Intended for fun only; I don't own 'em, but I love 'em.

CHAPTER I: Changes in Store

"You wanted to see me, Jen?" NCIS Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs leaned through the doorway into the director's office.

Director Jen Shepard looked up from the papers on her desk. "Come in, and shut the door behind you, Special Agent Gibbs," she said.

Gibbs' eyebrows rose a couple of centimeters. So this was going to be a formal session. He wasn't aware that he'd broken any rules recently. What did she have up her sleeve?

He did as she ordered and sat down in one of the chairs in front of her desk.

"We're going to be discussing a couple of personnel issues," she explained, putting all but two folders into her desk drawer.

From the looks of it, one of those folders was his personnel jacket, thought Gibbs. As she pulled it toward her and opened it, his sharp eyes indeed caught his name on the tab. The director studied it for a moment, and then looked up at him.

"How long has it been since you took vacation time?" she asked.

"Well," he replied, "I've taken a few days here and there."

"More than a week at a time?"

"Uh, well, I guess it's been a while, and you're about to tell me, aren't you?" He smiled his most ingratiating smile.

"It has been far too long," Shepard stated.

"Are you going to order me to take some vacation time?" He tried to keep his tone even and pleasant, but he couldn't help feeling a tinge of irritation.

"I'll get to that in a minute," she replied. "Before that, there's something else I want to ask."

She closed his file and opened the second one.

"I want you to give me a candid assessment of Special Agent DiNozzo's abilities," she said.

Gibbs was surprised. "We just did his annual evaluation a couple of weeks ago, Jen. It's all in there. His behavior's sometimes a little immature, especially where women are concerned, but he's one of the best investigators I've ever worked with."

Director Shepard waved her hand dismissively. "Yes, yes," she said, "that's all in here. And I agree with you. He is a good investigator. He's also extraordinarily effective at putting together a synthesis of information and coming up with the right answers. What I want to know right now is whether he has leadership ability. Could he be a team leader? Is he ready for that?"

Gibbs' surprise grew. He liked the team he had now. The loss of Kate Todd had been almost unbearable, but the director, newly appointed to her post at the time of Kate's death, had immediately added Mossad Officer Ziva David to the team. She was not the person he would have chosen if he'd been given the choice, but David was learning from the best to be an investigator and not just a spy and a counter-terrorist. However, she was still a member of Mossad and might be recalled at any moment. Losing DiNozzo and David from the team at approximately the same time would mean rebuilding it again. On the other hand, DiNozzo was a talented investigator, was doing a good job, and deserved to be promoted.

Gibbs looked at the director for a long moment. "Yes," he said, "I think he's ready. I'll hate like hell to lose him, but he deserves a chance to advance in his career."

"Good," replied Shepard. "What I wanted to hear." She paused for a moment and glanced again at what was obviously DiNozzo's personnel file.

"SecNav and I have been discussing a request from the Secretary of Defense. As you know, part of the NCIS mission is to actively participate in the war on terrorism, which isn't going all that well right now. One problem is that it's very hard to get good intel on which member of which terrorist organization is going to strap on a bomb belt and where he—or she—is going to go with it."

"NCIS is not in the business of gathering intel," Gibbs pointed out.

"Of course we're not," Shepard said. "What we do is go in after the bomb blows and pick up the pieces to see if there are any answers that can be of assistance to the intel people. What the Pentagon wants to do now is to set up one or two new teams in each of the services that already has such teams-- NCIS plus the Army investigators plus the FBI¬¬—all the agencies." She went on. "All those teams would continue to work out of their own headquarters, but they would be doing investigations cooperatively. Each team would be deployable on, literally, an hour's notice, to go anywhere in the world where terrorist crimes are committed. The mission also will include considerably more work on gathering intelligence about terrorist organizations. There'd also be liaison with similar teams from our allies' military."

"Sort of a full court anti-terror press," murmured Gibbs.

"If that's the term you want to use."

She paused, looking down again at the folder in front of her.

"Getting back to the issue of your vacation, what I'd like you to do is to take a minimum of two weeks' time. During that period, DiNozzo will be in charge. If he proves up to the challenge, his name will be on the short list to head one of the new teams. It already is, but both SecNav and I want to be absolutely sure that we wouldn't be making a mistake by giving him this assignment."

If he's as good as we both agree he is, he shouldn't have to prove it," Gibbs protested.

"Not my call, Agent Gibbs," she replied. "This may well be the best opportunity he'll ever have to move upward and make a name for himself, and I would think he'd be eager to display his abilities."

"What if he doesn't want the opportunity?"

"I suspect he will, if for no other reason than to prove to you that he's just as good as you are."

Gibbs allowed himself a small, assenting smile.

"Then far be it from me to stand in the way of his opportunity, but I want it on the record that I think any kind of test is unnecessary, and maybe even a little insulting to Tony."

"So noted."

For the next few minutes, they discussed the details. Gibbs would begin his leave at 1700 the coming Friday. He would plan to leave town, maybe even the country, travel to someplace that no one else would suspect he'd go to, and leave behind his cell and all other means of contact. DiNozzo would be the acting team leader at 7:00 a.m. the following Monday, in full charge of any cases that came through the door for the next two weeks.

Shortly after leaving the director's office, Gibbs swept back into the bull pen, trailed by Dr. Mallard, Mallard's assistant, and Abby the labby, whom he'd picked up on his way back.

"Listen up, people. I have an announcement. As of Friday, I'll be on two weeks' leave. In my absence, DiNozzo will be in charge."

As Tony started to grin, Abby grabbed him in a big hug. "Neato, oh gorgeous one," she said with delight. Dr. Mallard patted him on the arm: "Well done, lad." David and McGee exchanged looks that said clearly they weren't sure exactly how to take the news that for two weeks DiNozzo would be their boss.

Their congratulations were short-lived, however, as Gibbs barked, "Everyone get back to work. We have reports to write and cold cases to solve before I leave."

He approached Tony's desk. "Conference room, DiNozzo."

The two men stepped into the elevator. Gibbs first pressed the "down" button, but as the cab began to move, he toggled the "stop" switch.

There was a long moment of silence, which DiNozzo broke by clearing his throat and starting to say "Thanks, boss."

"Don't thank me. The director suggested it."

"The director, boss? I don't understand." DiNozzo was clearly amazed that Director Shepard would have given any thought to him, let alone a positive thought.

"I wasn't told not to tell you this, but I figure you deserve to know what it's all about. She thinks, and I agree, that you're ready to be considered for promotion. This is by way of being a test."

"A test, boss?

Gibbs explained the new teams that were to be deployed and that DiNozzo was considered a prime candidate to lead one of them.

From the look of delight that spread across the younger man's face, Gibbs knew that he understood the implications of the new assignment and that he would be looking forward to, as the director had said, proving to Gibbs that he was just as good as the boss. Gibbs smiled at DiNozzo, grasping his arms and giving him a slight shake.

"I told the director no tests were necessary, that if you're good enough to consider, you should just be promoted. No screwing around. I also told her I think you're ready to move up. Although I'm going to hate like hell losing my best agent."

DiNozzo's grin grew. "You really think that, boss?"

"Congratulations, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, grinning broadly. "You deserve it. Just don't screw up and prove the director and me totally wrong."

"I won't, boss," breathed DiNozzo. "I won't."

Gibbs turned and snapped the "stop" toggle back to normal. "All right. Let's get back to work and clear up some of those cases littering our desks before I leave." He reached up and slapped the back of DiNozzo's head.

"Thank you, boss. On it, boss."

CHAPTER II: Number 2

Ziva was late. First, the used car McGee had helped her pick out a few months before refused to start. Not until she got out and kicked a tire in frustration did she think about taking the bus to work. She'd done that for a couple of months before getting the car, and she hated it. She hated its pokiness, the many stops to let passengers on and off; she even hated the other passengers.

The thought of having to take the bus made her get back in the car and try the ignition again. Her eyes rolled upward in gratitude when the engine coughed but then caught and started. In the rear view mirror, she saw a puff of smoke float out of the muffler and made a mental note to take it to a garage the next time she had a day off.

This endeavor having taken at least five minutes, she grimly put the car in gear and took off at an even more reckless speed than usual. Ten blocks away from her home, she watched with horror as the car in front of her was t-boned by some jerk running a stop sign. Jumping out, she ran over to assess the damage. No one seemed to be physically injured, although the older woman driving the car in front of her looked a little dazed. Yet another driver, having witnessed the scene also, approached, saying he'd already called 911. Ziva gave him her card, telling him her boss was a bear when people were late to work but that he could have the police give her a call if they needed a statement from her.

With that, she ran back to her car, but because the damaged cars were blocking the intersection, she had to retrace her path to the previous intersection. Once turned onto a parallel street, she immediately became lost, and it took her another 15 minutes to find her way back to the appropriate arterial street.

When David finally stepped off the NCIS elevator into the squad room at nearly 7:25, she looked around quickly to see if Gibbs would notice she was late, but his desk was empty. For a moment she felt relief, but then remembered—Gibbs was on vacation. McGee's desk was empty too. Only Tony was in the bullpen, standing in front of his desk and putting a clip into his pistol.

She tried to walk by him as quietly as possible, but DiNozzo, without looking around, said, "You're late, David."

"Yes," she said, giving a silent groan while wondering how he and Gibbs did that. "I ran into a couple problems. It won't happen again."

"You bet it won't." He turned finally to look at her. "Grab your gear; we've already caught a case."

He turned around quickly and headed for the elevator.

"And McGee…." she started to inquire.

"Is already getting the truck out," he said over his shoulder.

DiNozzo disappeared into the elevator; there was no way she could have caught up with him. Hurriedly, she checked her pistol and her bag, then headed for the elevator herself.

By the time she got downstairs, the van was already at the back door with its engine running. McGee, sitting in the driver's seat, looked a little anxious as usual. DiNozzo's face was unreadable beneath the NCIS cap, his dark glasses obscuring any expression in his eyes.

"So what do we have?" David asked him as she climbed into her seat and buckled her seat belt..

"A 19 year old female petty officer was found in her apartment this morning, shot in the head. Metro PD got the call first, and they've already started processing the scene." His reply was short, and David reflected that, whenever Gibbs was gone, DiNozzo was known for taking on the older agent's characteristics, especially his hard-nosed gruffness.

The remainder of the 20 minute ride to the apartment complex where the PO had lived passed in silence, although more than one occupant of the van thought it would have taken only 10 minutes if either Gibbs or David had been driving.

The scene was already well defined by yellow crime scene tape. There were four two-story buildings, arranged parallel to each other but perpendicular to the street. Each building was apparently one apartment deep, each containing four apartments on each floor. Based on the amount of activity nearby, the crime scene was the second apartment on the first floor of the second building. Outside the tape, clusters of onlookers watched their arrival with avid interest, commenting among themselves. There were also several people inside the tape, including both uniformed and plainclothes police personnel and some dazed-looking folks who might be witnesses. As McGee brought the van to a halt, a man inside the tape broke away from one of the groups.

Getting out of the van, DiNozzo assessed the approaching cop. He was at least as tall as DiNozzo himself, but a little beefier and a little older. He had straight black hair touched with gray and cut very poorly, with one lock falling over onto his forehead. He was dressed in a shapeless gray suit, probably right off the rack at K-Mart. But he had a business-like, shrewd look about him. He also looked infinitely weary. Typical cop, DiNozzo decided.

"Detective Johnny Delbart, Metro PD," the cop stated, sticking his hand out to DiNozzo.

"NCIS Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, but you can call me Tony," he countered, shaking the detective's hand. "Special Agent Tim McGee, Officer Ziva David," he went on, nodding slightly toward his teammates.

Stepping over the tape, the group headed across the parking lot toward the building. DiNozzo asked, "Can you fill in some of the details for us?"

Delbart pulled a small notebook out of the breast pocket of his jacket and flipped it open. "Vic's name is Jane Adamovski. 19 years old. Petty officer, working as a clerk in medical records at Bethesda. Her roommate's name is Shelly Tompkins, also a clerk at Bethesda, but she's on leave right now, visiting her family somewhere out West. Adamovski has a standing date with another friend, name of Julie Jordan, to run at 5:30 every morning. Usually Adamovski waits outside for her, but this morning, she wasn't there, and when Jordan knocked on the door, there was no answer. Jordan went around the back to look in the bedroom window. She saw Adamovski lying on the bed, but again, when she knocked on the window, there was no response.

"The super for the apartment complex was out hosing off the sidewalks and parking areas, so Jordan went and got him, and he unlocked the door. When he went into the bedroom, he saw the gunshot wound. He wouldn't let Jordan in, and he used his personal cell to call 911."

"Any reason to suspect either the running partner or the super?" DiNozzo wanted to know.

"At this moment, no." replied the detective.

"And both the front and back doors to the apartment were locked?" DiNozzo went on.

"Yup. Jordan did say that sometimes, if Adamovsky was running late, she would open the back door. Perp coulda gotten in that way and then locked the door when he left."

By this time, the little group had walked into the apartment. From the front door, one stepped to the left into the living room, at the other end of which was a small dining area, with a kitchen beyond. On the right, a small hallway led past one bedroom, the bathroom, and then ended with another bedroom. Delbart led the NCIS team down the hallway to the back bedroom.

DiNozzo stepped through the doorway and stopped with a short, sharp hiss of breath. The victim was lying on her back, still in pajamas, with her hands splayed out slightly to each side. She had a pretty face with long dark hair that spread out around her head like a scarf, and there was a single bullet hole right in the middle of her forehead.

DiNozzo stared at Jane Adamovski's body, and as a wave of dizziness came over him, her face morphed into that of another attractive young woman with long dark hair and a hole in her forehead.

"Tony?" McGee spoke softly behind him. "You all right?"

Tim had not seen Caitlin Todd dead on the roof where she'd been assassinated; only when she'd been placed on one of Ducky's cold, cold slabs in the morgue had he had the courage to look at her, but he sensed what Tony was feeling.

DiNozzo shook his head slightly to ward off the vertigo. "It's all right, Tim. I'll be okay."

Then he spoke to the detective again. "I understand your guys have already started processing in here?"

"No," Delbart replied. "As soon as the running partner told us she was Navy, we called you guys."

"Thanks. David, you go interview the two witnesses and talk to as many of the bystanders as you can, find out if anyone saw anyone or anything suspicious or heard the gunshot."

"Right," she answered as she turned to go outside again.

"McGee, do prints and any other evidence in here and then in the rest of the apartment."

"On it, boss," said McGee.

DiNozzo allowed himself one small grin of satisfaction for the unconscious acknowledgement of his leadership.

"I'll shoot and sketch," DiNozzo announced, putting down his bag and preparing to take out the camera and the sketch pad.

Delbart said, "Look at this."

Following the other man's gesture, DiNozzo noticed that under the victim's right hand was a piece of paper.

"What's that?" he asked.

"If it's what I think it is," said the detective, "it's a page from a Bible."

"And why do you think that?"

"Because we had another victim yesterday who had one under his hand, just like that."

CHAPTER III: Number 1

DiNozzo paused to digest the new information

"Navy?"

"No," Delbart replied. "A homeless guy. No connection to any of the services that we've been able to discover."

"And he was found holding onto a page from a Bible?"

"Yup," Delbart continued. "His name is Homer Algawid, age 69. He slept in an old refrigerator carton in an alley behind the Carter Hotel. During the day he hung out at a soup kitchen a couple of blocks away, helped out by mopping floors and cleaning toilets, stuff like that. He didn't show up yesterday morning for breakfast at seven, so the director sent someone over to look for him. He was found in his hooch with his throat cut literally from ear to ear."

"Any known connection besides the Bible pages between him and this victim?"

"No."

"We definitely need to talk about both cases," DiNozzo told him. "But right now I'd like to collect the evidence here and see what we've got. Then we'll get together later, see what other similarities there might be and so forth. Okay?"

"Okay," Delbart agreed. "Me and my boys'll hang around for a while. If you need any help, just yell."

"Can you send me a fax of everything you got on…what's his name…Homer?"

"Will do."

By now McGee was well along in checking a number of surfaces for prints. After one more intense look at the corpse and a deep sigh, DiNozzo began taking photos of everything in the room and sketching the various furnishings and objects in relation to each other. He noted that there was little blood, indicating the bullet had lodged either in the victim's skull, in the pillow under her head, or in the mattress. He commented on this to McGee, who knelt down next to the bed to peer under it with a flashlight.

"I don't see any sign of an exit here," McGee told him.

"All right. I guess we'll have to wait for the autopsy or for Abs to check the pillow and the mattress."

At that moment, Dr. Mallard, the medical examiner, followed closely by his assistant, Jimmy Palmer, entered.

"I'm so sorry we're so tardy, Anthony," Ducky apologized. "Traffic was most congested, and, as usual, Jimmy's directional disability was unfortunately in evidence." Jimmy grimaced.

Ducky turned to look at the victim's body. "Good heavens!" he exclaimed. "She looks like…."

"Yeah, Ducky, we know," DiNozzo interrupted, not wanting to follow that conversational path.

Casting a sympathetic glance at DiNozzo, Ducky approached the bed and gently lifted Jane Adamovsky's head from the pillow, which, he discovered, was well soaked with blood and bits of brain tissue. Her long, flowing hair had hidden the mess.

"Poor dear," he said in a gentle voice." "Jimmy, pull the pillow and bag it. I'm sure Abigail will want to examine it thoroughly.

Jimmy pulled out a plastic bag, into which he placed the pillow. Before letting the victim's head down, DiNozzo and Ducky noticed the hole in the mattress, along with smears of blood, although not so much as on the pillow.

"We're going to have to take the mattress, too," Ducky said to DiNozzo.

"Don't do anything with it just yet. I need to find the building super and ask who it belongs to."

While Ducky began his preliminary examination of the body, DiNozzo went outside.

"What's up?" Detective Delbart asked him.

DiNozzo replied, "I need a word with the super."

Delbart spoke briefly with one of his men, who walked over to the super to bring him over.

"You're the super?" asked DiNozzo.

"Yeah," the man answered. "George Gund."

DiNozzo wrote Gund's name in his notebook and looked up. "Is that apartment rented furnished, or do the tenants have to bring in their own furniture?"

"All these apartments are rented unfurnished," the super told him.

"Good," DiNozzo said. "It appears the bullet that killed Ms. Adamovsky is lodged in her mattress. We're going to have to take it with us as part of the evidence. I'll write a receipt for it and the pillow and leave it with you to give to her roommate."

DiNozzo consulted his notes again. "I'm going to ask the Metro police to arrange for you and Ms.
Jordan to provide your fingerprints and samples for DNA testing. So we'll be able to distinguish your signs from those of anybody else."

"Sure," the super said, and Delbart confirmed that he and his men would make the appropriate arrangements.

As DiNozzo returned to the apartment to finish taking photos and making sketches of the rest of it, Ducky and Jimmy were putting the victim's body into a bag and soon had it loaded on their van, along with the mattress and the pillow.

"Any preliminary findings, Ducky?" DiNozzo asked the ME.

"Initially it appears death was instantaneous, resulting from a gunshot to the head. Based on gross examination—body temperature, rigidity, lividity, that sort of thing—it appears that death occurred roughly"--he glanced at his watch—"two to three hours ago. Of course, I'll know more later."

After Ducky and Jimmy drove off, DiNozzo, David, and McGee continued to work on gathering evidence for another hour or so. Finally DiNozzo called for a brief conference.

"Are you guys just about done?" he asked them. They indicated they were.

"Officer David, did you learn anything from any of the witnesses or the bystanders?"

"No," she said. "No one saw anything; no one heard anything, not even the next-door neighbors. I did pass out a lot of business cards in case any of them remembers something later."

"Good," he told her. "Let's finish up here and get back to the office so we can start processing."

Outside, DiNozzo approached Delbart again. "We're going to pick up our stuff and go home," he said. "How about you come over to our place about 2 o'clock this afternoon and we can sit down and talk about this. And I'll give you the 50 cent tour of NCIS, too," he finished with a grin.

The detective agreed to the plan, stating he would leave a couple of his officers on guard at the crime site.

The team drove back to the office in silence. Once the physical evidence they'd collected had been delivered to Abby, they returned to the bullpen, David and McGee began working on their reports. DiNozzo found that Delbart had been as good as his word; the case file from Metro on Homer Algawid's murder had already been faxed over and was on top of his desk.

As Delbart had told him, Alga wad's body had been found in his refrigerator carton at about 7:30 a.m. the preceding morning The Metro medical examiner had determined that death had occurred at about 4:00 or 5:00 in the morning. The slash through his throat had nearly beheaded him, even slightly nicking a vertebra, which indicated both a very sharp knife and a forceful blow from a strong arm. As might be expected, although Homer may have lived for a few more moments, he bled out very rapidly, and, indeed, there was a substantial pool of blood on the ground beneath his body. Metro CSI had found some metal particles on the edges of the cut that enabled them to conclude the fatal blade was high-quality stainless steel, but the weapon had not been found. They were still analyzing the particles to determine the exact composition of the steel, which might enable them to locate the manufacturer and thereby trace it back to a purchaser.

When DiNozzo fired up his computer, he pulled up a map of Washington and marked the locations of the two murders. Leaning back in his chair with his legs propped up on the desk and his hands behind his head, he contemplated the map through narrowed eyes, as if it could give him the answers he wanted.
When it didn't, he left McGee and David at their desks while he trotted up the stairs. Outside the director's office, he got a nod from Cynthia, the secretary, indicating he could go right in. The director looked up from her desk as he knocked and walked in.

"Just get back?" Shepard asked.

"A few minutes ago."

"Metro police were there?"

"Yeah, a detective named Delbart. He left a detail to protect the scene. "

Shepard shook her head. "I don't think I know him," she stated.

"He seems like a competent guy. I think we're going to be working with him a little more than we anticipated."

The director raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Metro had another murder yesterday. An older guy whose only home was a cardboard refrigerator box. Slit throat. The only apparent connection between their murder and ours is that both victims were clutching a leaf from a Bible. Abby's examining them now. McGee and David are checking the databases to see if there might be any other connection between them, but so far that's the only one."

"You want me to set up a formal liaison with Metro police?"

"Yeah, if you would, please," DiNozzo replied. "Detective Delbart's coming over this afternoon to discuss what we have so far." DiNozzo flashed his most disarming grin at her. "I promised him the grand tour. He'll want to meet you, too."

"Of course," Shepard said coolly to let him know that his charm wouldn't work on her. "Keep me posted on any developments."

"Of course," DiNozzo said in his most professional voice but with the grin flashing even wider, letting Jen Shepard know that he knew that, not only could he, if he wanted, charm the birds out of the trees, but her as well, in spite of her seeming not to like him very muchl.

CHAPTER IV: Numbers 1 and 2

Precisely on the dot of 2:00 p.m. that afternoon, the elevator doors slid open, and Detective Delbart stepped out.

Going to greet him, Tony outlined the agenda for the meeting. "If it's okay with you, first I'll take you upstairs to meet the director. Did you get the word that she's setting up a formal liaison with your office?"

"Yeah, sure did," Delbart said. "Thanks. Looking forward to working with you."

"Me, too. Once you've met her, we'll go down to the morgue to see if our M.E. has found anything significant. Then we'll visit with our forensic expert. Then we'll settle in here and brainstorm. Okay?"

"Sounds good to me."

Upstairs, they waited briefly while Director Shepard finished a phone call. It was a brief visit—Shepard shook hands with the Metro detective, welcoming him to NCIS, and assured him that she hoped the formal liaison between the two agencies would prove effective in resolving the two cases speedily.

As the two investigators retraced their path down the stairs, DiNozzo raised his eyebrow quizzically and gave Delbart a conspiratorial smile.

Delbart understood exactly what he was being asked for—"Bit of a bitch on wheels, is she?" DiNozzo answered his question with a laugh.

They made their way to the morgue, where Dr. Mallard and Palmer were bent over the body of the unfortunate petty officer. They nodded toward Delbart, acknowledging his presence.

"What can you tell us, Ducky," DiNozzo asked.

Ducky began his report." I can assure you that Ms. Adamovsky was in excellent physical condition and generally very healthy. If she had not been shot, she probably would have lived to a ripe old age."

"Anything else at all?"

"Both the entry and the exit wounds indicate a small caliber bullet, but we'll have to wait for Abigail to extract it from the mattress before coming to any other conclusions," the doctor responded. "As we know from finding it in the mattress, it probably went through the brain at reasonably high velocity without causing much other damage. Just enough, though, to kill the victim instantly."

Having learned nothing they didn't already know, the detectives proceeded to the lab, where DiNozzo introduced his companion to Abby. He could see the look of speculation in Delbart's eyes as he observed the goth chick before him. After the introduction, though, Abby whipped around with a flip of her extremely short skirt, which Delbart obviously appreciated. She put up the ballistics findings on the plasma screen.

"Generic .22 calibre slug," she announced. "No brand name. The markings are distinctive, but I need to analyze the gun itself."

"We don't have the weapon," DiNozzo told her. "Could it be a Saturday night special?"

"Good boy," she said, turning to smile at him. "I had that very thought. Now just go out and find it."

"Have you found anything else on the other forensic evidence.?"

"LOTS of fingerprints from the apartment," she said. "but, other than those of the vic and her Navy friends, I haven't been able to find any matches in any database. The good detective's people already sent over copies of all the ones they got at the first scene; nothing there either. We have some more to get, I gather?"

"Yeah" DiNozzo said with a sigh. "We need to talk with her roommate and her running partner, see who else might have been in the apartment."

Delbart commented, "They probably won't tell us anything. If someone is going around killing folks according to some sort of plan, he's probably also planned to wear gloves. Especially since Algawid's scene was clean too."

DiNozzo agreed. "But we'll keep trying. Ya never know."

He turned back to the forensics expert. "Anything on the Bible pages?"

"They're from the same copy," she told them. "You know, of course, that, although the paper for bibles is made to be very thin, it's also made to last for a long time. I can tell you this particular copy has been around for a while because of the color of the pages—very slightly yellowed Other than that, it's not special in any way. The two pages are consecutive—number 13-14 and 15-16. It's Genesis, beginning in the middle of Chapter 15 through 19. The story of Abram becoming Abraham. Oh, and it's King James version."

"Are you going to be able to identify it? Could it have been one of the Bibles in use at the soup kitchen Homer Algawid patronized?"

"Possibly, if I could get a copy from them to compare."

"I'll see what I can do." Delbart assured her, pulling out his notebook and writing a note to himself.

DiNozzo went on. "Have you been able to identify any fingerprints on the pages?"

"Oh, there are fingerprints galore," she told him. "Unfortunately, it seems someone wiped them pretty thoroughly before leaving them with the victims, and all that's left are blurry, very faint impressions."

DiNozzo and Delbart exchanged grimaces of disappointment.

"I will do my best to enhance them," said Abby," but I'm not going to make any promises."

DiNozzo thanked Abby, promising her at least one more Caf-Pow! before the end of the day. To Delbart he suggested they return to his desk for the remainder of their discussion.

Once seated at DiNozzo's desk, Delbart nodded at Ziva.

"What's her story?" he wanted to know.

"She's Israeli," DiNozzo said. "An agent of Mossad."

Delbart's eyebrows flew up. "What's she doing here?"

"Sometimes I wonder that myself. She was apparently sent here to learn our investigative techniques. She's supposedly very good at counter-terrorism and assassination and torturing suspects to get information, if you believe everything she says."

"Do you?"

"Believe her? I've seen her in action, and she is very good at getting information from people who don't want to give it. She's also a fast learner."

Delbart voiced his opinion. "Interesting bunch of women you got here. The bitch, the sadistic Israeli, and the weirdo in the lab."

"Don't let their appearances fool you," DiNozzo told him with a grin. "The director's a very experienced agent, the Israeli is a trained assassin, and the weirdo is probably the smartest person in the building."

"Mmph" was the other man's only comment.

"You know," DiNozzo continued, bringing the conversation back to business. "There's something that's puzzling me."

"About the case?"

"Yeah."

"Only one thing?"

"Well, yeah, the whole case really. But what strikes me is that apparently the killer or killers used a very sharp knife for the first killing and then resorted to a Saturday night special for the next one. What kind of message is he trying to send by using two different types of weapon? Or is it a message? Is he maybe just trying to keep us guessing? And where are those weapons?"

"And what about the Bible pages?" Delbart commented. "What do they signify?"

"What about the victims? There doesn't seem to be any apparent connection between them? Is there some method for selecting them, or were they just random folks whose paths crossed that of the killer?"

"There's still a lot of evidence to be processed," Delbart pointed out. "In fact, I think I'll head back to my office for now. I'll check in with you in the morning at the latest."

"Right," DiNozzo replied. "Thanks for coming over."

After seeing the detective to the elevator, DiNozzo returned to his desk. Abby had sent the ballistics report to his computer, which he studied that for a while, making notes on that and various other pieces of information. Looking at the time on the computer screen, he discovered that he'd been with Delbart a lot longer than he realized—it was almost 5:00 p.m. He wasn't getting anywhere.

"You guys got anything that can't wait?" he asked David and McGee. "If you don't, let's call it a day and come back tomorrow with some fresh ideas."

They all left with alacrity.

When he got home, Tony grabbed a beer from the fridge and a TV dinner from the freezer. While he waited for the dinner to heat up, he watched the news on TV. He'd noticed the camera crew at the scene earlier that morning, but had managed to avoid being interviewed by them. Instead, Johnny Delbart stood stolidly in front of the camera, reciting the facts they had known at that time and asking for members of the public to come forward if they had any information on either murder. As the piece finished, Tony nodded with approval. Delbart might look like a frump, but he was good at his job, no doubt about it, and Tony was glad they were working the case together.

When the microwave dinged, Tony took the hot TV dinner into his living room. Once the tray was empty, he looked through the TV listings to see if there any good movies being shown that evening. Nothing. He'd already watched all his DVDs at least once and wasn't really interested in rerunning anything. He picked up the most recent issue of Gentleman's Quarterly from the coffee table to glance through it, but nothing there held his interest either. Sports Illustrated likewise failed to satisfy. He knew it was going to be a bad night.

Once again he picked up the remote for the TV and began to channel surf. Several hours later, he sighed and gave up. In bed, though, he tossed and turned. Occasionally he dropped into a restless doze, but then the vision of the two beautiful, dark-haired women with holes in their foreheads would wake him up.

Once, when he woke up, he could have sworn that Kate was standing beside his bed, watching him. He flopped over onto his stomach and buried his face in the pillow with a loud groan. "Kate, dammit, leave me alone. I need some sleep."

The next thing he knew, the alarm went off. He woke almost in a panic, his heart racing and his hand automatically reaching out for a gun. When he realized it was just 5:00 in the morning and he needed to get moving, he calmed down. He was sorely tempted to try to grab a few more minutes of sleep, but years of discipline pulled him out of bed. He padded over to the window, only to see a leaden gray sky that was oozing drizzle.

He pulled on sweat pants and a hooded sweatshirt and headed out. Many people used their morning runs to contemplate the things they needed to accomplish during the coming day, but for Tony, the run was a Zen experience. His mind emptied so that he could concentrate only on putting one foot in front of the other.

Half an hour later, he returned home, slightly sweaty in spite of the chill but with his head cleared of the visions that had disturbed his sleep. A hot shower warmed him, and once dressed, he went to the kitchen where the automatic coffeemaker had done its job. He dropped a Pop-Tart into the toaster and ate his breakfast standing over the sink.

He was just ready to put on his Burberry raincoat and take off for work when his cell rang.

"DiNozzo."

"Morning, Tony, it's Johnny Delbart. We just found another one."

CHAPTER V: Number Three

DiNozzo wrote down the address Delbart gave him. When they hung up, he dialed another number to get the NCIS operator, whom he asked to notify the rest of his team.

A few minutes later, he arrived at the third crime scene, in a pleasant, middle class neighborhood. The house was a smallish two-story, painted white with a green shingle roof. Inside the crime scene tape, he saw a white picket fence, behind which there was a well-kept lawn dotted with various shrubs and a few trees.

Delbart approached as he opened the gate.

"Okay," Delbart began his report. "This victim is a 35 year old male named Benjamin Meissner. He's a CPA who owns a small accounting firm with a partner. The next door neighbor got up at about six to let his dog out, and when he looked over at Meissner's backyard, he saw him out there, lying on his back under a large piece of clear plastic. According to the neighbor, Meissner's married and has two kids, but they're away in Pennsylvania or someplace visiting relatives."

DiNozzo gave him a sharp look but said nothing. Delbart led him around to the back. It looked like the typical suburban backyard—huge propane gas grill on the patio, along with a patio table and chairs, a couple of chaises longues, a swing set near the back fence, a basketball hoop hung over the garage door.

Benjamin Meissner lay in almost the center of the lawn, his limbs slightly splayed. At least there was no bullet hole, DiNozzo thought to himself. Then he saw the mottled purple bruises on the victim's neck under the collar of his pajama top.

"Strangled," he noted.

"That would be my guess," Delbart agreed.

"And the Bible page?"

"Right there," replied Delbart, pointing to Meissner's right hand under the tarp.

"Wonder if the tarp was to make sure the page didn't melt or disintegrate or something."

Delbart shrugged.

Ziva David arrived just then.

"There are a lot of people out front," she said to DiNozzo. "Do you want me to begin interviewing?"

"That would be lovely, Ziva," DiNozzo growled in his best imitation of Jethro Gibbs.

Ziva left at the same time Tim McGee arrived on the scene.

"There probably isn't going to be much evidence out here, not with all this moisture" he observed.

"Do it anyway," DiNozzo ordered.

"Right, boss,"

Delbart thumbed DiNozzo's attention to the other side of the picket fence, where an older couple stood under a bright red umbrella.

"The Nortons," he stated. "He's the one that found the body."

"Have you talked to them?" inquired DiNozzo.

"Nope. Thought you might like to do that."

DiNozzo walked over to the couple. Under the umbrella, they shivered in rain gear. The man had his arm clasped protectively around his wife's shoulders.

"Mr. and Mrs. Norton?" he asked them. "I'm Special Agent Tony DiNozzo from NCIS."

"NCIS?" Mr. Norton queried. "The real NCIS? Omigosh, that's my favorite TV show," Mr. Norton went on enthusiastically. "It's kind of a thrill to meet a real NCIS agent."

DiNozzo couldn't help smiling at the man's approbation.

"How come NCIS is investigating here?" the older man wanted to know.

"We have another case that has some similar elements. The victim was a naval petty officer."

"Okay. So you're going to ask me some questions about how I found Ben and all?"

"Absolutely right. Would you like to go inside, where it's a little drier and warmer?"

Mrs. Norton pulled on her husband's jacket. "That's a good idea, Bill."

As she turned around to return to the house, Bill Norton pointed the agent to a gate in the fence. Once he opened it and passed through, he and Mr. Norton followed Mrs. Norton into the house.

Inside, DiNozzo took an appreciative sniff of the scent of freshly-brewed coffee. Mrs. Norton asked if he'd like a cup, which he gratefully accepted. Clicking of toenails on the highly polished floor announced the entrance of a dog of the mutt persuasion, coming to investigate the stranger. He pushed his cold nose into DiNozzo's hand asking for his head to be stroked. DiNozzo complied willingly.

"His name's Duke," offered Mrs. Norton.

Seated with the Nortons at the old wooden table in the center of the small but spotlessly neat kitchen, steaming cup of coffee in hand, DiNozzo took out his notebook.

"Now I understand from Detective Delbart that you got up to let Duke out into the yard at about six, is that right?

Mr. Norton nodded his head.

"I didn't know it was raining, so when I opened the door, I looked up at the sky and then I was looking around and then I saw him over there. Well, I saw the plastic tarp first, and I thought that was kind of odd. Like maybe it was outside and got blown into the yard by the wind or something. I didn't know at the time Ben was under the plastic, but I walked over to the fence to take a closer look, and that's when I knew there was a body under it."

"So the plastic was already over his body when you first saw him?"

"That's right. I ran back in the house to tell my wife and then I dialed 911."

Mrs. Norton was nodding her head with a bobbing motion.

"I took a peek out there, too, "she said. "What a terrible thing. It was very upsetting."

Mr. Norton continued, "We talked about going over there to check, to see if maybe he wasn't dead, or something. But he wasn't moving, and I have a tendency to get bronchitis in the damp." He thumped his chest with a fist, looking apologetic. "At first we thought maybe he'd had a heart attack or something, but when we thought about it, we knew that couldn't be. First of all, what would he be doing out there in the middle of the night? And then how could he have gotten that plastic tarp over himself? It's just not adding up, Agent DiNozzo."

"I agree, Mr. Norton, and you can take my word for it we'll do everything we can to find out how he died, and if someone else caused him to die, who that person is. I understand Mr. Meissner's family is away."

"Oh, yes," Mrs. Norton answered. "His wife is Sarah, and they have two children, Lisa and Ben Junior. Her folks live near Philadelphia so she takes the kids a few times a year up to see them. They left last Thursday, so they'd be there in time for the Sabbath, and they should be back this Thursday." She paused, looking sad. "Well, maybe they'll have to come back sooner now."

"Do you have a number to reach them?"

"Yes," the woman said, getting up from the table to fetch a piece of paper held to the refrigerator door with a magnet. "I wonder if I should call them."

DiNozzo took the piece of paper from her and wrote the number in his notebook.

"If you'd rather not, I think Detective Delbart will be happy to do it."

"Good," she said. "It would be a very difficult call to make. I don't want to be the bearer of bad news.

DiNozzo went on, "How long have the Meissners lived in that house?"

Mr. Norton picked up the conversation again. "Well, let's see, when they moved in, Sarah was pregnant with Benny, and he's nine. So a little over nine years." He smiled a little sheepishly. "The missus and I never had any kids of our own, so we kind of adopted them as our substitute grandkids."

Tony smiled at him. "I'm sure they're going to appreciate having you so close to take care of them now.
Only a couple more questions, and then I'll have to go. Did either of you hear anything last night at any time from the direction of Ben's house? Did the dog bark? Have you noticed any strangers hanging around in the last day or so? Noticed anything out of the ordinary?"

The Nortons looked at each other and shook their heads. "Our bedroom's on the other side of the house," the old man replied. "And we're all a little deef, you know. Duke, too. Once we go to bed, we can't hear anything from over there."

Mrs. Norton added, "I took him a plate last night. He's not a very good cook, and I like to take care of him a little when his family's gone. He was fine when I was there."

DiNozzo closed his notebook. "All right," he said, "time for me to go back to work. I appreciate your help, and if there are any more questions, I or one of my team will be in touch with you."

He stood up, then remembered something else. "If you've spent time in the Meissner house, we'll have to get your fingerprints so we can determine if there are any prints there that don't belong."

"Not a problem," Mr. Norton replied, standing up to shake the agent's hand. "You can count on our cooperation."

"Absolutely," Mrs. Norton added. "Oh, I do hope you can find the criminal that did this."

"We'll do our best, ma'am. And thanks for the coffee. It was very good."

After leaving the Nortons' house, DiNozzo returned to the Meissner backyard. While he'd been gone, Dr. Mallard and Palmer had arrived and were preparing Ben Meissner's body for transport back to the NCIS morgue. David and McGee had completed as much of the initial phase of the investigation as they could, considering the lousy weather.

"Okay, let's go back home and get to work," DiNozzo told them. He paused for a word with Detective Delbart, who agreed to do the usual follow-up, including getting fingerprints from the Nortons and the other neighbors, as well as calling Mrs. Meissner. They agreed to meet again around 2:00 p.m. to discuss the case.

At his desk finally, DiNozzo ordered David and McGee to do their preliminary reports a.s.a.p. and then pay visits to the soup kitchen, to the medical records department at Bethesda Hospital, and to the small office where Ben Meissner had his accounting practice to interview the victims' associates. He told them he wanted at least partial reports by 2:00 o'clock so he and Delbart could review them during their meeting. They exchanged looks; he was definitely turning into Gibbs junior.

Once the other agents had gone on their mission, he began entering his notes into the computer. His next task was to pull up the map he'd made yesterday, adding to it the location of Meissner's house. After staring at it for a while, he started to set up a table, making a column for each of the three victims and rows into which he entered the facts about each murder.

Homer Algawid. Age 69. Did volunteer work at a soup kitchen. Homeless; except for a refrigerator carton in an alley. Found there early Sunday morning with his throat slit, and page 13-14 of a King James Bible under his right hand. Never in the service.

Jane Adamovsky. Age 19. Found Monday morning in her apartment, in a complex seemingly favored by young adults, with a bullet hole in her head, and page 15-16 of the same Bible under her right hand. A Naval Petty Officer working in the medical records department at Bethesda Hospital.

Benjamin Meissner. Age 35. Partner in a small CPA firm. Found Tuesday morning under a tarp in his middle-class backyard, apparently strangled, and page 17-18 of the Bible under his right hand.
DiNozzo pulled up the database for all military personnel. He was not surprised that Meissner's name didn't show up.

So—neither of the men were military, but the young woman was. Interesting—but what did it mean?

He called the lab to verify that the third Bible page found with Meissner was indeed 17-18, which Abby confirmed.

His next call was to the morgue; Ducky had only just begun the autopsy on Meissner's body, but he was able to state almost without reservation that the death had been by strangulation. The pattern of bruises on his neck pointed to a garrote rather than bare hands, but, oddly, there didn't appear to be any particles of fabric on the neck.

Once he'd concluded his conversation with Dr. Mallard, DiNozzo stared at his monitor; there were some patterns, but he wasn't quite able yet to connect them into anything meaningful. He got up and proceeded up the stairs to Director Shepard's office.

Once admitted, he flopped, rather gracelessly for him, into a chair. He recounted for the director's benefit what had been discovered so far.

"Not very much to go on, "she commented drily.

"Yeah," he replied. "I really miss Kate—Agent Todd."

"Non sequitor," Shepard countered.

"Nope, not at all. She was a profiler, one of the best. I could use her now to look at everything and maybe pick up on whatever connections there are."

"Well," Shepard suggested, "we do have several forensic psychologists on staff. Would it help if I call PsyOps and see if one of them could help you?"

"Yeah," DiNozzo said, sitting up straighter in his chair. "Yeah, that might be a good idea. I confess I'm getting nowhere fast."

Twenty minutes later, back at his desk, DiNozzo heard the elevator ding and out stepped a short, round, older woman with graying hair cut exactly like Gibbs'. She was not beautiful, but she had an expressive face that conveyed a sense of considerable intelligence and warmth. He'd seen her around the building from time to time but had never known who she was or what she did. Now she stepped to his desk.

"Special Agent DiNozzo?"

When he confirmed his identity, she introduced herself. "I'm Professor Rose Bennett," she said putting her hand out. "Forensic psychologist."

DiNozzo grabbed her hand, shaking it enthusiastically. "I'm really glad to meet you. I've got some data here, which, if they aren't puzzling, are incomplete, and I could really use your help in trying to make sense of them."

CHAPTER VI. The Professor

The professor was dressed in a silvery pale blue flowing, drapey three-piece pant outfit that concealed some of her more obvious figure flaws. She also smelled of some delicious perfume, which won her major points with Tony. Her hazel eyes were mild and gentle and her smile sweet, but Tony knew better than to judge her competence by her outward appearance. NCIS was known for hiring the best people in their fields.

"What are you a professor of?" he wanted to know.

"Psychology, mostly," she replied. "I did a lot of research when I was younger on sociopathology and the criminal mind and became an expert in forensic psychology at a time when the field was being developed. I did some consulting for NCIS during those years, so when I retired from academia, Director Morrow asked if I'd be willing to continue to be a forensic consultant from time to time." She smiled ruefully. "I never dreamed I'd wind up becoming a paid staff member."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Not at all. It's just that I expected to have more time to play the piano and read and work in my garden in my retirement. But I enjoy puzzles of all kinds, so this work keeps me useful and mentally active. Now why don't you tell me about your puzzle?"

DiNozzo laid out all the facts of the case, using the table he'd created for reference. He showed her the map with the crime locations marked on them. Looking at it, she narrowed her eyes thoughtfully.

"Have you noticed anything about the sites in relation to each other?" she asked.

"Not really," he said. "What do you see?"

"It looks like the sites are equidistant from each other."

He drew a line on the map connecting each site and then measured it.

"Exactly two and a quarter miles apart."

"What's the angle between where line 1-2 and line 2-3 meet?"

He measured it. "165 degrees."

"All right," she suggested, "measure a 165 degree angle at the end of line 2-3 and extend it out exactly two and a quarter miles."

DiNozzo did so and let out a soft whistle of amazement.

"What is it?" the professor asked.

"The line ends right on a building that's used as a Navy warehouse of some sort." He turned to her. "At least, we think it's a warehouse. We've had occasion to question what it's being used for on a couple of other occasions, but nobody here seems to have a high enough security clearance to find out exactly what's going on there. The one thing we know for sure is that it is a Navy facility."

"It looks as though our murderer has been tracing out a path to it," Bennett mused. "It wouldn't surprise me if this warehouse wasn't a target for some other crime."

"What else do you see?" asked DiNozzo.

"Well, let's go back to the victims. We have an idea now that they may have been selected deliberately because of where they lived and not so much because of who they were. It's interesting, too, that each of them was alone at the time they were killed."

"Yeah, I kinda noticed that," DiNozzo interjected.

"The homeless man had a place where he spent most of his days, but he slept alone in an alley. The petty officer's roommate was visiting family in another state, and the third victim's family also was doing the same thing."

"Opportunity," murmured DiNozzo.

"Exactly. And another thing. Because of the Bible pages, it may be important that the victims' names seem to indicate possible ethnicity or religious background."

"Algawid. Possibly Middle Eastern and Muslim."

Professor Bennett continued. "Adamovsky. Central Europe and probably Catholic, or at the very least Christian. And Meissner. Jewish?"

DiNozzo picked up the thought. "The pages that were torn from the Bible tell the story of Abram, renamed Abraham by God."

"Believed by many theologians to be the father of the three major religions," the professor said, nodding her head at DiNozzo's quick perceptions.

DiNozzo looked at the professor. "The victims are connected, just not in any way we would've expected. I have my agents out interrogating the victims' co-workers and acquaintances, but I'll bet we don't find anything useful there. I will ask them to check on ethnic backgrounds and religious affiliations."

"Well, everything's useful in some way, but I dare say we've moved beyond the point where that information will tell us anything we haven't already figured out."

"Is there anything else you can help me with here?" DiNozzo asked with a smile.

"Not at the moment, but I'll be at your disposal for anything else that might come up," Professor Bennett assured him.

"Thanks. You really are good at this. You've helped me a lot," DiNozzo told her as she rose to leave. "I hope we can get together again."

"I've enjoyed meeting you, too," she answered with a sweet smile. She paused to look at him appraisingly. "Now I know why the young ladies around here are always talking about that hottie, Agent DiNozzo."

DiNozzo preened—just a little—and laughed out loud when she gave him a playful wink. If she were a little bit younger, he thought, he could show her "hot…." A very nice lady.

He stood deep in thought for a few minutes after the professor left the squad room. His reverie was interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. It was McGee reporting that he and Officer David had interviewed people at Algawid's soup kitchen without discovering anything useful except that the dead man had had a hard life that had ended hard. They also asked for a one of the Bibles used there, but those were paper-bound and not therefore helpful to the case.

"Did anyone say anything about his religious background?" asked DiNozzo.

"Uh, well, yeah," McGee answered.

"Well, what, McGee?" He did a masterful imitation of Gibbs' bark.

"Uh, they said his father was a Muslim cleric who immigrated here from Palestine in the nineteen-thirties, but Homer himself wasn't a practicing Moslem, and he didn't talk about it much. Probably concerned about attracting unwelcome attention."

"Thank you," he said to McGee with exaggerated politeness. Then he went on. "It's almost noon. Why don't you and Ziva take a break for lunch, and then do the other interviews this afternoon? Be sure and ask about their ethnic backgrounds and religious beliefs."

McGee readily assented.

DiNozzo told him, "I'm going to be out of the office for lunch, but I'll have my cell if anything comes up."

Once he guided his car out of the NCIS parking compound, DiNozzo turned in the direction of that Naval warehouse. When he reached the area, he slowed as he drove past, stretching his neck in various directions as though he were looking for an address. He noted that the warehouse sat in what was a slightly decayed neighborhood of small, run-down houses and other buildings that appeared to house small businesses.

He also noticed a substantial number of parked cars along the streets around the warehouse, more than would normally be expected for the number of people who might be employed there and in the other commercial enterprises nearby. Something more than just storage was going on there.

Driving on slowly, at the corner of the next block past the warehouse, he saw a little commercial building that had a lighted sign in a dingy window: "BAR." There was no other identification. He grunted with satisfaction and then made his way back to the office, stopping at a fast food joint to pick up a hamburger, fries, and drink.

After finishing his meal, he worked at his desk, doing his best to correlate the many small bits of information that had accumulated in the case, including Professor Bennett's assessments, but without finding anything more that would advance him toward a solution. He decided he needed to know more about that warehouse, or whatever it was.

At one point, Dr. Mallard called him to report that Meissner had indeed died of suffocation due to strangulation.

"The killer did use a garrote," the M.E. stated. "I can't tell at this point what type of material it was, but I've sent several samples of the neck tissue to Abigail to see if she can tease out any fabric particles. It does appear that whatever was used the killer tied a knot in it to exert maximum pressure on the Adam's apple."

DiNozzo told the doctor not to worry too much about the material of the garrote, that it might not mean anything anyway, but thanked him for his work.

He decided to stretch his legs by walking down to Abby's lab, picking up another Caf-Pow! on the way.

"Oh, thank you, thank you, I was getting really dry, but I'm sorry, I don't have anything new for you right now." She took a long sip from the Caf-Pow! "Do you think this case is frustrating?"

"Yes, Abs," he said, "I do. Keep at it, though. If anybody can find anything, you can."

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on the lips. "Thank you. You know I love Gibbs, but you—I adore you."

Amused, DiNozzo returned her kiss, just a little bit. "I adore you, too. Now get back to work."

She threw him a left-handed salute. "Getting back to work, oh mighty substitute Gibbs."

Chuckling, DiNozzo returned to his desk, dialing McGee's cell number as he went.

McGee and David were on their way to Ben Meissner's office, having just completed their interviews with the staff of the medical records department at Bethesda. Because McGee was driving (he wisely refused to let David drive), he handed the phone to the Mossad agent.

"Jane Adamovsky's been working there for the last year," David reported." She enlisted in the Navy when she graduated from high school. She was hoping to go to college on the G.I. bill to become a doctor, but she became fascinated by the record-keeping function of medicine. She's been taking some classes to become a records technician. She was well-liked by her colleagues and was getting good performance reports from her supervisor."

"Romantic involvements?" DiNozzo asked.

"Hmm, nothing major. I called her running partner, Jordan. She says Adamovsky dated quite a few guys, but never for very long. I've got a list of names to get in touch with."

"You may not have to," DiNozzo told her. "I'm feeling that her killer isn't anyone she knew before the murder. Same for Meissner, but go ahead and do the interviews at his office. You never know what's going to turn up. I'm going to be leaving the office around three. When you guys finish up, get back here and write up your reports. I'd like to have them on my desk first thing in the morning."

"That's sounds familiar," Ziva murmured before breaking the connection.

Once again, Detective John Delbart showed up in the squad room on the dot of 2:00 o'clock. He had brought with him the final report on the autopsy of Homer Algawid done by Metro PD's medical examiner. DiNozzo glanced at it, but there was nothing new or surprising in it. Death was virtually instantaneous by virtue of the severing of blood vessels, nerves, and the major airway.

DiNozzo shared with Delbart some of the information he had come up with from his conversation with Professor Bennett: that the geography of the murder sites might be more important than the victims themselves in determining the why of the crimes. However, he didn't make a point of the fact that the line connecting the murder sites seemed to target the Naval warehouse as a site of interest.

Adding to their mutual frustration with the case, Delbart had nothing else to report. They went down to the morgue together to deliver a copy of Algawid's autopsy report to Dr. Mallard and found themselves some time later listening to one of his interminable stories.

Delbart finally extricated them from Ducky's clutches by pleading he had to leave for a meeting at his shop at 3:30. After saying goodbye to the detective, DiNozzo went to his locker and pulled out a ratty sweatshirt he kept there for emergencies. He hadn't dressed up that day except for his jacket of fine Italian leather, which he didn't feel was appropriate to wear to a dive; otherwise, he was wearing khakis, a turtleneck, and somewhat scuffed loafers, mostly because the day had started out so chilly and drizzly.

it was just past 3:00 o'clock. Once outside, though, he discovered the drizzle had stopped and the sun was making a feeble effort to shine.

CHAPTER VII. The Boys

Back in the neighborhood of the warehouse, he found a parking spot across from the bar that also had a view of the main entrance to the warehouse. It was about 3:25, and already cars were starting to pull up to the warehouse, their occupants getting out and letting themselves in through the security gate, which obviously had a coded security keypad. DiNozzo guessed the code changed on a daily basis. Entrance into the building itself also required punching a code into a keypad.

As the next shift was arriving, workers from the previous shift were leaving. The Navy was nothing if not predictable. Shipboard shift changes occurred on one schedule, but a facility like this would operate on civilian schedules because many of the workers were civilians. First shift from 7:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m., second from 3:00 p.m. to 11:00 p.m.

Soon enough, three men emerging from the warehouse and the fenced yard headed down the street toward the bar instead of going straight to their cars. DiNozzo watched their animated conversation and their entrance into the bar with satisfaction. He'd had a hunch, he'd played it, and now he hoped it would pay off.

He allowed the men enough time to get seated and order the first round before getting out of his car and heading for the bar himself. Once inside, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. It was a standard joint of its type—several wooden tables, scarred by many years of use, with wooden chairs, a grungy floor littered with peanut shells, a bar with eight stools, a TV up in one corner tuned to a basketball game on ESPN with the volume relatively low. Baskets of peanuts in the shell sat on the tables and the bar, and the place was filled with the distinctive odor of hops and stale frying oil. The only occupants were the barkeep and, at one of the tables, the three men from the warehouse.

Tony slid onto one of the barstools, positioning himself so that it looked like he was watching the TV but carefully turned so that he could observe his fellow patrons out of the corner of his eye. He noted that the bar offered two kinds of draft, but he ordered a local brew that was offered only in cans. He had no intention of getting drunk; to prevent anyone from noticing that he wasn't downing a full glass each round, he planned to take only one or two swallows from each can.

After his first swallow, he began paying close attention to the conversation going on at the table.

"God knows I didn't drop that container on purpose," said one. "But that goddamned Jew-boy jumped me like I just committed sabotage er somepin'."

"Goddam bastard," concurred his buddies, and all three raised their glasses in a negative toast to the "bastard."

The second man offered his opinion. "If it wasn't fer them Jews, things would go a lot smoother in that place."

"Dam straight," echoed the third man, and once again they raised their glasses.

"Don't know why I keep workin' there," grumbled the first.

"Yeah, I'd quit tomorrow if I could find another job," offered the second.

"Pay's not that dam good," the third stated.

"Buncha under-paid, over-worked pack mules is what we are," the first one said.

"Pack mules," the others echoed in unison.

They paused to drain their glasses and then signaled the barkeeper to bring them the next round. Tony added his own signal, indicating he would pay for the round.

The barkeeper served the three, letting them know that the stranger at the bar was picking up the tab.
Lifting the fresh glasses in a salute of thanks toward Tony, they drank deeply.

When he put down his glass, the first man, glancing at his companions in an unspoken suggestion and getting their assent, addressed Tony.

"Wanna join us?"

Tony looked over at them as if he were appraising them. "Don't mind if I do."

As he moved from the stool to a chair, he signaled the barkeeper to bring him another can as well. When he was seated and served, he stuck out his hand and introduced himself.

"Tony DiNozzo."

The first warehouse worker's name was Ed Kern, the second Joe Jackson, and the third Andy MacMillan.

"We were just talkin' about our goddam bosses," Ed advised him.

The other two mumbled their usual imprecations.

Andy asked DiNozzo, "You gotta boss?"

Tony smiled with what he hoped was the right degree of bitter sarcasm.

"Oh, yeah, I gotta boss. Goddam ex-Marine. Hard as nails and just as mean. Likes to swat me on the back of the head whenever he thinks I'm not working hard enough." For a moment, Tony imagined Gibbs' hand materializing out of thin air to give him the usual slap.

The guys mumbled again, and Joe muttered, "Goddam bosses." The four of them raised their drinks once more.

"What kinda work you do, Tony?" Joe asked.

"Research," he replied.

"No kiddin'," Ed exclaimed. "So do we."

"Well, we don't do the actual research," Andy corrected. "We're just the mules moving all the goddam equipment and what not around."

"What kinda research is it?" Tony asked as casually as he could.

"Oh, it's somethin' to do with all these high-tech weapons systems," Ed said. Tony had the distinct impression that Joe was kicking Ed's shin under the table to shut him up.

Ed continued, "'Course, it's all hush-hush. Somethin' the Navy's doin' for those goddam Israelis. Ya ask me, we should blow all them dam Aye-rabs and Jews to hell and be done with ‘em."

Joe looked at Ed. "Them Aye-rabs and Jews is the ones payin' your salary."

"Yeah, well, ain't that goddam good of a salary," Ed retorted.

"Who's in charge? The Navy or the Jews?" Tony asked.

"Oh, there's a Navy guy in there, all right," Ed responded. "But it's the goddam Jews that're runnin' things."

"Ole Avram," added Andy.

"Yeah, ole Avram," Ed continued. "Goddam jerk's nose is bigger than he is."

Joe and Andy laughed at Ed's joke.

Ed went on. "Some kinda of nukiler scientist or somepun. Tryin' to build a better bomb, I guess. I dunno."

"Is he the only Jew?" Tony asked.

"Hell, no." It was Joe who answered this time. "There's about a dozen of ‘em runnin' around. "All scientists. Think they're a shitload better'n us."

"Hoity-toity," Ed added. He lifted his hand, imitating someone drinking tea with a raised pinkie, rolling his shoulders in an exaggerated simper.

They all laughed.

"Speakin' of hoity-toity." Andy was about to change the subject. "You still goin' out with that bitch, Ed?"

The conversation took a decided turn into the scatological as Ed discussed the bitch. Both Joe and Andy, it turned out, were married, but they were not loathe to bad-mouth their wives. Tony had a story or two or his own to tell. After a couple of hours, his companions seemed to feel as though he could have been their buddy for a long time.

By six o'clock they had downed several rounds of beer, except that Tony, by virtue of just sipping at his cans, had consumed the equivalent of only half of one can. It was time for Joe and Andy to head home to their respective missuses and dinner; Ed was planning on meeting the bitch for more drinks, maybe even some food, and who knows what else.

Outside on the sidewalk, Ed asked Tony, "Say, how'd you find this place anyways?"

"I was just drivin' around, and it looked like a good place to stop."

"You gonna come back?"

"If I can find it again."

They all guffawed and punched Tony's arm.

Joe spoke eagerly. "You're one of the good guys, DiNozzo. You come back any time."

"I will," he assured them.

NCIS Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo had a lot to think about on his way home from the no-name bar. Although the investigations of the three murders were not moving forward very fast, it had been a stroke of luck for him to follow up on his hunch that the bar near the warehouse might be a source of good intel.

Gibbs didn't believe in coincidence, and DiNozzo was pretty sure he didn't either, but, by coincidence, he had shown up in the bar on a day when the three laborers had had some issues with their supervisors and were wanting to vent. They had recognized Tony as one of themselves. They had had just enough booze to lubricate their tongues so that he had learned more about the warehouse than he ever could have by going through formal channels.

Actually, of course, it wasn't even really a warehouse. It was a stage set designed to look like a warehouse, but it really was a weapons research facility, a black ops one at that. Nuclear stuff. The Navy and the Israelis cooperating on…what?...a new type of weapon? a new delivery system? some sort of timing device? The guys weren't privy to that level of information, but they did know that something was about to happen. There was to be a delivery or a pick up in the next few days of part of whatever it was that the facility was working on.

He had learned in the ebb and flow of conversation that a lot of new guys were showing up in the building in anticipation of this event, guys who wore dark colored suits and earwigs.

"Security guys," Ed had said, nodding his head knowingly. "A lot of ‘em is Jews, too."

"Mossad," offered Andy.

"Mossad?" repeated Tony. "What's that about?"

"Like Israeli CIA," Andy explained.

The information had clicked into place in Tony's brain like a puzzle piece. He had no doubt that the murders were connected to whatever event was about to occur at the facility, but he couldn't see the why of it, unless the someone who was doing this was merely amusing himself by setting up a giant puzzle as if he was daring the police and NCIS to put it together, hoping that they probably wouldn't be able to do so in time for…for what?

And was it really Mossad that was working there? Did Ziva know about this? She was still officially a Mossad agent herself. If it was Mossad, she probably knew at least some of the people assigned to the operation. Would they have been in touch with her, if only to let her know they were in town? Did she maybe have some deeper involvement in what was going on? She had, after all, been control for a supposed Mossad officer, the traitorous, murdering Ari. Was she perhaps still acting as a control for one or more of the agents now working at the Navy black ops research facility? DiNozzo knew it was unlikely that he would get answers to those questions any time soon.

Tony also reflected that he'd broken a bunch of rules in running his little undercover operation at the bar. He hadn't really thought about it at the time he'd decided to do it, but now he had to consider that, if the Director or, God forbid, Gibbs ever found out about it, he might well find that he had screwed any chance he had to be promoted to one of the new teams. He could even lose his job.

He hadn't told anyone where he was going. Had he gotten into any trouble, he would have had no backup, no one to call for help. It was just plain silly ass luck that the guys had been so willing to break their own oaths of secrecy, and give him more information than they should have.

Of course, one of the reasons he'd decided to go to the bar tonight was that he enjoyed doing undercover work. He knew he was good at it. Others, including Gibbs, recognized that his humor-filled, easy-going manner was a big part of his success. He had a lot of instinctive skill in dealing with people at different levels of society. Even though he was movie star handsome and obviously intelligent, when needed he would show no ego, blending in with his surroundings, putting people at ease, gaining their trust and admiration as naturally as he breathed. His school-boy jokes and pranks at work covered a sensitive nature that others sensed more than perceived, and caused them instinctively to trust and admire him. He was a chameleon, a born actor who could easily put on and take off different personalities.

It had happened again this evening. The boys at the bar had accepted him readily. Despite the rudeness of their language, he had liked them, and let it show. His grandmother DiNozzo, who was devoutly religious, spoke of such people as "salt of the earth," even as she deplored their language and their biases. As a cop, he'd met many similar souls, and he appreciated them for what they were. Their obvious low-grade anti-Semitism bothered him, but he would never "out" Ed, Joe, and Andy for their indiscretions, and he hoped they would return the favor.

He stopped at a small neighborhood restaurant near his apartment that he patronized frequently. It was a little more upscale than the no-name bar, but it was cozy, and the owners friendly and accommodating. After wrapping himself around some of Mrs. Keller's delicious meatloaf and hand-mashed potatoes, he ordered a piece of apple pie and coffee, savoring it for well over an hour while he chatted with the host and hostess. Then, well-sated, he headed home, where he turned on the TV to watch more basketball for a few hours.

He slept better that night than he had the night before, and Kate did not visit him again.

CHAPTER VIII: Kidnapped

In the morning he began reading the various reports from Agents David and McGee and from the lab and the morgue. There was little new information. Among the various witnesses from the three murder sites, nobody had been aware of anything untoward at about five in the morning on the three days on which the victims had been murdered. Ducky had confirmed that each death took place in a window from about 3:30 a.m. to 5:30 a.m. Abby confirmed that the tiny metallic shards from the knife blade that had sliced through Algawid's throat were of a type of highly refined German steel, but she couldn't determine what type of weapon had fired the shot that killed Petty Officer Adamovsky, nor what fabric had been used to make the garrote that strangled Ben Meissner.

DiNozzo was shaking his head with frustration when the phone on his desk rang.

"DiNozzo."

A male voice said in a husky whisper, "Good morning, Special Agent DiNozzo. I suggest you spend some time this morning trying to locate the forensic psychologist, Professor Rose Bennett. She seems to have disappeared."

"Who are you?" DiNozzo started to ask, but he recognized the sound of the connection being severed.

"McGee!"

"Yes, boss?"

"See if you can trace that call. It wasn't very long, but do what you can."

McGee sprang to the task, his fingers dancing over his keyboard, while DiNozzo ran to Gibb's desk to use the phone there. The Communication Center informed him that the professor's supervisor had called just a few minutes before with a request to try to locate Bennett, but they had not turned up any signs that the professor was in the building or that she had even arrived at work. The operator added that calls to the professor's home number and her cell had not been answered.

"McGee, did that call come through the switchboard, or was it direct dial?"

"Uh, just a minute. I'm getting there."

"Sooner rather than later," challenged DiNozzo.

"Um, I think I've got it," McGee replied uncertainly.

"You think, McGee?"

"Uh, here it is."

"Well?"

"It was direct dialed," McGee reported.

"And did you get a location?"

"Nope, it was too short."

DiNozzo took the stairs two at a time. He swept past Cynthia, slammed the Director's door open, only to find her interviewing another agent. He ordered the other agent out. The agent sent a glance toward the Director, who nodded.

When the door closed behind the other agent, Shepard said coolly, "I hope you have a good reason for breaking in like this."

"I just got an anonymous and very brief telephone call from someone who inferred he'd kidnapped Professor Bennett, "he said in a rush. "McGee's working on tracing it now, but it was very short, and he probably won't be able to find it. The really interesting fact is that it was direct-dialed to my desk."

A look of alarm crossed the director's face. "What should we do?" she asked with a touch of uncertainty in her voice.

"First of all, I need to know how many people were aware that Professor Bennett and I were talking about this case yesterday. Besides everybody in the squad room."

Shepard's eyes unfocused for a moment while she considered the question. "I didn't really know who PsyOps was sending you," she said. "So it would have been her supervisor, Dr. Henning. You and the members of your team. And, as you say, everybody else in the squad room who saw the two of you talking together."

DiNozzo had turned and started for the door again, throwing a hasty "thank you" over his shoulder toward her. He stopped before he got out the door and turned back to face her.

"I need to ask you something else," he said with urgency. "Do you have any reason to believe that Ziva David is still working for Mossad?"

Shepard was slightly taken aback. "Well, of course, she is," she replied. "She's on active assignment with us. What are you saying?"

"Any reason to believe she's still controlling other Mossad agents?"

"I don't know. We've never discussed that. To the best of my knowledge, training here at NCIS is her only assignment right now."

"I suggest you discuss that with her then. And sooner rather later." This time DiNozzo made it through the door, with the director calling after him. "What on earth are you talking about? Are you accusing Ziva of something?"

Back in the bullpen, DiNozzo said, "McGee! Weapons. You're with me."

At that moment he wasn't sure what he was going to do or where he was going to go. He forced himself to stand still and take a deep breath. He glanced up and saw Ziva at her desk. Suddenly, his instincts kicked in, and he knew exactly where to go.

He bolted back up the stairs to the railing overlooking the squad room, at which the director was now standing, asking him what in hell was going on. He grabbed her by the arm, pulled her through her secretary's office, and into her own.

Shutting the door, he faced her. "Madame Director," he said, deliberately using a form of address he knew she hated, so that she would pay close attention. "I have reason to believe, and the gut instinct to know, exactly where Professor Bennett is. But I need your help."

"DiNozzo, you are trying my patience, and that could have consequences for you."

"You want me to do a good job to impress SecNav?" he spat at her. "That's not the most important issue here right now. Right now, one of our people is missing. She's been consulting on a case in which three people have been brutally murdered with little apparent reason. Nobody outside this building, and precious few inside it, knew that. I think I have some of the answers, but in order to solve this case, I can't afford to observe all the niceties. And especially if I'm going to find Professor Bennett before she becomes victim number four."

As he paused, Shepard looked at him speculatively. "You're turning into Gibbs," she commented.

"I hope so," replied the agent. "He's the best, and I've learned a lot from him. And if I work like he does, so much the better for NCIS. Now will you do what I ask?"

She paused, sighing. "All right. What do you want?"

"Straight answers, for one thing. One of the things the professor was able to see in the facts we have so far in this case was that a certain Naval warehouse is the actual target for these crimes. The killer is in some way connected with that warehouse. The victims themselves weren't important to him, but where they lived was. The murder sites form a pointer headed right toward that facility. He's playing with us, and he's not expecting us to put the clues together in time. In the past we've had reason to have an investigative interest in that facility, but we've never been given enough information about its purpose."

DiNozzo went on. "I don't care how high you have to go, how many markers you have to call in, even how many higher ups you have to sleep with, but I need access to that building right now. I need to know what's going on there, who's working there, and what the security codes are."

The director gasped.

She said, "You don't want much, do you?"

"If you want to have to explain to SecNav how it was you lost an employee who's not a field agent, you can shut me down. But I don't recommend it."

"Well," she blustered, "I can't produce all that in five minutes time."

"I know you can't," DiNozzo replied in a more reasonable tone. "McGee and I are going to go over to the professor's house just to check it out, make sure she's not there, sick or hurt, although that's not likely. We'll be gone a good 45 minutes, so you'll have time to get everything in place."

Again, he turned to leave the room, but turned back. "And, madame director?"

"What?"

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't discuss this with Officer David."

CHAPTER IX: The Partners Investigate

DiNozzo began the trip to Rose Bennett's home driving maniacally, as Gibbs would have done. Watching McGee hanging on for dear life caused a grim smile to twitch at the corners of his mouth, until he remembered she was already apparently in custody, and getting there any sooner, or maybe not at all, was probably not going to be of any immediate help to her.

He slowed down, glancing again at the younger agent. Over the years that McGee had been on the team, he had taken a lot of grief from DiNozzo. And in spite of faltering when he had accidentally shot an undercover cop, McGee had stuck it out—had put up with DiNozzo's razzing, had worked his butt off, and was turning into a damned good agent. DiNozzo realized that his respect for McGee had been growing along with McGee's increased confidence in his own abilities to the point where, besides Gibbs himself, there was no one he'd rather have at his back than McGee. He made a decision to act accordingly.

Taking a deep breath, he told McGee everything he knew about the case so far and exactly how he had acquired that knowledge. McGee gazed at him with his mouth partially open, not quite comprehending the confidence DiNozzo was placing in him, not quite understanding yet that in that moment, his relationship with DiNozzo was changing radically, but understanding that his older colleague was sincere. Never again would he have to hear the hated nickname "probie," for DiNozzo had judged him and found him to be a worthy partner.

Before he had time to react, DiNozzo was turning the car into the lane where Professor Bennett lived. It was a neighborhood of decades-old cottages, lovingly cared for over the years, shaded by large, old trees.

"There's the house," McGee pointed out.

"Is that the professor's car parked in the drive?" DiNozzo asked.

McGee had already opened up his laptop to check the license plate. "Yup, it's hers."

DiNozzo drove slowly past the yard to park a couple of houses further along the street. Both men unholstered their weapons.

"Keep it out of sight as much as possible," instructed DiNozzo. "Don't want to alarm the neighbors."

Carefully, they exited their vehicle, looking in all directions to assess their surroundings. No one was in view. Cautiously they approached the professor's car, McGee going around to the passenger while DiNozzo checked the driver's side.

McGee carefully surveyed the interior. "Her purse is still here, on the floor."

DiNozzo meanwhile was examining the scuffed grass at the edge of the concrete drive. "They got her when she got out of the car, probably last night when she came home after work. Looks like she kicked a little bit. Hope she scored on one of ‘em."

He looked up and scanned the neighborhood again.

"Let's check out the house. You go around to the back, and I'll meet you there."

McGee walked up the drive cautiously, ducking down when he passed the windows. DiNozzo stepped up on the porch, which held a couple of wicker chairs. He noted the plaque attached to the wall next to the front door: "Caution: watch cats on duty." He knew the professor had a sense of humor, but he hadn't pegged her for being whimsical. He checked the locks; one pin-and-tumbler and one deadbolt. Both appeared to be securely locked. He stepped off the porch and went around the other side of the house. Nothing appeared to be out of order.

In the back yard he saw several beds of flowers and vegetables. McGee was on the back porch, peering through a window.

"Anything?" DiNozzo asked.

"Not that I can see."

DiNozzo checked the locks on the back door. Locked tight. "Go back around to the front door and wait for me. I'm going to break this window and clear the inside."

As McGee trotted back down the driveway, DiNozzo returned his pistol to its holster and removed his jacket. He held the jacket up against the window, hoping for a moment that the only security system the professor had was the watch cats. Looking around again to assess neighborhood activity and seeing no one, he smashed his fist into the window through the jacket.

No sirens went off. In fact, there was no sound except for glass tinkling on the floor as he punched the remaining shards out of the frame, making a mental note to himself to requisition another window for the professor from Accounting.

He shook out his jacket and put it back on, and, retrieving his pistol, he stepped carefully through the now-empty sash into what turned out to be the dining room. Across a small hall, on the other side of the back door was the kitchen, where he found the watch cats, four of them, huddled under a small table and hissing at him.

"Cool it, cats," he told them. "I'm one of the good guys." It didn't seem to placate them at all.

He made note that three large bowls on the floor were empty of any evidence of cat food, and a large automatic water bowl was beginning to show signs of depletion.

"Let me just finish checking the house," DiNozzo said, "and then I'll come back and feed you."

Pistol at the ready, he stepped through the house. It was larger than it appeared to be from the outside. There was no sign that the professor had been there anytime recently, but it was full of her spirit. In the master bedroom, the scent of her perfume lingered faintly. There were books everywhere, and wherever there was a space on the walls, an interesting, eclectic collection of artwork was hung.

He finally reached the living room, which contained a grand piano laden with music books and a table covered with what were obviously family photos. Everything was neat and clean, but not so much so that the surroundings seemed sterile or devoid of personality. A cultivated, intelligent person lived here, and it showed.

DiNozzo put his weapon away and opened the front door for McGee, who cast a questioning look.

"Completely clear."

"The watch cats?"

DiNozzo chuckled, appreciating that McGee too had noted the plaque and recognized its whimsy.

"In the kitchen. They're hungry, so let's go interrogate them and then we'll feed them."

McGee grinned, and together they went back to the kitchen.

DiNozzo directed McGee to call Detective Delbart to set up a meeting at NCIS in an hour. They had plots to devise and plans to lay. The next call was to NCIS Facilities to come over to the professor's house and cover the broken window until a new one could be installed. Meanwhile, DiNozzo was opening various cupboards in search of cat food, urged on by the cats themselves. Once he found it, he poured generous portions into the cats' bowls, then freshened their water. He was rewarded with ankle polishes and loud purrs. As the two agents prepared to leave the house to return to headquarters, he gave the watch cats their orders: "Stay alert and call us if you hear anything from your mom." Unfortunately, they were immersed in their too-long-delayed meal and chose to ignore him.

Carefully locking the back door, the two agents went on their way.

McGee had finally had time to process most of what DiNozzo told him about the case, grateful that Tony seemed at last to have accepted him as a partner and friend. While they drove back to NCIS, he asked questions and offered up his own speculations. They agreed to enlist Delbart's cooperation in setting up a missing person alert. Another call to the Metro detective got that ball rolling. They also agreed that, based on Tony's gut instinct, it would be best not to give Officer David any more information than was absolutely necessary.

Tim asked, "How did the kidnapper know that the professor was a person of interest, and how did he know that you were the one working with her?"

"Good questions," DiNozzo responded, "and since it wasn't you who snitched to the guy, that leaves only one suspect. Unless, of course, it was the director."

Their first task upon arriving back at the office was to ask Personnel for a photo of Professor Bennett to be sent to Delbart, who then distributed it to police units throughout the city.

"Not that I think she's really going to show up anywhere where she could be found," DiNozzo said to McGee.

In the meanwhile, Ziva sat at her desk, presumably studying the case. The expression on her face was noncommittal, and she had little to say once she'd greeted their return. Her fellow team members couldn't help casting occasional speculative looks at her from time to time. What did she know? What would happen if they confronted her and just asked her if she was double-agenting for Mossad?

When Delbart arrived, DiNozzo led him back into the elevator cum conference room, quickly explaining what was going on. Delbart gazed at the NCIS agent with sad eyes.

"I thought we trusted each other," he said softly.

"I do," DiNozzo answered. "What?"

"You're running around, setting up surveillance, going undercover, all on your own. I told you I'd help you any way I can, which I meant, but you're still doing a solo."

"I trust you. It's just that there were some things I had to find out, and I guess I just decided I needed to do that on my own. I'm sorry. Anyway, it looks like this really is a Navy operation, but I'm still going to need your help in getting this thing solved."

DiNozzo told Delbart about the plan he and McGee had come up with. Delbart agreed to have his team stake out the warehouse and report on an hourly basis any activity going on there. They also planned a strike force that could converge on the warehouse on just a few minutes' notice if it looked like something was going down.

DiNozzo knew that he still needed to get more information about the warehouse from the director. He let Delbart go to put his part of the plan into effect, promising to share with him as much information as he could. Then he climbed up the stairs again to Shepard's office,.

Cynthia told him that the director had someone in her office but that she had left instructions for DiNozzo to go right in. When he entered, he found the director sitting at her conference table with another man, whom she introduced as Vice Admiral Johnson, the chief of Naval Weapons Research.

"Well, Special Agent DiNozzo," the admiral began, "you've certainly raised a hornet's nest with us."

"Sorry about that, Admiral," DiNozzo answered with one of his ingratiating grins. "But, not to mix metaphors, don't you think it's better to keep the fox out of the henhouse rather than letting him elope with the hens right under your nose?"

The admiral gave a slightly forced laugh but admitted that was so. What he told DiNozzo about the warehouse confirmed his speculations—that it was a center for research on technologically advanced nuclear weapons, methods of delivery, aiming and targeting devices, and so on. Several years ago, the Navy had signed a secret contract with the Israeli military to develop a nuclear device small enough to fit into a backpack. They had reason to believe that someone involved in the project was a double agent; there had been some intel chatter recently indicating that al Qaeda not only knew about the device but was interested in obtaining a prototype any way they could. A device as small as that would give new meaning to the term "suicide bomber."

"The project's almost finished," the admiral added. "In fact, we have a shipment scheduled to go out at around 5:30 today. We're sending the one prototype we have to the Israelis so they can run an independent test on it."

"Only one?" queried DiNozzo.

"Several others are close to being completed," replied Admiral Johnson.

"And why are you choosing to share this information with me just now?" DiNozzo went on. "I was given to understand that not even Director Shepard here had a high enough security clearance to know about this project. And here you are, telling me, a lowly field agent, all about it."

"Well, once the Israelis run the test, it's going to become common knowledge anyway in the circles where that knowledge is important," the Admiral responded. "And since the shipment is scheduled for today, and lots of people already seem to know about it, we just decided that it couldn't hurt to have as many folks as possible watching to try to prevent any detrimental actions."

DiNozzo considered that for a moment. "I don't know if Director Shepard has told you this, but this case began with the murders of three innocent people. We have a formal agreement for liaison with the Metro police. I've been working with Detective Delbart. He's in the process right now of setting up surveillance at the warehouse. If anything starts going down, he and his people will be on top of it."

"Is he aware of what work is being done there?" the admiral asked.

"Only of my guesses about it," DiNozzo replied, "and he won't really need to know anything else."

"I don't want you to think that I'm being blasé about this," Admiral Johnson continued. "Security is still of the utmost importance, but I have the discretion to involve lower-level people like you in extraordinary situations like this. I hope you'll respect that. You've done a great job of following through on this operation and coming to conclusions that should indeed let us stop the fox, but don't think for a minute that this particular letdown in security will have any effect on your future security clearances."

He turned to Shepard and added, "Or yours either, ma'am."

With that he picked up his hat and prepared to leave. "I hope you'll keep me informed as events play out, madam director," he told Shepard.

As the door closed behind the vice admiral, DiNozzo whispered under his breath, "Pompous old fool." Jen Shepard's response was a giggle.

"I have to go back to work," he told her.

"Right," she said, "but be careful. And just because the admiral called me madam director doesn't mean you can."

"Yes, ma'am." His grin this time was on the edge of insolence.

CHAPTER IX: The Partners Investigate

DiNozzo began the trip to Rose Bennett's home driving maniacally, as Gibbs would have done. Watching McGee hanging on for dear life caused a grim smile to twitch at the corners of his mouth, until he remembered she was already apparently in custody, and getting there any sooner, or maybe not at all, was probably not going to be of any immediate help to her.

He slowed down, glancing again at the younger agent. Over the years that McGee had been on the team, he had taken a lot of grief from DiNozzo. And in spite of faltering when he had accidentally shot an undercover cop, McGee had stuck it out—had put up with DiNozzo's razzing and with Gibbs' special brand of harassment, had worked his butt off, and was turning into a damned good agent. DiNozzo realized that his respect for McGee had been growing along with McGee's increased confidence in his own abilities to the point where, besides Gibbs himself, there was no one he'd rather have at his back than McGee. He made a decision to act accordingly.

Taking a deep breath, he told McGee everything he knew about the case so far and exactly how he had acquired that knowledge. McGee gazed at him with his mouth partially open, not quite comprehending the confidence DiNozzo was placing in him, not quite understanding yet that in that moment, his relationship with DiNozzo was changing radically, but understanding that his older colleague was sincere. Never again would he have to hear the hated nickname "probie," for DiNozzo had judged him and found him to be a worthy partner.

Before McGee had time to react, DiNozzo was turning the car into the lane where Professor Bennett lived. It was a neighborhood of decades-old cottages, lovingly cared for over the years, shaded by large, old trees.

"There's the house," McGee pointed out.

"Is that the professor's car parked in the drive?" DiNozzo asked.

McGee had already opened up his laptop to check the license plate. "Yup, it's hers."

DiNozzo drove slowly past the yard to park a couple of houses further along the street. Both men unholstered their weapons.

"Keep it out of sight as much as possible," instructed DiNozzo. "Don't want to alarm the neighbors."

Carefully, they exited their vehicle, looking in all directions to assess their surroundings. No one was in view. Cautiously they approached the professor's car, McGee going around to the passenger while DiNozzo checked the driver's side.

McGee tried the door, which was locked, and surveyed the interior through the window. "Her purse is still here, on the floor of the passenger seat."

DiNozzo meanwhile was examining the scuffed grass at the edge of the concrete drive. "They got her when she got out of the car, probably last night when she came home after work. Looks like she kicked a little bit. Hope she scored on one of ‘em."

He looked up and scanned the neighborhood again.

"Let's check out the house. You go around to the back, and I'll meet you there."

McGee walked up the drive cautiously, ducking down when he passed the windows. DiNozzo stepped up on the porch, which held a couple of wicker chairs. He noted the plaque attached to the wall next to the front door: "Caution: watch cats on duty." He knew the professor had a sense of humor, but he hadn't pegged her for being whimsical. He checked the locks; one pin-and-tumbler and one deadbolt. Both appeared to be securely locked. He stepped off the porch and went around the other side of the house. Nothing appeared to be out of order.

In the back yard he saw several flourishing beds of flowers and vegetables. McGee was on the back porch, peering through a window.

"Anything?" DiNozzo asked.

"Not that I can see."

DiNozzo checked the locks on the back door. Locked tight. "Go back around to the front door and wait for me. I'm going to break this window and clear the inside."

As McGee trotted back down the driveway, DiNozzo returned his pistol to its holster and removed his jacket. He held the jacket up against the window, hoping that the only security system the professor had was the watch cats. Looking around again to assess neighborhood activity and seeing no one, he smashed his fist into the window through the jacket.

No sirens went off. In fact, there was no sound except for glass tinkling on the floor as he punched the remaining shards out of the frame, making a mental note to himself to requisition another window for the professor from Accounting.

He shook out his jacket and put it back on, and, retrieving his pistol, he stepped carefully through the now-empty sash into what turned out to be the dining room. Across a small hall, on the other side of the back door was the kitchen, where he found the watch cats, four of them, huddled under a small table and hissing at him.

"Cool it, cats," he told them. "I'm one of the good guys." It didn't seem to placate them at all.

He made note that three large bowls on the floor were empty of any evidence of cat food, and a large automatic water bowl was beginning to show signs of depletion.

"Let me just finish checking the house," DiNozzo said, "and then I'll come back and feed you."

Pistol at the ready, he stepped through the house. It was larger than it appeared to be from the outside. There was no sign that the professor had been there anytime recently, but it was full of her spirit. In the master bedroom, the scent of her perfume lingered faintly. There were shelves of books everywhere, and wherever there was an empty space on the walls, an interesting, eclectic collection of artwork was hung.

He finally reached the living room, which contained a grand piano laden with music books and a table covered with what were obviously family photos. Everything was neat and clean, but not so much so that the surroundings seemed sterile or devoid of personality. A cultivated, intelligent person lived here, and it showed.

DiNozzo put his weapon away and opened the front door for McGee, who cast a questioning look.

"Completely clear."

"The watch cats?"

DiNozzo chuckled, appreciating that McGee too had noted the plaque and recognized its whimsy.

"In the kitchen. They're hungry, so let's go interrogate them and then we'll feed them."

McGee grinned, and together they went back to the kitchen.

DiNozzo directed McGee to call Detective Delbart to set up a meeting at NCIS in an hour. They had plots to devise and plans to lay. The next call was to NCIS Facilities to come over to the professor's house and cover the broken window until a new one could be installed. Meanwhile, DiNozzo was opening various cupboards in search of cat food, urged on by the cats themselves, who had given up their territorial behavior once they realized that help was at hand. Once he found the specially constructed bin, he poured generous portions into the cats' bowls, then freshened their water. He was rewarded with ankle polishes and loud purrs. As the two agents prepared to leave the house to return to headquarters, he gave the watch cats their orders: "Stay alert and call us if you hear anything from your mom." Unfortunately, they were immersed by now in their too-long-delayed meal and chose to ignore him.

Carefully locking the back door, the two agents went on their way.

McGee had finally had time to process most of what DiNozzo told him about the case, grateful that Tony seemed at last to have accepted him as a partner and friend. While they drove back to NCIS, he asked questions and offered up his own speculations. They agreed to enlist Delbart's cooperation in setting up a missing person alert. Another call to the Metro detective got that ball rolling. They also agreed that, based on Tony's gut instinct, it would be best not to give Officer David any more information than was absolutely necessary.

Tim asked, "How did the kidnapper know that the professor was a person of interest, and how did he know that you were the one working with her?"

"Good questions," DiNozzo responded, "and since it wasn't you who snitched to the guy, that leaves only one suspect. Unless, of course, it was the director."

Their first task upon arriving back at the office was to ask Personnel for a photo of Professor Bennett to be sent to Delbart, who would then distribute it to police units throughout the city.

"Not that I think she's really going to show up anywhere where she could be found," DiNozzo said to McGee.

In the meanwhile, Ziva sat at her desk, presumably studying the case. The expression on her face was noncommittal, and she had little to say once she'd greeted their return. Her fellow team members couldn't help casting occasional speculative looks at her from time to time. What did she know? What would happen if they confronted her and just asked her if she was double-agenting for Mossad?

When Delbart arrived, DiNozzo led him back into the elevator cum conference room, quickly explaining what was going on. Delbart gazed at the NCIS agent with sad eyes.

"I thought we trusted each other," he said softly.

"I do," DiNozzo answered. "What?"

"You're running around, setting up surveillance, going undercover, all on your own. I told you I'd help you any way I can, which I meant, but you're still doing a solo."

"I trust you. It's just that there were some things I had to find out, and I guess I just decided I needed to do that on my own. I'm sorry. Anyway, it looks like this really is a Navy operation, but I'm still going to need your help in getting this thing solved."

DiNozzo told Delbart about the plan he and McGee had come up with. Delbart agreed to have his team stake out the warehouse and report on an hourly basis any activity going on there. They also planned a strike force that could converge on the warehouse on just a few minutes' notice if it looked like something was going down.

DiNozzo knew that he still needed to get more information about the warehouse from the director. He let Delbart go to put his part of the plan into effect, promising to share with him any new information with him as soon as it came in as he. Then he climbed up the stairs again to Shepard's office,.

Cynthia told him that the director had someone in her office but that she had left instructions for DiNozzo to go right in. When he entered, he found the director sitting at her conference table with another man, whom she introduced as Vice Admiral Johnson, the chief of Naval Weapons Research.

"Well, Special Agent DiNozzo," the admiral began, "you've certainly raised a hornet's nest with us."

"Sorry about that, Admiral," DiNozzo answered with one of his ingratiating grins. "But, not to mix metaphors, don't you think it's better to keep the fox out of the henhouse rather than letting him elope with the hens right under your nose?"

The admiral gave a slightly forced laugh but admitted that was so.

"How did you come by all your information about the warehouse, Agent DiNozzo?" the admiral asked.

"Because I'm a good detective, sir, so I went out and detected," DiNozzo replied. He knew that neither the admiral nor the director was satisfied by that answer, but that's all he was going to give them. No way was he going to rat on the boys.

The admiral considered this for a moment and then appeared to make a decision put both DiNozzo and Director Shepard in the loop. What he told them about the warehouse confirmed DiNozzo's speculations—that it was a center for research on technologically advanced nuclear weapons, methods of delivery, aiming and targeting devices, and so on. Several years ago, the Navy had signed a secret contract with the Israeli military to develop a nuclear device small enough to fit into a backpack. They had reason to believe that someone involved in the project was a double agent; there had been some intel chatter recently indicating that al Qaeda not only knew about the device but was interested in obtaining a prototype any way they could. A device as small as that would give new meaning to the term "suicide bomber."

"The project's almost finished," the admiral added. "In fact, we have a shipment scheduled to go out at around 5:30 today. We're sending the one prototype we have to the Israelis so they can run an independent test on it. Security will be high, but we're trying to make it as invisible as possible"

"Only one device?" queried DiNozzo.

"Several others are close to being completed," replied Admiral Johnson.

"And why are you choosing to share this information with me just now?" DiNozzo went on. "I was given to understand that not even Director Shepard here had a high enough security clearance to know about this project. And here you are, telling me, a lowly field agent, all about it."

"Well, once the Israelis run the test, it's going to become common knowledge anyway in the circles where that knowledge is important," the Admiral responded. "And since the shipment is scheduled for today, and lots of people already seem to know about it, we just decided that it couldn't hurt to have as many folks as possible watching to try to prevent any detrimental actions."

DiNozzo considered that for a moment. "I don't know if Director Shepard has told you this, but this case began with the murders of three innocent people. We have a formal agreement for liaison with the Metro police. I've been working with Detective Delbart. He's in the process right now of setting up surveillance at the warehouse. If anything starts going down, he and his people will be on top of it."

"Is he aware of what work is being done there?" the admiral asked.

"Only of my guesses about it," DiNozzo replied, "and he won't really need to know anything else."

"I don't want you to think that I'm being blasé about this," Admiral Johnson continued. "Security is still of the utmost importance, but I have the discretion to involve lower-level people like you in extraordinary situations like this. We'll certainly be glad to have the extra personnel on hand, but don't think for a minute that this particular letdown in security will have any effect on your future clearances. Especially since you failed to keep in touch with everyone including your own director. I do have to admit you've done a great job of following through on this operation and coming to conclusions that should indeed let us stop the fox."

With that he picked up his hat and prepared to leave. "I hope you'll keep me informed as events play out, madam director," he told Shepard.

As the door closed behind the vice admiral, DiNozzo whispered under his breath, "Pompous old fool." Jen Shepard's response was a laugh.

"I have to go back to work," he told her.

"Right," she said, "but be careful. And DiNozzo? Just because the admiral called me madam director doesn't mean you can."

"Yes, ma'am." His grin this time was on the edge of insolence.

CHAPTER X: Surveillance

Before returning to his desk, DiNozzo went down to the motor pool to arrange for a surveillance car later in the day. Pocketing the key, he went back to the bull pen. For the rest of the day, the three agents were occupied studying or writing reports, making and receiving telephone calls. Whenever Officer David stepped away from her desk, the two men went into frenzied activity. Sometimes she took her cell phone with her, but when she didn't, McGee grabbed it to make some minor modifications.

Thus it was that, when her cell rang late in the afternoon, they were able to pick up a conversation she was having with someone whose location McGee was able to locate at the warehouse. The conversation was conducted in Hebrew, but McGee had had an inspiration, and it was patched through to the translation section of the agency, so that both he and DiNozzo were able to listen through their headphones with avid interest while David set up a meet with the man whom she called Avram.

The meet was scheduled for 5:00 p.m.; because, Avram told David, the "package" was going to be picked up around 5:30. He told her to be in the neighborhood around 5:00, parked on one of the streets leading away from the warehouse, so that he could say goodbye to her in person. He wasn't expecting to return to the U.S. any time soon after his caper went down.

At 4:30 DiNozzo advised the other agents that they could leave any time they wanted to. He went down to pick up his car in the employee lot, but he drove it around to the agency vehicle compound, parking it in a dark corner. Then he picked up the surveillance car, sitting in it with the motor running just inside the compound gate.

He had barely got into position when McGee's voice came through his earwig. "She's on her way out."

DiNozzo watched as David got in her car and left the parking area. Slowly, he eased the surveillance car in behind her and began tailing her. She made a few turns that ordinarily would have led her in the opposite direction of the warehouse, but finally, apparently deciding that she wasn't being tailed, she headed straight for it.

Eventually, she reached the warehouse and parked where Avram had told her to. DiNozzo eased the surveillance vehicle into a parking spot a block away.

"You behind me?" he spoke into his microphone.

"I see you," McGee replied. "I'm going to cross the intersection in front of you and go around the block so I can park about a block and a half behind Ziva."

"Good." DiNozzo flipped on the com device Delbart had given him. "You guys ready?" he asked.

"Everybody's in position," Delbart informed him.

"Don't let anybody move until I give the command," DiNozzo ordered. He checked with McGee to make sure the Hebrew translator at headquarters was ready.

At a minute before 5:00 the front door of the warehouse opened, and a man stepped out, looking around as if checking the vicinity. Then he let himself out through the gate in the fence and walked toward David's car. Once he was in the passenger seat, those listening in heard the sound of a passionate kiss along with some small moans.

"Avram!" David said. Then she continued with the voice of the translator speaking over hers. "Is everything all right?"

"Everything is fine," replied Avram. "Your colleagues have no idea what is going on?"

"As far as I can tell," Ziva said, "they think they're still just working on three murders."

"Good."

Ziva went on, "I still don't know why you had to kill those people."

"I told you," Avram said in a patient voice. "First of all, it's a distraction. So the Americans won't notice this operation until it's too late. They are so smug. They think they're being so secure. They will be learning a lesson from this. There is no protection against those who act with zeal and passion and purpose."

Ziva had still other questions. "But this weapon is going to our nation to begin with. Why is it necessary for us to steal it? And what is going to happen to Professor Bennett? Why did you have to kidnap her?"

"The current government of Israel is—how do you say it?—‘chicken.' They are intent on compromise with our enemies. They will never use this weapon. Only we patriots can provide sufficient protection against the Palestinians. Once we have the weapon, we will be in control. And as for the professor, if what you tell me is true, she can see too much. Once we're safely away with the weapon, we will release her unharmed."

DiNozzo didn't believe that for a moment, but apparently Ziva did. He watched as the two heads in David's car came together, and the listeners heard another kiss. "All right," she sighed. DiNozzo was puzzled. What had happened to the self-assured, competent woman Ziva was at NCIS? This David sounded like a moon-struck teenager.

"Now are you ready?" Avram asked. "I must go." The sound of another kiss. "You know where the rendez-vous is? Good. I will wait until I hear from you that you are ready to meet me."

With that Avram stepped from David's car and returned to the warehouse.

Those surrounding the warehouse waited for several minutes until two unmarked vans pulled up to the gate in the fence surrounding the warehouse. They were expected; the gate swing open, and the two vans pulled into the yard. One of them parked with the cargo end in front of the warehouse door. The driver got out and pulled down a ramp. The warehouse door opened, and both drivers entered.

Outside, among those who waited and watched, tension began to build. Various officers checked their weapons one last time. Cell phones and walkie-talkies were silent.

Suddenly, the warehouse door flew open and people began running out. Shots rang out.

"Move! Move!" DiNozzo shouted into his com.

He saw that Ziva had started to move as well.

"McGee!" he yelled.

"I see her, boss," McGee responded.

DiNozzo set his car in motion almost before David did. She didn't even get to the end of the block before he pulled in front of her, blocking the way. Right behind him, McGee had pulled up to block her from backing up. Both men were out of their cars.

"Get out of the car, Ziva, and drop your weapon," DiNozzo ordered, using his vehicle as a shield.

She hesitated, with her head cocked to one side, apparently taking in the sound of many sirens and the sight of numerous marked and unmarked cars converging on the warehouse. She threw her pistol out the window, slowly opened the door, and got out.

"Put your hands up and kick the gun over to McGee," DiNozzo told her. She did so.

As McGee picked up her weapon, DiNozzo said to him, "Get her cuffed and get someone over here to transport her back to headquarters. Oh, and you might want to call the director and let her know what's going on. Tell her I want to do this interrogation myself."

Leaving McGee with the traitorous Mossad agent, DiNozzo ran toward the warehouse. There he fought his way through the chaos, his right to be there being challenged at least three times before Delbart found him.

"We've got four dead," Delbart reported, trailing behind DiNozzo, who was moving frantically through the first floor searching for Professor Bennett. "We don't know who's who yet."

"What set this off?" DiNozzo asked.

"Not sure right now," Delbart replied. "But somebody in here got suspicious and pulled out a gun. We're still rounding everybody up, but I think we've got the situation under control for now."

By now DiNozzo was running up the stairs, but, searching quickly through the second floor, he found no professor.

Running back down the stairs, DiNozzo shouted out, "Has anyone seen a short, plump older woman?" No one answered. DiNozzo continued to search until Delbart finally caught up with him.

"None of the people in the warehouse remembers seeing the professor," he told Tony. "But the guy called Avram and one other Israeli have disappeared too."

Chapter XI: The Chase

The police were rounding up all the occupants of the warehouse, trying to determine which were legitimate and which might be among the group of traitors. DiNozzo was doing his best to assist, but he was both distracted and distraught. McGee had delivered his package into custody and come into the warehouse to help however he could. Delbart was deep in a web of communications, trying to sort out what was relevant and what was not, along with who was who.

No one was aware that, even before the shooting began, the Israeli agent named Avram and another man had gone to a restroom in one corner of the warehouse where they had locked in the frightened Professor Bennett. They took her out without being noticed in the rush of activity that had begun when the researchers had realized their facility was being invaded and had tried to stop the thieves. Avram and his companions slipped quietly through a side door, where a powerful car was waiting. Avram had taken the precaution of earlier unlocking the back gate of the compound. The car left the compound, again without being noticed.

Or so Avram thought.

About half a block away from the back gate, a young rookie cop sat in his unit, watching, having been assigned to that very task. He noticed the car pulling away. He thought it was odd, and for a moment he fought a war in his head. On the one hand, he had orders to stay in position and move only when ordered. On the other hand, his superiors had often mentioned that good police work sometimes had to be done outside the box. He made his decision.

As the mystery car pulled away, he started the engine on his unit and began following. He tried to report what he was doing, but at the moment there were no channels clear. Finally, there was a response to his call.

"Delbart here."

"Uh, sir, this is Officer Robins in unit number 535. Um, I was outside the back gate when I saw a car leaving, and I wanted to let you know I decided to tail it."

Delbart was silent for a moment, digesting the young officer's report.

"Did you get a plate?"

"No, sir," the rookie replied. "I don't want to get too close."

"Wait just a minute. I'll get you some further orders if you'll just hang on."

The officer waited, listening to the noise coming from the walkie-talkie in the warehouse. Several times he heard Delbart asking, "Where's DiNozzo?"

Eventually Delbart must have found whom he was seeking. Robins heard him conversing with another man. Then the walkie-talkie spoke to Robins again.

"Officer Robins, this is NCIS Special Agent Tony DiNozzo. Did you happen to see who's in that car you're tailing?"

"Well, sir," Robins answered, "I did notice three people coming down the back steps and get in the car."

"Could one of those people have been a woman?"

"Yes, sir, I believe so. One was wearing some kind of blue pantsuit."

"Where are you right now? Do you have idea where they might be heading?"

Robins gave his location. "I think they might be heading for Rock Creek Park."

"All right," DiNozzo said. "Here's what I want you do. Stay on their tail but don't turn on the siren or the lights and keep your distance. Report back to me on this com if their direction changes. If they stop and it seems like they might be hurting the woman, use your discretion. Shoot to kill if you have to. My partner and I are on our way."

DiNozzo turned back to Detective Delbart, who was checking with his headquarters to see if there was a plane or helicopter in the air that could do surveillance of the pursuit from above. DiNozzo waited until he finished. Delbart waved at him. "Go! I've got a bird."

DiNozzo shouted across the room to where McGee was assisting one of the cops in securing a suspect.

"McGee! Let's go! We know where the professor is."

The two agents sprinted out of the building to DiNozzo's surveillance vehicle. Once in, DiNozzo asked McGee to set out the flashing light but not to turn the siren on. With the warning light flashing, DiNozzo accelerated through the rush hour traffic. He was an expert at finding the best way to get from point A to point B, but even so he shouted in fury at other drivers who wouldn't, or couldn't, get out of his way.

The young police officer was still tailing Avram's car, still reporting back on his location. It was pretty clear that Avram was indeed heading for Rock Creek Park.

McGee had been thinking. "I'll bet he's headed for that grassy place near the west end of the park. It'd make a good rendez-vous site."

DiNozzo grunted an assent. He was closing on the police car ahead of him. They were only minutes away from the park. Once they were close enough, DiNozzo buzzed Robins. "Back off a bit and let us take the lead. But be prepared to give us backup."

By now DiNozzo had made good enough time that he could see Avram's car approaching the western-most entrance of Rock Creek Park. McGee was peering out the windshield.

"Helicopter," he pointed out to DiNozzo.

"Could be the police chopper."

"Don't think so. It doesn't have the right markings."

"Damn."

As DiNozzo drove into the park, he noted Robin's police unit nearby. The heavy black car ahead followed the drive to the most open spot in the area. The helicopter was drifting downward toward the same spot.

DiNozzo feared they'd be too late and decided to take a shortcut across the greensward. He and McGee watched as the other car stopped and three figures stepped out of it. The side door of the ‘copter opened and someone inside flung a rope ladder down. One of the three figures on the ground leaped on the rope and began to climb. The professor, however, was obviously having none of that. She was twisting and beating the other person with her fists, trying to make him release her.

Just then the front end of the NCIS car bumped up with a sickening motion and then thumped down with a crash. It had hit a tiny berm forming the bank of an irrigation canal. The front axle now rested on top of the berm with the front wheels spinning uselessly above the ditch.

Without hesitation DiNozzo and McGee flew out of the car with their weapons out, jumped over the ditch, and ran pell-mell toward the ‘copter. They sensed rather than heard the police car come to a halt behind theirs, followed by the pounding of another pair of feet.

"Get the bird," DiNozzo screamed as he began firing. McGee complied, although it was impossible to aim properly while they were running at top speed. Nonetheless, they could hear the metal of their bullets pinging against the skin of the helicopter. The person on the ladder had also pulled out a gun and was firing back at them. McGee stopped just for a second to place his shot accurately, and the man on the ladder lurched and gave up his hold, falling to the ground with a loud, bone-cracking thud.

As he ran, DiNozzo saw the professor break away from the man holding her. He took advantage of the opportunity, quickly sending a shot toward him. Avram (for it was he) went down. The occupants of the helicopter must have thought better of staying on the scene; the pilot put it in motion, and it swooped up and out over the park, the rope ladder swinging behind it like the tail of a very large kite.

A moment later, DiNozzo reached the professor.

"Are you all right?" he asked breathlessly.

"Where have you been, Tony DiNozzo? They almost killed me," she replied, her voice edged with hysteria.

"We got here as soon as we could. We didn't know where they were taking you," Tony said, still gasping for breath.

"I am not a field agent," the professor spat at him. "Director Morrow promised me I wouldn't be in any physical danger in this job."

"I really am sorry, ma'am. We didn't know we had a mole on staff."

"Oh, you…you…you cad," Rose sputtered. She turned and began walking as rapidly as she could down the pathway, her pale blue garments streaming behind her.

CHAPTER XII: The Aftermath

Avram was alive, only it turned out, once Abby had processed his fingerprints, that he was really Shiriq al Shiriqi. Tony's shot had completely shattered his left shoulder. The doctors at Bethesda had stabilized the shoulder and were planning to do major reconstructive surgery the following day. When DiNozzo and McGee interviewed him later that night, his arm was hanging from a traction harness, and he was almost giddy from painkillers.

But he was still awake. And he was arrogant and unrepentant. And he wanted to talk.

The agents learned that he was originally a citizen of Saudi Arabia. His father and uncles were friends of the family of Osama bin Laden. The young al Shiriqi admired Osama to the point of hero worship. When he was 17, he begged his father to let him join bin Laden's al Qaeda. bin Laden welcomed him warmly, recognizing that he had the talent to become an outstanding terrorist. He was given language lessons, at which he proved to be unusually adept, picking up Hebrew and English as though they were native tongues. He also became an expert shot with many types of weapons and learned basic bomb-making and a host of other skills useful to terrorists.

And when he turned 21, al Qaeda fitted him out with an Israeli identity and sent him off to become a Mossad agent. He arrived in Israel with a letter of introduction from bin Laden to Ari Haswiri, who made sure that his entrance into Mossad was facilitated.

Because of Shiriqi's ability to learn and the skills he already possessed, he advanced rapidly in the organization. When the Israeli government had signed the contract for the backpack bomb, Shiriq/Avram was one of the agents assigned to oversee the project at the research facility in Washington.

He had loved living in Washington despite his intense focus on his task. In his off time, he became an avid tourist, visiting all the landmarks and attractions in the area, but he thought the Americans were soft and stupid, especially about the injustices Middle Easterners suffered because of the Israelis. He often socialized with Ari when he was in town and had the chance to meet the other man's extremely attractive half sister. It was no surprise when he learned that Ari had arranged for her to become his Mossad control officer.

In the meantime, the bomb project was going along quite smoothly. Learning that the first prototype was almost ready for delivery to the Israelis, he contacted al Qaeda. His instructions were to use whatever means possible to divert the shipment.

"I almost made it," he bragged to the two agents listening with rapt attention to his confession.

Then he wanted to know what was going to happen to him.

DiNozzo told him that he would charged with two separate offenses, one for terrorist activities and another for murder and kidnapping. Conviction for either would mean he would spend the rest of his life in an American prison at the very least.

DiNozzo had returned to NCIS very late, but he still had to interrogate Ziva David. She had been waiting in an interrogation room for him for hours, and by the time he finally entered the room, she was at a peak of nervousness.

He stared at her for several long minutes while she squirmed under his gaze.

"Why, Ziva?" he finally asked.

"It was an assignment," she replied in a small voice. "I was his control, just like with…." Her voice trailed off.

He let the silence continue.

"I didn't know he was an Arab."

"So you put your trust in not just one, but two men who both turned out to be traitors? Both double agents for your country's enemies?"

"Yes, I guess so," she said in a low voice, gazing at her hands.

The silence continued until she couldn't stand it any longer. "What's going to happen to me?"

"I don't know," he said honestly. "I don't know if you'll be tried here in the U.S. or sent back to Israel. Or even if you'll go to trial, and if so, for what. I think I can guarantee that your days at NCIS are over, and probably at Mossad too."

DiNozzo thought she was guilty of being at least an accessory to murder, because she had known Avram/Shiriq had killed three innocent people but did nothing to report it or try to stop him. She had allowed him to give her vague and unbelievable reasons for his actions. Despite her training and her intelligence, Avram/Shiriq had played her for a fool.

DiNozzo asked her a few more questions, but she had no more useful information to give. When he left the interrogation room, she was sitting hunched over the table, pathetic, defeated, nothing at all like the vibrant, sexy person he had known since her arrival at NCIS.

He trudged back to his desk and began the paperwork. The next morning when the director arrived in the bull pen, she found him sprawled sound asleep in his chair.

She woke him up, asked for a brief report, and then sent him home to sleep.

Later that evening, after waking up and taking a shower, he went to the temple to spend a little bit of time sitting shiva with Benjamin Meissner's family. He spoke briefly with Sarah Meissner, trying to assure her that her husband's death had not been in vain.

"It might have been senseless," he told her. "It was the random, criminal act of a terrorist, but it fit a pattern that he created out of arrogance, and because of that our team was able to track him down. He will be punished."

Then he knelt down to the eye level of young Benjamin Junior. "You're the man of the house now. Take good care of your mom and sister." The young man was awed at being so close to a federal agent—maybe not FBI but the next best thing. Tony invited the family to visit headquarters when their mourning was over.

The next day was Friday. After several hours of rest, DiNozzo arrived at work feeling re-energized and ready to deal with the aftermath of the case. He talked for almost an hour with Detective Delbart, learning that two terrorists died in the shootout at the warehouse in addition to the one Tim had shot down from the helicopter ladder. Four other Islamic terrorists were working undercover as Israeli scientists at the bomb research facility; somehow they had passed all security checks. All the work computers had been seized, and between Metro P.D.'s computer analysts and McGee and Abby, a whole network of terrorists, both in the U.S. and elsewhere, had been identified and were being pursued. All of the ones found in the U.S. would be put on trial for their various crimes, as DiNozzo had predicted to al Shiriqi.

Ziva, it turned out, was already gone, recalled to Israel. The director, on behalf of the woman who had once saved her life, had pulled as many strings as she could to insure that David's punishment was as light as possible. She would be drummed out of Mossad, of course, but she was unlikely to spend any further time in any kind of detention, nor would she receive any further punishment.

The director also had some words for DiNozzo. She congratulated him on the swift results and overall success of the operation, but she also told him she was concerned about the way he had flouted the rules and not kept her in the loop on how and where he was getting his information.

"I'm not going to put an official reprimand in your jacket," she said sternly, "but I do want you to be aware that such behavior won't be tolerated in the future. Just because Gibbs gets away with it doesn't mean you have leeway."

Then she had smiled, as if to say that what she was telling him was merely pro forma.

He spared some time to write a note of condolence to the family of Petty Officer Jane Adamovsky, in which he told them essentially the same things that he had said to Sarah Meissner.

For the rest of the day, DiNozzo and McGee worked together companionably to resolve all the loose ends of the case and finish their reports. In the afternoon DiNozzo suggested they grab a bite and a beer after work, an offer McGee gratefully accepted.

McGee was surprised when they headed back toward the bomb research facility, but was reassured when they passed it and stopped at the no-name bar a block away. DiNozzo had hoped the boys from the facility would still be there, and he was gratified when he and McGee walked in and were greeted like old pals.

There was much conversation about the boys' surprise at learning DiNozzo was really a cop; they had seen him at the warehouse while he was frantically searching for the professor. They told him that the shipment had finally gone out that morning, and work continued as usual the rest of the day.

DiNozzo offered to buy burgers and beer all around, and once they were settled in front of their plates, he told them in detail about the operation he'd been working on when he first came to the bar.

When he finished his recitation, Ed peered at him through a slightly alcoholic daze. "I sure hope you ain't gonna squeal on us," he said, waving a hand at his co-workers."

"About what?"

About how we told you things we shouldn't have. About the work and what not. Breakin' our secrecy oath ‘n' all. Not that that was bad, ‘cause you're a Fed anyway."

"Nah," said Tony. "That was all strictly between you and me. And besides we caught the bad guys," sweeping his arm out to include everyone at the table.

The boys relaxed considerably, and they spent the rest of the evening trading bullshit. Even Tim seemed to enjoy himself.

On Saturday morning Tony got up early, dressing carefully. He drove across the city to the soup kitchen near the Carter Hotel, where the staff and some of their patrons were holding a memorial service for Homer Algawid. He listened to the kitchen's director telling about Homer's life—how as a young man he had become estranged from his family and his religion, had begun to show symptoms of mental illness that ultimately prevented him from making any headway in his life, had fallen into a life of addiction and petty crime, but ultimately had straightened around as much as his illness would allow and become a treasured member of their little family.

After brief eulogies from others, the director asked Tony if he would talk about the circumstances that had led to Homer's death. Tony was happy to oblige. Once again, he talked about the same things that he had told the Adamovskys and the Meissners—that Homer's death was senseless but not in vain because it had provided vital information that enabled the crime to be solved.

Once the service was over, coffee and pastries were served. The mostly female cooks, casting many admiring glances at the handsome young federal agent, petted and coddled him until he was all but purring. It was hard for him to get away. In the afternoon he flung a duffel into his car and took off for an overnight far away from the city.

Monday morning Director Shepard advised DiNozzo and McGee that they would not be getting any major cases until Gibbs returned and a new team member to replace Officer David had been found. During the week they did get a couple of cases, which they quickly dispatched. They offered to help Abby with her work because they had so much spare time, but she shooed them off, telling them to enjoy their down time. They spent a lot of time together, taking lunch at the same time and meeting a couple of times in the evening to watch sporting events on TV and eat pizza.

They also discussed at length the type of person they'd like to have join their team. They surveyed the other staff members in the squad room carefully, assessing the desirability of each. They finally concluded that Special Agent Heather Dennison was the pick of the crop. Her desk was in the bull pen next to theirs so they'd had considerable opportunity to get to know her. She was attractive without being beautiful, with a dry sense of humor, and she was very good at her job. They agreed to broach the subject with Gibbs when he returned.

DiNozzo had also sought out Professor Bennett and apologized to her for letting her be kidnapped. She had had time to put things into perspective, though, and refused to accept his apology because it wasn't really needed; it wasn't his fault, and she knew he had done everything in his power to rescue her. He was pleased when she invited him to dinner at her little cottage. It turned out that she was a gourmet cook, too, and several of the dishes she prepared for him included vegetables she had grown herself. He had a most pleasant evening with her, discussing favorite books and listening to her play the piano.

The following Monday Gibbs returned to work, suntanned and smiling. As he walked into the bull pen, he paused in front of DiNozzo's desk.

"I hear you did good, kid," he said.

"Thanks, boss," Tony replied.

"Don't let it go to your head," Gibbs shot back.

"Nosir, boss," Tony said with a grin. Gibbs grinned back at him.

CHAPTER XIII: Breaking Up Is Hard to Do

The next couple of months passed by easily. DiNozzo and McGee lost no time in recommending to Gibbs that he recruit Special Agent Heather Dennison to become the new member of the team. He agreed whole-heartedly and immediately set the appropriate wheels in motion. By Friday she had her new orders. She thanked the boys for the recommendation, telling them that she had often thought she would very much like to be part of their team.

She fit in easily. She was not as uptight as Caitlin Todd had been nor as hard as Ziva David. She had her own way about her, but she could easily hold her own with the men on the team.

At one point DiNozzo received an e-mail from Ziva. She had indeed been cashiered out of Mossad, but she had almost immediately been hired to be on the security detail protecting a very rich Israeli industrialist.

"I didn't realize I was being as stupid about Avram as I was about Ari," she wrote. "Avram told me he loved me, and I believed him. I should have known better—love and work don't mix. I found you very attractive, even though I—what is the phrase? yanked your collar?—a lot. Maybe if we had got to know each other better, maybe Avram wouldn't have happened. Well, if you ever come to Israel, be sure and look me up."

He didn't bother to reply.

Their case load was about normal—a couple of hard ones and a lot of minor ones as well. Gibbs was a little surprised that, while Tony was still ribbing Tim, it was not so much in the frat boy mode, and he was even more surprised when they invited him to join them (and Heather) for socializing after work. He appreciated the invitations, as well as their new-found friendship, but he usually declined because he just wasn't a socializing kind of person.

One Tuesday morning the whole team was feeling slightly bored. They hadn't had many cases recently, there were no reports to write, no leads to follow up on, no clues to contemplate. DiNozzo, McGee, and Dennison were engaged in a desultory spitball fight. It turned out that Dennison was an accomplished spitballer, giving as good as she got. Gibbs was having a hard time preventing his amusement from reaching his face, but he was enjoying the interplay, until one of the missiles landed in his coffee cup.

"Enough!" he barked. The young agents jumped and turned immediately to their desks to pretend to work. McGee and Dennison avidly perused reports, while DiNozzo sat in front of his monitor, playing a game of solitaire.

Minutes later the phone on Gibbs' desk rang, and after listening without speaking for several moments, he rose and took off, yelling at DiNozzo to come with him.

They mounted the stairs to the director's office, where they found her standing in front of her desk with two other men. She introduced one as the Undersecretary of the Navy and the other as his assistant. When introductions were completed and handshakes all around offered, the undersecretary picked a piece of paper from Shepard's desk and began reading from it.

"Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, the Secretary has asked me to inform you that you are receiving a new assignment with NCIS. While anti-terrorism is a basic function of the agency, the Secretary has decided to create a new strike force whose primary mission will be to investigate and interdict acts of terrorism, wherever in the world they may occur, in conjunction with similar agencies within the U.S. and from around the world. The NCIS strike force will be called Operation Global Watch. It will consist of three specially trained teams, headquartered in this building but ready to deploy on an hour's notice.

"Based on your exemplary performance (DiNozzo noted that Gibbs couldn't suppress a slight snort) with the Agency, your outstanding investigative skills, and your leadership ability, the Undersecretary is appointing you to be the chief of the operation with direct responsibility as leader of Team Alpha. Your new orders are still being cut, but I am authorized to tell you that you'll have two weeks of vacation time beginning this Friday, after which you'll report for six weeks of specialized training. During that time a portion of the building will be remodeled to house Operation Global Watch."

The undersecretary put down the paper and extended his hand once again. "Congratulations, Agent DiNozzo. Oh, I guess I should ask if you want to accept this assignment."

"Yes, sir," DiNozzo told him. "I do want it. I accept. And thank you."

By Friday afternoon, Tony, floating on the euphoria of his promotion, had cleared two old cases. He had distributed his open files, mostly to his teammates and the remainder to other teams in the squad room. He had cleaned out his desk, boxed up his personal possessions, including the sketch Kate had made of him so long ago, and left them in his locker in the gym, awaiting his return.

For lunch that day, Gibbs and Dr. Mallard treated the whole team to lunch. Ducky had been irrepressible, telling story after drawn-out story. They had laughed loud and hard until their sides ached. When they finally fell silent, all seemed to be thinking the same thing—Tony was leaving the team, and things would never be the same.

He had actually asked that the squad room not give him a farewell party, reasoning that he was not really saying farewell, but of course they ignored his request. Back from lunch, everyone in the room seemed unusually tense until 2:30, when the elevator doors opened to reveal two agents pushing a utility cart bearing a huge, rectangular, two-tiered cake with "Good Luck, Tony" written on it in icing.

Dr. Mallard was delegated to cut the cake as he was the most experienced in that sort of thing. Everyone had toasted Tony with the poison of his or her choice. Fortunately, they did not sing "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow."

With the cake reduced to nothing but crumbs, co-workers approached Tony one by one to embrace him or shake his hand. There were many calls of "See ya around." Touched by their evident affection for him¸ he had a hard time choking back his emotions. Even the director and her secretary, Cynthia, were there.

His teammates were among the last to speak to him. Jimmy and Dr. Mallard both embraced him warmly. Ducky whispered to him, "I'm so proud of you, and proud to know you. Be well."

Abby was next. As always, her emotions were showing—with tears in her eyes, she hugged him within an inch of his life, and then stepped back, grasping the sides of his head with both hands to kiss him fervently.

"We'll always be friends, won't we?" she demanded.

"Always," he replied softly, kissing her back.

Heather shook his hand, then grabbed him in an embrace as well. He thought he saw her eyes moisten as she returned to her desk.

Then it was Tim's turn. For a moment the two men just looked at each other. Tim threw his arms around Tony. "I've learned so much from you, Tony," Tim told him. "Even when you were teasing me the worst, I always admired you and wanted to be like you."

"You're yourself, Tim." Tony responded. "You don't need to be like me. You're a good person, and you're turning into a great agent. Hell, I may even recruit you later on when I'm putting the rest of my team together."

Tim laughed. "Better not do that right now, Tony. Gibbs would be really pissed at you for taking out the whole team." They laughed together.

"We'll get together again for burgers and beer when I'm back at work," Tony promised.

"Looking forward to it already," Tim said, brushing his eyes as he returned to his desk.

Through all this, Gibbs had sat at his desk, seemingly studying the papers there, but watching Tony and his well-wishers from under his eyebrows. Now it was time for him to say farewell. For moments he sat at his desk without moving but now looking directly at DiNozzo.

"Boss?" Tony said somewhat uncertainly.

Gibbs finally got up and approached him. For another long moment he studied the younger man's face. Finally he spoke.

"I'm so proud of you," he said.

"You are, boss?"

"You're just about the best agent I've ever worked with," Jethro told him. "You deserve this more than you know, but, God, it's hard to let you go."

So deeply touched that he had to make a joke of it or break down, Tony said, "Gee, boss, I didn't know you cared."

Gibbs reached up to slap him upside the head.

"What was that for, boss?" DiNozzo asked.

"I'm not your boss anymore."

"Till 1700 hours," Tony protested.

Gibbs' voice was husky. "Go on; get outta here before I toss you out."

Unexpectedly, he reached out to take Tony in a bone-crushing embrace.

Finally breaking the embrace, he said, "Be well. Stay in touch."

He turned abruptly on his heel and walked back to his desk.

Gibbs became aware that the rest of the team was watching. "Don't you people have work to do?" he growled.

Tony stood still at his desk for a moment, then picked up the last of his belongings.

"Boss?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks for everything."

"Yeah, yeah. Beat it."

With a grin Tony headed for the elevator. When he had punched the button, he turned around to gaze at the squad room where he had been so happy, felt so at home, so…useful. There was a buzz of industry as the various agents worked their cases, no longer paying attention to him.

When the elevator arrived, he stepped inside and punched the "down" button. He could have sworn that as the doors slid shut, he saw Gibbs' hand waving at him.

End