Of Jews and Gentiles (3/12)
Chapter 5
Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs stepped off the elevator and frowned. Something’s not right. He wasn’t sure if it was his infamous gut telling him that or something else, but he knew that something was off.
It was too quiet. It had taken him a moment to figure that out, but that’s what it was. It was too quiet. DiNozzo wasn’t running his mouth off, McGee wasn’t telling him to shut up, Ziva wasn’t making death threats or laughing at her partners’ antics. He started to get annoyed with their disappearing acts, until he rounded the corner and found all three agents at their desks, silently working on…whatever it was they were working on. McGee looked exhausted, but it didn’t take a trained investigator to figure that one out-they had searched the area around and on the overpass until 0300 that morning, and then the junior field agent had volunteered to take the evidence back to NCIS. Gibbs doubted he had been back to his apartment. As far as DiNozzo and David, well, he looked more rested than her, but the silence in the bullpen was enough to tell Gibbs that neither was operating at one hundred percent.
He was about to ask for an update on the case when he heard the elevator doors opening behind him, revealing a well-dressed middle-aged couple, the wife carrying what appeared to be a plate of food. “Can I help you?” he asked with a frown.
“Captain Daniel Sault, sir,” the man said, his voice soft and sad as he offered his hand. “And my wife, Cheryl.” DiNozzo blinked in surprise.
“He’s an Orthodox Jewish rabbi?” he whispered to Ziva, taking in the short salt-and-pepper hair, tall and lean build, crisp khaki pants, and pressed Oxford shirt, a tear through the left breast pocket marring his otherwise orderly appearance.
“What did you expect?” she hissed back. “A round hat, long beard, and curled sideburns?”
“Well, yeah,” he admitted. “Like Rabbi Tuckman. You know, Mel Brooks’ adaptation of Friar Tuck in his 1993 film Robin Hood: Men in Tights-”
“He is also a Navy chaplain, Tony,” she interrupted. “And you should not believe everything you see on TV.”
“We can go up to the conference room, Captain,” Gibbs offered, nodding toward the stairs. Sault nodded and followed the NCIS special agent.
“I brought your team refreshments,” Cheryl Sault said hesitantly as her husband ascended the stairs. Although her ash blond hair was arranged perfectly, her green eyes were puffy and blood-shot, belying her grief. Like the rabbi, she was well-dressed, a straight black skirt falling to mid-shin and lightweight black cardigan over a crisp white shirt. Her sweater also had a tear at the left collar. If it weren’t for that tear and her eyes, she would have looked more like a captain’s wife dining with the other wives at the clubhouse of the Army-Navy golf course than a rabbi’s grieving wife. “It’s not fresh, unfortunately. We had some leftovers from my nephew’s bar mitzvah dinner. I didn’t want them to go to waste, and I thought perhaps you would like them.”
“Uh, actually, ma’am, we can’t-” McGee began.
“We should put that in the break room, Rebbetzin,” Ziva interrupted. “Please, follow me.”
“Ziva, we can’t-”
“Leave it alone, McStickler,” DiNozzo said as he returned to his seat. “Ziva knows how to deal with Jewish mothers. After all, she has one.”
“Ziva has a mother?”
“Did you think she hatched, Probie?”
---
Ziva took the tray from Cheryl Sault’s hands and placed it on the table by the vending machines. She smiled thinly at the older woman. “Please, have a seat.”
“Thank you,” Mrs. Sault replied, all but collapsing into the chair.
“I am sorry for your loss.”
Mrs. Sault gave a small sob, her green eyes again filling with tears. “Thank you,” she managed. “Hannah said you very kind to her yesterday. Thank you for taking care of my little girl.”
“We will find who did this to your daughter and Lt. Shaw, ma’am.”
The rabbi’s wife sniffed loudly and nodded. “Chris was like a son to us,” she managed, tears falling down her cheeks. Ziva had guessed as much; their clothes were torn on the left, where parents would rent their clothes upon hearing of a child's death. She assumed the Saults were taking the role of grieving parents, as Shaw's parents weren't Jewish. “He and Hannah loved each other so much. She wanted nothing more than to marry him.”
“But she could not.”
Mrs. Sault shook her head and gave another small sob. “I begged my husband to make an exception,” she admitted. “I asked him to put aside his beliefs for the sake of our daughter. I accused him of being cold and uncaring. I was asking him to defy God.”
“A parent will do anything for a child,” Ziva replied, her words hollow. She almost appreciated the irony of her being the one to say those words.
“No,” Mrs. Sault replied, shaking her head. “Not defy God. We are children of Abraham, Ziva. Abraham, who was ready to sacrifice his child to show his devotion to God. I fear that my words have displeased God and that this pain on our family is our punishment.”
Ziva found herself unable to think of what to say, finding herself wishing fervently that she had done a better job of reading the Torah growing up, so she would have words to offer the grieving woman. She chose to move on instead. “Hannah told me that Lt. Shaw-Chris-was taking classes at the synagogue.”
Mrs. Sault sniffed loudly as she nodded her head. “They were taking the class together,” she informed the Mossad officer. “It was a couple’s class, to teach them to grow together in their faithfulness to God and how to observe traditions together. Rabbi Grossman and his wife developed the curriculum, I believe.” She looked up at Ziva, her eyes watery with tears. “It was good for both of them. I know Hannah has not been as faithful with her traditions since joining the Navy. I asked my husband to make an exception for her, to not require her to join the military as he had with our sons, but he said that military service is good for both the body and the soul. He was strongly influenced by his time in Israel.” She studied the younger woman for a moment. “You were in the military?”
“Yes,” Ziva replied. “The Israeli Defense Force. Military intelligence, for three years.”
Mrs. Sault nodded. “Hannah would still have wanted to join the Navy, even if her father told her she didn’t have to. She always admired her father in uniform, looked up to the sailors on the bases. She was very proud of her brothers when they enlisted and couldn’t wait to do the same, but she always had her own ideas for her future, which is why she went to the Naval Academy to become an officer. But she tells me that it’s not always easy to be an Orthodox female as an officer in the Navy.”
“She seemed to have been happy, before this happened,” Ziva said gently. “You should be proud of that.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Sault agreed. “She was happy. I believe she’ll be happy again, but it will take some time.” She looked up as she heard footsteps behind her, rising when she saw her husband standing next to Agent Gibbs.
“We should get back to the hospital,” he said, his dark eyes gentle. “I’m afraid Jake will forget he’s not a doctor yet.”
She nodded quietly as she moved to stand next to him. He took her hand in his, giving it a tight squeeze before turning his attention to the dark haired Israeli officer standing before him.
“Rabbi Sault,” she said with a nod.
“Officer David,” he replied. “Thank you for the kindness you have shown our family.” He studied her for a moment before speaking again. “I spent some time in Israel immediately after I joined the rabbinate. I remember saying a prayer for remembrance of IDF soldiers in Jerusalem with a Lieutenant Eli David.”
She gave a small nod, barely registering the sudden appearance of Tony and McGee by the foot of the stairs. “My father,” she confirmed.
“You resemble him,” Rabbi Sault stated. “Is he well?”
“He is.”
The rabbi nodded. “I have always thought about him on the anniversary of that day. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but I always wondered if he was actually Mossad.”
“He was,” she said. “He still is.”
“I thought so,” Sault said, nodding thoughtfully. “I could not think of any other reason why an IDF officer would spend so much time around a Palestinian doctor.” He didn’t know Ziva well enough to register the brief flash of-pain? Anger?-that crossed her face, but Tony caught it. He did the math quickly in his head and realized that Sault was probably referring to Dr. Haswari, Ari’s mother. “I'm sorry, Officer David, Agent Gibbs, but we must really be going. Hannah is in aninut, and we should be there for her.” He gave a quick nod to the team, and another small one when his eyes again fell on Ziva.
“Hamakom y'nachem etkhem b'tokh sha'ar avelei tziyon viyrushalayim,” she said, returning his nod. She had seen far too much death in her life to not know what to say to a family in mourning.
“Toda,” Rabbi Sault said in reply as he led his wife back to the elevators.
Chapter 6
Agent Gibbs waited a full five minutes after the elevator doors closed before he turned to his Mossad liaison. “Okay, Ziva, let’s hear it,” he said.
“Gibbs?” she asked, a puzzled expression on her face.
“You seem rather involved with this case.”
She frowned. “You are always telling me that I need to work on my people skills,” she pointed out.
“I think you’ve gone a bit beyond working on your people skills.” He studied her for a moment. “If this is about Friday-”
“It is not,” she interrupted stiffly. He stared at her for a moment before turning to McGee.
“Did Abby get anything from the overpass?”
“Not yet, Boss,” the most junior agent replied. “She’s running the fingerprints we collected through every database she can think of. It could be as long as two days before she gets through them.”
“Or we could get a hit in two minutes,” Gibbs countered. “So where are we now?”
“Uh, pretty much, the same place we were yesterday,” McGee admitted. “Non-descript bullets, no shell casings, no hits on the fingerprints-”
“Any luck with the interviews?” Gibbs interrupted, turning to DiNozzo and David.
DiNozzo shrugged. “From all accounts, everyone liked both of the lieutenants. Nobody could figure out why anybody would want either dead.”
“Family, friends?”
“Both were close to each other’s families,” Ziva informed him. “His family could not understand why they could not marry, but they did not hold that against Lt. Sault.” She glanced over at DiNozzo for a second before turning back to Gibbs. “I do not think we can exclude the possibility that this is due to their religious backgrounds.”
Gibbs frowned. “Do you have any evidence to support that, Officer David?”
She held up the printouts of the VICAP reports she had read the night before. “I-well, Tony and I-searched VICAP and found seven deaths of one or both members of a mixed Jewish and non-Jewish couple in the tri-state area in the last four years. One was a confirmed murder/suicide, one was a confirmed suicide, one was a mugging resulting in the conviction of the suspect, and one was due to natural causes-cancer, I believe. The remaining three are still unsolved. One was confirmed arson resulting in the deaths of both a Jewish kindergarten teacher and his wife. That was almost four years ago, no suspects. Another was cyanide poisoning, two and a half years ago. The Jewish girlfriend was questioned, but no arrests were made. And the last was fifteen months ago, a home invasion resulting the death of an emergency room physician. Her boyfriend, who was Jewish, was out of town that weekend.”
“Three cases in four years?” Gibbs asked dubiously. “With three different MOs, the only thing they have in common being the religion of their significant other? That’s a bit weak, Ziva.”
She shook her head quickly as she crossed to her desk. She hit a few keys before picking up the remote to the plasma screen, displaying a map of the DC area with five dots, the one in the middle larger than the others. “I believe all attended the same synagogue,” she said. “All lived near Georgetown, around this synagogue. The same synagogue Lieutenants Shaw and Sault attended.”
Both DiNozzo’s and McGee’s jaws dropped; Gibbs’ eyebrows rose. “That’s good work, David,” Gibbs finally said. He glanced over at her, a small smirk quirking on his lips. “Looks like you just got yourself a new synagogue.”
She frowned and shook her head. “That will not be enough, Gibbs. There are thousands of members of that synagogue, in addition to those who attend who are not members. There is no way to investigate them all. And if I am right, he-or she-targets couples.” As if moving together, both Gibbs and McGee slowly turned to face DiNozzo.
“What?” he asked, seeing the knowing looks on their faces. “No. No way I’m going undercover with Ziva again. Boss! The last time we went undercover together I almost died!”
“You were hit a couple of times,” Ziva said, rolling her eyes.
“I meant when you pulled a gun on me while you were asleep!” he shot back.
“Suck it up, DiNozzo,” Gibbs replied, knowing that they would keep going if he didn’t put a stop to it. “It’s not as if you have a problem being ordered to date somebody.”
DiNozzo flinched at the words, which he knew was the desired effect. “Fine,” he finally ground out between clenched teeth. “Ziva and I will make an appearance at the synagogue on Saturday.”
To their surprise, David shook her head. “That will not be good enough,” she stated. “He is patient. There are likely dozens of couples who attend the synagogue every week, and yet he has only killed five people in four years.”
“If he exists,” Gibbs pointed out.
“Yes,” Ziva admitted. “If he exists. What I am saying is that this could be a long-term operation.”
“Long-term?” DiNozzo echoed weakly. “Like, a week?” Normally, he’d have no problem spending time outside work with Ziva; it wasn’t anything they haven’t done before. Movies, drinks, dinners at one apartment or the other, even the odd trips to the firing range every now and then-those he could handle. An extended period of time pretending to be her boyfriend? That was a different story altogether. He blinked to bring himself back to the moment to see Ziva giving him a strange look before returning her attention to Gibbs.
“We should contact Mossad,” she said. “For cover stories and assistance.”
Gibbs frowned; he never liked working with Mossad, not the first time he had been forced to and not any other time. “These deaths happened on American soil.”
“Mossad is not pleased with any attack on Jews,” she stated. “Regardless of whose dirt it is on. And they have resources we do not have access to at NCIS.”
Gibbs continued to study the Mossad liaison before nodding. “Give Daddy a call,” he finally said. “If Mossad agrees, we’ll talk about what needs to be done.”
Ziva rolled her eyes as she returned to her desk and picked up the phone. “I do not think this requires the attention of the director,” she said. “I am sure my contact at the Israeli Embassy is more than qualified to sign off on this mission. Shalom,” she said into the phone, turning her entire body away from the team as she continued to speak in Hebrew.
Both Gibbs and DiNozzo watched her for a moment before Gibbs turned to DiNozzo. “Guess you won’t have to worry about finding a date for the next couple of weeks.”
“Yeah, thanks, Boss,” DiNozzo said weakly.
---
“Tea?” Officer Bashan asked, his back to the door as the receptionist escorted Officer Ziva David into his private inner office. He was already pouring the hot tea into two china cups, not waiting for a response.
“Please,” David replied politely. He nodded once, turning to face her, two cups and saucers in hand.
“Please, sit,” he said, gesturing toward the plush couch and chair around a coffee table in a corner of the large office. He placed both cups on the table and waited for her to sit before he did as well. “How have you been? It has been a long time since we have met.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, knowing exactly when the last time was-she had just followed a Metsada team, nearly got blown up in a bombing, had seen her dead partner, and was framed for terrorism. Not her best day. “I am well,” she finally replied, her voice and posture stiff.
Bashan gave no indication he noticed her discomfort. “And your father?” he asked. “How is he?”
She was going to shot back that he probably knew better than she, but bit her tongue; she needed his cooperation. “The last time we spoke, we did not speak much of him.”
“Yes, the anniversary of your sister’s death,” Bashan replied as he raised his cup to his lips, his voice calm and neutral. She didn’t reply, waiting for him to realize she wasn’t there for small talk. He did, eventually. “I understand you are investigating the death of a Navy lieutenant.”
She didn’t bother asking how he knew; he was, after all, a spy. “His girlfriend was also in the car,” she stated needlessly, knowing that he already knew that. “She is Jewish. Her father is a rabbi and U.S. Navy chaplain.”
He nodded, taking another sip of his tea. “You believe that they were targeted for their religious beliefs.” It wasn’t a question.
David thought about that for a moment, trying to figure out how to formulate her response. Finally, she set her cup and saucer on the table and got to the point. “I believe that Lieutenants Shaw and Sault were the latest in a series of attacks against Jewish citizens and their non-Jewish significant others. In the last four years, there have been three other couples in DC whom I believe have been targeted.”
Bashan seemed to think about this for a moment before nodding his understanding. “And you would like Mossad’s blessing to go undercover to investigate.” He took another sip of tea. She was starting to get annoyed with that particular delaying tactic; one more and she’d be tempted to knock the cup and saucer right from his hands. “And your partner would be Special Agent DiNozzo.”
She stiffened again, instantly on the defensive. It was Officer Bashan who had confronted her on that day years ago with pictures of Tony in her apartment, asking about their relationship. She didn’t answer then, and she wasn’t going to now. “Yes,” she said, her voice firm. “He is my partner, after all.”
The older Mossad officer nodded. “I will speak to Director Vance,” he finally said. “We will come up with an arrangement suitable for both agencies.” He rose, indicating that the meeting was over. “We will be in touch, Officer David.”
She gave a crisp nod as she stood. “Thank you, Officer Bashan.” With nothing else to be said, she turned and left the office.
Chapter 7
After leaving the Israeli Embassy, Officer Ziva David decided to swing by Bethesda to see Hannah Sault. Now that she suspected that there was a connection between the cases and the synagogue she attended, she had some more questions to ask the lieutenant.
She glanced into the hospital room and found Lt. Sault speaking on a cell phone, looking only slightly better than she had the day before. The thick bandages around her head had removed, but the bruises around her eyes had changed colors, giving her an almost ghastly appearance. Seated next to the lieutenant and reading through a chart was a young-looking doctor in the khaki uniform of a naval officer.
“Is this a bad time?” David asked softly, directing the question more at the doctor. Lt. Sault glanced up and nodded slightly to acknowledge the Mossad officer’s presence, continuing her conversation. It sounded almost like she was working on funeral arrangements.
“No, no, it’s fine,” the doctor said quickly, rising to his feet. “Ensign Jake Sault, Hannah’s brother.”
“Officer Ziva David, NCIS,” Ziva replied, showing her credentials. Now that he had introduced himself, she could see the family resemblance: he had the same hazel eyes and chestnut-brown hair as his sister, the soft features of his mother, and the tall, lean build of his father. Although she had suspected as much from the Saults' visit to NCIS that morning, she could see that they were a very close-knit family, a concept she had little personal experience with.
“Hannah and my parents all mentioned you,” he said with a nod. He glanced over at his sister quickly before turning back to David. “Maybe we should talk somewhere else?”
She was a bit surprised by the request, but nodded, wondering what he could offer that his sister and parents could not. He turned to his sister and muttered something to her before giving her a kiss on the forehead. He grabbed a white lab coat from the back of his chair, shrugging it on as he followed David from the room.
“Sorry about the get-up,” he said as he closed the door behind him, gesturing toward the coat and uniform. “I’ve found that if you want to get answers around a military hospital, it helps to be a military medical student and to make sure everyone knows it. You feel like getting coffee? There’s a Dunkin Donuts just off the lobby.”
“That would be nice,” Ziva agreed, following him through the confusing maze of corridors and elevators. They placed their orders for coffee and took two seats in a fairly quiet corner off the waiting room.
“I didn’t want to say anything around Hannah,” Ensign Sault began, “but I heard a couple of nurses talking in the corridor, something about Chris being shot?”
“Yes,” Ziva confirmed with a nod.
“So this wasn’t an accident?”
“It does not appear to be, no,” she replied. She realized, belatedly, that the medical student was actually quite attractive, obviously intelligent, a seemingly nice person, and Jewish. If DiNozzo had been there, he would be teasing her-in front of Ensign Sault-about staring. She wondered what that said about her state of mind that she hadn’t been staring.
Sault exhaled deeply, shaking his head as he stared down into his coffee cup. “Man,” he muttered before looking back up at her. “Are you thinking this is something random, maybe some nut-job like the sniper a few years back?”
“I am sorry, Ensign, I cannot comment on an active investigation.”
“Jake,” he corrected before nodding slightly. “Right, sorry.” He chuckled slightly, almost nervously, running a hand over his short military haircut. “Maybe you should be taking me into NCIS, then.”
“Are you confessing something?” Ziva asked with a frown. His head shot up in alarm.
“What? No! No, I’m just saying… Aww, shit.” He shook his head again and frowned. “I’m sure you’ll run into somebody at some point who will say something about the disapproving older brother… And I was a corpsman for a Marine unit, I know how to fire a gun… Maybe I should explain.” He took a deep breath, trying to collect his thoughts. “I’m not the most observant Jew out there. Not by far, actually. Before yesterday, the last time I was in a synagogue was… I don’t even remember. Not Rosh Hashanah, not Yom Kippur. It’s been awhile. I still try to keep kosher at home, but I’ve been known to order chicken alfredo at a restaurant every once in awhile.”
Ziva chuckled involuntarily. “My new favorite sandwich is a Philly cheesesteak,” she admitted, making him laugh slightly in return.
“That’s something Hannah and I had in common. Well, we have a lot in common. Growing up, it was always me and Hannah teaming up against Asher. They say that whenever there’re three kids in the family, it will always be two against one. I guess that was true.” He shook his head slightly. “Asher heads off to Yeshiva after his enlistment and becomes a rabbi, and Hannah and I stick with the Navy and begin to lapse in our practices. I guess all that Hebrew school and observing Shabbat wasn’t enough.” He brought his cup to his lips. “Even though I knew Hannah wasn’t as observant as she used to be, I was still surprised when she started dating Chris, and I’m sure I said one or two things about my little sister dating someone who wasn’t Jewish a few times, so like I said, you dig deep enough, you’ll find someone who will bring that up.”
“You did not like Lt. Shaw?”
“No, that’s not it at all,” he said, shaking his head. “I didn’t like him until I met him. After that, well, my biggest problem with him is that he went to Penn State and I’m at Ohio State.” He smiled slightly, remembering. “Chris and Hannah came out to Columbus in the fall for the Penn State-Ohio State football game. Hannah was wearing an OSU sweatshirt, just to tease Chris. When Penn State won the game, Chris kept joking about it, saying how much he’s going to enjoy taking that hoodie off her.” He rolled his eyes. “I told them I was glad they had a hotel room and I wouldn’t have to hear anything.”
Ziva smiled slightly. “My partner went to Ohio State for his undergraduate degree. He still talks about it.”
Sault grinned. “It’s that type of school. We have a lot of spirit, at least when it comes to our athletic teams.” His expression became serious again. “Chris and Hannah were good together. They really loved each other, you know? They were one of those couples everyone rolls their eyes about, because nobody should have the right to be that happy with another person. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just exaggerating things, you know, remembering only the good things now that he’s dead.” He shook his head. “I told them that they should just elope. Just find a JAG, fill out the paperwork, and tell everyone later. Hannah said it was tempting, but I knew she wanted that big Jewish wedding. I just don’t get it.” He eyed the Mossad officer. “You’re a woman. What’s with making a big deal about the wedding?”
Ziva gave another small smile. “I was never a girl who imagined her wedding,” she informed him. Since she was a twenty-one-year-old Mossad recruit, she never imagined she’d see thirty, either, but that had come and gone. Maybe some things weren’t impossible. “I imagine it would be important to your father that she have a traditional Jewish wedding.”
“Yeah, that’s probably it,” Sault said with a nod. “Daddy’s little girl and all that. After she’s discharged from the hospital, she’s putting in for a transfer to Norfolk. She wants to move back home to be closer to the parents, away from her memories of Chris, that sort of thing. I’m starting my internship here in July. I’m going to be subletting their place until the lease is up. It’s a bit more than I’d like to be spending, but at least it’s within walking distance of the synagogue.” He rolled his eyes. “Should make Dad feel better, although I’ll probably still only go once or twice a year. You know, I was really looking forward to moving here, getting to spend time with Chris and Hannah.” He shook his head before looking at her, his expression sad. “You always think there’s enough time to do something. It’s not until it’s too late that you realize that’s just not true.”
---
There were weapon pieces everywhere around the Silver Spring apartment. The Uzi had been dissembled on the couch, the pieces of the Sig Sauer were resting on a cloth on the piano bench, the parts of the T.A.R. 21 were now on the dining room table, and Ziva David was making short work of the Galil on the kitchen counter. She wasn’t even thinking about what she was doing; ever since her father taught her how to disassemble and clean a gun, it had an almost meditative effect on her. The thought of her father stilled her hands for an instant, trapped in a sudden memory of another time a small apartment had been covered in weapons parts.
“Ziva.” She startled at the softly-spoken word, her hands instantly dropping the half-disassembled weapon and bringing the intact one to a ready position. She lowered the handgun when her gaze focused on her father’s bearded face.
“Abba,” she said, her voice quiet with disbelief. She hadn’t expected to see him for several more months; he said it would be better if she had no contact with anyone from her life-especially her family-until she had completed her Mossad training. “What are you doing here? Is there a problem with my training?”
“No, Ziva,” he said gently. “Your instructors assure me that you are performing adequately.” He glanced around the apartment, taking in the partially dismantled IED in the corner and the pieces of the assault rifle on the one table she owned. “I see your weapons training is going well.”
“Yes.” She continued to stare at him, trying to figure out why he was there, in her anonymous apartment in Jerusalem. He looked…older, somehow. He was scheduled to ascend to a Deputy Director position in a month; perhaps it was his years in Mossad that had aged him, all at once.
“Ziva,” he repeated, saying her name slowly, as if stretching it out will make the moment last longer, keep the next moment from happening. “There was an explosion in Tel Aviv. A suicide bombing at a coffee shop near the school.”
Her eyes widened with sudden recognition. She knew the coffee shop he was talking about; she had spent many hours studying there while she was in high school. As soon as she started the ninth grade, Tali started going there. Ziva had laughed when she heard that and told her younger sister that she needed to find her own places to hang out. “Tali.”
She almost jumped when she heard the doorbell chiming in her apartment, and instantly cursed herself for doing so. Getting distracted and jumpy was never good in her business, especially while holding a weapon, even if it was in several pieces. She sighed as she set aside the body of the Galil and headed for the door.
She rolled her eyes when she opened the door to reveal her partner, his hands full with a pizza, six pack of beer, and what looked like a grocery bag filled with DVDs. “The undercover mission has not even been approved yet, Tony. You do not have to pretend to be my boyfriend.”
“What about your partner?” he asked with a grin. “Can’t I be that?” She rolled her eyes again as she moved aside to let him in. “Whoa,” he said, taking in the disassembled guns. “I’ve seen weapons locker with less…stuff lying around. That’s not the full collection, is it?”
“No,” she replied bluntly. There were still handguns under the dishtowels, on the top shelf of the pantry, and under her pillow. Another assault rifle was resting under the clean linens. She sighed. “I do not want to talk about it.”
“Who said anything about talking?” DiNozzo asked, still grinning. He placed the pizza box on the coffee table, which was, amazingly enough, free from gutted weapons, and handed her a beer. “Figured you’d want this. I brought pizza-half pepperoni, half cheese-and a wide enough selection of movies that surely you can find something you’d like to see.”
“Tony, I-”
“I’m not leaving,” he said bluntly, “so don’t even bother telling you want to be alone. Now get over here, put this…M16? back together, pick a movie, and drink your damned beer!”
She raised an eyebrow at his faux-commanding tone. “It is an Uzi,” she said flatly as she crossed the room. She reassembled the weapon in less than a minute and set it aside. “What did you bring?”
He grinned as he passed the bag of DVDs to her. “This is the movie you were talking about earlier, yes?” she asked, holding up a plastic case.
“Robin Hood: Men in Tights,” he confirmed with a nod. “It’s a classic. Well, not really a classic; it’s only from '93. But it’s hilarious. Mel Brooks at his best.”
“Fine,” she said with a nod, placing the DVD in her player. “I can use a good laugh.” She settled back onto her couch and accepted a slice of cheese pizza from her partner. She didn’t even protest when he put his arm around her shoulders halfway through the movie. She wasn’t sure if it was that or the ridiculous comedy, but she had to admit, she felt better by the end of the night.
Chapter 8
Special Agent Tony DiNozzo glanced up from his computer screen as he heard the quiet footsteps of his partner approach from the elevator. “Good morning,” she said brightly, giving him an almost genuine smile. He smiled in return; he suspected that her good mood was a façade to make him feel better, but just seeing her acting more like herself than she had been the last few days was enough to set his mind at ease. Sometimes he wondered how he should feel about the fact that she knew him well enough to know how to cheer him up. He figured it was just a sign of how good of partners they were.
“Morning,” he said in reply. He saw McGee watching them curiously from his desk and decided to mess with the junior agent. “Did you finish cleaning those assault rifles?”
Officer Ziva David blinked once before she realized what he was doing. A knowing smile crossed her face. “Not yet,” she replied innocently. “I did not have the proper equipment for my SCAR.”
“An SOF Combat Assault Rifle?” Agent McGee asked from the third desk, his eyes wide. In the back of his mind, he wondered if he should be wondering if they were just messing with him, but he had to be sure. “Ziva, that’s illegal in the United States!”
David gave him a slightly depreciating chuckle as she crossed the bullpen to his desk, practically sashaying as she walked. She patted him lightly on the cheek. “Aww, he is so innocent and naïve,” she mocked lightly.
“Just one of his many charms,” DiNozzo added with a grin. McGee scowled and waved off Ziva’s hand.
“Not funny, guys,” he muttered angrily. “I’m serious, Ziva, the penalties for having that kind of gun-”
“Lighten down, McGee,” David interrupted lightly as she headed back to her own desk. “I do not have a SCAR.” She saw him relax until she casually added, “I prefer Israeli weapons, and the T.A.R. 21 is more than enough firepower for me.”
“Lighten up, Ziva,” DiNozzo corrected. She frowned.
“That does not make any sense,” she argued. “How can one-”
“Ziva, I’m serious,” McGee interrupted. “Assault rifles-”
“Aren’t the most dangerous things she has in her apartment,” Agent Gibbs interrupted as he walked into the bullpen.
“Boss?” McGee asked, confused. Gibbs gestured toward the Mossad liaison.
“Ziva is,” he explained simply. She gave a smirk as she sat in her own chair, pulling out one of her knives and turning it idly in her fingers. She saw McGee glance over at her and shudder slightly. DiNozzo caught her eye and they both grinned; it wasn't as easy as it once was, but it was nice to know they could still play with the probie.
“David!” The light-hearted mood was broken as all four agents turned toward the balcony to see NCIS Director Leon Vance looking back down at them. “Do Mossad officers have rank?”
She frowned at the question. “Technically, yes,” she finally replied. “But we-”
“What’s your rank?” he interrupted.
“Rav Seren,” she replied. She frowned again before translating. “That is the same as your…major, I believe.”
“Good enough,” Vance said. Without any further explanation, he ducked back into his office.
Agent DiNozzo turned back to his partner, his eyebrows raised. “Major David,” he said slowly before shaking his head. “No, I don’t buy it. The idea of you leading troops? Shooting them, sure, but being a leader and a good role model?”
“Then I guess it is a good thing Mossad officers do not lead troops, Tony,” Ziva said dryly, her previous good mood all but forgotten as she began to wonder what Vance could possibly have planned that involved her official military rank.
The rest of the morning went by without incidence. DiNozzo caught his partner glancing up toward the balcony a few times, but Director Vance never reappeared, leaving his question about her rank a mystery that they hoped would be solved soon.
“Well, I’m hungry,” DiNozzo finally declared around noon, hitting his desk loudly with both hands as he stood from his chair. “I’m going to grab us some lunch from that sandwich place. Ziva, cheesesteak?”
“That doesn’t sound very kosher,” Director Vance interrupted from the balcony. All three remaining agents slowly turned to face him. “DiNozzo, David, I need to see you in my office.” He began to head back to his office before he turned back. “And don’t worry, DiNozzo. There’s food in there.”
“Why do I feel like I’ve been called to the principal’s office?” Tony whispered to Ziva as they made their way up the stairs.
“I do not know what you are talking about,” Ziva deadpanned in return.
“You wouldn’t,” DiNozzo muttered, holding the door to the outer office open for his partner. “I bet your principals were afraid of you.” She only rolled her eyes as she strode into Director Vance’s private office.
As promised, there was food on the conference table in Vance’s office, and not those tiny finger sandwiches they had out at the Christmas party. “I know it’s not quite the deli on the corner, DiNozzo, but I figured this should tide you over until it’s time to steal from the vending machine again,” Director Vance said dryly, gesturing toward the catered spread on the table. “Help yourself.”
DiNozzo did so with gusto, but Ziva stood off slightly to the side, eyeing the food suspiciously. None of that escaped Vance’s notice. “It’s not tainted, Officer David.”
“In my experience, food is often offered to soften the blow of bad news,” she stated.
“No bad news,” he said with a knowing smile that lacked any mirth. “Just a really long meeting. Help yourself.” She reluctantly took a plate and joined her partner at the end of the table. “How’s the case?” he asked conversationally as he served himself a piece of chicken.
David stiffened. “You did not ask us to your office to ask about our case,” she pointed out. “And why is Gibbs not here?”
Vance didn’t answer for a moment, chewing his food contemplatively. He turned to DiNozzo. “You always let her talk for you?”
“Usually,” the senior field agent said with a shrug. “Saves me the trouble of having to think for myself.” He flashed the director a wide grin.
“Cute,” Vance said dryly. “Comments like that may have worked with the last director, Agent DiNozzo, but I’m not as easily won over with a joke and pretty smile.” He turned back to Officer David. “I had an interesting conversation with Officer Bashan over at the Israeli Embassy this morning.” She didn’t reply, waiting for him to get to the point. “You’ve been authorized to go undercover.”
“Glad to hear it,” she said, her gaze locked on his, unwavering. “Can we get back to our investigation now?”
Vance smiled slightly. “Don’t get too excited, Officer David. I told you this would be a long meeting. I spent the entire morning on the phone with Officer Bashan, the SecNav, and the Director of Mossad.” He gave David a meaningful look. “Nobody is leaving this room until you two are clear on the mission details. Do you understand me?” They both nodded soberly. “Good. Beginning two weeks from today, a sixteen week course on International Intelligence Gathering will be taught at the National Defense Intelligence College. Until 0930 this morning, it was to be taught by Lt. Colonel Layne Grant of the British Intelligence Corps. The new instructor is Major Ziva Kenig of the Israeli Intelligence Corps.” He slid a folder down the table to the Mossad officer.
“I have not been in the Intelligence Corps for twelve years,” she stated with a frown. “And that was in an enlisted position. I do not see how I can be expected to know-”
“You have two weeks to prepare, Officer David,” Vance interrupted. “Uniforms are being arranged for you as we speak. They’re scheduled to arrive at the Embassy on Thursday, which is when Major Kenig will make her first appearance in the United States. You will go to the Embassy at 1300 to collect your uniforms as well as keys to the condo in Georgetown and a car Mossad is providing.”
Ziva nodded slightly as she scanned the words in the file; she had been on undercover missions much larger and more elaborate than this, so these basics were nothing new to her. She was a little sad that she would have to leave her apartment and her Mini for the duration of the mission, but once again, that was nothing new.
“DiNozzo,” Vance continued, turning to the NCIS special agent. “As of Thursday, you will be Anthony Dinallo.”
“Dinallo?” he echoed. “Seriously?”
“There was some serious consideration to ‘DiNardo’, but Officer Bashan didn’t want you distracted by a past mission while on this one,” Vance said dryly.
“He knew about that?” DiNozzo asked weakly. Both Ziva and Vance turned to him and rolled their eyes.
“You’re an NCIS analyst on the Middle East,” Vance continued, ignoring the question. “Three years ago, you were stationed in Tel Aviv for a year-”
“Where Analyst Dinallo met Major Kenig and fell madly and deeply in love,” he interrupted sarcastically. “I’ve seen this movie. Didn’t want to, but I did.”
“Let me guess-you took a co-ed out on a date and let her pick the movie,” Ziva said with a slight smile.
“A mistake I never repeated,” he grumbled.
“Assuming Major Kenig does not make you,” she countered. He had to grin at that familiar teasing glint in her eye.
Vance cleared his throat, causing both agents to quickly break eye contact with each other and return their attention to the director. “You two have three days to iron out the details of your story and some background information. Work with McGee-we don’t think you’ll have trained intelligence agents watching you, but I want anyone who knows how to use Google to come up with a couple of hits to Dinallo and Kenig. And until Kenig arrives in DC, no public contact with each other-and that includes trips to each other’s apartments for dinner or movies or whatever it is you two do together in your free time.”
“Free time?” DiNozzo scoffed, not wanting to even think about how Vance knew what they did outside the office. “Not as if we get much of that on Gibbs’ team.”
The NCIS director smiled thinly before continuing. “On Thursday, Dinallo will drive Kenig to the Embassy, you’ll take the uniforms and whatever else you receive from Mossad to the condo, and then Dinallo will be treating his girlfriend to dinner at Philipina’s at 1900. The reservation has already been made. What Dinallo and Kenig do after dinner is entirely up to you. Or rather, them.”
“Philipina’s?” DiNozzo questioned, staring down at Anthony Dinallo’s file. “I don’t think Analyst Dinallo can afford that.”
“Your credit cards will draw from the NCIS expense account,” Vance informed him. He saw the smile that was beginning to form on DiNozzo’s face and quickly added, “But don’t think we aren’t watching what you charge.” He studied the two agents in front of him and sighed inwardly, wishing they had two with better track records during undercover missions: David tended to kill people, and DiNozzo got far too involved. He had to remind himself that they were professionals, and they were the best he had. “Good luck, you two,” he finally said, dismissing them from his office. “And have fun.”