Gibbs used all his restraint to prevent himself from kicking the door of Smerdyakov's abandoned car. The Parisian cops had found it parked illegally on a sloping sidewalk in Montmartre the previous night but failed to inform NCIS until this morning. The keys had been found in a gutter down the street. The car was empty and Smerdyakov had disappeared. With a twenty-four hour head start, the man could be virtually anywhere by now.

Jen was fighting with the local police commander, trying to secure his help. He was not being terribly understanding or cooperative. "Always gotta be the French," Gibbs muttered under his breath.

Tony's head popped out of the car's hatchback. "You say something, boss?"

"Did you find something, DiNozzo?"

"I don't know." He leaped from the rear of the car with the undersized spare tire. "I found this."

"In a car. Wow, that took some real investigative skill."

Tony set the tire on the pavement and increased the size of a slice he'd already made through the rubber with his knife. "Well, I don't know about your doughnut, boss, but the one in my car isn't full of plastic bags of white powder."

Gibbs squatted and removed one of the bags. "Cocaine?"

"McGee's getting the field test kit right now. Didn't Interpol pick up Zamansky at some whorehouse slash international drug cartel HQ?"

"That's what," Gibbs paused as he tried to recall the man's name and failed, "French Ducky mentioned."

"You think the Molot was getting into drug trafficking? Maybe Ziva's trying to gather intel on the drug guys along with the arms guys?"

"I wouldn't say that too loud." Gibbs stood to see if Jen had heard, but she was still talking to the policeman. She wasn't going to like this new development. From everything he'd read about Tushkevich, Gibbs doubted he'd take a risk like expanding into a new sphere before solidly reestablishing himself in his comfort zone. It was possible Smerdyakov was working on his own. The NCIS team that had questioned the crew of the Bunker Hill hadn't found anything suspicious about Zamansky's behavior aboard ship. If the case started pointing away from the Molot, they would have to follow it.

On the plus side, Jen would probably have to head back to DC. Gibbs wondered if he deserved a smack for that. Was it really so wrong that he wanted his team back? The flipside was that he wouldn't actually have his team back until the whole situation with the Molot was resolved. This was all…somebody's fault.

"…until we get it to a lab, boss."

"Huh?" Gibbs hadn't even seen McGee approach, but he was kneeling by the tire with a drug testing kit and an open bag of the white powder.

"I said we won't know the purity or origin until we get it tested in a lab."

"Of the cocaine?"

"Yeah, that's what I said."

"Then why are you still standing there, McGee?"

"Well, we don't have a lab here."

"And you don't think someone else does?"

"Right. I am gonna talk to the local LEOs and ask to use their crime lab." McGee took a few steps toward a police cruiser before turning around. "And that'll be pretty impressive considering I don't speak French."

Gibbs shook his head in disbelief. "Then be sure you don't ask for Jen's help."

"My help with what?"

"Oh!" McGee's eyes widened before he turned. "Director. Hi. Uh, Gibbs wants to test the cocaine. In a lab, I mean. He wants the lab to test the cocaine is what I'm trying to say."

She raised her eyebrows in amusement. "No wonder you need help with your French, Agent McGee. Even your English seems to need some polishing."

He followed her, looking discomfited. Tony called after him. "Don't worry about it, Probie. You can always fall back to your native Geek Speak." He turned his attention back to the tire, from which he was still pulling bags. "There's gotta be pounds of this stuff in here."

"Kilos, Tony. The French are on metric."

"Well, I just meant there's a lot. And I really do mean a lot. Why'd he leave this much coke in the car?"

"How many suitcases did he have when he left?"

"Six or so. You think they were full of drugs too?"

"It's possible. He may have switched them to another car he had waiting here, or been forced into another car by people who didn't know about the drugs in the tire." Too many possibilities and none were settling right in his gut.

Tony adjusted his black NCIS cap. "Or maybe he just forgot."

"Forgot a dozen kilos of cocaine hidden in the spare?"

"He left a murder weapon covered with his prints at a crime scene. He just doesn't seem like the brightest bulb in the box, is all I'm saying."

Gibbs looked up and down the street. Tony had a point, but it still didn't feel… "Where did they find the keys?"

Tony consulted his notepad. "Uh, metal cover of a gutter grate thing. Marker number seven." They walked several dozen yards down the hill, toward a busier street. "Hey boss, does it seem like a lot of cabs are going by out there?"

They had a clearer view of the main street when they arrived at the grating where the keys had been dropped. Gibbs pointed to a sign where a row of taxis was lined up. "There's a cab stand by the corner."

"So he dumps his car near a place where he knows he can get a taxi, but he's got all those bags. Maybe he can't transfer the drugs because he's in a hurry, or doesn't have room, or thinks he has enough drugs or cash. Hey, you don't think he ripped off Tushkevich before he ran off? Because I get the feeling that would be even dumber than leaving the coke."

"Uh-huh. And you can't carry a spare tire into a taxi without attracting attention. That's nice work, Tony. And I was afraid I was gonna have to smack you."

"Just doing my job, boss. Does this mean we have time to stop at the Moulin Rouge?"

Gibbs raised his hand threateningly. "Don't tempt me, DiNozzo. We've gotta run down all the fares from yesterday afternoon through the time when the car was discovered."

"Right. We'll save the can-can for later."

Ziva sat on the couch, her legs folded under her, drinking espresso from a delicate china cup and saucer. "You said we will be taking care of Smerdyakov this afternoon?"

Dmitri, wearing only a pair of black running pants, sat in a chair, flipping through the television stations and eventually stopping on a football game on Eurosport. "Impatient, are we?"

"If he's talking to the CIA, the sooner we eliminate him the better."

"I said I suspected it was the CIA. I do not know for certain." He muted the television, took a bite of the Danish sitting on the plate next to him and sipped his coffee. "I had a feeling we might be dealing with his duplicity. Yesterday we had an unexpected delivery to the front door, which Ivan rejected, and Smerdyakov became very agitated. When I invited him to our wedding, he told me he did not want to come because he felt he would be intruding on the ceremony."

She walked to the small espresso machine and refilled her cup from the carafe. "And when would that pig ever deny himself the opportunity of seeing me dressed up?"

"Indeed. Did I tell you how beautiful you looked?"

She pulled up her robe to cover her knees as she resumed her seat. "Just as you seem to do every day."

"Only because it is always true. But to continue: as we were…otherwise occupied," he paused to lean over and kiss her, as if she needed reminding, "I asked Ivan to track him down. The stupid imbecile checked into the Hilton as Nikolai Gogol. He could not even pick an obscure author. He has to malign a real talent with his lack of creativity."

"I'm sure we can think of a fitting homage." She leaned back into the sofa cushions as she meditated. "I have it. Tell me, Mitya, do you think it hurts enormously to have one's nose severed?"

"It was never actually cut off, it just went missing one…Oh!" He raised his eyebrows. "Now why was that not the first thing to come into my mind? Nasal amputation does sound quite painful, but I suppose it would depend on the method."

"I'll be using the dullest knife I can find in the kitchen, preferably a nice rusty one."

"I'll bring a loaf of bread and we can decide who gets the surprise with their breakfast." He sat beside her and took her cup and saucer, placing them on the table. "There is a slight complication that could arise."

She shrugged and reached for her cup, which was only half-empty. "We'll gag him and I'll bring a silencer."

"Jenny Shepard is also a guest at the Hilton."

Ziva carefully set down the cup she had just picked up, mindful not to place it too shakily on the saucer. "Smerdyakov has been talking to NCIS? But that doesn't make any sense. He killed their sailor; they'll want to arrest him. And Shepard…as far as I know she still thinks I'm feeding everything on our operation to Moussad."

"The very reason I want you to talk to her. We need to know what the Americans are up to."

"Oh, Mitya, I don't know if that's the best idea. When she finds out we've married…"

He cut her off, "She will think you are highly committed to your mission. Just listen for a moment. I agree that NCIS would not make a deal with Smerdyakov, but we should still find out what they know and possibly what the CIA knows. I am sure they are keeping tabs on their competition. And you can confirm that she still trusts you."

"And how do you suggest I do that? Shall I bring her a wedding photo?"

He grinned and kissed her hand. "Ivan has not had the copies made yet. We'll give her a cookie."

"A cookie?" Ziva contracted her brow. "No, we can't give her Smerdyakov. He'll talk."

"Hmm." Dmitri rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "It is not a bad idea. We could turn him over to NCIS. He doesn't know anything. Not really. Do you mind just hurting him severely instead of killing him?"

"Mitya, he knows everything I know. He'll lead them straight to the sub-basement of the townhouse and all of our product in Paris will be compromised!"

"Not all, my princess. It is time I told you about a special surprise."

Gibbs checked his watch and jogged up the hallway. He'd gone out for coffee over half an hour ago. That was excessive considering he hadn't even left the building. It wasn't his fault the coffee shop in the hotel was located right next to the bar. The Scotch on the rocks had relaxed him and helped him release some of his frustration over the fact that they had been unable to locate Smerdyakov.

He arrived at Jen's door but found he couldn't knock. The shop didn't have trays, so he was balancing four cups of coffee in two hands. He kicked the door several times.

A voice drifted through the door, "What is your name?"

"It's me. Open up."

"What is your quest?"

"Open the damn door, DiNozzo!"

Tony was frowning as he opened the door to admit Gibbs. "So I guess you're not going to answer the one about the air speed velocity of an unladen swallow?"

"Just take your coffee. We get anything on Smerdyakov yet?"

"Nope. It looks like he switched cabs at least twice, and the last one dropped him at the train station. He could have taken a train or gotten in another cab."

"We gave his name to Interpol," McGee added, looking up from his computer, 'but he hasn't tried to check into a hotel or leave the country."

"He's dumb enough to leave the murder weapon at a crime scene but smart enough to disappear without a trace? I don't buy it. Where's Jen?"

"Shower. She got sick of waiting for the coffee. You stop for a little pick-me-up while you were down there, boss?"

Gibbs glared, angry that they hadn't been able to locate their target, that they were still in France and that they'd figured out he'd stopped for a drink. "There was a line in the coffee shop. Get back to work."

Tony sat down in the chair across from McGee, muttering, "Should have asked him his favorite color."

As Dmitri talked, Ziva's expression remained neutral, a titanic feat by any standard. When he finished, she took a deep breath. "This is…unbelievable."

He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly. "You are trembling, my princess."

"It's just, this is a lot of power for one man to wield."

"For us, Ziva. The world can be ours. We will leave for our new home when our business here has been completed and you can finally cut ties with Moussad and Shepard forever."

When her hand covered the one he had on her face, her fingers encountered his wedding band. "Forever," she whispered. She felt his lips on hers, feather soft.

His kisses became more passionate as his hands slipped inside her robe. From the doorway of the room, Ivan said, "Pardon my interruption, sir. Smerdyakov is on the telephone for you."

Dmitri sighed and Ziva rearranged her robe. "Put him on the speaker, Ivan."

"Yes, sir."

Ivan pressed a button and Dmitri said, "Smerdyakov, as much as Ziva and I enjoyed the gift of your absence at our wedding, I am afraid we are less appreciative of your betrayal."

"You can't scare me, Tushkevich. You will both be in prison, or worse, soon enough."

"You did not call just to tell me you have turned traitor."

"I've called to give you one last chance. I'll disappear and take everything I know with me if you meet my demands."

Dmitri rolled his eyes. "How much do you want, Smerdyakov?"

"It's not money that concerns me. I know you have no objections to parting with that. I have a sum in mind, but I also require something of more value."

"You know where the weapons are. Take whatever you wish."

"I'm not interested in old missiles."

"Then what?"

"I want Ziva."

She laughed with disgust. "He must be drunk."

"Or insane." Despite his confident tone of voice, Dmitri enveloped her in a protective embrace.

"I assure you I am neither," Smerdyakov continued on the phone. "But on this point I am immovable. It will not be a permanent arrangement, just a few hours in my hotel room. She will bring 10 million euro and do what I ask her to. When I am satisfied she will be free to leave."

"Absolutely not. My wife is not a commodity."

"And I couldn't carry that much currency, you idiot," Ziva added. On a piece of paper, she wrote a note for Dmitri: He hasn't talked to anyone yet. He wouldn't bother to ask for something so offensive if it were a setup. Let's play.

Unable to see their silent communication, Smerdyakov continued, "Then just bring as much as you can carry in a briefcase. I can always obtain more cash. What I'm really interested in is the demand you seem less willing to fulfill. You have until tomorrow morning to change your minds."

"What happens tomorrow?"

"I meet with the CIA and tell them all of your secrets, Tushkevich. You will be destroyed."

"No!" Ziva shouted, winking at Dmitri and squeezing his hand. "I won't let you do that, Smerdyakov!"

Dmitri's pleased expression didn't match the concern in his tone. "Ziva, I will not let you."

She placed a hand over her heart and pretended to swoon in his lap, "But if it's the only way…"

A high-pitched giggle came over the line. "It sounds like you two have much to discuss. I will call back tonight to hear your decision." The sound of a dial tone filled the room as Smerdyakov hung up. Dmitri and Ziva broke into laughter.

"What an utter fool! To think I would use you to negotiate with him, my princess!"

"He thinks he'll get a night with me, then still have time to hide whatever money he gets from us and meet with the CIA in the morning. I doubt he could come up with a more elaborate double-cross."

"I am surprised he managed even that. Well, we should get ready if you're going to talk to Shepard before we visit Smerdyakov." He grabbed both her hands and pulled her off the couch. "Shall we shower?"