Time Will Tell

I had a story with this title but I decided I had a better idea for it. This is my take (most based on facts) of the OP to kill Svetlana and Zhukov. The 1990s operation is my take on LeonVance's try. The 1999s one is when Jenny and Gibbs take their shot and become closer.

Enjoy!

. . .

1990s

It all started with a phone call. It always started with a phone call. The whole mission started with a phone call.

Vance sat idly in the kitchen. The drip, drip, dripping of the leaky faucet underneath windows that had seen better days. The clock was tick, tick, ticking above the archway one peeling wallpaper.

"This is killing me," Vance muttered. Whitney Sharp was out there with a gun to Svetlana. Kurt Nelson was out there with a gun to Zhukov. And he was here doing nothing. His phone buzzed.

"Hello?"

"Whitney Sharp is dead," Kurt Nelson breathed heavily from the other line. "Svetlana killed her."

"Zhukov?" Leon vance asked.

"Bolted when he heard the shot. They were too close, Vance. Too close." Vance ran a hand down his face. "Svetlana tortured her. Put a bullet in her arm and pushed. I don't think she talked, but she had her issued weapon on her."

"She'll send someone after us. We've been compromised," Nelson whispered.

"Just get back here. I'll call McCallister."

"We've been compromised," Vance stated.

"How?" Riley McCallister asked. When he ordered the assassination of Svetlana and Zhukov, he personally made sure everything was in order.

"Whitney's dead," Leon deadpanned.

"She wasn't the weak link!" McCallister could hear Nelson shout over the line. McCallister sighed.

"Just get out. Get out alive." Vance nodded even against the phone. McCallister terminated the call.

"She wasn't the weak link," Nelson said again. Vance looked around the small, dirty apartment. Monitors were trashed in the living room. "She wouldn't have ratted us out," Nelson insisted.

"Then how else could we have been compromised? Three people were here. One was tortured," Vance stressed.

"People can handle torture. Whitney Sharp could handle torture," Kurt pounded the counter in anger. Vance gave him a look, but said nothing more. He went back to his bedroom and started to pack his things.

He heard footsteps approaching his room, heavy and slow.

"You know," a thick Israeli accent started, "one can only hold up to so much torture."

"Director David," Vance greeted. "Are you our way out?"

"Just yours."

1996

"Khobar towers went down, Gunny," Franks said slowly. He put his feet up on his desk and took a puff from the cigarette that dangled from between his fingers.

Gibbs nodded and said, "I saw."

"Seems I've had a disagreement with how it went down. It was raised to THREATCON Charlie. Did you know that?" Mike asked.

"No," Gibbs said.

"Well when something is in THREATCON it's an issue. Never mind the lettering." He took a long smoke and exhaled cautiously. He looked at the cigarette, then put it out. Franks' legs swung from the desk. He opened his desk drawer and pulled out his badge and gun. He flipped both in his hands a few times before standing toe to toe with Gibbs. "You'll do," Mike muttered handing over the badge and weapon to Gibbs. Mike Franks picked up the chipped crystal tumblers and his bottle of bourbon that sat on top of the filing cabinet and left. Gibbs didn't say anything. His fingers brushed against the numbers of the plated gold badge and sighed.

"Where's Boss going?" William Decker asked as he walked into the bullpen.

"Don't know," Gibbs said.

"When will he be back?" Decker asked. Gibbs walked up to Decker. He shifted his weight precariously between his feet.

"He won't be coming back."

"Who's in charge then?"

Gibbs looked around the bullpen, "Me."

. . .

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