I do not own NCIS

Russian

Hebrew

Middle Eastern Dialect

English

Hey Guys, I know I haven't updated in forever but stuffs really been kinda hectic. I didn't like the last chapter I put up for this, so I figured a good restart was in order, starting from CH 8. Also, as of now, I will be running a little competition on this story. I want everyone to watch the movie Eastern Promises by David Cronenberg. There is a tattoo on the main characters chest. The first person to tell me what that tattoo means, will win a fabulous prize! (STILL TO BE DETERMINED) Good Luck.

I'm back bitches!

Director Jenny Shepard grimaced at the two FBI agents sitting in front of her.

"I'm sorry, you want to do what?"

"We need one of your teams." One of the agents said.

"Look, Director Shepard, I know this is completely unorthodox." The other began.

"Unorthodox? I don't even know if I have the authority for this!" Shepard replied.
"We checked. You do. Anyway, your agency came into contact with people that we haven't been able to locate for decades. We at the FBI organized crime Russian desk are responsible for dealing with the spread of the Russian Mob in the U.S. Your agents could be an immense asset to us."

"One second gentlemen. Donna!" Shepard called to her secretary. "Get Special Agent Gibbs and his team up here."

"Thank you director."

"Don't thank me. Now, if you want to work with my agents, we need to know everything you know."

"Not a problem." A briefcase was placed on Shepard's desk. "This director, is everything we have. Hard copies, computer files, photos, everything."

Nodding to the director, the duo walked out, passing a grim faced Agent Gibbs on his way in.

The bullpen was a complete mess. A blackboard had been set up, covered in photos and red lines connecting one to the others.

"I don't get it." McGee whined. "Is Dvorkin working with Yuri Pankov?"

"No Probie," Tony mumbled, head resting on his desk. "Dvorkin is Pankov. We've been over this, God I'm tired… OWW Boss!" Gibbs hand had flicked out against Tony's head.

"Ziva, talk to me." A haggard looking Ziva looked up from her desk, which was covered in papers.

"Nevsky Bratva is, according to this, part of the Odessa Gang." Ziva held up a FBI file. "They pay tithe to the bigger Russian organizations in New York. Most of that money comes from drug trade and gun smuggling."

"Tony, names and places."

Tony Dinozzo waved vaguely at the blackboard. "There's like two hundred guys here, all in different places on the East Coast. You've got Pankov in Miami." Tony pointed at the picture of a fat man. "He manages drug coming in from South America. There's Lerche in Georgia, and Shubovich in Virginia. These files call them zools, whatever that is."

"Mules." Ziva replied.

Tony stuck his tongue out at Ziva. "Anyway, as I was saying before I was interrupted…"

"Get on with it Dinozzo."

"Yes Boss. Those two move product up the coast and into the Midwest towards Kansas and Texas. Now here's where things get weird." Tony pointed to a group of five men, above the mass of other faces. These five had been circled in black ink. "These five, shouldn't be here. No criminal connections, no criminal records in the U.S, all but one are U.S citizens, and all but one work in restaurants around Maryland."

"So who are they."

"I think these are the bosses." McGee cut in. Tony glared. "I know Tony thinks these guys are just well hidden, but this is too clean. Also, they didn't make a fuss about their records in Russia. Our perp is here as well." McGee pointed to a picture of Taras Stanislav. "According to his FBI file, Stanislav is a torpedo, a mob hitman. That guy over there, Kirill Udrenko is another one. These two, are Oleg and Boris Yamatov, the bulls, bodyguards for this guy." McGee tapped the upper most photo, a blurry picture of an old man. "The Father. No name, no information, this guy doesn't even have an address. This is, I think, the Don. These four answers to him, and the rest are somehow managed by the four."

"Good work McGee. Tony, what else have you got for me? How does our snitch tie into this?"

"Our snitch is all the way down here." Tony pointed to a photo at the very bottom of the blackboard. "These guys are smart. They never actually move anything themselves. These guys down here move the drugs, the guns, whatever, and they pay tribute to the bigger guys, who then pay a tribute to a bigger guy, and so it goes, all the way up, and on the way, the money gets laundered and becomes legal. I'm sorry boss, but whatever these guys are into, it's legal. That money's changed so many hands that we couldn't take it to court with a drunk jury."

"So you're telling me we have no case? Even with a rat, who knows our perps name, and can testify to that."

The bull pen went silent "Boss, our rat is a convicted felon. His testimony won't stand. He can't identify Stanislav, he only knows the guy's name." McGee began.

"Fuck!" Gibbs growled. Tony and Ziva flinched. Gibbs never got this angry. "So we have no case, even after this."

"Not quite." The bull pen whirled around. The FBI duo that had been in the director's office hours earlier entered the pen.

"Who are you?"

"Agent Hallman and Agent Yubrov." The agent named Hallman replied.

"Can you help?" Tony asked.

"I think so." Yubrov grinned, his heavy jowls quivering. "The problem with getting these guys, is that evidence is so hard to get hold of. The best way would be to send in an undercover, but the Russians have a habit of catching them. And we can't find our guys once that happens. But this little situation presents a unique opportunity. Israel is on board for an undercover op. This gang," the fat FBI agent gestured to the blackboard. "has gone international. The Israeli government is willing to work with the FBI to get someone into the Nevsky Bratva. We need NCIS on board, and then this thing can get started."

"Why do you need NCIS?" Gibbs asked warily.

"Because we need someone who can speak Russian and Hebrew." Hallman replied, glancing at Ziva. "The Russians know every cop in Tel Aviv, so Israel can't send someone in. We need NCIS, to provide the agent."

"No." Tony, Gibbs, and McGee said.

"Yes." Said Ziva.

"What?" Gibbs glared at Ziva. "Ziver, I will not permit you to go through with this. Not after what happened to you and Abbs."

"You think I can't handle it?" Ziva asked, a little too loudly.

"No Ziva, that's not…" Tony began.

"You think I can't do this anymore!" Ziva snapped. It had been over a month since her run in with Taras Stanislav in Tel Aviv, and it had only be a few weeks ago that Gibbs had allowed her to return to work. Abby wasn't even back yet, going through therapy at a local hospital. The girl had been terrified out of her mind, and it was a wonder Ziva wasn't in therapy with her. When sh got back, she wasn't scared like Abby, or angry like Tony and Gibbs. She didn't want McGee's sympathy, and she didn't need Ducky's support. She felt weak. She had been so used to winning any fight she went into, she had been shaken by the ease with which Stanislav had batted her aside. She had felt helpless. That had to change.

"I'm not going to let you…" Gibbs began again but Ziva interrupted. "You won't let? I'm sorry Gibbs, but this is my choice! If I get fired for it, fine, but I'm going to get that bastard!" Ziva slammed her hand against Stanislav's photo, knocking the blackboard over. The bullpen was silent.

"Well… I guess that settles that." Agent Hallman mumbled.