Chapter Text
The call came in while Director Jennifer Shepard was arguing with a senator.
Not loudly.
She did not need volume when precision would do.
Senator Wallace had been in her office for twenty-two minutes, explaining congressional oversight to her as if she had misplaced the concept somewhere between the coffee table and the secure phone. He had brought two aides, one folder thick with budget notes, and the kind of smile men used when they believed charm was a substitute for leverage.
Jenny had allowed him the smile. She had not allowed him the leverage.
“Senator,” she said, setting his proposed interagency review memorandum back on her desk, “NCIS will cooperate with appropriate oversight. We will not, however, provide active operational files to a committee staffer whose clearance status is currently listed as pending.”
Wallace’s smile tightened. “Director Shepard, I’m sure we can find some flexibility.”
“And I am sure you can look for it," she said mildly.
One of the aides shifted in his chair.
Cynthia, seated near the side table with her notepad, did not look up.
Wallace leaned forward and said, “This reluctance creates an unfortunate impression.”
Jenny folded her hands with a mild expression on her face. “Then I suggest we all be grateful that impressions are not evidence.”
The senator opened his mouth.
Jenny’s desk phone rang.
Cynthia’s pen stopped.
That was enough.
Jenny answered. “Shepard.”
McGee’s voice came through, too fast. “Director, we have a situation.”
She sat straighter.
Wallace noticed the change and apparently had enough survival instinct to stop speaking.
“Where?”
“Alexandria. Abandoned naval training facility off Eisenhower Avenue. Local PD got an anonymous call about a Navy officer trapped inside. Boss is en route with Tony and Ziva. Ducky’s meeting them there.”
Jenny stood, mildly irritated though grateful for an interruption, and asked, “Why are you calling me?”
A half-second pause. Then McGee said, “Because the caller asked for you.”
The room changed. Jenny felt it move around her.
“What exactly did he say?”
McGee swallowed audibly. “He said, ‘Tell Director Shepard the room is ready.’”
Jenny did not move.
Wallace looked from her to Cynthia. “Director?”
Jenny covered the receiver with one hand. “This meeting is over.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You may beg for it outside.”
Cynthia stood before the senator could decide whether offense was safer than obedience. “Senator Wallace, I’ll coordinate with your office regarding a new appointment.”
Wallace remained seated and sputtered out, “This is highly irregular.”
Jenny looked at him with a sharp look in her eyes.
He stood. The aides followed.
The door closed behind them with a level of quiet that was entirely of her doing.
Jenny uncovered the receiver. “McGee.”
“Still here, ma’am.”
“Put it through MTAC. I want building schematics, local response, and the original call recording.”
“Already pulling it.”
“And McGee?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Do not refer to it as a room again until we know what it is.”
Another pause.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She hung up.
Cynthia was already moving toward the door. “I’ll clear MTAC.”
“Notify Legal. Quietly. No press inquiries answered without my approval.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Jenny reached for her jacket and went to MTAC.
Gibbs hated old training facilities.
They were never as empty as they looked.
This one sat behind a sagging chain-link fence with faded Navy signage, a cracked asphalt lot, and a main building that had been boarded up badly enough to suggest bureaucracy had signed off on abandonment but nature had filed an appeal.
Tony pulled the sedan in behind the first Alexandria PD cruiser.
“Charming,” he said, looking at the building through the windshield. “Very ‘government-funded haunted house.’”
Ziva unbuckled her seat belt. “It was used for urban search-and-rescue drills.”
Tony looked at her. “And now?”
“Now it appears to be used by someone with theatrical tendencies and poor mental health.”
“See? Haunted house.”
Gibbs was already out of the car.
A local detective met him near the police tape, rain misting over his jacket. “Detective Rios. You Gibbs?”
“Yeah. Who’s inside?”
“No one yet. Patrol got here eight minutes ago, heard shouting from the east wing, but the caller said the place was wired. We held perimeter.”
“Good.”
Rios blinked, like he had expected a fight and was mildly disappointed not to get one. “Caller said NCIS had forty minutes.”
Tony and Ziva came up behind Gibbs.
“Forty minutes for what?” Tony asked.
Rios grimaced. “He didn’t say.”
Gibbs looked at the building. “Where’s the officer?”
“East wing. We think.”
“You think?”
“Sound bounces in there. Place is all concrete and old training rooms.”
A shout came from inside.
Muffled. Male. Afraid.
Ziva moved first, not forward, but slightly left, finding sightlines.
Tony’s humor disappeared. “That sounded close.”
Gibbs’ phone rang.
Director Shepard.
He answered without looking away from the building. “Yeah.”
“I have MTAC up. McGee is sending schematics to your phone.”
“Got ’em?”
“Partial. Facility was modified twice after decommissioning. Current layout may not match.”
“Of course it won’t.”
“Local PD reports possible wiring?”
“Caller claimed it.”
“You believe him?”
Gibbs looked at the boarded windows.
Then at the door hanging slightly open, too inviting.
“Yeah.”
A breath over the line.
Not fear.
Calculation.
“Do not breach blind,” Jenny said.
Tony glanced at Gibbs.
Gibbs said, “Wasn’t planning to.”
“Jethro.”
He heard what she did not say.
Not yet. Not here. Not on an open call.
“Working the scene, Director.”
“Then work it carefully.”
He hung up before the worry in her voice could become something they both had to acknowledge.
Ziva had moved to the east side of the building with binoculars. “There is light in the second-floor room. Window covered from inside, but not completely.”
Tony joined her. “Movement?”
“Possibly.”
A second shout came from inside.
This one clearer.
“Help!”
Gibbs’ jaw tightened.
“DiNozzo, with me. Ziva, west exterior. Find another entry.”
Ziva nodded. “On it.”
Tony drew his weapon. “Boss, if this place is wired—”
“We don’t step where he wants us.”
Tony looked at the open front door.
“Open murder invitation?”
“Yeah.”
“Back door it is.”
MTAC smelled like coffee, electronics, and controlled panic.
Jenny stood at the central table while McGee worked three stations at once. Cynthia was at the rear of the room with a secure phone in one hand and a legal pad in the other. The main screen showed a grainy exterior feed from a patrol car, the training facility blurred by mist and distance.
Abby’s voice came through from the lab. “I am saying this with scientific restraint: I hate this building.”
McGee did not look up. “You hate it from satellite images?”
“Yes. Some buildings have bad vibes, McGee.”
“That is not an evidentiary category.”
“It should be.”
Jenny glanced toward the speaker. “Abby.”
“Right. Sorry. Evidence. The anonymous call was routed through three prepaid relays, but there’s a background tone under the voice. Mechanical hum. Maybe HVAC. Maybe generator.”
“Can you isolate it?”
“I can isolate anything if properly motivated and emotionally supported.”
“You are both.”
“Aw. See, that helps.”
McGee put the call transcript on the side screen.
Jenny read it once.
Then again.
Tell Director Shepard the room is ready. She has forty minutes to decide whether one life is worth the cost of another.
Her expression did not change. “Do we have ID on the trapped officer?”
McGee nodded. “Local PD ran a missing person report filed this morning. Lieutenant Evan Ross. Navy JAG liaison. He missed a hearing at 0900.”
“Connection to NCIS?”
“Worked with us three years ago on an extraction review.”
Jenny looked at him.
McGee hated that he had to continue.
“Operation Cinder Route.”
Jenny paused. She remembered Cinder Route. She remembered the hearing room, the sealed photographs, the argument over whether the extraction team had waited too long or not long enough. She remembered Lieutenant Ross because he had been young, too earnest, and furious on behalf of people who were already dead.
“What was his role?”
“Legal review support. He prepared witness summaries.”
“And the second life?”
McGee looked up. “Ma’am?”
“The caller said one life against another. If Ross is one, who is the other?”
No one answered immediately.
On the screen, Gibbs and Tony disappeared around the side of the building.
Jenny pressed one hand lightly against the table.
“Find me the second person. Now.”