Ziva David sat in her cell, her body bound to a chair with an excessive number of ropes that secured her arms and legs in an uncomfortable and constricted position. The ropes cut deep into her skin, restricting her movement and making even the slightest shift a painful ordeal. She had fallen asleep in this awkward position after enduring the most excruciating 24 hours of her life, her body battered and bruised from the relentless torture she had suffered at the hands of Saleem's men. As the first light of daybreak crept into her cell, the extent of her injuries became visible. Bruises and cuts covered her exposed skin, a testament to the brutal treatment she had endured. Her bottom lip was cracked and dry, with dried-up blood caked on it, and she breathed shallowly, wincing with each inhale as her damaged ribs protested. The pain was a constant, gnawing presence, a reminder of the helplessness and vulnerability she felt.
Since her capture by Saleem's men in the dead of night, Ziva's body had been a map of pain. The metal rods they had used as weapons had left their mark, covering her skin with ugly bruises and welts. And when they had returned to her cell after sunrise, intent on interrogating her, they had shown no mercy. Despite her valiant efforts to resist, she had eventually been subdued and tied to her chair, at the cost of several broken bones and dislocated joints among her captors. The men had taken great pleasure in using their fists to lash out at her, retaliating against her for their own injuries and fueled by their hatred towards her. Throughout the day, a steady stream of men had come into her cell, using her as a punching bag and ensuring that she remained conscious and alert, deprived of even the basic necessities of food and water. Her immobility and helplessness had only seemed to enrage them further, and they had taken great pleasure in her suffering.
As the day drew to a close, Saleem had finally made an appearance in her cell. His gaze had been cold and malevolent, his eyes fixed on her with a calculated cruelty. Without a word, he had reached out and yanked the necklace from her neck, the Star of David that her father had given her. The symbol of her faith and her heritage had been torn from her, leaving her feeling stripped and vulnerable. And then, just as suddenly as he had appeared, Saleem had left her cell, leaving Ziva to wonder what new horrors the next day would bring.
As she drifted into an uneasy slumber, Ziva knew that the next day would be filled with questions, interrogation, and torture. She had no illusions about her captors' intentions, and she steeled herself for the ordeal ahead. In her dreams, she found solace in thoughts of her loved ones - her sister Tali, her mother, and the warmth and safety of her childhood home. But she dared not dream of rescue and freedom, knowing that false hope would only make her experience more unbearable. She had resigned herself to her fate, unaware that Timothy McGee was already on a plane, racing against time to reach her and effect a rescue. The thought of freedom was too fragile, too precarious, to be entertained, and so she pushed it deep down, hiding it away from the prying eyes of her captors and the cruel fate that seemed to have been ordained for her. In the darkness of her cell, Ziva's heart held on to the memories of her past, of the people and the places she loved. She clung to these memories, using them to sustain her through the long, dark hours of her captivity. And though she knew that the road ahead would be fraught with pain and uncertainty, she found a spark of strength within herself, a spark that would carry her through the trials that lay in wait. For Ziva David, the will to survive was a flame that burned bright, a beacon of hope in the midst of despair, and it would guide her through the darkest of times, illuminating the path to freedom and redemption.
Meanwhile, 5,900 miles away, in the quiet Navy Yard of Washington D.C., NCIS Director Leon Vance sat at his desk, observing the present members of the Major Case Response Team (MCRT) as they gazed back at him with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. Anthony "Tony" DiNozzo, still visibly bothered by the sling that immobilized his arm, was now fully awake, looking around the office and taking in every detail, from the rows of awards and commendations on the walls to the sleek, modern furniture. His eyes scanned the room, his mind working to piece together the reason behind this unexpected meeting. Leroy Jethro Gibbs, on the other hand, kept his gaze directed at the director's face, looking for any information his body language would convey. His eyes narrowed slightly, his expression unreadable, as he waited for Director Vance to reveal the purpose of this gathering. After his meeting in the Multi-Purpose Tactical Operations Center (MTAC), Leon Vance had walked to the bullpen, where the MCRT team was stationed, to invite both men inside his office, without the need to cite that he had information that was relevant to the MCRT. The tone of his voice had been neutral, but the seriousness in his eyes had hinted that this was not a routine meeting.
Gibbs and DiNozzo had looked at him suspiciously, reasonably so, given the secrecy surrounding the invitation. They had exchanged a brief, questioning glance, but both had agreed to meet him at the allotted time, their curiosity getting the better of them. Now, as they sat in the director's office, they waited with bated breath for him to reveal the reason behind this sudden summons. Finishing his observation, Leon Vance leaned forward on his desk, his elbows resting on the polished wood surface. He had decided how to approach the subject at hand, his expression turning serious as he began to gather his thoughts. The air in the room was thick with anticipation, and the silence was palpable, as the three men sat there, waiting for the conversation to begin.
Leon Vance, his expression serious, began to speak. "Gentlemen, I have just received a call from the Secretary of the Navy. He has recently approved a mission for Agent Timothy McGee to deliver confidential documents from multiple federal agencies to NCIS Agent in Charge Stanley Burley and NCIS Agent Roberta Wells in Camp Lemonnier, and to assist him in his investigation."
Tony DiNozzo's brow furrowed in confusion. "I'm sorry, Director. Why do they need probie to deliver documents to other NCIS offices? And where is this Camp Lemonnier, anyway?" He leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as he waited for an explanation.
Leon Vance leaned forward, his elbows on the desk. "To answer your questions, Camp Lemonnier is located in Djibouti City. As for why the documents need to be delivered by hand, it's because they come from other federal agencies. If we were to pass their information through our network, it would leave their documents in our databases, which they don't want."
Gibbs's eyes narrowed, his voice taking on a skeptical tone. "But McGee is not a courier, Director. There are more trustworthy soldiers to send documents with. What's the real reason for McGee not being here?" He crossed his arms, his gaze piercing as he waited for a response.
Leon Vance's expression turned grave. "I need to swear you both to secrecy in order to answer, Gibbs." He paused, his eyes locking onto Gibbs and then Tony. "I must stress that this information is highly classified, and I expect your discretion."
Gibbs's voice was firm. "Fine. I swear." Tony echoed his sentiment, and Leon Vance nodded, seeming to accept their promises.
With a deep breath, Leon Vance continued. "Very well. For reasons I do not know yet, Agent McGee decided to keep an eye out for our former Mossad Liaison, Ziva David. I suspect he saw a clue while investigating the explosion at Miss David's former apartment. In any case, as of 35 minutes ago, Agent McGee is wheels up, heading to Djibouti."
Gibbs's eyes widened, his voice low and urgent. "And what is he going to do there, Director?" He leaned forward, his hands clasped together as he waited for an explanation.
Leon Vance's expression turned somber. "All going well, he will assist in the assassination of Saleem Ulman, the leader of Al-Shabaab in Somalia, and potentially retrieve Ziva David." The room fell silent, the weight of the mission settling over the trio.
Tony's voice was laced with concern. "Retrieve Ziva? What happened? Did something happen to her?" He leaned forward, his eyes locked onto Leon Vance's, seeking answers.
Leon Vance's voice was measured. "Unconfirmed, Agent DiNozzo. But McGee's statements imply multiple things. It implies that the terrorist cell that Rivkin was investigating in L.A. was Al-Shabaad, which would make Saleem Ulman the final target in Rivkin's mission. Eli David could very well have sent Ziva David to finish what Rivkin had started. McGee seems to believe that David has encountered trouble in Somalia, and is seeking to get her out of danger."
Gibbs's expression turned thoughtful, his voice low. "I've taught McGee Rule #3, Director – to never assume and always double-check. Where would McGee get the evidence to support this theory?" He leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as he considered the possibilities.
Leon Vance's voice was firm. "If the Secretary of the Navy is to be believed, Agent McGee successfully hacked Mossad by means of a cyber attack." The room fell silent once more, the gravity of the situation sinking in.
Tony's eyes widened in shock. "What?! I must have heard you wrong, Director! Probie hacked Mossad?!" He leaned forward, his voice incredulous.
Leon Vance's expression remained serious. "He has claimed responsibility for the first cyber outage Mossad has experienced in nearly 20 years, yes. What I would like to know, given your reactions, is why didn't Agent McGee inform you of anything?" The question hung in the air, a challenge to Gibbs and Tony to explain McGee's actions.
Both Tony DiNozzo and Leroy Jethro Gibbs were taken aback, their movements and expressions momentarily frozen in surprise, as they processed the question that had just been posed to them. It was utterly bewildering that Timothy McGee, the youngest and most inexperienced member of their team, had not seen fit to disclose his activities to either of them. Given McGee's relatively green status in terms of field experience compared to the other members of the Major Case Response Team (MCRT), it was standard protocol for him to consult with either Gibbs, the team leader, or Tony, his senior field agent, when dealing with extraordinary situations. Yet, in this instance, McGee had failed to do so, leaving both Tony and Gibbs in the dark about his intentions and plans.
As they stood there, trying to make sense of the situation, they couldn't help but mentally replay the events of the past week, since their return from Israel. They scrutinized their memories, searching for any hint, no matter how small, that might have suggested McGee was involved in something that required secrecy. Gibbs, with his keen observational skills, was particularly perplexed. He knew McGee well enough to recognize that the younger agent wore his heart on his sleeve and that his eyes were incredibly expressive, often betraying his thoughts and feelings. It was uncommon for McGee to be able to hide anything from Gibbs, given their close working relationship and Gibbs' ability to read people. Similarly, Tony was baffled. He had worked closely with McGee for a long time and was well aware that his probie (probationary agent) was a terrible liar. McGee's body language always gave him away, making it nearly impossible for him to keep secrets from Tony. The fact that McGee had apparently managed to keep something significant from both of them was not only surprising but also a bit concerning. It raised questions about what McGee could be involved in that was so sensitive or serious that he felt the need to keep it hidden from his teammates.
The silence that followed the question was eventually broken by Director Leon Vance, his voice a reminder of the gravity of the situation. "I will be receiving updates on Agent McGee's operation directly for the Secretary of the Navy," he stated, his tone professional and serious. "As a matter of courtesy, I will relay any relevant information I have to you."
As Leroy Jethro Gibbs and Anthony DiNozzo stepped out of the Director's office, they were both consumed by a maelstrom of emotions and unanswered questions. Gibbs, with his years of experience and honed instincts, had finally pieced together the reasons behind his intuition's persistent nagging. He realized that Timothy McGee, his trusted team member, had been hiding crucial information from him. This revelation was particularly disturbing for Gibbs, as he valued transparency and trust above all else within his team. He knew that McGee's actions would not go unpunished, and he could already imagine the stern lecture he would deliver to his junior agent. Meanwhile, Anthony DiNozzo was grappling with a complex mix of emotions. His anger stemmed from the fact that his probie, McGee, had seen fit to conceal vital details from him, despite his position as senior field agent and temporary team leader of the Major Case Response Team (MCRT). DiNozzo had been offered a prestigious opportunity to lead his team in Rota, Spain, by former Director Shepard, which was a testament to his capabilities and experience. He couldn't help but wonder why McGee didn't trust him enough to confide in him.
DiNozzo's worry was rooted in the fact that McGee was embarking on a solo operation outside of the country, without the support and protection of the MCRT. He recalled the previous year's mission to Iraq, which had left him with a deep-seated concern for McGee's safety. DiNozzo believed that McGee lacked the necessary field experience and expertise to navigate complex operations, making him more vulnerable to harm or even death. Hence why he tricked McGee into not volunterring for the mission after he went to speak to Director Vance privately. The thought of losing another partner was unbearable for DiNozzo, and he couldn't shake off the feeling that McGee was taking a reckless risk. Adding to DiNozzo's emotional turmoil was a sense of pity for McGee. He knew that his probie was, in effect, a "dead man walking," having deliberately kept secrets from both him and Gibbs. The extent of McGee's planning and scheming was likely to be severe, involving days of careful preparation, hacking into secure systems like Mossad, and securing the backing of the Secretary of the Navy. DiNozzo was convinced that McGee's actions would have severe consequences, and he was 80% certain that Gibbs would terminate McGee's position on the team. After all, Gibbs had fired agents in the past for lesser transgressions, and DiNozzo couldn't see how McGee's actions would be tolerated.
Fifteen grueling hours later, NCIS Special Agent Tim McGee finally landed at Djibouti City, watching the day break at 0500 hours local time, a stark contrast to the 2100 hours his internal clocks were still attuned to back home. The exhaustion was palpable as he stepped off the plane, his body aching from the long flight. He was immediately escorted to Rear-Admiral Policz, who warmly greeted him with a firm handshake and a welcoming smile.
"Special Agent McGee, welcome to Djibouti," Rear-Admiral Policz said, his voice filled with a sense of urgency and importance. "We've been expecting you. Please, follow me."
As they walked, Rear-Admiral Policz guided McGee to the sleeping quarters of the NCIS Office on base, a secure and private area where McGee could rest and freshen up before the day's events unfolded. The Rear-Admiral's demeanor was a mix of professionalism and courtesy, reflecting the gravity of the situation that had brought McGee to Djibouti.
"Rear-Admiral Policz, thank you for having me on base," McGee replied, trying to hide the fatigue that was evident in his voice. "I appreciate the hospitality."
The Rear-Admiral nodded sympathetically. "It is you who should be receiving our thanks, Special Agent McGee. Our Intelligence Division was having a field day with your report yesterday. We were curious as to what the Secretary of the Navy could be sending us at 0300 hours local time. After a preliminary glance at your folders, and the Secretary's recommendation to act against Saleem Ulman, we contacted the Fifth Naval Fleet to inform them of our situation. You will be pleased to know that their resources and capabilities are at our disposal."
McGee's eyes lit up with interest, despite his exhaustion. "I am glad to hear that, Rear-Admiral. I hope my reports didn't slow down anything around here," he said, concerned that his contributions might have caused any delays in the operation.
Rear-Admiral Policz chuckled. "On the contrary, we might soon hold the world record for the fastest-implemented Kill-and-Rescue Mission in the United States Military. Estimation shows a high probability of our operation happening tonight. As it stands, today is the last day of Saleem Ulman on this earth."
McGee's face set in a determined expression. "Good. That's good to hear. I'm glad I could help, Rear-Admiral. Bringing Saleem Ulman to justice is a top priority, and I'm confident that together, we can make it happen."
The Rear-Admiral nodded in agreement. "I couldn't agree more, Special Agent McGee. We will do everything in our power to ensure the success of this mission. Now, get some rest. You've got a long day ahead of you."
As the introductions came to a close, Rear-Admiral Policz escorted McGee to the NCIS office, where he was formally introduced to Agent-in-Charge Roberta Wells and Senior Field Agent Stanley Burley. Burley, a seasoned veteran, had previously worked under the guidance of Tim's boss Leroy Jethro Gibbs. The Rear-Admiral then showed McGee to the sleeping quarters that had been arranged for him, a gesture of hospitality that McGee appreciated after his long and arduous journey to Djibouti City.
McGee had been unable to catch a wink of sleep during the flight, instead opting to stay awake and pass the time by watching the hours tick by. As a result, he felt exhausted and disoriented when he finally arrived at his destination. The weary traveler eventually succumbed to fatigue, only to be gently roused from his slumber by a tap on the back of his head, courtesy of Agent Burley. It was time for lunch, and Burley was determined to ensure that McGee didn't miss out on the opportunity to refuel and recharge. After partaking in a hearty meal, McGee engaged in a stimulating conversation with Agent Wells and Agent Burley, discussing the intricacies of their day-to-day work and the unique challenges that came with operating in a region like Djibouti. The conversation was enlightening and informative, providing McGee with valuable insights into the complexities of the local environment.
Just as McGee was starting to feel more at ease, he was summoned to the Rear-Admiral's office by his Aide-de-camp. Upon arrival, Rear-Admiral Policz briefed McGee on the impending operation to take down Saleem Ulman, a notorious terrorist leader who had been hosting and directing a training camp in the region. The operation was slated to involve the 5th Naval Fleet, stationed on the island of Bahrain, and would be a joint effort between the Department of the Navy, incorporating both Navy and Marine Corps personnel.
McGee's report, which had been tactically acquired (military code for stolen) from Mossad, had hinted at the possibility of numerous loyalists loyal to Saleem, and the operation had been designed to account for their presence. A specialized unit from the Navy would infiltrate El Ayum with the objective of neutralizing Saleem Ulman, while a larger contingent of Marines would secure Ceelaayo, preventing any potential reinforcements from reaching the terrorist leader. To gather vital intelligence and make any necessary adjustments, preemptive scouting would be conducted by drones after sunset. This would provide the operational team with crucial hindsight, enabling them to fine-tune their strategy and ensure a successful outcome. McGee was heartened to learn that the operation would also have a direct impact on the rescue of Ziva, a development that he had been eagerly awaiting.
As the Rear-Admiral outlined the details of the operation, McGee couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and anticipation. The mission was more than just an assassination of a terrorist leader; it represented a bold effort to cripple and potentially destroy an entire terrorist group. If successful, the operation could significantly reduce the scope and influence of terrorism in the region, creating a safer and more stable environment for the local population. The prospect of such a significant breakthrough filled McGee with a renewed sense of purpose, and he felt honored to be playing a part in the operation, albeit in a supporting role.
Ziva David felt as though she was suffocating under the crushing weight of desperation and hopelessness, much like the overwhelming darkness that had consumed her cell. The darkness was so palpable that it seemed to have a life of its own, wrapping itself around her like a shroud. The endless hours of hunger and thirst had taken their toll on her, leaving her weak and vulnerable. The physical and emotional torment she had endured throughout the day had been relentless - the beatings, the jeers, the tantrums, and the retaliation had all combined to break her spirit. As she sat stuck to the chair, unable to move, to scratch, or to stretch, she felt like a wild animal trapped in a cage. Her body ached from the prolonged period of immobility, and her mind was numb from the constant barrage of abuse. The worst sleep of her life had been fitful and filled with nightmares, her subconscious mind replaying the horrors she had faced during the day.
It was then that the bucket of scalding hot water had been thrown over her, shattering the fragile calm that had settled over her. The shock had been like a slap in the face, jolting her awake and causing her to shriek in pain. Her voice was hoarse from disuse, and the lack of water had left her throat parched and dry. In her surprise and vulnerable state, Saleem Ulman had seen an opportunity to begin his interrogation.
At first, Ziva had been taken aback by Saleem's questions about NCIS. She had expected him to ask about Mossad, her former employer, and the secrets she might have uncovered during her time there. But instead, he had chosen to focus on her time at NCIS, the organization she had come to regard as her family. The realization that Saleem had knowledge of her time at NCIS had filled her with a sense of fear, her mind racing with the implications of what this might mean for her colleagues. Her anger and disappointment with Tony and Gibbs, which had been simmering just below the surface, had been forgotten in the face of the possibility that they might be targeted. Her thoughts had turned to Ducky, Jimmy, and Tim, who had always accepted her for who she was, never asking her to change or forcing her into situations she didn't want to be in. They had been her rock, her support system, and the thought of anything happening to them was unbearable.
As Saleem had continued to question her, Ziva had shaken her head negatively, refusing to give him the information he sought. But Saleem had taken this as a challenge, a sign that she was hiding something, and had decided to test her resolve. He had unleashed a barrage of physical and emotional torture, using every tool at his disposal - fists, blades, water, and electricity. He had taunted her, questioned her, threatened her, and spat at her, trying to break her spirit and extract the information he wanted. Despite the overwhelming pain and fear, Ziva had remained resolute, willing to sacrifice her life for her NCIS family. This was a feeling she had previously reserved for Israel, her country of birth, but her time at NCIS had changed her. She had come to regard her colleagues as her family, and she would do anything to protect them.
As the day wore on, Saleem had sat in front of her, feeding her a meager Shawarma and water. He had spoken about his day, his training regimen for his soldiers, and the various forms of assault he had planned for her. Ziva had listened, her mind numb, as he had described his intentions in graphic detail. He had told her that he would defile her at high noon, and that his men would follow, as a reward for their hard work. As she finished her meal, Saleem had left the room, wishing her a good rest and promising to see her again the next day, right after dawn. But what neither of them knew at that moment was that Saleem Ulman, the leader of Al-Shabaab and trainer of terrorists, would never experience another sunrise again. His fate was already sealed, and Ziva's ordeal was about to take a dramatic turn.
It was midnight, the dead of night, and the ruins of El Ayum were shrouded in an eerie silence, with not a single soul, living or dead, disturbing the stillness. The mostly empty town of Ceelaayo, a notorious haven for various terrorists being trained by the notorious Al-Shabaab militant group, resembled a ghost town, devoid of any signs of life or human activity. The residents of these forsaken locations were blissfully unaware that, at this very moment, they were completely surrounded by an unseen and deadly force.
Overhead, an unmanned flying apparatus, commonly referred to as a drone, was gazing down on this small and isolated corner of the Horn of Africa, bearing a lethal gift. This was the second drone to have flown over the area in the last six hours, and its mission was far more sinister than its predecessor. The first drone had been a reconnaissance drone, equipped with a variety of sophisticated tools designed to observe and report on the layout and activities of the area. Its infrared sensors had carefully located hot spots, indicating areas of human activity or potential hiding places, while its radar system had identified denser objects in the vicinity, such as buildings or vehicles. Moreover, historical imagery of the area, obtained via satellite, had strongly implied the presence of advanced technology, likely used by the terrorists for communication and coordination. This intelligence had prompted the deployment of the second drone, which was armed with a non-nuclear Electromagnetic Pulse (EMP) bomb, ready to be dropped at a moment's notice. The EMP bomb was designed to disrupt and disable anything with electronic components, effectively crippling the terrorists' ability to communicate or use their technology.
Meanwhile, on the beach near El Ayum, a series of rafts were being propelled by small, silent engines, bringing in a team of highly trained Navy SEALS. These elite operatives were prepared to infiltrate the ruins and deliver a personal invitation to the afterlife to their primary target, Saleem Ulman. The SEALS were experts in stealth and covert operations, and they moved with a precision and deadliness that was unmatched. Farther down the beach, a flotilla of amphibious assault ships was bringing in a large contingent of caffeine and nicotine-deprived Marines, who were notorious for their ferocity and tenacity in combat. The presence of these Marines in such large numbers was a harbinger of doom, a sign that the specter of the Grim Reaper was near, and that a bloody and merciless battle was about to unfold. For in the world of war, the arrival of the Marines was often a signal that the time for talk was over, and that the time for violence had begun.
At a silent signal, the drone dropped its EMP bomb, and from a safe distance, observed as the various heat spots and electronic signals in the area began to fade and disappear. This was the cue for the Navy SEALS to enter the ruins, moving with a ghostly silence and precision, as they steadily and methodically began to decrease the world population. The SEALS were the tip of the spear, the first wave of a deadly and relentless assault that would leave no stone unturned and no enemy alive. A minute later, the Marines moved out towards Ceelaayo, their mission to help the Grim Reaper reap the souls of those who were unfortunate enough to be caught in the crossfire of the hunt for Saleem Ulman. The Marines were the hammer, the blunt instrument of war that would crush all opposition and destroy everything in their path. They moved with a fierce determination, driven by a mix of adrenaline, adrenochrome, and a deep-seated desire to vanquish their enemies and emerge victorious. As they approached Ceelaayo, the stage was set for a bloody and brutal battle, one that would leave only death and destruction in its wake.
Ziva David slowly opened her eyes, her instincts immediately on high alert as she sensed that she was being watched by predators. Every breath she took, every muscle she twitched, sent waves of pain crashing through her body. Despite the agony, she mustered the strength to move her head upward, her gaze scanning the dimly lit space of her open cell. The faint glow of night vision goggles illuminated the faces of three figures standing before her, their features obscured by the shadows. The three pairs of perfectly circular green glows seemed to bore into her skin, making her feel like a specimen under a microscope. As one of the figures approached her, Ziva's mind racing with confusion, she realized that these were not the men who had held her captive for what felt like an eternity. The absence of fear was a peculiar sensation, replaced by a deep-seated confusion. Her ears picked up the distant sounds of gunfire, a relentless barrage that seemed to echo through the night air. As she parted her lips to speak, a slow and steady voice, laced with a midwestern American accent, cut through the silence.
"SEAL: In the book 'The Continuing Adventures of L.J. Tibbs', which character was based on you?" the voice asked, the words hanging in the air like a challenge.
Ziva's response was barely above a whisper, her voice laced with pain and exhaustion. "Ah... Agent Lisa."
The SEAL's voice continued, methodical and detached. "In your time at NCIS, what is the first thing Agent Timothy McGee lent you?"
Ziva's mind struggled to keep up, her thoughts foggy and disjointed. "His... NCIS sweats," she replied, the words feeling like a distant memory.
The SEAL's voice pressed on, relentless in its pursuit of confirmation. "Who is your predecessor in NCIS?"
Ziva's response was instantaneous, a spark of clarity in the midst of chaos. "Agent Caitlin 'Kate' Todd."
The SEAL's voice seemed to relax, a hint of satisfaction creeping into his tone. "Identity confirmed. NCIS agent Ziva David, we are escorting you to Naval Camp Lemonnier, Djibouti at NCIS agent Timothy McGee's request. He is waiting for you at the infirmary on base. We're here for your rescue."
With a swift efficiency, the SEAL team moved to free Ziva from her restraints, their movements careful and calculated. As they lifted her into a fireman's carry, Ziva gritted her teeth, the pain threatening to overwhelm her. She felt like she was being torn apart, her body screaming in protest as she was hoisted onto a SEAL's shoulder. The world around her began to spin, and she struggled to draw breath, her lungs burning from the exertion.
As she was carried away from the tower, Ziva mustered the strength to ask a question, her voice barely audible over the cacophony of sounds that assaulted her ears. "Where's Saleem?"
The SEAL's response was curt, a single word that seemed to carry a weight of finality. "Dead. 20 yards away."
As Ziva was taken away from the scene of her captivity, the sounds of a small war raged in the distance, the rotors of a helicopter providing a steady beat that seemed to match the pounding of her heart. She was lifted into a Blackhawk Helicopter, the SEAL team moving with a precision that belied the chaos that surrounded them. As the helicopter took to the skies, Ziva felt a sense of relief wash over her, a sense of freedom that she had not felt in what felt like an eternity. The journey back to base was a blur, the pain and exhaustion threatening to consume her at every turn. But as the helicopter flew through the night sky, Ziva knew that she was safe, that she had been rescued from the clutches of her captor. The clocks across Somalia struck 0100 hours, a stark reminder that her harrowing capture had lasted less than 46 hours. As the helicopter flew on, Ziva closed her eyes, her mind reeling from the events that had transpired, her body screaming for rest and recovery. She knew that she had a long road ahead of her, but for now, she was safe, and that was all that mattered.