by Scott Blade
The line of cars entering were either Marine personnel or vendors with preregistered IDs that gave them base access.
Beyond the gate was the town of Quantico, Virginia, a heavily fortified Marine base station. The town held secrets worth protecting. The FBI Training Academy was there.
This was the place where Widow was trained in law enforcement and undercover tradecraft.
Widow moved to the front passenger side of the taxi and pulled a wad of cash out of his pocket. With the fare, plus tip, the ride took all of it, leaving him only enough to buy a cup of coffee—maybe.
The taxi driver didn’t say goodbye. As soon as Widow paid the fare and stepped a foot away, the driver and taxi were gone, back the way they’d come.
Widow walked into the Visitor Control Center. The building was all red brick and white pillars with a curved roof.
He entered and made his way to the end of a line and waited.
This was one of the few times he wished he had maintained a military ID card. It might’ve made this easier. But he’d never bothered to get one.
In the end, it turned out not to be such a fuss. Cameron had called ahead and sponsored his entry to the base.
As he got to the counter, he was greeted by a friendly staff sergeant. He told her of Cameron’s sponsorship. She nodded and took his name and his passport and keyed his information into a computer. A few moments later, she returned his passport to him and pointed him over to another counter, where another staff sergeant waited to take his photo. The camera setup was not unlike the DMV’s driver’s license photo setup.
He had to sit on a stool. There was a red stripe on the tile floor for him to put his feet. And there was a blue light the guy told him to stare at while he snapped a photo with a large machine.
Just minutes later, Widow had a printed paper day pass with his name and photo on it.
They pointed him to a walkway that led up through the same security station as the cars. He met with a friendly Marine guard, who took the printout and stared at him and then the photo, and then him again.
Finally, the guard waved him through the gate. And, like that, Widow was back where he’d never thought he would be again.
Luckily, Widow didn’t have to travel far. The Robert-Knox Building, which housed NCIS headquarters, was right there not far from the gate. He followed the walking path, passing more trees and grass and other civilians. He knew they were civilians by the way they dressed, walked, and carried themselves. Not to mention, they had badges displayed on their jackets and shirts.
Widow crossed through a maze of employee parking lots until he saw the Robert-Knox Building over a hill. He walked through additional grassy areas until he was standing at a second security checkpoint.
This one was the Robert-Knox Building Visitor Center. He went in and had to go through another check-in and security process. At the end of it, he was given a second pass; only this one came in the form of an ID badge that clearly read: Visitor.
It dangled from a lanyard. Widow put it over his head and let it hang from his neck. He smiled and walked through a metal detector, passing guards, passing suspicious glances.
Eventually, he was on the other side of it all, but only to find he had to cross another service drive and grassy fields and pass by even more parking lot area.
He followed the walkway until he was inside the main building. But right there, he was stopped by a Marine armed with an assault rifle, his finger out of the trigger housing, but he looked eager and ready to change that with the right provocation.
The Marine was young, in his twenties. He looked tough in his Marine Corps Combat Utility Uniform. The Corps didn’t build them any way but tough, and they dressed accordingly.
The Marine was from the security battalion. He was on guard duty. And he laid his eyes on Widow the moment Widow entered through the front doors. The Marine walked right in front of him and put up a hand.
“Stop right there, sir.”
Widow checked the guy’s black pin on his collar, which signified his rank.
Widow said, “What can I do for you, Lance Corporal?”
The Marine said, “Do you have your ID papers?”
“Got my visitor’s badge right here,” Widow said. He raised the badge off his chest to display it.
“I asked for your ID papers, sir.”
“What’s this about, Lance Corporal?”
“ID, please. Now.”
Widow sighed and reached into the pocket of his Havelock and pulled out the paper that had been printed for him at the Marine Base’s Visitor Control Center. He unfolded it and handed it to the Marine.
The Marine took it and reversed it and read it.
“Jack Widow.”
He handed the paper back to Widow, who took it and refolded it and stuffed it back into a pocket.
“Can I be on my way now?”
“I’m sorry, sir. I have orders to detain you.”
“Detain me?”
“Just temporary, sir.”
Widow rolled his eyes.
“Do I have to wear handcuffs?”
“Nothing like that, sir. It’s just temporary.”
“So, what do we do?”
“Just come have a seat over there by me.”
The Marine pointed at a set of concrete benches off against a wall in the lobby.
Widow nodded and led the way. He plopped himself down on the bench, confused. And he waited.
A half hour went by, almost to the second. He had seen agents from all the different factions located in the building passing by. Most didn’t pay him a first glance—all but one. A beautiful NCIS agent that he had never laid eyes on before walked out from the hallway he was trying to go to and stopped and turned right and stared at him.
She was half Japanese and half white. She had long black hair tied up in a bun. She walked over with a confident bearing. Her shoulders and arms were muscular, like a gymnast who worked on the rings every day.
She wore a navy blue jacket. Underneath was a black top that was snug enough to distract him, which it did for a second. She might’ve noticed him staring as she walked over to him because she smiled. Or maybe she was just being polite.
Her pants were gray chinos with a comfortable pair of dress shoes. They looked like she could run a full sprint in, but they were still stylish enough to wear to court.
In a holster, riding her right hip, was a SIG-Sauer P228.
Widow looked at it. It appeared better than well maintained. It looked like it was right off the gun manufacturer’s factory floor. He thought the gun was almost as flawless as she was.
The agent approached Widow and the Marine and nodded at the guard.
“I’ll take him from here. Thanks, Lance Corporal.”
The Marine said, “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”
The Marine pivoted and returned to his guard post across the lobby.
The agent gave Widow a big smile. It was all teeth. Then she offered a hand for him to shake. He took it and tried to keep his squeeze gentle. Her hand was swallowed up inside his.
“My name is Sonya Gray. I’m here to take you downstairs.”
Widow knew exactly what that meant. There was no downstairs inside the NCIS side of the Robert-Knox Building. Not on any schematic or blueprint or building plans. The elevators didn’t have a B for the basement button. There was no underground parking garage.
Only a small circle of people knew of a basement floor. An even smaller group worked down there.
Downstairs was where he had first been introduced to Unit Ten, a highly secret project that was created as an undercover unit, taking on crimes and investigations that no one, not even the Navy, wanted to acknowledge.
If Gray knew about the basement, then she knew about Unit Ten.
Widow asked, “Do you work downstairs?”
“I do.”
They stopped shaking hands, and Gray looked up at him with stunning eyes.
She said, “Come on. This way.”
>
She turned and led the way. Widow followed. He found himself staring a little too long at her from behind and smacked his own forehead.
She heard the smack and glanced back at him.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Fine.”
They headed northwest, through the lobby, and around a corner. They passed the elevators and came to a security door. She swiped her badge across a scanner, and the door buzzed open. They walked through, passing more armed Marine guards, and continued beyond a maze of corridors until they came to a heavy door. She pulled it open and stepped inside to the top of a flight of stairs.
She led Widow down them and came to a security station with one uniformed Marine at a desk.
The Marine recognized her and buzzed her through another security door until they were inside a basement floor.
Widow had been there before it was Unit Ten’s headquarters.
Gray asked, “Is everything the way you left it?”
Unit Ten’s headquarters was a single basement level with long concrete floors and walls of exposed brick. Numerous support staff desks were set up all along the main operations floor, which was one large open room. On the sides were offices and conference rooms.
Widow saw early-arriving NCIS agents standing around, drinking their coffees, and talking to each other, going over their cases. Seated at desks were support staff, also with coffees, and working hard. They were all starting their days.
Everywhere he looked, there were high-tech computer systems and machines. But the interior was all concrete, almost as dank as a dungeon.
At the end of the room was a set of metal stairs with only one arm rail. The stairs led up to a big, block office made mostly of glass and steel.
Widow glanced up and saw a familiar face. It was Rachel Cameron, his old CO.
She was staring at a laptop monitor. The office lighting was dim. She had a thing about the dark. Unlike most kids, Cameron wasn’t afraid of the dark as much as she was afraid of the light.
It put a whole thing on their work together in undercover work. She blossomed in the shadows. Often Widow wondered if the reason that Unit Ten’s headquarters were in a basement was that that’s what she had asked for.
Cameron must’ve sensed Widow was there because she looked up from her laptop and stared down at him. She sat back in her chair, took off her reading glasses, and smiled. Then she stood up and walked to a heavy glass door. She exited her office and walked down the stairs.
Cameron was a secretive figure in the NCIS, a legend to some, but most details of her life and history were unknown. Her personal life was more secret from her team than the secrets buried in the Navy archives.
But Widow knew her well. Better than most. Better than everyone else in that office, he was sure.
Cameron was ten or fifteen years older than him. She’d let her hair grow out since the last time he saw her. It was blonde, but with thin gray stragglers here and there.
The one thing that stood out about Cameron physically was that she was short. He towered over her. His guess was that she was on the line of five one to five two.
She walked down the stairs, smiling at him all the way.
“Widow, you look like shit.”
“Gee. Thanks!”
Cameron walked right up to him. He put a hand out to shake, but she dismissed it. She reached out her hand, arm extended all the way up, and she stroked the hair on his face.
“What’s with this? You not keeping up with Navy regulations?”
“I haven’t been in the Navy in years.”
She smiled and wrapped her arms around him and hugged him.
The support staff, agents, and Gray all looked wide-mouthed. They had never seen her show affection for anyone before. And they didn’t know who Widow was, not by sight.
Everyone seemed to stop in place to see what their glorious leader was doing.
Who was the guy?
Cameron hugged Widow, and he hugged her back. Her frame was tiny in comparison to his. It reminded him of hugging his own mother. In many ways, Cameron was the only resemblance of a family he had left.
After all the formalities, Cameron asked Widow to come up to her office. Gray followed. Inside the office, Widow sat at a chair across a huge metal desk from Cameron, who sat in her own chair.
Gray stayed standing beside the desk.
Widow arched an eye at her and asked, “Why aren’t you sitting down?”
“I only sit when asked by my SAC.”
Widow looked at Cameron.
“You’re running a tight ship here.”
Cameron smiled and talked about Gray like she wasn’t standing there.
“Gray is like you in many ways. She came straight out of the Navy. She also rose through the ranks. Had stellar marks on most everything. Talented marksman. Great at detecting lies and great with deception. Especially with men.”
Widow didn’t look at Gray. He didn’t respond, but he could see why. He pictured every guy she met undercover doing whatever she asked. She’d probably busted a lot of bad Marines and sailors just by asking them to confess. Widow, on the other hand, normally had to use fists.
Cameron said, “And like you, she had a discipline problem.”
She glanced at Gray, who stood at attention.
“You’ve changed a bit,” Widow said.
“Widow, you were our first undercover agent. Our first to make it onto the SEAL teams. And our only. Still, to this day, no one has passed through SEAL training. Not even close. We’ve had two make it through Hell Week. But never like you.”
Widow stayed quiet.
Cameron said, “Gray is unique. A brilliant investigator. Very promising.”
Widow asked, “What’s her role?”
“Right now, that’s yet to be determined.”
Now Widow understood why she was standing at attention. She was still on probation. She was new to the unit. She was freshly minted and untested. She hadn’t proved herself yet. And she might’ve had a chip on her shoulder about it. Widow realized that Gray was standing at attention like that by her own choice. She was trying to prove herself.
Finally Cameron asked, “So, what the hell are you doing back here?”
Widow breathed out and laid it on her. He told her about Eggers, the fire, the bench, about Aker, the fifty million dollars of stock, which took repeating for her to realize that she’d heard him right the first time. And he told her about Haspman, the video feed, Tunney in the hospital, and the guys in the Escalade.
It took a long time, nearly a half hour, but it was fifteen minutes into the story that Widow asked if they had any coffee.
Cameron called in a subordinate from downstairs by clicking a button on her desk phone. Ten minutes later, the guy came back in with a coffee from Dunkin’. Widow realized that there must be one either in the lobby or in the building somewhere that he hadn’t noticed.
He continued his story. By the time he got to the end of it, Cameron was speechless, Gray’s jaw was on the floor, and he needed a refill of coffee.
He didn’t ask for a refill.
He said, “And there’s one more thing. The guys who did this...”
Both Cameron and Gray stared at him.
“They had NCIS badges.”
“They had badges?”
Gray asked, “NCIS badges?”
“Yeah, but they were probably fake.”
Gray asked, “Fake?”
Widow said, “Sure. How hard would it be?”
Cameron said, “It would be impossible to get a real one. Not without breaking into a locked drawer upstairs in one of the SAC’s offices.”
Gray said, “Armed guards everywhere. Not to mention, armed agents all over the place.”
Widow said, “What about a field office somewhere in the world.”
Cameron and Gray looked at each other.
Cameron said, “Conceivable.”
Widow said, “At any rate. They got them. It could be from some guy on
the internet, or they could be stolen. Whatever.”
Cameron said, “So, now what?”
“I need help.”
“Like what?”
“Can I see Eggers’ file?”
“That’s probably doable.”
Widow said, “I need to see his NCIS file. Not just his Navy one.”
Widow started to reach into his pocket to take out the flash drive. He pictured putting it on the glass desktop and sliding it over to her like in the movies. But he paused as soon as she said her next words.
“I can’t do that,” Cameron said.
Widow stared at Cameron blankly. He released the flash drive in his pocket. He wasn’t going to give it up if she wasn’t going to help him. There was a possibility that she would take it, and he would never see it again. He had to acknowledge the possibility that the guys in the Escalade really were NCIS. In which case, she might take the flash drive, and it might get buried in the system somewhere, which would do no justice for Eggers.
He held onto it.
She said, “You’re no longer one of us. You’re not an agent anymore. You’re just a civilian now. I can’t give you NCIS files. It’s a violation of NCIS protocol. Which means it comes with penalties. And not just to me, but to this unit. And these penalties come with sentences. Jail time. Not just terminations.”
“Aren’t you violating that now? By even having me down here?”
“No. As director, I can vouch for certain VIP visitors.”
“But you can’t let me see NCIS files?”
She shook her head.
Widow scratched his head and asked, “Technically, you don’t exist. Neither does Unit Ten. Since that’s the case, then how’re you violating any rules?”
“You always had a way of bending the rules.”
“Isn’t that what you paid me for?”
“True. I’m glad you were one of us. And not one of the bad guys.”
“So, you’ll help me?”
“I can’t help you. Thanks for coming by though.”
“You’re not going to do anything for Eggers?”
“We’ll look into it. That’s all I can say.”
Widow felt confused and a little betrayed. His feelings were even hurt. But Cameron’s word was final. It always had been.
