A/n: French women should yell at Tony, not Sheep, for the 'controversial' content in the last chapter. Thanks to Jeanne Luz for realizing that and running defense in the reviews. That said, it would be churlish of me if I failed to give a general thank you to all who have taken the time to review thus far. So, thank you.
Gibbs glanced suspiciously over his shoulder at the two gendarmes that had accompanied them from the police offices to the crime scene in an abandoned warehouse that smelled strongly of fish. A large pool of dried blood was the only indication that the location was the site of recent crime scene. He glanced around the large, empty floor, wondering how much they were going to be able to ascertain from a preprocessed scene. He decided it was best to start with the basics. "How did Petty Officer Zamansky end up here?"
"He drove."
"He drove, McGee?"
"Uh, the report stated that his rental car was found outside. His prints were on the steering wheel along with about fifteen other people's."
"Kinda like testing for DNA on the sheets in a hotel room, boss." Tony grinned over his camera, but his expression altered as he looked at Gibbs. "But we're still gonna process that car once these nice, uh, genders take us back to their crime lab."
"It's gendarmes, Tony," Jen corrected.
McGee chuckled. "Bet Ziva would enjoy hearing someone else on the receiving end for once."
"Yeah. Funny how she's not here, Probie."
Gibbs noted that McGee didn't hold Tony's stare as long as Ziva would have in a similar situation. That was only natural. Gibbs knew that he could have hindered their relationship if he'd put a stop to the staring when he'd initially noticed it during Ziva's first weeks on the team. Rule number twelve only served to encourage people like Tony and Ziva, but, in hindsight, he still wished he'd done something to impede the evolution of their relationship; at the very least, he could have forestalled Tony's current distraction. He spoke to no one in particular, "Why would Zamansky be meeting with arms dealers?"
"Yeah, what would a petty officer have to do for international gangsters to kill him?"
"Probably not much, Tony," Jen replied. "The Molot isn't an organization that deals gently with people who try to swindle them."
Gibbs considered for a moment. "You think he promised them some sort of weapons deal then got killed when he welshed on it?"
"It's possible."
"But what kind of weapons would Zamansky have access to that the Molot would want?"
"He served on a Ticonderoga class cruiser. He had access to the ship's magazine. The Molot buys and sells missiles, among other weapons. Clear enough for you, DiNozzo?"
"I'm just suggesting that maybe he as accomplices. It's not like he could hide a Tomahawk in his pants and walk off the ship."
"Another NCIS team is interviewing his shipmates," Jen said.
"Why not us?" Gibbs asked, insulted that both his active investigation in DC and current assignment in Europe were both out of his control.
"The USS Bunker Hill is stationed in the Persian Gulf at the moment. We're not leaving Europe unless…"she paused to look distrustfully at the gendarmes standing across the floor, "unless we have to."
He glanced around the warehouse. "I think we're done here, Jen. Maybe we should head to the lab to see what our amigos have figured out."
"We're in France, not Spain, Jethro."
"Like I give a damn." He walked toward the large garage-style door of the building. The sooner Ziva got out of the Molot and his team got back to their normal routine, the better.
Ziva forcefully slapped the small man kneeling in front of her. He whimpered, but she hit him again. Harder. "Why did you kill a naval officer?"
"He did not deliver what he promised!" he whined, his voice reaching a decidedly feminine timbre.
She struck him again, drawing blood from his swollen lip. "You've involved people who should not be here."
"Ziva, show some compassion," Dmitri said, laughing at her hardhearted threats to the pitiable pawn. "Put the knife away."
"Thank you, sir!" the man exclaimed.
"Do not thank me yet, Smerdyakov. She can do plenty with just her hands."
"As I'm sure you know personally, sir."
Dmitri abruptly gave Smerdyakov a violent blow to the head. "Do not be disrespectful to her, idiot. I would not hesitate to kill you."
"Of course not, sir. My apologies, Madame Tushkevich."
Ziva sneered, "Get off our ship, you revolting swine, and try not to kill anyone noteworthy before we see you again."
Smerdyakov continued groveling as Ivan led him toward the gangway. Dmitri pulled Ziva into his lap. "He did make one good point. Hopefully you will be Ziva Tushkevich before long." When they kissed, the diamond on her left hand glinted in the bright sunlight as she stroked his neck. He whispered into her ear, "I had forgotten how…inspirational your interrogations can be."
"Bring me someone worthwhile and I'll give you a real show." She squirmed out of his embrace, beckoning him to follow her. "Shall we go for a swim?"
The dimly lit hallways of the morgue provided the greatest contrast for Gibbs between Toulon and Washington. One of the gendarmes from the warehouse introduced the group of NCIS agents, "This is our coroner, Dr. Canard."
The older man clad in scrubs smiled genially, saying in a clipped accent, "A pleasure to meet you."
"I'm Special Agent Gibbs, this is Director Shepard. DiNozzo and McGee," he finished, pointing over his shoulder before extending his hand. "So where's our dead sailor?"
"Right this way Agent Gibbs." He held the door as Jen passed. "Madame Directeur." Gibbs noted she didn't amend the man's manner of address. He led them to a freezer, undid the latch and pulled the slab out. "This is Petty Officer William Zamansky."
"How was this confirmed?" Gibbs doubted it could have been done with photos. The dead man's face looked like it had imploded. For that matter, dental records would also be out of the question. Gibbs gestured to McGee, who started snapping pictures.
The ME was not pleased. "We have already documented the body."
"Well if you did as good a job of that as you did answering the simple question I just asked, I have reason to be worried."
"Agent Gibbs…" Jen's tone carried a warning: play nice.
The ME sniffed and continued, "He was wearing his dog tags and he had a military ID. They'll be included in the physical evidence my assistant is retrieving as we speak. We also ran his fingerprints. It appears he had some troubles with public intoxication in Italy two years ago, so they were on file with Interpol."
"Interpol doesn't concern itself with local disturbances like that," Gibbs countered.
"The incidents all occurred at a known house of prostitution that also served as headquarters of sorts for a multinational cocaine trafficking ring, which made him a person of interest."
"I fail to see how this helps us gentlemen. If we could move on to how Petty Officer Zamansky died, Doctor?"
"Of course, Madame Directeur." The assistant helped him roll the body. "The first wound appeared to be a gunshot, here, that entered between T7 and L1, severing the spinal cord and lodging in the body of L1. He would not have had any feeling or function in his lower extremities after the injury, which explains why he suffered no major damage to his legs." They allowed the corpse to roll back. "The cause of death was blunt force trauma to the skull, but just looking at the poor bastard, I'm sure you wonder how I managed to figure that out." He looked pointedly at Gibbs and led them to a plastic crate his bespectacled assistant had just placed on one of the examination tables. He held up a plastic bag containing a bloody hammer. "The murder weapon was recovered at the scene."
"So they shot him in the back, paralyzing his legs so he couldn't run away, then beat him to death with a claw hammer?" Tony asked, contorting his features.
"It's actually a framing hammer," Gibbs said, inspecting the tool through the plastic. "Heavier, longer handle, textured face on the head. Carpenters use them to whack stuff on the inner woodwork that won't be seen, since the milling mars the wood. The weight of it means less force is required to drive a nail."
"Is that important?"
"If you're building a house or being beaten to death, I'd say yeah."
"Right, boss. Meaner hammer causes more damage. Certainly explains how he, uh, lost his face."
Gibbs tried not to smile at Tony's continuing parade of grimaces. "How many times was he struck with the hammer?"
"Well, he was beaten severely around his upper extremities and chest," the ME answered. "He had serious internal bleeding and there are perimortem fractures to both scapulae, both clavicles, all the arm bones, most of the fingers, almost all the ribs…"
"Okay, we get it. Those occurred before the head trauma, you said?"
"Yes. He was in terrible pain before they started, as you Americans might say, whaling on his head."
"And how many blows to the head did it take to kill him?"
"Probably only one, but they gave him…"
"Five around the cranium," Jen interrupted. "And the facial mutilation was postmortem."
"Yes, Madame Directeur, but how could you know that? I had not yet submitted a report when I learned you were coming."
"Experience, Dr. Canard. Thank you for your time." She started for the door.
Gibbs followed, saying to McGee and Tony, "Catalogue that evidence and leave the paperwork for transferring the body." The ME called after him, but he continued walking. He caught Jen in the building's foyer. "Hey! What's goin' on?"
"It's just been a while since I've seen someone who'd been killed like that."
"You're not gonna puke on my shoes, are you?"
"Lose the attitude."
"So sorry, Madame Director."
"What have I said about that, Jethro?"
"Guess it slipped my mind. You didn't seem to mind when that…that French Ducky said it."
"This is no time for jokes. Ziva is undercover with the men who did that to that sailor."
"She can take care of herself, Jen." Gibbs paused to consider something. "Did she ever…"
"No! Not like that, anyway."
Their conversation ended as McGee and Tony walked up with the box of evidence. "Did you notice his assistant looked almost exactly like…"
"Our autopsy gremlin? Yeah, Probie. I would save the freak out in case they have their own Abby too."
"Smerdyakov is going to destroy us, Mitya," Ziva said, hauling her slender body out of the water onto the rear deck of the yacht. "He doesn't understand the dangers. We're still vulnerable and the last thing we need is more enemies."
Dmitri followed her toward their quarters. "He assumes that if one is involved in illegal trafficking of one type, one has a right to all the black market has to offer."
"Did you give him permission to negotiate for drugs?"
"I have no interest in expanding our business in that direction. Anything that occurred with that navy man was his own doing."
She passed through their stateroom to the master bathroom. "And now we have NCIS to deal with."
"I know Shepard is a friend of yours, but why are you so concerned with them?"
"Oh no reason, it's just another agency to add to the list of those who would vanquish us, given the opportunity," she replied sarcastically. She turned on the shower and held her hand under the stream, waiting for it to warm up. "We'll always have to deal with government authorities, but we shouldn't invite trouble by pissing off the US Navy for nothing. What?"
"Vanquish…" He kicked his swimsuit off, allowing it to remain on the bathroom floor. "That is the Aston Martin I saw. Shall we get one?"
"Are you even listening to me?"
"Yes, and you should not worry, my princess. Your father will throw them off if necessary."
"He's not going to tell the Americans anything. Moussad will not interfere to harm us or protect us. They have too much to lose either way."
She closed the sliding door of the shower as she moved under the steaming cascade of water, forcing herself to relax. The salt on her skin made it feel slick. Dmitri stepped in behind her, taking the bottle of shampoo from her hands. He worked a gentle lather into her hair. "So what color Vanquish would you like?"
She turned, her hand sliding down to tease him. "I already told you I want the orange Gallardo."
He let out a shaky breath. "Yes…whatever you want."
Gibbs sat on the couch in the hotel suite the whole team was sharing, reading a file Jen had given him. Prints on the hammer handle had matched a Konstantin Smerdyakov, a member of the Molot Jen and Ziva hadn't eliminated due to his relative unimportance. He had a record of theft and fraud, but Gibbs had yet to find a reason the unimpressive man would be associated with Tushkevich, aside from the apparent talent with a hammer they had just witnessed. His gut told him something didn't fit.
Jen walked in and sat at the table, uncapping a bottle of water. He frowned at her. "This Smerdyakov, did you ever meet him?"
"Not personally, but I've seen him. Nothing to write home about. He's a hanger-on. Ziva described him as a 'real froggy.' She meant…"
"Toady," Gibbs supplied. "I get it, Jen. Did he seem capable of something like this?" He held up a photograph of the mutilated petty officer.
"I wouldn't have thought so, based on Ziva's intel. Anyone perceived as a potential threat was dealt with."
"So either she was wrong, or he didn't do it."
"His fingerprints were all over the handle of the hammer."
"Guess what that leaves us, Jen."
The conversation was again ended by the entrance of Tony and McGee, carrying several plain paper bags. "Just remember, when we do go to a McDonald's, you can't order a Quarter Pounder with cheese. They call it a Royale with cheese. Wanna know what they call a Big Mac?"
"I've seen Pulp Fiction, Tony."
"Oh." He handed a bag to Gibbs. "Here's your sandwich, boss. So where do we go from here?"
Jen answered, "It's likely Smerdyakov will report to his boss at some point and it looks like Tushkevich is traveling up the coast. He was spotted in Saint-Tropez, Cannes, Antibes, and most recently in Nice. It's a safe bet that they'll be stopping in Monaco at some point, so that's where we're headed."
"You sure?"
"They're young, rich and traveling on a yacht." She ticked her list off on her fingers. "Tushkevich has been making himself visible. Why would he suddenly want to avoid attention in Monte Carlo?"
"I thought people wanted to kill this guy. Is it smart for him to advertise his presence like that?"
"He's been dead for three years, McGee," Gibbs said. "If he wants clients he needs to show them he's back and ready for business. What I'm wondering is where he's getting his money. Didn't you and Ziva seize the Molot's assets?"
"There were accounts she didn't know about, obviously. Don't look at me that way, Jethro."
"She didn't know Tushkevich was alive. She didn't know how dangerous Smerdyakov was. She didn't know where all the money was. It just makes me wonder what else she didn't know about."
