Knight Errant

by jrrm64

AU Tony doesn't join NCIS but eventually works with them.

1. Chapter 1

Knight Errant

Part One

Prologue

The Claddagh Pub on O'Donnell in Baltimore was so well known for its food locally to the point that Bobby Flay praised their food on the food channel. But that wasn't the reason homicide Det. Anthony DiNozzo had chosen Claddagh's to lose himself that evening. The Claddagh Pub didn't get many cops drinking there all night, which was the reason he went there instead of one of his other haunts.

Even in jeans, black turtleneck, and bomber leather jacket, tony still didn't look like a regular cop. Maybe it was the green eyes and handsome face, or maybe it was a hint of the silver spoon upbringing, or an attitude that mixed free spiritedness with sacrifice, but DiNozzo just didn't come across a one of the best homicide cops in the police department. Walking past the young woman at the door, he made his way to the bar. He slipped onto a barstool and waved at the barmaid.

"Can I have a menu?" he said.

"Here you go," the red headed attractive barmaid said and handed him the menu.

He gave the menu a quick look then put it down. He knew what he wanted: walking down the road to oblivion.

"Do you mind if I take a look at the menu?" the guy next to him asked.

Tony nodded and he took the menu handed to the man. The guy wore an expensive suit, very expensive tan suit, silk tie, expensive shoes. He was about six to seven years older than DiNozzo, well-manicured, and not quite handsome, yet charming demeanor. The barmaid returned for his ordered.

"I'll have the Margherita Pizza and a single malt scotch," he said.

"Sounds good," she said then she looked at the guy who burrowed the menu. "And you?"

"The same."

"Okay," she said and took the menu

"Thanks for the use of the menu," the guy said. He offered his hand. "The name is Rich Boone."

Tony shook it: "Det. Tony DiNozzo."

"Cop, huh?"

"Don't like cops?" asked Tony.

"I like them well enough. They have a job and they do it How about you, do you like cops?" he asked. He kept his grey eyes on Tony's reaction.

"Not all of them," he answered, as the waitress out his Scotch down in front of him and one in front of Boone.

Tony picked up his scotch and shot it back. He waved at the barmaid for a refill. She grabbed the bottle and poured it into his used glass. He shot that one back and waved for another. She hit him again. This time he sipped it.

"Troubles?" said Boone.

"Don't we all have troubles," he said.

"Some do have more troubles than others. That's where I make my living," Boone said. He took out his wallet and handed Tony his business card.

Tony read it: Knight Errant. A cellphone number, an E-mail address and his name: Richard Boone.

"Knight Errant?" he said.

"I help people will their problems for a price. Sometimes a steep price and sometimes not."

"Sounds… interesting," he said.

"Pays well," countered Boone.

After eating their pizzas, each man toasted each other and drank their scotches. In a state of conviviality Boone and Tony passed the time.

"How many of those shots have you had so far?" Boone asked.

"Nine. I think I'm too drunk to count."

"So, tell me your trouble, Detective," said Boone.

"My partner, Danny, he's dirty. I just found out. He was feeding a criminal clients for a price, taking dirty money. This was the guy I trusted."

"What are you going to do about it?"

"Don't know. Don't want to turn him in but if I don't then I have to leave Baltimore Police. Can't work with someone I don't trust and I don't trust any else but Danny. Conundrum, huh?" he said.

"How old are you?" he asked

"Twenty-nine," Tony answered.

"Young for a homicide detective. That's interesting, I like that. What's your closure rate?"

"Best in city – 94 percent. No one can touch us. Not us anymore, is it?"

"Tony, got any job leads lined up?" he asked.

"A special agent from NCIS offered me a gig just the other day. Guy named Gibbs. Kind of scary," he said.

"A federal agent working for the navy. Sounds interesting? But does it pay well?"

"Federal job, it pays better than a cop. Money isn't everything, though, unless what I'm looking for is money. I don't know what I'm looking for."

"How does a minimum of five hundred thousand a year sound to you?"

"Like I either have to sell bad stocks to old ladies or break laws," Tony said.

"Not if you are my partner and part of Knight Errant," Boone said.

"Okay, you've got my ear. Tell me what life would be like as a Knight Errant," said Tony.

"Adventure, good living, fine women, upgrade in training, fine clothes, good food and world travel in a private jet, making a real difference, does that interest you?"

"What exactly do you do for a living?" asked Tony.

"I solve problems and then some," answered Boone with a grin.

Chapter 1

"I was a cop and Mr. Boone was PMOO," Tony started to answer the question about their qualifications by their potential client.

"PMOO?" Michael Jenks repeated the acronym, as if it was a foreign word in a language he didn't understand.

They sat in Keene's Chophouse, which was located on West 36 Street in Manhattan. This was a particular favorite restaurant and tavern of mine with its old pub wood and tweed atmosphere. Keene's opened in 1885 serving a mutton chop that could satisfy a ravenous beast. It still sold an impressive chop to this day, along with steaks, gourmet burgers, French fries with horseradish sauce, fine single malt scotches, as well as a superior pub menu. Mr. Jenks and Tony were seated at a table in the Bull Moose Room, which had an English gentlemen's club feel to it with a moose's head above the brick fireplace along with a red leather settee right from the gilded age located up two steps in front of the windows.

"Paramilitary Operations Officer," Tony filled out the initials for him.

"Oh," he reacted, though the light still hadn't dawned on him on what kind of man sat in front of him.

Michael Jenks was a good looking man with brown, thinning hair worn spiky to hide the thinning, puppy dog brown eyes, and an English profile, who at thirty-eight was five years older than me. He wore a Lanvin charcoal, wool hopsack two-piece suit. His shoes were black Berluti Club Warhol Penny Loafers. On his right hand there was a simple, shiny gold wedding ring on his ring finger and a Daytona Rolex on his right wrist, which implied he liked racing and driving fast. Besides a wife named Beth, who was active in the Democratic Party on a local and national level, he had a six year old son named Evan and a three year old daughter named Hilary. Evan was named after her father and Hilary was named after Hilary Clinton.

Jenks was a multi-licensed portfolio manager with a CPA who acted as a wealth manager for some HNWIs, or High Net Worth Individuals. His newest client turned out to be an arms dealer, who wanted Jenks to set up some shell companies and then launder some serious amounts of currency for him so that he could begin living a more legitimate lifestyle. Although not as easy as it used to be with governments hunting terrorist funds, money laundering hadn't changed much since the time of Meyer Lansky. First step is to get the money into the financial system, which is called placing, then you move it around to hide the stain of illegality, which was called layering, and finally you comingle it with legitimate funds which were called integrating. Three steps, though far from three easy steps these days in the age of terrorism.

Mr. Jenks tried to explain to Wren that he didn't perform illegal activities, but his client told him that he would do what he was paid to do without argument or else. It was that or else that scared Mr. Jenks to his bone marrow. His client was born and raised in Sarajevo, a place that knows violence and cruelty with equal ease. Wren, who sold his wares to Chechens, the Taliban, Jihadists, anarchists, terrorists, and whoever else had the cash, now wanted to avoid Interpol, the CIA, and everyone other intel and law enforcement agency in the world, which meant that the money he lived off of had to appear legitimate.

Sitting beside his plate of pan seared Loch Duart salmon was my business card, which Jenks kept nervously touching and straightening out delicately with the fingers of his left hand. It was a simple business card that had the name, Anthony DiNozzo, his smartphone number, an e-mail address, and the words: Knight Errant with a small image of knight in armor on horseback with a lance. It was a conceit, a fanciful poetic image, which appealed to him.

Unlike his potential client Tony wore a Brook Brothers black Madison three button 1818 suit with a pink button down shirt and silk light blue tie, which had pink and black stripes running through it. His shoes were simple black Cordovan Penny Loafers. Tony ran his right hand through his sand brown hair color, while his green eyes sized up Jenks.

"What that means was that Mr. Boone worked for the CIA's Special Activities Division. He was part of their Special Operations Group," Tony further enlightened him and watched as he got more and more nervous and confused.

"I don't understand how knowing this answers my question: why call yourself a Knight Errant?" said Jenks in a voice that was showing irritation and nerves.

"You see, Mr. Jenks, to answer that you have to know some important facts about us and I was just filling you in to give you a sense of security," he told him, as his brown eyes took on an almost haunted quality.

"So he is a spy," he said with some elation at thinking he had cracked the mystery of who I was.

"No. That would be a Covert Field Operations Officer. He was a former Marine recon sniper recruited to the agency for SOG PMOO work," Tony answered him.

"I'm still a little confused about all of this, Mr. DiNozzo," he said.

"I'm a cop. Or ex-cop. Homicide detective with undercover skills and a dash of charm," Tony said then smiled.

He nodded his head in the negative.

Tony looked down at my mutton chop, which was almost half eaten, then he continued: "Besides our background skills and experience we have contacts as well as all the experience and skills were developed in our profession as Knight-Errant."

"I see," mumbled Jenks, whose imagination painted the image for him of what these men did.

"Think about who recommend us to you," Tony said.

Simon Thorne was a HNWI. He was so grateful for the work they had done for him that he paid them seventy-five thousand dollars for four days work and asked if he could tell others about them. Tony told him to tell only those who needed his kind of skills and service. He agreed. Tony tried not to do work only for those with deep pockets, but those with money tended to finance their pro bono work.

"Gazi Wren came to me with recommendations and a compelling story about being a child living in the streets, who eventually made millions being an entrepreneur. It turned out that he made those millions as an arms dealer. I didn't know this when I took him on as a client. He wanted me for my connections. You see I have a great many connections in Nevis…"

"A tax Haven in the Caribbean. I believe it is at the northern end of the Lesser Antilles Archipelago, about 220 miles southeast of Puerto Rico," Tony interrupted him.

"I see, well, not many people think of Nevis as a tax haven. Well, at first he just wanted me to set up an offshore bank account for him in Nevis, but once I agreed it became more complicated. I thought he was just a legitimate businessman. I didn't know what he really was," Jenks stated.

"A legitimate business from Sarajevo, really! Don't you think you were in a bit of denial?" Tony asked him sarcastically.

"Maybe so," he said then slumped in his chair. "I wish I had never met him."

"Describe the complications," Tony prompted him.

"He wanted a shell business to do his money laundering. He told me that he had the CIA, MI6, and the CSIS sniffing around him too often and he was tired of it. He wanted to be legitimate in appearance, so that he could avoid further complications. The CSIS were investigating him at that moment."

"CSIS," Tony chuckled. The Canadian CIA. They were known to be a decent intel service, and very polite, yet everyone treated them as a red headed cousin. "What have you done so far for him?"

"I've convinced him to buy a business. It was a small business, antique stores in different countries," he said in a soft, guilty voice.

"Very smart. With the antiques business it's difficult to value inventory. He can sell a vase worth five grand to himself through a front for fifty grand laundering his money. How many shops does he own?"

"Three. One in London, Paris, and another one here in New York City," he answered.

Tony thought about it. Wren was probably happy with his wealth manager, but knowing the Wren's of the world he wouldn't want to keep Jenks around for too long. He'd want him to make the purchases, set up his accounts in Nevis, and begin the process of legitimizing him then get rid of the only man who knew his business. Men like Wren were nothing if not cautious and untrusting.

"From what I can analyze here you have three choices: one, you assist Interpol or some other authority in bringing him down…"

"Dear God, his associates will kill me and my family I can't do that," He interjected.

"Or, two, I terminate him," Tony said. "In the cases of most of these arms dealers once they are terminated their closest associates fight over the business. Once one of them dominates and takes over, he usually wants to hire his own people that he trusts to run things. Whatever blowback occurs shouldn't touch you. You will be considered one of Wren's men, though, which tarnishes you and puts you in some danger."

"Oh, my God, you can't be serious. Kill him. I can't pay you to kill him," Jenks said with disgust to me not even bothering to hide his opinion of my idea.

"I'm not a fan of doing wet work, but you don't have many choices here. I mean you could continue to work with him as his wealth manager and slave like you are now, but I think you see the problems in that. You know too much and he can't have that. If he ever doubts your loyalty, you'd be killed. No, you have few choices, Mr. Jenks. You can go to the authorities and help put him away; or the problem gets terminated," he told him coldly and frankly. It was harsh reality he had to deal with and one I didn't want to do.

"I lost count. You said there were three choices?" he asked nervously.

"You and your family disappear and start a completely new life," Tony stated.

"Disappear?"

"Do you mind if I ask you a few personal questions, Mr. Jenks?"

"Call me Michael and go on and ask away," he said sounding like a defeated man.

The job now was to show him how disappearing would not only be the best option, but a chance to improve his life. Now considering he had a summer home in the Hamptons and a Condo across the street from Gracie Mansion on East End Avenue, convincing him that disappearing would improve his life was the hard one.

"I take it being a wealth manager for HNWIs has made you a HNWI?"

"I do all right," he answered.

"You can afford to live well in New York City paying over fifty percent in combined fed, state, and city taxes along with two homes. You measure all right in millions, don't you, Mr. Jenks?" Tony said.

"Yes, I do, Mr. DiNozzo," he said then he took a sip of his single malt.

"Now if this was a TV show I could scare off the arms dealer and you and your wife and children live happily ever after, but this isn't TV," Tony said and saw in his eyes the thought of maybe working with Wren just to save his life and lifestyle. "Real arms dealers don't scare easily and they don't like being double crossed. So, say, you decide to work with Wren and do what he wants. If you continue to work with him and he lets you live, well, eventually the CIA or FBI will show up at your door and blackmail you into helping them. They will offer you witness protection and a new life without choices. You don't want that, do you?"

"No, I don't."

"Next choice is me killing Wren as I said. As I said the blowback shouldn't affect you, but I can't guarantee that. Anyways, wet work cost so much to do well and on top of that, I will know you paid me to do it. What happens if I mention the work I've done for you to someone, or someone finds my personal files? You might get a blackmail call later for serious money. Doubtful, but it could happen," he explained.

Jenks took another sip of his drink and shook his head in negative. The thought of having someone killed didn't appeal to him. It appeared that he also had a conscience.

"That leaves us with you and your family disappearing and making a new life somewhere else. It isn't easy but it can be done efficiently and without too great a cost and only a few people will know about it and those few who do know also know that I'll kill them if they ever told anyone."

"Tell me more," Jenks said with his eyes looking at the table top.

"First I bring in a cobbler…" "Cobbler?" he repeated the word once again reminding me that his profession and my own were worlds apart.

"A cobbler is a specialist for forged passports, licenses, birth certificates, and other papers you need in order to start over. I get a cobbler to set up new names and lives and identities for you and your family. Next, I get you together with my money man and you and she will slowly and methodically start closing accounts and opening them up under a new name, as well as selling stocks and liquidating all investments. Oh, she can also help you set up money making new investments if you like. She's very talented," Tony said.

"So am I," he replied arrogantly. The man was a professional at what he did.

"It's good to have confidence in your skills," Tony said with a smile. I had confidence in my skills.

"I meant no insult to your person, but I trust myself when making investments," he said.

"No insult taken. By the time you and my money man are through all your money will be under your new name and identity," Tony told him.

"Will this cost me a great deal of money?" he asked.

"If done under normal circumstances it would, but they will be doing me favors, so you'll be getting a special, low, discount price," Tony answered.

"Okay, keep going," he said.

"The next in my team is a re-locator. The re-locator will help up set up a life for you and your family somewhere else. This will include a home, cars, clothes, et al. I have three recommendations: Texas over Florida if you want warm weather; Minneapolis over Chicago if you want a city; and Washington State over Vermont or Maine if you want earthy crunchy," I told him.

"Why?"

"Florida is filled with people with new identities and new lives already. It's becoming crowded there. Plus, I would say some of the HNWIs you work for either have vacation homes or winter homes in Florida. Texas, like Florida, has no state taxes, less people with new identities, vast lands, and a population who doesn't ask too many questions."

"Minneapolis over Chicago?"

"Chicago is a major city and an important airport hub. The chance of you running into someone from your past life is statistically higher there. Minneapolis is a great city, good family place, and, other than really cold weather, it has few negatives," Tony told him.

"And Vermont and Maine?" he asked.

"Vermont and Maine are losing population and getting older in their populations as states. It has to do with lack of businesses and high taxes. Washington State is beautiful and has a major city in case you want to visit one."

"You have this well thought out," he said with a hint of accusation to his tone, like Tony enjoyed this.

"Last to the team, there comes a hacker. This hacker will erase you from of the system. Government databases, work related, and credit cards, he will clean you and your family away so that you never existed. Michael Jenks will cease to exist and the new you will be the only you."

"How do I explain this to my family?" he said.

Tony felt sorry for him. It was a valid question. How to you tell your family that you have to blow up your current good life and rebuild a new one because you just happened to take on the wrong client? Luckily, he could help him with his choices not with explaining them to loved ones.

"Which choice is it, Michael? Which one is it that you choose?" Tony asked him.

"Make me and my family disappear."

Tony picked up his glass of single malt scotch and toasted him: "Excellent choice, Mr. Jenks."

"When do we get started?" he asked. His face had lost its color and his eyes had lost their confidence.

"Tomorrow you will talk to your family and the next day my cobbler will contact you. He will arrive at your office at one for a lunch appointment. His name is Maurice Jankow. Do everything he asks of you."

"You'll be there, too," he said.

"No, I won't. The next time you see me will be on your last day as Michael Jenks. The cost of this will be one hundred thousand dollars. That will cover each man of the erasure team. I won't cost you a nickel. What I will expect is that you keep my card for two reasons: one, if you are ever in trouble again due to this matter, call me so that I can extricate you and your family; and two, if you ever meet someone who needs someone of my skill set, you pass the card on to them. Is this a deal, Mr. Michael Jenks?"

"We have a deal," he agreed.

"Oh, and one other thing, Mr. Jenks, I will need the names and addresses and all other financial information on the antique shops you purchased for Mr. Wren, as well as some of Mr. Wren's customers."

"Why?" he asked Tony.

"It's better that you don't know the reason why," was his final answer for the evening.

Chapter 2

Six weeks later Michael Jenks and his family were ready to disappear off the face of the earth and reemerge somewhere else living a new life. Tony showed up at Mr. Jenks offices at 420 Park Avenue at six in the evening. Unlike many in his profession, he chose midtown for his offices instead of downtown in the heart of the financial district. This was a bit of cheek on his part saying that he was good enough that he didn't have to be all the way downtown in the canyons of capitalism in order to get clients. His offices were on the ninth floor. They were nice digs, expensive and a symbol of his success. He'd never have offices like these again in his life.

As Tony stood in front of his administrative assistant' desk, who looked as if she could model for lingerie catalogues for a living, not so much a supermodel but above average pretty with a killer rack, She ignored him as she spoke on the phone. Her name plate read Adrianne James. Her hair was brunette with blonde highlights and her lips, which she used a brownish red lipstick on, were as sensuous a set as he had ever seen. They were her best asset. She wore a Bloomingdale's woman's business suit with a two carat diamond ring on her left hand and a Bulova watch on her right wrist. As she whispered on the phone, she peered up at me with an expression of dislike and curiosity.

At first he thought it might be because of the way he was dressed in faded, tight blue jeans, oxblood colored Penny loafers, a black half zip knit shirt with a white t shirt underneath, a classic brown, men's leather bomber's jacket, whose leather was well broken in, worn out in spots, and soft. It just wasn't business, but neither was it intimidating. Tony knew that she couldn't see the easily concealed Taurus Millennium PT111 9mm Parabellum caliber tucked in his right pocket of his jacket, or the Sig Sauer P250 with 17 round magazine holstered under his left arm, or even the two stainless steel throwing knives, that sat in sheaths inside his jacket. The only reason she looked at him the way she did was because Jenks had told her what was going to happen this evening and she resented me. She hung up the phone.

"You're the one behind all this, right?" she asked in a Queens accented tone that matched the sentiment on her face.

"Are Mr. Jenks and Mr. Tucker waiting for me?" Tony asked her in return ignoring her tone and question.

"They are in Mr. Jenks office," she answered.

She was about to speak again when he decided to nip this in the bud: "How much has your boss told you about what is going on in his life?"

"He had warned me that he needed to close down his business fast and take off and that someone was helping him. I think of Mr. Jenks and his wife and kids like family," she said.

"In other words he told you too much," Tony said. "Come with me."

"Where are we going?"

"Mr. Jenks office," he told her.

She followed me through the door of Michael Jenks office. It was a nice set up he had. He had two walls of windows overlooking midtown Manhattan and room enough for a good sized desk with a highend Mac laptop on it, two black leather arm chairs in front of the desk and a black leather sofa that sat four. There also were some nice, expensive black and white photographs of Manhattan on the wall.

Sitting behind the desk using the computer was Ernest Tucker, MSG US Army retired, a fifty year old piece of granite with short spiky gray hair and a square jaw that looked as if he had been drawn by a comic book artist. Tucker was an expert in military logistics, which he turned into a post army career of human logistics, specializing in relocation. He had an eye for minute details and a mind that kept coming up with problems and solutions.

Jenks sat on the sofa in another expensive suit looking forlorn and anxious, as if he was waiting in a dentist office for a root canal without Novocain. When Tony walked in with his administrative assistant, his face took on a look of mild panic, a child being caught doing something he was told not to do. It amazed how often the people he helped began to act like children and resenting him as the authority figure in their life.

"Is everything all right with my family?" he asked anxiously.

"Your wife and children are in Long Island with Elsbeth waiting for you," Tony said.

Elsbeth Noon was the money man or woman in her case. She had worked for the NSA as a forensic accountant until her boyfriend, Douglas Hauk, who was an NSA agent died in an operation to take down a terrorist cell in Rochester, New York. He was more mathematician than spy. Douglas was merely there to supply and run the warrantless surveillance. Unfortunately, the van he ran his ops out of was hit by a car loaded with explosives. Six terrorists were killed and it never even made the six o'clock news. She retired after his death and Boone convinced her that she could use her talents to help people and make some money as she did, so she became Knight Errant accountant and CFO

"Thank God," he sighed.

"Once you arrive home tonight, she and you will finish up your finances then you'll call Master Chief on the burn phone I gave you and he'll finish what he started and erase you from the face of the earth," Tony said.

Master Chief was what Allen Moss liked to be called. He was part genius hacker and part video addict. Moss dropped out of MIT eight years ago to play video games and get paid for his hacking ability. Tony met him through Tucker.

The only one of the team not involved on this day was the cobbler, Maurice Jankow. His work had already been down and finished.

"Now, Mr. Jenks, do you want to explain why Ms. James here seems to know too much about our business dealings?" Tony asked him.

"She's more than an employee; she's a close family friend," he said. "I told her that I was going to disappear, so she'd be ready to deal with the questions and turmoil that will follow. It was only fair, Mr. DiNozzo."

"Life's not fair," grumbled Tucker, who looked up at Tony with his grey blue eyes that reminded me of steel. "I got a fancy RV at the Long Island home, which I bought myself. I always wanted to drive across this country I served and protected. Once he and I get back to his place, I'll pack it up with their new clothes and in the morning we'll drive to his new home. His children will be celebrating Halloween in their new home in nine days. I have a nice trip planned, too, one which will make sure no one is following us and we'll have fun to boot."

"You bought his Long Island home?" Tony said.

"Yeah. Unloading his Manhattan place was easy, but the Long Island house was going slowly. He gave me a good price and in six months I'll be able to sell it for a good profit," Tucker explained.

"Now back to Ms. James," Tony said then closed his eyes and exhaled. Reaching for his wallet, he took it out of his pocket then he took out one of my business cards and handed it to her.

"What is this for?" she asked with more than a littledefiance.

"If the police, or FBI, or Wrenn asks you too many questions, or you feel they are starting to pressure you about your boss' disappearance, or even if you just have a strange feeling about someone falling you or paying you too much attention, you call me and I'll be able to help you," Tony told her.

"What will you do, make me disappear," she said with dislike.

"No. But I'll be able to keep you safe and make sure no finds your boss," he said.

Her face softened. She must have been twenty-eight, thirty tops.

"Listen to him, Adrianne, he can help you if you need help," Jenks spoke up.

"Okay, I'll listen to him," she said and put it in the right pocket of her suit jacket.

"Now go home, Ms. James," Tony told her. "Make several calls to Mr. Jenks' numbers tomorrow, but don't report him missing until the next day. The police will be able to check the calls made and you can tell them you were worried, but thought it best to wait one day until you notified the police. Do you understand what I've told you?"

"Yes, Mr. DiNozzo," she said.

"May I walk her out?" asked Jenks.

"Go ahead and say your goodbyes," Tony said.

They left Tucker and Tony in the office alone.

"Where is the Jenks family moving to just in case I need to know?" Tony asked him.

"Vancouver. They liked it best, pretentious fucks that they are. He has set up a trust fund through one of his accounts on Nevis and he told me intends to buy a small store, or something, and eventually run it," Tucker said.

"Did Maurice make them Canadian citizens?"

"Yes. He and Dragon Lord…

"That's Master Chief, not Dragon Lord," Tony corrected him.

"Fucking kid's shit with the code names," he sighed. " Yeah, they thought it best to make them Canucks and gave them a nice history. Their people came from England to Prince Edwards Island."

"Good for them," Tony said then he sat down on the sofa.

Tucker reached into a desk drawer on the left and took out two manila envelopes and tossed them to him. It was sealed tightly and had no handwriting on it.

"What's this?" Tony asked him.

"Everything you need to know about Wrenn that Jenks knows, as well as his antique shops and his clients," he answered. "Who are you selling the info to?"

"I contacted the Russian embassy and sent a message to someone I know. He's Spetsnaz. I thought he might be interested in some information on someone who sells arms to Chechen insurgents."

"Spetsnaz," Tucker repeated the word like he was trying out an old vulgarity he hadn't used in a while. "Yeah, they'll know how to deal with Wrenn. They'll kill him and his men then have a vodka or two afterwards. Why didn't you just do this in the beginning? They wouldn't have to disappear."

"What if the Spetsnaz leaves one or two of Wrenn's men alive? Do you think they'll want revenge?"

"Probably."

"What if they get everyone? We both know the Russians, don't we, Tucker? They will want everyone, including those who did the finances. I can control it this way, make sure Jenks and his family get to have their new life without any sorts of complications touching them," Tony told him.

"How much they paying you for the info?" he asked me with a smirk.

"Fifteen grand, not too much to show that I'm greedy and not so little that it shows that I have an agenda. A nice friendly amount between friends," he answered. "We'll make more off of the client list."

"Who is buying that?" Tucker asked.

Tony just smiled.

Jenks came back into the office looking a little teary eyed. With the body posture of a man who was defeated, he shuffled over to an armchair and sat down.

"I think we are ready to go home," said Tucker.

"UH huh," mumbled Jenks.

Tony stood up. It was time for his closing speech. Of course, Jenks looked so dejected je didn't feel like giving him the speech. He decided on a different tact this time. Reaching into his jacket he took out my PT111, which fit snugly in his hand, and tossed it into Jenks' lap. Jenks jumped out of his skin, as the sidearm fell to the floor.

"If you are going to act dead then pick up the gun and kill yourself now," Tony told him.

He stared at the small handgun on the floor.

"What's his new name?" Tony asked Tucker.

"Jerome Campbell," he answered.

"St. Jerome, the Patron Saint of Translators. He lived a long life. Did you know that St. Jerome was a medieval scholar behind the Latin translation of the bible, the Vulgate?" Tony asked Jenks.

He didn't respond, but just stared at the gun on the floor.

"He once said that when the stomach is full, it is easy to talk of fasting," Tony pointed out causing Tucker to chuckle. "Listen, Jerome, embrace the new you. You've been given a gift so appreciate the fucking thing, or pick up the gun and kill yourself. It's your choice. Live your life and enjoy it, or die."

Tucker got up, came around the desk, picked up the sidearm, and tossed it to him. Tony caught it and put it back in his pocket where it barely made a bulge. Jenks looked up at him with an expression of hate in his eyes. It was better than defeat. Hate could drive a man to do stupid things, but it could also drive a man to do great things.

"I have to go. I have some business to conclude," Tony stated and without any more exchanges of pleasantries he turned on his heels and left with the manila envelopes in his hands. Tony had an appointment to keep with a Russian.

The Russian Consulate was on 91st and Central Park East. It was a beautiful white stone building right across from Central Park. Of course, Tony wasn't going to meet my contact there. He didn't rate the consulate. He chose a biker bar on 1st Avenue between 92nd Street and 93rd Street.

On the street in front of the bar there were six Harley Davidson bikes parked side by side on a grate. Another ten bikes were parked about in between car and then there were four bikes parked on the sidewalk right beside the bar. He entered the place. It was dingy, small, smelled of cigarettes and stale alcohol, as well as a mix of cheap perfume and sweat. There were six tables, all filled, a dart board and squeezed in the back a pool table. The bartender looked like the patrons. He was probably a biker who owned the barroom.

Almost all of patrons of the bar looked like hardcore bikers in leather and blue jeans with tats and piercings and a disregard for anyone not like them. The exception to this crowd was a tall, six foot three, one inch taller than Tony, muscular and marble faced man wearing in black jeans, black t, and a black leather jacket. Black was a favorite color in the business because it helped you blend in at night and blood didn't easily show on it. He had a close crop buzz cut and steel blue eyes. That was my man: Feodor Rostov. He stood at the bar motionless as a marble statue with a glass of vodka in front of him.

"Dobryj vyechyer, Tony," he said to Tony in Russian without looking at him.

"Hello to you, too, Feodor."

"Kak dyela?" he said with a smirk.

"I'm fine," Tony answered. "Since we are in my country, can we speak in my language? My Russian is rusty."

"But it is such an unattractive language," he said in his heavily accented English.

"But it is my language and my country."

"Understood. Your Russian is rusty," he said, as his smirk became a slight smile.

"Along with my limited knowledge of Dari, Pashto, and French," Tony said. "I'm fluent in English and Italian."

He downed his glass of vodka then he said: "Would you care for some vodka with me?"

"Sure," Tony answered.

"Two Stolis," he said to the bartender, who grabbed the bottle of Stolichnaya and filled Feodor's glass then filled a glass with vodka and placed it in front of Tony.

Feodor tossed a fifty dollar bill on the bar. The bartender picked it and made change, which he placed in front of Feodor.

"So, Tony, you said you have something important to sell me. I am here. What is it?" he started the conversation.

"What I said was that I have information which you may find valuable then I gave you a potential value for it."

Before their conversation could continue any further a large biker, who had layers of fat over his muscles, purposely bumped into Tony causing him to spill some of my vodka. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Feodor smile. The patrons of this bar were probably waiting patiently to test him and now they had one and that was Tony. It was a silly assed move on their part.

Tony downed his vodka then he put his glass down on the bar top. The biker was an inch taller than him, but at least sixty pounds heavier. Tony turned his head and looked at him with a friendly smile. He snarled at Tony through a beard that needed trimming and shampooing.

"Not much room in here," he said to Tony.

"Then leave," Tony replied.

His snarl turned into a glower. Straightening up so that he was at full height, he stared into his green eyes looking for fear. He didn't find any, though.

Before any more words could pass between them, Tony gave him a short, hard hit in the throat with my right edge hand not quite crushing his windpipe and causing him to choke and turn purple from lack of air. As his hands went up to his throat, Tony grabbed the hair on the back of his head and drove his head into the bar top. Once unconscious he fell to the floor. His breathing was fine. He'd live.

Feodor laughed. He was the only one to laugh. In order to keep things from getting out of control, Tony pulled the PT111 out of his jacket pocket and pointed at the first biker he noticed with a weapon in his hand. The weapon was a knife.

Feodor pushed the change from his fifty towards the bartender: "Keep the change."

He then turned and faced the crowd. Gently he placed his left hand on his gun and forced him to lower it. Tony brought the sidearm down and slipped it back into his jacket pocket. Feodor scanned the crowd looking for the right man. He pointed to a beast of man, who must have weighed over three hundred and fifty pounds and stood two inches taller than Feodor. With his right hand he motioned the man to attack him.

The bike took the bait and came straight at Feodor. It didn't take him more than three moves to have the man on the floor unconscious. He then looked at Tony and said: "Care to take a walk, Tony?"

"I'd loved to."

They walked over to the East River by Gracie Mansion where they sat on a park bench. There was a chill in the air and the East River looked black and uninviting and black. Feodor looked up into the sky at the few stars that could be seen. He exhaled and, suddenly, his body relaxed. Reaching into his inside jacket pocket, he took out a silver flask, unscrewed the top, and took a sip. He offered Tony the flask.

"Cognac," he said.

Tony took the flask and took a swig of the cognac. Properly aged, it went down his throat leaving a trail of warmth. It was quality stuff. He handed it back to him.

"Okay, Tony, what do you have to sell to me?"

"Information on Gazi Wrenn. He's an arms dealer…"

"I know who he is. I do not need a biography," Feodor stopped him. "What do you have on him?"

"Information on how he is laundering his money, as well as other financial information. With it you'll be able to take down his network."

"Fifteen thousand dollars isn't much money to ask for this information," he remarked. "We would have paid more for it, my friend."

Tony reached into his jacket and took out the manila envelope and handed it to him.

"It's a good price between friends and it puts a scumbag permanently out of business," Tony said.

He placed the envelope in his lap then he reached into his jacket and took out a stuffed white envelope. Offering it to Tony, who took it and opened it. It was my payment.

"Why us, my friend?" he asked.

"CIA would have tried to turn him, other intel agencies would either arrest him or just keep an eye on him. You and Mossad, well, I knew either one of you would take care of him and his network properly. Since he is dealing with Chechens, I chose you," Tony told him.

"You chose well, my friend. We will use this information effectively," he said then he put the manila envelope in his jacket and stood up. "I wish we had time to tell stories and get drunk, but it seems I have some work to do."

"Goodbye, my friend," he said to him then watched as he walked away.

Feodor would now be putting together a team then he'd do what he and his men did best: kill. Within the week, give or take a few days, the antique shops would be robbed, followed by a series of murders which will have Interpol, the CIA, MI6, DCRI, CSIS and all the rest wondering.

Tony got up from the bench and walked over to East End Avenue where a black Lexus LS was waiting for him. A man in a black suit got out of the driver's seat and walked around the car and opened the backdoor.

"Mr. DiNozzo, did it go well?" the driver said.

"Biggs, how much do Mr. Boone and I owe you?"

"Your bill for this year so far is 17K, sir."

Tony took the envelop stuffed with cash out of his pocket and handed it to Biggs.

"Here's fifteen thousand in cash. Can we call the bill even?" asked Tony.

"Sure, Mr. DiNozzo," he smiled as he took the money out it in his pocket. "I love working for you and Mr. Boone."

"Drive me to Teterboro. I have a plane to catch."

Chapter 3

A Gulfstream V was waiting for Tony at Teterboro. Biggs left him off at the steps into the plane and Elsbeth Noon waited for him at the door.

"You made good time," she said to him.

"I didn't expect you on the flight, Els," he said.

"Rich wanted me to check out some investment opportunities in Israel for the company," she said and the two of them walked to a cream colored leather bucket seat and table for two.

"Do you have some cash for me?" she asked.

"I paid off Biggs," he said.

"Good idea."

"Where's Rich?"

"On the radio with someone," she said.

Coming through the cockpit door wearing a Gieves and Hawkes Olive suit was Rich Boone. He smiled at Tony and then sat in the seat across the aisle from him.

"I've got a suit hanging in the bathroom for you," he said.

"Here," Tony handed him the list of clients from Wren.

"Deputy Director David is paying us seventy-five thousand dollars for this list and giving us persona interview," said Boone.

"Should I be impressed?" asked Tony with a smirk.

"We should always be impressed with an intelligence agency that is willing to engage us," he smiled.

"What movies do we have?" asked Tony.

"Taken," said Elsbeth.

"I have a particular set of skills," Tony smiled.

"You two watch and I'll sleep," said Rich.

The plane began to taxi then build up speed and finally takeoff. One the plane leveled off Tony stood up and offered his arm to Elsbeth.

"Shall we watch a movie?" he said.

"Yes, sir."

One movie and a nap later Tony woke up to change into a suit. He changed into a tan linen suit with a custom tailor white dress shirt, and light blue silk tie. For shoes he chose a pair of oxblood Zengara dress shoes and a classic Hamilton men's wristwatch.

"We'll are being met at Ben Gurion by Mossad," said Boone.

Tony sat down across from him.

"How much for the list?" asked Tony.

"Seventy-five thousand," said Boone.

The plane landed at Ben Gurion with permission by Mossad to taxi to a private hangar without inspection. Once finally stopped Rich Boone and Tony DiNozzo deplaned to have two armored Mossad SUVs with escort.

"I am Officer Liat Tuvia," an attractive young woman introduced herself. With long sandy hair and greyish eyes, she wore cargo pants and bush shirt and made them look sexy.

"I'm Rich Boone and this is…"

"Tony DiNozzo," he took her right and kissed then said: "Prego."

Their eyes met, Tony's and Liat's, and Boone already knew what was going to happened. Almost like an animal Tony had marked her and she had responded. This was part instincts on his part and part game that he played to keep himself interested.

"I am Officer Zachary Ben Abraham," a dark hair surly looking man introduced himself.

Boone and Dinozzo were shown into the back of one of the SUVs and before they settled into their seats they were off. The two SUVs seemed to race each other as if there was a prize to get to Mossad Headquarters. Pulling into the back, Boone an DiNozzo were escorted to Deputy Director David's waiting room where they were to sit and wait until Eli David was read to see them.

"All the magazines are in Hebrew," Tony said with disappointment. "You'd think he realize that some of his guests don't speak Hebrew."

"Tony, don't be rude," Boone warned him.

Eli's administrative assistant, a short brown hair young woman glared, at him.

Suddenly, a petite, yet had bodied, beauty came into the office. Wearing black cargo pant and a green bush shirt, she had long wavy black hair, brown eyes and a Mona Lisa smile. She began to speak to the assistant in Hebrew, occasionally spying them with her peripheral vision. After a few minutes she walked into David's office.

Tony looked at Boone: "Spy games."

"I know."

"Shall we play?"

"That won't be necessary," Boone smiled.

"You're call."

The door to Eli's office opened and rough looking man in cargo pants and work shirt nodded at them from the doorway: "I am Amit. Please come in."

Boone and DiNozzo got up and walked into the office. It was a smallish office with a few personal items and window behind the Eli David looking out on the street. Eli sat behind his desk, a rough faced man with salt and pepper hair wearing a tan linen suit, white shirt and no it. His dark eyes, so similar to the eyes of the woman standing beside his desk that they had to be relatives, looked from Boone to DiNozzo.

"Mr. Richard Boone and Mr. Anthony DiNozzo," he said in a not too thick Israeli accent. "I have heard much about you."

"I hope some of it is good," said Boone.

"Good is a relative term. All of it is interesting," he said.

Boone reached into breast pocket and handed Amit the envelope. Amit handed it to Eli, who opened it.

"Wren's client list with items sold and prices," he smiled then nodded to Amit, who Boone an envelope. Boone didn't bother to open it but put it in his breast pocket.

"We have earned your trust already?" asked Eli.

"Deputy Director…."

"Call me Eli."

"Then I'm Rich and he's Tony," Boone smiled. "Eli, if the money is off, we will never do business with you again. It's simple for us."

"You are greedy, money whores," Ziva David snapped.

Tony smiled at her: "You eat with that mouth. Someone should wash it out for you."

"I tell you that you…"

"Ziva, they are guests, so be quiet," Eli said.

"I see our business is closed here," said Boone.

"Your feelings are hurt, Rich?" Eli said.

Boone smiled: "You know better than that because you have dossiers on us. I'm an ex-marine sniper and Paramilitary for the CIA and Tony is an ex homicide detective and undercover expert. Our feelings are hard to hurt and we don't do this just for the money. We do this for many reasons, such as excitement and a good use of our skills but most importantly: we chose who to help and who to save. We trust our moral compass while earning a good living."

"You wanted Wren out of business then," said Eli.

"Wren will be dead is a few days," said Tony. "We wanted his clients taken care of."

Ziva looked at the two men with an expression of confusion on her face.

"Wren dead?" said Amit.

"I gave information to Spetznaz which they are acting on as we speak. He'll be dead soon and it won't be pleasant," said Tony.

"I don't think I paid you enough," smiled Eli.

"You paid us enough. Tony and I and our employees live very well, but we are not greedy. Our price is flexible," Boone said not looking at Ziva.

"Then we have one more matter to discuss: Rene Benoit," said Eli. "A mutual friend of my daughter and I wants him but he is almost untouchable."

"Just last year Tony infiltrated Benoit's weapons dealing business. We know him well," said Boone.

"How?" asked Eli.

"His daughter is a doctor, Jeanne Benoit. I dated her for four months until I could get to Rene then I stole a flash drive with critical information about his organization," Tony said.

"We still have the flash drive, the information is still critical, and Rene has left our client alone for a year now. He knows we will destroy him if he touches our client," Boone said.

"You played his daughter," Amit stated with a mix of admiration and disgust.

"She's a wonderful girl: intelligent, sensitive, loving, but she is also needy, whiny and dull in bed," Tony said. Usually he didn't share such information but he enjoyed the glared he was getting from Eli's daughter.

"Do you know of NCIS?" Eli said.

"I was once a marine," said Boone.

"And I was once offered a job by Special Agent Gibbs," said Tony.

This fact made Ziva's eyes go wide with disbelief. Who was this man?

Eli smiled: "My daughter is currently the Mossad liaison to NCIS. She works on Gibbs team. She aspires to become a permanent member of his team."

"Good man, though he struck me as a little holier than thou," said Tony.

"Gibbs is a great agent," Ziva defended him. Some time working for Gibbs would have been good for this bastard.

"Why are you bringing this up?" asked Boone.

"I believe Ms. Benoit is in trouble, death threats, NCIS is still going after her father and an assassin is trying to kill several of the players involved, such as Miss Benoit and the director of NCIS," Eli said.

"So?"

"Gentleman, they are compromised in NCIS. There may be a mole in their organization. They need help with this. I believe you could help them," said Eli.

Boone looked at Tony, who clenched his jaw and craned his neck, then Tony nodded yes.

"Our method is simple. We sit down with a potential client, they tell us their story and we tell them if we can help and how much it will cost," said Boone.

"I could grow to love you two," smiled Eli. "Will you meet with NCIS and MS Benoit?"

"Yes," said Boone.

"I will arrange a meeting," said Eli. "Until then there is two hotel rooms available for you on Mossad. Do you want Amit to show you to the Hilton Tel Aviv?"

Back in the SUVs Boone's smartphone began to vibrate. He answered it.

"Hey, Rich, the company has potential," she said.

"We are staying overnight, Elsbeth. Come to the Hilton Tel Aviv, you can room with Tony," he said.

"Tell him I pick the movie," she hung.

Boone looked at Tony, who was smiling for what he thought was no reason until he noticed Officer Tuvia was checking him out in the rearview mirror.

"Elsbeth can stay with you," Boone said.

"Sure, Rich, anything you say," Tony answered.

The Hilton Tel Aviv was perched on a cliff overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. Officer Ben Abraham escorted Boone to his room, while Officer Tuvia escorted Tony to his. Once he opened his door, she stood in the hallway.

"We will be back in the morning to pick you up to escort you to your plane," she said.

"Shall I have breakfast waiting for you?" he asked.

She smiled. Before she could back away to leave, Tony put his left arm around her waist, pulled her close into himself, then pulled her head back by gently pulling her hair with his right hand and kissed her hard on the lips. For a long few moments she responded then she pulled herself away.

"So, you wanted to know?" he smiled.

"Being able to kiss well doesn't mean you have what it takes for the rest," she said.

"Oh, I have what it takes," his smile became an invitation.

Liat pushed him inside of his room then followed him into it. Without bothering to exchange words she began to undress, so Tony did the same until they were both naked and wrestling on the hotel bed.

When Elsbeth got to Tony's room she hesitated knocking when she heard a females voice moaning loudly. Knowing Anthony DiNozzo, she smiled and walked two doors down to Boone's room and knocked on the door.

Boone opened the door: "Elsbeth, isn't Tony in his room?"

"He's not alone," she laughed.

"He's screwing that Mossad officer?" Boone shook his head.

She walked into his room.

"Doesn't he know that everything he is doing in there will end up in his Mossad dossier," she said.

"He knows. It amuses him to live up to their expectations so he can surprise them at a later date," Boone sighed.

"Do we have another job, boss?" she asked.

"Maybe."

Chapter 4

The SUVs let them off at the hangar where, much to their surprise, Eli David, Amit, and Ziva David were waiting for them by their Gulfstream V.

"We were admiring your GS V," said Eli David.

"I've found that it is well worth its cost and upkeep," said Boone.

"I'd make you sell it if it was a waste of money," said Elsbeth.

"Mr. Boone and Mr. DiNozzo, you never introduced to your lovely and talented associate Ms. Noon," Eli David said charmingly and he kissed Elsbeth's hand.

She smiled.

"It seems like you know her so we don't have to now," said Tony.

"I was hoping that my daughter could get a ride from you to DC," Eli requested.

"She's more than welcome," Boone said. "There's more than enough room on the plane."

Ziva David watched Boone and his part with great interest. The more she learned about them and their Knight Errant Agency, the less she trusted them. There were too many inconsistencies about them. She didn't like inconsistencies.

"Thank you for your kindness," Ziva said.

"Not kindness, but professional courtesy," said Boone then he offered Eli David his hand. "It's been a pleasure."

"I have a feeling we will be doing more business with each other in the future," Eli said as he shook his hand.

Boone and Elsbeth got on the plane while Tony lingered for a second to speak to Liat.

"Aba," Ziva kissed Eli's cheek.

"Work closely with them, Ziva," he whispered in her ear in Hebrew. "I have the feeling that they are better at their job than we give them credit. Look how DiNozzo played Liat."

Ziva looked out of the corner of her eye at Tony, as he had Liat up against the SUV and was whispering in her ear.

"If you every take some time off and visit the US," he said then slipped his business card out of his jacket mouth and in her pant pocket, "call me. I'll be your personal tour guide."

"I might look forward to that," she said then kissed him.

The kiss was passionate and Liat sighed when they separated.

Eli smiled: "I believe she would leave our services and join him if he asked. He now has someone in the Moassad he can contact to verify information. Ingenious."

Ziva David left her father then she walked up the steps into the Gulfstream. Tony walked up to Eli David and offered his right hand. Eli took it.

"Thank you for an excellent visit to Tel Aviv," he said.

"Did you enjoy yourself, Mr. DiNozzo?" Eli asked.

"Yeah, she did," he smiled. "I live to serve."

Eli chuckled at the man's audacity. Tony got on the plane to find Ziva David sitting with Boone and Elsbeth waiting for him.

"Yeah, Els, what's your problem?" he said, as he sat down.

The plane began to taxi away.

"You are, Tony," she said. "I've told you that you should never mix business and pleasure."

"Elsbeth, you know I try to take pleasure in my business," he grinned. "You want to watch a movie when we level out.

"What do you have for us?"

"I was thinking Mr. & Mrs. Smith."

"Miss David," Elsbeth called to her.

"Yes," responded Ziva.

"Would you like to watch a movie with us?" she asked.

"No thank you. I prefer to read," she said.

"Did you bring a book?" asked Elbeth.

"Unfortunately, my Kindle is packed in my bags," she said.

As the plane started to level off, Tony got up and walked over to a leather back pack. He opened it and took out an i-Pad then he walked over to Ziva.

"Miss David, I have plenty of books stored in my library or you can download one on my account if you like," he handed it to her.

"Thank you."

Tony turned and walked over to the Elsbeth then said: "Come, Milady, our film awaits us."

They went down the back of the plane to the sofa and the Blu-ray player, while Ziva checked out Tony's library of books.

"They seem close," she said without looking up.

"Elsbeth's fiance was killed by terrorists. Tony feels protective of her. He treats her like a sister," he said.

"I see," she said and found a book she had heard was entertaining called The Blind Side.

By the time the plane neared DC, Ziva had enough of reading and now watched with great interest DiNozzo dressed. Wearing a lavender custom made dress shirt, and darker lavender silk tie, along with a charcoal grey Gieves and Hawkes three piece suit, he first loading three six and half inch non-glare grey throwing knives made of composite material into hidden sheath in his vest; next he slipped a two shot .22 mag Derringer, also made of composite material, into his vest pocket; and finally slipped a holstered Glock 22 with a fifteen round clip on his belt just slightly behind his right hip. The bullets for the derringer and placed in a gold pen and put the pen in his breast pocket. He then slipped on his Italian black leather loafers.

"Do you have many enemies," she asked Boone, who smiled.

"I have many and he has even more. Tony's time as a cop left him with quite an enemies' list. His undercover work brought down the Macaluso crime family in Baltimore and that's just a start."

"I see."

"Do you have a ride to NCIS?" Boone asked.

"Two of my teammates are picking me up," she answered. "Do you need a ride?"

"We keep an office here in DC, so our part-time driver will be picking us up in our company Lexus LS," he smiled.

When the plane landed Ziva David luggage was the first out of the hold as her two teammates came strolling towards to them help her. Tony and Boone stood side by side, observing the two teammates. The first was a brunette with a handsome face and nicely developed rack in Tony's words wearing a grey skirt, grey suit jacket and pink shirt. The other was a male, a lanky, intelligent face, in a black suit, no tie, and grey trench coat.

"Welcome back, Ziva," said the female.

"I'm glad to be home, Kate," she said and then they hugged and kissed each other's cheeks.

"We missed you, Ziva," said the male.

"Thanks, Tim."

Ziva turned and introduced those she flew in with.

"Kate Todd and Tom McGee, this is Rich Boone, CEO, of Knight Errant Agency, as well as Tony DiNozzo, COO, and Elsbeth Noon, CFO," she said.

"Sweet ride," observed Tim McGee.

"It does the job," said Tony, who noticed the Lexus LS coming to pick them up. "Rides here."

"Ladies, gentleman," said Boone.

"Nice riding with you, Ziva," added Tony.

"It's been a pleasure to meet you," said Elsbeth said and the three walked to the Lexus. The driver got out and shook their hands then went to retrieve their bags and Boone and Elsbeth got in the back and Tony got in the front passenger seat.

"Who are they?" asked Kate.

"We may be working with them," said Ziva.

"Really?" said Tim. "They seem successful."

"Tim, when we get in the car use your lap top to do a search on them," ordered Kate.

"Someone likes being senior field agent," smiled Ziva, making Kate blush.

In the Lexus elsbeth had her Mac out and was researching Ziva's team.

"Caitlyn Todd, former Secret Service. She is the senior field agent for the number one MCRT in NCIS. She's a trained profiler," Elsbeth said.

"Nice," remarked Boone.

"Timothy McGee, graduate of MIT with BS degree in Computer Forensics and John Hopkins with a Masters Degree Biomedical Engineering," she said.

"Oh, no, he's McBright," said Tony.

"The Director is Jenny Sheppard and Deputy Director Leon Vance. Both are career NCIS agents," said Elsbeth.

"And Gibbs we both know," said Tony.

"Hey, where are we headed, Boss," asked Manny, their driver.

"Washington Navy Yard at 716 Sicard Street, SE, DC," said Tony, who then pulled his Glock and handed it to Manny.

"Manny, you're on retainer until further notice," Boone said.

"Sure, boss. I'd like that," Manny smiled.

Lexus stopped in front of a brick and glass building. Boone, Elsbeth and Tony got out and walked along a brick sidewalk and into the building. There first stop was security to get a pass.

In the bullpen Gibbs listened to his agents breakdown their visitors.

"Boone as a marine sniper had twenty confirmed kills, but he also went on several black op missions, which they don't keep the stats for," said McGee.

"DiNozzo comes from money, but he was disinherited at 12. He was educated in private school and went to OSU on an athletic scholarship for football and basketball. He didn't go pro because of a knee injury," said Kate Todd. "It seemed like when he was a cop he was a good one."

"He was," remarked Gibbs.

"You know him, Boss," said McGee.

"Worked with him once. I even offered him Stan Burley's old job. It seems he took and offer from Boone," said Gibbs.

"He is a womanizer," said Ziva.

"He uses that as a tool. I saw it in action," said Gibbs and a way to keep his distance.

"What me to profile them?" asked Kate.

"Get a sense of them," he said.

The ding of the elevator let everyone know that someone was getting off elevator. Almost on cue, Boone, Elsbeth and DiNozzo strode into the bullpen. Tony looked at the décor of the NCIS headquarters. The walls were a kind if burnt orange. He then noticed Special Agent Gibbs and walked up to him and offered his right hand.

"Gibbs, it has to be almost ten years since we worked together," Tony stated.

Gibbs shook his head: "You looking good, DiNozzo."

"You still have the same forensic scientist, Abby?" he asked.

"She still works here," he answered.

"Tony DiNozzo," the scream came from behind him.

He turned in time to see Abby Scuito in a mini tartan skirt, tight black t shirt, black and silver studs jewelry, black knee high boots with several inch heels, and top by a white lab coat. She jumped into his arms and in front of everyone Tony and she managed a kiss that made everyone except them uncomfortable. When they stopped kissing, she sighed and he let her go.

"Damn, you've gotten better in ten years," she said.

"Practice makes perfect, Abby cakes," he grinned.

"Abby, is there a reason you are here?" asked Gibbs with a tone not hiding his annoyance.

"No, sir," she said then she looked at Tony. "We have to get together."

"Sure, Abs," he said then gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek.

Suddenly, Gibbs desk phone rang.

"Gibbs," he said gruffly. "I'll be right up with them."

He hung up and looked at Boone, Tony, and Elsbeth.

"You three are with me," he said then stood up and marched up the steps towards the director's office.

"Abby, you know this DiNozzo," asked Kate.

"Yeah. Gibbs brought him here and introduced him around. He wanted him as Stan's replacement," she said.

"You went out on a date with him?" asked Ziva.

"Oh yeah, it lasted three days and was the best sex I ever had," she said.

"Abby, really," protested Kate.

"What? Even though he was depressed for some reason he would share, it was a great time. I kind of wanted him to take the job, but he didn't," she said. "A week later I got a dozen black roses from him and a card that said we'd meet again."

McGee and his crush on Abby, which included a short affair which she broke off, tried to ignore their conversation.

"What did you see in him?" asked Kate.

"He's good looking and he was funny," she said. "Oh, and he's sexy and has a really big…"

"Abby," Kate cut her off.

"Liat fell for his charm and he was in Tel Aviv for one night," said Ziva starting to get intrigued.

"He sounds like a dog," remarked Kate.

"Oh, he is, Kate, but he isn't a good doggie," smile Abby.

Chapter 5

Waiting at the conference table were Director Jenny Sheppard and Deputy Director Leon Vance. Jenny has an attractive middle aged red head, who combined instincts with a knack at politics and a mother's touch, while Leon was an African American, who used his intelligence to climb the ladder to Deputy Director. Both were devoted to NCIS.

They entered and Gibbs sat down at the conference so Boone and his people did, also.

"I'm Rich Boone and this is Elsbeth Noon and Tony DiNozzo," Boone introduced them.

"Deputy Director Leon Vance and this is Director Jenny Sheppard," Vance introduced himself and Jenny. "We have been somewhat informed about you and your agency Knight Errant. From the opening I want you to know I'm against this. I believe this should remain a NCIS affair."

"But," Jenny interrupted. "Miss Benoit asked for your agency's involvement and considering we just allowed for an assassination attempted on her life. I am inclined to let her have your involvement."

"Of course, the one thing we could use in this is the flash drive you stole from her father," said Vance.

"That's not going to happen," said Tony. "And you are not going to use Jeanne just to expand our investigation."

"Excuse me, Mr. DiNozzo. I don't think you have the right to talk about using her," said Vance.

"I dated her and believe me she" got a mint on the pillow and fine breakfast in the morning," he smiled. "I doubt with you people that she'll even get a salute.

Jenny Sheppard had to cover her mouth to hide her grin. He's good. Vance is already off his game because of him.

"The flash drive is not germane to this investigation. If it does become germane then I'll think about sharing it," said Boone.

"How is Jeanne?" asked Tony.

"She unharmed but extremely upset. She is on her way here with three agents giving protection," Gibbs spoke up. "Another attempt was made on her this morning."

"We are in the process of setting up a safe house for her," said Leon.

"You won't need to," said Boone. "If she agrees to it, our agency has a Georgetown brownstone. She can stay there."

"We expect to provide security," said Leon.

"You can provide whatever security you want," said Boone.

"Do you know who tried to kill her?" asked Tony.

"We are not sure but we believe someone has hired former Soviet Union trained assassins," said Leon.

Leon's cellphone rang and he answered it: "Vance. Bring her to Dr. Mallard's."

He hung up and looked at Director Sheppard.

"They just brought her in. I recommended autopsy and Dr. Mallard."

"Gentleman and Ms. Noon, shall we go down to autopsy and talk to Dr. Benoit," Jenny said then stood up and headed out of her office.

As they passed by the bullpen Gibbs collected his team, so the elevator was too crowded Ziva, McGee and Todd took the stairs down to the autopsy. When they arrived Dr. Donald 'Ducky' Mallard, geriatric and genius, was giving Dr. Benoit an examination. She was visibly pale and shaking from her earlier experience.

Her attractive light blue eyes kept looking over at Tony, who stood patiently behind Boone. Ziva, who remembered what Tony had said about Dr. Benoit, watched the nonverbal interactions between them. She seemed to be still infatuated with him, while he was only concerned about her.

"My dear, can I make you a cup a tea?" Ducky asked her. She smiled at Ducky then her eyes once again drifted to DiNozzo's.

"I'd prefer some coffee," she said. Her eyes settled back on Ducky.

The old Scotsman returned the smile: "Jethro."

"I'll take care of it. McGee," barked Gibbs. "Go get some coffee."

"Sure, boss," McGee spoke up.

"I'll help you," Tony said.

"Thanks," McGee said hesitantly.

Both McGee and Tony exited and walked to the elevator. They pressed the button and the elevator opened. The two got on and McGee pressed the button for the third floor. When they got to the first floor the elevator stopped and the doors opened while, four rough looking men got on.

Tony immediately started sizing up these new men since they gave off the wring vibe to him. They looked like soldiers at a cop convention. Looking down he saw that they wore combat suits with their cheap suits. Their haircuts were military style and their features vaguely slavic And he could also tell that they were packing. Russian assassins. How the hell did they get their weapons through security? Probably have Personal and 5.4 mm PRI automatic.

"Hey, McGoofy, did you ever see the third Die Hard movie?" Tony asked.

"No," McGee answered annoyed by the question.

"Too bad," Tony said then he nonchalantly reached over and killed the power shutting off the lights and stopping movement while surprising everyone.

Taking advantage of the surprise, Tony threw back his head hitting one of the men in the nose, while elbowing the one beside him in the face, as he went to pull a weapon, a Belgium VBR-PDW, but Tony grabbed it along with him and forced him to shot the one standing himself. McGee struggled with the fourth man.

As the fight continued Tony kept struggling with the one with the Personal Defense Weapon, while elbowing the one in the face over and over again. Slowly, Tony was able to get the gun aimed up and under the chin of the man and fired the weapon exploding his head and sending brain fragment and skull everywhere. Tony turned on the one he had elbowed the face and grabbed his tie and throw five straight punched to his face until he was unconscious.

He turned to check on McGee to see that the Russian had gotten his gun out and he fired. A bullet ripped through Tony's side, but Tony didn't stop. He grabbed the PRI automatic, while pushing McGee aside and forced it into the man's gut and pulled the trigger several times. The man slumped over and fell to the floor.

"McGee, start the elevator," he growled.

McGee restarted the elevator and the lights came back on and moving up. Tony placed his hand on his right side and felt it. When he took his hand away it was covered in blood.

"Are you okay?" asked McGee.

"I am shot," he said.

"You saved my ass," McGee said.

"I know," he said then he started to become light headed.

Before Tony could answer the doors opened to see Ziva, Gibbs and Kate standing there with the Sig Sauers drawn and aimed now at McGee and him. The inside of the elevator was a bloody mess with only one of the men alive for questioning. McGee looked slightly confused.

"Sorry, Boss," said McGee.

"Now that was an elevator ride," Tony said then he took a step out of the elevator and blacked out falling into the arms of Ziva, who immediately saw his bleeding wound. She put her gun down and applied pressure to the wound with both hands.

"Kate, call an ambulance," Gibbs ordered then looked down at the man who became his senior field agent. We would have made a good team.

Chapter 6

Tony woke up in the hospital feeling groggy and with a pain in his right side. The room was semi-dark and he could hear someone in the room with him. He turned his head and saw Special Agent Gibbs sitting in a chair dozing. With instincts born from years as a sniper, Gibbs knew someone was looking at him and opened his eyes.

"You feeling better?" he asked Tony.

"Sure. How's McGee?"

Gibbs smiled. McGee wasn't his partner yet he still treated him like one.

"McGee is fine."

"You've got to teach how to disarm someone," said Tony.

"I'll keep that in mind."

"I left one of the Russians alive," he said.

"He is being questioned by Vance, Jenny, and Boone," said Gibbs, "with Kate Todd adding profiler's insight."

"Did the doctors say that I'm fine?" he asked.

"Bullet passed through lower side and manage to miss anything of great importance," Gibbs explained.

"It didn't miss me and I think I'm important," Tony said.

"Everybody's important to someone," said Gibbs.

"We at Georgetown?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Good I can sign myself out AMA easily. I'm hungry."

"You want me to drive you to the townhouse which is now being used as a safe house for Benoit," he queried.

"I don't want to be around Jeanne until I'm ready. How about you just drive me to a hotel," he smiled.

"How about I drive you to my house? There's a free sofa or bed, depending on which one Ziva took. I also have a couple of steaks I can cook up for us," he proposed.

"I usually don't go home with a fella after the first shooting but you look trustworthy," he said then swung his legs over and sat up. "Oh, shit, I don't have any clothes that are blood free."

"Yes, you do. Boone dropped a bag by for you," said Gibbs.

"Thanks, Gibbs," he smirked. "If I'm not mistaken there should be a nurse on duty named Alison. Just tell her that Tony wants his AMA paperwork."

"How many times you've been in here?"

"Four. Three at Mass General in Boston and five at Columbia Presbyterian in NYC. One at Charing Cross in London. We can forget about Baltimore and Philly," he laughed.

Besides his weapons, there was a pair of jeans, an OSU t shirt, a light grey marled-shawl collar sweatshirt and a black trench coat. Tony dressed and armed himself then followed Gibbs to his Challenger.

"Where do you stay when you're in DC if not at the townhouse?" asked Gibbs

"Resident Hotel," he said then mumbled, "The Ritz Carlton."

They pulled up to Gibbs house. Ziva's Mini-Cooper was in his driveway.

"Your girlfriend's car?" Tony asked.

"Don't have a girlfriend. I have ex-wives and future ex-wives," he said. "That's one of my agent's cars. Ziva is staying with me until her apartment is ready. I thought I told you that."

"I don't listen well after being shot."

They entered the Gibbs house to the smell of food being made.

"Gibbs, I am making Mujaddara," she yelled from the kitchen and continued talking as she walked in the room. "It's a rice and lentil dish."

She saw Gibbs and Tony DiNozzo standing there.

"I thought he was in the hospital," she said surprised by his presence.

"My jaw works, so I can speak for myself. I hate hospitals," Tony said.

"He and I are going to have steaks," Gibbs said.

"Well, it's your arteries," Ziva said.

"Make yourself comfortable. I'll start dinner," Gibbs took off his overcoat and tossed it on a dining room chair as he passed by.

"What is he doing here?" Ziva asked.

"He saved McGee's life, Ziva. He talks a little too much, but I like him."

While Gibbs cooked in the kitchen along with Ziva, Tony took of his trench coat and sat back. His side hurt, and even though they gave painkillers, he wasn't about to use them. Painkillers made him two things: goofy and horny.

Ziva came into the living room with a beer in one hand for herself and a beer in the other hand for Tony. She handed it to him then sat down in the arm chair across from him.

"Kate…"

"Ex-secret service. Let me guess she is in charge of security at the townhouse," said Tony.

"Yes."

He took a sip of his beer.

"Thank you for helping me when I was shot," he said.

"I'd do that for anyone," Ziva said.

"Gee, thanks."

"What you did in the elevator was impressive?"

"What I did was survival," he said.

Gibbs carried two plates and each steak had a large steak on it. He handed Tony one then took out his folding knife and cut into his piece. Tony grabbed one of his thrown knives from trench coat and he cut into his steak.

"Interesting throwing knife," Ziva noted.

"Made of composite material non-glare," he said. "I can walk through a metal detector with them."

She watched, a man she had come to love and trust as if he was her father, and this Tony DiNozzo. He was a rash of contradictions. Yet, there was something about him that appealed to her, even drew her to him.

"Good steak," Tony said.

"Good for replenishing you blood," said Gibbs.

There was a cracking like noise from outside. It sounded as if someone had stepped on a twig and broke it in two. Tony looked at Gibbs, who nodded. Good he heard it. Let's hope whoever is out there has limited number of troops.

Before they could react to anything three flash bang grenades came through the front windows. Instinctively Tony turned and threw his knife. The flash bangs left Ziva, Gibbs, and Tony disorientated. With their senses still not coming around Tony had a rifle butt right in the head to subdue him then he was cuffed with plastic cuffs.

"Someone wants to talk to you," said an armed man.

Several men had their guns on Gibbs and Ziva.

The leader of the little merc group spoke: "Bring the woman. We can use her to control him. It's in his profile."

Manhandled Ziva and Tony were dragged out of the house and deposited in a van. A merc got in the van and said: "Behave and you will survive this unharmed."

"People are always making promises to me and they don't keep him," Tony said then the merc wound up and threw a right hook hitting him in the jaw.

They put a sack or both their heads. Tony's brain began to search for ways out of the situation but he wasn't sure get away with putting Ziva's life in anger. He didn't want to do that. Whatever this was, it was his mistake and his problem, so he had two goals: makes sure Ziva remains unharmed and survive.

The van stopped after twenty minutes and then they were pulled and marked into a building and down a flight of stairs. Once they were at the bottom of the stairs the hoods were pulled off and they were shoved into a dark dank room. The door was locked and the men left.

"How are you?" he asked Ziva.

"Annoyed," she hissed.

Tony closed his eyes and allowed them to adjust to the lighting. When he opened them, he could see better.

"Well, you're beautiful when you're annoyed," he said as he looked at her.

Her hair was a mess and her dark eyes smoldering with anger. She turned her stare to him and added to the smoldering anger was a hint of homicide. It made him smile.

"Are you an idiot? We are kidnapped and now you make a pass at me," Ziva said barely controlling her anger.

"It wasn't a pass; it was a statement. You are beautiful, so live with it," he said. "As for our situation, I'm working on it."

"How?" she demanded.

"The reason we are here is because of me. I was the target. The fact that we are still alive means they want something from me, which gives me limited bargaining room, but it gives me some room," he explained. "Once I know what they want, I'll know how to bargain with them."

"What if all they want is to see you in pain before your die?" she offered him an alternative.

"Ouch, it sounds like you'd like that," he chuckled. "Then we have to find a way to bargain for your life before they kill me."

Ziva stared at him. He was staying remarkable cool for the situation, as if he's been in these situations before. And from his last statement her saving life was a priority for him. He confuses me. I do not like that.

"Have you done hostage negotiations?" she asked him.

"We handled two in Mexico City, One in Columbia, three in the Middle East, and one in Somalia that did go that well," he said.

"What happened in Somalia?" she asked.

"Everything broke down and we had to kill all the pirates involved."

Suddenly, the light went on. It was an overhead light and one single bare bulb. The door was unlocked and a man carrying a wooden chair came in and placed it down facing them. Next, four other armed men came into the room. Finally, a five foot five lithe figure dressed in black pants, stiletto heels, and a black double breasted jacket and that's all came striding in. She was Japanese in features and beautiful. Her shiny black hair was pulled back and her bird-like fragile features wore little makeup. Her lips, which had dark red lipstick on them, were twisted in a snarl and her black eyes trained in Tony.

"Hi, Aiko, how's the family?" he said.

Ziva noticed as she sat down with her legs apart and hands resting on her knees, that she could hints of green and red tattoo. She is Yakuza.

Aiko nodded and Tony was grabbed and stood up. She nodded again and one of the armed mercs walked forward and punched him in the gut twice then he was allowed to fall to his knees and gasp for breath.

"My father sends his best," she said.

"How is Toshiro? Still plump?" said Tony.

"Do not insult my father," she said coldly.

"It wasn't an insult but an observation," Tony smiled.

"We could have had fun, Tony, but you had to take Ayame," she said. "I am here to tell you that you have two choices: one, return my sister; or two, pay for her."

"How much?"

"My father feels that six million American dollars would be enough," Aiko said then she looked at Ziva. "I am also supposed to punish you for taking her. How should I punish you, Tony? Shall I hurt your latest plaything?"

Ziva growled at this, but didn't make any aggressive moves. She knew now was the time.

"She is a client not a plaything. I admit she is a beautiful client who'll probably drop us now. So much for getting paid," he smiled. "I'll take any and all punishment due."

"Are you sure, Tony? I would enjoy hurting her instead of you," said Aiko staring at Ziva.

This crazy bitch wants to hurt me, thought Ziva.

"Focus, Aiko, I'm over here. Come on and daddy proud," he yelled.

"How should I punish you, Tony? How should I cause you pain?" she said but she was still looking at Ziva.

Tony knew her well enough to know that Aika wanted to play with Ziva. It would amuse her, so he had to direct all her anger at him.

"Let's see you want to cause me pain – how about you fuck me? That would hurt like a bitch," he said.

Her eyes were torn from Ziva to Tony and the snarl reappeared. She nodded again and a merc cut his plastic cuffs then they pulled off his sweatshirt and OSU T shirt and tossed them aside. Finally, two of the strongest grabbed each arm of Tony and pulled him into a crucifixion position.

Aiko stood up and walked over to Tony. With her long, blood red colored fingernails of her left hand, she raked then down his back. He didn't make a sound, so she held out her hand and a merc handed her a bullwhip.

She took a few steps back and flicked her wrist with the bullwhip making a sonic boom sound.

"Ahh, Indian Jones and the Psycho Bitch," laughed Tony.

Aiko began to whip him. Ziva leaned up against the wall and watched as Tony was whipped. She could see his face as he struggled not to scream in pain. He is a very brave man. I nothing else he is that.

Aiko smiled as she continued to flay his back until she was sure her message was sent. She stopped whipping him then walked over to Ziva. The men let him drop to the floor.

"He is yours now. Have fun with him," she said. She took a stiletto out of her pocket, released the blade, and dropped it on the ground in front of Ziva then she dropped a cellphone. She turned and left with all of her men.

Quickly, Ziva rolled over to the knife, grabbed it in her hand and cut herself loose. She then picked up the phone and called Gibbs.

"Gibbs," he answered.

"We are safe, Gibbs…"

"Thank God, Ziva."

"Tony has been whipped and badly injured. I don't know where we are."

"Keep the phone on and I'll have McGee track the GPS," he said. "Are you all right?"

"I think I owe him my life, Gibbs."

"Keep him alive. He's growing on me more and more every day."

Ziva took Tony's discarded t shirt then knelt down beside him. She started to gentle dab his bleeding back.

"Your omertz is commendable, Haveri," she said.

"You're worth it," he grunted softly.

"How do you know?"

"I know," he said. "Perche mi ricordi del cielo."

I remind him of heaven. She leaned in and kissed his cheek: "We shall see."

"My back really hurts," he chuckled.

"I'll take care of you," she said.

"Thank you, Zi," he said. "I think I have to pass out now."

Chapter 7

Elsbeth Noon and Rich Boone arrived first at Georgetown Hospital to see Tony. He had been brought in by the EMTs with Officer David at his side. As they waited now to here from a doctor about his condition, Gibbs arrived. He greeted Boone and Noon.

"You partner has a way of getting into trouble," Gibbs noted.

Boone smiled: "Only his ability to get out of trouble is greater."

"I hope Agent Todd hasn't caused you any trouble. Her Secret Service training tends to get the best of her in these situations," said Gibbs.

"As long as Ms. Benoit remains safe, who cares if she is a little overly enthusiastic," said Boone.

"The Russian won't give up any information, I take it," said Gibbs.

"Nothing. He has special forces training and Russian Mafia background," said Boone.

Gibbs looked over at Ziva sitting alone.

"She is taking this personally," said Boone.

"He saved her from getting beaten."

"Well, he does that sometimes," Boone smiled. "She can see him first if she'd like. Tell her that. I could see in his eyes when they first met that he likes her."

"She has a boyfriend already," remarked Gibbs.

"And he has a girlfriend in every port," smiled Boone.

"I think they'd be cute together," Elsbeth spoke up.

"Cute?" Boone looked at Gibbs, who rolled his eyes. "They'd be a force of nature together."

A female doctor, looking highly agitated, walked into the waiting room.

"Is there anyone here for A Mr. DiNozzo?" she announced.

"We are," said Boone.

"He already is signing himself out AMA. So, I wanted to make sure you did a few things."

"Go on, doctor," said Boone.

"Make sure he takes his antibiotics. He can't afford to come down with an infection. Make him take painkillers. Also, vitamins, good food, whatever else he'll be willing to do: he needs to build up his red blood cells and stamina. And, finally, the scarring with intense. These will be keloid scars, raised scars, so apply Vitamin E, honey and aloe to his back until a plastic surgeon can see them and do something," she said.

"Where is her?" asked Ziva, who had quietly walked up and joined them.

"He's at the desk getting the paperwork straightened out," she said then she walked out.

"He'll come back to my place," said Gibbs.

"Thank you, Special Agent," said Boone.

Within an hour they were back at Gibbs. A shirtless Tony straddled a wooden chair with his arms resting on the back and his chin resting in his arms, while Ziva, wearing medical gloves, gently applied an analgesic unguent on his wounds to help with the pain.

"In the movies they give the guy rum for the pain," said Tony.

"Can we get back it reality? What did Aiko want?" said Boone.

"They either want Ayame back or six million dollars," he said.

"I can bring the price down," said Boone. "Toshiro will listen to me."

"How much?"

"Three million?"

"Elsbeth, how much am I now worth?" asked Tony.

"Tony, you aren't thinking of using your own money for a former client?" asked Elsbeth.

Gibbs watched as Ziva listened with great interest.

"I convinced her to leave Japan for a normal life, so I should pay for it," said Tony. "What if I sell my residence here and my place on Long Island?"

"There is the three million," she said, "and you're still worth four million."

"I'll put up a million, our company's retirement will put up a million and Tony will. That's how we'll pay for it," said Boone. "Now I need to get back to the townhouse to check up on Jeanne and then talk to Toshiro. Elsbeth, please, go the office and make payment arrangements. Sell his damned residence here. He never uses it."

Ziva finished applying the unguent. She took off the gloves then for a reason she didn't yet understand she leaned over to him and kiss his cheek.

"Thank you," he said with a sincere smile.

Boone and Elsbeth left. Ziva gently put a blanket of his shoulders then walked into the kitchen. Gibbs came out with a steak sandwich for Tony.

"You comfortable?" Gibbs asked as he sat down in a chair.

"I could sleep on this chair. Hell, I might have to."

"There's always a spot here for you," Gibbs said.

Ziva came in carrying a glass of water and two pills. She placed the glass and pills on the table near him.

"Drink that and take your pills after you eat," she told him.

"Thank you, Zi," he said.

"Zi?" Gibbs lifted his eyebrows.

"I've been thinking about your mole problem," said Tony.

"Let's hear it."

"Which of your agents are of peripheral of this case who have experience with Russians or with CIA?" he asked.

"Russians I understand but why CIA?" asked Ziva.

"They love to collect and turn Gun Dealers. This is all about Rene not Jeanne."

"You're right. I'll check when we get into work tomorrow morning."

"You'll need to check their bank accountants, but more importantly safe deposit boxes. Money, gold, secrets can be hidden in there," he said.

A Yawn cracked open his mouth. With the blanket on and pan medication on his back, plus straddling the chair just felt comfortable then sitting normally, Tony rested his forehead on his arms and dozed off.

"He's asleep," Gibb said quietly. "I'm going into the office to start finding this mole. He had some good ideas."

"I will stay here and make sure no kidnaps him," Ziva said.

Once Gibbs geared up and left, Ziva felt exhausted and lay down on the sofa for moment. That moment turned a deep sleep. Tony woke up in the chair because of a combination of hip pain and back pain.

With the blanket on his shoulders he wondered downstairs into the basement where the beginnings of a boat were being built. He turned in the light. Now this is a hobby. People make fun of my hobby being movies. Gibbs is recreating Old Man and The Sea down here.

"You should not be down here," he heard her say.

Turning he saw Ziva.

"I don't intend on touching anything," he said. "I was just curious."

"No, I'm not afraid you stealing anything, but getting sawdust in your wounds," she said.

He stood there staring at her on the stairs and smiled. It wasn't an arrogant smile nor sexual, but one of appreciation. He appreciated the smoldering brown eyes and the window's peak, which was more prominent when she had her hair pulled back.

"You're stunning," he said almost in awe of her. He never fell for women this way. He always kept his cool, a little distance, but for some reason, he was completely drawn to her. Yes, he noticed her in Israel, but the more he saw the more he was drawn to her.

Ziva walked down the steps and placed her small right hand in his much larger left hand. An almost imperceptible current of electricity passed between them. It brought a smile to her lips. My mother always said the right man and I would have electricity between us. I never felt that with Michael. Odd, I don't know this man.

She started to lead him to the stairs. When she was a few steps up and now almost the same height as him, he pulled her hand and stopped her. She turned to look at him.

"Zi," he said softly.

He pulled his hand fee then took both his hands and placed them on her face and kissed her. It was the most passionate kiss or energetic, but when the lips parted and their tongues touched, both their bodies began to vibrate and their legs became weak. Their lips parted and she exhaled slowly.

"We cannot do this," she said.

"I understand," he said.

His smartphone began to ring, so he reached into his pocket, took it out and answered it.

"DiNozzo," he said.

"I need you to go to New York," Boone said.

"What's the problem?" he asked.

"I've been talking to Jeanne. There is an associate of her father's in New York right now. I think this guy is the key to her troubles," Boone explained.

"Who is it?"

"Trent Kort."

"That freakin' rogue CIA agent," he said the closed his eyes. "Kort and I hate each other."

"I know. But you know New York well and you know Kort well."

"Have the plane ready. I'll take plenty if painkillers."

"Just have him followed and keep count of who he is doing business with," Boone said.

"I will," he hung up.

"You are leaving for New York," Ziva said.

"Have to go. Business," Tony answered.

Tony moved passed her to the first floor. When he got near the sofa, she tossed the blanket onto it exposing his whipped back.

"Can I attend you back one more time before you leave?" Ziva asked.

"Does it look that bad?"

"It will look better in a few days," she said.

He went back to the wooden chair and straddle. Ziva spent five minutes in the kitchen gathering such things as warm water, a sponge and the unguent. Dunking the sponge in warm water she then squeezed and lightly started to pat down his back. At first this was slightly painful to Tony, but soon it felt soothing.

Next, she patted his skin dry. She placed a hand on his shoulder. Tony reached up and caressed her hand. I'm going to regret this. He then placed his hand on her, grabbed her wrist without hurting her, and pulled her so she was beside him. Once she was beside him, Tony stood up, pushed the chair aside, and then wrapped his arms around her.

Zive didn't resist him. Instead she reached up and grabbed his hair and pulled his face close enough to hers to kiss him.

"Voglio che tuttivoi," he said in a raspy voice.

"If you want all of me, you have to earn me," she said.

It was then that they both heard the front door open and stepped away from each other.

"Ziva, it's me, Kate," Kat Todd called as she entered the house.

"Kate, I'm in here with Tony DiNozzo."

Kate walked into the dining room and looked at them. She was aware enough a person and skilled enough a profiler to know that she interrupted something.

"I should get dressed," he said then walked past her.

Kate noticed his whipped back and shook her head.

"His back doesn't look good," said Kate.

"He needs to take care of it."

"How are you doing, Ziva?" Kate said with concern or her friend.

"I'm confused Kate," Ziva admitted.

Chapter 8

Tony returned to New York and returned to his more relaxed ways, leaving the NCIS and Boone to find the mole and protect Jeanne Benoit. His first job in New York was to set up a surveillance team to keep an eye on Trent Kort. It was going on early November and the weather was grey and cold. He made arrangements to meet with the leader of the surveillance team in Central Park near the duck pond.

Dressed in a grey overcoat, jeans, and a dark grey sweater shirt, he stood watching as a varied of people fed bread crumbs to the down covered ducks.

"Don't you usually wear a suit?" the voice of Paddy Morgan asked.

"Are you usually in a jail?" Tony answered.

"Very funny. I used to be Irish Mafia not anymore," he said.

Morgan had ginger hair and a face that some called potato-like. He was nearing forty and had spent most of his life either in jail or in power struggles for leadership of what remained of the Westies. About two years ago he went straight, after his brother was killed, and Tony threw a variety of work his way.

"Here," Tony handed him a manila envelope with all the germane information of Trent Kort.

"I feel like a fooking spy," Morgan said with a smile.

"Take notes, pictures, the whole routine. Just be careful his name is Trent Kort and he's a rogue CIA operative," Tony warned him.

"Bastard sounds English by name, so I be glad to kill him for you," said Morgan.

"Behave."

"How many days?"

"Give me two weeks," Tony said. "Usually payment and leave the information in the usually place."

"It's pleasure, O'DiNozzo," smiled Morgan as he strolled away.

For the first week after being home, Tony didn't do very much, except rest and avoid the news. Out of boredom he took a job from a wealthy woman who wanted to know the history of an antique piece of jewelry she had bought at auction. The brooch was a Victorian Estruscan Revival Hardstone cameo, which had belonged to Queen Victoria herself until it was stolen from her after he husband's death. For this bit of information he was paid ten grand, which he knew he'd use on Morgan.

With time to burn he found myself out on a date with an aspiring actress, one of at least 250,000 in New York City. She wanted to see a German performance artist named Rudolph, just plain Rudolph because to have a surname was to define your personal history and limit yourself. He had the thin aesthetic look of a postmodern German artist, who wore all black and thought his every edgy thought a precious gift to humanity. Rudolph stood on the small stage in off, off, off theatre in the Bowery and he began to sum up to his audience everything they needed to know from the first hour of his performance art piece: "Art est a god. If you are humble in your art und spread it, then thee dictatorship of art vill come to the velt und save it."

As he sat on a gray folding chair with his ass slowly going numb he wasn't so much put off by the German accent, though the idea of the word dictatorship being used by someone with a German accent did cause him some pause, but he was put off by Rudolph himself. He was put off by his thought process, which made Tony feel oddly silly, not stupid, but silly for being there listening to a man who mistook drunken thoughts with deep ideas and he had paid for the pleasure to listen. Slides of his artwork began to cover the white wall behind Rudolph. The paintings seemed to mix Jackson Pollack with some Basquiat dropped in and the pastime of decoupage layered on them. On top of his paint creations he pasted pictures of motion picture stills. Tony recognized Smokey and the Bandit and Hopper, as well as Clockwork Orange and Time bandits, but many of them were European films he had never seen before and wasn't sure he wanted to seee.

"Once thee dictatorship of art est da rule then thee artist vill be king und thee businessman vill be nutding but a serf. Commerce est the bane of art because commerce tries to put a value on the priceless. Are there any questions?"

Tony scanned the audience looking for likeminded people as himself, fellow travelers in thought and thought process because he didn't want to believe that he was alone in his scornful amusement of Rudolph. On the whole it was a normal Village and Tribeca crowd, those who either had attained a secular enlightenment that went beyond thought and reason or were just pretending to understand because they did not want to stand out for fear of being like Kevin McCarthy at the end of Invasion of the Body Snatchers.

"Why do you use images from films in your paintings?" an attractive young woman, who had all the seriousness of a NYU Grad student air about her, asked.

"Becuz film, mooovees, are great modern art. You see art does not need us to exist, as it exists everywhere on its own. Bear shit in the voods ken be viewed as art in shape, texture, and aesthetics, but moovees are a conscious expression of art made by human beings, which makes them important. They are a reaching out to communicate with udder human beings. Without moovees ve vould be on da road back to our natural soulless state as animals."

"Interesting," mused a professorial looking fellow, who wore brown and black, "Is a Burt Reynolds movie really art?"

"Of course it is becuz Burt Reynolds est a god. He est his own god, but still a god. You see all movies are art and all art est equal. Once you create art, you are a god."

"The Godfather is equal to a Lindsay Lohan movie?" smugly asked another young man, who looked to be yet another grad student.

"Of course it est," he replied with dollops of scorn. "One should never be snide if they vant to be an artist and you are being snide to Lindsay Lohan, who est a genius. She est a great artist as she est trying to make her life into a moovee, every moment a cinematic event, hence a piece of art. That est what we should all be doing vit our lives. All moovees are equal and once everyone makes their lives moovees, then we vill all be equal to each other and den there vill be no need fur governments or religions. It vill be utopia."

"Except for businessmen who are serfs," Tony pointed out without realizing he had spoken his thoughts aloud.

His date glared at him out of the corner of her left eye. It was the type of glare that told him any chance of hooking up with her now was now dead. His chance at sex had become just another ghost strolling along the streets of New York City. Tony had met her at the Bar Americain in Midtown where he liked to lunch and where she was a waitress waiting for her big break, so she could eventually move to LA and be in films and own a mansion with a pool and stable and date Brad Pitt. She was attractive, but there was no real connection between them beyond the fact he wanted to sleep with her.

"You're trying to be clever. Don't be clever. Clever est what poor artists do," he said to Tony.

"How can there be poor artists if all art is equal?" he asked. It was as if Tony wanted to get on stage and expose him, as the insecure, feeble brained fraud he was.

"Poor artists almost make art but not quite. It est shit not art," he answered triumphantly, as if he expected his question.

"I've see art exhibits where shit was part of the artwork. So shit can be art," Tony offered up his cleverness as a criticism of Rudolph's logic, but it was too late. The audience belonged to Rudolph not to him.

A few titters of laughter cascaded throughout the room to quickly die a frosty death, as most of the attendees admired Rudolph and his revolutionary ideas and sense of self-worth and perspective. Tony looked at his comely date, but she wouldn't even glare at him now. In her eyes he was an asshole. She made have had a point considering the looks the rest of the theatre gave me. Anyway you look at it, my chances of the evening ending well with her were now dead.

"You think you are funny, don't you," Rudolph chided him. "Okay, vhat est art to you?"

"Not a Burt Reynolds movie," Tony answered honestly, but those pesky titters of laughter didn't return to die again on the ice of conformity. Those audience members had been taught their lesson.

"I'm not even sure many movies can be considered art and I love movies," Tony lectured, "I mean does anyone really think Titanic is a piece of art. Leonardo DiCaprio's Irish accent keeps slipping in and out depending on his need to either act or be really, really cute and Kate Winslet comes off as just petulant with a well-endowed rack. A piece of art? I don't think so."

"Clockwork Orange is the greatest movie ever and it est art of the highest form," Rudolph announced.

"I thought all movies were equal because they are all art and one cannot be superior to the other," Tony tossed out to him his own concept.

"It est great to me and ..."

"I am a god," Tony finished the sentence for him. "Yeah, I get it. Did you know that you make for a very fallible god?"

His evening ended with the end of the frivolous performance. Even though, it was still only just after nine in the evening, at least Rudolph was short and concise in his self adoration, and since he was near a Path Train Station he caught a train to Hoboken. The Path train terminated at Hoboken instead moving on to Jersey City.

There was a real good chill in the air, which was not unexpected since Hoboken didn't have the large buildings with those many glass widows heating up the city. Maybe because it was Frank Sinatra's birthplace and Sinatra was Tony's favorite singer, he liked Hoboken. He had a silly connection to the place. Walking along the dock area, where they filmed Brando at his best in On the Waterfront, which happened to be one of my favorite films, He saw the tugboat he owned. He had renamed the tug The Nostradamus and it was moored and waiting for me as a houseboat.

Though most of the boats docked and moored at Hoboken's piers were still in use as tugboats, a few recreational boats, and some kayaks at the Cove boathouse, his own boat was a converted old tugboat made into a houseboat of singular living style and comfort. Living in a houseboat was far cheaper than buying an expensive New York City condo for the same space and location, and Tony found Hoboken more understanding of his choice of houseboats than New York City, which seemed to grow yearly in rules and regulations. His stateroom had a queen-sized captain's bed with plenty of drawers, room enough for a reclining chair, and a good sized closet area for his clothes ad shoes, as well as plenty of book shelving for DVDs. He had the galley converted into a small but efficient kitchen with convection oven and microwave, as well as freezer and fridge. There was a nice roomy area which I used as a dining room and parlor, which included a satellite TV and plenty of cushioned seating. The wheelhouse was converted into an office now with a computer, comfortable chair and desk, and good lighting when the sun was out. He also had a bathroom with a shower, a small Jacuzzi, and toilet, and even a spare bedroom with a captain's bed and not much room.

The engine worked for emergencies in case he needed to take the boat out of there during a storm, and he ran everything else on two propane tanks and one electric generator. Every month he lived there he'd refilled the propane tanks up and kept enough gas on hand for the electric generator. He even had some solar panels on deck to help with the supply of electricity, which gave him a sort of green thumbs up from some of his neighborhoods.

Much to my surprise as he got closer to his tugboat he saw the memorable silhouette of Special Agent Ziva David standing at the mouth of his walkway to his home. She seemed caught up in thought, as she tried to stay warm by wrapping her arms around herself. He had forced himself to foregot about her, but he couldn't. There were people he couldn't retroactively forget about and she was one of them.

"Special Agent Davis," he said as he approached her. "This is a true surprise and a pleasure."

"Huh, oh, you caught me by surprise. I got lost in thought looking at the water and New York City. It's a beautiful view you have," she said as he surprised her out of her reverie.

"I hope you are a bearer of good news and not a bad mood, Special Agent. This evening has been less than stellar for me."

"Please, Tony, call me Ziva. You don't have to be so formal."

"I thought our relationship might be formal considering things," he said then smiled. "Ziva, a beautiful name for a beautiful Special Agent, if I'm allowed to say so."

"Still charming, I see," She said.

"So why are you here, Ziva? Regrettably, we left off on awkward terms. Does Gibbs or Boone know who the mole is yet, or who is trying to kill Jeanne Benoit or Director Sheppard."

"I need to talk to you, Tony. Can we go inside and sit, get warm, and talk a little?" she asked. He could tell she was holding her emotions in check.

"All right you are invited onboard my home, but you have to promise to be nice to me, or I'll make you walk the plank and fall into the briny sea."

"That's the Hudson not the Briny sea," she corrected him.

"I grant you that, but I don't think you'll want to have a swim in the Hudson River at night during a November chill."

We got on board his home then he escorted her into the comfortable part of the boat. He showed her where to sit, while he went into the kitchen. Tony started to make some coffee, as she made herself comfortable in the parlor.

"Interesting home you've got here. What made you chose a houseboat to live in?" she yelled to him from the parlor.

"It's far, far cheaper to live on my houseboat than in a condo across the river. The cheaper my lifestyle is, the better for me since we tend to move around so to get our jobs done," he called back. "Elsbeth loves this place."

"It's hard to believe you can't afford to live Manhattan considering how well your agency does," she remarked.

Once the coffee was done he prepared both coffees with cream and two sugars, then brought her a mug and handed it to her. She looked up at him with inviting brown eyes that sent a little thrill down his spine. For a moment, a nude image of her flashed in him mind. Damn, I am more than just attracted to her.

"I fond of this place. Plus, you have to remember Boone and I don't say yes to every job that comes our way. And we like to have time for ourselves not just for this crazy profession we have chosen," he admitted.

She sipped the coffee and smiled: "Tasty."

"It's coffee that I get through the mail. It comes once a month from monks, who I think pray over it before roasting the beans," He said then smiled.

"Agent Todd thinks you are a man with secrets and a hatred for commitment," she said.

"How is Kate?" he asked her.

"She is still in charge of security of Jeanne. She doesn't trust Boone, though she is started to admire his skills," she said.

"Ah, Boone is making his move on her, huh?"

"No, it is completely professional between the two of them," insisted Ziva.

"Let me tell you about Boone, he has three ex-wives," Tony said.

"So? Gibbs has been married four time," said Ziva.

"See what I mean. They are men who make commitments but have trouble with lasting the long haul. Take Boone, I know he loves all his wives, even to this day, but he can't live within ten miles of any of them," Ton smiled.

"You are different from this, how?" she asked.

"I've been with a great many women, but when I finally find the one I'm willing to marry, it will last forever," he stated without a hint of humor.

"You confuse, Tony DiNozzo. I've known many men but you keep throwing me off balance. I don't know what to think about you."

Tony took a sip of his coffee. It was a special blend of coffee put together by the monks that they called Midnight Vigil. It could keep you up at night for prayers and he had to admit that it was my favorite blend that the monks sold.

"Why are you here, Ziva?"

"Special Agent Gibbs said he is close to finding out who the mole is. He wants his team and you and Boone there when we close on the mole because he doesn't know who else to trust," she said.

"A phone call would have sufficed," he said.

"He also wanted to know about Kort and we haven't heard from you for awhile. We… I was worried about you. How is your back?" she asked him.

"My back is doing better. I'm glad you care enough to ask," he admitted to her. "I do occasional have nightmares where I'm being whipped. I have to admit it is a memorable form of punishment."

"I have nightmare, too. I see you being whipped and I can't stop it," she said.

he could see the passion heating up her cheeks. Her complexion ran darker than my own, but her cheeks reddened enough to be noticed. He already knew she had a great body, but he didn't realize how much passion was stored up in her body. This made her even more attractive, which made him want and need her even more than before. Somehow she had gotten into his blood.

He sat down beside her finally and placed his coffee on the table: "I've had Kort followed. I'm expecting a full report tomorrow or the next day on who he meets and where they meet. It should fill in a great many of the puzzle pieces for us."

"So you will be able to come home with me?" she asked.

He knew she didn't mean it that way, but going home with her was the best offer he'd ever been given. It wasn't just her beauty that had gotten to him. He picked up his coffee and drank some more, but his green eyes stayed on Isabel. She stared back at him. There was more she wanted to say to him, but he could see she was still guarded.

"I should be getting back to DC soon. If for no other reasons but to see if Boone paid off Aiko and her father yet," he said.

"You never explained about this Ayame," Ziva said.

"It's simple. We were Japan to do a job when we met her. She was more slave than daughter in her family. I admit I have family issues. Her predicament touched me so I facilitated her moving to Chicago. It sort of angered her father, the Yakuza boss."

"You like to get into trouble, don't you?" she asked. Suddenly she was warm enough to slip out of her overcoat so she did.

"I wouldn't say that I liked getting into trouble but that I had a predilection to get into trouble. Maybe I was just born under the wrong star or something," he smiled and her heart began to beat a little faster.

"I have a boyfriend," she said out of nowhere. Somehow he expected this. Of course, she would have a boyfriend.

"What's his name?" Tony asked.

"Michael Rifkin. He is Mossad."

"Do you love him?"

"I'm not sure… I might love him," she replied.

She stood up and walked over to portal to look out at the black water and beyond that the city of Manhattan.

"I'm hope it is love. You seem like a person who would understand the obligations and joys of being loved," he said then he put my coffee cup back down on the coffee table.

With his right hand he rubbed his eyes. It had been a long day. Hell, it had been a long few weeks. There was a lot on the table to deal with and he owed Boone his complete loyalty and focus. He could afford to be distracted. Yet, he knew that somehow he loved her. He couldn't explain how it happened or even why, but he loved. The world would seem an empty, cold, and even a little cruel to him without her.

"I don't know how to explain this, but I somehow feel closer to you than I do Michael. I feel closer to you than I do anyone," she said.

"It happens sometimes when there are deep emotions involved and our emotions get confused. Just chalk up our feeling of closer to you seeing me be whipped," he said to her.

"I think you are looking for easy answers to this. I think what I feel for you is complicated," she said.

"I'm sorry if I sounded like I was looking for easy answers. What can I do for you, Ziva?"

"Come back to DC with me so we can complete this operation," she said.

He looked up at her. It was a sincere request and it deserved something more than I don't want to get involved because my feelings for you scare the living shit out of him. But his feelings for her did scare the living shit out of him.

"I can't say no to you. Once Morgan gives me the intel on Kort we'll call for the Gulfstream to fly us back to DC," he said.

She turned away from the portal with tears in her eyes. He was shocked to see them, but not really surprised. She was passionate and she was under a great deal of stress.

"I was afraid you'd never do back to DC, that you didn't want to come with me," she said wiping at her tears.

He walked over to her and wiped away a stray tear with a right hand. She smiled at him. Suddenly, he felt a shock of emotion go through him from just touching her cheek and tear. She was brimming with strong deep, passionate emotions. He could read them clearly, too. It was more than passion, though there was the heat of something greater than passion, and there was a longing in her, a void wanting to be filled. She wanted him; she needed him. The strength of her emotions had the effect of making him erect, which she noticed immediately. She didn't complain.

Without putting too much thought into it, he took her into his arms and kissed her hard on the lips hard. At first she didn't respond to me, so he started to step back in order to apologize. But before he could do this, she grabbed me and kissed me with such a fury that made his head spin. He lost himself in her emotions which were pouring out of her. This had never happened to him before. He had never just got caught up in someone else's emotions just by being close to them, but he didn't care. he wanted to lose himself in her. In seconds they were ripping at each other's clothes, piece by piece and button by button. He was driven on by her passion, her needs, her longings, and her feelings, which fed his own feelings like dry wood being thrown onto a campfire. There was no way either to slow down or to stop because the fire was already burning bright and hot.

He woke up in his stateroom with the nude, warm and sensuous body of Ziva David lying beside him in bed. She was breathing steadily, which meant she was in a deep sleep. Since he wasn't much of a sleeper, he wanted to get out of bed without disturbing her. As he shifted in bed, she stirred ever so slightly moving closer to him. In her dreams she desired flesh on flesh. He didn't want to disturb her, but his hip and his back told him that he either had to move or he would start to scream in pain.

Ever so gently he shifted away from her, but this caused her to move her body closer again. At first, it was just a little body wiggle to get closer to him, but it was followed by a soft moan of awakening. Slowly, she started to face the morning and slowly as she became conscious and she started to remember what exactly transpired between us last night. Once she was fully awake, she sat up quickly in bed grabbing the blanket to make sure she was well covered. It was an oddly endearing act, since he'd already seen her as nature intended. "Oh, damn it, we got carried away last night, didn't we?" she said. Her voice was strained, though she was trying to sound nonchalant.

"Let's just say our emotions got the best of us then and leave it at that," he offered her as an excuse, a way to play the whole thing down. He was being nice, even though he didn't want to be nice.

"Yeah, it's been a very difficult year for me," she said not as an excuse but as a statement of fact. "I usually don't act like this."

She looked absolutely beautiful lying in my bed, half vulnerable and half ready to fight to the death. He wasn't sure which half he was more attracted to, as his body stated to get stirred by her again. Her eyes scanned his bedroom. As she did this, he reached over to the table beside the bed and grabbed his watch which he then put on his wrist. He checked the time. It was seven in the morning.

"Do you want some breakfast?" he offered her, as well as giving himself a chance to get out of bed before he jumped on top of her and made a fool of himself.

"We need to talk about a few things," she said simply, though he heard a hint of irritation underneath.

"How about we talk over a good breakfast and some strong coffee?" he countered. "There's no reason why we can't be civilized about this, right? A mistake was made, so let's not turn it into something even greater that we might regret. I'll make us coffee and breakfast."

"Sure, why not? I'd like that," she responded. He heard her relax slightly with those words, which was a good thing, since he didn't want to make this difficult for her or him.

Since this was the awkward moment for two people who don't know each other well, he got out of bed first leaving her the blankets to cover herself. He walked naked over to my closet and pulled out a pair of faded blue jeans and a pink oxford shirt which was frayed around the collar and put them on. He had no slippers, so he slipped on a well-worn pair of oxblood colored penny loafers that were cracked with age. These were his boat clothes. Since her clothes were in the dining room parlor, he reached into my closet and pulled out a lavender colored oxford shirt and tossed it on the bed at her feet.

"You can put that on for now. I think the color will look good on you and, if I'm not mistaken, your clothes are scattered in my parlor. You can pick them up there," he said then he left the stateroom.

As he got to kitchen, he heard a buzzing sound on the floor of parlor. Walking over to it, he noticed that it was Isabel's black blazer and it was buzzing. He reached into the pocket and pulled out her Blackberry, which was the culprit for the noise. He looked at the name of the person calling: Michael Rifkin.

"Yeah, sure. I want to enjoy breakfast," he said and put the phone back.

This is part one. Working on part two. I hope to have some surprises in Part two. If you get the chance check out my website: .com I have some writings on the site that some people might finding entertaining. (Half of my fantasy novel: The Calling: Merry's Apprentice. I will be putting the second half up soon for free. And the first three chapters of my Urban fantasy novel: Hot Jazz and Cold Bodies in NOLA. If you like Hot Jazz there is a link to Nook and Kindle so you can purchase. (I support my free writings with my novels which I sell.)