Ziva's brow furrowed in concern as she gazed at her fellow Kidon agents, her senses heightened as she felt the ship, Damocles, tilting and vibrating violently against the turbulent Red Sea. The strength and steepness of the tilts told her that they were caught in a rare and intense summer storm in the area, one that threatened to compromise their mission. Her eyes drifted back to the dull, metallic side of the ship where she had placed a cherished picture - a photo of her youth with Ari and Tali, two people who had been her guiding lights and motivations throughout her career in Mossad. As she focused on the picture, Ziva centered herself, drawing on the memories and emotions that it evoked. Every mission she had undertaken, every objective she had attained, had been with Ari and Tali in mind. They had always guided her, driven her to finish her mission, regardless of the objective or the cost. But this was the first time she was using the picture since Ari's death, and Ziva couldn't shake off the feeling of uncertainty that had been plaguing her. She wondered if the picture's luck would still hold, if it would still bring her the success and protection she had always associated with it.
But she had no choice, not now. She had her Aliyah to perform, a mission that would prove her loyalty to Mossad and demonstrate her commitment to the organization. With a deep breath, Ziva tucked the picture back into her inner pocket, the familiar contours of the yellowed paper a comforting presence against her skin. She then turned her attention to her guns and knives, checking them one final time to ensure that they were ready for use. Giving a curt signal to her team, she indicated that it was time to move out. The members of Kidon quickly secured their supplies and stumbled their way to the ladder leading out of the hull, their movements cautious and deliberate as they navigated the treacherous machinery space. They were fully armed and ready for any confrontation, their senses on high alert as they climbed the ladder, their eyes peeled for any sudden movements and their hearing sharp for any sudden noise. As they opened the latch, they were greeted with the deafening ruckus of the humongous diesel engine that powered the ship, its strokes pounding out a rhythmic beat that seemed to match the pounding of their hearts.
The engine room was a maze of steel and machinery, the air thick with the smell of fuel and grease. Ziva and her team knew that they were undertaking the most dangerous part of their exit strategy, that they would have to navigate this treacherous space without being detected. There would surely be ship engineers checking on the engines, making sure that the ship could make it to port safely, and Ziva's team would have to avoid them at all costs. As they continued toward the exit, continually scanning the area for any threats, Ziva's senses were on high alert. She couldn't use her well-trained hearing to help, not with the cacophony of the engine room drowning out all other sounds. But her eyes were sharp, and she caught a sudden movement on her left, a flicker of motion that seemed out of place in the chaotic landscape of the engine room. Without hesitation, Ziva palmed a knife and threw it, the blade sinking deep into the engineer's throat with a deadly precision. The man's gurgles were overtaken by the calamity of the engine room, his eyes wide with fear as he tried to reach for his throat, his face contorted in a mixture of shock and agony. Two members of the Kidon group exploded into action, reaching the dying man and dragging him to a dark corner of the room, where they stuffed him underneath one of the behemoths that filled the space.
Ziva retrieved her knife, her heart racing with a mix of adrenaline and trepidation. This initial contact felt like a bad omen, a sign that things would go from bad to worse. She prayed to Yahweh that she was wrong, that they would be able to complete their mission without any further complications. But as she looked around the engine room, her senses on high alert, she couldn't shake off the feeling that they were in for a long and deadly night. The storm outside seemed to be mirroring the turmoil that was brewing inside her, a sense of foreboding that threatened to overwhelm her at any moment. With a deep breath, Ziva steeled herself, focusing on the task at hand. They had to get out of the ship, swim to shore, and complete their mission without being detected. It was a daunting task, but Ziva was a seasoned operative, and she knew that she had the skills and the training to see it through. She signaled to her team, and they moved out, their movements swift and silent as they navigated the treacherous landscape of the engine room, their eyes fixed on the exit, their hearts fixed on their mission.
Thirty minutes later and Ziva was reloading her third magazine, cursing under her breath in a mixture of Arabic and Hebrew as she struggled to comprehend the chaos unfolding around her. The foreboding feeling that had been gnawing at her stomach had unfortunately been prophetic, and she couldn't help but wish that she had been proven wrong for once. But it was not meant to be. They had stumbled upon another engineer, who had been promptly murdered with a knife to the heart, but he hadn't been alone. His companion had managed to sound the alarm before his soul departed for the afterlife, and the loud scream had been enough to alert the rest of the ship's occupants. As a result, Kidon found themselves facing an uncomfortable amount of semi-automatic weaponry, and Ziva couldn't help but remark that they were highly skilled assassins, not frontline fighters like the Metsada, Mossad's small combat unit similar to the Sayeret Matkal, IDF Special Forces. She thanked Yahweh for her time at NCIS, which had given her a different perspective on firefights, and she was grateful for the skills she had acquired during her tenure. Moving cautiously from her hiding spot, she stayed low to the ground and moved closer to the exit, always keeping a wall at her back to minimize her exposure to potential gunfire.
As she navigated through the ship, she took down three more men, each bullet finding its mark with precision and deadly accuracy. That brought the total number of souls she had sent to Yahweh in the last half-hour to twelve, a grim reminder of the intense violence that had erupted on the ship. Just as she was starting to make her way towards the exit, an explosion rocked the engine room, causing Ziva to whip her head back wildly in response. The sound was more distressing than the thought of a Kidon agent committing self-sacrifice - the sound of a malfunctioning ship engine, coming from the machinery room of a ship that was already trapped in a storm. The black smoke emanating from the left diesel engine spurred her on, and she quickly turned towards the exit, fleeing the area as fast as she could. In the process, she took down two more men, sending their souls to Yahweh for judgment. An unfortunate soul jumped in front of her, and her training kicked in, leading her to instinctively quench the thirst of her greedy knife before moving on, leaving the young man with no witnesses in his final moments.
As she trekked through the accommodations, a second explosion echoed from the bowels of the ship, causing Ziva to frown in concern. For one Kidon agent to get ambushed was a rarity, but not impossible, but for two Kidons to become martyrs on the same mission was unprecedented in the history of Mossad. The ship leaned and tilted dangerously, and Ziva discarded her ear protectors, allowing her to hear the surrounding downpour hum on the massive container ship. The sound was ominous, a reminder that the ship was on the verge of disaster, and Ziva knew that she had to get out as quickly as possible if she wanted to survive.
The storm raging outside seemed to be mirrored by the chaos unfolding within the ship, and Ziva's instincts told her that she was running out of time. She quickened her pace, her eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of danger, her knife at the ready to take down anyone who dared to get in her way. The ship's engines were failing, and Ziva knew that she had to find a way off the ship before it was too late. With her training and experience guiding her, she pushed forward, determined to survive the ordeal and make it out alive. Ziva crept along the side of the ship, her mind racing with thoughts and suspicions. The pouring rain and the relentless sea spray battered her, but she stood firm, using the containers behind her for cover. With her firearm clutched in one hand and a knife in the other, she was a picture of tense readiness. Her eyes scanned the deck, searching for any sign of movement, but there was nothing. No footsteps echoed through the deck, no cries for direction or warning. The steady spray of the rain was oppressive, and Ziva's instincts told her that something was off. She suspected that there was more to the mission than she had been told, and a growing sense of unease was beginning to take hold. The possibility of betrayal lurked in the back of her mind, and she couldn't shake the feeling that she was in grave danger.
As she peered into the constant curtain of water, Ziva's gaze fell upon the door leading to engine room, and she hoped that her enemies were all congregated there. She briefly holstered her weapons, her movements swift and economical. Then, with a swift motion, she tossed one of the ship's ropes overboard, the rope splashing into the water below. She quickly regained her cover, her eyes fixed on the rope as it suddenly tensed. Peering over the side of the ship, she saw that the rope had become entangled with the propeller or the rudder, and a shockwave pulsed through the ship's hull. The implications were stark: the Kidon Team, her allies and comrades, had been reduced to a single agent - herself. Without hesitation, Ziva sprang into action. She quickly removed her jacket and wrapped it around the tense rope, using it as a makeshift rope to glide down to the water below. She slid down the rope, the wind whipping her face, and released her hold halfway through, plummeting into the turbulent sea. The water closed over her head, and she surfaced, gasping for air. As she looked back, she saw the ship leaning further and further away from her, its bulk receding beneath the waves. The port, with its safety and its secrets, beckoned her as the Damocles was slipping away from her, and she knew she had to act fast.
Ziva turned away from the ship, her eyes fixed on the port. She began to swim, her strokes strong and steady, as she conserved her energy and managed her breath. The distance between her and the stricken ship grew steadily, and she ignored the sounds of chaos and destruction that echoed across the water. Containers crashed into the sea, the exposed propeller whined in protest, and the desperate cries of the doomed men carried on the wind. But Ziva tuned it all out, focusing on her mission, on her determination to survive and to make it to shore. She swam on, her body aching, her mind fixed on the goal ahead, as she left the tomb of her comrades to slip beneath the waves.