Thank you everyone who left reviews, alerted or favourited the last chapter. I appreciate all the support but it is definitely the comments that help me stay motivated. This chapter is slightly shorter than the last one and I apologise in advance for any flaws in the action portions, really writing outside of my comfort zone so excuse any glaring errors. I feel like I should probably warn you all that there might be a cliff hanger...okay there are three in the chapter LOL. In my defence it is three times the length of average chapters (not including this one) so please refrain from sticking pins in your Sundance dolls :)
Finally, I have to thank my Beta Arress for all her work on this chapter. As always she provides invaluable feedback during the writing process and proofreading before you read it. Feel free to add your thanks too because we all love knowing that our efforts are appreciated and Betas don't get enough AFAIC. Hope you enjoy :)
An Eye for an Eye Leaves Everybody Blind
Chapter 12 Stung
Dr. Jimmy Palmer 25th May 2012
I flopped down on the double bed, deciding to grab a power nap to recharge. I had come off an 18 hour shift in the ER before hopping on the plane to Indianapolis and I was beat. We'd arrived at the Residence Inn on the canal 30 minutes ago and I was bunking in with Tim, Dr. Mallard was bunking with Gibbs, poor sod since he was in a foul mood, and Abby was flying solo. Of course, the rest of the FBI, excluding Agent Reyes and our doppelgangers, were staying at a nearby hotel keeping a low profile. We were all studiously avoiding looking out for Lina in case Rivkin had any spies watching us, which Gibbs and Fornell seemed certain would be the case.
I had to admit that I was surprised that we were being put up in a room with a view of the canal even if we were sharing a room. The fleapits that we'd been forced to stay in when I worked at NCIS were nothing like this place, which was clean, light and airy. The bed was definitely a step up to the usual ones and in minutes I was sleeping soundly. When I woke an hour and a half later I scowled, wondering why my internal clock had let me sleep so long. I'd long ago learnt as a sleep deprived medical student, intern and now as an ER doc that power napping was the only sane way to manage the sleep deprivation that was part and parcel of becoming a doctor and working in emergency medicine. But if a power nap was too long, instead of charging the batteries it simply made you feel worse when exhausted, and I recognised the brain foggy phenomenon that occurred because the nap was too long.
Wandering into the kitchenette, I hoped that there were healthy snacks stocked in the fridge, and grinned to see that there was a vegetable platter and fresh chickpea hummus, tahini and roasted aubergine dip, to dip them into (okay, I'll admit to double dipping, but c'mon there are much worse vices). Resisting the temptation to fill up on coffee as a quick fix to chase away the mental fog, since I knew from experience that the rebound effect wasn't worth it in the long run, despite Gibbs' addiction, I made myself a cup of green tea and sat by the window enjoying the view. We had been instructed to stay inside the hotel unless we had protection, and even within the hotel we weren't supposed to go anywhere unless we had a buddy so we could watch out for each other.
Feeling sore and restless I figured that a swim and possibly some quality time on the treadmill would help to iron out the kinks, but I would have to con one of the others into going with me to watch my back. I dismissed Abby as a possibility, since she seemed to prefer her exercise in the form of frenetic dance clubs and bowling nuns, and while Dr. Mallard used the treadmill at NCIS, he didn't swim – something about bad memories of Eton. Looked like either Gibbs or McGee would need to be convinced to come with me, and I really hoped that they would agree, because nothing helped my lower back soreness like swimming laps. Being on my feet for so long during my shifts wasn't exactly kind on the body.
Dipping my celery stick in humus and chewing on it contemplatively, I watched some young teenagers rollerblading along the path that meandered beside the canal and a pair of middle-aged females walking one fawn and one black Bouvier des Flandres dogs, which always reminded me of big hairy teddy bears. One of these days when my schedule wasn't so shambolic I really wanted to get a dog, but it wasn't practical now. Maybe a cat was an option though, or two to keep each other company while I was at the hospital. I was never one of the didactic cat or dog people; I liked both species, recognising that they each had their pros and cons, and working at the animal hospital I knew that the stereotype about cats being haughty was just wrong.
Double dipping my carrot stick into the hummus and Baba Ghanoush, or to the uninitiated aubergine dip, I felt a momentary pang of guilt, but shrugged. Tim didn't strike me as being into chickpeas and aubergines, but if he was and kicked up a stink, we could always get more. If I could put up with his snoring, he could surely tolerate a little double dunking. Thinking of snoring, I hoped I'd remembered to pack my earplugs, but I guess worst-case scenario I could use my iPod down really low as a sort of white noise generator. Plus, if I got in a decent workout, I would be much more likely to sleep despite any nocturnal reverberations coming from McGee's side of room.
As I thought about tomorrow, I wondered if we would be successful and finally bring Tony home again. What sort of shape would he be in? It was clear he was lugging around a gigantic caseload of guilt – not that that trait was particularly shocking or new. He always took the blame upon himself for anything that went wrong, and clearly the whole business with Michael Rivkin, Ziva, Eli David and Samuel Rivkin hadn't helped the situation. I knew that there was more to Tony's filing cabinet full of injuries incurred while he was a cop and federal agent than just bad luck. The profilers theorized that he had a latent death wish, but personally I never did buy that because if that was the case, he'd never have fought tooth and nail to survive the plague and double pneumonia. It would have been easy enough to let go when he was that close to death, but he didn't give up.
One thing I knew about Tony, though, was that he was complex, contradictory, an enigma and infuriatingly unpredictable a lot of the time, but in other ways… not so much. His childhood had been highly effective in indoctrinating him into believing that he was more dispensable than the rest of us, and he always seemed convinced that his raison d'etre was to act as a human flak jacket. So, while some people might think his spending time with the flotsam and jetsom of society was him looking to get taken out, I knew that he just didn't place much value on his life.
That was why Gibbs' comment the first year that I worked at NCIS when the team was just him, Agent Todd and Tony when he briefly told Tony he was irreplaceable was so pivotal for him, because it was something he'd never got to hear growing up. Unfortunately though, within seconds of making that comment, the team leader well and truly negated the euphoria Tony must have felt at the praise, by making a cruel joke that reinforced in Tony's mind that he was dispensable. It was like giving a starving child a plate of food and letting them taste it before snatching it back again. Cruel beyond imagining!
Gibbs might have been one Hell of an investigator, but the man was also like a heat seeking guided missile, able to zero in on his team member's vulnerabilities, and had no compunction about doing so. Oh, yeah, Ducky had clucked and tutt-tutted when he heard about what Gibbs had done, but in the end he made excuses for his friend saying that Gibbs was repressed and deeply troubled. In hindsight, he was right as usual, but sorry – if you're in a position of leadership and trust, that is no excuse to cause harm to others under your leadership, especially if they are vulnerable. You are supposed to protect them. I wanted to kill the almighty Leroy Jethro Gibbs when Cate and McGee were chuckling over what had happened that night when they returned from the sewer, and even though I know he was deeply remorseful over the Rivkin shambles, I did feel a certain amount of satisfaction in seeing Gibbs being the one suffering for once. Yeah, not exactly compassionate Dr. Kildare, but Tony is a good friend and I miss him.
The other reason why I think Tony had gravitated to the dregs of society to help them was that he always identified strongly with victims. Yeah, he would never admit it, but he was also the best at getting victims to open up and it was because of his empathy. When Ziva had been hurting and she struck out at him in anger in Tel Aviv, he made no attempt to fight back because he was too busy empathising. If she had pulled that shit on Gibbs, or even if someone had done it to her, she would have been dispatched in no uncertain terms. They wouldn't care about the fact she was grieving or the fact that they knew what she was going through; they would have reacted with violence, while Tony had put her pain before his own because he didn't think he was as important. Which was why he would look at those forgotten people and want to give them a voice, even if it was in death.
In fact, I was entirely certain that if Tony had known who had broken into his apartment that night, his sense of empathy would have interfered with his survival instinct and he probably would have tried to talk her down instead of defending himself. That would definitely have gotten him killed. So, I was glad at least that Ziva hadn't announced herself that fateful night when Tony shot her. Now we were three years on, and with him spending so much time with the disenfranchised and alienated, I hated to imagine the impact that would have had on him. Which was why it was so important that this plan worked.
I tried not to get too far ahead of ourselves, but it was hard, and trying to figure out how to let him know it was safe for him to come home, was merely the start. The BAU had come so close to running him to ground in Miami where he'd found a serial killer attacking homeless men because the killer's father had come back from the Vietnam War deeply trouble and ended up living on the streets and when his mother remarried, his step father had molested him systematically for years. When he finally ended up on the streets himself as an addict who was attacked and raped, his father had become the focal point of his anger and his victims' were substitutes for the father he blamed for his pain. But even knowing that he was in the city, Tony had still succeeded in giving all the Feds and technically the cops, the slip (although the cops' efforts were probably more lip service than gung-ho).
Despite his wraith like disappearance out from under the FBI's nose, I remain optimistic that we would get a message to him. Call it intuition since he's never actually said straight out, but I think that Tobias knows more that he's saying. Oh, I'm not saying that he knows where Tony is and has been lying to us all, but maybe Tony left a clue about how to get in contact in an emergency – much the way that Gibbs did when he took off to Mexico. Considering the way he disappeared, Fornell would have been the most obvious person to leave such a clue, but knowing Tony, it wouldn't have been any use in tracking him down. It stood to reason if he knew how to find him, Tobias would have done so long ago.
Now we had to focus on pulling off this sting successfully and things could finally go back to normal. I ruthlessly suppressed the internal voice that asked how Tony could ever be normal after everything he'd been through, or if he'd even want to come back – eternal optimist that I am. I was already writing my fan fiction HEA (happily ever after) even before we had Rivkin in custody. Which left me to obsess about the serious doubts about my 'double' being able to pull off the sting.
Apart from bearing a superficial resemblance, there wasn't a lot for him to imitate. Not like he could run around doing cardiac massage on people and yelling STAT because apart from my doctoring skills, I'm not that easy to imitate. So much was riding on this and I really wanted to go to the cemetery with McGee and Gibbs, but of course the former agent was obdurate.
When I discussed my concerns with Ducky, he had agreed that my doppelganger wasn't that convincing. He'd patted my shoulder and told me not to fret, that these things had a way of working out. Instead of finding that in any way comforting, though, it just made me nervous. He had a strange gleam in his eye that I knew from experience meant he was contemplating machinations that I probably didn't want to know about. Tony confided in me once that he suspected that Ducky had served in Special Forces or MI5 and knew a lot of people. I suspected that he was probably right… he usually was.
Tony: A family crypt – Crowne Hill Cemetery, Indianapolis 26th May 2012.
Tony looked around the dark creepy crypt, wondering how he ended up here waiting. Here he was, waiting for his old team (or what was left of it) to show up at his former partner Special Agent Caitlyn Todd's grave. Waiting for a vengeful Israeli assassin who had spent the last three years hunting him down, trying to kill him, painfully. Waiting for the FBI to try to spring a trap on prey that was not only mentally unhinged but crazy like a fox, an assassin who had almost caught him several times. Waiting…all the while managing to stay out of the clutches of every Fed and Cop who wanted to be the one to take Samuel Rivkin down for killing their brother Ron Sacks, and threatening him, too. Waiting sucked Tony decided, he'd never excelled at it, and today was absolutely no exception.
Of course he was nervous. He was excited, too, but mostly he was scared, and then there was the certainty that no matter how this played out it was all going to be for naught. All he could do was try to protect everyone's sixes the best that he could. And that knowledge made him feel terrible conflict.
For three years, well almost, he had cut all ties with his past life. He tried not to think about what he had left behind - his friends who he'd considered to be closer than his family, knowing that his very existence was a threat to them. He'd always been a pragmatist, and when he left, had known that he could never go back again, even if by some stroke of luck he managed to evade Eli David's vendetta. So he tried hard not to think about what he'd left behind. After all, he had plenty of practice in moving on, cutting ties, starting again in a new place.
Of course, he hadn't had to use those skills for quite a long time, and there hadn't been so much riding on them in the past. Nor had he had to disappear and assume a totally new identity either. But when something was important enough, you do what you gotta do or curl up and die.
There were still days that he wished that he could just do that, stop running, stop hiding, and let Eli David and his trained killer avenge Rivkin and Ziva, but he was just too damned stubborn or stupid… probably both. The first few months he barely even remembered how he survived, living on the streets until he got his shit together and started cautiously reaching out to really good cops, friends that wouldn't rat him out. Then he'd begun working on cases because there were always plenty of crimes to solve in the ghettos and red light districts, and he was going crazy just subsisting – his brain needed to be kept active, and he saw so much crime and suffering that he felt compelled to help. It was pure blind luck that Tony literally ran into Croc one day when he was chasing down one of his bail jumpers and the Aussie insisted on helping his old schoolmate and wouldn't take no for an answer.
Tony cheerfully admitted that Mike's intercession was responsible for him still being alive, well, and in reasonable shape mentally, almost three years after Rivkin made his first attempt and ended up killing Sacks instead. Mike and the resources of his business had given him access to intelligence and helped him to fashion a new identity, one that was pretty solid, but he worried that by helping him on an ongoing basis, Croc and his people were being put at risk. Unfortunately, Mike was almost as stubborn as he was. In fact, it was mostly due to Mike's tenacity that they had even become friends in the first place so long ago.
Tony had been 15 when 16-year-old Mike and his little brother Gus enrolled at RIMA when their father was transferred to New York for his job. Mike had been talking about going into the Army when he left school, so his parents decided to send him to Rhode Island Military Academy for his final high school years. Gus, two years his junior, didn't want to attend a new school in a strange country without his brother and decided to attend the military school with Mike, even though he didn't aspire to a military career. Tony wouldn't usually have developed a friendship with the pair since they weren't in the same forms as he was and they didn't play football or basketball. Cricket and rugby were their games of choice, played at their private day school in Sydney, Australia, but Mike had joined the track team like Tony, who loved to run.
It wasn't an instant friendship, though. Tony had been at RIMA for three years and he'd kept very much to himself, not wanting to form any close friendships. When his father had disowned him, and Tony to this day never really understood why he had done so, it had meant that he'd not only lost all the family on his father's side, but the few friends he'd managed to make in an essentially lonely twelve short years of life. Apparently, the parents of his friends suddenly decided that he was a bad influence, or to be cynical, he no longer had any influence with his father, and Tony's sense of abandonment and betrayal was even more deep-rooted because of this additional betrayal. It made that 12-year-old kid pathologically cautious about forming relationships (something that had remained with him to this day) or trusting anyone. So, while he was friendly with his classmates, he also avoided close friendships at all cost.
Mike didn't take the hint, though, insisting on pushing through his barriers and effectively adopting him as one of his family. For the first time since starting at RIMA, Tony had somewhere to spend the holidays, since Mike and Gus dragged him back to their home in Dyker Heights, Brooklyn, where their parents and little sister Charlotte cheerfully welcomed him into the family. He'd really missed them when they'd decided to head back to Australia the year Mike graduated from RIMA. But he'd stayed in touch sporadically as well as maintaining contact with Steve Rogers, the fourth in their quartet, although again it was because of Mike's influence that he'd relaxed his rule about letting Stevie Wonder past his defences, too.
Even though it had hurt when Mike and his family left, they didn't cut him out of their lives, sending him Christmas and birthday presents until they'd lost touch when he'd left Philly in extenuating circumstances. That was shorthand for he'd run out of town with his tail between his legs when someone that he'd sent to jail took offence to the interruption of his cash flow and destruction of his business distributing drugs and decided that a hit would cheer them up. So Tony had no idea that Mike, or Croc as he preferred to be called these days (the idiot), had returned to the States until he literally tripped over his old friend. Of course, just like at RIMA when Tony attempted to blow him off, this time because he didn't want to endanger his old friend or his family, Croc was equally obdurate. He'd insisted on helping Tony and had inevitably saved his sanity, not just helped protect his ass.
Now, though, he and his merry men were making themselves one Hell of a target, and Tony couldn't help feeling extraordinarily anxious about them, not to mention his old team mates at NCIS. Although, he was pretty certain that Gibbs wouldn't let Ducky, Abby and Jimmy come with him to the cemetery – he would use Feds as doubles. Still, Tony didn't want Gibbs, McGoo or any fibbies to get hurt because of him. It was already intolerable that Sacks had died protecting him – even though the guy was an ass – he still left behind family that loved him, hard as it was for Tony to conceive. He REALLY didn't want anyone else dying to protect his ass, particularly when it was useless.
Sighing, he watched his friends as they kept an eye on the three re-enactors, who were wandering around the cemetery like lost sheep. While the vast majority of these people who enjoyed dressing up in historical garb and re-enacting famous battles were a touch eccentric, by and large they were pretty harmless. Many, as Tony could attest from being dragged around to their gatherings as a child by his father before his mother died, were well respected doyens of business and society, and he suspected that was one of Senior's motives for becoming involved with them to begin with. That and a desire to be viewed as less of the first generation American son of a poor immigrant, even if his father had created an impressive fortune in transportation. Still, it had had never been blue-blooded enough for Senior.
Which was why his father had begun to diversify the DiNozzo family fortune into less blue collar areas such as luxury hotels and resorts and began moving in the Long Island and Manhattan social scenes, while his grandfather, Giuseppe DiNozzo, was happy living in New Jersey with all his wealth. Tony was convinced that one of the reasons his father had been attracted to his mother was because of the legitimacy she could bring to the DiNozzo pedigree with the Paddington blood.
Anyway, most of these re-enactor types were no weirder than people who collected stamps or cars, or even read or wrote fan fiction for that matter. He'd even discovered there was a strong subculture writing Deep Six slash based on the characters in McGee's pulp fiction – who'd have thunk it - Agents Tibbs and McGregor? Certainly not him. Still, be that as it may, many people had odd hobbies, but still managed to hold down normal lives. Jack had observed the trio when he'd been getting the lay of the land and memorising the positions of the Feds, and the re-enactors, wandering around the cemetery, pursuing what Tony considered decidedly maudlin hobbies. Sure made his cousin Petey's button collecting hobby seem positively boring.
A Confederate Colonel was taking photos of the vaults and crypts and a Union Captain was just wandering around looking at the graves and journaling, while one of the few women re-enactors, dressed as a Civil War nurse, was taking rubbings of the gravestones that were obviously of historical interest. Tony knew that few women took an active role in these re-enactments, since women were not permitted to fight during the Civil War. Nurses were an exception, although obviously they took no part in the fighting. She was getting right into her rubbing with a large stack of white butcher's paper and graphite pencils, plus a small digital camera. Tony knew that there was a subspecialty of history- cemetery archivist and he surmised that they must prefer the old fashioned methods of pursuing their hobby to more high tech ones, as rubbing was something he'd done with leaves as a kid. Jack had recommended that they maintain surveillance on the Colonel and the Captain, just to be on the safe side, since there was still no sign of Samuel Rivkin. Tony was certain that he wouldn't stay away, however.
Even though it was more than likely he already knew by now that this was a trap to catch him, since he would have to be blind as a bat not to notice the Fibbies, more than likely he thought that Tony was allowing himself to be the bait. Tony was certain that Rivkin would be arrogant enough to think that he could kill him and still manage to evade the FBI and cops and escape the trap they'd set. Of course, Tony wasn't willing to take a chance that the mad assassin would succeed in killing the double that he was sure Gibbs and Fornell had organised to impersonate him.
He looked at the others, diligently observing multiple laptop screens showing different camera angles. Croc and Tony had meticulously set them up around the cemetery three nights ago. According to the specs Mike's guys had developed, they were using high tech spy cameras to observe everyone remotely. They'd placed the majority of them atop surrounding trees and burial crypts so that they had the cemetery and its exits well and truly covered and they could maintain maximum secrecy. He had promised himself he would keep Mike and the guys' safe if it was at all possible, and keeping a low profile made good sense.
Tony watched over their shoulders as the re-enactors wandered around on the screens before he noticed several cars pulling up at the main entrance, knowing instinctively it was his old team. With equal amounts of trepidation and excitement at the prospect of seeing that which he had not allowed himself to think about for almost three long years, he stared. He watched the first vehicle pulling up and McGee, Gibbs and the Abby double alighted from the beige coloured Toyota. A scant 30 seconds later the second vehicle pulled up containing Ducky and Jimmy's doubles, and Tony returned his gaze to feast his eyes greedily upon the two bona fide members of his team, glad that the other three were not exposed to this stupid trap, but still curiously bereft that he wouldn't get to see them, either.
Turning to assess Gibbs and McGee, he noticed that Tim looked softer somehow. Not that he had put on weight or anything, but there was something intangible that he couldn't put his finger on – he expected him to be sharper somehow. To have keener situational awareness, especially now that he was Gibbs' senior field agent, because Gibbs had a way of making you more vigilant, not less, and he wondered what was going on. It was like McGee's reflexes were slower, blunter… he didn't know exactly, except that he was just different, and softer was the word that kept coming to mind. As his gaze turned to Gibbs, looking at the familiar figure, he was struck by the changes he witnessed in him as well.
Somehow Gibbs seemed to have shrunk, whether in stature or as a result of slumped body posture, the former proud Marine bearing seemed to have taken a vacation. Suddenly, Gibbs who had never looked his age, looked tired and old. Tony was convinced that the reason that Gibbs refused to discuss his age during the entire time he'd known him had less to do with vanity and a whole lot to do with the fact that his real chronological age was older than that listed on his personnel file, because the man was addicted to field work. Even that time he'd been filling in as Acting Director for Director Shepard, Gibbs hadn't been able to keep his nose out of the MCRT case with the dead body in the cab, and Tony suspected that he would do almost anything to avoid having to give up field work.
Swallowing down his guilt, Tony tried not to think about the most likely cause of Gibbs' dramatic physical transformation. Trying to block out the pain that he felt as well as the pain he'd heard from Gibbs in the hospital room as Gibbs and Fornell had discussed Ziva's death, he was only partially successful. Ziva was Gibbs' surrogate daughter and he was clearly still devastated by her death, although Tony wasn't sure why he hadn't anticipated that reaction. Gibbs was still deeply affected by his wife and daughter's death twenty years later so why wouldn't the fact that his SFA had killed his surrogate daughter have broken the team leader. Sighing sadly, Tony mentally observed that it was just further evidence that even if it was ever practical for him to return to DC, it would be unbelievably cruel of him to do so. His presence would be a constant physical reminder of what he had stolen away from his mentor.
Out of sight, while not making for out of mind still made life easier for Gibbs and Tony owed the man who had given him his chance to become a federal agent that much at least. What Tony was confused about though was why Gibbs had consented to take part in this attempt to capture Samuel Rivkin. It had to be stirring up a lot of painful memories, not just to do with him and Ziva, but Cate, too. The only possible explanation that Tony could come up with was that he had agreed because he and Fornell, despite appearances and posturing, were actually pretty tight, and Rivkin had killed Ron Sacks, Tobias' 2IC. Gibbs didn't have a lot of friends, being an obsessive, stubborn person, but those he considered to be friends… well, semper fi was more than just a Latin phrase.
Resolutely, he turned his thoughts from Gibbs and McGee and critically evaluated the three feds/cops that had been co-opted into impersonating Abby, Ducky and Jimmy. The dark haired female who was filling in for Abby was exceptionally good, but it is a difficult, perhaps an impossible task to do Abby Scuito unless you are one Hell of an actor who can reproduce subtle body language. So the sheer bounciness and sunny optimism combined with her bratty, spoilt eternal baby-of-the-family vibe was always going to be an almost impossible one to encapsulate accurately. Still, anyone not intimately acquainted with her was unlikely to realise that she was an imposter. Kudos to the LEO for doing a Hell of a job, and even though he knew it wasn't really Abbs, he felt a sharp spike of concern over her proxy's welfare. He hoped that Rivkin wouldn't take a leaf out of Ari's book and target her to hurt him.
Ducky's double was pretty good, too. He had the rumpled all-weather coat, hat, suspenders and gaudy bow tie down pat, and judging by the guy playing Palmer who was nodding continuously, the fake Ducky had been keeping up a nonstop verbal monologue that was definitely in keeping with Ducky's well-known loquacious nature. Overcome with a powerful sense of homesickness at the thought of being on the receiving end of one of Ducky's famous stories, he ruthlessly stuffed it down, knowing that he couldn't afford to indulge in sentimentality at the moment. Time enough for that once this was over!
Turning instead to the individual chosen to play Jimmy Palmer, he eyed the individual critically, impressed with the likeness between them. Like Abby, the resemblance was impressive, but Tony knew that with the Abby look-alike it was partially the hair, Goth make-up, outrageous clothes and accoutrements, but Jimmy's look-alike didn't have any of those props to help him create the character and he was fascinated. Not that he had Jimmy down pat, mind, because he was a bit more muscular, but not exaggeratedly so, and possibly the biggest discrepancy was that this guy looked completely comfortably in his skin. Jimmy always seemed like he was about to trip over his feet or else put one of them firmly in his mouth, especially when he was around Gibbs, and the glaring that they were engaging in wasn't anything that the Autopsy Gremlin would be able to maintain. Tony wondered what they were arguing about and hoped they would focus on the job at hand.
Meanwhile, Team Weasel (Jono and Jack) reported that the fake DiNozzo had pulled up at the side entrance closest to their position and was slowly alighting from his own vehicle. It was playing out pretty much as Mike's Spec Ops guys had predicted. The supposed reunion would occur at Cate's gravesite, and Tony really hoped that it didn't turn into a bloodbath. As he dispassionately watched the person who was pretending to be him, he smirked at the swagger. It had been one of his more brilliant of affectations as Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, since people already thought he was arrogant. That self-confident swagger meant that when he wanted to be anonymous, it was often as simple as dropping his insolent motion and he could move around like a shadow and be ignored. The guy they'd chosen was a good match- six foot two or thereabouts, medium brown hair artfully styled, designer clothes and sunglasses. No doubt the shades were to disguise his eye colour, which was hard to reproduce since they seemed to change colour frequently from blue-grey to blue-green or hazel and all shades in between.
Flicking over to another screen, he observed the progress of Team Gibbs as they began making their way across the manicured lawns. He caught McGee saying something to the Jimmy look-alike and he laughed and blushed. That was when it hit him, that the look-alike wasn't a double at all, it really was the Autopsy Gremlin – all grown up, which explained his newly developed bulk, if not his newly acquired self-confidence. Tony wished he could discover what had transpired that had created the new super cool Jimmy Palmer – other than age he supposed. Sadly, he knew that this was as close as he was likely to get to his good friend. He really missed the big dork, although Jimmy was definitely not so dorky any more.
As he watched the group making their way inexorably toward the showdown at Cate's grave, his sense of foreboding that had been with him for days, steadily growing stronger in intensity, suddenly ratcheted up exponentially making him feel light-headed, and he sunk down to his knees. Frantically scouring the multiple screens, the only suspects, unless Rivkin had managed to infiltrate the Feds, were the kooky grave historians from the Civil War re-enactors gathering. Studying the Confederate Colonel and the Union Captain closely, he swiftly discounted them. Both showed interest in Gibbs' team as they slowly made their way towards Cate's gravesite, but neither one seemed abnormally invested in the progress of Gibbs' team. If one of them was Rivkin then he was good, damn good, but Tony didn't think so. Of course, it was difficult to be absolutely sure since their cameras weren't close enough or powerful enough to use facial recognition software, even if they had it, but suddenly Tony felt as if someone had walked over his grave. It was the same feeling he'd experienced just before Haswari had fired his sniper's rifle through Abby's lab almost killing her the night that Cate had died.
"Guys, I know who Rivkin is," He shouted as he grabbed up one of the pieces of armament they had brought with them for any eventuality and preparing to leave the dimly lit chamber.
"Care to share, Bro?" Steve asked calmly, although he was exchanging alarmed glances with the team, some of whom were listening in via comms and computer.
"It's the nurse."
"Um, that's a woman, dude," Jack objected, clearly of the opinion that he was deranged.
"Yeah, who is a pretty homely example of the female form," He retorted. "Good cover, though, much more likely to be ignored by males and females alike than if she/he was hot." Tony could attest to this personally, knowing that ultimately the mistake that Amanda Reed made in getting caught was that when Lieutenant Commander Hamilton Voss went UA from the Navy, was adopting a female persona that was extremely attractive. He, er she, um, Amanda Reed then attracted unwanted attention; Chris Pacci's, his, Gibbs' - and that was ultimately his undoing.
"Plain people tend to be ignored, although not the really ugly ones. They also attracted attention even if people pretend not to look, but average or unattractive people, like our civil war nurse, tend to be invisible, fading into the background," Tony explained as he exited the crypt and started making his way across the cemetery, stealthily making use of cover, but still moving fast.
"There's gotta be more to it than her being a Plain Jane, Dino," Croc queried, and Tony was peripherally aware that he had followed him as he made his way stealthily to intercept the nurse making rubbings of the grave stone inscriptions.
"Well, yeah, Mikey. Carting around lots of white butchers' paper for the etching, great cover to conceal a rifle," he pointed out. "The Colonel and Captain, they don't have anywhere to conceal a rifle, and I'm doubting that Rivkin would be stupid enough to try to kill me or my stand-in with a hand gun or a knife. He knows that there are Feds around so he'll do it from a distance." He argued persuasively, as he continued to move closer to his target, while continuing to evade the Feds secreted around the cemetery, although he was acutely aware that he may be under observation.
"Um, maybe, DiNozzo," Marsh conceded." But he might have already stashed it someplace else." He pointed out reasonably.
"Look, guys, yer gonna have to trust me about this. You develop a sixth sense 'bout these scumbags." The silence over his comm spoke volumes about the doubts that Mike's men still harboured. "Oh, for the love of Mike," He exclaimed. Their qualms forcing him to dig deep and pull further justification out from his subconscious.
They could hear his breathing becoming rapid as he began to run in earnest, his foreboding became intolerable. "She didn't even look up when they got out of the cars and started across the grass. The Colonel and the Captain both rubbernecked at the entourage, but the nurse didn't sneak a peek. That's just not normal human behaviour, so unless you're trying to conceal your interest, you would at least glance at them once. That's Undercover 101 for Dummies," he explained breathily before crying out suddenly, "Shit, she's got a rifle." Tony started to run in earnest, not caring about being seen at this point.
Croc picked up the pace, too, issuing orders in a steady, calm but authoritative manner, not revealing any alarm. "Team Weasel, eyes on the Captain and Colonel. They might be Rivkin's cohorts. And get 'The Weasel' ready to rock and roll, but wait on my mark or Steve's to release him. Team Croc, we need you out here watching our sixes."
Steve and Gator responded in the affirmative sounding as if they were also running and Steve and Jono acknowledged their boss' instructions, too.
"Damn it, he's targeting Gibbs," Tony yelled before the sound of a volley of shots rang out across the cemetery and then all Hell broke loose.
Feds appeared from out of the woodwork and shots were being fired indiscriminately, or so it seemed to the boys from ERS.
Steve yelled, "Release the Weasel and get your asses down here ASAP, Jack and Jono, we need you."
Jono responded verbally to his orders, "The Weasel is free, Boss. Making our way to DiNozzo's position now," and Steve responded, "Ditto for team Croc."
Croc yelled, "Watch out for friendly fire, the Feds have gone crazy. If you encounter the Feds, surrender and remember the cover story. Meanwhile, give 'em one Hell of a diversion so Tony can exfiltrate, and don't shoot anyone unless they are Mossad and threatening you. WATCH YOURSELVES!"
An Eye for an Eye
After hesitating initially, Croc took off after his friend. When he got his brain into gear he was close behind Tony as his friend moved wraithlike at first across the cemetery, still attempting to avoid FBI surveillance. He watched his progress with a degree of admiration since his friend had no military training, but Tony had once confided that he'd had a lot of practise creeping around at home before he was disowned, stealing around avoiding setting his father off during his drunken binges.
Although he still wasn't sure that Tony was chasing ghosts rather than a legitimate sighting of Rivkin, he reminded himself that his good mate was a very skilled, highly experienced undercover operative. For crying out loud, he'd been deep undercover for almost three years now, and Mike had seen with his own eyes how skilfully Tony could assume his skid row, alcoholic persona that allowed him to move around unnoticed in the red light/ghetto locations without attracting attention. Given that Tony loved his designer gear so much, that in itself was a remarkable feat, but his ability to blend in went way beyond his ability to don a disguise. His body language and speech changed and he became someone utterly unfamiliar. So if anyone had a hope in Hell of picking out Rivkin, it would be Tony.
Croc had been initially ready to brush off Tony's arguments about the Civil War nurse being Rivkin, since it was mostly circumstantial. He did admit, however, that the ultimate tipping of the scales in Dino's favour was the fact that she, um, he didn't even look up when the Gibbs' entourage pulled up at the front gates. Especially with the annoying squealing cacophony from the Scuito look-a-like woman kept up with that, "Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs, Timmy, Timmy, Timmy, where's my Tony-boy?" Crikey, that sheila was annoying, he concluded wryly. Did the real Abby Scuito carry on like a great bloody galah, too? If so, he'd have dropped-kicked the crazy chick out on her arse if he'd had to put up with her for longer than five minutes. But the point was that to not look at the bedlam that faux Abby brought along with her…that just wasn't true blue.
The former SAS soldier was gaining on his friend, since he wasn't quite as cautious, not caring if he was observed by the Fibbies, although he preferred to not be detained, obviously. When Tony exclaimed in panic, "Shit, she's got a rifle." Croc was glad that he'd trusted Tony's instincts and followed him as Tony attempted to intercept the assassin before he could hurt anyone else. Dino had finally given up trying to stay undercover and was running full out- Croc couldn't help but admire his turn of speed. It might be a lot of years between their time on the RIMA track team and now, but he could still turn on the speed when he wanted it. Taking deep breaths he forced his legs to pick up the pace, too, while continuing to issue instructions for Team Weasel to watch their backs in case Rivkin has reinforcements. He instructed them to be ready for the diversion they had planned with "The Weasel" since it was looking like they might need him sooner rather than later.
Croc issued orders in a steady, calm but authoritative manner, not revealing any alarm. "Team Weasel, eyes on the Captain and Colonel. They might be Rivkin's cohorts. And get 'The Weasel' ready to rock and roll, but wait on my mark or Steve's. Team Croc we need you out here watching our sixes.
Then Tony cursed loudly before yelling, "Damn it, he's targeting Gibbs."
Croc watched at Tony adopted a firing stance, using a gravestone to steady the rifle as he fired off a volley of shots just before the washed up Kidon assassin unleashed a series of shots which fortunately when wide, even though one of then appeared to have hit the tall confident man with the curly hair that was supposed to be Jimmy Palmer. Fortunately, he was still alive, but as to how badly the stand-in had been hit, Croc couldn't tell because all Hell broke out as the Feds plus the local cops all began targeting the assassin. Gibbs and McGee had run to the injured man and were dragging him to cover as Federal agents began flooding the area.
He knew that they only had a very limited window of opportunity. He ran the last few yards to his friend, while still trying to make sure he didn't get shot, since the shooting seemed to be rather indiscriminate, and Croc liked his nicely toned arse the way it was, and so did his beloved Molly.
Steve yelled, "Release 'The Weasel' and get you asses down here ASAP. Jack and Jono, we need you."
Jono responded verbally to his orders, "The Weasel is free, Boss. Making our way to DiNozzo's position now," and Steve responded, "Ditto for team, Croc."
Croc cautioned, "Watch out for friendly fire, the Feds have gone crazy. If you encounter the Feds, surrender and remember the cover story. Meanwhile, give 'em one Hell of a diversion so Tony can exfiltrate, and don't shoot anyone unless they are Mossad and threatening you. WATCH YOURSELVES!"
Reaching Tony, who was had taken cover behind a small family crypt, he grabbed the rifle from his friend and aimed it away from the gunfight and fired several times into a large tree before smiling at his friend. "You okay, Dino?"
Tony nodded looking gutted. "Yeah, but Jimmy's not. The bastard got him, Mike," He cried out, devastated.
"Don't you mean the faux Palmer?"
"No, that was the real Autopsy Gremlin, Mike. What the Hell was he thinking? He's not an agent. What the Hell were they thinking?" He exploded, repeating himself in his fury and fear for his buddy.
"Don't know, Dino, but he's alive. Not sure how badly he got hit, but he's not dead." He added comfortingly. Tony heaved a sigh of relief, but still looked broken up. "Why'd Rivkin target Gibbs?" Croc demanded."
"Diversion, wanted to panic me and make me react, except he obviously didn't expect me to ambush him like that. He was targeting the stand-in, I guess. He's crazy and so is Eli David. That's why I have to disappear, Mike. Just cuz he's dead, doesn't mean this is over. Never going to be."
Croc nodded. Tony had argued extensively with Steve and himself about his need to remain in deep cover even if the Feds managed to arrest Rivkin. The Mossad Director would get his pet assassin released somehow, and even if he failed, then he would simply send some other cold-blooded killer in his wake who owed allegiance to the insane Mossad director. Much as he didn't like it, Croc and Steve had finally agreed with him, privately resolving that the only way to free Tony from this nightmare existence and give him back some normalcy would be to kill Eli David. Unfortunately, their enquires amongst their extensive Spec Ops contacts had reported that Eli David was paranoid about assassination attempts and had surrounded himself with a fiercely loyal cadre of Kidon operatives that had sworn to protect him with their lives. According to them, he was bulletproof – at least with their limited resources.
He gave Tony a quick hug. "I know, man. We'll cover for you so you can get away. The bike is by the gate on Dr. Martin Luther King Junior Street as planned. If we can sell the cover story to the Feds, then things can go to normal when everything has had a chance to die down. We'll do our best to make it happen for you, Bro! Good luck and call me later," He ordered as he watched Tony disappear using trees and gravestones as cover as he tried to make it undetected to the exit where they had hidden a Kawasaki motorbike as an emergency get-away vehicle for an eventuality such as this. Watching his progress with an eagle eye, he saw Tony stumble and fall to one knee before forcing himself up again and continue to run. Croc yelled into his comm franticly, "What happened, Tony, You okay?"
"Yeah, Mikey," Tony responded, sounding pained. "I'm fine, it was just a graze to the arm." He reassured Croc, which knowing Tony and his ability to downplay his injuries as he did, didn't make him feel any better. Chances were that Tony would have trouble riding the motorcycle with his arm, damn it.
Calling for a report from his team to determine their respective positions, he quickly ascertained that Jack was the one that was closest to Tony and the Kawasaki, besides himself. Damn it, he couldn't go after Tony, he had a critical role as part of the diversion that Steve had meticulously planned out. Well, beggars couldn't be choosers. So Jack would find out Tony's identity, and his friend had wanted to avoid the Delta boys knowing what he looked like at all costs, since the more people who knew his secret the harder it was to keep. Currently it stood at five individuals, but now it was going to be six. But Dino was just going to have to suck it up and get over it.
"Jack, get your arse down to the bike and get ready to double bank Tony to the safe house. He's been shot. You have his back. And Jack, be ready to go by the time he gets there and focus on getting out and keep ya eyes front. Time enough to have a gander at him when you both are free and clear."
"Yes, Boss. Making my way over there now." He responded over the sporadic sound of gunfire.
Just who the blazes the Fibbies were shooting at, Croc wasn't sure, unless Rivkin had reinforcements. Whatever, they were definitely antsy, and when as was inevitable the Feds surrounded him and ordered him to surrender, he indicated that he was unarmed, already laying his weapons down on the grass, including the sniper rifle that Tony had used to shoot the mad assassin, his handgun and several knives. As they instructed him to get down on the ground before approaching him, Steve reported that Eddie the Weasel had been intercepted by the Fibbies near the gravestone of Richard Gatling, the inventor of the machine gun, and well away from Tony's escape route. Moreover, he was blubbering like a baby, begging them not to shoot. Clearly Eddie was acting his arse off just like they'd planned. And Jack and Tony had gotten away, seemingly undetected.
Heaving a sigh, Croc mentally prepared himself for a tough few hours, hoping that they could make their cover story stick and ensure that Tony's cover and connection to them would remain undiscovered. He really didn't want his friend to have to disappear once more. 'Let the games begin,' he whispered, hoping that Tony wasn't badly injured. Luckily, all of them had basic medic training, but of them all, Jack was definitely the most proficient, so even though Tony had wanted to keep his identity under wraps, Jack was the logical choice in more ways than one. Now as long as Eddie the Weasel played his part properly, they could salvage this mess and go back to SOP.
He smirked at the agent who was running point on the operation. He would freak if he realised that they'd been under surveillance by Croc's ERS team. As long as they did a good job, then the Feds wouldn't discover the monitors. He was pretty confident that they wouldn't discover the spy cameras as they'd splurged on the best micro miniature spy-cams and had hidden them meticulously. If Tony and his boss were doing the processing of the scene he'd be worried, but as it was he was pretty confident they'd be fine. He knew that Gibbs had retired/resigned from NCIS and had been looking for Tony, but he had deliberately withheld that information from Tony because he would have just felt even guiltier. Apart from which, Tony had said he didn't want to talk about anyone from NCIS, and until they had started planning this op, he had consistently refused to discuss any of them. Honestly, he couldn't blame him. Talking about them would just make it more painful knowing that he couldn't see them anymore.
Anyway, as long as the Feds bought their reason for being at the cemetery, then they wouldn't bother to look any deeper. Steve had been right about it costing a packet, but you get what you pay for, and Tony was definitely worth it. And with the coaching that Tony had given him and Steve in how to lie effectively along with Gator's training sessions with the Deltas to get them up to speed on how to be good liars, they were prepared for this. Eddie was a professional criminal and conman, so Croc was confident that he would carry it off fine.
An Eye For an Eye
Jack Carrington headed for an access gate on Dr. Martin Luther King Junior Street close to W 38th Street. They had concealed the Kawasaki in a ditch in case Tony needed to make a quick getaway as per one of several contingency plans. Part of him really wanted to stay and join in the fun with the other boys and Eddie 'The Weasel', since watching the Fibbies as they staked out the cemetery had been pretty entertaining for the two ex- Deltas. It was odd that the FBI seemed to be full of college-educated operatives. Seriously, they really could have done with a few more Special Forces types to bolster their ranks, but they seemed to prefer college type brains over so called military muscle. It was a perception that was pretty damned funny, yet also rather insulting, because Special Forces tended to be the elite of the elite, highly intelligent as well as exceedingly well educated. You weren't likely to survive for long if you were dumb or had trouble analysing data and situations and then being able to effectively problem solve your way out of trouble. But somehow they were still considered to be more suitable material for less cerebral jobs like the Coastguard or ICE where enforcement was one of the key components of the job and investigation was well down the list.
So, he would have had fun running rings around the 'very intelligent' FBI agents and creating mayhem, but he could understand why the boss had deemed he should be the one to effect DiNozzo's escape. He had the most medical experience of any of the team, so clearly he was the one best suited to deal with Tony's GSW. Even if it was just a graze, it still needed prompt attention, and he'd need to be watched closely for shock. Sometimes when you were in the middle of crisis, with the influx of adrenaline and other stress hormones coursing through your system, what you thought was a minor injury could prove to be much more serious. So, until he had the opportunity to make a proper assessment, he was going to assume it was more, not less, serious than DiNozzo believed, and act accordingly. Of course, as much as he wanted to hang around and toy with the Feds with the other guys, Jack realised that now he was finally gonna meet DiNozzo in the flesh, and that was an added and unexpected bonus.
Mentally he chastised himself for wasting time thinking about such frivolous matters and he made his way to the staff access gate where he hurriedly picked the lock, although he had the tools to get out quicker if need be, albeit it less stealthily. Once outside, he retrieved the bike, stopping to reclaim the key that had been hidden under the rear wheel guard. Jack started the bike, which had a special customised muffler to mute the distinctive sound of the engine, kicked down the bike stand so they were good to go, and turned and watched to see a figure moving rapidly across the grass towards the gate. Jack felt confusion as the individual came closer and he noticed the distinctive brown oilskin coat that Croc called a Dizabone and what looked suspiciously like an Akubra hat, which was Croc's unofficial uniform.
He wondered what his boss was doing. Why was his boss making his way out to him? Just then, his fellow Delta partner in crime was reporting via his comm that Croc had been detained by the Feds and that they were continuing to lead the Feds away in the opposite direction to the staff access gate to keep them occupied while Tony got away.
'What the Hell was going on? Was it really Croc that the Feds had gotten hold of or was it someone else? Had Croc swapped clothes with Tony – maybe he had blood on his clothes from the GSW and he needed to camouflage himself, although Jack was frankly shocked if that was the case. His boss was extraordinarily attached to his iconic Aussie coat and hat and he would have thought he'd have to be dead before he'd surrender them to anyone. Mentally resolving to wait and see, Carrington released the brake, slipping in the clutch as he put the bike into first, zipping over so he was waiting adjacent to the gate, his whole body humming with suppressed tension as he waited. Although no one seemed to be pursuing Tony, or whoever the Hell it was making their way toward him, they couldn't afford to loiter. As the tall male approached at a long striding lope, the brim of his Akubra hat pulled low over his face obscuring his features, Jack was busy keeping his eyes open for an ambush. It was a rookie mistake to let your guard down when you were almost home and hosed, and Jack wasn't about to fall into that trap. Suddenly, as he got the briefest of looks at his passenger/patient, he felt as if his whole world had shifted 180 degrees upon its axis. He felt wildly disorientated and decidedly off his game.
"You!" He blurted out stupidly. "You're Anthony DiNozzo?"
Tony tried to give a semblance of his usual grin, but he was world weary. Jimmy had been shot – he didn't know how seriously his friend, who he had done his level best to protect these last three years, was hurt, or if he would even survive. He'd been forced to kill yet a third Kidon assassin, and it wasn't over yet – was never going to be over while Eli David or his kin drew breath, and he was hurting from the bullet that had grazed his arm. The absolute last thing he felt like doing was smiling or explaining. Something of his anguish must have transmitted itself to Jack, though, who shrugged and indicated he should climb astride the bike before the Feds decided to mosey up and detain them. Time enough for explanations later!
"C'mon, DiNozzo, let's get you outta here."
An Eye for an Eye
Tel Aviv:
Eli David was sitting in his study at home, anxiously awaiting the results of the much anticipated showdown at the cemetery at Indianapolis. He was trying to get a head start on some of the ever present paperwork that was an inevitable part of his job as the Mossad Director. Yes, it was unavoidable, but that wasn't to say that he had to like it. Still, it helped to pass the time so that he didn't just sit and glare at his burn phone trying to will Samuel into making contact. What was that quaint English phrase – a watched kettle never heated – but as time crept by and the check-in time came and went with still no word from Rivkin, he was getting more frustrated.
He'd set in chain, subtle inquiries amongst his network of personal contacts within the US intelligence community – not the official ones since Mossad had officially disavowed the rogue former assassin, Samuel Rivkin, as one of their own after the debacle at Bethesda. His vendetta to avenge his older brother, Michael, was not endorsed by Mossad, and Eli had had to do some fancy footwork to avoid sanctions by the Prime Minister and retain his position, but Eli was nothing if not careful and wily.
While everyone was convinced that he was behind the attempts to kill former NCIS Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, he had been excruciatingly cautious not to leave behind any trail between himself and Samuel Rivkin. So he was loathe to call upon his assets lest he give himself away, and he couldn't contact anyone in an official capacity, which included his agents and foreign informants, such as the CIA. Fortunately, Eli also had a network of unsavoury contacts that had allowed him to accumulate various forms of currency including diamonds, bullion and coins that could be easily converted into whatever currency was required in an emergency. His early experience when he had been on the outs at Mossad had taught him to be prepared for all eventualities, and had surrounded himself with loyal minions, even if that loyalty came from holding sensitive information against them rather than depending on ideological agreement.
Still, despite having full confidence in the loyalty of his minions, he had learnt the hard way to always have an exit strategy, and so he had, several decades ago when his children were young, set out to acquire the assets to be able to escape at a moment's notice if need be. Now, he could live out his lifetime very comfortably under a false identity. But to do that, it had often been necessary to get his hands a little dirty, dealing with the criminal elements, and even corrupting some of the intelligence operatives along the way to expedite matters. Obviously, he'd been very careful to keep those contacts very much under wraps. So, he had made contact with several discreet but morally elastic mercenary types who were keen to earn some easy money today. He'd instructed them to find out what, if anything, had happened at the Crown Hill Cemetery in Indianapolis and why Rivkin hadn't contacted him.
Had Samuel been arrested? Eli knew that he would never implicate him in any assassination or attempted assassination, but really, he wasn't anywhere near as good as his brother. Michael wouldn't have needed 33 months to track down one very mediocre American federal agent. His Ziva's dossier that she prepared on DiNozzo before joining Gibbs' team made it plain that he was a dilettante and an intellectual joke. Like so many others who had underestimated DiNozzo on a regular basis, his apparent ease in outwitting Eli and tripping him up when he'd tried to interrogate him was put down to a fluke rather than being smart enough to figure out which foot to put before the other one. As was his killing of Michael and Ziva – put down to blind luck.
Finally, three hours after the check-in time for Samuel Rivkin, who had failed to phone in a sitrep, one of his 'contacts' who had extensive connections within law enforcement agencies, came through for him and claimed the 10 grand worth of gold coins he'd offered for information about what had transpired at the Indianapolis cemetery. And the news wasn't good. Rivkin had been killed in a fire fight with the FBI. It seemed like the visit to Caitlyn Todd's grave to pay their respects on the anniversary of her death was, in fact, a trap, and Samuel had walked right into it. As he had thought, Michael would not have been so gullible.
Getting furiously angry now, he picked up a lethal looking knife and threw it violently at the laminated image of his hated nemesis, one grinning Anthony DiNozzo. For 33 interminable months he had dreamt of that fool dying to avenge the death of his two agents and his daughter, even if it was at the hands of Samuel Rivkin. Samuel was supposed to be his spear, and he had pointed him at the target and launched him, yet the fool had bungled the operation. He'd killed half a dozen look-a-likes along the way, not to mention the FBI agent on protection detail, time after time convinced that he had avenged his brother and Eli's daughter, only for Eli to be bitterly disappointed again and again. Luckily, the dead men were all low-life types barely subsisting on skid row, drunks and addicts, down at sole, and no one was going to bother too much about them or investigate their deaths too closely, so it was unlikely that they would be linked. But really, Rivkin had made a real mess out of what should have been a simple assassination.
The bottom line was that the fool was dead and DiNozzo was still alive, still laughing, loving, still drawing breath while his sole surviving child was dead. DiNozzo had ripped out his heart when he murdered his daughter, and had also ripped out her heart before that, murdering her lover because of his juvenile jealousy. He had made Eli lose face when he played him during the interrogation at Mossad, and he had threatened both his mental wellbeing as well as his position as Mossad Director as he continued to elude Rivkin and refused to die like the cowardly cur that he was. A piece of harah that wasn't fit to shine the boots of his precious daughter, and was probably laughing at them even as Samuel was lying stiff and cold in some coroner's drawer, waiting to be cracked open.
In a fit of uncontrolled fury he drew his gun and shot the photo of the hated one, watching with satisfaction as the photo exploded, not even caring that the wall had a huge crater from the gun firing at such close range or that the plasterwork along the whole wall was crazed with cracks. Sighing, Eli felt a deep emotional release and knew what needed to be done. Really, he already knew that if you needed something important done, you had to do it yourself. Still, he knew that he wouldn't have been able to get away with it when Ziva was first murdered by Agent Meatball, but now enough time had passed that he could claim that he had done his grieving and moved on.
Pouring himself a glass of schnapps, which he had developed a taste for during an extended mission in Eastern Europe during the Cold War while searching for Nazi War criminals, he began to make his meticulous preparations. He retrieved his false documents that were unknown to The Powers That Be so he could slip into the US without being detected, just as he had in the past, and then contacted his stand-in. Benjamin Goldblum was physically his double in build, but who had agreed to undergo extensive plastic surgery in a very exclusive Swiss clinic. The late doctor who had done the work to make Benjamin's face a perfect copy of Eli's and to replicate various scars and birthmarks in return for some serious remuneration. He had been paid a packet for both his work and his silence, and he had done an impeccable job.
Eli had never come out explicitly and stated that part of the gig to play Eli David's stand-in was that he could be assassinated in his stead, although Eli had made it really difficult for any of his many enemies and detractors to get at him by using his own loyal people to surround him and for protection duty. Mind it was much more likely that Goldblum was at risk of dying by Eli's hand should he need to disappear at some stage. Having a clone to leave behind as a cadaver should help to take the heat off him if he should ever be forced to flee Israel. Still, Benjamin was a pretty savvy guy, so Eli was fairly sure that he knew the score. Especially since he had insisted that his family would be financially taken care of in the event of his death, which Eli agreed to since he was a reasonable man who understood loyalty to one's family. That and he was sure that Goldblum had left damaging evidence behind should he disappear suddenly and the family be left destitute.
Booking a flight to J.F.K. Airport in New York on-line under one of his false IDs, since it was an exceptionally busy international airport and would be easier to fly under the radar by landing there rather than Dulles, he moved to the next item on his list. Director David sent a message to one of his old friends in the US – if by friends you counted people who owed you a huge favour like saving their life and facilitating their career. Finally, he would avenge his Ziva's death and send a clear message to the world that no one messed with Eli David and what was his. Unlike Rivkin, he wasn't going to go chasing after former Special Agent Meatball – he was going to have him come running to him like the weasel that he was. Cowardly cur he may be, but he had an Achilles' Heel like anyone else, and all he needed to do was arrange some thugs to detain that bat-crap mad Goth, the infantile forensic scientist, or the equally demented, irritating medical examiner who wouldn't ever button his lip. Once he had one of his so-called family, DiNozzo would be spackle in his hands.