Reading Time: 124 Minutes
Title: A Greater Sacrifice
Author: SASundance
Fandom: NCIS, Eureka – minor crossover
Genre: Angst, Crossover, Episode Related, Fantasy, Kid!fic, Paranormal/Supernatural, Science Fiction
Relationship(s): Gen, background pairings
Content Rating: R
Warnings: Discussion of suicidality, suicide missions, canonical level of violence
Word Count: 200,260
Summary: When Anthony DiNozzo is told by Director Vance that he must take one for the team, following the death of Mossad Officer Michael Rivkin, never did he imagine that the cost would prove so high. After a year filled with taking one for the team, Tony decides that he is not going to Tel Aviv, until he is blackmailed into going along by opportunistic politicians who see a chance to change the balance of power. Forced onto the plane taking Rivkin’s body home, an injured Tony isn’t sure that he will make it out alive or if there is anything left for him to come home to.
Artist: Lailath Quetzalli
Chapter 11
The phone call that Tom had been waiting on finally came at almost 3.00 am, although it hadn’t woken him because he was too keyed up to sleep. Finally, Amit Hadar reached him, full of apologies that he hadn’t called sooner. There had been an emergency during the short medevac to Haifa, where the private clinic was located and where Tony was supposed to recover from the undercover op. He’d almost died mid-air, and the doctor admitted that his weakened lungs had not started functioning normally, unlike all the Mossad members who had undergone the experiment drug protocol.
“Of course not, because none of them have plague-ravaged lungs like DiNozzo. He told anyone who would listen it was a bad idea, but no one would heed him.”
Amit was silent for several moments. “This is true. He told Dr Avigail Deitsch – I was there but she insisted it would be fine.”
Morrow ranted angrily for several minutes about how people were too invested in their own agendas to care about the man being coerced into doing something so dangerous.
“I did not know this. I initially believed Agent DiNozzo had volunteered and that when he told Deitsch about his lungs, he was having second thoughts about going through with it. Understandable, given the situation, but I had no idea that his life would be in danger. Why did he agree to participate?”
“Because the life of someone who mattered a great deal to him was threatened. He didn’t have a choice,” Tom told him angrily.
“And you could not prevent this?”
“I found out about it a few hours before he had to get on the plane. By that stage, the various actors in this farce of a dinner theatre had already convinced the President that this wasn’t just a brilliant plan, it was crucial to global stability to remove Eli from power and retrieve those files of his.”
“I see. Probably because they are in Eli’s kompromat files,” Hadar gave a cynical bark of laughter before swearing under his breath in Hebrew. At least, he assumed that was what the Mossad officer was doing.
“According to Dr Pitt, even flying twelve hours in an unpressurised plane with the injuries that Officer Rivkin inflicted was highly dangerous given the state of his lungs.
“I do not understand. Why was Agent DiNozzo cleared to fly?” Hadar inquired.
“He didn’t have medical clearance to fly. Director Vance and SECNAV weren’t concerned about his fitness to fly, considering what they knew would happen when they arrived.
“I see. But what of Agent Gibbs, his superior. Why didn’t he make sure he was fit to fly? Surely he should have checked that out before Agent DiNozzo boarded the plane.”
“It is a good question, Officer Hadar. Unfortunately, I do not have a good answer.”
“But it is my understanding that he was not a part of the plan to surrender Agent DiNozzo of the Davids once they landed on Israeli soil so they could execute him,” Hadar stated.
“That is my understanding of the situation, too,” Tom confirmed.
“Then I do not understand how he failed to object. As leader, why did he not demand a medical clearance be obtained.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, Officer Hadar,” Tom told him. After a short pause, Tom realised that phrase might not travel well and clarified, “It means that I already agree with you. You don’t need to persuade me.”
“Ah! I see. Well, the doctors at the Aharon Clinic in Haifa said that it was the swelling to his larynx, which made it extremely difficult to get a tube done his throat to be able to manually bag him, so he could receive enough oxygen. They agree that it was undoubtedly made worse by him flying for twelve hours.”
“What is his status currently?”
“Grave,” Hadar admitted sadly. “He is on a ventilator while they try to coax his lungs into providing enough functioning to support him to breathe without assistance. While they are functioning, it isn’t sufficient to maintain critical life functions. And due to him being without adequate oxygen levels on the flight there, the doctors at Aharon are unable to determine if he may have received a hypoxic brain injury before they were able to get a tube down his throat and start bagging him.”
“Why wasn’t he on oxygen as a precautionary measure?” Tom demanded furiously.
“According to Officer Tuvia, he was on a non-rebreather facemask already. But his bad lung function and then the swelling of his larynx meant that his oxygen level soon began to drop as he regained consciousness and panicked. She said he was suffocating.”
“When will they be able to determine if he has suffered a brain injury?” Tom asked, sick with worry.
“Not until he is awake, but being on the ventilator means that he will remain sedated until they can get his lungs functioning again.”
“And Dr Pitt?”
“He and Agent Henderson have landed and are hiring a car to drive to Haifa. After they check in, as part of their cover of being on vacation together, Officer Tuvia will pick them up and take them to the Aharon Clinic,” Hadar told him.
“Have him ring me as soon as he can after he gets in,” Tom requested sombrely before hanging up.
Brad Pitt had warned him of this scenario. Hell, even Tony told him his lungs would be a problem, and he was right. Morrow felt heartsick and knew he wasn’t the only one on tenterhooks waiting to know if Tony survived. He’d promised to let Drs Helen and Jeanne Berkley know if Tony made it through the undercover mission safely. It was clear right from the start when he’d flown to NYC to persuade Jeanne and her mother that remaining in the US wasn’t a good idea that Jeanne had mixed feelings about Anthony DiNozzo.
He knew that she’d fallen in love with him or Anthony DiNardo as she knew him. It was equally clear he had feelings for her but, the relationship between them was always destined to be a disaster zone since DiNozzo was undercover, using his relationship with her per Jenny Shepard’s orders to get to Jeanne’s arms dealing father. Tony did not know then the op was a personal vendetta for Shepard. When it all blew up, literally after the CIA put a car bomb in Tony’s Mustang and Rene Benoit’s bodyguard, who was driving the car, was blown up and killed, Jeanne felt completely betrayed by both her father (who she believed to be a businessman) and her lover (who she thought was a professor of films). When Dr Benoit learned the truth, understandably, she’d been shattered. When her father turned up dead and an FBI agent informed her of his death while she was in Africa working for Medicine sans Frontières, they planted the idea that it had been DiNozzo who assassinated her father, but couldn’t prove it, and insinuated that he was going to get away with murder.
Morrow suspected it had been a ploy by the higher-ups to give them a way into the agency to investigate Director Shepard. However, you don’t just rock up to a federal agency and accuse the director, not even one as small as NCIS, not if you valued your pension, so they decided that focusing on DiNozzo would get them a foot inside the door and then they could turn their attention to Jennifer Shepard who had, according to the CIA, a much more pressing motive to want Rene Benoit dead.
Who cared if they further messed around with the lives and emotions of Tony DiNozzo and Jeanne Benoit in the process?
She’d returned to the US, still hurt and indignant by his betrayal. Angry that he might get away with murdering her father, she had made a false accusation of murder against him when interviewed by the FBI, claiming to have been an eyewitness to the shooting. Later, she recanted her sworn statement, admitting that she hadn’t been at the dock, so she never saw the person who was on her father’s yacht the night he was killed. Yes, her father was waiting for her to visit him, hoping to talk her around and persuade her to go away with him because he’d decided to dump the CIA, but she was too angry with him. She’d stood him up.
Ironically, it was Shepard who forced that confession out of her. Probably because she already knew that Jeanne was lying, as Tom suspected she had killed Benoit herself. He also believed that Gibbs had covered up for her, somehow persuading Trent Kort to take the blame and claim it had been a sanctioned hit.
Still, Jeanne’s false accusation of Tony killing her father had ended whatever chance they had (and to be blunt, it wasn’t very likely, to begin with) of them continuing a relationship once the truth was out there. But then, some bonds, even ones such as theirs that should stay broken, were still terribly hard to let go of. Particularly knowing that this was the second time Jeanne owned Tony for protecting her life, while she had repaid him with lies and false accusations. It made for a deeply, complicated situation.
So it wasn’t exactly a surprise when he phoned them just now, as he promised to do when the operation was complete, to let her know how Tony was doing, that Jeanne insisted that she needed to see him. She didn’t say it in so many words but felt she wanted a chance to say a proper goodbye since the previous farewell had been very acrimonious. From what he knew of her after reading her file from the FBI, he knew she was a dedicated doctor, kind, compassionate and ethical. It probably didn’t sit well with her that she tried to put an innocent man in prison for revenge because he deceived her while undercover. As much as it must hurt to know she’d been used by him, as a doctor, she must also be a pragmatist. Surely the doctor must know he believed he was trying to put away a man responsible for an incalculable number of deaths in wars and global conflicts. One that just happened to be her father.
Tom said, “I can understand that you want to see him, Doctor, but he is sedated and will remain that way until they can get his lungs to function again.”
If they could get his lungs to function again, and everyone knew with lungs as scarred as Tony’s, that was extremely unlikely…even Jeanne, now Tom had been honest with her in New York. Brutally so!
“I know, Deputy Director, but I still need to see him. Our last meeting… I said things that I regret. I told him that I wished I’d never met him. But over the last year, I had a chance to see things from a different perspective, and while I admit that I was still angry at him, I’m not sorry we met. I need him to know that, and I need him to know that I owe him for my life and I’m grateful. I don’t know if it might make a difference, but I need to tell him that.”
“Jeanne, it would be difficult. The Israelis are hiding Tony in an exclusive private clinic in Haifa from the people who think they’ve killed him. Dr Pitt, Tony’s doctor who saved his life when he was infected with Y-pestis, has flown to Tel Aviv with one of my Agents, posing as his girlfriend. They are pretending to be on vacation. It’s too risky to have you fly in, too.”
“Okay, then I’ll fly to Cyprus and charter a yacht, pretending to be on a family trip,” she said determinedly. “I was already thinking about leasing a vessel large enough to sail to France where he can rest and recuperate. He shouldn’t fly with his lungs anyway.”
“You’ve put some thought into this,” Tom said, doubting she had come up with this plan on the fly since their conversation began.”
“While I was checking out flights to Israel this morning on the way to the farmhouse,” she said candidly.
Morrow swiftly calculated the time difference. France was seven hours ahead of them.
“I figured he wouldn’t want to risk flying out of a major airport, even if the Israelis have organised false identity documents for him,” she said.
“The plan was to fly him out by charter plane to Britain since his mother was British, and he has dual nationality. I think that would be wiser. He would stick out too much in France, not able to speak the lingo, Jeanne,” Morrow said gently, even though he feared that this scenario wasn’t going to eventuate, anyway.
“Tony speaks fluent French, Director. His accent is not American. It sounds British, so maybe his mother taught him to speak it. Lots of people in the UK speak French, so it makes sense. ”
That’s not on his file, I wonder why?”
“I’m not sure, I just assumed at the time that he picked it because we were together. He already speaks Spanish and Italian too. I thought he was someone who picked up languages easily or that it might relate to his studying films. He had an extensive knowledge of French Noir Films,” Jeanne said.
“You may be right, doctor,” he said distractedly.
He knew that worrying about where Tony would recuperate was farcical and entirely premature, right now. Still, Morrow sensed that they both needed a dose of normality in the face of the grim news, especially the young doctor. She was beset with guilt at what she had done.
In fact, it wasn’t only premature (if what Brad Pitt had intimated before boarding the flight to Tel Aviv was correct), but then, the whole debate about where Tony might end up was probably little more than an academic exercise since the only way that Tony would probably be leaving Israel was as a corpse. Not unless there was a miracle, and to be painfully realistic, he’d already survived the odds of not dying of antibiotic-resistant pneumonic plague. How likely was it that he would recover a second time?
As to getting Dr Berkley safely into Israel without attracting too much attention, the plan to charter a yacht and sail to Haifa was probably a pretty good way to slip into the country. And he could understand why Jeanne felt driven to see Tony. It might be her last chance.
“Can you afford to charter a boat, Jeanne, because…”
“I’m the fourth generation doctor on the Berkley side of the family. My grandmother and grandfather Berkley are doctors, as was my great-grandfather. The Berkley family aren’t exactly poor, Director. Besides, I have half a million dollars which is just sitting in a bank account that my… Rene gave me for college that I never touched because my grandparents paid for my medical degrees.“
“Okay, well, I was going to say that Tony had a windfall very recently, and I know he’d be fine in paying for the charter,” he told her, smiling at the memory of his baiting the Fixer from State, Anna Elliot’s jumped up little upstart flunkey.
Gerrit Driessen had been sweating bullets when Morrow had arrived at DiNozzo’s apart several days ago. Tom admitted he’d been a little surprised by his home, the baby grand piano in particular but given his taste in clothes, the stylish place was not too big of a shock to the former NCIS director. What was shocking was the expression on Tony’s face as he goaded Driessen as he bought and sold high-risk stocks while threatening to put a bullet in his brain. It was shocking because Tom could tell he was deadly serious.
While Tony DiNozzo had a reputation for being a goofball who never took life seriously, there had been a few occasions when he was the director of NCIS, where DiNozzo had dropped the masks and revealed the anger that was normally kept hidden. And not the yell at people, throw stuff, kick the trash can fury, but an ice-like seething anger that skewered adversaries and when it erupted, it was like an unrelenting wave that flattened anything in his path.
Tom knew that Anthony DiNozzo had come close to ending his life, and Driessen did too, which was why the man was beside himself with fear. Tony had rightly profiled the odious weasel, recognising that if Tony did take his life, the smarmy sanctimonious Fixer was effectively fucked too. Tom was weirdly proud that Tony had made him sweat, wondering just how much shit Driessen was going to be in should he fail to deliver one living breathing Special Agent DiNozzo to Tel Aviv.
Of course, while DiNozzo was understandably outraged that they would threaten him as they had, it wasn’t until later on that Morrow fully understood why Tony had threatened to kill himself, and it wasn’t just that he knew he had Driessen over a barrel. After his talk with Dr Pitt, Tom realised that Tony believed he was as good as dead anyway, so he had nothing to lose. That and he was desperate to make sure that Jean and her mother were safe, in case he didn’t survive.
As for his little Psy Ops sessions messing around with Driessen’s head (and doing a damn fine job of it, too), Tom checked in with DiNozzo’s financial advisor Reese Jenner as per Tony’s request. Tony told him he’d given the financial whiz kid permission to let loose, throwing out his conservative strategy of investing in safe blue-ribbon stocks and bonds to trading in the high-risk end of the market. Permission Jenner had taken to heart, turning Tony’s nest egg of $350,000 from cautious investing since he started working at NCIS over eight years into 2.6 million, which sounded highly improbable to Tom.
Reese Jeffers had smirked, saying he was just that good and, also he had a lot of luck, with everything just falling into place. Morrow hoped it proved a good omen and that Tony survived the highly risky operation.
Still, if Tony survived this, it sounded like there would be zero chance of him ever being able to work again with the additional damage done to his lungs and possible hypoxia causing brain damage, so he’d need something to retire on. Jenner showed his boast of being, ‘just that good,’ was well founded; he had already shifted back into Tony’s former conservative financial strategy, not willing to lose the flukiest gains by being too foolhardy. Tom was impressed by the guy and decided to hire the financial advisor for his own modest retirement investments. But the point was that Tony could most certainly afford to charter a yacht although the more pertinent question was, would he need it?
Morrow resolved not to stand in her way. It was not his place to forbid Jeanne from travelling to Tony in Haifa if she felt she had unfinished business with him. Maybe it would give him something to fight for since Brad had explained how much he had struggled after the pair had parted ways. If it made a difference to Tony’s chances, even just a small one to know she no longer hated him, then who was he to stand in her way.
“What about your mother, Jeanne? Will she remain at the farmhouse or accompany you to Haifa?”
“I’m hoping she’ll come with me. I’ll need her support,” she sighed, envisaging what awaited them at the Aharon Private Clinic.
Maybe between the three doctors they might be able to pull off another miracle between them, Morrow mused optimistically. At least if he didn’t make it, he wouldn’t die alone, and Tom had to believe that counted for something.
“Okay, I’ll contact my team and have them start making plans. I’ll get back to you soon.”
~oOo~
After hanging up the phone, Jeanne Berkley looked at her mother listening via speaker phone to the conversation with the Deputy Director of Homeland Security, reporting on Anthony DiNozzo’s undercover mission, which had gone badly. Although they weren’t told the precise details of his undercover mission, they had been told that it involved him convincing people in their own government and the Israeli government (dangerous people who wanted him dead) that their target (Tony) had been killed. Even back in NYC, Tom Morrow had been blunt about Tony’s chances of survival and why he agreed to undertake a mission he was not medically fit for.
For a long time now, Helen Berkley had been nagging at Jeanne, ever since she made the crazy accusation that she witnessed Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo (who she believed to be a professor DiNardo), shoot and kill her father, Rene Benoit, wanting her to make amends. At first, she had been sceptical even when she first met him and had been convinced that Tony was in love with her daughter, but she could also see the doubt. Given his history as a self-confessed serial dater, Helen had wrongly assumed he was suffering from a simple fear of commitment and had not been in favour of their relationship. After his car was blown up by a bomb and Jeanne’s father had been forced to admit to his eldest child that he was one of the world’s top arms dealers, with the inevitable death and destruction of who knew how many thousands of lives, her world was shattered. To learn that on top of that terrible truth, the man she adored and was planning to share a home with had lied to her too so he could investigate her father had been more than she could bear.
Despite her own father, who she learned had known that Tony was an agent (and his real name was DiNozzo, not DiNardo), and had done so for months and not told her, had felt like yet another unbearable betrayal. Yet it was the agency that her fake boyfriend worked for, whom her father insisted on going to for help when he explained that the CIA knew he wanted out of the arms dealing business, but they were using his love for his children to force him to continue as their high-valuable asset. He told her that she should not blame Special Agent DiNozzo for lying to her, that he was doing a job, and that Rene could tell he was also deeply in love with her, which was why Rene approved of their relationship.
At the time, she had been furious with both of them and refused to listen. Her father not telling her that her boyfriend was using her to get to her father, seemed cruel and unforgivable. Rene also wanted her to stay with him, to go away together because it was obvious that the CIA was prepared to kill her to keep him under control. Always hot-headed, she had been too angry to listen to reason, arguing bitterly with her father and declaring she wanted nothing more to do with either man. Scared by the bombing, Jeanne cleared everything she cared about out of her apartment – she was being evicted from it in a few weeks anyway, and she fled to New York City to seek refuge with her mother.
Impetuously, Jeanne had signed up to work with Medicine sans Frontières, a humanitarian organisation providing volunteer doctors and medical aid to third-world countries around the globe. She ran off to Africa to escape her demons, at the time thinking it was a good way to elude the CIA if they were targeting her, as her father maintained, and also to avoid dealing with him or Tony. Jeanne never thought she would end up with even more guilt as she came face to face with some of the brutal consequences of her father’s actions.
Perhaps going there had been altruistic, but it was also an act of desperation. One of penance, thinking that she could make up for all the harm that Rene Benoit had done selling arms to his clients, much of his merchandise which ended up fuelling coups and wars in third world countries where corruption of governments and leaders was endemic. Where countries providing their own people with basics necessities like clean water, food and healthcare ran a poor second to power struggles and empire building. So yes, she had been naïve in thinking that one doctor could make such a difference to balance all the blood that her own father and the CIA had on their hands from their bloody trading in armaments and weapons.
Her father’s murder had brought her back to the US from her self-imposed sojourn with Medicine sans Frontières, guilty and shocked by the news of his death, which realistically she shouldn’t have been. He predicted it, but she refused to listen to him. She returned home, horrified by the poverty she encountered and much more cynical about being able to atone for Rene Benoit’s crimes and abject greed. It was also when she decided that she could no longer use her father’s name and had it legally changed to Berkley – her mother’s family name. Yet her deeply conflicted feelings about her father, including the fact that she loved him for the man she had known all her life and yet hated him too, for the man she learned that he had really been, confused her.
Several factors had likely driven her to falsely accuse Tony of killing her father, none of them rational nor excusable. Jeanne could see that now, but at the time, she had been so guilty, grief-stricken, ashamed of her father and angry at him and Tony that she acted more like a wounded animal. Firstly, her view of governmental corruption had been badly disillusioned by what she’d witnessed firsthand in Africa, where civilian life was so cheap. Not really knowing the first thing about NCIS, Jeanne had immediately labelled it as a military version of the CIA, so it didn’t seem that farfetched to think Tony might have been ordered to kill her father as the FBI agent had intimated when he informed her of Rene’s death.
Then there was the fact that her father had been so emphatic when he said that unless NCIS agreed to help him, he was a dead man, and she was in danger too. Since her father turned up dead, in her mind, then NCIS (Tony) had failed to protect him and was therefore responsible for his death. Somehow, she even managed to imagine that Tony could have persuaded himself that the best way to protect her from the danger she was in, was to kill her father. Maybe he thought that with her father dead, she might return, and they could get together again. It was all illogical, but Jeanne wasn’t thinking clearly, at the time. Indeed, it was not surprising, given her mixed feelings about the man she had adored her whole life and the guilt she now felt for how he had made his fortune. So many innocent people had paid the price for him to own his own private planes and yachts, and coming to terms with that had made her more than a little insane.
Her mother had been supportive when Jeanne insisted on going off to Africa, even though she could tell that Helen didn’t agree with her decision. When she returned after being informed that her father’s body had been discovered months later, Jeanne was an emotional wreck, riddled with guilt over the last words that she had spoken to her papa, whom she loved and hated now in equal measures. Helen continued to be her rock, letting her rant, scream and cry. Not once, did she use the opportunity to take aim at her ex-husband, whom she hated for being a typical French businessman who saw nothing wrong in having a series of mistresses throughout their marriage. Even though her mother was just as shaken up as her daughter was to learn how Rene made his fortune, no bitter recriminations against him had passed her lips. She had always been nothing but supportive of her daughter, and Jeanne was grateful for her non-judgemental solace.
All that changed when Jeanne came back from the Capitol, when she went to Washington DC, to speak with the FBI agents who were in charge of her father’s murder investigation. When Jeanne returned to NYC a few days later, having learnt that the CIA admitted that her father’s death had been a sanctioned hit (just as he warned Jeanne would happen the last time she spoke to him), she was even more of a mess. They had taken Rene’s body back to France so that his current wife, and young sons (and Jeanne’s younger half-siblings) could bury him in the Benoit family cemetery in a private family ceremony, and Helen had accompanied her. When Jeanne returned from France and tried to decide if she should return to Africa and see out her commitment to Medicine Sans Frontières, she refrained from voicing her opinion, even though she could tell that her mother didn’t want her to go. Jeanne finally came clean to Helen about her fabricating an eyewitness account of Tony shooting her father to the FBI when she was in DC.
Given how incredibly supportive Helen Berkley had been of her daughter up to this point, quelling her intense dislike of Jeanne’s father and backing her up on all of her decisions, even if she didn’t agree, Jeanne was shocked at her mother’s reaction. It had been swift and brutal, warning her that falsely accusing anyone, let alone a federal agent of being a murderer could see her charged with serious crimes and ruin her medical career. She had also made it clear that her actions, aside from the legal ramifications, had been cruel and wrong. Jeanne tried to justify it when she told her mother Tony had finally admitted to her before she left NCIS that he lied to her and that he had never loved her; it was just a job. However, even that information had failed to sway Helen in her condemnation of what Jeanne had done to an innocent man.
“I don’t care, Jeanne. It was very wrong of you to lie and say that you saw him kill Rene. But tell me, Cherie, did he say this to you before or after you accused him of killing your father?”
“After, but what difference does it make, Mama.”
“It makes all the difference in the world, Jeanne. He was probably incredibly hurt and angry over your accusation – he could have gone to jail. This was the first time you have talked to him since the day his car was blown up, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, so what if it was.”
“He was angry with you after being accused of murder, and I don’t blame him, Jeanne. I raised you better than that, but he loves you! He hasn’t dated anyone since you left.”
“He’s a player, Mama. He told me that himself,” she scoffed.
“No, Jeanne, I don’t mean dated as in having short-lived relationships or a new date every night. The private investigator I hired to check him out said that the few dinners he’s gone on in the last year, he couldn’t stop talking about you. They never even made it past the main course because the women he went out with realised he wasn’t over you.”
“No, he said it was just the job, you’re wrong, and so was Papa. Tony used me. It was all a lie.”
“Even if that’s true, that does not excuse you for accusing him of murder, Jeanne Berkley,” she told her firmly.
While her mother stopped arguing with her over Helen’s belief that Tony had strong feelings for her, over the last year she kept pestering her daughter, saying Jeanne needed to talk to him; Jeanne had refused to listen. Her sense of betrayal was too great, even though intellectually, she knew why her mother kept nagging her to do the right thing. Reluctantly, Jeanne realised that eventually, she would have to face up to the past and confront her demons, but the fiery-tempered young doctor had kept telling herself she had all the time in the world. Then, the bottom of her world dropped out when Tom Morrow turned up with the unsettling news that she was potentially in danger from the CIA (and other unnamed players) and her life was being used to coerce Tony into undertaking a dangerous mission.
It was a wholly unsettling visit, not just the news that she might be in danger or that they needed to leave the country; Deputy Director Morrow also forced her to face some long-avoided truths that she stubbornly clung to for the past two years. Morrow informed her that Tony accepted the mission (that he regarded as a suicidal one) so he could protect Jeanne and that he had personally called in favours with the FBI to make sure Jeanne hadn’t been charged with perjury or obstruction of justice when she had claimed to witness him shooting her father. If it had just been about the job, as he claimed the last time they ever talked to each other, why would he take a suicide mission or make sure she wasn’t charged with obstruction of justice and making false statements.
It finally hit her that she had been wrong. Her papa had been right, and so had her mother – Tony had cared about her. She should have reached out to him to apologise and tried to make amends for what she did.
Now, after the phone call from Tom Morrow to tell them that Tony’s mission was over and he had gone into respiratory distress and needed to be placed on a ventilator because his lung function was poor – too poor to sustain life and unless they could increase his lung function, he would not survive.
Why hadn’t she listened to her mother?
Jeanne stared at her and said, “ I suppose you are going to tell me I should have listened to you?” she said in an adversarial mood.
“No, Jeanne, I wouldn’t do that. After all, what purpose would it serve?”
“But I deserve it. You told me to make peace with him, and I wouldn’t listen to you.”
“None of that is important now, Darling,” she said and opened her arms as Jeanne fell into them, crying at what she had done.
After falling apart, her mother helped to make the arrangements, and Jeanne was relieved that Helen was going to go with her. All she could think about was, what if Tony died not knowing that Jeanne lied too, although at the time she did realise it was a lie. Now a year after their bitter leave-taking at the elevator at NCIS, Jeanne could admit that she didn’t regret having met him. How could she regret their time together even though it wasn’t planned some good had come out of it?
The Berkleys started booking flights to Larnaca International Airport in Cyprus. Larnaca was a major port city where recreational vessels could be hired and had a direct route to the northern port city of Haifa in Israel. They hired a yacht called the Aurora that slept up to ten people; Deputy Director Morrow had run a background check on her captain, a Cypriot, Costas Kyriakides, who checked out as being a trustworthy and competent person. They decided that after arriving in Haifa, they would sleep on board the yacht rather than book into a hotel since Morrow hadn’t wanted them to attract attention.
Helen had checked out Dr Brad Pitt (no relation), a specialist in infectious diseases and had a subspecialty in pulmonary medicine. Helen Berkley had thought his name sounded familiar, remembering that four years ago, he wrote several papers about the survival of a patient (unidentified naturally) who they now knew to be Tony, who had been infected by a form of Yersinia Pestis that had been genetically altered to be resistant to treatment by antibiotics. Although the patient survived, his lungs were left with permanent scarring, and Dr Pitt remained cautious about his long-term prognosis.
Seeing the accounts in peer-reviewed medical journals had brought home to the two doctors just how miraculous his recovery had been. No wonder he had requested that Dr Pitt be flown in to supervise his condition after the ill-advised mission he’d undertaken. Having pulled off a miraculous recovery four years ago, Helen and Jeanne could only hope that Brad and Tony could do it again, even if the circumstances were very different this time. No one knew if he had acquired a hypoxic brain injury until he regained consciousness; it would remain a serious concern for everyone.
They also checked out the pulmonary specialist at the Aharon Clinic, Dr Yairs Selman, Head of Pulmonary Medicine, who had good credentials, too. Hoping that he was in good hands, the Berkleys and their protection detail, Morrow’s team of highly trusted agents, Wendy Chang, Eddie Lopez, Janice Oliver, and Steven Williams, set off to discreetly make their way to Haifa, Israel. The absolute last thing anyone wanted to do was to draw attention to Tony DiNozzo’s presence there since he was supposedly dead.
The Berkleys just hoped they reached Haifa in time.
Chapter 12
Four days after his ‘death’ in Tel Aviv, a funeral was held for Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. The current director of NCIS, Leon Vance (or so he claimed to be), seemed shocked and more than a little irritated by the turnout in the law enforcement community. There were cops from the three police departments where DiNozzo worked plus, there were Metro cops and various police departments from around DC, Virginia and Maryland who’d worked with him over his eight years as a fed. Then, agents from all the various sister agencies who worked with him over his years at NCIS, plus most of the judge advocates from the Navy Base and the Falls Church Office in Maryland, come to pay their respects.
There were also Marines and Sailors there, too, but then, the team had worked on many cases over the eight years he served on it, and the MCRT had saved many lives. Some of those lives were not easily quantifiable, such as the exact number of people they saved when they stopped the drone Ari Haswari had stolen from crashing into a dock full of people the terrorist had planned on taking out. Hundreds of parents, spouses, children, and babies-in-arms were waiting on the Norfolk docks for the seven ships from the Joint Amphibious Taskforce returning home from the Gulf and who came close that day to being injured or killed. Balboa’s team later identified the radio beacon Haswari used to paint a target on all those military families’ backs. It was hidden inside a teddy bear that Eli David’s son had given to a small child – Jessica Webb, to give to her daddy as a welcome home gift. But there were also many cases where they had saved a single life or brought justice to the families of slain personnel over the years, who were equally important and wanted to express their gratitude.
Tom knew that Vance was also watching Gibbs closely. Gibbs didn’t look good, but he couldn’t find it within himself to feel too much sympathy for him. He had had the power to stop Vance long before the fiasco had occurred with Rivkin. Gibbs knew about the whole identity swap and had done nothing about it, even though in a National Security fraud of such magnitude, it left the current director vulnerable to being corrupted right from the moment he was tapped on the shoulder and recruited by Whitney Sharp and Riley McAlister. One thing Morrow was sure of if Owen Granger had been given the gig as director, which technically he was in line for when Shepard opted to commit suicide rather than die in a hospice, Granger would never have handed DiNozzo over to Eli David.
Deputy Director Granger was a former Marine who knew the meaning of Sempre Fi, something that the fake Lieutenant 2nd class Leon Vance wouldn’t know the meaning of, not even if it jumped up and bit him on the ass. No, the fake Leon Vance was ambitious, and had a massive chip on his shoulder, which considering how he’d fraudulently obtained a degree at the Naval War College, was pretty damned rich. By being intensely ambitious, looking out for number one and caring little for the greater good, Vance had managed to leapfrog over Granger to get himself appointed as Director by toadying up to Davenport and persuading him that he could clean up the mess that Jenny Shepard had made in her three years in the big chair.
His idea of cleaning up the mess had been to disband the MCRT and send Ziva off spying, Tony to the Ronald Reagan and then the Sea Hawk as Agent Afloat, and transfer McGee to Cybercrimes to decrypt PO Vargas’ hard drive, which four months later, McGee had failed to achieve. But perhaps the most criminally negligent thing he did was to put the three chief suspects on the MCRT so he could keep a close eye on them. That BS he spun Gibbs about placing them on his team…Tom didn’t believe a word of it.
For four months, he had endangered every single case that the MCRT worked on if it turned out that one of them was the mole. He was pretty sure, having worked with fake Vance in San Diego when Tom was first SAC and then Operations Manager, that since there was no love lost between the pair. Tom suspected that the Fake Leon got off on the idea that Gibbs had no idea that one of his new agents was a spy despite his infamous gut! Hell, for four months, the new director was no doubt standing up on the gantry, watching and laughing his ass off over Gibbs being completely and utterly clueless and pissed at the new director for breaking up HIS team. Plus, fake Vance sidelined one of the best damn investigators the agency had, and that included Gibbs, sending DiNozzo off to play beat cop to five thousand sailors and Marines. IDIOT!
That in the final analysis, he needed DiNozzo and Gibbs to end the ridiculous charade and learn what information the mole was after was certainly ironic in a poetic justice kind of way since Fake-Leon had been the one to sideline the pair. Fake Leon’s desperate attempt to curry favour with SECNAV and protect his own job as the director was clearly far more important to him than the fact that he and Davenport had left their country’s national security terrifyingly vulnerable to their enemies, not to mention the fact they’d wilfully jeopardised a close ally too. It was nothing short of reprehensible, and Tom felt genuinely sickened by the thought.
It was clear evidence in his opinion that Fake-Vance was unfit for the grave honour and responsibility of leading a federal agency full of agents who’d sworn an oath to serve and protect, some dying to uphold that solemn oath. Even if the man was who he purported to be, his overweening ambition at the expense of his agents and his country’s security clearly disqualified him from that position.
The funeral got underway, presided over by a Navy Chaplain, Lieutenant Commander Greg Ainsworth, who had offered to conduct the service. He said he felt an obligation to do so since Gibbs and Tony had successfully solved the kidnapping of his little daughter back when DiNozzo was fresh out of an abbreviated FLETC training course not long after joining the MCRT. It had just been the two agents because, yet again, Gibbs had managed to chase off the two agents TAD to work with him when DiNozzo had completed mandatory courses in Georgia.
The three-year-old Alannah Ainsworth had been taken by a psychotic woman while she was at the local playground playing with a ground of neighbourhood kids. Although they feared a paedophile may have kidnapped her, fortunately, that wasn’t the case. The perpetrator had turned out to be a grieving mother who had lost her own child in a car crash several months before. Alannah reminded the extremely disturbed woman of her own child, and she became convinced that Alannah Ainsworth was her dead daughter. Fortunately, they were able to return Alannah to her to her desperate parents.
Tom remembered how driven Gibbs had been to reunite the family – the NCIS director had already figured out that the loss of a child was one of his agent’s psychological triggers, along with murdered spouses of service personnel deployed overseas. Morrow had been terrified that Gibbs’ anger and obsession would be enough to see the brand new green federal agent turn tail and run as fast as he could to request a transfer. Possibly to the other side of the country but, his fears proved wrong.
While Special Agent DiNozzo was a brand spanking new federal agent with just three cases under his belt when little Alannah Ainsworth went missing, he was also a seasoned cop and Tony was almost as driven to find her as Gibbs had been. They worked relentlessly, only stopping to eat or take brief naps when Tom had ordered them to. That was when Tom Morrow stopped seeing Agent DiNozzo as just the agent that Gibbs demanded he hire and had done so to keep Gibbs happy.
It was when he realised this was a highly professional and extremely talented investigator in his own right who seemed to be able to handle Gibbs and get the job done. After a few more cases, Morrow realised that their small agency lucked out in hiring the ex-detective, who slipped quickly into the role of the Gibbs’ Whisper and proved brilliant at liaising between Jethro and police departments and sister federal agencies.
Meanwhile, Mary and Greg never forgot the debt they owed the MCRT for the safe return of their now ten-year-old daughter. Every year, Mary baked a special cake and cookies and sent them to the MCRT on the anniversary of the day they brought Alannah home. It was hardly surprising that Greg wanted to conduct Tony’s service, feeling he owed it to him. While Morrow speculated that their current Director was probably hoping for a small private service held at the graveside, there was no way people would accept anything less than a full funeral service. Greg learned that despite his Italian name, Tony was a third-generation American on his father’s side and he had been christened into the Episcopalian denomination by his English-born mother. According to Greg’s investigations, he learned that Tony attended sporadically with his mother as a small child, so Chaplain Ainsworth called in favours with the reverend at St Paul’s Parish on K Street in NW Washington, who offered their church for his funeral and allowed the Lieutenant Commander to conduct the service since he knew Tony personally.
The NCIS director did not seem happy having to attend a large funeral. Tom was mighty grateful to the chaplain for ruining Leon’s hopes for a small, low-key ceremony and intended on speaking to SECDEF about a commendation for Greg Ainsworth. Lieutenant Commander Ainsworth didn’t know it, but he had made the man responsible for selling Anthony DiNozzo out to a vengeful executioner very uncomfortable and irritated. Although Greg’s offer hadn’t been intended as anything other than a thoughtful gesture of help, and it was tendered in gratitude, it couldn’t have been done better. Morrow did wonder if maybe Gibbs had engineered or encouraged it and Tom only wished he thought of it himself.
The service that Chaplain Ainsworth conducted had been a fitting one for a veteran law enforcement professional of Tony’s calibre and longevity, but the ceremony really kicked it up a notch when Ainsworth invited individuals to come up and share their impressions, stories and memories of Special Agent DiNozzo with the rest of the mourners. Some people took him up on the offer, including Fornell, several of his NCIS colleagues, Metro PD detectives who apparently play pickup games of basketball with him over his years in DC and chewed his ear about their cases when they stalled. Several of his frat brothers from Ohio State University also took up the offer to speak and a female lecturer of Tony’s from his post-graduate degree at GWU who he had helped take out an apprehended violence order against a former partner. Some spoke about his prankster antics, his dedication to the job, and brilliance as an investigator.
Yet, Morrow was sure that two mourners in particular, who spoke about Anthony, had greatly annoyed the NCIS director if his hooded eyes and thinned lips were anything to go by. He felt an immense degree of satisfaction that these two individuals had chosen to share their stories about Anthony DiNozzo, and not just because it pissed off Leon, either.
The first was a young woman in her mid-twenties sitting next to Gibbs at the front of the church. She was slimly built but athletic, about five foot six and had long honey-blonde hair and a winning smile. The quintessential girl next door walked unhesitatingly up to the pulpit, looking around at the large group of mourners who had come to pay their respects to a friend, colleague, or protector before she started to speak.
“I understand that Special Agent DiNozzo had a reputation for being an amazing kisser, but I’m afraid that I don’t remember him kissing me,” she paused for dramatic effect as Leon scowled, no doubt thinking how inappropriate this was, immediately jumping to the wrong conclusion.
After letting the tension build, the young woman continued, “There is a good reason why I don’t remember Anthony DiNozzo kissing me because, you see, I was dead at the time. Agent DiNozzo gave me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and brought me back to life. So, if I were to grade his technique, I would have to give him a 12 out of 10 since I’m standing here before you today, still very much alive.
People who incorrectly had expected some lurid anecdote were now smiling and chuckling, and Tom thought that Maddie Tyler was an excellent public speaker. She had effortlessly managed to capture the crowd, and now she had them all in the palm of her hand.
Looking around at the crowd, she smiled before continuing.
“Now I know that first responders are trained to rescue civilians; they receive training in resuscitation, delivering babies and providing emergency first aid that is often vital in keeping people alive until paramedics are on the scene and can take over. I’m sure many of the first responders here have resuscitated or saved other civilians’ lives, too. I applaud them for their skill and training, but, you see, resuscitating me wasn’t the only way Agent DiNozzo saved my life. Even though I had not been formally introduced, I noticed him when I visited NCIS. I was scared and distracted, but I remember thinking that he was pretty hot.”
This brought a chuckle from the crowd, as Tony’s reputation as a player was the stuff of legends.
“But at the time, I had no idea who he was, nor the incredible impact he would have on my life. If he had just brought me back to life after I drowned, that would have been miraculous in itself, but he did much more than that,” Maddie told her audience softly.
The ingenuous young woman paused again to take a sip of water before continuing her tale of valour with everyone hanging off her every word. Well, perhaps not the director of NCIS – he looked more like some homeless guy had been found in his fancy vehicle stinking it up. No doubt, he hoped DiNozzo’s funeral would be a perfunctory affair, but Maddie had other ideas.
“A Marine sergeant I went on two dates with before he shipped out to Iraq turned up at my door eighteen months later and wanted to move in with me. I refused. He kept calling me and sitting outside my home, but although I thought at the time he was stalking me, the police couldn’t do anything about him. I was scared, really scared, and I asked an old family friend who is an NCIS agent for help. The former gunnery sergeant turned special agent warned my stalker off, putting the fear of god into him. But my Marine sergeant didn’t want to move in with me for sex.”
Maddie paused to take a breath, but Tom suspected she was a natural-born storyteller, and the pauses were more about building tension. Everyone was riveted by her story, even the reluctant NCIS director.
“See, I thought the guy was after my body, but he really wanted my mailing address because he sent himself a registered letter from Iraq right before he returned Stateside on leave. Inside the letter was the receipt that he received when he shipped four million dollars, stolen from an Iraqi bank, back here to himself, disguising it as the personal effects of a dead Marine. He got greedy, though and wanted a larger cut of the money from his accomplices, so they tortured him by crucifying him to get information out of him about the shipment…information about me… and then they killed him.
“That they came after me, kidnapping me even though I had no clue what they were after or what the sergeant had done. I never even heard from him after he deployed to Iran until he turned up on my doorstep eighteen months later, wanting to move in with me because he sent the registered mail to himself at my address. After they abducted me, my friend at NCIS learned about the money and tracked it down, then contacted the killers to exchange the money for me and he came to save me,” Maddie smiled gratefully down at Gibbs, who gave her an uncharacteristically soft smile in return as people leaned forward, eager to hear the rest of her thrilling account.
“Which was when everything went FUBAR, as my Dad, an officer in the Corps, would have said. There was a fight; Agent Gibbs yelled at me to get into the killers’ car, and they were firing guns at us, and we didn’t have weapons to fire back. The car ended up going off the dock into the Potomac River, sinking like a rock. We were trapped in the car, which I guess was how we came to be drowned, but, fortunately for us, the first responder was that hot-looking Special Agent on Gibbs’ team who arrived at the dock as the shooting started. He shot back at the two men while running towards the dock and impressively, he took down both of the killers. He dived into the freezing water and somehow managed to rip the windscreen out of the car to free us, pulling me to safety back on the dock before diving back in to save Gibbs, still trapped in the car by the steering wheel column.
“Later at the hospital, I heard the nurses talking about how unbelievable it was that Agent DiNozzo somehow freed him, although no one knows how he did it, and brought him back up to the surface, too. There was no one else at the scene, so after he rescued us, then he had to turn around and give two people mouth-to-mouth and CPR, and he revived us both. I found out later on in the hospital that this incredible feat of athleticism, strength and bravery was all done by a man who had badly scarred lungs. The freezing November water temperature alone should have rendered him in need of saving. For his troubles, he spent a week in the hospital, fighting off a bout of bronchitis and a further deterioration in his lung function.”
Looking around at the rapt faces, it seemed obvious that many people had no idea Tony had pulled off such an amazing rescue. Morrow took note of Vance’s sour expression with glee, although he was careful to mask it. Leon did not want to hear anything that contradicted to his low opinion of Anthony DiNozzo. But if they all thought Ms Tyler was done, they were in for a surprise.
“As I said, Special Agent DiNozzo spent a week in the hospital thanks to his heroic rescue. I was released from the hospital the next day, but when I tried to visit him to say thank you to him for saving my life and my best friend’s dad, too, I was told he couldn’t have visitors. Due to his weakened immune system, he was in isolation while they aggressively treated his bronchitis. The staff would not even let me send him flowers because of the possibility of an allergic response to the pollen, so I was left with sending him a thank–you card he responded to with a handwritten note, saying how happy he was that I survived and wished me a long and happy life.
You know, I always intended to catch up with him in the flesh. Maybe take him out to dinner to thank him. I admit I may have developed a bit of a crush on him because he was like some hot superhero who swooped in at the eleventh hour when I thought I was dead and pulled off a rescue so miraculous it was like something out of a movie. But then I got distracted by life – I was finishing up my degree, and what with exams and assignments and then moving back to Oakland to a new job, I got distracted. Yet, at the back of my mind, I always intended to go back to DC to thank him in person…and I thought I had all the time in the world. Until I heard the tragic news and I knew I had to return and thank him properly, even if he was not there to hear it. Although perhaps he is listening,” she said, looking around the church.
I returned a few days ago, and I spoke to some of his colleagues and learnt that my saviour was a complicated person who would brag about superficial stuff like bonging beer, but, when it came to the important things, Agent DiNozzo was an extremely modest person. Most people didn’t know the full extent of his heroic rescue of myself and Gibbs, and that shocked me because it meant he didn’t get the acknowledgement he deserved for saving me. I guess I just expected that someone who did something so seemingly impossible, so courageous and selfless, who had saved two people’s lives at grave risk to his own, would automatically make him eligible for the Navy Meritorious Civilian Service Award. Yet… it didn’t, and that seems so wrong to me!” she said, as most of the audience hummed in agreement or anger at him being overlooked. Once again.
But after talking to a few people at NCIS at the wake they held last at Tony’s favoured jazz club, I learnt that not even the man whose life he saved ever thanked him for the miracle he pulled off or apologised to him for putting his health…his life at risk. And that was something that I’ll admit disappointed me. A feat as incredible as Agent DiNozzo’s should never be ignored. It should have been celebrated or, at the least, acknowledged that he saved two lives that day.
“When I was on the phone with my mom last night, telling her how terribly unfair it was that he received no plaudits, not even thanks for going above and beyond what most people, even with perfectly healthy lungs, could achieve, she said something that inspired me. She said that maybe I should do something about it. And Mom was right! I’m going to do something about it,” she vowed resolutely.”
Again, Maddie paused for dramatic effect, and Tom realised that her tribute to DiNozzo had all been building up to this. Whatever this was.
“Today, on the day we have come here to mourn the far too early death of a dedicated LEO who was a credit to the police departments he served in and the federal agency he finished up in, and celebrate his dedication, bravery, and skills, I wish to announce something to honour him. I intend to start a foundation to acknowledge and celebrate the unsung heroes in our midst who perform feats of courage and bravery and never receive the accolades they deserve.
“The Unsung Heroes Foundation will help publicise all those quiet and modest individuals who risk their lives to save others, and we will hold an annual ceremony to announce individuals who perform superhuman acts of bravery in the pursuit of others. It will be called the Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo Meritorious Conduct Awards,” she said with a touch of defiance as she looked around the crowd of mourners.
As she left the pulpit, Maddie Tyler received a tumultuous ovation as the crowd heartily endorsed her plan. Tom was thoroughly impressed with the young woman and knew Tony would be hugely embarrassed when he learned of her plan. He did not handle accolades and praise well – was unaccustomed to them and had never learned how to accept them.
Maddie took her seat, and Tom noted her look of defiance was directed at Gibbs, even though she obviously felt conflicted since he was an old family friend. So he was relieved to see him give her a nod and a proud smile, which relaxed the tense young woman, who smiled back with relief. Waiting for the ovation to die down, Lieutenant Commander Ainsworth attempted to draw the service to its conclusion.
“Well, I’d like to thank everyone for sharing their stories and special memories of Agent DiNozzo, especially Ms Tyler and her most moving tribute. I fear we must draw this to a close.”
At that point, a man in his mid-thirties dressed in an expensive suit stood up and interrupted. Morrow recognised him immediately. His name was Steven Adler, and he was an up-and-coming attorney at his father’s firm, Adler, Hayes, and Associates. Pertinently, he was Tony’s frat brother and teammate at OSU.
“Excuse my interruption, Chaplain Ainsworth, but I wonder if I could request the indulgence of my fellow mourners for a few more precious moments? I have something important to share about my good friend, Anthony DiNozzo Junior.
Tom had to hand it to Adler. The lawyer was smooth, and his request was undertaken so adroitly that it was impossible to refuse. Adler was rapidly developing a reputation as a brilliant criminal defence lawyer, and Morrow could see why.
Realising it would be impossible to refuse, Greg acquiesced graciously as people sank back into their pews. Leon looked as if he was about to spontaneously combust, even as Tom was having a hard time acting suitably grave, he was having so much fun. Damn, this undercover stuff was a lot harder than it sounded!
Adler strode up the aisle and to the pulpit, looking every bit the successful lawyer he was, having attended Harvard Law School to complete his studies in law. Wasting no time, even if he spoke entirely off the cuff, Adler began to weave a tale of a young Anthony DiNozzo.
“I met Dino at OSU, and we became frat brothers and teammates on the varsity basketball court. In our junior year, we made it to the final four and were in Baltimore for the game. Everyone knew that Dino was destined for the professional league; he had been the team captain since our sophomore year and was a superb athlete. While the rest of the team was enjoying themselves back at the hotel the night before the big game, the weight of leadership lay heavy on his shoulders, and he slipped out to walk around the city. He said, later, he was trying to get his head into the right space before the game.”
Like Maddie, Adler had the audience (who, only moments ago, were preparing to depart) hanging off his every word. And what was a good criminal lawyer, if not a great storyteller, Tom mused, even though they needed other skills too.
“It was while he was wandering around he came upon a burning townhouse, and he could hear cries coming from inside. Although there were other bystanders there, the police and fire brigade were yet to arrive, so while the others stood by, Dino ran into that burning building to try to save the people trapped inside. Two children were alone in the townhouse when it caught alight, a nine-year-old boy and in a separate room was his four-year-old sister, who was hiding in her closet. Dino saved the boy, but he couldn’t reach the little girl despite hearing her screams of terror. I know that he was tortured by his inability to save both children and that Amber’s cries probably haunted him for the rest of his life.”
The entire church was silent as they all imagined the terrible scene.
“We all thought Dino was a hero, but all he could think about was not the life he saved but the one he failed to reach. I think that the experience influenced him greatly, so when his chance of a professional career was ended when he suffered a career-ending injury in a college football match between the Buckeyes and the Wolverines, I believe it prompted him to apply to the police academy to become a cop. His incredible bravery also inspired me to follow in my father’s footsteps and become a lawyer rather than pursue an MBA. And if anyone is curious, the boy he saved that night has also become a cop in Baltimore.”
He looked over at the chaplain before he continued. “I’m nearly done, but I just wanted to say that I didn’t know what Dino did last year to save Ms Tyler and his boss. I’m blown away at what he managed to do with his dodgy lungs, but I’m not surprised that he risked his life to try. Anthony DiNozzo Jr… affectionately known as Dino to his frat brothers, was a hero long before he became a cop or a federal agent, and he didn’t receive the recognition he should have, not even back then.
“And in the subsequent years, although he received a gold shield at a young age, NCIS never bothered to acknowledge his contributions, even before he pulled two people out of the freezing Potomac River. He was offered just one promotion in his years as a federal agent to lead his own team in Rota, Spain, which he declined, despite being considered a plum posting that frequently led to leadership roles in the agency, but he turned it down. He told me that the crimes in Rota mostly were of a minor nature, with sailors and Marines getting drunk and disorderly on leave, but that major crimes were where he felt he could use his investigative talents most effectively for the good of the men and women he served.
“It was why I was so angry when he was sent on board the Ronald Reagan and the Sea Hawk as a glorified beat cop. It was a massive waste of his investigative talents, and he never got another offer to lead his own team, which, in my opinion, was a travesty and a foolish waste of talent. But what can you expect of bureaucratic managers,” he said with a pointed look at the NCIS director.
Tom wanted to kiss the attorney, a sentiment he rarely, if ever experienced before. He could see people were nodding in agreement.
“Well, that’s all water under the bridge now, but what I want to end by saying is that I wholeheartedly support the brilliant Ms Tyler’s plan to create The Unsung Heroes Foundation in honour of my friend and brother, Very Special Agent Tony DiNozzo. I am pledging to donate $25,000 to help get it up and running.”
As people started to clap, he held up his hands. “And lastly, Maddie, I’d like to offer the services of our law firm of Adler, Hayes, and Assoc. to help you with the legal details required for such an endeavour. Plus, if you are looking for people to serve on your foundation’s board, count me in.”
“To Dino, wherever you are, I hope you’ve found the happiness you truly deserve.”
Chapter 13
It was obvious to a trained observer that the NCIS director was disconcerted by the turnout of people who had come to pay their respects at DiNozzo’s funeral. The nervous look he was shooting at Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs made Tom wonder if he was expecting him to lose it during the funeral. Maybe he had expected Jethro to give the eulogy and tell everyone the truth about DiNozzo’s death in front of all of these cops and Feds. If so, he didn’t understand Gibbs very well because even if the circumstances surrounding Tony’s death were all above board, the functional mute wouldn’t have stood up and spoken publicly.
If he had been asked to lead a mission, Gibbs had no difficulty addressing a crowd, but to speak publicly about one of his team was never going to happen. It would always be the erudite Dr Mallard who would give Tony’s eulogy, and he did an admirable job, too. Leon also seemed visibly shocked by Tom’s appearance at DiNozzo’s funeral, and the director was not terribly skilled at keeping his emotions under wraps, either. At least not when he had such a massive secret to conceal, and Anthony seemed to annoy him, and he wasn’t even here in person. Was it a guilty conscience or merely indigestion?
Now with the formalities out of the way, the NCIS director approached the Deputy Director of Homeland Security, trailed by his protection detail, while Tom had ordered his own detail to wait for him outside the church. The Deputy Director suspected that Vance was using his protection detail to distance himself from any overly emotional interactions with the mourners. Leon Vance was not exactly someone who excelled at socialising, even under the best of circumstances, and these were hardly normal circumstances.
“Director Morrow, what brings you here today?” fake-Leon greeted him cordially although his question was less than subtle.
“Hello, Leon,” Morrow greeted him. “I came to pay my respects to Agent DiNozzo. A fine agent and the most outstanding natural investigator I ever worked with,” Tom said blandly, inwardly smirking at the scowl Vance was trying hard to conceal but failing at.
He decided impetuously to use the DiNozzo ploy of pissing people off at him, so they let their guard down, and he merrily stirred the pot.
“I just wish I had managed to entice him to join me at DHS. As Steven Adler rightly pointed out, his skills really were wasted at NCIS, especially when he was deployed as an agent afloat, which was also a most reckless assignment, due to Agent DiNozzo’s scarred lungs. It stated in his personnel file that he never be deployed at sea for any longer than a few days at most and expressly prohibited from being deployed as an Agent Afloat since they weren’t equipped to handle his complex pulmonary issues. The lack of facilities and the crowded nature of the aircraft carrier meant that his impaired immune system was much more vulnerable to catching opportunistic infections and viruses. I know this because his pulmonary specialist had me put a note into his personnel file stating he was not to be assigned as an agent afloat on medical grounds. The agency dodged a costly lawsuit there, had anything gone wrong, director,” he said meditatively.
Fake-Vance scowled at him.
“After all, no Marine or sailor would have ever been assigned to sea for months on end with his medical issues,” Morrow observed gravely.
“If he was medically unfit to be in the field, then he should have been retired,” fake Leon snapped at him.
“Why Leon, I’m surprised you should say that, since Agent DiNozzo qualified for field duties by dint of working extremely hard on his fitness, but his medical clearance was also based on the assumption he had access to appropriate medical facilities and specialist personnel if required,” Morrow said acting surprised.
“As the charming and eloquent Ms Tyler demonstrated so ably, in November 2007, after shooting two perps while running flat out to dive into the Potomac River to rescue Gibbs and Ms Tyler, trapped in a submerged vehicle, Agent DiNozzo then managed to revive both who of them as they stopped breathing. He collapsed in respiratory distress after what I’m sure you will agree was an incredible feat of athleticism and bravery to save Gibbs and a young civilian, ending up with severe bronchitis as a reward. Ironic, don’t you think that Jenny Shepard nominated Gibbs for the Navy Meritorious Civilian Service Award despite him drowning both Ms Tyler and him by driving off the dock?”
“I have no idea what she was thinking,” Vance said, angrily.
”No, it was bizarre. Although Agent DiNozzo failed to receive well-deserved recognition for his feat, he thankfully did receive timely access to specialist respiratory care that did save his life. I’m sure you’re as pleased as I am that Maddie decided to address the injustice of Anthony failing to be acknowledged for such a feat. Her Unsung Heroes Foundation will be an outstanding Legacy to his memory,” he enthused.
The NCIS director looked positively disapproving, but Tom pretended to be oblivious as he continued to goad his former agent.
Yes, when I tell my wife about the foundation, I know how keen she will be to get on board. No doubt Lynette will be coopting Mrs Vance, to get involved in fundraising for Maddie’s foundation, too. Perhaps, even to serve on the board together,” he taunted the imposter, knowing full well that long before then, the impostor standing before him would have been arrested with a boatload of criminal charges. His charming wife would have no doubt commenced divorce proceedings against him and Tom couldn’t wait.
Not long after, fake Vance made his apologies and moved on to press the flesh with other attendees but kept a close eye on Gibbs and Morrow, making Tom think that he was concerned that Gibbs might be planning on seeking out Tom. So, Morrow ensured that their paths didn’t cross, other than a curt nod across the pews as Gibbs was busy comforting Dr Sciuto.
He admitted he expected Abby would be adorned in all of her Gothic glory, complete with a dog collar, black lace gloves and her parasol just as she had worn to Special Agent Todd’s funeral. Instead, she was dressed in a severe black skirt of modest length (by Dr Sciuto’s standards), a plain white shirt and jacket, with a nipped-in waist that looked expensive – designer probably. An ornate Black Cross was her only adornment, her makeup muted and her hair in a severe but elegant chignon. She was almost unrecognisable, not just because of her evident mourning of her friend and colleague but how drawn and wan she looked, except this was not due to her usual makeup. In fact, she had eschewed her dramatic face paint, opting for something far more conventional.
No, it seemed to Tom that Abby Sciuto was much chastened and nervous, and he wondered if she knew she was in danger. Despite acting like a flake at times, a keen brain lurked behind her usual Goth/ditzy mask.
Agent McGee was trailing after her like a puppy, alternating between acting concerned and protective of the forensic scientist with checking out her ass – not very discreetly either. He looked appropriately upset during the service, but overall, Agent McGee appeared to be coping fairly well. Of course, the fact that Leon hadn’t wasted any time promoting Agent McGee to Senior Field Agent, less than a day after returning from Israel no doubt had to do with his self-confidence. Morrow wondered with a sigh how confident Agent McGee would feel if he knew that his hero, fake Vance, was threatening to throw him and the rest of Team Gibbs under the bus to keep Gibbs from ratting him out. He doubted he would be so enamoured with the man if Tim realised that the director despised him.
But then, Morrow recalled that McGee always did possess quite a healthy ego, even when he was a green newbie. Former Director Shepard’s farcical move, appointing him as acting SFA when Gibbs resigned when he had barely completed one year as a full-time agent and his initial probationary period made a mockery of the regulations that required at least five years of field experience for a senior field agent. Shepard never let a little thing like staffing regulations and procedures of teams stand in the way of her hunt for La Grenouille. It was Tom’s opinion that Jenny had set Agent DiNozzo up to fail, giving him a trio of underqualified, inexperienced investigators with a combined three years of field and investigative experience between McGee, David and Lee, which for an MCRT was nothing short of criminal negligence.
Little wonder then, with how low she set the bar, that Timothy McGee could consider himself an exceptional agent, even if he failed to notice that his supervisory agent was running a full-time undercover mission while leading the team and solving cases. Adding to Tom’s poor assessment of his skills was the deputy director’s inability to overlook the crucial matter that aside from Davenport, fake Vance, Vargas (and the mole who was blackmailing Agent Lee), McGee was the only other individual who knew about the stolen file from the Pentagon.
In fact, he knew about it for four months…four months and had remained silent about the danger, instead of upholding his oath and notifying someone in authority as was his duty, since it was a grave threat to national security. He followed orders he knew to be illegal since they endangered national security. For all his faults, and Tom conceded there were plenty, Gibbs would not have done that. Jethro would have called in markers if that’s what it took. But he wouldn’t be silenced on such a crucial matter, and Tom was equally sure that DiNozzo would not have allowed the US to remain in jeopardy for months either.
For all his technical brilliance, Agent McGee had failed to observe his oath, and for that reason alone, Morrow considered that he didn’t deserve the honour or responsibility of being a senior field agent. Still, when the shit finally hit the fan, and Davenport and fake Vance were unmasked, neither man would hesitate for a second to throw McGee and the others under the bus out of pure malice. The only way the new senior field agent would avoid a long prison sentence for his unauthorised hacking (carefully documented by Ziva David for blackmail purposes) was if he gave evidence against the director. That said, he could kiss his law enforcement career goodbye – having an admiral as a father wasn’t going to save his ass. Nor should it!
As to what happened to the others, Tom wasn’t going to speculate on them at this point, apart from Ziva. If she was back at NCIS as a liaison when it all was exposed, she would be sent straight to Gitmo or to a secret federal facility under the auspice of the DHS, where she would disappear permanently. That was his preferred option, naturally though, if Ziva was still in Israel when they were ready to move on Eli David, he would have to trust that Orli Erbaz and her faction would lock her up good and tight with her father. Somehow he hoped she returned to her liaison role, having ostensibly decided to stay in Israel to mourn Michael Rivkin. Personally, he thought it was pure avoidance because she knew she could never pull off the fake grief that would be required to make it through Tony’s funeral.
How pissed would she have been to see such an outpouring of grief for the young agent, which was why he had Suzette Lankton, one of his DHS agents who was attending the funeral, film it on her cell phone. He intended to send it to Officer David anonymously. Better yet, he’d have his Executive Assistant Ewan Greenley set up a Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo tribute page to needle her and her narcissist of a father. Mentally rubbing his hands in joyful anticipation of their fury, he realised Tony was definitely rubbing off on him!
Tom hoped he’d get the chance to regale Tony with accounts of the people who stepped up to speak about him at his funeral…well, Agent DiNozzo’s funeral. Dylan Paddington was still hanging on at the Aharon Clinic in Haifa against the odds. Still surviving on a ventilator as they pursued the possibility of a heart-lung transplant. Meanwhile, since the undercover operation, Tom had been working around the clock to amass enough evidence to take down the NCIS director and SECNAV. He also had confirmation that Trent Kort, the odious CIA weasel, had been truthful about giving Gibbs the file on the Vance/Owens identity swap and Project Frankenstein.
Less than 36 hours after Gibbs and fake Vance flew back to DC, Tom had a request for an unscheduled meeting with the head of the FBI’s Organise Crime Taskforce, SAC T.C. Fornell. The FBI agent was already meeting with DHS intelligence analysts and used the meeting as cover to speak with Tom.
Once in Morrow’s office, he handed over a file. “Jethro asked me to pass this to you on the down low, Director.”
“I see. Any idea why Jethro would do that and not give it to me himself?” he asked, although he had a fair idea.”
“He’s afraid that Director Vance is watching him, Sir. Gibbs was most insistent that I not be seen approaching you, so I decided to attend the briefing that my 2IC was supposed to attend today,” he said with a shrug.
Opening the file, he saw the Leon Vance file which was identical to the one that Kort had given him. In addition, there was the autopsy report – a second autopsy – on Tyler Keith Owen that Ducky had carried out. Morrow had been trying to get his hands on surreptitiously. Well to be precise, he’d been after the first autopsy report because he was unaware there was a second one. With a sigh of relief, he noted that Ducky had reported finding evidence of a surgical repair (a silicon band around his eyeball) of a detached retina of the right eye. This was also consistent with the medical report included by the ME of the ophthalmologist who diagnosed Marine Lieutenant 2nd Class Leon Vance’s injury that resulted in his medical discharge from the Marine Corps. Plus it included the surgical records of its repair that were also consistent with the findings of Ducky’s autopsy.
While the odds of Tyler Owens and Leon Vance having a detached retina were probably huge, the final piece of the puzzle would be getting a DNA sample from Tara Kole to compare it to the NCIS director. If Vance was who he claimed to be then, Leon and Tara shouldn’t be a close familial match. Although he had already as good as admitted he was an imposter in the confrontation between himself and Agent Gibbs in the C-130 in Tel Aviv. Officer Malachi Ben-Gidon had slipped a bug on fake Leon’s clothing just before he went in to threaten Gibbs.
Officer Hadar had kindly supplied him with the transcript of their conversation and sent a copy of the recording Ben-Gidon had made. Tom intended to send one or two of his agents to Chicago to obtain an informal sample for DNA testing. If it proved that Tara Kole was the sibling of Leon Vance, Morrow would get a subpoena for DNA to ensure the case against him was airtight. The deputy director was reluctant to tip his hand by requesting a subpoena, yet since Davenport was a lot wilier than the director.
They needed more evidence to take the Secretary of the Navy down. It was frustrating, as it meant that they couldn’t take down the director either – it offended Tom’s sensibility that the job and the trust that had been placed in fake Vance (a job Morrow had carried out diligently) had been sullied by both Jenny Shepard and fake-Vance for their own personal agendas. As much as leaving fake Vance in situ for now offended his sense of justice, particularly with respect to what he’d done to DiNozzo, Tom was equally determined that Philip Davenport must pay, too.
He’d knowingly appointed Leon Vance to his position, fully aware he was not the real Leon Vance. Philip Davenport had also been a party to the conspiracy to murder a federal agent, all so Eli David would look favourably on him, the traitorous pile of shit. And potentially, Davenport’s worst sin of all was that he created military assassins for hire, using men and women who joined up in all branches of the armed services to serve their country. He recruited them and turned them into cold-blooded killers for hire to line their own pockets and further their political ambitions. People like Davenport and fake Vance made him sick!
Both men were going down; Tom just had to remain patient and gather the evidence to ensure they would pay dearly for their crimes. They must also serve as a deterrent to other craven and like-minded individuals who seek power for the wrong reasons. Both men must be stripped of everything they held dear, status, wealth, power, future careers, freedom and families. Tom knew that nothing less would serve to deter others of their ilk.
Morrow just hoped that somehow, someway, Tony survived to see justice done. Although he knew realistically, even if DiNozzo were to miraculously pull through, the cost he would bear would be immense. So why then, should SECNAV or the Director get off lightly when Tony had been blameless and paid such a terrible price for their greed?
Still, the final piece of information that Gibbs had sent to him via Agent Fornell would have given both men fits if they only knew. Somehow, Gibbs had gotten hold of information from Abin Tabal’s laptop about the location of the terrorists’ secret training camp in Somalia. DHS had verified the data, and plans were being formulated to destroy their base. The US would not inform Mossad of the operation until the mission was complete as a reminder they did not like Mossad operating in US territory. He took comfort in imagining Eli’s displeasure at being kept out of the loop.
As he left the church, he spied the former Judge Advocate General, Admiral A.J. Chegwidden, standing out on the landing above the stairs. He was impassively watching six of Tony’s fellow NCIS agents from the DC office carrying ‘his’ coffin down to the waiting hearse… a vintage hearse that Tom recalled had belonged to Dr Sciuto. A Pontiac Bonneville from the 1960s, at least Morrow thought it was, not being a real car buff. He was sure that Tony would know though, being something of an aficionado of fine automobiles. He was sure if it was Tony in the coffin, he would have appreciated the thoughtful gesture of sending him off in style.
The two old colleagues exchanged amused smiles as the guard of honour consisting of police in uniforms and federal agents in jackets lined both sides of the road, maintaining a respectful silence. The guard of honour swelled as the Dog Squad and the small but proud Mounted Police Unit joined their ranks to give Agent DiNozzo, former detective and officer, the sendoff he deserved. Most of the men and women in blue and Tony’s fellow feds still seemed shell-shocked that the irrepressible agent, who had more close calls than seemed possible, had been killed by something so mundane as a car crash in Israel on the way back from a funeral.
Echoing that sentiment, Admiral Chegwidden (retired) quirked an eyebrow at Tom Morrow and adjusted his five thousand dollar dove grey double-breasted suit sleeve.
“Call me paranoid, Tom,” he rumbled musingly, but there’s something very off about Agent DiNozzo’s death.”
“How so?” Tom responded curiously.
“Well, for a start, what the hell was DiNozzo, Gibbs and Leon Vance doing escorting a Mossad Officer’s body back to Israel? Seems like a lot of overkill to me. And while he’s there, Agent DiNozzo just happens to have the misfortune of being killed in a vehicle accident?”
Tom stared at him steadily. Chegwidden was no fool; as well as being an extremely successful defence attorney in D.C., he was the former extremely savvy Judge Advocate General of the Navy and Marine Corps. But in this case, even more importantly, as a former Navy SEAL, he’d dealt with Mossad on special forces ops.
“What’s your point, A.J.?”
“Scuttlebutt is that Officer Rivkin was running amok around D.C. and LA, hunting down and killing a terrorist cell on Eli David’s orders. People are saying he ran afoul of NCIS in both cities, so they obtained a FISA warrant and informed him he was not welcome in the USA, but he ignored them. DiNozzo was convinced he was responsible for the death of an ICE agent and tried to arrest him, but he resisted arrest, and there was a fight.”
“Scuttlebutt is correct. Rivkin did kill Agent Tom Sherman, not intentionally, but dead is dead,” Tom confirmed gravely.
“And?” Chegwidden pressed him.
“The Powers That Be were anxious to sweep it under the carpet to avoid creating anything that might even whiff of an international incident. Rivkin cooperated… setting up one of the terrorists to take the blame, then made it look like the terrorist offed himself. DiNozzo didn’t buy it.”
“And he tried to arrest a Kidon operative without backup? Doesn’t sound like him.”
“No, not intentionally. He went to Ziva David’s apartment to confront her over a piece of damning evidence, wanting to give her the benefit of the doubt, only she wasn’t there. Rivkin was, and he knew that Tony suspected him. Luckily, Rivkin was wasted, and Tony survived, injured but alive.”
“And Eli had a hissy fit because his Kidon-trained assassin was bested by an NCIS agent and demanded his head on a platter. So SECNAV, Director Vance and his team leader turned him over to be slaughtered as retribution, to serve as a warning to other agents not to cross Eli David?”
“You seem remarkably well informed, Chegwidden,”
“Former SEAL, impeccable sources in Israel,” he told Tom. “Besides, Eli intended to send a clear message to the intelligence community not to mess with him or his people. The fact Rivkin killed a federal agent…even if Eli doesn’t give a shit about it, even if it was unintended, unlike DiNozzo’s execution. Reeks of a double standard!”
Tom growled, “Damn straight, he doesn’t care!”
“All the cops,” the former Admiral gesticulated at the police members from various PDs, “doubt any of them suspect that David had DiNozzo whacked to make it clear that he is untouchable. Many of the agents, however, are an entirely different kettle of fish; they know enough about Mossad’s director. Most probably suspect Eli took out DiNozzo as a warning,” he said, clearly pissed off.
Tom nodded. “True. The man is an asshole. And to answer your previous question, Davenport and Vance were practically falling over themselves to give Eli whatever he wanted.”
“Those damned Kompromat files,” Chegwidden scowled.
Tom was not too surprised that the former SEAL knew about them.
He shrugged. “As for Gibbs, he seems shell-shocked by what happened,” Morrow said.
“What the fuck is wrong with him? He was a Special Forces Marine! He knows the score,” Chegwidden hissed angrily but softly, mindful of where they were.
“From what I can tell, too damned busy fussing over Ziva David because Rivkin was her lover, not to mention her being his handler. She took it hard.”
“Give me a break! That’s no excuse for fucking up so badly; DiNozzo deserved better,” he whisper-yelled. “And Ziva David should never have been allowed within a hundred feet of a crime scene or permitted to investigate cases. Every case she worked on is tainted; Creswell warned Director Shepard that, told her repeatedly. The only thing that she could ever legally do was observe.”
As they watched the hearse pull away from the curb, the guard of honour had come to attention. As the hearse proceeded to make its way slowly up the road to the cemetery for the interment, Ducky Mallard’s Morgan, with Ducky behind the wheel, Gibbs riding shotgun and looking shattered, joined the funeral cortege. Dr Sciuto’s hot rod, a candy-apple red Ford Model A coupe with vanity plates 4NS CHIK, fell in behind the hearse. Sciuto, McGee, and Jimmy Palmer in her hot rod followed solemnly behind Agent DiNozzo’s coffin.
Tom nudged A.J. as fake Leon emerged from the church, his dark hooded eyes raking over the tableau in barely concealed distaste, even as many NCIS staff joined the funeral procession. Fortuitously, it was then, as the NCIS director came to stand next to two cops, one of whom Tom believed to be DiNozzo’s former captain at the Philadelphia Police Department, gestured to someone in the crowd and an old Bonnie Tyler song came blaring out to farewell the cortege.
Where have all the good men gone
And where are all the gods?
Where’s the streetwise Hercules
To fight the rising odds?
Isn’t there a white knight upon a fiery steed
Late at night, I toss and I turn
And I dream of what I need
I need a hero
I’m holding out for a hero ‘til the end of the night
He’s gotta be strong, and he’s gotta be fast
And he’s gotta be fresh from the fight
I need a hero
I’m holding out for a hero ‘til the morning light
He’s gotta be sure, and it’s gotta be soon
And he’s gotta be larger than life
Larger than life
Somewhere after midnight
In my wildest fantasy
Somewhere, just beyond my reach
There’s someone reaching back for me
Racing on the thunder
And rising with the heat
It’s gonna take a Superman to sweep me off my feet, yeah
I need a hero
I’m holding out for a hero ‘til the end of the night
He’s gotta be strong, and he’s gotta be fast
And he’s gotta be fresh from the fight
I need a hero
I’m holding out for a hero ‘til the morning light
He’s gotta be sure, and it’s gotta be soon
And he’s gotta be larger than life
I need a hero
I’m holding out for a hero ‘til the end of the night
Up where the mountains meet the heavens above
Out where the lightning splits the sea
I could swear there is someone, somewhere watching me
Through the wind and the chill and the rain
And the storm and the flood
I can feel his approach like a fire in my blood
(Like a fire in my blood, like a fire in my blood
Like a fire in my blood, like a fire in my blood, blood)
I need a hero
I’m holding out for a hero ‘til the end of the night
He’s gotta be strong, and he’s gotta be fast
And he’s gotta be fresh from the fight
I need a hero
I’m holding out for a hero ‘til the morning light
He’s gotta be sure, and it’s gotta be soon
And he’s gotta be larger than life
I need a hero
I’m holding out for a hero ‘til the end of the night
He’s gotta be strong, and he’s gotta be fast
And he’s gotta be fresh from the fight
I need a hero
I’m holding out for a hero ‘til the morning light
He’s gotta be sure, and it’s gotta be soon
And he’s gotta be larger than life
I need a hero
I’m holding out for a hero ‘til the end of the night
Chegwidden and Morrow watched as The NCIS director was forced to stand and watch the emotionally moving tribute for one of their own, looking like he’d just stepped into a steaming pile of dog turds. The icing on the cake was watching various police captains, heads of other agencies, General Cresswell of JAG and first responders all descending on him to give him their sincere condolences and tell him what a truly outstanding agent Tony had been.
A.J. looked across at Morrow, who had a sardonic grin on his tired face. If he had arranged it, this couldn’t have been more perfect, but this was a genuine outpouring of grief from many people who worked with Tony in the last 14 years as a federal agent and a damned fine cop. SECNAV had somehow managed to weasel out of attending, but fake Vance had no choice but to attend Tony’s funeral. It was pure schadenfreude to watch his torture, listening to Tony being praised when he’d despised him and was probably thrilled that Eli took him out.
Chegwidden was equally enjoying his discomfort. “You planning on joining in the fun?” he inquired.
“Naw, I already did,” he said, grinning briefly.
“Right. Well, I’ve gotta get me some too,” he said savagely. “Oh, and Tom, tell me they’re not going to get away with what they did to DiNozzo?”
“They’re going down,” Tom vowed. “Just as soon as I can make sure that they’re never going to get back up again.”
“I’ll be looking forward to it,” Chegwidden vowed as he lined up to annoy the NCIS director.
Leaving him to it
Leaving him to it, Morrow stepped back inside the church to approach Maddie Tyler to have a quick word with her before heading back to the office. He was amused to see that Steven Adler and Tony’s frat brothers were clustered around her, all offering their various services. Also, present were the Ainsworths, Mary and Greg, wanting to help too. Morrow smiled as he remembered what had occurred after Adler regaled everyone with Tony’s story about running into a burning building when he heard cries for help. Mary Ainsworth stood up from the front pew where she had been sitting right at the end and stormed up to the pulpit as the mourners gave Adler a standing ovation. Whether for his sentiments or for his generous offers, financially and legally, Morrow couldn’t say. Maybe both.
Leaning into the microphone, the Navy chaplain’s wife offered her and her husband’s unequivocal support for Maddie Tyler’s project before explaining how she and Greg had come to know Special Agent DiNozzo and the fact that they owed him and Gibbs for finding their then three-year-old daughter and returning her to them eight years ago. She told the packed pews that she felt it was a fitting tribute to the brave and caring man who helped save her sanity.
Mary finished up by saying that she always backed a cake and cookies for the MCRT on the anniversary of Alannah’s kidnapping, but this seemed a much more tangible way to express their gratitude.
Her story brought more of an outpouring of grief as Tom had wondered, idly, if Leon suffered from high blood pressure? If so, he figured it would be hitting the danger zone by now.
Allowing himself a small chuckle as he remembered the look of frustrated hatred Leon shot towards the grateful mother when Mary Ainsworth went to the casket draped in the flag of the USA with Tony’s badge resting atop it, and placed her hand on his, saying, Thank-you for our daughter, Tony. Rest in peace.
It had been quite a funeral, Morrow concluded. Leon’s worst nightmare, and there was still the burial for him to endure.
It couldn’t happen to a more deserving individual, Tom thought, praying that someday he had a chance to share an account of the funeral of Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo with Tony.
—
Notes:
Holding Out For a Hero
By Jim Steinman and Dean Pitchford
Part Three: A Greater Love
“The greatest sacrifice is when you sacrifice your own happiness for the sake of someone else.” Anon
Chapter 14
Tony became aware of sounds from far away. He tried to see where he was, but it was dark and felt strange – if he had to describe how he felt, then it would probably be disembodied, muted. He immediately wondered again if he’d been abducted and may be locked up underground where natural light never permeated. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been taken and incarcerated. He once was drugged and locked up in the sewer system with a decomposing corpse and a nearly dead Marine. That had been a bad case. Gave him nightmares for a long time afterwards.
Maybe it was because in that case, there were no heroes, no victims – not in the sense that the Marines who were being murdered were innocents. True, the Marines had not cold-bloodedly set out to kill their girlfriends; it had been a tragic set of circumstances, an accident. No, accidents were when you dropped something precious, and it broke you didn’t do it intentionally. Negligence was when you were drunk and tried to carry something precious but you broke it, even if you never intended for it to shatter into a million pieces that could never be repaired.
And that’s what happened to those Marines who, after getting their orders to ship Stateside, had the asininely insane idea to smuggle their girlfriends aboard the ship they thought they were travelling home on, except their orders were changed at the very last minute, and their girlfriends were already locked in a shipping crate. Then, instead of coming clean and admitting what they’d done, they left their girlfriend to die of dehydration inside a steel coffin, except the young Filipino women, barely adults, chose, even in the most horrific of situations, to give their limited water to the youngest of them, hoping Vanessa might survive. And survive she had…just barely, yet the ordeal of watching her friends die one by one had warped her so badly, that revenge was all she could think about. It consumed her and turned her into a serial killer as she hunted down and killed all of the cowardly Marines, except for Sergeant Atlas.
In the end, Tony escaped the locked room, taking Gunnery Sergeant Atlas to safety, and managed to disarm the bartender, Vanessa, before she shot them. Although, sometimes, he wondered if he’d done the right thing. She was clearly very disturbed, and if one day, she was declared sane, how would she live with the monstrous things she had done, even if they were brought about by those young Marines’ stupidity and their failure to confess to their superiors their plan to smuggle those women into the US. He hoped that Atlas would go on to live a long life, knowing that he and Vanessa were the only survivors of the Marines’ dumbass plan to bring their girlfriends back home. May he be haunted by it every single day of his life.
Feeling himself drift away, Tony remembered his return to NCIS to learn that Gibbs had already reallocated his workspace to McGee, who was working at Norfolk then. Out of the blue, the thought hit him that Gibbs called in an agent who was a three-hour drive away when time was crucial in abduction cases!? Dozens of agents were already there in the building that could have been co-opted into helping. This left him in no doubt that Gibbs’ previous comment about him being irreplaceable had been sarcastic, otherwise, he never would have sacrificed three precious hours making McGee drive down to DC. Tony finally realised that his boss had already replaced him with a wet-behind-the-ears cyber agent whom Gibbs had nicknamed Michael Jackson because he’d worn a mask at a crime scene the first time the MCRT worked with him.
As he felt himself drifting away, he heard someone singing from a distance, yet he couldn’t make out the words. Just that it was a clear sweet soprano, that was all. And then nothing.
Time passed… he wasn’t sure if it was minutes, hours, or days, but, Tony suddenly was aware again, in a weirdly disembodied fashion. Numb, unable to feel, he was unable to move; or perhaps he was moving but unable to feel anything. It was odd, not feeling – not hot, not cold, not sad, not happy… slowly he became aware of someone singing again. The same female, with the bell-like soprano, and that filled him with an unaccustomed sense of peace. Tony strained to hear the words, but they weren’t English or Spanish. Not Italian either.
As a small child, before his mother got ‘sick,’ she used to speak to him in French – he’d forgotten somehow. But this wasn’t French either. But something about it seemed familiar. The words… the hauntingly beautiful melody…maybe both. He felt like he knew it- that he should recognise it.
Maybe if he focused harder, he could remember. Gibbs was always telling him he lacked focus. He felt a flare of irritation at the thought of his boss. Huh? What was that about, he wondered briefly before realising that the singing was floating away. He made a superhuman effort to reach out to grasp hold of the song that something was telling him was important. Tony managed to clutch hold of one line: mit Rosen bedacht.
Something about roses. Tony tried to hum the melody, but frustratingly, like everything about this place, it seemed to flow into him and then was gone again. He was sure he knew the music and, he ought to recognise it. Perhaps it was even something he played on the piano, and he tried desperately to remember, but everything went blank again…
Sometime later, maybe a heartbeat, maybe a year, Tony didn’t know because nothing felt real in this place…he heard the music again. This time something clicked in his head, and he recognised the well-known melody as The Cradle Song by Johannes Brahms. He strained to hear the words, realising they were in the original German. His mother sang it to him as a very young boy to send him to sleep. She would also sing songs to him in French, Italian, Welsh, and Gallic. He listened to the now familiar lullaby and sang along inside his head, which was weird…like everything else about this dream…if that’s what it was.
Maybe he was just a disembodied consciousness existing in nothingness. For some reason, that thought terrified him, and he focused on the singer instead…
Guten Abend, gut’ Nacht,
mit Rosen bedacht,
mit Näglein besteckt,
schlupf’ unter die Deck’:
Morgen früh, wenn Gott will,
wirst du wieder geweckt.
Guten Abend, gut’ Nacht,
von Englein bewacht,
die zeigen im Traum
dir Christkindleins Baum:
schlaf nun selig und süß,
schau im Traum ’s Paradies.
The familiar song from a safe and happy time in his childhood before everything began to fall apart, comforted him when he hadn’t realised he needed soothing. It made Tony feel safe when he didn’t know he was insecure. The song that he would always associate with a loving mother (if only for a short time, in his life) made him feel cherished, and he never realised how good that felt or how alone he was after it went away.
Now, in the abyss of nothingness, calmed, nurtured, and loved, Anthony DiNozzo Jr drifted away…
The next time he was aware of himself, even if he was nothing more than a disembodied consciousness, Tony heard The Cradle Song again, but this time not in its original German. This time, it was the Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra Twentieth Century take on the original version that his mother sometimes sang to him, as well as the German one. He wondered if that was when his love for Old Blue Eyes was born, and if so, then he had his mother to thank for it.
Lullaby and good night,
Thy mother’s delight
Bright angels around,
My darling, shall stand.
They will guide thee from harms,
Thou shall wake in my arms.
They will guide thee from harms,
Thou shall wake in my arms.
It was uncanny how much the singer sounded like his mother did before the pills made her seem lacklustre, muting her, and the booze affected her voice – letting a harshness creep into the once pure tones. He’d forgotten what a beautiful voice his mother had, but unfortunately, she sunk into depression, addiction and finally cancer. His earlier memories…ones where she was happy and whole, were rapidly overshadowed by those of a very deeply unhappy and troubled individual.
Tony lost her when he was eight. Now, given the precious gift of recalling long-forgotten times when he was small before the bad memories overshadowed everything, Tony sank into the partially revealed remembrance of happier ones, hoping to suffuse even his very cells with those memories of his mother singing to him…
Lullaby and good night,
With roses bedight
With lilies bedecked,
Is my baby’s wee bed.
Lay thee down, now and rest,
May thy slumber be blessed.
Lay thee down, now and rest,
May thy slumber be blessed.
In his desperation to unlock half-forgotten memories, Tony must have reached out too far, trying to grab hold of them because there was nothingness. No awareness, nothing…
When he next experienced a sense of awareness, he was still in a void, where there was only darkness. He tried to move, not knowing if he was successful or if he possessed a body. Was he paralysed, or was this all that was left of him…a disembodied soul trapped in space?
His earlier sense of calm was gone. How long ago had he experienced that blissful feeling of peace? Was it a heartbeat…the time it took for a breath to be drawn in and out? Did he have a heart or lungs?
Was any of this real, or was this a dream? If it was a dream, it was like no dream he recalled ever having. It was creepy.
If not a dream, then what?
Tony knew that there was something that he was missing, something important that he needed to remember. Unfortunately for him, every time he tried to clutch at the THING, it seemed to push it further away, frustrating him… remaining just out of reach.
What if he was…
Baby mine, don’t you cry
Baby mine, dry your eyes
Rest your head close to my heart
Never to part, baby of mine.
What had he just been thinking, Tony wondered, as the familiar but long-forgotten strains of a lullaby his mother used to sing him to sleep so long ago…or was it yesterday the memory seemed to call out to him teasingly.
Time seemed to have no meaning…here in this place. Yet he found himself focusing on that voice that reminded him of his beautiful, bright mother whom he only got to love for what seemed like a moment in time before she had started fading out of existence. By the time he was eight years old, Lucinda had faded away like a star that had burned too brightly.
Little one when you play
Don’t you mind what they say
Let those eyes sparkle and shine
Never a tear, baby of mine.
Now he recognised it…it was the lullaby from one of the first movies he remembered watching with his mother. It was the hauntingly simple yet beautiful melody sung to Dumbo by his mum, even though she was imprisoned, chained up and only able to caress him with her trunk. Despite their separation, she was magically able to soothe her baby through her singing…reaching him and enveloping him in a mother’s love.
If they knew sweet little you
They’d end up loving you too
All those same people who scold you
What they’d give just for
The chance to hold you.
Was this a metaphor? He knew that most people didn’t think he could understand the allegorical nature of a metaphor. He was partly to blame – he was obsessive about privacy, not wanting anyone to get close enough to learn about who he really was. It was why he always acted clueless, superficial, shallow. Irrationally afraid that people might see the softer side of his nature as a weakness and use it to destroy him.
Not all that surprising, really. Life had taught Anthony DiNozzo Junior that it was best to hide the important stuff from others and only share the precious parts with those you absolutely trusted. Unfortunately, life had taught Tony too many times that people couldn’t be trusted, not even with the superficial parts of himself that he showed to the world. How could he ever let anyone see the person he was, hidden behind his multiple masks if he couldn’t even trust them to have his six when it came to his job.
Was this place somehow related to his job? What was it he couldn’t remember … There was something there that he just had to focus on. What if he…
And just as he thought he remembered how he got here… wherever here was… and why he was here, he felt himself lulled into forgetfulness. The distant voices hovered just on the edge of his consciousness, some were frustratingly familiar, angry, sneering, contemptuous. Wanting to escape those voices that filled him with pain and hate, he turned away.
Okay, he was a disembodied mind – he couldn’t turn away but, he could let go…allow the enticing lullaby to capture his attention again. Not that his detractors would be surprised, they already thought he had the attention span of a dragonfly.
From your head to your toes,
You’re so sweet, goodness knows
You are so precious to me,
Cute as can be, baby of mine.
Tony remembered how at the time, his four-year-old self used to protest that he was not a baby, even if he secretly loved the tiny kisses his mother would rain down on him… like Dumbo’s mother used to do…how his mother used to change the last line of the song…
Cute as can be, Anthony mine.
And how his tiny heart would swell with so much love, sometimes he was scared it would burst. Remember how he would kiss her palm, and she would press it to her heart as she hummed the simple lullaby while his eyes refused to stay open, and he would drift off to sleep.
Suddenly, he was aware.
He was no longer disembodied.
The transition from nothingness to awareness was traumatic.
It. Hurt.
It was overwhelming.
It was unpleasant.
It was too much!
Please. Make. It. Stop!
He could feel his body. Feel pain. His left arm, his ribs, his throat.
He could see. He was in a helicopter. With medical equipment. A medevac. Why?
What had happened to him?
Had he been shot?
Why was he tied down on the stretcher?
He needed to move.
He needed to escape!
A woman with mid-brown hair in a ponytail injected something into him.
She was commanding him to breathe.
After she ordered him to breathe, he tried to.
Damn it, he remembered what it felt like not to be able to draw enough air into his lungs.
His lungs!
Did he have the plague again?
He must. He recognised the signs.
Feeling like his heart would implode.
His brain, always quick to fire off in some random direction if he didn’t focus, had already begun the rapid firing of neurons that became unbearable. Especially his sensory neurons.
This was what it felt like to suffocate.
He was dying.
Of all the ways he expected to die as a cop and then a federal agent, he would have much preferred to die in a firefight.
Just when he thought he was going to go insane as his body screamed for air, vainly fighting to breathe, he felt oxygen being forced into his mouth as someone injected him with something that raced through his veins. It burned like ice.
He felt someone slip a small hand into his and squeeze it gently, and he clutched at it with every last bit of strength he possessed.
Like a drowning man clutches at straws.
He wondered if the soft yet strong hand was his Mother. Strong and supple – the hands of a pianist.
With a Herculean effort, he turned his head a fraction to look into her eyes, only to realise in bitter disappointment it was a stranger holding his hand…trying to anchor him…maybe trying to comfort him.
He stared into her blue-green eyes for a second, then he heard the other woman yelling, “I’m going to have to intubate him.”
Dimly, he felt his head being tilted back and the pain in his throat ratchet up while something was forced down his oesophagus.
Oh, God, it hurt!
“His larynx is swollen. I can’t intubate him. Give me adrenaline… STAT… Damn, still can’t get through. What’s our ETA…
Finally, he felt the tube slide in as they started bagging him. It wasn’t enough air, but it was something. As he felt himself losing consciousness, too exhausted from his traumatic rebirth to stay conscious, he thought maybe that’s why newborn babies sleep so much.
The last thing he remembered as he gave in to unconsciousness was someone stroking his hair, and he heard someone singing…
From your head to your toes,
You’re so sweet, goodness knows
You are so precious to me,
Cute as can be, Anthony mine.
Then he knew no more…
The next time Tony became aware, he was by the ocean, sitting on a brightly coloured beach towel. The air was a little misty, but the temperature was barmy. He felt serene, mostly, if somewhat curtailed, muted, surreal, but he honestly wasn’t sure he could explain. He certainly felt a lot better than the previous times he had awoken or returned to consciousness. He did appreciate that he was no longer a disembodied mind trapped in an abyss of nothingness. So many times in his life, when his mercurial thoughts flit all over the place, or his overeager mouth when he forgot to filter what he was thinking got him into trouble with others, he’d wondered what it would feel like to be able to sink into nothingness and simply exist. Now he knew, and he decided that he would rather cope with his quicksilver-like thought than exist in a void. It had been hinky.
Sighing, because it felt so good to be able to take a breath and not feel like he was suffocating, he studied this place. It felt oddly familiar – like he should know it, and yet Tony couldn’t say where this was. He examined his surroundings, noting that despite the soft tendrils of mist, visibility had improved markedly, and he looked around for signs of habitation or civilisation. There was nothing but trees as far as the eyes could see. Some evergreens and conifers lent a welcome greenery to the view, although most of the vegetation in the area was deciduous trees. Leaves were a riot of autumnal colours: yellows, golds, oranges, vermilions, russets, scarlets, and deep claret. Dying leaves were a sight to behold, and massed displays of deciduous trees were breathtakingly beautiful. Transience for the leaves shed by deciduous species was a picturesque process, unlike death for most other species, particularly the death of mammals.
As a federal agent and a former homicide detective, Tony was in a position to know just how gruesome that death and the decomposition process could be. Although he suspected that Ducky, who was a highly renowned medical examiner, might disagree. The medical examiner never seemed grossed out by the most disgusting crime scenes. Donald Mallard’s fascination with the forensic side of death seemed unbounded. Still, Ducky’s enthusiasm for the process of death, be it putrefaction, saponification, or etymological habitation of corpses, was definitely not a common one. Turning his thoughts back to the fall, Tony thought the turning of the leaves in Fall was a beautiful sight, and plenty of poets agreed, penning many sonnets and elegies about them.
Nearer to the shoreline, a little way from where Tony sat lazily, enjoying the feeling of being and trying not to freak out about how in the hell he got here, he noticed a cave. And it absolutely wasn’t hinky that immediately after he noted it was there, a young woman emerged, and began to make her way towards him. She had golden hair that fell in soft waves to her waist, she was slender, and he estimated she was probably 5-8 or 5-9. Taller than the average female but not tall for a model or a basketballer. There was something vaguely familiar about her, but in his fourteen years of law enforcement, he’d come into contact with a lot of people.
As she came closer, he thought she looked like his mother, the earlier picture he had of her before she got sick, when he was about six.
Nevertheless, he was not anticipating what would happen after he said, “Hi, I’m…”
She interrupted him smilingly, “You are so precious to me. Cute as can be, Anthony mine.”
Okay, well, that was weird! “Who are you and how do you know my name?”
“Baby, I’m your mother. Of course, I know your name,” she sat down, beside him.
“My mother is dead. She died twenty-seven years ago,” he said bluntly.
“I’m sorry I left you, Baby. I should have fought more; I was in a bad place and, I just gave up, forgetting that I had the most precious gift to live for.”
It crossed Tony’s mind to wonder if this woman claiming to be his mother was crazy, at which point she laughed.
“I’m not crazy, although, between the happy pills, the alcohol, and the cocaine parties of the early eighties, I wasn’t exactly sane in those last two years. I’m sorry, Sweetheart.”
“If you were my mother, you’d be close to sixty, yet you’re my age or close to it.”
“I was only thirty-three when I died in the hospital with you holding my hand, my sweet boy.”
Feeling confused and scared, he suddenly wished he knew what was going on. Was he dead?
“No, Anthony Mine, you aren’t dead.”
“Then I don’t understand. Where am I, and how can I be here, talking to you. Is it hypoxia? I was suffocating…I remember that much. I was in a medevac flight… heading to a hospital.”
“Yes, you were dying, but the doctor finally succeeded in getting that tube down your throat and gave you oxygen to breathe so they could get you to the hospital. You’re on a ventilator, it’s breathing for you.”
“So this,” he gestured, “is just a dream.”
“No Baby, no dream. More like an intervention.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I know, but you will…all in good time.”
She…his mother stood up and walked over to a rocky ledge with a small shallow pool of water he hadn’t noticed until now. He followed and saw she stood looking down at their reflections in the crystal clear water of the rock pool, and that was when Tony realised with a start that a small boy stood beside her with blonde hair and bangs – a fringe as his mother used to call it – that used to perpetually fall in his eyes.
Feeling afraid that he must be losing his marbles, he reached up to touch his hair, seeing the little boy – he must be six or seven – do the same.
“No, Anthony Mine, you aren’t going crazy.”
“Then how can this be? I’m thirty-five. I’m not a little kid. If I’m not crazy, then this must be a hallucination, lack of oxygen, drugs. Yes, that’s it. Drugs make me loopy.”
“Look around you. Doesn’t this place seem familiar?”
“Sort of…maybe. But I don’t think I’ve been here before. “So where are we?”
“Honah Lee,” she replied, seriously.
As he wrinkled his brow adorably, his mother started to sing softly…
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honah Lee
Little Jackie Paper loved that rascal Puff
And brought him strings, and sealing wax, and other fancy stuff.”
“I…I don’t understand. This place, this whatever it is…” he trailed off.
Helping him out, she explained. “It’s a mind construct, Sweetie. I based on our shared reality. You used to love that song so much when you were little. After I sang it to you one day, you made me sing it, over and over, again. It was your favourite song.”
“I made you tell me stories every night about their adventures,” he whispered, starting to believe this might not be the side effect of too many drugs.
“Yes and you were always nagging me, wanting to go out and explore the coastline, hoping to find your dragon,” she said fondly.
Tony grinned, remembering their rambles along sandy beaches on the Atlantic Ocean and Long Island Sound, pulling his mother along the beach impatiently, determined to find a magic dragon of his own. He remembered several trips to lighthouses in the area– the Montauk Point Lighthouse and Fire Island Lighthouse. Sometimes they took his mother’s yacht and explored parts of the Barrier Islands; Tony would pretend to be Jackie Paper, exploring in a boat with a billowed sail. He imagined himself keeping a lookout perched on Puff’s gigantic tail, even if his mother made him wear a lifejacket and held onto him firmly so he didn’t fall overboard.
He was disappointed that they never encountered pirates, but they also had some wonderful adventures together, just the two of them. He loved that his mother would pack them wonderful picnics that they ate on the beaches. How she would insist that they always carried string and sealing wax and other fancy stuff in her rucksack in case they found Puff, who Tony decided was hiding away, too sad after Jack Paper stopped visiting him and was sleeping in his cave. Already, he had deep empathy and made plans to rescue the lonely dragon, vowing not to abandon him because that wasn’t what friends do.
His idyllic childhood, even if it was a rather lonely one with only his mother as a playmate, had ended abruptly, shortly before his sixth birthday. The winter had set in and mostly curtailed their quest to find Puff, his mother deeming it too cold after almost getting caught in an unexpected flurry of snow with his five-year-old self crying about Puff being cold and alone. Naturally that had led to a fight between his parents about DiNozzo men who didn’t cry and angry accusations that she was babying their son.
He knew that not long after that, the loving mother who was his friend disappeared to be replaced by a cold sarcastic individual who looked like his mother but was a stranger. She used to smell like lilacs and lilies of the valley, but now she smelled like his father or how Tony sometimes smelled when his stomach was upset and he would throw up. This new person looked like his mother but was a stranger, someone bitter and sarcastic. The piano lessons that used to be a special time for them both, became torture as she would rap his fingers with a ruler whenever he didn’t play a piece correctly. He began to hate their lessons and practice times with his mother.
Seeming to know what he was thinking, Lucinda wrapped her arms around little Tony. “I’m so sorry I turned into a monster, Baby.”
“It was what it was,” he said philosophically.
“Don’t do that Anthony Mine. You’re too forgiving, my Son.”
“But, you were sick.”
“No, I wasn’t, not then. The cancer came later when you were seven.”
“Well, the pills that you were taking and the booze, they made you say mean things,”
“Tony, that was a part of it, plus all the lines of cocaine your father and I were doing at the time, but Honey, that’s no excuse. It was my choice to wallow in alcohol, drugs, and antidepressants. I knew I was turning into a hateful person, but I was selfish. When I was diagnosed with cancer, I felt that I was being punished, that I deserved it.”
“No one deserves to get cancer and die,” he told her, hugging her tight.
“Maybe not, Baby, but I was not a nice person.”
“Yes, you were. You were kind and loving. You sang to me, and you told me stories. You taught me to play the piano and taught me to love films.”
“Until the winter, you turned six. What do you remember about that time, Sweetie? Do you remember that I used to be gone a lot?”
Tony stared at her, suddenly remembering something he had long forgotten about. “I had a nanny called Mimi.”
“Miriam, but when you first started talking you couldn’t say her name – you called her Mimi.”
“She looked after me when you weren’t there. She had blue eyes and curly brown hair. I thought she was pretty but not as pretty, as you, Mum, he said.
He used the shortened English form of mother that he had always called her up until the winter of 83 when everything changed so horribly. Before that, little Tony DiNozzo had always called her mummy. He didn’t know, back then that other kids referred to their mothers as mom or mommy.
He led a very insular existence growing up in their large home in the Hamptons. Until he was eight, he really didn’t have regular contact with other kids his own age. Occasionally, when his parent entertained friends if they had children, they would stay with Tony and Mimi in his wing of the house, but that hadn’t happened very often, so he wasn’t really socialised with other kids – he was far more comfortable around adults since his father employed servants who had quarters in the house. He’d been homeschooled with tutors until his mother’s death when he was abruptly enrolled in an expensive day school, despite it being an extremely traumatic transition because he was dealing with the death of his mother.
Not accustomed to being with other kids, especially when he was missing his mum (despite how much she had changed before her death), attending school for the first time was difficult. Particularly, as Tony was small for his age (at least when he was young) and didn’t understand rough-and-tumble play and teasing, let alone the sort of physical bullying that some of the boys revelled in. It wasn’t surprising he struggled to fit in, hating every minute of it, and, with his mother gone, he had no one to confide in. He would certainly not talk to his father, who had already made his feelings known about his disappointment in Tony’s behaviour during his mother’s funeral and burial.
Something occurred to him. “Mum, whatever happened to Mimi?”
“She died,” she told him sadly, and something in his mother’s expression and tone of voice made him not pursue that topic any further, afraid of what he might learn.
“What did your father tell you about me, Baby?”
“What do you mean?”
“About my background. How we met, my life before I married him.”
“Not much. I know you came from England and your family was wealthy. I met your Uncle Clive; he invited me to stay for the summer holidays when I was seventeen.”
“Did Clive tell you he and his wife Roslyn became my legal guardians after my parents were killed in a terrible car crash when I was almost sixteen?”
“No, he didn’t tell me that. So your father Dylan and Clive were brothers.”
“Yes, he and Aunt Ros were very kind to me, although his son Byron didn’t like to share his mother with me since she’d always hoped to have a daughter as well, as a son. I think my pompous ass of a cousin feared I would steal his inheritance from him, which was ludicrous because my father left me more money than I could have needed in a lifetime,” she said, noting his frown.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Just thinking the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Byron’s son, Crispian, hated my guts the summer I stayed with Uncle Clive. He probably thought I was trying to con money out of his grandfather or steal his inheritance. Although his little brother Chadwick seemed a pretty cool kid.”
Now, it was Lucinda’s turn to frown. Why should he think that?” she said. “I left you more than enough in my will.”
“Maybe because Clive insisted on lending me £10,000 when I returned home to help pay for my books and accommodation at OSU,” he shrugged.
“Why would Clive do that, Anthony? I left you a sizeable inheritance.”
“Well, I never got it, but then, Father disowned me when I was twelve and sent me away to boarding school after the fiasco in Hawaii. And Uncle Clive was pissed er he was peeved…yeah he was very peeved. He wanted to give me more, but I refused to take it, and I told him that I’d pay him back once I graduated. I tried to, but he never cashed the check, not that it stopped Crispian after Clive died this year. The prat tried to sue me,” he said irately.
One look at his mum and he realised he should have never opened his big mouth. She was looking angry… as in Mount Gibbs is ready to erupt, angry. He swore he could see steam and ash spewing out of her nose ears, and mouth like in the old Loonie Tunes cartoons he used to watch when he was small.
“Anthony Dylan DiNozzo, why did your father disinherit you. He had no right to do that since I didn’t leave my estate to him. He was already a wealthy man when I married him, having inherited a fortune from his own grandfather. I left my fortune in trust to you. And what happened in Hawaii?”
Tony sighed, knowing there was no easy way to say this. “I don’t know anything about a trust fund, Mum, but if I had to guess, Father somehow got hold of it because he’s done the same thing to me after I left college. One of my frat brothers was investing some money I started saving once I became a cop, but not a lot. But after having to work my way through college when the scholarship money dried up after I broke my leg in my senior year, and couldn’t play basketball or football again, I wanted a nest egg, in case I ever found myself out on the streets again. But Senior cleaned me out because we share the same name.”
“Why would he do that? Anthony had more than enough money to last him a lifetime,” she whispered, devastated.
He started living an increasingly overindulgent lifestyle, Mum. From what I can understand, he burned through his own fortune, sinking his money into bad business deals with well-known New York real estate moguls. Plus, if what you say about doing cocaine is right, then he was probably stoned while he did business. A lot of millionaires lost big thanks to cocaine.”
“And Hawaii?”
He dragged me out of school to go to Hawaii. I’ve never really understood why though, because after we arrived, he was off chasing a filthy rich heiress. He found one, too and flew back to the mainland with her on her private Lear jet, totally forgetting about me. The hotel maid finally realised I was in the suite alone, ordering meals with room service after a couple of days, so the hotel called Family Service and the cops finally tracked him down. He was furious because his heiress said yes when he proposed…until she learnt he’d left his 12-year-old son unattended back in Hawaii and threw him out.”
“Well, so she should. Who would want to be with someone so irresponsible to forget his own son,” she said furiously.
“No, you misunderstand. She didn’t dump him, because Dad left me alone, she chucked him out because he hadn’t told her that he had a kid. She said she didn’t want to be a stepmother to some other woman’s brat. I think he disowned me, so it would be easier to meet rich women and marry them. He was probably right.”
“He remarried?”
“Three times, all to wealthy widows or heiresses, but despite his marriages, I think he continues to make bad investments. About six years ago, he managed to clear out my nest egg. Not that it was huge – only twenty-eight thousand dollars. After that, my financial advisor, who was also my frat brother warned me to legally change my middle name so he couldn’t do it again.”
Seeing her look of curiosity, he said, “ I changed my first name to Tony and my second name to Lucas in honour of you, and so far, touch wood, he hasn’t managed to get into my bank account again.”
“Oh, my poor Anthony. I had no idea. Your father wasn’t perfect when I was married to him, but I had no clue that he was capable of being so dishonourable, stealing from his own flesh and blood. We both let you down badly.”
She looked at Tony, who was feeling overwhelmed and still not entirely sure that this wasn’t a dream. Sitting in a white wicker chaise lounge that appeared out of thin air, she smiled at his amazement.
“Mental construct, remember? Look, I think that we both need to process a few things, Anthony Mine,” she said, sinking down into the softly inviting cushions, requesting him to join her.
As much as Tony knew this wasn’t real, that he was a thirty-five-year-old, six-foot-two tall federal agent and not a weedy little kid, the idea of snuggling up beside her on the chaise lounge and resting his head in his mother’s lap once more was too tempting to refuse.
As she covered him with a sage green cashmere throw, she gently combed her fingers through his locks, and he was soon fighting to stay awake since he had so many questions to ask her. Many he’d only now realised he needed to know.
As if reading his mind, Lucinda DiNozzo told him, “Sleep, Baby, you should rest now. You need your strength.”
“But I have so many questions I want to ask you,” he pouted.
“I’ll still be here when you wake. I’m not going anywhere just yet. I promise.”
Before he could argue, his mother started to sing in her clear sweet soprano…
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honah Lee
Little Jackie Paper loved that rascal Puff
And brought him strings, and sealing wax, and other fancy stuff
Oh, Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist, in a land called Honah Lee
Puff, the magic dragon, lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist, in a land called Honah Lee
Together they would travel on a boat with billowed sail
Jackie kept a lookout perched on Puff’s gigantic tail
Noble kings and princes would bow whenever they came
Pirate ships would lower their flags when Puff roared out his name
Oh, Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist, in a land called Honah Lee
Puff, the magic dragon, lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist, in a land called Honah Lee
A dragon lives forever, but not so little boys
Painted wings and giant’s rings make way for other toys
One gray night it happened, Jackie Paper came no more
And Puff, that mighty dragon, he ceased his fearless roar
His head was bent in sorrow, green scales fell like rain
Puff no longer went to play along the cherry lane
Without his lifelong friend, Puff could not be brave
So Puff, that mighty dragon, sadly slipped into his cave
Oh, Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist, in a land called Honah Lee
Puff, the magic dragon, lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist, in a land called Honah Lee
Before he drifted off, he resolved to tell his mother how he’d written a paper on the lyrics of the song written by Lenard Lipton and Peter Yarrow back in college before he finally slept, with visions of sad dragons and symbolism occupying his fertile mind.
—
Notes:
Cradle Song
Music by Johannes Brahms
Lyrics by Georg Scherer
Baby Mine
Lyrics by Ned Washington
Music by Frank Churchill
Puff the Magic Dragon
Lyrics by Leonard Lipton
Music by Peter Yarrow
Chapter 15
Tony opened his eyes and looked around to see his mother watching over him, with such a loving look on her beautiful face that it took his breath away.
“Did you have a good sleep, Anthony Mine?”
Sitting up, he wondered why he didn’t feel weird to have his head nestled in his dead mother’s lap, he was a grown man, not a little kid.
He heard her chuckle. “You may be all grown up, my son, but you’ll always be my baby,” she said lovingly.
“Are you reading my mind,” he blurted out, horrified that she might know every horrible thought, every ugly memory that he had of their last two years together.
“No, Baby, but little Anthony is not so well practised at masking his emotions or his thoughts from me. I can read you fairly easily, sweet boy. Which is one of the reasons I chose for you to be represented here with me as a little boy…aside from being so darn cute,” she teased him, gently ruffling his hair.
“So this mind construct, as you called it…it isn’t mine then?”
“No, this is my dog and pony show, my darling. I wanted a safe place for us to talk and wait. I know how much you loved Puff…those days we would go off exploring…looking for him all over Long Island were some of the happiest days of my life.”
“Mine too,” he whispered. “You know, when I was little, I loved to pretend I was Little Jackie Paper, and I was determined to find my dragon.”
“We had a lot of fun looking,” his mother smiled sadly.
“When I went to college, I wrote a paper debunking the then-popular theory that the song was really about smoking marijuana. That’s when I realised that Puff probably symbolised the relationship between a son and his father, but, it didn’t apply in my case. I had pretty much zero relationship with Father, even before you died. I spent more time with the help than I ever did with him, except for that one time you made him take me fishing,” he told her sadly.
“I’m sorry he was always too busy for you, Baby. You never deserved that,” she averred as she pulled him to her and pressed his head to her breast while she kissed him.
He took in her perfume – lilies of the valley and lilacs, closing his eyes to revel in the long-forgotten fragrance.
“At college, when writing that paper, I realised that for me personally, I was Puff, who had a glorious time with Jackie Paper until she found other toys and left me alone. That’s when I started hiding in my cave,” he confessed softly, his little boy voice breaking.”
“Oh Anthony Mine, I am so very sorry that I went away and left you,” his mother whispered as he felt her tears fall gently on his cheek.
“Why…why did you leave me, Mummy,” he asked her brokenly.
“I was sick with cancer, Baby, but I should have fought harder for you.”
“Not that, I know about the cancer. It’s on your death certificate. I looked it up. I meant, why did you go away, the winter I turned six?” We had such a perfect summer and fall together but you left and…” the childish voice trailed away.
“And I returned a monster,” Lucinda finished for him. “Oh, Baby,” she rocked him as he could no longer hold back his tears, finally able to talk to someone about what had happened to him almost thirty years ago.
After the emotional storm, still rubbing his back in soothing circles, she asked, “Did your father ever tell you how we met or about my early life? I doubt that Uncle Clive did since he never told you he was my legal guardian after my parents died.”
“Not much. Father told me it hurt too much to talk about you,” he said. “I know that your family was English and very wealthy…old money, unlike the DiNozzo’s, who were nouveau riche. Father craves acceptance from people who come from old money – it would be sad if it wasn’t so pathetic,” he said, shaking his head.
“Well, you know that I played piano?”
“I remember. You taught me to play,” he said, recalling a conversation with Ziva after he learned about the team dinner she organised and didn’t invite him to. Of course, he had thought it was a dinner between her and McGee and had just learnt that Palmer had been invited to. Trapped in a locked shipping container after a firefight with a bunch of well-armed terrorists at Norfolk Harbour, he had been bored and just a little bit hurt.
“So riddle me this, Batgirl,” he addressed the newest member of Team Gibbs, who, every time he looked at her, reminded Tony that Cate was dead. “How does one wrangle an invite to dinner at your place?”
“Why? You feel a little left out, Tony?”
And yes, damn it, he did, but he wasn’t going to give the outsider any extra ammunition on him. She had already been pumping McTattle-Tail, trying to get intel on him – not the major stuff she collected for her dossiers, more like highly personal snippets he didn’t feel comfortable sharing with her.
Ignoring her, he replied, “I mean, McGee, I can understand. He’s a good guest. I’ll bet he brought a bottle of wine.”
“And dessert,” Ziva nodded, looking smug or pleased.
Maybe both.
“Yeah, big surprise there. But Palmer ‽ I’ve had more stimulating conversations with cats.”
Which had not been kind to Jimmy, but he was feeling left out and to be fair, it was way before he and Palmer became pals when Gibbs had resigned in a huff and given Tony his team. He’d learnt that the Jimbo was way more stimulating as a conversationalist than a cat.
“I like him. And he was very helpful to me.”
“How?” Tony wanted to know, hoping she hadn’t been pumping him for intel, too.
Ziva smiled enigmatically. “He tuned my piano.”
“I used to play piano,” he offered nostalgically.
“But not anymore?” Ziva had replied, probing for more information. After all, she was a spy, and Tony was also quite nosy too.
“My mother forced me to take lessons from this woman who used to hit me with a ruler every time I made a mistake. I haven’t played since.” It was mostly the truth. He failed to mention his mother and the ruler-wielding tutor were the same person. However, he lied about not playing anymore. He still had her piano, and he played every day if he was home, but there was no way he would share something that private with Ziva
“Were you any good?” she pressed for more information.
He deflected the question, “Yeah, she was.”
It was the truth; his mother was good. Tony had always thought she could have been a professional pianist if she hadn’t married Senior.
“Maybe your father never told you this, but you were good. In fact, you were considered to be a child prodigy. It was why we decided to home-school you so that we could nurture your talent.”
Tony was shocked to hear this. He remembered the private tutors and remembered piano lessons with his mother and what seemed like, at the time, many hours spent practising every day. He assumed when he was older that as a little kid, time spent doing boring stuff like scales and arpeggios would seem to drag on longer than they really did,”
“For some reason, it was the Summer before you turned six, I decided that I would just let you be a little kid. We rambled all over Long Island together. It was perfect.”
Tony nodded. It had been a wonderfully magical time filled with memories. It was also the last time he had with his mum before she turned into a monster. Sure, there were occasional moments when he saw her again, like on their weekly trip to the movies in NYC, but not always. Mostly, his mother terrified him with her Louis the fourteenth obsession, her fixation with dressing him up in sailor suits and forcing him to perform at fancy parties she and his father had begun to throw regularly. Her fury was intense if he was nervous and made the slightest mistake, which no one but Lucinda would even notice.
Perfection wasn’t good enough for her; he was never good enough. Tony’s little kid’s knuckles were constantly bruised and aching from being continually rapped with a ruler every time he wasn’t perfect enough. Their music lessons became a daily torture, and he grew progressively more afraid of his mother and hated to play the piano.
“Why? What happened?” he asked haltingly.
“Why did I turn into a monster? You know, of course, I played piano?”
Tony frowned at the seeming change of subject. “Of course. You taught me how to play. I have your piano and all of your music still. It is all I have to remember you by,” he said, bemused by the conversation.
“Yes, I studied pianoforte at the Royal College of Music in London, although it wasn’t my first love. I also spent years at the RCM, studying singing. I was fourteen when I was accepted into their program. Pianoforte and musicianship were considered essential skills, and I was good but not brilliant…not like you, Anthony Mine. You were touched by the hand of God,” she said with absolute conviction.
Tony realised that, of course, his mother’s voice must have been trained. He suddenly remembered her practising every day and also just singing for the sheer joy of it. Vaguely, he remembered her performing in an enormous church – a cathedral somewhere in the city, and at Christmas time in their local Episcopalian church that she attended and took him to sometimes.
How could he have forgotten?
“You were good?”
“Yes, I was,” she said quietly without conceit. “My teachers told me that my voice wasn’t quite full-bodied enough to be an opera singer, but I didn’t care. I was enamoured by operetta. I was desperate to become a professional operetta singer, it was the perfect marriage between my love of acting and dance, combined with my first love – singing.”
Tony was dumbstruck. How had he not known this? As he processed this astonishing news, he sorted out the little he knew about the key differences between the two art forms. He knew that operetta was considered a genre of light opera, musically and in the subject matter. It also contained spoken dialogue and dancing, like musical theatre but where in musical theatre, dialogue is the dominant feature, in operettas or light opera, singing was the central element. Plus, operettas were usually comic, or satirical, lighter, and less intense than traditional opera, with the ubiquitous happy ending. They were also generally but not always, sung in English.
He remembered his mother’s incredible joie de vivre and her love of laughter – before she turned into a monster almost before his eyes and became a stranger. He could see how well-suited she would have been to perform in the Pirates of Penzance, The Merry Widow, The Mikado, and Candide. In fact, now that he thought about it, he’d watched film adaptations of the operettas with her along with many other genres of classic films when he was small.
“What happened,” he whispered, almost afraid to ask.
“My father did not approve of his daughter singing operetta. He felt it was beneath us. He forbade me from performing, so my singing teacher recommended that I continue studying singing and become a teacher.”
Tony felt a chill, it was eerily like Senior who despite disowning him at twelve, felt that he had a say in what Tony did with his life. He did not approve of Tony becoming a professional athlete or when that fell through – thanks to Brad Pitt – deciding to become a cop. He did not consider it to be a suitable profession for someone who bore the DiNozzo name. He was supposed to become a corporate lawyer, no doubt to figure out how to break tax laws and keep Senior out of jail. Maybe an accountant with an MBA to persuade clueless investors to part with their hard-earned money so his father got to squander it on a life of frivolousness.
“Did you stop singing?”
“No, Baby. I switched singing teachers. My father agreed that I could perform in public as a Lieder singer, which he considered an appropriate career for a young woman of my background. Lieder music was prominent in the eighteen hundreds and performed in private salon concerts in the homes of the rich and famous. So I tried to be grateful and worked hard, learning my craft,” she said with a sad smile.
Seeing his look of confusion, she enlightened him.
“To excel, I needed to learn to speak German and Dutch since many of the famous Lieder composers were German or Dutch and used the poetry of their homelands. However, as Lieder music grew in popularity, French and Italian composers began setting poetry from their own nation’s poetry to music, too. Since the Paddingtons owned properties in France, where we spent time every year, I was already fluent in French. Plus, I already knew a little bit of Italian because of my musicianship studies, so I threw myself into learning German, Dutch and Italian, too, which impressed your father when we met.”
“Then what happened?”
“My mother and father were killed in a car crash just before my sixteenth birthday. They were returning from a night at the Sadler’s Wells Ballet at Covent Gardens, and a drunk driver took them and their chauffeur out – they died at the scene. Uncle Clive and Aunt Roslyn took me in and became my legal guardians. I had hoped that Uncle Clive would give me permission to become an operetta singer, but he told me that I should honour my father’s wishes and not defy him in death.
“Did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Defy his wishes?” Tony asked inquisitively.
“Oh. No, I was not a defiant teenager, Baby. I was grateful that Clive and Roslyn welcomed me into their home. I was desperate to be a singer, and if that meant performing Lieder music, then so be it.”
Looking bemused, Tony asked, “Um Mum, can you remind me again about Lieder music?”
Chuckling softly in her musical voice, she said, “Short answer, it is a song with piano accompaniment that developed during the 1800-1900s, coinciding with the popularity of poetry-loving middle-class Europeans following the French Revolution.”
“But all songs have lyrics and Lied is German for song, isn’t it?” he asked, aware he was missing something.
“Yes, all songs have lyrics and Lied is German and means song, singular, while Lieder means songs plural. But while all songs have lyrics, not all lyrics are art. You cannot compare the lyrics, ‘There she was just a-walkin’ down the street, singin do wah diddy diddy dum diddy do’ with Wiegenlied, one of the best-known Lieder songs,” Lucinda said.
“Wiegenlied?” Tony queried, feeling the name was spookily familiar for some reason.
“Yes. Johannes Brahms Cradle Song,” she said.
He nodded, trying to think why that was so familiar.
“I used to sing it to you when you were a wee baby to send you to sleep.”
“Sorry, I interrupted you,” he apologised and somehow felt he should head slap himself for saying sorry.
“I was going to say that with Lieder music, the lyrics are usually a great work of art, existing in their own right and often beloved. The role of the composer in Lieder is to raise the poem to new heights, not just with the melodic composition but also the subtle and complex harmonic element of the piano accompaniment.”
“So the elements of art, i.e., the existing poetry, plus the melody and harmonic element of the piano accompaniment combine to create something new, a higher art form,” Tony said musingly.
“Yes, and the role of the Lieder singer is to be able to convey to the audience narratives, moods, and complexities. Fusing tone with word and combining them together in a minimalist style. It requires skill and humility, letting the art speak for itself, but can be breathtaking in its beauty,” his mother said intensely.
Wow! His mum had been passionate about Lieder singing, even if it hadn’t been her preferred career. Tony felt sorry that she hadn’t been able to become an operetta singer; she would have been brilliant at it. Still, it sounded like she’d fallen in love with her alternative career. He could understand – his dreams of becoming a professional basketball player had tanked when he broke his leg so badly that no team would risk giving him a contract since it was too risky if he reinjured it. At first, Tony was devastated after it happened, and that soon turned to depression. However, he remembered that as bad as he felt, Amber King had even more to complain about. The four-year-old girl died in a townhouse fire because Tony couldn’t save her, and focusing on her death, instead of his disappointment at the loss of his sports career, had helped him to pull himself out of his whiney pity party.
In fact, it had reminded him that he still saved her older brother Jason and that by joining the police force, maybe he’d be able to save the next Amber King who needed saving. It wasn’t an easy job, but he loved helping victims get justice and protecting people who were vulnerable and had no one to stand up for them. He was passionate about upholding justice, taking his oath to serve and protect very seriously.
Something tickled at the edge of his consciousness, whispering to him, telling him about feelings of burnout and betrayal. Tony resolutely pushed those doubts aside, though. He was too eager to hear about his mother’s life, never knowing all this amazing stuff about her. Something told him this idyllic time together was precious and limited, so he was determined to savour every second of it.
“Did you become a performer, Mum?”
She smiled at him. “I did, Anthony Mine. I started out slowly, performing just one or two songs at folk music festivals or other artist’s concerts. It wasn’t easy, but I gradually built up a solid profile as a Lieder singer. By the time I met Anthony when he was in London on business, I was well-known enough to share the stage with other classical musicians, and I would perform whole sets of songs. Often appearing along with some of my friends, Errol, Jamie, Leanne, and Deborah, who played together in a string quartet, Lester Drake, who was a promising baritone, just starting to make a name for himself, or my friend Celia, she was was a gifted flautist. Anthony…your father managed to get himself invited backstage to one of those concerts and invited us all out for a late supper and drinks,” she said smiling.
Typical, he thought. Father always liked to flash his money around and big-note himself.
His mother had a faraway look in her eyes. “He was very suave and handsome and asked me out that night. I had a couple of girlish romances, but mostly I had been too busy studying and trying to establish my career. He was way out of my league, and Anthony seemed to fall head over heels for me, which I admit was very flattering. When he proposed to me and wanted me to return with him to live in America, I was shocked, at first. He said that I could become even more successful by living and performing in New York because he had a lot of influential friends,” she smiled, blushing at the memories.
“So you married him and moved to the US,” Tony said.
“I did, but not then. After discussing it with Frau Astrid and, also, Uncle Clive and Aunt Ros, they helped me see that it made sense to remain in London for another year.
“Who was Frau Astrid?”
“She was my singing teacher and my mentor. We all decided I should continue performing in the UK since I was just starting to achieve recognition, particularly in Wales, and they all advised me to capitalise on it.”
Aunt Ros told me I’d worked so hard and I was still very young; she said that if Anthony really loved and supported me, then he’d wait.”
“So, did you hold out?”
“I did, for almost eighteen months, because I was asked to sing at a Royal Command Performance in front of Queen Elizabeth II and Prince Philip at the London Palladium. I couldn’t turn down an opportunity like that, so we delayed our wedding for six months.”
“Wow! Mum! I had no idea,” Tony told her stunned. Why hadn’t his father told him this?
“After you were married, did you still sing in the US?”
“Yes, having become well known in musical circles in the UK made it much easier than if I had been a nobody when I arrived here, trying to get a start. I even did a few tours around various states where classical music was popular, and did several national folk music festivals,” she said.
“And Father was okay with you touring?”
“At first. After we decided to have a baby, he started saying it wasn’t seemly. He wanted me to retire. Said I should confine my performing to when we entertained.”
Just like he used to force me to play the piano at his fancy soirees, as he used to call them. Tony felt like a performing circus pony, dressed up in those stupid sailor suits that his mother loved or, if his father got his way, in a tailcoat tuxedo. Which was equally ridiculous for a small boy; he was just glad Senior never suggested a top hat.
“Did you retire, Mum?” Tony was curious and knew he needed to make the most of this precious opportunity he had been given to get to know her.
“No, Baby. Not then. Once I knew I was pregnant, I didn’t accept as many engagements, and I stopped performing when I was seven and a half months pregnant. Plus, I also took five months off after you were born. I couldn’t give up performing – I wasn’t me without singing, so my girlhood chum, Miriam Liston, agreed to become your nanny. Since I was still nursing you, Miriam and I took you along on tours, although I only did short ones, up to ten days at a time.”
“And what did Father say?”
Lucinda looked sad. “We fought over it. Anthony didn’t understand the feeling I got when I performed live in front of an audience. There was nothing like it. Plus I had studied so hard, ever since I was fourteen, to achieve my goal of being a performer. I couldn’t turn my back on it all and let it all go to waste,” she tried to explain.
Tony put his little kid hand in hers, although his adult hand would have dwarfed hers. That was if they weren’t here in her mental construct where she’d made him physically appear as a six-year-old kid again. Of course, without her construct, he wouldn’t be with her, able to talk with her…hug her…learn who she really was. Tony really wasn’t all that fussed about being a little kid again – it seemed a small price to pay.
“No need to explain, Mum. Back in college, I played football and basketball matches in front of big crowds of people, and those games were sometimes televised. So I can sort of understand the thrill of performing for an audience.”
“Unfortunately, your father didn’t understand.”
Huffing, Tony thought that his father was too much of a narcissist, to want his wife garnering more of the limelight than himself. An old forgotten memory reemerged as he recalled his father’s face when his investor’s wives had been cooing over his seven-year-old self, dressed in those outlandish sailor suits that his Monster-Mum insisted he wear when his father entertained. Senior’s expression had been downright ugly as they gushed and fussed over him, tweaking his cheeks. The irony was that Tony hated every second of the petting, wanting to kick those silly women in the shins for calling him cute. Sailor suits were for babies – he’d much rather have dressed up as a pirate with a cool sword like Long John Silver or like Prince Caspian sailing on the Dawn Treader!
Interrupting his internal reminiscences, his mother said, “I’m sorry I never got a chance to watch your games, Anthony Mine. But at least your father was there, though.”
Looking at his face, which in his six-year-old image, was not able to mask his thoughts the way his older version managed to, as simply as he breathed, she asked. “He did come and watch you play sometimes, didn’t he?”
“Before he disowned me and sent me away when I was twelve? Sure, he came to some games, not to watch me, but to schmooze all the rich investors, um the parents and be seen. He never bothered to watch the actual games, though. Father thought team sports were beneath the DiNozzo’s station in life. Golf and clay pigeon shooting were different because they allowed you to woo investors.”
His mother’s expression grew fierce, and Tony noticed that the peaceful seascape changed, as a storm started blowing up on the far horizon. Taking his hand, she led him back to the chaise lounge.
“Come here, Darling. Let’s sit and watch the storm for a while,” she said, sinking down onto the wicker chaise lounge and pulling him onto her lap.
It felt weird.
The storm was terrible in its fury, thunder roared, and lightning lit up the sky. Fierce winds raged, whipping up massive waves – walls of water that crashed upon the shore. The rain beat down with relentless intensity; the sky turned dark battleship grey where only moments before it had been cerulean blue and sunny, yet somehow the ferocious storm left them undisturbed. It was as if a bubble of calmness and serenity enveloped the pair even as the frightening violence of the storm continued to rage around them.
Adult Tony knew intellectually that the storm was a physical manifestation of his mother’s emotional state, and the storm wasn’t real. It wouldn’t hurt him, he knew that, but his six-year-old self was transported back in time when his Monster Mother terrorised him, morphing from a kind and loving mother to a terrifying demon. Tony’s fear must have been telegraphed itself to his mother because she took one look at her child, cowering away from her. Lucinda took a deep breath and stilled her rampaging emotions. The storm cleared, the seas calmed, and the rain disappeared – leaving in its wake a perfectly formed crystal-clear rainbow across the horizon.
Gathering him into her arms, she rocked him. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think. I would never hurt you,” she crooned, both of them ignoring the fact that for two years before her death, that was precisely what she had done.
“I can’t believe that Anthony was so cruel to you. I would never have married him if I thought he would do such a thing. He enjoyed his wealth, I admit, but he wasn’t obsessed with it.”
Calming down as she began to sing to him, Tony vowed not to let on that his father had gotten physically violent in the years between her death and his banishment. It was in many ways, a relief to have been disowned and sent away to boarding school. Senior’s lashing out and hurting Tony always coincided with his father being rip-snortingly drunk. Senior was one of those drunks who was mean and let his fists do the talking. And that was why he had no choice but to learn to mask his emotions so well, since any hint of emotion was viewed as defiance, insolence, or even fear. Sometimes, young Tony used to think how cool it would be if he was a robot. It sure would have been a lot safer!
He would definitely not be sharing with his mother what happened when he got the brilliant idea, aged nine, to use one of his father’s snowsuits to dress up as an astronaut. It was not one of his best thought-out plans since the upshot was that he couldn’t sit down in a chair until Christmas that year. His father beat his ass with a riding crop from his Civil War reenactments until his flesh was bloody and raw. Lucinda would probably manifest an earthquake or a hurricane if she knew, he concluded wryly, as he let himself be rocked while a sense of peace washed over him. It was freaky but nice, he thought, feeling cared for – something that he hadn’t experienced since that summer twenty-nine years ago.
When he managed to stir himself sometime later, Tony decided it was probably rather fortunate that he hadn’t brought up Gibbs and his head slaps when his mum talked about Frau Astrid, her singing teacher and mentor. His flippant side had been close to making a quip about head slapping and mentors, but he decided it was lucky he’d held back. Tony decided that she wouldn’t see anything funny about him being struck by his boss, like a dog that had to be disciplined by its master.
Truthfully, the first time Gibbs head-slapped him, he wasn’t even a federal agent. He did it right outside the Human Resources Department, where he’d dragged Tony to apply to become an NCIS agent, which, in retrospect was a pretty brazen thing to do. Despite Tony telling Gibbs not to do it again, that he wouldn’t tolerate being assaulted, it had become a regular occurrence. Oh, initially, his boss seemed to respect the boundaries he’d laid down about not wanting to be struck. For two years – until after he hired Caitlin Todd. They’d worked with the former Secret Service Agent after the attempt to assassinate the POTUS, and she was forced to resign in disgrace for breaking fraternisation regulations. After she joined the MCRT, the head-slapping started up again. For some reason, Tony let it go, which was a mistake because it began to happen regularly.
Maybe Gibbs had him well cowed by that time, or maybe, his poor self-esteem made him fearful that if he stood up to his boss (like he had before being hired), Gibbs would cut him loose now he’d hired Agent Todd. He wasn’t entirely sure why he felt so damned threatened by his boss bringing her onto the team. There were other agents before her, most notably Vivian Blackadder. Gibbs booted Viv off the team for almost blowing a takedown when she came face to face with the terrorist responsible for her brother’s death.
And perhaps that explained it – Gibbs was such a tough taskmaster to please, insisting on perfection, ditching Viv Blackadder for not being an automaton. Yet he happily snaffled up Caitlin Todd, who let her hormones get the better of her and jeopardised the security of the President. You would think the lesser sin was Viv’s grief over the loss of a family member. Maybe the pride Tony had previously felt in being personally recruited by the team leader of the Major Case Response Team had been cheapened afterwards. Tony always thought he was hired because he was a good detective.
Seeing the truth – that the whole guy who supposedly was impossible to please and had ridiculously high standards was nothing more than a big fat myth – it also made a lie of what he had told himself about his own abilities. There was obviously nothing special about him, he’d just lucked out by getting hired as a federal agent being in the right place at the right time. Just like Agent Todd. This meant that he was easily replaceable, and probably had a lot to do with why he didn’t protest when Gibbs’ head slapped him. Tony feared deep down that Gibbs would kick him to the curb like Viv. And who wanted to hire a washed-up cop and NCIS agent? If his father and Gibbs both hit him because he was so annoying, then he’d deserve it…obviously.
Several years ago, however, he had challenged Gibbs over the head slaps. It was after he’d been in charge of the MCRT for four months, and he’d finally started to find his feet after battling with McGee and Little Miss Mossad to make them follow his orders. He knew they didn’t respect him; each one thought they should have been in charge. But, he was slowly starting to get some confidence back. In between leading the team, and engaging in an undercover mission that neither McGee nor David had a clue about, he was feeling like perhaps he wasn’t just a dumb cop after all. Then Gibbs came back when Ziva (who was being framed for an assassination by Iranian Intelligence) called Gibbs asking for his help because he was omnipotent… and Tony was obviously not.
On their way to back up Ziva, who had gone to confront the Iranians, Gibbs had head-slapped him for some perceived infraction. Tony had snapped at him, demanding to know if his former boss was aware that Tony could arrest him for assaulting a federal agent. Gibbs indicated that he knew it was assault and could be arrested. He felt damn proud of himself for standing up to Gibbs.
Unfortunately, Tony’s newfound self-confidence, in particular his determination not to let himself be physically abused, was miserably short-lived. After working on another case with Fornell, Gibbs returned to NCIS as an SSA agent, taking back the MCRT without even doing him the common courtesy of warning Tony beforehand, which did nothing for his authority or self-confidence. It demonstrated just how little professional regard Gibbs had for Tony, not even informing him he was coming back as leader of the team, before it happened. Tony was caught off guard in front of McGee and Ziva, and it didn’t enhance their respect for him; he found out about it at the same time as they did.
It reinforced in their minds that Gibbs viewed him as the same rank as themselves, and they were correct in questioning his orders during the last four months. Both had gotten a massive kick out of him arriving to find all of his stuff piled on his former desk. Between Gibbs’ utter contempt for Tony and his feelings, plus the sheer delight of the Mossad liaison and McGee, he had been very effectively emasculated. He even turned down a team lead of his own in Rota, partly because he didn’t feel like he was a good enough leader, and he didn’t want to go from investigating major crimes to chasing up sailors and Marines who were on leave, getting drunk and causing mayhem in port. Therefore, it wasn’t all that unexpected that with Gibbs back at the helm of the MCRT, he started head-slapping Tony again. He also didn’t hold back either with the relative force of his slaps, despite having admitted that he knew it was illegal.
It was a hell of a way to run a team. Feeling ashamed for capitulating so easily to Gibbs when he returned from his ‘short-lived retirement’, Tony was so lost in his memories that he was surprised when his mother started to speak to him again.
“Once you were weaned, I began accepting offers for longer tours. Anthony wasn’t happy about me touring. He thought I should focus on your upbringing, that his investors would think that it was inappropriate for someone like me to work when I had a child.”
“Given that he could easily have afforded to retire after you died but chose to send me off to boarding school, I don’t think that was why, Mum. I think he got jealous of all you achieved,” he said dryly.
She shrugged, “You could be right. The more successful I became, the more Anthony would argue that my place was with you. Especially, when you were almost three and Konrad discovered by accident one day that you had perfect pitch and an affinity for the piano. I often thought he disapproved of my travelling because he thought I should retire and focus on nurturing your talent.”
Tony snorted – his father hadn’t been too fussed about his musical abilities after his mother died. It was only because his personal assistant Lillian played the piano and made sure he had lessons at the various schools he’d been sent to that he continued to play.
“Who was Konrad, Mum?” It wasn’t a name Tony recognised.
“Konrad Zuba was my pianist when I married and came to the US. You used to call him Uncle Rad, and he was very fond of you. If you were ever missing when we were on tour, we’d look for him and almost always, the two of you would be seated at the piano playing.”
Suddenly his baby grand piano appeared in his mother’s Honah-Lee Land.
Lucinda smiled at him lovingly. “Play for me, Anthony Mine,” she pleaded with him softly as they sat together at the bench seat at the baby grand.
Tony was relieved that he’d kept up his lessons and practice for all these years, so he didn’t disappoint her with this once-in-a-lifetime chance to play for her one more time. He just hoped he could live up to her high expectations because he certainly didn’t think he’d been a prodigy. In fact, his music had become something intensely private, Tony played only for himself and performed for no one.
Forced to perform to impress his father’s guest, dressed up in ridiculous clothes, he’d come to hate playing in public. As he ran through some warm-up scales to limber up his hands, even though he knew this was not real, he tried to decide what to play before settling on something bluesy. She remained silent, but her expression told him she was proud of him, so he decided to play something he’d composed called Little Girl Lost.
When he’d finished, Lucinda was crying. “Oh, Sweetheart, that was beautiful and tragic. I’ve never heard it. What’s it called?”
“Little Girl Lost. It’s about a four-year-old girl whose name was Amber King. She died in a fire when I couldn’t get her out of her bedroom in time. I only managed to save her older brother.”
Gently placing her hand over his heart, she asked, “When you were a policeman?”
He shook his head. “No, it was before that, when I was at college.”
He briefly explained how he had been walking around Baltimore the night before their big game, trying to get his head in the right space before their big game, when he came upon the burning townhouse and what had expired in his unsuccessful attempt to get to the little girl. He didn’t mention that he still had nightmares sometimes, where he dreamed of her crying as the fire consumed her, nor that her brother had blamed him for her death.
“Oh, Baby, I’m so sorry you had to go through that. But you were so brave to try, and you did save her brother’s life. I’m so proud of you.”
Tony wondered if that was enough – he doubted that the nine-year-old boy thought so – he was probably still haunted by the memories of his sister as she burned to death. Tony knew he would never forget her screams.
“Play something else for me, Anthony Mine,” she cajoled sweetly.
Absentmindedly Tony started to play Paula’s Song. It was a song about a former girlfriend, Special Agent Paula Cassidy. Although their affair had been a relatively brief one; they broke up because she had been so career-driven, and she assumed he was too. That was his fault because he never had the guts to tell Paula that his commitment issues had zero to do with his career and everything to do with foolishly handing his heart to his fiancé, Wendy Miller. She didn’t just break his heart, she had shattered it into a million pieces when she left him the night before their wedding. When he started dating again and met Paula, he was still not very trusting about handing anyone his heart to break again, so she assumed he wasn’t serious. Little did Paula know that Tony’s problem wasn’t that he couldn’t commit it was that he committed much too easily.
He supposed it was a direct consequence of a mostly loveless childhood and his desperate craving for love. Just like he caved into Gibbs’ head slaps despite loathing them and despised himself for letting Gibbs do that to him. What was worse, he even thanked the bastard for hitting him because he craved attention and affection. Hell, he was so damn needy that even negative attention was better than being casually ignored or passively aggressively shunned, as Senior and most of his stepmothers did.
After the fiasco with Wendy the Witch ditching him the night before the wedding, Tony realised that it only took a handful of dates for him to become pathetically overinvested in a relationship, even when he could see it hadn’t a hope in hell of working out. Knowing his baseline for becoming too emotionally invested, he made it a rule – Rule 5, to be precise, to break up with anyone he was still seeing after a maximum of five dates to protect himself from his own neediness. Any more than five dates, he started seeing them growing old together in blissful happiness, even with individuals who were after nothing more from him than a good time, not a long time.
Until Jeanne… and he was in big trouble because he couldn’t impose his five-date limit with her since he was on a mission, and he wasn’t supposed to fall in love with her. But of course, he had fallen hard, because she was everything he wanted, brilliant, gorgeous, caring, funny and she loved films almost as much as he did. And because he was desperate to be loved. Feeling something stir in his gut and a faint tickle in his mind as he thought about her and the mess he’d made, the hurt he caused her, he pushed it away. The uncomfortable feeling that there was something about her that was important…something he needed to remember, he ignored it. Thinking about Jeanne only caused him pain, and he tried to block her out.
Besides, this piece of music was written for Paula when she’d disappeared on his watch out in the field while they were looking for the burial site of a deranged killer. She had been abducted by a copycat serial killer, colluding with the evil monster, Kyle Boone, in a twisted plot to stave off his death sentence. Time had been running out to find the federal agent, but luckily, Paula Cassidy was one hell of an agent. She was tough and resourceful and, as it turned out, good at rescuing herself; in that way, she was like he was, good at finding trouble and getting out of it, too. Handcuffed and injured, Paula had still managed to take down Kyle Boone’s copycat serial killer, Adam O’Neill who sickeningly, was also Boone’s legal counsel. She saved herself from becoming his latest victim with guts, skill and a strong survival instinct.
Seeing his mother’s curiosity, he gave her a small bittersweet smile. “I call it Paula’s Song, he said. “She was my friend, and for a while, we were lovers,” he said haltingly.
Before she asked any more questions, he explained why he wrote the song – to apologise for letting her get abducted when he should have been watching her back.
He wasn’t ready to talk about her death, how she had thrown herself at a suicide bomber and saved him, Gibbs, Ziva, and a bunch of civilians. It was too hard to talk about her, her gallantry, dying knowing that she didn’t have a chance of survival. Knowing his friend was suffering from survivor’s guilt for not being with her team when they were killed was all too hard to discuss. Knowing that he was just a couple of seconds too slow to throw himself on the suicide bomber and save her… Someday, he promised to write another song for Paula, but he couldn’t. Not yet.
Instead, he started to play the angry opening cords to You Aren’t Superman You Stupid Jerk! It was a song he wrote while he was battling a bad case of bronchitis that saw him spend a weekend in Bethesda having nebulising treatments and other fun therapies, feeling thoroughly miserable. He’d been pissed off that he got sick, all because a dumbass agent drove a car off the dock trying to escape a couple of armed dirtbags. Gibbs got trapped in the submerged vehicle along with the young woman he was trying to save.
Tony arrived just to witness the car belonging to the killers go sailing off the dock and hitting the water, causing him to take out the armed thugs and swan dive into the murky waters of the Potomac River in mid-November. He managed to pull the two passengers out of the car with difficulty, forced to break the windscreen to free Maddie Tyler, who was unconscious (or not breathing) and therefore unable to assist him. After getting Maddie safely onto the dock, Tony had to go back down to see why Gibbs didn’t swim to the surface. He was conscious when Tony left him and rescued Maddie but was apparently trapped by the steering wheel; his lifeless eyes were staring back at him.
To this day, Tony couldn’t understand how he had shifted the steering wheel column enough to free his boss. He put it down to being akin to those feats of desperation when someone lifts a car off of a child trapped underneath it. After freeing the Stupid Jerk, who was at this point not breathing and technically dead, Tony somehow got him onto the dock too and had no choice but to start resuscitation procedures on Stupid Jerk, aka Leroy Jethro Gibbs and Maddie Tyler. His own scarred lungs let him know in no uncertain terms that they did not appreciate his cavalier treatment.
Yet what was he supposed to do after pulling them out of the car? Let them die?
So he started mouth to mouth even if he probably needed to be on oxygen himself. Tony resuscitated two people, who by rights should be dead…okay technically, they were dead. He ended up with bronchitis, which with his scarred lungs, could have easily been life-threatening, further weakening them. Meanwhile, the Stupid Jerk never deigned to apologise for endangering himself and the young woman he tried to save on his own, nor did he thank his agent for risking his life to save his and Maddie’s life.
Lucinda listened to the piece, feeling his anger and fear. She felt a terrifying sense of claustrophobia and felt like she couldn’t breathe. She wondered what traumatic event had precipitated her Anthony to express himself in this anger-filled piece. His had not been an easy life. She just hoped having faced such dark and dangerous times, it would serve him for the battle that was to come.
I always love your stories, but this one has really pulled on my heartstrings to the point that I stayed up all night reading! I have not stopped crying since Tony’s “funeral” (sniffle) — all the corruption, betrayal, cruelty, and abuse that Tony has suffered is all canon, too :-(. I am hoping that Morrow can make all the evil psychopaths and narcissists suffer for treating Tony as expendable!
It was very vindicating to have so many people attest to Tony’s selflessness and heroism. I hope Maddie never speaks to Gibbs again, now that she knows he never even thanked Tony for saving his life! The Unsung Heroes Foundation is a wonderful tribute.
The revelations about Tony’s mother and the details of his traumatic childhood are heartbreaking (need more Kleenex!). Tony has been betrayed over and over again by people who are supposed to look after him! Thank you for including the music references, I can now listen to this lovely soundtrack while I weep. All that lost potential is so poignant — it is amazing that Tony became such a caring and compassionate person after what he has been through.
I still have more chapters to read, but real life is intruding on my fanfiction time (sigh). I just wanted to write a quick comment to thank you for sharing your talent and hard work for our enjoyment 🙂
Thankyou Serena, I’m sorry for disrupting your sleep but I am thrilled to have motivated you to feel the need to keep reading. Thanks for taking the time to comment, it is lovely to hear from people who enjoy what I’ve created.
This is the best way to lose sleep :-). I can’t even imagine how much thought and research you invested in this story, but it has certainly paid off in spades!
The funeral part was so poignant, I got quite teary, especially the tributes from Maddie and Steve. Few people would even attempt those rescues, let along with damaged lungs, and even fewer would keep quiet about it. Gibbs is shown up as an ungrateful boor and Jenny Shepard rewarding him was crass and unprofessional, but they are both selfish people who only looked for what Tony could do for them.
Then I had to divert to listen to Puff! My mother used to sing it to us, so I understand how evocative it was for Tony.