by EJ Fisch
“It could be that – I don’t know – I was already downstairs.”
Dasaro flashed a wry grin, clearly enjoying himself. “The system doesn’t put you on site until a few moments before Tachi’s body was discovered. Based on the full forensic examination that took place after the party, investigators estimated that he’d been dead for close to twenty minutes at the time he was found. That leaves a pretty long window of time where you’re unaccounted for.”
After hearing Shevin’s story on the news and then sitting through Dasaro’s narration, Ziva was beginning to form the opinion that the entire case had been based on assumptions. “How about you explain this to me then?” she snapped, growing impatient. She gestured at the stealth suit with her bound hands.
Dasaro’s smile grew as he fed off her anger. “This was found in a trash receptacle in the Royal Officer’s chambers, along with a pair of gloves. Traces of your sweat were found on both.” He switched to another photo on the data pad, this time a scan of a partial fingerprint. “This was also found on another piece of garbage, no doubt left when you ditched the garments.”
“Do you take me for a complete fool?” Ziva exclaimed.
“No Ziva, I don’t. I wouldn’t mind leaving evidence at the scene of a crime if I knew it would be wiped away when the trash was transferred to the incinerator. But I guess you weren’t counting on every system in the palace being shut down upon the discovery of the body, garbage included.”
“And I suppose I had my formalwear stashed somewhere in the room so it would just be a matter of freshening up before heading downstairs. Or did I already have the dress on, stuffed into that suit?”
The captain was far too amused by the entire situation and laughed out loud. “Only you would know, Payvan,” he chuckled.
Ziva gnawed at the inside of her lip, mulling over the information in search of an inconsistency she could grab and run with. “Give me one reason I would want to kill Tachi.” She fought away another brief image of herself dangling by the arms with her body covered in scars.
Dasaro clicked his tongue. “Oh Ziva, I think we all know exactly why you’d want him dead.”
-10-
HSP Headquarters
Noro, Haphez
“What reason did Ziva have to assassinate Tachi?”
The question had originated from Nejdra Venn, another captain who had been recruited by Emeri and Dasaro to assist with the investigation. Like her counterpart, she was emilan Haphezian, with close-cropped hair and eerie silvery-white eyes that contrasted greatly with her dark skin. She was tall like Ziva but more slender and wiry. Nejdra sat beside Kyron Hoxie, yet another captain and former Grand Army officer, and together they stared Skeet and Zinni down, waiting for an answer.
“She didn’t kill him,” Skeet said. “I already told you she was downstairs with me.”
“You also admitted that she didn’t arrive until nearly an hour after the party began,” Nejdra pointed out. “Did she seem agitated, on edge, anything out of the ordinary?”
Skeet shook his head. “With respect, Captain, Ziva never says or does anything you might consider ‘ordinary’.”
“Cute, Sergeant Duvo. You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were stalling.”
“We’re not stalling,” Zinni protested. “There’s nothing more to say because we don’t know anything else.”
“If you must know, I asked Ziva where she’d been once she finally showed up,” Skeet said. “All she told me was that she’d been taking care of something. There was nothing out of the ordinary about it, and we left it at that.”
The two captains surveyed the information on their data pads for a moment before Nejdra addressed them again. “Has Ziva been secretive lately, hiding information she might usually share?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes!”
“Let’s go back to the original question,” Nejdra said. “You told us before that your boss never does anything unless she has a specific reason. That means we’re looking for a considerable motive here, and you two of all people should be able to tell me what it is.”
“I don’t know!” Skeet said. Then, under his breath, “This is ridiculous.”
“Let’s try something else,” Hoxie spoke up for the first time since the interrogation had begun. “Tell us why Payvan would have any reason to hate the Royal Officer.”
“Bear in mind that whether you speak or not, Ziva is still going to spend her final days in the Haphor Facility,” Nejdra added. “However, if you tell us what we want to know, you two will be off the hook and any collaboration charges against you will be dropped.”
Skeet swallowed. He felt frozen, suspended in mid-air between the two ideas that were suddenly yanking him in opposite directions. As much as it pained him to essentially betray his friend by testifying, he realized that in the grand scheme of things it might be best. Skeet slid his hand under the table and tapped Zinni’s leg, trusting her to understand that he had things under control. He only hoped he would one day have the chance to explain his actions to Ziva herself.
“It sounds like you’re trying to put words in my mouth,” he replied to Hoxie.
“Just answer the question, Duvo.”
“You know as well as I do why Ziva hated Tachi.”
“We need to hear it anyway.”
Skeet tilted his head. “My statements are already on record from the initial debriefing.”
“And they need to be on record for this case, too,” Nejdra stated. “Start talking, Sergeant.”
-11-
3 years ago
Smuggler’s compound
Cobi
The concrete walls of the hallway were grimy and covered in months’ worth of fungus and other growth. The corridor looked like every other in the abandoned bunker – dark and dusty. Water dripped from somewhere above, and a chilly draft crept past the agents as they silently moved forward.
Dust swirled in front of Skeet’s face as he exhaled, highlighted by the beam of the spotlight mounted on his rifle. The dust that wasn’t swirling was adhering to his sweaty face, making him feel like he fit right in down here in this filthy hole. His eyes were wide open, peering into the darkness at the end of the corridor, and he took a moment to wipe away the sticky muck gathering on his forehead. The rest of the bunker had been cleared; they’d found all but one of the agents from the missing infiltration team scattered throughout the building, all dead and obviously tortured. One final door loomed ahead, and Skeet’s blood was pumping so fast it almost hurt. If she wasn’t in there, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do.
Skeet and the five agents behind him pulled up a few meters from the door. An old control panel was built into the wall just to his left, so Skeet went to it and examined it closely. Any plant life or fungus had been cleared from it, giving him the impression it had been used fairly recently. He tapped at the screen out of curiosity, praying it was still functional.
TERMINAL OFFLINE.
“Sheyss.” Skeet put a finger on his earpiece and took another look around the edges of the door with his light. “Zinni, we’ve got a computer down here that’s supposed to open this last room.”
“I’m picking it up,” the intelligence officer replied from her station on the HSP flagship orbiting somewhere above them. “It looks like the entire system has been disabled. You won’t be able to get in from there.”
Skeet cursed again and glanced over the bunker’s schematics on a viewscreen one of the agents carried. “This door is the only access to that room,” he exclaimed, fighting away a sense of panic that threatened to seize control of his mind. “We need to get in there now!”
“There are other ways to open doors,” Zinni retorted, her voice possessing the same edgy tone that his did.
He understood her hint immediately and removed the single Malesium-core thermal grenade from his utility belt. It was smaller than the military-grade Class A grenades but otherwise virtually identical, cylindrical in
shape with a narrow primer switch. The charge was small enough to fit cleanly in the palm of his hand, and unlike its counterpart it only had a blast radius of about four meters. It was beyond ideal in such a place as this.
“Move back,” Skeet ordered the agents around him, though they had already begun retreating upon seeing him with the grenade in hand. He moved with them, stopping to crouch down once they had reached a suitable distance from the door.
“Stand by,” he said. Skeet drew his arm back and flicked the primer switch before giving the device a powerful toss into the darkness. It skidded across the floor and magnetically adhered to the door with a metallic clink. Skeet put a cautious hand up to shield his face and waited.
A sharp crack echoed through the tunnel as the device went off. Yellow fire seeped through the cloud of dust and debris and a large portion of the sealed door crumbled and fell inward.
Skeet had his rifle up and was pressing forward before the cloud had even settled. He ducked through the hole that had been blown in the door and began sweeping his light around the room. It was long and narrow and the ceiling was lined with old pipes and power cables. Several containers lay on their sides in the corner, empty and abandoned. The last occupants of this place had left in a hurry.
He swung the light around until it settled on a pale, naked figure that stood out against the darkness of the room. The person was strung up by the arms with a thick chain that was looped over two of the pipes against the ceiling, just like all the others had been. Frozen in place, Skeet watched with bated breath as gravity slowly turned the figure’s face toward the beam of his light.
It was Ziva.
She wasn’t moving.
She hung just high enough that she might barely be able to support herself on her tip-toes given the opportunity. Her arms were hooked over a narrow pole at the elbows, and her head rested limply against one shoulder. Long streaks of burned flesh marred her abdomen and thighs, and it appeared her feet had been stabbed or cut to the point that even if she could stand it would be unbearably painful.
Smaller cuts and black scorch marks littered the tender flesh on Ziva’s chest and the underside of her arms. Both of her eyes were swollen shut and a thick strip of dry, cracked blood ran from her nose over her slack mouth and down her chin. The majority of her hair remained pulled back as it had been when Skeet had last seen her, though it was frizzy and frayed as if she had been electrocuted numerous times. That would explain the scorching on her skin, he thought.
Without realizing it, Skeet’s feet were moving, racing toward his lifeless lieutenant. With hasty but true aim, he fired two rounds into the chain, successfully severing it, and caught the limp Ziva before she could fall into a puddle of her own dried vomit and excrement.
“She’s still alive! Get a medical unit in here now!” Skeet screamed, half to the agents with him and half to Zinni over the comm. Supporting Ziva on one knee, he yanked the pole out from between her arms and removed his field jacket, placing it over her cold body. “Repeat, we need a medic in here now!”
He slung the rifle strap over his shoulder and scooped her up in his arms, struggling for a moment against the weight of her muscular frame. The other agents stepped aside, following him out the door and shining their own lights ahead to give him a clear path. He moved as quickly as possible down the bunker’s narrow corridors, dodging other members of the rescue team who were busy recovering the bodies of the dead HSP agents.
“Where the hell is my medic?” he shouted.
He could feel slight wafts of air on his neck as Ziva breathed, giving him a glimmer of hope. He adjusted his hand to keep her head from snapping back and his fingers found her hair matted with dry blood. “I promise you those bastards will pay for this.”
-12-
HSP Headquarters
Noro, Haphez
Ziva sat quietly, waiting for either Emeri or Dasaro to comment further or ask her more questions. She could still feel the sensation of the irons searing her skin after merely recalling those horrid days she’d spent in captivity. A tremendous chill washed over her at the memory of being left to die in that place, completely helpless and alone. Never again had she allowed herself to fall into such a vulnerable state.
“Tachi withdrew the rest of the ground forces, leaving your strike team stranded,” Dasaro confirmed.
“I refused to quit without completing the mission,” Ziva explained. “My team had my back, but we were ambushed and overwhelmed before we had a chance to act. We couldn’t have turned back if we’d wanted to.”
“And what compelled the smugglers to take you captive to begin with?”
Ziva didn’t care much for his tone. “They were Cobian pirates, Diago. You know how they are. They didn’t need a reason other than the fact that we were foreign government agents who could provide them with a few days’ worth of entertainment.”
“So you blamed Tachi for all of that and not your own weakness or rash decisions?”
“I was in that hell hole for a week before anyone came for me,” Ziva snapped, refraining from leaping to her feet. “Even then, it was only because Skeet had the audacity to ignore spec ops regulations and take another team back out there. My ‘weakness’ had nothing to do with anything.”
Emeri cleared his throat. “I will not have this turn into a popularity contest between the two of you, Captain. Continue with your questions or let’s be done here.”
Dasaro’s smug expression eased a bit, though the amount that remained was still plenty to work Ziva over. “So it would be safe to say you were unhappy with the Officer after this incident?”
“There were a lot of people who were unhappy with him.”
“Answer the question, Payvan!” Emeri growled.
“And you were one of them, Director!” Ziva shot them each a scornful glare, fighting away a shiver as she remembered how the pirates had used her body to snuff out their cigars after spending an hour blowing the smoke in her face. They’d beaten and kicked her and hit her with the butts of their rifles, all the while keeping her pumped full of enough drugs to render her helpless. One of them had even had his way with her while she was too sedated to fight back, though she mercifully remembered little of the experience. But the real scars came from the amount of time she’d spent in that dungeon feeling utterly abandoned by those who were meant to back her up.
“Allow me to pose a question now,” she said quietly before either of the men could speak again. “It has been three long years – almost to the exact date – since this happened. Explain to me why I would have waited all this time to take my petty revenge on Tachi.”
“You tell me, Payvan,” Dasaro said.
Ziva felt her will beginning to collapse, a sensation that made her entirely uncomfortable. She was disgusted at herself for allowing simple thoughts to cloud her judgment like this, but at the same time she could not allow them to take her to Haphor so she could re-live those agonizing days. Images from that bunker burned through her memory, and she squeezed her eyes shut in a vain attempt at fending them off. She took a deep breath and tried to return herself to a meditative state.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard Dasaro asking why she had been late to the party, heard him conversing briefly with the director. Their voices were muffled, trapped behind the thickening cloud of pain swirling through her mind. She shuddered, much to her chagrin and no doubt Dasaro’s delight.
“That’s it,” Emeri said, his voice cutting through the haze in Ziva’s head. “Get her out of here.”
The door hissed open without further ado and something sharp pierced the skin on her neck. She didn’t even have time to register what it was before the room started to spin and her mind went blank.
-13-
HSP Headquarters
Noro, Haphez
Zinni felt as though she had somehow been transported back to three years earlier and was re-living the countless debriefing sessions, disturbing images, and sleepless nights she had experienced t
hen. She followed Skeet out of the holding room in a fog, attempting to process and sort out the load of information she was suddenly buried under. Everyone, including herself, had done their best to shut out any memories of the “incident” after Ziva had been found and the other agents were recovered, but now it was clear that it was somehow still far from over.
Skeet stopped a short distance from the door and let out a deep breath as he ran a hand through his rumpled hair, a nervous habit he had developed over the years. If there was any language besides native Haphezian that Zinni was perfectly fluent in, it was Skeet’s body language. Right now, he was doing the same thing she was: sorting out his overloaded mind. His recollection of what happened to Ziva had been as difficult for him to speak of as it had been for Zinni to listen to. She gave him a few moments to regain his composure.
“Please tell me that little love pat meant you have some sort of plan,” she finally said, arms crossed. She’d been patient for the duration of the interrogation, mostly because she didn’t know anything, but Skeet’s actions had greatly intrigued her.
Skeet ruffled his hair again and refrained from answering until a pair of agents had walked by and cleared the vicinity. “I think I do,” he replied.
“Good. I’d like to think you wouldn’t betray Ziva just to save yourself.”
Skeet’s eyes grew wide. “You know I would never do that!” he snapped. He looked around to see if the two of them were arousing suspicion, then took Zinni by the arm and led her into a nearby alcove.
“Telling Dasaro’s people what they wanted to hear was the only way I could see to help Ziva,” he continued, voice still hushed. “If we’d refused, we’d be in just as much trouble and she would be completely on her own. I’m not saying they won’t still have eyes on us, but this way the probability that we can help her is a lot higher. She’ll get her week-long grace period just like any other criminal, and nobody else seems to be on her side so it’s up to us to be her sponsors. If we work fast we might be able to put an end to this…or at least get some closure.”