Chapter 7

"I'm not a flight risk, Boss."

"I know."

Realizing the conversation had died in less than ten words, Tony looked around. What in the hell was he going to do in a basement full of wood and sawdust?

Drink.

He dug around behind the turpentine and paint strippers until he found what he was looking for: an almost full bottle of Jack Daniels. Nice. He grabbed two jars, blew in each, and poured. He downed his glass before his boss even realized he had one waiting. Two more were slung back before he began to wonder how many it would take to numb his brain.

"Take it easy there, DiNozzo."

"Why?"

Gibbs studied him. He liked to study his agents, and in particular this one. There were times when he would sit at his desk and covertly watch him work. Sometimes, he thought he could actually see his brain synapses making connections and coming to conclusions right before his very eyes. And now was no different. He may have had a couple of drinks in him, but he was still one of the most interesting people to watch.

"I don't get it," Tony started. "Why is it always me? Why is it that I'm always the one that has to come up with an alibi? Why can't it be McGee? He's smarter than me. Or Ziva? She's … well…Ziva. What's your rule again, Boss? If you think they're out to get you, they probably are?"

Gibbs put down his tool and gave his senior agent his full attention. A guy like Tony had to be handled. He may not realize that's what was happening, but he was being allowed to vent because if he weren't, a guy like Tony could become unpredictable, a flight risk if he felt backed into a corner, or worse.

"I read the report, Boss. I know what time the heist took place and I know what time Brianne left my apartment. Once Slacks puts it together, he's gonna steamroll me." Tony poured another shot and downed it. After the burning sensation eased, he began again, "The sad part is I don't have any jewels. It'd be one thing if I did, but I don't. How do you break into a vault like that anyways? Between you and me, I've always wanted to know if I could do something like that," he reluctantly admitted. "You know, walk on the other side of the law for a change, but I would never actually try such a caper."

Gibbs cocked his head at the admission.

"What's the use? He's out to get me, Gibbs, and unless I can prove I didn't do it, I think they could present a pretty convincing case that I did. DNA evidence and no alibi? —Great, Tony, you've screwed up again." He downed one more shot of whiskey and winced at it going down. "Where do you want me to sleep?"

Gibbs could see his pupils dilate. "Pick a room."

Tony moved slowly, his head reeling from the alcohol. He probably could have done without that last shot, especially since he was drinking on an empty stomach. He ascended the stairs, walked down the hall, and stumbled up one more flight to the bedrooms. He tried the first door he came to and, not expecting it to be locked, he slammed into it, damn near breaking his nose. Door number three was the magic door and he opened it wide; he wasn't even sure whose room it was, but at this point, he really didn't care. For all he knew it could have been Gibbs' room. He only bothered to take off his tie and dress shirt before he fell back on the mattress knowing that slumber was going to be anything but blissful.

Gibbs stayed up another couple of hours, working on his boat and running the events of the case through his head. If Tony couldn't come up with an alibi, an eighty-percent match was more than enough to convict him. But why wasn't the match a hundred percent? That kept niggling at his brain. At eighty, you'd think of an identical twin, but Tony's an only child. When Abby ran the evidence against a current hair sample of Tony's, the match was even lower, barely, but lower, at eighty-one percent. What does that mean?

Gibbs eventually made his way upstairs to the sofa. He sat a moment before deciding to stroll to the second floor and check on his house guest. Tony had managed to find the right room but he was still mostly clothed and still wearing his shoes. Quietly, he pulled each one off and swung his legs up and over. He stared another moment, then took his shoes and closed the door behind him. "Can't be too careful," he mumbled, feeling guilty for taking them. The soft leather felt like butter on his hands, and he thought it no wonder that Tony likes these shoes so much. He returned to his living room where he set the pair of Ferragamos next to the chair and then took up his usual prone position on the couch.

It wasn't quite four in the morning when he heard footsteps. Gibbs lay silently, feigning sleep. He didn't need eyes to know the person walking around his living room was wearing hard soled shoes, eliminating Tony as the possible intruder. He slid his hand between the cushions and found the cold hard steel of a small caliber hand-gun. Withdrawing it slowly he opened one eye.

"Hello."

Gibbs recognized the voice before he recognized the person. "Mr. DiNozzo?"

"Yes, but please, call me Tony, or Anthony, or Senior, just not Mister."

Gibbs sat up and rubbed a hand down his face, suppressing a yawn along the way. "So Tony gets it honestly."

Anthony DiNozzo, Sr. smiled ruefully, and then asked, "I bet you're wondering what I'm doing in your living room?"

"No. I know it has something to do with your son."

"You're right about that." After an awkward pause, he said, "May I sit down?"

Gibbs nodded with his head and stood, trying to get his joints to work and make his legs move. After making a pit stop, he returned with two cups of black coffee and handed one over.

"Thanks. It's been a long night."

"So what's on your mind?"

Senior took a sip, letting it slide down his throat, and deliberately considering his opening statement to a man he didn't particularly care for, but respected. "This isn't easy for me."

"Just start at the beginning."

He lowered his coffee mug and slowly began: "When Tony called, I was away, closing a deal in the Cayman Islands. I just happened to call into the office and get the message that he had called asking about a major jewelry heist. I had heard about the DC heist even before it made national headlines…" He pulled a small newspaper clipping from his wallet and handed it over. "And I knew this day had finally come."

Gibbs furrowed his brow at the last comment, feeling impatient, but at the same time, not sure he wanted him to continue. He took the article and read the headlines, "Cat Burglar Strikes Again."

"I tried to tell Tony what I knew when I called him back, but I couldn't get the words out. I knew I wasn't making any sense." Mr. DiNozzo stopped, overcome with emotion which he was quick to control. "Like I said, this isn't easy."

"Take your time," Gibbs muttered before he could stop himself.

"If you don't mind my asking, what evidence do they have against Tony?"

"DNA match."

"Oh."

"Can you tell me why there's a DNA match between a crime scene and one of my agents?"

"Yes, I… I think I can." He took another sip of coffee, formulating his words. "I have to take you back a ways… a long ways back, actually, in order for you to understand. It all started about six months after Elizabeth and I were married. It was about that time that I went on a business trip to California. While I was having drinks in the hotel bar, I was approached by a young lady; a spectacularly beautiful young lady who happened to be Italian. We enjoyed a late dinner, some easy conversation, and eventually we went back to my room.

"I know what you're thinking, Agent Gibbs, but… promiscuity is a lifestyle choice, one that I've come to enjoy over the years. As much as I tried to be faithful, it isn't in my blood. Elizabeth knew about my indiscretions but she chose to either ignore them or pretend they didn't exist, whatever the reason, she never said anything to me, and I never flaunted another women in front of her or made her feel less of a wife. And to be fair to Elizabeth, she was, and still is, the only woman I ever loved.

"What does this have to do with Tony?"

"Dolcita, my Italian beauty, and I embarked on a three year long relationship. She accompanied me on my business trips and I took her to some of the most exotic places in the world. She was accepted among my colleagues as they themselves, respected businessmen from around the country, also took their mistresses on their business trips, leaving their wives behind to take care of the children and household affairs.

Gibbs sipped on his coffee, wondering if it was possible to loathe this man more than he already did.

"My wife, Elizabeth, and I had been trying to have a baby for several years, but it wasn't happening. She eventually got tested and we learned that she had a rare genetic disorder that all but made her barren. She dealt with it by diving into her charity work." He paused long enough to observe his listener's expression. "To be honest, Gibbs, Elizabeth was always my first choice to accompany me on my business trips, but she would more often decline than accept. I may be a cad, but I never treated my wife with anything but the upmost respect. I loved her very much, and she loved me, which is why I think she let me be who I am.

After saying his peace, Senior leaned back in his chair and continued, "It was during the winter when my life turned upside down. Dolcita and I were in Bangkok, eating dinner when she told me the news. She told me she was pregnant. At first, I didn't believe it could be mine, but I knew better. I suggested an abortion, but she was against it. I offered to put her up anywhere in the world, but she declined. I even suggested that she put the baby up for adoption. I told her to name her price, that money was no object and she could have whatever she wanted. She smiled at all my suggestions, dismissing each and everyone with just a shrug. Eventually, she took my hand and said she didn't need my money. I thought she wanted to end our relationship and raise the baby by herself, but she didn't want to do that either. Finally, when I had exhausted all possible solutions, she asked me a very strange question. She asked if Elizabeth and I would take the baby and raise it as our own.

"The entire request was absurd, Gibbs! I wasn't about to hurt Elizabeth with this sort of news and for the first time in my life, I was at a loss for what to do. I felt myself getting angry at Dolcie. Like I said, the entire request was absolutely ridiculous. At least until she told me why: A baby would interfere with her career."

Gibbs raised his eyebrows and Senior noticed. "That's what I asked: what career? To my knowledge she never did anything but look beautiful and accompany me on business trips. Little did I know…

"That night, she told me everything. She told me what she did for a living. She's a thief. I mean a world class professional thief. She told me about the time she stole an original Picasso while we were in Barcelona; she told me about stealing an artifact from the Tsar's collection while we were in St. Petersburg; a vase from the Ming Dynasty while we were in Beijing. The list goes on and on, Gibbs. I started recollecting all my business trips with her and soon discovered that wherever we went, a major theft occurred. I was her perfect cover as no one suspected us. The thefts were always done during a cocktail party or while we were sleeping so she always had an alibi; not that anyone came accusing, but if they had, she had it covered."

Gibbs had to force himself to blink. The story was almost too fantastic to believe but definitely not one that could have been fabricated.

Senior fumbled around inside his wallet and pulled out several other newspaper clippings and set them on the table. "I had my secretary research the thefts and everything she said was true. I should have guessed something was going on when she never asked me for money and she always seemed to be wearing new designer outfits and expensive jewelry every time we were together. When I would admire her wardrobe and inquire about affording it, she'd just brush me off with a little laugh and say she came from a wealthy family. And I had no reason to doubt her."

Senior became pensive, lost in thought, staring off into the distance, so Gibbs gently nudged him on, "What'd you do?"

Senior blinked, leaving that far off place in favor of the present. "Well, one evening I admitted everything to Elizabeth—well, almost everything, I didn't mention Dolcita's preferred profession. But I did tell her about how we met, the places we went, how long we'd known each other, and even her pregnancy. I was mentally prepared for Elizabeth to ask for a divorce and kick me out of the house right there on the spot." He paused remembering that period of his life. "You know, I've closed deals with very powerful men, and I've entertained heads of state, but I've never been more nervous than I was that night talking to her about adopting a baby that I'd managed to create with my mistress."

"How'd she take the news?"

Senior raised his brows and lifted his shoulders. "Like she hadn't heard a word I said. She kissed me good night and rolled over to sleep. I waited for it all to hit her and for her to become maniacal, but that never happened. I took my pillow and went to one of the guest rooms, afraid that when it all sunk in, she'd be inconsolable. I don't know what's worse, Gibbs, reacting violently or having no reaction whatsoever? I think having no reaction is worse because I had no idea how to move forward.

"Anyway, she came to me the next morning with one simple question: 'Does Dolcita want to be a part of the baby's life?' I told her no; Dolcita only wanted the child to have a good life, to have loving parents." Senior leaned forward and stared Gibbs right in the eyes, "That's when she said, 'Okay'."

Gibbs was out of coffee and could sure use another cup, but he didn't dare break Senior's concentration. "So you adopted the baby?"

"No. I was already the baby's father, but Elizabeth wasn't, so she adopted the baby when he was two days old. Dolcita gave birth that summer and true to her word, she never even held him. Instead, she paid cash for her hospital stay and left. I never saw her again."

"And the baby?"

He could barely make eye contact with the federal agent. He answered, "The baby grew up to be your agent."

Gibbs shook his head. He'd heard some pretty unbelievable stories in his lifetime, but this one takes the cake. He put the pieces together in his head and finally said, "So Tony's biological mother is not the same mother who raised him?"

"That's right."

"Does Tony know?"

"No."

"But Tony's biological mother is a professional thief."

"Not just a professional thief, Gibbs, but a world class cat burglar."

Gibbs thought about the story and eventually formulated a question, "So, you'd like me to believe that the hair found at the crime scene isn't Tony's, but his biological mother's? Nice try, but DNA can determine the sex, and the sex of the hair left behind was male."

Senior looked down into his coffee and said, "There's more to my story."

Gibbs hardened his lips and wondered what more could be told.

"One of the nurses in the nursery told me that just before Dolcita left, she had asked for a lock of hair from her son. The nurse thought the request was a strange one but she obliged and cut off a strand and tied a blue ribbon around it, wrapped it in paper and gave it to her."

This caught Gibbs' attention. Now they had something to work with. "Can you get in touch with Dolcita?"

Senior shook his head, "I never saw her again and she never tried to contact us. I thought after Elizabeth died, that she might come back, but she never did."

"Where can we find her?"

Senior pointed to the old newspaper clippings and said, "You can follow her like I've done, but you'll never catch her. She could be anywhere in the world, and most likely is. After she pulls a heist, she goes underground for anywhere from six to twenty-four months, depending on the size of the job, the pursuit, and what's in the future."

Gibbs needed more coffee if he was going to think this one out and stood up, saying, "You want a refill?"

Senior handed his glass over but Gibbs almost dropped it when he saw the figure sitting on the steps. "How long have you been there?" he murmured.

"Long enough," Tony said.

Senior turned around in his chair and saw his son. "How much did you hear?"

"Too much."

"I'm sorry, Junior. I had no idea you were here."

Tony was just trying to wrap his brain around what he'd just heard. It was hard enough to learn that his mother wasn't really his mother, but it was even harder to digest the fact that his biological mother was still alive. The fact that she's a world class thief explains a lot though. It also explains his disdain for his father. He had so many questions about his real mother, but he wasn't sure if his father was the best one to ask. He simply asked, "Can I see those clippings?"

Senior handed them over and Tony began to read each word of every article. Gibbs returned with three mugs and observed his senior field agent.

The word defeated came to mind.

Chapter 8

Fornell stood in front of Gibbs' desk, annoyed, "You think what?"

"I think we're looking for a woman, possibly in her mid to late fifties."

"How'd you manage to go from here to there?"

"Easy, I think your suspect is a woman based on the equipment used. That pulley is only designed to hold a maximum weight of 120 pounds."

Fornell argued, "That just proves he had an accomplice working with him, doing all the heavy work so to speak. DiNozzo was in that room, Jethro, and we have DNA to prove it."

"Where is he?" Sacks demanded, annoyed that the man he had come to arrest wasn't around.

"I dropped him off at his apartment. He'll be in shortly. Ziva, I want you to run down all known addresses on a woman named Dolcita Vochelli. McGee, I want you to pull her records."

"Jethro," Fornell said, wondering what in the hell was going on, "I told you that we wouldn't arrest him yesterday, but we're taking a lot of heat for it. The Bhutan Embassy is making threats, my bosses are breathing down my neck, hell, everyone is asking me why I haven't brought in our number one prime suspect, and I can't give them an answer!"

Gibbs stood up, angered by the lack of vertical thinking on the part of the FBI. "What do you know about that heist?"

Fornell was taken aback by the accusatory tone, "I know that we have DNA linking DiNozzo to it."

"The FBI must be working on half a dozen heists that are all similar. Are you going to tie Tony to all of them?"

"If I can, but right now, I can tie him to one, that's all I need. Then l'll widen my net."

Ziva tuned out the conversation when she was startled by a well dressed woman who stopped in front of her desk and said, "I'm here to see Special Agent Gibbs."

The woman's green eyes were penetrating as her raven hair cascaded over her shoulders and offered a stark contract against her white linen suite. She had a presence about her that made people stop what they were doing and listen, or at the very least, look. She was regal in her appearance and everything about her demeanor commanded respect. Ziva looked sideways and said, "He is there."

The bullpen became eerily silent. The men in the room sensed that she was cool and controlled, yet dangerous, and nobody really wanted to cross her. "Agent Gibbs?" she asked.

"Yes."

"My name is Dolcita Vochelli, and I think you already know why I'm here."

TBC