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. His hunch seemed about to 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 rickety 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 came 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'."
"Goddamn 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."
"Damn 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 damn 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 goddamn 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. Goddamn 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, all the way from Mexico, to give him the usual slap.
The guys mumbled again, and Joe muttered, "Goddamn 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 goddamn 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 goddamn Israelis. Ya ask me, we should blow all them damn 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 goddamn 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 goddamn 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 share. 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, interested for more than one reason. "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? He decided he needed to have a little chat with her in the very near future.
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 ever found out about it, she might well consider it one of those "slip-ups" or "goof-offs" she'd warned him about and fire him.
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 that were in actuality aspects of his overall persona.
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 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 slightly accented, 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, who assigned her. 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."
Ziva looked puzzled at not being included in the order. A sudden thought occurred to Tony, and 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."
"That's not the most important issue here right now," he spat at her. "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 been playing with us, but he wasn't expecting us to put the clues together in time. He didn't anticipate that someone like Professor Bennett could see his patterns, but somehow someone who works here has informed him that she did. And he's obviously trying to prevent her from ferreting out any other information about his intentions."
DiNozzo went on. "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. The security level is too high. But this is a matter of urgency now because the professor's life is in danger. I don't care 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 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.
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 side 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. I'll meet you in back."
The driveway was on the left side of the house. 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 right 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. "Okay, let's keep this to just one point of forced entry. 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. He made 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 also 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 completely 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 for the time being 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. "The information had to come from someone who works in the squad room and saw us together."
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'd had little to say once she'd greeted their return.
Tony ordered, "Ziva, we need to talk."
He headed for the elevator with her on his heels.
Once inside he toggled the emergency stop button.
"What's going on, Tony?" she asked.
"I'm the one asking questions here," he answered. "What kind of work are you doing for Mossad?"
"I'm on special assignment here at NCIS, learning to be an investigator." Her face showed her bewilderment.
"What else?" he demanded.
"Nothing," she replied.
Tony went on, "When you first showed up at NCIS, you were Ari's control. Are you controlling any other double agents right now?"
Her mouth opened, but she seemed unable to say anything.
"C'mon, Ziva," Tony said roughly. "Help me out here. What other chores are you doing for Mossad while you're here?"
"I'm not doing anything else," she protested.
"How can I believe you?" he asked.
"I'm your partner, Tony," she said. "We've worked together for almost a year. If you don't trust me yet, I don't know what I can say to convince you that I'm not controlling any other agents or doing any other jobs for Mossad." She paused, taking a deep breath. "In fact, I've been thinking of resigning from Mossad and signing on with NCIS permanently."
He glared at her. "Are you aware of any other Mossad activities in the Metro area?"
She shook her head. "From time to time I hear that certain people are in town, but otherwise I usually have no contact with them."
"Who do you hear from? How?"
"Usually from people I know in Israel," said Ziva. "They send e-mails saying so-and-so has been assigned to the Embassy or something like that."
"What do you know about a weapons research facility where a lot of Israelis are working right now?"
"What is this about?" she countered, still puzzled. "Does it have to do with the case we're working on? I don't understand."
DiNozzo repeated, "What do you know about a weapons project that the Israelis are working on right now?"
"Tony, I don't know anything. As part of my assignment here, I was ordered not to work on any other Mossad projects. I just know from time to time when some of my former colleagues come to town."
"Do you ever have any contact with them?"
"No," she answered emphatically.
Tony sighed. He wasn't sure whether he could believe her. It was obvious that someone in the squad room was passing information along to whoever was running the operation they were investigating. But if it wasn't Ziva, who could it be?
He decided that in any case he wasn't going to get anything further from Ziva, and it was already time for his meeting with Delbart, so he let her go. She walked out of the elevator, turning her head to look back at him with an unreadable expression.
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."
On their way back from the Professor's house, DiNozzo and McGee had agreed that they needed to stake out the warehouse. Now he told Delbart that the warehouse appeared to be the real reason behind the otherwise inexplicably connected murders and that it should be put under close observation. 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 to 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 but still powerful enough to lay waste to a good sized city. 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 tomorrow. 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 tomorrow, 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 relaxation 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: Ziva
When he went back to his desk, Ziva was waiting for him.
"Now I need to talk to you," she said, indicating the elevator.
When the emergency stop had been activated, she sat down and indicated to Tony that he should sit too.
"I've been thinking about what you said," she told him. "In a way I'm really hurt that after almost of a year of working with me, you still don't seem to trust me."
"We seem to have a mole in the office," he responded, "and considering all the circumstances, you're the most logical suspect."
"What I said is true," she said. "I know I'm not Caitlin Todd, and I know that I came here at a really bad time, right after she died. I can understand how you and Gibbs and McGee would be suspicious of me and my reasons for being here. But I really am here to learn to be an investigator. And I love being here. I love working with you guys, even though sometimes I give you a hard time."
"And vice versa," Tony added amiably. "Is there more to it than just you're learning to be an investigator?" he asked.
"Well, in a way," she said, lowering her eyes, "I feel I owe it to you."
"How so?"
"I'm sorry; I can't talk about that right now," she answered, wondering if there ever would be a time when she would feel it would be appropriate to confess that she had been the one to kill Ari, and that he was actually her half-brother.
"Then why should I start trusting you now?" Tony demanded.
"I understand you think I have something to do with this warehouse you asked me about."
"And something to do with the kidnapping of Professor Bennett."
"She's been kidnapped?" Ziva's mouth dropped open and her eyes widened. "But nobody knew about her except you and us."
"Exactly."
Ziva thought hard for a moment. "Everyone in the squad room saw her talking to you."
"So if it wasn't you who gave her up to whoever kidnapped her, who was it?"
"I don't want to be a stitch," she started to say.
"Snitch," he corrected her.
"Snitch," she repeated. "I don't want to be a snitch, but Heather Dennison—well, she's been acting funny for a while."
"Heather?" Tony said. "Cute little blond Heather that sits behind McGee and likes to flirt with him?"
"That's just it," Ziva stated. "Sometimes, it's more than flirting."
"How so?"
"Especially since we started investigating Petty Officer Adamovitch's murder, she's been asking questions about the case."
"What kinds of questions?"
"Questions like, do we have any good leads, what kinds of evidence do we have. She wants to know if we have any suspects. She knows that Professor Bennett told you about the murder sites lining up to point to the warehouse. She's had questions about everything that we've ever discussed about this case in the bullpen. Like she's been listening in on our discussions and not paying any attention to her own work. And she's been getting a lot of personal phone calls."
"Do you know who the caller is?" Tony asked.
"No," Ziva replied.
"What else is there that makes you think she might be the mole?"
Ziva tossed her head. "I don't know, Tony," she said in a voice colored with frustration. "I just…I just have a feeling, that's all."
She looked at him. "I know "feelings" don't count as evidence. But Gibbs's gut…."
Tony's demeanor softened slightly. "It's all right, Ziva. Part of being a good investigative agent is knowing when to listen to your gut. So you're absolutely sure your gut is telling you we should be keeping an eye on Heather?"
"Yes," she said firmly and with evident relief that he seemed to understand.
He looked away from her, evidently deep in thought for the moment. Finally, again he seemed to come to a decision.
He turned to her. "All right," he said. "I have a gut too. And I have to trust what it's telling me, which is that you're telling me the truth."
"Thank you, Tony," she said, taking his hand and lifting to her lips, which made him smile.
"No time to get mushy, David," he told her. "We have work to do."
Quickly, he outlined the current status of the case for her and gave her instructions as to what role she should play in the progress of the investigation.
Chapter XI - Surveillance
Before returning to his desk, DiNozzo went down to the motor pool to arrange to check out a surveillance car. After pocketing the key, he stopped in the lab to ask Abby to do something for him, and then 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, and brainstorming, to no immediate effect.
At one point Special Agent Heather Dennison stepped away from her desk. McGee stood up to survey her desk and, as casually as possible, picked up the cell phone she had left lying there. By the time she came back from the rest room, the phone was back on the desk.
At 4:30 DiNozzo told his team, in a loud voice, that, inasmuch as they were making no progress, they could leave any time they wanted to.
The next morning the team began their day as usual, working over the reports and evidence they'd collected so far. Each made sure that his or her gun was loaded, and they had casually picked up com units.
All other preparations were complete. Tony checked a couple of times with Delbart, who informed him that the Metro team was ready for action any time.
Once more, at 4:30, Tony stood up and announced he was leaving. 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 Heather Dennison 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 neighborhood of the warehouse and parked in the next block. 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 her."
"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. Otherwise, they maintained radio silence, only checking different surveillance locations for any activity. Through the microphone McGee had placed in Heather's cell phone, they could hear that she was listening to the car radio.
It was nearly 5:00, and nothing appeared to be happening. Heather's cell rang, and, when she answered, a man's voice asked her, "Are you out there?" When she said she was, he went on, "I'll be out in a minute, and then we'll move."
Tony recognized the voice immediately as the one that had informed him Professor Bennett had been kidnapped, and a surge of anticipatory excitement went through him. He flipped on the com and warned all the waiting units that it was almost show time.
Finally, 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 Dennison'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!" Dennison said. "Is everything all right?"
Tony started, recognizing the name of the man whom his boys had identified as the person in charge of the Israelis in the facility.
"Everything is fine," replied Avram. "Your colleagues have no idea what is going on?"
"As far as I can tell," Heather said, "they think they're still just working on three murders. I told you they know this building is involved somehow, but they don't know what it is."
"Good."
Heather 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."
Heather had still other questions. "But this weapon is going to Israel 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 content to use conventional weapons against our enemies. They will never have the courage to 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 Heather did. He watched as the two heads in Dennison's car came together, and the listeners heard another kiss. "All right," she sighed. DiNozzo was puzzled. Why was a woman who had had a successful career as an agent at NCIS acting like a moon-struck teenager?
"Now are you ready?" Avram asked. "I must go. The trucks will be here shortly." 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 Dennison's car and returned to the warehouse.
Those surrounding the warehouse waited for several more 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 com units 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 Heather Dennison had started to move as well.
"McGee!" he yelled.
"I see her, boss," McGee responded.
DiNozzo set his car in motion almost before Heather 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. As DiNozzo was scrambling out of his vehicle, McGee and David exited theirs.
"Get out of the car, Heather, 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, "Ziva, 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 and David with the traitorous 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 maybe two or three 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 I'm told the guy called Avram and one other Israeli have disappeared too."
Chapter XII: 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 and David had delivered their package into custody and come into the warehouse to help however they 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 supposed 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 com unit 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 com 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 getting 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.
Officer Robins 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 southwestern 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, apparently distracted by his comrade's fall and the gunfire. Tony 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 helicopter with police department markings appeared in the sky and gave chase to the first one.
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 and the zeal 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 the double agent, 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 even had the chance to meet the other man's extremely attractive half sister. However, he was more attracted to lissome blondes, and when he met just such a woman in a bar, who just happened to be an agent with NCIS, he was ecstatic. He'd be able to kill two birds with one stone. Through her, he'd be able to obtain information that could be extremely useful in his work as a double agent.
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.
Tony asked him how he had selected his victims.
"I looked at a map online," he replied.
"You were making a pointer, weren't you?" asked Tony.
"Yes, it's true," said al Shiriqi. "But it couldn't be a straight line. That would be too obvious. Even a fool could have figured out that one. Unfortunately, your Professor Bennett is smart."
"She's a profiler," Tony responded. "She's trained for years to see patterns and motives."
"Yes, well," al Shiriqi replied. "I staked out those people for weeks. It was easy to get to know their habits, to find out when they would be alone. It was easy to get to them very early in the morning, when no one else would be watching or listening. I would have succeeded had it not been for Professor Bennett. When Heather told me she knew where to find me, she had to be eliminated."
"You were going to kill her in the park before you got on the helicopter," Tony said, stating it as a fact..
"Yes," the terrorist answered. "Collateral damage, you know." He cocked his head with what he thought was a sheepish smile and shrugged.
"Any why did you leave behind pages from the Bible?" Tony asked.
"To make it a little more interesting. For myself, especially. Killing people is very easy. Leaving behind ‘clues' that don't mean anything—it was an exercise in creativity for me." Again, he smiled smugly.
Then he wanted to know what was going to happen to him.
DiNozzo told him he would be 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 returned to NCIS very late after his interview with al Shiriqi, but he still had to interrogate Heather Dennison. She had been waiting in an interrogation room for him for hours, and by the time he finally entered the room, she was practically thrumming with nervousness.
He stared at her for several long minutes while she squirmed under his gaze.
"Why, Heather?" he finally asked.
"I fell in love with Avram," she replied in a small voice. "Not very original, is it?" She did not continue, merely looked down at her hands folded on top of the table.
He let the silence continue.
"I didn't know he was an Arab. I didn't know he was a terrorist." She paused. "I didn't know he was going to kill anyone."
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 think I can guarantee that your days at NCIS are over, and you'll probably be charged with treason, possibly accessory to murder, or at least aiding and abetting.
DiNozzo thought she was guilty of being at least an accessory, 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, using her infatuation with him to manipulate and deceive her.
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, self-assured woman 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 gave small badges to both of Ben Meissner's children designating them as honorary NCIS agents, and he invited the family to visit headquarters for a tour when their mourning was over.
He also accepted the gratitude of the Nortons and promised to stop by again some day, just to chat over a cup of coffee.
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. It was chilling evidence of al Qaeda's thoroughness and effectiveness in placing agents in sensitive places.
All of the facility's 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 was 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.
The director 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 got 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, McGee, and David worked together companionably to resolve all the loose ends of the case and finish their reports. DiNozzo made it a point to apologize to Ziva David for doubting her loyalty, but she poohed-poohed the apology because, as she said, had she been in the same position, she would have thought the same way. In the afternoon DiNozzo suggested they grab a bite and a beer after work, an offer his teammates gratefully accepted.
They was surprised when Tony headed back toward the bomb research facility, but were 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 the team walked in and were greeted like old pals.
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.
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 their work had continued as usual the rest of the day, although they were glad enough to be rid of the bad guys. Once they realized that Ziva was an Israeli and an agent for Mossad, they kept to themselves their disparaging thoughts about Jews, but they were more than happy to rag on al Qaeda.
When the conversation slowed, Ed peered at Tony 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.
The following week they got only 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 speculated at length as to whether Gibbs would be coming back and, if not, the kind of person they would like to add to the team
DiNozzo 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. He was especially tickled that the watch cats seemed to have accepted him as a pal as they crawled into and out of his lap for ear scratching.
Director Shepard called him in to her office one day.
"Well," she started. "You did a good job on the case. As I told you before, I had no doubts about your ability as an investigator."
"Thank you, ma'am," he answered.
"There is the matter of the irregularities in your investigation."
"Ma'am?" he said with a grin.
She looked at him, exasperation written on her face. Finally, she shook her head slowly several times.
"Gibbs trained you too well," she said. "He has twenty years on you, and you don't look at all like him. But I swear you're just like him."
"Thank you, ma'am," said Tony sincerely. "That's just about the best compliment anyone's ever given me."
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