"Here we go...here we go...audio up..." As the now-sparser group of Jenny, Friedrich, Kerstin and the two CIA agents, Nylman and White, watched from NCIS' large plasma screens, Gibbs was seen about to enter the ballroom, image broadcast courtesy Tony's tiny American flag lapel pin camera. Gibbs' camera angle, on another screen, picked up Tony, who was already in the room. The Hanseatic League's appointed decorators had transformed a pricey, though otherwise conventional, convention center ballroom into a lush party room decorated regally in the Nordhavland colors of gold, blue and green. Gibbs then turned so the camera mounted on his suit would pick up Steffen, just coming in the door now, and then Tim and Ziva when they arrived.
Steffen was seen to stride in, as if he had done this hundreds of times before (which he certainly had). The League's majordomo announced, his voice booming over the Viennese music, "The Duke of Vogelweise!" Enthralled, the assembled attendees turned and gaped in delight. The night had already become magical for them, like something out of a storybook, and more was yet to come.
"All of the ball attendees are there. No late-comers will be allowed to come in. His Royal Highness and his escort can now make their entrance..." Kerstin said.
Jenny glanced at the young woman and smiled to herself. What an asset she would be for us, with her assorted knowledge. Though she seems to like her current job. And it's not like we should bring another redheaded woman into this place...
Then the music dropped to a quieter pitch, and the majordomo announced, " His Royal Highness, Friedrich of Nordhavland, and Miss Ziva David!"
They came in at a slow pace, to the assembly's low ooohs and ahhhs. As if to cup them gently in its loving hand, a soft spotlight picked out the honored guests as the other lights dimmed a trifle. He wore a most exquisitely tailored white tie outfit, complete with his state decorations. But she, she was the eye-catcher (as well she should be) in a stunning Hungarian-made ball gown of dusky orchid; stretchy satin and lace with the bodice and long gloves beset with thousands of Swarovski crystals; glimmering like countless tiny lights of enchantment. Her chestnut hair was piled high on her head in artful twists; a silver tiara adding to the grace. Cameras popped everywhere, and by morning, millions of people, particularly in Europe, would be wondering who that beauty on the prince's arm was. Tim, as the prince, looked masterful: strong, confident, yet kind; Ziva bore a beaming smile befitting a princess.
"That's it," Kerstin said to them through her headset. "Walk the room, keep smiling, turn, then come back to the middle of the room for your first dance."
Friedrich watched in wry amusement. "My clothing is having a better time this trip than I am."
Kerstin covered her mouthpiece. "Don't let Tim hear you say that. He still wants to pay you for ruining your suit Monday."
Dismissing this with a wave, Friedrich said only, "How is security?"
Gibbs answered the question when Jenny put it to him. Like Tony, he looked uncommonly dapper in white tie. "Reasonable. The CIA reports that it didn't take long to get people through Screening. Some grumbling; two confiscated ladies' pistols – claimed to always be carried with them – despite D.C. gun laws. Nothing more."
Tony joined in from his spot across the room, where he had a good view of the honored guests. "Three doors in and out of the ballroom; one is to a service corridor. There's a CIA guy there preventing access. No other functions on this floor tonight. In fact, there's nothing else on in the convention center tonight. Must be hard to sell space for a mid-week event. The League probably got a good deal on this room."
The music had started again. His Highness and his lady companion lead off the Emperor Waltz in a sharp, sparkling execution; gliding, step, step, gaily; their smiles for each other brilliant. The room watched in rapture, a night most of them would never forget; a night when the legendary glamour of royalty – exotic and unknowable for most Americans – cast its spell over the ball.
For Tim and Ziva the experience was more pleasurable than either of them would have thought possible. Each forgot any little animosities held against the other, and instead luxuriated in the moment, the music, the beautiful setting.
Then, at the allowed time, the crowd joined in the dance, and the room was alive with swirling finery: the white ties, and the gowns of all styles and colors. The crowd was of all ages, from the very old to young teens, and younger still: at one side, a boy of about 7, in his own small white tie, danced with a little girl in a pretty pink-frosting-colored party dress. Both were already good dancers; a skill they would appreciate later in life.
Nylman was connected to the parking garage security detail. "All clear so far." Jenny relayed this to the people at the ball.
"I can't believe they'd pass up something this big," said Gibbs. "Terrorists live on…terror. Take out His Highness, a few dozen ball guests, and everything's good in their world."
"We've been assuming that the terrorists are not among the attendees," said Nylman. "I can't rule out that someone, or someones, at the ball is a part of this."
"Seems strange," said Jenny. "This ball is largely the image of wealth, like its name. The old Baltic merchants' guild. Yet, possibly, some of these people might want the monarchy torn down…and redistributed…to whom?"
"Perhaps to several directions," said Friedrich, "as long as they, ah, get their cut first."
The next dance was a reel. Tim and Ziva dutifully took their place at the head of the lines and lead off the dance. Those not joining in clapped appreciatively in time with the music. When it ended, Tim and Ziva were hot, happy and laughing at the fun of it all.
"They're naturals. Both of them," Jenny said, then laughed. "I hope we don't lose them to one of those dancing competition TV shows."
The ball bore on. Tim and Ziva both took other partners, several times. When they would come back to each other, it was with an unhesitant smile. "They are having almost too good a time," Gibbs said to the people back at NCIS.
"Well, there's nothing wrong with that," said Jenny.
Kerstin identified for Tim a few people that His Highness would know. Tim remembered John Rexhausen from the club reception on Monday, and greeted him, and the woman about his own age with him – his wife, Greta, Tim surmised, and bowed to her as such.
"Good memory," said Kerstin, "although I should have warned you, Mr. Rexhausen has been known to turn up at events with another woman." Tim made a small urking noise in the back of his throat and moved on hurriedly.
"Friedrich!" There was a young blonde calling to him, her voice was a pale screech. "You've been in town and you didn't call me?! Or ask me to be your date tonight?!" She charged toward him.
"Name?" Tim said softly, though with some anxiety, into his mouthpiece.
Kerstin stared at the screen. "This is no one I know…Your Highness, who is that?"
But Friedrich was also puzzled. "I…do not know."
"Think, Your Highness! Hurry!"
"I…she must have been someone I had one date with…sometime…but…"
"And she obviously made a lasting impression!" Kerstin snapped, then added to Friedrich something in Swedish that didn't sound polite, and he retorted in German. Into the mouthpiece she said, "Your Highness, we're working on a name. Stall."
Tim was flummoxed. He went with the first idea that popped into his head. People often say that the first idea is the best one; but after years of results like mustard-and-sugar-cookie sandwiches, he knew that wasn't always true for him. But this was all he had. "My dear, it is a delight to see you again. You look lovely."
"That doesn't explain why you haven't called me, Friedrich!"
"Ah, my sweet, the demands of state are many."
A sound popped in his ear. "Marie Ahlbach," it said simply, then added after a moment, "You met her at Orlando, Florida, three or four years ago. You had one date."
"But, Friedrich, you come to Washington, my town, and…"
"I am most sorry, dear Marie. We did have a lovely time in Orlando, did we not? I shall always remember how beautiful you looked that night…"
She glared at him. "It was a luncheon date, and it was in Miami Beach, not Orlando! And my name is MariA!" She stormed off.
The NCIS room people turned to look at Friedrich. He threw up his hands, helplessly. "I did not remember well. It was years ago, and I am only human…"
As another dance, the Heel and Toe Polka, started, the crew turned to other matters, since the ball seemed to be going well. Nylman had something on his mind; leftover business that they had not covered in the rush to get ready for the Wednesday events: the afternoon dedication of the Baltic Society's new library, which went off well, and of course, the ball.
"There are no coincidences," said Nylman. "Having the would-be assassins find McGee twice up by the Metro station indicates they think His Highness is in the area. Someone's 'made' the Navy Yard."
Jenny frowned. "The Navy Yard's a big place, but I ordered a beefing-up of security at our entrances this morning, and have suggested that the other buildings do likewise."
"That's about all you can do, without more information," White said blandly.
That's true enough, but why do I get the feeling that someone does have more information? Jenny thought, lips pursed. There were many things that she wouldn't voluntarily say in front of the CIA, and dark suspicions were among them.
"Got a problem," Tony said suddenly. "My reader is detecting gas, and it's up 14 ppm over the reading I took 15 minutes ago."
"What kind of gas?"
"Not sure. I'm not getting a good answer from the reader."
"We have two sensors mounted," said Gibbs. "One's outside the main ballroom door, in that hall, and the other's in the corner where the buffet is. Check them out."
DiNozzo couldn't resist a grin. "Are they serving beans? That could explain the gas."
"Get going!!"
The sensor by the buffet registered as fully operational on Tony's reader. Grabbing an hors d'oeuvre as he walked away, he then headed for the main entrance.
There he found a man in white tie, apparently one of the guests, on a paint-stained convention center ladder, doing something to the sensor mounted 9 feet off the ground. Tony's reader showed the sensor to definitely be malfunctioning.
"Hi, buddy!" Tony called up cheerfully. "Need a hand?"
The man turned. "Oh, I think I can handle it. My company makes these things. A new style of smoke detector; this is a prototype. When I heard its low battery warning sound, well, you know I just had to check it out. My company's got its image to maintain, you know!" He came down the ladder with it, smiled, and extended his hand. White-haired and bright-eyed, and a bit on the short side, he seemed like a cheerful elf. "My name's John Rexhausen."
"Tony DiNozzo. John, I got some news for you. First, as I think you know, that's not a smoke detector."
"What?! Well, of course it is. My company..."
"Second, you're under arrest for attempted murder. No one likes to die by gas poisoning." Tony pulled out his handcuffs and secured the man who was too surprised to comment further.
- - - - -
They let the CIA take Rexhausen away. "The readings are returning to normal," Tony reported, "now that the Sloan-Sirius Tech guy who installed them returned the chips Rexhausen had taken out. It seems I was picking up normal background readings, but the chemical agents found in Rexhausen's pockets would have gone unnoticed if released and the sensors really were out of operation."
"Good work, Tony," said Jenny. She turned to the others in the room, and said, "I'll be right back."
In her private bathroom, she called Gibbs on her cell phone. "Are you out of camera range?" she asked.
"I can be." A moment later he said, "Okay."
"Did you follow that with Tony? I think Rexhausen's too small a fish to be the mastermind of this."
"Yep. He was one of the background checks that we were able to do, before we stopped. For a rich man, he seemed to follow a lot of fringe-left causes. But something on the scale of terrorism...I have questions."
"Well, I'd rather not interrogate anyone connected to the case as long as His Highness is still in residence. The CIA will get the information they need."
"But will they share it with us?"
"I don't know. All I do know is, I'm convinced that this is only the tip of the iceberg. Mr. Big's still out there. And that's not something I want to discuss with the CIA yet, while it's still just a hunch. We'd just argue over methods, and get nowhere."
"I hear you. The ball's only got another half hour to go, and then we'll head back."
- - - - -
Ziva and Tim both felt sad when the ball ended. The real world would seem much drabber now.
They got into back seat of the limo (Gibbs driving, Tony in the front seat) and stretched and stifled yawns. Tim caught Ziva's eye and smiled. "Thank you for not killing me tonight. I actually had a lot of fun. You're quite a dancer!"
She smiled back. "As are you. I had a great time, McGee...Tim. You were splendid. Thank you." It had been, indeed, fun, she reflected. Just one thing kept it from being perfect...
As they approached NCIS, Tim said, casually, "You're going to have to come inside and get your house keys before you go home."
"What? What are you talking about?"
"Your keys. They're on your desk."
She snatched her tiny purse and ran her hand through it. No keys. "How do you know that's where they are?"
His smile was teasing. "Because I took them out of your purse myself before we left for the ball."
"You did?! Why?!"
"So you would come inside to get them, of course!" He was on the verge of laughter.
She waved her hands. "Okay. I don't know what your game is, but you were a very nice date tonight, so I guess I'll let you live, Tim. This time. I will come in, get my keys, and then go home."
They went inside the building. As they approached the squad room, she ran ahead, but found no keys on her desk. He stepped back before she could hit him, and only said, "Now that I think of it, I may have moved them up to the Director's office for safe keeping. Let's go see."
Up the stairs to the second floor they went, the building now humming only at a low rumble. Even Jenny's outer office was dark; everyone had gone home.
"My dearest Ziva, you are a picture of loveliness. The screens did not show how truly beautiful you look tonight."
Ziva turned at the voice. Friedrich, standing at the hallway entrance, dressed splendidly in black tie. Her heart melted at the touch of his hand on hers. Tim quietly slipped away.
"Are you, ah, all danced out, my dear? The CD player and the CDs Kerstin and Tim used are still in their practice room..."
"I could dance for hours yet," she murmured, her eyes not leaving his.
And so they did, as the even-better-than-Tim dancer whirled her gracefully along the "dance floor". They danced and danced, their own fairyland in their minds; their own time of princes and nobility and people working on the side of Good surrounding them, encouraging them, wise spectators of a world imaginary or not. The lights automatically dimmed to evening low levels. She danced in her majestic orchid; he in his sharpest of all blacks, and only a lost, passing cricket saw them kiss in their own, shared land of happiness.