for a second. “Wait, you mean like Princess Leia? Metal bikini…all that hair…” he drifted off.
“DiNozzo!”
“Sorry, Boss. No, no Leia.” Tony replied.
“All right, thanks, DiNozzo,” Gibbs said. “Let us know if you think of anything else.”
“Will do.” Suddenly, Tony, along with all the contents of the room he was in, lurched to the left.
“Rough seas, Tony?” Tim asked, taking probably more pleasure than he should at Tony’s green complexion.
Tony nodded, then leaned close to the camera. “Boss, you gotta get me out of here…”
“Soon as I can, Tony, soon as I can.”
The transmission ended, and Gibbs looked at Tim. “You got a picture of Petrovich?” Tim punched it up on the computer. Shoulder length blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, mustache. The guy looked like he belonged on the cover of a romance novel, Gibbs thought.
“What are you going to do, Boss?”
“Well, McGee, tomorrow I’m going to go get some coffee.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No, McGee.”
“Boss, you may need someone on your six.” He looked at Gibbs pleadingly. “Half an hour. Please.”
Gibbs just smiled. “Fine. But you’re buying.”
Tim grinned back.
**********
The coffee shop was crowded the following morning when Gibbs walked through the door. McGee was already there, sitting at an outside table with his cell phone. As he waited in line, Gibbs spotted a tall man of about his own age with dark, closely cropped hair sitting alone with a newspaper. He didn’t much look like the fair-haired man with the mustache in the picture McGee had found, but the chiseled features made it clear it was the same person. While Tim glanced in through the window, Gibbs sat down casually in the chair opposite the mysterious man. “Good morning, Mikhail,” he said in Russian.
The man visibly tensed as he looked up from his paper, but his face betrayed no emotion, a testament to his years of training. “Who are you?” came the quiet reply, in perfect, unaccented English.
“Name’s Gibbs, I am – I was a friend of Jenny Shepard’s.”
Mikhail relaxed slightly. “Yes. She spoke of you. I am sorry to hear of her death - I very much cared for her.”
Gibbs narrowed his eyes. “How, exactly, did you know the director?”
An enigmatic smile appeared. “Not as well as I’d have liked to. Jenny kept her heart to herself.” He took a sip of his coffee. “But then, you knew that.”
Gibbs just shrugged. He looked around, suspicious that finding Petrovich had been so easy. “Hell of a risk, coming here, for someone who doesn’t want to be found.”
“What can I tell you, they have the best white chocolate caramel mocha in the District.” Mikhail looked intently at the man opposite him. “What brings you here, Agent Gibbs?”
“You sent Jenny a note asking for her help just before she died.”
“I did.” He looked hard at Gibbs. “How did you come to find it? I did not realize the two of you were that…close.”
Gibbs gave him his own slight smile. “How I got it’s not important. But yes, we were close, and this is the last thing I can do for her.”
Mikhail nodded thoughtfully. “Jenny and I had a mutual acquaintance, a woman known as Tatiana Fedorova. Tatiana worked with your CIA to infiltrate the organization of a Russian man named Zazlavsky – do you know of him?”
Gibbs nodded.
“Zazlavsky kept women around for one reason only – Tatiana was his girlfriend. Unexpectedly, she got pregnant. When her daughter was born, Jenny and I helped to hide her existence from Zazlavsky – as far as he knew, the child was stillborn. Six months ago, Tatiana was killed in a car accident, and Zazlavsky learned of his daughter.” He paused to take a sip of his coffee. “Recent…changes in my life have precluded me from helping the girl. I was hoping that Jenny might have better luck.” He looked sadly at Gibbs. “Seems her luck ran out.”
A beep from Mikhail’s phone got his attention, and he flicked his eyes to the text message. “I am sorry, I must go,” he said, suddenly. And before Gibbs could say another, word, he was off.
By the time Gibbs made it outside, Mikhail was gone. He dropped into a chair next to McGee, who held up his cell phone in triumph. “Got a license plate and a photo of the car.”
“That’s a good job, McGee,” Gibbs said, standing. When Tim didn’t immediately follow, he demanded, “What are you waiting for? We have work to do.”
Upon arriving back at the Navy Yard, McGee went to work. His first task was Tatiana’s file. “CIA blocked access to her file, too, probably because she was one of their sources.” Tim said over the phone, a few minutes later. He paused, keyboard clicks filling the silence. “OK, I’m in. Let’s see… daughter Anya, born in 1995.”
“Anya.” Gibbs repeated. “So Leia is – “
“A codename. That’s it!” Tim cried. “Tony was right, just not in the way he thought.”
“You want to start making sense, McGee?”
“Princess Leia! She was hidden away from birth. Boss, didn’t you ever see… no, of course you didn’t. Leia was their code.” More tapping keys. “Ah, Boss, seems Tatiana was really Susan Hall, a –“
“CIA agent,” Gibbs finished for him.
“Yeah, and she worked with – “
“Trent Kort.” Gibbs hung up without further explanation.
Kort stormed across the squad room, and leaned menacingly over Gibbs’ desk. The rest of his “team” looked around nervously, as though unsure whether to watch or take cover.
“Kort,” Gibbs said, leaning back in his chair, hands behind his head. “What brings you to NCIS?”
“Gibbs,” Kort spat. “We need to have a conversation.”
“Conference room,” Gibbs declared. The pair was halfway to the elevator when they were intercepted by the current Director. “The two of you in my office, now.”
As the door clicked behind them, Kort exploded. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Gibbs?”
Vance looked hard at his agent. “I wouldn’t mind an answer to that question myself. And while you’re at it, you want to explain why I’ve got the Director of the CIA on my case?”
Gibbs quickly brought the director up to speed. “Leon, this girl’s in danger.”
“You are interfering with an ongoing CIA operation, Agent Gibbs,” Kort insisted.
“Interfering how? One of your agents is dead, and I’m willing to bet you didn’t have the first clue Petrovich was even in the country.” Kort’s stony silence gave Gibbs the answer he expected.
“Mr. Kort, I’m wondering if there’s anything left of your operation to interfere in,” Vance said.
Kort seethed as he looked first at Vance, then at Gibbs, both of whom seemed perfectly ready to barge ahead with or without him. Seeking to salvage what he could of his operation, he decided to share what he knew – up to a point. “Mikhail Petrovich no longer works for us.” He told them. “We’ve confirmed that he doesn’t work for the Russians, either. But he works for someone – a separatist group, most likely.”
“Does the CIA know about the girl? Does she even exist?” Vance asked.
“I’m not at liberty to say,” Kort replied.
Gibbs turned toward the other man. “It’s a simple question, Trent. Is there a teenage girl in the hands of this criminal?”
Kort gave an exasperated sigh. “Yes. Susan was never supposed to get pregnant – that wasn’t part of the plan. We only recently found out ourselves. We’ve been waiting for the right moment to see what we can do,” Kort reluctantly admitted.
“The right moment?” Gibbs repeated. “Oh, let me guess – you’ve lost Zazlavsky, too, haven’t you?” He shook his head in disgust. “I’m surprised you guys can find your way to Langley every day.”
Vance shot Gibbs a warning glance, then turned to address Kort. “It seems everyone – especially this girl – could benefit from some information sharing, here.” He looked back at Gibbs. “I know you didn’t get into that CIA file yourself.” Gibbs just stared back at him. Vance’s eyes narrowed and he punched a button for his assistant. “Get Agent McGee up here now.”
They waited in silence, Gibbs’s disapproving glare boring holes in the opposite wall. At last, Kort could stand it no longer. “Susan Hall was a bloody good agent, and I swear to you I haven’t forgotten the girl. But after La Grenouille ended up in the marina, it’s been hard to get anyone interested in this little corner of mayhem.”
Gibbs nodded, somewhat mollified.
A knock on the door indicated that McGee had arrived. “Come in,” the director called. “Agent McGee, what exactly did you think you were doing?”
Tim looked flustered, shuffling the papers in his hands. “Um, well… first, Director, I think you should know that I ran Mikhail’s plates, which were under an alias at a nonexistent address, but did lead to a real phone number. So I checked the phone records, which were under a different alias, and I saw he was paying an ISP so through them I found…“
“McGee!” Gibbs barked. “Bottom line.”
“I think I’ve tracked down Zazlavsky’s current location in Russia.”
Kort’s jaw dropped. “You’ve done what? Let me see that,” he demanded.
“Who’s interfering now, Trent?” Gibbs countered.
“Give it to me, Agent McGee.” Vance turned and addressed the group. “All of you, out, now. I’ve got a phone call to make.”
In the corridor, Kort looked at Gibbs. “Despite what you may think, I’m not a heartless bastard.”
Gibbs rolled his eyes. “No, you just figured you’d use the guy’s daughter to get to him.”
“You mean the way your director used Jeanne Benoit?” Kort replied.
“Jeanne wasn’t a thirteen year old girl!”
McGee looked nervously between the two, and was tremendously relieved when Vance appeared in the hallway.
He addressed Kort first. “Your director was pretty happy to hear that we’d found your missing man.” Turning to McGee, he instructed, “Take Kort down and make sure he has all the information you found on Zazlavsky.” Gibbs started to protest, but Vance cut him off with a sharp look.
“All right, if you’ll just follow me,” McGee said. “Director. Bo- Agent Gibbs.”
“Good work, McGee,” Gibbs said. He watched as Tim and Kort headed down the stairs, then turned and glared at Vance.
“The CIA’s got the people in place to make this happen quickly, Gibbs. We don’t.” The director explained.
Gibbs had to admit that Vance was right. “Remind me never to fix your furniture again, Leon.”
Vance laughed. “Let’s hope there aren’t any surprises in the credenza.” His expression turned serious. “If I ever leave any half-finished messages behind, I hope I have someone like you to follow them up.”
Gibbs nodded, and without further conversation, returned to the squad room.
*******
Much later that night, Gibbs carried a just-delivered pizza into the basement and set it next to the six-pack McGee had brought. Gibbs phone rang, and he answered it while Tim bit into a slice of pepperoni and mushroom. Always curious to learn more about the man he looked up to, Tim took the opportunity to glance around the basement while Gibbs talked to Director Vance. He was surprised to see a small padded envelope on the workbench. Most of the address was covered, but he could clearly make out LTC Hollis Mann on the first line.
Tim’s first thought was that Tony, Ziva and Abby were going to love this little bit of information. He had no idea Gibbs still communicated with Colonel Mann. His second thought was to remember that Tony was on a ship thousands of miles away, and Ziva was in Israel. He could tell Abby, though, and he smiled, imagining her reaction. He didn’t have much time to dwell on it, however, as Gibbs’ voice snapped him back to the present.
“The CIA has taken out Zazlavsky and his operation,” Gibbs said, as soon as he hung up.
“Anya?” McGee asked immediately.
“Is at the American Embassy in Moscow. Susan’s parents are taking the next plane,” Gibbs told him, mouth full of pizza.
McGee sighed with relief, but it was short lived. “Am I in trouble for hacking into those files, Boss?”
Gibbs laughed. “The CIA owes you a favor, McGee. Zazlavsky’s been one step ahead of them for years.”
Smiling, McGee picked up his beer and started to drink it. His expression turned somber and he raised the bottle. “To Director Shepard. May this let her rest in peace.”
Gibbs nodded, raising his own drink. “To Jenny,” he agreed.
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Date: 2010-08-19 09:29 am (UTC)I love stories about these in-between moments the show doesn't get to give us, and I've always been interested in McGee's hacking.
I could hear everybody's voices in my head too, and that made it really cool.
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Date: 2010-08-19 04:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-19 10:54 pm (UTC)Loved the interaction between Gibbs and McGee and Kort and Gibbs.
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Date: 2010-08-20 10:18 pm (UTC)Thanks for reading!
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Date: 2010-08-20 10:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-20 10:20 pm (UTC)Out of curiosity, where did you think it was going?
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Date: 2010-08-20 11:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-22 08:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-22 08:50 pm (UTC)