A.N. Here goes another chapter! I really shouldn't be writing this much, but it's my birthday and I wanted to post another chapter. And it's quite a long one for me too. So read and review! Remember, constructive critics are more than welcome.
And many thanks to the amazing Kakyd, once again, who proof-read this chapter for me, knidly fitting it in her hectic schedule.
Disclaimer: I still don't own NCIS. But it is my birthday, so maybe I will later today!
Chapter Seven
Ziva David entered the bullpen with a satisfied smirk on her face. She'd really enjoyed using her Mossad skills on the rooftops, even if it was only a fraction of what she used to do. She had wrapped those over-confident men around her little finger – rosie, Abby called it, or pinkie or something – in no time, using just a few glares, a small number of well hinted threats and trivial movements of her knifed hand. Oh, and one of her trade-mark menacing Ziva-smiles, but that didn't really count since Mossad hadn't taught her that, she'd discovered it with her siblings while trying to out-do the others' 'creepy smiles'. Ha, these men weren't likely to bother, or even look at another woman for quite some time. Yes, this was definitely putting her in a good mood.
"The helipad is cleared and I had them call your father's mixer. He will be here in forty minutes," she informed Tony, evidently pleased with herself. Abby moved to stand next to Tony's desk too, wanting her share of office conversations, still waiting for Gibbs. Ziva didn't understand the confused look her report brought to Tony's face.
"Mixer? Oh!" he laughed slightly. "You mean chopper, but close enough Zee-vah. I just won't let you near my kitchen in the near future." While her misused idioms always amused him, this time he didn't feel sufficiently relaxed to indulge himself by really teasing her. He tried anyway. "So they didn't see you, did they? You found a mask?"
Abby looked puzzled. "A mask? Why would she need a mask?"
"Oh, I was on a little mission. And don't worry about that, Tony; they are so scared by now they would probably believe you if you told them that killing me would only make me come back from the dead to drag them there with me. NCIS needs to employ people with more..." she scrambled for the right word, "more... gusto!" she finished in Italian, knowing he'd understand.
Abby laughed. She loved Ziva's falsely menacing stances. Or simply menacing stances, at least when she knew they couldn't be directed at her, because a scary Ziva could sometimes be really, well, scary when it was aimed at you.
"Ah, well, that's why they have you, Abby and me, strong figures for the public image of the agency, while people like McGee are left to do the heavy lifting." Tony replied. "And we get paid better too!" It surprised him, but this bantering was oddly comforting, like slipping back into a warm bed.
"Hey!" McGee objected from his desk. He'd been busy pretending not to be listening and was trying to concentrate on his work.
"Ha, and he takes the bait and swallows the fishing rod and the fisherman with it!" Tony shouted in his best sportscaster's voice. "I knew you were eavesdropping, McLongEars, aren't you ashamed of yourself? You know, you're still a probationary agent, so you'd better be careful around your Senior Agent."
"Tony, it's not eavesdropping if you're talking at full-voice level in the middle of the bullpen, three meters away from me," McGee responded with an exasperated sigh. Truth be told, he was glad Tony was more like his old self, yesterday's Tony had been more than a little unsettling. Of course, it also meant that he'd been able to do his job quietly for most of the day, which was always a good thing. But still, a not-unhappy Tony was making him less restless.
Gibbs chose that moment to come back from his coffee run. "When did you turn metric, McGee, what's wrong with our feet, miles and pounds?"
"Well, the metric system is the international way of measuring things, boss. The scientists who invented it decided that a quarter of the earth's circumference would be 10 000 meters, and that's how they defined the length of a meter. It's much better than the feet and miles, really, because..." McGee was about to continue with his passionate lecture when he noticed Gibbs looking at him blankly, Tony smirking behind him and Ziva elbowing Tony in the stomach. Only Abby was listening with interest, although she clearly already knew the story. "... But you don't want to know about that, boss." McGee had turned on odd shade of purple-y red. "Abby's got something for you."
Gibbs gave him one last, long, steely stare before turning to the forensic scientist. She was already grinning widely, glad to have something – in her opinion – exciting to give Gibbs. "Abby?"
"Ziva and I found something hinky in the DNAE files. The weapon-that-shall-not be named-due-to-its-secretness is a pretty standard firearm, it looks like a fairly regular anti-tank weapon."
"What kind?"
"It's almost like an M136AT-4, Gibbs," answered Ziva. He nodded for them to continue. At least he knows what an M136AT-4 is.
"But it's much, much better than that, Gibbs!" Abby squealed excitedly. "It's the projectile that's amazing. It can lock onto its prey. The bullet, I mean! Or rather missile, I mean it's too big to be a bullet, and it does have electronics inside it, so it has to be a kind of missile, but a small missile, no bigger than your two fists put together," she started muttering to herself.
"Abby," Gibbs stopped her. He needed straight, rapid answers. He had a nasty gut-feeling and wanted the case over as soon as possible. "How does it lock onto its victim?"
"It is something to do with recognising the person's heat waves' signatures, but you do not really need to know about that, Gibbs," Ziva answered for Abby. "What we have found was that something is missing." She looked to Abby to allow her to continue.
"It's the fuel. There's a small chamber in the missile that should be filled with fuel to enable all the electronics and mini-propellers to function properly. In the files, it says the fuel will be tertio-butyl(1,3)dimethylaminhexopropan-1-ol, but that's impossible. Tertio-butyl(1,3)dimethylaminhexopropan-1-ol is like the Holy Grail of combustible materials, Gibbs. Half a vodka-glass of it is supposed to create enough energy to heat a house for two month. It'd be, like, the most powerful thing on earth, apart from nuclear energy. If it existed, because no one has ever figured out how to produce it yet, since at least four of the twenty-odd reaction intermediates are highly unstable and dangerous. There are at least half a dozen teams around the world, trying to make a thimble of the super-stuff, trying to prove it's even possible to make it."
"But if they were going to use for their missile thing, someone must have made it, right?"
"I guess so. But why didn't we hear anything about it? If I succeeded in making tertio-butyl(1,3)dimethylaminhexopropan-1-ol a reality, I'd tell everyone, be in every science magazine, go on TV, sell it a thousand times, become immensely rich, rescue a hundred dogs from shelters –"
"No you wouldn't, Abby," Tony interrupted. "You'd give it to Green Peace or something."
Abby looked crest-fallen. "Oh. Yeah, I would, wouldn't I?"
Gibbs rolled his eyes and turned to Tony. "You reached you father yet?"
"Yeah he'll be here in thirty minutes. Took the chopper too, Ziva had to go make sure the guys up there will let him land."
Gibbs hesitated between smirking at the scene he could well imagine with Ziva not-so-gently 'convincing' the helipad thugs to ignore agency regulations, or scowling at DiNozzo Senior's obviously inconsiderate behaviour. He settled for a squirk, his face twisting between a scowl and a smirk, puzzling his agents, and looked at McGee.
"Still reading all you can find on DNAE?"
"Yes boss. Haven't found anything in the personnel files that indicate a link between the different potential victims apart from the fact that they all worked at DNAE, of course. They didn't know each other, they were of different cultural origins and religious beliefs, they lived in different neighbourhoods. They even worked in different labs, on different projects, although I think these projects could all be part of the secret weapon development plan, but I don't have anything to prove that yet."
"Keep looking. Abby, help him. Wait. Abby, the weapon can't be used without that fuel thing, right?"
"Absolutely. The missiles would just be regular missiles, only heavier so they probably wouldn't even hit their targets."
"Good. DiNozzo, get back to work on the rival companies. Ziva, try to find the tertio-toodahloo thing , check if any of the labs working on it have had leaks, suspicious suicides or disappearances. And call me when DiNozzo Senior gets here."
Gibbs shook his head; something felt wrong with this case, but he couldn't pinpoint it. He strode out, discouraged. He needed a place to think and try and figure out what the whole mess was, and he knew exactly where to go. The elevator.
Anthony DiNozzo Jr was waiting for his father's helicopter to finish its landing, braced against the cold chopper-induced wind. He had to brace himself against a wall to bear the force of the strong air masses. Ziva must be half my weight and she's not even bothered by the wind. How the hell does she do that? The aircraft finally landed and he decided that particular ninja mystery could wait until his father was gone.
His father hopped to the ground with an ease that surprised him, considering his age and corpulence. Then again, he had always granted a lot of importance to acting young and trendy, and Tony wasn't shocked he wouldn't let a mere physical condition slow him down.
Senior walked briskly towards his son, his hand on his silk tie to stop it from hitting his face, and took off his expensive sunglasses. "Hello again, son. Let's get out of the wind, shall we?" he screamed through the over-bearing surrounding noise. Without waiting for an answer, he headed for the door to the building.
Tony rolled his eyes at Ziva as they followed him, wanting as always to atone for his father's rudeness. Although his good-natured greeting to him had been remarkably and unusually nice...
They caught up with him on the landing where he was waiting for the elevator. "Dad," Tony started, gesturing to Ziva. "This is Officer Ziva David. She's working on this case too."
"Why, hello Officer! My, I wonder how any work gets done around here with such a pretty lady on the team." He winked. Ugh, thought Tony, I can't believe he just did that. "I hope she doesn't prove too much of a distraction to you, son," he laughed. "If he gives you any trouble at all, my dear, just give me a call. I'll suspend his allowance!"
Ziva smiled back at him, keeping her professional mask on, but Tony's eyes narrowed to a slit. He couldn't stand his father flirting with her. Before he could say anything, however, Ziva answered his father's uncalled-for compliments.
"He is no trouble at all, sir, and he knows I could kill him with a shirt button and make it look like an accident, so I think I can defend myself if he ever does act up too much," she stuck up to her partner while retaining her pleasant demeanour.
DiNozzo Sr firmly kept the wide smile on his face but it was quickly turning into one of the forced, uncertain smiles people often had when first told of Ziva's special skills. A shirt button? How could anyone be killed with a shirt button? She's kidding, right?
Tony chuckled, relieved to see Ziva being... well being her typical self, and happy to see his usually well-composed, over-confident father squirm a little.
"Don't worry, Dad, I also know where she hides all her knives in her clothes, so I'll be careful and although I'll try not to get killed by my partner anytime soon, I may actually win if she attempts to stab me."
"Ha! You wish, Tony," Ziva snorted back playfully.
Senior swallowed painfully. This woman was making him seriously nervous. That was unusual for him, to be nervous because of a gorgeous young woman. As a matter of fact, that type of women generally made him feel the opposite of anxious; he was supposed to be the predator, the older man with the devastating smile and the over-flowing bank account who could win over anyone. He wasn't supposed to be intimidated!
"Is that lift coming or not?" he asked, hitting the button several times.
Tony and Ziva exchanged a smirk at the abrupt change in the conversation. "We should probably take the stairs. Ziva, call Gibbs?" He steered his father into the staircase, letting the door slam shut behind them.
Ziva flipped open her phone and dialled Gibbs' number – never save phone numbers in your cell, Ziva, you never know who might find them and use them to pressure you. She was startled when it rang next to her, in the wall... of the lift. The elevator doors dinged open and Gibbs looked out at her, his phone dangling in his hand. "You done tormenting the DiNozzo's, Ziva?" he sneered.
Of course Gibbs heard the whole thing, Ziva thought. I shouldn't even be surprised, he always does. Ha, the elevator trick is a new one though. Tony's going to love it.
"Never," she smiled.
Gibbs' lips tugged up a bit. "Come on Ziva, get in. We've got work to do downstairs. And if you're good, I'll give you one of the DiNozzos to pester."
