It only took me three months, but I've returned yet again. My most sincere apologies for taking so long this time, but take some heart this time. I've been very consistent recently in my writing, meaning in how often I write and what I work on. Still working on consistent word counts, but it's been really, really flowing for more than a month now. I am very encouraged by my recent tear, and hope that translates into more frequent updates on this! Of course, I've said that before, so no promises.

Okay, long paragraph over.

Thank you, all who reviewed, or favorited, or followed since I last updated. Rest assured, while I am not replying to guest reviewers on this story (there are many, and I want to keep my author's notes on this short), I read all of them and take them into account. So thanks again.

Disclaimer: The TV show NCIS belongs to CBS.

"Repeat that for me, Gibbs."

"Ziva's in DC."

There was several long moments of silence. Then, Vance said, "Holy hell."

That wasn't far from what Gibbs himself was thinking. "I need you to ask a favor from the Metro CP."

"I'll get you access to every camera you need." Gibbs sometimes found it uncanny how Vance could anticipate requests. Uncanny, but helpful. Most of the time. "But keep this quiet."

"Press could open this up."

"And if Ziva's here without telling us, there must be a damn good reason."

"Tony needs to know."

"On that, we disagree. DiNozzo's got more than enough on his plate."

"I said he needs to know, not that he needs to know now. Nothing to say at this point."

"Get back here when you're finished with the scene. I'm splitting your team."

Gibbs' eye twitched. "Why?"

"Keep that eye in place, Gibbs; this is out of necessity. You're now handling three cases. You need reinforcements."

"Understood."

"And, Gibbs: I mean it about DiNozzo."

"I'm not in the habit of distracting someone while their life is threatened."

Vance hummed. "Make it fast, Gibbs. You've got a lot of ground to cover." The line went dead.

Gibbs lowered the phone from his ear as Bishop walked up to him, Ducky and Palmer right next to her with the gurney carrying the last body from the hired guns. "Where to next, Boss? Diana Woods' house?"

"Metro?" McGee added. Gibbs could tell he was anxious to start looking for Ziva.

"Nope," Gibbs said. "Navy Yard. Director needs to talk."

McGee nodded. Gibbs saw how he forced that anxiety to the side. Mark of a good Agent. "Okay. You driving?"

"Yes. Let's go."

The Squadroom was louder than usual when Gibbs stepped off the elevator with his team. Or, it seemed louder. Might be the headache Gibbs felt coming on. He needed coffee.

He climbed the stairs to the second floor, Bishop and McGee behind him. This concerned them as much as it did him.

"This feel weird to you?" Bishop asked. Gibbs knew from the volume of her voice she was asking Tim.

"What feels weird?" Asked McGee.

"Picking up new Agents for the team."

"Nope."

"Not even a little?" Her voice was casual, but Gibbs' gut said she was actually surprised.

"Not really. Why, you think it's strange?"

"It's just… I don't know. Doesn't feel right, adding new team members."

"We're all NCIS Agents. Working with people outside the Team is bound to happen."

"Yes, but not as closely as this. I'm so used to you, Tony, Gibbs—not anyone else. After you work with someone for so long, it doesn't seem right to work with someone else in the same way."

Just wait until you've been in NCIS Agent for 25 years, Gibbs thought. Franks, Dobbs, Blackadder, Jackson, Kate, Ziva, Tony. A small fraction of the Agents who he had worked under, worked with, or supervised. A lot of them were gone, now.

Gibbs reached the second floor and went to the Director's Office. Vance was standing in front of his desk when Gibbs marched through the assistant's office and opened Vance's door. Two NCIS Agents were standing next to the meeting table. One man, one woman. Gibbs recognized the woman immediately: Alexandra Quinn, of FLETC.

He gave her a nod when he entered the room. "Quinn."

"Gibbs," she returned, not unpleasantly. "Have you aged since we last saw each other in person?"

"Plenty. More bullet holes, too."

"Agents Gibbs, McGee, Bishop—thanks for knocking," Vance said. Gibbs just barely caught the dry tone in his voice. "Say hi to Agents Alexandra Quinn and Nicholas Torres. I've assigned them to your team until further notice."

Gibbs looked back to Quinn. "You're back in field work?"

She nodded. "Felt it was time."

He stepped to the side, letting McGee and Bishop catch up to Quinn, and approached the man named Torres. He had an anxious air to him. Eyes that smiled at you while at the same time searching for your darkest secrets. Gibbs knew the type. Deep cover operative. Until recently, at least.

"Still going by someone else's name?" It was better to be blunt than kind with Agents of this type. Gibbs knew. He'd been one.

Torres' easy expression didn't change, but Gibbs saw his eyes reassessing. "You, too?"

"Once. Before your time."

Torres nodded. It was a half respectful, half amused gesture. "I believe that."

Gibbs just stared at the younger man. Always, the young poked fun at the old, but the old knew things the young didn't. This was especially true in law enforcement and military personnel. There would be a time—and, Gibbs' gut said, soon—when Torres found the strength of his youth couldn't solve a problem he encountered.

Gibbs would be there when that happened, to teach him what he'd done wrong. Just as he'd been there when it happened to Tony, McGee, Kate, Ziva, Bishop. Just as Franks had been there for him, and a dozen other men Gibbs had known during his Marine days. Teaching. Such was the nature of old.

He needed coffee.

"Special Agent Timothy McGee," Tim said, walking up to Gibbs' side and offering a hand. "Good to meet you."

"Nick Torres." Torres took the offered hand, offering one of his easy smiles. Gibbs saw it still wasn't fully genuine. Old habits.

He turned back to Vance. "Can we get back to work, Director?"

"They can," Vance said, sitting back down in his chair. "Stay a moment, will you, Gibbs?"

Gibbs caught the look in Vance's eyes. The subtle hint of urgency. Whatever he needed to say was important. Very important.

He looked to his team, both old and new members. "McGee, Quinn—Bullpen. Review anything we can from Metro."

"They have old evidence related to a case?" Quinn asked.

Gibbs added to McGee, "And fill her in."

"On it, Boss," McGee said, then turned to Quinn. "Shall we?"

As they left the room, Gibbs looked at Bishop and Torres. "Diana Woods' house."

"On it." Bishop walked away, Torres following. They shut the door behind them.

Gibbs turned to Vance. He said nothing. Just stared. Waiting.

Vance pressed the hidden control at his desk. Gibbs kept staring as blinds folded down over the window, the door sealed and locked, and the electronic signal scrambler activated, leaving the room isolated and secure.

"Well?" Gibbs asked.

"We need to discuss DiNozzo," Vance said.

"Evac?"

"Yes."

"Explains the security."

"I don't like how our last attempt feels."

Gibbs didn't either. The report said it was a faulty part, but that felt too… Easy. There was something more sinister there. More dangerous. He felt it in his gut. "You have a plan?"

"You're not going to like it."

Gibbs waited.

Vance leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "We split them up."

He was right: Gibbs didn't like it. His eye twitched.

"Don't give me that look." Vance sat up straight again, folding his arms on his lap. His debate posture. "You know the hand we've been dealt."

"There are still other options."

"None of which increase the odds of success."

"Tali's been split from her family once already, Director."

"Only this would be temporary."

"You can't know that." They both knew the attack on the Ritz-Carlton wasn't random. They both knew at least Levi was hunting DiNozzo. They both felt the accident with the C-130 carrying he and his family was no accident.

Rule #39.

Vance nodded once. A simple motion, accompanied by a faint sigh. "You're right on that, I can't know, and that's the worst part. Makes the chair feel like a stone. But no matter how I feel, we still need to make sure DiNozzo reaches us safely. That flash drive he found might be the key to all of this."

The Marine in Gibbs saw the tactical reasoning in Vance's mind. The father in him hated it. "Land, sea, or air?"

"Air," Vance said. "Just so happens, there are a two companies of… Advisers coming home from Iraq. Their C-130s are due to land at the same base as DiNozzo."

"Stop-and-go?"

"Yes. SECNAV has already reassigned three to get the DiNozzos Stateside, and there's a medical team that will take care of DiNozzo Senior."

"Security?"

"Six planes in total. Three loaded, three empty. Six Agents from the local office. One to accompany each VIP, and three to go in the decoy planes. No official cargo or passenger manifests. Same departure time and flight routes to DC."

"Fuel?"

"The Air Force has a half dozen fuel tankers on standby."

Gibbs sighed quietly, thinking. Vance's plan was sound, but there were a lot of moving parts. Gibbs never liked complicated. "DiNozzo won't like this."

"Then you give your own approval?"

Gibbs nodded.

Vance returned it. "I'll keep you updated on the convoy's status."

Gibbs took the subtle dismissal, and moved to the door. He needed coffee.

Then he needed to find Ziva.

"It's okay, Tali," Tony said, keeping a smile on his face for his daughter's benefit.

Tali didn't see the smile. She was too busy hiding in his chest. Away from the NCIS Agents. Away from the sound of the runway.

Away from the gurney holding the comatose Senior.

Damnit, Dad, he thought. I need you here. "You're gonna be just fine, Sweetie."

Tali quietly spoke in Hebrew. He didn't catch the word, but he knew the tone. Fear. Fear of being separated. His heart ached.

"You don't need to be scared. See, look." Tony turned Tali around to look at the NCIS Agent assigned to her plane, a middle-aged woman with dark hair and equally dark, friendly eyes. Morgan. A mother of three and twenty-year NCIS vet. She had a calming presence. "Ms. Morgan will take great care of you while I can't."

Tali turned again and reburied herself.

He vowed, at that moment, to punch Vance for this.

Of all the times to split them up, this was as bad as it got. Tali was vulnerable right now. Fragile. Terrified. She needed him. She needed Senior. She needed safety and familiarity. She needed her mother.

How did she arrive at NCIS that day, so calm and happy?

"Sir."

Tony looked up as one of the Agents spoke to him. "Yes?"

"The pilots just called in," the Agent said, returning a phone to his pocket. He was one of the decoy Agents, going with a decoy plane. "We just three minutes to showtime."

Not long enough.

Tony pulled away from Tali, placing his hands on his daughter's cheeks. He could feel they were a little damp. "Sweetie. I want you to know something, okay?"

Tali said nothing, attempting to bury herself again.

"Not yet. Look at me for a bit."

She did.

"Tali—I want you to know that I love you. I may not have been around much before, but I love you. More than anything else. And I want you to know that it's all going to be okay. We'll be apart, but we'll be okay."

At that, Tali whimpered, and he felt an overwhelming urge to hold her close.

Tony forced it aside and took out the stuffed animal in his jacket pocket. "And it's gonna be okay, because Gibbs is going to watch you for me. I want you to keep him close, always, alright?"

For the first time that day, Tali smiled. A very, very small one—so small Tony nearly missed it. It still warmed his heart.

He brought her close and hugged her. "That's my girl."

The C-130s arrived shortly after. The first one landed and rolled to a stop in front and head of them. The team tending Senior ran forward, disappearing inside. The plane took off shortly after. Then the second plane landed and took up the spot the last one had occupied. It took off after taking on the decoy Agent. Then the third plane landed.

Time to go.

Tony gave Tali one more squeeze. "You have to go with Ms. Morgan, now."

"No."

The one word crushed Tony's existence. But he had to be firm. "Go, Tali. You have to." He pushed her back, kissing her forehead, and Morgan took her hand. "You'll be okay. I love you. Keep Gibbs close."

Tali cried, and he hated himself for helping bring those tears, but she didn't try to break from Morgan and go back to him. Stronger than she should be at her age.

Then, they were gone. Tony was alone again. Just like he'd been most of his life.

Two planes later, he was riding in a C-130 for the second time that day.

Hopefully, this flight would go better.

Autopsy smelled of blood and disinfectant.

Ducky and Palmer were working on one of the hitmen from the alley, the other two on the other examination tables. Gibbs walked in just as Ducky was telling Palmer about an old case before Palmer's time. "Talk to me, Duck."

"Ah, Jethro," Ducky said. "I was just telling Mr. Palmer about young Corporal Alexander Bartholomew Alexopoulos."

"One mouthful of a name," Palmer said.

"Attempted a contact killing," Gibbs said. "Shot in an alley in January of '98. Didn't expect his mark to defend themselves."

"Very good, Jethro," said Ducky. He looked back to Palmer. "What struck me most about that case was not what happened that night, but how it happened. You see, Mr. Palmer, Corporal Alexopoulos fired his issued service weapon eight times in that alley, but did not hit his intended target even once. On the other side, the man he was to kill that night fired thrice, hit thrice, and any one of them would have proven fatal within seconds."

"A complete reversal of how things should have gone," Palmer said. "Well, not that the intended victim should have died, but you know—"

Gibbs gave Palmer a look, and Palmer cut off his own sentence. Then Gibbs looked to Ducky. "The case. Whadda got?"

"Not much you don't already know, I'm afraid." Ducky said. "All three victims were in good health until this morning. Cause of death was gunshot. We pulled nine slugs from this young man here." Ducky glanced down at the body between he and Palmer. Gibbs recognized it as the one slumped face-first into the alley wall. "One of those slugs ruptured his heart. Death was very quick."

Gibbs nodded at the other bodies. "And those two?"

"Any one of the the three rounds they took would have proved fatal. Considering who fired them, I am not surprised."

Gibbs was surprised the two in their chests didn't overlap. But there was something else there that bothered him. The Marine was still alive, his weapon had been fired, and there was a blood trail leading further into the alley that they'd lost after a few drops. That could only mean he'd managed to fight back, hit Ziva. She needed medical attention, and the longer she was out there, the worse she would get. He needed to find her.

One thing at a time, he told himself. "You ID any of them?"

"We took some blood samples not long ago," Palmer said. "Abby has them now."

Gibbs turned and moved back to the elevator. "Tell me if you find something else."

"I wasn't done."

Gibbs paused, turning back. He looked at Ducky expectantly.

Ducky moved to one of the other bodies, the one with the beard, and picked up a magnifying glass. "Do you recall, Jethro, the details of Corporal Alexopoulos' case?"

Gibbs stepped over to Ducky, standing at the head of the examination table. "He was branded."

"Yes. The wound was self-inflicted. A simple circle on the inside of his upper arm. You and Mike Franks determined the Corporal wished to recruit his friends into the business of death, using his brand as a sort of marker—a signature." He looked up and held out the magnifying glass. "He was not the only one who sought such a thing."

Gibbs leaned down to look through the magnifying glass. There, just below the left collarbone, was a small burn mark. It was a pair of thin vertical lines, less than a sixteenth of an inch long and a quarter that wide. Without the magnifying glass, it was very difficult to see.

"Not much of an ID," Gibbs said. "Meant to be subtle."

"Well, I can't stipulate on intention, Jethro. All I can say is that burn is highly unusual. Very small, yet it caused enough tissue damage to leave a permanent mark."

"A brand, like Alexopoulos."

"It most certainly appears so. However, I leave final determination to you."

"They have them, too?" Gibbs nodded to the other bodies.

"No. Mr. Palmer and I checked over the others when we noticed the burn. It seems only he has one." Ducky pointed down at the body next to them. "It appears the burn was of his own design."

"Abby working on it?"

"We gave her a picture along with the blood samples."

That was all Gibbs needed. He turned and left autopsy. This time, Ducky didn't stop him.

He entered the elevator and pressed the button for the ground floor.

He needed a Caf Pow.

Abby was staring at the computer when Gibbs entered her lab, Caf Pow in hand. This would make her seventh of the day. Half the Record. When she turned to him, he saw something in her eyes that set him on edge.

Sadness.

This couldn't be good.

"Whadda got?" He asked.

"Ziva."

He gave her a look.

Abby gestured to the screen. "Major Mass Spec was running blood and bullets you found at the scene, Gibbs. Most of of them match our dead guys in the alley, but there was one sample you found that wasn't from any of them…"

"Ziva."

Abby nodded, her eyes subdued. "One of the bullets the Marine fired had her blood on it. A couple samples you got from the ground also matched. She's hurt, Gibbs. She's hurt bad."

Gunshots were never minor wounds. "Our shooters have names?"

Anger flashed in Abby's eyes for the briefest moment, only to fade just as quickly. Gibbs understood; Abby was worried, and she thought he wasn't caring enough. She brought up headshots of all three bodies down in autopsy. "None of our dead guys have DNA in the system," she said, voice blank. "At least, not DNA that identifies them. I did find that each of them have left DNA at crime scenes in the past. Unsolved robberies, murders, kidnappings."

"Mercenary work."

"Right. The particularly bad kind. This guy here especially." She enlarged the picture of the shooter with the burn mark—the one with the beard. "He's had his hair found at five murder scenes, each time where the victim was found double-tapped to the chest and once in the head with a 9mm. None of those cases went anywhere."

"He was a pro."

"Yes, but that just makes me mad, Gibbs! How do we have so many people in the world that get good at murdering people? No one should be good at that!"

Gibbs looked back at her. He saw that same anger in her eyes, but it was directed at someone else. The shooters down in autopsy. The murderous men and women they dealt with everyday. He always found it amazing Abby still had the ability to expect the best from people.

He hated seeing her faith in good so infrequently well-placed.

Gibbs stepped closer, looking down into her furious eyes. "Abbs… She's gonna be okay."

Abby held her anger for several long seconds. Then she broke. She moved in, wrapping her arms around him, lowering her head to rest it on his shoulder. Like a child seeking comfort from a parent.

His heart ached at how much the action reminded him of Kelly.

"I'm just so scared for her, Gibbs," Abby said quietly. "She's out there, somewhere. All alone. Hurt. Afraid. People are after her! What if they find her first? How could we face DiNozzo if we don't get to her in time? How can we face the mirror if we don't?"

"Abbs…"

"We lost her once already. We're so close to getting her back, and just as close to losing her all over again. I don't want to do another funeral."

"Abby." Gibbs placed a hand on her shoulder and took a small step back, creating a few inches of space between them. Then he looked into her eyes. "We're going to find her." The Marine in him hated promising something he couldn't be sure of.

The father in him was adamant he was going to make it happen.

"But what if we're too late?"

"Then we make sure whoever's responsible never has a chance of getting away."

Abby reached in for another hug, then quickly broke away. "Thanks, Gibbs."

He held out the Caf Pow. "Burn mark?"

At that, a corner of Abby smiled. She took the Caf Pow and took a long sip, her other hand working on the keyboard. "It's a brand, just like Ducky thought. A very tiny one. Probably made from a homemade branding iron. My bet's on a coil form a toaster."

"Abbs."

The photos from autopsy went away. In their place was a single, group photo. A college fraternity.

The shooter down in autopsy was in the middle, first row.

"You found him?" Gibbs walked around her station and stepped up to the screen on the wall, studying. The man looked much younger than he had been at the time of his death, but the resemblance was impossible to dismiss.

"Yes. Turns out, in the mid 90's, a college fraternity made headlines when a police investigation uncovered evidence that they were branding their new members with a pair of vertical lines. They were ordered to abandon the practice or be forced apart. But not before our guy got the burn of honor."

She brought up a more recent image. A driver's license. The shooter's.

"Say hello to Caine Saunders, Gibbs. One of our bad guys."

Gibbs stared at the license. Caine was smiling when the picture had been taken, showing his mouth full of straight white teeth. Even in photo form, Gibbs still saw the darkness in his eyes. "Get anything else on him?"

"Unmarried, no kids, no girlfriend, if his social media accounts can be believed. Works as a freelance photographer. Easy explanation for why he's been to LA, New York, Seattle, Chicago, Austin, and DC in the last few months."

"Traveling for contract killings."

"Probably."

"You get an address?"

Abby hit a single key on her keyboard. An address appeared on screen. "Yes. Yes I did."

"Send it to McGee." He started for the elevator.

Abby made a sound of protest. "Hey, hey, hey! Forgetting something?"

Gibbs walked back, handing the Caf Pow over to Abby. Then he added a kiss to her forehead, then went for the elevator again. "That's good work, Abbs."

"I try, Gibbs."

"So what did this Diana Woods get herself into?"

"Not sure," Bishop replied, looking over a dusty bookcase while Torres checked the kitchen. "Whatever it was, it got her killed. Almost got two others killed, too."

"I have a hard time believing she was ever in danger in the first place," Torres said, exiting the kitchen and looking around the living room, still wearing his casual clothing. She found that irritating. "This place is pretty clean for being abandoned."

In that, Torres had a point. The house was in a gated community. Large, but not huge. Well-kept. Very expensive. If not for the layer of fine dust on most surfaces—and the rotting food in the fridge—Bishop would never have guessed Diana Woods hadn't stepped in here in months.

Something about that made her suspicious. Gibbs probably would have known why.

"Kitchen's clear?"

"Of anything I want to touch. Pretty sure I saw the milk look at me when I opened the door."

"Bedroom?"

"That's a little forward, don't you think?"

Bishop glared.

Torres held up his hands in a placating manner, a genuinely apologetic look appearing in his eyes. "Sorry, sorry. Last cover I had was a playboy. Sometimes it's hard to turn off one ID and take up a new one."

Bishop accepted the apology, but still frowned. "And this is just another identity for you? Another part to play?"

Torres didn't answer. He walked over to the coffee table and picked up a binder lying on it. He flipped through it. "Related to her work?"

"Probably. Quick reads I gave most of them were tech notes. Tendencies of a particular system. Strategies for breaking the firewalls of a client."

"Geek stuff. I don't speak geek very well." He placed the binder back on the table.

"Not a lot of people speak her level of geek. Even I struggle with it."

"'Even I'? That's a little arrogant, don't you think?"

"I was in the NSA."

Torres went quiet, his eyebrows raised an inch higher than normal. Then he nodded once and turned around. "Okay. Must be complicated stuff."

"Very." Bishop moved away from the bookcase, frown still on her face. They'd been here over an hour, with nothing to show for it. That was expected. Unlike most cop shows she watched, an actual, thorough search of a suspect or victim's home took time. Lots of it. And in a house this big, an investigator should expect it to take longer. Something that could make or break a case could be anywhere. Under a pot. Inside a magazine. In a shower head. Once, she'd had to fish a flash drive from a used toilet.

She still shuddered at that memory.

She looked to the binders as Torres moved to another room. She'd checked over them already, but Torres handling them brought them back to the forefront of her mind. The techno-babble was written in some kind of shorthand Woods used, making it even more difficult for her to read. That type of computer work hadn't been her thing at the NSA.

And yet, she felt herself drawn to them again.

She walked over and opened a binder. The tiny, cramped words of Woods' shorthand hurt her eyes, but she ignored the minor discomfort and flipped through the binder. When nothing stuck out, she picked up another. And another after that. As she looked through the fourth binder, she saw it. A ripped corner of a page.

Normal, by the standards of most. Abnormal by the standards Diana Woods displayed in her home. Everything was kept in order. Nothing was broken. Everything was clean. There was no way she would see a ripped page and not replace it.

This had been ripped intentionally.

Bishop looked around the room, searching. For what, she wasn't really sure. Just searching. Doing what Gibbs would do: follow her gut.

Roughly a minute into her search, she noticed the house's fireplace. It was a very beautiful thing. Carved rock, stones surrounding it and matching rocks going up to the ceiling.

Had one of her brother's not been in construction for a summer, Bishop wouldn't have noticed that one rock had been mortared more recently than its neighbors.

"Torres," she called out, advancing on the fireplace.

"What? You got something?" Torres' voice got louder as he reentered the room.

"Maybe. Let's see."

Bishop took out her knife and cut into the mortar. It gave more easily than it should have. Soon, she had the rock free, a pile of debris at her feet, Torres holding a camera behind her, having already taken several photographs of her actions. She pulled the rock free.

There, folded against the side of the flue, was the corner of paper.

Bishop waited for Torres to take pictures, then reached in and pulled it out. She waited again for pictures, and once Torres was done, she opened the tiny paper. Two words were written on it.

Thanatos Industries.

Maybe, just once, life was like one of her crime shows.

"Thanatos Industries is a shell company," McGee said, looking at his computer. "There are no financial records, no tax returns, no assets. The only thing that I can come up with is a domain name registered in Switzerland."

"Keep digging. There's something there."

"Whatever it is, it can't be found on a computer, Boss."

"Then find out where it can be found." Gibbs looked across the Bullpen at Tim, gaze intense.

McGee sighed lightly and nodded. "On it."

Gibbs looked to the previously-unoccupied desk next to McGee's. "Quinn."

Quinn looked up, gaze questioning. She looked confused. "Huh? What?"

Gibbs just waited.

"Oh, that's right. This is a thing you do. You want people to expect what you want."

"And what am I expecting?"

"Update on Metro." She stood up with a few pieces of paper in her hands and walked over. "According to a report filed three hours ago, a couple encountered a woman matching Ziva David's description."

Gibbs stared, waiting. Not showing the hope he felt.

"The unidentified woman was hurt, bleeding badly. The couple thought she'd been shot. They offered to call 911, but the woman refused and kept moving. The couple called anyway to report the incident."

"When and where?"

"Thirty-two blocks east and just under an hour after the shooting."

Little over three miles, in DC terms. Ziva had been making good progress for someone shot. He expected nothing less. "Cameras in the area?"

Quinn brought up a map of DC on the screen behind Gibbs' desk. Red dots appeared where there were public surveillance cameras, ATMs, stop lights, and business security cameras facing the street. Two green dots represented the shooting and the sighting. At least, Gibbs thought that was what they were.

"Closest camera is a block away. Closest to the location of the shooting is even further," Quinn said.

She was avoiding them, Gibbs thought. She was, still. If Ziva was avoiding cameras, there would be a good reason. And it would be bad. "Couple try to follow?"

"The boyfriend did. According to the report, he lost her within a minute."

Definitely Ziva. "Keep looking for more sightings," he said.

"On it." Quinn returned to her desk.

"Anything else from Woods' home?" He looked to where Torres and Bishop stood next to her desk, still geared up. Waiting for Gibbs' order to leave with him and search Caine Saunders' apartment.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Bishop said. "Looked like the house wasn't even touched while she was away."

"And you still found nothing."

"Maybe she took everything important with her," Torres offered.

"Or it was removed after she left."

That quieted both Bishop and Torres.

After a thoughtful moment, Bishop nodded. "It would explain why Woods went through so much trouble just to hide a mention of Thanatos Industries."

"But not why," Gibbs said.

"She knew what was coming after she left," Torres said. He sounded more certain of his offered explanation.

"Not an answer. What made her so scared she left everything behind? What did she have that nearly got Tali and Ziva killed along with her? Who was after her?"

His gut said the same person behind the untraceable transfers in the accounts of Petty Officers Johnson and Bradley and former Mossad Officer Levi.

His team said nothing.

Gibbs was about to have them commit the silent thoughts and theories that rang in the head of every investigator, when his phone beeped. He took it from his pocket with the intent of turning it off, when he paused.

After Fornell was ambushed, Gibbs had hidden motion detectors in his home. They were a cheap model, but still had the capability of sending an alert to a phone if the homeowner was away. McGee had needed to make some modifications so the message could still be sent to Gibbs' basic model phone.

One of the detectors had just gone off.

His gut clenched.

"Boss?" McGee had been first to notice the change in Gibbs' body language. Benefit of years of working for him.

Gibbs didn't answer. He turned back to look at the screen behind him. He noted the location of the shooting, of the sighting of Ziva. He noted another location, in the same direction Ziva seemed to be heading. There weren't any cameras there.

Gibbs stood, grabbing his badge and sidearm. He went for the elevator.

"Gibbs?"

"Keep going what you're doing, McGee." He stopped in front of Torres and Bishop. "Saunders' apartment. I'll meet you there." Then he continued to the elevator.

"Where are you going?"

Gibbs said nothing. He entered the elevator, and pressed the button for the ground floor.

Within five minutes, he was outside the building and driving down the road.

The last phone in front of the man rang. He answered. "NCIS has looked into Thanatos Industries." The voice was male. Accent was American. The same Operative as before.

The cleaners had missed a piece of evidence. They would be disciplined. Nevertheless, the failure was minor; Thanatos had long been abandoned. "Irrelevant. What else?"

"Anthony DiNozzo is being moved again. Multiple planes. Multiple decoys."

"Destination?"

"DC."

"Have scouts on the ground before he arrives. We will take him when he lands."

"It will be done."

The man went silent. Waiting.

The Operative understood the meaning in the silence. "We have located the Target."

"Options?"

"Per your orders, all Task Forces are on lockdown due to Task Force Tel Aviv being compromised. Outside contractors can be produced on short notice."

"Do so. No witnesses."

"Yes, Death."

Gibbs turned the engine off, allowing the car to roll the rest of the way to the house in relative silence. He turned into the driveway, stopped, then got out. As usual, the neighbors were quiet. Not even a barking dog.

He opened his door—unlocked, like always—and took out his sidearm. He had his suspicions, but better to be sure.

He cleared right, then left. Nothing out of place. Stairs were untouched. He moved to the living room, checking his corners, keeping his sidearm at Modified Low Ready.

Someone had been through his cabinets. Several were wide open, others only partially so. His first aid kit was missing. So was one of his bottles of bourbon.

The door to his basement was also cracked open.

He advanced slowly, never letting his guard down. He opened the door fully, and entered the basement.

The lights were on. The air smelled of blood and sawdust and alcohol.

And—bloody, grimacing, freshly bandaged, and nursing bourbon from a jar—Ziva sat on a stool in the back.

Her eyes went up to him. They were harder than he remembered, and more haunted than he'd ever seen them. "Hello, Gibbs."

So things happened. Some small things, some big things.

Mostly small things.

There was a lot more set up in this chapter than I intended. I will need to work on that with my next update. Still, at least this update was longer than the last. I hope you enjoyed.

Since no one has said not to, I will provide another credit song. This chapter's credit song is "Krale - Memoirs of the Forgotten" This song has the right theme to match the scene above. It's not happy, not sad, just atmospheric of the moment where Ziva and Gibbs come face to face again.

Thank you all for reading. If you enjoyed reading, please share or recommend this to a friend or friends. And if you really enjoyed reading, please leave a comment. They are the lifeblood of all writers, and they do not take long to leave.

See you soon.