Disclaimer: I don't own any Characters that appear on the TV show. They all belong to Belisarius Productions and CBS. The original characters are all mine, save for the man known as Cyriac. His character is based on a Character from JAG called Hemlock, who is from series 1.

A/N: This idea struck me, it is going to be a by feel story. It is possible that the idea came to me from DrawMeASheep's work, who I am not going to plagiarise in any way shape or form. Cyriac is based on a number of characters. One is Hemlock, a character from JAG for his skills. Another is actor Matthew McConaughey for the look of the man. Another is based on a man of my own imagination, known as Leopard, a former Delta forces man who served in Somalia and then resigned from the military to work freelance. Lastly, he is hunting a particular person, so for intents and purposes he is also like Dimitri Tushkevich who is owned by Sheep. In this chapter, spoken words in Hebrew will be in italics. I would like to thank EmyPink for all her hard work on being my beta for this story. Thanks Em, I owe you more than once.

Rating: Rated T for Violence and Language

Tel Aviv, Israel – Present Day

The black sedan sped along the slim winding road. It climbed into the far hillier suburbs of the port city. It slowed as it approached an apartment block. The security guard walked out of the small security box. He bent down to look into the dark window of the car. He straightened when he saw who sat within the car. The gate opened and the car passed through the gate. It parked in its allotted space. The figure climbed out of the car. He was a small man, about five feet six inches and weighed roughly sixty-seven kilograms. He was about fifty-six years of age, but still fairly wiry. He pulled a suitcase out of the backseat of the car. He turned and headed in the direction of the lobby.

Reaching the door, he opened it wide and stepped into the well-lit lobby. Nobody was about. This was not something unusual. The apartment block's manager kept much to himself. After all, he had been Mossad before being invalided out. The figure walked to the elevator. The door opened several seconds after his finger had left the call button. The man stepped inside and hit the button for the fifth floor. The doors closed and soft Yiddish music filled the small elevator. The elevator bounced slightly under his feet as it slowed to a stop at the fifth floor.

The man stepped out of the elevator. He paused for a second to take a breath and walked slowly down the hall. He reached the door numbered five-oh-seven. Pulling out his key, he slid it into the lock. The door opened wide and he walked into his apartment.

"Home, sweet home as Americans would say," the man smiled thinly. His apartment was quiet. His wife had passed away three years ago after a long battle with cancer. He felt lonely when he returned from work nowadays; Hannah had always been there for him. Now his son was studying Archaeology at Oxford and his daughter was married to a young officer in the Air Force. He had seen his children little in the last three years. None of them spoke; their mother had kept the family together. He really wished to see them.

"Come, let us get some supper on shall we." The man shook his head and walked into the kitchen. Suddenly he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He cursed himself for being so slack. Reaching into the fridge, he slowly pulled out the small Walther PPK. The weapon was his back up. He would have been dead had he tried to reach for the Jericho 941 at the small of his back. He whirled around.

"Shalom, Elan," the shadow said, walking slowly into the half-light of the kitchen. He was a tall man with dark brown hair and olive skin…every part of him the everyday Israeli man. Save for two things. His eyes were sky blue, giving him a crazed look. His eyes were quite unusual, although somewhere down the line of ancestors there was European blood in his genetics. He also carried a scar that ran horizontally down the right hand side of his face, from his eyebrow to his chin. It gave the man a scary look, as if he were quite mad.

"Cyriac!" Deputy Director Jacob Elan gasped, startled for a second. He noted the grimace of the younger man as he called him by his former codename. He did not lower the gun. "You gave me a shock, Officer Korah! What are you doing here?"

The old man had been warned about this man. He was a traitor. Korah was a former Mossad Officer. Rumour had it that the Director of Mossad, Chaim David, had sent his daughter, Ziva, to kill Korah in Montenegro last year. The scar had been from his escape, but that was only rumour. Joel Korah was now a freelance agent. He still sent a lot of Intel to Mossad. It was genuinely good, but few trusted it. Some claimed like Deputy Director Yossi Asshur and Colonel Michael Bashan did that he was a double agent working for the highest bidder. Korah was a livewire agent; The man had been a Kidon operative, trained specially for assassination. He fulfilled missions that no one else would take. His last official Mossad mission was the death of Arafat. So good was he that Korah made it look like Arafat had passed away from natural sickness? This is what Korah could do, but only when it suited him to do so.

"Was Officer Korah, I am no longer and I would advise putting the weapon down, Elan. It is quite useless. If you reach for the Jericho at your back, You'll be dead before it comes free," Korah said, the gunmetal silenced South African Mamba 9mm in his hand. "I want information!"

Elan knew he was dead, the Walther felt lighter than normal. Korah was good, very good. "Why should I tell you anything? I'm as good as dead as soon as I tell you what you want to know?"

Cyriac grinned, the scar that ran down his face distorted slightly so that he looked truly maniacal. "You have family, yes?"

Elan nodded, slowly beginning to understand where this conversation was going. "Yes, a son and a daughter."

"Yes, Joshua and Sarah." Korah grinned. The silenced weapon in his hand slowly rose to point at Deputy Director Elan's head. "If you do not tell me, then I will kill them both once you yourself are dead. Do we understand each other?"

"Yes," Elan replied hoarsely. To save the lives of his children, he would tell this man everything. David had been right that he was a traitor, Asshur and Bashan had been right also. He worked for the highest bidder, but he was working for himself right now. Elan had no idea why Korah was, but he was looking to find out important information, important enough for him to enter a major Mossad housing facility to find it out. "One condition!"

"Yes, what is that Elan?" Korah asked, surprised for a moment.

"That if I tell you what you want to know, you will leave my children alone," Elan said, his voice echoing determination. Korah nodded at him. This was something he could respect in the older man.

"Very well." Joel Korah dropped a book on the kitchen bench and placed his hand on it. "I swear on the Torah of our forefathers that if you tell me what I want to know, I will not harm your children."

Elan felt at peace with his decision. "What is it that you wish to know?"

"Ziva David!" Korah spat the words out as if they were poison. "Where is she?"

"I would have thought with all your connections you would know." Elan realised that the rumours were true. Ziva had been sent to kill Korah.

"I have to double check somehow," Korah said grimly. "Now tell what you know, Elan!"

This man was feeding all his devotion into killing her as a last act of vengeance upon David, Elan realised as he spoke. "Washington DC, she has been working as liaison to NCIS."

"NCIS?" Korah asked quizzically. "What is that?"

"Naval Criminal Investigative Service," Elan replied.

"You give me these details to spare your children from me," Korah asked, looking at Elan intently with those piercing sky blue eyes of his. "Yet you are willing to sacrifice David's bitch, why?"

"Because, I know who will win," Elan said quietly. The harsh cough of a silencer broke the silence after the statement. The bullet smashed through Elan's head between the eyes. A large amount of blood spattered on to the refrigerator.

"Do you indeed? You were my instructor. I respect you implicitly. I will keep my promise to you, old man," Korah muttered as he walked through the kitchen, leaving the dead man to lie in his own blood.

He entered the bathroom, a figure sat gagged on the seat. He had a large bruise down the side of his face and blood dripped from beneath the tape over his mouth. He shook violently. Korah raised the weapon to the man's face and squeezed the trigger. "Now it is time to find the bitch and kill her once and for all!"

A/N: What do you think? Please read and review.