DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of NCIS.
I DO NOT ENDORSE IN ANY WAY, SHAPE OR FORM THE ANTI-SEMITIC AND RACIST GROUPS, ACTIONS AND IDEOLOGIES IN THIS STORY.
À murmure: LOL, que c'était drôle de voir mon premier revue en français! Même plus drôle que je ne remarquais même pas la langue avant la fin du revue! (Quand on prend en considération que je suis Anglophone…)
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Just for the record, if you lean toward antisemitism or racial supremacy in any way, shape or form, don't bother reviewing. I got a really weird review (anonymous of course) that I'm not sure what to make of. It has been deleted from the review board as a precautionary measure because although the reviewer made some safe comments relating to characterization, that one sentence about Jews really weirded me out. If you do make any sort of review that could be construed as racist, it will be deleted and/or reported as abuse.
Chapter 3: Mossad
"We have had a number of groups watching the Embassy as of late," Officer Michael Bashan said quietly as he set down the files in front of Gibbs. "A few of the more extremist groups have been threatening. Most have settled for surveillance, to try and rattle us."
"Which groups seem the most threatening?" Gibbs asked, picking up the files.
"These ones, if I had to lay a bet," Bashan replied, pulling out one file. "Part of the Christian Identity movement. The Virginia Christian Israelites, based in Round Hill, Virginia. In the last four weeks, they have been canvassing the area, staking out the Embassy, conducting 'open discussions'."
"Christian Israelites, they don't seem very threatening," McGee commented.
"It is not the ones screaming and hollering and burning crosses in front yards that you need to be wary of, Agent McGee," Bashan said quietly. "The extremists such as those may gather the most attention, but most rational people would not join such a group. No, it is the ones like these, who hide behind the image of a church, of a peaceful sounding name and a calm front, who gain members by discussions and canvassing. Those are the ones we concern ourselves with first. They gather far more numbers, and that is how the extreme groups grow."
"Why call themselves Israelites?" Tony asked. "Why identify themselves with Israel?"
"Because their ideology states that it is the European races, the Aryan races, who are the true tribes of Israel. That the temptation of Eve in Eden was sexual in nature, that Cain was the product of that union, Jews were descended from Cain and therefore were born of Satan. The more sedate ideologies say that the Jewish race is descended from Asiatic roots and thus not truly tribes of Israel."
"Round Hill, you say?" Gibbs said, still reading the files. "DiNozzo, where was Sergeant Guenther raised?"
"Uh, Round Hill," DiNozzo said. "You think this might be related now, boss?"
"Do I believe in coincidences, DiNozzo?"
"Of course not, boss."
Ziva moaned as she came to. Trying to move, she registered a shooting pain in her arm, almost like the stab of a needle.
"I wouldn't move, Jewess," came the voice of her captor. "You will only dig the needle in deeper."
"Who are you?" Ziva rasped, trying to focus her sights on the dark shadow. But her head felt woozy, her muscles heavy and she couldn't seem to focus on anything. "What do you want?"
Her captor only laughed and struck a match to light a lantern. Ziva's heart stopped when even with her blurred vision, she could make out the red flag on the wall and the black symbol that still struck fear into her very soul. A swastika. The Nazi flag.
They had no real motive to kill her specifically. She had just been a Jew in the wrong place at the right time.
She felt, as though from a great distance, a hand grab hold of her arm and pull it out, exposing the bare skin on her forearm.
"Oh, no, you don't," she muttered in Hebrew, trying to yank her arm back. "You have branded enough of my people."
"Restrain her," the captor, who was evidently the leader, ordered. "Be sure to take proper precautions."
"He's older than I expected," Tony said softly to McGee as they watched the Mossad team exit the elevator and be greeted by Jenny and Gibbs. "Deputy Director David?"
The deputy director looked to be easily in his 70s, his hair long since greyed with age. His outfit betrayed none of the signs of travel that his young officers did, the suit still immaculately straight.
"No kidding," McGee agreed. "Makes you wonder how he has a daughter as young as Ziva."
"And he had a younger one, still, remember?" Tony murmured. McGee nodded.
"He looks kind of scary, actually," Abby commented, leaning on McGee's desk.
"Agents DiNozzo and McGee will give your officers all the information we have gathered so far," Jenny said to the director as the group entered the bullpen.
David snapped something at a couple of his officers, and the three young men all advanced.
"You the Mossad answer to investigators?" Tony asked shortly, pushing over the box of files.
"They are my Intelligence officers," David replied coldly.
"Komemuite may want to stay as well," Gibbs said. "And my team will be involved in this, Directors."
"No. You lost your chance to work on this case when you did not accomplish anything," David answered.
"With all due respect, Deputy Director, my people didn't have nearly enough time to accomplish anything. We've made a lot of progress in the last twelve hours. Like it or not, Deputy Director, Ziva is one of my people, and I don't leave my people behind."
"Agent Gibbs, she is my officer, not your agent."
"Agent Gibbs, Deputy Director David, let's continue this discussion upstairs," Jenny said pointedly.
"Fine," Gibbs muttered with a glare at David.
"Very well," David replied, snapping his fingers at one of the officers – the one Tony couldn't believe was Mossad. He reminded him of the stammering little tailor in Fiddler on the Roof. The officer jumped to attention and quickly followed the directors upstairs while the others gathered in the bullpen.
"We meet again," the solitary woman commented dryly to Tony. It was the same woman that Tony had flirted with all those years ago at the Embasero, when he was tailing Ziva. "You must be -"
"Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, NCIS," he finished, holding out his hand for her to shake.
"Officer Myriam Rogel, Komemuite," she replied. "And you are?" she asked McGee and Abby.
"Special Agent Timothy McGee, NCIS," McGee said quickly.
"Abby Sciuto, Forensics," Abby added.
"So who are the guys supposedly tracking down these bastards?" Tony asked.
"That would be Officers Heidelmann, Meir and Rosen," Myriam replied, gesturing for the three young men to step forward. "They are with Mossad Intelligence."
"What have you so far?" asked one, taking the first file and opening it. "I am Rosen, by the way. Simon Rosen."
"We think a local chapter of the Christian Identity might be behind this."
"No," said one of the others, looking over Simon's shoulder. "They are too sedate. The culprits may be members of the Christian Identity, but the group responsible will be one of the extremists. The people watching the Embassy, yes, they would be CI. The abductors? No. They will be National Socialist Movement or something of the same nature."
"Do not say that to the director, Malachi," Myriam murmured quietly. "You suggest that Ziva has been abducted by Nazis and he will lose control."
"And then we will have no grounds whatsoever to try them and have them executed," muttered one of the other men.
"You think those bastards are living long enough to be tried?" Tony asked. "No. Gibbs'll take them down the second he sees the gleam of the sun off their skinhead scalp."
"That would be our job, Agent DiNozzo," said one of the Komemuite officers. "However, we would appreciate any information that you may be able to give us."
"Let's get names straight first, shall we?" Tony said. "I prefer knowing the names of the people I'm working with. You're Myriam. You're Simon."
"Yeah, who's in what unit?" Abby asked, sitting down on McGee's desk.
"Malachi Meir and Zelig Heidelmann are the other Intelligence officers working with Simon," Myriam said shortly. "Myself, Sulaiman Ben-Tsion and Lev Meyer are the Komemuite detail."
"We would be the judiciary consultants," spoke up the man who had muttered about the grounds. "Chaim Cohen."
"Hiram Davidovich," said the other.
"And who's the little one upstairs?" Tony asked. "The one who looks he jumped out of Fiddler on the Roof?"
Despite the gravity of the situation, the Mossad officers laughed. "That is Mordecai Horowitz," Simon said. "Affectionately known as Motel – and yes, Agent DiNozzo, he earned the nickname in part because of the film. He would be the unfortunate soul assigned to administration."
"In simpler terms, Motel is Deputy Director David's assistant," Chaim said. "There are days I think he has the hardest job out of any of us. The director is nearly impossible to please, and he has quite the temper."
Every part of her body seemed to burn with fever and every muscle with pain. Her arm throbbed, she could feel her hair catching in the latches and buckles of the straps holding her head down. When she tried to move, she could feel the restraints against her wrists and ankles.
"Do you feel it, Jewess?" he asked. "Do you feel your death approaching?"
Ziva tried again to free herself, resulting only in another lightning bolt of pain shooting through her body. "What are you doing to me?" she asked, her voice slurring and her tongue as heavy as lead in her mouth.
She could hear gunfire, the explosions of bombs, screams of pain and the cries of the dying. She could smell the smoke, the stench of dead bodies and the metallic scent of blood.
"I'm going to enjoy watching another Jew die."
"They will have done more than just kidnap Ziva," Zelig said quietly. "It is just past Yom HaShoah, they will have done this to more than one."
"Running a search on missing Jews in the tristate area over the last two months," McGee said immediately.
"Find out how many cell groups are operating in this area," Sulaiman said. "They will be operating within a familiar place, where they know the entrances, exits and security levels."
"Residences, churches, meeting places, offices," Myriam said, sliding into Ziva's chair and beginning a search on the computer. "You do not run Mac at NCIS?"
"No, we run PC," McGee replied, just as Myriam started tapping keys irritably. The computer began beeping insistently.
"Just hit it, Myriam, it will be fine," Simon called, still reading the files.
"Go fix Ziva's computer, McGeek," Tony ordered. "So what's the deal on this Rosenberg case?"
"Right, Rosenberg," Malachi muttered. "Uhh, Lev, Chaim, Hiram, you come down with me and we'll try and get that one straightened out."
"I'll go with you," Tony said immediately.
"Why?" Lev asked.
"Because Gibbs will rip me limb from limb if there isn't an NCIS agent present."
"According to Mar Rosenberg, your Marine was a Nazi," Chaim told Tony as they stood inside the observation room. "Saw him several times in Round Hill with a group of other Nazi officers."
"With all due respect, Officer Cohen," Tony said stiffly, "Rosenberg is, like, eighty years old and demented. He probably mixed up Nazi uniform with Marine uniform."
"Agent DiNozzo, Mar Rosenberg is one of the most decorated officers in Israel's history," Chaim replied. "The man knows the difference between a Nazi and an American Marine."
"Yeah, my great-uncle Nicolas in his youth knew the difference between men and women. Didn't stop him from calling my father Antonia after he went demented."
"Even so, Agent DiNozzo, you said it yourself: Mar Rosenberg is elderly. Perhaps he did make a mistake. He is not competent to stand trial at any rate."
"That's for a court-appointed psychologist to decide, Officer Cohen," Tony replied quietly.
"Well, I'll leave you here, Jewess, with my capable lieutenant," her captor's voice came floating. "I figure you'll probably live another six hours. Just think - another six long, excruciatingly painful hours and you'll be in the afterlife." He paused and then said to somebody else, "Make sure she suffers for at least another three hours."
"Yes, Commandant."
Ziva struggled to take in another breath. Why did the room seem to spin? Why did it hurt every time she moved? Why did it feel as though she was burning from the inside out? Why could she hear voices she hadn't heard in years: voices calling her, beckoning to her, pleading with her to come?