Chapter 6

"What the hell do you mean you can't find any Caf-Pows? How the hell do you expect Abby to do her job?" Gibbs shouted into his cell phone. He stood listening for a few seconds then abruptly started up again. "Palmer, I don't think you understand the severity of the situation. We have three junior field operatives dead; dead, you hear me? You know, like those in the morgue you cut up on a day to day basis every day of your glorious life? Dead! On top of that, we have two main squad members severely injured and lying in this hospital…McGee and Ziva…Yes, Ziva; you know, as in the Ziva that sits in the main bullpen area and could snap your neck with one flick of her wrist…Oh, now you know what I'm talking about. Well here's something you may not have figured out yet: if Abby doesn't have her daily supply of caffeine, she won't be able to do her work. And if she can't do her work, she won't be able to find out who's responsible for this delightful situation that we find ourselves in. And if she isn't able to find out who's responsible for this, you can order Ducky to start filling out your own autopsy report…You get bet your scrawny ass that I'm serious! If the next time I call NCIS Abby hasn't been able to find anything because of something you couldn't be bothered to do, so help me, you will be in this hospital alongside McGee in intensive care!"

He abruptly terminated the call. Letting out a large sigh, he rubbed his temples with his fingers. This day was really starting to get to him- his nerves had been pushed to the edge and his self-restraint, usually endless, was cracking and teetering. He supposed that was what had caused him to lash out at Palmer like that. He knew technically he shouldn't have; after all, it wasn't Palmer who usually brought Abby her required Caf-Pows, and it sure as hell wasn't his fault that McGee and Ziva were lying in this hospital. Still, sometimes the man just didn't understand how vital and important things were to him, and if it got the results that they so desperately needed, well, the junior ME could use a good scare.

Fingering his cell phone, Gibbs clenched his jaw as he went through the entire scene over in his head: Ziva's frantic phone call to him, finding McGee's bloody and motionless body in the field, seeing Ziva race off unexpectedly and without explanation, and now seeing the near indestructible Mossad assassin beaten like a punching bag. How could this have happened? What could he have done to prevent it? In his mind, he kept blaming himself for it, constantly going over the scenario, trying to figure out what he could have done to prevent this from ever happening. So far, all he'd gotten was a big blank and his own thoughts telling him it was his fault.

With an angry grunt, Gibbs ploughed his fist into the wall; the release of some of the pent up emotion quickly raced through his body, and he felt at least some of the weight on his shoulders lift off. For a second, he felt better than he had in several hours; however, the feeling of relief was suddenly and abruptly cut short when he felt sharp pain roaring through his hand. Gritting his teeth, he clenched and unclenched his fist slowly in an effort to deaden it.

"I really hope you're not intending to give yourself a reason to stay in this hospital alongside Ziva and McGee boss." Tony's voice emulated from his right. "I've seen what happens when you're not right up there to take command of the situation; it's not a pretty sight."

Gibbs turned towards the senior field agent, ready to give a scathing comment to him as he usually did, when he stopped himself. Tony was doing his best to lighten the mood as best he could. He desperately wanted to be able to get out and track down the man responsible for putting his agents in here, but he knew that there was nothing he could do until the results of Abby's tests came in. It would be unfair to attack Tony for something he had no control over.

Massaging his hand, Gibbs slowly shook his head. "I'm sorry, DiNozzo," he said. "I'm just a little… on the edge. This whole business has got me rattled, and there's not much we can do to ease it."

"We're doing the best we can boss." Tony reminded him. "It's not our fault this happened, and it's not our fault that we can't magically snap our fingers to find a solution to it. There's nothing we could have done differently."

"Isn't there?" Gibbs turned somewhat aggressively towards him. "I'm the team leader, DiNozzo; I decide what actions should be taken and which ones should be avoided. I should have seen this coming! Damn it, it's my responsibility to keep the rest of you straight and not chasing personal vendettas! I should have done something differently- sent you with McGee out to the road, stopped Ziva from going off on her own."

"And how did you plan on doing that?" Tony demanded. "There was no possible way you could have known what happened to McGee would happen. And there's no way you could have prevented Ziva from running off on her own; you know how she gets headstrong about these little idiosyncrasies of hers about relying on no one but herself. Boss, it could just have easily been you or I out there instead of McGee. What if it had been you that was ambushed? I doubt even a terrifying ex-marine sniper like you could have done anymore than McGee could have. It wasn't your fault, it wasn't mine; the only one to blame here is the bastard who put Ziva and McGee in here."

Gibbs stared at Tony for a moment. He knew technically the senior field agent was right, but that didn't make him feel any better. It was his team, his people he was continually asking to put their lives on the line with him every single day. It should have been him going to tell those junior field agents to move their asses towards the house, not McGee. It should have been him that confronted this Asher-individual, not Ziva. And all the responsibility, all the guilt that he had piled up on him was dangerously close to crashing down at any given time.

Drawing himself to full height, he mentally shook off the teetering feeling in his mind and re-entered team leader mode.

"You're right. It's no use reproaching ourselves for something that we had no control over. It'll only worsen our already bad situation. The important thing now is to find whoever did this to our friends and make sure he never sees the light of day again."

Tony nodded, though inside he was a bit taken back by this rather strong rhetoric. Though Gibbs had never been one for niceties, he rarely showed pure, true anger towards someone, and though his voice had not raised at all, his words packed a bigger punch than he heard in a very long time.

He considered saying as much to his commander, but thinking better of it, opted for, "You can say that again boss."

Gibbs nodded himself. "I'm going to go check the security situation on this floor, and make sure that the extra guards I asked for are in place. You stay here in case Abby phones with anything. If we're lucky, she may be able to get a quick lock on this guy, and we'll be one step closer to tracking him down."

If, the team leader thought grimly to himself as he began the walk towards his squad members' rooms, she's able to keep herself from cracking before the data's in her hands

***

Abby slowly brought the Caf-Pow to her lips and swallowed what must have been a quarter of the large cup. Jimmy Palmer had arrived with it a few minutes ago, which rather surprised her. Generally she had minimal contact with him, usually because his blundering about disrupted her ever increasing workload. She suspected Gibbs phoned and requested (or, knowing Gibbs, more likely threatened) that he bring her one so that she could concentrate on her work and help track down the mangy bastard responsible for hurting Ziva and McGee.

She felt a familiar wetness in her eyes, and quickly brought her fingers up to wipe it away. She didn't want to start crying again; she had done more than enough of that when she had first heard the news, and then again when she had seen McGee.

She bit her lip to keep it from trembling. Timmy…Someone had hurt her Timmy. She had literally felt her heart stop and her blood run cold when she first heard that he had been attacked and was in serious condition. And then to see him so pale, so vulnerable, so cold in that hospital bed all bandaged up with tubes attached to his body had caused her to lose her self-control once again. After she made it clear to that regulation-following prick of a doctor that she would remain by his side as long as she damn well wanted, she had held his hand and spoke to him, hoping that, by some miracle, he'd be able to hear her and come round. In truth, she didn't want to be in her lab; she wanted to be back at the hospital to watch over him. But Gibbs had made it clear that the key to making him safer was to find out who had done this to him, and the best way to do that was through the evidence left behind.

Letting out a small sniff, she prepared to test her material. The room was strangely and noticeably quieter than usual; she had put on one her many heavy metal CDs when she first arrived hoping it would lighten her mood, but instead found it somewhat out of place, as if it was trying to cover up a feeling of grief that didn't want to be suppressed. In a way, she found it better this way; the quieter, more sombre tone fit with her depressed, worried attitude.

Taking a deep breath, she pulled out one of the knives from the evidence bags in front of her. Ziva's knife. The blade of this one was covered in dried blood; normally, this would make her wonder if there was a decent chance of getting any viable DNA off of it at all. This time, however, all she could think about was how whether this blood belonged to her Israeli friend, and if so, how much more had she lost?

She had been shocked when she had heard that Ziva had been rushed to the same hospital as McGee, the result of what she had gathered to be a brutal melee fight. Ziva to her had always been the epitome of invulnerability. Her combat skills were virtually unmatched, and generally, if she decided she wanted to kill someone then they usually got killed. And yet now the Mossad officer lay in a bed similar to McGee's in the same hospital, with injuries from someone who's skills were at least as good as hers. And that scared her; anyone who could something like that to a trained assassin had to have more than just a few lessons in Tae Kwan Doe.

Setting up the computer to start running DNA tests on the bloody knife, she shook her head. A thought passed through her mind; she was thinking it before she even realized it.

Oh Ziva, what were you thinking?

***

She gripped her gun in front of her in the trademark ready position. The newly risen sun beat down on the metal barrel, making it shine in the morning sun. Only eight-thirty in the morning and already she was starting to sweat. The heat beamed down on her uncovered head. She instinctively ignored the rising temperature of her scalp.

Walking down the small side street near the front of the group, she took a brief moment to take in her surroundings. It was indeed fortunate, she thought to herself, that they had not crossed paths with any civilians. The sight of five heavily armed individuals strolling down the city's streets was likely to cause a panic amongst the residents. Any number of things could happen then; innocent people might be hurt or killed, their target may get away, anything. She was determined that was not going to happen as long as she was there.

Moving slowly, she quickly glanced around her to make sure the rest of the team was in the positions they were supposed to be. Asher, holding his pistol in the same position she was holding hers, was walking just a few feet across from her, his machine gun and sniper rifle slung on his back. Being the two most trained in detecting unseen threats, they were the ones who had taken up the frontal position in order to signal the group if they sensed any danger. Korella, scoped automatic rifle in hand, was in the centre, weapon ready to fire at the slightest thing that seemed even remotely threatening. Taking up the rear were Raynes and Mjele, making sure they weren't taken by surprise in the back.

Ziva kept her eyes and her ears open. So far, their mission had been uneventful. The only sound they had heard had been the occasional rattle of gunfire in the distance. Seeing as how the Al-Shabaab Islamist group that controlled this neighbourhood had imposed a strict curfew on it, there were virtually no civilians out yet. For the first time in her life, she felt a sense of gratitude towards an extremist group; keeping the people inside their homes would hopefully keep them safe, at least for the time being.

Walking forward slowly, Ziva suddenly sensed something- a sound. The shuffle of approaching footsteps, coming from the right of the ally they were coming to the end of. She quickly held up and hand, signalling the rest of the group to stop.

Korella, still on his toes, immediately dropped down to one knee and aimed his rifle directly ahead. "How many?" he asked under his breath.

"Three." Asher replied. He was pressed against the right side of the ally, listening attentively. "Low-level mercs, little training." He cocked his pistol. "Time to make them regret that for the rest of their miserable, short lives."

"No." Korella said. "No noise. We can't afford to give away our position, or we might have the entire neighbourhood down on us. We need to take them out as quickly and quietly as possible. Everyone against the wall."

The rest of the team pressed themselves into the same position Asher had taken up against the far wall. Pulling her knives within her grasp, Ziva listened as the footsteps continued to approach. She knew she had to make the first shot count; take down one up close and personal and then if necessary concentrate on the others.

The sound of the steps grew louder. Then, a moment later, three militants carrying Kalashnikovs over their shoulders stepped into view. Not bothering to look to their left, they passed by the ally without noticing the five heavily armed squad members. It would be a mistake they would not live to regret.

Ziva and Asher both sprang at the same time. Ziva pounced like a lion upon the first one; clamping her hand over the merc's mouth, she slashed across his throat with her blade, bringing him down to his knees and then his stomach without a sound. Asher came up behind the second one, caught hold of the merc's rifle and yanked down; caught by the strap slung around his shoulder, the merc was violently pulled backwards into the Canadian's waiting grasp. Catching hold of his head, Asher violently yanked it to the side; there was a loud crack as the man's necked snapped. The JTF2 agent let him fall to the ground, his head twisted at an awkward angle.

The sole remaining merc heard this happen. Turning around, seeing the two foreigners standing over the bodies of his dead comrades, he started to swing his machine gun up off of his shoulder.

Ziva reacted fast; she couldn't allow the merc to get a shot off and possibly alert the enemy. In a second her knife was in her hand again, and in the next second it was flying through the air towards the merc's head. It buried itself deep into his throat; he jerked rigidly upwards, seemed to stand upright for a second, and then crashed down to the ground on his back, dead before he made contact.

Breathing slightly heavier than she would have liked to, Ziva turned to her partner, who was wearing a bemused expression. In a rather irritated voice, she said, "You couldn't have done that a little quieter?"

Asher shrugged. "The way's clear, isn't it?"

"Yeah, well it may be a little too clear as far as I'm concerned." Korella interjected, coming up behind them as Raynes and Mjele dragged the bodies of two of the mercs into the ally. "The fact we've only come across three scouts means there'll be a lot more surrounding our target. And it seems they may inadvertently end up using the old divide and conquer strategy without realizing it."

"Divide and conquer?" Ziva asked curiously.

Korella pointed in front of him. Along the road, not a hundred feet in front of them were three separate back roads, all going off straight in the same direction.

"Our intel indicates that these three paths lead to the same square about a click directly north. Since we can't risk our target making an escape down one of those roads, I'm afraid we'll have no choice but to split up so we don't miss any ground."

"I really don't think that's a good idea." Ziva piped up. "If we separate, we'll all be at a more vulnerable position and could very well end up missing the target anyway."

"Oh, what's the matter Ziva?" Asher said in mock concern. "Is the big, bad Mossad assassin afraid to go off without her young partner to watch her back?"

"Mind you keep your words to yourself, mate." Raynes interjected. "If she ends having to save your bloody arse, then you'll probably have to swallow them whole."

Asher raised an eyebrow at the Briton. "What makes you think I won't ram them down your throat instead?"

"That's enough out of all of you." Korella interrupted. "Look, I don't relish the idea of splitting up any more than you do, but at this point I don't think we have a choice. Ballack and David, you two are the best scouts, so you'll take the centre and right roads respectively. Raynes, Mjele and I will take the left one. Any problems, fire a shot in the air. Any questions?" He looked around expectantly. "Good. Now let's move before we waste any more time." He started jogging towards the left path, Raynes and Mjele at his heels.

Asher slowly walked past Ziva, his bemused expression still on his face. Raising his eyebrows, he murmured as he walked past, "You enjoying yourself yet?" He took off jogging towards his designated path.

Ziva stared after him for a moment, then slowly turned back towards the remaining merc in the road. Striding unhesitatingly towards him, she bent down and yanked her knife out of his throat.

Enjoying herself… Holding the blade up to her face, she watched the blood run down the handle. Tucking it back in her belt, she started towards the right road, and she moved another thought entered her mind.

The only way anyone could enjoy themselves out here would be if the act of killing gave them some sense of pleasure…