Forgot this part, sorry. Betaed by Jake and Jordre

Part 2

Director Vance eyed his phone. It had been three days since Joe Barns had been caught, and he was still suspicious of his phone. He knew that he shouldn't be, but there were dead zones everywhere and he was nervous. He was supposed to be meeting a CI here but the man was late, and he couldn't be reached by phone. He'd either turned it off, not that unusual with the paranoid man, or something was wrong. He wondered why meetings like this were always in a damn parking garage or isolated warehouse.

A voice from the shadows made him and his security team jump. "Well, I called and called. I'm sorry I'm late." The CI stepped out of the shadows and trotted over. He was an older man, a junior executive in the company they were investigating for defrauding the Marine Corp. He was disheveled, tie askew and jacket rumpled. He carried a briefcase that was obviously heavy. "I lucked out. Pritchart handed me a whole pile of sensitive files with orders to shred the lot. Here. And I'm taking you up on the offer of witness protection. This has busted me completely."

Vance took the case, nodded to his secondary team, and got into his car with a short, "Thanks. Go with him."

The secondary team drove out first, taking their witness to his new residence.

Vance returned to his phone on the drive back to NCIS, realizing that he'd been in a dead zone caused by the materials in the parking garage. The concrete-and-steel-girder construction had blocked the cell signal. He had missed calls from half a dozen important people; Gibbs and SecNav would both give him an earful. The rest he wasn't too worried about, they'd either get over it or they wouldn't.

He'd only been in his office for ten minutes before Gibbs and DiNozzo charged in, breathing fire. He held up a hand and said wearily, "I know. I shouldn't have met him myself, but it is that important. And I didn't check my phone ... didn't even realize I was in a dead zone until my CI said something. Sorry."

Gibbs grimaced, all the wind taken out of his sails in one go. "Well, damn. Just let me know you're going into a situation beforehand next time."

"I've got security."

Gibbs looked at Tony, who just snorted. "Yeah, right." They left, walking in step.

Leon Vance eyed their retreating backs, then sighed; when they were right, they were right. Pissed him something awful, but there you were. He vowed to check for dead zones in the future; he didn't need his hair burnt off. He wasn't sure whose glare was hotter, Gibbs' or DiNozzo's, although Remy's was pretty hot, too.

Then there was Abby. She just gave him that "look," the one that reminded him of Jackie in a snit.

.

Jimmy eyed his phone with disgust. They were on their way to a crime scene, except that his phone had dropped the signal, and he was now looking at a blank display instead of the map he'd been sent. "Damn it."

"James, language. Do you remember any of that map?"

"No. Just keep going in a straight line; dead zones aren't very big around here. Some of them only a few yards in any direction." he looked at his phone again just as the map popped back into existence. "Ha! Here we go."

A few minutes later they were pulling up to the site. Gibbs met them at the bus with a scowl. "Thanks for joining us."

Ducky scowled right back. "You're very welcome, Jet. In future, provide us with an actual address ... not some electronic thing sure to create a disaster if the signal fails. Now, I believe you have a PO for me to examine? Let's not keep him waiting any longer." And with that he walked off, back stiff with offense.

Gibbs sighed. "Sorry, Ducky. Just ... there's a reason for Rule 3, you know."

Ducky nodded. "I know. So ... we're both sorry arses. I never realized there are so many dead zones."

Tim overheard that, so he said, "I know. But they're mostly so small that you pass right through them without noticing. Newer phones don't even drop ... you might get a blip or a bit of static but that's all. So..." he went on to give what information he had on their corpse.

Ducky called Jimmy to task, and they did their initial evaluation. "He's dead via gunshot, Jethro. That's all I'm prepared to say just now. When I get him back to the morgue and finish my autopsy, I'll tell you what he had for supper. Until then, ask Tony to help Jimmy get him into the bus."

That was one thing that they'd all finally insisted on. Ducky was not to wrestle bodies anymore; he'd strained his back several months ago and scared them all. He'd grudgingly admitted that it was getting more and more difficult. Vance had been informed, and agreed, if no one else was available, a couple of Marines from the security detail would be lent to him.

They finished their initial questioning and returned to NCIS, agreeing that any more questions would be asked here at the Yard instead of at the site. No one wanted to deal with the constant dropouts that put them out of contact.

The in-and-out of witnesses kept them busy for two days. It turned out that the PO was a hunting accident. The man who'd shot him was sure that he'd been shooting at a deer and missed. The PO's brown suede jacket had fooled him. Gibbs had given him a thundering lecture about making sure of his target before, or not shooting at all. The man had then been turned over to civilian authorities for further processing. Tony was pretty sure he was in for at least felonious discharge of a firearm in a state park and assault with a deadly weapon and/or accidental homicide.

They celebrated by having a dinner at Mallard Manor.

Tony went to the grocery store and returned with a dozen bags of groceries, including a five-pound bag of semolina flour. He dumped all the tomatoes into a pot and put it under the faucet to fill. As the pot filled with water, he sorted the rest of his purchases, putting things to be chopped at one cutting board, things to be shredded at another. It didn't surprise anyone that he'd bought a huge block of parmesan cheese and expected someone to shred it all. And he'd bought fresh mozzarella as well.

Gibbs wandered in. "You gonna scald those 'maters and skin 'em?"

"No. I'm just gonna cook 'em down good an' run the immersion blender through." Tony turned to the pot to start washing the tomatoes. "Gotta wash 'em good first and pick off the stems. Then I'll just chop 'em, put 'em back in the pot wet. That'll be enough water to keep 'em from stickin' until they start juicin' out."

"Oh. Okay. What do I do?" Gibbs rolled his sleeves up in preparation.

"I'll put you on mozzarella. Just slice it. But it's fresh, so it'll stick to the knife like crazy."

Gibbs got out his favorite knife. "Nope. Just spray the knife with some cooking spray."

Tony nodded his understanding as he cornered Cos. "Onions. There. Chop."

Cos whined, "Aw, man. I hate onions; they make my eyes water, my nose run, and my hands always stink."

Tony just shrugged, "You've managed to skip for three turns. Chop."

So they chopped, diced, and washed. Soon the pot was on the stove, cooking down the tomatoes. Tony added fresh herbs, garlic, and onion, then left it to simmer. He also put the roast veg on half-sheet pans, sprinkled them with olive oil, salt, and pepper.

Tony nodded as he inspected everyone's tasks, then turned to making the pasta; it had to rest before it was cut and cooked. He dumped the bag of flour and some salt onto the counter, cracked eggs, added water and oil to that and whisked it. He poured the egg, water, and oil into the well and began to mix.

Ducky eyed the mass on the side counter then asked, "How do you remember the recipe?"

Tony shrugged. "It's one cup of semolina flour, one egg, one drippy tablespoon of olive oil, one tablespoon of water and a dash of salt. Combine flour and salt, make a well in the middle, mix oil, egg and water, dump in well. Knead until it comes together and there's no dry spots; knead until smooth, then rest at least fifteen minutes. If it doesn't come together add more water a few drops at a time. Easy. That'll serve about four big appetites or make eight starters. I just use about a pound of flour for us. I'm going to dry some of this for later."

Ducky shook his head with a laugh. "How many recipes do you know by heart?"

"No idea. Just know a lot and can improvise as needed. Here." Tony handed Ducky a blank book. "Write stuff down." Ducky just took the book and a pen and settled at the kitchen table to write as instructed.

Remy wandered in from the armory in the basement to ask, "What are we having?"

"Spaghetti and meat balls al la DiNozzo. Roast veg, salad, and garlic toast. Which you, by the way, are making. Get started." Remy whined a bit, but got to work. "And while the toast is toasting, you can do the parmesan. You'll need some for the toast anyway."

Gibbs announced that he was done with the mozzarella. Tony told him to stir the sauce so it wouldn't scorch. He was still kneading the pasta dough.

Dean showed up from the back yard where he'd been weeding and was told to go take a shower before he stank up the kitchen. He just grumbled, "Well, someone has to weed," and ambled up the stairs to do as he was told.

Tony grumbled too. "Damn it. Salad. Jet, can you tear lettuce and keep an eye on the sauce?"

"Sure. One big bowl?"

"Yeah. And I'll make dressing in a sec." Tony decided the dough had been kneaded enough, so he floured a space on the counter, plopped the dough on it, and covered it with a big plastic bowl. The bowl was floppy enough that it wasn't good for mixing, so it was designated a cover. Gibbs had made a handle out of a piece of turned wood and a couple of screws.

Ducky interrupted with a question. "Tony, recipe for your meatballs, please."

"Oh, okay ... Um ... three pounds of ground chuck, three pounds of ground turkey thighs, three pounds ground fresh pork loin. And I've no idea how much garlic, basil, oregano, rosemary, salt or pepper. I just dump until it looks right. Oh ... bread crumbs." He thought for a moment. " Back to the herbs ... fifteen cloves of garlic finely minced, and around half a jar of basil, oregano, and rosemary ... that's if you buy the tall jar, if you get the small one ... the whole thing. Around a quarter cup of salt and pepper and some red pepper flakes if you like them. I just buy bread crumbs in an oatmeal sort of box and use the whole thing and maybe part of another, and nine or ten eggs."

Ducky blinked. "That's a lot of stuff."

"We eat a lot of stuff." Tony grinned. He picked up a portion scoop, read ice-cream scoop, and started portioning the meat for the meatballs.

"You do. And not a one of you has a tapeworm. I checked." Ducky chuckled then went back to his writing.

Everyone laughed as they remembered Ducky insisting on blood, urine, sputum, and stool samples from all of them, stating that he had reservations about their health due to exposure to "foreign climes." It had been a bit embarrassing, but Jet had insisted.

Tony put down the scoop and wet his hands to start making the portions into proper meatballs. He made his meatballs a bit bigger than commercial ones, at about a quarter cup of mix per ball, so they had to be rounded out properly by hand or they wouldn't bake properly.

Jimmy finished with his task and took over portioning so they could get the meat in the oven more quickly. It didn't take long to get four pans of meatballs in the oven. Since it would take the veg just as long to roast, they also went into an oven.

Tony checked the dough and announced, "Okay, time to roll and cut this." He started by dividing the dough into four pieces, then rolled one out into an eighth-inch-thick sheet. He sprinkled it with flour, then rolled it up. He passed it off to Jet to slice into eighth-inch noodles. The noodles were then spread on the counter to dry until cooked.

Gibbs eyed the noodles, then asked, "Why dry them if you're going to boil 'em anyway?"

"If you don't let 'em dry, they'll fall apart. Not nice."

Ducky presented Tony with a glass of rough red, then went back to his writing.

They all nearly jumped out of their skins as Ducky's phone went off.

"Shit!" Dean clutched his chest dramatically. "'Scotland the Brave'? Ducky!"

"Hush." Ducky put his phone to his ear and said, "Mallard." He listened, then said, "Abigail, please, I'm old but I'm not deaf ... yet. What do you want?"

No one could hear what Abby was saying, but Ducky finally said, "Well, my dear, if you insist on going to that club, you'll have to get used to being in a dead zone. That whole area is one giant electronic sink. Now ... calm down. Go home and take a hot bath. Call the tow company and have them take your car to their yard, then make arrangements for your mechanic to pick it up." He listened again then said flatly, "No, we won't. You're a grown woman," and with that he hung up. "I am not in the mood for one of Abby's tantrums. She's a grown woman, but sometimes she ... well, not spoiling my supper with her moods."

Remy shrugged, "She excitable. Elle est une femme. Perhaps it's that time of month?"

Everyone either groaned or went "Ewww!" but no one protested. Abby did have a habit of just calling out of the blue, expecting everyone to drop what they were doing and come rescue her. They all loved the eccentric Goth, but they didn't cater to her. Gibbs even stopped bringing her Caf-Pow on demand. Vance had put his foot down; as they were causing her physical problems, she was limited, by Directorial decree and physician's advice, to two a day.

Ducky frowned. "I believe that this particular upset was caused by her inability to get anyone on the phone. I didn't realize that there are still so many dead zones."

Tim shrugged. "Probably always will be a few. They're caused by all sorts of things ... that you're not interested in. But one of the main offenders is construction. Buildings made of concrete and steel block signals from almost any source ... and they cause shadows. If they're between you and the tower, there's a sort of shadow where there's no signal. High-power electric lines are another offender." He reached out to get another huge pot. "I'd better start the water, or it won't boil in time."

They went back to their cooking, leaving Abby to call a tow. If she'd been in real distress, they'd have gone at a run. This was not that sort of situation.

Ducky frowned for a moment, then announced, "AJ! Salad dressing."

"Shit! I completely forgot." He got out bottles and started. "Okay, Italian dressing. Easy. Figure on a quarter cup for each person, we like big salads. So, two cups olive oil, cup water, half a cup of either balsamic or apple cider vinegar ... do not use white, it's too sour. Salt, pepper, Italian seasoning, garlic. To taste. I use about a tablespoon of seasoning and garlic, tea of salt and pepper. Just dump it all in a bowl and whisk the hell out of it; put it in a mason jar so you can shake it before pouring. It separates like mad."

The oven dinged, so Tony went to check the meatballs and veg. The veg was nearly done so he stirred it; a meatball cut in half proved that they were still a bit pink. "'Nother ten and we're good to go. How's the sauce?"

Gibbs eyed the bubbling pot, then said, "It's done. Just needs blending. It looks soupy, but a good blend will take care of that. Might want a bit more garlic and seasoning, though."

Tony checked and agreed. He got out the blender and blended the whole mess right in the pot. A quick taste and he agreed that it needed more garlic and seasoning, and some salt. He added the ingredients then said, "Keep an eye on that. It'll stick like a fucker now."

Ten minutes later everything was on the table. Tony served portions on huge plates, rather than family style. He claimed that serving spaghetti from a platter was an invitation to mess and everyone agreed with him. He always put all the pasta into the sauce then fished out portions, added meatballs and more sauce then topped it with parm. The veg was served on the side; they cheated by putting it on their bread plates.

They were just finishing up their meal when Ducky got a text from Abby, apologizing for being a brat. She was a good person at heart, but could be very self-centered at times. Usually when she'd been hanging around at a club where she was idolized for her brilliant mind and genius hacking skills.

They cleaned the kitchen without their usual horseplay and wandered off to read, watch TV, or play a game until they were tired and relaxed enough to sleep.

.

Gibbs had to laugh at the email he'd gotten from a Federal Martial he knew. It had started out, "Gibbs, I hate you, you jerk," and gone on to piss and moan about Joe Barns. It seemed that his friend had gotten the unenviable job of transporting Barns to Quantico for lockup. His partner added a P.S. "You're buying the beer."

Tony glanced up from finishing some reports. "What's funny?"

Gibbs waited while Dean, Cos, and Remy gathered around. Tim looked up, but stayed at his desk, he could hear Gibbs just fine.

So Gibbs told his story, making the whole Pod laugh. Tim snickered, then said, "Too bad Jimmy isn't here. He'd laugh 'til he puked."

Remy chuckled, "I'll just run down an' tell 'im. Ducky too." He trotted off, still chuckling to himself.

.

Thirty minutes later no one was laughing; a bomb had been set off at a recruiting drive at a shopping center in Reston. Gibbs stood up, barked, "Grab your gear!" and trotted off. Remy, Dean, Cos, Tony, and Tim were hot on his heels.

It took an hour to get there, mostly because they had to get through three civilian road blocks. Gibbs grumbled a bit, but didn't lose his famous temper, because anyone with sense could see that the area had to be cleared. The local LEO's also got a call that there were more bombs.

When they finally arrived, followed by a caravan of bomb techs, CSI's, and general dogs' bodies, they were greeted with a line of ambulances, fire trucks, and pandas.

Gibbs got out to talk with the local Commander, telling Cos, "Park it somewhere."

Cos took the driver's seat, while everyone else got out of the SUV, gathered gear, and followed Gibbs. He parked where a cop pointed and trotted to catch up.

Gibbs consulted with the Site Commander, who just pointed. "Bomb. Dead people are mostly military of one sort or another. The Army and Air Force wanted to send people, but I told 'em that NCIS was Fed and local. I'm not havin' my crime scene clogged with redundant personnel. You'll share intel ... or I'll make a stink. Not gettin' my ass chewed out because you hold your cards too close to your vest."

Gibbs glowered but agreed. "Liaise with DiNozzo. AJ ... deal." He stomped off to check things out, consult with the bomb squad, and make sure the CSI knew what he wanted collected.

It took them nearly two days to collect all the bits of bomb, messenger bag, and other crap, and Abby was in a snit because some of it had been contaminated by a cop who'd walked through the scene with blueberry yoghurt on his shoes.

Abby waved her hands around, trying to express her disgust. "Yoghurt? Seriously? Really?" She tugged on one pigtail. "Who the hell ... what was he thinking? They don't give out shoe covers because they're stylish."

Gibbs caught her flailing hands with a laugh. "Abs ... easy there. His CO ripped him a new one. I think he's on filing detail until further notice. And it really wasn't that bad ... was it?"

"No, not really. But you know how much I hate dealing with contaminated evidence. We've got plenty but ... if that had been the only bits we had? Well, we'd be in TARFUN territory. So ... I've only got a few bits worth the effort, but some of them belong to a Nokia phone. The thing's around ... oh ... eight to ten years old. A lot of that sort of phone got turned in for a rebate, but they wound up in the hands of terrorist groups ... and the people who sent them in never got squat. So ... anyway ... it was the detonator. The bomb itself was just a wad of Symtex, the taggants say it's stolen from someplace in Romania. And that's what I've got. Except that ... it's old ... ish."

Gibbs nodded. "Thanks, Abs. You find anything else, let me know."

"You know it. Now shoo." She cocked her head then went to stare at one of her babies.

Gibbs just chuckled and left.

.

The threat of more bombs was a reality; five more went off during the next week. It was very strange that the targets were another recruiting drive, a recruiting center, a Catholic church, a synagogue, and a mosque. They worked each crime scene as an individual crime so as not to taint or compromise their evidence, but Abby said that the bombs were all made by the same people. She also said that they were amateurs and were using old methods, easily found on the darknet, or even the regular one.

Gibbs finally lost his temper when one last lead dead-ended. "Son of a fucking bitch! Damnit!" He kicked a trash can into the divider. "I'm done. The FBI, Homeland, and NSA are breathing down our necks. The only reason we haven't already lost this case is that Abby's the best forensicist for it."

Tony agreed. "She's written four papers on taggants and composition. She even gets stuff from the CIA from time to time. And you know how much they love letting go of anything." Tony fiddled with some papers, then said, "And I do not want her taking off without one of us with her."

Gibbs agreed, "Yeah, like that's happenin' ... ever."

They all jumped, and Gibbs and Remy actually drew down when a voice from near the elevators said, "Who's not what?"

Gibbs holstered his sidearm then snarled, "Damnit, Tobias, you're gonna get shot yet."

Tobias Fornell said, "I noticed;" the sour expression on his face made the whole group snicker. "Anyway ... what?"

Tony replied, "Abby. She's not takin' off with some jackwad from another alphabet without one or three of us with her."

Fornell nodded, "I heard about the last time. Some heads rolled over that. I just dropped by to tell you that we're forming a task force; this is getting out of hand. No one knows what their objective is. I mean, who the hell bombs three churches, a recruiting center, two recruiting drives, and nothing else? Yeah, there was another bomb, late last night, at that recruiting center down in Alexandria. This is just plain weird. And that last one lost us a team. They were disarming it when it went off. Lost the bomb tech and two of his team. They had the bomb in the tank, but didn't have the lid on it yet. The blast went straight up." He rubbed his face, looking tired and stressed. "So. Who's on the task force?"

Gibbs nodded. "Me. Abby. Someone Vance will decide on." He was usually really bad about sharing with other agencies, but this was not the time to get into a pissing match over jurisdiction.

Fornell started to say something, then changed his mind. He looked around for a moment, then asked, "Anyone have a presentation prepared?"

Everyone looked at McGee. "Not yet. I'm waiting on a few more bits of data. I'll have something ASAP."

Vance's voice from the mezzanine called, "You're on the task force. I'll be sending you, Gibbs, and Abby. Get your stuff together, make your presentation, then be prepared to go with Senior Agent Fornell." He nodded in their general direction. "I'll be in MTAC if you need me." He walked off, looking stressed and tired.

Fornell sighed, rubbed his face, and said, "Coffee. Damnit, I need coffee. And not that crap from the lounge."

Gibbs nodded. "Me too. Come on." He walked off, Fornell right behind him. "We'll be back with the usual in twenty or so."

No one said much beyond, "Yeah, great," or "Okay;" they were all too busy watching as McGee prepared his presentation right on the big-screen monitor in the bullpen. They all offered suggestions, which McGee either took or explained why he didn't. They were still working on the presentation when Gibbs and Fornell came back.

Fornell looked a bit more rested and less stressed, while Gibbs had "gone all Gunny" on them. He was laser-focused.

They handed around the coffee, while Gibbs reviewed what Tim had. "Good. Makes sense ... of what we have. Any connections?"

Heads shook all over the bullpen. "Not a one." Dean's disgusted face made everyone's feelings clear.

Vance returned. "Okay. Head for this address ... Quantico is going to host the team. I'll stay here. Abby will have a lab at that location." He held up a hand. "I know. She'll just have to suck it up and deal. She's also going to have at least four techs. One FBI, one CIA, one Homeland, and one from here. Gibbs, I expect you to keep her on an even keel."

"Got it. Come on, Digimon, we'll pick Abs up and be on our way." Gibbs nodded to the rest of the group then headed for the stairs with Tim at his side.

Dean went back to his desk, coffee in hand. "Okay, what do we actually have in the way of solid evidence? Not conjecture, what-if's, or any of that projection shit."

They went over everything they had for the hundred-and-first time and got exactly squat. As Cos said, "We don't even got shit, all we got is a damn fart. Son a' bitch."

Since they were all running on fumes, they decided to go home, shower, eat, and get some sleep.

Tony usually cooked in a situation like this, but everyone was worn down by a week of long days and stress. Cos just called an order in to the Greek place they liked and said he'd pick it up on the way to Mallard Manor. Ducky just said to get plenty of salad. Even he and Jimmy were worn to a thread. The DCPD morgue had sent all the military bodies to them, plus some of the civilians; they were backed up and completely unable to cope.

So they were all worn down, grumpy, and, due to a late night and early morning, grubby.

Tony pointed. "Dean, Cos, Remy; three S's. Go." Dean, Cos, and Remy headed for the bathrooms to shower and shave; ten minutes later they were back downstairs. Ducky had gone to his private bathroom, telling Jimmy he could have it as soon as he was done. Tony waited for one of his men to finish, and, when Dean was done, he cleaned up. Within thirty minutes they were all showered and shaven and back down in the kitchen in sleep pants and t-shirts or sweats. Ducky had even dressed in a jogging suit.

The food hadn't been ready when Jimmy stopped by, so he'd arranged for delivery; they were just settled when the doorbell rang. The delivery man said that, as the food hadn't been ready in time, delivery was free. Jimmy tipped the man and brought the food inside, with a little help from Dean.

"Okay, who wants what?" Gibbs settled at the head of the table, Ducky at the foot. They didn't think there would be any need to keep the Pod from what Tim called "SEAL crazy;" they were all too tired, but you never knew.

It turned out that they didn't have to; everyone was very well behaved, read exhausted, so the meal passed in conversation and a bit of back-handed teasing.

The food was great; salad, gyros, spanakopita, olives, garlicky bread sticks, dolmades, baklava, and fried doughnuts. There were also all the trimmings like tomatoes, onions, and tzatziki sauce for the gyros, crumbled feta to go on the meatballs, and a honey, lemon, and orange-water syrup for the doughnuts.

Gibbs started the platter of pita breads around after taking two. The platter of gyros meat came next, then the spanakopita. The dolmades followed along with the bread sticks. All the trimmings were in bowls in the middle of the table and were passed as requested. It was no surprise to anyone that all the platters returned to Gibbs empty. He made a long arm and stacked them on a side table.

Dean swallowed a huge bite of gyros then said, "Okay. I know we're not supposed to talk business at table but ... anyone?"

Ducky shrugged, "I, as you boys say, got nothin'. Common explosive, common damage patterns, common bloody everything. Whoever this is ... nothing."

Tony agreed, "Yeah. Fuckin' nothin'. They don't have a damn signature of any kind. It's like they're workin' their way through the Modern Terrorists Handbook or somethin'. Can't get a damn handle on 'em. Fornell is havin' kittens." He morosely turned his attention back to his dolmades.

Jimmy nibbled at a bit of lettuce. "Well, that ... in and of itself, is a clue. But we can't make sense of it because we don't have a basis of reference. And that's a problem."

Remy offered, "They're not military, paramilitary, or survivalists."

Ducky questioned that. "Why not survivalists?"

Cos answered that. "Because survivalists aren't interested in creating chaos, just surviving it."

"Okay. So ... what military organization would want chaos?"

Tony frowned at the ceiling, twiddling his fingers on his chin. "Well, let me see ...Daesh? Yeah. Russia? Possibly. China? Maybe. Korea? Meh." He went back to his food with a dissatisfied expression on his face.

Jimmy frowned. "Daesh? Who the fuck is that?"

"ISIS. They hate that name and have threatened to cut the tongue out of anyone who uses it."
Dean snorted. "Let 'em try."

"Yeah. But back to our mad bomber. We really need to catch this fuck soon."

Gibbs finished his salad while they were talking; clearing his mouth with a gulp of beer, he said, "I don't think it's one person. It has to be several fuckers, bomb builder, muscle, look-outs ... few others. Don't think it could be less than three or four at minimum. So ... Abby's got some samples, and she's working on age. It's not real damn reliable, but she can get close. Something to do with DNA degeneration. Don't ask." He held up a hand. "I don't understand that fuckin' shit, an' you know it."

They all shrugged the whole thing off for the night.

Gibbs nodded to Ducky. "Chore list."

Ducky just said, "Dean, Cos. Trash pick-up and disposal. AJ, Remy. KP. Jet and I will put away. Jimmy, Tim. Make sure the beds are all made up." Since they'd agreed that Jet, Dean, Cos, and Remy would stay at Mallard Manor for the night, he wanted the spare-room beds made with clean sheets.

The whole group hurried to finish their tasks and head to bed.

.

Gibbs was a slave driver for the next three days. Tim searched every database he could find; the FBI, CIA, ATF, Homeland, and all branches of service gave him access. He hacked a couple of terrorist bases, but nothing showed up. No one was taking credit for the bombings, but there were rumblings at various Dark Web sites. Tim was getting bitchy. It was a good thing Fornell was nearly bald, or he'd be pulling his hair out.

Dean and Cos talked to the bomb techs, but they didn't know much either. All they could say was, someone was working his way through different bomb types; their take was that it was to find out which ones were most effective.

Tony and Remy went over every scrap of evidence with Abby, but came up with nothing new. Abby was pissed and jumpy; too much tension, not enough information. No one said anything much to her; they were just as much on edge.

Gibbs was sure there was some connection somewhere and drove everyone, himself included, to find it. So far, all they knew was, every bomb was set at a place that had some connection to the military. The Army, Navy, Marines, Air Force, and Coast Guard had all had recruiters at the recruiting drives and one station. The rest of the sites were hangouts or other gathering places.

But that was the only connection they could find. They all retired to bed, pissed, frustrated, and exhausted.

.

The next day breakfast was breakfast burritos and coffee. They were scarfing it down, much to Ducky's disgust, when Tony's phone went off. Anchors Away was his ringtone for Captain Rafe McKinley, the East Coast Commander or his aid Lieutenant Sam Brown. He just barked, "Speak!" then put it on speaker.

"We've got a situation." Belt didn't sound a bit happy.

"Okay. What?" Tony didn't sound happy, either.

"We're down to one bomb squad in the Greater DC area. One is on the injured list; two are totally exhausted and unable to continue. We've got three en route."

"What about Quantico?"

"No go. They just deployed their new groups, and the rest are scattered all over the continent on external training. They can't get back inside of 48 hours."

Tony rubbed his face. "Okay. Put us down as available."

"Thought you'd say that."

Tim sighed; he hated this with a passion, but knew there was no way the team would try to get out of the duty. "Okay. What equipment do we have, and what do we need?"

"Bomb box. We've got most of what we need, or we can borrow it from somewhere. Mostly we need to ... acquire it."

Dean frowned. "And why doesn't NCIS have its own bomb squad?"

"Quantico supplies as-needed service." No one jumped when Vance spoke up. "I've called around, and they're going to send their equipment for you. Their three squads are all exhausted from being on duty for so long, and you know damn good and well that their CO isn't going to let them work tired. And we're short on men from attrition, and someone knows it."

Tim, well aware that the average life of a bomb tech was measured in months, said, "Well, damn. That sucks."

Vance shrugged, "Thank God it's through mandatory retirement and burnout, instead of mortality. We've lost three teams from Quantico that way, and the new teams are either deployed or not up to speed yet. The CO won't send a half-trained team into the field, no matter what. Don't blame him, either."

Tony nodded. "We've got it. Where's the equipment going to be?"

"Down in the evidence garage so you can check it out. I'll call you when it comes in."

"Okay." Tony settled at his desk to send a few emails, then make a call. It wasn't long before he got the call back. "Digimon. I'll need you to come down with us when the gear gets here. They've got a drone, but it's one I'm not familiar with."

Dean, Cos and Remy perked up. A drone could be a life-saver; they could examine the bomb from a distance. If it went off before they could disarm it, all they would lose was the drone and some real estate

Ten minutes later, Tim was in heaven. "This is great. You can set it to hover, then move the camera independently. Great."

Vance, who had come down to check the drone out, said, "It's kinda small, isn't it?"

Tim shook his head. "Not really. It doesn't need to be big, as it's not long-range. It's got a camera, and that's all it needs. There's about three hours' battery life, but it recharges quickly, about ten minutes or so. Murder on the batteries, but they're relatively cheap."

"I see. How maneuverable is it?"

"Turn on a dime and give you eight cents change." Tim demonstrated, steering the drone around the garage. "If you're really good, you can use the camera to maneuver, instead of having to have eyes on."

Tony ambled over. "Got it squared away?"

"Yeah. I'm good." Tim brought the drone back and started packing it away.

"Great. We'll deploy from here so we can keep working on the perp. Come on." Tony walked away with his phone to his ear.

Vance shook his head. "We need to find the maker. Any clues?"

Cos, who'd been helping Tim, grumbled, "Not a one. It's not a known maker, and the fuckwad hasn't left a fingerprint or any DNA. We're working in a dead zone. Fuck."

Vance sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Well, shit. Do what you can. I've got a meeting in MTAC in ..." he glanced at his watch, "ten. We're still cooperating. The CIA think that this is ISIS. Homeland concurs. The FBI is on a trail, but it's going cold as we speak. They thought they knew who the maker is but that guy blew himself up six months ago. And now ... you know as much as I do." He walked off, punching the elevator button for the mezzanine.

Tony, Cos, and Tim took the stairs, laughing as they pushed each other into the walls.

When they reached their desks, they got the unpleasant news that there'd been another bombing. This time it was at a residence out in a suburb, some tiny place that Tim only found because he had a Google-Maps address. He got a map, and they all headed out to check on the thing.

They arrived at what amounted to a hole in the ground. It had once been a cellar, but was now a still-smoking crater. Gibbs went to speak to the LEO in charge while Tony, Tim, and Remy went to speak with the CSIs. Cos and Dean wandered over to hang with the neighbors.

Twenty minutes later, they were all reporting to Gibbs.

Dean sighed. "The neighbors all agree that John Warren was, as one guy put it, an odd duck. Seems he mailed things a lot, wasn't real friendly, shopped in the next town over, and took a very dim view of kids in his yard. But they also all agreed that he wasn't foreign at all; All-American boy."

Tony nodded, "What he said. The CSIs aren't willing to say anything on the record, fuckin' wait for the formal report thing, but they all agree that it was Symtex. Why it blew up? No one's willing to say, but one tech thought it was damn old; the available taggants are from the late '90's. That makes it unstable and really touchy. This makes me real nervous ... where the hell is that fuckin' stuff that was stolen?"

Tim fiddled with his phone. "Out of the country. Whole other thing. Not our problem. Thank Thor."

Remy shrugged in that Cajun way of his. "Dat good. But ... me? I don' like it. We lost th' only clue t' where th' res' a' th' bombs went."

Gibbs nodded. "The site lead is a good guy, shared. So I did too. But he didn't have much. He's had an eye on this place for a couple of months. Thought he was a drug dealer, but couldn't see big packages coming in, and only shoebox-size stuff going out." he rubbed his face. "Well, shit."

They all agreed then went back to their SUV's to return to NCIS.

On the way, Tony passed out positions on the squad. "I'm point. Remy, Cos; handlers. Dean, Tim; run the drone. Gibbs, site super."

They arrived at the garage and parked. Tony ordered, "Let's get things squared away."

Dean hopped out, trotted over to the bomb-squad van, and rummaged in the back. "Okay. We've got no damn snacks. I'll make a snack run ... should I get more water? There's only four small fuckin' bottles. What the actual fuck?"

Tony joined him. "I thought someone was checking this out?"

"I was, but we got called out. And ... by the pricking of my thumbs ... I better hurry." Dean headed for the snack machines, rummaging in his wallet for money.

It wasn't long before he was back with a selection of chips, sodas, juice boxes and cookies. Tony thanked him then grumbled, "Would it kill that vendor to put in some energy bars, granola clusters, or some dried fruit?" He poked at the selection, then shrugged. "Oh, well, beggars can't be choosers."

Abby's chirpy voice called, "Oh, yes they can. Here. Dried apple slices, almonds and cranberries. Mango, pecan and ... um ... raisins. Cherries, almonds, and granola clusters and ... um ... sisters made that, so I think it's Toll House cookies with cranberries, chocolate chips, and walnuts." She passed over a grocery bag full of small vacuum-sealed packs. "I was making them up for a stash you could dip into ... to keep in my office ... but I heard someone say Dean was buying snacks. I kept about half of it and all the energy bars and drink powder. So ... here."

Gibbs took the sack, kissed Abby on the cheek and said, "Thanks, Abs, you're a real treasure."

The rest of the pod took a turn at hugging Abby which made her smile. "Oh, and Jimmy is coming down to check out the med kit. Ducky said."

"I'm here." Jimmy trotted over to the group, Ducky right on his heels.

Ducky added, "As am I. Jimmy is going to do the grunt work while I supervise."

Remy grinned. "Merci, Ducky. Might be we need som'tin' an' no 'ave it."

"Not when we're done. I assure you that you will be properly supplied."

Jimmy had already gotten into the truck and was pulling the whole kit out. He put it on a table that Cos and Dean helpfully put up for him and opened it. "Well, it's not too bad. There's a lot of stuff you might need but ... I'd like more Quick-clot bandages and some of that silver ion cream." He called out a count of everything in the kit while Ducky checked it off a standard checklist.

Ducky checked things off. then nodded. "Excellent! You're quite well supplied, but Jimmy is right. You need a few things in addition. I think they ought to be standard, but what do I know ... I'm just a physician with forty-some-odd years' experience."

Gibbs made a scoffing sound. "Yeah, right. Why not send an email to Belt with suggestions? I'm sure he'll be delighted to implement them. Man's no dummy."

Jimmy trotted off to get the missing supplies while Ducky began repacking the kit. It wasn't long before Jimmy returned with the things, and they had the whole kit finished and put away.

Vance showed up to check on them, and told them that they were keeping the truck, as NCIS was now authorized to have their own bomb squad by SecNav. He added, "And it looks like you guys are it for the foreseeable future. Sorry." He left again to return to his office and continue the search for the rest of the bombs. It seemed that their bomb-maker was paranoid about anyone finding his records on his computer or in the house, so they were all in the Cloud. Tim and one of the other computer forensicists had found them all after a lot of searching.

.

Tony was lounging at his desk, trying to decide whether to try another tack or wait for someone to call him. They were still trying to find all the bombs. There were still three in the wind. And they were on their own; the task force had been dissolved with the death of the bomb maker, which no one was pleased about, but TPTB had said.

Remy had Dean, Ducky, and Cos at his desk playing cards, with Gibbs kibitzing. Jimmy was down in Autopsy, getting a body ready for Ducky.

Remy's phone rang, so he punched the speaker button and said, "Remy. Speak."

Jimmy replied, "I've finished. Ducky can come down and start any time he's ready."

"I'm on my way. My hand was wretched anyway." Ducky threw his hand down and got up. "Thank you for the game." And with that, he headed for the elevator.

Ten seconds later, Tony's phone rang. "Speak."

"Gear up. Bomb at Potomac Mills Mall. No eyes, no ears. Someone spotted something. Mall Security verified. Man is retired ordnance. Move out."

There was an impressive scramble to get to the stairs; no one took an elevator in a situation like this.

.

The Bomb Squad was on its way in seconds. There were two vehicles and a trailer to get to the scene, the ambulance-like squad truck and the half-ton crew cab pickup with its bomb-box trailer. Gibbs drove the pickup with Dean, Cos, and Tim, while Remy drove the squad truck with Tony at his side.

It took them a bit longer than they liked to get to the site. There were two roadblocks set up, and it took a show of creds and some fast checking to get them in. No one was that upset about it; it showed that the LEOs were taking this seriously.

When they got to the actual entrance, they were met by the crime-scene supervisor, in this case a Lt. Simon Bates; he directed them to a different area and gave directions to Remy while standing on the running boards. He gave them a rundown as they went.

"So. I get here and the Mall Security Supervisor tells me that some damn idiot just picked it up and carried it out to the back parking lot. I tell you, they get dumber by the second."

Tony choked on his own spit. "You're kiddin' me. Seriously?"

"Seriously. God must love stupid, he made so much of it. It's over there. We cleared most of the cars an' shit away by demanding keys and then letting the owners leave, or drivin' them over there." He pointed to the back of the parking lot.

They parked at a hopefully safe distance from the backpack and got out. Tony took a small monocular out of a pocket and examined the pack as best he could. "Tim, got the drone set up yet?"

"I'm workin' on it. There's signal problems." He looked around. "We're surrounded by fuckin' high-tension lines. They create a form of EMF interference. I think I can get it working with a little fiddlin'." He messed with the controller and the drone. "There. I managed to filter out the frequency."

Tony sighed. "Okay. Get eyes on that thing."

Tim got the drone in the air and approached the pack. "Not much to tell you. No visible wires, no open pockets. It's gonna have t' be examined by hand." Disgruntled, Tim returned the drone and set it down next to his feet.

Remy just snarled. "An' we doan 'ave a robot."

Tim agreed, "No, we don't. I'll solve that problem within a week."

"How y' goan do dat."

"Build one."

While Remy and Tim had been bitching, Tony had been gearing up. Vance had insisted on a full bomb-suit, which Tony agreed with; the seventy-five or so pounds the thing weighed was nothing to him, but it did take the help of Remy, Cos, and Dean to get him into it. They did a radio check and found that, while the feed was scratchy and full of static, they could understand him.

"Thanks. See ya." Tony plodded over to the bomb and carefully checked the bag. His voice came over the com. "I don't think the zip is wired, but I'm going to cut the bag anyway."

Gibbs replied, "Do. I do not want you WIA or DOG because you got cocky."

Tony put out his tool roll, pulled from a thigh pocket on the armor, and unrolled it. He took the box cutter and carefully slit the bag about an inch from the zip and slowly eased it open. "Well, fuck. Whoever built this thing is not only a BDI but also a WOMBAT. Jackwad. Damnit." He took a pair of wire cutters and did things no one could see because both his hands were in the bag.

Finally he stood up. "Okay. Safe. Bring the box."

Remy got in the pickup and brought the bomb box around. Tony picked up the pack and carefully climbed onto the trailer to put it gently inside and close and lock the lid. "Clear."

Remy drove away with the trailer, headed for Quantico and a disposal site. Dean and Cos helped Tony out of his gear, much to his relief. He was hot.

Gibbs snarled. "Fuck. No damn signal. I need to ..." He looked up when Tony, Dean, Tim, and Cos started laughing. They sounded on the edge of hysteria.

"What?"

"Never bitch about a dead zone again, I swear."

Tony handed Gibbs the old Nokia he had been holding. Gibbs looked at it and sighed. The message on the screen read:

1:
Missed
Call

.
AU: Look at a cell dead zone map of the state. It's seriously fucked up. The whole state is littered with red dots. Not to mention the Quiet Zone. The National Radio Astronomy Observatory at Green Bank. Look it up. Seriously.

A tip is the point of a sandwich bag. You put drugs in it then twist it tightly and tear it off. You can also do the same thing with saran wrap.

In some police departments 'doing the dirty' is the sometimes nasty job of strip-searching the prisoner and issuing them an orange jumpsuit. Many departments also insist on a shower and shampoo, shave and, in some cases, a good spray with lice solution.

ETKM - every test known (to) man (sorry, this is the official acronym― Jake looked it up once some years back.)
BDI – brain-dead individual
WOMBAT - waste of money, brains, and time.