There were long periods of time that were completely blank; not even a hint of a memory.
The beatings she tried to block out, but somehow they were the things that kept sneaking back into her consciousness.
She remembered being tossed over one of the guard's shoulders as they walked off the ship and into the town's local hotel. She remembered the stagnant air as they flung her onto the hotel's bed, ensured her bonds were secure, and left for the closest bar.
She remembered the sound of the housekeeper knocking on the door several times before entering and she remembered the woman's shocked face as she moved to undo Ziva's restraints.
Ziva remembered shaking her head at the woman, knowing that as tempting as escape was, there was no way she'd get away without help.
She knew, feeling the bile rise in her throat at the knowledge, that her father had sent her off on a suicide mission. She knew Mossad was no longer safe. And she knew that she had let her pride separate her from the one family who had protected her above all else.
The maid had reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a cell phone, flipping it open and helping Ziva dial. She had held the phone to Ziva's ear.
Ziva had prayed fiercely that she didn't end up in Gibbs' voicemail. And she had felt a small piece of her spirituality slide more firmly into place when she heard his voice give its usual terse greeting: "Yeah. Gibbs."
She had spoken quickly and efficiently with what little voice she was able to dredge up. "I'm in Mogadishu at the Athens hotel. I need help," she said quickly and hoping her voice was audible through the no-doubt staticy international line.
"Ziva?" Gibbs had questioned, frowning at her words. "Ziva, what's going on?"
She had opened her mouth and tried to speak but the violent beatings of the last week had taken their toll and she had no voice left.
The maid had taken pity on her and pulled the phone to her own ear and provided Gibbs with the hotel's address as well as, what Ziva assumed was the woman's personal cell phone number. Ziva watched as the woman listened to Gibbs' instructions, her vision swimming before her as her energy finally waned.
She felt the phone's cool plastic rest against her ear as she tried desperately to stay conscious and she heard Gibbs' reassuring tone across the line: "We're comin', Ziver. Hold on. We'll get you outta there. Just hold on."
She felt the maid's touch gentle against her cheek and she realized the woman was wiping away a tear Ziva hadn't even known she had shed. She heard the phone click shut and, despite the presence of the brave soul in the room with her, she felt incredibly alone.