Chapter 3
The middle-aged bartender of the Dublin's Mist passed his eye over the room as he slowly wiped the bar top with his hand cloth. He gave a sigh and shook his head; less than half full again- the second straight Friday to happen. Only a few people sitting at the bar itself, plus a few others scattered around at the tables. The Dublin's Mist wasn't very big- hell, it could probably fit into his backyard, which was saying something- but goddamn it, it was the end of the week! People were supposed to let themselves off their pegs at the end of the week. Many did, but unfortunately very few let themselves down and hopped over here to do it. This little bar received only a few die-hard loyalists who refused to let the innovation of high-priced bars and clubs in the main city draw them away. He felt a sense of pride in that; fifteen years working and managing this place, and it still was bringing in the cash, sparse as it may be.
His eye drifted over the far right side of the bar to the sole individual seated in the area. The bartender's brow furrowed; the man had been sitting there for nearly fifteen minutes. Hadn't ordered anything, just sat there staring straight ahead, occasionally drumming his fingers on the bar. He was dressed very unusually for these parts in an entirely black outfit comprising of leather trench coat, leather pants, leather gloves, and what he assumed to be a sort of vest zipped to the bottom of his neck. The man was also wearing rectangular-shaped, reflective, thin sunglasses; despite the darkness and pouring rain outside, he had come in wearing them and he still wore them now. Staring straight ahead with the shades, his eyes were impossible to see. The bartender got an uneasy feeling in his stomach; generally, in his lifetime, whenever someone refused to show him their eyes, it meant they had something to hide. He didn't like that. If this man was out to make trouble, he was going to put an end to it before it even began.
Drawing himself up, the bartender sauntered over just left of where the man was sitting across from the bar. The man's fingers were drumming again, as though he were patiently waiting for something to happen.
Leaning over to try to see the man's face more clearly, the bartender murmured, "You're new to these parts, aren't you?"
The man's fingers stopped drumming. Slowly, his head turned towards the elder man. The bartender felt a slight shiver pass down his spine; though the only thing he could see in the man's glasses was his own reflection, he got the sense that behind them was a very shady and possibly dangerous individual. He suddenly started mentally cursing himself for forgetting to bring his shotgun like he usually did- this may be the one time he actually needed it.
The man stared at him impassively a moment longer. Then a smile started to crease his lips. The smile gave way, and the man gave a low chuckle just barely audible to the bartender, who was now more confused than nervous. The coated man gave another small smile, and, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise, said in a low, gravelly voice, "How did you possibly guess?"
The bartender gave a slight shrug, as if it were of no importance.
Keeping his smirk-like smile on his face, the man's ears tuned into an approaching sound outside; the sound of fast-moving footsteps. Though no one else could hear it, his enhanced abilities permitted him to pick them up. Then, in the far distance, he heard a female voice calling out, "Asher…"
Keeping his face turned towards the bartender, the man said in an abrupt tone, "Tell me something. This little dive of yours- is it insured against... utter destruction?"
"Utter destruction?" The barman sounded incredulous as he repeated the words. "No, why would you ask a thing like that?"
The man shrugged. Turning back to staring straight ahead, he shook his head and clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "Too bad…"
Staring at the mysterious individual a second longer, the bartender was distracted by a noise coming from near the front entrance of the bar. A woman's voice shouting, "Asher!" There was a pause. Then from right outside the door came an even louder yell. "ASHER!"
The coated man breathed in a deep breath. Though his eyes were hidden from view, the bartender could almost picture them closed, as though anticipating what was going to happen next.
A few seconds passed. Then there was a loud crash as the door was kicked open and swung around. A drenched Ziva, wearing a black short-sleeved shirt that looked be soaked to the skin, literally prowled into the bar, her face contorted in anger as she drew in deep breaths. Everyone else in the bar spun around to see what was going on.
Everyone but the coated figure. Ziva's eyes zeroed in on the man wearing the long, black, high-collared leather trench coat.
The man's head slowly moved to the left, and then turned around to stare at the enraged Mossad officer standing in the doorway. Ziva gritted her teeth. Even with the sunglasses, she knew it was him- same short dark hair, same shaped, stubble beard, same cruel expression.
And the same low, gravelly voice. "Well, well, well," the man said slowly, a toothy grin stretching across his mouth. He reached up and slowly slid the shades of his face, revealing those two cold, dark eyes. Drawing himself up to full sitting height, he said in the same low tone, "Look who finally decided to come crawling out of her cave."
Ziva's mouth pulled downwards even more, her focus so concentrated on Asher that she almost didn't hear the bartender's firm voice, "Look you two, I don't know what this is about, but you're not settling this in here. You got a problem with each other, take it someplace else."
In a low tone that practically vibrated with anger, Ziva said, "Anyone in this building who is not a sociopathic animal better leave right now."
Slowly, she drew her weapon from her holster. That was all it took to get her point across. Everyone else immediately got up off their seats and made a dash for the front door, even the bartender, who seemed to lose his confidence. The look of curiosity on Asher's face slowly gave way to a wide-eyed, toothy smile.
Ziva continued to stare furiously at Asher while the patrons swept passed her and out of the building. The man turned his head to the side, regarding Ziva with a look of interest.
The last customers raced out the door. As it swung shut behind them, Ziva breathing in and out at a dangerously audible level, stared at Asher with a look of absolute fury and hatred. For a moment, neither of them said a word. Then Ziva, her voice shaking with rage, broke the silence with a single word. "Why?"
Asher furrowed his brows in a look of confusion. His eyes moved the top right corner of their sockets, as though searching his brain for the answer to a complex physics question. "Why?" His tone was incredulous, his eyebrows raised high, his eyes open wide and staring straight at her. He cocked his head to the side, his mouth slightly open, his eyes narrowed in her direction. Then, a moment later, they opened wider as a low, evil-sounding chuckle escaped from his throat.
Ziva continued to stare at him, her head pounding from clenching her jaw muscles so tightly.
Asher tucked his sunglasses into his inner coat pocket and slowly stood up. "You quit the team in Somalia without leaving so much as an e-mail address." He spoke in a slightly louder voice, turned towards the left side of the room. He turned towards her and started walking slowly in her direction. "You don't check on the status of your former teammates. You don't recognize the good doctor from Ohio." He spoke methodically, his hands punctuating each point.
"So tell me," he stopped and stared at her with a semi-blank look on his face. "What else was I supposed to do to get your attention?"
Ziva eyes bore into Asher's figure. The blood in her head pumping even harder and faster, she said, in a furious low voice, "You killed three good agents, and left one of my closest friends to die- to get my attention??"
A small smirk appeared on his face. "As I told you in Mogadishu, Ziva," he raised his eyebrows slightly, "I always made far better entrances than you."
He slowly closed his left fist tightly, causing a low cracking sound, before slowly opening it again.
The two glared at each other for a moment, each boring a hole into the other with their eyes, both making the other feel the brunt of their mental attack…
Then, in a lighting flash, Ziva aimed her gun at Asher and started squeezing off rounds.
Asher made a sudden movement to the right, and in what Ziva could only describe as a blur, was instantly to the left of her position, dodging her bullets. She continued firing, and in another blur, Asher lunged forward to his left and was instantly on her right closer to her position. He zipped back to her left, and then was almost instantly back on her right, bending backwards to dodge her rounds, moving closer to her with each movement. By the time of the fourth dodge, he was less than ten feet away, and leaped towards her before she could react. He grabbed her right wrist with his left hand and her weapon with his right. Pushing her gun to his left, away from him, he sent it spinning to the floor. Immediately, he sent a right hook straight into Ziva's jaw. The force of the impact caught her completely off guard, and she spun to her right. In another blur, he was at her right side again, and sent a vicious elbow into her ribcage. Doubling over in the sudden pain, she just barely saw his right palm come up and hit her right under the chin. The force lifted her off her feet, and she momentarily felt weightless in the air before his forearm came crashing down on her chest, driving her to the hard floor and knocking the wind out of her. Asher launched into a perfect back flip, landing completely out of reach of any retaliatory move by his opponent. Staring at her with interested eyes, he said casually, without the slightest loss of breath, "Oh, by the way Ziva, I've…upgraded a bit since Somalia. Just in case you haven't noticed."
Ziva grit her teeth. She was struggling to breathe, and her ribs felt like they had been at least cracked, if not broken. She had certainly not expected this. She had never seen a person move so fast. If she didn't know better, she'd have said he was teleporting. But in her mind, she knew that was impossible. And she'd have to remember that to stay alive.
She grabbed her gun and quickly aimed and fired at him again. In another blur, Asher lunged to the left, then back to the right. Before her incredulous eyes, he leapt into the air and executed a perfect horizontal 360° turn in mid-air as the bullets flew just under and over his head, the scene being so unreal, it seemed as though it was happening in slow motion. He landed on his feet, staring smugly at the Mossad officer as though waiting for more.
Ziva pulled the trigger, but the hammer just clicked. Empty. She cursed under breath for being so careless with her bullets, knowing she had no extra magazines. Without hesitation, she tossed her gun away and pulled out two of her knives, one in each hand.
Asher gave a small smirk. He leapt forward and launched himself into a series hand flips towards Ziva. In a moment he was upon her, his right palm coming close to her face. Ziva barely dodged in time, and then quickly jammed her left blade into his forearm. Using her own momentum, she swung around and jammed her right knife into the side of his neck. She let go of the handle, tearing her other knife out of his arm before stepping back and waiting for him to fall down for good.
Except he didn't fall down. Teetering slightly, Asher gave a confused look at Ziva before grabbing the handle of the blade and, in one quick motion, tore it out of his neck. Ziva stared in astonishment as she watched the wound in his flesh instantly close, with not even the slightest sign of a scar or that there had ever been a wound.
Asher gave a low chuckle and brought the knife up to his face. "What was that you once told me about needing only one shot to take me down?" His eyes passed over towards her. "I think you just used up your one shot." The blade disappeared down his coat arm, and he raced towards her again.
Ziva quickly grabbed her backup knife from her lower back, and lunged forward. She swung her right blade at his abdomen, and then her left one at his face, but the trench coated Asher merely ducked and dodged her attacks. She swung her right blade at his head, and he easily grabbed her wrist before she could land the blow. Quick as a flash, she flipped her other knife so that the handle was closer to her thumb, and rammed her fist into his jaw.
Ziva let slip a cry of pain and almost dropped the knife; the man's jaw was a strong as steel- punching it made her feel like she'd just punched a slab of concrete. Asher spun her around; Ziva came back with a swinging kick, only to have her opponent catch it nonchalantly. Asher immediately kicked the thigh of her other leg, sending a wave of pain shooting through her leg and launching her into the air. In a heartbeat, he launched himself backwards, pressing his palms against the floor with his feet up in the air, and then launched a devastating handspring mule kick into her back. Ziva went flying through the air over the bar and crashed, face first into the rows of bottles behind. She crumpled to the ground, hitting the back of her head against the bar as shattered glass and alcoholic liquid came falling down onto her.
Asher paused for a moment and cocked his head, as though assessing on whether the battle was already over.
A moment passed with no sign of life. Then, from behind the bar, came the cracking of glass. A second later, the Israeli staggered to her feet. Her face was cut with dozens of tiny wounds, but she still held onto her knives, and her eyes were still locked onto her target. With an enhanced effort, she flipped back over to the other side of the bar. Asher grinned and dashed towards her.
Ziva tried a straight stab with her right blade; Asher caught her hand and forearm and, in another blur, had delivered another elbow to her damaged ribs. Ziva double over as the pain swept through her entire midsection. Another blur and Asher had caught Ziva by the throat and was lifting her, with one hand, into the air. For a brief moment, Ziva's only sensation was being lifted through the air with Asher's vice-like grip on her throat. Then a second later, he slammed her down with all his force onto the bar. The wood on the top cracked and splintered, and Ziva's ribcage felt like it had exploded. Still gripping her by the throat, Asher started pulling her along the top of the bar with one hand; the splintered wood poked and stabbed through Ziva's thin shirt into her back. She gave a mighty gasp for air.
Reaching the end of the bar, Asher lifted Ziva off the top and brought her up right in front of him. For a second, he let go, and she felt weightless for a second again. Then, without warning, he rammed his left palm into her upper chest, sending her flying back towards the front of the room, where she crashed in front of the large window on the floor.
A gleam came into Asher's eye, and he said in a rather thoughtful tone, "You know, Ziva, I think it's starting to get a little rowdy in here." He cocked his head. "What do you say we take this outside?"
Ziva struggled to get to her feet. Her chest was killing her, and she could feel the stinging of glass shards in her face. But she willed herself to try to stand.
Asher ran towards her and leapt forward. Landing on his palms, he flipped himself over and launched himself, boots first, at Ziva.
Ziva managed to get to her feet a split second before the collision. One second she was staring at the oncoming human missile towards her, the next the boots were crashing against her chest, lifting her off her feet, and sending her crashing through the large window.
She fell heavily to the wet ground as thousands of glass shards fell all around her. She turned her head in an effort to avoid being blinded, and as a result didn't see Asher grab her by the front of her shirt and fling her away from him. She sailed through the air and crashed violently against a large metal dumpster, knocking the wind out of her again as she crumpled to the ground. Even though it was no longer raining, the ground was still very wet and it was quite dark out. Very dangerous conditions for her.
Still hanging onto her knives, she made an exhaustive effort to get to her feet, and managed to do just in time to see a grinning Asher make his way towards her. She went for a right stab, only to get Asher's fist deliver a vicious left hook which snapped her head back. Her jaw vibrating with pain, she quickly turned back and went to deliver a left strike; Asher nonchalantly swatted her hand away. She came up with her right one again; Asher grabbed her arm with his left hand and delivered a quick right blow to her ribs. Ziva gave a gasp of pain, and gave an all out yell when he clamped his right hand right over her ribcage. Using her own body as handles, Asher wheeled and pitched her right over his shoulder, smashing her into the dumpster once again and sending her to the ground.
The coated man gave a curious expression and walked to Ziva's left side as she made another painstaking effort to stand. "You know I really hate to say it Ziva, but, frankly," he shook his head pitifully, "I'm very disappointed."
Using every ounce of her strength, Ziva pulled herself back to her feet. Asher scoffed and shook his head. "Do yourself a favour and stay down…"
Ziva locked eyes with Asher and, muscles tensed up, she made a rush towards him. She swung with a left upper knife cut which Asher quickly dodged, and then a strike with her right one; Asher caught her by the wrist and spun her around so that he now had his back to the dumpster. Ziva suddenly whirled around and stabbed her knife into Asher's right shoulder, just as his iron-like fingers clamped onto hers.
Ziva grit her teeth and closed her eyes; pain was racing throughout her shoulder as Asher kept his vice grip locked on. She opened her eyes to see him gritting his own teeth as she held the knife buried into his flesh. He grabbed hold of her left forearm, she did the same to him, and letting out growls of pain and frustration, he pushed her backwards in an effort to get into better position.
Clenching her teeth, Ziva tore his hand away from her shoulder, ignoring the pain that went ripping down her arm, and, using his body for leverage, launched a powerful dropkick into his chest. Asher went flying backwards and crashed into the dumpster himself. Looking up, he gritted his teeth and let out a low growl. Running on pure adrenaline, Ziva picked herself up and went charging towards him. In another blur, Asher was suddenly on top of Ziva's shoulders, facing the opposite direction of her. He quickly launched himself into a backwards flip, landing on his feet, and sending Ziva flying blindly, upside down. Her lower back smashed into the top of the dumpster, and she crumpled to the ground yet again.
Asher waited a moment and stared at the motionless figure. Then he walked quickly towards her and seized her by the neck. As he brought her up towards him by the throat, Ziva suddenly made a stab towards his face with her right blade. Asher automatically caught her wrist with his left hand, and held it firmly. Ziva clenched her jaw and tried to force the blade towards him, but he had an iron grip on her arm, and she couldn't move it an inch. Even though the blade was mere centimetres from his face, Asher didn't as much as blink. His face remained largely expressionless as he said in a calm voice, "Like to kill me wouldn't you?"
Ziva clenched her jaw even more. Asher merely shrugged. "Should have done that when you had the chance."
In the blink of an eye, he launched a spinning backwards kick to the backs of her knees. As her legs flew up into the air, he launched a straight kick right to her side, sending her slamming into the dumpster once again. Her knives flew from her hands, and she didn't get up again. Instead, she made an effort to painfully roll over onto her stomach.
Asher walked in front of her, staring down at the Mossad officer pitifully, as if observing a child that has miserably failed to walk without falling. "Just when are you going to get it through that thick skull of yours?" he asked brusquely. "These pathetic individuals you surround yourself with are the very cause of the entire world's corruption. We are nothing like them. We never will be. Why do you…insist on dragging on yourself down to their level?"
Drawing in pained breaths, Ziva stared up at the man she so violently hated. "I…" she began, "…am nothing," she took several more breaths, "like you…"
A small smile spread over Asher's face. "Of course you are." he said, shaking his head. He shrugged. "You just haven't realized it yet."
He turned to go, then stopped and said, "Oh, yeah." He flipped out the knife Ziva had stabbed him with from his coat arm. "I think this belongs to you."
With deadly speed and accuracy, he hurled the knife towards Ziva's leg; it buried herself deep into her thigh. The Israeli let out a cry of agony and pain that filled the air.
Asher stared down at her, his expression somewhere between satisfaction and regret. "Old partner…"
He turned on his heel and raced off into the night. Ziva lay on the ground in absolute agony. Every single part of her body ached. The last thing she recalled before blacking out was the wail of sirens in the distance…
