A/N- Hi, so, it's me again. This chapter is going to be a bit shorter than the usual, due to time shortage, I didn't want to leave you guys waiting… The one following it should be up in a matter of few days. Hopefully this chapter's ending will be good enough to keep you waiting for the next one.
Some events and characters in the story are in need of exploring further, so I'll take the time to explain. Most of them are inspired by real people (However, as the story flaws, it's important to emphasize that any connection between said characters and the people who inspire them is pure coincidence), and some are pure fictional.
'Inspector Yekutiel (Kuti) Reshef': A policeman of the Northern District of Israel. We'll meet him again in the story.
'Dr. Maya Friedman': Forensic expert and Chief Pathologist of 'The National Center of Forensic Medicine' in Abu-Kabir neighborhood in Jaffa, Israel. Like Kuti Reshef, we'll meet her again in following chapters. Her character is based on Dr. Maya Furman-Reznick, a true-life forensic expert in Israel, who've been a source of both appreciation and conflicts in the top Israeli legal system.
'P.I George Cohen'- A private investigator with high security clearance, and contacts in both 'The Mossad' and Shin-Bet. Retired from the Shin-Bet after certain conflicts with the government. Inspiration for his character is Yaron Zahavi, AKA 'Captain George', who was a top interrogator of Hezbollah terrorists.
Scorched Earth
Chapter 3
NCIS Building
Squad Room
9:19 AM
Blinking fiercely, Timothy McGee tries not to stare.
Which proves to be quite a mission.
The chewing sounds from the table next to him drive him crazy, at the point of losing it, but he gracefully keeps quiet.
He narrows his eyes at the new team-player, or not so much, to try and focus on his own work. He can't deal with this right now, when-
"McGee."
He nearly jumps out of his own skin. "Gee! Bishop!" he tries keeping his voice down, "Give the man a warning, will you? And when did you become so stealthy?"
Eleanor shrugs, leaning on his desk, "So, are you going to be the bad guy, or is it my turn?" she asks, making a face.
He squints, "Turn at what?" the question seems redundant to the outside observer.
She makes a 'Well, Duh,' face, before looking at their new member, who seems busy typing at his computer, now.
"Oh. You mean, him," McGee tilts his head leftways, "Ah, I guess Wells is not so bad…"
"Not so bad, McGee?" Bishop lowers her tone to a whisper, a very loud one at that, "I can't concentrate on anything while he's around." She frowns, "When it's not potato chips, it's carrot-tops, and when it's not carrot-tops, it's…."
"It was actually cheese-sticks, today, Bishop. Oh look, he's done eating. Back to work, then."
She sighs, "It's not just his strange eating habits, McGee, and I overlooked at the fact that he's speaking with his mouth full, but… I don't know. This guy is very strange..."
On that he can agree. While Patrick Wells is experienced on the field, he came with his own recommendations and Gibbs seems to trust him, the guy is still greener than grass on their team, and McGee's not yet used to be anything less than the 'probie'.
It'll take some time.
Wells chooses this second to lift hid head from behind the computer screen and offer them both a grin.
Eleanor rolls her eyes.
Wells flinches as Gibbs whooshes into the squad-room, all businesslike, "Grab your gear," he calls, "Petty Officer down in Quantico."
Northern District police building
Nazareth Illit, Israel
1:43 PM
Inspector Yekutiel Reshef considers himself a man of honor, and a damn good cop. Since his days as constable, he believed in the system, the fairness and dignity it represents.
But for days now, he questions everything he believed in since…well, ever.
The fire at Eli David's farmhouse was both every cop's dream and nightmare. Such a case, which started out as an accident, only to turn out as suspected terrorist attack- Is career maker for young cops.
They've been investigating this incident for the last 5 days, trying to figure out which terror organization is behind it. His Supervisor, Yerahmiel Natan, was breathing down his neck, demanding updates on this case. Like he doesn't have his own headache to deal with.
Speaking of the devil…
"Yo, Reshef!" The old man's thundering voice is heard across the hallway.
Well, shit.
Natan makes his way towards his office, his fattened figure menacing, as usual, "Tell me you've got something on the David's fire incident," his frustrated voice does nothing to improve Reshef's mood.
"Not yet, Natan," Reshef shrugs with languishment, "I'm still waiting for Miriam's update on the forensic findings."
"Oh, is that it?" Natan growls, obviously expecting a better answer, "I thought you handed that one to Friedman. She's a lot quicker than Miriam."
"She's busy with the other issue, Natan. The Farsoun case? You demanded her full attention on that one. Now I can call her and tell her that…-"
"No, no no!" Natan raises a hand to stop him, "Don't do that. We need the Farsoun case out of our hair." his eyes widen in emphasis.
Reshef's lip stretches upward in a chuckle. It's not hard to guess why the sudden hurry on that case, "The PA representative called you, didn't he?" he scoffs at his superior.
Natan snorts in response, "They want the body to be delivered to them ASAP," he sneers, "Fact that we need it for an investigation is not well received on the other end."
Reshef should have expected it. "I'll check up on Miriam. But if she starts eating my brain out over this, it's your call."
"Duly noted," Natan answers dryly. "As for the David case, did anybody let you in the loop?"
"Not even close," Reshef grunts, "I called she Shabbak, the AMAN guy who used to work for me, they all say to go 'with the printers'. Nothing more, nothing less."
"Need to know basis," Natan answers, clicking his tongue.
"And we're just cops, so we're not in on it. Whatever 'it' is. But I don't get it, I mean, The MDA and ZAKA are reporting directly to us, so what's the big deal of trying to keep anything a secret?"
Natan gives him a long look, "MDA doesn't report to us anymore, Reshef. They're under the supervision of AMAN on this case."
The rescue forces under the supervision of the military intelligence? What the hell for?!
"So let me get this straight," Reshef says slowly, "We're supposed to inform AMAN on any findings and results we get, but they're not gonna tell us what we're dealing with."
Natan purses his lips, "Sums it up," he emits.
Reshef blinks. "I don't like it."
"Me neither, boy."
The supervisor pauses to think, "And one could guess they are supervised by 'The Rain-Men'?" he arches an eyebrow.
'The Rain-Men' are how the combatants used to call The Mossad operatives, Natan recalls, and offers a small nod.
"Yep," Reshef exhales, "Just like I thought," and after a short pause, he suggests, "I'll try dig into it further, but your sources are as good as mine. And I guess that the Media has already this thing figured out, so it's easier to "control the flame…"" he blinks, "Pun intended."
"Well, I don't trust the media," Natan huffs, "And I don't like the feeling of people playing me. Let it be the Shin-Bet, The Mossad, the fuckin' queen of England. We were first at the scene, we're getting to the bottom of it. Am I making myself clear?"
"Crystal, Sir."
May 22nd, 2016
Hatikva St, Kiryat Shalom Neighborhood, Tel Aviv, Israel
Captain George's office
As soon as Shelly informs him of his caller's identity, he shuts the door closed, urging her to pass him the call at once.
"Miriam!" George Cohen greets enthusiastically, "I was wondering when I'll be hearing from you."
Miriam Buzaglo's voice is raspy, "Well, always glad to oblige, George," the uneven tone of her voice puts him on edge, "But we have a problem."
He rises from behind his desk slowly, "What is it, Buzaglo?" he asks cautiously.
"It's about the David farmhouse fire," she says, voice a bit shaky, which is quite uncharacteristic. Miriam Buzaglo is a tough cookie, has been one of his most appreciated sources, young, pretending to be green as fuck, which only helped her cause on the long run. Buzaglo doesn't get scared out. Unless…
"I'm on HaShalom Rd, next to Azrieli. Many people around, It's not safe to talk here," she gasps, "How soon can I drop by?"
"Anytime. I'm in my office," he replies carefully.
"Be there in thirty."
May 22nd, 2016
Hatikva St, Kiryat Shalom Neighborhood, Tel Aviv, Israel
Captain George's office
-Later-
She flies into the office like a tornado, sinking at the chair, breathing heavily. Nodding at her, Captain George approaches to the small refrigerator at the corner to pull out a bottle of water, offering it to her.
"Thanks," she takes it, before tossing some files on the desk.
"I trust you've got something for me?" That's George Cohen for you, always to the point.
"Yes," Miriam is on needles in her seat, "It took a lot of time and effort, and I broke approximately 50 criminal laws while getting this information, but…"
"-Miriam?" It's important that she stays focused.
"Right," she says sternly, before continuing, "So, my CSU guy just called me, regarding that mortar shell the found at the crime scene. It was made out of recycled metal, George. One of very poor quality. Not only that," she points at a certain point at the file, "but the active flammable material was about 0.4. Hell, I wouldn't have even start a bonfire with that little firepower."
George frowns, "But… this can't be right," he blinks, honestly confused, "The damage this mortar-shell left on the farmhouse was unquestionable. We've seen the destruction… the firefighters took hours putting it out." Not to mention, he'd been in previous mortar-shell bombings. He is well familiar with the chaos those leave behind.
"Which brings me to the other findings," her enthusiasm only increases at that. "At the main livingroom… or at least, what used to be the livingroom, we located traces of RDX, along with different plastic materials."
His eyes widen and he snatches the files from her hand, double checking, "There was C4 in the house?!"
"Oh, and it gets better," she nods with self-importance, "We also succeeded locating traces of triacetone triperoxide at the crime scene."
This takes him by total surprise, "peroxyacetone…" he mumbles, "Isn't this a primary explosive material?"
"Very good," she approves, "It's very sensitive to heat, and therefor very common among terror organizations in our area. All you need is a spark, and 'Whaamo!' all over," she gestures with her hands an explosion-movement, "But here's the kicker. We also located coolant traces at the house, which means, someone wanted the bomb to go off on very specific timing," she emphasizes, "And if that's not enough for you, we also came to the conclusion that this explosive was manually operated."
Miriam waits for the other shoe to drop, and she concludes at his shocked and puzzled stare, "George, Eli David's farmhouse wasn't attacked by mortar-fire. The explosion originated in one of the rooms. Whatever this is… It was an inside job."
Till Next time, folks!:)
