Timing in Everything: Chapter 29
A/N: Happy Independence Day to my fellow Americans (just a happy 4th of July to everyone else)! For those you partaking in the blowing stuff up portion of the holiday, stay safe and make sure you don't have anything flammable near your fireworks. Not that you'll have a container of jet fuel, mind you, but gasoline's even worse, so be careful.
And enjoy the story (during which it's November, not July, but we can pretend).
Bahrain, 0215 local (2315 Zulu), Monday
The one thing that Ziva wanted while dealing with everything going on with this case was a decent night's sleep. So, of course, that was the one thing she didn't get.
After dinner and dessert with Abby, the Mossad case officer drove the forensic scientist back to the lab, where Ziva was sure Abby would be working without sleep until they figured out exactly who set the explosives in the storage compartment and where Wyatt Mehler was. Then it was back to the office for a late-night call with Tel Aviv, during which Ziva confirmed that the ending of the Mossad-NCIS liaison and Ziva's move to Bahrain did nothing to improve her director's opinion of her. Then, less than an hour after lying down to get some sleep, she was woken by the ringing of the phone that was always on.
"David," she greeted, not bothering to look at the display. The only people who called that number were her operatives, none of which ever used the same phone twice.
"Sorry to call you so late." One of the reasons she was so good at being a case officer was that she could recognize voices and accents, meaning her operatives rarely had to identify themselves over the phone. In this case, though, the flawless Palestinian Arabic didn't come from one of her operatives, but someone she had worked with on a mission that never existed and one of David Cohen's best friends from their days in the IDF. "Our mutual friend suggested that I call you."
Issac Rabinowisz's cryptic words, combined with the Palestinian accent, were enough to tell Ziva that the operative was undercover—probably in a refugee camp somewhere—and that identifying him or their 'mutual friend' should probably be avoided. "And why did he think we should speak?" she asked, matching his accent and glaring at the bedroom clock as the numbers changed from 2:17 to 2:18. If this was Cohen's idea of a practical joke, she would kill him.
"He mentioned that you were in the market for explosives," he replied, and immediately, Ziva was awake and listening.
"And you have found some?" she asked.
"I may have," he replied. "I have been introduced to a supplier who has told me that he has three kilograms of explosive manufactured in Saudi Arabia decades ago by a private chemist and never used."
"Three kilograms?" Ziva repeated.
"Yes," Rabinowisz confirmed. "He had three more kilograms, which were supplied to a member of Hamas for use against the Israeli navy."
"Successfully?"
"No. The person responsible for the first attempt was taken into custody by the Americans."
"First attempt?"
"That is all that the supplier said." This could be the stuff they were looking for, although the three kilograms didn't make much sense; less than a tenth of that was used on the Truman. And setting off a bomb on an American aircraft carrier wasn't exactly an attack against the Israeli navy.
But three kilograms minus the two hundred grams that were used on the Truman meant that there was still a good amount of explosive left if the 'first attempt' wasn't the only attempt. They had to check it out. "Buy the remaining three kilograms," she instructed Rabinowisz. "We will put it to good use. Use your regular network to get it to me." She hoped he understood that to mean that she wanted him to give the explosives to his case officer to get to Tel Aviv for testing, to see if it matched the relative percentages of RDX and PETN of the explosive used on the Truman.
"I will contact the supplier immediately," the operative informed her. "You should be getting the package shortly."
After the necessarily-cryptic phone conversation, Ziva knew that there was no hope for returning to sleep. She had to get in touch with Rabinowisz's katsa to give the heads-up of the case and the incoming three kilograms of explosives, as well as ensure that the operative had enough money to make that transaction; call Tel Aviv and make sure that they knew that the analysis of the explosive was top priority and that she needed the results immediately; and figure out how to keep the midshipmen and their training officers safe for their trip back to Israel in a few days.
In case the 'first attempt' wasn't the last.
Tony DiNozzo let his phone ring for a few seconds as he studied the time on the phone, sure that something was wrong with the display. Either it had changed itself to Zulu time, or this call was just far too early. "If this marriage is going to work, Sweetcheeks, you need to learn how to tell time," he finally greeted.
"Well, Tony, I thought you might be interested in hearing what I learned about the case," Ziva replied testily. "If it is any consolation, I have been awake for the last hour and a half."
He sighed and wished he had coffee. "What've you got?" he asked tiredly. He hoped this was worth being woken at 0330.
"If you are too tired…"
"Stop playing games, Ziva. I'm already up."
"I think the explosives may have come from a Palestinian refugee camp." She relayed an early-morning conversation she had with someone she refused to name—either one of her operatives or someone else somehow associated with Mossad, and he didn't want any details—about a supplier who claimed to have given a member of Hamas a few kilos of explosives to attack the Israeli navy. "There are some inconsistencies," she admitted. "Abby's simulations are consistent with less than 200 grams of Semtex, not three kilograms, and an attack on an American aircraft carrier, while an impressive feat, is not an attack on the Israeli navy."
"I thought you said that he said that would-be bomber was taken into custody."
"There is that as well. We will know more soon. The supplier's remaining supply is to be purchased and transported to Tel Aviv for testing, to see if it is a match."
"How long is that going to take?"
"I do not know, Tony. Those working in Palestinian camps are hardly working in predictable conditions."
Of course not. He sighed as he thought about this. The few days it will take to get the explosives to Tel Aviv and get it tested and compared to the sample they had in their lab will really only be a delay if they didn't match. If they did match, it would just confirm the good police work that they were going to continue in the next few days. And maybe Tomblin's conversation with her Libyan bomber would turn up something. Something that confirmed the news Ziva woke him up about or something that went against it; at that point, he didn't really care, he just wanted information. He needed this case to be over. And he needed coffee. But mostly he needed to get off this boat and back to his house before Ziva unpacked everything in places he didn't want them. Or got rid of all of his things.
Before he got a chance to say anything further, his phone beeped, indicating another incoming call. He pulled it away from his ear long enough to read the display. "I gotta go, Sweetcheeks. Apparently you're not the only one who doesn't believe in sleep. Tomblin's calling in."
"Okay. I will leave you to that. I love you. Come home soon."
"Love you too. And I'm working on it." He ended the call and accepted the next one. "You're lucky I'm already up," he said as a greeting.
"Yeah, luck has nothing to do with it. I can't remember the last time I slept," Tomblin replied, sounding no more thrilled about that fact than DiNozzo was.
"But you have some news for me."
"In that category, you are in luck."
"Where are you?"
"On the way back to the Naples airport. I had a lovely chat with my friend last night. Discovered he's no more pleasant to deal with after midnight than at a respectable time of the day."
"If it's all the same to you, Tomblin, can we just get to the point?"
"He was able to figure out where the Semtex came from."
"A would-be Hamas bomber?"
There were a couple seconds of silence on the other end. "Shit, DiNozzo, if you could find this out with your Mossad connections, why the fuck did I just take a tour of the Italian countryside?"
"Sorry. Just got off the phone with Ziva, who got off the phone with god-knows-who."
"Well, Ziva's people are definitely on the right track. Just missing a couple of details."
"I'm all ears."
She took a deep breath. "The Semtex was manufactured in Saudi Arabia a few decades ago and never used, and no, I don't know why. Two kilos went to a Palestinian bomber, who planned on blowing up the transport ship bringing your Israeli friends to the Truman. Fortunately for the Israelis and unfortunately for him, the pirates who were providing transport were caught by the Coast Guard, who had no heartburn selling him out. Put everyone in custody and took control of the stuff that goes boom."
"Wait a sec," DiNozzo said. "You're saying we had the Semtex?"
"Well, the Coast Guard did. Don't know what they did with it. And all of this is assuming that the Semtex my Libyan friend heard about is the same Semtex that blew a hole into the Truman."
And suddenly, something went click in DiNozzo's mind. "Holy shit," he murmured. As sure as if he was looking at a photograph, he saw the stack of files that Gabi had moved from the extra chair in the agent afloat office. "I gotta go, Tomblin. I'll see you in a few hours. Thanks for the info." He ended the call without an explanation and threw a cleanish shirt over his basketball shorts and ran for the agent afloat office. At that hour, hardly anyone was wandering around; he only had to shout for them to make a hole a couple of times.
In his rush to find the right file, he went by it twice before finally stopping on the right one. He tore it open, flipping through the pages until he found the NCIS agent report, and sure enough, just like Tomblin said, it was right there.
Two kilograms of unmarked plastic explosive (? C4, Semtex) placed in NCIS evidence (Evidence B). Explosive placed in locked, fireproof container in storage compartment 3C-6E.
The storage compartment that was now a hole in the side of the U.S.S. Harry S Truman.
DiNozzo dropped the file from his hands, hit with a sudden and very concerning thought: did Agent McCaw cause the explosion by improperly storing the confiscated Semtex?
