Consequences of Love and War: Chapter 25
Tony awoke the morning after the anniversary dinner—and the events that followed; it turned out that part of the 'rest of the present' that Ziva referred to at dinner was honeydust—to find the other half the bed empty. Although he knew that Ziva had probably just gotten up to go for a run and didn't want to wake him, he had a brief surge of panic at the thought that she had gone after Tatyana and taken out the former model before breakfast. He actually chuckled out loud at the thought; gold-digger or not, his father's fiancée was hardly worth the effort.
He was just stepping out of the shower when Ziva returned to the guestroom, her face still flushed from the run and the colder air. "You could have woken me up," he said. She smirked slightly.
"You just looked so adorable sleeping there," she teased. That, and she had some phone calls to make alone, but she didn't say that to him. The last thing he needed while he was dealing with his father for the first time in almost two decades and giving up his vacation to catch an arms dealer was for him to think that she didn't trust him. She kicked off her running shoes before peeling off her shirt, smiling to herself as she noticed Tony's eyes following her across the room. "I will see you down at breakfast, yes?"
"If you need someone to wash your back…" He grinned as she rolled her eyes before closing the bathroom door.
He was whistling slightly as he quickly descended the stairs, grinning as he remembered deciding—at about eight years old—that sliding down the banister would be a great idea. He ended up crashing into some sort of antique end table, breaking it and the French vase before slamming into the marble floor and getting the first of what would be many concussions. His grin faded as the rest came back to him: his mother had run out from sun room, drink still in hand, and had gone into such a panic that she couldn't form a coherent sentence. She ended up retreating back into the sun room, probably to fix herself another mint julep, and it had fallen on Harry the butler to drive him to the emergency room.
He shook his head slightly at the memory, then froze as he entered the kitchen, seeing his father with the Financial Times at the table, wearing his usual 'casual' dress of a polo shirt over pressed khakis that probably cost as much as one of Tony's suits. Alessandro glanced up and nodded slightly. "Anthony," he greeted.
"Dad," Tony replied cautiously.
"Would you like some breakfast? Michael can whip up anything you want."
"No, thanks," Tony answered. "I can make my own breakfast." He took in the gourmet kitchen for the first time and wondered idly if the remodel had been his father's idea or if it came from one of the ex-wives.
It took him a few tries, but he finally located the coffee mugs, and then it was a glance around to try to find the coffee maker. "Is this an espresso machine?" he asked, nodding toward what certainly looked like an espresso machine. His father glanced up and nodded.
"I picked it up during a side-trip to Florence when I was doing business in Zurich last year."
"Nice," he said appreciatively.
Alessandro shrugged as he returned his attention to his newspaper. "Never did see the point in acquiring a taste for black coffee," he said absently. "Far too bitter." Tony paused in his search for all the ingredients at the words; he had no idea that he had inherited his father's taste for coffee. "The espresso beans are in the freezer, milk is in the refrigerator, and cocoa powder is in that silver canister, if you wanted a mocha," he said, nodding toward a jar behind the espresso machine.
"Thanks," Tony said slowly. His father nodded, turning a page in the paper. "So," he said awkwardly, "is your, uh, fiancée around?"
"Tatyana sleeps late," Alessandro replied, not bothering to look up. It was only the sound of footsteps descending the stairs that stopped his sarcastic reply about the gold-digger's social life.
"Good morning," Ziva said as she entered the kitchen. Alessandro merely glanced up at her and nodded. "Is there coffee?"
"I can make you a latte," Tony said with a grin, indicating the espresso machine. She rolled her eyes. "I was going to make an omelet for breakfast, if you wanted one." She nodded in the affirmative, reaching for her own mug to make herself a mocha while leaving Tony to the cooking. They fell into an uneasy silence, aware that Tony's father would be able to hear anything they would say.
As if knowing what they were thinking, Alessandro rose from the kitchen table, taking the time to fold the newspaper neatly. "I believe it's time for me to check in with the European offices," he said mildly. Tony nodded at that, not trusting himself to say anything; he was pretty sure if he opened his mouth, the only thing that would come out would be a sarcastic comment about it also being time for his father to be fixing himself a drink.
They had their omelets on their plates before Ziva spoke. "We need to come up with a plan for tonight," she said.
"I was thinking of finding Zajac, pulling him into an empty room, and releasing you for a Mossad-style interrogation," he replied. "Maybe something from Audition. It was this 1999 Japanese film with some of the most gruesome torture scenes I've ever seen. There was this one—"
"I do not think that would be a good idea," she interrupted dryly. "I do not think your father's maid would appreciate the bloodstains in the carpet." She took a moment to eat a few bites of her breakfast. "We should coordinate with Gibbs and McGee through MTAC. With the involvement of a few agents from one of the subordinate offices in New York, we could create a perimeter and—"
"Too involved," he interjected with a shake of his head. He grinned suddenly. "You start proposing perimeters and operational security, and people are going to start thinking that you liaise with the FBI, not NCIS. We're supposed to be cowboys, remember? Besides, we don't have the time to pull off something like that, and as you of all people know, the more people you involve, the more likely you are to be made. We need to keep this small. You and I will be on the ground here. We'll need to come up with a way to separate Zajac from the party without alarming his bodyguards. Business deals are always good covers."
"And so are propositions." Tony narrowed his eyes slightly before deciding she was joking and moving on.
"After we get him out, we'll have to get him to a place where we can…" His voice trailed off, his expression becoming thoughtful.
"Torture him?" Ziva asked dryly.
"Not quite what I had in mind. I have an idea. Let's go." He rose abruptly from the table. Ziva sighed and quickly drained the last of her mocha.
"You are clearly ready to be promoted," she said dryly as she followed him to the door. "You are becoming as vague as Gibbs."
---
Tony pulled the Mustang into the parking lot at the East Hampton Police Department and killed the engine. "The East Hampton Police Department?" Ziva asked. "You do not want to contact the closest NCIS subordinate field offices, but you will involve local LEOs?"
"Things are going to be going down in their jurisdiction," he pointed out. "Common courtesy."
"I am sure," she muttered dryly. He gave her a disarming grin as he held the door open for her.
"Excuse me," he said to the sergeant at the desk. The police officer looked up from the small television he was watching and smacked his gum a few times before speaking.
"Yeah?"
"We need to speak to your chief," Tony said. The sergeant smirked.
"Why? Someone scratched your Maserati or Lamborghini or Porsche or something?"
Tony gave a loud fake laugh and pointed at the sergeant. "Now, you see, that's funny. Because if I'm in East Hampton, I must be rich and overreact about my car." His expression became serious as he pulled out his credentials. "Special Agent DiNozzo, NCIS; my partner, Ziva David." She smiled slightly as she also flashed her badge and ID. "Now, can I talk to your chief?"
"I'll take you to him, sir," the sergeant replied, slightly embarrassed. His back was to DiNozzo as he got up, causing him to miss the federal agent's smirk.
"Chief?" the sergeant said as he tapped his knuckles against the open office door. "There are a couple of CIA agents here to talk to you."
"NCIS, actually," DiNozzo corrected. He blinked in surprise as the face and the name on the desk fully registered. "Hebdon?"
"Tony DiNozzo!" the tall black police chief exclaimed in reply. He rose from his chair and reached across the desk to give a handshake/one-armed hug. "Holy hell! I haven't seen you since you left for Ohio State!" He grinned, revealing two lines of perfectly straight, white teeth. "And now you're a fed. Who woulda thought?"
Tony chuckled self-consciously as he turned to Ziva to explain. "The chief and I used to play ball—"
"He'd come over to slum it in Sag Harbor for a real game when he wasn't too busy at those expensive boarding schools," Chief Hebdon corrected with a laugh. "Cedric Hebdon," he introduced, extending his hand toward Ziva, who took it.
"Ziva David," she replied. Hebdon smirked slightly.
"I've got some stories on this one," he said, pointing to DiNozzo. "If you woulda told me twenty years ago that DiNozzo would become a fed, I woulda laughed your ass right outta this office, some of the stuff he did as a kid."
"You're a find one to talk, Hebdon," Tony said dryly. "I take it that since you made chief of the EHPD that Samuel Preston never did find out who made those footsteps on the side of his summer house to climb up into his daughter's window."
Chief Hebdon hooted in laughter before his expression became serious. "Don't think you came back to the Hamptons to shoot the shit, so let's get down to business. What can the EHPD do for the Navy?"
"Well, we were hoping to borrow an interrogation room for a couple of hours," DiNozzo replied. Hebdon considered this for a minute.
"Do I want to know what for?" he finally asked.
"Does the name Niko Zajac mean anything to you?" Hebdon shook his head. "International arms dealer, drug dealer, financier of terrorist cells," Tony summed up in one line. "Might have something to do with the abduction of a Navy lieutenant in Afghanistan a few days ago. We have reasons to believe he's in town."
"Your father's party." Tony grimaced.
"Yeah." He glanced over at Ziva. "We just wanted a chance to…talk, to him about his activities."
Chief Hebdon's eyes went from the NCIS agent to Mossad liaison and back again a few times. "Talk," he repeated.
"Just a friendly chat," DiNozzo reassured him. Hebdon remained silent for a few more minutes as he thought about it.
"Normally, I'd want some more information," he finally said before a slow grin appeared on his face. "And unless you got a personality transplant since you were eighteen—which I can already tell hasn't happened—I can't help but wonder how much of this sanctioned. Or even legal. But hell, I still owe you for all that good liquor you used to swipe from your dad." He leaned across the desk, his arm extended. "Pleasure doing business with you again, DiNozzo."