For a long beat, Gibbs doesn't speak. He just stares at Tony with those ice blue eyes, unreadable and impassive. His mind must be traipsing through any clues, any hint of Ziva still spying under his watch. Then, his face relaxes into a strange sort of resignation. He clutches the pages tight enough crumple the edges as he releases a pained sigh.
I don't think Gibbs even suspected it.
Maybe Tony should feel the same way too. Betrayed and shocked and reeling. He felt that way when he learned Ziva and Tim turned off his listening device. Now, he feels nothing where there should be every emotion. He didn't know what he expected to find when he searched her desk. He hoped for nothing, but instead, he discovered treason.
"She said she was done." Gibbs' voice is dangerous. "Swore it to me."
Tony raises his eyebrows. "Once a spy…"
"Always a spy," Gibbs finishes for him.
"'I've been having this nightmare,'" Tony says. "'A real swinger of a nightmare, too."
The twitch of Gibbs' eyelid is the only indication that he is listening. The same eyelid twitches when Tony is annoying the hell out of him, but he is on an unstoppable roll, a freight train full of ideas that Gibbs doesn't want to stop. Right now, Tony doesn't even know where he is heading.
He falls back into his old cop ways. Tune himself into auto-pilot. Let his brain go through its subconscious motions while it takes his body along for the ride.
In a flash, Tony hops back onto Ziva's computer. He tries to bring up her personnel file to confirm that she did, in fact, sever ties with Mossad. To his shock, a red warning flashes, Restricted Access. Eyes Only.
"What the hell?" he mutters.
Gibbs tilts his head.
"My access is restricted." Tony makes a face. "Maybe because I've been reassigned."
With a loud huff, Gibbs heads over. "Try with my log-in."
Tony looks up. "Are you sure?"
Gibbs' glare could freeze hell, but it spurs Tony to life. Using Gibbs' computer credentials from memory, Tony logs into his boss' computer account. For Gibbs, access is still restricted.
Tony's eyebrows peak together. "You can't get in either."
Gibbs works his jaw as his eyes slide toward the director's office. Whatever they hope to learn, the answers will lie with Director Vance if he chooses to tell them the truth. If not, he will feed them lie after lie as they chase their tails until Ziva can be reinstated.
Reinstated.
The word feels like a curse to Tony. After everything she's done, she shouldn't be allowed anywhere near field duty, let alone the agency. And worse yet, there is the potential for her to onboard with another team. One who might not know about her cutting the mic if it manages to get buried deep enough.
Without speaking a word, Gibbs heads for the director's office. Tony leaps out of his chair to snatch the pages from Gibbs' hand before the man strides off with their only pieces of evidence. Even though the anger is radiating from Gibbs in waves, he doesn't breathe as Tony feeds the papers into the photocopier.
Tony keeps his back to Gibbs as he works. Two copies, one for his back-up plan and another for the back-up back-up plan. What that is, he still doesn't know yet. He'll figure it out later. All that matters is that he has it. He slides the copies into his suit jacket before turning around and passing Gibbs the originals.
His action is met with an arched eyebrow from Gibbs. Tony nods as if to say they can't risk Vance taking their only copy.
Gibbs strides towards the elevators. He takes the stairs quickly with Tony hot on his heels. They might be a unit, but Gibbs will always be the one in the lead. He'll knock down the doors and if needs be, Tony will slip past the interference like a tight end on the ten-yard line before a touchdown.
Together, they rush into the director's office, blowing past the secretary without even a glance. This one must be new because she doesn't get a word out before Gibbs is already inside the director's office. Tony holds his hands out, placating and smiling, without even slowing down.
Vance is at his desk, face drawn and on the phone. His tie is loosened, his jacket off and shirtsleeves rolled by. Beside his keyboard sits a high-ball glass with a finger's worth of amber alcohol. Scotch, from the looks of it. He takes one look at Gibbs' face before his eyes narrow and his expression clouds even further. His grip tightens around the phone.
"I have to call you back." He hangs up, leans back in his chair. "Agent Gibbs. Agent DiNozzo. What is the meaning of this?"
"Maybe I should ask you, Leon," Gibbs snaps.
Behind them, the secretary comes sliding into the office so quick that Tony hears the scritch of her heels against the carpet. She clasps her hands in front of her.
"Director Vance." She is nearly hysterical. "They got past me. I know you – "
"And now you know what Agent Gibbs looks like, Marta," Vance deadpans.
Marta's entire body stiffens at the mention of his name. Her eyes rake over Tony and Gibbs, her expression bordering on malicious. Based on the sound of things, Vance warned her about them. Whatever he told her, she apparently didn't listen. Tony doubts she'll still be Vance's secretary next week.
"Should I call security?" Marta asks.
Vance shakes his head. "Give us a few minutes. No interruptions this time."
With a quick nod, Marta leaves and closes the door behind her. The sudden privacy emboldens Gibbs because he moves across the room to slam the papers on Vance's desk. For a long moment, Vance glares into Gibbs' eyes. Tony finds the wall suddenly very interesting.
I wonder who decorated in here…
Eventually, curiously gets the better of Vance because he glances down at the writing. His face wrinkles with confusion as he picks them up. He flips a page over to show Gibbs and Tony.
"Am I supposed to be able to read this?" Vance asks, anger biting the words.
"They were in Agent David's desk," Gibbs explains.
Vance's face darkens like a rising thunderstorm. "Of course, she would have documents in Hebrew. It's her mother tongue. Didn't you keep papers in English when you were in Russia, Gibbs?"
That makes Gibbs' bristle. "Only when I was communicating with NCIS."
Vance tilts his head, leans forward. "I'm sure there were others."
"Why would I keep something that could out me?"
"There's nothing to out, Gibbs. She's a former Mossad operative who left and became an NCIS agent." Vance chuckles humorlessly. "Where did you even find these?"
With that question, Gibbs looks to Tony for the answer. Tony raises his chin, tries for his best impression of Gibbs to keep his words level. Tony's heart is tight in the back of his throat. He wants to explode on Vance and ask questions and yell. He wants answers and he wants them now. But it isn't the place, it isn't the time.
"I found them," Tony says, voice even. "In the back of an old case file in her desk."
Vance tilts his head. "You were reassigned, Agent DiNozzo. You shouldn't have been going through Agent David's desk."
"I authorized it," Gibbs speaks up.
Vance leans further back in his chair. "It's probably related to the case you investigated."
"That's where I kept my files when I was in Russia," Gibbs says.
That piques Vance's interest because he suddenly perks up in his seat. He leans forward, eyes interested and face open. There is some unspoken conversation floating between them that Tony doesn't understand.
"When you were in Russia…" Vance's voice trails off.
Gibbs nods. "Kept 'em in an old file."
"Where no one would look," Vance finishes. "I kept mine in the freezer."
Gibbs shrugs as if to say his way was better.
"She is still communicating with Mossad," Gibbs says.
"That is a loaded accusation, Agent Gibbs," Vance warns.
"And if it's true?"
Squaring his shoulders, Gibbs draws himself to his full height. For a moment, he is every inch the imposing Marine he once was.
Vance doesn't reply.
"Checked her personnel file," Gibbs says. "Can't get in."
Vance shrugs. "That's protocol during a suspension. To keep prying eyes away." He throws Gibbs a meaningful look at that. "Only Internal Affair and myself have access. Pending the official decision of Internal Affairs, access may be reinstated."
"Right," Gibbs says as though he doesn't believe him.
Whatever is going on here isn't for Tony. Gibbs is trying to bulldoze a brick wall and while he can do it, he doesn't need Tony to watch the carnage. Tony will be far more effective anywhere else doing anything else.
Suddenly, Tony clears his throat. Vance's eyelid twitches. He must have forgotten Tony was even here. He sets his sights on Tony, who acts like he is doing his best to blend into the furniture.
"You know Gibbs, this is a discussion we should have alone," Vance says, matter-of-fact.
Gibbs raises his chin. "DiNozzo's part of this."
Pursing his lips, Vance shakes his head. "If you want to discuss this with me, he goes."
When Gibbs glances at Tony, his expression speaks for him. He is telling Tony to stand down, to head back home and Gibbs will update he can. Like Tony would just head home to watch a movie and swill some Scotch while Rome is burning to the ground.
With a clipped nod and a "have a nice evening, Director," Tony heads out the way he came. He offers Marta a little salute as he goes. He won't be seeing her again. She blankly watches him go and when she thinks he isn't looking, she writes a note. Likely, a reminder of who isn't allowed in the director's office without a security expert.
That's me. Tony DiNozzo, public enemy number two.
He is supposed to be headed back to his desk by Barrows' team to give his cold case one last look before calling it a night. He is supposed to go back to his apartment for a movie and Scotch night. He has an odd hankering to watch The Manchurian Candidate again.
And yet, he never does what he is supposed to. Maybe that's why Gibbs likes him so much and Vance hates him. Tony moves on autopilot as though he watches himself on the silver screen, moving under a movie director's orders and not his own.
Tony heads towards the conference rooms. Straight to Conference Room Three.
The door is propped open, the interior near dark. Only the soft blue glow of a laptop screen engulfs the space. From where he stands, Tony believes the room might be empty.
Tony knocks anyway. Inside, something falls to the ground.
So, someone is home…
A moment later, Schuyler Harris' face appears in the doorway. His face is sallow, his good eye glassy. There are pair of headphones slung around his neck and he holds a laptop in one hand. He's lost his suit jacket and tie. He blinks owlishly against the bright light of the hallway.
"Agent DiNozzo." Harris' voice is rough.
"Hey Agent Harris," Tony says.
Harris' good brow furrows. "We aren't due for another interview."
"I know." Tony glances over his shoulder. "Do you mind if I come in?"
Harris looks at him suspiciously. "Are you here for an update? Because Agent Gibbs already tried that earlier and I'm not at liberty – "
"No," Tony interrupts. "We need to talk."
Harris tilts his head in a question, but he relents. He moves aside, just enough for Tony to slip inside. It might be late and the building should be empty, but that doesn't mean there might not be prying eyes somewhere. If this gets back to Vance…
When Harris hits the light switch, the fluorescent lights flicker before turning on. He places the laptop back on the table and removes his headphones. Then he collapses into his chair before gesturing towards one for Tony to take.
Tony soaks up the current state of the conference room. It looks like a hurricane blew through. What started out as a modest affair with a single recording device and notepad devolved into Harris moving in. Now, there are a pair of laptops, a slew of case files, coffee cups, an old stack of cafeteria trays, and two notepads that are almost full. Under the lights, Harris looks like he's working himself to death.
The air is oppressive, hot and stale. It presses on Tony from every angle. His body feels as though it's in a trash compacter, being squeezed into nothing. He half-expects a dianoga to drag him down into the murky depths like it did to Luke Skywalker in Star Wars.
"I'm glad you stopped by," Harris is saying. "I was going to arrange another meeting tomorrow. I have some follow-up questions. What did you want to discuss?"
Tony wants to see Harris' cards first.
"Human fish," Tony says with a flourish.
Harris' head reels back. "Fish?"
Tony throws his hands out before announcing: "'Human fish, swimming at the bottom of the great ocean of atmosphere, develop psychic injuries as they collide with one another. Most mortal of all are those gotten from the parent fish.'"
Confusion settles deeper onto Harris' features as though Tony might be speaking another language. Tony pauses to give him time to make the connection. Once Harris' good brow furrows, Tony knows he understood.
"The Manchurian Candidate?" Harris asks.
Tony nods.
"I haven't seen that one in a while," Harris says. "What does that have to do with…" He gestures at Tony as if to ask what they were here to discuss.
"I thought you wanted to talk to me," Tony says.
Harris looks at him strangely before he shrugs. "Yeah, I do. I'm trying to determine how many times Agents McGee and David may have tampered with the listening device. There are a lot of hours of your undercover work to review. I was hoping you could help narrow it down."
What am I even doing here? Can I really trust him?
Right now, Harris is the only play that Tony can think of. Tony sinks into the chair opposite Harris. He studies Harris' face, studies that long scar that cuts into his face like a constellation in the night sky. Tony only hopes that he is right about Harris.
Tony leans forward, hands on his knees. "What are you looking for?"
"Do you remember anything?" Harris asks.
"Like what?"
"Anything that you might have noticed while you were undercover. Anything out of the ordinary. The sooner I can wrap this up, the sooner I can recommend your reinstatement to Director Vance."
Tony knows better than to ask about what Tim and Ziva said during their interviews. Closing his eyes, Tony wracks his brain. The last time he went undercover was months ago and there is always so much happening during those operations. So many things to remember, so many details to keep him distracted, so much to keep track of.
"There was a noise," he says suddenly. "I can't really describe it, but it was like when a microphone gets too close to a speaker. I always heard it at least twice in my earwig during every operation."
Harris' face lights up. "You wear an earwig?"
Tony nods. "Of course, I do. I keep it turned off unless I need to talk directly to my team. People don't notice it and if they do, they think it's a hearing aid. Most people aren't tactless enough to ask about it."
"So, you couldn't hear your teammate's conversations while you were undercover?"
"No, I needed to focus on the suspects and the case. If I listened to my team talking, it would have been too distracting. I don't like to risk it." Tony thinks for a moment. "And the recording device only records the undercover conversations."
Releasing a world-weary sigh, Harris lets his good eye wander back to the case files and laptop. His expression is bleak like a condemned man who saw the gallows for the first time.
And that's when Tony understands why Harris looks like he's working himself to the point of near collapse. He has a hunch, a theory, but he can't find the evidence to prove it.
"What were you hoping to find?" Tony asks.
Harris' mouth pinches. "I can't discuss an active case."
"But what happens to Ziva?" Tony blurts out.
The silence stretches between them until it is so taut that Tony could slice it with a knife. He just wants Harris to give him something, anything, a flick of nothing that could let Tony trust him. That could let Tony show him those pages hidden in his suit jacket. He doesn't trust the director to share in the information with Harris, but Tony doesn't know if he can trust the Internal Affair agent either.
He is putting his hope into a man that he knows nothing about.
Harris sighs again. "I wish I could tell you, but I can't."
Tony interprets that as she'll be fired, but not blacklisted. Allowed to work as a field agent in another agency with a whole new set of people to endanger.
"And what happens when she does this again?" Tony asks.
Harris visibly flinches as he looks away. A split second later, his good eye flicks back to Tony. Determination settles across his face. It's one of shared pain, the expression of someone who's been betrayed before.
I wonder if that's how Harris lost his eye.
Eventually, Harris admits: "I'm trying to find something."
"Will she be terminated?" Tony asks.
Harris keeps his good eye locked on Tony's. Even though he barely moves, Tony reads the answer YES loud and clear across his face.
Tony keeps going. "Blacklisted?"
There's a little twitch to Harris' right eyelid.
"What about McGee?" Tony asks.
Harris sucks a breath through his teeth. Whatever he is thinking isn't transmittable through his facial expressions and basic handle on ESP. He is good at telling Tony as much as he wants without speaking a single word. But he isn't good enough to tell Tony everything.
Tony tilts his head as if to say he doesn't get it.
Harris looks back towards the door before sighing. "Until I find out differently, I have to assume Agent McGee was part of it."
Based on Harris' expression, there is more going on. He isn't being completely honest, but then, Tony isn't either. Let him have his secrets. For now.
Harris' reaction tells him exactly what Tony needed to know. That he can trust him just enough with the papers, but Tony doesn't believe he should be the only one on the case. Sure, he could take the evidence to the FBI—and he'll probably still make that phone call—it's just harder to prove what is going on when someone doesn't have direct access to NCIS' files.
Tony reaches into his jacket pocket to produce a copy of the documents. He passes them to Harris, who unfolds the papers. One look and his good brow furrows, his face contorting with confusion.
"What are these?" he asks.
Tony shrugs. "I don't know, but I found them in Ziva's desk. They were stuffed inside an old case file from last year."
Harris squints at them. "Are you sure they aren't related to the case?"
"I don't know," Tony replies. "There weren't any other case related documents in there. Just those."
That earns a little quirk in Harris' jaw. "These are in Hebrew."
"Well, yeah. Ziva used to be Mossad."
"I'm aware." Harris bobs his head. "While it's unorthodox for a foreign agent to be employed at a federal agency, it isn't entirely unheard of."
Tony shifts his weight. "And Ziva quit Mossad to become an NCIS agent."
"Or so I've been told." Harris flips through his notepad before reading: "Agent David terminated her working relationship with Mossad as of six months ago."
Tony jabs a finger at the papers. "Then why are those documents dated three weeks ago?"