Hi Everyone,

It's time for chapter 7 of this story! We have reached halfway now (this story has 13 chapters altogether).

Spoilers: This story is set just after Ziva David left NCIS (S11 E02: Past, Present, and Future). I don't take in account what happened in the series after that event. As there have been many seasons (and many Tiva developments) since, let's just say that this is a fun AU.

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS, I don't earn any money with this story, I'm just enjoying playing with the characters.

Playlist: Every chapter is inspired by a song. For this chapter, it's Mud Flow - Unfinished Relief. Check out my profile for more details!

Reviews: Thank you all for your nice comments!

I hope you enjoy!

Temples of Gold

Chapter 7: Pay The Price With Blood And Hate

When Ziva landed in Karachi, the sun was just making its way above the horizon. She had not slept for the ten hours of the flight, and was exhausted and tense. It had taken two days to sort out the documentation for a visa that would allow her to enter Pakistan. She had used this time to delegate any pending business to Chaviv. She trusted her assistant, everything was in good hands.

She followed the queue of passengers and submitted herself to all the controls, hoping her credentials would hold to scrutiny. She could not use her Israeli passport and her new identity, because all Israeli nationals were refused entrance to the country, so she had improvised and used an old fake American passport. It took a long time for the border officer to inspect everything, which made Ziva even more nervous. Finally, the officer reached for a stamp and punched ink on an empty passport page. Ziva was allowed in the country for a maximum stay of 30 days. She would not need that much time.

She didn't have any checked baggage so she exited directly the terminal and found Naheem waiting for her.

'As-salāmu ʿalayka' she greeted him.

'Wa-Alaikum-Salaam,' he replied with a smile. 'It is good to see you Ziva, have you had a good trip?'

'Good, yes,' she lied.

'I have rented a car,' he said, showing her the direction.

Ziva took the time to readjust the hijab around her head before following him. Now wasn't the time to stand out. They exited Jinnah International Airport in the rented car and headed East.

'Where are we going?' she asked.

'Jungshahi. This is where we intend on building the first school. It's a small town, but the community there is eager to help and I have good relationships with the Imam, Adeeb Mullah. He's a very smart but very old man. He wants to ensure that young people are taken care of after he dies.'

'That is very noble of him.'

'He is one of the best men I've ever met. He's gathered a group of volunteers ready to help with the construction, as well as future teachers.'

'That is fantastic! But… Naheem, while I'm really happy that the project is moving forward, that is not why I'm here.'

'I know, Ziva. I just wanted to paint you a picture of what you're about to see. So you don't think that I have betrayed your efforts.'

'What do you mean?'

Naheem sighed and made a left turn before he answered. 'Two months ago, shortly after I met you in Haifa, a woman visited me here, at the university. Her name was Zaneerah Malik. She was polite, educated and very interested in the school project. She wanted to help, so I hired her as my assistant. She researched the regulations, the possible fundings, she did a lot of the paperwork. And she's the one who suggested Jungshahi for our first location.'

'She sounds like a great woman.'

Naheem shook his head. 'I didn't question her motives at first, because I really needed the help, you see? But I should have asked… I should have questioned how she had learned about our project. About me… and about you.'

'What does she know about me?'

'Too much. I started getting suspicious before the fundraiser. She kept asking questions about the money. Where it would come from, who was my mysterious benefactor. She seemed… fixated.'

The dread that had lived in Ziva's stomach since Naheem's call intensified. 'Do you think she knows who I really am?'

'I'm not sure. On New Year's Day, after our Skype call, I was getting ready to leave the office. Zaneerah was still working when I said goodbye and I got a glimpse of her screen. She was reading an email. I didn't see much, except three words. A name.'

'Leroy Jethro Gibbs,' completed Ziva.

'You had just told me about your history with the man, and hours later his name was in my assistant's correspondence. That is not a coincidence. I took upon myself to research her, do what I should have done before I hired her. Ziva… she faked her name, her address, her identity. Everything.'

Ziva stared at the bare landscape for a few minutes before replying. This conversation had a familiar ring. Conspiracy. Secrets. Threats to her family. She could feel the switch in her own brain as she reverted to the investigator, the spy. The assassin. 'Where is she now?' she asked calmly.

'In Jungshahi. She doesn't know that you are in Pakistan.'

'Good.' A plan was forming in Ziva's mind. She needed to isolate the woman, surprise her when she didn't expect it. Use Naheem's findings about her identity to extract information. It was easy, she had done it for years. 'I will need a secluded location.'

'What are you going to do to her?'

'Nothing unnecessary,' she replied, realising too late that her voice was as cold as steel.

Naheem abruptly pulled over to the side of the road and switched the engine off. 'Ziva. I'm a pacifist. I didn't bring you here to cast violence upon this woman.'

'I have to know what she knows.'

'Yes, but I will not allow you to torture or hurt her. This isn't you, Ziva.'

He was wrong. This was her. This was her all along. 'You don't know what I've done in the past.'

'Perhaps. But I know you in the present. You're a gentle soul. You work towards bettering the world, reducing suffering, not inflicting it. You told me of your commitment to correct your past mistakes. There is always another way.'

Ziva couldn't look at him. She felt tears in her eyes and wondered when exactly she had become comfortable with showing her emotions openly. Naheem was right. Ziva was not a killer anymore. She had promised herself that that life was over. It was such an ingrained reflex, an old addiction. Like smelling alcohol after years of abstinence. It would never go away. But she had to fight it, fight for her own salvation.

'I'm sorry,' she whispered. 'Gibbs, NCIS, all these people in Washington… They were my family. I feel like I have abandoned them. If they are in danger, I need to help.'

She could not bear the thought of being powerless while someone was targeting Gibbs. Or worse, Tony. She would never forgive herself if something happened to him and she could have prevented it. He could not die. Not when there were so many things unsaid between them.

'Of course. We will help them. I promise,' said Naheem. He switched the engine back on and rejoined the road slowly.

They spent the rest of the journey in a comfortable silence. Much like Schmeil, Naheem was a quiet presence and she felt safe with him. At peace. She noted that lately she had been most at ease with the oldest people in her life. Schmeil, Naheem, Ducky. Surrogate fathers, perhaps. Surrogate Gibbs, surely. Dr Cranston would have a field day with this.

They arrived in the village a little before noon. The streets were peaceful, and the buildings old. Ziva made sure that her hijab was secured on her head before exiting the car, preceded by Naheem. He waved at a small house on the side of a curb.

'This is where Imam Mullah lives. He's agreed to lend us his house while he is at the mosque. I've asked Zaneerah to wait for me there.'

Ziva nodded. Naheem walked towards the door and let himself in. Ziva followed, careful. She didn't like this. She didn't like this at all.

BANG!

The door slammed behind her and a knife was on her throat before she could defend herself.

'Ziva David.' The voice belonged to a woman. The hands holding the knife were coarse but manicured.

'Zaneerah, what are you doing?' Naheem cried out.

'Shut up, old man. Move,' she added for Ziva. 'Kitchen.'

Ziva awkwardly walked towards the room at the back of the house, careful to not press her own skin on the blade. Naheem followed them, his hands extended in front of him, like a handler trying to tame a particularly vicious wild animal.

Zaneerah pushed Ziva on a chair. 'Old man, tie her to the chair. There are cable ties under the sink.'

Naheem opened his mouth to protest but Ziva shook her head lightly. The knife was still on her throat, there was nothing that Naheem could do. He crouched under the sink and gathered a bundle of plastic ties. Reluctantly, he tied Ziva's wrists to the arm rests.

'Now tie yourself too,' ordered Zaneerah. The knife was still on Ziva's throat.

Naheem struggled to wrap the first plastic tie, and couldn't get the second in place by himself. With a huff, Zaneerah released her pressure on Ziva's neck and moved to finish tying Naheem down. Ziva sighed with relief. She wriggled her wrists slightly and noticed that the ties were not as tight as they could be. Zaneerah hadn't bothered checking them. She had also not bothered restraining her legs. Amateur, Ziva thought.

'Did you really think you could surprise me here?' said Zaneerah.

'We just wanted to talk,' pleaded Naheem.

'You brought a Mossad assassin here to… talk?' Zaneerah replied. She added something in Sindhi that Ziva didn't understand but that sounded like a swear word.

Ziva was fluent in Pashto but she only had a few notions of Sindhi. She wondered if it was the woman's native tongue or if she only used it because it was Naheem's main language. Her English accent was weird too. Ziva could clearly hear a British influence, but it had also some American intonations. Ziva concluded that Zaneerah had been travelling around.

'Who are you?' she asked.

The woman moved in front of her and crouched, locking their eyes together. 'Someone who is very interested in you, Ziva David. Daughter of Eli David. NCIS. Mossad.'

Ziva was positive that she had never met the woman before, or even seen a picture of her.

'Did I kill someone you love?' Ziva asked.

The woman shook her head and laughed. 'No, but it's enlightening that this is your first guess. He was right about you. Ruthless.'

'He?'

'My brother. Benham Parsa.'

—

Leon Vance was observing the squad room from the mezzanine above it. The activity downstairs was reduced, as many agents were still on holiday. However, that wasn't what was worrying him. He was looking at his star team and knew that there was something wrong. Gibbs was typing harder than necessary on his keyboard and ignoring everyone else, while the others were trying to make as little movement and noise as possible. Leon could see that Gibbs was angry at his team and he wondered what had caused it.

He had shortened his holiday with Kayla and Jared after his last video conversation with Gibbs two days ago. The children had been understanding, as usual, but he had felt guilty. He had organised this ski trip because it was their first Christmas without Jackie. He could not imagine spending it at home without her, and he knew that the kids thought the same. The plan was to come back just before the school started again, which would not be for another three days now. He imagined them alone in the house with the nanny, removing the Christmas tree, and he felt sad. He had wished he could spare them any more sorrow for this new year but that was one more thing his job had prevented. Sometimes, he was really tired of being the Director of NCIS.

'Gibbs!' he called. 'In my office, now!'

The team leader raised his head and grumbled before getting up. As he left the squad room to climb the stairs, Leon noticed that the other agents looked relieved. He preceded Gibbs in his office, nodding to his secretary as he passed her. She too had had to shorten her holiday. As his agent was closing the door behind them, Leon sat down with a sigh.

'What is it, Leon?'

'I could ask you the same question, Gibbs. What's up with your agents?'

'There're on probation from now on.' Leon could hear the exasperation in his voice

'All of them?'

'And Abby, Ducky and Palmer.'

Stunned, Leon asked, 'What did they do?'

'Rule number fifteen.'

Leon searched his memories. 'Always work as a team?'

Gibbs nodded. 'They all plotted to disobey my orders.'

Vance started to think that this crisis was more important than he had believed at first. 'What order didn't they follow?'

'To not go after Parsa,' replied Gibbs reluctantly.

Leon understood finally what was going on. Gibbs was not angry, he was scared. And scared, in the Marine's personality, translated in shouting and punishments. No wonder why the team looked like they were tiptoeing around him.

'If what you told me about the case is correct, it's not surprising that they were tempted to dig further.'

'I was supposed to be the only one taking risks here!'

Leon recalled the conversation they had had after Parsa had called them, but things had changed now. Parsa was bound to learn about his men's deaths soon, if he didn't know it already, and it was going to fall back on them.

'You cannot shield them forever. They're adults, not children.'

'I can always put them in timeout,' replied Gibbs with irony.

'And give them nannies?' asked Leon, grabbing the folder that had made him call Gibbs in the first place.

'I just asked Tobias a favour.'

A favour that was going to cost the NCIS a fortune, if Leon trusted the FBI report contained in the folder. He could understand why Gibbs had asked for it, but his precautions were getting out of hand.

'Our agents are perfectly able to defend themselves. We cannot spend that much money for a security detail that's not proved to work against a terrorist attack.'

'And what was I supposed to do?' said Gibbs angrily. 'You were not even here!'

That was a low blow and he knew that Gibbs was aware of it too. The agent had been the first one to push him to go on his holiday, arguing that Kayla and Jared deserved to spend more time with their dad, and now he was throwing the same holiday at his face? That was rich!

'I never thought that you would become petty,' Leon said bitterly.

Gibbs didn't apologise and there was a tense silence. As usual, Leon was the first to come back to his diplomatic senses.

'I'll keep the protection on our agents until we are sure that Parsa will not be a problem.'

'Thanks, Leon.'

It was not really a truce but Leon knew that he could not live with himself if he removed the protection on the team and they got attacked. For now, he could deal with the FBI Director. If the situation lasted longer, then he would reevaluate. In the meantime, he needed to push Gibbs and the others to start cooperating again.

'Get them out of timeout. You need to work fast.'

Gibbs grumbled but agreed. They needed to stop Parsa before he decided to strike them. How long did they have, he didn't know, but he really hoped that no more dead terrorist would fall on their laps any time soon.

—

Tony was half sleeping on his desk, buried under a ton of paperwork, when the Director called Gibbs to his office. He jumped, startled by the voice, and almost knocked a pile of folders. Gibbs was making him review all the past cases he had worked on, in order to check that the proper documentation had been added to the file. It was the most boring job he had ever done, and that included the summer he had worked in a fast food to buy his first car. At least, he didn't have to perform unnecessary diagnostics on all the computers like McGee or dust the whole squad room and check the fingerprints one by one like Abby. When it came to punishments, Gibbs could be very imaginative.

He opened the next folder from the huge pile lying on the floor and eyed distractedly the empty desk in front of him. Alex had disappeared in the evidence garage, where she was supposed to sort out all the evidence alphabetically and per year. The previous day, she had emerged from there covered in dust and rather angry. Really, Gibbs had not spared anyone.

Tony had already reviewed many files, but he had left all the cases involving Ziva for last. He had hoped that Gibbs would lift their punishment before he would have to face all these memories but there was no such luck.

This first case was the one featuring Ari. It was also the first time he had met Ziva. At the time, he had thought that he could never get along with her and had even been suspicious of her actions. What a difference eight years could make! If only he could turn the clock back, if only he could meet her again. He would be less immature, less confrontational. He would see her for who she really was, not the Mossad liaison agent, not the sister of Kate's murderer.

Damn, that was harder than he thought. He really wanted to hit Gibbs right now. He closed the folder and threw it on the floor. These thoughts were useless. He could not change what had happened, the same way he could not prevent Kate's death. She was gone and Ziva was gone. He should move on.

However, the next case file brought him back again to a better time. It was when they had gone undercover at the United States Marine Corps birthday ball. At the time, playing the part of a married couple had felt weird and tense. How things would be different now! For one, he would not have faked the sex. And he would not have had any trouble showing her affection. If only…

Stop! He needed to stop wishing this fantasy past. He was just torturing himself. Again, he closed the file a little too hard and threw it away, before grabbing a new one.

This one was the time they had been locked in a container, awaiting to be killed by terrorists. They had joked, flirted, done anything to avoid thinking about the inevitable shoot-out that would occur. He had found then that Ziva was brave and reliable.

When had he fallen in love with her? He didn't remember. It was like he had always had feelings for her, stronger or weaker depending on how mad she was driving him at the time. He was probably embellishing the whole story, but she had been the most important part of his life for all these years and now he only had his memories.

He raised his head from the file and opened his desk drawer. There it was: Ziva's necklace. He took it out and held it in his hand, appreciating the cold of the metal in his palm. One night during a stakeout that was incredibly boring, Ziva had explained to him the meaning of the Star of David. She had told him about the history of the symbol, first used in the Leningrad Codex, the oldest complete manuscript of the Hebrew Bible. She had showed him some old flags representing Jewish communities that were already showing the star. He knew about the use of these yellow stars during the Holocaust. What he hadn't known, however, was the meaning she was attaching to her necklace. She had said that it was a reminder of her identity, while everything else was Americanised.

He remembered that, at the time, he had felt offended. What was wrong with being more American? But now, he could understand that the necklace was just like her "I will" list, a way to remind herself of who she really was. He was tempted of getting his own list out of his wallet, where he had slipped it when he had landed in D.C. after leaving her in Israel, but decided against. Nothing good would come out of reading it.

Instead, he put the necklace back into the drawer and grabbed another file. At least this one was a funny one: he grabbed the picture of Ziva wearing a geek disguise, when she had infiltrated a speed dating event. It was definitely her best acting performance and he could not help but smile while remembering how she had roughed up the suspect who had pinched her bottom during their date.

In a better mood, Tony opened the next folder… and immediately lost his smile. It was Jenny's assassination. His biggest failure. Ziva had immediately known that something was wrong with the former Director, that Jenny was acting weirdly. But he hadn't wanted to hear it. He had wanted to spend time with Ziva. Flirt. Enjoy life. Pretend the butterflies in his stomach every time he thought about her were normal. Think about her in her tiny bikini. Convince her to wear that bikini again, on a beach, near him. Then reality had come crashing his impossible dream. Jenny had been killed, and he had felt more guilty than ever in his life.

The next one was even worse. Somalia. The one time he had thought that Ziva was really dead. Their relationship was at its worst: Tony had killed Michael Rivkin, Ziva had left NCIS because she couldn't stand to be in the same room as him anymore. And yet, he had hung up to the belief that he would see her again. That she would forgive him. And then, she had been declared dead and he had wanted to die too.

Pushing back the bad memories, Tony decided to concentrate on the good ones and shuffled through the files to find something less depressing. Ziva's first case as Probatory NCIS agent, after she had left Mossad. He remembered the prank he had played on her: making her believe that she had to study for the GS11 test. She had studied for three months before realising that it wasn't true. She had punished him by filling up his car with shaving cream.

It was when Tony had thought that maybe he could be satisfied with being friend with Ziva. Their flirting had died out and she had met Ray Cruz. Tony had tried to be happy for her, even encouraged her to say yes to Ray's proposal when it had come, months later. He had even felt angry at himself when he had been relieved to see that she hadn't accepted and had broken off everything with Cruz. But then, he had hoped again. He couldn't prevented it, Ziva had always been his one unresolved love.

Then her father had been killed. Then she had started pushing him away. Until that day in Israel, when he had begged her and she had stabbed his heart by saying no.

Maybe he should have tried harder. Maybe he should have stayed there and tried to change her mind, or even tried to fit into her new life. He had never thought about leaving NCIS before, let alone stop being a cop, but they surely needed law enforcement in Israel, right? That was a foolish idea, he knew, but he should have at least tried.

Beating himself up for not doing more seemed to be his favourite hobby lately.

Ziva was the most stubborn person he had ever met and he knew that nothing he would have said was going to change her mind. He also didn't want her to accept him in his life only half-heartedly. He wanted her to need him. To want him with her. She had always reminded him of a wild animal, one that he could not imprison. She had to be willing to be there. She had to find enough reasons to renounce her freedom.

Unfortunately, Tony had not been enough. Just like with Senior, who had been absent all his life. Just like with Wendy, who had called off their wedding. Just like with his mother, who had died when he was just a child. Everyone he cared about seemed to disappear from his life.

His depressive thoughts were rudely interrupted by the ringtone of his desk phone, buried under many files. Feverishly, he searched the device and finally managed to pick up.

'Special Agent DiNozzo.'

'Agent DiNozzo, this is Inspector Broyles, Metropolitan Police Department. I'm calling regarding the BOLO you have about a dead man in relation with a particular symbol.'

Immediately, Tony waved at McGee, who walked towards him. 'Yes, did you find one similar?' he asked Inspector Broyles. Another body meant another lead in Parsa's case. Maybe this time they'll understand what was going on.

'No, not one,' explained Broyles. 'Twelve.'

'What?'

'I think your team should come and see this.'

In the background, Tony could hear people shouting, ambulances, and even an helicopter.

'Where?' Tony asked.

'Holiday Inn Hotel, in Silver Spring.'

'Give us half an hour.'

—

Jethro was pensive in the car that was leading him and his team to Silver Spring. He had exited Leon's office and had decided to get a coffee, and upon his return he had seen Tony running towards him and shouting that Metro Police had found twelve bodies, all members of the Brotherhood of Doubt. McGee had run to get Bell and his three agents had gathered in front of him, with their gears, eagerly awaiting his authorisation to go to the crime scene. He had been tempted to ground them, but he had remembered Leon's words just in time. They were not children, and he needed them.

'Tell Ducky to meet us there!' he had said, before grabbing his own backpack.

The ride had been silent since then. Jethro could tell that they were all preoccupied. Twelve bodies. If they were really all members of Parsa's cell, then it wouldn't go unnoticed by the terrorist.

They soon arrived in sight of the building, surrounded by many police cars and ambulances. Gibbs also noticed that two vans from the Center for Disease, Control and Prevention were parked in front. As Tony pulled over, he got out of the car first and stopped the first man he saw, waving his NCIS badge.

'I want to see who's responsible!'

The patrol officer showed him the tent that was standing outside the hotel. 'It's Inspector Broyles.'

Jethro, followed by the three others, headed to the tent and entered. There were several officers from the police and the CDC around a table were blueprints of the building were lying. A man dressed in white protective gown covering his whole body, with a helmet currently in his arms, was detailing the situation to the man in charge.

'I don't see any sign of contagion. If this pathogen was air born, it would have killed more people in the building. It must be something they touched or…'

'Something they ate,' Jethro completed.

All men turned and frowned in front of the new arrivals. Gibbs held again his badge. 'Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS. This is my team.'

Inspector Broyles was the first one to react. 'Oh, yes, I spoke to one of your agents. DiNozzo?'

Tony waved at the man. 'It's me.'

Broyles turned back to him and asked, 'Do you know what's happening here?'

'You tell me,' replied Jethro, slightly puzzled by the agitation around.

'I'll show you.'

He waved at a sergeant who was in front of a laptop to turn the screen to them. It was a live feed from inside the building. Several men dressed in white overalls were in what looked like a large hotel suite. It was dark because all the blinds were shut, but the camera held by one of the CDC men had a light source included. They first saw a body on the couch. It was lying face against the pillow so they couldn't see his face. The next body was lying on the floor and they could see a horrible wince deform his traits. Everywhere where the camera was turning was another body.

'Twelve,' counted McGee next to him.

'Do they all have medals?' Jethro asked.

'Medals? What medals?'

Jethro was going to reply when he saw something in the background. The man holding the camera was moving towards the furthest wall, and it was only when he was close enough that Gibbs could make out the marks on the wall. It was the symbol of the Brotherhood of Doubt, painted on the wall in what looked like blood.

'No way,' commented Bell.

'Our killer is becoming less subtle,' added DiNozzo.

'Have you seen something like this before?' asked Inspector Broyles.

Jethro came closer to the screen and examined the mark on the wall. 'Not on that scale. But your suits are useless. This is not an epidemic, it's murder.'

'How can you be so sure?' asked the CDC man.

Jethro didn't bother replying and narrowed his eyes to determine if the killer had used paint or blood.

McGee replied in his place. 'We have had three other victims. All poisoned with an arsenic compound.'

'Arsenic?'

'It's a long story.'

The hotel was much more luxurious than the shady motel they had found Drew Abrahams in. 'Tell your guys to show us the face of all the victims,' Jethro ordered.

While the sergeant transmitted the order to the CDC officers inside, Tony came near him and asked, 'What do you have in mind?'

'This cell is one the most cautious I've ever seen. They would never all meet in one place, unless…'

'Do you think Parsa is with them?' finished Tony.

He shrugged while watching the CDC people inside going from one body to another and holding the camera close to their faces. Parsa was not amongst them.

'Damn!' said Jethro.

The voice of Ducky suddenly came from outside the tent. 'I told you, I need to see Special Agent Gibbs. Mr Palmer, please tell this man that we are with NCIS and we need to see Jethro!'

The head of Ducky came through the opening, quickly followed by the police officer who had welcomed them and Palmer.

'They tried to go inside the contaminated area!' explained the policeman.

'I thought I was here to examine bodies. No one said anything about a contaminated area.'

'Yeah, about that,' said Tony to Broyles. 'You can call back the CDC. Seeing the bodies, it's definitely what we had before. Arsenic.'

Broyles turned to the medical officer who shrugged. 'It's possible.'

'A group poisoning can mimic the effects of an epidemic outbreak,' explained Ducky, who seemed much happier now. Jethro could tell that Ducky was going to share one of his famous anecdotes. 'It has happened before, coincidentally with arsenic. In 1858, twenty-one people died after ingesting sweets sold from a market stall in Bradford, and more than two hundred suffered from various symptoms. The sweets in question were peppermint humbugs, made of peppermint oil incorporated into a base of sugar and gum. However, sugar was expensive and so they would substitute it with powdered gypsum. One day, a seller made a mistake and sold them arsenic trioxide instead. The deaths were first mistaken for an outbreak of cholera, which was a major problem in Britain at the time. They finally realised that it was due to the very innocent looking sweets-'

'So you're saying that there's no danger for my people there?' cut the CDC doctor.

'As long as they don't ingest anything from the crime scene, no.'

'Then Ducky you'll go inside, DiNozzo and Bell will go with you. McGee, with me,' ordered Jethro.

The hotel manager was his first target. He needed to know how the group of men had rented a room in this luxurious hotel and which names they had given.

'So you're taking over the investigation?' asked Broyles.

'Unless you want your people to be targeted by an international terrorist prone to bomb your car, yes, we'll take the case.'

—

Jimmy Palmer gazed upon the twelve bodies in the hotel room and sighed. This was going to be a long day. He should have called Breena to let her know that he was going to be late tonight. No that he really wanted to have dinner with his father-in-law anyway.

Tony and Alex were taking pictures of the room while the CDC people were packing their equipment and protective gear. He kneeled next to the first body, who was lying three feet from the door, and noticed some burns around the mouth.

'Doctor, did you see this?'

Doctor Mallard bent next to him and followed his finger. 'Yes,' he said, 'I was expecting that.'

'We didn't see that on the other victims.'

'No. I think that our current victims were given a much more concentrated version of the poison, which provoked ulcers in and around the mouth.'

'Why is that?'

'I'm not sure… Tony?' he called.

Their friend stopped examining the table in the middle of the room and came towards them. 'Yes?'

'Can you see any source for the poison? It would be very concentrated.'

'I think I have something,' Tony replied.

He waved them to follow him towards the table and showed them a crystal carafe that was standing on it. Glasses in the same stylised crystal were lying on the floor next to some of the bodies, while other were tipped over on the table itself, sometimes broken. Jimmy bent and carefully smelled the liquid coming out of one of the glasses.

'Wine,' he said.

He knew that arsenic had no odour and most of the time no colour, so wine was a good way to conceal it. Tony collected a sample of the wine to send to Abby, who would tell them if they were right. Tony took several pictures of the table, then lowered his camera with a frown.

'Now, here's a thought. We assume the poison was in the wine, right? And that it was so strong that they all collapsed quickly, dropping their glasses on the floor or on the table.'

'Yes, Tony, that's correct,' replied Ducky. 'Where are you going with this?'

Tony pointed at the only glass that was still standing next to the carafe. 'Then why is this one still full and intact?'

Jimmy quickly counted all the glasses around and saw what Tony had already noticed. There were thirteen glasses. And one hadn't been touched.

'Do you mean…' started Jimmy, afraid of what Tony was implying.

'Our killer was here. They all knew him.'

I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Next time: things go from bad to worse for Ziva, and the team gets a huge clue.

Let me know what you think so far by leaving a review!

Thank you for reading,

Loufoca