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

19. Chapter 19 Smoke and Mirrors

A/N:Thank you to everyone who is following and faving and a special thanks to everyone who makes the effort to leave a review. It isn't surprising that a few written words can motivate an author so much especially with a story that is this complicated to write without giving too much away and spoiling the ending. Also I need to thank Arress for once again Beta'ing this chapter which is very busy and a megalith again. Thanks guys! And a spoiler warning for the rest of the story - there will be at least one more character death. No, before you ask, Tony doesn't die but for everyone else - all bets are off- well apart from Celestial Dave of course. I had hoped to finish up with this chapter but I have a few twists still to be revealed so it's looking like another one and then the two part epilogue. Enjoy :)

An Eye for an Eye

Chapter 19

Jimmy Palmer: 0800 August 16th 2012

So, here we all are, me and a convent full of nuns. And my tongue won't seem to stop tripping over my lips as I proceed to make a total ass of myself. I apologise for the umpteenth time for missing the bowling match the previous night, and after about the fifth time, Sister Rosita stops telling me that it's not my fault. Instead she nods knowingly.

"You're not one of us are you, Dr. Palmer?" she asks me with a smile. In spite of her being as worried as I am and not really sleeping last night, she still seems remarkably together given the situation. I'm supposed to be comforting her…them…the nuns, but here she is trying to set me at ease. Yet maybe that is a comfort to her?

She'd already told me that many of the nuns had held a vigil through the night, praying that Abby would be found and returned to them, safe and well. Sister Rosita was also relieved to hear that Abby wasn't alone - that Dr. Mallard was with her. Well, that is…not that she was happy he had been abducted, but happy that she at least had support. She hadn't really heard much since they caught one of the scumbags that had tried to abduct Abby. Well, they had abducted her of course, but the scumbag that the bowling nuns caught hadn't - although he had tried, but he failed, if you understand what I mean.

Oh man, I start hanging out with nuns and I turn back into that goofball Autopsy Gremlin who puts his foot in his mouth whenever Gibbs was around. So much so I swear I gave myself tinea back then! What the hell is wrong with me – I'm an ER doctor. I'm used to making split second life and death decisions that save people's lives and here I am, babbling like an imbecile. What I wouldn't give right now for Dr. Mallard to pop up with an etymological monologue about the origin of that phrase.

Remembering that the Sister had asked a question and I haven't answered it as of yet, I had to focus really hard on what it had been. Oh yeah, right.

"No, I'm not Catholic, Sister. Um, ah…not that there's anything wrong with it of course, but I'm just…um not," I finished lamely. Real smooth, Jimmy.

She nodded, not seeming to take offense, which was good, as none had been intended. But she was not done torturing me it would seem; although to an impartial bystander it may appear to be an innocuous conversation with no evil intent. In my hyped up state though, it seemed to be awash with potential landmines in which to be tripped up.

"Exactly how much caffeine did you consume during your shift, Dr. Palmer? You seem more hyperactive and buzzed than Abby," she observed calmly – reaching out to still my hand that had been tapping frenetically and I hadn't even realised it.

"Lots," I admitted. "I lost count."

"Do you normally drink a lot during a shift?"

"No. A cup…maybe two, if it is really busy and I don't have a chance to power nap, if I've been pulling a double shift or haven't had enough sleep. Mostly I drink herb tea or green tea."

"And so last night was a busy one then?" Sister Rosita queried.

"Um…no, actually it was a really slow one. Not enough work to keep us all busy." I see her confusion so I elaborate before she asks. "But I couldn't go to sleep – not even for twenty minutes. In case…" I left unsaid the rest of the thought – that something might happen to my former work mates, my friends if I slept. And I know as a doctor and a man of science that it is a foolish, stupid superstition, and yet with Abby and Dr. Mallard out there, I can't help myself.

"Ah, I see. We weren't much better, either, but perhaps if you get some food into you it might help calm your nerves. None of us have eaten this morning either, so maybe something hot will help you feel better, and then perhaps you can go to bed for a while."

I appreciated her kindness and her matter-of-fact manner and smiled my appreciation. It was, after all, sound advice – advice I would give my own patients.

"Thanks, sounds good. Being diabetic, I need to eat regularly. And bed, I will if you join me." Oh hell, did I just proposition a nun? What was I thinking? Nuns are the Brides of Christ and I just invited one of them to go to bed with me, even if I didn't mean it like that.

Flushing bright red, tomato red, I started babbling again. "Um, ah, I didn't mean join me in bed…in my bed. I meant that you should rest too in your own bed," I clarified to make sure there was no misunderstanding. "Since, ah…you know…you've been up all night too and you're not as young as you…" I pulled myself together, reminding myself that I saved people's lives who were horrendously injured and managed to stay calm while doing it and to 'get a grip'.

"A short nap sounds like a good idea for everyone," I managed. There, was that so hard? I stole a peek at Sister Rosita and she was smirking at me, not outraged or offended. In fact, I thought I detected a wicked glimmer in her eyes, but that can't be right – nuns are supposed to be chaste and pure – above all of the temptations of the flesh. Aren't they?

"Come out to the kitchen and keep me company while I rustle us up some bacon and eggs, Dr. Palmer, and we can chat. And perhaps after we've eaten, you can have a quick look at Sister Patrick for me. She's hypertensive and the stress of Abby's abduction worries me."

I thought about asking her to call me Jimmy, but quickly rejected the idea. I needed the reminder that I was a competent, intelligent medical professional and not the bumbling kid, Jimmy Palmer.

"Sure, I can do that," I promised as she lead me out to a huge kitchen with an industrial sized stove and a long rectory style dining table, even though Abby had explained that the convent was nowhere near filled to capacity, as less younger women were choosing to become nuns. Indeed, many of the newest recruits were actually older women.

I had my medical bag that my proud mother had given me when I graduated medical school in the car and it would give me something to do - to focus on. Hopefully, that would stop me sticking my foot in my mouth so dang much. Instantly I felt more professional and less…well, Autopsy Gremlin awkward, and I was grateful for the Sister's kindness.

"Now, Dr. Palmer," she cajoled while bustling around getting ingredients out of a massive older model industrial sized refrigerator. "How about you tell me about some of your cases last night, while I cook breakfast. I must confess that the television show ER was one of my guilty pleasures. If I hadn't entered the convent, I'm thinking I'd have probably become a nurse, or maybe even a doctor," she confided, winking conspiratorially.

So, I started to tell her about our chronic hypochondriac and we discussed how sad it was that there were so many lonely, desperate people in the world. We agreed that cities could be the loneliest of places, before I began telling her about the young couple who had gotten into trouble in the shower. Halfway into my story, which obviously contained no information that would identify them of course, and only the most general of details, I stopped short- appalled when I realised that I'd been talking to a nun about the Kama Sutra and shower sex.

God damn it, oops, I mean gosh darn it! Oh, I was going to go to Hell for this. I looked up and heard a chuckle. Shocked and confused, I decided I should have never, ever listened to Spence's suggest to come here and offer a comforting presence – this was a really, really bad, poor, flawed, abysmal idea.

"Doctor, I may be a nun, but I do know where babies come from. In fact, I was the eldest of 15 children, so I am fairly well acquainted with the facts of life. Honestly, I think that one of the reasons why I became a nun was so my very strict father would allow me to leave home. As a child, I changed far too many dirty diapers and wiped one too many snotty noses. While I might not have first-hand knowledge, I'm hardly innocent. I hang out with Abby, remember, and she is rather forthcoming about her dating exploits."

Having heard some of Abby's more outrageous relationship activities, I was gobsmacked. I wondered just what Abby had told them…McGee and the coffin? Michael Mawher? Her forays into bondage… surely not! Then I wondered what else she told them – my affair with Michelle Lee? That we had sex in the autopsy suite? Appalled, I started turning bright red again, moaning with embarrassment.

Seemingly unaware of my panic, she slipped a plate of the most wonderful smelling bacon and eggs in front of me and rang a dinner bell to call the other sisters to breakfast. Thankfully, even though I was suddenly famished, I restrained myself, remembering that the nuns would give thanks before eating, since nuns pray…it's what they do, like I heal people. Grateful to have avoided a ginormous religious faux pas, I decided resignedly as I looked at these careworn women, this was going to be a really long day. It might have been a huge mistake my coming here, but I couldn't run out on them… not now I was here.

I was going to hafta pull up my big boy pants and just suck it up. I'd survived a mad Israeli assassin in a cemetery, drug addicts high on meth or PCP in the ER. I can survive a bunch of nuns. I CAN DO THIS.

An Eye for an Eye

15th August 2012 1505:

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

"Abby, hush…" Ducky began to admonish his fellow captive, but it was a bit like trying to plug a hole in a dyke with a sewing needle – woefully inadequate.

"Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs, I knew you'd rescue us. Didn't I tell you, Duckmiester? The silver fox rocks…"

Croc stared at the raving ratbag running off at the mouth and threatening to give the game away. Jack, who had been the first to enter the premises had already almost reached her and Mike spoke softly but furiously into his mic. "Shut that bloody moron up! She's going get everyone killed."

Jack moved in to render unconscious the woman who Mike decided looked like she a refugee from a screening of the Rocky Horror Picture Show meets Laverne and Shirley. What with her fusion of fifties circle skirt, replete with obligatory poodle, bowling jacket, Goth makeup, tatts, chains, and collar, she sure was a sight. Mike realised just in time what Jack intended to do silence her and hissed in his mic.

"No, gag her…want her awake when we take her out."

Nodding to indicate he understood, Jack slapped his gloved hand over her mouth and murmured in a low gruff growl. "Sorry 'bout this Dr. Sciuto, but we can't let you give us away," and reached into one of the pockets of his cargo pants to retrieve a roll of duct tape that he was expecting to use on the mercs not a hostage and in seconds had her gagged.

Ducky stared between the shocked woman and the tall man who had her restrained securely in his arms. "Well, my dear, you brought that on yourself," he scolded gently. "Let these fine fellows do their job!"

Jack grinned. Ducky didn't seem shocked by his actions – in fact, he seemed almost approving.

"Getting you both out of here in a few minutes, Ducky," Jack promised sotte voce. "Hope you have a head for heights?"

"It has been quite a few years now, I fear, and being tied up for so many hours has has left us both rather stiff and with muscle spasms. I did however do rather a lot of rock climbing in my younger days, you know. Had a stab at K2 in my callow youth. And since you referred to me by my nickname, can I surmise that we have met before, young man?"

"Yes, once, outside a hospital, and you were lamenting the uncomfortable chairs hospitals provide for visitors. You helped me medic a friend of ours."

"Yes, that's right, I remember you now. I enjoyed our chat and here you are again. Is our friend here too?"

Jack started herding the elderly ME and Abby towards the back of the building, the pair moving somewhat stiffly even as Mike was moving silently to lock the two doors to the outside, although the metal roller door was problematic. If the hired guns tried to gain entry into the premises, it was most likely they would try coming in through the doors first and they'd have warning. Plus, they had Werth outside to give them the heads up, not to mention Jono and Steve up top. Nonetheless, Mike booby trapped it just to be on the safe side.

Still, the sooner they got the hostages out the better. They were pushing their luck as it was, especially with that idiot sheila carrying on like a five-year-old after too much fairy floss at the Sydney Royal Agricultural Show. Seriously - what was she thinking? Dino reckoned she had a brilliant mind, but Mike couldn't see any evidence of it.

Meanwhile, Jack was organising the hostages to winch them out. "No, Ducky, our mutual friend is out of the country so he asked us to drop by. There are more friends outside."

Jack was busy wrapping safety harnesses around the pair and was a bit bemused by the docility that Abby was displaying. Not that it was extreme in and of itself, but in his experience when people were restrained and gagged they tended to resist or struggle, not become compliant unless terrified, but she was buzzing like the Energiser Bunny. Still, at the moment since she was cooperating he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Okay, Dr. Sciuto, we're going to winch you and Ducky outta here and take you out over the roof, understand?"

The woman who was supposed to be a forensic genius nodded vigorously, her raven pigtails bobbing up and down energetically. Ducky looked a bit excited too.

"Oh my, let's go then. Abby, ladies first," Ducky exclaimed jauntily.

Mike kept one eye on the roller door and the other on the exfiltration of the two hostages. He was glad that Sciuto had calmed down and let them do their jobs. He'd also noticed the extreme change that gagging her had wrought and had a theory or two based on snippets Dino had shared with him. The woman did sleep in a coffin for pity's sake, but her kinks, if any, were really immaterial at this point. As Steve and Jono secured her on the roof and unclipped her, and attached a safety harness to her so she didn't fall off the roof. Jack was already priming Ducky, who was looking rather high-spirited for someone who'd been kidnapped. Dino reckoned he'd been military intelligence and that he wouldn't panic and would help wrangle Abby, if need be.

Steve gave the all clear that they had both hostages safely on the roof top and were moving them to the location they identified previously. It was two buildings over where there were exhaust stacks that could be used to secure safety lines for the two hostages. Plus they were out of the line of fire til after the takedown was over. Once there, Jono was going to stay with them while Steve hauled ass back to the workshop and they set a trap. Damon Werth was talking to his former colleagues and so far they sounded like they didn't suspect him. The thing was though, Mike had learnt a long time ago to always prepare for the worst, and this operation was no different.

Mike hoped that the parallel operation across town was going as smoothly. He knew that Tony was listening in to their op and the moment they had word that David had been taken down and the hostages were clear, they would announce that a press conference would be held in the morning since it was approximately seven hours later in Tel Aviv.

In his ear he heard Steve warn, "Hostages secure, coming down."

Mike noted that Jack moved into position and saw Steve land lightly at the back of the premise, before he too moved to his place worked out earlier. An irreverent thought that the corp de ballet could not have been lighter on their feet flashed through his brain and he tucked that thought away for potential fodder for teasing Wonder at a later date.

Seeing both of his teammates were ready, he sent two clicks over the coms so Werth would know that the first phase of the mission was complete and the second phase could begin. It consisted of luring McCreedy, Zadecki, and Crowe inside the building and securing them and required Werth to pretend to leave, lulling the trio into a false sense of security.

He heard him say over their coms, "Right, going back to give a sit rep to the boss. I'll probably check back here in a few. Want me to pick up pizza or Chinese?"

Heard muffled voices probably explaining they had pizza already and Werth, answering, "Okay, see ya!"

Waiting thirty seconds, since timing was critical, and allowing Werth to look as if he was departing, Mike motioned to Steve who hit the iPad. Jack had done something to the recording to increase the volume so the perps outside would hear it and Jack, Steve, and Mike had slipped protective earplugs in their ears to muffle the sound. Earlier that day, they'd had Ruby Peterson back at the office record a script for them and send it to Jack's laptop. Since Mike's English accent was the best of a bad bunch, they'd gone with him for impersonating Ducky.

They figured between Ruby screaming rape and molestation and Mike yelling for the despicable cad to get off her, it was the easiest way to lure them inside and prevent any innocents getting caught in the crossfires.

~o0o~

Werth was crossing the road towards his truck when the prearranged signal of a female screaming at someone started up.

"Please, please don't do this to me. Get off me, stop it." The voice sounded terrified and a few passers-by looked around trying to figure out where the screaming was coming from.

Werth did a double take and made his way back towards the three mercenaries who at first seemed just as shocked as everyone else and not comprehending where it was coming from.

The woman screaming was followed by a man with an English accent yelling. "Get off her, you despicable cad. You scoundrel you! Wait til I get my hands on you, I'll horsewhip your miserable arse!"

There was more screaming but since both the man and woman were yelling at once, it was difficult to make out what they were saying. The former Marine corporal re-joined the threesome, scowling at them fiercely.

"Is that our merchandise?" He barked.

Zadecki gulped and nodded. "We agreed that before we got rid of them, we'd have a little fun with the woman, but not before DiNozzo showed up. Goth girl is a bitchin' hot piece of ass. Looks like she's inta kinky stuff. Seems like Gonzalez couldn't wait."

Werth snarled at him. "Get in there and control him. Better yet, take McCreedy too. I'll keep watch out here with Crowe. If someone calls the cops the boss will kill us all. Trust me, you don't want to piss him off. It'll be the last thing ya do," he warned his former colleagues.

Watching as the two men raced for the building, their only thought to stop the yelling and screaming that sounded like someone was being attacked, Werth noted they were too off balance to don their ski masks and gloves. Werth reckoned that since they were in a seedier part of DC, it might take a bit longer for the cops to arrive. Still, he expected they'd come within the next five to ten minutes, depending how busy they were and the prioritising of the call by dispatch. Yet given that there were at least a handful of people in the semi industrialised area, he figured that there would be multiple 911 calls, so they might have company sooner.

Waiting approximately ninety seconds, during which time the cacophony of screams and verbal threats continued, Werth watched Evan Crowe become increasingly concerned. Approaching his former colleague, a small vial similar to breath freshener concealed in his hand, the disgraced Marine distracted him with talk where normally he'd just chuck down a flash bang. But these guys who hired him were ultra-discreet and wanted a takedown with minimum fuss or attention. He figured they were like the A-Team, mercenaries who were on the run from the law – but then that didn't track either, since their trap made it a sure bet the cops would come.

Whatever. His job was to take down Crowe, but to do so, as the guy with the accent had ordered, with tact and discretion. Not sure of his accent – sometimes it sounded British, but maybe not. Could be South African, Aussie, or even Kiwi. Didn't know of any Aussie or Kiwi mercs, but a few Brits and one or two from South Africa who were ex Special Forces. And these guys were all Special Forces, although the other three were American. Didn't recognise their handles either. Wonder – seriously – what kinda name was Wonder for a BAMF merc? Third and Swamp Rat weren't a lot better, but he figured Swamp Rat must be an ex SEAL. The leader's handle was even more enigmatic – B2. What the hell did that mean – these guys were just plain weird.

Dismissing thoughts of the team he was hired to work with, he focused on Crowe who was looking extremely worried by now. It was clear he wasn't suspecting an ambush since normally there'd be gunfire or silence, not two people screaming their heads off over a rape attempt. He had to concede it was a pretty clever plan, but then the whole op had been smooth and understated. It had even left him feeling off balance and he had a heads up.

Colonel Merton Bell had been the antithesis of these guys to work for. He wasn't too fussed about collateral damage, as long as he got the target and got paid. Which was why Werth decided to go freelance.

Schooling his features into a cross between pissed off and concerned, Werth got up close to Evan, who of the foursome was the one with least initiative or ability to think outside the box. "What the fuck is going on in there?" he yelled at Crowe. We've gotta shut them up, fast!"

The clueless but obedient Crowe nodded eagerly. "Yeah, c'mon, we…"

Whatever he was going to say remained unsaid as Werth stuck his hand up close to the merc's face and sprayed the knockout spray right into his mouth. Third had explained that it worked quickest if it came in contact with mucous membranes, so via the mouth or nose would be the fastest route, though it would work anywhere it came into contact with skin, it just took a bit longer. That being the case, Werth decided the mouth would be the most convenient access, and he was right – almost immediately Evan had started to sway and go down. Damon grabbed him and wrapped his arm over his shoulders and pulled him towards the door to the workshop.

Halfway there, the one called Third raced out to assist him in bundling Crowe inside. It was only then he realised that the dreadful cacophony had been silenced and two of the mercs, McCreedy and Zadecki, were lying unconscious on the floor, zip tied hands and feet plus gagged. Neat! The one called Wonder was hauling Gonzalez out from inside a massive tool box and B2 was helping him to move the unconscious man over near his teammates.

Meanwhile, Werth and Third swiftly restrained Crowe, and B2 nodded approvingly. Chucking rope at Werth and Wonder, he instructed them to tie two of the mercs to the chairs previously occupied by Abby and Ducky. The other three handcuffed the last two kidnappers to metal pipes before B2 gave them all another dose of the knockout drug to ensure none of them came around prematurely.

The leader looked around and nodded. "Okay, good job, everyone." Looking at Werth he issued instructions. "Give us five, then head out to your truck and bring it round back of the building." He looked at his team. "We go out the same way we came in."

~o0o~

Mike watched as his team climbed the rope one by one. It had gone smooth as silk so far. The hostages were safe – bad dudes contained, and now all they needed was to get out without attracting attention. He'd been a bit worried that the cops would have been here by now, but Dino was confident that what he termed the 'bystander effect' would come into play and work to their advantage, and it looked as if he was right. Apparently, when there was more than one person who witnessed a crime, or in this case heard one, the chances of the cops being called or anyone going to the victim's assistance, dwindled proportionate to the size of the crowd. When people were aware that other people were also aware of the crime, they each assumed someone else would help or call for assistance, and so oftentimes no one bothered calling for help or stepping in.

Mike and the rest of the team, used to the military where everyone was trained to respond, not stand around assuming, were incredulous when Tony explained the phenomenon. But he insisted it had been well researched by social psychologists who'd become interested in the subject after the attack and murder in 1964 of a resident, Kitty Genovese, right outside a residential building where she lived and where people heard the assault, but didn't act, assuming that someone else would.

He'd also explained that since the area the kidnappers had picked was fairly seamy, it would also play into their desire to fly under the radar since many of the people in the vicinity would probably have a natural disinclination to call the cops. Damn it, it looked as if Dino was right. So much for the milk of human kindness or following the Golden Rule. He was so sure that Dino was wrong, he'd made a bet with him.

Should never have forgotten that DiNozzo was a former beat cop. His brother Gus had always maintained that beat cops develop into fair to middling lay psychologists – seems he was right. Now he was going to be stuck paying for their weekly pizza for a damned course, he tried not to think of the likelihood of Dino collecting it if he went back to DC.

As Mike made his own ascent, he gave Werth a thumbs up. "See ya in a few."

On the roof, Steve was waiting and helped haul him up the last eighteen inches. They collected their gear, stuffed it into a backpack and hotfooted it across the roofs to where the others were waiting for them. Mike noted that Dr Sciuto was sans gag and looked at Marsh with a raised eyebrow.

"Z'okay, B2, she's calm now. Gonna behave herself." He directed a gimlet eye in her direction.

"Sorry for going off like that… ah, Mr. B2, but I thought you were my Silver Haired Fox. And I got a bit excited."

"You almost blew the mission with your 'excitement', Doctor," Mike growled.

"Yes, I know. I'm really, really sorry, even though it breaks Rule Number Six, but where's Gibbs? He sent you, right? I mean of course he did. He's Gibbs after all and he knows everything and nothing gets by him. Right." She was babbling again, but at least in a semi-whisper.

"No, he didn't – and I haven't a clue where he is. Now shut up and put this on," he told her firmly as they got Ducky and the Goth scientist ready to rappel down the building.

Jack was going to take Ducky down and Steve had volunteered to take the mouth from the south. Crikey, she could talk up a storm. Did the phrase verbal diarrhoea mean nothing to this woman?

When he saw Werth pulling up in his truck and climbing out, he informed him via the coms that they were bringing Dr. Mallard down and then Dr. Sciuto, and he should help out down below. When Steve gave him the all clear, he and Marsh disappeared over the side of the building after a word of caution. This might be a walk in the park to such seasoned professionals, but now that the mission was over all bar the shouting and adrenaline was returning to pre-mission levels, sometimes the simplest things got you into trouble. Tripping over a piece of furniture or getting too cocky and horsing around were all too likely scenarios that could get you into trouble, and he didn't want to end their op on a bad note.

Hopefully, in the not too distance future (tomorrow or the day after), if the other one had gone to plan, they'd be taking a trip to Israel to escort Dino back to the US. Landing lightly on the ground and divesting himself of equipment, he pulled out a burn phone and called a prearranged number that Orli had provided them with to deliver the catchphrase and report that the mission was successful. Although Mossad were also watching on the state-of-the-art communication equipment they'd provided, he still needed to formally inform them.

An unknown male answered. "Hi, Simon speaking."

Repeating their prearranged script, "Hi, you don't know me, but I'm Danny's friend. Could you please tell him that I walked his dogs for him? They're a lot happier now that they're off the chain."

"I'd be happy to see he gets the message. He can't come to the phone right now. I'll get him to call you later." The call was terminated before Mike had a chance to try and find out about the second operation taking place across town.

"Okay, people, time to hit the road. Dr Mallard, Dr Sciuto – I would be grateful if you couldn't remember too many details about your rescue. But I imagine that you were so scared that you didn't see a whole lot."

Ducky winked at him and nodded. "Quite, my dear boy. I think that I may still be feeling the effects from the rough treatment I received when the villains nabbed me. And Abby, my dear, you were unconscious for quite a number of hours too – not to mention your caffeine withdrawal. I think there were ten men maybe more, but I am getting on in years, retiring in a couple of weeks you know."

Abby looked puzzled. "Why don't you want people to know that you rescued us? I think you're all heroes." She grabbed him in a death gripped. "Thank-you, thank-you, thank-you."

Jack was the next to earn her attention. "Thank-you and call me. Next time I'll supply the gag," she promised as he started coughing violently – either from her come-on or from the force of her hug.

Steve and Jono followed in quick succession and as she hugged Werth, she started grinning lasciviously. "I remember you. You were Ziva's boy toy. You…"

"Dr. Sciuto… to answer your question, those men that held you captive worked for the late Colonel Merton Bell and they are not nice people. So we'd just as soon they not know our identities. When you're questioned by the FBI, feel free to mention our nicknames since they aren't our real ones, and perhaps refer to Werth as Boy Toy or BT. The less the fibbies know, the less gets leaked back to his former mercs – they're nasty types and we were just doing a favour for a good friend."

"A good friend of yours or a good friend of mine," she prodded, inquisitively.

"Both," came the monosyllabic reply.

"But not Gibbs?"

"Not Gibbs," Mike confirmed. "Now, I don't wanna seem rude, but we have to haul ass."

Ducky interjected. "We understand perfectly, don't we, Abby?" She nodded earnestly and Ducky nodded approving. "Well, dear fellows, I must add my own heartfelt thanks to Abby's. I was fairly certain that we weren't going to get out of there alive, even if Anthony had shown up."

Mike decided to level with them. "The perps told Werth that they were going to kill you after DiNozzo gave himself up." He didn't bother to mention about the rest of their plans.

The ME nodded sagely. "Nice to know I read the situation correctly, even if the result was so grisly. Good to know I still have what it takes to profile. Too bad my memory for details does not seem quite as sharp, I can't be sure about anything to do with the men who rescued me."

Jack stepped up and gave Ducky a brief hug. "Take care, Doctor. Mr Werth is going to drop you off at the nearest police station and the FBI will be receiving an anonymous report about the whereabouts of your abductors."

"Thank you, Third. Please give our mutual acquaintance my regards, and try to take care of each other."

"With a little bit of luck, Doctor, you might just get to tell him yourself," Mike teased before hustling the pair into Werth's truck.

Waving them off, he waited til they were out of sight before ditching the ski mask in lieu of a ball cap and mirrored shades, slipping a Hawaiian cotton shirt over the black t-shirt, and stuffing the flak vest into his back pack. Turning to the rest of the team, who were completing their own transformations into equally unidentifiable individuals, he ordered them to spread out and make their own way back to the rental they'd left several blocks away.

Like a well-oiled machine, they slipped away at two-minute intervals, each heading in a different direction and taking their time to make their way back to the dark blue SUV. Just as Mike, who was the last to make the rendezvous, slipped into the back seat, the distant wail of sirens could be heard.

Looking at Steve in the rear-view mirror, Mike grinned. "Get us outta here, Stevie-boy."

"Sure thing, B2. Since tomorrow's Tuesday, guess you'll be pretty damned busy chasing teddy bears," he taunted ignoring his friend's epic eye roll.

"Tomorrow's Sunday, you dumb oaf."

"So it is, my bad."

Jono chimed in. "Guess that means we're off to Tel Aviv, hey, Croc?"

An Eye for an Eye

15th August 2012. 1145

Bryce Trewinsen had been surprised to get a phone call out of the blue from Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Truthfully, for the longest time he feared getting that call, but it never came, and he was pretty darned grateful because he owed Gibbs at least ten life debts if anyone was keeping track – and he knew damned well that Gibbs would have been. Not to mention, he could remember every time the bastard saved his life and where. They'd crossed paths numerous times over the years and in various incarnations – none of them good, and yet they had become friends of a sort.

When Gibbs was doing black ops for the Marines, Bryce was in the British SAS and once or twice they worked together, but oftentimes they bumped into each other, both after the same target and they'd pooled resources. Then years later, when he was working for the CIA or other more clandestine groups, he'd run into him a few times when he was in Europe. He'd been running around with one of Bryce's fellow countrymen, ex-military intelligence, and a hot looking redhead who had him wrapped round her little finger. Well, okay… she had one part of his anatomy wrapped around her hand, but it wasn't his business.

Then he heard the red head had dumped him and Trewinsen didn't see him for a couple of years and by then, Bryce was in Russia. On an op in Moscow, lo and behold, who should he run into but L.J. Gibbs with wife number – well, not sure exactly. The rumour mill was going off, but was not always one hundred percent accurate, except that Mrs. Gibbs – Stephanie, was a redhead too.

Apparently, they weren't just his preference, but also his beta noire, since he went through them like most people change their cars, but aside from that, the point was that they both shared certain interests. Both professionally and socially, and he'd even introduced Gibbs to a young CIA agent, G. Callen, who spoke the lingo like a native and was scarily good undercover. They'd managed to get into some serious scrapes over there on several occasions - he'd racked up even more favours, and Bryce figured if Jethro ever called in his markers, it'd be a doozy.

And he was right. He called him in the middle of the friggin' night, wanting him to arrange for someone to commune with the worms – which wasn't in itself that big of a deal. He was after all in the worm industry. No, it was more the 'who' that he wanted offed, to put it bluntly. He wanted Eli David, Director of Mossad, dead, and normally Bryce wouldn't touch that with a forty foot barge pole, as his dear departed granny used to say – not EVEN for Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

He was one of the most difficult targets since the man not only had bitter enemies amongst Israel's enemies, but many of his compatriots wouldn't shed a tear if his blood was spilt either. Therefore, he had protection that couldn't be believed. Plenty had tried, but no one had come even close.

The problem for Trewinsen wasn't a question of morality, but merely one of pragmatism, since he recognised that the man was a megalomaniac with a God complex. Bryce was no fool – he knew all about David's obsessive need to avenge his daughter's death, which had inevitably put him on a collision course with Gibbs. The problem with taking him out had always been that he was too heavily protected in his own territory and he didn't travel outside of Israel.

That is until now.

His Israeli contacts had offered him a generous recompense for arranging for the Mossad director to converse with the earthworms and the magic intel that convinced him to accept the contract. Eli David had slipped into the country on a false passport and without his protective detail. Unfortunately, after entering the States, Mossad lost track of him.

When Gibbs called him, he was in New York trying to track down his movements after entering the US at JFK in New York, and having minimal success, too. Gibbs called him to cash in his chips, and as luck would have it, dropped the bombshell that he knew the Mossad director's location. He'd already been contracted out to find and dispatch him as a favour for an old flame who was now Associate Director of Mossad and had the backing of the Prime Minister in wanting to oust David, so he would have to refuse Gibbs, which was a shame, because now he owed him even more for the intel into David's locale.

The pieces were all beginning to fall into place, which was an exceptionally good omen as far as Trewinsen was concerned, and it appeared that Eli David's time was rapidly running out. He had too many enemies in the government and had tried to rule through fear, intimidation, and blackmail – now his adversaries had banded together and decided enough was enough. While Bryce raced back to DC, chartering a helicopter to fly him since he didn't want to wait for a domestic flight, he called in some associates to check out the intel Gibbs had supplied. If it was confirmed, he'd ordered them to stick to him like glue if he so much as poked his nose outside of Vance's home.

Ninety minutes later, confirmation received and Orli notified, he was now authorised to take him out ASAP, but the specific brief was it had to look like a random killing, not the assassination of the director of Mossad. He also had to get a nondisclosure agreement signed by Gibbs, Vance, and Vance's wife, since they all knew that he was in the country, not David Steiner or whoever the bloody hell fake name he's used to enter the country. If this was a sanctioned Mossad hit, Trewinsen figured they must have wiped his fingerprints and DNA from the databases. Smart, but he wondered how they would deal with his sudden disappearance – not his problem he decided.

Bryce settled down in the cheap motel room to plan how he was going to take out his target and make it look like accidental killing. His own trusted protégé was now keeping watch, and Orli had modified his orders, informing him that they had another team on David, trying to locate some hostages he'd abducted. Seems that he'd been a very naughty boy and had Gibbs' ex-team, including Bryce's old mate Ducky, snatched by a freelance team of mercs to lure DiNozzo out of hiding – no wonder Gibbs was out for blood.

The second crew recruited by Orli's faction – also freelance, were monitoring his calls and tracking down the location of the crew David hired to grab the hostages. Until they had that critical piece of intel, he couldn't make a move against Eli, and Bryce deduced that they were going to attempt to free the hostages as well. Noble but tricky!

Plus, it was getting rather crowded, hard to move without tripping over freelancers

In coming up with a plan, he'd opted to doing his planning back at their home base, such as it was. Just once, Trewinsen would like to stay in a decent suite at a swanky hotel while he was on the job, but he knew that would be stupid. People noticed you in places like that and they talked if questioned. In a seedy cesspit such as this dive of a motel, everyone had chronic myopia and Swiss cheese memories, since they all had secrets of their own that they didn't want people (cops) prying into.

Grimacing as he took a sip of the garbage that they passed off a tea leaves in a bag, but actually tasted like dirty week-old gym socks, he decided to try the powdered crap impersonating hot chocolate instead. Fair warning! Never come between an English assassin and a halfway decent cup of char when he's a long way from home, if you valued your existence. He'd never been able to understand the American obsession with coffee, although he heard that the latest generation of Brits had been seduced by the bean. Bah… it just wasn't cricket!

Cautiously taking a sip of the over processed hot chocolate, he sighed. It was only marginally better than the tea, but somehow much less offensive to his sensibilities. Once this contract was fulfilled, he'd book into a nice, civilised hotel and order a properly brewed pot of tea and make sure it was served in a fine bone china tea cup, but for now he'd make do with the chocolate. Trewinsen pulled out a tablet and studied Google Maps to get an overview of the director's current location. If possible, it would be infinitely easier to do it in the quiet residential neighbourhood where Vance lived. There were less people wandering past, getting underfoot.

His preference was for something simple like a home invasion gone wrong or perhaps outside the house, a mugging by a drug addict that went pear shaped. His young apprentice, Costa Andreas, with his dark Mediterranean appearance, who could easily pass for Middle Eastern if the need arose, was adept at playing gangbangers and the like, so they had their bases covered. They even had several guns that had been used in drug or gang related slayings to choose from to add verisimilitude to a drug related or gang scenario. Bryce had long ago learnt that keeping it simple usually was the best policy, and saw no reason to change horses now. If he got a choice, he would prefer the home invasion scenario since the threat to innocent passers-by was minimal and less chance for witnesses, but he felt satisfied that either setup was eminently workable, given their brief.

Having a protégé gave him more flexibility as Andreas was young enough to pull off the drug addict setup, since Bryce himself was getting rather long in the tooth to make that look work for him. And while he was a predator par excellence when it came to running to ground a quarry in an urban setting, Costa could chase a target in the great outdoors better than anyone else Trewinsen had ever encountered – even Gibbs. While his associate appeared Greek, he was actually second generation Canadian – from Quebec – and was a former Mountie, hence the superb tracking skills.

They'd encountered each other hunting down a terrorist who Trewinsen had been contracted by the Americans to take out – he'd also been responsible for killing Costa's fiancée in a bombing attack when she was attending a conference in Spain. Andreas had become obsessed with taking out terrorists, and Bryce, who had never before worked with a partner, decided that Costa's skill set complemented his own perfectly, and together they would be unstoppable. Besides, it was rather nice to have someone to pass on his years of training and experience to since he knew at some point he was going to retire, whether he wanted to or not.

Chuckling as he recalled Costa's indignant phone call informing him about the other freelance team outside former director Leon Vance's house, he told him they weren't there competing for their kill. Even after he explained their role, Costa hadn't been impressed – retorting that they could have gotten the intel – there was no need to bring in more people. Bryce put it down to youth and too much testosterone. He was a specialist, an artiste – not some general dogsbody, Jack of all trades. There was a reason why he was one of the best at what he did and everyone wanted to hire him. It was because he did one thing and did it better than everyone else.

His dear old Granny Burton had given him a lot of valuable advice when he was a boy, but perhaps the most priceless had been to find something he was good at, something he really enjoyed doing, and stick to that. Of course, he was pretty sure his granny had been talking about playing the violin, building bridges, or being a doctor, but it was still damned good advice and he'd followed it faithfully. Costa just needed a few more miles under his belt to understand that in this game, specialisation set the great ones apart from the mediocre and the merely competent.

After grabbing a shower, he dressed quickly in cheap clothing that were nondescript and dark in colour – blacks, charcoals, and deep navy blues being the favoured colours when working. He'd figured out long ago that all black was too noticeable and, well, just a little bit cliché, and cliché was pathetic, so he always wore a combination of dark colours to avoid notice.

A quick call to Elbaz established that the second team had a possible location that they needed to verify, and that hopefully he would have the green light to proceed within a few hours. Things were definitely looking like they were going to break soon and he was pleased.

Bryce was a patient hunter, sometimes waiting weeks for the best chance rather than the first chance. It was yet another aspect that set him above most of his contemporaries. He might not be the quickest, but he also had the least amount of misses. Still, in this particular instance, his instincts were screaming that they didn't have time to wait – it needed to be done while Eli was unsuspecting, so the sooner the better. And he wasn't going to hang round indefinitely.

Pulling out his phone, he called Gibbs to tell him that plans were underway and that he and the Vances would need to sign nondisclosure agreements. He didn't think it would be an issue for Jethro, but he knew from his contacts with both the Israelis and the CIA that Leon Vance was Eli's lackey, had been virtually from his first ill-fated mission. If he tried to cause trouble with his clients, Vance would have cause to regret it – well, briefly.

An Eye for an Eye

Over the next hour or so, things really began to heat up. Orli received verification about the location of Ducky and Abby. She had already been provided with intel on the team that Eli was using, and it wasn't good news. They were a particularly nasty crew of mercenaries, and it was obvious to all that neither they nor Eli intended that the two forensic scientists would make it out alive – as she'd told Tony. Yet he seemed optimistic that his team would have a reasonable shot at getting them out.

She'd assumed, wrongly, that they were a high-powered team specialising in hostage retrieval in high-risk situations. Many rich and powerful people chose not to turn to the authorities when a loved one or a valued employee was kidnapped and a huge ransom demanded. Especially if it involved terrorists, as governments usually refused to negotiate or pay ransoms, so increasing numbers of ex-special forces personnel were moving into the market as the threat increased and abductions rose. Terrorists saw it as a legitimate way of funding their activities, and relatives were always prepared to pay money to get loved ones back, even if the chances were slim to none that the terrorists would release the hostages alive.

So, the associate director was surprised when she learnt about the team from ERS. They were, as Anthony had claimed, the best at what they did – retrieving fugitives from justice – usually the most dangerous, powerful, and rich, which frequently added up to a whole lot of protection. Plus, they retrieved their targets alive and very much resisting, which added a whole new degree of difficulty and danger to the equation. She had to say that their retrieval record was impressive, and four of the five-member team were ready to go. The brother of the proprietor, August Kaderson, a former Australian cop, was currently unavailable, her sources said he'd flown into Heathrow last week.

Even without him, Orli had to admit that they were impressive. Having studied their credentials, she had to admit that they might just have a spirit of a chance of pulling it off. Having worked on a couple of missions where Mossad had retrieved former war criminals, she felt a degree of solidarity with this group. They were all honourable men – their separations from the armed forces had been amicable, unlike the vast majority of mercenaries, and their military records were exemplary. She really hoped they would prevail.

Now it was a question of coordinating the timing of everything – the raid to free the hostages, the press conference with the Director of Mossad embracing Anthony DiNozzo, and the termination of Eli, who had become a thorn in everyone's side. There was going to be a collective sigh of relief around the globe, one of truly seismic proportions if they managed to bring this off successfully – well, there would be if people knew the full truth, which was of course impossible.

She closed her eyes to rest for a few minutes, weary beyond belief. She'd just finished briefing the Prime Minister's aide who was keeping his boss in the loop, and hopefully in a few short hours it would all be over. Of course, Benjamin Goldblum still had to continue with the charade for another few more months – possibly longer unless a crisis developed that they could then use to their advantage, to get rid of their director sooner.

Naturally, they would in the meantime use the opportunity to weed out Eli's supporters and protégés, since it would be stupid to let people such as Ilan Bodnar, who was David's man, take over the directorship. They would be purged so that Mossad was finally free of the taint of David and his minions. It would be relatively simple to provide incriminating evidence against them, but for now they would continue to think that everything was normal.

Just a few more hours and "Operation Enema" would be au fait a compli, or as the squeamish politicians preferred to call it, Operation Colonic Irrigation. Bah, politicians! As the English would say 'call a shovel a shovel.'

An Eye for and Eye

1300

Gibbs was getting pissed off with all the yabba yabba, and he wondered when they'd start braiding each other's hair, holding hands, and singing 'Kum Ba Ya'. He wanted to be out searching for Duck and Abby, and for the first time in a long time, he really regretted turning in his badge. They'd checked out one site in Norfolk near the docks, but it had been a bust, and they were back having yet another gabfest when his phone rang again. Looking at the caller ID, expecting it to be Jackie Vance, he saw it was a number withheld, so he answered the call and made his way outside the FBI conference room.

"Gibbs."

"Ah, Jethro, I just wanted to get back to you about your annoying squirrel in the roof problem. I'm going to be putting baits out since it's probably rabid, but I'm afraid that your neighbour made me a better offer. Seems that they tried to raise it from a youngster and when he matured, he turned feral and attacked them. So, you see, they're keen to remedy their mistake."

Jethro recognised that it was Bryce Trewinsen calling and he was telling him that someone else wanted Eli dead. He snorted – deciding it would be a freakin' long list, but reading between the lines, it sounded as if it was his own people. That was a surprise!

"S'fine. As long as it's gone. It can't stay."

"You know me… one hundred percent money back guarantee. I do require you to sign a confidentiality clause."

Gibbs was surprised. "That really necessary? I know you already have more work than you can handle. Lotta squirrels. Won't hand your number out."

"Oh, I know that, Jethro, but your neighbours are insisting. They don't want to be embarrassed by publicity that they were bested by a rodent with a nasty disposition. You must understand, they're professional animal trainers and negative publicity would be extremely damaging for business. They're prepared to go to great lengths to ensure this remains confidential." He paused. "I assured them you'd understand."

Gibbs shrugged. Sounded like it was Mossad that was about to authorise the removal of their feral director and he got what Bryce was saying. Their usual method of ensuring confidentiality if crossed involved sleeping six feet under. Since he called Trewinsen wanting the same service, he was hardly likely to get all moralistic about a rabid squirrel.

"You're right. Not an issue. But my friend and her husband know too."

"Mutual acquaintances, Gibbs. They'll understand the importance of confidentiality to my client once it's properly explained to them. Perhaps you can have a word to your friend - clarify things."

Jethro thought about the fact that Jackie approached him, deciding she probably wouldn't prove too difficult, although perhaps she had just intended that he scare the shit out of Eli. Still, if Mossad was intent on cleaning house, she was savvy enough to know that it was time to play deaf and dumb. Her priority was always going to be protecting her cubs. Leon was another story.

"I'm sure she'll be sympathetic, but her husband isn't the sympathetic type."

"Well, I'm sure he can be persuaded. Look, I have to go. Just wanted to call and assure you that this will be dealt with very soon. Oh, and I do hope that you'll remember me to our good doctor friend. I hope that he comes back soon. Perhaps we can get together then and share a bottle of Glenfiddich."

Jethro sighed and hung up abruptly without fond farewells, as was his custom. Hell, I hope so too, Bryce.

Making his way back inside he muttered under his breath as some suit was yammering on some computer thingy that he didn't follow but that McGee looked fascinated by, even if the bottom line was they had nothing. Another demand for DiNozzo to surrender himself had been phoned in to the NCIS switchboard and the geeks were currently outlining everything they had done to analyse the data. But all it amounted to was a big fat load of nothing that wouldn't lead them to where the forensic scientists were being held hostage and Gibbs was getting ready to pull out his gun and shoot someone.

Then he remembered that without a badge, the fibbies wouldn't let him carry in their building. Ex Gunnery Sergeant and ex Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs had faced the ignominy of surrendering his gun to some pimply faced college graduate that had a badge proclaiming his status as a special agent. Gave him an appreciation of how Mike Franks must have felt when he came back to NCIS after he retired. Still, Gibbs didn't need his gun to blow off steam – it was therapeutic but not essential. A computer monitor picked up and thrown across the conference room would work too or flipping a particularly aggravating geek over his shoulder was pretty satisfying as well.

~o0o~

1530:

After a break for several hours while they chased down another lead, which didn't pan out, they were back in that damned conference room for another yabba-fest, but it didn't last long. He wished he still had his badge… still had his team. There'd be less of the campfire crap – Tobias was too damned soft - and more insisting that people find answers; yelling, head slaps, threats in general, and highly specific ones about future employment prospects. Plus, playing team members off against each other worked wonders. This sharing crap had gotten them nowhere and he was fast running out of what little patience he had in the first place. Why weren't they coming up with a lead – useless bunch of brain-dead suits.

He was almost grateful to be disrupted by another phone call. One that temporarily derailed their search for Ducky and Abby when Fornell's junior agent, Bridie Reilly, received a text from a contact. One that totally threw Gibbs for a loop – actually, it also shocked everyone, and of course affected the case, not that they realised it initially. When Bridie's cell phone chirped and she read the text message and left the room, Gibb presumed it was to make a call. She returned a few minutes later and spoke softly to her boss. Tobias listened, impatiently at first, but he finally gaped at her before shrugging and turning back to address everyone.

"Sorry for the interruption people, but a source has contacted us about another situation. There's a press conference that I've been advised I need to see."

Gibbs, who was pretty frantic by now, growled, and people flinched. "Does this have anything to do with the kidnapping of Mallard and Sciuto, Tobias?"

"No… yes... maybe, Gibbs. To be honest, I don't know. It's our Israeli friends… to be more accurate, Director David of Mossad. Got a tipoff that this has something to do with DiNotzo."

Gibbs scowl lessened as his jaw dropped. What was David doing calling a press conference. Jackie Vance had said he was here secretly, although she didn't know why. Gibbs wasn't entirely convinced that he didn't have something to do with the abduction. Why would he call press a conference; it didn't make sense. It made even less sense when the commentator in the studio announced they were crossing live to Tel Aviv. Well, that had to be wrong!

ZNN, the 24-hour news channel, cut from the newsroom studio to a press conference that was supposedly in Israel, and there was Eli David, along with various other individuals, obviously belonging to Mossad, and one that definitely didn't. He was tall with shoulder-length gold-blonde hair, and had green-blue eyes. Gibbs sniffed mockingly. He was sure that females would swoon over this guy – looking across at Agent Reilly, he saw he was right. She couldn't take her eyes off him – her mouth open catching flies.

What the hell was it with women and guys with long hair anyway? His second ex, Rebecca, used to drool over that meathead guy that ran around in leather skirts and had long hair playing Hercules - Kevin Sorto… or something. Plus, Diane had a real thing for the guy with flowing locks in another TV show – a western about a woman saw bones. He thought long hair on a man looked plain stupid; give him high and tight any day.

He also had a weird feeling he knew this guy from somewhere, but he couldn't get past the pretty boy surfer appearance. He looked at McGee who had a similar 'I know that guy from somewhere' look, and glanced at Fornell who had also had a puzzled look on his face. Was he a dirtbag, maybe an actor? – he wasn't ex-military! Reilly, though, made the ID.

"Oh my God! What's Agent DiNozzo doing in Tel Aviv and with Eli David?" she practically squealed.

"DiNotzo? Are you kidding?"

"Pretty certain, Sir. Course, he looks different – a lot different, but I'd recognise those eyes and his mouth anywhere. I'll get Lenny to run facial recognition software, Sir, but I'll bet my life on it." She got straight on her phone and sent an email.

Gibbs admitted that once she had mentioned it, the guy did look a little bit like his senior field agent, but then again, he didn't. Okay, so he couldn't get past the hair or the whole blonde surfer look, which made for a fairly effective disguise, he admitted, but it was more than that. There was a desolation, a sense of loss that was so not DiNozzo's brash and cocky attitude. There were no masks, and this guy seemed world weary, beaten down by life. The DiNozzo he'd worked with was resilient, unsquashable; knock him over and he bounced back up again, thanking you and begging for more.

Nope, he was positive that the guy on the television wasn't Tony, so it was a complete kick in the guts when Eli David introduced him to the media as Anthony DiNozzo - a former US federal agent and a co-worker of his daughter. The others that knew him personally all looked just as shocked as Gibbs, all except for Agent Reilly, and he wondered why.

It wasn't 'til later, much later, that Gibbs was able to figure it out. Reilly first met him in the hospital after Ziva had attempted to kill him and he'd shot and killed her, not knowing who attacked him. He'd been in shock. It was also after that whole FUBAR with Rivkin and the SecNav ordering him to obey Leon Vance, and Gibbs, who never followed anyone's rules but his own, suddenly started following the director's lead, and he'd let him throw DiNozzo to the dogs.

Tony got screwed by his superiors, screwed by Eli David, and screwed by his partner when she attacked him in Israel and held a gun to his chest and thigh, coming close to shooting him then. He'd taken blow after blow – it wasn't that surprising that he was so broken. Then there was the whole stupidity in his hospital room, when Jethro had his head so far up his ass he could see his own tonsils, and he told Fornell he should have chosen Ziva over Tony. Told him the only reason he didn't was because she gave him an ultimatum and DiNozzo didn't.

Turned out Tony was awake and had heard him. Then if you added three and a half years on the run from Eli and Rivkin, hiding from his team and every damned federal agency since he thought he was a danger to his team… to his family, it made sense he was broken.

Some small part of him always thought that there'd been a touch of the drama queen about DiNozzo fleeing DC – perhaps an unconscious wish to hurt Gibbs like he'd hurt his SFA, but he'd pushed that attitude aside and tried to find him to fix what he'd broken. When Gibbs heard that Abbs and Duck had been taken and that Eli was in DC, he'd reached the conclusion that DiNozzo's fears hadn't been that farfetched after all. But then when it looked as if that dirtbag James Wilkerson was to blame, he didn't know what to think, although Gibbs didn't like coincidences. Especially since the creep hadn't been heard of in over a decade.

Right now, however, sans the benefit of hindsight, he was completely thrown by Eli seemingly being in two places at once. It didn't make sense, or the assurance from Bryce that he was going to be taken care of because if he was in Israel, that was going to be impossible. Yet he'd never known Trewinsen to make mistakes, and there was also the request by Mossad requiring him to sign a nondisclosure agreement. It was all incredibly contradictory and downright confusing, but what threw him even more was the wild card of DiNozzo turning up in Tel Aviv. If that was where he was – and if it really was him. Gibbs still had doubts. Big doubts!

How in the hell could he have gotten out of the country undetected? His passport was flagged for every mode of departure. He must have somehow hopped over the border into Mexico or Canada, he supposed. But damn it, he shouldn't have been able to get away with it – someone wasn't doing their job!

As Gibbs focused on the content of David's statement, he suddenly got an inkling of what was going on, but he couldn't accept it. As Abby would say, there was something very hinky going on.

"…My beloved daughter, Zivala, was distraught – insane with grief over the death of her lover, Officer Michael Rivkin, who resisted arrest when Anthony DiNozzo tried to take him into custody for questioning related to the death of a United States federal agent. Unfortunately, Officer Rivkin was extremely intoxicated, and it was later revealed that he had a problem with alcohol he'd managed to conceal, and which my daughter as his handler also failed to report to her superiors. He attacked former Agent DiNozzo who was then given no alternative but to defend himself.

"Tragically, Officer Rivkin was killed, but Agent DiNozzo was subsequently cleared of blame by both Mossad and his own agency. Sadly, Officer David, my beautiful daughter, was so crazy with grief that she blamed her partner, Anthony DiNozzo, for killing her lover – convincing herself he was jealous and desirous of a romantic relationship with her. She attacked him when he escorted Officer Rivkin's body back home to Israel as a mark of respect – pulling a gun on him, even though he was injured, and threatened to shoot him."

He turned to Anthony DiNozzo, or whoever he was, and directed his remarks:

"I knew this… knew that my daughter was struggling with her emotions, but I didn't order her to remain here. As a father I knew she needed to grieve… to attend his funeral, but a petty argument caused me to not stop her from returning to the US, where she was serving as Mossad's Liaison at the Naval Criminal Investigative Service. In her grief, in her anger, she decided to exact revenge on you, trying to kill you in your bed in the dark of night.

"Instead, she was killed, and for my stubborn pride, I lost my sole surviving child, my heir – my beloved daughter I was grooming to replace me. I failed her as I failed you, Anthony DiNozzo, who was doing your job investigating the death of a fellow agent. Forced you to kill my daughter… your partner. A man who had no evil intent in trying to take Officer Rivkin into custody, especially when you consider Officer Rivkin had already been ordered to leave the US on numerous occasions by the authorities, yet stubbornly refused to do so."

Director David turned back and redirected his remarks to the camera. His mien earnest and sincere as politician.

"The tragic situation did not end there, regrettably. Officer Michael Rivkin's brother, ex-Officer Samuel Rivkin, decided that Anthony DiNozzo must pay with his life for having to kill Michael. And so it was that he began a three-year unsanctioned campaign to hunt him down, resulting in Samuel killing one federal agent protecting Anthony DiNozzo, who lay wounded in hospital. He also started a gun battle in a cemetery, wounding another of DiNozzo's former colleagues, and shooting at several of his former team members, resulting in being killed by the FBI."

He stared straight into the camera gravely, and Gibbs had to give him kudos for being able to maintain a straight face while he lied through his teeth.

"Revenge is a most destructive emotion, it eats away at a person's soul and makes them do terrible things. I denounce the intention and subsequent behaviour of my daughter and Samuel Rivkin, while acknowledging that they were full of grief and anger they should never have acted upon. It ultimately ended up costing both of them their lives, caused untold pain and anguish to Anthony DiNozzo, who was forced to go into hiding for more than three years, not to mention the effect it had on countless other lives also. It left the family of Special Agent Ronald Sacks without a father and husband, and I apologise to them for my failure to act.

"I am standing here today beside this courageous individual, who approached me, attempting to end this terrible cycle of violence once and for all. Revenge is not and can never be justice, so we must strive not to be seduced by its lure. Once we succumb to it, then all our reasoning, our morals are abandoned for bestiality and mindless violence. I am here to denounce vengeance and embrace the man who killed my daughter and my officer in defence of his life and country.

"He acted as would any one of us here who felt that their life was imminent danger. He is a good man; I know he has saved countless lives over the course of his career. So I promise, if anyone else tries to exact a vendetta upon Anthony DiNozzo for the deaths of my daughter or Michael Rivkin, that they will call down upon their heads the full wrath of myself and my agency. This madness stops right here, right now."

Then to the astonishment of everyone in the FBI conference room, who if they knew DiNozzo personally or not, certainly knew about his case, Tony walked across the screen his hand outstretched and open. He wore a broad smile across his face, even if Gibbs knew it was a patently false one, and shook Eli's hand, before the Mossad director pulled him into a full body hug and kissed his cheeks. Jethro thought he'd throw up, and that's when he knew it was a set up and it was DiNozzo's doppelganger and not his agent. Forget the freakin' long hair - there was no way the real Tony DiNozzo would shake Eli David's hand, let alone embrace the bastard. Not after everything the SOB had done.

He watched as they both left the stage together, bosom buddies, and the telecast returned to the studio for a journalistic post mortem, favoured by those dedicated news channels when a big story broke. The talkfest consisted of a mixed bag of commentators and former federal civil servants from the State Department or the Diplomatic Corp who'd spent time in Israel, plus a few journos who'd achieved faux Statesman-like status, even a former CIA spook who claimed to have worked closely with the David family.

Fornell muted the sound as he regarded those gathered, since most, if not all, had also been involved with the hunt for Tony and Samuel Rivkin at some point during the last three plus years. The room was silent at first, but then everyone began speaking all at once as pandemonium broke out, and Bridie Reilly slipped out of the room unobtrusively. Finally when order was slowly returning and the group realised that they were in fact an elite group of law enforcement not a rowdy bunch of rabble rousers, Fornell appealed to Gibbs.

"What the hell is DiNotzo up to, Jethro?"

"That's not DiNozzo, Fornell. Do you think he would trust Eli as far as he can kick him? He would never shake that monster's hand. I'd…" He was about to say he'd stake his life on it, but Agent Reilly had returned and interrupted him.

"Excuse me, Agent Gibbs…um, I mean Sir," she stumbled, not sure how to refer to him now he wasn't a fed. She looked over at Fornell before proceeding.

"But Latimer in the lab has just confirmed, based on facial recognition software that it is indeed Anthony DiNozzo. And they confirmed that the press conference did take place in Tel Aviv," she announced to the room in general before they all started up again, trying to talk over the top of each other.

He noticed the three profilers were in a huddle, speaking animatedly, and he recalled Fornell had sought them out when Tony had first disappeared. He wondered what they made of it all. He was wondering if this wasn't some bizarre nightmare that he might wake up from soon. It felt surreal enough.

So chaos reigned and Gibbs had no way of knowing it yet, but it was about to get a whole lot worse. The train to Crazy Town they were currently riding on was about to speed on up, passing by Crazy Town and Bedlam Station at full tilt no stops and ploughing straight on, out of control 'til they reached their destination – Anarchy Here We Come. And the ride was going to be a rough one.

What the hell was going on? Just barely ninety minutes before, he'd been talking to Trewinson and he'd assured him that he was going to take care of Eli David today. Since the guy was in the US, he didn't see as how that was possible. Who was fooling who here and what was DiNozzo thinking? Had the three years on the run finally sent him over the edge? He sure looked like he was crazy with that long blonde streaked hair.

An Eye for an Eye

Tel Aviv 2245

As Tony and Eli's double exited the room at Mossad HQ used for the press conference, they were whisked away from any prying eyes. Tony longed to have another long hot shower since he was feeling grubby even embracing Eli's double. Oh, he knew it was necessary, but that didn't mean he had to like it. He felt like he sold out, but if it was going to end this mess and safeguard his friends and former colleagues, not to mention his ERS family, then it would all be worth it. Still, he was going to be spending lots of quality time in the shower for a good long while.

As they were being hustled along to a briefing room, the Associate Director shot him a look that told him not to ask questions. He took the hint – that there were still many of Director David's flunkies in place and they must be cautious. So he allowed his thoughts to wander.

He wondered what he'd do when this was all over – Orli said he was free to go home after the lunch with Eli and the Deputy Prime Minister tomorrow. He honestly had no idea what to do. After all, when he came to Israel he expected that Ziva's father would kill him, so he hadn't made any long-term plans. Now it seemed he could have his old life back again and not have to worry about it causing anyone else's death. He had to admit that he would be hugely relieved and eternally grateful if that happened, but the real question was – did he want his old life back?

Oh sure, there were parts of it he did. It would be nice to be able to go out and about, not have to worry that an assassin was hunting him down. It sure would be nice to not have to pretend to be someone else for a change, but honestly, he wasn't exactly sure who the real Anthony DiNozzo was after three years under cover. And it wasn't as if he'd ever felt comfortable enough to be himself… really himself, back there either.

Maybe he had, just for a short while when it was just him and Gibbs together running cases, but then it all changed when Gibbs brought in Cate… Gibbs changed – went from being his partner, senior partner but a partner nonetheless, to being his impossible to please boss who only saw his screw-ups. Most importantly, he didn't think he could go just back to DC and pick up the pieces of who and what he was when he left. He'd been too shattered when he left – too many assaults on his psyche from too many directions, for too long for it to be feasible – even if that was what he wanted. Was it though?

Maybe if he hadn't hooked up with Mike and his team and just drifted around aimlessly, trying to stay out of sight, going back to DC might be much more appealing. It would be something tangible, and that would beat having to start again somewhere fresh. After all, that had always been at the heart of his inability to pick up and move on, despite plenty of provocation from NCIS and Gibbs' team. His team too – at least it had been for a few months there - which had made it even harder to leave, especially when he didn't have anything to go to.

Plus, he'd always fooled himself that the team was more than work mates; that they were a family – one tied not by blood and genes, but forged through shared goals to serve and protect. One that spilt blood together and had common pain that bonded them collectively to make them kin. But that assumption had been wrong - it just took him a while to realise it. Okay, it took him eons to see it – blind fool that he was.

Or perhaps he had been right all along and they really were a family, it's just he was the unwanted step-child that didn't fit in. He'd always been the odd one out for most of his life – an afterthought and inconvenience to his parents, the hero of the football and basketball teams at college until he hurt his knee, then of no further use and politely but firmly outcast from his teams. He'd become an uncomfortable reminder of what could happen to anyone else on the team, therefore unwanted. He'd really thought that he'd found a place to call home at NCIS, but Mike's team had turned that assumption on its head and he knew that family – whether they shared genes or not - was so much more than what he'd had in DC.

Sure, there were good and bad parts to his life there – even the worst of times wasn't all bad, but the bad times definitely outweighed any of the good, especially true the longer he stayed. His eighth year had been mostly bad: Jenny's death and being sent away as agent afloat, Michelle's betrayal and death, Gibbs' deception over the whole Domino fiasco when he told Abby but not him. Ducky and Gibbs labelling him a narcissist and Gibbs telling Abby that for Christmas he needed an attitude adjustment. Gibbs' unremitting anger at him for La Grenouille and Jenny's death, Renny Grant's innocence, culminating with the whole Ziva and Rivkin FUBAR and what followed.

There'd also been precious little to rejoice about – a few bright spots. Namely the toothpick letting him stay and Abby's hug when he came home from the Sea Hawk. Gibbs telling him (in private) that he was proud of the way he was cleaning up his mess, but it wasn't nearly enough. He could see that now.

Perhaps he could only see it because he got a life and found a family to return to. One where there would be humps that would need to be smoothed over, he had no doubts, but that was okay because no one at ERS made him feel like an unwanted encumbrance or a joke. He knew Mike would whoop his ass for running off on his own, but he also knew he understood and would forgive him – not use it to keep reminding him of how much of a screw up he was or a disappointment.

As Orli opened the door into the conference room, Tony was quietly confident that he'd reached a decision about his future and was looking forward to heading home. As long as they'd have him that is, but he was pretty sure of their response. He couldn't wait to see Jimmy, Ducky, and Abby. Even McGee, although he wasn't sure that his former probie would want to see him. After all, until Tony killed Rivkin, McGee was determined to be in Director Vance's chair one day, and with Leon as a mentor, he had every chance of achieving his ambition. He'd like to see Gibbs too, but figured the former Marine wouldn't want to be reminded of yet another daughter's death.

The boss had ruthlessly pushed aside any ties he'd had to people who knew of his life with his family – that was the real reason he had tried so hard to keep them away from Maddie Tyler. She was a part of a past that he wanted to stay well and truly buried, and if they had gotten to know her, then the past would have blurred with his present. So, while Tony couldn't undo killing Ziva or the decision Gibbs had made to keep him and cut her loose, he could ensure Gibbs wasn't constantly reminded of it. Another reason he couldn't go back and live in DC – he owed Gibbs that much.

Taking their seats around the conference table, Tony turned to Orli. "Okay, the press conference was scheduled for the morning. Why did we suddenly move it forward to 2200 hours? The plan was to go from the press conference straight to the restaurant for lunch, to create a photo opportunity for the press."

The Associate Director nodded. "That is correct, however there was a… how do you say? A snapu?"

"It's SNAFU, but I knew what you meant. What went wrong? There wasn't a problem with the hostages or the retrieval team was there?" he enquired anxiously. He'd watch the op to free Abby and Ducky via the video link and audio via the team comms up to the point when Abs was hugging the stuffing out of Mike and shocking Jack. Then Orli dragged him off to prepare for the press statement, and as far as he knew, ERS had wrapped it up smoothly and without so much as a hangnail – well, for the white hats at least. He hadn't been able to speak to them because he'd been hustled into the press conference with very little warning.

"No, Anthony; that was not the emergency. They are both fine, as is the team. Their execution of the exfiltration was flawless and professional. You were right to recruit them – I wish that they would consider working for us on a more permanent basis, but be that as it might, the two hostages are being debriefed at a local police station right now. The mercenary who replaced Mr. Croc's brother on the team dropped them off. I'm sure that notifications, if they haven't occurred already, will soon be made. Our problem was elsewhere."

Tony was bemused. What could have prompted the moving forward of the press conference between himself and the so-called 'Eli David?' The real monster was dead, of this he was sure, or Orli and her faction would never tip their hand by trotting him and David's double out that way. That was called shooting yourself in the foot, and he was almost 100 percent certain that Orli wouldn't do it, nor would her backers permit it, since they were playing such a high stakes game of poker. So, what had gone wrong?

Looking uncomfortable, she explained coyly, "There was a problem with administering the enema."

Okay, now he was confused. "It didn't get administered?" he huffed. What the hell was going on and why was she beating around the bush? More to the point, why was he?

"Oh, yes, it did. But there was a complication. Leon Vance decided to intercede and, well… he stepped into the path."

Wow! Tony hadn't seen that coming. The assassin was supposed to be the best in the biz. The plan had been either a mugging or a carjacking gone wrong as the secondary backup plan if Eli moved before 'they' were ready to take him down. If he remained holed up in Vance's house, then a home invasion by drug addicts gone wrong was the primary plan. As the group didn't want Eli's face to be recognisable by anyone, he was supposed to be taken out via several gunshots to the face. Mossad had already switched his fingerprints and DNA data with the fake Eli's and set up the real ones with the false identity he had been using – David Steiner.

With Leon's death, it was pretty certain that since Leon was a former director of NCIS, that if the home invasion scenario didn't fly with the LEOs, then they'd theorized that Leon had been the target rather than some insignificant businessman wanting to hire him for his computer and security expertise. After all, it wasn't as if Vance hadn't made plenty of enemies in the years he'd worked for NCIS – foreign and domestic. His death was actually advantageous to the plan.

"Why did he try to play the hero? He had a wife and two little kids – what was he thinking?"

Orli shook her head, saddened that Eli had caused yet another life to be lost. "It seems that during his first mission at NIS, Eli saved Leon Vance's life. It was supposed to be a suicide mission, and for some reason, Eli stepped outside of the brief and decided to take Vance, who was blue as they come, under his wing and protected him. Vance owed him his life and Eli owned him."

Tony's eyes widened in surprise before scrunching tightly as he considered.

"Ziva saved Jenny Shepard's life and then Gibbs' too when she killed Ari. Add it that Leon's life being saved by Eli, and it seems less like a bunch of coincidences and more like a deliberate pattern," he commented.

"True. The first one… that was definitely an accident. I do not think it was planned, but I do believe that Eli was quick to see the ramifications – especially as he applied some subtle influence over the years to help Vance's rise through the ranks, especially the directorship. I think that he passed on to Ziva his experience on the great benefit of having someone owe you their life.

"I believe both events involving Ziva were stage managed to allow her to gain Jenny Shepard's trust, as Mossad had identified her as a high flier, and Gibbs, so he would allow her on his team, and that they'd both owe her, large time. I agree that three such identical situations defy probability, and knowing just how Machiavellian the David family has always been, I am sure this was a deliberate ploy that started accidently." Orli seemed far away as she pondered the past before refocusing and banishing the ghosts she'd be contemplating.

"So, you see, Anthony, Leon had deep loyalties to Eli, and he must have seen a way to try to repay his debt. Our operatives' report that he was trying to get Eli to revoke the obligation to him as it was destroying his marriage, but Eli was not in a charity mood."

Tony automatically edited Orli's English mentally but didn't correct her. It wasn't his place anymore. He didn't know exactly what to feel about Leon Vance becoming collateral damage in Operation Enema. Hell, he didn't know what to feel about Eli David, but it hadn't been his idea, and whether he approved or not, the faction that Orli belonged to had set the ball in play long before he turned up and gave them a home court advantage. Their agendas might coincide, but he was in no doubt that there was something else in it for her, probably a promotion of several grades.

Mostly at this point, he just felt numb inside; he did feel bad for Mrs. Vance and Leon's kids. It wasn't their fault their father had been an ultra-ambitious bastard and owed powerful people favours. He wished that everything was solvable with calm, logic, and dialogue, but revenge was one of the most primitive of motivations and not easily tamed by reason. An excellent reason why it should be banished to the farthest depths of the human psyche in any civilised individual. Otherwise, taken to extremes, one found oneself in just this tragic circumstance where 'collateral damage', to use an ugly euphemism, was a given.

He could only hope that the subterfuge would put an end to it once and for all, and that Eli and Leon Vance would be the last to die. He prayed that no more innocents - like the Vance kids - would have to pay for the rest of their lives. The price for revenge was always too damned high.

~o0o~

1630 Hoover Building DC;

Jethro's head was still spinning out of control. What in hell was DiNozzo doing? He must know that he couldn't trust Eli David – he was no fool. It made no sense.

And for that matter, what was Eli David up to? Where was he? Had Jackie made a mistake? So many damned questions and no way to find the answers.

He was on the point of calling Bryce Trewinson and demanding a sit rep when the bastard called him.

"Gibbs."

"Can you talk, Jethro?"

"Sortta."

"Well, get someplace private where you can, man," the former CIA operative ordered him, tersely. "I have news."

Gibbs decided to head on outside, which took several minutes, but like a sniper, Bryce was a patient man.

"Okay, I can talk to ya now," he informed him.

"Good! That problem that you requested that I deal with has been taken care of. Unfortunately, there was an unforseen situation. The squirrel he'd been spending time with took the bait too. I'm afraid he was also taken care of, if you catch my drift?" Bryce sounded sombre. "I'm sorry, Jethro, I know he was a friend, and it wasn't my client's intentions, either. They were very distraught at the news, but the good thing is that the rabid squirrel won't be disturbing you again."

Gibbs didn't know what to think or if he should believe his old buddy. He was telling him that Eli David was dead and so was Leon Vance, which had not been his plan. But he'd just seen David at a press conference in Israel, so what the hell was going on?

"Are you absolutely sure, Bryce? I just saw him on television."

"Ah, you caught that, did you? Those wildlife reality shows are entertaining, but to answer your question, my friend, yes, I am certain. Oh, and by the way, we need to meet in a while and get those nondisclosure agreements signed and I can fill you in completely. But on a much happier note, I heard a rumour that Ducky and your lab rat where freed by a bunch of super heroes a little while ago. I understand that they were taken to the nearest police station, and after debriefing, should be contacting you to pick them up."

"How sure of this intel are you?"

"Very sure, my old friend. It's solid gold, as you Yanks say."

"Did you have something to do with this Bryce?" Gibbs enquired, hardly daring to believe that he was telling him the truth. Who could have freed them and why?

"No, but my friends had an indirect hand in it. I'll explain later over a scotch. Oh, and Jethro, while I gave you a heads up on the other, you can't let on that you know. Word will be coming in soon enough, but remember that until the police inform you about it, it must remain between the two of us. Let the authorities break the news to your house guest. I must go, but I will see you later this evening." He paused, his voice full of remorse.

"Once again, I am deeply sorry, but it really was unavoidable. Oh, and a word of advice. Do not believe everything that you see on the television, my friend."

Trewinson did a Gibbs and hung up on him before Gibbs could demand more info, but then again, his phone call was plenty full of bombshells. If he was to be believed then Eli David was dead, Leon Vance had gotten in the way and he was killed accidentally, and finally, someone that Trewinson was dealing with – Mossad presumably, had heard that Ducky and Abby had been rescued before the Fibbies, who were investigating the abduction. And that implied that they had a hand in the rescue, and that Eli had been involved in it after all.

The question is, did he believe that Trewinson was right and that Eli was dead when he'd seen him with his own eyes, alive and well on the television? But what had his assassin friend said- 'don't believe everything you see on the television'. Did that mean that the whole thing had been faked? But how? The Fibbie geek had confirmed that it was DiNozzo and the telecast was coming from Israel, so how?

And then it hit him. What a stupid fool he was. How had David snuck into the US without alerting anyone back home? He'd been convinced that DiNozzo was a fake since he couldn't believe Tony would shake the monster's hand, let alone hug the murderous bastard. And he'd used doubles for their own sting operation to flush out Samuel Rivkin at the Indianapolis cemetery, so why not Eli? It was an age old ploy by those in positions of power to have lookalikes. As a military history buff, he could quote chapter and verse about the amount of times doppelgangers had been used to confuse or deceive the enemy, so why wouldn't Eli 'Machiavellian' David have one too? It made perfect sense.

The press conference did too. If he was appearing on Israeli television, then they were going to cover up his death, and they'd used his doppelgänger to not only cover up his death, but to make sure that his vendetta also died with him. DiNozzo must have been read in on the plan and convinced to participate. But… how did the Israelis know where he was when no one could find him, and how did they manage to get him over there so quickly. Hopefully, Trewinson would know the answers tonight, but he had to give the Israelis credit – it was a brilliant tactical move to take him out and do it so that no one would know.

He returned to the Hoover building, having to go through the rigmarole of signing back in and being searched, and on any other day, it would bug the shit out of him, but today he barely noticed the inconvenience or the time it took. He couldn't wrap his mind around all the intel and the implications it would have. Damn it – poor Jackie. What a mess, but then on the plus side, hopefully Ducky and Abby should be calling soon. Finally cleared by the FBI security, he made his way swiftly to the conference room – his emotions in turmoil.

He wondered when DiNozzo would come home. Maybe soon, this nightmare would all be over.