McGee scrolled through the phone records of Petty Officer Helen Burns, looking for any suspicious calls. Burns had been murdered in her apartment early the previous morning and her ex-husband, Theodore Piper, whereabouts unknown, was the prime suspect. Before her death, Burns had reported receiving a number of threatening phone calls from him, but all McGee could find were a series of non-repetitive payphone calls forming a seemingly random distribution in the DC area. He decided to crosscheck the locations with area businesses to see if the ex had been caught on any security cameras; outwardly meaningless evidence was always better than no evidence at all.

"Yeah, thanks for your help…no, you really have been very helpful…um, I don't, um, think my girlfriend would like that…okay, buh-bye." Tony sighed heavily as he hung up his phone and stared at the empty desk across from him. McGee had noticed him doing that a lot. Every time Tony got off the phone or made an inference, he would look at Ziva's desk expectantly. McGee had attempted but so far been unable to supply the question, gibe or misspoken phrase Tony was so clearly seeking.

She had been gone for two weeks and Tony was still sulking, though he'd been hiding it better, at least when Gibbs was around. He had gotten sick of Tony's pity party fairly quickly and ordered him to cheer up. His exact words had actually been, "DiNozzo, I'll stick my boot up your ass if you don't stop being so damn miserable," but coupled with the sympathetic expression Gibbs had been wearing at the time, McGee chose to trust the spirit rather than the letter of the statement. He found a depressed DiNozzo did tend to demoralize the whole team, Abby and Ducky included. Palmer may or may not have been affected; McGee had been actively avoiding both he and Agent Lee since the elevator incident.

McGee shuddered and wiped his hand on his jacket instinctively. He turned to Tony, asking, "Anything from Piper's sister?"

"Other than a dinner invitation for the man with the sexy voice?" He pointed at himself, but didn't bother to smile. "A whole lotta nothing. How's the phone trace coming?"

"I've got the computer running a…"

Gibbs marched into the bullpen and interrupted, "Do we have anything on who killed Helen Burns?"

"We're still trying to track the ex, boss, but so far…" Tony backed up slightly at an annoyed look from Gibbs, "we've only got McGee's little, uh, computer thing with the phone records."

McGee had only a second to think before Gibbs was leaning over him. The computer was still processing the data. It could take thirty seconds or an hour. He fell back on a convoluted explanation and prayed for thirty seconds. "I've inputted the locations of all…"

"Gibbs!" McGee let out a breath and silently thanked the Director, calling them from the catwalk. "You and your team in MTAC, now." She turned and disappeared into the door behind her.

Gibbs growled and stalked up the stairs, followed by Tony and McGee. Director Shepard was the only one in the darkened room when they entered. "What goes on in this room in the next few minutes will not be going beyond these walls. Is that understood?"

The three men nodded. McGee was completely lost. What could the Director possibly have on the Burns case that required a gag order?

"Good. We have a situation developing. An hour ago I received a report from one of our teams in Europe. A sailor on leave in France was killed by a group of Russian arms dealers known as the Molot."

"The 'Hammer'?" Gibbs interjected.

"Never mind the translation, Jethro. We're going to be interrupted very soon and I want to explain some things before…" she stopped as an indicator beeped on the console. "Too late." She pressed a button. "What is it, Cynthia?"

"CIA Director Fitzgerald is on teleconference for you."

"Link him through to MTAC."

"Yes, Ma'am."

A moment later a very angry man appeared on the main screen. "You've got a hell of a lot of explaining to do, Shepard. You assured us that Dmitri Tushkevich was dead!" He slammed his hand on his desk for emphasis.

"When I gave you that information, he was, to the very best of my knowledge."

"Then perhaps you'd care to explain what he's doing frolicking on a beach on the French Riviera with your pet Israeli!" He pressed a few buttons on the desk in front of him an a series of photographs appeared on the screen in a slideshow – Ziva and some guy, probably the Tushkevich the Director of the CIA was so worked up about, on a luxury yacht, Ziva and the guy in an expensive looking restaurant, Ziva on the beach…

McGee's mouth hung open. "Wow."

"You can go topless at most French beaches, Agent McGee," the Director said, giving him a severe look, "but I'll assume you're expressing shock over the apparent resurrection of Dmitri Tushkevich." She pointed to the computer terminals by the wall, then the photos on the video feed and silently mouthed, 'Save those.'

"Uh, yes, Ma'am." More pictures passed quickly on the screen. He was glad the Director had given him a task. Tony's tension level was obvious even from over here. He sank into one of the seats, covering his face with his hands. McGee couldn't blame him; Ziva appeared to be having a much better time away from him then he was away from her.

Director Shepard had also stopped watching the surveillance photos. "That's enough, Fitzgerald."

His expression had changed from irate to somewhat smug when his face reappeared onscreen. "Funny how she's managing to have so much fun in France when Immigration doesn't have a record of her leaving this country."

McGee had been wondering the same thing. Ziva's passport had never been checked by Customs at any airport, leading him to believe that, whatever she was doing, it was in the US. Director Shepard replied evenly, "As you know, Officer David was temporarily recalled by Moussad. They didn't disclose the nature of her assignment, but think we can safely assume that we now know what it is."

"And that would be…"

"Infiltrate the Molot and kill it from within."

"If that's true, why didn't Moussad reveal that she'd been unsuccessful on her last attempt?"

"I have it on good authority that Moussad was just as surprised as we were that he was alive. Just because they found out earlier and acted on the intel doesn't mean they've been sitting on this for more than a few months."

"Is your authority's last name David?" Fitzgerald's tone was condescending.

"One of them, but I have other contacts inside Moussad. However, I doubt you're taking time out of your busy schedule just to question the integrity of my information. The Director of the CIA doesn't normally call just to dangle his supposedly superior intelligence over other agencies, especially since you seem to be doing an awful lot of sharing."

"Nothing you don't already know, I'm sure, Shepard. I'm contacting you as a courtesy to express my concern for the integrity of NCIS. This isn't the first time the intelligence community has had reason to question the loyalties of Ziva David."

Tony jumped out of his chair. "That is bullshit!"

Director Shepard pushed him back to prevent him from joining the conversation. "If you're referring to the incident with the Iranians, Ziva was cleared of any wrong-doing."

"Perhaps. There's also her brother."

"Ari Haswari was only stopped with Ziva's assistance, as Agent Gibbs will corroborate."

McGee thought Gibbs seemed wooden as he answered, "I couldn't have killed him without her help."

"There are only so many coincidences I can accept. Ziva David spent over a year with Tushkevich and now that he's back she's gone straight to him. All previous suspicions are compound by this latest development. It will be very unfortunate for all involved when she shows her true colors and you find out she's turned traitor. That includes you personally and your agency, Director. I suggest you enjoy the title while you still can."

McGee looked over his shoulder, wanting to see Director's expression. His eyes were drawn first to Gibbs, digging his fingers into an enraged Tony's shoulder. Director Shepard, however, was calm as she answered Fitzgerald, "I'll look forward to your groveling apology when this is over." She terminated the connection and looked around the room. It exploded with sound as Tony, Gibbs and McGee all began speaking at once.

"Who the hell does that son of a…"

"Why didn't Moussad tell anyone about…"

"They can't really think Ziva…"

"Stop." She pointed to the front row of seats. "No questions. You're here to listen."

Once they were seated, she handed them each a plain file folder. McGee leafed through his as she said, "The man in the photographs with Ziva is Dmitri Alexandrovich Tushkevich. Four years ago, Ziva infiltrated his operation, the Molot. She was in for over a year and managed to get deep into the organization."

"How deep?" Gibbs asked, his eyes fixed on the same profile of the young Russian that McGee was reading.

Director Shepard swallowed uncomfortably before answering, "Engaged to Tushkevich. She used her influence within the group to rig an internal power struggle, which began with her convincing the nominal second in command, Grigory Selfin, to kill the boss on the premise that she would support his ascension. Instead of following the plan, she allowed Selfin to kill Tushkevich, then shot him in retaliation. With its two top men dead, the organization fell into disarray, and eventually collapsed."

"Only one thing wrong with your story, Jen," Gibbs said. "If that's Tushkevich, he's clearly not dead yet."

"Maybe he didn't want to go on the cart," Tony muttered. McGee didn't recognize the source of the poorly delivered joke. Tony hadn't dropped his habit of spouting movie lines, but he'd also stopped identifying them or saying them with anything resembling enthusiasm. Reflex could exist without passion, McGee decided.

Gibbs wasn't bothered by the aside. He was still speaking to Director Shepard. "Was she just his gun moll, or an active participant in the organization?"

"By the end of the assignment, she was his right hand. You don't get to that kind of position without," she paused, "without getting your hands dirty."

"Are we talking mokrie dela, here, Jen?"

"I thought that term went out with the KGB, Jethro. But yes. Additionally, she helped acquire and sell product."

"Product?"

"Mainly small arms and explosives. Most of the deals she had a hand in were disrupted one or two steps after the Molot's involvement ended, but a few slipped through the cracks, most notably, a bomb that Hamas used to kill three CIA operatives in Ankara."

"No wonder Fitzgerald is so pissed. But you didn't decide to tell us all this just to convince us that Ziva's still on our side."

"Why the hell would we need convincing? She's not a goddamn traitor, Gibbs!" McGee thought he could detect a slightly hysterical note in Tony's voice.

"Relax, DiNozzo, and let the Director tell us whatever she was going to tell us about that dead sailor in France. What, you thought that bald ape from the CIA made me forget about that?"

"Of course not, Jethro. What I've just told you is a basic outline of why we're going to be the team investigating the murder."

"We, Jen?"

"Yes. I was Ziva's backup the last time she went under with the Molot. I know the players and the signs. Since Tushkevich hasn't killed her yet, we can assume he doesn't know she set him up and might be needing support at some point. I want to be available immediately if it comes to that. I haven't been able to get in touch with Director David yet, but the dead sailor gives us a viable in."

"You think the Molot killed him?"

"After seeing the crime scene photos? Yes. They always had a very…distinctive style." She checked her watch. "Go home and pack, meet back here at 2200. We may be in Europe for a while. And we'll continue this briefing on the plane." She left the room, closely followed by Gibbs.

McGee hung back, waiting for Tony to rise. "Something I can do for you, Probie?"

"You okay?"

"We're goin' to France. Why wouldn't I be fine?"

"Well, Ziva…" McGee trailed off. Ziva, what? He had no idea. "Tony, we always knew she was a spy. She didn't hide that."

"Yeah, McGee. Yeah." He rose slowly and the file folder that had been sitting in his lap fell to the floor. As he bent to retrieve it, a charm on a gold chain swung out from his open shirt collar.

It only took McGee a moment to recognize it. "Is that…?"

"Yeah." Tony self-consciously tucked the Star of David back inside his shirt. "I had to get a longer chain for it. The whole 'it's choking me' thing should have been my first sign to just take it off."

McGee placed his hand on Tony's shoulder. "She's not cheating on you. She's just doing her job."

He glanced at the hand on his shoulder before looking up. "I know that, Tim. But it still sucks."

McGee grabbed the disc with the CIA surveillance photos and accompanied Tony out of MTAC. They walked down to the bullpen. He decided to try one last attempt at elevating his friend's mood. "At least we'll be seeing her soon."

"Yeah, wrapped around a Russian arms dealer."

"Sorry." McGee gave himself a mental Gibbs slap. "I just meant we'll be close to her if anything happens."

"Close is good, I guess." Tony finally smiled as he pulled on his coat. "Just do me one favor, Probie."

"Anything."

"Stop picturing her on that beach."

McGee returned Tony's smile after a moment's hesitation. "Right."

Ziva read over the e-mail she'd just typed. Dmitri leaned over her shoulder, kissing her neck as he read the screen. "Our first big deal since my return and you're already selling our clients out to Moussad?"

"They'd try to pull me out if they didn't see some immediate returns. And these guys are just little fish. Moussad won't apprehend them until they've had a chance to disseminate some information to the big boys. As you've often told me, word of mouth is the best advertisement in our line of work. Al-Qaeda and the other high rollers will be lining up within two weeks, especially if you've really got the goods you've been tempting me with."

"All in good time, my princess." He covered her hand on the laptop mouse-pad with his own and clicked 'send.' "I don't care how many of these fanatics get captured or killed, as long as you make sure some are left to pay us."

She looked around the deck of their yacht. "As if I would sacrifice our quality of life." She shut off the computer and allowed Dmitri to lead her below decks to their stateroom.