Breaking Point
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Assume that in the scenes with multiple Israelis, Hebrew is being spoken.
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Chapter 2: In The Dark
She wasn't sure what had woken her, but slowly Ziva was returning to consciousness. The first thing she was able to focus on was the sound of a military plane engine. It was loud and her head started throbbing in response to it.
Her mouth. She had been gagged. Her ankles and knees were bound tightly with rope that chafed and burned her skin. Wrists, too, behind her back. She became aware of being in an award half-sitting, half-lying position; hard, cold things dug into her body. Her head hurt badly, and she felt dizzy and faintly nauseous. Around her, men spoke in Hebrew, though the noise from the engine prohibited her from making out the words. Her head hurt too much for her to bear opening her eyes; feigning unconsciousness would probably be a wise move anyway. Having made that decision, she focused on maintaining the ruse.
She had no idea what time it was, how long she had been unconscious or where she was, although she had a fairly good idea of where she was going: Israel, Mossad and her father. And it wouldn't be a happy reunion.
"Tzabar!" one of the men said loudly. "Check on her."
"What if she's awake?" another man, presumably Tzabar, asked.
"Knock her out again. Keep her subdued: we know what she can do. The Director warned us."
Ziva felt her heart sink as her suspicions were confirmed: her father had arranged this. How long had he been planning this? What was he going to do to her? Had anyone realised yet that she had been taken? Would they be able to work it out, before it was too late?
The final thought, coupled with a sudden meeting with turbulence, was too much for her body to take and her stomach lurched violently. Feigning unconsciousness was no longer an option as she retched, though much to her displeasure the gag blocked most of it from escaping.
"She's awake."
She heard two, maybe three, men approach her; one of them untied the gag so she could throw up, much to her relief.
"The Director wants her alive," said the first voice. He was clearly in charge. "Don't let her choke. And give her some water."
"Done?" Tzabar demanded beside her ear. Whimpering slightly, tears in her eyes, she nodded. He pushed her back against the uncomfortable metal as another man brought a bottle of water and held it to her lips. She gratefully rinsed out her mouth in an attempt to get rid of the foul taste in it, before swallowing some. Her hair and clothes had been in the firing line and they stank. She noted that the men made no effort to clear it up. They will when they cannot stand it any longer, she thought.
Tzabar gripped her shoulder tightly and shook her hard. "Has Daddy's little girl gone soft?" he taunted. That pushed Ziva to open her eyes at last and she spat in his face; he initially recoiled, then slapped her hard on the cheek. "Daddy wants you alive but he never specified more…" He let his hand drop from her shoulder and brush down her body. Ziva forced herself to not react, knowing that he wanted her to do so. The edges of her vision started tuning black and she let herself five in to the relative comfort of unconsciousness.
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At eleven o'clock, Gibbs and his team were back at NCIS headquarters, ready to brief Director Leon Vance on the situation; though the director was aware that something had happened, he did not know anything more than that.
When Vance arrived, McGee and Tony jumped to their feet, moving towards Gibbs. Vance's sharp gaze took in the depleted number of Gibbs' team. "Where's Agent David?" he demanded, more out of worry than anger.
McGee took a deep breath and stepped forward. "That's why we called you, sir," he said. When Vance gave him a questioning look, he continued. "Some of Agent Denver's team are going over her apartment for us. Agent Goldstein is translating a letter in Hebrew that we found at the scene."
"We think her father may have arranged this, to get her to re-join Mossad," added Tony. Gibbs merely nodded in confirmation.
"I'll give him a call," growled Vance. "Any leads?"
"Nobody saw or heard anything. Abby's working on some stuff in her lab."
"Keep on with what you're doing." Vance spun on his heel and went up to his office. His secretary gave him a startled look as he swept past and slammed his office door. He snatched up the phone on his desk and dialled the international number that would connect him to Eli David, director of Mossad. "I want to speak to the Director," he barked when the other end was answered.
I am afraid that he is unavailable," replied the secretary.
"For how long?"
"He is away for a few days."
"I'll call his cell." Frustrated, Vance slammed the phone down and then retrieved his mobile phone from his pocket, finding the Mossad director's number and hitting the Call button. It went straight to voicemail; the first part of the answering message was in Hebrew, then repeated in English. "Eli, this is Leon Vance. Call me. Now."
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The uncomfortable bumping of the plane touching down, more violent than a commercial plane, shook Ziva awake. Somehow she forced herself to stay silent, despite the pain throughout her body. She wondered where they were. A secret military base, probably.
The plane came to a stop; the hatch opened and three men hauled her to her still-bound feet. Another man stepped onto the plane. "Carry her," he ordered. "And gag and blindfold her. I don't want her knowing where we're taking her."
"Is the vehicle ready?" demanded the man who had been in charge on the flight.
"It is. Get her in."
Ziva found herself being bundled, gagged (thankfully with a fresh one) and blindfolded, into a vehicle that was probably military. The journey was hot and extremely bumpy, jarring her body, already hurting and injured, unbearably. Her head felt as though it would explode and the nausea did not dissipate for a moment; she longed for the bliss of unconsciousness but it refused to come. The men were talking but she was unable to concentrate on what they were saying, the words blurring into each other. She had no idea where she was being taken or what would happen to her once they arrived, never mind if her colleagues, on the other side of the world by now, would be able to find and rescue her in time.
Just as a sense of overwhelming despair came crashing over her, the vehicle caught a particularly nasty bump in the road and the impact sent her forwards. Her knee hit something sharp and she felt blood begin to ooze out of it. Her head landed on someone's lap; the man pressed it further into his lap and chuckled. He leaned down and his hot breath brushed across her cheek. "Throwing yourself at me now, are you?" Tzabar's voice taunted.
Ziva jerked backwards and let out a muffled squawk, but it only made the men laugh, and Tzabar held her down in his lap, lightly running his finger over her face. "Your father never mentioned how pretty you were. And he did promise us rewards for bringing you to him…" He let his voice trail off suggestively and Ziva squeezed her eyes shut to prevent the hot tears that threatened from slipping down her face and showing him that she was weak. She would not let him know the effect he was having on her; she was strong, unbreakable, would not let this foul monster get the better of her.
It was all she could do to not scream when his hand drifted lower, first her neck, then down some more. She kept her body as tense as she could, not yielding to his unwelcome advances. Does my father hate me or want revenge so badly that he would send these sorts of people to take me? she thought. Or maybe I deserve this – the things I have done, the lives I have taken. Perhaps Somalia was not enough. Her head told her that she was different now, changed, that the past could not be undone but it could be learned from, but it did nothing to alleviate or lessen the guilt she felt.
Tzabar was still caressing her, his dark intentions making a mockery of his gentle touch. Ziva fought the shudders of revulsion that repeatedly surged through her body, knowing that Tzabar would sense it and exploit it further.
"How long?" one of the other men called, presumably to the driver.
"Another sixteen miles or so," came the answer from the front. "They are waiting for us."
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TBC