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Chapter 15
Gibbs sat at his desk rubbing his furrowed brow in frustration. They seemed to be getting nowhere. All he could do was wait, wait on Ducky’s autopsy, wait on Abby to process evidence, wait on McGee to sift through the victim’s electronic trail searching for anything unusual, wait on Tony and Ziva to return from interviewing the victim’s CO, just sit and wait. At this point, he didn’t even know how much of a ‘victim’ their victim really was.

“Gear up! Dead Marine at Quantico’s base housing. Explosion. Bomb squad’s on the scene now checking it out. McGee, you’re with me,” Gibbs had barked out in his typical military fashion nearly as soon as their day had begun.

Arriving at the crime scene they were surprised by HAZMAT trucks parked in front of the house. Gibbs immediately went to find out who was in charge and what the hell was going on. Somebody else had control of his crime scene, and he didn’t like it.

Eventually he was able to find someone who could give him a sit rep and then relayed the information to his own team as they waited for HAZMAT to clear the scene for them to process.

The bomb squad found no more explosives in the house, although there was plenty of bomb making equipment. When they checked the basement they stumbled across what they first believed to be a meth lab, but upon further inspection, weren’t sure what it was. That’s when they decided HAZMAT should be called in.

Gibbs had just sent McGee out on a coffee run, not knowing how much longer they would be waiting, when the head of the HAZMAT team gave the all clear for NCIS to begin their work. Trace amounts of radiation were found in the basement as well as the garage, but whatever had been there to contaminate those areas had already been removed.

“Hey, Boss, Sergeant Abild’s CO had plenty to say about him,” Tony declared as he and Ziva returned to the squad room.

“Well out with it, DiNozzo,” Gibbs snapped, getting progressively more irritated through the day with the lack of substantiated theories on this particular case.

Ziva stepped in front of Tony and cut him off before he could speak. “It seems our Marine Sergeant converted to Islam about six months ago. At the time, there were no problems, but over the past three or four months he has been reprimanded seven times for ‘conduct unbecoming’ for numerous incidents of Islamic extremist hate speech. We were able to speak to several men his CO said he was closest with, but they all said that over the past few months he had become withdrawn. One even suspected that he was involved with a terrorist related mosque, but could not give us any idea where that might be.”

Gibbs glared at no one in particular. “So our ‘victim’ might be a homegrown terrorist. Great.” Just then, his phone gave a chirping ring, and he snatched it off his belt clip. “Yeah, Gibbs… Be right down, Abbs.” He flipped his phone closed, feet already carrying him toward the elevator to Abby’s lab.

Down in the lab he could hear the music blaring as Abby stood in front of her computer monitor, examining something that looked like a photo of two people on the screen. Gibbs couldn’t make out who it was a picture of from across the room and she closed the window containing it before he silently crossed the room, coming up directly behind her saying, “What do you got for me, Abbs?”

The distracted Goth forensic scientist jumped, turning around and playfully punching him in the shoulder. “Gibbs, don’t scare me like that. I didn’t hear you come in.”

He picked up the remote to the stereo off the workstation, turning down the music, and replied, “It’s no wonder. You’re going deaf listening to that. Now, what do you got for me?”

She picked up a small black square box up from next to her monitor and handed it to him. “First I have this. Open it.”

Giving her a quizzical look, but trusting his favorite lab rat, he lifted the lid and peeked inside. “What is it, Abbs?”

Abby reached in the box and pulled out a thick silver men’s chain with a medallion hanging from it. “It’s a St. Rita’s medallion, Gibbs. Put it on.”

“Abby, I don’t wear necklaces. And anyway, why do I want a St. Rita’s medallion?” he inquired, stepping back as she attempted to put it on him herself.

“Please, Gibbs, just put it on for me. You can tuck it in beneath your undershirt and nobody will even see it. And don’t tell me you don’t wear necklaces. You used to wear dog tags as a Marine. Those are just military necklaces if you ask me,” she argued.

Figuring he was never going to get any evidence results from her if he didn’t just put on the damn necklace, he gave in. “Fine, I’ll wear it, but why do I need it?” Gibbs knew Abby was Catholic just as he was, or had been before Shannon and Kelly’s deaths, so he was aware that St. Rita had to be some patron saint of something that Abby felt was important for him.

Once she was satisfied that the chain was securely hanging around his neck with the medallion tucked under his white shirt, she finally told him. “St. Rita is the patron saint of the lonely, Gibbs.” Her voice cracked and he felt sure she was about to cry when she reached out and gave him one of her big special hugs. “I just thought you could use it,” she said, her voice thick and heavy with emotion.

He hugged her back and kissed her cheek. “Thanks, Abbs. I’m not sure why you think I need it, but thanks anyways.” He released his hold on her and gently pried her arms off him, taking a step back and looking her in the eyes. “Abbs, I’m wearing the necklace. Now can we get focused on the case? I need to know what you’ve found.”

“Right, Gibbs.” She turned to her computer and began tapping at the keyboard yammering on about the radiation in a manner that he wasn’t exactly following.

“Abbs,” he said sternly.

“Oh, right. The point is, what you found was trace amounts of enriched Uranium which is very hard to get your hands on, desired by terrorists for its use in a nuclear device, and most of all very bad news, Gibbs. If the trace amounts you found were an indicator that there’s more out there on the loose, we’ve got trouble.”

He leaned over, kissed her on the cheek, and said, “Good work, Abbs,” as he began to walk out of the lab.

“But wait, Gibbs, I’ve got more for you!” she exclaimed.

“More gifts or more evidence,” he queried, turning on his heel to look at his Goth friend.

“More evidence.” She stepped over to him, took him by the arm, and walked him back to her computer where she tapped a few more keys and brought up a strange image Gibbs couldn’t decipher.

“What am I looking at, Abbs?”

“Anthrax spores, Gibbs,” she said in a nearly chipper voice that seemed all wrong to him given the words.

“Anthrax?” he repeated with surprise and frustration.

“Yep. Thankfully, the explosion killed them. I did follow protocol and sent a sample to the CDC though. Anyway, our victim’s basement chemistry lab had trace amounts of aerosolized Anthrax spores in it,” she replied, quite satisfied with herself.

Gibbs was starting to put puzzle pieces together and not like what picture he was seeing. “Our victim wasn’t a victim Abby. He was part of a terrorist cell.” He began making his way hurriedly from the lab. “Now we just have to find the rest of the cell, their bomb, and this Anthrax.”

Before he even made it to the elevator, his phone was chirping again. “Yeah, Gibbs…I’m in the lab, Ducky. Just give me a minute. Be right down.” He flipped his phone shut and headed for the stairs instead, taking them as quickly as his feet could move. He needed to find out what Ducky knew, fill in the rest of the team, and update the Director. Vance was not going to like this. This would probably need to be reported to the Sec Nav and Sec Def and God knows what other government officials. Gibbs’ whole case was turning into a nightmare.

Down in autopsy, Gibbs found Ducky still working and Palmer hovering over the badly burned body of Marine Staff Sergeant Michael Abild; their victim of the day, recent convert to Islam, and apparent terrorist, with Ducky mid-story about some trip of his youth to the country formerly known as Istanbul.

“Duck, what’d you find?” Gibbs demanded the second he walked through the doors.

Palmer looked at the intimidating lead investigator with nervousness and a hint of fear in his eyes, backing away to make plenty of room as Gibbs came around to inspect the body lying on the table. When Gibbs turned his head to the side eyeing the skittish assistant, Palmer stepped back again and nearly knocked over a small table with instruments on it.

Gibbs turned his attention to the medical examiner as he began to explain. “The reason I called you down here, Jethro was because my initial findings as of yet are that our Marine here did not die in the explosion.” He picked up a lung off the metal table next to him. “Looking at the damage done to his lungs, I’d venture to guess some sort of respiratory infection killed him first. You can see it right there,” he said pointing to a particular area within the lung tissue. “I won’t know for sure what it is until I get a sample to Ms. Sciuto for analysis.”

“I just came from there, Duck. I’m gonna go out on a limb and say our Marine died of Anthrax.”

Ducky looked at Jethro with a serious expression. “Jethro, I wish I would have known sooner. If this is Anthrax, Sergeant Abild’s body is still infectious. We have to go through standard decontamination protocols.”

Autopsy was sealed off for ‘infectious autopsy’ protocols. Gibbs, Ducky, and Jimmy Palmer all had to take decontamination showers and go to the hospital for standard blood work and prophylactic treatment while the HAZMAT team took care of ensuring that the areas just outside of autopsy had not been contaminated as well.

It was frustrating to Gibbs to have lost a couple of hours to something he felt his team should have been on top of. Returning to NCIS from the hospital in the change of clothes he kept in his car and with a fresh cup of coffee, he hoped the team had found some good leads in his absence. As part of the protocols, he had to turn in his phone for replacement with one that wasn’t possibly contaminated, one that he did not yet have in his hands. He had no way to communicate with the team while at the hospital.

“Boss, what did they say? You gonna be okay?” Tony asked as soon as he entered the squad room. “Oh, here’s your new phone.” He handed the device to Gibbs.

Gibbs clipped the phone to his belt in its usual place. You should probably call Em and tell her what happened. Well, maybe not. That would just worry her. She’s probably busy anyway. He shifted his thoughts back to work. “Yeah, DiNozzo. I’m fine.”

Just then, Abby came running in and threw her arms around him. “Oh, Gibbs! I’m so glad you’re okay. I was so worried. It’s really all my fault. I should have found it sooner and told Ducky. I know you don’t like apologies, Gibbs, but I’m so sorry. I really screwed up and I could have gotten you and Ducky killed. Oh, and Palmer too.” She hugged him again, this time even harder. “I’m so sorry, Gibbs.”

Gibbs hugged her back and patted her on the back. “It’s okay, Abbs. I’m fine. Ducky’s fine. Palmer’s fine. Everybody’s fine. Now let go. You’re squeezing too tight, I can barely breath.”

She released him just as suddenly as she had grabbed him. “I’m just glad you’re all okay.”

Not wasting any more time, he asked her, “Did you get any matches on those fingerprints from the house?”

“Now that you mention it, yes and no. I mean, most of them belong to our dead Marine, but there were at least five distinct others, mostly in the garage and the basement. I didn’t get any hits in AFIS, but I did get a hit on one in Interpol to a known Al Queda terrorist by the name of Aman Al Halawani,” Abby informed him.

“McGee…” Gibbs began.

“Already on it, Boss,” McGee replied, sitting at his desk furiously typing on his keyboard, a look of deep concentration on his face. “Got it, Boss. Putting it up on the plasma now. Looks like Halawani has been on the CIA’s terrorist watch list for the past eight years, ever since his ties to Bin Laden were discovered. They had been tracking his movements across the Middle East for several years, but lost track of him earlier this year in Yemen and haven’t been able to find him since.”

“Well, that’s obvious, McGee, since his fingerprints are in a house on a Marine base thirty miles outside of D.C. that all evidence points to having contained the makings of a dirty bomb and Anthrax!” Gibbs was yelling by now, his temper and frustration at their lack of a good solid lead in the case getting the best of him. He chugged down the remaining coffee in his cup and threw it in the trash by his desk. “I’m going for more coffee. I want every piece of information on Sergeant Abild and Halawani from birth to now by the time I get back. I mean every step they took, every person they spoke to, every breath they took. I want everything.” With that, he stormed out of the squad room to the front elevators, heading to his favorite coffee shop just outside of the Navy Yard. He needed a short walk and a few minutes to think.

McGee looked from Tony to Ziva to Abby who were all standing around staring after Gibbs. “You don’t really think he was serious, do you?”

Abby turned to McGee. “I’m just glad I’m not you. If Gibbs is sucking down coffee that fast, he’s in one bad mood. I’m going back to my lab. Bye,” and took off to the rear elevator to escape the tension that was increasing in the room.

Turning to her computer, beginning to type, Ziva commented, “I am not sure what he believes we are going to find that the CIA has not already. If they could not find Halawani, what makes Gibbs think we can?”

Tony just laughed. “How many times have we dug the CIA out of their own holes around here? Don’t you remember Trent Kort? I think Gibbs just has more faith in us than he does them. He knows we’re just that good.”

Ziva just glared at her computer monitor. “I would not get so cocky, Tony until we have found these terrorists. There is no telling what they have planned and how many people could die if we cannot find them in time. We do not even know how much time we have.

Gibbs walked slowly down the sidewalk, cell phone up to his ear. “You still at the office?”

“No, I just got home about an hour ago. What about you? I just saw on the news there was an explosion at the Marine base in Quantico this morning. A suspected terrorist cell is involved? What’s going on?”

“What? Where could they be getting their information?” He thought back to the crime scene and all the bomb squad and HAZMAT crew milling around. Any one of them may have been a leak to their own personal speculation not knowing how close to the truth they were. “I don’t know how the media got that, but it’s true.”

“How true? What did you find?” growing concern edged into her voice.

He was thankful Em was someone he could talk to about his job that she understood it and what he dealt with, she was familiar with the stresses. “Traces of enriched Uranium and Anthrax spores.” He was going to refrain from telling her he spent a few hours being decontaminated and treated for Anthrax exposure, no point in worrying her. “There’s apparent ties to Al Queda. I just can’t figure out for the life of me why they would need both a bomb and a biological weapon. My gut isn’t leading me anywhere with this one, Em.”

“Over the past eight years I’ve investigated a whole lot of terrorist related crimes, Jethro. I can tell you that there is one theme that often runs through them, causing widespread mass panic. If a terrorist cell could release a biological weapon on Washington D.C. that would certainly have people panicked throughout the city and a lot of people across the country. If they followed that up by decimating our capital with a dirty bomb, they would succeed in bringing the entire country into a state of panic and hysteria and utter chaos. I could only guess that act would be followed by attacks from additional cells in other major cities, slowly bringing the entire country to its knees.”

Neither of them said anything for a few minutes. The idea that Em could be right in her assessment of the situation was more than overwhelming. Gibbs had no reason to doubt that she knew what she was talking about though. She’d been specializing in this sort of thing for eight years and working counterterrorism for seven years before that.

“Em, I appreciate your input. That at least gives me a working theory. I just wish you could tell me where to find the bad guys,” he said in exasperation. “Can you do me a favor?”

“Sure, anything.”

“I may be here all night working this case. Would you mind going over and having dinner with Dad? I know it’s getting late already, and he’s probably wondering where I am. I haven’t had time to call him yet. Things have just been crazy all day,” Gibbs said, reaching up to run his hand over his tired face while she replied.

“I don’t mind at all. I had put a small pot roast with potatoes and carrots in the Crock-Pot this morning for dinner. There should be plenty for both of us. I’ll just take that over. Don’t worry about him tonight. If it makes you feel better, I’ll stay there tonight so he won’t be alone. You just focus on your case, and don’t worry about a thing,” she said soothingly.

It was just what he needed to hear and one of the things he loved about her. She was so caring and thoughtful. Em would do anything for anyone and even more for someone she cared about. Gibbs knew Em loved Jack too. She missed her own father and enjoyed spending time with his.

He had finally reached the coffee shop. “I need to be going. Thanks for taking care of Dad tonight. And thanks for the talk I needed some insight to help direct me.” He paused at the doors, about to enter. “I love you, Em.”

“I love you too, Jethro. Good luck on the case. Call if you need me.” With that, she was gone.

He entered the coffee shop and ordered his usual large black Jamaican blend, paid the girl at the register, and left, quickly heading back to NCIS at a much quicker pace than he had taken on his way out. Just before he reached the doors to the building, his phone chirped its familiar ring.

“Gibbs,” he answered.

“Boss, Vance is looking for you, and he looks pretty pissed. Said to tell you he wants to see you the second you get back. Something about the media coverage on this case,” said Tony, sounding a bit afraid to pass on the message.

He was at the elevators pushing the button to go upstairs by then. “I’ll be right there,” he replied curtly then flipped his phone closed and stuck it back on his belt clip.

Gibbs couldn’t imagine what good was going to come from a conversation with Director Vance.
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