Chapter Three
Assignment
Shepherd, angrier than she's been in months, leaves the lab and carefully restrains herself from slamming the door. That would be petty, especially when done before the black armored guards. When she enters the corridor she sees Kait Todd lying upon the floor by the wall, trembling violently. Neither of the guards made a move to help her.
Breathing through her mouth to try to avoid the worst of the stench - five days in that cell had done more than rupture Todd's nerves - she carefully lifts the shaking woman to her feet. Todd, having had to stand for 120 hours, is a dead weight, unable even to stagger without help.
"Come on, Kait, I'll get you to a shower. Gibbs wants you back on duty."
The woman tries to answer, but five days without water have robbed her of her voice. She can only moan.
Just as well, as only a fool would voice an opinion.
Jennifer helps her to stagger, not bothering to spare a glare at the guards she leaves behind. She doesn't get five paces, however, when the black disk attached to her right earlobe snaps at her. 'Inquisitor Shepherd, report to the Grand Inquisitor's office.'
The tone is as terse and cold as possible, the circuit closed before she can even phrase a reply. Cynthia Sumner is one of the most disagreeable people Jennifer Shepherd has ever met. The woman, confident and secure in her position of strength, has found her niche as the Grand Inquisitor's right arm.
Shepherd glances at the trembling woman she supports on her left arm - her gun hand is always kept free - knowing she can't get to the women's locker room in the basement on her own. However, to delay a summons from the Grand Inquisitor is never a good idea. She increases her pace toward the elevators, trying the bear the weight of the staggering Inquisitor. "Damn it," she mutters, "you could help."
"Sorry," the voice is little more than a croak.
"You're to put in six hours, starting now until 2000," she says as the elevator door opens and she helps Todd in, "then you get four before resuming your 0000 to 0800." Kait groans and Shepherd carefully keeps her own opinion to herself. "I'm supposed to be escorting you to your station, but I can't stay."
"I heard," Todd moans, trying to straighten herself as the car descends. The pain of every movement forced from her exhausted muscles is plain upon her face and in every gasping breath.
x
Shepherd isn't surprised to have had the summons overheard. The half-inch wide disks affixed as pseudo-earrings to the women's ears - the men get to wear pins on the collars of their uniforms - are powerful receivers and transmitters, and more that she doesn't like to contemplate.
They meet no one in the lower level. Shepherd makes it to just inside the locker room door with her charge when a blast of thunder explodes in her right ear. She jumps and nearly loses her grip, clutches Todd and both women slam to the floor.
"DAMN!" Shepherd cries, pushing herself up, her hand covering her wounded ear. She can hear nothing until her nerves recover from the thunderous blast, but she knows how much satisfaction Sumner must have gotten from that 'reminder'.
"You'd better go," Todd whispers from her left, barely heard from that side, "before they really get impatient."
Shepherd steps away, but then turns and watches the accomplished, dedicated Inquisitor slowly push herself to her hands and knees and start to crawl.
Shepherd takes a half-step to her but must stop. She doesn't want to face her impatient boss but doesn't dare delay.
x
When she gains admittance past the outer door to Gibbs' offices, she's on high alert. She doesn't get to these rooms often, which suits her, but she's cautious of everything. She's hyper-aware of the machine guns concealed in either wall outside the door, of the two armed and armored guards at the door before her, and most of all at the black woman to her right. Of all the threats, Shepherd trusts Cynthia Sumner the least. The guns and the guards are known dangers, but Sumner can be a saccharine snake.
"You're late, get in there," the woman commands, aggravating Shepherd further. In INCIS Sumner has no rank and the highest of ranks. She's much like Sciuto, a glorified civilian whose majesty comes from her proximity to the Grand Inquisitor.
Shepherd doesn't challenge the woman or her tone of command, contenting herself with the recollection that things change, especially so for those who are ready for the change.
When she enters the inner sanctum, she admits she could have been more ready. Though she snaps to attention and salutes the man behind the desk, her eyes are on the three men and two women who front it.
x
All, like her, are Level One Inquisitors. Karen White, Janet Levy, Antony DiNozzo, Fred Higgins and Patrick Larsen, all hard and skilled Interrogators with long and successful careers. The shoulder boards on their black uniforms each contain five gold bands, the gold metal bands across their eight point covers gleam in the light. In their company, Shepherd is poignantly aware of her own band's brighter gleam, the new gold of her barely-month-old promotion.
Of the five, Fred Higgins is the oldest, easily fifty years, while Janet Levy is on the other end of the scale, two years younger than herself. There is only one among them, Karen White, whom she can call 'friend' and mean it, but no one she can trust. One in particular, DiNozzo, she would never think of with that word; heartless, sadistic, psychotic bastard yes, but never friend.
"You're late, Shepherd," Gibbs' voice, though quiet and emotionless, cuts across the room like a sword. "I ordered you to release Todd and report to my office."
"Sir, yes, sir!" Shepherd says sharply, trying to draw herself to stiffer attention. "I was delayed. It won't happen again."
"No, it won't." His eyes cut through hers; then he turns his attention to the group as a whole, "Inquisitors; your next assignment."
He pushes a button on his desk and the wide plasma screen on the wall to their right flares to life.
x
On the screen is displayed the image of a woman, her features sharp and exotic, her eyes a piercing brown, her hair black as a raven's wing at midnight. "Her name is Ziva David, 'supreme commander' of the Israeli Secret Service; in their language 'Mossad'. It's an archaic rank that dates from before the Empire dominated that section of the world. The Emperor doesn't care what people call themselves so long as they operate under Imperial rule. The Mossad performs the same function as a hundred other territorial police departments; they keep their populations under control and maintain the Pax Imperium within their borders."
Shepherd, at the far left of the group, is in a position to watch the faces of the men and women. Several of them seem bored by the history lesson, but they're far too careful to show it. What others might show by a change of expression, they do with the briefest and subtlest of changes, such as the most miniscule tightening of an eye, a flex of a jaw, always caught and contained, significant only to those with adequate training.
No one can give a perfect blank face, but these men and women come the closest, making careful observation vital to survival.
It is interesting, Shepherd muses, that the same skills that can be used in an interrogation of a prisoner can serve so well with colleagues. For instance, what Shepherd reads in the slightest flicker of Antony DiNozzo's eyes as he looks at this woman confirms her deep determination never to be alone with this tall man with the trim face and evil eyes.
x
"David is coming to this facility for an important conference. You don't need the reason. We want our Israeli associates to feel secure while they're here." He passes out six file folders, no one is foolish enough to open them and appear inattentive to the words of his or her Chief. "Levy, you're personally responsible for the safety of Ziva David during her visit. Each of you are assigned a member of her staff, you're to be their constant companions. Eat with them, walk with them, when they use the head you stand outside the stall. Nothing is to happen to any of these people from the moment they land until they're back in the air.
"Though the Empire forbids any lack of cooperation between the governments we control, there are centuries of enmity between Israel and France. France believes that Israel will use this conference to gain a measure of favor with the Emperor, perhaps even upset France's control of their territories in the Mideast."
x
Everyone knows the story. In the war of 1922, Israel and France were allied to defeat the Arab states. France then occupied most of the land encompassing Turkey, Iraq, Saudi Arabia and all the land as far east as Afghanistan. Israel had taken everything to the distant borders of Libya, Chad, the Congo, the top two thirds of Ethiopia and a good bite of Yemen and Oman as well as all the territory north to the French occupied Turkey. Israel controls the Red Sea which, added to their Mediterranean border, solidifies the power of their Navy over the region.
The alliance had fallen apart over petty squabbles and the Empire, growing in power, took over while these two powers were bickering rather than watching their resources. The Empire has dominated the entire region since the 1930's and had rebuffed the Arab plea to return the land from France to native control. The Arabs had lost the war, so France still controls most of that oil rich territory. They do not, however, have access to the Mediterranean or Red Seas, Israel being a buffer between the French shipping and the rich fields to the West.
x
"We believe French Operatives may try to disrupt this conference, since to weaken Israel improves their position. Though the Empire doesn't permit warfare between its dominions, it will not support a weak resource. If France rules by strength, under the dominion of the Empire, they can exercise control of all the land from the Mediterranean Sea to Afghanistan and from Turkey through the North African continent to the Congo, Uganda and Kenya. The Emperor, however, wishes to maintain the status quo.
"Study your dossiers, be ready when the 'supreme commander's plane touches down at 1300 tomorrow."
No one attempts to ask questions. If Gibbs wanted them to know anything that's not in the files, he'd tell them. As they leave, Shepherd glances at the file in her hand, just having time to read the name 'Miriam Goldbloom'.
"Not you, Shepherd. You stay."
None of the others so much as glance at her and she tries to keep any expression off her face. She about faces; comes to attention and when the door latches shut she salutes. "Sir!"
"Come here."
x
Shepherd does not want to move from the illusionary safety near the door, but knows all too well the stupidity of even seeming to hesitate in following one of Gibbs' orders. She crosses the room to the desk in a steady march, feeling the diamond drills of his eyes cutting into her every step of the way.
His eyes on hers are merciless, cold, and she tries to repress a shudder, to keep her face blank, wondering what sort of punishment he will see fit to mete out to her. She holds strict attention, not daring to do less.
"You delayed this conference. I believe my order was clear."
"Sir it was, sir!"
"What do you suppose is a suitable response to this?"
Shepherd wishes he hadn't asked, but she knows it to be a test. If she is being given the chance to name her own punishment, it had better be sufficiently severe. On the other hand, she just might go too far and outdo whatever he had in mind. Best to play it safe.
"I would never presume to give direction to the Grand Inquisitor."
"No. No, I suppose you wouldn't. Besides, I don't have the time to discipline you properly, you have an assignment."
"I know, sir. Thank you, sir."
"You know what?"
The question catches her by surprise, "My assignment, sir."
"I haven't given it to you yet."
"I'm sorry, sir." Now she's adding presumptuousness to her list of offences.
"Miriam Goldbloom."
"Yes, sir?"
"Kill her."
x
"Sir?" He had just stressed the importance of keeping the delegation safe.
"We believe she's a French Operative within Mossad. You will leave evidence behind that it was French assassins who did this. I want there to be no doubt that France has moved against Israel. You will tell no one."
There are a thousand questions Shepherd wants to ask, and Gibbs' face as he rises from behind the desk says all too clearly how stupid a thing that will be. She strikes her chest and then the air before her in salute. "Long live the Empire."
His fist comes out toward hers. "Long live the Empire."
xx
When she leaves the offices, Jennifer Shepherd cannot regain her customary poise. While killing someone who needs killing, something sanctioned by or done in defense of the Empire, is right, there's something unsettling about this order. If Goldbloom is a traitor to her people, let the Mossad deal with her, if they know. But if they do not, how does INCIS know? And if they are not taking action, why is INCIS? The more she thinks about this assignment, the worse it feels.
She straightens her black cover upon her head and strides down the corridor, a model of professional confidence she doesn't feel.
x
Her thoughts are broken as she approaches her office on the fourth floor when she sees Antony DiNozzo leaning against the wall between her and the door. "You screwed up big time, didn't you?" he asks as she steps around him, so close to her that she can't ignore him.
"No."
DiNozzo grins, knowing better. "Then why keep you except to whip your -" he looks down behind her, "curvy ass?"
She pulls her key card from the pocket of her leather jacket, not wanting to get into a conversation with the obnoxious man. She has enough on her mind with this unsettling mission without thinking of how much she detests the black souled Inquisitor.
x
Last week he'd been assigned the job of interrogating the prisoner Timothy McGee, until he'd grown too enthusiastic and had beaten him unconscious, breaking his arm in the process. The Sector Chief had been obliged to assign Kait Todd to the duty and it had sparked the fuse that resulted in three dead prisoners, one dead Interrogator, one penalized Inquisitor and no answers at all.
No penalties had accrued to DiNozzo, though Shepherd wishes someone had slit his throat.
Some day.
x
She sticks the key card into the slot and the lock clicks off. Before she can push the door open, his arm comes across her chest to block her, his hand closing on her right breast.
"Like I said, you're soft," he gives her breast a squeeze. "Tell me, who did you have to spread them for to get One? Or was that why Gibbs held you back?"
She knocks his arm away with her left, her left hand comes up, her dagger under his chin, her right hand staying on the grip of her gun. "Touch me like that again, DiNozzo, and-!"
His right hand closes over her left and twists, wrenching her wrist so violently the dagger slips from her hand and he rams his fist deep into her stomach. As she doubles over, her cover flying, he backs her quickly to the opposite wall, slams her against it and grabs her shoulders, pushes her up so hard her head slams into the wall. A left hook stuns her, slams her head into the wall again. She can't block his right fist which cracks against her jaw. She slips along the wall to land on her side.
She lies stunned, shaking her head to try to clear it, unsure whether the back of her head or her jaw hurts more. She knows DiNozzo is walking away, not bothering to say anything or act while she's helpless, a greater insult.
She fights the nausea welling up in her stomach, the pain in her face and the back of her head, pushes herself up onto hands and knees and the image of Kait Todd crawling on the basement floor flashes into her mind.
She fights up to her knees, uses the wall to steady herself as she forces herself to her feet, not daring to display weakness, to allow anyone who might come by to see how easily she'd been defeated.