Chapter 2 - The Warehouse

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Thanks for reading! I a not entirely happy with this chapter, but I decided I needed to upload one. I am much happier with the next one though. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

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*Tony*

                Ziva is only late when something is wrong. Really wrong. I drive as fast as I can to the address McGee gave me, trying not to let the worry consume me. She can take care of herself, I constantly remind myself. I mean, come on she’s a killing machine, a loveable killing machine, but a killing machine nonetheless. My satnav says that I should arrive within ten minutes. I could make that five, I think as I slam my foot onto the accelerator, ignoring the blaring horns surrounding me. I hurtle down the crowded roads, feeling like a man in the movies.

                I pull up at a blue warehouse, swerving in to the car park  surrounded by a chain-link fence and brake swiftly. Undoing my seatbelt, I grab my gun, mobile phone and badge before heading to the warehouse opening. A cool wind picks up, ruffling my thin suit and sending chills down my spine. At least I looked good, I reminded myself, I was not joining McPractical and his woolly jumpers any time soon. A loud crash pierces through the silence and I instinctively pull my gun out from my holster, holding it in front of me defensively. Silently moving into the protective shadows of the warehouse, I start to tiptoe towards the opening, all senses alert. Another crash follows and I jump, swinging around to where the sound came from. Nothing was there. Deciding it was probably just my imagination I continue to edge towards to warehouse door, closer and closer. Finally, I reach the opening, murmuring voices spill through the door. They are definitely not speaking English. I press my ear to the wall and listen carefully, I think I recognise the language, Hebrew. After eavesdropping on so many of Ziva’s ‘personal’ conversations I started to pick it up, although I have no idea what they are saying. A multitude of loud noises burst out of the warehouse, from clangs to crashes. What was happening?

3… 2… 1… I snap my head around the opening, daring a peek. Four men stand huddled amongst towers of crates and what looks like complete junk strewn all over the floor. They don’t notice me so I scan the room more thoroughly. A table scattered with paper, coffee cups and old pizza boxes sits in the corner of the room with about ten chairs dotted carelessly around it. Bare bulb lamps are placed around the room illuminating small patches of dusty, oil-stained concrete floor and casting eerie shadows that remind me of the sets of my favourite horror movies.  A couple of the men are frantically rifling through the supposed junk surrounding them. Swinging around, I turn into the warehouse facing the men, my gun drawn.

                “NCIS, freeze!” I shout, ignoring Gibbs’ rule about backup and completely violating NCIS protocol. But Ziva might be in here, in trouble. The four men spin on me, stunned and draw their guns instantly.

                “NCIS, drop your weapons, NOW!” I try again, but to no avail. The men stand their stubbornly, sending each other shifty gazes until a bearded man finally speaks up.

                “Ah, you arrived sooner than expected.”  He growls.

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