Pivotal Moments
This chapter takes place two weeks after Ziva's return to Tel Aviv. Technically I'm reordering the time line of the montage at the end of Aliyah, to make the clip of Ziva on a ship happen a little later, but...it was a montage. I'm calling it creative license.
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Red Sea
As Ziva walked up the gangway of the Sa'ar Corvette, it shifted beneath her feet just enough to summon a memory of McGee dashing for the head of a black ship- sheep? -they'd investigated so many years ago now. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and she suppressed it quickly. Knowing what McGee must think of her now was enough to kill her good humor. She walked the rest of the way to her quarters without a flicker of emotion.
It had been less than a day since she had deciphered enough of Michael's notes to identify the location of the training camp, fewer than 12 hours since she'd received the assignment to ship out on the INS Hanit to Djibouti, then make her way undercover into Eritrea, to confirm the location of the camp. Her father had made a comment about how fitting it was that she was going to travel with the Navy, but Ziva hadn't taken the bait.
As she looked around the quarters she'd been assigned to for the three days of the journey, Ziva was just as glad she hadn't ever been an agent afloat. Sharing with men wouldn't be a problem, at least once one of them tried leering at her, but the recycled air and lack of windows felt oppressive. Abby would like it, she thought, and because she was alone Ziva didn't stop a smirk from crossing her face.
The men assigned to the room entered behind her and she gave a cursory greeting, then chose a bed and unpacked the few things she'd brought. The photos of the team she'd had to leave with Rebekah, though she had hidden Gibbs' cellphone among her things, and it contained a few pictures Abby had taken long ago that made her smile. She had brought her photo of Tali and Ari, and this she hung beside her bed. Not that she needed a reminder of them, but if her resolve should weaken their image always served to remind her why her father needed to be stopped.
Her roommates left the room in search of their posts, and Ziva locked the door before taking out the cellphone and switching its sim card for one that would get service as she entered Africa. She debated sending a message before departure, but decided against it. Any transmission that got picked up would raise suspicion, so unless she had useful information to send, it was too dangerous to send anything.
Hiding the phone in the recesses of her bag, Ziva laid down on the bed. She'd been rushing around getting ready to leave, but now that she was still, the time ahead of her seemed oppressive. For the past two weeks her mind had done little but oscillate between guilt over her responsibility in Michael's death and longing for Tony that she tried fruitlessly to fight. Rebekah had told her over and over that both feelings were to be expected, were completely acceptable, but Ziva couldn't help fighting them. The mission had been a relief that was now on hold. Instead, as she tried to force herself to sleep, Tony smiled at her behind her eyelids, pulled her against him and kept her warm and safe while she slept...
***
The trip went uneventfully; the close quarters made her irritable, but none of the men were as bad as Tony on his worst days. Mostly they left her to herself, and Ziva didn't mind. The second night she snuck up to the deck to send a message: Binoculars. She laughed aloud as she pressed send, remembering the raccoon pattern decorating Tony's face while he continued the stakeout, unknowing.
***
Later she would wonder if she should have been suspicious that whole time, the days on the ship, those long weeks in Tel Aviv, would wonder if that one word message had signed her death warrant, but it would be too late. As she stepped off the gangway in Djibouti, in search of an internet cafe where she could contact Rebekah, hands locked around Ziva's wrists and shoulders, and she felt the sharp jab of a needle in her upper arm.
***
For the third time in a year, Ziva came slowly into consciousness with no memory of going to sleep and a throbbing headache. The other times, the smell of the hospital, the feel of a carpet had given her comfort, had told her that she wasn't in a cell. Now, instead, she could smell stale sweat, urine, blood, wet concrete. She could hear the soft squeaking of rats and, somewhere in the distance, the clang of a cell door. She was seated with her arms tied uncomfortably behind her back. As she squirmed to sit more comfortably, Ziva felt a wrenching in her joints that told her she had been moved here by force, with no concern for her well-being, and had been out for a while. Each new realization told her more completely that she was being held. Her body wanted to panic, but Ziva held her mind resolutely still. After a moment, with nothing else to be gained by appearing asleep, Ziva opened her eyes.
She couldn't suppress a jerk of alarm as she saw a man standing opposite her, leaning against the door to her cell. He hadn't made a sound as she'd woken.
"You are Ziva David," he said in Arabic.
Ziva wracked her brain. How would a member of the cell she'd been tracking know her? Surely they didn't have the resources to get into the fingerprint databases of the agencies she'd been with. The idea that he might be Mossad froze her. But she couldn't show that. Instead she tilted her head arrogantly, challenging him, her silence a refusal to even confirm her own name.
He struck her across the face, just because he could.
Ziva's head snapped back, pain exploding through her eye.
"We will talk later," the man said as he left.
Ziva closed her eyes, willing her head to stop pounding so she could figure out where she was and how to get free. The pain itself did not bother her. That, she assumed, she deserved.
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A/N The ship is a real one from the Israeli navy, information which comes courtesy of Wikipedia. Hanit means spear. If you're not up on your African geography (I wasn't either, had to do a bit of research) the order of the countries on the horn of Africa along the Red Sea is: Egypt, Sudan, Erithrea, Djibouti, Somalia. Djibouti is one of the stabler by far, so I decided that was where an Israeli vessel would probably find the friendliest port. Plus it's small enough that Ziva could quickly get to Erithrea...or Somalia...dun dun dun...