Ch. 11 Appearances
Ziva's mind was working quickly.
It has been three weeks since I have been here and no one has come for me. I have not gained any intelligence on this camp. So I am just a prisoner. Fine. But I am also a product of the Kidon. I am not helpless and refuse to be so anymore.
She took an assessment of her injuries. Bruised and swollen face, three broken fingers on her left hand. Maybe two or three broken ribs. Knife injuries were numerous, centered mainly on her back and arms. Bruises and abrasions everywhere.
Not the best condition, but not the worst. Think of the positives: your legs work fine. Except for the broken fingers, your arms and hands are fine. You can move Ziva. And if you can move you can fight.
Ziva had tried fighting when she'd first been captured. It proved to be futile then. Her interrogator knew that she was strong then and took necessary precautions. Now, however, the story was different. In truth, she wasn't nearly as strong as when she'd arrived, but she wasn't helpless either.
Hearing footsteps at the door coming towards her door, Ziva made a swift decision.
Her interrogator entered, reverting back to his screaming questions. All Ziva felt for the next half hour were kicks, punches, and cuts from his damned knife. Finally, after sheathing his knife, he lifted her off the ground, bringing her face to his.
"Still no answers? Maybe you need more motivation?" he asked, a suggestive look in his eyes. Ziva knowing exactly what he meant, Ziva placed a well aimed knee into his groin. Crying out, he slammed her against the wall and punched her in the stomach. He let her slide to the floor and left in a fury. Ziva's eyes teared from the pain, and she coughed with an effort to regain air in her lungs. But she didn't care. In fact she smiled.
Because know she had her tormentor's knife.
Ziva waited for the rest of that day. She knew there was one beating to come and she tried with all her might to preserve her strength for it. She'd concealed the knife as best she could, playing over in her mind the dozens of different scenarios that could take place when her interrogator came in to torment her. She knew that regardless of what he did, she would have one shot in taking him down. It was an opportunity that she was not going to miss.
Finally, the time came. Her door swung open.
"Tell me everything you know about NCIS!" he shouted, his demeanor in total contrast to the one he'd had the first time he'd asked that question. The first time he was calm, convinced of his ability to break the captured woman. Now, he was frustrated and tired of interrogating her. The pleasure in tormenting her her had run thin. And he directed all of his frustration at her. It had become hit before you ask questions, and again afterwards if he didn't like the answer. And he never liked the answers he received. Much as he had during the previous interrogation, he questioned and hit her mercilessly. Then, Ziva's moment came.
He bent over Ziva, who lying on her side. As soon as she could see his face, she lashed out with her foot, striking his knee which let out a sickening crack. He fell to the floor howling in pain. Ziva didn't give him a moment to move. In an instant, she her arm around his throat and his knife just barely touching his skin.
"Who is giving you orders?" she asked fiercely. When he didn't answer she pushed the point of his knife into his throat ever so slightly.
"You answer, or you bleed to death. Who gives you orders?!" Before the man could answer, a tall figure appeared at the door.
"ZIVA!" the man shouted, his gun pointed at Ziva and her torturer.
Ziva was in shock. After weeks of nothing, no contact from anyone, he was standing there.
"Hadar?" she retained a firm grip over her interrogator, but her eyes were trained on Amit Hadar.
"Ziva, everything is going to be fine. You just need to put that knife down." Ziva wanted to listen to Hadar, but couldn't see why she had to let her prisoner go.
"Hadar, he has tortured me. Kept me locked up here. He would kill me. Why why should I let this shit go free?"
"Because Ziva, we may need to question him. He is high up in the hierarchy of this camp. It would be unwise to kill him. Put the knife down." Ziva wanted to end her interrogator's life. Release all the anger she'd been building up into one swift cut across his throat. But here was Hadar, her control officer, issuing an order. He had come for her, so surely she do as he said.
"Hadar, how did you find me?" Ziva asked, still holding the knife to her interrogator's throat.
"Ziva David, it unimportant right now. What is of importance is that you drop that knife. Everything will be fine." After what seemed like eons of hesitation, Ziva tossed the knife in front of her, letting it fall with a clatter to the floor.
"Good." Said Hadar, holstering his gun. Ziva's mind just began to process the strangeness of his act when ow smashed itself into her stomach. Her grip weakened, her prisoner spun and smashed a fist into her face, successfully breaking her nose. Ziva was on the floor, crying because of the pain coursing through her stomach and face. Hadar walked up to her and kicked her onto her back, bent down and grabbed her her, forcing her to look him in the eye.
"W-why Hadar?" Her voice was raspy weak, all previous confidence shattered by the pain. Not the pain of her injuries, but the pain of the betrayal.
"Why, Zivaleh? Ask the man you call father. Ask him why his officer has turned." He flicked her broken nose, causing her to wince in pain, and then left her bleeding and crying on the floor.
With Hadar's departure, Ziva let go of any hope that Mossad would come for her. He was in control of communication with Mossad and would only report that the mission was going as planned. They'd never know she was in trouble, and so they'd never come.
But maybe,she thought, just maybe NCIS will come.
With that last inkling of hope, Ziva reached into her moth with her index finger, feeling until she'd found her farthest back molar. With as much concentration and energy she had left, she pushed the top on the molar down, activating a small hidden piece of technology, her last hope in ever escaping her prison.