She looked over her shoulder every few feet, walking through downtown Washington, trying to make sure she wasn't being followed. Being this close to the White House made her uneasy, without a doubt.

She had an alias, without a doubt, and could only hope that this assassin believed that "Ziva David" was dead.

She was a "cat", according to Beauchamp- the memory of having to kill him came to her- and she had taken her last name off a poster nearby, unable to deny the allure of blending in somewhere.

Katherine Hamilton- Kit for short.

She pushed open the door, a bell ringing as she did so. A few people looked up. Hugh would be waiting at the corner table, sitting under the sketch of the White House being constructed.

She walked over, and stood across from him, appraising him. He had green eyes, and a crooked nose. No doubt it had been broken a few times, in his line of work. There was a long scar going through one eyebrow, but overall he was handsome.

He smiled at her, "You must be Katherine."

"Kit, please. And you are Mr. Gordon."

"No need to be so formal, Kit. Please," he gestured. "Sit down. I don't bite. Well, at least, I don't bite beautiful women like yourself."

"You are interested in the Gemcity file?"

"It is an interesting case, I'll admit. And quite the rags to riches story, don't you agree?" There was a smirk on his face.

"What did he do to attract an assassin?" she asked. "Never mind two."

"That isn't important right now." He leaned forward against the table, nearly upsetting a cup of coffee he'd nudged towards her. She hadn't taken the offered cup, still not blindly accepting anything that could contain poison. Too many years had elapsed since she was among people she trusted. "Are you up for a challenge, Kit?"

"I live for challenges." She smiled. "In fact, I take it as a challenge to remain alive."

He chuckled. "As all of us in this line of work do, Miss. Now, as you surely know, Thom E. Gemcity is an alias."

"Yes, I was aware."

"And while one side is a mild-mannered writer, the other…" he paused, narrowed his eyes, and asked, "You understand that my boss is dead?"

"Yes. I was informed. He sent me before he died." It was Ziva's turn to pause. "Why?"

Very calmly, he looked her in the eye as he picked up his coffee cup. "Probably, you mean no harm."

It was a test.

She thought it over, trying to recall the code, whilst outwardly showing nonchalance, and then it came to her. One of the nights when she and Tony were struggling to stay awake, in the summer. They were in lockdown mode, but Tim and Gibbs had gone to hassle Ducky. She and Tony had been left alone in the squad room. He had snuck them into MTAC, and borrowed the gigantic screen. She was sure of one thing at the time; it was unauthorized but such a typical Tony move that she could never find it in herself to complain. "I am really very short on charm."

He nodded. "As you'll know, Kit, his name is not Gemcity."

"And I take it that you are not interested in mild-mannered alter egos?" she asked.

"Listen, Kit, you tell me; what's more exciting? An account who does musical theatre on his days off or an assassin?"

"James Bond." She replied.

He chuckled into his coffee, "Good answer. NCIS Special Agent Timothy Farragut McGee, works on the Major Case Response Team at the Washington Navy Yard."

"I see. Sounds very threatening." Tim could be intimidating at best… but then it had been several years since she had known him. "What else can you tell me about him?"

"Mother is still alive, though we have no current whereabouts. One sister, currently in law school. Father was respected Navy Admiral John McGee, died at the end of 2014. Cancer."

Ziva paused, trying to hide the fact that she almost flinched. McGee's father had died? "Anything else?"

"He is currently engaged to Delilah R. Fielding, and they are living together in Washington. She isn't much of a threat, according to Intel. She works as an intelligence analyst combating cyber terrorism for the Department of Defense. Was put in a wheelchair in 2014 after an attack on a gala she was attending, by infamous terrorist Benham Parsa." What an awful year for McGee.

"Engaged? And you want to take this man down?"

"Preferably before the wedding, you understand. Things may be… awkward if we were to assassinate the man on his wedding night."

"I couldn't disagree more. What has stopped you from attacking the target before now? Surely he is vulnerable sometimes?"

"I told you he worked for NCIS?" he asked.

"Yes, but what on earth does that have to do with anything."

He dropped a stack of folders on the table. "Because he works with a whole team of special agents that could probably kick our ass with their hands tied behind their backs. Keep in mind though that one of the bigger threats to our success was neutralized in May of this year. Died in a fire, so they say. I have my doubts though."

She held his gaze, "This is not a line of work for conspiracy theories, Mr. Gordon."

"Call me Hugh."

"What can you tell me about these co-workers, if they are such a threat?"

He tossed a photo down on a table, and who else would it be but Gibbs staring up at her. "Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Former Marine sniper, and very good at his job, from what I've heard. No known family since his father passed away in 2014; wife and daughter have been underground for a few decades. Nothing shakes this bastard up." He shook his head wistfully. "The man's been blown up, taken hostage and shot- last year he got double-tapped at close range… and he's still alive and kicking. Wish I had half his luck."

The next photo hurt more, "Thankfully this poor sap isn't as much of a threat- but I have no doubts he'd be called in, in an emergency. McGee's best friend; Anthony DiNozzo Jr. If it gets to the point where we have to worry about him, it means that the wedding is near."

"Do you want this wedding stopped, Hugh?"

"No but if it can be stopped, it means things aren't quite as messy for our clean-up crew, correct?"

"Yes. Of course, you're right."

"Of course I am." He was smug. "That threat I told you about? The neutralized one? She sent this man," he tapped the photo of Tony, her Tony, the one she'd hurt, the man she'd left behind to protect. The one she was staying away from to save. "Off on a damn goose chase, thinking she was still alive. And the real kicker? He's now raising her child."

"Oh. So he is…?" she daren't find out where he was, lest she take the next flight out to wherever he was, find him, apologize.

"He's in Paris. With his daughter, and his father visits frequently. I've heard they've become a real family."

"Ah." It hurt. It hurt too much to think of, and she wished that the ache in her throat was not one formed of guilt and shame that she really wasn't dead, that she had done such despicable things… she had let Tony believe she was dead. He was in Paris, right now.

But no doubt, he would be too hurt to hear her out. He would turn her away. No he wouldn't.

The next picture was a blonde woman, "Eleanor Bishop, native of Oklahoma, divorced, three brothers, former NSA analyst. Expert on Benham Parsa. Agent Gibbs recruited her."

"Okay." She nodded, trying to make it look as though she was paying attention.

"She looks like she's twelve. Not very threatening."

"No. But appearances can be deceiving, can they not?" she asked, meeting his eye.

"That they can."

He slapped the next picture down, and she had to stop herself from exclaiming in surprise. It was her trainer from when she'd officially joined NCIS. She'd had an accelerated training, naturally, but she had met her all the same- but what was her name? "Special Agent Alexandra Quinn. Born and raised New Yorker. Father died a few years ago, but mother is still around. Quinn is former field agent, and then was a FLETC instructor, training new agents."

The next picture came down with surprising force. "Nick Torres. Deep undercover work for around a decade. It suited him, civilian life doesn't. Good shot. Not much information on his background, he prefers to keep it that way. He's a bit of a rogue."

"And that is all the information you have on him?"

"I'm sorry. Do you want to do research next time then?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "I'm afraid it isn't very exciting but…"

"Is there anyone else?"

"One more. A liaison officer." She almost winced, but held the photo instead.

"Attached from where?" she asked.

"MI6. Big leagues."

"All right. And?"

"Name of Clayton Reeves. Parents are both dead, had a couple of bad turns, some struggled with addiction, cleaned up his act. He's a bit of a lone wolf, does suicide missions and the like. Don't cross him, girly. He's his own emergency contact, which tells you how much he has to lose."

"How much do we have to lose?"

"Our lives. If you're willing to take that risk, then you're in. You're involved. And there is no backing out, Kit. If you're in, then you are in. No half-assing anything."

"That is understood."

He held out a hand, "Do we have a deal then?"

"I believe we do." She shook it.

"Our first job is to do a recon mission, assess the exact threat the team poses to the success of our mission."

"Then I suggest we not discuss something so essential when we are so close to the White House."

"How patriotic."

"You imply that you are not American."

"I am. You on the other hand… are a freelancer, yes?"

"Yes. But I don't think my personal qualifications count for anything."

"My boss sent you, but he's dead so I can't call him. If I didn't know better, I'd think you'd put him up to it."

"I'll meet you at the Capitol City Brewing Company restaurant downtown. In two hours."

"You have somewhere to be, Miss Hamilton?"

"I have an urgent appointment."

"Well, enjoy the freedom while it lasts. Because if any of this goes wrong… we both are punished."

She stood, and left, wrapping her arms around herself in the October chill.

This was her chance to fix things, to sabotage this deal from the inside, to stop the assassination attempt on McGee. Logically, perhaps, it was a cold-blooded move. Prevent a friend's assassination by joining the assassin's team? Ludicrous certainly.

It beat hopping the next flight to Paris.

One thing was certain. She couldn't be affected by everything that had occurred since she had left. It had been her own decision to go back to Israel. She could not go back and change it now. Her daughter was safe. Tony was safe. She had missed three years, and she had to let that go.

She had to focus on her job. But was she really doing the right thing?

There was only one way to find out.