[Author's note: I've received so many wonderful comments that I want to thank everyone who has taken the time to give me some feedback. I hope you enjoy this next chapter.]
Chapter 4
In command central, few words had been spoken since Agent DiNozzo's outburst. Jarvis knew when he recruited the agent that he was a force to reckon with, but reckoning with forces was never a problem for the Secretary. He didn't get where he was because he shied away from challenges, and this was no different.
Ziva wanted to go to her partner, but that was impossible. The image of Tony, half naked and still trembling was seared in her head, and for the first time since she had met the man, she saw a vulnerability in him that she didn't know he was capable of displaying.
Fornell cleared his throat, "Okay, ladies and gentlemen, back to work. We still have a job to finish."
Gibbs walked into the kitchen where he emptied his umpteenth cup of coffee.
*****************************************8
Tired of leaning, McGee was now sitting on the commode, waiting for the hot water to run out or his friend to collapse from water saturation. Finally, the spigot stopped and he asked, "Run out of hot water?"
There was still no response but Tim did get a 'Thanks' when he handed him a towel. McGee then spent the next five minutes watching his friend brush and re-brush his teeth. He waited patiently. It wasn't until Tony stared in the mirror that McGee saw the minute trembling.
"You gonna be okay?" he asked, genuinely concerned.
"You should have seen it, McGee."
Tim barely heard the sentence as his friend stared at himself in the mirror. "I did see it, Tony. We all saw it, and you have to believe me when I tell you nobody had any idea that DiCarlo was capable of such an act."
Tony leaned heavily on the sink, his mind racing, no doubt replaying the scene over and over again in his mind.
"C'mon," Tim coaxed, "put some clothes on and we'll watch a movie."
Tony pulled on a pair of black cotton jams and a white t-shirt and followed McGee into the living room. The adjoining door had been left open, but command central was dark. Only the light from the screens illuminated the room. McGee tuned the TV to the movie station and found an old Humphrey Bogart film, The Maltese Falcon. "Hey, isn't this one of your favorites?" When he got no response, he adjusted the sound and sat next to him on the sofa. But his colleague was distracted; his eyes flittered around the room, occasionally closing only to pop open a second later in alarm. And it wasn't too difficult to figure out what was going through his head, especially as his body continued to ever so slightly tremble.
Ten minutes later, Ziva entered the suite carrying a tray of hot mugs. "Tony, I made us some hot tea. It will help you relax."
He looked at her suspiciously, "What'd you put in it?"
"Why do you think I put something in it?"
"Because that's what my gut's telling me."
Gibbs smiled at the accusation. Tony was good on a multitude of levels and it was always a pleasure to watch him in action.
Ziva tried to look away, but she could never carry it through. "For your information, I did not add anything to your drink. What I have with me is a completely natural herb that when added to a hot cup of tea, will dissolve and release a small amount of Censorol, a completely organic relaxant."
"So I was right. You are drugging me."
"Do you want this or not?" she asked, exasperated at his intuition.
He accepted the mug and wrapped his trembling fingers around it and took a few sips. "What I need is a shot of Martin Mills…not some plant." But he soon realized that taking the edge off this night might be just what he needed, and he finally said, "Okay, give me some of those things."
She handed him a long, skinny and gnarled root with lots of knots and blemishes, and said, "Just put it in your tea like a spoon. It will release gradually, and will add a slight woodsy flavor to it."
He did as he was told, not bothering to joke about its appearance. The lack of quips was troublesome, but understandable. She nestled in between him and McGee and got comfortable. She took off her shoes and put her feet up on the coffee table.
"Comfortable?" he asked.
"Yes. You?"
He ignored the question. Being with Ziva and McGee had a calming effect that no natural or man-made drug could produce, and he didn't want to ruin it with a bunch of words.
Gibbs saw it, and (he suspected) so too did Fornell and Sacks. If you spend any time with DiNozzo, you quickly realized that he has certain moods, and you quickly recognize the discontented ones. The SECNAV never responded to Tony's earlier remarks. He simply templed his fingers and watched the scene unfold.
Tony sipped his tea slowly, allowing the warm fluid to glide down his throat, waiting for the memories of the night to vanish. He knew better than to think they would, but he hoped they might at least fade. It took a while, but his brain stopped racing and his hands stopped trembling and his lids became heavy. He was looking into the liquid, admiring the colors as the light danced off the reflection. Looking up, he said, "This isn't half bad."
"At least it will allow you to get some sleep. You would never get any tonight otherwise."
McGee put his mug down and asked, "You enjoying the movie, or do you want to hit the sack?"
He waggled his head, undecided. The movie was getting to one of his favorite parts, but he could barely keep his eyes open.
"Come on, Tony. How 'bout you go to bed?"
When he didn't get any resistance, McGee took the mug from his hand and together with Ziva, they pulled him off the couch. Tony was lean, but he was still a big man, "It'd be nice if you helped us out a little here."
"You drugged me; you can carry me."
"I didn't drug you," McGee countered. "She did."
"What? I did not drug you," Ziva said, allowing a smile to affect her words. "Besides, it was your choice to add it to your tea. It did help you relax, yes?"
"It helps with something…not sure what though."
"You cannot blame your condition on us."
They shuffled him into the bedroom, each step getting more and more difficult because he was succumbing to the power of the natural depressant. They barely got him over to the bed before he fell, face down, onto the mattress. He would have slid off had it not been for both of them catching him. Ziva wrapped her arms around his chest and pushed him over, while McGee swung his legs up and on the bed. By the time they were finished, they were sweating and breathing hard and amazed that they had actually managed to get him into bed.
They had no sooner stopped to admire their work when they heard, "McGEE!"
They turned to see Sacks standing in the doorway. Beckoning with his arm, he demanded, "Get out of here! You're getting ready to have visitors!"
"Ziva! Let's go!"
"One of you has to stay," Sacks hissed. "Too many things lying around and not enough time to police the place. Come on!"
McGee turned on his heels, grabbed his mug and followed Sacks out of the room.
"Hey!" Ziva called after them. "What am I supposed to do here?" she whispered to the rapidly disappearing agents. But her answer came in the form of the door quietly being closed behind them and the locks sliding into place.
She heard several raps on the suite door followed by a man's voice, "Hey, Tony?"
Ziva stared at it. Then she noticed the lock wasn't turned and realized it was easy enough for someone with a card key to walk in.
"Come on, Tony! Open up!" More pounding followed. "It's Michel."
She looked around at the mugs of tea and made an executive decision. She hurried back into the bedroom and threw her badge and gun under the mattress, and then stripped off her clothes, leaving her shirt, khakis and sweater strewn across the floor. Hearing the door to the suite swing open, she slid into bed beside Tony and laid her head on his shoulder. Snuggling up against him, she draped her arm over his stomach, took a deep breath and completely relaxed her body into his, thankful he was fast asleep.
Michel and his older brother, Vincent, entered the suite and looked around. Noticing the tray on the table, Michel said, "It looks like he had company."
Vincent warily moved towards the bedroom and looked in. He flipped on the switch and Ziva stirred, squinting her eyes and lifting her head in a pretend state of confusion. "Who's there?" she mumbled.
Vincent asked, "Who are you?"
Ziva blinked her eyes, pretending to focus on the two men. "I work this hotel. If you want my business, you'll have to wait your turn."
Michel smiled at his brother and said, "And you were worried about him. He made his way home, found himself a woman, and is now sleeping it off." Flipping the light back off, he said to Ziva, "Go back to sleep, Honey. If we need you, we'll call."
Closing the door behind them, Michel said, "We'll come back tomorrow morning and give him the good news. Won't he be surprised to learn that he's been promoted?"
When she heard the suite door close, she got out of bed, wrapped a sheet around her, and listened at the door.
Seeing his agent standing there in nothing but a white sheet is when Gibbs told the agents to cut the feed to the plasma TV.
Satisfied that they had indeed left the suite, she quickly dressed, found her gun and badge, covered Tony with a blanket, and marched back over to command central. "Thanks for leaving me there, McGee!"
Tim stammered, hoping she wouldn't kill him. "I—I didn't want to—I—" He didn't know what to say to her but Fornell, experienced in soothing irate agents, said, "Your quick thinking quite possibly saved your partner's life. Good job, Officer David."
When she thought about it, he was probably right. Had they seen the tray on the table and no extra people around, that would have aroused suspicion, and that suspicion just might have forced the brothers to start asking questions, and at any point, Tony could have gone from hero to dead Fed in a matter of minutes. A deadly turn of events.
She eyed her colleague and then relinquished her anger. It wasn't like she was all that angry to begin with, but she didn't like having to improvise in such a compromising way.
"Think of it this way, Ziva," McGee finally said, getting his wits about him. "When Tony wakes up, he'll be mad as hell that he slept through you lying in bed with him."
That was of little consequence. However…, a slow smile crept across her face as she realized that if she played it right, she could have some fun with that piece of information. "You may be onto something, McGee."
*************************************8
Gibbs leaned back in his chair and salvaged one last sip of coffee. He didn't mind it strong, and he didn't mind it bitter, but he did mind it cold. He moved quietly to the kitchen for a refill. Tonight, he didn't work on his boat, he didn't even go home. In fact, he never left the hotel. He couldn't bring himself to leave his agent.
He hadn't taken his eyes off him since McGee and Ziva put him in bed. Tony's night started out peaceful enough, but two hours into his sleep, he became restless. It reminded him of his own life, years earlier when he couldn't sleep and his nights were restless, and endless. He worried about Tony. He'd seen him angry, he'd seen him scared, and he'd seen him worried, but he had never seen him quite like he was tonight. He also kept replaying what Tony had said to Secretary Jarvis, and the way he had said it. If ever there was venom in his voice, it was with Jarvis. 'You don't own me anymore,' is what he said. Is that what Jarvis told him earlier? Did he actually coerce Tony into doing that Black Op mission last year? And if so, why hadn't he seen it?
Jarvis and Vance had left soon after Ziva returned, but Jarvis was only interested in hearing what the brothers were going to say to Tony in the morning. If he had any intention of pulling DiNozzo, he kept it to himself. He didn't even acknowledge the comment. Vance did. Vance should pull him, and soon, before these FBI run operations cost him an agent.
"Can't sleep?"
Gibbs turned around and accepted the presence of Fornell by pouring an extra cup of coffee into a Styrofoam cup and handing it to him. "The better question would be: are you thinking about pulling my agent?"
Fornell didn't like the sound of that. They had literally come too far to walk away now. But what Gibbs didn't know what that he'd already lost one man to this particular crime syndicate, and he had no intentions of losing any more. This undercover operation was actually being run better than any operation he'd been associated with in the past ten years. They were physically closer to their agent than they'd ever been on previous missions, they had acquired more evidence in a shorter period of time than on any previous mission, and the undercover agent involved was being monitored closer than ever before, by three law enforcement agencies noless! But there would be no convincing Gibbs of that. Fornell took the hot coffee and followed him back into the living area. Money was always tight so night time shift agents were usually scarce, but not tonight. The security cameras were being monitored by six agents who kept a watchful eye over twelve monitors.
"The FBI must be coughing up some bucks for all these guys," Gibbs said. "Usually we're lucky to have two."
Fornell shrugged. "Working with other agencies has its perks." In reality, working with other agencies was tenuous, at best, and downright dangerous, at worst. And if the agent at the center, the one doing all the heavy lifting, isn't even one of your own, then you can be sure the I's are dotted and the t's are cross because the bottom line is, if you ever wanted cooperation again, you had better keep that agent safe and sound. That was Fornell's Number 1 Rule. "Just making sure nothing happens to DiNotzo. We've invested a lot in him. Can I assume he's going to be okay after what happened at dinner?"
Gibbs shrugged.
"I don't ever recall seeing him as agitated as I saw him tonight."
"You'd be agitated too if the guy sitting next to you just got his head bashed in."
"I don't want to pull him, Jethro. He's gotten this far, which is farther than anyone else has ever gotten. To pull him now would only give us a partial victory, and I don't need to tell you that a partial victory is no good. I—no, WE, meaning the FBI, CIA and NCIS—want to do maximum damage to these organizations."
"And my agent just happens to be your best bet at accomplishing all this?"
"Yep, DiNotzo's our best bet, and right now, he's our only shot at winning this war."
Gibbs studied the screen where his agent slept. He tossed and turned and twitched and jerked. At this rate, he wasn't going to be in very good shape in the morning, and on a job like this, you had to bring your A-game every second of every day.
After studying the screens, Fornell set his cup down and straightened his shirt.
"Where're you going?"
"To pay our man a visit."
Gibbs stepped past him and said, "I'll go." Briefly checking exterior monitors and ensuring nothing was unusual, he unlocked the connecting door and went into Tony's suite.
Fornell picked up his coffee cup and smiled to himself, "Sometimes, Jethro, you make it too easy."
Gibbs stared at his agent a moment before he approached. There was considerable sweat glistening on his face that didn't show up on the screens. "Tony?"
Fornell watched him on one of the small LED monitors from the safety of command central.
DiNozzo moaned and rolled away from the voice.
"Tony?" Gibbs repeated, and followed it with a gentle shake to his shoulder.
He jerked awake, confused, "What!"
"Take it easy," Gibbs soothed, "It's just me." Then he gave Tony a minute to figure out who 'me' was and what was happening.
"Hey, Boss. What's wrong? Are we pulling out?"
"No, we're not pulling out, unless you want to. And, nothing's wrong—except you're not getting much sleep tonight."
Tony rubbed a hand down his face and sat up against the headboard. "Every time I close my eyes, I see… it."
Gibbs pushed Tony's legs away and sat down on the edge of the bed.
"What's worse is I also hear the sound, and then I feel the pieces of …" he shivered, keeping the images at bay. "I can't get away from it."
"There's nothing wrong with having nightmares over what happened tonight. Ducky would probably even say it's normal."
Tony exhaled, forbidding his mind from replaying the scene every time he blinked.
"I'll be right back," Gibbs said. And thirty seconds later he returned with a cup half full of dark brown liquid. "Here. This should help."
Tony went to take a sip, but stopped short. Lifting his eyes, he looked at his boss suspiciously.
Gibbs answered the look, "It's just black coffee, nothing more."
He picked up where he left off and took a sip, allowing the liquid to awaken his senses.
Gibbs sat back down and said, "You said something tonight that caught my attention. You told Secretary Jarvis: 'You don't own me anymore.' Whad'ya mean by that?"
Tony inhaled, looking embarrassed and guilty all at once. He looked at the clock and it was almost three. Since he couldn't sleep, and his boss looked liked he wasn't going anywhere, he might as well tell the story. "There was a time during my last op for the SECNAV that I was willing to quit NCIS. I felt like I was being placed in a box with nowhere to turn, isolated from you, Ziva…McGee. Jarvis was being deceitful and not at all up front about what he knew, and I felt like I'd become his personal lackey. I hated being played, but when I confronted him, he shut me down. If I recall correctly, his exact words were, 'Don't screw with me. I own you. Know it. Accept it. It comes with the detail.' And then he just walked away, never really giving me a chance to respond."
Gibbs listened, knowing that talking was critical, but this, from a guy who talked a lot but usually said nothing of significance, was important. Tony was smart that way.
"I guess I let my emotions get the better of me when I told him to fuck off."
Gibbs smiled, "Hard not to, under the circumstances." Then he sobered and pointedly asked, "Do you want me to pull you?"
Tony paused, allowing the words to sink in. He fully understood how deep he was in, and he also fully appreciated how rare this was. From strictly a law enforcement perspective, this was an incredible accomplishment. "No, I guess not. I know I've probably gotten farther inside the DiCarlo family than anyone else, and I know that what I've done is not easily duplicated. Besides, we just got names in the sleeper cell."
Gibbs wasn't one to linger. As he was leaving, he heard, "Hey, Boss?"
He stopped and turned.
"I have a vague memory of Ziva. Did she get in bed with me tonight?"
Gibbs smiled, debated a second on whether or not to answer, and then walked away. It was good to know that his agent had something else he could focus his mind on.
************************************8
Command Central was crowded. With the promotion of Anthony DiNozzo to DiCarlo's inner circle, the success of the mission had gotten the heads of all agencies excited. Eight weeks into the operation and they had video of DiCarlo murdering Villanova, but more importantly, they had a confirmed name connected to the terrorist cell, Ahmed Abu-Wahib and his Freedom for America group. The CIA and FBI were working all angles, from New York to Afghanistan, and from Baltimore to Illinois. The CIA had identified Abu-Wahib and was completing a dossier on him and his associates; the FBI was figuring out the money laundering scheme and identifying current and future Mafia personnel. By any measure, if it were to all end now, the mission would be considered a resounding success.
Jarvis was on the phone with his FBI and CIA counterparts, so Gibbs, Fornell, and Kort heard only his side of the three way conversation. Strangely, Jarvis had declined video conferencing and this aroused suspicion in both Gibbs and Fornell.
"We agreed to focus on this one terrorist cell," Jarvis said, obviously in response to something he didn't like hearing. "I realize that. I also realize that NCIS is putting up the greatest risk here, gentlemen. Our agent has been bumped up the ranks and statistically, no federal agent has kept his cover this long, which means we're playing on borrowed time. Specifically, my agent is playing on borrowed time."
Fornell and Gibbs exchanged glances. It was a rare moment when the head of an agency actually put the life of an agent ahead of the mission.
"Agreed," Jarvis said, but to what he just agreed was anyone's guess. And then the conversation ended and he slid his phone back inside his breast pocket.
"Sir?" Gibbs asked, wondering why Vance wasn't here to run interference.
"—Agent DiNozzo will be fine," Jarvis said, cutting him off. "It's been a week since his promotion and that unfortunate incident involving Villanova, and he seems to be handling it. The CIA desperately wants another name. They think there is a sleeper cell in New York and Abu-Wahib can identify at least one person in it."
"With all due respect, Sir, shouldn't we concentrate on the one known target before we get involved in taking down another?"
"Keep me posted," he said, leaving the room and ignoring the question.
Ziva leaned over to McGee and whispered, "What does that mean: 'playing on borrowed time'?"
"It means that any day Tony could be killed."
"By that definition, we are all 'playing on borrowed time'."
McGee further clarified, "Only on this mission, Tony will most likely die doing this assignment."
Ziva blinked, trying to grasp the severity of the statement. She went back to her monitor, studying it intently. But to McGee, it looked as if she wasn't even seeing it.
Fornell pulled out a file and quietly walked into the kitchen. Gibbs followed, leaving Kort to his own business.
Away from the group, Fornell said, "We have enough information to take down the DiCarlo clan. The evidence we have would send Vinny DiCarlo, Sr. to the chair."
"What good would that do? His son is poised to take over."
Fornell pursed his lips, "Work with me here, Jethro. I'm trying to come up with a pitch to end this operation."
"The brass won't agree to anything until each agency has what it wants."
"So how do you propose we speed things up?"
"Since when have you been so concerned about my agent?"
"Do you know how many people will work with me when word gets out that I let an undercover agent get killed?" Shaking his head slowly, he continued, "It's a career killer for sure."
Gibbs saw right through the façade and said, "You're lying, Tobias."
Deflated, Fornell tossed the file on the counter. "The SECNAV is right. DiNotzo's life expectancy has just plummeted. Besides, I'm not as cold of an SOB as most people think."
"Yeah, you are," Gibbs countered.
"All right, so I am. But I am personally motivated on this one. If anything happens to DiNotzo, I'll never have your cooperation again. And despite what you may think, when our agencies work together, we make one hell of a difference."
Gibbs wanted Tony pulled too; in fact, he'd spent every minute since Tony was taken months ago thinking about an exit strategy. Unfortunately, none had come to him that didn't jeopardize everything they'd already put in place. "What else do we have?"
Fornell looked through his papers and replied, "A lot of circumstantial evidence; not a lot that will hold up in court."
"The way I see it, we need two more pieces of information before our Directors will consider shutting this operation down. We need the money laundering scheme and we need another name."
Fornell nodded.
Gibbs leaned back. His brain was in overdrive. Pieces of the op were scattered and strewn about, but bringing everything together in a coherent plan was the key to getting Tony out. How much time did they have, and how much time did they need? How much longer could Tony go undetected? He's run the gambit and each day poses a greater threat than the day before. In theory, he could stay undercover indefinitely, but the higher up he moves in such an organization, the more exposure he'll have to people who might recognize him, or remember his picture, or just accuse him of being a Fed and do to him what he effectively did to Villanova. At some point, an undercover agent's luck runs out. They could mitigate that problem by inserting another operative to watch his back, but even that had its drawbacks.
Gibbs leaned forward again, "You got another agent like Dalton that you can spare?"
Fornell scrunched his brow and asked, "Why? She isn't good enough for you?"
"We've already used her. We need someone new, unknown, who can back up Tony."
Fornell rubbed his chin; they had lots of agents who could do that, but would the higher ups approve such a move? And did he? "Why do you want to push someone else out there in the spot light? Isn't it bad enough that we have one agent to protect, and now you want two?"
"I want a backup. Someone who has Tony's back—"
"—I'll do it."
Fornell and Gibbs turned to see Ziva standing in the doorway.
"I will go in as Tony's backup. They already think I am a prostitute, so it would be easy enough to continue that cover."
"I was hoping the FBI or CIA would ante up a person."
"Gibbs, there is no better person than me to back up my partner."
Multiple conversations ran through his brain at warp speed until eventually Gibbs cocked his head. He realized he actually liked the idea of Ziva going in. He trusted her, and knew she was quite capable of handling herself. But most importantly, Tony trusted her and it just might be the right combination to speed things up.
Fornell interjected, "I'd be hard pressed to find someone as qualified as Agent David on such short notice. Besides, the bureaucratic paperwork on something like this is astronomical. I'm fine with it if you are."
"Of course you're fine with it, Tobias. Just like the CIA will be fine with it. Once again, it's NCIS taking all the risk."
"I realize that, and I understand if you nix the idea. But it'll take some time before I can requisition someone of Dalton's caliber. If you want an insertion soon, I think Agent David is our best bet."
The solution was a double-edged sword, and Gibbs knew it. He recognized the determined stance on Ziva's face, and knew she wouldn't easily be dismissed. On the other hand, he felt like Ziva was the only agent qualified to actually look out for Tony. "How soon can you be ready?"
"I am ready now."
*************************************8
It never ceased to amaze Gibbs just how resourceful the FBI could be. He was beginning to think that they had more at their fingertips than the CIA did, but nobody liked to make such accusations and run the risk of upsetting the balance of understanding.
"How do I look?"
The men admired the brown-eyed Israeli. She walked into the room from the bedroom where an FBI makeup artist had transformed the NCIS agent into a streetwalker; a rather high class street walker at that. She wore a white button down shirt that was tucked into a black leather mini shirt. Her four inch, black stiletto leather boots came up to her thighs, and her hair cascaded over her shoulders in a mass of waves.
"Wow," McGee said, pretty much voicing what every other male in the room was thinking.
Dalton narrowed her eyes and toned, "If this had been planned out properly, you would have been used to seduce Villanova and I'd be going in like I was originally supposed to do."
"And you would have my partner's back?"
"Of course."
Ziva was very happy it worked out this way and ignored the fuming woman. Dalton would never have had Tony's back the way she will. Ignoring her, she turned to her boss and asked, "How do you want to do this?"
Fornell jumped in and answered, "We won't have the benefit of the gym on this one. I recommend the insertion take place outside the hotel. We don't want anyone getting suspicious, and DiNotzo won't be expecting you so he'll be as shocked as the others when you approach him," Fornell answered, having designed enough of these surprise meetings to know the best route to take.
"What about Metro PD? Prostitutes are usually herded away from a hotel like this," McGee said.
"They'll leave her alone. I've already talked to them."
Stephen Long, the young and naïve agent, interrupted, "Sir, I've been waiting for a response to your message but haven't gotten one."
Fornell didn't expect one. He had sent a messenger to hand deliver an envelope to the head of the FBI. Inside the envelope contained a handwritten note outlining their plan. There would be no phone call or email used on something like this, even though those methods were a much faster way of communicating. Fornell already knew how his boss would respond, just like he knew how the Head of the CIA would react. Neither would care since it wasn't one of their own people going in. It was the Director of NCIS that they worried about, and Vance was Gibbs' problem. "Keep monitoring the channel and let me know if anything changes."
Kort lowered his newspaper and said, "The CIA officially has no objections. If you want to risk the life of another agent, you're more than free to do just that."
Whether it was his tone or his choice of words, McGee didn't know, but something hit a chord with him and he retorted, "We're not risking her life, Kort. We're sending in a highly trained operative to mitigate the dangers to Tony. I don't expect you to understand that given your track record on mitigating the CIA's problems."
Tensions were high and feelings were strong. Kort raised an eyebrow to the usually quiet computer geek, and Gibbs smiled in admiration at the growth of his agent.
Fornell cleared his throat and began, "I think we can all agree that sending in Agent David is a prudent measure at this point in the operation. We can also agree that we recognize that NCIS is taking on more than their share of the load, and while we recognize the risk being taken, it's best that we leave our differences to our directors."
If a room could collectively exhale, it just did. McGee nodded and Kort went back to reading his newspaper. The other agents returned to their screens and the tension dissipated as Fornell knew it would.
Eventually, there was nothing more to do except wait for Gibbs to give the final 'okay'. "Where's your gun?"
When she set her toe on the coffee table, every agent's eyes went unconsciously up her leg. But when she reached up under her skirt and pulled out a small caliber hand gun, they quickly averted back to their screens. From the other boot, she pulled an eight inch stiletto directly from its scabbard, which had been sewn into the seam.
He checked her once more from head to toe, then nodded and said, "Go on. Watch your back as close as you watch Tony's."
"Always." As she left the room, every man with eyes watched her backside, including the team leaders.
Agent Dalton rolled her eyes at the ogling men.
**************************************8
Tony sat in the back of the limousine, thinking. He had steadily and without incident moved up the ranks in the DiCarlo syndicate, and everyone seemed to like him save for one person, Vincent, Michel's oldest brother. There was an uneasiness whenever he was around, and Tony decided to ask Michel about it.
"Why doesn't your brother like me?"
"He doesn't like anyone. Don't take it personally; that's just his job. Pops keeps a tight rein over the operation and Vincent's job is to make sure nothing stands in the way of business."
"Well, it just seems to me that I'm not his favorite person."
"It might have something to do with the fact that you did his job for him where Bobby Villanova was concerned. Vincent's supposed to know these things about our top lieutenants, and here you come in and show him up. He's probably still stinging from that."
It made sense, but if that's Vincent's job, then Tony had his work cut out for him.
"I got another question for you?"
"Yeah?" he answered, putting down the paper he was reading.
"Why do you want to go into the family business?"
Michel stared out the window at the street lamps and well-lit monstrous gothic architecture of the DC office buildings. "I don't. I never wanted to do what my father does, but it's not like I have a choice. If you're a DiCarlo, you go into the business."
"But your father seems like a reasonable man. Have you told him how you feel?"
Michel stared into space. "Once."
From the forlorn expression, Tony could figure that it was probably one time too many. Changing the subject to something more palatable, he asked, "If you weren't going into the family business, what would you be doing?"
Michel brightened, then hesitated, and eventually answered, "I've always wanted to teach." Expecting some crude reaction, he paused and waited. "What, no uncontrollable laughter? No snickering?"
Tony shrugged, "Why would I laugh?"
"My brothers do. They think I'm crazy, but I've always wanted to teach English at a middle school."
Hearing that, Tony did laugh and said, "Now that's gotta be worse than going into the family business."
Michel chuckled along with him and added, "You're probably right. What would you be doing now if you weren't here?"
Tony leaned his head back and enjoyed the gentle rocking motion of the limo. "I'd like to be a film critic."
Michel nodded in appreciation. After spending the past two months together and remembering all the movie references he'd made, he could definitely see it. "You sure have seen a lot of movies."
They rode another couple miles in silence and then Tony said, "But there's no money in it, and I've grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle."
"I hear that. No money in teaching either; bust your ass for a measly annual salary." They shared another laugh as their driver pulled to the curb outside their hotel. They were riding in the third of three limousines; the first one held three of Michel's brothers while the middle one held his father and oldest brother, Vincent, and Vinny's right-hand man, Lou.
Tony had learned quite a bit about the money laundering scheme this past week and he had enough to give specifics to Fornell; however, the DiCarlos were leaving the hotel and were insisting that he vacate it as well in favor of their estate just outside the city in the rolling hills of Maryland. His insights had proven valuable on more than one occasion and Vinny DiCarlo, Sr. wanted him closer. Making the move to his estate would ensure his vulnerability, something he wasn't quite ready for, but he wasn't sure how much longer he could delay his answer. He knew the Mafia well enough to know that invitations were really orders to be followed.
As they were walking up the steps to the five star hotel, Michel began, "Pops has got it in his head that you should check out of this place. You know, spending too much time in any one location gets the Feds all worked up."
"—Hello again."
Tony and Michel turned in the direction of the sultry voice and saw the beautiful brunette. She smiled seductively and cooed, "I've been waiting for you."
Michel smiled deviously, "Oh yeah, I remember you."
"You do?" Tony asked, brows furrowed.
"Yeah. She was in your room the night Vincent and I dropped by."
Stunned, Tony kept his mouth shut.
Ziva offered, "I remember you, too. He was more than a little inebriated when you saw him that night."
Michel laughed out loud at the understatement, and at Tony's expression. "Don't look so shocked, Buddy. You deserved it after Villanova's fateful night. How much you charging these days, Honey?"
"A thousand dollars a night. More for specifics."
"A high-dollar call-girl. Don't usually see your kind around here; normally we have to call ahead and make arrangements to get someone like you. Tony, you must bring out the best of people."
Still stunned, he nodded, "You have no idea."
"You mind if I have her tonight? I could use some release after the week we've had."
Tony looked her up and down and answered, "Actually, I do mind. I think I want her," and he slipped his arm around her shoulders and escorted her inside the hotel. "Good ones are hard to find, you know, but I'll tell you what I'll do. When I'm finished with her, you can have her."
"And take your seconds?" he yelled back, "no thanks. I'll get my own."
"Who do we have here?" Vinny DiCarlo, Sr. asked as he watched the two walk towards him.
Tony began introductions, "This is… what's your name again?"
Ziva narrowed her eyes slightly and answered, "People around here call me The White Rose."
"Okay, this is The White Rose."
The head of the Mafia family kissed her hand like she was royalty. Flattered, Ziva raised her eyebrows, "Finally, a man who knows how to treat a lady."
Vincent also studied her, but he seemed much more skeptical. "We don't usually have working women around these parts."
Ziva demurred, "We have always been here, but we are quite adept at keeping a low profile. Nothing kills a good week like sharing a cell with your competitors."
Still skeptical, Vincent countered, "These hotels can spot a call-girl a mile away. You mean to tell me they just let you hang around?"
Ziva felt the tension in the air. She discreetly looked around the lobby before answering, "I have a special arrangement here. They don't bother me, and in return, I make myself available to some of their more prominent guests."
Tony put his arm around her shoulders again and said, "I guess I must fall into that category." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a card and said, "Here's my room key. Why don't you make yourself comfortable; I'll join you in about an hour."
She slipped it from his hands and left, knowing all the men were watching her glide away. Mr. DiCarlo clapped him on the back and said, "You sure know how to pick 'em. Haven't seen a girl that beautiful since I was working Chicago. Shall we convene the meeting? My private dining hall is waiting."
"Sure," Tony nodded, watching his partner disappear into the elevator. He wasn't very happy that she was brought into the mix. Someone must have felt like he needed backup, which wasn't the best of signs.
At the meeting, it was revealed that the hit on Rolf Guidinetti went down without incident, and that Uncle Dan, as well as the rest of the family, could now rest in peace knowing his murder had been avenged. The detailed report of Guidinetti's death would hit the papers tomorrow, which meant the security risk to his family was going to rise: Guidinetti would seek revenge. For the next two weeks, DiCarlo ordered everyone under lock and key at his estate in Frederick, Maryland.
The meeting was adjourned and as Tony was walking away, he heard his name.
He turned, changing his frown into a smile, "Yes, Mr. DiCarlo?"
"I know that you've been resisting my invitation to come and stay with us at the house."
'The house?' Tony thought. "Yes, well, I… um…"
"I didn't understand before, but I do now. Why don't you bring her along? She would make a welcome addition to the scenery."
Given Ziva's guise, he wasn't sure if that was such a good idea. "I don't know, Mr. DiCarlo. She's not someone I would want to share."
"I understand. Well, think about it." And in Gibbs-fashion, he just walked away.
By the time he'd gotten to his room, he was angry, and he rapped a little too loud on the door.
She opened it and said, "Jeez, Tony—"
He brushed past her but before he could rap on the interior door, Gibbs was already standing in the door jam.
"Boss, why did you insert Ziva?"
Fornell slipped between Gibbs and the door jam and answered, "Because Agent Dalton was out of the picture."
"You know what I mean!"
"We've never had a man get this far and move up the organization like you have. The higher up you get, the thinner the ice. Right now, the ice is pretty damn thin, and I don't want it cracking underneath your weight without any back up."
Gibbs added, "Vincent DiCarlo is suspicious of you. You need to steer clear of him."
"I know, which is why sending Ziva in doesn't make any sense."
"It makes perfect sense. They won't be able to connect her to any federal agency, and a prostitute makes for the perfect cover." Gibbs needed his agent to buy into the idea, else, he'd be distracted, and that was never a good thing. "Listen, Tony, we've got a lot of information so far—good information. But you know that we're still missing one key piece that will wrap this case up."
"I know—the name of the terrorist running the sleeper cell in New York."
"So you know how important Ziva could be in getting that name. The second you get it, you're out of there."
Fornell added, "We'll take care of the rest."
All eyes were on him as he internalized the information. He did not want to have to look out for Ziva, but it was nice to have someone around other than the Mafia. If it was going to be like this, then the FBI was going to pay. "Okay. But you give her an FBI credit card to buy some clothes. She's not walking around an estate filled with DiCarlo's men looking like that."
Eyebrows rose at his protective nature. Even McGee, who was listening from his station in front of a monitor, was amused. Fornell shrugged, "Deal. She can go out tomorrow and pick up a few things."
Tony grinned but only Gibbs caught the mischievous twinkle in his eye and his unmistakable urge to say something. Urging him along, he said, "What?"
Tony nodded his head rapidly, "This is just like Pretty Woman. You know, the 1990 flick with Richard Gere and Julia Roberts?" Gibbs walked away so he spoke louder, "She's a prostitute that's really pretty, and Richard Gere's character wants her to accompany him to a business meeting, so he gives her a credit card to buy some new clothes. Only the problem is no store will sell her anything!" he shouted at the now closed door.
Ziva was glaring at him, unable to decide if she was amused or dismayed at his comparison.
Smiling and relaxed now, he looked at her asked, "How much for a shower?"
***********************************8
The estate was just that. An hour and a half drive outside the city landed them on a hundred and fifty acre horse farm. The grounds were lush and rolling and horses dotted the landscape. The house was new and had barely been lived in. It was originally built with the money of a company whose boy-genius CEO could make a computer sing and dance, but had no clue how to balance a spreadsheet. Subsequently, he lost everything when the market took a turn.
The house had three sections to it. The West Wing, as it was called, housed the family and was off limits to all but blood. The East Wing housed the guests and embodied all the conveniences of a luxury hotel, similar to the one they'd just vacated. There were six bedrooms on the second floor and five on the third floor. The first floor held a sitting room, a game room, and conference room as well as a small study, which, upon inspection, housed items that were usually found on the clearance table. The main section of the house was referred to as The Central. The Central was extravagantly decorated with its cathedral ceilings and wall murals and included such items as an original Strauss chandelier made of thousands of perfectly cut Swarovski crystals, a genuine Picasso (from his Blue period), and a multitude of other pieces deemed of significant value and worth. This was also where the kitchen, dining room, entertainment room, formal ball room, and library (to which there were few books to be found) were located. Leaving the house and heading out back was an unparalleled view of the rolling green pastures and mountains that offered a feeling of isolation and security. But a quick glance to the right, and it was party time with a swimming pool, stone fire-pit, grill, and bar, heartily stocked and ready for business. Everything anyone could ever ask for was here.
Upon arrival, Michel showed them around. He particularly liked seeing his guests' expressions as he played tour guide. "You like it?"
"Like it? Why would you ever live in a hotel with this just an hour away?" Tony said, feeding into Michel's need for approval.
He shrugged, most probably because he didn't know the answer to that. "Here, let me show you to your room."
Their room was on the second floor in the East Wing and overlooked the pool and the green pastures to the north.
"I've never had a client who's owned a place like this," Ziva said, admiring the room.
"Technically," Tony said, "you still don't."
Michel laughed. "The only house rule is that you're not late for dinner, which is at 7:00pm sharp. Other than that, you're free to enjoy yourselves. Oh, and Tony, Pops has called another meeting tonight, so dress appropriately."
"But I don't have—" he stopped when Michel pointed over his shoulder. Hanging on a hook was a smoky black tuxedo. Ziva walked over and opened the closet door, then stepped back in awe. Hanging in neat rows were five women's gowns, four men's suits, and several white button-down shirts, and lined up neatly on the floor were a couple pair of men's dress shoes and several women's shoes.
Michel smiled at their reaction. "I called ahead and had your closet stocked. I got my brother, Mario, to guess your sizes… for some reason, he's pretty good at that. I know you were reluctant to stay with us so I thought I'd make your visit a little more enjoyable. There's casual stuff in the drawers. If there's anything else I can do, just let me know."
"You've done plenty, Michel," Tony said, genuinely appreciative. "More than plenty. But there is one more thing you might help me out with."
"Anything! You name it!"
Tony wrapped an arm around the shorter man's shoulders and turned him away so Ziva couldn't hear. Lowering his voice, he said, "I know from my days in Baltimore that families like to bug the rooms of their guests, and, well, I don't exactly want to see us on the internet." Tony ticked his head in Ziva's direction and added, "Bad for business, if you know what I mean."
Michel couldn't help but laugh again. He admired Tony in ways that he himself didn't understand. The man was intelligent, witty, articulate, and had street smarts like no other person in the organization. He was just plain good for his family. "Yeah, I know what you mean. We only video the grounds and the common areas; the bedrooms are off limits. BUT, every bedroom has a small microphone on the headboard. Throw a shirt on it and it becomes nearly inaudible."
"Thanks," Tony said. "Now, if you'll excuse us, we have some pent up energy to release."
***********************************8
Tony and Ziva didn't want to run the risk of being overheard by strategically planted bugs, so they admired the estate and made small talk as they ambled the grounds. To Tony, every guard they passed appeared to him to be salivating when their eyes landed on his partner. This is the sort of stuff that made his work here harder, but then he'd remind himself that she was actually more capable of fending off an attacker than he was, and with that thought, he could continue talking about ordinary topics, like flowers, architecture, and design, even though he was completely and utterly bored with the conversation. Fortunately, she did most of the talking which left him free to take in the location of cameras and guards and anything else that he could commit to memory.
In a small room in The West Wing, Vincent sat in the dark watching the two stroll from room to room while chatting about mundane things like favorite meals and best birthday memories. He was looking for anything that might indicate they were not who they said they were; so far, nothing. But highly trained government spooks would produce nothing. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he just got a vibe that he didn't understand. He should have liked this handsome man, but there was something that kept niggling at his brain. Part of it was time: fast ascension was the demon of Mafia life, and Tony ascended the ranks quickly. For Michel's sake, he hoped he was wrong.
Ziva needed to talk to Tony alone, but there was nowhere to go, until she noticed it. Then she almost giddily asked, "Do you ride?"
Taken by surprise, he answered, "Ride? I ride motorcycles."
She pointed to the barn, and reiterated, "Do you ride horses?"
He paled, "Don't make me ride those things. I had a bad experience on one when I was a kid."
She took his hand and pulled him along, "Come on. Let us see if we can borrow some of the animals and ride along these beautiful grounds." As it turned out, several stable boys were tending to the equines when they entered. The barn was beautiful, but no doubt bugged, like everything else. "Excuse me," Ziva said to one of the young men carrying a pail of feed in one hand and a bucket of water in the other. "Would it be possible to ride a couple of horses today?"
He put down both pails and rubbed the sweat off his brow. "Yes, ma'am. We're always looking for someone to exercise these ponies. Are you an experienced rider?"
"Yes, I am, but I do not think my friend here is."
Tony shook his head, not at all excited about the prospect of getting up one of these half-ton animals.
Five minutes later, two horses were brought out and tethered to the fence. Ten minutes after that, they were saddled and ready to go. Tony asked, "Shouldn't there be a horn for me to hold onto?"
Ziva chuckled, "We are riding English style today, not Western." The stable boy helped Tony with his horse while Ziva easily swung up on hers.
"How come she gets the white horse and I get the brown one?" he asked the boy.
"Your horse's name is High Jinxed, but we call him High. He's very mellow and calm and the most he'll ever do if a bird flies up is perk his ears. Her horse is named White Lightning."
Ziva smiled, excited for the challenge, like being surrounded by the Mafia wasn't good enough. "You ready?"
"Does it matter?"
"No."
They followed the path the stable boy had told them about, walking single file where they had to and side by side where they could. Ziva was quick to notice the cameras mounted to the trees. She asked, "Do you think they would mind if we went off the trail? I like exploring."
"You know, for a prostitute, you sure do have a lot of experiences."
Vincent perked up when his microphones picked up the comment and amplified it.
"I grew up overseas," she said with a smile. "We were very privileged, but I do not want to talk about my childhood." She took her horse off the beaten path and made her way through the trees. Ducking low hanging branches, Tony clutched his horse's mane and hung on. Finally, they came out of the woods and into a clearing that included a small pond. Ziva scanned the place and smiled when she realized they might possibly be alone. However, she wasn't naive enough to believe that some sort of surveillance equipment wasn't lurking somewhere around this gorgeous spot.
They both dismounted and stood on the bank overlooking the water. It was beautiful, and quiet, and tranquil. It reminded Ziva of her younger days in Israel, before her parents separated. She would ride bareback through the countryside pretending to be a mythical warrior saving the world.
"What are you thinking?" Tony asked, mesmerized by her serenity and rubbing his backside.
"Just remembering another time." She ticked her head towards the horses and he understood. They tethered their mounts to a nearby bush with lush green grass nearby to graze on, and then they walked slowly around the pond. "The saddle was bugged. I saw it back at the stable," she whispered.
Tony suspected as much, but hadn't seen anything.
"We should be fine if we stay in character," she added, "and act normal."
"Normal? I wouldn't exactly call what we're doing normal."
It was the first time she felt she could talk freely, and she smiled and reached for his hand. "I've been worried about you. We all have. But you seem to be holding up fairly well."
He shrugged, "Fornell put me through the ringer and did a pretty good job of preparing me for this. I'm not sure I like you tagging along, though."
"Don't be such a big brother," she teased. "Here, let's sit down."
He looked around. They had made it halfway around the pond and could look back on the horses. A small patch of trees was nearby but mostly the area was clear. If anyone were watching them, they certainly wouldn't be able to hear their conversation. He did as he was told and sat down near the bank of the water on a plush carpet of grass. She stepped in front of him and sat down between his legs, leaning back against his chest.
"I could grow to like this," he cooed softly into her ear.
Smiling, she cooed back, "Do not get used to it. If they have cameras sophisticated enough to read lips, this is the only way to interfere with that."
He was confused until she positioned his arm so it rested on his knee and she leaned back, snuggling into his shoulder. Using the crook of his elbow, he turned her head gently and leaned down to her ear, letting her hair cover his mouth. "You've done this before?"
Ignoring his question, she said, "We have a job to do, Tony. Specifically, we need to get a name."
"Ah, yes. The enigmatic sleeper cell name."
"How do you propose we get it?"
Tony pondered the question, then answered, "DiCarlo's having a family dinner tomorrow. Rumor has it he's making another announcement. Given his penchant for dramatics, I'm not too excited about attending another one of his family dinners."
"You could break into his study and go through his papers."
He laughed at her simplicity. "That's not a bad idea. I'll just bypass the security with my McGee-like wizardry and ask the guards to look the other way."
"This is no joking matter," she smiled up at him, but her smile didn't include her eyes.
"I know that, Rose," he said through gritted teeth, "my point is it's not as easy as you make it out to be."
She laughed, feigning amusement at something he said. "Then we should pull out now, before something happens."
He almost couldn't resist the double entendre, but decided to let it pass in favor of devising a plan. "Nothing's going to happen if you behave yourself."
"Except I might kill one of the wives here."
"What? Why?"
"Maria. She just won't shut up! It's like being back in the squad room with YOU, only she keeps talking about the diamond necklace or the diamond ring or the diamond broach her husband keeps promising to buy her. She's like a broken song."
"Record. She's like a broken record."
"Have you heard her, too?"
"Sometimes, Rose, you're like the pet I never had. All excited, yet not really understanding a word I'm saying."
"What are you talking about?"
"I think we should go. If you want me to break into his study, I'll need to see how it's laid out."
He wriggled out from behind her and stood up. Then he reached down and pulled her up and into his arms. She wrapped herself around his neck and said, "I'm not sure this is such a good idea."
He leaned down, allowing his lips to get within a hair's breadth of hers, and said, "If they're watching, and I'm sure they are, Tony Villani would kiss his girl right now." He pressed his lips against hers and was pleasantly surprised when she reciprocated.
***********************************8
MTAC had become the unofficial meeting place for the operation again. Technically, the FBI maintained control, but nothing like MTAC existed in the Hoover Building, so NCIS is where people convened. The darkened room held Kort, Fornell, and Gibbs. McGee and Abby were at the console along with two other technicians. Vance was not present.
"McGee, are we in yet?"
Knowing his boss didn't like to hear bad news, he stuttered before beginning, "Ah, no-no, Boss, not yet."
"Why not?"
"Well, they are wired to their own network. There's nothing for us to hack into."
"Are you telling me that Ziva and DiNozzo are flying blind?" he said, directing his question at Fornell.
Feeling compelled to answer, Fornell explained, "Our technicians are at the house as we speak splicing into their network. They have very sophisticated stuff out there and it's not just a matter of capturing an IP address. They don't use WiFi either—everything's hardwired—so we have to insert a relay box that'll transmit data like WiFi."
McGee knew of the technology but also knew a sophisticated group could counter that easily enough. "Won't they have frequency sensors to pick up on data being transmitted wirelessly?"
"That's the problem; they do have frequency sensors so we've had to install another device that cloaks the transmission."
"We can do that?" McGee said, eyes wide at the thought.
Fornell smiled, "Why, yes we can, McGee. We can actually do quite a lot of things that I think you'd find interesting. If you ever get bored here, drop me your resume and I'll pass it along."
Kort enjoyed the awkwardness that the comment created. He'd love to bust up "Team Gibbs". If the truth be known, he'd love to have someone like Ziva David on his payroll. The things he could accomplish with a talent like hers, but he was afraid she may have already been tainted by Gibbs and his unique approach to fighting terrorists. It wasn't a bad one, just a different set of codes to live by, or die by.
Gibbs ignored the hunting tactics and barked, "How long before we have a visual?"
Fornell's phone beeped and he grinned, "Is now soon enough?"
McGee punched on the keyboard and eventually feeds of the compound began populating the screens. "How many cameras are there?"
Fornell studied his phone, "The message I got says there's between 20 and 25 cameras, and over 100 audio drops. You got the bandwidth to handle that amount of traffic?" he asked.
Abby grinned, "We can handle 10 times that amount if we had to." She clicked away on her computer and before she was done, she had partitioned three screens into smaller squares until all 25 camera feeds were being displayed. Then she partitioned the remaining two screens into visual audio files with the green line wiggling its way across it. A couple lines were bouncing all over so she figured those must be the common areas. The challenge would be to figure out where the audio was coming from.
"We're in," McGee said, "all camera and audio bug signals are being relayed directly to us. This is almost as good as a satellite feed," he mused.
"And not nearly as expensive," Fornell added.
"Where are Ziva and DiNozzo?"
While the others were looking at the partitioned screens, Abby was able to click through each screen on the monitor at her console. She could see detail that the others couldn't. "Oh my goodness," she said.
"What?" Gibbs said.
"I think that's them coming up on horseback."
She enlarged the screen and sure enough, they could make out the figures of Tony and Ziva as they rode their horses back to the barn.
***********************************8
Tony's phone rang and he looked at the number. "Oh, geez," he said as he and Ziva walked back to the house from their afternoon ride.
"Who is it?" she asked.
"My father. What could he want?" He pressed the green button and said, "Dad?"
"Hello, Junior, how are you?"
"I'm fine. Are you okay?"
"Yes, I'm fine too. I'm getting ready to leave for St. Bart's. I've got several investors I'm meeting there to close a very lucrative deal."
"I'm a little busy here right now, Dad, so have a safe trip. I'll call you in a few—"
"—Wait a minute, Junior, I just finished talking to our friend, Leroy, and he wanted me to tell you something."
This got Tony's attention.
"Leroy wanted you to know that because of the move, his phone is being disconnected, so if you need to talk to him, you have to call me. He also says the move's been tough, but he told the workers to hurry up and finish because he wanted his house back."
"I see…" Tony said, interpreting the cryptic message. He suspected that McGee had hacked into the compound and was watching him talk to his father right now. He gave a thumbs-up signal to Ziva and said, "Thanks, Dad, I'll keep that mind. You have a good trip, okay?"
Tony clicked off and mumbled, "Gibbs wants us to wrap things up here."
"So do I. We will get the information we need tonight."
Tony's gut churned as he walked up the path. Something was bothering him, but he couldn't put his finger on it.
"Hey!" Michel waved them over from pool side.
"Hi!" Ziva waved back.
Michel met them half way and said, "I've been looking for you, Tony. My brothers and I want to know if you want some target practice."
Ziva almost answered, but then caught herself.
Tony shrugged, "Sure, why not? What's the target?"
"You'll see. Rose, the other wives are by the pool. You can join them."
This time, she opened her mouth to protest, but he had whisked Tony away so quickly, she hadn't had time to formulate words. She looked over at the pool and saw Maria finger waving at her.
Tony sat in the back seat of an open top black Jeep Wrangler while Vincent drove and Michel sat in the passenger seat. Nicholas was already in the seat beside him. He held onto the roll bar as they bounced their way through pastures, woods, gulches, and streams before coming to a stop in front of an old shack.
"C'mon!" Michel said as he jumped out.
The place was a perfect place to hold prisoners. Suddenly Tony didn't feel so good anymore. The door to the shack flung open and Mario and Frank came out. "It's about time!"
"We had to wait for Cowboy here to get back from his horsey ride."
Mario lamented, "Tell me that wasn't your idea?"
"Not my idea," Tony said.
"When you gonna let the rest of us try out your hooker?" Frank said.
Michel cuffed his younger brother across the head and said, "We don't have 'hookers' here, Frank. Here…we have guests."
"Sorry, man, just thought I'd ask."
Tony clapped him on the back and whispered in his ear, "When I'm done with her, she's all yours."
Frank smiled appreciatively and said, "C'mon, follow me."
Tony wondered what sort of nefarious scheme they were up to as they walked around the side of the cabin. Lined up neatly on a small table were all different kinds of rifles and handguns. "What are we going to shoot?"
Mario pointed towards a clearing and said, "One of us is walking way down there and pulling the string."
"Skeet shooting?"
They laughed, "What'd you think we were gonna shoot?
A wave of relief swept over him and he smiled, "I didn't know. With my past, I wouldn't have been shocked if you had a rival family tied up out here somewhere."
"That's just barbaric," Frank said, redeeming himself from his earlier comment. "Brother Vincent set this up a few years back. He thought we should all know how to handle a gun. Dad never approved of learning, said there were always people out there willing to do that sort of work so long as we let 'em. So he doesn't know about this."
Tony felt the oldest brother's eyes boring into him; he had to be careful how he played this. "Okay, I'm game."
"You ever shoot before?"
Tony deadpanned, "I worked in Baltimore, of course I've shot a gun before, although I have to admit I was far better at dodging than shooting." He picked up a rifle and admired the barrel.
"That's a Winchester PS5090. You have a good eye for nice hardware," Vincent said. Mario started to make the hike towards the box but Vincent called him back, "I'll go. You stay here and practice."
Vincent was out of earshot range when Mario said, "He's the best shot of all of us. We don't know who taught him, but he doesn't miss."
Tony watched him half trot and half walk up to the box and asked, "Who's the worst?"
All eyes turned and Michel sheepishly confessed, "I am. I just can't get the hang of it."
They teased him as brothers do until Vincent waved his arms indicating he was ready.
"I'll go first and show you how it's done," Mario said.
He selected a smaller version of the Winchester and loaded it with shells. He nestled its stock easily into his shoulder and leaned his head to the side, looking carefully down the barrel. Confident, he yelled, "PULL!"
The shot rang out and the plate shattered.
"Nice shot," Frank said. "I'll go." He positioned his rifle against his shoulder, leaned his head, looked down the barrel and yelled, "PULL!"
His shot rang out and the plate shattered.
"Two for Two. Not bad," Tony said, thinking he might go next, but before he could move, Nicholas had other ideas. "And up next," Tony said in his best announcer's voice, "is the man of few words, the man himself, Mr. Nicholas DiCarlo!"
Even though it made the others chuckle, it did nothing to change Nicholas' disposition. He yelled, "PULL!" and the plate shattered a nanosecond later.
"Three for three," Tony commented. "I guess it's your turn, Michel."
"I don't know why I bother, but here goes nothing." He squinted down the way before raising the rifle awkwardly to his shoulder.
Tony wondered why no one bothered to correct his stance and debated whether or not he should. In the end, he decided to keep his mouth shut.
"PULL!" The shot rang out and the plate sailed through the air, landing softly in the field.
Mario nodded his head appreciatively, "You're getting closer, Mick. A few yards the other way, and you'd of hit it!"
Michel squinted down the range and nodded, "I think you may be right. I am getting closer."
"Well," Tony said, stepping up to where Michel had been standing, "I guess it's my turn." He raised the rifle he had chosen and cradled the stock in the crook of his shoulder. The cold butt felt good against his cheek and the site was beautifully aligned. The weight of the weapon was so precise that it took little to no effort to hold it steady. He took a minute to study the distance, the curve of the land, the man at the box.
"PULL!" The plate ejected and the shot rang out, but the plate flew high into the air and landed with a thud practically on top of the other one. "Damn…" he whispered, hoping no one would notice the deliberate miss.
"You just missed it!" Frank said, excited. "By a hair!"
"I thought you said you came from Baltimore," Mario said.
"I did, but like I said, I did a much better job at dodging the bullets than I did shooting them."
"Try another," Frank said, intent on getting him to hit one.
"No, I shou—"
"—Nonsense," Michel said, "try it again. It doesn't matter how many times I go, I couldn't hit the broad side of a barn, as dear ole Uncle Fritz is fond of saying."
Tony steadied the rifle once more and yelled, "PULL!" This time he aimed it slightly out front, but missed the saucer again.
"For someone who looks like a natural holding that thing, you sure can't hit much," Nicholas said.
It was the first thing he'd said all afternoon and it worried Tony. "I look natural at a lot of things. It's the curse of the mug."
Nicholas had a way of spoiling their fun and Mario never liked that about his brother. If there ever was a wet rag, Nicholas was it. "Never mind him, Tony. He's always sour like that. You said you worked in Baltimore? What'd ya do?"
"I ran numbers for the Lombardi Family. I didn't have much responsibility back then."
"Did you know anyone named Phelps?"
"Mario," Frank warned. "You shouldn't be talkin' about this."
"Why not? Dad's gonna talk about it tomorrow night. I overheard him this morning talking to Phelps."
"Was he part of the Lombardi Family?" Tony asked.
Mario laughed, "Not quite. He's a cop."
The brothers studied Tony's face intently. Suddenly, Tony got the impression that coming out here and shooting was only a ruse for something deeper. He shifted easily and said, "Lombardi had half the force on his payroll, and the other half just knew to keep their mouths shut."
"He's not with the Lombardi Family any more. He's dead."
"I thought you just said your father talked to him this morning?"
"He did. He learned that Phelps was grazing on both sides of the fence. Pretty ballsy for a cop."
Tony watched Vincent jog towards them before saying, "Yeah? Well, cops aren't known for being the brightest bulb in the socket."
Vincent joined them and studied their faces. It was like he knew what they were talking about.
"Tough break for him," Frank said.
Tony let his mind drift back to that fateful dinner party where Villanova met a rather gruesome end. "Didn't your dad say he had an informant in Baltimore? Was Phelps that informant?"
No one answered, which allowed Tony's brain to work that much faster. "If Phelps was helping you and he's now dead, you're going to need another snitch on the BCPD."
"Do you have someone in mind?" Vincent asked.
Tony smiled. He knew just the man for the job. A two-bit con man who roughed up minorities just because he could and looked the other way whenever enough money was involved. He was perfect for their inside man. "I have a name of a cop who might be willing to help us, if he's still on the force."
"Who?"
Tony shook his head, "Not so fast. I said he might be able to help us. He was a bad apple back in my day; he probably got himself killed by now. But in the event he's still alive and kicking, I'll let your father make contact. And… there's one other thing. You can't mention my name to him. We don't exactly see eye to eye."
For the first time, Vincent smiled a genuine smile, one that included his eyes. He clapped Tony on the back and said, "Now, if we can only get you to hit a plate…"
***********************************8
"Where have you been?" Ziva asked, thankful to be away from the wives.
"I've been out skeet shooting. Evidently, they really do shoot skeet out here."
"Dinner is in an hour and we have to be ready."
Tony showered and put on a suit. He looked up and saw her in the mirror. "Wow. You sure do dress up nicely."
"So do you." She walked up to him and straightened his tie and whispered, "Tonight, we break into DiCarlo's study."
"I already got a name of a cop that they supposedly had killed today. I gave them another name of a dirty cop, but I don't want another man's blood on my hands."
She adjusted his collar and whispered, "If we can get the name to Gibbs, he can get to him before the DiCarlo family does. There! You look better now," she said, a touch of admiration in her voice.
"Thanks."
They arrived at the banquet hall at precisely seven o'clock. Everyone was there and dressed to the hilt. Ziva clasped onto Tony's arm and gritted, "If you leave me with those ladies again, I WILL kill one of them."
Ziva had never eaten so much food in her life. She realized early on that if she had a prayer of making it to the last course, she had better take no more than a tablespoon of any one food. The conversation was light and she was thankful that she sat between Tony and Michel. Both were perfect gentlemen and she was thankful they both liked to talk about themselves, allowing her to remain a mystery. Towards the end of the meal, Vinny, Sr. and his son, Vincent, abruptly left the table. A hush fell over the room as there were very few things that could interrupt a Mafia Don's big Italian dinner with his entire family.
"What do you think that's about," Tony asked.
"I have no idea," Michel said, "but the last time this happened, we ended up taking a trip to Africa."
While Tony was contemplating that, the men returned. Seemingly unfazed by the interruption, the conversations resumed as did the endless parade of fine Italian cuisine.
By the time the last course was served, Vinny, Sr. made a surprise announcement: "I'm sorry to have to cut our evening short, but there's a small change of plans. I'm going to have to ask the ladies in the room to call it an evening.
There was a mumble of dissatisfaction among some of the women, but most accepted the request with ease and said their goodbyes.
"Are you going to be okay?" Ziva asked.
"Yeah, I'll be fine."
She gave him a quick peck on the check and said, "Watch yourself."
As the door shut behind the last lady, Tony felt the feint beginnings of tremors as they slowly enveloped his body. The memory of the last dinner meeting was still front and center in his mind.
TBC