Coincidence
Another little story about how Somalia could have been.
For all readers of Of Homes and Families I will continue with it, Coincidence is just a short story that came to my mind while writing Of Homes and Families. I thought about including it however it has quite different prerequisites so I decided to post it as individual story.
English is not my first language, please forgive spelling mistakes and messing with the tenses.
Warning: Mention of violence, general mistreatment and rape (nothing graphic).
NCIS does not belong to me.
Saleem is forced to hand over his treasured prisoner to another terror cell. And despite Gibbs' rule, Ziva learns: Coincidences do exist.
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Coincidence
..
There was tumult in the camp one morning. Trapped in a disgusting, stinking, gloomy room Ziva heard shouts, laughter and the unmistakable sound of people loading or unloading a car.
The roaring of engines had woken her just after sunrise. Ziva sat on the ground, her back resting at the wall, eyes on the small rectangular piece of blue sky far above her.
Now she waited. She waited like she did all the time in the previous weeks. Waited for someone to bring food or water, waited for someone to hurt her, to question her and waited for a possibility to fight back. The chances of that were getting slimmer, though. She was week from starvation, from blood loss and dizzy from a concussion she was sure to have received yesterday after she was pissed off and stupid enough to insult Saleem.
Little did she know about the consequences of that day and how it would change her own life – up until now doomed to end in near future by Saleem's fists, boots, gun or knife.
oOo
Ten men, hardened by life and violence had arrived in two pickup trucks, dusty but cheerful and glad to have reached their final destination.
Their leader was greeted by Saleem Ulman and invited inside to a cup of tea and something to eat whereas his men had to look for a shady place outside.
"Have you any idea how long it took us to come here, Saleem? Why do you need to reside in the middle of nowhere?"
Saleem grinned. "I'm deeply saddened by your troubles. Seems like you're getting old… A few years ago, you would've never complained like that."
The other one's laughter sounded like thunder, "be careful or I'll be forced to stop my prayers for your wellbeing." He leaned forward in his chair and said expectantly, "heard about your newest acquisition. Tell me some details?"
"That bitch thought she could sneak into here and kill me. Got captured instead." He smirked triumphantly. "She's strong, I give her that. Lost three men while overpowering her and another two at an escape attempt the first week. Still, she's worth it. You can't imagine that feeling, when I finally got her name out of her. David. It was the sweetest sound in ages." His smirk widened while he enjoyed the memory.
"I would've given a lot to witness it! It's good you captured her alive. This will teach Mossad something about meddling with us."
"Does not seem like Daddy Dearest cares about his little officer. If they are not lurking behind the corner that moment they have done nothing to get her back."
"What did you learn beside her identity?"
Saleem shifted uncomfortable. "Not much yet. She's stubborn. Some stuff about an American Navy agency and some about Mossad. Nothing important. And when she is actually speaking I suspect she's mixing up lies and truth intentionally. Because she's contradicting herself. So… that way it's hard to use anything she has said. You know – which part is the truth? But I will break her." The last part he added confidently.
The stranger suddenly looked guilty. "You won't like this but… when Al Hari learned who she is and heard about my visit, he told me to bring her back with me to his place.
Indeed, Saleem did not like this. He was silent, rejecting. Then: "She is my prisoner, Khalid."
"Saleem, be reasonable. With her, Al Hari can achieve much more for our objectives than you can do it here in the desert. You've done a great job when capturing her. He will not forget that."
Saleem only narrowed his eyes in anger.
oOo
Outside Khalid's men were busy gossiping and palavering high-spirited.
Saleem's second in command joined them and shouted: "Who wants to see our prisoner? The little Mossad spy?"
Shouts of approval were the answer – hoots and 'Bring her out!' – and after a few seconds of inciting their anticipation he turned to the building to get her. About half of the men followed him curiously.
He led them to the room they kept her in. Pulling back the deadbolt he forcefully kicked the wooden door open. It banged loudly against the wall, the sound reverberating. Their prisoner sat at the far end of the room, wearing exhaustion like a heavy blanket. Even so, she warily watched them and struggled to come to her feet after she spotted his companions. With a few long strides he had crossed the room and kicked her legs out under her before she stood completely, sending her crashing down on all fours. One hand reached for her shoulder, the other one clawed her hair, he forced her face down to the ground, one arm trapped under her body. Then he shifted and dug his knee into her back, between the shoulder blades. She did not move, did not fight, only the fingers of her free hand flexed and clenched slowly as if reaching for something desperately. He looked over to the spectators, grinning, posing on top of her like he just shot a desert lion. They snickered. He pulled out a piece of rope from his pocket then reconsidered. "One of you can do it," he offered generously.
A tall man in an old greasy military jacket parted first from the group and strode over. He accepted the rope but then stopped, looking down at the prisoner disappointed. "I was told this one is a wildcat." He lightly kicked her in the side, "where's her fire?"
The men outside had not to wait long. Ten minutes after they were offered to see the Israeli spy the group emerged again, half pushing and half dragging a petit woman in battered clothes and skin. She stumbled barefoot on the hot ground, hands bound behind her back, head dropping. Saleem's man stopped in front of the group and enjoyed the attention and the power display at the expense of her dignity. Holding her in place with one hand, he moved the other to her hair and lifted her head, allowing the men free access to her face.
Soon insults and threats were directed at her, even some fists and saliva. The mob was closing around her, scornful, hateful.
She endured it numbly, looking through them without seeing.
oOo
Saleem came to her later the day. He was angry and violent. Finally Ziva concluded from bits and pieces of ranting, swearing and insults that he was forced to give her away. The strangers were to take her back to… – where did they come from?
She hardly slept that night. After he finally left she curled up in the corner and fear settled deeply in her heart. It was horrible here as well but by now it was familiar. Saleem was violent, sure, however his attitude towards her was rather impersonal. Eventually he would lose his patience and kill her and then – finally – it would be over.
A new place, new terrorists would be worse. They would start from the beginning, as enthusiastic as Saleem had been too, but now she was already weak. How could she withstand that again? Also, the strange men today were despising her – personally. They were hateful and enjoyed to mock and degrade her, had shouted profanities about Israel and Mossad and about one Eli David. She would be their hostage and leverage, their punching bag for whatever her father or country had done to them.
oOo
Two days later, early morning, ten men and one prisoner left the Somalian camp of Saleem Ulman.
Two of them had had crept into her cell with the first light, insulting and mocking, promising death and pain and blatantly having great pleasure while tying her up. Now Ziva's hand and feet were bound; a sack covered her head, fastened tightly around her neck. They carried her out of the building, dumped her somewhere, only to wrench her up immediately after someone shouted and pressed her down to sit somewhere else. She tried to determine where she was. The smell and the metal indicated a car but she was outside so – maybe the back of a pickup? Other men were moving around her.
She felt weak, hurting and bleeding from several wounds. Saleem had taken his frustration out on her the previous day. He had displayed his usual I am in control and you are completely and utterly at my mercy so tell me what I want to know power play but effectively he'd been helpless and furious about the disregard of his will by the strangers and the degradation in front of his own men. He had punished her in their place and to her loathing looks he had reacted even more short-tempered than usual.
The engine roared to life, the car started moving and she staggered.
Three or four hours later it became almost intolerable. The Somalian sun was strong and became even stronger with each passing minute. Under the black sack it got unbelievable hot. She felt like her head was grilled. Her breaths became labored, dizziness claimed her and she slowly tipped sideward, fell eventually and bumped her head at something metallic.
Mocking laughter answered and snickering continued as she pushed herself up again. Ziva bit on her lip to fight the tears.
The next pothole caused her to lose her balance again but this time she fell in another direction. She jerked as soon as she felt contact with something warm and almost soft – skin. Before she could get away hands closed around her and pressed her closer to the man. "You want to come to me, little princess?" he taunted her. "I'm sure I can arrange that. But we need to wash you first, right now you are too disgusting." With that he pushed her back.
A few minutes later she fell again, this time losing consciousness.
She woke up to cool air and sand underneath her body. Slowly she moved to a more comfortable position, stopping dead as soon as she felt the attention of the men around her shifting. "She's awake," someone stated. Another one removed the bag and tossed her a small water bottle and some rice.
That night she was anxiously waiting if the man from the truck would stay true to his proclamation made previously. Or another one. Every movement around her made her stiffen up under her blanket. The night was cold, and fear never left but finally sleep claimed her exhausted body.
oOo
Over the next two days Ziva's condition got worse.
Khalid was worried for his little prisoner. It was of no use if the Mossad girl died on them before Al Hari got her. The daughter of Eliahu David was too valuable to die.
He ordered a stopover in the next village with some kind of doctor. Here it was a crone at whose door they dropped their prisoner and commanded her to ensure the girl would survive the rest of the journey.
The old woman was named Mariam and she wasn't overly excited, but did not protest.
The strange girl was dirty, feverish, very skinny, had least one broken rib and infected wounds all over her body.
Mariam knew better than to ask questions but after cleaning her up and taking care of the wounds, she could vividly imagine what had happened. Due to her Middle Eastern feature and her general condition including being hold by these sinister men whose appearance screamed 'terrorist' she was either a westernized, run-away daughter of an important extremist or she was Israeli. The latter would mean trouble. Mariam did not like terrorists but was no friend of Israel either. However, if she was not careful she and probably her family as well would be pulverized between the two forces.
So, she cared for the poor girl as well as she could but did not ask her any questions other than medical related and would never tell anyone about it just as the men demanded. The danger of these extremist was more immediate than that of Israel, she decided.
The girl was unconscious or sleeping most of the time on her makeshift bed. When awake, she warily watched Mariam and the three men (lingering in her home, drinking her tea, eating her food, harassing her granddaughters) who were ordered to ensure the girl did not disappear.
After three days Khalid lost his patience and ordered them to go on. Before leaving he threatened the whole village into keeping their mouths shut about their stay.
oOo
Mossad had been informed that a bunch of Hamas terrorists had entered Gaza from Egypt through one of the numerous tunnels in that region the day before. They were suspected to bring bombs or bomb building material, firearms maybe even military weapons. All in all, intel was reliable, danger was imminent and hence they were authorized to lay an ambush.
15 Mossad officers opened fire or watched thorough as their targets, sitting in two transporters and one SUV-like car were close enough. The terrorists had no chance. Drivers and front passengers were dead or injured almost immediately and the rest was overwhelmed quickly. Mossad had a few injured but no casualty.
Amit Hadar wiped sweat from his forehead. Mission accomplished. Now they needed to photograph and take stock of the weapons, clean up, bring the surviving terrorists to headquarters and the dead ones to the morgue. He looked for his protégé Benji and spotted him near the terrorist car, taking pictures.
A minute later his ears picked up Benji's call through all the noise. "Amit! Come quickly!" He sounded upset and nervous.
Amit hurried over. "What is it?"
"Here is a prisoner in the trunk!" He gestured to the car.
Amit looked inside. It was true, a small figure – a woman apparently – in huge, ill-fitting, battered clothes laid on her side in the big trunk, unmoving, feet bound together, hands tied in front and a sack covering the entire head.
Amid reached for her carotid artery, relieved as he felt it pulsing. Then he grabbed the sack, loosened the knot around the neck and pulled it off.
A familiar face.
"Ziva!" He was aghast. "How's that possible…?" His voice broke.
Benji pushed closer "You know her?" He asked dumbfounded, looking down to the unconscious woman.
"You know her too. She is Director David's daughter."
"But she died in Somalia! Months ago!"
"She disappeared, Benji. Death was suspected but never confirmed."
By now other officers had noticed the commotion.
"Hadar! What do you have?"
"You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I have," Amit answered quietly. Then louder: "Someone call an ambulance. Now! Highest priority!"
"What is it Hadar? HADAR!"
"Ziva David. They have her in here."
The others were thunderstruck. "WHAT?"
Amit gestured to the trunk.
"She's alive…"
Coincidences do exist.
Yes, that was my idea. Do you want a second part about how everyone reacts?
Please tell me what you think! And thanks for reading :)