A Terrorist for Christmas
by channelD
Rating: T
Genre: Action/Drama
Setting: Washington DC, December
Featuring: Tim and the Team
Theme: As the holidays near, The Washington Navy Yard comes under a terrorist attack, and NCIS is in the thick of it.
Warning: Violence; not too graphic, but might upset some
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Disclaimer: I own nothing of NCIS
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Introduction: December 17
"Chatter on the GC-12 network, Jenny. Thought you'd want to know." The head of MTAC handed NCIS Director Jennifer Shepard a sheaf of printouts, colored with his usual painstaking highlighting, and neatly bundled with a bulldog clip.
"Thanks, Earl," she murmured, unclipping the papers and starting to scan them. He was right to print them out rather than email them. Having hard copies allowed her to more easily spread the papers out to compare them. "Ah, I see. A possible target here in Washington? Is that really new?" Not that she doubted him. He was not an alarmist; there must be something in here.
Earl Conklin nodded, but his mild tone didn't warm the grimness in his eyes. "Yes, it's new. These were accumulated over the weekend. They're specifically talking about targeting the Navy."
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Chapter 1: Daytime, December 24
A week passed, and tensions hadn't eased a bit in the Navy Yard. All the way along the East Coast from Norfolk, Virginia to Newport, Rhode Island the internal terror level remained on Red Alert, since ordered by the SECNAV on the day MTAC had reported to Jenny. Jenny was almost never off the phone. Only to a Congressional sub-committee would she report in person; travel took up too much valuable time.
Security was tighter than most people had seen in their careers. From NCIS' Contingency Response Field Office in Glynco, Georgia came 34 agents, one third of the CRFO's force, to help out. NCIS HQ was crowded, though the non-SA staff was freely encouraged to take leave. NCIS could do without them for a little while; there was no reason to keep people not trained in defense in the danger zone.
Not so the special agents. Leave had been cancelled for them, and they were always armed; always in bullet-proof vests, inside the building as well as out. Agents had to check with their supervisors and sign out even if leaving just to have a cigarette. Deliveries in and out of the Navy Yard were curtailed until it was evident that the alert would drag on for awhile, since the base needed its mail and food. Still, one restriction impacts a lot of others. Everyone, from Jenny and the base Commander on down, who drove onto the base faced a thorough check of their vehicle, causing tremendous delays. Navy Yard personnel who hadn't taken public transportation in years found themselves riding the Metro and doing the cold, .5 mile walk to the Navy Yard to avoid the vehicular traffic jam at the gates. But even the pedestrians faced thorough searches. It was difficult to endure this, day after day, but the Yard workers did so, with gallows humor.
That much said, many agents opted to bring in a couple days worth of clothes and sleep on cots set up in the gym, rather than deal with the commute. The agency offered to do laundry/dry cleaners runs for them. It was worth it to keep people onsite, even if this did mean more phone time given over to personal calls to families. One woman wept to miss her 5-year-old's birthday party. There was no longer such a thing as a weekend.
On the morning of Monday, the 24th, agent Tim McGee was on the phone with his sister. "No, Sarah, I can't get away, and I'm sorry I can't drive you to the airport, either. You know how to get to Dulles…No, I can't. This is my job. Mom and Dad will understand when I call them…No. No. I'll be fine here. Don't you even think for a moment of staying home. Sarah, I don't know what's going to happen here, but I'd feel a lot more comfortable knowing you were away from Washington…Yes; I'll call you all tomorrow. Merry Christmas." He hung up the phone, feeling drained, and looked up to see Gibbs standing over his desk. "Uh, sorry, boss; I was just…"
But Gibbs only said, "Got the material from Newport up, yet, McGee?"
"Uh, yes; it's here." He reached for a printout, only to have it fumble from his fingers as his ad-hoc partner approached.
"Sorry I'm late, Gibbs, Tim," Faith Underhill said, her voice low and musical, as always. Her chestnut hair gleamed, and her light blue eyes were a trifle sultry, a trifle cheeky behind the black-rimmed designer glasses that gave her a powerful, yet almost mocking, Tina Fey-type appeal. In Tim's eyes she was gorgeous.
"Don't let it happen again," Gibbs growled. He turned back to his own desk, and then checked his watch. Time for another meeting at MTAC. How many meetings a day were they up to now?
A small table had been set up for Faith, with a laptop, beside Tim's desk. She was one of the brightest minds in Intel, and though a relatively new hire, had already made a name for herself in data analysis. She also spoke several languages. The only thing that diminished her, in Tim's eyes (and this was very slight) was that she had gone to Cal Tech instead of MIT. But she had a lively, wry sense of humor, and a mild antipathy toward authority. When this was all over, Tim was considering asking her out…though she was about three years older than him. Would that put her off? He didn't know.
For four days now, they had been working side by side. The special agents (permanent to Washington, and the ones from CRFO) had been given assignments for the duration; Tony and Ziva were field/outside defense operatives; Tim was assigned inside to do Intel work from the SA's point of view. He missed the opportunity to go out, but accepted the fact that this was where he could be of most help.
"Tim?" Faith's query got his attention. "Shall we run through the overnight chatter?"
"Okay. My Arabic's getting better, but it's still not as good as yours."
She laughed, and they plugged in headphones to listen to the CIA/NSA supplied files.
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The day had started out with soft gray clouds occasionally letting scraps of blue sky shine through. By early afternoon, though, the wind turned east; cold and damp. Blue sky vanished and the clouds lowered; sickly gray and indistinct in light fog. Darkness seeped in around 3; a lingering, cruel twilight that went to fully dark before 5.
Inside the NCIS building, about 5, someone set a CD player going with jazzy Christmas carols. People laughed and applauded; when a swing version of Santa Claus is Coming to Town came on, some got up and started dancing. Cartons of eggnog emerged, and so did jugs of apple cider. (No one had the nerve to suggest spiking either, given the grave times.) There were Christmas cookies and candies to share, and Jenny sent a large tray of cheese and crackers down to the squad room, with a hint of more food to come. (Don't fill up before dinner! she'd said.) Ducky contributed boxes of British Christmas crackers, and the squad room soon filled with sharp pops! and laughter.
The first report came from the Isaac Hull gate.
"Gorham Lasers. Three of them," the gate guard rasped. "Colliers is down. Erskine is doing return fire from cover, but we only have the rifles."
Jenny held back a gasp that tried to get out. Gorham Lasers! The Model 7 Dolan shoulder-mounted linear rifles were built to destroy vehicles! "Can you get Colliers to cover?"
"It's…too late for that, ma'am. He's gone."
"You can't be sure of that, Gomez! He might still be alive!"
She heard his gulp. "No, ma'am, he's not. It blew him in two, ma'am."
"Oh…I'm sorry, Gomez. Stay safe. Help is on the way."
"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am."
Jenny's next move, as she hung up, was to push the button that she had only pushed during the annual alarm testing.
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Everyone stopped their merrymaking and looked up when the alarm went off, and fear took over. How bad? Where? Who? Eyes turned toward the ever-on ZNN network, but it was showing a cute story of Christmas somewhere in the Heartland. Nothing had reached it yet.
Jenny's voiced cut in over the PA system, and the alarm became just a murmur. "May I have your attention, please? This is Director Shepard. An attack is underway at the Isaac Hull gate. It involves three Gorham Lasers. Teams A, B, and C—arm up and get out there. Be careful! Go now. Will the leaders of teams D, E and F meet in my office now. That is all."
Tony and Ziva were on team A, with two CRFOs and Gibbs as team leader. Gibbs was already moving too fast to stop, but Tim was able to catch up with Tony and Ziva. "Guys, uh…be careful, okay? I wouldn't want to come to work if you weren't here to rib me."
Tony grinned, though it looked a little forced. "See, Ziva? I told you our Probie secretly liked it." He gave Tim a light noogie, while Ziva rolled her eyes.
"We will be fine, McGee,' she said. "I am glad that we are in the first wave. We will run them off!"
Tim watched them quickly put on their body armor and run out with their team; watched sadly. He remembered his parents' admonition to tell people you cared about that you loved them, every day. His coworkers weren't quite the kind of people he could come out and say that to, but he hoped they knew it, anyway.
Faith gave Tim an unusually soft look when he sat back down, looking pale. "Your friends?"
"Yeah. This attack sounds really bad. Of course, it won't be just NCIS fighting—we have the Navy and the Marines, here, and that includes members of the MARSOC Marines Special Forces."
"How many people is that?"
He thought. "On duty right now? Maybe 100. I'm guessing." His gaze swept the room, where the remaining agents milled in worry, awaiting instructions. It was evident that just about all of them wanted to go help defend the gate, though they knew that wasn't practical.
A bellow came from the balcony. Supervisory Special Agent Taylor, out of CRFO, called out, "Team F! Gear up! We're going to the O Street Gate!" On hearing the cries of alarm, he added, "No, there's no attack there. This is a precaution."
And no doubt MARSOC would be in place at the Marines gate at 8th Street. All that the people inside the NCIS building could do was wait for news. And hope for not too many casualties.
ZNN broke to a few minutes of coverage of the Pope's midnight service at Saint Paul's. As the pontiff called for peace on earth, Tim closed his eyes and prayed…and was pretty sure he could hear the gunfire at the gate…