This Idea popped in my head while watching Truth or Consequences. Just a one shot about how McGee and Tony got into the camp.

Trev

The thing I hate most about the Sahara, not the heat. Not the sand. Not even the wind which puts said sand everywhere.

It's the spiders.

Not in the way you think. I got nothing against arachnids. What I don't like is the fact that the Sahara is home to the worst tasting spiders in the world. The second worst, the Amazon, doesn't even come close. At least in the Amazon, those things are the size of dinner plates. They fill you up. Unlike these, which is like half a Smokey Joe.

I had been making my way on foot to the camp. When the wind blows, no one can track even a herd of elephants. So far, I spent the last three days navigating the desert at night. I was reduced to drinking my own urine. Again. At least this time I have a plausible excuse.

Right now I was on my belly, stealthily making my way to the camp. I checked around me. What was over the horizon confused me. A plume of dust, most likely from a vehicle. I unslung my sniper rifle and looked through the scope. OK, I'll admit the scope was a little ambitious for my rifle. With my skill, I wouldn't be able to hit the broadside of a cruiser at three miles. But then again, it was equally suited for just looking.

A military Humvee was riding through the desert. I recognized one of the faces. DiNozzo. That bastard stole my kill. Rivkin was supposed to be mine, damn what Booth said about killing real people wasn't like a video game.

More importantly, what was he doing here? This was a black ops mission of high classification. The US didn't assassinate terrorists, that was the Mossad's schtick. Well, not officially. Which is why they sent me, the Schizophrenic Ghost With Dynamite. Big boom, plus more than plausible deniability.

I saw them stop the Humvee and the silver haired guy get out, carrying a sniper rifle like my own. In a Humvee, they didn't have a chance of slipping past the sentries up ahead. I saw those guys inject themselves with enough adrenaline to make a elephant fidgety. As soon as they saw them, those rookies would open a hailstorm of fire.

I scowled as a plan formed in my head. I decided to give DiNozzo this one. They would need help, though.

I had to move fast. They were 800 yards and closing. In a Humvee, I had maybe a minute and a half.

I always like fast paced violence.

I launched myself at a sentry, my knife-blade between my thumb and finger. I grabbed the first guys chin and yanked, while throwing my knife. The blade sunk deep in his throat, and the guy I was holding suddenly found himself with a broken neck. Good news, the knife had entered his spine, disabling him.

I hurried and dragged the two over the sand dune, away from the road. I went back over and started kicking sand over the blood trail, hoping to disguise it to the point where they would not look to closely.

I made it to the other side of the dune just as the came into sight. They rode right on past it. I jerked my knife out of his neck. Now for fun stuff.

I landed inside the walls of the training camp soundlessly. If they wanted to escape, they needed a diversion. Since Gibbs had the sniper, all I had to do was wait for the signal.

Bang!

Music to my ears. I held my silenced .45 loosely, the spray-painted desert camo not letting it shine. I peeked out of my cover and shot the guy I saw twice in the heart. I moved to a new position. New guy. Another kill.

I was in the south part of the camp. About twenty five terrorist students were here. Well, there was twenty five. Someone had killed over fifteen of them. I would take the remainders.

I scanned the area in front of the barracks. Three guys were running to the perimeter. I fired my pistol at them, one shot each. They fell to the floor, wounded. I put a round through each of their skulls from a distance, weary to get close.

The gunfire ceased, and all was quiet. Surely it wasn't that easy. I sneaked out of my cover and looked around. I was in a training area in front of the barracks, were they learn to... well, more along the lines of pull the trigger and clean their weapons than anything else. I quickly snuck over to the command center.

I hid behind a barrel, using a piece of mirror I always carry with me to see what behind the corner. I saw Gibbs and company carry a beat-up Israeli woman. Ah, that is why they were here. Rescue op. But wasn't the chick Mossad? Well, that explains why the Mossad wasn't here. Eli had strict expectations about his Kidon Unit.

I mentally checked my "Beef List" with Mossad. I had one for everyone I met or worked with or for. Mossad had the longest and most varied. I don't like Mossad in general, Eli in particuar. One thing, he blatantly sends Mossad into the US without our consent or knowledge. Sure, I do the same thing. But the US... IS … MY... HOUSE.

Goodie. He has 49 "Beef"s on the list. One more and I have a reason to kill him. I'm partial to hanging him by his entrails.

To those who have read Jenny Trev, this is her father, still alive and kicking in Black Ops.

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