A/N- Many thanks to those who support and review. Chapter 2 ahead.
Scorched Earth
Chapter 2
May 21st, 2016
Flight LY8515, Washington DC to Tel Aviv
Somewhere above the Mediterranean Sea
Morning
Tony DiNozzo stirs up to the feeling of something small and wet, tapping his cheek repeatedly.
Now that's a first.
He dares to open one eye, then the other, only to face another pair of dark, round orbs looking at him playfully. A child's small hand is the one tapping his face.
A small giggle, and then… "Abba!"
A pang of both affection and heartbreak hits his chest abruptly. "Hey, Tali," he mumbles sleepily, rubbing at his eyes. He must have dozed off about an hour ago, while Tali occupied herself with one of her stuffed animals.
He's happy to notice that the girl is a very comfortable traveler; only once during the journey she made a fuss, and that was due to nature's call (His daughter was perfectly potty-trained, thank you, Ziva). He had to hold down a chuckle when the baby at the seat behind them started wailing, and instead of joining in like some children would do, Tali just pressed both fingers to her ears and pouted.
Right now, she lets go of her 'Elsa' doll to glare at him, tilting her head adorably. "Sefer?" she mumbled quizzically.מה אפש
He blinks at her.
Shit. He has no idea what she wants. Or needs.
Ah. This is one of the many moments in the last few days he feels like screaming. He should have tried mastering Hebrew at the time. How can he be a good father when he can't even understand what his daughter is saying?
"Sefer?" she tries again.
What does it mean, what does it mean?
'The bag', he thinks, 'Let's try the bag'.
Reaching between his legs, he pulls up the child's bag, hoping against hope that there lies the answer. He must be right, as her enthusiasm increases when he digs inside. Her mother's scarf…no. Wipes…no. Another stuffed teddy-bear… she shakes her head 'No'…. a children's book…N-
"Sefer!" she squeals, reaching for it.
Oh, goodie. Sefer.
"Your book?" he inquires, and she nods.
Sefer. That's a one he'll have to remember.
He flips the book open, to see it's a small animals' book. Tali loves animals.
Cuddling next to him, she rests her head on his arm, finding comfort in him. Blinking, he releases himself to rest his arm on her shoulder.
Will he ever get used to it?
The girl focuses on the book, and laughs at the cartoon pictures. One page shows an elephant with a funny looking hat, waving his trunk all over the place. Tali giggles in delight, pointing at the drawing.
"You like elephants, Tali?" Tony asks his joyous daughter.
The toddler grins at him, "Pil!" she says, nodding once. At his questioning glare, she points at the page again and repeats, "Pil!"
Ah. Pil. Of course.
"That's an elephant, Tali," he responds, and she shakes her head, "Can you say 'Elephant' for daddy?"
"Pil!" she insists.
He sighs. A one syllable word is much easier to pronounce than a complicated one, he gets it. But unless he starts teaching her the basics of the English vocabulary, they'll never be able to communicate.
"Try slowly," he encourages her. "E-le-phant."
She follows his speech, staring at his lips. "E..lle…" she starts meekly.
"-Phant."
"Phhant." The girl finishes.
Tony beams, "Very good, Tali," He praises, then flips over another page. The next picture is of a monkey chewing on a banana, hidden among the tree branches. "Koff!" Tali declares happily before her father says a word.
He chuckles, "Well, yes. That's a monkey. Now say it… 'Mon-key'. Monkey."
"Monkey!" she calls aloud, spreading her arms in victory.
He tickles her tummy in response, and her bursting laugh is like music to his ears. They pass another half hour like this, learning the names of each animal in English. At some point, though, she loses interest, and prefers to look out the window, the bright white of clouds soothing her.
The silence allows him to think. How he got here, he wonders. Just a few days ago, his life was in order and he knew what to expect once waking up to face another day. And now, in a matter of few hours, he lost his love, and was gifted with the life they've created.
Shooting down Kort wasn't as climatic and satisfying as he thought it would be. What's the point, it won't bring her back. Yes, the thirst for vengeance was quenched, justice was made. But the loss will forever burn his bones, make his chest ache with yearning and anguish. Thousands bullets in Kort's body wouldn't have changed that undeniable truth.
Then, there's the confusion. The deep feeling in the pit of his gut, that's there's something fishy about this whole thing. Oh, perhaps it's just his desperate, hoping heart, trying to find holes in the plot to make this any easier on his heart, but he learned long ago to not ignore his instincts.
'Never believe in what you're told. Double-check'.
Rule 3.
Pulling a small wrinkled piece of paper from his jeans-pocket, he memorizes the phone number again. As soon as they land, he'll start the quest of finding answers.
He must.
If not for him, then for his daughter.
May 21st, 2016
Northern Nablus, the Palestinian authority
Late afternoon
The front door swings open, and the man makes his way towards the kitchen. As he passes the corridor, he notices them both. His friend and partner, Sa'eed Muhammad, sits comfortable in front of the kitchen table, sipping on a boiled, Bedouin tea.
The wife is busy washing the Taboon-plate in the sink.
Sa'eed notices him first, and nods once in acknowledgement. "Assalamu Aleikum, ya Fa'id," he greets, "Ka'ifa al-ha'al?"
"Bad," Fa'id snarls, but keeps himself polite infront of the wife, who notices him, and shakes her head in greeting. "You've got any more of this?" he gestures towards the warm tea.
"Mhmm," Sa'eed hums, then calls to his wife, "Ya Aisha, some tea for Fa'id, please."
They hear the wife opening one of the upper cabinet, looking for a small glass, before reaching for the kettle again. Fa'id takes his seat next to his friend, and the one smiles at him from behind the glass, "Any of my boys giving you hard time?" he tries the small talk.
Fa'id makes a face. "Besides still accusing me of going after Huda?" he snaps, "It could have easily ended differently the other day, you know. Need I remind you, what happened the last time your boys went physical on me? My father nearly set your garage on fire."
"Eh," Sa'eed brushes it off, as if nothing, "I talked to Huda," he says slowly. "She promised me it was all just a big misunderstanding. And I know my daughter like the back of my hand, she's a terrible liar. If anything happened between the two of you, it would have been impossible to hide, I'm sure."
"So why are your sons still after me?" Fa'id doesn't find this amusing.
Sa'eed laughs shortly, but his guest is lest amused. "They're young. And they feel brave protecting their sister like this."
Aisha places the warm tea on the table, and Fa'id smiles at the old woman, "Shukran, Um-Huda*." He thanks her shortly, before growling at his host, "They 'feel brave'? They should go face the hill soldiers, see how brave they are then."
Sa'eed shakes his head disapprovingly. There's no need to be rude about it, either.
"At any case, I'm not here to talk about this. I'm here about the, uh…other thing." He gives Sa'eed his most meaningful look.
His host catches on that. "Aisha, leave us, please." He soothingly requests.
His wife must realize it is one of the 'occasions' in which her husband talks about issues she better not involve herself in, and she wordlessly leaves the room, the unwashed dishes still in the sink.
Sa'eed goes straight to the point as soon as she exists the kitchen, "Did Marzok contact anyone, yet?" he asks.
Fa'id shakes his head, "No," he says, "I'm afraid we lost him. Either he backed off, or the soldiers got him."
"Allah break their bones," Sa'eed grunts, "So what do we do now?"
"Wait for decisions to be made, I guess," he replies. "Our main obstacle was removed, though," he tries to look at the positive. "Eli David's daughter is dead. I say good riddance."
"By one of ours?" Sa'eed inquires.
"Hopefully. We need to keep the plan going. No way will they back off, now."
Sa'eed agrees. Though one thing keeps bugging him. "What about the files? They got them back?"
Fa'id pauses to think, before replying, "I guess they did. Or they would have sent us on a retrieve mission. What's important for us to know is, can we trust your assistance?"
"Of course you can," Sa'eed responds without hesitation.
Fa'id leans back in his chair, "I heard that Cairo is lively and warm this time of year," he ponders, checking his scratched fingers, "Feel like going on a trip there, soon?" he smiles, "heard it's going to be a blast."
Sa'eed laughs at the pun. "Oh, yes, of course," he raises a glass, then, "Shall we make a toast?" he asks.
Fa'id raises his own glass, "To 'The Mijahideen'," he calls.
Sa'eed nods and answers, "Al-Nasr amma Al-Istishhad.**"
May 21st, 2016
Kiryat Shalom neighborhood, Tel Aviv, Israel
4:37 PM
As soon as they landed at Ben-Gurion airport, after passing passport control and customs, Tony and Tali made their way north-west, taking a short way through route-1, towards Tel Aviv.
The baby fell asleep in his arms half hour before landing, and didn't wake until he settled her in the car. A 20 minutes' drive towards Tel Aviv, they checked in at the Dan Hotel, only to leave the room soon after.
It's not ideal, carrying an infant around for these kind of visits, but he has no better solution for her at this point.
Kiryat Shalom is a quiet neighborhood in southern Tel Aviv, and as Tali plays at the back-seat of their rented car, Tony follows his 'Waze' instructions, navigating towards Hatikva St.
It's a renovated building, and well maintained one. He finds a free parking space right next to it, and as they come to a halt, Tali ceases from playing, to look curiously out the window.
Tony exists the car, turning off the application, not before hearing the mechanic woman reminding him- 'Driving mode turned off, don't forget child in vehicle'.
Yeah, well, that's not gonna happen.
He opens the back-seat, to release Tali from the booster, and picks her up in his arms. They make their way towards the building's entrance, looking for the address.
"Apartment number 3…" Tony mumbles, and looking at Tali, he tickles her momentarily, earning a belly-button laugh, "You be good, now, ok?" he asks, "We'll be out of here before you know it."
They take the stairs, Apartment number 3 is easy enough to find. Tony presses the intercom, and soon enough, "Ken?" a young woman's voice asks.
"I'm here to see Mr. George…?" Tony replies politely in English.
"Name, please?" she asks, accent well felt.
"DiNozzo, Anthony."
"Just a minute, Sir."
After a short pause, the intercom buzzes to life again, "Yes, Mr. DiNozzo," the secretary says, "Mr. George will see you know." Another buzz, and the door opens.
It's a somewhat dark office, but well taken-care of. The secretary is a beautiful woman with very dark hair and deep, emerald eyes.
"Hello," she greets him seriously, though her eyes soften as she takes her first look of Tali, "Hi, there, to you too, Sweetie," she looks back at Tony, "I'm sorry, Mr. DiNozzo, but children are not allowed in Mr. George's office…"
Tony blinks with confusion. While he can understand the reasoning behind it, he really has no place to take her. Clued in, the secretary comes to the rescue, "You can leave her here with me, I'll take good care of her."
Tony hesitates, "I'm not sure… she's quite active, and you probably have a lot of work to do…."
"Oh, nonsense," she brushes it off, already reaching for the girl, "I love children, and I've got most of my daily paperwork covered, anyway," Tali seems to like her enough, as she spreads her tiny arms, not minding at all to be held by feminine arms.
Tony is relieved, "Thank you for this, Ms…."
"Shelly. Just Shelly."
"Shelly, then, thank you."
"No problem," she says wholeheartedly, "What's your name, little one?" she asks.
"It's Tali," DiNozzo replies, before turning to the hallway, "Which way is…?"
"Oh," Shelly replies, "It's the first one on the left."
"Thanks," Tony says, before making his way towards said office, hearing as Shelly offers his daughter to play with her.
He knocks on the wooden door once, hearing a mumbled response of approval. Slowly, Tony enters the office, to be faced with a short, serious looking man. The man is tapping on his computer idly, but as soon as noticing him, he offers Tony his full attention.
"Mr. DiNozzo, yes?" he only half asks.
Standing at the doorway, still, Tony nods. "Well, come in, come in, please," the man calls, welcoming him, and Tony nods, taking his seat infront of the desk.
"Water? Black coffee?" Mr. George asks.
"No, thank you."
Tony takes a moment to check the man's vibe. His hair cut neatly and short, growing white in certain places. His eyes deep as the ocean itself, and though he seems welcoming, Tony is well familiar with certain behaviors to realize it's a certain façade.
It's recognizable in his speech, his movement. Tony's on alert.
"Alright," Mr. George replies. Pressing the button on his screen, he turns to his guest. "So let's get straight to the point," he leans forward, all small-talk gone, "What problem is that brings an American government agent to my doorstep?"
Tony clears his throat, "The fire at Eli David's farmhouse," he says slowly.
"Ah…" Mr. George replies, "A sad, sad turn of events that was, don't you think?" he asks, "But why would a simple government agent, not one of our own, even, be interested in 'The Mossad's loses?" he's tapping his chin curiously.
Tony hesitates. Should he lay all cards on the table? It's dangerous… but then again, if he's going to use this man's help, he needs to gain his trust and cooperation.
"His daughter… Ziva David," Tony pauses before letting in, "She's the mother of my child."
Something clears in the man's face. Tony can't say if it takes him by surprise or not, but if it does, it's unnoticed. "Ah-Huh." He says, considering.
"They said on the news it was a mortar-rocket launched by some random terror organization that took the house down, killing Ziva. We know from a case we worked on it was an ass-cover operation, orchestrated by a traitor called Trent Kort."
Leaning back in his chair, George listens carefully, before concluding, "And you don't believe that."
Tony takes a moment to think, before answering, "I learned long ago to trust my gut. And my gut says there's something more going on here."
"Which is why you contacted me," Mr. George says. It's not a question.
"Let's just say, you've earned a respectable reputation," Tony says slowly, waiting for George's response.
"I'm a private investigator, not a miracle worker, Mr. DiNozzo," Mr. George claims, "'The Mossad' holds Israel's darkest secrets within its grasp. A private investigator sniffing around their territory, is like a rabbit mocking a famished lion." He reasons.
"I heard you're willing to cross some burned roads to get the job done," Tony insists, "At least, that's what your contacts say. Are they wrong?" he arches and eyebrow.
Slowly, Mr. George rises to stand, turning to face the open window, gazing lazily outside.
"April 22nd, 1979," he takes a stroll down memory lane, "Four Hezbollah activists, one of them just a boy, invade our shores from southern Lebanon, killing an American tourist and Butchering a father in-front of his little girl's eyes, before killing her as well." Tony purses his lips at that, for a second, it's just him and Tali on that beach. "That operation was pulled off due to one man's initiative. His name was Durkhan."
Turning away from the window to face Tony again, he continues, "I was a Shabbak investigator," At Tony's questioning gaze, he replies, "What you Americans call the 'Shin-Bet'," Tony nods at that. "The IDF captured Durkhan months following the attack, handed him over to me…"
Tony listens carefully, "The investigation took the whole-lot of 4 and a half days. At the end of it all, we had a full list of commandments, activists, and operations in wait for a green-light. Hezbollah lost one of its greatest assets at the time…" he sits back in-front of Tony, "Durkhan was instructed to refer to me as 'Captain George…' it was his breaking point that brought me this nickname," he chuckles, but then turns serious in a second, frowning.
"Do you know what 'Mossad' means in Hebrew, Mr. DiNozzo?" he asks carefully.
Tony shakes his head 'No'.
"A madhouse," George clarifies in emphasis. "Quite fitting, no?" he ponders. "The Mossad is not the Shin-Bet, Boy. They invent their own game, and they don't like it when others play it on their level…" he offers a fair warning, "They're protective of their own, and don't tend to share knowledge with other players…. And frankly, boy, I'd rather deal with 10 more Durkhans than with one Orli Elbaz. She's relentless."
Tony seriously hopes this trip wasn't a total waste of time. He needs to get to the bottom of this, and soon.
George releases a long sigh. Tony doesn't dare say anything.
"However…" the PI continues, "I do have contacts within 'The Mossad' and police. And I don't tend to back away from a good challenge." He hums softly.
Tony's heart-rate escalates. "So, is that a yes?" he asks.
George stares at him, like trying to solve a riddle, "I can't promise anything, and you should be prepared to face the worse, but…-"
"-…But?"
Clicking his tongue, George responds, "I'll ask around, and see what I can do."
That's all Tony hopes for.
TBC
A/N- That was chapter 2. Chapter 3 will be updated sooner than later. Please leave your thoughts.
* In Arabic culture, it's common that parents are named after their children, and vice versa. Aisha is mother of Huda Muhammad, and therefore refered to, as "Um-Huda", "-Mother of- Huda"
** In Arabic, translates as- 'Victory or Martyrdom'.
