Just to clarify, the opinions expressed by Eli in this chapter in NO WAY reflect my own. In my opinion, I think both the Israeli's and Palestinians should just stop killing each other, but I somehow think that Eli David would not share this sentiment. But in any case, no offence is meant to anyone, Israeli, Palestinian or otherwise.

RUTHLESSNESS

"Your father's here Miss. David."

Most sixteen year old girls who were sat in a hospital bed with sixteen stitches in their face and four feet of bandages wrapping their arms and legs would rejoice to hear those words, but Ziva was not most sixteen year old girls and she knew that her father was not here to offer get well wishes.

In fact, she considered herself lucky that he waited for the nurses to leave the room before he began to yell at her.

"What were you thinking? You had a clear shot at him! Why did you not take it?"

"Aba he. . ."

"That man has killed twenty-four Mossad operatives! And you let him get away! What were you thinking?"

"Aba I couldn't shoot him!"

At these words he took her none too gently by the neck of her hospital gown and pulled her so close to him that their noses were almost touching and she could feel his breath on her cheeks.

"You'd better have a damn good reason!"

"Aba, he had his son with him! His four-year-old son! He was holding him! How could I shoot him when he was holding his son?"

Eli was so enraged by this that this time he yanked his daughter completely from the bed. She felt dizzy and could barely stand but her father dragged her across the room and stood her in front of the mirror.

He tapped the gold star that rested against the base of his daughter's throat.

"What is that Ziva?" He hissed into her ear.

"It's the. . . the Star of David." She answered through gasping breaths.

"And what is it the symbol of?"

"Judaism," she answered, wondering where this was going.

"Exactly, you are Jewish, and you are Israeli. We are the strong ones. Tell me Ziva, do you look strong?"

She looked in the mirror. Her face was covered in ugly black stitches and her dark curls were stuck to her forehead by sweat. She looked anything but strong and, reluctantly, she shook her head.

"That boy is the son of a Gazan terrorist and he will grow up to be a Gazan terrorist. This is war Ziva and you cannot afford to be selective. If they're Palestinian, you shoot them, no matter how old they are. You do not win a war with compassion, you win it with ruthlessness. Do you understand?"

She didn't answer straight away, remembering the cries of the young boy, unsure if she would ever be able to hurt such a small child.

Her father span her around, "Do you understand me Ziva?" He yelled and she nodded quickly.

"Yes sir."

"Good," was his only response, as he released her and began to walk away, not turning back, even as the sudden loss of support caused her to stumble backwards and fall, only just managing to grab the back of a chair to pull herself up, as in Eli's mind, this was another lesson. There was no support for her and she had learn to catch herself.

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