The Incident at Harry's Place

Chapter One – Tony's Dinner Party: In Which Tony Cooks Dinner and Talks about Mikey

Shortly after Ziva David had come to be a liaison officer with NCIS, she'd had a dinner party. Most of the team was there, including Gibbs, which was a shock because he almost never socialized. One person who hadn't been there was Tony DiNozzo.

He was hurt and disappointed. All he'd ever wanted in his life was to be liked, to be appreciated for his considerable positive attributes, never mind that he sometimes covered his need with a jokey, frat-boy attitude that was counter-productive to his first desire. Sometimes, when he made sexist remarks or bragged about his sexual conquests, he hated himself. And he could certainly understand if the persona he presented to the world caused people to dislike him. But couldn't they figure out it was a defense mechanism? A shield against the feeling that had been nurtured by his parents' emotional neglect, that he wasn't really wanted, that he had no value, no worth?

Tonight, though, things were a little different. He was having a dinner party for his colleagues—well, most of them anyway. Ziva certainly wasn't going to be there, nor the director. They didn't know about Mikey, and Tony for one wasn't ready to include them in the small circle of his coworkers who did know.

The team had to develop a strategy for dealing with their latest case, and someone had suggested—well, Tony had suggested—that Mikey might be able to help. Everyone liked Mikey; he was a beautiful cat and smart as Tony himself. Even his Tony-like swagger garnered more admiration than did Tony's own frequently flaunted machismo.

Gibbs was not enthusiastic about the idea. He had conceded that Mikey's help in the Jody Silverton case had helped crack WO Sheckelman's prostitution ring much sooner than otherwise, and he did agree that, based on that history, Tony's suggestion merited consideration, but any discussion couldn't take place at NCIS headquarters for obvious reasons. That's when Tony had another idea—he suggested that the team meet at his apartment, and he would fix dinner for them while they talked about the case. For him, it was the best of all possible worlds. And Ziva wouldn't be there.

He'd asked Gibbs for the afternoon off so he could do the shopping and the preparation. As the team gathered in his apartment, they could smell wonderful odors coming from the kitchen. He offered them vintage chianti with the little antipasti he'd prepared, but the fragrance of the lasagna made them inpatient for the main course, and they soon invaded the kitchen.

As he removed the huge pan of lasagna from the oven, along with the garlic bread in its aluminum foil, and as he poured the specially made vinaigrette over the salad, there was a chorus of ooos and aaahs. While dishing up, Tony informed his guests that he had made everything but the cheeses from scratch using his Nonna DiNozzo's recipes. The noodles, the tomatoey rich meat sauce, even the bread—everything created by his own hand. They were suitably impressed, especially after taking their first bites. Even Gibbs pronounced, through a mouthful of cheese and sauce and noodles, and to Tony's utter bliss, that it "wasn't bad."

Once the dinner platters had been cleared, he brought out the dessert. Tiramisu had become popular with the general population in recent years, but Tony didn't take the easy way out by stopping at Costco to buy it ready-made. Instead, he baked his own ladyfingers and generously soaked them with strong espresso and liqueur, whipped up his own mascarpone cream, and then piled on shaved chocolate and whipped heavy cream.

"Oh, god, Tony" said Abby through her first bite of the heavenly dessert, "you can cook for me any day."

Tony grinned his thanks. They did appreciate him. It had been worth the extra effort.

Gibbs put his fork down and asked, "What I want to know is how a cat can be such a good cook."

"I'm a creature of many talents," Tony replied to a general laugh.

Before serving the tiramisu, Tony had made a pot of coffee and some tea for Ducky. When the dessert had disappeared to another round of appreciative moans and groans, Tony set out more beverages and candies. They continued to sit around the table in a state of contented repletion until Gibbs reminded them that they were there for a purpose.

"All right," Gibbs began. "Thanks a lot, Tony. Too bad you can't cook for every staff meeting." He paused to take another sip of coffee. "Even your coffee's okay."

"Thanks, boss," Tony answered, his face alight with his brightest, broadest grin. His inspiration had worked; even his boss was impressed. If he died right now, he'd go out as the happiest man on earth.

Gibbs went on, "To business. We need a way to infiltrate this gang that's supplying drugs to Navy vessels. It's been suggested that we send Mikey under cover again. We have a lead on one person who's responsible for distributing the stuff and we know his base of operation, but we're pretty sure he's only the middle man. Someone else is supplying him, and what we want to do is take down the whole organization."

"Is there some reason that we shouldn't use Mikey?" Abby asked.

"The director is very suspicious. She somehow heard that a cat was involved in the Silverton case. She's really pissed, not so much about that, but because she isn't in the loop. That's one problem. Another is the extra degree of danger involved in doing drug investigations, even for a human, let alone a cat."

"There are a lot of advantages to using a cat," Tony reminded his boss. "It's a lot harder for the bad buys to make a cat to begin with. No one's going to believe a cat is surveilling them, and if it's a werecat with human intelligence and cat senses, well--."

Gibbs sighed. "I understand, but I really don't want to start relying on Mikey's unusual abilities. We should be able to solve our cases using the same, old-fashioned resources we've always had."

"But it really is kind of a fun idea to use a cat," Abby said with sparkling eyes. "Nobody, none of the bad guys, would ever suspect."

"They might not suspect the cat is surveilling them," Gibbs pointed out, "but there are a lot of nasty-tempered people out there who don't like cats and who wouldn't hesitate to kick it up against a wall or worse."

"Well, I'm pretty darned fast as a cat," said Tony. "I can avoid stuff like that."
"Accidents happen," Gibbs growled.

Ducky spoke up. "You know, Jethro, when Anthony was bitten by the werewolf Collins and we didn't know for sure if he would Change, or what would happen if he did, we had a lot of questions about the whole process. Tony's gained control of his…gift, but we've never really discussed how he does it."

"Yeah," McGee chimed in. "I've been there when he's Changed, but I still don't understand what happens or how he does it."

Gibbs looked at DiNozzo. "Maybe if you told us what goes on, we'll have a better idea of whether we should be using Mikey on investigations."

Tony took a sip of coffee. "Yeah, there were a lot of questions. First of all, there's nothing but folk literature that talks about werewolves and other were-animals. As Ducky pointed out, no one's ever done any scientific studies on lycanthropy."

He looked around the table with a smile. "Now we all know that it does happen, and that it happens just the way the old wives' tales said it did. The were-animal bites someone and infects the bitee with whatever the were element is."

"Sorta like with vampires," Abby said.

Ducky shivered slightly. "I don't even want to speculate on that," he said. "It's difficult enough to wrap one's head around the concept of were-animals actually existing." He brightened. "But of course the stories are all about werewolves. We had no idea what was going to happen when Anthony was bitten. We certainly didn't expect a werecat."

"Especially such a gorgeous one," Abby interjected, to which Tony responded with a slight bow and a smirk.

"Tony, go on," ordered Gibbs, trying to get the conversation back on track.

"Well, even though we were as prepared as we could be for my first Change, I still didn't know what to expect. Once I Changed, I found out I was still pretty much Tony, only with cat perceptions and body skills."

"Kate frightened you when she picked you up," Gibbs reminded him.

"Yeah, but it was partly my fault. I didn't know what my capabilities were, and when she got pissed because I was…um…touching her breasts and she threw me down, the cat part of me panicked, and I ran away."

"Tony!" Abby cried with a giggle. "You're such a bad boy. In either form."

He replied with a wink and went on. "The first few months were mostly a matter of getting used to going through the Change every time there was a full moon, and I still wasn't aware of whether I could Change on my own. Ducky helped me a lot. He was always with me at the time of the full moon. He told me to start out by trying to remember how my body and my mind felt while I was actually Changing. Then during times when there wasn't a full moon, I'd practice trying to replicate those feelings."

Ducky continued the story. "Anthony's first attempts to Change at will were rather frightening. Our worst fear was that he would Change once and then not be able to Change back until the next full moon. We did have a couple of scary moments, but fortunately everything worked out well. And now he is indeed able to Change successfully whenever he chooses."

"And I know your clothes kinda drop around you when you Change," McGee added, "and it's best if someone gives them back to you before you Change back."

"Now that I'd like to see," Abby said with a mischievous grin.

"If you're lucky…," Tony grinned back at her.

Gibbs had another question. "Do you still Change at every full moon?"

"Well, sorta," Tony responded. "So far, it hasn't been automatic. I don't Change as long as the moonlight doesn't actually touch me. If there aren't any clouds, I try to stay inside with the blinds closed unless there's something I need to do as a cat."

"And what about the silver bullets and all that?" Gibbs asked.

Tony explained, "Well, we know Collins died after being shot in human form. So it seems were-animals are mortal in their human form. I'm not really willing to do any experiments with silver bullets while I'm Changed, though," he added with a shiver.

"What's it like to be a cat?" Abby queried. "Do you have…um…tomcat urges and all that?"

Tony's grin was at its widest. "There's this hot little tortoiseshell named Susie in my neighborhood that I've been seeing. Ouch!"

Tony reached up and rubbed the back of his head where Gibbs had just smacked it.

Gibbs looked at Ducky. "Duck, are you confident that Tony is handling his Changes well enough that Mikey wouldn't have any problems going undercover again? Are his cat attributes enough to keep him out of most dangerous situations?"

Ducky said, "Anthony's job—the job all of you do—is dangerous enough that you are all constantly in peril. In his human form, Anthony is both smart and physically fit. As he pointed out, in cat form he retains those characteristics as well as the heightened senses and agility of the feline. If he can handle himself in bad situations as a human, I have no reason to believe he will be any less capable as a werecat. He has completely human mental comprehension. In fact, his only limitation in cat form is that his ability to communicate with us is…um…limited to the non-verbal."

Gibbs looked thoughtful for a long moment before he spoke again. "I'm still not completely convinced that it's a good idea. But the last time we used Mikey as an agent it seemed to go well, and it did help us resolve the case sooner than we expected." He looked around the room to see if anyone showed any hesitancy and saw only eagerness. "All right, we know what we're going to do. We'll start the surveillance tomorrow night. Now everybody go home and get a good night's sleep. We'll all need to be on our paws for this operation."

The team gaped. Gibbs had made a joke.

Chapter Two – On the Qui Vive: In Which a Mobster Meets a Cat

In the middle of the next afternoon, a silver van, slightly the worse for wear, pulled up to the curb in front of a wooden power pole on a relatively unused street in the warehouse district. A few feet away an intersection led into another, even smaller street.

A man wearing work clothes, pole-climbing boots, and a hard hat got out of the van. Opening the rear door, he pulled out some equipment, and headed confidently up the wooden pole carrying several electric lines and a small camera. He was atop the pole for only about five minutes, during which time he attached a tap line to one of the transformers and the surveillance camera to the pole itself, which he aimed at the intersection. Finishing his task, he climbed back down the pole and tossed his equipment into the back of the van. After locking the doors, he walked to the intersection with the small street.

The small street, called Ocean Lane, was hardly more than an alley, wide enough for only one vehicle to transit it. To passersby it showed mostly brick walls. It held only two businesses, one a small shop with grimy windows called Johnson Electronics. Were one able to see through the windows, one would find dusty wooden shelves laden with miscellaneous, mysterious parts. It looked as though no one had patronized it in years, that perhaps it hadn't even been open for business in years.

On the opposite side of the lane stood the other establishment, a bar. The window in its front door was almost as dirty as its neighbor's, but it sported a neon sign that announced it to be "Harry's Place." A fly-spotted placard in the window informed the drinking public that it was "Open," although the placard was seldom, if ever, turned over to the "Closed" side.

The lineman opened the door into Harry's Place and stopped for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the gloomy interior. He noted that the room was larger than it appeared from the outside. There were three booths against the outer wall on each side of the door. Rickety scarred tables and chairs filled the space between the booths and the bar. The bar stretched in front of the door with about eight stools drawn up to it. Behind the bar, the backbar contained lots of shelves backed by mirrors and lighted from within. Bottles of various kinds of potables and glassware were lined up neatly on the shelves. Several signs announced the availability of various brands of beer. At either end of the backbar was a door.

The lineman sauntered up to the bar and ordered draft beer. While the barman pulled the tap, the lineman stepped around the right end of the bar toward the door, a sign on which announced it was the rest room. He opened the door, ascertaining with a swift glance that there were no other windows or doors offering any other means of entering or leaving the small room.

By the time he returned to the bar, his beer was waiting. He picked up the mug and took it to the last booth to the right of the outer door, opposite the door to the bathroom. Sipping his beer, he carefully scrutinized the rest of the patrons. There were only two—one sitting at the opposite end of the bar and another occupying one of the tables. Both sat hunched over, staring into their drinks as if oblivious to everything except their own misery.

The lineman watched as the barman went through the door at the other end of the bar and returned quickly carrying a large package of napkins and, incongruously, considering the overall ambience of the place, some coasters. It was reasonable to assume there was an office space or storage room back there. Someone else had already determined that the bar had no back door. Not very good for evacuation purposes in case of fire, the lineman observed to himself, but it would make the coming job easier.

With his survey completed, the lineman swallowed the rest of his beer and headed out the front door with a tip of his hand to the barman. Returning to his van, he got in and drove away, leaving his tap line dangling from the pole.

Around nine o'clock in the evening a large man wearing a heavy, long black overcoat and carrying two briefcases entered Ocean Lane and walked to Harry's Place. Once inside, he looked around. With a nod to Harry the barman, he turned to his right and slid into the same booth the lineman had occupied earlier. Depositing his briefcases on the bench, he sat down next to them, positioning himself so that he faced the door.

When Harry brought him a mug of beer, he took a tiny sip. For some time he sat without moving. About 20 minutes later the front door swung open to admit a man wearing a peacoat. He too looked around and then approached the booth, sliding into the seat opposite the other man.

"You the bag man?" he asked.

"Yeah," the other replied. "What you got?"

"Fifteen large,"

"Lemme see it," the first man demanded.

The newcomer reached into the breast pocket of the peacoat and pulled out an ordinary white business envelope. Lifting the flap, he riffled through the contents. The other man reached out for it and checked the bills himself. He leaned over and placed the envelope and contents into one of his briefcases. From the other briefcase he extracted a package which he handed to the newcomer. The newcomer lifted a corner of the wrapping to examine the contents.

"Guaranteed?" he queried.

"I'm here Monday through Friday, same time, if you got any beefs."

The newcomer slipped the package into his jacket.

"Pleasure doing business with you," he said, rising from his seat to leave.

The other man nodded to him without speaking. The whole transaction had taken less than a minute.

In the meantime, the beat up silver van had pulled up again next to the telephone pole. Someone emerged briefly from the rear to attach the tap line to an outlet in the van. A few minutes later the rear door opened again, letting out a sleek brown cat. The cat jumped to the pavement and shook itself. After looking around as if trying to see if anyone noticed him, the cat trotted to the intersection and entered Ocean Lane. The cat took up a position in the doorway of the electronics shop.

Just as the man in the peacoat opened the door of Harry's Place to leave, the cat loped across the street and, scooting around the feet of the man who had just purchased $15,000 worth of drugs, slipped into the bar before the door closed. Once inside, the cat sat down on his haunches to look around the interior. The bartender looked up but made no move to eject the cat or even acknowledge its presence.

Seeing the man in the end booth, the cat walked over to the table between the booth and the door to the restroom. Jumping up on one of the chairs, the cat turned around a couple of times before crouching down. No one would have suspected that he deliberately sat facing the man in the booth or that the metal ID tag on a leather collar around his neck contained a micro-miniaturized camera and microphone. Making himself comfortable, the cat tucked his paws under his chest and let his eyes close to narrow slits as if he were thinking of mouse-infested meadows rather than observing.

Neither the man in the booth nor the cat had long to wait. The door opened again to admit another man wearing a bulky rainslicker, although it wasn't raining. He too approached the man in the booth. The conversation was slightly different, but the actions were about the same—first money changed hands and then the corresponding number of packages were handed out. This transaction lasted no longer than the previous one.

Over the next several hours, the same brief scenario played out several times. Occasionally other patrons of the bar would enter or leave the premises, but none of them approached the man in the booth nor seemed to be aware of the business being conducted. The barman served patrons their orders and puttered as bartenders everywhere are wont to do.

The cat had no way of telling how much time had passed. He was in fact almost falling asleep when, after the most recent customer had departed, the man arose stiffly from his bench and lumbered into the rest room. This seemed to be a signal to Harry, who brought over a fresh stein of beer.

Returning from the rest room, the man sat down again on his bench, swallowed half of his fresh beer, and took out the various envelopes he had collected from his customers. He riffled through them quickly, his lips moving in a silent count. When he was finished, he drained the stein and knocked it against the table. Harry immediately brought over a fresh one, taking the emptied one with him.

The man sipped at his beer, staring at nothing. The cat stood up on its chair, stretched, turned around, and sat down again in the same position as before. The man looked at his watch several times, finally taking notice of the cat.

"Hey, kitty," he said. "You want some beer?"

The cat sat up on its haunches and meowed loudly.

The man laughed harshly. "C'mere, kitty."

The cat meowed again, but had no time to respond to the man's invitation. The door opened, this time admitting a tall, thin man wearing a hat, a long, dark coat, and sunglasses. He slid into the booth opposite the bagman.

"Doin' okay, Gianni?" he asked.

Gianni replied, "Yeah."

"How much?"

"Three fifty."

The thinner man held out his hand. Gianni reached into his briefcase and brought out the various envelopes and handed them to the other man, who checked them one by one. When he was done, he unzipped his coat to put the envelopes into two inner pockets.

"Not bad," the thin man commented. "You need more supplies?"

"I'll come around tomorrow. Usual time and place?"

"Fine with me," the thin man told him and left without further conversation.

The man in the booth drank the rest of his beer and made his own preparations to leave. Standing up from the booth, he looked down at the cat.

"You gonna come with me?" he asked.

In reply, the cat jumped down and began polishing his ankles. The man grinned and picked up his briefcases. Calling "good night, Harry," he opened the door. The cat immediately ran out and took off down the lane, turning left when it reached the corner.

"Hey!" called the man, somewhat disappointed that his companion of the evening seemed to have abandoned him. By the time he reached the intersection, the cat had disappeared. He took no notice of the beat up van.

Chapter Three – Planning and Executing: In Which Tony Makes a Mistake

In the morning, Gibbs, McGee, DiNozzo, and Dr. Mallard met in Abby's lab. In light of the late night, Gibbs had already had at least three cups of coffee and had provided Abby with her second CafPow! of the day. Even DiNozzo and McGee were sucking on caffeine

"Well?" queried Abby. "How did it go? Did Mikey do okay?"

"Mikey did fine," said DiNozzo. "He got to spend a whole bunch of hours watching a drug dealer do deals. And believe me, once you've seen one deal, you've seen ‘em all."

"Let's see the video," Gibbs told Abby. The group watched the footage from the catcam in silence, with Abby fast-forwarding through the waiting times.

"I see what you mean, TonyCat," she murmured.

"It was pretty boring in the van, too," added McGee.

"Yes, I must confess that I came close to nodding off several times myself," Ducky told them.

"That's the nature of surveillance," Gibbs told them. Turing to Abby, he said, "If the intel is right, all these guys are Navy, except maybe for Gianni's pickup man. Are you going to be able to ID them?"

"Oh, yes, Gibbs, I will ID them, one and all, although without fingerprints it's going to take a while longer. Too bad we can't teach Mikey to lift prints."

"Oh, Mikey knows how to do that," DiNozzo replied, "but without opposable thumbs it's kinda hard."

"Do what you can, Abs," Gibbs said.

"Right, bossman," Abby chirped.

"By the end of the day"

"Gibbs!" Abby protested, but by then Gibbs was on his way out the door, followed closely by DiNozzo and McGee.

Abby turned to Ducky, but he waved at her, saying, "I've got to get back to the morgue and finish up a couple of things."

Without distractions and only one more CafPow!, it actually took Abby less than three hours to get the ID's needed. As expected, all of the buyers were Navy, and, according to their Navy profiles, all served aboard various naval vessels currently in port in the D.C. area. The bagman and his boss were easy too, as they both had mug shots posted with both the FBI and ATF. At her call the three male field agents trooped back into her lab for the report.

Pulling up Gianni's photo on the plasma screen, she read his vitals. "Gianni della Giannina. Well known as an associate of Carlo Lapressa, also well-known as the Mafia boss in the D.C. area."

"Is the last guy that came in Lapressa?" McGee asked.

"No, Lapressa the boss. He's too high and mighty to do any of the dirty work," Abby answered. "Your man in the video is Tom Smith, also an associate of Lapressa's."

The agents exchanged raised-eyebrow glances. "Tom Smith?" asked DiNozzo.

"It's an alias, I'm pretty sure," Abby replied.

"Ya think?" Gibbs asked.

"With McGee's help, I checked with the FBI and Metro Police to see what they have on these guys." She turned from the plasma to face the agents. "About three years ago there was a big meeting at the Greenbriar, that fancy resort out in the country. The meeting was between the honchos of the D.C. Latino drug ring and Lapressa's family. They'd been having a huge turf war, lots of people killed, including innocent bystanders, that sort of thing. The feds and the locals were closing in on them, and it was clear they had to come to some arrangement."

Abby picked up her CafPow! to take a long sip. "Getting kinda dry here, Gibbs."

"When you finish the briefing, Abs."

"You are so dominating, bossman," she replied. "Well, anyway, the outcome of the meeting was that the Latinos would handle drug distribution in the barrios, and Lapressa got everything else. It's pretty lucrative for them."

"I don't wonder," mused Gibbs. "Not only do they have most of the local neighborhoods, but they also have the military installations."

"So basically," Tony interjected, "we want to go after Lapressa, is that right?"

"Basically," Gibbs agreed.

"But don't we need to find a solid connection between Gianni and Carlo?" asked McGee. "We can stop this operation at Harry's Place, but it's just going to pop up somewhere else."

"It's not just the drugs, McGee," Gibbs said to him. "We're talking Mafia here. That means money laundering, selling weapons, prostitution, murder for hire, even fixing traffic tickets—anything criminal. Even though the Feds have shut down a lot of the most powerful Mafia families in this country, there are still the little pockets here and there where, for one reason or another, their activities continue. If we can take Lapressa down, we'll be doing everybody a favor."

"And maybe for once NCIS will get some respect from the other LEOs," Tony stated. He half anticipated the dope slap. "Speaking of respect…." He broke off as Gibbs glared at him.

"So what's next?" Abby wondered.

"Get all the info you can on the guys that bought supplies from della Giannina. We'll have the MPs bring them in. We probably won't get any useful information out of them, except how they found out how to get in touch with Gianni."

"For the rest, we need to tail Tom Smith after he makes another pickup to see if he takes it to Lapressa. We'll also be staking out Gianni to find out where he picks up his supplies."

"Sounds like a plan to me," said Tony. "What about Mikey?"

"Mikey's done his job," Gibbs said. "It's time for the humans to do theirs. We're going to have to bring Madame Director and Officer David into the know to accomplish the rest."

"But they don't need to know about Mikey yet, do they?" Tony asked.

"Not yet, but…." Gibbs didn't finish his thought, implying that Shepard and David would be finding out soon enough. Tony was left feeling anxious and unhappy.

Over the next few days, the team was busy. There were endless meetings to plan the rest of the operation.
The director had looked suspiciously at the photos taken by the catcam but said nothing. Agents from the FBI, ATF, and Metro police were all briefed, and in turn gave their briefings to the teams from NCIS.

With Shepard's blessing a naval MP was recruited to seek out Gianni della Giannina at Harry's Place and make a buy. At the appointed time the young MP and a very nervous McGee acting as backup entered Harry's. When Gianni wondered why there were two of them, the MP told him that he'd been a little nervous about coming alone and maybe encountering problems. Gianni was not happy. He stood up and walked over to where McGee was standing, grabbing him by the collar.

McGee was duly intimidated, promising never to rat. "And anyway," he told Gianni, in a moment of inspiration, "I need something real soon, and I'll get it a lot sooner if I'm with him." The desperation Gianni heard in his voice was not faked, although it did not spring from the source the bagman thought it did.

Gianni had glared at him for a moment, then released him roughly.

That night when Gianni left the bar, he had a tail. DiNozzo and David spent the night in their car, watching as the bagman entered his home carrying the two briefcases. It was a chilly night to be doing surveillance from a car. When Tony suggested that they huddle for warmth, Ziva gave him a glare that would have done Gibbs proud. Tony obviously had only been doing his usual teasing; he didn't follow up. Instead, he told David they would divide the night into two-hour watches; he would take the first watch.

The following morning, after an uneventful and unrestful night, they watched as della Giannina left his house with the two bags. He led them to a high-rise office building on the outskirts of the city. Parking illegally, the two agents entered the building in time to determine the floor at which the elevator stopped. By the time della Giannina returned to his car, his bags were visibly heavier, and the agents had determined at which office he'd had them resupplied. Although they knew that it was relatively easy to move drugs around with impunity, they were surprised that the central warehouse for this operation was located in a very prestigious law firm. Well, what better cover than a legitimate business?

Somewhere in the District, a palatial home occupied by Carlo Lapressa was also being observed night and day by rotating teams of agents from the various agencies. Although they did not have access to the catcam, they did see—and photograph—a lot of traffic in and out of the estate by persons of interest, including one Mafioso who called himself Tom Smith. Apparently, Mr. Smith was not expecting that he would be observed on his rounds throughout the city as he pick up the booty from Sr. Lapressa's many illegal operations, including the little drug room at Harry's Place.

With the information gathered, the various law enforcement agencies obtained wiretap permissions, which yielded even more damning information on Lapressa's operations. It was almost time for the sting to go down.

The final meeting before the operation began occurred in NCIS's auditorium. Almost fifty people were present. Gibbs' team was delegated to work Harry's Place, since they were already familiar with it. Other teams were assigned to Tom Smith, to Carlo Lapressa, and to several other people involved in Lapressa's ring. The teams agreed on a start time. Surprise was to be a key element so that the criminals wouldn't have time to communicate with and warn each other.

On the appointed night the silver van once again took its position by the telephone pole, joined by an NCIS sedan, and a unit from ATF. With weapons drawn, the group entered Ocean Lane. Because McGee had been there before, he was the one to open the door in the hope Harry would not make him. However, he had hardly had time to step over the threshold when the team behind him pushed in.

"Hands up! Police!" Gibbs barked. Ziva David, with backup from two ATF agents, approached the back booth on the right. Gianni was caught receiving the envelope of cash from his current client. David ordered buyer and seller to stand so the ATF agents could cuff them.

Gibbs, McGee, and the agents backing them up were arresting the other patrons of the bar, while DiNozzo kept his gun aimed at Harry the bartender, waiting for another agent to be free to restrain him. In spite of the gun pointed at his head, Harry made a grabbing motion behind the bar.

DiNozzo shouted, "Drop it." But Harry brought up the gun, aiming it directly at Tony's chest. He was just about to pull the trigger when the air around Tony began to shimmer in a strange way. Tony seemed to disappear into a mist, and there was an eldritch screech. The bullet passed through the air where Tony had been standing just a moment before, landing in the doorpost.

Harry barely had time to gape at what he had just seen when a large, sleek brown cat leaped up on the counter, and then on his head. Trying to protect himself from the snarling, spitting animal, he dropped his gun and raised his hands to his head, trying to dislodge the cat. The cat, using Harry's head as a springboard, jumped up on top of the backbar.

All motion, even all sound, in the room stopped as everyone looked toward the bartender, who by now was weeping with pain from the puncture wounds left by Mikey's claws.

Gibbs shouted, "Agents, cover your subjects. McGee, get him out of here."

McGee began moving toward the bar, scooping up Tony's clothes as he moved. Mikey jumped from the backbar down to the counter and then into McGee's arms. McGee ran to the door, leaving behind bar patrons, bartender, drug dealers, and LEOs—especially one Ziva David--standing motionless in shock and amazement.

In the van McGee realized that Mikey was trembling.

"Tony, are you okay?" he asked worriedly.

In answer, Mikey jumped from McGee's arms down to the floor of the van and shook himself. It took several minutes longer than usual, but eventually Mikey morphed back into Tony. He redressed himself quickly.

"I don't think you should go back in there," McGee told him.

"I don't think so either," Tony replied. "That was too damned close." He was still trembling.

Chapter 4 – Day of Reckoning: In Which Tony Learns about Mikey's Future

When Gibbs returned to the van, he was angry.

"What the hell happened, DiNozzo?" he yelled. "You had your gun on him; why didn't you pull the trigger?"

"I honestly don't know, boss," Tony replied. "I think the Change was already working. I couldn't help it." He looked down at his feet miserably.

Gibbs glared. "If you're not going to be stable, there are a lot of things we have to think about. Right now we need to get back to the office and begin processing this case."

It took hours, most of the next two days in fact, to process all the perps, interrogate them, and arrange for arraignments. More hours were spent examining evidence. Fortunately, the operation had gone so smoothly that no one was even injured, which meant there was no work for Dr. Mallard in autopsy. He joined Abby in her lab, helping her when there was something he could do. She was very busy.

One afternoon Gibbs stopped in front of DiNozzo's desk. "We need to talk."

"Yeah, sure, boss," Tony replied.

"We can't discuss this in the building."

"No, boss."

A while later they sat in Gibbs' car in a parking space at a fast food restaurant, chewing on hamburgers and fries. Tony seemed to be having some trouble swallowing despite his fondness for this type of cuisine.

Once the food was history, Gibbs turned to look at DiNozzo. "So, do you know why you Changed at that particular moment?"

"No, boss," DiNozzo replied with his eyes down." I don't know. Best I can come up with is that it was an automatic response to fear."

He looked up at Gibbs. "I know what that means." He paused while Gibbs waited, saying nothing. "Uh, if I'm going to Change every time I get scared, my career as a field agent is over."

Gibbs still sat silent.

"I'll turn in my resignation as soon as we wrap up the case," Tony stated quietly, looking out the window.

Gibbs signed heavily. "I don't want to lose you as an agent. You're too damned good for that to happen."

"I thought I had it under control, boss. Obviously, I don't. You won't be able to rely on me whenever you or I or anyone else on the team is in danger."

Gibbs looked at him with eyes that for once were not hard. "I have to think about this, DiNozzo. In the meantime, let's get back to work and wrap this thing up."

It wasn't until Friday afternoon, almost time to go home for the weekend, that the Director called Gibbs and his team, including Ducky and Abby, to her office. She said nothing as they filed in and found seats. For several minutes she sat silently in her chair, her arms folded across her chest, staring at them. Finally, she unfolded her arms and glanced at a file on her desk, then looked up at Gibbs.

"You can't deny it like you did the last time I asked you," she said to him. "There was a witness. In fact, there were several witnesses."

Gibbs' only response was to lift his eyebrows.

"Ziva, tell me again what happened," she commanded.

Ziva cleared her throat and sat up a little straighter in her seat. "The bartender drew on Tony, and Tony disappeared. Then there was a cat. If Tony had been standing there, the bartender's bullet would have hit him in the chest."

"Do you know what happened to Tony?"

"No."

"Have you ever seen the cat before?"

"I think so, yes. If it was the same cat, it came into the squad room one day and was staring at me. Like it was teasing me." She looked over at Tony as if challenging him to deny what she said. He looked back at her with an unreadable expression and said nothing.

"And what happened in the bar after Tony ‘disappeared' and you saw the cat?"

"Gibbs told McGee to get the cat out of there."

"Did McGee do that?"

"Yes, Jen."

"Have you seen the cat since then?"

"No, Jen."

Shepard turned once again to Gibbs, who was watching with a trace of a smile on his face.

"Well, Gibbs? It seems you lied to me before. You have been using a cat as an agent."

"No, ma'am," he said with aplomb. "There is no cat."

"Do you deny that Ziva saw what she says she saw?" the director sputtered.

"No, ma'am." Gibbs shook his head.

"Then how do you explain the cat?"

"The cat is Tony. In his cat form we call him Mikey."

Tony was scrunched down in his chair looking miserable.

Dr. Mallard spoke up. "If it's all right with young Anthony, perhaps I can explain the situation."

Tony shrugged slightly.

"It all began long before you or Officer Ziva came to NCIS," he went on. "Agents Gibbs and DiNozzo were trying to arrest a suspect. The suspect rushed Agent DiNozzo, and as he did, he…well…hard as it is to believe…in mid leap he turned into a wolf. A werewolf."

"There is no such thing as a werewolf, Dr. Mallard," Jenny said with ice in her voice. "They are creatures of myth and imagination."

"Of course," Ducky hastened to assure her. "Except that Jethro and Anthony saw the transformation themselves, and you certainly wouldn't call them backward or superstitious, now would you?"

"Is that true, Jethro? You saw someone…a person…being transformed into a wolf?" Shepard asked.

"Yes, ma'am, I did," Gibbs replied, lifting his eyebrows again. "But there's more to the story."

"Go on," she ordered.

"Tony was unable to avoid the werewolf. It landed on top of him and bit his wrist severely. Then it got away. Obviously, so did the suspect. Not only was Tony hospitalized for treatment of his wounds, he had to receive shots against rabies. That's in his medical file if you don't believe me."

The director's expression was a mixture of disbelief and anger. "Where's the suspect now?"

"He was later shot in human form during an arrest by other LEOs and died without regaining consciousness."

Dr. Mallard picked up the story. "Jethro and Anthony came to me for help because they weren't sure whether the myths were true about a bitten person being infected with…whatever it is…and becoming a were-animal themselves. We prepared carefully for the next full moon. I won't go into all the details, but suffice it to say that Tony was infected and did Change, only he became a werecat instead of a werewolf."

Shepard sat silently, absorbing the information. "How do I know this isn't some elaborate story the three of you have cooked up to…to…have me on?"

"Perhaps Anthony wouldn't mind demonstrating," Ducky suggested.

Shepard turned her gaze to DiNozzo. "I'm willing to be convinced, even though I still think this is just a crock."

"I saw it happen too," Ziva reminded her.

"There was a lot going on in that bar," Jenny replied, implying, to Ziva's discomfort, that maybe she hadn't really seen what she thought she saw. "DiNozzo?"

Tony wriggled a little in his seat and got a faraway look in his eyes. As the others watched, the air around his body began to shimmer like the disturbance heat creates in the summertime. Gradually the shimmer became hazy and opaque, spreading out to conceal all of Tony's body. Suddenly it disappeared without a sound. DiNozzo had disappeared as well, leaving his clothes on his chair in a limp heap with Mikey sitting on top of them.

Shepard and David both looked at Mikey with amazement, their mouths open. The others looked smug, their point having been proved.

"I remember you," Ziva cried. "You *are* the one who came to my desk that day."

"DiNozzo?" the director asked. Mikey jumped from the chair onto the director's desk with a loud meow. He sat down in front of her, his tail waving.

"No need to think you can take liberties, young man," Shepard told the cat. Mikey lifted a paw, showing half-extended claws, which caused Shepard to draw back.

Jethro had a mirthless smile on his face. "I take it you're convinced that Tony is a werecat," he asked her.

She hesitated before answering. "Yes, I guess I have to be in light of the evidence, although it's difficult to believe." She looked at TonyCat. "Now can you Change back?"

"I'm not sure you want to witness that," Ducky stated. "You'll notice that his clothes dropped off when he Changed into Mikey, and if he were to Change back now, he'd be naked."

"Abby, stop drooling," Gibbs muttered under his breath.

"Gibbs!" she hissed back.

Shepard thought a moment. "He can use my private bathroom to Change back." She got up and opened the door to the room. Mikey followed her but stopped in the doorway. "Meow?" he asked.

"Give him his clothes, McGee," ordered Gibbs. McGee jumped up and after dropping Tony's clothes in the bathroom, stepped out again and closed the door behind him. The group sat in silence for a couple of minutes until the bathroom door opened again and a fully-clothed Tony stepped out.

The silence continued after Tony sat down while everyone waited for Director Shepard to say something.
She was staring at Tony with a speculative look in her narrowed eyes.

Finally, she took a breath, clasping her hands together on top of her desk.

"This is extraordinary," she stated. "Do we have to reconsider all the old myths and stories?"

"Ahem," began Ducky. "I think we ought not to dismiss them out of hand, having had our own little demonstration of the veracity of at least one of those myths. However, we still don't have any information on any other such myths. As you know, the origins of myths go back to the time before humans learned to write using symbols for language. We humans love to tell stories"—his listeners exchanged meaningful glances—"but without a means of recording them permanently, they are subject to mutation. There may well be truth behind all of the myths we're aware of, but even truth is mutable, and inevitably it's been changed over the millennia."

"Like the old game of telephone," Abby interjected.

"Exactly," Ducky confirmed.

"That's all very interesting, Dr. Mallard," Shepard said, "but we need to consider what to do about Agent DiNozzo and his…gift—or is it a curse?"

All eyes turned once more to Tony.

"I've been reluctant to use that gift," Gibbs stated, "but it has been useful."

"How many times?" Shepard queried.

"Twice; this last case and the Jody Silverton case."

"Yes," Shepard said, nodding. "That's when I first started hearing about a…hmm…feline agent." She paused. "What is the reason for your reluctance, Jethro?"

"I feel we should be able to solve cases without using extraordinary means. There's no question that using Tony, in his undercover guise of Mikey, was useful in those cases. One of Tony's strong points as an agent has been his ability to go undercover, but we've never had an advantage like this before, and we've still had the same degree of success. And if for some reason Tony has to leave NCIS…well, we'll still have to go back to the normal way of investigating." He stopped for a moment to consider his next statement. "And that brings up another problem."

"And that is?" Shepard asked.

Tony himself was the one to respond. "I'm not sure why I Changed at the bar. It may have been a fear response to the threat. Since I became a werecat, I've never faced a direct threat like that."

"And if you're going to Change automatically every time you perceive a threat…" the director began, catching his drift immediately..

"I'll be worthless as a field agent," Tony concluded unhappily.

"Dr. Mallard?" Shepard turned to the ME. "You're as much of an expert on werewolves as we have here. What are we going to do with TonyCat?"

Ducky straightened up and went into lecture mode again. "I'm not sure that it's really going to be that much of a problem. Anthony was startled by Harry's threat at the bar, and obviously the were element in his body responded automatically. However, don't forget that originally, when he was first bitten, he had no idea of any of the properties of his new status. He worked diligently, and ultimately successfully, to learn how to Change at will, and I have no doubt that he will be able to learn to control this seemingly automatic response to being startled and threatened."

Dr. Mallard turned to Tony. "Isn't it true that you have very specific indications of when the Change is beginning?"

"Yeah," Tony replied. "So what you're saying is that, if I'm in a situation like that again, I should be aware of the Change starting and can learn to control the response and prevent it from happening?"

"Exactly," Dr. Mallard exclaimed, beaming triumphantly.

Shepard looked skeptical. "There's no guarantee, is there?"

"No, no, of course not," Ducky answered, "life doesn't come with a five-year warranty, like a refrigerator, but if Anthony was able to learn to Change at will, I have no doubt that he can extend that control, through practice, to prevent himself from Changing when it isn't prudent to do so."

Both Gibbs and Shepard had looks of doubt on their faces.

"Don't we agree," Dr. Mallard argued, "that Anthony DiNozzo is an excellent special agent, a talented detective, not to mention a good and wonderful man? He has more gifts and abilities than just being a were-animal. In short, he's an asset to NCIS, as well as to his friends and colleagues here. Let's give him a chance to continue to learn about his strange and unsolicited gift—I refuse to consider it a curse, although I'm sure, if he could, he would give it back. Are we going to discard him just because it's a difficult thing for *us* to deal with? Think of what he's going through!"

Gibbs leaned forward, putting his hand on Tony's arm and clearing his throat. "Ducky's right, ma'am."

Tony looked at Ducky. His eyes were sparkling with unusual brightness. "Thank you, Dr. Mallard," he said in a quiet but gruff voice. He was deeply touched by the doctor's eloquent defense of both his were-ness and his humanity.

There was a long pause. During Dr. Mallard's impassioned speech, Abby, who had tears in her eyes as well, had taken Tony's hand and squeezed it firmly. McGee and Ziva were also visibly shaken.

Director Shepard stared at Tony for several long seconds. "You're absolutely right, Doctor," she said. "In light of DiNozzo's long and extremely valuable service to the Agency up to now, we owe him the benefit of the doubt." She looked back at Dr. Mallard. "However, we're dealing with something none of us really understands. I want you to continue working with him, Doctor. Make sure that this…this gift…of his is under control and that it's never used inappropriately."

She turned to Tony. "I expect you to make every effort to follow through with Dr. Mallard on this."

"You can count on it, Ma'am," Tony responded.

The director continued, "That being said, like Jethro, I am not in favor of using the supernatural to deal with situations in the here and now, and this incident provides at least one very good reason not to. I'm not going to say that the agency will *never* make use of Mikey in the future, but for now we will continue to do our investigating in the old-fashioned way. And of course, when I say old-fashioned, I mean with all the means that modern criminological technology has to offer us." She nodded to Abby.

Shepard went on, "If at some time in the future there is an occasion when having Mikey go under cover can be useful for some reason, we *may* consider it. However, I expect those occasions to be rare, and any such operations will have to be cleared with me first. We'll also have to take every precaution to insure that Mikey isn't exposed to any extra danger, not to mention the rest of the team or civilians."

The team let out a collective sigh of relief, not realizing that they had been holding their collective breaths.

Before they could relax, though, there was another issue the director wanted to deal with. "What about Harry, the bartender? Do we have any reason to believe that he's been infected with the were element?"

Dr. Mallard answered, "I'm not sure. The myths talk about the *bite* of the werewolf, not about being clawed. However, we have already made arrangements to keep the man under observation at the time of the full moon."

Gibbs noted, "And don't forget that where he's going he's probably not going to see much daylight, let alone moonlight."

Abby piped up, "And he got a rabies shot."

Tony winced.

Director Shepard had one more thing to say. "I understand the reason you chose not to tell me about this before, although I'm not happy about your lack of trust in me. I believe that keeping it under wraps, on a permanent basis, will be best for everyone, especially Tony. As far as I'm concerned, no one in this room at this time will ever reveal this to anyone else. Ziva, do you agree?"

Ziva said, "Yes, ma'am."

"The rest of you?"

There was a murmur of consent.

Jen Shepard looked at DiNozzo again. "Are you okay with that, Tony?"

"Absolutely," he told her.

"Good. That means no showing off."

"Wouldn't think of it, ma'am," he replied, with a spark of his usual joie de vivre beginning to light up his face.

Director Shepard stood up. "Now that that's settled, let's everybody go home and have a restful weekend. Despite the…um…unusual aspects of this case, you all did good work, and you deserve your down time. Not only did we help in shutting down a drug operation that's been targeting shipboard Navy personnel, we also took out a major Mafia cell."

There was a collective murmur of "thank yous," "good nights," and "have a good weekends" as the team trooped out of Shepard's office.

With Tony's future at NCIS no longer in serious jeopardy, he knew that he would indeed be able to continue learning about the were-animal part of him. The director had been right, of course—it was nothing he'd asked for, but now that he had it, he had to learn to live with it. In the meantime, the Tony part of him was ready again to play, and there was more than enough mischief for anyone, werecat or not, to get into.

As they were walking down the stairs back to the bull pen, Tony caught up with Ziva. His gave her his warmest, most inviting grin.

"So, Ziva, what're you doing this weekend?"

"I have plans," she replied curtly.

"Would you like Mikey to come over and keep you company while you get dressed?" DiNozzo pressed, giving her his best and most flirtatious leer.

"No," Ziva answered, stopping on the step and looking directly at Tony without smiling. "Don't you remember? I hate cats!"

Even Tony joined in the group's laughter—that is, until he felt Gibbs' hand connect with the back of his head.

"Thank you, boss," he said with a fervent note of gratitude that he could not keep out of his voice.