(My apologies to those on the East Coast if the location for the safe house seems unfeasible...I confess to picking a random location several hours from D.C. :) )
En Route to Safe House
Over two hours had passed in silence with only the occasional conversation in Hebrew between Liat and Malachi. Jackie was not a fan of the silent treatment and was growing restless and uncomfortable as she sped down I66. It was beginning to make sense why Ziva had so easily stormed out on dinner with Eli. His tactics in dealing with interpersonal conflict were insufferable.
She shot a glance at him as she neared the turn off to Grayson. He blinked slowly and then again, his head bobbing slightly as might that of one who is fighting off unwelcome sleep. In the dim light of the off-ramp sign, she glimpsed the flicker of a grimace as it moved across his tired face. Their eyes met, briefly, and she turned her attention back to the road ahead—embarrassed by her quickness to judge. Next to her, Eli inhaled sharply, straightening himself in his seat.
"When we arrive at the safe house, Malachi will leave the car first and secure the perimeter," Liat announced in English from the back seat.
"You know this house well?" Eli asked of Jackie as he pulled the handgun from his pocket and rested it on his knee.
"I lived in it with my father…forty years ago."
"Good, then you will know its strengths and its weaknesses. A child has an eye for such things—the best and the worst places to hide."
She looked at him, incredulous—who was talking, him or Leon. Those were forty years she had worked hard to put behind her. Just as she had told Leon, she doubted the place would bear any resemblance to what it did then. It was a vacation home now…a getaway in the middle of nowhere for those trying to escape the rigors of their busy lives.
Her grandmother had inherited the small two-bedroom farmhouse and its adjoining acres of overgrown farmland from her widowed and childless employer of 30 years, Doctor Weatherford. Overnight, Jackie, her father, and her grandmother went from living in the projects to living amongst the middle-class. Jackie remembered being thrilled—feeling like a princess as she flitted up the white porch steps into the humble foyer and on to a seat at the lackluster dining room table. She remembered the sweet smell of buttered biscuits and tea waiting for her when she came home from school. And, she also remembered countless nights spent hidden away in the small recess behind the living room couch while her grandmother and father argued over her father's incessant drinking and inability to hold down a job.
Pulling to a stop in the driveway, Jackie closed her eyes and took a moment to push the past out of her mind. When she opened them, Malachi was already out of the car and conferring with Liat in Hebrew. As Liat prepared to follow Malachi, Jackie moved to get out herself, but Eli stopped her.
"It is…charming," he said, nodding towards the house, "But wait here. I do not trust American safe houses. The last one I stayed in blew up when we closed the door…"
So, Malachi and Liat are the expendables, she thought. Send them in first and, if they come out unscathed, then maybe you'll follow-such disregard for human life. I wonder if that's how you walked out of the last one while my husband nearly ended up in the morgue.
Eli surprised her. Slowly, almost gingerly, he opened the car door and stood up—gun in hand. He circled around the front of the car, motioned Liat to stay put, and crossed the old stones to the base of the porch; gun trained on the house's red front door. Malachi ascended the porch steps, reached forward, unlocked the door, and tossed something in before slamming the door shut and jumping backwards off the porch. Nothing happened.
The three Israelis exchanged words and Liat frowned angrily, clearly dissatisfied with her role in the plan. Malachi reopened the door and went in, Eli close behind him. Liat, meanwhile, waited next to the car eyes scanning the road and empty fields behind the house. Nearly ten minutes passed before Malachi re-emerged and waved Jackie and Liat inside.
Warily, Jackie followed Liat up the familiar porch steps—stepping over the creaky third step-and into the forayer. Odd, how it seemed so much more luxurious and befitting of a princess now, than it had then. Children see so much in so little. Gone were the drab yellow drapes left behind by her grandmother's employer, the broken entry way table upon which her father always left his keys, and the ratty old couch he'd fallen asleep drunk on countless nights. She had been right; this house was only the shell of a faraway past.