Consequences of Love and War: Chapter 8
A/N: Here's what's up with our major players thus far: 1) Dr. Alyse Aachen, an internist at a detainee center in Afghanistan, is still missing. 2) Her husband, Peter Kirkan, a reporter/novelist/former Marine, called his former gunny (Gibbs) to ask for help. He had a video of the abduction, which Abby is analyzing in her lab. In the last chapter, Gibbs told him to go home and try to find any clue as to who might have kidnapped his wife. 3) Gibbs just spoke to the physician for whom Dr. Aachen took over at the detainee center. He didn't have much to offer. 4) Tony and Ziva spoke to Raanan Thal, a Mossad control officer in Afghanistan, in attempts to find more information. They discovered that one of Officer Thal's operatives, Ezra Hardoon, has been missing for a few weeks. Ziva is currently speaking to Director Vance about how to best work with Thal to both free Hardoon and find Dr. Aachen. That's where we are now.
As for me, I just completed my last night on call in the medical intensive care unit at Walter Reed :) It was a very exhausting month, but very rewarding. Next up: general internal medicine. Hours almost as long, but patients not quite as sick. And I'll be out of scrubs and back into uniform. Interesting set of trade-offs.
Ziva had used up fifteen of her ten minutes with Director Vance when she reappeared from the director's office and headed down the stairs purposefully. A minute later, Vance himself appeared, barking orders to Cynthia to cancel the rest of his appointments as he similarly strode down the stairs. "He took that well," DiNozzo said dryly as she returned to her desk. She nodded absently, bending down to grab her bag. "Taking off?"
"We are leaving to brief the SecNav," she replied, finally looking over to meet his gaze head-on. He nodded.
"Long briefing?"
"It is likely," she admitted. He knew what that meant; briefings with the Secretary of the Navy, no matter what the topic, rarely lasted all day. If she was going to be gone from the office for hours on end, there was a good chance that she was going to be speaking to no fewer than five bigwigs in the international scene, including someone from Homeland Security, the CIA, Interpol, and possibly the ambassador from Israel. He also knew that she hated days that went like that. For someone who once solved problems very quickly and quietly—and very permanently—with a sniper rifle or a knife, politely talking in circles with bureaucrats left her very frustrated. She glanced over, seeing only McGee in the bullpen. "My place tonight?"
He shook his head quickly. "Mine," he replied. Her eyes narrowed as she frowned, but she nodded her agreement. Rarely did either put much thought into which apartment they slept in, so the fact that he was made her suspect that there was a reason. She didn't have time to think about that, though, as the director was making his way toward her desk, ready to leave to brief the SecNav on the pros and cons of working with Raanan Thal on the release of Ezra Hardoon. He gave her a quick grin. "Good luck."
"You, too," she replied, nodding in the opposite direction, where Gibbs was quickly making his way toward them, a fresh cup of coffee in hand and a determined expression on his face. He passed by Vance without either of them barely hazarding a glance at each other. Ziva cocked an eyebrow slightly; even years after Vance had ascended to the director position, the two still had a very strange working relationship. Well, there wasn't much time to think about that now, as she tossed her bag over her shoulder to follow Vance before returning her attention to DiNozzo. "I will see you tonight. McGee, I will see you tomorrow."
"Later, Ziva." The junior field agent barely looked up as he bid his farewell. Ziva frowned again and glanced over at Tony, who only shrugged at McGee's uncharacteristic response. She made a mental note to ask McGee about it the next day if he wasn't acting more, well, McGee-ish by then. In the meantime, she all but jogged the few steps to the elevator to slide through the doors before they closed.
In the garage, Director Vance barely barked his order for the driver to take them to the Pentagon before sliding into the backseat of the Lincoln, Ziva following close behind. He waited until they had left the gates of the Navy Yard before speaking again. "How much do you trust Officer Thal?" he asked, his eyes fixed on the open folder on his lap. Ziva frowned at the question; over the last few years, she had learned that Vance rarely said or asked what he meant. The key was to figure out what he was really saying.
"She is a Mossad control officer," she finally said. "That requires a great deal of training and is not an easy job, especially for a Jewish woman in Afghanistan." She remembered her comment to Gibbs years before about control officers being promoted young because the good ones were dead at his age. It was true. "I worked closely with her once, years ago." That was when Mossad Officer Raanan Thal was still Second Lieutenant Raanan Thal, a field intelligence officer in the IDF who was a little bit too good at her job. Ziva had just taken over as Ari's control officer when the recently-commissioned lieutenant began asking too many questions to too many people about the extracurricular activities of the infectious disease physician in the Gaza Strip. That was Ziva's first experience with trying to shut someone up with diplomatically-spoken words, instead of thinly-veiled threats or a well-aimed bullet to the skull. Lt. Thal hadn't been satisfied with the answers Ziva provided, and threatened to take what she knew to the most senior officers in her division. Instead, she found herself sitting in Tel Aviv, in the office of Mossad Deputy Director Eli David as he very clearly spelled out what she was and was not allowed to know or say. Three months later, she was in Mossad training. When their paths crossed again years later, she told Ziva that she made the move because she wanted to be the one telling people what they were and were not allowed to know. "She is very dedicated and will do what is necessary to achieve her goals," Ziva continued. "She also has very strong survival instincts. I do not believe that anything she has told me was fabricated to help her cause. She would not handle the consequences of the lie well."
Vance nodded slowly. With his own history working undercover, he knew that one of the most valuable things to learn was who would and would not lie to you, and how damning those lies would be. "She didn't tell you about her agent being captured."
Ziva glared slightly at the back of the driver's seat the reminder. "No," she replied shortly. "And that is something that I will address with her later, after Dr. Aachen is found."
"Does she trust you?"
"Personally, or professionally?"
"Is there a difference?"
Ziva gave a short laugh. "Personally, I think she would not hesitate to shoot me, if she could find the justification for it. Professionally…" Her voice trailed off as she tried to find the words to explain it. "I have a reputation in Mossad as one who should not be underestimated," she said simply. Judging from the thin smile that passed over Vance's face, he understood what she was saying. "And professionally, I would not be willing to go to the Secretary of the Navy with information that I did not completely believe."
Vance nodded at that, and she figured that that was what he was asking all along. They were silent the rest of the drive to the Pentagon, where Ziva's Mossad credentials got more than a few raised eyebrows, even when combined with the Pentagon clearance she held, a necessity for the all-to-frequent sessions with the Secretary of the Navy. Although he wasn't the same SecNav who set up the Domino war game that resulted in Tony getting knocked unconscious because of her impulsive actions, the position would always be sullied for her because of that incident. The fact that the current SecNav bore an unfortunate resemblance to Mossad Director Ruthven didn't help his case much.
And like Director Ruthven, Secretary Holley liked to show his influence by making people wait longer than necessary at his office before having his administrative assistant show them in. Ziva was starting to get visibly annoyed at the power play by the time they were finally escorted in to the large office, having to repeatedly tell herself to calm down before she did something she might regret later, such as breaking the neck of the Secretary of the United States Navy. She found herself amused at the mental pictures of that playing through her head and sighed inwardly at how bad of an influence Tony was on her. Or maybe it was a good influence; a few years ago, she wouldn't have limited herself to mental pictures.
"Leon. Officer David." She glanced up sharply at the familiar sound of Secretary Holley's voice and rose from her chair when he waved them into his office. She still hadn't figured out if the use of her title was a slight or a sign of respect; that was one of the many Americanisms she doubted she'd ever fully grasp. One referred to people in professional positions by their title, unless they were close friends. But people in very high positions, such as the Secretary of the Navy, seemed to like to throw around how well connected they were by referring to other people in very high positions colloquially, using a title for everyone else, to show that they weren't in the circle. She wondered if Tony would be able to offer any insights, but then decided it wasn't worth the pain such a question would gather. He would ask a dozen follow-up questions and tease her incessantly about why she wanted to know, and then probably continue to bring it up for years to come. He just never seemed to be able to let anything go. Not for the first time, she wondered how she had fallen in love with someone who annoyed her so much.
"Cynthia told Darrie that it was urgent," Secretary Holley said as he waved them into the plush seats at the opposite side of his impressive desk, before taking a seat at said desk. That was another power play; Ziva didn't need to understand Americanisms for that one. "I had to cancel half of my afternoon appointments. I'm supposed to be meeting with Admiral Coleman right now." Ziva couldn't care less about his name dropping, and mentally waved it aside.
"This is urgent," Vance said in that usual slow, purposeful voice he used when about to drop a bombshell. He moved is mouth slowly, the way he would roll a toothpick in his teeth, had he had one. "Navy physician was abducted from Camp Phoenix earlier this morning." He paused a beat before adding, "A physician caring for the detainees at Camp Phoenix."
That got Secretary Holley's attention. "And you think they're related."
"It's our best lead so far, Mark," Vance replied. Secretary Holley's eyes turned to Ziva, and she knew that was her cue. She had observed from countless such meetings in the last year and a half, since her father died and Director Ruthven took over, and knew that this was the time for the subtle dance of figuring out how far the other side would go. She had actually gotten pretty good at that game in that time, but wasn't really in the mood to play.
"A Mossad control officer operating in Afghanistan lost contact with her operative after an American… clean-up, yes?" Vance nodded slightly, indicating that that was close enough. "Since then, she has been looking into American detainee camps in efforts of getting him out." She let the implied threat sink in: without their cooperation, Thal would not only expose a detainee camp—possibly a few of them, in the course of her search—but also leave it open for insurgents to attack.
"As a foreign intelligence operative, we don't owe this Mossad—"
"She's not done, Mark." Secretary Holley glared briefly over at Vance, but then waved for Ziva to continue.
"After a few weeks as a detainee, the operative would know things about the Taliban that we do not know," she pointed out. "They talk amongst themselves, and if anyone knows about Dr. Aachen's whereabouts and who is behind his abduction, he will find out." One thing that she had always been able to count on in her years of intelligence work was how stupid men got when they were trying to brag amongst themselves. Saying something in front of someone who wasn't supposed to have heard was more the rule than the exception; Tony had once likened it to a football locker room, and while she didn't fully grasp the comparison, she thinks she knows what he was talking about. "In addition, his control officer has reason to believe that two captured Marines are being held with several IDF soldiers captured by Taliban insurgents during a patrol several months ago. This intelligence has not been verified and may not be true, but it is the first anyone has heard about these two officers since their plane went down, and likely merits looking onto." The brief look of confusion that crossed Secretary Holley's face told her that she had probably misstated something, but the determination that followed indicated that it was close enough.
"I agree," he stated flatly. "Work with this control officer on verifying it. I also want to know everything about this Mossad operative we'd be busting out. The last thing I want is to find out that we're getting into a potentially disasterous international incident for a maverick spy who doesn't play by the rules."
Ziva snorted, despite herself. "He is a spy, Mr. Secretary. By definition, he does not play by the rules."
He glared briefly at the words, but didn't say anything in response. "I'll brief Secretary Clinton on the situation. We'll determine what action this warrants."
She blinked in surprise. "We are talking about at least three United States officers—"
"Which is nothing compared to the number who could lose their lives if this causes an escalation in the situation in the Middle East."
She stared at him incredulously. "The situation in the—," she began harshly before Director Vance cleared his throat.
"That is enough, Officer David," he said firmly before turning to Secretary Holley and nodding slightly. "Thank you for your time, Mark."
Holley rose to his feet and extended his arm. "Any time, Leon." His eyes traveled over to Ziva. "Officer David."
"Secretary Holley," she replied stiffly, also rising. She shook the SecNav's hand before turning and walking out of the office.
As before, Vance stepped into the waiting car first, Ziva sliding in a second later. "Israel embassy," Vance barked to his driver. Seeing the frown on Ziva's face, he explained, "You're going to talk to Officer Bashan and find out everything there is about Ezra Hardoon. If his parents are alive, I want to know what they ate for breakfast this morning."
"If this is about Secretary Holley's comments—"
"He's right."
She glared at nothing in particular. "It is a political move meant to—"
"Politics is a game. People who have our jobs are used to playing with our own set of rules. Smart people with our jobs know when it's time to play with theirs." He let that sink in before changing the subject. "You pull this off—successfully retrieving both Hardoon and Dr. Aachen—you're not going to have a hard time convincing your director to let you stay in DC." He paused a beat before adding, "Or anywhere else you want to go." When she didn't respond to that, he continued. "Agent Burley still has another year of his term in Bahrain. There will likely be openings in Seoul, London, Yuma, New Orleans, Bremerton, and Rota before then."
She frowned. "Those are all subordinate offices," she pointed out. She shuddered at the thought of being sent to Yuma, Arizona or Bremerton, Washington; neither was exactly a place that required someone with her particular skill set.
"The Europe MCRT is going to be moving from Naples to Rota within the year," Vance informed her. He finally looked fully at her, his expression as unreadable as always. "That seems to be more in Agent DiNozzo's area of expertise than counterintelligence and anti-terrorism in Bahrain."
Her frown deepened. It had been about a year since Tony had told her that he wanted to take over for Stan Burley when that agent's term was complete; a year of teaching him Arabic and Hebrew, introducing him to her contacts, keeping him informed on the types of current events in the Middle East that Newsweek and The New York Times weren't privy to. She knew he was trying hard to impress on Vance that he wasn't just a second-string crime scene investigator who was too quick with the jokes, with a useless college major and history of jumping from one job to the next. She wondered how he would take the knowledge that his efforts had failed. "That is something you would have to discuss with Agent DiNozzo," she finally replied. Vance nodded knowingly. They rode the rest of the way to the Israel embassy in silence.