All language subtitles for NCIS.S08E04_[eng]

REALTOR:
Look, I can't list this dump
unless you guys exterminate.

You know, I think
my wife and I

made an offer
on this place once.

We didn't get it.

Well, good news is, I'll bet
you can afford it now, huh?

[chuckling]:
Yeah, I'm sure.

Whew! Wow, looks to me
like you got yourself

a full-on stage three
larval infestation.

All right.

Let's, uh...
Let's take a look, here.

It's kinda gross, huh?

Little bit.

[beeping][chuckling]

Yeah, you got enough
malaria-carriers here

[Spanish accent]:
to make mosquito mojitos
until May Day!

But y-you can
pump it out, right?

Remove the red tag?

Let's drain it.
Go from there.

Okay?
Makes sense.
Yeah.

[grunting][pump whirring]

Oh, jeez!
Oh my God!

What? What?

Wh-Wh-What is it?

I'm just-- I'm just--

[chuckling]

I'm just messing
with you.

You gotta lighten
up, man, really.

Nice. Nice.

Oh, my-- oh, my God,
is that...?

Oh, no.

Oh!

Captioning sponsored by
CBS

and TOYOTA.

[typing]

ZIVA:
I actually think it's--

What are you doing?

Uh, nothing, I was, uh--

Lost a contact.

Uh, where?
On Ziva's keyboard?

You do not wear glasses.

Maybe I started.

Maybe you're lying.

Maybe you should butt out,
McThird-Wheel.

What were you
looking for, Tony?

I'm sorry,
that's classified.

You were trying to
access my email.

How do you
know that?

ZIVA:
Because McGee installed
a security system

on my desktop.
Very hi-tech, by the way.

You got caught red-handed.

I got what?

ZIVA:
There! Guilty as charged.

So, what were you
looking for, Tony?

Well, ever since you got back
from South Beach, you've been...

flirting with the Miami Heat.

He's just a friend.

You are jealous.

No. But I am concerned
about our national security.

He's got a very
impressive clearance level.

Now you're trying to
make me feel inadequate.

Ha!

No, that's my job,
DiNozzo.

GIBBS:
A dead petty officer,
grab your gear.

I'm going to ride with Gibbs.

Now who's the third wheel?

Shotgun, McGee!

No... ow!

[camera snapping]

TONY:
This tub needs a new filter.

Not exactly Davy
Jones' locker.

But he did meet
a watery grave,

even if it was only
18 inches deep at the time.

Here we go.

McGEE:
So Ducky...

all right...

our deceased is

Petty Officer First Class
Edward Bick.

Stationed at Norfolk, assigned
to the USS Lockwood.

Fish him out.

Uh, boss, this really
is a HazMat situation.

You know, they did red-tag this
hot tub for mosquito larva.

I think we really should call...

Get in the hot tub, Tim.

I bet you're not used
to hearing that, huh?

"Get in the hot tub, Tim."

Actually, I used to study
in a Jacuzzi, in college.

McGEE:
We had one up
on the roof of the dorm.

And you would study
in the Jacuzzi.

Of course you would.

Ooh.

Ah-- Archimedes' theory, boss.

My foot mass is going to
displace enough liquid

to breach over
the top of the boots.

It's more than a theory, it's a
proven scientific fact, McGee.

Swim, Tim.

[horrified
exclamation]

Okay...

[disgusted laughter]

TONY: This reminds me of
the I Love Lucy

grape-squishing episode.

I love that episode.

JIMMY:
Lucy gets dressed up
like a gypsy,

and then she jumps
into the vat of grapes,

so Ricky won't find out.

It's inappropriate.
Sorry.

Crime scene.

[grunting]

[camera snapping]

Got a time of death?

Ah, the body's been in the water

too long to determine that.

GIBBS:
You got a causeof death, Duck?

DUCKY:
Well, I won't know for certain

until I get him
back on the table.

Yeah, we got a through-and-
through here, Doctor.

Ziva! You find that round?

Found part of it.

Shooter had to be standing
somewhere over there.

Well, there's nothing
in the tub.

Yep, nothing here.

He policed his brass
or used a revolver.

This could've been
a violent drowning.

But perhaps not here.

Body was dumped.

If he was already dead when he
got here, then why shoot him?

What have we here?

DUCKY:
His abdomen's been slit open.

Also his stomach.

Somebody was
looking for something

in our dead sailor.

Why would they zip
his jacket back up?

Dumped body.

Easy to transport.
Less messy.

Well, I don't see
anything, Doctor.

Maybe they found what
they were looking for.

ZIVA:
Petty Officer Edward Bick
grew up in Concord, California.

Currently stationed at Norfolk,
assigned to the USS Lockwood.

McGEE:
Bick recently served
two tours in Afghanistan.

He was in the medical supply
corps for the last four years.

Immaculate
service record.

No enemies, no
disciplinary action.

Yet he ends up
in a strange hot tub,

filleted like a fish.

Family.

Married to his
high-school sweetheart.

Tara Bick.

She was a cheerleader;
he was her tight-end.

Okay. Start with the wife.
Tony, Ziva.

Um, I would prefer...I can't, she's very
talented but...

And I would rather
be fishing. Go!

Interviewing the widow, boss.

McGee.

Uh, I'll look,
I'll look into

Bick's last movements,
before he disappeared.

[typing]

This wasn't supposed to happen.

Eddie was being so careful.

[sobbing quietly]

[sniffles]

We were about to
start a family.

Is there anything
you can tell us

about your husband,
Mrs. Bick?

Had anything out of the
ordinary happened recently?

Tara!

Jason.

I jumped in the car
as soon as I heard.

I'm so sorry.

Jason, these are
NCIS agents.

They're investigating
Eddie's death.

How did you know
Petty Officer Bick?

Ed and I were stationed
on the Lockwoodtogether.

JASON:
We were tight.

I knew something
like this would happen.

Knew how?

Ed had been acting all nervous.

Really out of character for him.

Eddie was fearless.

Tell them.

Tara, I can't.

TARA:
Tell them, Jason.

Or I will.

Eddie was selected for
a special duty assignment.

Special assignment.

On the Lockwood?

No, Ed hadn't stepped foot on
the Lockwoodin over two months.

Duty roster shows
he signed in every day.

Yeah? Well, don't believe
everything you read.

What's that supposed to mean?

It means, whatever secret
assignment Ed was on,

it probably got him killed.

Well, do you know
that for a fact?

My husband told me he
thought he was being watched.

Was he?

Three nights ago,
I heard something outside.

I found Eddie peeking out
the living room window.

He said somebody was
watching the house.

Did you see anyone?

No.

But I heard
a car drive off.

Whatever he saw,

whoever he was
working with,

that's what
got him killed.

Hey, you got
anything, Duck?

Ah, Jethro.

Well, as I predicted,

our petty officer suffered
a violent drowning

and notwhere
the body was found.

There were no algae
in his lungs

or in his
nasal passages.

But why someone should shoot
a man after they drown him

remains a mystery.

Bullet?

Well, it entered

here, it smashed the scapula,

and then part of it exited

and lodged in that
railroad tie behind him.

I found a piece of bullet

lodged in his shirt.

It may match

the fragment
that Ziva found.

What are you doing,
Palmer, making lunch?

A... lung sandwich?

I am so sorry. Not a sandwich.

Dr. Mallard noticed
a slight irritation

in the tissue
of the lining,

indicating a possible
allergic reaction, so...

Reaction?
Mm-hmm.

To what?

It's too soon to tell.

But take a look at this

depressed fracture
of his cranium.

Note the indentation mark
on his right temple.

Remind you of something?

Bolt, maybe?

Well, it's definitely
metal of some sort.

We found minute filings and
traces of rust in the wound.

I've sent everything
up to Abby.

Hey.

Wait a minute...

Mr. Palmer!

Yes, Doctor?

A hemostat.
A small one.

There's something impacted
between his molars.

What is that?

Looks like, uh...

DUCKY:
Benjamin Franklin's
mouth and chin.

Part of a hundred-dollar bill.

Maybe that's what
they were looking for

inside of his stomach?

We found no traces of paper
in his digestive tract.

Why would he swallow money?

[elevator bell dings]ABBY: Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs!

Abby!
Help!

What are you doing?

Stuck. I can't breathe.

I've got a charley horse
in my right leg. Pull!

[grunts and groans]

It's like a thousand
cute little mice

that are pulling
the flesh off my thigh

with blowtorches...

GIBBS:
Up. Move.

...and little tiny
fondue forks. Ahh!

Point your toe.

So I bet you were wondering what
I was doing down there, huh?

Uh, no.

So last night I was
watching this documentary,

which is what I do
when I can't sleep,

which is like, every night,

but last night, it was
about this circus performer

who could compress
his body into spaces

that are actually
smaller than his body mass

which is actually
impossible, but--

Abby.

Okay, so the round

fragmented into two
when it exited the body

and it hit
the railroad tie.

So I was able to process
each half separately,

and then combine them
virtually, and... voilà !

What about the gun?
Um...

[typing]

It's a Webley.

English, a .38.

It's rare. They don't
even make 'em anymore.

Nice.
What else?

Um, I tested the water
in Petty Officer Bick's lungs.

There were high levels
of marine fuel

and a lubricant used
mostly on large Navy vessels

and it has oil
dispersants in it.

That salt water or fresh water?

It's both.

So, the water that
Bick drowned in

had to be in a place that had
salt water and fresh water,

or at least condensation.

Well, that's the
hull of a ship.

There's only 900 ships docked
at Norfolk harbor right now,

so that'll narrow it down.

What about
the head wound?

Metal shavings, rust
and a cleanser

that's used exclusively
on marine craft.

And the cleanser
is not American-made.

You good?

Yeah, I'm running the
impression spec right now,

so if I could match
like a valve...

Yeah, go.
Make it happen, Abbs.

...a valve... or a flange...
to a specific ship...

Thank you, Gibbs!

Apologize.
For what?

For being you.

Sweetheart, if I had a dollar
for every time I'd done that,

I'd be loaded.

[typing]

You could've just asked
to see my email.

You knew I was curious;
you could've just told me.Hmm!

Somebody tell me something.

TONY:
Boss! This is what we've got.

Nothing.

McGee, explain why
we have nothing.

McGEE:
We ran into a firewall, boss.

Petty Officer Bick was working
on a classified Navy project

in conjunction with the CIA,

which NCIS hasn't
been read into.

So until the SecNav
gives us access, we got--

ABBY:
Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs!

I found our bolt of lightning.

Actually, it's not a bolt.

By mapping the impact
points on Bick's head,

I matched it to a

steam control valve.

But not just any
steam control valve.

This one is an exact match

to a specific piece
of plumbing on a ship.

Made by who?

ABBY:
Barish Industries.

They're out of Liverpool,

but they make transport vessels
for the British Royal Navy.

[typing]

The only British Royal Navy ship
currently berthed at Norfolk

is the HMS Sparrow-Hawk.

So that means
the murder occurred

on a British naval vessel.

Which means our crime scene
technically on British soil.

Do we have the authority
to investigate this, boss?

[conversing quietly]

Major Malloy, British Royal
Marines, Special Agent Gibbs.

Pleasure to make
your acquaintance .

VANCE:
Major Malloy's the liaison
between the U.S. and British

Navies while their
ship's in our port.

Mm. We need access
to your ship.

VANCE:
I've already
requested permission

for NCIS to board
the Sparrow-Hawk.

And unfortunately,

Sparrow-Hawk'sorders
are to set sail at 1100.

Right.

But we have reason to believe
a U.S. sailor died on board.

Means your ship's
a crime scene.

Yes. Unfortunately,
my orders--

U.K. and the U.S.

have a status-of-forces
agreement.

I'm well aware
of that agreement.

Then you're aware that NCIS has
the authority to investigate

a crime committed on a
British ship in U.S. waters.

With one exception.

If the mission

of the British vessel is
deemed of a critical nature.

Then its departure
cannot be disrupted.

I'm terribly sorry,
gentlemen, but I'm afraid

Her Majesty's vessel will
be leaving in two hours.

GIBBS:
Good luck getting
out of port.

Excuse me.

Am I missing something
here? I'm sorry...

Yeah.

[door slams]

You're sailing off
with my crime scene!

Gibbs...

You Yanks really are a bit
like John Wayne, aren't you?

Gary Cooper.

Oh, Sergeant York.

How silly of me. Yes.

You know, I heard you're
a former Marine, Gibbs.

Always a Marine, Malloy.

Mm. Well, did you know
that your Marine Corps

was modeled after its
British counterpart?

What's your point?

I think you should
remember that we are allies.

And I think you should
start acting like one.

I've got a murderer
on my hands.

Maybe, he's
on your ship.

I'm calling SecNav.

Before the two of you get into
a saber duel in the parking lot.

VANCE:
Get me the Secretary
of the Navy.

MALLOY:
Charming facility.

Agent Gibbs.

Is this your team?

Everybody:

Peter Malloy.

Major, British
Royal Marines.

Probationary Agent
Ziva David.

Now... Israeli. Tel Aviv.

Do I detect a trace
of the Haifa Coast?

Very good.

North London.

Ah. Precisely, yes.

Pleasure's all
mine, mate.

Anthony DiNozzo.

My brother's name
is Anthony.

Best man at my wedding.

It was a previous
marriage, of course.

Of course.

MALLOY:
And who might you be, sir?

Ah, I'm Special Agent
Timothy McGee.

Oh, an Irishman.

Well, I promise I won't
hold that against you.

Ha!

Okay.

We done with our
tea and crumpets?

Malloy... beat it.

VANCE:
Not so fast.

SecNav has granted NCIS

permission to board
the Sparrow-Hawk.

Yes, well, I shall
need to get clearance

from Fleet Command
in London.

You understand.
It's a formality.

Long as it doesn't take time.

Agent David.

VANCE:
Have you ever
been to Zurich?

Several times.

Good. Today,
you're Switzerland,

between England and the U.S.

Boss, Abby needs
to see you.

Abby.

Exhibit A.

Actually, it's
evidence exhibit 2731.

In this jar

is the scrap of the
hundred-dollar bill
that was pulled from

Petty Officer
Bick's la boca.

La bocais Spanish
for--

Mouth. Yeah, I know, Abbs.
Use yours. Faster. Please.

Well, allow me to
show you the money.

The money is coated in an
ultraviolet fluorescent powder.

It's invisible to the naked eye.

Undetectable, except
for the black light,

and it's transferable
to anyone who touches it.

So, anyone who
touches the cash--

Lights up like a Christmas tree.

Now, I ran the
black light over

Petty Officer
Bick's stomach.

He swallowed at least
one entire bill

before someone
cut it out of him.

But watch this.

[radio static]

Radioactive?
Nope. Better.

The cash is emitting
low-watt radio waves.

Old-school.

I mean, we're talking
crystal radio technology.

You're kidding me.

I built a crystal
radio when I was 11.

ABBY:
So, the powder

is emitting a radio signal.
If we knew the frequency,

you could track this cash,

and anyone who touched it,
for miles.

Okay. So we can track it.

No, because we
don't have enough

to determine
the exact frequency.

The sample's too small.

We need more dinero
for that.

Dinero is Spanish for--

Yeah, I know, Abbs.

So where do we find the dinero?

Well, since the CIA uses this
tracking technology, Gibbs,

the CIA's ATM.

Ms. Tennison?

Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS.

You, uh, you head of the
CIA office here in Norfolk?

Thanks.

Uh... walk with me.

Thank you.

You know this sailor?

No.

His name's Petty Officer
Edward Bick.

We think he was working
with the CIA here in Norfolk.

CIA doesn't operate
domestically.

[chuckles]

Really. What's
all this, then?

TENNISON:
Staging for an
operation off-shore.

Did, uh, Bick work
with you or not?

Hold on.

Hey.

This man was murdered.

In Norfolk, here.

If you know something
about it, now would be

a pretty damn good
time to tell me.

Like I said,

the Central Intelligence
Agency is restricted from

conducting operations within
the borders of this country.

So, if he was killed here,
we have no knowledge of it.

We found this inside him.

Piece of a tagged
one-hundred-dollar bill.

Figure it belongs to you.

I think somebody stole
CIA money in Norfolk.

And whoever stole that money,

killed a United States
petty officer.

There was a CIA mission to
deliver cash to warlords

and tribal leaders in
Helmand Province, Afghanistan.

Sometimes we pay the
enemies of our enemies.

Helmund is under
British control.

May I go now?

How much money?

[sighs]

We scrubbed the
mission last week.

The money never made
it onto the ship.

Petty Officer Bick couldn't
have been killed for the cash.

I'm afraid I can't help you.

[cell phone rings]

Yeah. It's Gibbs.

TONY:
Boss, Malloy's
at NATO Headquarters,

trying to get permission
to set sail.

Well, don't let him leave.

What?

I'm just watching the pheromones
ooze from your body.

I do not see anything.

[laughs]
That's because
they're invisible.

It's just a musky scent

given off to attract
the opposite sex.

Now you're being
ridiculous.

Oh, no. It's true.

Think about it.

First you had
your little Miami Vice.

Now Prince Albert in a can.

[laughing]

Oh, they can't help it.

You're just a walking
Israeli love machine.

He is...

charming.

What is it with chicks
and Brits?

Jagger, Bono,
Beatles, Bond.

I'm not into bondage.

I can assure you.

Hello.

How are you?

Oh, bad news, I'm afraid.

British Fleet Command
and CENTCOM

have just requested
that we leave immediately.

Tell your Agent Gibbs
I am sorry.

Well...

It takes a big ship several
minutes to get underway.

Couldn't we
just do a quickie?

[indistinct PA announcement,
ship horn blows]

TONY:
It's like looking for a needle
in a haystack.

Why would anyone leave a needle
in a stack of hay, anyway?

Oh, Lord.

So, according to
the ship plans Abby sent,

the valve in question...

should be somewhere

through here.

[water dripping]

Tony, look
over there.

I see it.

Perfect match.

Well, that's enough water

to drown a man.

[metal rumbling]

There you are.

CENTCOM's just moved up
our departure.

You'll have to leave.

What about
our quickie?

Weather alert.

Headwinds off
the Atlantic current

require us to depart
immediately.

But we just found
our crime scene.

Oh, that's a pity.

My men will have to deal
with it from our end.

I have my orders.

What if we want
to stay on board?

12 miles out to sea,
and you'll be in

international waters.

Your jurisdiction ends there.

Follow me.

I'm calling Gibbs.

[alarm blaring]

Excuse me.

What's happening?

It's a warning light
for the turbines.

It could be nothing,
but we have to run a diagnostic.

Hey. Trouble?

Big ship.

A lot could go wrong.

Boss.

Get back down there,
keep processing.

Oh, lucky break, huh?

We got some time.

DiNozzo.

No such thing as luck.

Are you accusing me
of something, Malloy?

Yes, sabotage.

That's a serious accusation.

It's a serious
crime, mate.

Prove it.

JAMISON:
Bracket broke loose

in the engine room;
we replaced it.

We depart

in ten minutes.

Please escort your people
from my ship.

What did Gibbs say
we were looking for?

Pixie dust.

We're looking
for drugs now?

Not exactly, Tinker Bell.

Would you please, uh, find out
how to turn off that light?

'Cause I need it as dark
as possible in here, thanks.

Better?

Yeah, that's much
better, thanks.

[engines starting up,
Klaxon sounds]
Uh-oh.

They're preparing
to leave port.
Yeah.

TONY:
You see how the racking powder
shows up in the black light?

What do you know.

Money talks.

[camera snaps]

Okay, put these last two
on the manifest

and give me an inventory report

of everything
coming off the ship.

Okay.Thank you.

Agent Gibbs.

There someplace
we can talk?

I thought we
already talked.

Talk again?

You lied to me.

Money was on this ship.

No, there wasn't.

We scrubbed the
last mission.

But we've used that ship before
to transport painted cash.

So we can
track it back

to targets we might
want to eliminate.

Just not this time.

According to the ship
logs on the Sparrow-Hawk,

that ship hasn't been to
the Mid East one time.

Not one time.

[sighs]

We are the CIA, Agent Gibbs.

We don't leave paper trails.

He swallowed the money
just before he died

to prove that
it was there.

Listen, I worked with
Petty Officer Bick.

Okay, he was
a good guy.

I liked him a lot.

Got a funny way
of showing it, ma'am.

There were only
three people

who knew the money was
on board that ship.

Bick, who was in
charge of guarding it;

myself, who just lost

$3 million
in CIA money;

and the limey bastard in
charge of coordinating

the helicopter money drops
to Helmand Province.

Malloy.

Yeah.

You do the math.

[phone ringing]

[phone beeps on]

GIBBS:
What, McGee?Boss, hey.

I got surveillance footage in

from the east gate
at the Norfolk shipyard.

Yeah, and?

Shows Major Malloy's car
leaving the gate

minutes after Bick was murdered.

Phone records?

Let me access
his British carrier.

[computer trilling]

Call was made from Malloy's cell

less than a quarter-mile
from where the body was dumped

the night of the murder, boss.

Get DiNozzo and Ziva
to go pick him up.

Isn't he on the ship?

Send a helo from Norfolk.

That ship is still
in American waters.

Got it.

[phone beeps off]

You know, it's hardly surprising

all of your tea
tastes like paper, now, is it?

Petty Officer Bick was
assigned guard duty

to watch over $3 million
in marked CIA cash.

Well, I'm a liaison officer.

I just coordinate
between the Royal Navy,

U.S. and NATO forces.

Where's the money?

I have no idea.

You own a
Webley revolver?

I do, yes.

It's in my flat in London.

The, uh, flat in London
that's in foreclosure?

Had a few poor investments
in Greece.

Hmm.

That's an interesting
motive for stealing cash

from the CIA's slush fund

that they wouldn't
want reported missing.

Well, that's interesting
conjecture.

Call the night of the murder
came from your cell phone.

Four blocks from
where the body was dumped.

Right, well, there's only two
tiny flaws in your theory here.

I didn't kill anyone,
and I didn't steal the currency.

I mean, where is
the cash, Gibbs?

Where is it?

Where's any evidence,
for that matter?

Where is DNA?
Where is a murder weapon?

Where is an eyewitness?

You know,
I-I should like to call

the British Consulate
now, please.

All right, you have to
press charges or I'm walking.

You have absolutely
no right to keep me here.

[door closes]

Abby, talk to me, now.

Somebody took a bite out of
the crabby apple tree today.

Abby.

Okay, bad news.

Still can't I.D.

the trace elements that caused

the allergic reaction in Petty
Officer Bick's lung tissue.

You called me down here
to tell me what you don't have?

Oh, blasphemy!
I would never do that.

I got a clean print
on Major Malloy.

Never throw your tea
away at NCIS, Gibbs.

Yeah, and?

And I ran it through NATO,
Interpol and the British

Royal Navy databases--
nothing, Gibbs.

He's not in
any of them.

How great is that?

The guy's a-a bogus
British sailor.

He's a faux seaman.

He's an imposter.
Who is he?

He's MI-6.

British Secret Service.

He's on a special attaché
attached to the Sparrow-Hawk

whenever it's docked
in an American port.

Where's Malloy?

Walked out
a while ago, boss,

with a rep from
the British Consulate.

McGee, track his cell phone.

On it.

[typing]

[computer trilling]

I can't. He's turned it off.

Then track something
from the past few weeks.

Cell footprints.

He's made multiple calls
from a single location.

Here in D.C.? I thought he was
on a ship in Norfolk.

Give me a location.

It's a hotel.

The Drake.

Constitution and
14th Southwest.

Okay. Ziva, DiNozzo,
you're with me.

He's in room 238, boss.

Anything?

We're clear.

Clear.

I'll put a
BOLO out.

Yeah, Ziva.

Tracking powder.

Money was here.

Malloy and the money both gone.

DiNozzo.

BOLOs-R-Us, boss.

We got the entire
Eastern seaboard covered.

Metro P.D. is on the bus,
train and subway stations.

We've alerted airport police,
the state troopers

in Maryland and Virginia.

Customs and ICE
are staying frosty.

Secret Service Uniformed
Division is monitoring

the British Embassy
and Consulate.

McGEE:
And the Coast Guard's
got the shipyards wired.

Good work.

Complimented us.

That's never a good sign.

Congratulations, Agent Gibbs.

You've somehow managed to tick
off both your own government

and one of our closest allies.

Call the CIA, have them
track their money.

Tennison's already
complained about you.

The tracking powder
wasn't meant to help us.

CIA doesn't want this cas
solved, they want it to go away.

ZIVA:
Why?

Paying criminals in the Middle
East is not a state secret.

This time, it's different.

These payments were earmarked
for groups in Afghanistan.

Groups that we're not supposed
to be in business with.

Then let's get out of business
with them and solve this case.

The CIA brought down the Taliban
in eight weeks back in '02;

I think they've earned
a little leeway.

Ziva, contact the British
Consulate worker...

You've done enough.

Cool off, Gibbs.

We'll catch this killer.

I don't want this to turn into

some international incident.

[slamming phone]

[slamming drawer]

Find him.

[door slams shut]

MALLOY:
Cheers, Gibbs.

You know, it does read "beer"
on the label here,

but unfortunately
it tastes

rather more like horse
excrement.

MI-6 knows my address.
I'm flattered.

Yes, I do apologize
if I misled you.

What are you
doing here, really?

I need your help.

[sighs]

I'm not a lawyer.No, well, it's not

your law that I'm
in trouble with.

It's much worse than that.
Do you have pretzels?

You have ten seconds...

...until I accidentally shoot
you for trespassing.

I've been set up.

You know,
I thought MI-6 were good,

but your CIA,
they're very impressive.

That three million in marked CIA
money, it was on the ship.

[Velcro rips]

$10,000.
That's for the beer.

You can keep the change.

That's for the ship.

Should be enough currency there

for you to track
the CIA frequency.

That'll lead you to the rest,

and to the person who is
responsible.

What's in it for me?

You get your killer.

Hmm? What's in it for you?

I don't get killed.

Hey, boss, good news.

A guy fitting Malloy's
description

just paid cash
for a ticket to Glasgow.

It wasn't me.

Gibbs, how did
you find him?I didn't.

He found me.

Ziva, you watch him.

Watch him like Syria,
not Switzerland.

Mm-hmm.[cell phone rings]

Yeah, Abby, hi.

Gibbs, I got something.Yeah. Coming.

TONY: So, you're a
British person.Yes, I am.

You like Peter Sellers?

Yes, I do.

What's his best movie?

Strangelove.

Kubrick.

That's good.

It's not his best.

That would be Being There.

Nice. Well, do you like
What's New, Pussycat?

Sellers is terrific in that.

You like Dudley Moore?

Yes, I do like Dudley Moore.

But I prefer his earlier work
with Peter Cook.

Peter Cook?
Peter Cook!

Nobody knows about
Peter Cook anymore.

Beyond the Fringe? Oh, it's just
extraordinary.

Gibbs, meet my
new main squeeze.

This is Ken the SEM.

My new scanning
electron microscope.

This baby can magnify
up to 500,000 times.

Mm-hmm. See anything good?

Pollen!

GIBBS:
Pollen?

It's only the biggest forensic
science breakthrough since DNA.

And this isn't
just any pollen.

It's a specific strain of
the Cordyline fruticosa.

See, every plant

has its own fingerprint,
as specific

and unique as DNA.
This pollen came from

Petty Officer Bick's
lung tissue.

This helps us how?

Pollen is embedded
in everything.

And it stays embedded
for months.

It's nearly impossible
to wash off.

It sticks using

these microscopic
little hookie things.Meaning?

Meaning, I can track where
someone's been

and who they've been in close
contact with simply by

looking at the pollen spores
that are in their clothes,

and their hair
and their lungs...What's the point, Abbs?

The pollen that was in
Petty Officer Bick's lungs

is found only one
place on earth...

Diego Garcia?

An isolated military base in the
middle of the Indian Ocean.

Guess where Petty Officer
Bick has never been

in his entire life.Diego Garcia.

Exactly! Which means
that whoever

was in close contact with Bick--
and when I say "close," I mean

like close enough to,

say, drown him and cut him open,
transferring the pollen spores--

that's your killer.

[grunts playfully]

McGEE:
Okay, here's the map of
the Diego Garcia Air Force Base.

[computer beeping]

What's that right there?

[typing]

It's a level-three
security facility.

It's not on
the basic map directory.

Well, then make it
un-basic, McGee.

Who is the most recent
station chief there?

Well, boss, that would require
me hacking into...

Do it, Agent McGee.

Well, I'll be damned.

Time to go above
her head, Leon.Happy to.

[typing]

McGee?

CIA's preparing to activate
their cash-tracking software.

This'll show us exactly where

the marked money can be found
at this very moment.

She's hiding it
all over town.

No, it's not hidden.
It's spent. McGee...

[typing]

You're right, boss.
Looks like the money has been

spent at vendors
all over the city.

How'd she do it?
She didn't.

The Royal Navy did.

Got the manifest for
the Sparrow-Hawk?

McGEE: Over a million in cash
was on the Sparrow-Hawk.

Payroll while
they were at sea.

They use U.S. dollars, since
they're accepted at every port.

Sailors get paid, come into town
on leave...

So, somebody switched out
the CIA's marked money

with the Brits'
clean currency.
Laundering.

Malloy had access. How do we
know he wasn't involved in it?

We don't. Petty Officer Bick
must have figured it out.

So she killed him.
She's still got

additional currency to switch
out, too, so what's next?

McGee, where's Tennison?

Tennison...

She just arranged for a Navy
helo to transport her

to the USS Tripoli.

Calls?

Initiate cell search.

All right,
multiple recent cell calls

to a Lieutenant Malcolm Dufrain
on board.

Works in the Tripoli's
disbursement office.

Dufrain must be her new contact

to switch out the
rest of the money.

What's her ETA?

Pulling up Tennison's
flight request.

Right here's the time
of departure.

Here's her arrival
on the ship.

McGee.
You can beat it.

[indistinct chatter]

I got it.All right.

Lieutenant Dufrain,

sorry I'm late.

Yes, now I assume

you'll be wanting to exchange
this for smaller bills.

What are you doing here?

Give me the money, Tennison.

Not so fast.

An English pistol.

You killed that Yank sailor,
didn't you?

I killed him because he
saw what I was doing,

and he tried to stop me.

Don't make the same
mistake he did.

I think you just made
the mistake.

You're under arrest

for the murder of
Petty Officer Edward Bick.

A Webley.
Bet it matches our slug.

The money was going to drug
smugglers and opium growers.

You think it
actually matters
whose side we're on?

It all ends up the same
in the end, anyway.

Hell, I was probably saving
lives by keeping the money.

You didn't save Bick's.

[chuckling]

E-mailing Señor South Beach?

Perhaps.

Well, I like that there's

someone out there
that makes you smile.

[chuckling] Yes, there is.

Yeah, maybe
I can meet him someday.

Maybe... one day.

Got a big date tonight?

Um, no. I'm going home.

Uh, Tony, I have a question.

Shoot.

If and when you
meet my friend--

and I emphasize if--

what will you say?

"Be careful."

[chuckles]

Um...

"Handle with care."

"Contents priceless."

Good night, Tony.

Good night, Ziva.

[grunts]
Gotta get my keys.

[elevator bell dings]

[alarms blaring]

Aah!

Shh-shh-shh-shh-shh!

Oh, come on...!

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