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The rain rattled off the cold sidewalk like thousands of tiny icicles, nipping at the face and neck of Taras Taraevich Stanislav. The rain dribbled down his forehead and the back of his neck, into his eyes and down over the convoluted network of tattoos on the Russian's back. Taras flicked up the collar of his coat, hunching his shoulders against the cold rain. The streetlights cast dark shadows which the tall Russian melded in and out of as he walked slowly down the empty street. A few notes of Handel drifted out of Taras's pocket.

"Da?"

"Taras, it's Kirill. The man just left the Trostoyka on 4th and Boulevard. He's heading your way."

"You're sure he's our man?"

"Positive. Bald, early twenties, anchor tattoo on the back of the neck."

"Understood. Take care."

"Dasvidania."

He closed his phone, and turned left onto a slightly more crowded street whose sides were lined with restaurants. Small groups of people walked past Taras, ignoring the grim faced young Russian. Taras's eyes scanned the pedestrians walking by, looking for the man Kirill had described. Then he saw him, a short broad shouldered man with a shaved head walking into a car lot. Taras sped up his pace, turning the corner to catch sight of the man opening the door of his car.

"Hey."

The man turned.

"Can I help you?"

Taras pulled back his collar, revealing a sixteen pointed star on his collarbone.

"Oh fuck."

"You know what the star means yes?"

"Yeah, I know. Look, I can get it to you by the end of the week ok? I just need a little more time. I'm saying this with respect ok? I just need a little more time."

"I'm sorry, this is nothing personal. Roza has declared you petrukha. Please face the car."

"Fuck you."

The man's hand jerked downwards towards the pocket of his coat.

Taras' hand rose, lifting a pistol to shoulder height. The FNP-40 barked, and two slugs hit the man in the head. The man toppled, blood spraying over the window of his car. The gun went back into the pocket, the gloved hand lifting a blood red rose out of the pocket. The rose was placed gently on the dead man's chest, and his hands were folded over the flower. His eyes were closed, and a penny was placed over each lid. Taras turned, and walked quickly out of the parking lot. A car pulled up outside the lot, the door on the passenger's side opening to let Taras in. The car rolled away, leaving behind the dead body and no witnesses.

"Well?" Kirill asked from the drivers seat beside Taras.

"It's done."

"Good. What do you feel like?"

"Chinese?"

"What about Italian?"

"The little restaurant near Saint Nevsky's church?"

"Da."

"Sounds good."

The car sped off into the night, moving silently away from the sounds of police sirens.

Tony groaned as he rolled over in bed. The high pitched ring of his cell hammered dully on the inside of his head.

"Hello?"

"Tony it's Gibbs. Get dressed. We've got a dead petty officer. I'm outside."

"Wha boss? It's christmas morning!"

"Get dressed Dinozzo, five minutes."

With that, the line went dead.

"Jeez."

A few minutes later, Tony was in the back seat of Gibbs's car, next to an equally tired looking Mcgee and Ziva David.

"So what's going on boss?"

"Dead petty officer was found last night in a parking lot on 4th and Boulevard. He'd been shot twice in the head. The Metro Police called us in thirty minutes ago."

The Charger sped down the road into the crowded streets of downtown Washington D.C tires screeching as Gibbs took turns too quickly. The car pulled into the lot at a hair raising speed, making several cops standing around jump in surprise.

"Boss, should you really be speeding around a bunch of cops?"
"We're an emergency vehicle Dinozzo. We're allowed to break the speed limit."

"Oh, yeah. Right."

Tony yelped as Gibbs's hand slapped the back of his head.

"Agent Gibbs?" A man in a police uniform with a heavy brooklyn accent walked up up to the NCIS team.

"Yeah?"

"Detective Leo Kirshkin. You need to see something."

Bemused, Gibbs followed the cop over to a crowd of policemen who were fidgeting nervously. In the center of the circle was a body, eyes closed, hands folded as if at a morgue.

"This is the victim?"

"Yeah. Look Agent Gibbs, I'm from Brighton Beach, I know what this kinda arrangement of the body means."

"Oh really?" Gibbs turned to face the now sweating detective. "What does it mean."

"This guy... this guy was killed as a job. This was a hired killing."

"How do you know?"

"The rose? That's a message to us from the killer's boss. This murder was by the Brat stvo Nevsky. The rose is telling us not to investigate."

"And you're just going to listen to them detective? You're going to let a criminal tell you what to do?"

"Listen!" Kirshkin snapped angrily. "I've seen what happens to people who fuck with these guys. Believe me, there's nothing I'd like better than to put the fucks who did this on ice, but I'm not risking the lives of my family to do it. I would suggest you take my advice and leave this one alone. What's done is done. The man made an enemy he shouldn'tve made and he paid for it."

"Detective Kirshkin, you can remove your men from this crime scene, NCIS will be taking over here."

"I warned you Gibbs. Come on guys."

With that, the Metro Police left the NCIS team on it's own.

"So, what've we got Tony?"

"One dead guy boss, shot twice in the head."

"I can see that Tony. That isn't very helpful."

"Sorry boss."

"Mcgee?"

"Yeah boss."

"Those things on the chief petty officer's eyes. What are they?"

"Uh.." Mcgee leant down, and gently lifted two small coins from the eyelids of the dead body.

"Two pennies boss."

"Pennies?"

"You know Jethro, in ancient Greece, it was believed that for a soul to pass into the world of the dead, he or she would have to pay the ferryman two coins for safe passage into the underworld." Dr. Mallard and Jimmy Palmer walked up behind the team.

"We aren't in ancient Greece Doc. You got a time of death?"

"No, but many sects of Christianity keep up the practice. The Eastern Orthodox Church for example. As to the time of death, I just got here. I can't do magic Jethro."

"Brat stvo Nevsky is russian." Ziva cut in.

"What does it mean?"

"Brotherhood of Nevsky. Probably referring to the Eastern Orthodox saint Nevsky. Please don't interrupt my story Miss David." Ducky shot Ziva an annoyed glance before continuing.

Ducky nodded over to a police man who was standing behind Gibbs, holding a small cassete. "The shooting is on camera Jethro. The time of death can be confirmed there, but I'd guess it at around two oclock this morning. The blood has barely started to dry."

"Well, that makes life easy. Send the video to Abby Tony."

"On it boss."

The sounds of heavy metal drifted through the hall as Gibbs walked down to Abby's lab.

"What ya got for me Abs?"

"Gibbs! This is really cool. Well, not the murder bit but the thing with the rose! This guy must be a major movie nut or something this is so awesome!"

"Abby. What have you got?"

"Sorry."

Abby motioned to the large computer screen at the end of the room.

"I got a full face picture of our killer off the camera at the parking lot. I've run him through several databases, but came up nil on all the U.S files. However..."

Abby's fingers flew over the keyboard as she typed. "However he is in several databases in Europe and Russia, the three that stand out are these."

Three pictures came up on the screen. All were of the same man, Shaved head, very handsome, with several tattoos adorning his face.

"Taras Taraevich Stanislav. Rogue FSB agent as of twelve years ago, was arrested two years later for multiple murders, was convicted for one, served four years in a russian prison in Siberia, moved to England where he was arrested again for extortion, murder, and armed robbery. He did three years for extortion. The other two charges failed to hold up in court. He then moved here. He has been living here on a student visa for the past two years."

"Slow down Abby. You have an address?"

"Yep, 415 Meadow Drive."

"Good work Abs."

Gibbs left the lab, a large cup of Cafpow left on Abby's desk.