London 1928

"Move it, McGee!" said Jethro Gibbs as he jumped out of the taxi.

Timothy McGee sighed and wondered how often he had sighed since first meeting Jethro Gibbs. He reached into his pocket and drew out the money for the fare. "Thank you," he said to the driver.

"You got a right one there, Mister," said the driver. "Good luck!" and he touched the brim of his cap in farewell.

"Don't I know it," sighed McGee … again.

"McGee!" shouted Gibbs.

"Coming, Boss," said McGee as he picked up his bags and followed Gibbs.

"Gibbs," said Gibbs as he marched up to the reception desk of New Scotland Yard, "Leroy Jethro Gibbs."

"Pardon?" came the reply.

"Leroy Jethro Gibbs. From Washington."

"Oh. You're American. Explains it."

"Er, explains what?" asked McGee.

"Why I didn't understand what you were saying," said the policeman affably.

"Leroy Jethro Gibbs," enunciated Gibbs very slowly. "Here to see Deputy Commissioner Walter James."

The constable wrote the name down equally slowly. "And who might you be?" he asked McGee.

"Timothy McGee. Also to see the Deputy Commissioner. If that's all right?"

"Not for me to say, Son," said the policeman. "Now, let me see," and he looked at a list in front of him. He read it through very carefully and then huffed before reading it again. He looked up at the visitors before looking at another list. "Not today," he said at last, "You're not expected until tomorrow."

"We made good time," said Gibbs.

McGee found himself considering the varying definitions of good time. He suspected that to Gibbs a good time was simply a quick time whereas McGee would want the implications of a quick time to be taken into account. McGee wasn't sure that his rapid heartbeat, elevated blood pressure and increased nervous tension would lead to him endorsing Gibbs' description.

"Hmm," said the policeman as he gazed stolidly at Gibbs.

"Um, why don't you check to see if he can see us today … um … now," suggested McGee tentatively.

"He's a busy man," said the policeman. "Being the Deputy Commissioner and all."

"I'm sure," said McGee. "But if you could …" He made a slight gesture of the head towards Gibbs, hoping that the policeman would see the advantage of accommodating them.

A grin split the policeman's face as he appreciated McGee's position. "I'll check," he agreed. "Wait here." He levered himself off his stool and called out, "Sidney, take over from me. I'm off to see the DC. Keep an eye on our visitors. They're American." There was a wealth of meaning in the word American but McGee was weary and didn't feel up to unpacking what the meaning was.

Gibbs nodded briskly and moved away to examine some posters listing wanted criminals. McGee went and sat down on one of the wooden benches and surreptitiously did some deep breathing exercises.

"McGee!" snapped Gibbs.

McGee realised that his deep breathing had led to him dozing off and he jerked back to attention. He opened his eyes to see the policeman looking down on him paternally,

"The Deputy Commissioner will see you now," he said benignly. "Walk this way."

McGee found himself wanting to giggle; the policeman had a rolling gait which it would be hard to imitate although he found he had an insane wish to do so. Awareness of Gibbs' stern eye fixed on him prevented him from following through and he settled for picking up his luggage and joining the procession.

"The Americans," announced the escort when they arrived at a door outside which a female secretary sat.

"Thank you, Constable Jenks," said the woman.

"I told them they was early, Miss Ames," said PC Jenks.

"Thank you," said Miss Ames.

"And that the Deputy Commissioner is a busy man," said Jenks.

"Thank you," said the secretary.

"They said as they'd made good time," said Jenks.

"Thank you."

"Although the young'un looks as if he needs his bed."

"I'll take it from here," said Miss Ames sternly.

"Fair enough," said Jenks. He nodded towards McGee and Gibbs. "They're American," he added confidentially.

"I'm well aware of that, PC Jenks."

PC Jenks realised he had nothing else to say so grinned at McGee and directed a cool look towards Gibbs before rolling away again.

Gibbs stared at Miss Ames, "Gibbs. Leroy Jethro Gibbs and Timothy McGee."

Miss Ames stared back, "The Deputy Commissioner …"

"Is a busy man," said Gibbs, "I know."

"Good," said Miss Ames, "I was about to say, the Deputy Commissioner will see you directly. I will let him know you are here." She got up from her chair, paused at the door to look at them once more as if to check that they were not going to make a rush for the office, and then tapped on the door before entering. "The Americans," they heard her say. She emerged a moment or two later and announced, "Please come in."

"About time," muttered Gibbs. "Come on, McGee!"

Miss Ames directed a sympathetic look at McGee who hadn't hesitated for even half a second.

"Ah, Gibbs, McGee," said Deputy Commissioner Walter James. "Do come in. Would you like some tea? Do you drink tea?" he added doubtfully.

A cup of tea sounded like bliss to McGee but, although he had not known Gibbs for long, he knew enough to decline.

"Let's get down to business," said Gibbs. He paused and then added, "Sir."

"So," said James, "You've come a long way."

McGee felt the urge to giggle again but managed to suppress it once more. "Yes, Sir. 3419 miles … from New York to Southampton. And then I think it's about 80 miles from there to here."

"Indeed," said the Deputy Commissioner politely. "And how was the journey? I believe you travelled on the RMS Aquitania?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Ah. I travelled on her sister ship the Mauretania last summer," said James nostalgically. "Did you have a good passage?"

McGee thought about relating how he had been seasick for the entire journey; of describing how Gibbs had spent so much time on the bridge urging the captain to go for a new Atlantic crossing record and of how he was considering applying for British citizenship so he didn't have to face the voyage back but somehow he didn't think he would be heard out and settled for saying, "It was fine, Sir. Thank you."

Gibbs coughed and the sound seemed to pull James back to reality. "And it's excellent to see you here," he said. "It's always good to offer co-operation to our American …" he hesitated as he searched for the appropriate word, "… friends." He paused, apparently waiting for some polite rejoinder from his guests. He didn't pause for long; as PC Jenks had observed, he was a busy man and didn't have time to waste. "Your credentials, if you please," he asked.

Gibbs took an envelope from his pocket and handed it to the Deputy Commissioner.

"We need to be sure," said James apologetically. "Although it seems unlikely that you are imposters." He scanned the papers quickly and returned them, "That all seems in order. Now, Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs, perhaps you can explain how the Metropolitan Police can help the Office of Naval Intelligence?"

"Navy Intelligence suspects that attempts have been made to steal the plans of the US Navy's new class of submarines," said Gibbs.

"By whom?"

"Unknown," said Gibbs. "Possibly by foreign powers or possibly by criminals intent on selling the details to the highest bidder."

"And why do you need our help?"

"We don't," said Gibbs.

"I don't understand," said James.

"We have a suspect, Alexander Lambert, who we believe was working in the Portsmouth Shipyard. We were closing in on him when he escaped. We believe he has made his way to this country. I am here to arrest him," said Gibbs.

"Why do you think he has come here?" asked James.

"Previous history," said Gibbs.

"I see," said the Deputy Commissioner. "So, you don't need our help?"

"No, Sir," said Gibbs.

"And yet," smiled James, "You are here."

"Our Director believes we need your help," admitted Gibbs. "In the interests of co-operation."

"I agree with your Director," said James firmly. He picked up the phone on his desk, "Miss Ames, would you ask PD to come here, please? Thank you."

There was a tap on the door and Miss Ames entered bearing a tray of tea things, "PD will be down directly, Sir. I thought you might be wanting tea?" Without waiting for a response, she poured out three cups and offered them to the three men. Gibbs shook his head but McGee reached out his hands eagerly. Miss Ames smiled benevolently at him, "And would you care for a biscuit … oh, I believe you call them cookies?" McGee didn't care what they were called, it seemed a long time since a snatched breakfast at Southampton and he was happy to accept.

"Ah, tea," came a new voice. "Connie wasn't at her desk, so I thought I'd come straight in."

"Come in, PD," said James, "I want you to meet our American … colleagues. Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs didn't want his tea so there's a spare cup for you."

PD nodded happily and helped himself to four of the biscuits. Gibbs suppressed a sigh at all the socialising and kept a calm expression on his face.

"Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs …" began James.

"Just Gibbs," said Gibbs.

"Pardon?"

"You can just call me Gibbs. It will probably be better not to use our ranks while we are here," said Gibbs.

"I see. And what rank are we not using for you, Mr McGee?" asked the Deputy Commissioner.

McGee hastily swallowed the mouthful of tea he had just taken, "Oh, I don't have a rank, Sir. I'm a civilian employee, I'm an analyst and a gatherer of information."

"You're a spy," said PD with relish.

"Oh no, Sir," said McGee, "I'm just an analyst. I analyse the information I find. Really, that's all."

PD grinned and McGee suspected he would have liked to probe more but the Deputy Commissioner took back control of the meeting, "Very well, gentlemen. This is Inspector Anthony Paddington-DiNozzo. I am assigning him to assist you with your enquiries."

PD stood up, having already disposed of his tea and the biscuits, "Shall we go to my office?" he suggested. "Walk this way."

Unlike with PC Jenks' invitation, McGee found himself wishing he could emulate the tall Inspector's graceful confident walk. He bent to pick up his bags but PD forestalled him, "Let me," he said. "Hey, what you got in here?" he said in surprise when he felt the weight.

"Not much," said McGee nervously, "Street map of London, railway timetables, tide tables, some reference books … you know."

"Always prepared, eh? You a boy scout?" asked PD.

"Yes, Sir. I have a scout troop at home …" McGee trailed off as he remembered that perhaps he shouldn't apply for British citizenship but return to his duties in America.

Gibbs huffed his distinctive huff leading to PD and McGee abandoning their chatter. As they got to the door, the Deputy Commissioner called the Inspector back and Gibbs heard him saying,

"Shouldn't take too long, PD. I know you're winding down …"

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

PD led Gibbs and McGee to his office which barely had room for two desks and a filing cabinet. Gibbs sniffed and, for a moment, McGee thought it was in disapproval but then realised that the room smelt clean unlike the rest of the building which was heavy with the smell of cigarette smoke.

"Make yourself at home," ordered PD before throwing himself into one of the chairs. Gibbs took the other one leaving McGee to prop himself against the desk. "It's late," said PD, "I suggest we start afresh tomorrow."

Gibbs was about to protest but saw the Inspector nod towards McGee who was clearly flagging.

"OK, Paddington-DiNozzo," he said. "Early tomorrow."

"Call me PD," said the Inspector.

"I don't think so," said Gibbs, uncomfortable with using a nickname.

"Then just DiNozzo," said PD, "Or Tony. Paddington-DiNozzo's got about five too many syllables for daily use."

"DiNozzo," compromised Gibbs.

"And what do I call you?" asked Tony.

"Gibbs."

"And you, Mr McGee?"

"Um, McGee is fine. Or Tim."

"Where are you staying?" asked Tony.

Gibbs looked at Tim. "A boarding house in Montague Street," said Tim.

"Ah, near the British Museum," observed Tony.

Tim looked innocent.

"Listen," said Tony, "I'm playing football this evening. Why don't you come along? I can show you some good places to eat afterwards."

"Football?" asked Gibbs, "D'you mean soccer?"

"Good gracious, no," came another voice. "Anthony's going to be playing rugby."

"Rugby?" said Tim, "Is that like American …"

"I suppose it has some similarities to American football," said the new arrival, "And indeed the two games have the same origin but I would liken it …"

"This is Dr Donald Mallard," said Tony interrupting the doctor. "He is our pathologist."

"Indeed," said the doctor, "And I come bearing the fruits of my latest endeavour. I have completed the autopsy on the victim found at St Katharine's Docks."

"Thanks, Ducky," said Tony as he took the proffered folder.

"Ducky?" asked Tim.

"Yes?" replied the doctor.

Tony laughed, "No, I think Tim was querying why I called you Ducky … not asking you a question."

"Oh, I see. I am so accustomed now to the nickname that I forget others may not know its origin. It relates to my surname … a mallard is a species of dabbling or diving duck. It is very common in this country and I believe that it is often to be found in the Americas. It is …"

"We know what a mallard is," said Gibbs.

"And who are your guests, Anthony?" asked Ducky.

"Sorry," apologised Tony, "This is Gibbs and Tim McGee."

"Gibbs?" queried Ducky.

"Yes."

"Just Gibbs?"

"Actually, his name is Leroy Jethro Gibbs," supplied Tim.

"Ah," said Ducky, "I understand."

"Gibbs and Tim are working on a case here," said Tony. "The DC has asked me to help them."

"How interesting," said Ducky. "I look forward to hearing all about it. Now, Anthony, how would it be if I delivered our visitors to their temporary abodes and then transport them to the rugby ground?"

Tim waited for the refusal but Gibbs simply nodded, "Thank you, Doctor," and then said, "Wait … were you in the Medical Corps?"

Ducky stiffened slightly, "Do you mean the Royal Army Medical Corps?"

"Yeah, that's it."

"Yes, I was."

"Ducky was a major," said Tony helpfully.

"I thought so," said Gibbs. "You worked on a buddy of mine. Saved his leg … and his life."

"Indeed," said Ducky.

"At Belleau Wood," said Gibbs. "In France."

"I remember," said Ducky. "June 1918. Just over ten years ago. Were you with the Marine Corps?"

"Yes," said Gibbs. He and Ducky stared at each other.

"Sad times," said Ducky. "So many lives lost … although on that day, some were saved because of your fellow Marines."

"Yeah," said Gibbs.

A sombre mood fell on the room. Finally, McGee said, "But it was the war to end all wars, wasn't it?"

Ducky smiled, a smile which didn't quite reach his eyes, "Of course, Timothy. We must hope so at any rate."

"So," said Tony, "Ducky will take the Yanks to their boarding house and I'll see you at 6 o'clock. Ruskin Park."

"It will be a pleasure," said Ducky. "Anthony, may I have a word?"

Tony nodded and followed Ducky into the corridor. Left alone, McGee seized the chance to quiz Gibbs,

"Boss, why are we going to watch the Inspector play sport?"

"Thought you'd be interested, McGee," said Gibbs blandly.

"I am," said McGee slightly unconvincingly, "But why are you? I mean, I didn't think it was the sort of thing you went in for … you know, socialising with people."

Gibbs smiled a little grimly, "One of the best ways to find out about people is to watch them play sports," he said. "And I want to know about our Inspector."

McGee nodded and understood that he'd just been given the job of delving into Anthony Paddington-DiNozzo's background.