The next day, Schuyler Harris waits in Leon Vance's office. This time, he brought his suitcase because he is heading to the airport right after. He needs to get back to Great Lakes as soon as possible to brief his boss on the state of his investigation. What was supposed to be a simple assault case that Harris could handle solo has ballooned into this catastrophic mess that could take down their director.
Harris keeps one hand on his suitcase. Vance's eyes snap to him, but Harris offers a genial smile.
Harris wants to gently remind him that he isn't meant to be involved with the termination process. Usually, Harris makes his recommendations and Human Resources and the agents' own superiors take the corrective action. But Harris isn't in a position to argue with the director of his agency. If Vance wants him to stay, Harris with be there as a silent witness.
Harris sneaks a glance at his watch.
"Am I keeping you from something, Agent Harris?" Vance asks.
Harris shakes his head. "Not at all, sir."
"Good."
Under Vance's watchful eye, Harris allows himself to relax back into the seat. When Vance looks away, Harris sneaks another glance at his watch. His stomach churns because it's early. Way, way too early. The security guards called to notify Vance that Ziva arrived with her…whatever the hell Moshe Mizrachi is.
Vance and Harris wait in an uncomfortable silence. The tension hanging in the air is heavy and thick enough to slice through with a machete. Harris' gaze wanders to the boxing photo behind Vance's desk. While he knows nothing about boxing, there is something about that boxer's pose that resonates with him. Triumphant, victorious, like a phoenix rising from the ashes. Terminating an agent should not feel like this. The act of dismissing an agent always made Harris feel used and dirty. He prefers the certain anonymity that comes with leveling his sentence and allowing someone else to draw the blood for him.
After what feels like forever, the door to the office opens. Marta is there, arm held out graciously to guide the newcomers over the threshold.
Ziva David saunters slowly, head held high like a queen. Close behind her lumbers Moshe Mizrachi. Somehow since the last time Harris saw him, the man grew even thinner and taller and more gaunt. A reanimated corpse dug up to roam around the land of the living.
Vance points to him. "Who are you?"
"Agent David's liaison." Mizrachi's words are staccato slow. "From the embassy."
"You can't come in here," Vance says.
Mizrachi pulls himself to his full height. "I will."
"No, you won't, or I'll have security throw you out."
When Mizrachi ignores him, Vance shoots Harris a look. Taking it as an order to play security guard, Harris leaps to his feet. He crosses the room, passing close enough to Ziva to catch the scent of sandalwood on her hair. She gives him a hard once-over as though she is trying to memorize his features and determine the most effective way to dispose of his body.
I can't wait to see how she feels about me later. If we can pull it together in time.
Harris ignores the chill scraping down his spine.
"You heard Director Vance, Mr. Mizrachi." Harris uses his Marine voice, all authority and no-nonsense. "You can wait in the hallway with Marta."
Mizrachi glares him down too. Under any ordinary circumstance, Harris might be a little intimidated, a little nervous even. He might be a former Marine, but that was a lifetime ago and before he lost his eye. An active Mossad operative and someone who Harris thinks used to be is enough to put his hair on end.
But right now, he is bone tired. Ready for the entire ordeal to be over.
Mizrachi must accept it because he steps back towards the secretary's desk.
"If he makes a move, call security," Harris says to Marta.
"On it, sir," Marta clips before she takes to staring a hole in Mizrachi.
Mizrachi keeps his eyes locked on Harris until the agent slowly closes the door. When he turns around, he finds Ziva perched on the edge of his seat. He selects the one farthest from her.
"I assume you know why you are here, Agent David," Vance starts.
Ziva raises her chin, but she remains quiet.
"To discuss the future of your career at NCIS," he continues.
"Yes, I would like to know my return date." Her voice is practiced and soft, demure even.
That makes Harris' mouth drop.
Vance smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "No, Agent David. You are being terminated for your actions that resulted in the assault of Agent McGee and the repeated interruption of the listening device during Agent DiNozzo's undercover operations." His lips pull into a deep frown as he shakes his head. "And I'm not even going to get into your other dealings with Agent McGee."
"I visited McGee to share a meal," she says. "We are friends."
Harris is nearly out of his seat. "Is that what you call breaking into Agent McGee's apartment and threatening him to kill him?"
"I broke into nothing. I entered because we are friends, and I am allowed into his home. He has invited me many times previous." She raises her hands as a platitude. "I did not leave the embassy on any other night. The agents from the FBI can attest to that." She gestures back to the door. "Mizrachi will also tell you where I have been."
There is a stunned silence.
"Therefore, my termination is impulsive," Ziva finishes.
"No, it isn't." Vance's tone is forceful and brusque. "Your position is being terminated, Ms. David. I truly wish I could thank you for your service, but…"
"It was an error," she offers. "A simple error."
Harris jumps to his feet. "It was dereliction of duty."
Both Vance and Ziva swivel to stare at Harris, who awkwardly rubs at the back of his neck. Instantly, he recalls why he isn't party to terminations. He tends to take things too personally once the evidence is collected and he faces the guilty agent, especially if they aren't remorseful.
Vance glares at Harris until he sits down. Harris grips the arm rest, keeps his good eye on Ziva.
Vance steeples his hands. "I'm afraid that Agent Harris is correct. Your actions constitute a consistent inability to watch your teammates during undercover missions. It's an unacceptable standard for the agency." Ziva opens her mouth, but he keeps talking. "You are fired. Effective immediately."
Ziva stands, hands balled into fists. "This is a mistake."
"No, it was my mistake to keep you after my predecessor left."
"My father assured me it was handled. You have spoken to him." She looks at Vance pointedly, but the director merely shrugs. "My father will be most displeased."
Vance leans back in his chair, hands on his desk. "I expect nothing less, Ms. David. Send him my regards."
And with that, Ziva strides out of the director's office without looking back. Vance watches her leave, eyes narrowed and expression hostile. He hits the button on his phone for his secretary.
The phone buzzes to life. "Director?"
"Marta," Vance says. "Please make sure security escorts Ms. David and Mr. Mizrachi off the premises. All the way to their vehicles."
"At once, sir."
As covertly as he can, Harris slides his cell phone out of his pocket. There aren't any messages from the burner phone that he's been corresponding with lately. So, he sends the number a quick text.
You're up, Harris writes.
The reply: They aren't in position yet. Stall.
When Harris glances up, the room is empty except for Director Vance who is busy working on paperwork. He doesn't speak a word to Harris, who knows it is a dismissal. Harris' stomach worms its way into his throat He gathers his suitcase and laptop bag.
On his way out, he texts back quickly: I can't. She's already gone.