Consequences of Love and War: Chapter 27

Special Agent Timothy McGee was trying to do his work, but a certain hyperactive and overly-caffeinated forensic scientist in pigtails and a short plaid skirt was making that difficult.

"Quentin Tarantino and Johnny Depp!" she exclaimed as she recognized two more big names visiting from Hollywood, without having to use the facial recognition program she transferred to one of the auxiliary MTAC computers. She turned to McGee, her face excited. "Do you think they're going to do a movie together? That would be freaky gruesome. I mean, all of Tarantino's movies are so awesomely violent, and Johnny Depp is scary in his own right, and—"

"When did you become such a film aficionado?" McGee interrupted. He didn't really care about the answer; he just wanted to stop the endless excited monologue about movie deals she assumed—probably correctly—were going on that evening. In the house where Anthony DiNozzo was raised. He didn't know if that changed his perception of his senior field agent or not, but even as someone who had his fifteen minutes of fame as a best-selling novelist, he was impressed.

"Oh, please, Timmy," Abby scoffed. "I've been working with Tony for ten years. That would be pretty sad if I didn't learn something."

"Please tell me you two have something other than next year's movie line-up," Gibbs said suddenly from behind them, making McGee jump in surprise, not having realized that he was standing there. Abby just smiled sweetly.

"Don't be silly, Gibbs," she said brightly. "It takes longer than a year to make a movie. We're talking about the line-up for the year after next. Or maybe the year after that, depending."

"Abs."

"Haven't seen anyone yet who would be a candidate for our 'Most Wanted' wall," she said, turning back to her computer. "Couple of shady people, but we're talking shady like cheated the government out of a couple hundred thousand dollars in taxes, not shady like they're going to kill you and your loved ones while you sleep."

Gibbs gave her his usual exasperated look, but didn't comment further. "McGee," he barked.

"Uh, been working on Zajac's known associates," he said quickly. With a few quick keystrokes, the display on his monitor changed to three photos, each looking like it was taken during surveillance. "Hendrik Pretorius, Nurlan Satylgan, and Dieter Steiger; contacts in South Africa, Russia, and Columbia, respectively." He frowned slightly, realizing just how lame that was. How had Abby convinced him to look into Zajac's associates on the off-chance that they attend the party, while she got to run the facial recognition on the guest? He didn't even need to ask the question to know the answer: she had asked, and McGee, just like every guy - well, every person - Abby surrounded herself with, he'd do whatever she wanted. He wondered how she managed to get so many people wrapped around her little finger. "Uh, if any of them were invited to the party, they haven't arrived yet. At least, Tony has seen them yet."

Gibbs nodded. "Keep on it," he ordered. He turned back to face the large main screen in MTAC, the one displaying everything coming from DiNozzo's camera as it was happening, and took another sip of coffee to cover up his sigh. He spent several long minutes staring at that screen, not moving except to occasionally bring his cup to his mouth, not even hearing the conversation between his senior field agent and Mossad liaison coming in through the speakers, or the dull roar of the multitude of agents from various agencies packed into MTAC to watch the show. There was nothing suspicious about the people DiNozzo saw while he was standing by the door, nor from the dance floor after Ziva dragged him to a place in the house where jazz music could be heard, distorted by the speakers by the time it reached MTAC. Gibbs didn't know if it was the fact that DiNozzo was running the mission with only Ziva for back-up and just about no preparation, or if it was something else entirely, but something wasn't right. He could feel it in his gut.

---

Tony DiNozzo was standing near the bottom of the stairs in the foyer. He found the position about twenty minutes before and was doing his best to stay there as long as was discreet; it had a good view of the door and most of the room, with the added advantage of looking completely natural and still allowing him to mingle—which seemed to mean 'accept clasps on the shoulder from random Hollywood-types and the people who managed their finances'—without looking awkward.

He was caught off-guard by the sudden sensation of someone's hands on his arm, followed immediately by a kiss on his cheek. "Zajac is not yet here," Ziva murmured into his ear before lowering her heels back to the floor. He looked over to see her smiling wryly at him. "And try to smile," she chastised playfully as she handed him a drink—coke, no rum, from the taste of it. "You are at a party."

He chuckled as he wove his free arm around her waist. "It's a little hard to relax when I'm looking for an international arms dealer who might have arranged to have a Navy physician abducted, Sweetcheeks."

She nodded at that as she glanced around the room in a manner that looked completely natural. "I believe I now understand how a fifteen-year-old boy would meet a coke-ette," she said, sounding amused. He almost snorted the sip he just took.

"Rockette," he said when he recovered. "But you knew that."

She nodded again, her hand slipping down his arm until she had his in hers and began leading him more into the room, toward where a jazz quartet was playing softly in front of a dance floor. Keeping the camera's view unobstructed while dancing was difficult, but Ziva was good at improvising. "So how many of these guests do you know?"

"Well, I certainly recognize Christie Brinkley," he joked. "Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue cover in 1979, 1980, and 1981—some of my formative years."

"You turned eight in 1979," she pointed out.

"I'm not getting your point."

She arched an eyebrow before letting that go. "And I was talking about people you actually know, not just have seen on a magazine or in a movie."

"You see any washed-out teenage movie stars from the early 80's?" he asked, his voice carrying the forced-lightness it always had when talking about something he didn't want to be talking about. "'Cause child actors in the 70's were still too young to be partying in the Hamptons, and the last time I partied in the Hamptons, I was sixteen—no, nineteen. Summer between freshman and sophomore year of college. Had two weeks at the estate with Dad and whatever-her-name-was. Spent most of it getting drunk and partying not at the estate with Dad and whatever-her-name-was." He lapsed into silence, and when he spoke again, his voice was more serious. "Yeah," he said softly. "Hollywood-types come and go. Most of the crowd is pretty much the same as it always was—heirs of old family fortunes, heirs of new family fortunes, a few who legitimately worked to earn their money."

"Like your father?"

He chuckled slightly as he shook his head. "My father may have worked hard, and certainly added a lot to what he started with, but his isn't exactly a rags-to-riches story." He was quiet for a minute, his eyes still scanning the room, seeing a party similar to the current one, but more than thirty years before. "It takes money to make money, and there are few easier ways of getting money than marrying into it."

"Your mother," she said. Tracing where all of Alessandro DiNozzo's riches came from would have been simple for something with her background and contacts, but it had never been necessary. After preparing a dossier on Gibbs' team for Ari, she knew that Tony came from money, but hadn't had the time or the interest to trace it further than that. It had nothing to do with the case; after she joined the team, she knew it had nothing to do with the man.

He nodded, then gave her a wide, cheesy grin, adopting a thick British accent before saying, "The Paddingtons are a, as the Americans would say, high society family. It is only because of the Paddington fortune that there is a DiNozzo fortune."

She smiled and was about to say something in response, but her expression changed as she saw something over Tony's shoulder. "Tony," she murmured. "Zajac is here."

His nod was so small it was practically imperceptible as he pulled her closer, his mouth right by her ear. "Just like we talked about," he murmured. "I'll see you in a few minutes." She nodded at that, pulling away to briefly brush her lips against his. With another smile, she turned and disappeared into the crowd.