A/N-This is probably my most ambitious piece to-date. It follows a rather non-linear narrative, and it presented some challenges that I'll discuss later. So, this is a story about Eli David and the idea of what motivates him. There are snippets of "Last Man Standing" (Eli and Leon's phone conversation) and "Aliyah" (Eli and Leon's discussion in his office, the Tony interrogation, and Eli in his office looking at the picture of his children) in here. Some forewarning: Though I wouldn't call it graphic, there is a rather disturbing scene in this one, so keep that in mind. Lastly, there was SO much that I wanted to discuss with this piece that I actually wrote an Extended Author's Note to go with it. So by all means, if you enjoyed the story, feel free to read the Note as a little added bonus :)
He's working late again when it happens. She's walking down a quiet street at dusk, enjoying the warm breeze as it wafts of the Mediterranean Sea. The silence is broken when she hears the squeal of tires coming around the corner behind her. She has just enough time to glimpse a black vehicle, its windows tinted, until she is grabbed from behind. Before she can scream, a hand covers her mouth, and her world goes black.
"How can a father possibly raise his daughter to be a professional killer?" Eli knows Leon is a very understanding man. He does not ask many questions, and, at times, he feels as if they are cut from the same cloth. His friend is a man that knows that those things worth fighting for take sacrifice. But sometimes Eli does not know if the sacrifices they make change anything. Everyday, the world seems to grow a little darker, a little more dangerous. And he can only do so much as one man.
But every good man knows how to use the tools he has available to him. And his daughter Ziva is the spear that he knows he will need to use to rid the Earth of at least one more threat.
It's well-after midnight already. He's in his office looking over varying reports ranging from threat assessments to the latest Mossad missions. He sighs as he finishes one and picks another off the stack. There is a knock on the door before he even has time to flip it open. Slightly frustrated by the interruption, he reluctantly gives permission to enter.
He is surprised to find his secretary still here so late. He stands in the doorway, a package under his arm. He says it was just recently delivered under "suspicious circumstances". He is told it has passed the necessary security procedures, and that it is clear of hazardous materials. And that it is addressed to Eli David.
He stands up from his desk and crosses the room, takes the package in his hands and tells his secretary to go home for the night. Before the man closes the door behind him, Eli tells him that he expects him to return early the next morning for what looks to be another long day.
He crosses his office, ripping open the envelope. He shakes out a videotape, and turns it over in his hands as he strides toward the television in the corner. He inserts it into the VCR and watches as the screen flickers to life.
His long-time friend sits across from him once more. Amsterdam really was some time ago. But this is not a visit of leisure. There is much to discuss, much to go over. First, the deaths of the American agent and (regrettably) Michael Rivkin.
And it is in discussing this subject that they finally reach the most important part of their exchange: The terrorist training camp in North Africa. Eli finds himself mentally side-tracked as Leon questions his intense want to find this cell.
"It's not about the camp. It's the man who runs it." And he feels a familiar creature rise up in him once more. "He killed one of my people," he recalls thickly, falling into a distant memory.
The man identifies himself as Salim Ulman. His face is covered, his eyes the only part of him visible, but his voice betrays his age. Eli speculates he is barely into his twenties. He squints at the grainy image on the screen as the terrorist begins what is surely a well-prepared speech. He is threatening him, telling him that he will pay for his attempts to undermine the efforts of groups such as Al-Qaeda and Hamas.
Eli has heard these warnings many times in the past in many different forms. He finds himself barely listening as the terrorist continues on. Eli turns toward his desk with the intent of returning to his report before he hears a sound emanating from the television that stops him in his tracks.
He focuses once more on the screen and turns the volume up. And yes, he hears it even clearer. Underneath the terrorist's speech, he can hear the sound of muffled cries. And they are definitely female. And they have a familiar quality to them. Now slightly uneasy, he finds himself listening once more to what this Salim Ulman has to say.
"...have not heeded any other warnings, maybe this one will get your attention." The man steps out of view of the camera, and what Eli sees makes his heart stop.
There she is. She is bound, her mouth gagged, eyes pleading in terror. Eli takes a sharp breath that is almost like a hiss and moves unconsciously closer to the screen. No. Not her. Not her. Salim is speaking again, but he can hardly hear him for the fear that has suddenly clouded his mind. Eli touches his fingertips to the screen, trying, but failing, to make physical contact with her.
His attention is forcefully brought back to the terrorist as he once again enters the camera's view. But his hands aren't empty. In each, he holds matches and a gas can. Eli goes rigid, his eyes wide, his mouth forming a very thin line. And now he does listen to Salim.
"Your involvement has brought about the deaths of many good men. They did not deserve to die, but they are martyrs now. One week ago, you sent a Mossad team to take down a terrorist cell. And they succeeded." Salim's eyes harden, growing a deeper shade of black. "Your team cornered them in their hideout, stripped away their weapons, and bound them. Leaving them inside, your agents left the building and set it in flames. I can only imagine the good mens' screams of torment as the fire consumed them." He paused, and Eli felt a heavy rock of fear and foreboding settle itself in the pit of his stomach.
"So I find it only fitting," Salim continued, malice the only emotion in his voice, "that she go the same way as they. She will be your own martyr." He turns and stands over her, gas can in hand. Eli looks into her face in horror, silent tears and terrified eyes the only things he can see. He closes his own eyes as the highly combustible fluid is poured over her frightened and shaking form. He reopens his eyes at the sound of the can falling to the ground.
"This is your Israel right here," Salim threatens as he strikes a match. "And it will burn, just as they did, and just as she will," he says quietly.
And he drops the small stick of incendiary material. Both she and Eli follow its slow and deadly course as it falls. In the moment before it finds its fuel, he flicks his eyes to hers. And he is both surprised and horrified to see her staring right back into his own. Their terror mixes. And though he knows the outcome of this, knows she is incapable of receiving his thoughts any longer, he pleads into nothing. Forgive me. Please.
The match and the fluid make contact, and there is an eerie split-second of dead silence before the inevitable processes of chemical reactions take over. Eli sees a fleeting sensation of pain cross her eyes before she is consumed by the flames. He cannot look any longer, he cannot. He screws his eyes tightly shut, willing himself to erase the images from his mind. But try as he might, he can still hear her screams of agony as they escape the television's small speakers and fill the room.
He stands at the end of the long table as he looks down upon the younger and far more insolent man. It is at this moment that he cannot prevent himself from losing control a second time. He grabs for and clenches the man's throat in his left hand, strong and all-too-willing fingers squeezing the tensed neck muscles of the NCIS agent.
Who does he think he is? Eli seethes, glaring into the man's eyes. How dare he question the methods that I must adopt? He does not know what true sacrifice and loss is! We all make choices we are not necessarily proud of, but the end results DO justify the means.
Suddenly aware of how he has just reacted, he regrets it immediately. He should not have allowed himself to get as worked-up as he did. He removes his hand from the man's neck and stalks out of the room without a word.
He does not know what true sacrifice is, he fumes to himself once more as he walks down the hallway.
He is alone in his office. And it is here that he allows himself to lose control for the first time. The tape has long since turned to white snow flickering across the landscape of the television screen. But he cannot find the strength to stand and turn it off. His head in his hands, he shakes with tearless sobs.
He knew the hazards of the position he held, he knew the risks of being who he was. And he had accepted them. But he never once considered the dangers his occupation could possibly pose to the ones he loved. And all he can think of is the look of terror and (what he perceives) betrayal in her eyes.
He unknowingly finds himself clutching their shared tie in his hands. The last and true physical bond he has with her. And as it presses into his skin, he is filled with a rather familiar feeling. He has experienced it before, but never so acutely as this. The desire for revenge rises in him like a boiling acid as he clenches his jaw.
Salim Ulman will NOT be a living man much longer. I will make certain of it. And a new obsession is conceived. An unyielding determination begins to mix with the hatred, forming something near unstoppable within him. And it is a peculiar beast, born of both love and venom.
The day is sunny, and he once again sits at the desk in his office. It is silent, quiet as he pores over yet another report. But his mind is elsewhere. Out there, somewhere in the Red Sea, his only daughter is heading-up a mission to kill Salim Ulman. He smiles a bit, relishing in the idea that he will soon be gone from this Earth. The world will be a far better place without him in it, he reasons.
He looks to his right, a picture of his three children staring back him. Two of them, now dead, one of them a traitor. The third, his Ziva, currently following his orders to do what must be done. He briefly touches on the idea that she may not come back, that this mission will be her last...
But he turns away and sets his jaw. She is an officer of Mossad. She knows the inherent risks of the job she holds. And she has prepared herself for that possibility. He closes the report he is reading and places it on the surface of his desk. He folds his hands and stares thoughtfully at his fingers. If need be, Ziva is a necessary sacrifice. He unclasps his hands and flexes the digits of his left. My wife, on the other hand, was an unnecessary sacrifice, he thinks as he spins the wedding band on his ring finger.
A cloud passes over the sun at that moment, plunging his office into darkness once more. Occupied by his distance thoughts, the change of light goes unnoticed as the lone picture of his children is swallowed by the shadows.
A/N-Thank you very much for your time! Feel free to comment, review, or criticize anything you have read here. And don't forget to read the Extended Author's Note if you are interested. Until next time, happy reading!