"Twenty years now Where'd they go? Twenty years I don't know
I sit and I wonder sometimes Where they've gone And sometimes
Late at night When I'm bathed in the firelight The moon comes callin' a
ghostly white And I recall I recall Like a rock, standin' arrow straight
Like a rock, chargin' from the gate Like a rock, carryin' the weight
Like a rock.."
Gibbs' Basement, Present Day
Senior Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs was not a happy man. He was sitting on an old barstool, holding a glass jar containing several ounces of Kentucky's best. Lumber was stacked along the far wall. There was a chalk outline on the floor, marking off the shape of his new project.
It has been a week since he'd put out the first feelers to his contacts in the special ops and intelligence communities. The markers he'd called in had been ones he was saving for a long time.
It has been four weeks since he'd walked up the ramp of the C-130 from the tarmac in TelAviv. "One short Boss?" echoed in his head. As he sipped the bourbon, his mind went back to the one's he couldn't save. Shannon and Kelly, Kate, Chris Pacci, Paula Cassidy and Lt. Mike Amett. Well, not this time. If Ziva was in some short of jam, he was gonna get her out if it was the last thing he'd do.
Gibbs took one more sip and decided he'd start building tonight. Two hours later he was back in his old groove. The sawdust was flying and the level in the bottle of Jack was falling. Luckily tomorrow was Saturday.
On the workbench behind him, his cell phone started to vibrate. Gibbs picked it up. The screen showed the satellite phone number of one of his contacts. "Yeah, Gibbs" he said. "I think I found her Jeth". The voice of his old Sergeant Major echoed slightly as sat phone transmissions will. Gibbs was already taking the basement steps two at a time as he said, "What have you got?..."