Disclaimer: I don't own it

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X through triple X? Hung Out To Dry? Anyone? No? Oh, well.

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That's it, Trivette; I can't take it any more. It's gonna take a while before I put Tony's letter in a chapter… actually, it's probably going to turn into a trilogy. I'm posting it on my fanfiction thread on NCIS Special Ops. Just google it if you haven't been there before and look under Case Files.

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Chapter 9: Bond. James Bond.

Tony stood at the helm of the sleek, brilliantly white luxury yacht as he steered it skilfully into the large marina. The late afternoon sun was blazing down on him, glistening off the mixture of sweat and seaspray on his naked back. All he wore were a pair of swim shorts that showed off his long, muscular runner's legs, a watch and shades. He mentally thanked his Mediterranean ancestors for giving his skin the ability to tan naturally and quickly without burning.

He turned the boat towards the jetty and caught the eye of a group of girls walking along it; they immediately broke out into giggles and he raised his sunglasses to direct one of his 'I think you're hot' smiles at them. The giggling increased dramatically.

One advantage of spending six weeks in a CIA training camp, he thought. It's worked wonders on my six pack.

It was true. Tony's bronzed skin rippled with muscle at the slightest movement; as was proved by the open staring of the girls as they checked him out. He made sure to toss them a little mock salute, knowing it would show off his toned arms and broad shoulders.

Tony and David had spent three days at the hotel, working out Tony's cover story. He was supposed to be the proverbial bored rich kid, on vacation from his vice presidency of the family business. He'd catch Carmine's attention by letting him overhear him speaking Italian and then befriend him and see what he could get out of the other man.

Nothing could be allowed to detract from this image. Tony had been putting the CIA's four platinum credit cards through their paces; he'd bought himself a whole holiday wardrobe in Miami, every item designer. And then he'd hired this boat and set off for the Caribbean. Fiver had contacted him on his sat phone and informed him that Fuentes' yacht was currently berthed in the Dominican Republic; so Tony had followed.

The only items he'd purchased before Miami were his watch and a cell phone. David had equipped both with distress beacons he could activate at any time if he thought his cover was blown.

"Very Jamesh Bond," Tony had drawled in his best Sean Connery voice.

"Guess that makes me Q, huh?"

"Finally! You got one of my movie references!"

"Well, it is about the most famous movie franchise ever. And Pierce Brosnan's pretty good, I think."

"Brosnan? Connery was the best Bond by a mile."

"Brosnan gets better gadgets. Remember that remote control car linked to the cell phone?"

Tony looked scandalised. "It was a BMW," he said, disgusted. "Everyone knows James Bond has to drive an Aston Martin. I've always wanted a DB5, like Connery had in Goldfinger… Ooh, Honor Blackman was hot back then…"

"Who's Honor Blackman?"

Tony just stared at him. "Jeez, Fiver; what did you used to do on Sunday afternoons?"

David's nose twitched rapidly. "Um, visited my grandmother?"

Tony shook his head at the memory. That kid really needed to watch more television. He'd done his best with a few boxed sets, but all he'd got were complaints about the bad special effects and simple storylines. David had been plainly astonished by the lack of cell phones or computers anywhere in the older series; something that made Tony feel very old, suddenly. With a sudden pang of understanding, he wondered if that was how Gibbs felt when he looked at McGee.

Tony did his best not to think about them as he found a space by the jetty and threw a mooring rope up onto the planked walkway.

"Need a hand, Senor?" Purred a voice, in strongly accented English. Tony looked up to see a stunning young woman in a tiny white halter neck bikini and very short sarong smiling seductively, black curls tumbling about her shoulders.

"I never say no to a beautiful woman," he told her, with a grin. She bent to tie the rope around a post and his grin broadened as he got an excellent view down her top.

Just 'coz the CIA sent me here to chase terrorists is no reason not to have a little fun at their expense…

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Two days later…

Carmine Fuentes was relaxing by a pool, eying up the local bikini'd beauties, when an agitated voice reached his ears; speaking his own favourite language.

"Gabriella! Not another tattoo! You know Dad's gonna go crazy when he finds out… No; and I don't want to know where it is, either."

He turned to see a man about his own age, casually but expensively dressed over by the nearby bar, gesticulating wildly as he talked into a slender, top of the line cell phone.

"Why'd you have to do this, Abbs? It only makes trouble."

"Well of course he always forgives you; that's coz you're his favourite… I am not a drama queen; that's Tim's job." He listened intently for a moment, then sighed.

"Oh, all right. What is it this time?"

"I knew I shouldn'tve got you that tarantula for your tenth birthday."

"Yeah; Charlotte wasn't a web building species, I know. Just tell me it's not anywhere visible, please?"

"On your neck! Abby are you insane? Whatever possessed you to put it there? Dad'll make you get it lasered off."

"I don't care about the mystic symbolism, Abbs; I care about my baby sister. Were you drunk?"

"Well, tell Dad you were; blame it on one of those vampire wannabes you hang out with."

"Yes, I know they're your friends; and I kinda like them too but you know how Bossman is. Remember the fiasco at your senior prom? I don't think I've ever seen a goth go that white before." He grinned. "Yeah; totally worth it. Have you told Kate?"

"Well, threaten to tell Dad about that tat on her butt unless she backs you up."

"I know because she dated one of my frat brothers, remember?"

"Hey, he was begging for that black eye. He's lucky I didn't tell Dad; especially after Kate kicked him right in the…" The man chuckled, his face lighting up with mirth. "Oh, hell, yeah!"

"What is it with our family and tattoos, anyway? I'm the only one who hasn't got one and I spend more time out of my skull than the rest of you put together."

"Tats are not genetic, Abbs."

"Yeah. OK; well, it's your funeral. And don't think I'm cutting my vacation short to come save your heavily tattooed skin."

"Yes, I promise I'll be home for your birthday."

"Yeah. You too, little sis. Ciao." The man flipped the phone shut and ordered himself another drink, shaking his head.

Carmine rose and made his way over to do the same. It wasn't often he got to speak his beloved mother tongue, after all; and this guy had already piqued his interest.

"Hey," he said. "You Italian too?"

"Half Italian," Tony replied, in that language. "Guess you heard me ranting at my sister, huh?"

"Hard to miss; but there's no one else in miles who could've understood," he said, with a smile. "I know; I've looked."

"Ah, well; I'll just have to make sure you never meet my dad, then. Tony Scutio," he introduced himself, with a wry smile. The other man gripped the proffered hand firmly.

"Carmine Fuentes."

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Hope you appreciated the semi naked Tony imagery; and the pretend conversation with Abby.