Tony had been standing in the hallway outside his partner's bedroom for the better part of ten minutes, torn between deciding to wait for her to come out, or just go in anyway. So far all he had managed was an awkward hover, and it bothered him greatly.
On the other side of the door was Ziva, locked in solitude. He had glimpsed her, only briefly, when he heard her arrive at daybreak, but those few seconds had been enough. Enough to see the dark reddish-brown stains covering her clothes and skin, even her face. Enough to see the hollow, directionless anger still shrouding her eyes.
Enough to guess that something had fucked with her head.
She'd walked right up to him, silent, and handed him an old silver necklace, familiar charm hanging from the chain.
(Then he knew.)
So he let her retreat to her room in silence, not knowing what to say, or how to say it without sounding like an asshole. Was there any comfort he could provide, if what he guessed was true? Would she view it as an intrusion? Probably, but it didn't feel right sitting around and leaving her alone, either.
He shifted his weight slightly, trying to readjust the plate of eggs and toast he had made, now getting a little annoying to hold. He looked around halfheartedly for nothing in particular, as if the empty hallway would give him advice. He almost dropped the glass of juice he was holding when his eyes fell on Kadin, who was leaning against the wall at the other end. Apparently, he had been watching Tony's internal struggle with mild interest.
He didn't move when Tony finally noticed him.
"You should go in. It might help."
Tony glanced at the door again, as if he had to confirm what Kadin had been talking about. Maybe it would, maybe it wouldn't. But he had made her this breakfast, and he wasn't going to eat it himself. And something about the way Kadin had been creepily watching him had sealed the deal. He gently turned the knob and lightly pushed open the door.
He found her sitting at the small card table near the window, meticulously cleaning her knife. The glint of the blade sparkled slightly as she turned it around in her hands. She didn't acknowledge him as he approached and took a seat across from her.
Honestly, he didn't know why he had expected anything different. Maybe it would've been easier for him if he had found her crying her eyes out and seeking consolation. Or, at least less worrisome.
He observed her silently, trying to gauge if she was going to say something or not. He cleared his throat, hoping to elicit something out of her.
Nope.
"I made you some breakfast," he added quietly, gently pushing forward the plate of food and the glass of juice.
It didn't even seem like she heard him. She just continued working at it, gaze as sharp as the knife she was so viciously cleaning.
"What are you doing?"
She stopped mid-motion, still not meeting his eye.
"What is the word – ruminating?"
Frown. Dimly, he thought he heard a phone ringing in the kitchen.
"Is it working?" he asked, strangely genuine, more scared of her silence than anything else. Now she looked at him, as if noticing him for the first time.
"No."
There was a pause, questioning, hesitant.
It was funny, almost. The mask she had adopted, the accompanying silence, the old armor she had resurrected. She seemed calm, buried in her focus. But he had never seen her more upset in her life.
Tony was saved the trouble of figuring out what to say by the door to the bedroom bursting open, revealing a panting and frenzied-looking Kadin.
"You are being targeted by someone?" he demanded, waving an accusatory finger between the two of them.
"Not him. Me," replied Ziva firmly, back straightening in defense.
"A little detail you forgot to mention, then?" he snapped, bitterness rising. "Why did you not tell me?"
"I did not want to endanger you further, I –"
"How did you find out?" interrupted Tony, silencing his partner's rushed explanation.
"Someone recognized you at the border, and word reached one of our assets underground. Every CIA operative in the area, along with whoever is hunting you, now knows that there are two American agents here. I just got the call."
"Can they track us here?"
"They will have had you followed. Our border officers are far more corrupt than yours."
"We have to leave," asserted Ziva, rising from the table, previous confusion replaced by new resolve.
"I called it in. An armed escort will be here in five minutes to bring you and Ziva to your embassy on the other side of the city."
"Hang on – we can go ourselves."
"It is not safe for you to drive. Please, you must move quickly."
(Strike two for things not going as planned.)
Reluctantly accepting the urgency, Tony left for the room he had been using and quickly gathered his things, still scattered mostly on the floor. His bag lay open on the bed and he haphazardly threw in anything that was his, not caring about neatness. He could hear Ziva doing the same thing across the hall.
"What about you?" asked Tony, running into the bathroom to grab his razor and shampoo, thinking of Kadin's young daughter and the chances of being found here. Kadin shook his head hurriedly, dismissing him.
"I have a summer home in Alexandria. I will leave with my daughter as soon as you go."
At this point, Tony had finished packing whatever he brought and only had to re-check his sidearm before he was ready to go. Satisfied that it was ready to use, he tucked it behind his back. Ziva was already out there waiting when he stepped into the hallway with his bag slung over his shoulder. Kadin ushered them towards the front door and Tony had his hand on the doorknob when he felt Ziva turn around abruptly.
"Your keys," she said to Kadin, who was right behind them making sure they left the house safely. She hastily returned them to him, and he nodded impatiently, having forgotten she had them.
"Yes, yes, thank you. Now go, quickly."
He pushed them closer to the door.
"Kadin…" began Ziva, refusing to leave just yet, fixing him with a meaningful stare. "Thank you for letting us stay here. I did not mean to put you in danger."
"I knew the risks. Forget it."
It was then that two armored vehicles – designed like a truck, with an open back clearly meant for personnel transport – pulled up, dull engines humming as several burly men jumped down from the open bed of the second vehicle, all wearing unmarked flak vests, helmets, and carrying military-standard rifles.
Armed escort indeed.
"Ziva. We have to go," urged Tony calmly, opening the front door and looking back at his partner, who was still facing Kadin. Her hand was grasping his as she spoke.
"I cannot thank you enough. Please, take care of yourself."
The man nodded seriously, then motioned towards the front steps, where Tony was waiting. Ziva glanced at him for a second before quickly turning back to Kadin.
"Shalom, Kadin," she whispered, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before turning and taking her place next to Tony as they made their way to the one vehicle. She heard the door close behind her and her focus switched solely to getting to the CIA headquarters.
Tony exchanged a few harried words with their escorts before jumping up onto the bed of the vehicle. The car in front of them began pulling away slowly as he turned around and held out his hand to help Ziva, who quickly grabbed it and hopped up next to him. The second the other escorts were back in the vehicle, the two vehicles sped away towards the city.
After several minutes of observing the streets around him, plus the realization that that they were surrounded by guards toting assault rifles, Tony allowed his shoulders to loosen, leaning back against the edge of the vehicle. He exchanged a quick apprehensive glance with his partner.
He didn't have time to think before the truck ahead of them exploded and they were thrown backwards.
(Strike three.)
Two hundred and fifty miles away, Special Agent Gibbs sipped on his large cup of black coffee, which, to his surprise, didn't taste half-bad. He wouldn't put it past the Israelis (or – one Israeli in particular) to have done research on his preferred slightly at that thought, he turned his attention back to the open file spread out across his desk.
Currently, he was reading through DiNozzo's report about the failed attempt on Ziva's life several nights before. So far his search for some inconsistency, anything of use, had come up empty. But then again, he'd just started.
As if on cue, McGee burst through the door to their hotel room, smiling triumphantly as he swung the door shut and held up a manila folder as he walked over to where Gibbs was sitting.
"Got something," he stated, still smiling at his superior. His face sobered a little when he saw Gibbs staring back, less than nonplussed.
"Care to share, McGee?"
McGee immediately placed the folder on top of Gibbs's pile and opened it up so that the man at the desk could see it better.
"Uh, well, with the help of Mossad and some of Fornell's people, I was able to access several encrypted emails between an IP address in Gaza City to an address in Washington."
Gibbs looked at McGee expectantly.
"Yeah…how are the emails connected to our case?"
McGee seemed to get excited and shuffled a few of the papers around in the pile so that Gibbs was now looking at some of the deciphered emails.
"Every email from the address in Gaza gives instructions and information about Ziva. Appearance, home and work address, description of her car, even places she likes to eat."
Gibbs flipped through a few of the pages, but the print was too tiny and he felt McGee shifting uncomfortably next to him. When he looked up at his junior agent, he was frowning.
"Something wrong?" asked Gibbs, his tone almost patronizing.
"Well, it's not that I wished this happened or anything, but if they knew all that stuff, why wouldn't they just attack her in her apartment at night or something? Why risk doing it in broad daylight or on a street downtown?"
His boss shrugged.
"Send a message? Maybe it was easier out in the open - maybe they're cowards."
At McGee's blank look, he continued.
"She's Mossad - Kidon. Easier to kill if you don't actually face her."
Right. Cowards. But sending a message – a message meant personal. But what beef would an arbitrary group of violent extremists have with Ziva?
"That all you got?" asked Gibbs, turning his icy stare back on his junior agent and interrupting his unsettling line of thought.
"No, actually, there's one more thing," he replied, rearranging the papers again.
Irritated, with a sinking feeling in his gut, Gibbs waited impatiently.
"What, McGee?" he demanded, just wanting him to spit it out.
"The IP address in Washington…it belongs to the personal computer of Jason Walker, dishonorably discharged from the Marine Corps five months ago. Before his discharge he served two tours in Iraq. He rents a house on the southeast side of the city."
Well yeah, that pissed Gibbs off, as did any Marine implicated in a crime, but he had a feeling McGee wasn't done yet.
"We were able to pull his bank records, and about four weeks ago he purchased a brand new sniper rifle, with a top-of-the-line scope, ammo, the whole deal. He also deposited 50,000 dollars – probably the first half of his payment – to his share account. Not very good at covering his tracks," he added thoughtfully, secretly thankful that at least sometimes the criminals were stupid.
"You're telling me Hamas terrorists hired a US Marine to do their dirty work?" asked Gibbs, taking off his glasses and staring angrily.
"That's what it looks like. And I know you don't believe in coincidences," added McGee with a light chuckle. His smile dropped as Gibbs, unamused, rose from his seat and turned directly towards him.
"Call DiNozzo, call Ziva. We need to work on this thing together," he said in an authoritative tone, making his way towards the door. McGee's on it went unheard as he quickly strode out of the room.
He reappeared in the doorframe a second later.
"That's good work, McGee," he said, before disappearing down the hallway again.
Feeling a little happier than he had a minute ago, McGee picked up his phone and pressed the speed dial for Tony's temporary cell (courtesy of Mossad). After a few muffled seconds of searching for service, it started ringing.
And ringing.
And ringing.
And eventually it went to voicemail. Annoyed that he was being ignored, McGee left a short and slightly aggravated message, telling Tony to meet him here in half an hour.
He tried Ziva next, but she didn't answer either. He left her the same message, only his tone was considerably nicer.
After collectively calling both of them seven – seriously, seven - more times, some concern blended into his obvious irritation. Not only were they not answering their phones, but Gibbs was likely to get angry with him, too. McGee hoped for the sake of everyone involved that his teammates weren't doing anything stupid. Although, with DiNozzo…
McGee sighed, scrolling down his contacts to find the number he was supposed to use as a last resort. Well, Gibbs told him it was a last resort; he doubted that the team of Mossad officers in charge of surveillance at the safehouse would think of themselves as a last resort.
Gibbs then re-entered the room, fresh cup of coffee in hand, right as McGee put the phone up to his ear. It didn't take long for the other end to pick up.
"Hi, this is Special Agent McGee, NCIS. I'm here with Agent Gibbs."
Gibbs waited, wondering just who his junior agent was talking to. He had an idea, but he hoped he was wrong.
Slim chance.
"I need to speak with Agent DiNozzo and Officer David. Neither are answering their cell phones, and I don't have access to their landline."
McGee rolled his eyes at something the other line said, increasing the amount of authority in his tone.
"Yes, I realize that. But this is very important. Could you please check for me?"
Gibbs raised his eyebrows at McGee, who held the phone away from his mouth so he couldn't be overheard.
"Tony and Ziva didn't answer their phones, Boss, I figured you'd want me to…" he trailed off, turning his attention back into the phone as he heard voices on the line again.
"What? What do you mean?" asked McGee angrily, losing his patience with the person he was talking to. More muffled voices that Gibbs couldn't understand.
"Okay, hold on, did you actually see them leave?"
Gibbs stepped closer to McGee, his gut feeling getting worse by the second. He hoped this wasn't going where he thought it was.
"And no one entered the house? No one suspicious hanging around? You're sure?" asked McGee, knowing the officers were right (if their scathing assurances were anything to judge by) but wishing they were wrong. He sighed before stealing a glance at Gibbs, who looked close to approaching his boiling point.
"Alright, thanks. Stay where you are. Call me back if anything changes," replied McGee, his tone downcast. He hung up the phone and prepared himself for the wrath of Gibbs.
"Was that what I think it was?" asked Gibbs, furiously pointing to McGee's cell phone, screen still flashing from the end of his call. McGee just nodded and subconsciously took a small step backwards.
"Damn it! I told DiNozzo not to go anywhere without their escort!" Gibbs yelled, channeling his anger by slamming his old cup of coffee into the trashcan.
He turned back to McGee.
"Can you trace his phone right now?"
"Uh, yeah, well, I'll need a computer," stammered out McGee, hoping his boss wouldn't explode at him.
"Use that one," replied Gibbs shortly, pointing to the closed black laptop sitting unused on the coffee table. McGee nodded and practically ran over to the table, his fingers furiously hitting the keys as he logged on and opened up the right program.
Not as up-to-date as his personal laptop, nor did it have the speed capabilities, or the protection, or the hard drive, or –
Whatever. It would work.
"This might take a few minutes," he warned, not wanting the person hovering over him to get prematurely angry when he didn't have results within his five-second patience reserve.
"Just do it as fast as you can," replied Gibbs, taking out his temporary cell phone and squinting to try and read Fornell's number in the contact list McGee had set up for him. He didn't get a chance to dial the number as McGee's voice interrupted him.
"I got it, Boss. And Ziva's too. They're right on top of each other."
"Where?" demanded Gibbs, forgetting about the call he was about to make.
"Cairo. Looks like they're moving," said McGee slowly, confusion on his face. This certainly did not seem normal.
"What the hell are they doing in Egypt?" shouted Gibbs, furiously turning on his heel and dialing Tobias's number. It was on the third ring when the worried voice interrupted him again.
"Uh, Boss?"
"What?" he asked harshly, annoyed at everything around him.
"I just lost both their signals."
Gibbs stared, outwardly impassive, mind reeling.
Well – fuck.
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