AN: For those who were sorry the DEA Agent wasn't the rather tasty Kent Fuller from season 1, (played by the rather tasty William R. Moses,) he wasn't a sleazebag, and anyway, he got promoted. Hope this chapter will redress the balance a bit.

The graffiti mentioned is on the radio shack of a small airfield close to where I live. It was while being given a quick aerial tour round the neighbourhood by a friendly pilot that I realised my garage roof needed painting.

Flying to Die

Chapter 2

Tony said lazily, "I'm NCIS. I know I'm pretty, but you're not my type."

The newcomer looked at him warily. Comprehending sarcasm didn't seem to be his strong point. Tony went on, "That's Officer David of Mossad. It's really up to you whether you risk tangling with her or not."

Ziva had give no sign that she even heard, and was already talking to the happy, eager little dog, whose collar proclaimed that her name was Blossom. A moment later the Spaniel gave an excited yip and disappeared through the front door. Ziva, and then the two men, hurried after her as she rushed eagerly round the house, her handler calling for her to come back.

"Let her be," Tony said, remembering the other DEA sniffer he'd seen at work, the big, loopy German Shepherd that shared his name and a few character traits… "She looks to me like she's already doing her job."

Blossom paused in the kitchen, barking and putting her paws up on one of the cupboard doors, and pointing upwards with her nose, although she wasn't tall enough to reach the worktop. Suddenly remembering that he needed to be paying attention to his partner instead of leering at Ziva when she wasn't looking, Agent Pearson said "Good girl", and patted her, and the little dog ran off again, out into the garage. She circled it once, yipping softly and showing interest in various spots, then gave a triumphant, full throated wuff, and sat down in front of the secret room, paws and nose both pointing plainly to what she could smell.

Pearson gave her a treat from his pocket, and said proudly, "She's never wrong." Tony's estimation of him went up a couple of millimetres – a guy who loved his dog couldn't be all sleazebag. But love her or not, he'd forgotten about her existence a couple of seconds ago simply because a good looking woman was around.

He kept his voice level. "Anywhere else you think she should look?"

"Could try the garden," Pearson said, pulling his eyes away from Ziva, who'd put a handkerchief over her nose and mouth and stepped into the room. Tony positioned the steps so that the secret door could not close accidentally, and opened the back door, thinking, 'you should be telling me, not me having to ask.'

Blossom efficiently searched the garden, but came up empty, so Pearson called her back. Ziva came out of the cupboard and patted her again. "The book was in there, Tony, I could see where it had lain. There is a thin layer of what may or may not be simply dust. But there are four marks on the floor that you might want to see, and another mark on the shelf." She gave Tony the handkerchief, and he glanced in, while Agent Pearson sidled closer to her.

"Hi," he said with a winning smile. "So, what's a Mossad chick doing over here?"

Ziva looked at him blankly. "Working," she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Before Agent Pearson could contemplate the dull thud as his chat-up line hit the ground, and think of another one, Tony came back out of the store, and closed it firmly. He too bent down and fussed Blossom.

"It's a good job this little girl had the sense not to go in there," he said. "I'm pretty certain it's not just dust."

"They're trained not to," Pearson said. "They're taught to just show. Unless we tell them it's OK."

Tony nodded. 'Just as well', he thought, I don't think you're sharp enough at your job to have prevented her.' "This is certainly a crime scene now. Back to the kitchen."

They looked at the worktop where the little sniffer dog had indicated; amidst the remains of the baking was a place in the spilt flour where the book had possibly been put down. Tony was about to tease, to get Ziva investigating again, when he remembered the other person in the room, and stopped himself. No way would he have fun at his partner's expense in front of the DEA, particularly this one.

"So," he said thoughtfully, "the marks – do they tell a story?"

Ziva said tentatively, "If he is flying drugs in from somewhere else, and simply storing them here, they would not be unpacked. There would not be the fine layer. The marks on the floor could be a table, the mark on the shelf could be scales."

"We can't assume, we'll have to get a team in and get the dust analysed, but I reckon you're right," Tony agreed. "So while his wife's not around, at least, he – or someone – is cutting the stuff in there. Now his wife's back, I'm thinking it's being done elsewhere, so the equipment's gone. But the book stayed because it's his own; his record of what he's flown in, the fuel he's used…" He thought back to times when he'd worked alongside drug squads in his days as a homicide cop. "Some of those figures he wrote could have been ratios of substances for cutting." He sighed, and held up a finger. "Back to the car… I think this is getting worse."

He closed the front door, and opened the trunk of the NCIS saloon. When he lifted the book out, and they looked closely at it through the plastic of the evidence bag, they could see, although it had been wiped, that there were traces of flour on it.

"Don't like this at all," Tony said worriedly. "Try this for a scenario… Something makes Isabella look for the secret room. She finds it, goes in, no mask, finds the book. With something on it."

"Brings it into the kitchen, handles it," Ziva said, realising where Tony's thinking was leading. "So she inhales it, or gets it on her fingers; one way or another, she ingests whatever it was."

"She's no experience of drugs, therefore no tolerance. She gradually goes onto a… let's say cocaine… high, and doesn't know it. Because she's unhappy in the first place, it's a really bad sort of high… I wonder how the heck she got to the airfield, let alone took off."

"Let us hope that she did not," Ziva said. "Take off yet, I mean. Gibbs had not established that when I called. I will updata him."

Tony would have corrected her, but in front of that grinning idiot, not a chance. "Tell him there's a DEA canine unit on its way." He turned to Pearson. "We're still going to need you," he said. "I want you to set off right now, and go to Calderstones airfield. Introduce yourself to Special Agent Gibbs." He glanced over at Sophie Howard's window, and jerked his head slightly, knowing that Officer Robinson would be watching.

Pearson wasn't happy. "My Boss won't like that."

"Course he will. There's a big drugs bust in the offing. Ah, stop pulling that face, and give me his number. What's his name?"

"Kent Fuller." Pearson wondered why the NCIS agent's eyebrows shot up to his hairline, and his worried face suddenly cracked into a smile.

"Really?"

He tapped in the number. "Hey, Kent… Tony DiNozzo. Remember me?"

"As if I'd ever forget you." Fuller leaned back in his chair with a grin on his face, and looked down at the elderly mutt dozing by his desk. "Tony says hello."

"Hey… is he still working?"

"Nah… he's retired. He's right here though. Sleeps a lot. What's Pearson done?"

"How did – aw, forget I asked. You would know."

"Well, yeah. I'm the boss these days. Kinda good – don't have to put up with cheek from cocky NCIS agents… and Pearson's the only one I sent out to do that today. His dog's a good'n. What's up?"

Tony chuckled. "Can we borrow them a bit longer? Got another site to search, and that little dog's already earned her corn."

"Sure. Keep 'em as long as you like. Let me know if it concerns my agency, right?"

"Oh, it will. Hey, Calderstones airfield if you're not tied to a desk these days."

Fuller looked at the phone for a few moments, then stood up and headed for the door. "Hey," he called over his shoulder, "Granpa, you coming?" The big German Shepherd gave him a reproachful look, creaked to his feet and followed the boss out to his car.

"Chief Fuller says we can keep you. Now get to the airfield."

"Hey, I don't know where it is. Maybe one of you should come with me?" He still hadn't given up, and smiled invitingly at Ziva.

"It is near Georgetown, and you have SatNav in your vehicle. Get gone, we will pass you as it is," Ziva said sweetly. Pearson gave up and went. "Well," she said, "At least the dog is cute."

By now Dan Robinson had joined them. "We think the Commander's in trouble, and we think it's her husband's fault," Tony told him.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Let your chief know, and get some back up. I'm gonna try and locate Mr. Starling, get him to come to the airfield, but if he comes here first, don't alert him, OK? This is a crime scene, but don't make it look like one. If he comes, tell him you've been waiting to take him to the airfield, bring him, and don't take no for an answer. Don't let him go in the house; and see that it's guarded until we update you. OK?"

"No problem. You just get Miz Starling out of trouble."

Tony thanked him, and moments later they were on their way. Five minutes later they passed the DEA canine unit, as Ziva had predicted.

"No, we don't have a control tower," the airfield manager was saying to Gibbs as Tim was talking to Ziva. (When Gibbs had declined to take her last call, she'd assumed, correctly, that he was busy, and called Tim instead.) "Our radio shack is up there," she went on, and led him over to a brick building near to the edge of the strip, which housed maintenance vehicles. The second storey had windows all round, and Gibbs thought that as control towers go, he'd seen worse. He smiled to himself briefly as he noticed some clown's crude graffiti on the wall beside the steps, - 'Who needs a control tower? This is a big enough erection.'

The manager, a good looking, voluptuous, if slightly hard nosed ash-blonde woman who'd introduced herself as Margaret Graaf, led them up the steps, and as soon as they were in the shack, she pointed to the radar screen. "The minute I got the call," she said, "I checked. She was still in our range at the time, but she went off shortly afterwards. I contacted Annapolis, which was the direction she was heading in, and they're feeding me this. That's her. Papa India 95. We know she's in the air."

"Heading for Chesapeake Bay," Gibbs said, looking at the green line of coast, and the flashing call sign heading towards it.

"Annapolis have warned everyone out of the area," Margaret said. "I've grounded traffic here. I've tried talking to her, but she's not responding. I… I don't really know what to say." The hard nosed manager looked distressed and helpless. "Believe me, if I'd been here when she arrived, I'd have stopped her from taking off."

Gibbs nodded his understanding, but he wasn't good at consoling words. "Can she turn her locator off?" he asked.

"Oh, yes. But a good pilot won't, for the sake of other traffic… and Isabella's a good pilot. So… as long as she's …still in the air, we'll know."

Tim hurried up the steps. "Tony's news isn't good, Boss. He thinks she may have ingested something nasty without knowing it. That's why the stuff in the book was incoherent. There may be drugs in her system, distorting her thinking. He's sent the canine unit he called in over here, and he's on his way with Ziva. He's sewn things up that end. Ziva said they were trying to get the husband here, and they'd fixed it so he didn't know he was a suspect."

As he brought the Boss up to date, he began to frown slightly.

"Ya having problems with your brain, McGee? Spit it out."

"Er… let me call Abby first, Boss."

Gibbs shrugged, and Tim turned away. "How long before she reaches the coast?"

Margaret looked at the small, flashing transponder signal. "About half an hour. It's a hell of a fast little aircraft." She'd blatantly listened in as Tim had passed on everything from Tony, and she sighed. "I would never have put the Commander down as the suicidal type. She's a Catholic, for starters. I should know, we attend the same church. Her parents came from Puerto Rico… old fashioned believers, she told me. The devil, hell-fire… she was talking about a devil plane, right?"

Gibbs could only nod. "If her husband comes here, I really need you not to alert him, OK? My Senior Field Agent seems to think we shouldn't, and I'll go along with that until he can explain why. D'you know if he carries a gun?"

The manager's eyes widened. "A gun? Hell, I've no idea." She paused, and Gibbs waited patiently, although he didn't feel patient. "Look, even if he's a drug dealer, who carries a gun, and flies a devil plane that's tainted with blood… Isabella's still too level a woman to kill herself."

There was a squeal of tyres, and Tony pulled up alongside the building, just as Tim said, "Had an idea, Boss. Just confirmed it with Abby. Commander Starling was on the Kennedy same time as Paula Cassidy. I just called Paula – she knew her well, liked her, she said; there weren't so many females on the ship, they all tended to hang out together... She's on her way over."

Gibbs pursed his lips and nodded. "Good thinking, McGee. Ya want to tell DiNozzo that or surprise him?"

"Er… surprise him, Boss. Hey, he'll keep his mind on the job."

"He'd better." Gibbs paused. "McGee," he said slowly, "Of the four people on this team, who d'ya think's best suited to talk to the Commander until Cassidy gets here?"

Tim's blood ran cold. "Well… er… I'd say DiNozzo or me would be better than you or Ziva," he said honestly, since there was precious little point in trying to dissemble. "But I don't think –"

Gibbs was almost gentle. "So don't even try. D'you know how to operate this thing?" He gestured at the radio. Tim nodded, bracing himself, and trying to rid himself of the rabbit in the headlights look. "Tim, I need Tony to do that random snooping thing he does. I think you're calmer than him. And what could he say that you can't?" He allowed himself a smile. "Just sit down there, and talk. If she's receiving, she might appreciate a friendly voice. I'll be back up in a minute."

Tim sat, and pulled the mike towards him with a hand that was suddenly shaking. For a start, the Boss had used his first name. That was scary enough. But the thought that Gibbs was entrusting him with speaking to a desperate woman… well, Gibbs thought he could do it. He leaned forwards. "Papa India niner five, this is Calderstones field… do you copy? Papa India…."

At the foot of the steps, the other three team members and Margaret were conferring. Tony and Ziva explained in more detail what they'd found. The manager said that Ken Starling flew down to Florida or Galveston quite frequently – he explained that they were long distance orientating trips for his newly qualified students. She wasn't going to pass comment if he was moonlighting. She pointed out the hangar where the Starlings kept their two aircraft.

"Great way to smuggle drugs," Tony said. "A different, completely unaware, innocent party with you each time – totally above board. Once we've got the Commander down safely, we need to get her husband's friends, Boss." Gibbs raised his eyebrows with a 'ya think, DiNozzo' expression. But he and Ziva had done well, and he didn't grudge the SFA his enthusiasm for a moment.

"That's why I didn't want him tipped off," Tony went on. "That's why I alerted Kent Fuller. We have the chance. I've got Marchetti's team ready to go over the Starling place as soon as we've got him nailed down; he's in the air right now, his club have told him there's an emergency and to land at once, and contact me. Ah, and here comes the cavalry."

Agent Pearson stepped out of his van; the well trained Blossom looked yearningly at all that open space, but stayed where she was. Pearson couldn't decide who to ogle; the dark Israeli or the statuesque ash-blonde who was currently fussing his dog. Tony smiled internally; he knew exactly why Pearson would have got nowhere with Margaret Graaf, having seen the discreet, casual, but appreciative glance that the manager had cast over Ziva when they met, but the idea of warning him never entered the SFA's head.

"Agent Pearson – I need you to bring Blossom over to have a poke round," he told the DEA man.

"She likes you," Pearson said to the airfield manager. "She's a good judge. Are you going to come with us?" Margaret smiled, and whispered something in a seductive voice, that made him blench.

Tony grinned. "You ladies want to stay here? See if McGee needs any help? Ziva, you could keep updating me?"

Ziva smiled. "You do have some good points, Tony. I believe you are taking one from the team?"

"For the team, Zeevah – for the team, and you're welcome."

AN: Doing the Topsy thing again I'm afraid; it's just growing… Paula fans, she'll be along soon. Honest.