I'm very sorry for the long time between these updates. I'm having a bit of technical trouble on my other computer, which happens to be where this story is stored, and I couldn't get access to it.

Disclaimer: See Chapter One.

Chapter Fourteen

"To mortify or even to injure an opponent, reproach him with the very defect or vice... you feel... in yourself."
–Ivan Turgenev.

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Sitting across from her brother in a quaint but busy urban cafe in the centre of the Indian capital, Ziva was geared up for the investigation, even though she hadn't slept in over thirty-six hours. Just fifteen minutes after they'd left the military compound in Israel; Kalev's Air Force pilot friend had the stolen Mossad Gulftstream V jet in the air and heading towards New Delhi to meet up with Ziva's English friend.

She suspected that the information they'd taken from the IDF files had only provided Kalev with more evidence for his conclusion—Alexei Stokgov was still alive. And Ziva knew that if he was alive, then he was certainly responsible for Emily's kidnapping. Adding this information to the pre-recorded message left for Kalev, she was sure that he was the only plausible suspect.

Within in ten minutes of sitting down, a blond man in jeans and a short-sleeve shirt joined them at the table.

"Ziva, Kalev," he said warmly, "it's so good to see you again." He shook Kalev's hand and kissed Ziva's cheek.

"Good to see you too, Will," Ziva replied in a less than jovial tone. They had first met William Baker, a senior agent working for the British Secret Intelligence Service, or MI6, in London five years earlier when they were both stationed there. "But I only wish we could meet under better circumstances."

"Has something happened?" he inquired seriously as he sat down on the remaining steel chair.

"A friend of ours has been taken," Kalev explained shortly.

"Someone very important to us," Ziva added.

Baker looked from Kalev to Ziva. "The American FBI agent in Pakistan?"

Ziva responded with a small nod and Baker didn't question any further.

"We think we know who's responsible," Kalev told him.

"Then why do you need me?"

"Background—I want to know if he's active in Pakistan. Can you point us in the right direction?"

"And you just assumed that I'd know?" Baker asked coyly.

Kalev smirked like he knew something Baker didn't. "I called your office and heard you got promoted to the Head of Operational Intelligence, Central Asia. I think you have something that will be of value to us."

Baker returned the smile good-naturedly. "What sort of thing are you looking for?"

"Any uptake in activity in the past few weeks or months," Kalev answered quickly. "Something unexplained. Our guy went off the radar for a very long time. We assumed he was dead. He would have shown up recently."

"There is something, then," Baker told them.

"Go on," Ziva prompted.

"There's been an increase in firepower in Pakistan's North-West Frontier province. The Taliban have gotten their hands on some more sophisticated weapons. The FBI recently led a counter-terrorism op with local lashkars to work out a way to combat them."

"We know," Kalev responded. "Emily was a part of that counter-terrorism team."

"We have no idea how they got access to these weapons, but whoever's providing them is very good at covering his tracks," Baker continued.

"It sounds like Stokgov," Ziva said to her brother.

"Alexei Stokgov?" Baker asked quickly. He leaned in closer to them as if not to miss anything.

"Yeah," Kalev answered shortly.

"I remember chasing him all over London with you, Kalev."

"Well, I'm still chasing him."

Baker sighed heavily. "Who is this Emily to you anyway?" The question was directly aimed at Kalev.

And he responded with a heavy heart. "Everything."

There was a short pause where nobody knew what to say. Thankfully, Ziva creatively proposed a way to end the silence. She stood up, encouraging her brother to join her, and looked at Baker. "Thank you very much for your help."

"You're welcome," he replied sadly. "Good luck."

Kalev nodded and followed his sister out of the cafe. They walked for at least five minutes without saying a thing. And yet again, it was Ziva to finally break the silence.

"I need to pick up something," she told her brother in a hushed tone. "Will I meet you at the airfield?"

"Sure." Kalev shrugged. "I'll have Ephraim fire up the engine."

With a short embrace started by Ziva, they departed in opposite directions.

oOo

It was dark when they finally arrived back at the embassy. As they made their way down the hall, they could see that everyone was still hard at work in the conference room. Ziva could foresee the impact that their fishing expedition would have on the rest of the team, so she allowed her brother to open the door and enter first, trailing behind him like a lost child that feared condemnation for running away from her parents. The room stopped. No movement. No chatter. It just stopped. Kalev and Ziva waited for somebody else to speak before they explained themselves and what they'd found.

And, sure enough, the condemnation came.

"Where have you been?" Hotch started out with the most obvious of questions.

"Israel and then India," Ziva answered truthfully. "But the intelligence we gathered was first rate."

"Your father told us," Hotch replied simply. It seemed that no one else had anything to say while Hotch was doing such a fine job.

"If we had left and told you," Kalev began, "would you be any less against the idea?"

"We'd have come with you," Gibbs said defiantly.

"Exactly," responded Kalev clearly, "and that's not how we operate. We got this intelligence quickly and without leaving a trail. We couldn't have done that with extra baggage."

"As a team," Hotch started, "we operate together. We don't keep secrets to ourselves and run off to find information alone and without telling anybody."

"I know that," Kalev replied, "but we are running out of time and I couldn't take the chance that any of you would be caught when we crossed borders." He stared directly at Hotch and then around the room. "Does anyone here want to hear what we've learnt?"

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"Wage your war."