Surprisingly, Ziva David agrees to an interview with little fanfare. Schuyler Harris expected more of a fight, more difficulty, more something. In the end, Vance's secretary calls to schedule an interview and Ziva says she'll be there before the day is over. Considering it is already pushing 1400, her availability is nothing short of impressive. It shouldn't make Harris wary, but his internal warning is already blaring.
I think it's too easy. Way too easy.
When she finally arrives within the hour, Harris isn't as impressed as he probably should be. Since he arrived, he already read her file multiple. Mossad operative—she was likely wetwork, if Harris reads between the lines—turned inter-governmental liaison turned American federal agent. Harris should know better, but he doesn't know how she could be capable of everything in her file. No one should be capable of what she is rumored to have done.
He meets her at the door Conference Room Three, head held high and going out of her way not to look at him. She is slight and diminutive with the grace of a dancer. Up close, she is just nothing like Harris expected. Nothing like the hardened killer than he knows she must be.
Behind her, she is trailed by two security guards and a tall rail-thin, man with a pale face and eyes and hair the color of night. He is the kind of person whose extremities are almost a parody. Everything about him is way too long. Long neck, long arms, long fingers, long legs. In his black suit, he looks like an stretched out undertaker.
Once she is nearly inside the conference room, Harris moves to close the door. The man's hand slams against it, propping it open. His fingers are even longer than Harris initially thought.
Harris' eye jumps from the man to Ziva to the security guards.
One of them shrugs. "Said he was with her. We figured that you knew he was coming."
Harris shakes his head, his good eye still on the man. "Hello Agent David, I'm Agent Harris from Internal Affairs. I see you brought your association rep."
Ziva's eyes narrow. "He is not my association representative. I have no need for the association."
Harris takes a protective step towards the man, trying to determine just who he is.
"What's going on, Agent David?" Harris asks.
For a long moment, no one says anything. The security guards take a step towards the man, but he holds out a long arm to block them.
"My name is Moshe Mizrachi." He has a strange, stilted way of speaking. "I am accompanying Ziva David today for your discussion."
"And where are you from?" Harris asks.
"The embassy."
Nothing about the man screams American and Harris can't fathom why Ziva would need someone from the American embassy to accompany her to an American federal agency on American soil. Then, it strikes him as if he was hit by a bolt of lightning. Moshe Mizrachi is from the Israeli embassy.
"I will not speak without his presence," Ziva states, matter-of-fact.
And in the end, that's what causes Harris to step out of the way to allow Ziva and Mizrachi to enter Conference Room Three. He offers the security guards a wave as if to say I'll take it from here and send them on their way. While he could go through the proper channels to force Ziva to appear alone, he'll get more information out of her if she thinks that she's running the show.
Once they're inside, Harris turns to Ziva.
"I was under the impression you are an American citizen, Agent David," he says. "I was led to believe you had surrendered your Israeli citizenship when you were formally hired to be an NCIS agent."
Ziva shrugs. "I have not yet filed the paperwork with Israel."
When Harris goes to press, Mizrachi shakes his head. "I do not believe we were summoned to discuss Officer David's immigration status."
Harris makes a mental note to follow-up on that later. For this interview, he chose not to rely on his notebook like he usually does. Anything here that could be taken as a sign of weakness will be exploited. Ziva will be out for blood. That much he can tell from the file. So far, he has worked on the investigation alone with no problem. No, he wishes his partner were here to bounce around ideas. To have someone for a second line of questioning when he misses a minute detail.
Harris looks at Mizrachi. "Can I see your ID, sir? For verification?"
Mizrachi glares at Harris as though he could slit his throat instead. But he produces a well-worn Israeli passport and what appears to be an embassy work ID. Harris can read it.
I guess Uncle Ezra was right that I would need what I learned in Hebrew School someday.
"You find this…" Mizrachi struggles for the right word "…sufficient."
"Yes, I do," Harris says.
"Now, you will tell us why we were summoned," Mizrachi replies.
Harris gestures at Ziva with his head. "I'm here to talk to Agent David about her involvement in the events that led to Agent McGee's assault on Monday. You're here to observe."
Ziva half-smiles, bemused. "You will talk. I will listen."
"That's not how this works," Harris bites out.
Harris and Ziva stare at each other for a long beat. Neither wanting to be the first to blink. Harris might be accommodating for the others, but this is an agent who nearly got another one killed. He won't give her any leeway because she is the one who is up for termination, not them.
When Mizrachi places a hand on Ziva's shoulder, she slowly relents. Harris nods towards the pair of chairs where he interviewed Tony and Gibbs. Ziva throws herself into the chair where Harris usually sits. Quickly, Harris fumbles to move his notepad and paperwork and laptop to the side. Ziva's eyes are roving over them, gleaning as much information as she can. There isn't much, mostly just the names of the files of Tony's undercover work and the file on Tim's attackers, but to someone with her training, it could be enough.
And suddenly, a sinking feeling starts in Harris' gut.
That's why she came. She isn't here for an interview, but a fact-finding mission.
Once his paperwork is sufficiently out of sight, Harris slides into the interviewee's chair. The view is different from here and he can't keep a good look on Mizrachi. He could kick himself for leaving anything out, for falling into their G-damn trap. He is better than this. He should be better than this. For some reason, he expected Ziva to tow the same line as everyone else. Sit where she was told, answer the questions he asked, and pray that she didn't have the wrong answer.
I couldn't have been more wrong.
Harris keeps a defensive hand over his notepad. It might be closed, but he'd rather not take the chance that she might "knock" it on the floor. He locks eyes on Ziva, but she watches him with a disinterested stare. Like a predator after deciding its prey isn't worth eating.
"I'll be recording our interview," he informs her.
"As you must." Ziva dips her head, chin and eyes downcast.
Harris turns on the recording device. "This is Agent Schuyler Harris, Internal Affairs. I am interviewing Agent Ziva David. Please state your name."
She rolls her eyes. "Ziva David."
"Thank you. Agent David brought a—" it suddenly occurs to Harris that he doesn't know what to call Mizrachi, so he settles for " – handler to aid her in today's interview. Please state your name, sir."
Mizrachi presses his lips together. Locks on Harris' good eye when he glances over.
Harris blinks. "Please state your name, sir."
When the silence stretches, the corner of Ziva's mouth twitches upward into a smirk. Harris manages to swallow the anger bubbling inside him. While he is to agents toying with him, it usually isn't so blatant. Right now, it seems as though Mizrachi and Ziva are enjoying it.
I have to stay impartial. I'm only here for information.
He inhales deeply.
Don't let it get to you, Schuyler.
No matter how much they harass him, the evidence will always speak the truth. Harris will get his man—or woman—in the end.
Harris leans towards the recording device. "I have been informed the man is named Moshe Mizrachi and he is from the Israeli Embassy. I have checked his ID and confirmed this information." When he looks over at Mizrachi, the man remains impassive. "I will commence Agent David's interview."
Ziva nods. "Yes, let us begin the horse circus."
The furrow in Harris' brow deepens. There might be an idiom in there, but he has no idea.
He decides not to even try. "Right. Just for my records, you are a former Mossad operative. Is that correct, Agent David?"
"Yes."
"What brought you to NCIS? It is a little unorthodox—" he cringes at his word choice, but he keeps going "—for a federal agency to hire a foreign agent."
With a one-shouldered shrug, she settles back into the chair. "The former director of NCIS believed I could be of assistance to the agency. My father wished to improve our US relations by my inclusion."
"Your father?" Harris asks, tilting his head.
Ziva nods. "Director David of Mossad is my father."
Harris barely manages to hide his sputter in a cough. He read her file, but somehow, he must have missed that tiny, shockingly important detail. Mizrachi is smirking at that. Harris shots him a baleful glare.
Harris clears his throat. "Right. And you were tasked with communicating with Mossad?"
"Only the information that was approved by Director Shepard." Ziva holds out her hands, gesturing towards the case files. "Everything I communicated with my handlers was sent through her office and approved by her. Never did I provide anything unauthorized."
At that, Harris desperately wants to start writing on his notepad. There is something so strange about communication between a federal agency and foreign spy agency through an acting director. To hear it mentioned as casually as going to the grocery store is shocking. As much as Harris wants to start digging, he decides to leave it there because he could spend days on those questions alone. While he could ask about Director Shepard and her activities and her motives, she passed away several years ago and nothing good will come from this line of questioning. He can't prove or disprove any of Ziva's claims.
Harris leans his arm deeper against his notepad. "One more question about your involvement with Mossad, Agent David. Have you concluded your communications with them?"
Ziva raises her chin. "I have ceased to provide information when I was hired as an agent. I believe it was six months ago. After I returned from FLETC."
When Harris glances back at Mizrachi, the man gives nothing away. He merely stands there like an undertaker at a funeral, stone-faced and impassive. Between the two of them, Harris is starting to wonder if they're trying to interrogate him. Try to figure out exactly what he knows.
Harris meets Ziva's eyes. They are like coal, dark and unforgiving.
"Now," Harris says, "we are going to discuss the day when Agent Tim McGee was assaulted."
Ziva shrugs, but she remains silent. When Harris motions to the recording device, Ziva's face pinches like she ate a lemon.
"That will be acceptable," she says.
"Can you tell me in your own words what happened on the day in question?" he asks.
Ziva shifts her weight. "McGee was undercover in the office. Tony and I remained in the car."
"And you and Agent DiNozzo were monitoring the situation?"
"Yes, McGee was utilizing a listening device." She gestures to her chest. "I believe you call it, a wire? Tony and I were monitoring his communications with the suspects in question. If he thought someone was no longer a suspect, we were to cross them off the list." Leaning back in the chair, she crosses her arms. "It was on the page."
Harris picks up a pen, flicks it around. His desire to start writing his notes is there. A phantom itch that he just can't scratch.
"Do you mean by the book?" he asks.
"Tomato, potato," she says.
Harris decides to let that go. "What events transpired that led to the eventual assault of Agent McGee?"
Ziva remains silent for a long moment. To her credit, she doesn't look at Mizrachi. She doesn't ever break eye contact with Harris. He has watched enough guilty people try and decide how they're going to lie to know that he caught her in one. He hates to admit that whatever she is about to say will be a good one.
"Agent DiNozzo exited the car to stretch his legs while I continued to monitor the device." Harris is watching her more intently now, but she doesn't even flinch. "The device malfunctioned during his time out of the car. I tried to fix it, but..."
Harris leans forward. "The device turned off?"
Ziva shrugs. "It does happen occasionally. It is not the most reliable."
Harris' good eyebrow jumps. "Did you ever report the technical difficulties?"
"I have mentioned in it my reports, but usually, Tony is undercover, and McGee remains in the car with me. He is able to shotgun the device quite well."
"Do you mean troubleshoot?"
"That means to repair, yes?"
Harris nods. "Yeah."
"Then, yes. That is what McGee does. Troubleshoot." She stumbles over the word.
Harris fiddles with his pen. "So, the device cuts out. Who fixed it on the day in question?"
Ziva thoughtfully watches Harris, who's twirling the pen around in his hand. He stops.
"Tony," Ziva says. "When he arrived back at the car, he figured out how to restore it to its operational state."
Harris clips a nod. "Where did Agent DiNozzo go after he exited the vehicle?"
Ziva shrugs. "I do not know. He did not return for several minutes."
When Harris looks at Ziva, she still holds his gaze. Her body is relaxed, her features at ease. Harris' jaw clenches as he swallows hard.
"So, Agent DiNozzo just walked away," he says. "In the middle of an undercover operation?"
Ziva raises her chin. "Yes, that is what occurred."
"What happened after you received Agent McGee's distress signal?" Harris asks.
"Tony and I entered the building to look for McGee, but we did not recover him." There's a slight sadness, almost like remorse, dancing in her eyes. "I chose to set up the BOLO with the Metro Police Department while Tony searched the building for McGee."
Harris doesn't need an investigator's gut to know that Ziva is probably lying, but he still proceeds with his line of questioning. The more information he collects, the better he can uncover the truth later.
"Okay," he says with practiced ease. "Tell me more about the device malfunctioning."
Ziva looks away. "It has occurred in the past. During the times when Tony was undercover, it stopped transmitting a few times. Like I have said, McGee repaired the device."
"Did you report it?"
She blinks at him. "I wrote it in my report. That was not correct?"
Harris' face pinches. Since Ziva has been on Gibbs' team for so long, she should know the protocol for nonfunctional equipment. She was supposed to report it to her superiors—Tony and Gibbs—before filling out the appropriate forms—LQ-89180 and NE-28178—and handing it to the evidence department for immediate repair or disposal.
"Did you turn off the listening device?" Harris asks, point blank.
Mizrachi clears his throat. "That is not – "
Ziva raising her hand quiets him. He goes back to playing undertaker in the corner, but Harris doesn't quite know whose funeral it is.
She thinks about it for a few moments. "It was Tony who made the claim, yes?"
Harris remains silent.
"Tony is not exactly fond of me," she says. "It is not a secret."
"I'll look into it," Harris promises. "But you're sure that you didn't turn off the microphone? Not even, as maybe, an accident?"
Even though she has an out, she shakes her head. "I did not turn it off. Of that, I am most certain."
"Are you sure?" Harris asks again.
Ziva works her jaw. "I would not jeopardize my career with NCIS or – "
When Mizrachi clears his throat, Ziva grows quiet. Leaning over, he whispers something into Ziva's ear. Almost instantly, she relaxes her face into an easy and inviting smile. She looks exactly like Mona Lisa and Harris wonders just what she's hiding.
"I am afraid we will have to stop here," she says.
"I have more questions," Harris protests.
She shrugs. "And perhaps, I will answer them another day."
Before Harris has a chance to ask her to stay, she rises from the chair. Both she and Mizrachi leave without even saying goodbye. Harris lets them go because, even if he orders them to stay, she already told him that she won't be answering any more questions. He should have said something to make her stay. Told her the consequences if the allegations against her are true. Told her that she needed to answer his questions until he was happy with her answers. Told her about the pending termination.
I don't think she is telling the truth, but I have to look into her side.
When he looks at his pile of manila folders, he frowns at what she might have gleaned. He has no way of knowing exactly what she saw. It should only be case names, but for someone like Ziva, that might be more than enough. He wants to kick himself, but he thought she'd be like the others. Focused on saving their own skin, not working at another angle.
Harris starts recording his notes in his notepad, trying to recall exactly what was said. Once he is satisfied, he leaves the conference room and locks the door behind him. He doubts anyone would sneak inside to read his notes, but he doesn't like to take chances. He doesn't know the endgame here, but he can't make a misstep with stakes this high. Three agents with once bright futures hang on the outcome of this very case.
No pressure, Schuyler. None at all.
Harris heads towards the director's office. On his way, he passes by Agent Gibbs' workspace. Even though he doesn't look for Gibbs, he feels the man's angry eyes on the back of his head. Knowing that Gibbs was a Marine sniper makes it so much worse. Right now, Gibbs is probably picturing Harris' head exploding in a puff of pink mist.
Harris doesn't let it break his stride as he climbs the stairs. He strides past the director's secretary, who gives him a knowing nod.
"He's expecting you," she says.
"Thanks," he replies.
And Harris opens the door to find Leon Vance standing behind his desk. Vance's back is to Harris, his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes locked on the photo of a fighter on the wall. Harris approaches, but he keeps his distance. Accommodating, but wary.
"Director Vance," Harris says.
"Agent Harris." When Vance turns around, he keeps his hands behind his back. "Care to give me an update on your investigation? I heard you were able to get Agent David to join you."
Harris presses his lips together. "Yes, but she wasn't exactly forthcoming with information. She states the device malfunctioned, sir. She also said that Agent DiNozzo went for a walk during Agent McGee's undercover op."
Vance makes a face. "And Agent DiNozzo?"
"He maintains that she turned off the device and locked him out of the car."
Heaving a world-weary sigh, Vance slumps down into his chair. "What you're telling me is that somebody's lying."
Even though Harris doesn't want to say it, he finds himself nodding. Lying is a loaded term and he prefers not to use a word like that unless it's blatant.
He wants to say it's Ziva. Hell, he should say it's Ziva, but without evidence, he can't prove it just yet. And from that, he can't recommend terminating an agent until he has the evidence. His job is to play judge and jury and executioner. He refuses to take that power lightly and make recommendations without irrefutable proof.
"First, I need to speak with Agent McGee," Harris says. "He should be able to clear up if the device malfunctioned in the past. I also need to review the recordings from Agent DiNozzo's undercover operations. Specifically, the ones where the communication between the listening device and the microphone was interrupted."
Vance raises his chin. "You have whatever you need at your disposal."
"Thank you."
"I would be interested to hear your thoughts, Agent Harris." Vance keeps his eyes locked on Harris' face. "Care to tell me what you think is going on here?"
At that, Harris offers a tight, lopsided smile. If there is anything to say here, he can't think of it. He knows what he thinks, but an investigation isn't the place for his thoughts and feelings. It's for evidence and proof and cold, hard facts.
Vance nods carefully before turning to look at his picture of the fighter. "You know, the great Mohammed Ali once said, 'Silence is golden when you can't think of a good answer.'"
"Words to live by, sir," Harris replies.
"I don't think I have to remind you about the importance of this investigation. I need you to get to the bottom of it."
Harris meets Vance's eyes. "I'll get there and then, I'll keep digging."