the smuggler’s bible

Ziva

“You’re going to get us locked out. Slow down. Think.”

“Oh, hush. They give you like thirty tries.”

Ziva pecks at the keyboard. The screen shakes and displays a red “X.”

“Well, that’s it for the crude category. Let’s move on to prurient.”

“I thought you knew this guy.”

“I said I know his type.”

“What’s his type generally use for passwords?”

“You know, stuff they like. ‘Bewbs’ or ‘b00bz’—which is the fashion these days?”

“Try ‘baseball.’ All lowercase.”

“Just baseball? What kind of—”

The screen pips and unlocks.

Ziva groans and shakes her head. “God, what a tool.”