Chapter 8
It took Gibbs over an hour to figure out how to get the more sophisticated searches on the computer started. Thank God his doppelganger didn’t have his computer password protected. Gibbs imagined McGee would have had a lot to say about that and the thought of the team made him even sadder and more determined to get back where he was supposed to be. He wasn’t a huggy or a touchy feely guy, but even he knew he had to do more to let them know how good they were as a team.
He wandered into the kitchen, figuring out the coffee pot by flicking the buttons until the thing got hot. At least the other him drank good coffee. That was something.
Gibbs went back to the computer and stared at a pad of paper. He’d only found the two people so far. Abby, and McGee. As Kelli had said, Abby was in New Orleans and had a website, but there were no pictures on it and it didn’t look like it was updated often.
Taking a deep breath, Gibbs sank into the executive chair at the computer, coffee in hand, and dialed the number, hoping this Abby had some similarity to his Abbs.
“This is Abigail Sciuto. How may I direct your life path today?” The dark voice wove a sultry spell over the phone line, used to getting people to do what it wanted.
Abigail? She sounded the same and yet different. There was an earthy huskiness in her tone that he hadn’t heard in years"since Kate was alive. But there was that magical mumbo jumbo too, the stuff Abbs had always been drawn to.
“Need some help. Not sure you’re gonna believe me though,” Gibbs began. He had no idea how to describe or explain this.
“Ah, Jethro. I was wondering when you were going to finally manage to call me. I’ve been waiting several hours for you to find my number.” The enigmatic voice mocked his concern.
She’d never called him Jethro and hearing his name from her mouth took him aback. She called him Jethro though, rather than L.J. or Jet or even Gibbs, and that had to mean something significant. “Oh?” he asked, a little edge in his voice and a healthy dose of suspicion. This wasn’t his Abbs and he had to remember that.
Knowing what he really wanted to know, Abigail danced around the subject. “Haven’t you seen my website, Jethro? I am a psychic after all. What kind of professional would I be if I didn’t have prior knowledge of your arrival? How is your new home? Cozy? Have you enjoyed your new…assistant?”
He wasn’t interested in playing games. “Start talking, Abigail,” he growled. How had she figured him out? Caller ID? “What makes you think that is my name?” he asked, pushing her a little bit.
“Ah, ever forceful, Jethro. Is this how you get your answers back home? Does your Abby respond to such gruff treatment?”
“My Abby?” he asked. She was giving him very clear clues that she knew exactly what was going on. “What do you know and did you create this? Start talking to me, Abigail.”
“Ah, your aggressive and dominating attitude does not have much effect on me, Special Agent Gibbs, though I find it strangely… invigorating to hear. I know much more than you could possibly imagine.” Her throaty laugh echoed hollowly through the phone line.
“Then stop playing games and tell me,” he thundered. His patience was frayed, his temper rising. She clearly knew so much and wasn’t sharing a damned thing with him. “Where are my people?”
“I’m not playing, Jethro. After all, there is a bit of the mysterious to what I do, and I must strive to retain that mystery. But do not worry, your people, as you call them, are where you left them, just with a new addition. As for beyond that, I don’t feel the need to tell you over the phone. I am afraid you will have to come and see me.”
“You want me to go to New Orleans and somehow find you? I have a job here, I have a life here, don’t I? Is the one who lives in the house with my people? How is he adjusting? Does he know, did he plan this? Give me some intel,” he said, his voice softening. He was talking more than he usually did in a bid to get more information.
“I am not so difficult to find, Jethro. My address is on my website. Your other has a life here. But since he’s currently enjoying the fruits of your home, you are free to enjoy the fruits of his. As for whether he knows or not, I am sure he does now. Come to see me, Jethro. The matter will be worth your while and, I can tell you, incredibly urgent. If you don’t come…” She let the threat hang over to be interpreted however he wished.
“Can you communicate with them?” he asked, pulling his double’s wallet out and going to a travel computer website. This easy computer stuff he could deal with. “There is a flight out of Dulles in a couple of hours. Could be there before three. You busy the rest of the day?”
Smiling in anticipation, she answered, “Oh, I’m sure I can free up the day for you, Special Agent Gibbs.”
“I’ll be there, then,” he said. He had one more thing to do before he could board a plane, so he disconnected and started a search for McGee. Finding the number for his office, Gibbs dialed and asked for McGee, waiting and hoping that something of the man he’d trained remained.
Frustrated at being interrupted in the middle of a difficult calculation, McGee answered brusquely, “This is McGee. Who is this?”
“Timothy McGee?” Gibbs asked, even though he recognized the voice. “My name is Gibbs,” he began, not sure if this McGee knew the other him or even the name. The relief he felt at hearing McGee’s voice was tempered. Knowing how different Abby was had him pausing and holding his breath.
“Yes, this is Timothy McGee. And I repeat, who is this?” Tim’s voice became more irritated, more demanding as the seconds ticked by. Precious seconds that could mean the difference in a breakthrough or a failure.
“My name is Gibbs. Jethro Gibbs. I need to speak with you, to see you. It’s about a project. I can pay you very well for your time and a free trip, first class, would be in the cards as well.”
McGee was the most brilliant scientific mind he knew, and Gibbs needed him working with them. “McGee, you’re needed. I can’t tell you how much right now, but if you say yes, I’ll make all the arrangements.”
“I’m sorry, Mr…what did you say your name was? Oh right, Gibbs,” McGee said, stressing the last name. Tim hadn’t forgotten the man’s name; he just didn’t find it all that important to retain at the moment. “I’m sorry, Mr. Gibbs, but the little you’ve said in the few brief moments you’ve had hasn’t intrigued me enough to join you. I don’t know you, and I don’t care to be whisked off by some stranger to some unknown place, payment or otherwise. You’ll have to be slightly more convincing than that.”
Gibbs nodded, he should have expected that. “Will you believe me if I tell you?” he asked, hoping that some essence of McGee was intact. “I know someone very like you,” he said, plunging onward. “A guy named Tim, sister, Sarah, dad was a career naval officer. He writes books in his spare time, loves jazz and is one of the only men I can trust now to help me out of a situation. But he’s not here, Tim… I could tell you facts about him all day but I don’t know if they’re correct because I’m suddenly here and he isn’t. And you’re not the Tim I know, the Tim I trained. So I’m asking you for help, hoping that there’s something of him in you.” Unused to speaking so much, Gibbs stumbled to a stop, taking deep breaths.
It was a lot more than Gibbs had expected to say and he knew rejection would hit hard. He so rarely opened up to people and this man with the same name and voice wasn’t his McGee.
The way the stranger spoke triggered some unknown trust response in McGee; something he was unused to, yet intrigued by. “And what is it exactly that you want me to help you with, Mr. Gibbs?” Sure, the man knew facts about his life, but that was nothing that couldn’t be figured out with a quick internet search.
“How to get me home,” Gibbs admitted very seriously. “You know physics, you know computers, and I don’t have anyone else technical that I can turn to or anyone I trust. I know you, Tim. Maybe not the person I have on the phone with me, but there’s a Tim McGee out there who…” Gibbs paused, stumbling over his thoughts. “He’s someone I respect a lot. Someone on my six. I know you’re not him, McGee, but I still need your help.” Tony and Kate were dead here, Duck and Ziva didn’t exist, Jen was in prison and with Abby as a psychic, she couldn’t help with anything scientific.
“All right, Mr. Gibbs. You have my attention now. When and where?”
“Dulles Airport, an hour. I’ll take care of everything else. Meet me at the United counter. I’ll find you.”
Gibbs hung up, sending out a silent prayer that McGee would continue to be receptive.
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