Breaking Point
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Wow, loads of reviews and follows already! Thank you! Hope you continue to enjoy!
Updates are going to be fairly regular but I can't give definite regularity because I write everything by hand before typing it up (it flows better when I do it by hand) so it's going to depend on how fast I can type it up! No idea how many chapters it'll be – although it's finished (I never post anything before it's finished because it drives me up the wall when a fic suddenly stops mid-story because the person's run out of inspiration or just never finished it), I'm splitting the chapters at appropriate points.
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Chapter 3: Prisoner
At three o'clock East Coast Time, the NCIS team assembled in Abby's lab after she had called with news. For once she didn't go into detail about exactly how she had gone about things. Not with Ziva missing.
Gibbs handed her a Caf-Pow. "What've you got, Abs?" he asked, his apprehension not quite masked.
Abby took a deep breath. "I ran the DNA. One of the people…His name's Tzabar Benjamin." She bit her lip, wishing she didn't have to say the next words. "He has a history of violence and – and sexual assault. He's wanted in six states and four other countries."
Silence fell as the team processed this information and struggled to keep themselves calm while they thought what this meant for their friend.
Gibbs reached out and placed a hand on Abby's shoulder, having caught sight of her fear and unshed tears, knowing that the contact would comfort her.
Tony spoke first, angry and vengeful. "When I get my hands on that bastard, I'll blow his brains out if he lays so much as one finger on her." He hesitated, waiting for a reproach from Vance, but it did not come: Vance's face reflected everything Tony felt.
"Did Goldstein get a chance to translate that note we found?" asked McGee, desperately hoping for progress.
Gibbs shook his head. "Just after I gave it to her they got called out on a case. They're not back yet."
"Anyone else know of anyone?" asked Vance impatiently.
"I believe there's a synagogue not too far from here," offered Ducky. "I know Ziva goes there from time to time, and it may be the one her father escaped to when he was over here last year."
Tony's eyes lit up. "Then let's ask –"
"No." Gibbs was sharp, definite.
"But Boss –"
"How do we know nobody there is involved?" asked Gibbs irritably. "How do we know Eli doesn't have connections? It's likely that he made sure he had people there watching her. McGee, DiNozzo, I want you over there getting information. Well, what are you waiting for?"
"On it, Boss," replied Tony, grabbing McGee's arm and hauling him out of Abby's lab.
"And don't divulge anything if you can help it!" Gibbs called after them.
Tony saluted in acknowledgement as he and his colleague dived into the lift. The ride up was silent, both of them worried and scared about what their friend could be going through.
McGee stepped out of the lift first and then paused, looking at Tony uncertainly. "Tony…"
"Yeah?"
"Somalia…"
"Don't, McGee. Just don't." Tony shuddered.
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The vehicle bumpily skidded to a stop, taking Ziva by surprise. Though the journey had been very painful for her, she wished it could continue: now that they had arrived, the real hell would begin.
Doors squeaked open. Men spoke rapidly in Hebrew. Ziva was grabbed and slung over somebody's shoulder and she tensed, on full Mossad-trained alert.
"What a pretty little thing," a new, unfamiliar voice said. He ran a finger down Ziva's cheek and she recoiled, though not very far because of the hold the man carrying her had. "Your father will be so pleased to see you. Such a shame you abandoned us; you could have been such an asset…" He stroked her face again, causing her to squeak and flinch away.
He dug his thumb into her cheek, hard enough for the ragged nail to break the skin. Ziva could feel it ooze a little blood and she tried to ignore the sting. She wished they would take the blindfold off but knew that they wouldn't. She knew what was to come – she'd done it herself often enough. I deserve this because of what I've done.
Whoever was carrying her strode swiftly, though jerkily, which added further to the substantial pain and nausea she was already experiencing, and it was all she could do to stay silent and not throw up. She could hear men talking but she was too disoriented to make out what they were saying.
Somewhere nearby a door was swing open. One of her captors announced that they had her; he twisted and turned through what felt like a rabbit warren and then a door was creakingly opened. It sounded heavy, scraping along the floor, and Ziva knew what sort of place she was in – except this time it was her native country, not Africa, and her captors were her own people. That would make this harder than even the darkest days in Somalia.
No. I must not think like that, she told herself sternly. Yet it was hard to ignore the deep sense of betrayal she was feeling.
"Put her down," ordered the man who had stroked her cheek.
Perhaps her father had been right, perhaps her time in America had softened her.
She heard and felt the blindfold being removed and she blinked rapidly several times, dazzled by the burning Middle-Eastern sun. As her eyes adjusted, she took in the room: a hard wooden chair in the middle, rope loosely around the front legs and the chair back, an empty table and five men, including Tzabar.
Her eyes fell on the man with the broadest shoulders and for a split second she froze – his name was unknown to her but she recognised his face: one of her father's most loyal henchmen. He must have seen something in her face because he winked at her and steppedtowardsher, resting his hand on her cheek in a mockery of tenderness much like Tzabar had done on the flight.
Ziva's blood ran cold. She knew that look: it matched Tzabar's and also that of Saleem and his 'cronies' – that was the word Tony had used – and she knew what was coming. She forced herself to not panic.
"If we take the gag off, I wouldn't bother screaming," said the man. "Bullet-proof glass in the windows. Each wall is two feet thick." She wasn't convinced about that; it was probably one of the standard phrases he used to intimidate prisoners. "The door is solid metal. However much you scream – and believe me, you'll scream – nobody will hear you. Nobody." He smirked and the other men chuckled and snickered. Tzabar winked seductively at her. The leader stepped forward and cupped her chin in his hand. "We can ungag her now. Tie her to the corner rings."
Corner rings? She had missed those in her initial scan of the room. Now she spotted them and a sick feeling started to grow. There was no sense in fighting back at this point; she needed to stay alive, give NCIS a chance to find and rescue her. They had rescued her before, at a point when they had believed she had chosen Mossad over NCIS and then that she was dead, so she knew that this time she could trust them to track her down.
She paused, surprised at the complete trust that came immediately to her. It was not a feeling she was used to.
Tzabar and another man grabbed her arms, jerking her out of her thoughts, and dragged her to the iron rings embedded in the wall. The men were swift and rough as they tied her up, then ungagged her and stepped back. The rings were slightly above the height of her shoulders as she sat on the floor. They then repeated this with her ankles, using the rings embedded in the floor. Their positions meant that Ziva had no choice but to sit spread-eagled.
The leader grinned. "Boys, I would like some time alone with Miss David. You don't need to shut the door."
Tzabar and his associates saluted their leader and left, the door staying wide open. The leader grinned at her, his eyes glittering psychotically, as he knelt down in front of her and caught her lips in an aggressive kiss. Ziva closed her eyes, not wanting to look at the flushed, now-slobbering man, as she mentally prepared herself for the inevitable.
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TBC