TOML chp. 2
September 21, 2007
Twenty-five miles west of Orleans, France
Terry checked his watch. 0400. He and Ziva had been staking out their suspects hideout for two days. Collin hadn't been happy about his parents leaving, but he'd accepted it when they promised to be careful and that he would stay with his grandparents. Terry smiled at the memory, exposing white teeth against his black painted face. Even after six months, he was still getting used to the fact that he was a husband and father. But, he wouldn't have it any other way. His life before Ziva and Collin had been all about the mission. Now, it was balanced between completing the mission and keeping his family safe and himself alive.
He nudged Ziva, she turned to him and he held up five fingers. She nodded and pulled down her balaclava. Terry pointed to the west side of the house they were staking out. She nodded again and they moved to their respective positions. They were synchronized now. He would enter first, through the front and she would come through the rear as soon as she heard him. They'd been in France for two weeks. The first week had been a much belated, but nonetheless much needed honeymoon which Terry had financed. Nothing was too good for his Ziva, he said. She practically glowed when he called her his. She had enjoyed the week. Though they both adored Collin, it good to have some 'adult' time as well. But, sadly, it was also a working honeymoon, if there was such a thing. That was the part of their vacation they were fulfilling now. The director had asked them, politely if they would grab a man known as Abdul Al-Zarquawi also known as 'the bomber.' Terry talked it over with Ziva, as he had enough money to give her a great honeymoon, sans government strings. But she'd agreed readily, much to his delight. They were both rusty. She racked the charging handle on her H&K MP-5SD and waited for her husband to make the first move.
000
Terry pulled the silenced Sig P-226 Tactical that had replaced his 1911 as his primary weapon. He still liked the .45 and still carried it, but his mother had said that this mission needed a layer of deniability and the forty-five caliber round was decidedly American. Their target was staying in a small cabin, alone, which wasn't his style. He'd been in Paris four days ago. But Terry decided to spook him and see where he went. And…predictably, he went into hiding.
Terry keyed the mic on his comm and kicked the door in. The front door opened onto a living room, with a door leading to a small kitchen and dining room. Another door led to a hallway and presumably bedrooms. Terry caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned toward. "On the ground! Now!"
"Ok, Ok, buddy, relax." The man said in farsi while raising his hands. "What do you want?"
"You." Ziva answered, coming up behind their target and pulling a taser from the small of her back. The man caught on too late to what was happening and tried to defend himself as the taser's prongs dug into his chest and 2000 volts of electricity shot through his body. He dropped to the ground without so much as a whimper. Terry checked his pulse and found him alive. "Good work. I'll get the van; get the stove."
"Ok."
Their plan was simple. Use the stove to create a gas explosion. It happened all the time, and here in the middle of nowhere, it was doubtful anyone would miss their target for at least a week, maybe a month if they were lucky. Ziva turn on the stove and went back to the living room. Terry backed the van up to front door and they load their target in the back. Then Ziva drove far enough away so the truck wouldn't go up with the house. Terry struck a match, tossed into the house and ran for the truck. They pulled away just as the house caught fire.
000
Jen wasn't sleeping well. But it didn't worry her. She hadn't really slept well until since Terry had called her four days ago. They had agreed that a text message from him would signal when the honeymoon ended and the mission began. He would call again when they were wheels up and returning to the states with the target. She checked the clock beside her bed, which read 10:35pm. That meant it was 0435 Paris time. As if reading her thoughts, her secure cell phone rang. Jethro was on a case and the boys were asleep. She checked the caller i.d. unknown number. The phone rang again and she snatched it up. "Shepard."
"It's done." Terry said, and she smiled.
"Did you have a good trip otherwise?"
"Oh, yeah, it was great. How was the midget?"
Jen laughed at that one. "I'm a grandma. What do you think I'm going to say?"
"Something along the lines of him being an angel or such like B.S?" Terry asked.
"Something like that. And for the record, they both were. Can I talk to Ziva?"
"She's asleep. Can you have a containment team meet us at the airfield?"
"Sure. What's your ETA?"
Terry checked his watch. "Should touch down by noon."
"Ok, thanks. I appreciate this."
"No problem. It was fun. See you."
"Love you. See you later. Oh…Terry."
"Yeah, ma?"
"No getting frisky on my plane." Terry just laughed and hung up the phone. He was too tired to 'get frisky,' anyway. He leaned his seat back and went to sleep.
000
Two hours later, American Airlines flight 936 left De Gaulle International Airport. This flight wasn't any different than the hundreds that left Paris everyday, ferrying businessmen of every nationality to offices, meetings and mergers in the states and their American counter parts home to their families. Two such men on this flight were Jaleel Hussein and Nazeem Abdullah. But these two weren't businessmen, except on paper. They were two men motivated by their hatred of the west and eager to strike a blow at the heart of the great Satan.
000