An Eye for an Eye Leaves Everybody Blind

by SASundance

Can there ever be a justification for choosing revenge over justice, especially when you work for a federal law enforcement agency? This is an AU Aliyah story and NB that this is not a TIVA story. Warning, contains a major character death - for more info on the identity please see author's note in chapter 1 Now Complete

18. Chapter 18 Crocodiles Rock

A/N Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. Thanks to Arress for beta'ing this monster and to the Trippies for their invaluable feedback, especially in these final chapters. Starting stories is the easy part, but finishing them and doing it properly is challenging - at least that has been my experience. I have to apologise for the length of this chapter - the longest of any so far. And an update on the completion of the story - I have written (in rough draft) the two part epilogue and I'm hoping like crazy that one more chapter should see all the loose ends tidied up neatly but I never say never until the last sentence is written. And a reminder that while it won't be Tony, there will be at least one other death and a bombshell. Oh and before anyone asks - no there definitely won't be a sequel lol. Thanks for reading :)

An Eye for an Eye Leaves Everybody Blind

Chapter 18 Crocodiles Rock

Jimmy Palmer 7.05am Hospital staff car park:

Well, finally I was done – the shift that I was never supposed to be working was over. The shift I got called in to work at the last minute because one of the other ER docs was sick. The shift where I was supposed to be bowling with Abby, Sister Rosita and the rest of the bowling nuns, but had to cancel at the last minute because of the ER. The shift where Abby and Dr Mallard were kidnapped and I spent the whole damned time waiting and praying that they'd be found.

To add insult to injury, as Ducky would say, it would have to be the longest damned shift that I've ever worked. Usually the ER was always busy – oftentimes a madhouse, but seldom was it as quiet as it has been on this Friday night shift. After chatting with Spencer several hours ago, we'd had a few drop-ins, but honestly nothing earthshattering. A family with gastrointestinal symptoms and vomiting had come in, and while it was pretty chaotic with kids and adults all panicking, for a while it was easily dealt with. Although Grandma needed a bag of fluids since she was dehydrated, the rest were treated with antiemetic shots of Reglan and the anti-diarrhoeal drug Imodium. Plus, there was a pair of college kids who got a little too adventurous while having sex, plus a little too rough, and can anyone say broken penis? We suggested tactfully, that they might want to stay away from studying the Karma Sutra for a while. Seriously, you've no idea the injuries that occur from having sex, such as broken limbs from falls in the shower.

Apart from that, there was one of our frequent flyers, a hypochondriac that lost his wife about four years ago. So now at the slightest twinge or sniffle, he's on the internet checking out his symptoms and usually managing to scare the bejezus out of himself. Without his wife around to talk him down, he gets into a right old state, so I think that a part of his problem is he's lonely, which is pretty sad. Funny how living in a city teeming with people, so many lonely people are out there and often find their way to the ER, but there is no magic bullet, pill, or potion to cure loneliness.

Trouble is though, it can take us a while to figure out that's what we're dealing with, and a lot of costly and ultimately unnecessary testing before we rule out real medical aetiology. Luckily this time, since he's on one of our frequent flier lists, we were suspicious. Although the truth is that the people who cry wolf at the least little thing and develop a reputation as chronic hypochondriacs then run the risk that when they really are ill, doctors won't take them seriously. Oh yeah, hypochondria can kill you in the end!

Which unsurprisingly, seeing that most things tend to do these days, reminded me of Tony. He who would bitch and moan over a paper cut was the antithesis of a hypochondriac when there was anything really wrong with him. In fact, it was when he started telling people he felt fine, that's when I really started to worry. Then there was the terror inducing occasions, gratefully rare, when he dropped the stoic act and admitted he felt like crap - then it was time to totally panic since he had to be practically dying to admit to a weakness and unable to keep up the stoic mask.

Man, was the guy complicated. He had no qualms about appearing whiny and juvenile if it was some minor hurt because, presumably, he knew that we knew and we knew that he knew and in his twisted logic, he didn't see it as showing weakness. It was just a game that he played. Yet once he really was ill or injured, he seemed to regard it as a gross failure on his part – proof positive of his weak nature. Evidently, in his mind, a weak constitution was negatively associated with a weak character – no doubt a lasting legacy from Senior. Damn the monster – he sure managed to screw up my friend, real good.

So, that's why I was so pissed off with the team and the way they treated Tony when they were on board the Chimera back in the Director Shepard days. I, unfortunately, didn't get to go on that mission. My security clearance wasn't high enough to board the Navy's Black Ship that was supposedly a research vessel, but in the end was just smoke and mirrors. So, I wasn't there to assist with the autopsy, nor could Abby run her testing so they had to manage with what they had.

But seriously, who in their right mind would pick DiNozzo to carry out the pathology testing, given his weak immune system courtesy of Yersinia pestis? Surely, given his much vaunted (albeit self pimped) credentials in biomedical engineering, McGee should have been the go-to guy. And Abby… I love her to bits, but talk about addle-brained. She should have kept in mind that she was dealing with a total newbie in Tony and kept her eye on the goalpost instead of waxing lyrical. She broke Rule #1, damn it.

Then there was Gibbs, making Tony handle the diseased rat and take it to Ducky. I mean really? What was he thinking? Actually, I know exactly what the hell he was doing. He possesses a nasty and vicious streak that he seemed in the past to have vented almost exclusively upon Tony. Wonder how he copes now without his SFA, who had no other choice but to bear it? Believe me, for the crap he put up with, he deserved triple what he earned.

Yet, the fact remains that given his experience with the plague, I don't blame him one bit for panicking when he heard Dr. Mallard's initial diagnosis. Viral haemorrhagic fever isn't something to brush aside, and Abby had virtually told him to smell the blood sample he was working with. Having fought off the plague, I'd have been freakin' paranoid too after sniffing the sample.

Yet, when he was panicking, thinking he was ill - it was a huge joke to the team. Fobbing him off, making fun of his fears – a guy that was so damned stoic that most of the time he was telling you he was fine even when he was half dead. How pathetic were they to make light of his very legitimate fears? Way to go – send a message that his fear was a sign of weakness, why don't you. They all broke Rule #1 too. Bastards!

I was still so incensed over the way his idiot team had behaved that it was rather disconcerting to suddenly find myself at Sister Rosita's nunnery, er convent, in next to no time, and I hadn't even been driving like Gibbs. The benefit of a really quiet night in the ER working the graveyard shift – I got to leave on time for a change. Handovers hadn't been interrupted by emergencies and there were only a few patients admitted to the ER to report on anyway. All told, getting away from the hospital early was unbelievable problem free.

Yeah, yeah I know that I said that the ER shift seemed like the longest ever but that was only because it was damned quiet, too quiet so that there wasn't enough work to keep me busy. While a busy shift can be a real pain in the butt it still makes the time fly. This shift, I had far too much time to think about all the bad things that could happen, might have already happened and the hours seemed to crawl by like the clock was moving in slow motion. At least when it was time to pack up and leave, there was nothing stopping us.

And now I'll go and wait with Abby's bowling nuns and hopefully we'll help support each other while we wait for news. Oh God, please let it be positive news.

Turns out Tony was right all along about us being used against him as weapons. I really wish he would call me. Why didn't I ever tell him… tell all three of them, how much they mean to me and value their friendship?

I know…I know…I was just letting fly at them before about the way they'd treated Tony but even if I'm mad at them for being thoughtless and cruel at times, I like to think… to hope that they're remorseful and would do it differently if they could. I'm a glass half full kinda guy and in the ER that's a good thing - trust me!

To be honest, Ducky's main transgressions over the years have been blindly following Gibbs' lead and not stepping up and speaking out about wrongs he perpetuated. Then again, he always makes excuses for friends and colleagues rather than holding them accountable- like when McGee's stalker started killing people that he thought were conspiring to kill Agent McGregor in his Deep Six books. Probably because Tim used them as characters in his book without their permission, just changing their names.

When he came down to autopsy, feeling guilty because they'd been killed, Ducky tried making him feel better by telling him he wrote fiction and absolving him of any responsibility for what had happened to them. Yet the truth remained, if it was true fiction as Ducky claimed, he'd have created imaginary characters instead of using real people or at least not made it so blatantly obvious that Landon could identify them. By most reasonable people's standards he did bear some responsibility for their deaths, even though he didn't kill them or intended that anything like that should happen.

Or there was the time Gibbs let Tony go off alone, tailing a suspected serial killer and he disappeared and Gibbs was feeling guilty. The truth is that Tony should have had a second agent watching his back and when Gibbs admitted his culpability, Ducky rushed to make him feel better, denying that he bore any responsibility for what happened, even though he didn't follow procedure. While Gibbs didn't abduct him, his failure to observe protocol gave the killer the opportunity they needed. If he wasn't in part to blame for what happened, then why bother to have such procedure in the first place or leaders to apply them for that matter?

No there is such a thing as being too damned forgiving – especially when other people are at risk or get hurt. There must be accountability yet Dr Mallard seems reluctant for it to be applied lest people feel bad. For some reason, guilt is seen as an emotion that has to be avoided but it has an adaptive purpose – to modify our behaviour, which can often be a good thing. I'd like a chance to debate this proposition with him - I hope we get it.

And I'm not denying that Abby is a caring person – except when it interferes with her idea of what needs to happen. Then she is capable of great childishness, even acts of casual cruelty; can anyone say Jethro the dog? Her need to be the centre of the universe, with us all as mere satellites in orbit around her does get old pretty fast, not to mention just a tad egocentric. I just hope she has the chance to grow up and develop greater empathy.

But even though they have both flaws, they have admirable qualities too and I really don't want anything to happen to them. For all their imperfections and their quirkiness, they are good people – they're friends. Do I wish that they had behaved differently at times – absolutely! But it doesn't change what we've all been through together.

I honestly believe if there'd been proper leadership, many issues would have been dealt with as they arose and not allowed to become the problems that they did, and we might not have found ourselves at this point. It isn't just children who require boundaries or strong role models who possess moral fortitude and the courage of their convictions – we all do.

Hindsight is an awesomely aggravating phenomenon - if only you got a chance of a do over. Shoulda… woulda… coulda.

An Eye for an Eye

Orli Elbaz knocked before entering the small on-duty overnight quarters that were sometimes used during missions when supervisory agents were stuck at headquarters for days at a time and unable to go home. It wasn't luxurious by any means, definitely utilitarian in décor and furnishing. Still, it was perfectly adequate for sleeping, washing, and eating, and that was all that was required. It had a several beds that could be converted into seating during the day, a small bathroom containing a toilet and shower, and a tiny kitchenette for fixing simple meals and making cups of tea or coffee. They had been considering Anthony DiNozzo's request to be allowed to return to DC so he could surrender himself in exchange for his former workmates. Knowing it was going to be a long process since the Prime Minister would have to be consulted, in addition to various other politicians and diplomats, Orli decided to have their Tony escorted to the overnight quarters while they met to decide the best way to handle things. Of course, aside from the long tedious wait, there were things that they simply couldn't discuss with an outsider present, especially this particular outsider.

Six hours after Anthony DiNozzo had coughed up the intel that Wilkerson was dead, thereby confirming their suspicions that Eli David was in DC and gone rogue, they'd finally hammered out their response, and several contingency plans as well. So now as she arrived in the apartment where he was waiting for their decision, Orli noticed DiNozzo was pacing back and forth anxiously, and she wondered if he'd been doing that for the entire six hours instead of resting. He definitely looked strung out enough to have been obsessing for hours.

She motioned him to sit and he did so edgily and looked at her impatiently. "Are you going to let me leave, Associate Director?

"Anthony, I am sorry, but in good conscience we cannot do that," she replied regretfully. She knew that he probably felt that she was sentencing his friends to death, but in all likelihood they would die whether he turned himself in or not. And if he wasn't so emotionally involved, Anthony would know it too – in fact, he probably did know it, but he was in denial.

"Please, if I don't go, they're dead. Charge me and I swear I'll come back and surrender myself if I survive. Not that it's likely but if that's what it takes to leave, consider it done. I have to get back there ASAP. No one else can die because of me. I'll get down on my knees if that's what it takes or sign a confession."

"Look, Anthony, I think you have us wrong. We don't want to charge you since you haven't done anything wrong. We are detaining you for your own protection. Consider yourself in the protective custody of Mossad."

Tony snorted ironically at the idea of Mossad guarding his body.

Orli smirked. "Yes, I can see how that wouldn't be terribly comforting, considering your experiences with us in the past. Director David demands to interrogate you, targeting your injuries trying to make you confess to murdering Officer Rivkin, his daughter attacks you and comes very close to killing you shortly thereafter." He looked shocked and she smiled grimly.

"Surveillance cameras caught the whole thing, and also her previous assault on her superior, Officer Hadar. But I stray… where was I? Ah, then there was the attempt to kill you by an angry Officer David in your own home, an assassination attempt by Samuel Rivkin in the hospital that resulted in the death of Special Agent Ronald Sacks, and three years trying to outrun Rivkin. Yes, you could hardly be blamed for feeling paranoid about being in our protective custody."

"Good, glad we can agree on something, but for the record, I'll like to correct the statement you made about Rivkin. I didn't try to out run him… I did outrun him since he never once caught me. But I do have a question for you, Associate Director. Why?"

"Why?" she asked, obviously confused.

"Why is Mossad suddenly concerned for my welfare?"

"What you might have realised, Anthony, if you hadn't been determined to play Sir Galahad, is that you might not see that this David family vendetta is a carbuncle on the tukus of both our countries. Far too many people are aware of it and it is creating a great deal too much damage to relations between the US and Israel. You caused a great many red faces when you slipped out of federal protective custody and remained at large for so long. If you haven't figured it out by now, your death at the hands of a David emissary to avenge his daughter's justifiable death would set back relations between our two nations for decades. Our Prime Minister will not authorise your release, fearing that you will walk right into the director's trap."

Tony appeared dazed by what Orli had revealed, but he shook his head resolutely. "If I don't go back, he'll kill Abby and Ducky. You know he will.'

"And you know, even if you go back and give yourself up, that he will almost certainly kill them anyway."

"Probably," Tony conceded, "but I have to give them a chance. I can't just sit here and give up on them. They're civilians – they didn't sign on for this. Besides, if I don't give myself up and they die, he'll just keep targeting people I care about until I cave. I won't have anyone else's death on my conscience, Associate Director Elbaz. At least when I'm dead, they'll be safe."

Orli shook her head emphatically, her dark hair flicking back and forth. "No, Anthony, we have a plan to stop this now, but for it to work we need your help and we need you in Israel. I'm sorry about your friends, but Eli won't release them; however, with your cooperation, we can stop him from hurting anyone else you care for."

Frustrated and angry that the Israelis were asking him to just write off two people that meant more than life itself to him, he yelled at her. "Why the hell didn't you stop him before this? You've had three years to do it."

Orli looked unhappy. "You are right, of course, and I'm sorry. Sorry for you having to sacrifice your life and your career. Unfortunately, the truth is that while it was no secret that Eli ordered Samuel Rivkin to hunt you down and kill you to avenge his daughter, he was too wily to get caught doing it. Believe me, we have tried, but haven't been able to catch him out. In fact, the only secret that was even worst kept was that your former colleague, Thom E. Gemcity, did not base the characters in his book Deep Six on his old team at NCIS, even though everyone knew it was a lie."

Tony did a double take. "You've heard of the book?"

"Of course, Anthony. When it was published, Director David was beside himself with rage over the portrayal of his Mossad trained daughter – especially the graphic descriptions of the steamy affair between Ziva and yourself. If there had been a second book, I think it would not have made it to print, either that or he would have made sure that Gemcity could not complete it. He is lucky to be alive, that one. In my opinion, part of Eli's hatred of you was stirred by the surveillance photos of your affair and also Gemcity flaunting it in his book to the world."

Tony was shocked. "What surveillance photos?"

"Of you coming and going from Ziva's apartment at least once a week for four months between June and September in 2006."

"That was when I was leading the MCRT after Gibbs resigned. Dumbass! If they'd bothered to monitor my behaviour the whole time, they would've discovered that I went to Dr. Sciuto's place every week too. Was I supposed to be having an affair with her too? Or what about McGee? I would sometimes drop him off at his place after we went out for drinks or a pizza – sometimes he invited me in to play computer games or drink coffee. Were we sleeping together as well? All of them fell apart when Gibbs just walked out. I was just trying to put them back together, in between working an undercover op for Director Shepard. Even if I'd had the desire, I didn't have the energy."

"So, if you were not sleeping with Ziva, then why did McGee write that you were?" Orli asked, confused.

"Honestly, I have no idea. He insisted that the book wasn't based on the team, even though no one believed it, but Tommy and Lisa's affair was one thing in the book that was total fiction. Well… the necrophilia fantasies of Jimmy Palmer aside, of course. Either that or he really believed we were having an affair. Actually, when we were undercover playing married assassins and we simulated sex for anyone spying on us, the FBI convinced him it wasn't fake. He's always been a bit on the credulous side, so perhaps he really thought we were together, but if so, it was only in his imagination.

"I can't believe that Eli would get upset about it, though. According to Ziva, she was fully trained in seduction techniques, and claimed to excel in them too,"

Orli grimaced. "That is true, but I think that Deep Six and the photos convinced him that it was more than a sexual liaison. Perhaps he thought that she had fallen in love with you, and if she married an American, he was scared that he would lose control over her. Plus, you were portrayed as a womaniser who would sleep with anything that wore a skirt, which is hardly the type of man a father wants his only remaining child to fall in love with, even if he was one himself. And then when Ziva claimed that you'd killed Michael in jealousy, he was enraged, but it fit with what he believed. In fact, I have often thought he ordered Rivkin to seduce her because he wanted to break you two up. That isn't intended to be an excuse for his actions, just so there is no confusion between us. Nothing can justify that."

Tony nodded emphatically. There most certainly wasn't an excuse, but Orli's information explained why Eli was so scathing when the two of them met. The 'Agent Meatball' attitude was vitriolic to say the least.

"There was never anything but flirting between us. When the photos must have been taken, I was still pretty angry at her since she prepared dossiers on the team that Ari used to target Cate. I wore her blood and brain matter on my face, I was that close to her when she died, and I'll carry that memory with me to my grave. Even if I'd loved Ziva David romantically and hadn't been her team leader, there's no way I would have slept with her because I could never truly forgive her for Cate's death. Those damned stupid dossiers of hers. Sure, I cared about her and would have died for her – I thought that she was being used by Michael and I attempted to warn her, but she refused to listen.

"When I went to her apartment, it was to talk to her. I thought Rivkin had gone and I went there to find out why a laptop we found by a dead terrorist's body had been connected to the internet from her apartment. The only thing I did wrong was not taking backup because I was hoping that there was an innocent explanation for the laptop. I was trying to keep her out of trouble."

"I believe you, Anthony, but Eli David… that is another matter entirely."

"So, what's changed?"

"Pardon?"

Tony tried not to become inpatient. "You said you've been trying to prove for three years that Eli ordered the hit on me, but haven't been able to. What changed?"

"We know where he is and that he's in DC. After verifying his whereabouts, we have established that he hired mercenaries to abduct Drs. Sciuto and Mallard. Which is why it would be useless for you to return and throw away your life. These men will not let the hostages go. I am very sorry."

Sometimes, Orli concluded, all the planets aligned and things just fell into place – serendipity. When this situation had first arisen and she knew that Eli had flown off, ditching his protection detail, and was in the United States, she quickly contracted an assassination team. Not one of Mossad's - that way was madness if it failed. No, this had been a freelance team, and she thought there was a certain irony insomuch as Director David liked to employ mercenaries for many of his missions that he may not have received official approval for. Eli was not mad. Pompous, narcissistic, megalomania, delusions of grandeur, extreme arrogance; none of which added up to a legal definition of insanity. But using a team of mercenaries gave him plausible deniability – it was actually pretty smart!

The assassination team had immediately taken off to New York to try to pick up David Steiner's (Eli's cover name) trail in the Windy City… no, that was not correct… the Large Apple. Americans' eccentricity about giving their cities nicknames notwithstanding, the main thing was that former NCIS special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs had contacted the assassination team.

Coincidentally, or perhaps not, he wanted to cash in one of the favours they owed him from an old black ops mission years ago. He wanted them to terminated Eli David, and significantly, he also knew his last location. He told them Eli had dinner with former director of NCIS, Leon Vance. Which started them tracking phone traffic from the Vance residence, and had found he was still there, plus his connection to a group of mercenaries hired by Eli to kidnap the NCIS scientists in order to trap Anthony DiNozzo. One good thing about mercenaries, they held no allegiance except to the highest bidder and so were prepared to spill their bowels, as long as the price was right.

Tony was obstinate. "Look, Associate Director, with all due respect, if I want to give up my life to save my friends, your government has no right to stop me. You don't really think that I was going to just walk in on my own without backup or a plan, do you?"

"No, but they will expect it and be watching Gibbs and your old colleagues or contacts. If they even attempt to back you up, then the hostages are still dead, as are you. You must know this, but you are too involved to think rationally."

"What makes you think I plan to use my former workmates as backup? I may have a huge emotional stake in this situation since it will be my life I'm exchanging, but I have contacts too. A team of former spec ops, who are damned good and have no connection to me, so no one would be expecting them. The chances of extracting Abby and Ducky may be small, but if anyone can do it, this team can – they're that good."

"I am sorry, Anthony, but the Prime Minister's orders are clear. You will not be allowed to leave the country. I must protect you, but there is a way for you to assist us, which will also benefit you and anyone else that Eli might choose to target when this fails to flush you out. As you rightly surmised, he is single minded once he locks onto a target, and you most definitely are his target."

. . . . . . .

Furious that Orli and her cohorts had blithely sentenced Abby and Ducky to death, Tony knew his only hope was to play along until he could escape, even though he knew it was hopeless, still he had to try. Maybe Gibbs and Fornell would locate them. Yeah, and pigs might fly.

Looking defeated because this would hopefully convince the Israelis, he'd given up his idea of exchanging himself for the hostages, he called upon his not inconsiderable acting skills to hide his fury at being 'protected' against his will. Leaning back in the cheap vinyl sofa in the small apartment where they were safeguarding him, he began the process of changing her mind. He could not simply give up on them – not after all he'd gone through to keep everyone safe.

"How can I possibly help, Associate Director?"

Orli looked pensive. "Your assessment of this vendetta of Eli's is correct as far as our analysts are concerned. He will stop at nothing to see you dead, and if that means targeting more of your family or friends, he will do so. The Powers That Be have concluded that the damage done to our relationship to America is incalculable should he continue unchecked. Unfortunately, he seems to have lost all reasoning, and that leaves us with only one possible option."

Tony was surprised – he hadn't seen that coming. He knew exactly what Orli was going to say since Ziva had been pretty forthcoming about what happened when their operatives fouled things up or went rogue. They were going to terminate their own director, and not in the 'you're fired' kinda way, but he didn't see how this was going to change things. The three David members he'd met were all crazy-assed and driven by revenge, and Tony knew that Eli David also had a brother. Not to mention Ziva's cousin who was also in the 'family business'. He'd met her in a hotel swimming pool when he was shadowing Ziva after Cate had been murdered by Ari. Either one, in all likelihood, would pursue him in the event of Eli's death.

Orli seemed hesitant and he figured she was trying to find a way to put it delicately. So he took over. "Even with Eli David dead, he has family that could still pursue his vendetta. In the Mafia, getting rid of the don just means another one steps in to replace them. Ziva spoke of her father's brother and I met her cousin in DC. I know she is a spy too."

The associate director smiled and Tony realised that she was a very attractive woman. In her heyday she must have been absolutely stunning. No doubt it had been an asset. Like Ziva, she would have played it up to her advantage against her adversaries. He wondered why the animosity between Eli and the associate director – was it professional or personal?

"You are correct, Anthony. Our threat assessment specialists have concluded that such a scenario is highly probable, which is why we need your help." The Israeli paused as she considered her words.

"I understand that you like movies." She winced at the flash of anger that crossed his face, knowing where that tidbit of information had come from, and probably how it had been worded. "Ah, yes, the dossiers. Well, anyway, have you seen a movie called 'Dave'?"

Seeing him shake his head in disbelief, because really – what were the odds – Orli misinterpreted his gesture. "It is about an American President who becomes incapacitated and they bring in a stand-in to convince the masses that all is as it should be and the President is hale and hardy."

Hale and hearty, he corrected her mentally, but kept his mouth shut about the idiom faux pas. Really, her English was impressive, so he stepped in to correct the false impression.

"Associate Director, I was shaking my head because I was just thinking about that movie myself. I'm aware of it. Sigourney Weaver was pretty good in this one, but I still think Ripley takes some beating." Seeing her look of confusion, he explained. "Aliens – her character of Ellen Ripley was a strong, some might say even a seminal role for lead females in big budget, mass appeal films made by the Hollywood studios. She was a bad ass that sent many males libidos into overdrive and inspired a generation of girls to want to be more than the sidekick or love interest."

The associate director nodded politely. "I can see your Professor DiNardo persona peeking out, Anthony."

He shrugged, nodding wryly. What he didn't admit to Orli, not to anyone actually, was that Tony DiNardo was less façade and more the real deal than his 'Very Special Agent' persona. Jeanne liked Tony DiNardo – accepted him as being smart – something his so-called family seemed incapable of doing. One of the techs in MTAC had informed him that when Jenny Shepard revealed his cover once he'd notified her it had been blown, McGee had commented seriously upon learning he was posing as a professor of film studies, that it was no wonder his cover was compromised. The inference was obvious – he was too stupid to play a professor.

He sometimes wondered why he'd opted to play DiNardo so close to his true personality – after all, it hadn't seen the light of day – not since Danny Price and Wendy Miller had done a number on him more than a decade ago.

"Yes, well, to return to point, David Steiner – an Israeli businessman who clearly upset the wrong people, will meet an unfortunate end in Washington DC where the crime rate is unfortunately rather high, I believe. Meanwhile, Eli David will be quietly but very visibly going about his business here in Israel. He will have a meeting with Anthony DiNozzo, a former NCIS special agent, and release a public statement expressing his deep sorrow that his daughter and one of his Mossad officers would try to kill her US teammate.

"He will also express his deep and everlasting regret that following the death of her lover, he didn't order Officer David to remain in Israel to attend Michael Rivkin's funeral and mourn him properly. Finally, he will denounce the senseless pursuit of you by Samuel Rivkin to try to extract revenge for the death of his brother who unlawfully tried to murder you. This will take place in a press conference where you and Eli will sit shoulder to shoulder.

"Then he will take you to lunch at a spot where all the civil servants dine in a highly public demonstration that any vendetta has been buried – permanently. The Deputy Prime Minister will invite you and Eli to join him at his table, making sure that any journalists or photographers witness you both being friendly and relaxed with each other. In the weeks that follow, Eli will be too busy to spend much time with his family, so they don't stick to it like you did about Goldblum."

Stick to it? Tony was thrown momentarily before he realised she actually meant twig to it.

"Several crises will take up most of his time over the next few weeks and months, even interrupting and forcing him back to headquarters during any family get-togethers. Of course, like the patriot that he is, Director David will work much too hard and endure far too much stress and not enough rest and tragically drop dead. An autopsy will confirm that poor Eli had a time bomb ticking away inside his head and that he suffered from a brain aneurism that burst, possibly due to the increased stress he was under, but really it could have come at any time. A tragedy, but he will be afforded a State funeral, and I'm sure that foreign dignitaries will attend. Meanwhile, we will arrange for Goldblum to have a facial reconstruction, and like Dave in the movie, will retire to live out his years comfortably. And of course, you get to resume your life again, too.

"I believe that is what is called a win-win situation. Naturally, you will be expected to sign a nondisclosure agreement, as will Mr. Gibbs and Leon Vance and his wife, since Eli is in their home as we speak. These individuals are the only ones that know that Eli David is in the States, and I'm sure it will not be too difficult to convince them to remain silent on the matter."

Tony nodded. All three individuals would be pretty aware that if they didn't remain mum, then they wouldn't have a long life expectancy. It was kind of a no-brainer, especially the Vances with their two kids. And his incentive was equally enticing. He got to have his life back again and not have to look over his shoulder constantly or worry about everyone connected with him being used as pawns to flush him out of hiding or cause him maximum pain.

He guessed he should be horrified about sitting here and cold-bloodedly taking about David's demise, but after he abducted Abby and Ducky, Tony wasn't in a charitable mood. It wasn't about getting even, it was much more pragmatic. It was about the survival of all those he held dear. So, no-brainer for him too. Besides, the Israelis had clearly had this planned for some time, just waiting for an opportunity.

"Okay, I can see why you want me to stay here so we can put this to rest, why you need me but what if you could have your cake and eat it too?"

"I do not think I understand… we were not speaking of cake," Orli stated bemusedly.

For a split second he felt like he was back in the bullpen with the team. "It just means what if there was a way for you to get what you wanted and I could try to rescue my friends?" Tony explained, remaining outwardly calm while inside he was a mess of heaving emotions.

"I do not see how that is possible given what I know of the mercenaries, but go ahead and convince me otherwise if you can."

"We coordinate it so that my team goes in at the exact same time as your team takes out David Steiner. If they are watching LEOs, Fibbies, and Gibbs et al, then they won't be expecting my guys to attack since they have no connection to Tony DiNozzo, whatsoever."

Slight exaggeration but hey, if three years of scrutiny by United States' finest minds couldn't parse out the connection, then he doubted very much that a few mercenaries would.

Orli seemed to be giving his plan due consideration. "I will need to get approval from my superiors of course, but I do not see a problem with what you propose. If we proceed, then they will need to sign nondisclosure statements as well."

Seeing that Croc had taking the rap for shooting Samuel Rivkin instead of him and that the team were all ex spec ops, he didn't think anyone was going to have a problem with that. When rifling around in Mike's desk a few months previously while he was running Elite Retrieval Services while Jannali fell ill, he'd come across a folder containing research on how to take Eli David out. Since he was so heavily guarded, Mike had concluded that the best way was to convince someone trusted by him to do the deed. So, he was damned sure Mike would be on board, and Steve as one of the original Musketeers at RIMA, would not be likely to sit this one out either. The two ex-Rangers were a bit of an unknown quantity, but not that much.

If anyone could get Abby and Ducky out alive, it would be Croc's team. Retrievals after all, were what they did for a living.

"I'm sure if they're available, that won't be an issue. Spec ops trained guys, they understand the concept of the 'need to know'; these guys are absolute professionals."

"They are Mercs, yes?" Orli wanted to know.

"No, not mercenaries," he said shortly. "Look, can I have a burn phone to contact them and see if they're available? No sense in disclosing their identity if they're in the middle of a job, Associate Director. No offense."

"None taken. I understand discretion – admire it even. I will send Simon with a non-traceable phone while I go and see if I can get approval for this change of plan. I will return soon," she promised, smiling to assure him she would argue his case for him.

He walked her to the door, noting that there was a guard standing outside who jumped to attention when he caught sight of Orli. Tony closed the door, sinking back down onto the ugly orange vinyl couch, relieved that he'd just bought Abby and Ducky a chance. A damned good chance - he mentally tried to prepare himself for the bullocking he was going to get from Mike. It wasn't going to be pretty, but of all Gibbs' rules, number 18 was a pretty damned good one. Along with rule numbers one and nine, it was really the only one he kept when he slipped out of the FBI safe house more than three years ago.

Rule 1: Never Screw over your partner

Rule 9: Always carry a knife

Rule 18: Better to seek forgiveness than ask permission

An Eye for an Eye

Michael 'Croc' Kaderson was beside himself. It was six days now since Dino had gone missing. Jack had traced him to a British Airways flight out of LAX, flying first class to Heathrow. Once he arrived in London, though, the trail went cold. There were no records of him leaving the country, but Mike had a pretty good idea where Tony was headed. The idiotic, self-sacrificing fool had talked about going to Israel to settle things with Eli David once and for all. And he wasn't talking about killing the crazy SOB either. He just thought he'd managed to talk him out of it – yet clearly, not!

Finding the note that Gus/Tony had left for him, let's just say he'd not reacted well. His friend had to all intents and purposes left him a suicide note, and he was going out of his mind with anger and despair. Ever since his brother had disappeared - presumed dead – Mike had felt closer to his old school mate, Steve. Then he'd literally tripped over Tony, hiding out as a homeless busker and like an abused puppy with his wounded eyes, Mike couldn't rest 'til he dragged Tony home and gave him sanctuary. Having him pose as his brother, plus the fact that his family had kind of adopted him when the brothers attended RIMA together while in the States for his dad's job, had cemented Tony as a little brother.

Imagining the worst - he felt grief, anger, denial at Dino for being so focused on protecting everyone else he forgot that it wasn't his fault that his life had spiralled out of control. No, that responsibility went to his bosses that thought it made sense to have a Kidon trained spy and assassin on an NCIS team investigating crimes. Or the dipshits that had dragged Tony to Tel Aviv to explain why he'd quite reasonable killed an out-of-control Kidon operative who'd unlawfully killed an entire terrorist cell, plus an ICE agent, and when Dino attempted to take him in, tried to kill him too. Or Eli David for not controlling his out-of-control daughter, who was also a trained killer. And Tony's bloody CO for not reining her in while she had been under his command.

Oh, yeah, there was plenty enough blame to go around – all of them with their own agendas, and Tony was the one that paid for their indecision, avarice, ambition, or any other peccadillos of people who should have had his back.

He checked his personal email account for probably the hundredth time since his friend/brother/teammate had gone missing, in the seemingly forlorn hope that Tony would get in touch with him. Would they even know if he was dead by the hand of Eli Fucking David, or would he end up in a shallow grave somewhere in the unforgiving earth of the Middle East? Was it stupid of him to pray for a miracle? Probably, since he wasn't exactly a religious kind of guy, but faced with no other options, Mike was prepared to offer up a prayer or ten to Huey upstairs in the hope that he'd take pity on Dino.

After all, the poor guy had been tortured plenty already in his sad, short life. A lot a people would say being born to his parents was punishment or disability enough, but no, he got partners who betrayed him or ridiculed him, or underestimated him. Partners who broke their own rules when it suited, undermined him or set him up to fail and didn't have his six. A fiancée who left him the night before their wedding, and a broken heart and a guilty conscience when he and the woman he fell in love with on an undercover op were used as pawns in his director's personal vendetta. Plus, a shit load of injuries and the freakin' plague, not to mention bosses that used him for their own agendas, personal or professional. Slime bags who didn't give a damn about the impact it had on him when they threw him under the bus.

Mike had really wondered why Tony had stayed so long at NCIS, and Dino had given him this confused spiel about them being his family, but he just wasn't convinced. Dino's drunk and slimy dad – well, his drunk mum dying when he was a nipper hadn't helped either - had left him feeling unloved and unworthy. His elusive success on the basketball court and footy field had been meteoric one minute and had come crashing down the next, leaving him to feel that success was fleeting, he wasn't good enough, or he didn't deserve it. Finding out that the partner you considered a close mate was on the take and then the woman you loved, dumping you practically at the altar had to erode self-confidence and worth too.

Tony admitted that he had started serial dating after that, and never let down his guard at work enough to trust people and kept them at a distance so he wasn't hurt again. Mike figured his self-esteem was too low to go looking for something better than NCIS, probably buying into the crap that he was too stupid to start over. Then one night over a couple of cold stubbies of Fosters draught he'd told him about Jason King and his little sister, Amber, and how he ran into a burning building as a college student to try and save them and only managed to get the boy out. How the kid blamed him for his sister's death, and Tony's guilt, even though he said all the right things about how there wasn't anything he could have done. And Mike, who knew him well, saw it for the lie it was, Dino admitted that it was a pivotal moment and the reason he'd entered the police force to save others.

In those short few words, Mike heard a plea for redemption, a do over, a crap full of guilt and the trauma of a young guy forever sentenced to relive the screams of a little four-year-old girl burnt to death. Which was when he had an epiphany of sorts. Dino hadn't hung around in a toxic, abusive workplace because of zero self-worth, it was guilt and a desire to punish himself for not being able to save both children's lives that night in Baltimore. Mike knew because he spoke to a lotta cops, including Gus – the real Gus – who said that cases involving kids were the hardest to deal with for ninety nine percent of cops, and they had supports in place to assist them. Like soldiers, they had prior training, peer support systems, mandatory counselling all helping them to cope with the unimaginable. The Aussie ex-pat wondered who'd been there for Tony afterwards. Had he even received trauma counselling? Nuh, he highly doubted it.

As he was again contemplating the horror his good friend must have gone through on the cusp of adulthood, one of the burn phones in his desk began ringing. Since he kept an assortment to stay anonymously in contact with Tony while he was on his quest to save the dregs of society, and working off the books with some trusted cop buddies, unless it happened to be a wrong number, it was probably Dino. Fumbling to find the right one since they had a baker's dozen on hand to replace each current one after a couple of uses, it took a while to find the right one and the caller thoughtfully called again.

Once located, he stared at the phone, brow furrowed, as he wondered if this was the last time they'd talk. Of course, there was one other option –DiNozzo was already dead and he'd asked someone to call to let Mike know. It would be just like him to think about Mike, even if he was dying.

Taking a deep breath he answered the phone. "Yeah."

"Hey, Croc, it's me." The 'Croc' was to let him know to watch what he said.

"Dino, are you okay, mate?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Good… that real good. So, tell me – what the hell were you thinking, you freakin' moron. You frightened six months life out of everyone, and the rugrat keeps calling for you. Playing the bloody hero is just plain selfish and totally unnecessary."

Tony let him rant, but at this point he interrupted. "Croc, I get you're upset, and I'm not saying you haven't got cause, but you're wrong. It was necessary and it's too damned late. He kidnapped Abby and Ducky to make me come out of hiding. What have you been doing? It's all over the news."

"We've been on a job and just got back last night. It was one of ours so I couldn't turn it down. Apart from that, we've been searching for you. I'm sorry about your friends, Dino. What do you need?"

"I'm not sure yet, but right now I need you and the guys to get to DC ASAP, and do it quietly. David hired mercs to kidnap them and they'll be watching all my know associates, so if anyone tries to free them, they'll kill them. I'm hoping to get the location where they're being held and any intel on the team."

"So, we infiltrate and free the hostages? Just like old times – piece of cake."

"Maybe, Croc, but there are complications. I wanted to act as bait, but that isn't going to be an option, and in order to get the intel, we'll need to succeed for the mission, I have to stay here and cooperate. Plus, they want me to sign a nondisclosure agreement, and the team would have to sign too if you carry out the retrieval."

"SOP, Dino, for special forces. Nothing shocking there."

"Maybe, Croc, but these guys don't mess around should you get loose lipped, if you know what I mean. I'm asking a lot of the team. Please tell everyone that they don't have to do this."

"Nuh uh, you're my brother and one of the family and you're an integral part of our team. You know that and I get what you're saying… dirt nap time, but you're worth it. If I don't bring you home, I'm in deep shit with the Missus and the Princess. No brainer mate. We're coming to the Capitol."

"Oh, and this isn't being done with the support of our LEOs – possibly the State Department or DOJ, but not any of their underlings."

"Bloody oath, Tony, where the hell are you and what have you got yourself into, mate?"

"I'm in Israel, and let's just say I'm playing with the big boys now."

"Okay, stay safe, little bro, you don't have me to watch your arse. Let me call the team in and head out for DC. Keep in touch, Dino."

Hanging up, Mike quickly sent a text to the rest of the team, plus their pilot, Hamish.

Talked to Gus. Meet at plane. Wheels up inside 60 minutes. Pack a bag!

He called his wife to tell her he'd spoken to Tony and he was okay. Didn't mention that he sounded empty, depressed. When they got back home, he and Tony were going to do some serious talking and surfing – get him back on track again, but he couldn't worry about that just yet. Explained to Mo (and didn't she just love his Aussie contraction of her name – not) that they were going to help him and might be away for a few, but he'd stay in touch. Exchanged endearments with wife and daughter and promised a Skype call later before his Princess' bedtime.

Then Mike had a similar conversation with the manager of his bail bond agency, explaining that the ERS team were off to assist Gus and would likely not be back for several days and not to contact him unless it was an emergency. Since it wasn't uncommon for them to jet off at short notice on a retrieval mission, his manager wasn't too surprised. Wished him good hunting and left it at that.

Having taken care of the housekeeping, Mike grabbed his go bag that he and the others on his ERS team kept with them 24/7 and drove out to the airport at Burbank where he kept the ERS Lear jet. Not surprisingly, he was the first one to reach the plane, even getting there before Hamish. Their pilot was a former naval aviator and a mate of Steve's, having gone through boot camp together. Not surprisingly, given his friendship with Dino at RIMA, Steve was the second person to arrive at the hangar where the ERS jet was housed, demanding to know everything about Tony and where they were headed. Not that he had a lot of details, but Mike also shared his impressions and his hunches with the fourth member of their RIMA Musketeers. Later, the whole team got a briefing, and when he gave them the choice of opting out of the mission, he was howled down by all of his retrieval team, sans Tony.

Steve had already expressed his outrage that Mike would even think he wasn't on board. Jack, the moment he heard that Abby and Ducky had been taken hostage, was determined to retrieve them. He'd liked the elderly, eccentric ME when he'd enlisted his help to patch up Dino in Indianapolis a few months ago, and was determined that they were going to save them. Jono - don't call me that, Croc - waved away Tony's concern about the non-disclosure agreement they'd be expected to sign and the penalties for breaking it. Said Dino was family and family stuck together when the shit hit the fan. Jack agreed and observed how it would make a pleasant change to be retrieving innocents as opposed to filthy rotten pond scum.

So, Mike had a full team, apart from Tony, and he wondered what the Israelis were demanding of his brother as payment for their cooperation. He hoped he was watching his back, though, and was hoping to get a sit rep ASAP. Truth to tell he wouldn't trust David's Mossad as far as he could kick it, which wasn't far. He just had to trust that his friend knew what he was doing. Weirdly, Steve seemed to read his mind.

"I wish one of us was with him to watch his back. Dino can get in to trouble easier than anyone else I've ever met. What the hell was he thinking, going there?"

Mike glanced at his team, well, more than just a team. Sure, he was the boss and signed their pay checks, but they were so much more than employees. Brothers under the skin – best mates that would have each other's back no matter what. Ever since losing Gus, the real one, he'd realised just how precious the relationship was that he shared with these men, and especially with Tony, who in adopting the identity of his little brother had grown even closer. He'd always felt protective of him at school when he figured out that the kid had been dumped there by his father and forgotten about like puppy or kitten that had been acquired on an impulse soon regretted, might then find itself unwanted and unloved at the pound. He'd dragged the shy kid home on holidays, barely comprehending how a real father could ignore his only kid, especially at Christmas.

Now that he'd been reunited with him again, he didn't want to lose him, but he had a feeling that if/when the situation could be resolved with that mad bastard Eli, he would probably lose him again to DC where his life had been. Mike swore that no matter what, this time he'd stay in touch. After all, he had a company Lear Jet so it shouldn't be a problem, not like before when continents separated them.

Sighing as he answered Stevie Wonder's concerns, he gave a wry smile, albeit a weak one. "Anyone who contracted the plague at work, got pushed out of a plane – at night when he'd never jumped before, drugged by a serial killer, locked in a sewer with a corpse and a soon to be one, chained to a serial killer when he thought he was just a plain ole smuggler/thief, and collected a score of other injuries is most definitely a trouble magnet of megalithic proportions. So, ditto when it comes to his welfare, and the short answer to what he was doing over there was he was going to surrender himself up to Eli David."

"But the Mossad Director has been trying to kill him for the last three years. Why would he… oh, shit!" Steve quickly put the pieces together and was appalled.

Mike could see realisation dawning on everyone else's faces too, judging by the horrified expressions. The four guys were silent, all locked in their own dark thoughts about what he must have been going through, their own guilt about not noticing and trying to stop him, but Mike knew that Tony DiNozzo was a superlative undercover operative. Yeah, he was an excellent actor, but then he'd been in hiding one way or another his whole life –even at school, it was a select few that ever got to see his pain at being abused, neglected, abandoned.

The abuse was a closely guarded secret and Mike had only discovered it after a nightmare and a holiday spent with the Kadersons had brought to the surface a not-so-happy Halloween memory. He'd listen horrified to a story about a designer snowsuit and its consequence – Dino unable to sit down until Christmas, some almost two months hence. That was one hell of a correction as his friend had tried later on to justified it. He had no doubt that there was more, too. That sort of uncontrollable anger doesn't manifest just once and disappear. Shaking off his own dark thoughts he refocused.

"Look, guys, much as I can understand your guilt, believe me, let me point out that Dino is a professional undercover agent – none better from what I can gather. He was on a long term undercover assignment to bring down an arms dealer while leading a major case response team for four months and no one was any the wiser. Even when his boss came back and he returned to his 2IC role, none of them twigged about his mission for months, even though they are all supposed to be top notch investigators. The best of the best and supposedly as close as family. So, let's not beat ourselves up over this slip up – okay?'

He was a little surprised that it was Marsh that responded, since Steve was one of the Four Musketeers and Jack had gotten really mother-henny with Dino after the fiasco at the cemetery, not that he said much about it.

"Bullshit, Croc er Mike."

Now that they all knew Gator's real identity, there was no need to maintain the Croc and Gator charade anymore when they were on their own. A fact that was a relief to them all, especially Mike, and the team appreciated his less colourful personality when they were alone. Ocker Croc was rather exhausting!

"Look, Boss, as far as I'm concerned they can't be all that damned good if they never knew he was undercover, as well as doing his real job for a frigging year. I hold us to a higher standard than that since Dino is one of our own. He's family and we should have seen something. But the question remains… is he okay now?"

"Not sure how to answer that, Swampy, he sounded empty, tired, afraid. There was no attempt at concealment, none of his 'I'm fine.' I hate that bloody phrase – it's tattooed into my synapses, I swear, since Dino became Gus."

"When this is all over, I vote that we swing by Tel Aviv and make sure he has a ride back to LA," Jon proposed, amid nods of assent. Enthusiastic assent. "And, Mike, stop with the Swampy... really man.

"Sure, no prob, Bob… that was Dino's nickname for you anyways. I always preferred Thunder Thighs myself." He laughed at the ex-ranger who looked at his boss aggrievedly.

Jono must have forgotten all about that one and the accompanying rant Mike had delivered when gifting him with the nickname, chiefly about legends of his favourite sport of cricket, especially the team in the early seventies where the personalities were larger than life. Namely: Thunder Thighs aka Rodney Marsh and cohorts Lillee, Thommo, Dougie Walters, Tangles, Guz Gilmour and Chappelli. Apparently, their prowess in drinking the plane dry of beer, Aussie beer of course (Fosters, XXXX pronounced 4X, Tooheys New or Vic Bitter –they weren't picky) when they were on long haul flights between the 'Old Enemy' (England) and Australia to defend the Ashes were unprecedented. Not to mention, legendary and admired almost as much as their ability to beat the pants off their opposition. Not that he'd seen them all play, but he'd watch replays of matches and listened to his dad talk about them and seen a few play at the end of their careers.

Sadly, the only one who seemed remotely interested in his stories of five days of bliss at the Sydney Cricket Ground watching test matches every New Years, of sneaking out of the old Brewongle Stand to rub shoulders on the famed SCG Hill in the unofficial Dougie Walters stand ( a patch of grass) with his adoring fans celebrating a New South Wales son from Dungog, was Tony. Mike couldn't quite figure out if it was politeness, part of his cover as his brother and an Aussie, or that DiNozzo the athlete was truly interested. Whatever the reason, it bugged the crap out of the other boys – reason enough to continue it.

"Okay, you can call me Jono," Marsh grumped.

"Thanks, Thunder Thighs, I'll do that," Mike deadpanned while Jack and Steve chuckled.

Turning serious, as he stood up and fetched sodas for them all from the bar fridge, Steve asked, "But will Dino be returning to LA if he comes to some arrangement with the Israelis? He's got his old team back in DC. Won't he want to be with them – take up his real life again? Gotta admit there's not a lotta scope for a skilled investigator and undercover specialist at ERS."

Jack looked shocked. "You think he'd leave us? We're his family now, they don't fucking deserve him. They were the ones that chucked him under the Mossad/Eli David bus."

Mike waded in. "Look, guys, let's not count our chickens just yet. Let's focus on getting Drs. Mallard and Sciuto out safely, but I do agree that we should fly out there and pick him up. What good's a Lear Jet if you can't bring your family home?"

Later in DC

Using the jet as their operations centre - all his burn phones at the ready, the head of the most successful fugitive retrieval service paced the length of the plane continually. Mike had sent Tony a text when they reached DC, informing him of their arrival and was waiting for a reply. Meanwhile, he had Jack, who was their intel officer, search the net for any chatter on various mercenary lists about potential mercs who might have been hired for this job. Steve and Jono were making discreet inquiries within the special forces fraternity, too. He was too damned keyed up to check his own contacts, but knew that Steve knew most of them and would check for him.

The last few months had been tough ones and he was really just barely coping. Nearly losing his beloved Princess had tested him like no mission or family crisis had before. It had placed a tremendous strain on his and Molly's marriage and he'd neglected the business, although Steve and Dino had stepped in to keep it on track. Steve ran the operational side, accepting or rejecting contracts and leading the retrievals, and Tony had stepped up to cover the legal and business side. Since he was a law enforcement professional, the legal stuff wasn't really all that much of a surprise, but the financial side was. He'd refused to pursue a business career or go into his father's businesses, although after being disowned at twelve, who could blame him. Yet, he'd handle all the finances with flair and confidence. Mike suspected if he had chosen to go into the business world, he'd be a hell of a lot more successful than Anthony DiNozzo The Faker.

Yep, he owed the other two Musketeers heaps for being there for him, but he realised belatedly when he got the letter Dino had written when he took off that his mate – his good as brother - had been deeply affected by his daughter's brush with death too. He felt bad that he couldn't donate a part of his liver, but Mike could identify with that, even if he wasn't compatible. So, Mike felt that if he hadn't been so involved with Jannali, then he might have picked up on Tony's clearly suicidal depression. It had been there since the shootout at the cemetery – the guilt eating him up, and his daughter's liver crisis was the straw that broke the camel's back.

Why didn't he ring? The suspense was making him crazy.

Finally, one of the burn phones rang and Steve, who was closer to it, seized it and answered. "Yeah, Dino, that you?"

"Yeah, it's me, Wonder. Put me on speaker. Is the team there?"

"All present and accounted for, Sir." Jack chimed in cheekily, as he stood up from the laptop and moved over to sit down next to Steve and Mike in the four-person face-to-face seat configuration. Jono, who was returning from the head, called out an enthusiastic 'hi' too.

"Good to know, Third," he bantered, referring to the fact that Jack was Leyland Carrington III, but for reasons that were blatantly obvious to all but his doting parents, adopted the name Jack ever since he'd attended junior high school.

"No problem, Second," Jack volleyed back swiftly.

"Touché, Jacky-boy. Hey, Swamp Rat, hi ya self. Croc, 'bout that non-disclosure agreement that I mentioned – the Natives want those signed before you get read in."

"Okay, Dino. Where and when?"

"Yesterday preferably, and the where is up to you guys. You can go to the Embassy or a cultural attaché can come to you and have you sign in. I explained you have satellite coms in the plane." There was heavy irony on the two words 'cultural attaché', which the boys easily translated mentally to mean 'Mossad operative', possibly 'Kidon'.

Thinking about the two options presented and their earlier group discussion about not trusting Mossad as far as it could be kicked, he looked askance at the three other team members before he swiftly made an executive decision.

"Thinking we'll go to them. We need to get wheels anyway and grab some takeaway at Maccas." He noted that the rest of the guys looked pleased with the plan as well. Although, it could be the plan to visit McDonald's for burgers that put smiles on their dials.

"Takeout, Croc. You take it out of the store." They could hear a grin in his voice and grinned too.

"Takeaway, Dino. You take it away from the shop." It was an old running joke amongst the team, but it reassured everyone somewhat that Tony DiNozzo was not under duress. Feeling more settled, Mike suddenly realised he was actually pretty hungry.

"You have an address, Dino? There's a QP with my name on it, not to mention French fries."

Tony snorted because he'd never known Mike to stop at just one QP – two was a snack, and he'd seen him down four without breaking a sweat. When it came to junk food, the guy had a prodigious appetite.

"Yeah, have one for me, Mate, and the address is… hang on a second…" Murmuring could be heard before an unknown female voice chimed in and the team was caught off guard. Jack requested that the female repeat the address and deftly entered it into the iPad.

The unidentified female continued. "I am pleased you chose the Embassy, Mr. Croc. We can link up securely via vid conferencing – much more satisfactory. I am Associate Director of Mossad Orli Elbaz. I will look forward to making your acquaintance. Anthony has given you quite the build-up. Says you are the best at retrievals in the private sector, bar none. Please hurry, though. Time is of the kernel."

Mike looked blankly at Jack, Steve, and Jon. They looked equally mystified as a weak chuckle come over the phone. "Ah, guys, the AD means time is of the essence. In other words, get wheels, use the drive through, and haul ass."

"Got it!" the four ex spec ops guys responded automatically.

Mike, as usual, had the last word. "See you soon, Cobber." Hanging up he looked at everyone searchingly. "Last chance. Anyone want out… now's the time to put your hand up." He waited.

Jack stuck his hand up hesitantly. "You want out, Jack? No one will think less of you."

"Of course they will, Mike. But that's not it. I call shotgun." He laughed evilly at the pissed off expressions of the rest of his team. He shrugged. "Ya snooze, ya lose."

Looking at the ERS team, Croc addressed them and quirked his eyebrow. "Kay, you heard Dino. Haul ass!"

It was a tribute for their absent team mate that Mike used the American 'ass', which he insisted was a quadruped with an annoying vocabulary, not a part of the human anatomy, instead of his usual English/Aussie arse.

An Eye for an Eye

Back in the off-duty apartment that had been assigned to Tony for the duration, Orli raised a well plucked eyebrow.

"Well, this extraordinary team you've been touting have rather odd names: Messrs Croc, Wonder, Third, and Swamp-rat, I believe?"

Tony nodded and remained mute.

"I take it that these are aliases. Mercenary handles – yes?"

"No. They're nicknames, not easily identifiable should you try."

Orli looked bemused. "You do not trust us, and I can understand why. You are very protective of these men, but you must realise that when they enter the Embassy, we shall be able to identify them even before they sign the non-disclosure clauses. So, why the cloak and dagger?"

"Making sure that if they should choose to opt out, their anonymity is preserved. They're only getting involved because of me."

"And how do you know these men?" she asked curiously.

"I have many contacts and friends in law enforcement and from college," which was true enough, but it wasn't how he knew the ERS team.

"They helped hide you?"

Once again he chose not to lie or tell the whole truth. "Many people over the years have helped. All of them played a small part in me staying off the radar. The trick was to stay away from obvious targets like my former team or frat brothers."

"Impressive. You could be a valuable asset in training future Mossad recruits."

"Flattering, but no thanks. I just want to be able to go home, spend time with my friends."

"Ah, yes, I understand. You and Leroy Jethro Gibbs were very close."

"Once perhaps, but not for a very long time. He found his second family and I destroyed that when I killed Ziva. She was like his surrogate daughter."

'Yes, Eli planned for her to get close when she killed Ari, and yet once she gained his trust, the director was overcome with jealousy and paranoia. Along with the terror that she might marry the son of a two-bit hustler. I believe her close relationship with Gibbs was another reason why Eli dreamt up the Michael seduction. The trouble with Machiavellian personalities and therefore plans, is that even his paranoia was treacherous and labyrinthine too. Now, I suggest that you grab a hot shower and a feline nap. You have a press conference to attend in your not too distant future. I will organise food too and wake you when your friends arrive at the embassy."

"Thanks. Can I have my gear so I can change into clean clothes? And by the way, it's a 'cat nap'."

"Ah, I see. Your idioms and adages are very difficult to conquer."

Not to worry. Ziva used to slip up all the time. In fact, she referred to catnaps as batnaps and argued about it when corrected. Your English is excellent, even your idiomatic English is pretty impressive."

"Thank you, it is good to know. Learning foreign languages does not come simply to me, so I must apply myself. Someone like Ziva, who had the enviable facility to pick up languages easily, can fall into the trap of arrogance, and with a language like English, that can prove fatal. Mind you, Ziva was always prone to arrogance – a trait inherited from her father."

"You speak about the Davids as though you know them personally," Tony observed, not coming straight out and asking, leaving it up to the AD whether she answered or not.

"I was one of his rather large harem of conquests. He is a playboy, and Ziva and Tali were but young girls when we had an affair, and they were devastated at his infidelities. They saw me as the scarlet woman who broke their family, but while I regret the affair bitterly, I recognise that if not me, then there would have been some other dark-haired beauty ready to warm his bed." Sighing, she stood up and made ready to depart. "I must go and organise this video conference, plus the return of your gear. Oh, and there are clean towels in the bathroom." And with that she hurried from the tiny apartment.

Several hours later:

Mike and his retrieval team sat around a collapsible table to create a conference setting in the ERS Lear jet. They had voted to return to the plane to strategize and come up with a mission plan, and frankly no one felt comfortable at the Israeli Embassy. Their contact proved not to be a member of Mossad but an ally of the Prime Minister, and the only other person at the Embassy read in on the situation was the Israeli Ambassador himself but they preferred to be on their own turf. So, they'd driven back to their command post and were now doing what they always did before a mission – studying the intel.

Once the Israeli's had coughed up the mercenaries' details and location, plus known intel on modus operandi and individual personality profiles on the kidnappers, between theirs and the data that Steve, Jack, and Jon had pulled together from their own sources, they had a pretty comprehensive idea of how they would respond. Plus, they had maps and blueprints of the location Abby and Ducky were being held and Orli had pulled strings and gotten them spy satellite footage and heat signatures. Three of the four mercs were guarding the perimeter with only one inside with the two hostages, who were alive, but not moving around. Clearly, they were restrained.

Once they studied all the intel available, Mike called for suggestions and/or discussion/questions.

Steve went first. "Well, all our info suggests very strongly that if these guys get a whiff of an attack or rescue mission, then they'll kill the hostages. They're former employees of the rather infamous former Colonel Merton Bell, who as we know was recently killed by the Reynosa Drug Cartel south of the border when he had a falling out with them. Since he hired mainly military types who had received dishonourable discharges from all four branches of the military, generally speaking, his men were ruthless, greedy, and basically without morals or ethics. Basically psychopaths and sociopaths, so they'll have no empathy, only a desire not to be caught.

"The four who have been employed by Eli David are particularly vicious and cruel in addition; hence the need to coordinate our rescue with the team tasked with removing David so he can't warn them or vice versa. The timing is gonna be crucial."

Mike nodded seriously. "Stevie Wonder is right, guys. I know we all kinda knocked it around lately about if there was a way to sort this vendetta crap out once and for all. We agreed that for that to happen, the bastard SOB had to take a long dirt nap, but that with his security issues it would be impossible to pull it off. It needed to be an inside job. The way I see it, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity to free Dino from this crap that was not of his making and rescue his two friends who are also blameless."

Jon frowned. "In my mind, if we go in guns blazing we may as well pick out three coffins, since I don't think that Tony can live with anymore guilt, however misplaced. That just leaves us with infiltration and sneakiness."

Steve grinned. "And we do THAT so well!"

Jack pulled up plans for a previous retrieval mission. "Look at this, guys. Remember when we snatched that Mafiosa cretin, Alphonso Petrocelli when he was hiding out in his uncle's shipping warehouse? We could use that method here too - with some minor modifications. The sheet metal roofing with no ceilings will work in our favour again."

Steve studied the blueprints again. "The exhaust fans will give us access to the interior of the workshop. We can fast rope down and winch 'em back up and out through the roof so they're outta the firing line."

Mike's grin was extremely feral. "Then we invite Messrs. Crowe, Gonzalez, Zadecki, and McCreedy for a little chat and point out the error of their ways to them. I like it. Just one thing, I wish that we had Dino. An extra body would be useful, even just to create a diversion and keep our friends distracted."

"What about Hamish?" Marsh suggested, referring to the ERS company pilot.

"No, he's not trained for this sort of stuff." Mike was firm.

Jack seemed to be debating something before deciding to throw it out there. "I might have a candidate. He worked for Bell as a merc for a short while before he had a falling out with him over a mission that wasn't what he'd been led to believe. He's my contact, although he thought he was talking with a former disgruntled jarhead. Anyway, he's been trying to stir up interest in a rescue mission. Says he owes Gibbs and his team a favour since they saved his life."

The ex-SEAL seemed open to the possibility. "What's his story, Jack?"

"Ex recon Force Marine Corporal Damon Werth was about to be awarded a Silver Star when he was found to be using anabolic steroids. He'd wrongly been diagnosed as PTSD, but suffered a steroid induced psychosis. Attacked Gibbs, Tony, and their team, including David, in a roid rage at Walter Reed."

Steve made a moue, wordlessly expressing his extreme distaste. "Okay, there's no way I'm working with this character. Man's a disgrace to the Corps, I don't care if he was going to receive the Silver Star."

Jack shrugged his shoulders. "He claims that when he was booted out, Gibbs gave him his own Silver Star."

The former SEAL scowled fiercely. "If that factoid is supposed to make me revise my opinion about him or Dino's ex-supervisor, then it didn't work, Carrington. Actually, it did. Gibbs is an even bigger idiot than I thought he was. Had Dino watching his six and threw him away like yesterday's trash and was kowtowing to a steroid junkie? So much for not wasting good. Damned stupid jarhead."

Mike listened to the out-of-the-box suggestion and resultant emotive comments before wading in. "Granted, the man's an arsehole, Stevo, but let's just forget about Gibbs for now. Truthfully, he isn't that relevant right now." Ignoring the or ever from the Swamp-rat.

"And… I get that you Navy and Marine types are kinda like siblings and all, so you feel outraged and betrayed at this Werth character, but his lack of moral fortitude might actually be an asset here. We could use him as a diversion since they all know one another. He could claim to be carrying a message from Eli because he suspects he's being bugged."

Marsh chuckled. "Which is ridgy didge, hey Croc, since the Israelis have a parabolic mic on him, now they've tagged the shitheel. Well, their mercs do anyway… not Mossad officers. I like it. I agree with Steve, though – keep him away from me, but I think using him as a diversion is sound. It means we have a four-man team for the extraction."

"My thoughts exactly," Jack declared. "I'm not defending the guy, but I don't have an objection to exploiting him if it moves us closer to the objective – which is to save Dino's friends. Save them and we save him. Don't know about the Goth scientist, but Dr. Mallard is one cool old guy, and he seemed fond of Dino too. I think we need to keep our eyes on the prize, and if that means getting our hands a bit dirty working with Werth – then so be it. I'll even contact him and liaise between him and the team if necessary, so you can all stay lily-white."

Steve looked abashed. "I'd forgotten that you knew one of the hostages, Jacky-boy. I think you coordinating with him is a sound idea, and without DiNozzo we need the help."

"So, what are our rules of engagement, Boss?" Jon wanted clarification.

"Subdue and detain only, unless you are given no other option, and then try not to kill them. The Israelis don't seem bothered, but we aren't mercenaries. We have to return to the law enforcement community afterwards, so we don't eliminate scumbags unless given no other option. And that reminds me, because of our non-disclosure option, the fewer people who know it was us, the less questions we'll face."

"So, what you're saying is that we're like Superheros – fly in, get the job done, and fly off again. We need costumes, bros," Steve joked. Now that the plan had been finalised, a little relief of the tension was always a good idea, and since Tony usually did that so adroitly, his old school friend stepped up in his wake. "Bags I the red cape, boys."

The others entered into the joke. "Blue… I want the royal blue cape and a cod piece," Jono demanded like a little kid. "And the boots – gotta have the cool calf high boots, too."

"Okay then, I want to be the Green Superhero. Laura-Jean, my high school sweetheart, told me that green was my colour - it brought out my eyes. But not lime-green, it's gotta be emerald green to match my eyes," Jack boasted, fluttering his eyelashes for effect, causing the rest of the guys to engage in jeering and catcalls, plus one wolf whistle from person's unknown.

Steve turned to Mike, who was looking at his team like they all confessed to being two-headed vampires. Since he was yet to reveal his preference for coloured cape and other accoutrements, Steve did it for him.

"Mike is the yellow cape, boys. The yellow that's on the label of that Vegemite crap he insists on eating on toast and looks like axle grease."

Everyone bar Mike pulled expressions of extreme disgust.

"Don't knock it 'til you've tried it. It's what gave us the edge on the sporting field, mate. The Poms have the namby pamby version called Promite. No wonder we beat the pants off them at cricket um usually."

"We've all tried it, Mike. It tastes foul," Marsh protested. "Don't see how you can eat the stuff. Aussies are seriously weird."

"It's an acquired taste… one that we acquire as soon as we can gum our bread as little nippers. And this coming from the nation that eats peanut butter and jelly together. Ack! Or pancakes, whipped butter, bacon, and maple syrup for breakfast. That's a real crime against tastebuds, you galah!"

He took a deep breath before launching into another rant. "And by the way…what's with you lot? Bloody oath, you sound like you're all five years old. Superheros… more like Teletubbies or the Wiggles." Since he was the only father of a young child in the team, this declaration was met with blank looks.

"You're yellow, Croc," Steve insisted.

"I don't wanna be yellow. It makes me look washed out with my blonde hair."

"Tough, you didn't choose, so I did it for you. Croc is yellow."

"Nuh uh, I refuse." Seeing his friend's evil eye he shrugged. "Fine, but I'm not being yellow. I'll be purple, and we're not Teletubbies or Wiggles… we can be Power Rangers," He concluded, much happier with that idea.

Jack decided to have the last word. "And here I was thinking you were wanting to be Dorothy the Dinosaur."

Mike, not to be outdone, volleyed straight back, "Pul- ease…as if. Except yellow ain't my colour, if we're takin' kids' characters, I'd much rather be Bananas in Pyjamas."

Just as he thought he'd trumped them, Steve shot back with, "Oh, yeah, B1 or B2, Mike?"

And promptly started singing the theme song, having been subjected to it for hours on end when over at Mike's house, courtesy of children's DVDs played endless to keep Jannali amused. Feeling pretty pleased with himself, he decided that at least the torture he'd endured at the hands of the fruit wearing sleepwear that looked more like prison garb, had not been in vain. As he sang he was smirking. With a bit of luck, none of them would be able to get the annoying ditty out of their heads.

Bananas in pyjamas are coming down the stairs

Bananas in pyjamas are coming down in pairs

Bananas in pyjamas are chasing teddy-bears

'Cos on Tuesdays they all try to catch them unawares

An Eye for an Eye

Ducky and Abby had worked out that there were four dirtbags holding them prisoners. It had been surprisingly difficult since they wore gloves and ski masks when interacting with them and they were of similar heights and builds. According to Abby, they were muscle bound hulks, and Ducky detected derision rather than admiration from his female companion. Well, the disapproving sniff was rather a giveaway, he concluded wryly. Of course, her taste in male, and as far as he knew, female partners, had always been rather eclectic, but he couldn't remember her going out with a bodybuilding type. Unlike Ziva, who had shown an uncharacteristic flustered countenance, almost succumbing to drooling, over that rather unfortunate, but ripped Marine, who'd caused such angst in Gibbs – Dominic Worth?

Still, eye colour and stray strands of hair and their locomotion were enough to confirm that there were only four of them. ONLY! Too many to deal with, even if he was unrestrained. Perhaps in his younger years he may have been tempted, but not today. No - the best they could hope for in terms of helping themselves was if they managed to break free, they should try to escape. At the moment, that seemed unlikely, although Ducky had an inkling that help may be at hand.

The pizzas that had been delivered earlier were still largely untouched. Just one dirtbag had attacked them, eating several slices before he seemed unaccountably sleepy. To his trained eye, it was the work of narcotics, and he was hoping it was a sign that help was at hand. Whatever it was it, the narcotic was a subtle one. Not your usual Mickey Finn. Perhaps the intent was to slow down the perps rather than have them falling over unconscious.

That way would have made it blatantly obvious that a deliberate attempt had been made, and since there was no way to guarantee that everyone ate the same food at the same time, then a Mickey Finn was highly dangerous. Ducky had conducted an informal psychological profile on the abductors and concluded that these were men incapable of feeling empathy for their prisoners and if threatened, even if it was a low level threat, would cut their losses and run. Meaning that he and Abigail would be killed to ensure that they couldn't be identified.

The fact that it had been such a measured attack did leave him some optimism that those in charge of their rescue were exceedingly smart and prepared to take the softly-softly approach. Which he admitted to himself was surprising, since he assumed that Gibbs would be leading the charge to rescue them - badge or no badge, he would not let that impede him. And to be blunt, the dear boy was not known for his subtlety or his patience. Most curious indeed!

Although Abby and Ducky had been feeling quite peckish, he was rather pleased the boorish behaviour of their gaolers had precluded offering them anything to eat. Should a rescue attempt be launched, he rather suspected they would require all their faculties to help their own cause. Watching the lone gaoler yawning and his eyelids getting heavy, he heard the man curse the carb and fat laden pizza before dozing off. It was a shame the other criminals hadn't partaken yet.

As he sat, watching and waiting, he recalled the long boring hours they spent - presumably waiting for Anthony to be lured in. Both he and Abby were convinced that he would come and that he would give up his life in a second if he thought it would save them. He would do no less for a stranger, but Ducky knew that it would be a fruitless act of bravery. Once they had him, they would kill him and then the hostages too. Even Abby with her thinking positive malarkey had become a little less buoyant when she stated that her Silver Fox would save them. Meanwhile, they'd whiled away the time with desultory conversations about what they would do when they were free and Tony came home.

Abby had been shattered by his analysis of the whole mess which he'd delivered with surgical precision. After all, once upon a time he'd been one of that rarefied and august personages in the medical fraternity – the surgeon known as Mr. Mallard, so it was only natural that his surgical incision upon her attitudes would reflect this too. But she'd been shaken and desperate to make amends for her part in the mess, so he'd let her prattle. It was harmless fantasies and who was he to deprive her of a chance to blather.

And to be honest, he didn't have the heart to explain to her that even if a miracle occurred and they made it out unscathed, the situation with the vendetta was not resolved. Not until Eli David was in a cold storage drawer in a morgue. But realistically, even if that were to happen, he doubted very much that Tony would return to DC. There was nothing there for him but painful memories and betrayal.

When he'd seen him in Indianapolis, he barely recognised him, and it wasn't just the cosmetic changes. There was something broken in the young man that Ducky wasn't sure could be fixed. Perhaps a change of scenery was just what the doctor ordered. He seemed to have found a loyal young companion who seemed genuinely concerned about him, if a little nonplussed, but perhaps that was due to learning the secrets of his friend.

So, he stayed silent, letting the details of Abby's plans wash over him like the gentle waters of a Scottish loch breaking over the rowboat that his father used to take him fishing in, many years before in the highlands. 'A welcome home party, a concert, black roses every week for a month and perhaps the most ludicrous a superhero costume designed by Armani'. Ah well, at least it stopped her brooding.

Suddenly, the almost retired ME became aware of some subtle sounds emanating from the roof and immediately surmised that the game was on. This was it, and in an attempt to cover any noise that the rescuers might inadvertently make and wake up their drowsing gaoler, and also so that Abby would not let the cat out of the bag with her exuberate displays of emotion, he began a discussion. He asked her rather loudly, what type of food and beverages she would serve at a welcome home party. So successful was he that she didn't even notice as a man clad totally in black began a swift descent from the roof, courtesy of a rope and some type of pulley contraption at the back of the workshop. Stealthily, but with absolute menace that reminded him of the lions on the Serengeti plains stalking their dinner, the man stalked his prey. The rescuer was so obviously Special forces trained- perhaps a SEAL, because he took care of the opposition with elegant efficiency. Rendering him unconscious with a choke hold that compressed the man's carotid artery only long enough for him to be rendered harmless and then zip tied hands and feet and bundled into a nearby large toolbox and locked in.

At which point Abby drew breath and heard the zip line zinging as another black clad figure fast roped in.

"Holly Caped Crusader, Ducky. I think that the cavalry has arrived!"

End Notes:

Bananas in Pyjamas theme song