Consequences of Love and War: Chapter 43
A/N: Hmmm, low readership of last chapter... I assume FFN was doing its standard acting out (what? FFN? Being less than a perfect website?). Anyway, here's an update, and it's going to be a long one, because it's probably going to be the last recap (don't worry, a couple more chapters to go).
Quite a lot has happened in the last several days in this fictional world. While talking to her husband half the world away, Dr. Alyse Aachen, a Navy physician, was abducted from her office in the hospital at Camp Phoenix, Afghanistan. Her husband, Peter Kirkan, is a reporter and novelist, and was also one of Gibbs' Marines during Desert Storm. He gave his former gunny a call when he couldn't figure out who would help him find his wife. Considering the camp's location as well as Dr. Aachen's job of providing medical care to detainees on base, the team immediately began working the terrorism angle. Ziva called Raanan Thal, a Mossad control officer in Afghanistan, who agreed to help in any way she could, as long as the Americans released Ezra Hardoon, one of her operatives who had been captured and was being held in a similar detainee camp under the identity of an Iraqi terrorist. Although Hardoon didn't know anything about Dr. Aachen, he did give them the name of someone who might, which lead Ziva and Tony up to the Hamptons, to his father's estate to speak with this man; unfortunately, that turned out to be another dead end. In this process, Gibbs realized how proficient Tony was in all things terrorism-related, and put the pieces together to come to the conclusion that his senior field agent was working on getting assigned his own team and that Ziva would be going with him, and surprisingly enough, gave his blessing.
When Tony and Ziva returned from New York not knowing any more than they had previously, they finally got their first real break in the case: a ransom note sent to Kirkan's publishing house. The publishers agreed to pay the kidnappers' demand for a $5 million ransom, as long as Kirkan went public with the abduction, which he reluctantly did. Thanks to some amazing computer forensics work by Abby (who has gotten, sadly, very little screen time), they determined that the note was sent from Camp Phoenix, and realized that she was being held on base by one or more hospital medic. Unfortunately, the commanding general of the base was less than cooperative, and Ziva realized it was time for a less-than-diplomatic approach, and contacted Raanan Thal again to ask for her assistance. When we last saw her, she was in the process of storming the base to get the Military Police stationed at Camp Phoenix to 'accidently' come across where Dr. Aachen was being held.
And I think that's about it.
Peter Kirkan was talking to First Lieutenant Lori Kuyt, an Army nurse who sometimes worked with Alyse in the detention center, when the sudden blaring of the alarms almost made him jump out of his chair. "The base is under attack!" a somewhat flustered looking Army captain exclaimed as he passed through the hospital lounge. "This is not a drill! You know what to do!"
His words were completely unnecessary; as soon as the alarm sounded, everyone sprung into action, the hospital becoming a center of well-organized chaos. About half of the medics and corpsmen went immediately for the supply closets, pulling on body armor and Kevlar as the other half pulled weapons from the ammo locker and set out the litters and already-prepared medic bags for that half, before making their way to the treatment areas to assist the doctors and nurses. Those who would be doing the treating were checking the cots that served as hospital beds and the equipment that surrounded them, pulling chest tube and intubation kits from the shelves, and gowning up in protective gear to prepare for their first casualties.
It was all very well orchestrated, demonstrating that they had run through the drills many times, and Kirkan couldn't help but wonder what Alyse's role would have been.
A medical service corps officer escorted him to a position out of the way for when the casualties began rolling in, which gave Kirkan entirely too much time on his own to think. Neither Gibbs nor Ziva had said anything about what the Mossad officer would be doing in Afghanistan, but he was pretty sure it had a lot to do with the current crisis on base. He just couldn't figure out why NCIS didn't simply exert their authority and search the base for Alyse. It would have undoubtedly been a lot easier. And less likely to result in casualties.
To the surprise of the hospital employees—less so for Kirkan, who had his suspicions about the reason behind the attack and knew that Officer David would have instructed whoever she was working with to avoid casualties—the patients didn't come rolling in, and the doctors and nurses began wandering around and joking amongst themselves, the standard gallows humor Kirkan was used to from listening to Alyse talking to her friends and co-workers.
"MPs found Dr. Aachen!" Kirkan stood abruptly at the words, spoken by the corpsman who had been manning the radio at the triage station, and the volume in the treatment area increased exponentially as everyone began to prepare to take care of one of their own.
"Sir," that same medical service corps officer said from the doorway of the galley area where he deposited him. "The corpsmen found your wife and are bringing her in. She's conscious and they're reporting that she appears unharmed, but the docs are going to check her over, just to be sure."
He nodded in agreement, unable to vocalize anything as he all but collapsed into the chair behind him, the wave of relief that washed over him completely overpowering him. "God," he muttered. "Oh, thank God."
"Sir, if you don't mind, we'd like you to stay in here until we know she's stable. We'll come get you right away." Kirkan found himself nodding again, even though all he wanted to do was argue, to stand up and insist that he be allowed to see his wife the second she came in.
Moments later, he caught sight of four medics carrying a litter, but before he could get a better look, or even confirm that it was Alyse, she was surrounded by the doctors and nurses with nothing better to do, and just like the MSC officer asked, he stayed back and waited for someone to come get him.
He didn't have to wait long, and when he looked up at the sound of a cleared throat, he saw that the treatment bay was empty, and almost started panicking and screaming to ask what they did with his wife. Almost. He swallowed whatever he was going to say and focused his attention on the tall and masculine-appearing woman standing in front of him. "Sir, I'm Dr. Rodebeck," she introduced. "I work with Alyse at the clinic."
"Peter," he corrected with a weak smile, finally rising from his chair. "I was a grunt. Being called 'sir' by a lieutenant commander is still a little too strange for me."
Dr. Amy Rodebeck smiled slightly before getting back to business. "Alyse is conscious and doing well. She's rather dehydrated, so we're giving her some fluids. She was also complaining about ringing in her ears, but between the alarms and what the medics reported as a burnt-out flash-bang in the hutmet where she was found, we're not too concerned about that. Her biggest complaint was a headache—"
"She gets headaches," he found himself saying. "She takes medication for it."
Dr. Rodeback nodded indulgently. "Amitriptyline. It's in her medical record. Considering everything she's gone through, though, we want to rule out anything life-threatening. We just wheeled her back to the CT scanner. She should be coming back in a couple of minutes. Since we don't have any other casualties, we're going to keep her in the treatment room for at least a few hours, to give her some fluids and medications for her headache. You're more than welcome to wait for her there."
"Thanks," he said honestly. She offered him a tight smile as she gestured toward the treatment area and a chair someone had placed there for him.
Just as the physician promised, it was only a few minutes later that a litter crew carried Alyse back from the CT scanner. She was awake and making efforts to joke around with the medics, but Kirkan could see the tension around her eyes, the signs of a headache that he knew must be excruciating. She could barely tolerate the pain after a night on call; he couldn't begin to imagine what it would be like after almost a week being held prisoner. "Hey, Allie," he said softly, squeezing her hand gently as the medics returned her to the cot. She looked exhausted and dirty, streaks of dirt on her face and rips in her scrubs, thinner than he had ever seen her, but the smile that she offered him and the shining in her bright blue eyes was all Alyse.
"Pete," she said, still smiling, her eyes still on him as Dr. Rodeback hovered around, changing IV fluids and giving some sort of pain medication into her IV. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"I came to find you," he said with a grin, smoothing back her hair from her forehead before retaking her hand in his, his thumb rubbing the simple titanium band on her ring finger, a smaller version of his own wedding band. They had it made before she left for Afghanistan, so she would have something to wear while deployed, and the full weight of what he almost lost hit him all over again. "I couldn't just sit around at home. You know me better than that."
She chuckled and smiled, her exhaustion finally getting the better of her as her eyes fluttered closed, giving his hand one last squeeze before she succumbed to sleep, and Kirkan just sat there and watched her, hoping with all he had that he wasn't about to wake up and find that this had just been a dream, because this ending still seemed too good to be true.
---
Just as Ziva had suspected she would, she found Raanan Thal waiting for her by the vehicle, a tight expression on her face as she nodded her greeting, and Ziva realized then that they hadn't heard a single word from the men since they announced that they were ready to begin the mission. Knowing that any reassurances she tried to offer would fall flat—they had both been in the spy game long enough to know how unpredictable everything was—she didn't even try. Instead, she slid into the passenger seat, pulling off her face mask as the engine roared to life.
If Tony still found Ziva's driving through DC frightening, she couldn't begin to guess what he would think of Thal's ability to control a military vehicle through the outskirts of Kabul toward the Mossad safe house, but they made it there unharmed in what had to be close to record time, both officers holding their weapons at the ready and thoroughly checking the small house before either would let herself relax even fractionally.
They had decided ahead of time that Ziva would get the first shower while Thal stood guard, but even without that prearrangement, Ziva was sure that she wouldn't have gotten an argument if she had waited until then to suggest it. Thal's face was still lined with worry, and Ziva knew she wouldn't be relaxing until the men crossed the threshold of the safe house unharmed.
It took four shampoos before she felt confident that the smell of explosives smoke was out of her hair, and even then, the only thing that got her out of the shower was how little she liked 'military showers', turning on and off the water as necessary. The towel she had grabbed from the linen closet was rough and stiff, and even though the conditions were infinitely better than many missions she had been on, she found herself wanting to be home more than ever.
Maybe she really was too old for this.
Thal was still exactly where she left her, pacing as frantically as she could in the tiny living room/dining room/kitchen. She stopped abruptly at the sound of Ziva entering the room, panic in her eyes as her hand, still holding her Jericho, snapped up. She quickly lowered her weapon as she registered that Ziva wasn't a threat, but still didn't holster it. The two women stared impassively at each other for a long moment, both wearing blank expressions that gave nothing away, a look that was perfected during Mossad operative training.
Not surprisingly, it was Thal who looked away first, her dark eyes drifting to the door, still closed and locked against the outside world. "It has only been a few days," she said, her voice so soft Ziva wondered if she just imagined it. She turned back to the liaison officer, her expression somewhat sad. "For months, we were separated but still connected through coded messages and infrequent communications. And then he was gone from that was well, and I did not think we would see each other again." She smiled grimly. "And now, a few days after he is released, and he might have gotten himself captured again."
"That is the job," Ziva replied unnecessarily. Thal snorted.
"I am beginning to think that either Ezra is not a very good operative or I am not a very good control officer."
Ziva could've told her that the one operative she controlled ended up a traitor and dead, but she didn't discuss her failures and Thal wasn't looking for sympathy. She was about to remind Thal that it was too early to make assumptions, and if anyone was captured or killed, the command at Camp Phoenix knew she was in the country—she had to submit an official reason for entry to land at the Air Force Base, which in this case was 'NCIS/Mossad liaison business'—and they would call her if anything related to the case came up. But she didn't get a chance to say that, because as soon as she opened her mouth to speak, there was a sound at the door, both Mossad officers snapping to attention, weapons at the ready. Ziva kept her eyes fixed on the door as Thal glanced at the small screen displaying the one security camera of the safe house—electricity in Kabul was neither cheap nor easy to come by—before muttering some sort of thanks to some deity under her breath and lowering her weapon. "It is the men," she said, stepping toward the door.
Isaac Rabinowisz was the first through the door, and then Ezra Hardoon came in with his arm over David Cohen's shoulders, using the other man as a crutch to avoid putting too much weight on his left leg, wrapped with the blood-stained fabric that used to be his turban. "Sorry we're late," Cohen said with a strangely amused smile. "Would have been here sooner, but we should have figured that with Magneto along, a bullet would be involved." Ziva blinked at the reference to the movie character—which Tony informed her was actually a comic book character, which just led to more confusion and a longer-than-necessary commentary about modern cinema—sounding strange in the Hebrew sentence and coming from someone who had spent his entire adult life killing people. He glanced up after depositing Hardoon on the couch and grinned. "A villain in the X-Men series who acts as a magnet, attracting metal objects." He shrugged. "I worked alongside an American unit when I was still a paratrooper. Hardoon has that same ability, only his isn't voluntary and usually involves projectiles designed to kill or maim."
"I'm just glad that American Marines are trained to aim for center mass," Hardoon commented, wincing as Thal unwrapped his makeshift bandage to get a better look at the wound. "If they aimed for my head, they might have hit center mass."
Ziva smiled slightly as she allowed herself to relax, reholstering the Jericho. Her hand was still close to her waistband when she felt the vibrating of her cell phone and froze, remembering why she was in Afghanistan. She pulled the phone from her belt and stared at it for brief second; this was the call that she had been waiting for, the one that would tell her whether or not it was time for her to go home. She had had to fight the temptation to go immediately to the hospital to ensure that Dr. Aachen made it there safely, knowing that it would have made quite a few people suspicious if a foreign intelligence agent walked onto base right after it was attacked. So she had to wait for one of those people who knew she was in the country to connect the dots—lines?—and give her an update.
She just didn't know if the update would be 'Dr. Aachen is here safely', or 'we saw you break onto our base and now we're going to be setting up your accommodations in one of our detainee camps'.
She cleared her throat before accepting the call, bringing the phone to her ear. "David."