Original subtitles

Previously on Elementary...

My father is, uh...

he's schizophrenic and homeless.

Sometimes he recognizes me.

Sometimes he doesn't.

It just depends on if he's on his meds.

I have something called post-concussion syndrome.

The doctor is loathe

to make any promises.

Things could get worse before they get better.

Can't remember why I entered this room.

Well, we all walk into rooms sometimes and forget why.

It happens to everyone.

Mm, not to me it doesn't.

If I can no longer function as a detective,

I-I'm just not sure

I can stay sober, and if I can't stay sober,

how is my brain gonna heal?

I'm glad you came.

My mom really appreciated it.

Of course.

He was my father, too.

Your eulogy was beautiful.

He would've loved it.

Probably would've depended

whether he was on his meds or not.

Last time I saw him, his schizophrenia was pretty bad.

Talking to him was tough.

How are you holding up?

Honestly...

I wish I felt more.

I was so young

when he left that I don't really remember him.

I mean, you and your mother, you spent years with him.

I mean, he was my father, but he was your dad.

I don't want this to be the only time I see you this week.

Are you free for lunch tomorrow?

Of course.

Oh, that's Sherlock at the gate.

Why don't you call me

and tell me where you want me to meet you

and I will be there. - Okay.

No, I don't know how long I'm gonna be.

I've got to go to the office and file a report.

This again? Seriously?

I'm not cheating on you.

I'm-I'm dealing with an emergency, a big one.

Hand to God, Heather, I'm not having an affair.

One, two, three.

Gentlemen, hi. Just a moment, if you would.

I'd like a quick look before you take him away.

Cool, man. He's with the police.

Be our guest.

Think you wasted a trip.

MLI was already here.

Confirmed the witness statements.

Guy died from a lightning strike.

So, if you're thinking foul play,

you might just have to take it up with God.

Ordinarily, I would,

but medicolegal investigator got it wrong.

This man was not killed

by God or by Zeus

or Indra or any other bolt-flinging deity.

You know, it's impossible

for someone to be struck by lightning

on a Midtown sidewalk.

The surrounding skyscrapers

act as lightning rods.

He has burns all over his body.

He does.

But I think the lightning that struck him was man-made.

This is a murder.

♪ Elementary 6x02 ♪ Once You've Ruled Out God Original Air Date on May

== sync, corrected by elderman == @elder_man

Note the location of the lightning strike,

near his right hip.

Hit in the pelvis

by a billion bolts of electricity.

Ouch.

Luckily for him, death would've been nigh instantaneous.

What matters is

that natural lightning would never have struck a standing man

in his lower torso.

The scorch marks would start on his head or upper body.

Precisely.

But this bolt of lightning did not travel vertically.

It travelled parallel to the ground, like a bullet

- fired from a gun. - I don't see any

puncture marks that would indicate he was hit by a Taser,

and the burn patterns don't match a stun gun

or a cattle prod.

You're thinking something more exotic?

A heretofore unknown weapon.

Possibly experimental.

Killer's freeze ray was probably in the shop,

so he used his lightning gun instead.

Not as unlikely as it sounds.

According to the badge in his personal effects,

our victim's name is Rohan Giri.

He was an inspector for the Department of Energy.

He spent his days stalking the halls

of nuclear power plants, scientific research labs.

And looking at his social media, his wife is a physicist,

as are most of the couple's friends.

So, he knew a lot of people

who could, in theory, create artificial lightning.

Marcus.

He says you asked him to look into the wife.

Found a couple of domestic disputes

and accusations of infidelity on both sides.

Perhaps Mr. Giri's wife throws things when she gets angry,

only she can throw lightning.

She's on her way to the precinct right now.

You want in on the interview?

I'll call Marcus, tell him you're coming.

I can't go. I have lunch with Lin.

Given your father's recent passing,

I don't think you'll be blamed for missing an interview.

I'm fine. You're the one who's supposed to be taking it easy.

Well, I am pacing myself.

Have you tried any of those exercises I gave you yet?

Sorting things by color, assembling children's puzzles?

No. If the point is to test my cognitive skills,

much rather do so by solving a murder.

I don't understand.

I thought you said Rohan was killed by lightning.

You're a physicist, Professor Giri.

Tell us, would it be possible for your husband

to be struck by lightning in this part of town?

No.

N-No. The-the buildings would've drawn the charge.

See, we're exploring the possibility

that Rohan was killed by some kind of electrical weapon.

Something experimental, maybe.

I'm a suspect, aren't I?

That's why you called me down here.

Look, you and your husband fought a lot.

Police were called to your residence

on more than one occasion.

We also know that you caused

a public disturbance at a bar

when you accused Rohan of cheating.

Maybe you'd finally had enough.

What I said that night... I didn't mean it.

I knew Rohan wasn't cheating on me.

I was cheating on him.

I'm working a lot of late hours with my colleague, Jose.

Rohan seemed suspicious, so I...

So you accused him of an affair

in order to distract from your own infidelity.

Talk to Jose.

He isn't just my lover.

He's my alibi.

We were having dinner when Rohan was killed.

I'm sure the waiter remembers us, maybe some of the staff.

All right, we're gonna need the name of the restaurant.

Well, you should know, even if I wanted

to kill my husband with weaponized lightning,

I wouldn't know how.

I'm a cosmologist.

So is Jose.

We study the nature of the universe.

It isn't exactly practical.

Neither one of us

would know where to begin to build an LIPC.

An LIPC?

A laser-induced plasma channel.

An electrolaser.

It's a lightning gun, basically.

The kind of weapon you think killed Rohan.

You familiar with that technology?

I've read articles.

Electrolasers are still very experimental,

but I do know a few labs that are developing them.

Tell us, any of those labs in New York?

Lin, hey.

They wouldn't seat you without me here?

Actually, they didn't seat me because I didn't ask them to,

because I can't stay.

A colleague came down with a stomach bug.

I have to show a house for her at 1:30.

Oh, you should've called me.

I still needed to see you.

I got a call this morning from the shelter

where Dad was staying.

They said they had some of his personal effects

and they were wondering if I wanted them.

I don't know. I guess I thought I might find

an old picture of me or my mom

or some grade school art project I gave him.

Something he kept to remember me by.

What do they have for you?

His water bottle, a watch that didn't work,

an old dictionary I'm pretty sure he dug out of a Dumpster,

and this.

That's your Chinese name, right?

Yun Jingyi?

I don't understand. He wrote us letters?

Just you.

No.

It's okay. Seriously.

At least he remembered one of us, right?

If you're wondering why it's in such great shape,

he kept it flat in the middle of his dictionary.

I think it was important to him.

And despite what you thought,

I think you were important to him, too.

Just so you know, Sparky isn't a lightning gun,

more like a giant, freaking lightning cannon.

And your lab built Sparky for the military?

Hopefully. We're trying to win an Air Force contract.

They want to mount LIPCs on their planes.

The problem is Sparky's way too big

to fit in a jet fuselage right now.

That's where Rohan Giri came in.

Thought he was just an inspector.

He is. Was.

I mean, I only met him yesterday,

but his inspection was a big deal for us.

Like I said, Sparky needs to trim down.

His power generation and storage system

is big and bulky.

The only way to make those components smaller

is to go nuclear.

So we built him a mini reactor.

But to test it, we need access to fissionable materials.

Like uranium?

In our case, plutonium.

Mr. Giri was here

to inspect our containment facilities.

His approval would've gotten us

a lot closer to our goal

and a big payout from the Air Force.

So, believe me, no one here wanted him dead.

Not even if he was gonna fail you?

Failed inspection still would've been progress.

Would've told us what to fix.

Meet Sparky, the wonder cannon.

So, I take it you put it in a truck

so you could take it somewhere for testing.

That implies it's fully operational?

Yeah. We're scheduled for

a test firing at Brookhaven National Laboratory

later this week.

We loaded Sparky up three days ago

and no one's moved him since.

He isn't your murder weapon.

Hmm, look at these dust patterns.

Scattered showers last night.

This van was recently dotted with rain,

despite being parked in a garage with a covered roof.

Correct me if I'm wrong, Mr. Kwan,

but the only way it could have gotten wet

is if someone was driving it around in the rain.

Well, that's not possible.

I'll check the onboard logs.

They'll show if the cannon was fired.

There's nothing.

You're saying the logs don't show the cannon was fired?

I'm saying the logs are blank.

They're set to record a charge level every 30 minutes,

but there's no record for this morning at 5:00 a.m.

Someone wiped the logs.

I need to check the security tapes,

see who's been messing with Sparky.

They've probably been wiped as well.

This is almost certainly an inside job,

judging by the position of the seat and the mirrors,

perpetrated by someone who's about six-foot-three.

Any of your employees match that description?

No, none of our employees are that tall.

But the guy who's financing us is.

When we found out you matched the description

of our killer, Mr. Amberlin,

we tried to speak with you right away,

but you weren't in.

Committing murder can be rather unsettling,

so small wonder you didn't feel like

going to work today.

I had a stomach bug.

You do look rather queasy.

Nausea can have many causes:

food-borne viruses, shock, guilt.

Radiation poisoning.

Have you been exposed to any

radioactive materials lately?

No. That's crazy.

We don't think it is.

When your head engineer brought us to your office,

he spotted this behind your desk.

Said it's a dosimeter.

Lets you know if you've been exposed to radiation.

Prior to that, he told us that your lab required plutonium

to perfect your electrolaser, but you hadn't been able

to procure any yet-- at least not legally.

So we're wondering, why do you have a dosimeter?

Your secretary told us you recently went to Japan.

So?

So Japan had to scale down their nuclear power program

after the Fukushima disaster.

As a result, they've got a lot of plutonium lying around.

We think you took some off their hands.

Mr. Giri's visit was of the surprise variety, wasn't it?

He saw something he wasn't supposed to.

Perhaps it was the dosimeter,

perhaps it was something else.

In any event, he realized that you were in possession

of black market plutonium,

he confronted you about it, and you killed him.

This is you driving through toll booths last night

in the truck that houses Sparky.

You took your lightning cannon into Manhattan

so you could kill Rohan Giri,

then you drove it back and wiped its logs.

Look, you don't want to cop to it, fine.

But we're pretty sure a jury is gonna see it

just like we do.

I didn't mean to kill him, okay?

I just thought it would knock him out,

maybe put him in the hospital for a few days.

I was just trying to buy myself time.

To do what?

To find my plutonium.

You were right,

about everything.

I went to Japan, I bought plutonium illegally

and had it smuggled back into the States.

About a week ago,

it was stolen.

It could be it was just a little corporate espionage--

some other lab working on an LIPC, trying to set us back--

but I don't think I'm that lucky.

If it was terrorists, then we're all in trouble.

'Cause they made off with enough plutonium

to kill hundreds of thousands of people.

This is Agent Kohler, NNSA.

Hello, everyone.

He'll be taking over the investigation

into the missing plutonium.

NNSA?

National Nuclear Security Administration.

We're part of the DoE, like Inspector Giri,

but we're the guys who show up when things get ugly.

Actual plutonium missing

in the greater New York area,

possibly in the hands of terrorists,

that's our worst-case scenario.

Whoa, what are we talking about here,

a nuclear bomb?

According to Mr. Amberlin,

he didn't have enough plutonium on hand

for a full-scale nuclear weapon.

Agent Kohler fears a dirty bomb.

Yeah.

Take a conventional explosive, you coat it with plutonium,

and then you set it off.

It would spread the plutonium far and wide,

poison thousands of people.

It would contaminate the blast area for decades.

If there is a bomb out there,

it could be headed anywhere.

But let's face it, this is New York.

Show me a terrorist who doesn't want to bomb us.

We got to assume we're the target.

My people have sophisticated equipment.

It might be able to detect the plutonium.

So, uh, we'll spearhead the search.

We'll look into the robbery, see if we can

find out who stole the plutonium,

and maybe figure out where it went.

Excuse me a moment.

- You okay? - Yeah. The, um,

the light in there was just bothering my eyes.

It's possible I overdid it today.

Let's get you home.

Perhaps you missed the part about the potential

weapon of mass destruction needing to be found.

No, I didn't.

But the next step would be to look

at the traffic camera footage from the area around the lab

where the plutonium was stolen.

We can look at that from home.

You're not doing anyone any good like this.

You feeling any better?

Sadly, I am not.

The pain is quite remarkable.

The captain just sent over the footage

from the night of the robbery.

I can go through it myself.

Just let me know if you need anything.

What I could use, given that opiates are out of the question,

is a distraction

from my condition.

The work generally provides that,

but as scrutinizing traffic patterns around the scene

of a robbery is not an option...

How was your lunch with Lin?

Actually, lunch didn't happen. Lin had to work.

But before she left, she gave me a...

a letter that my father wrote.

- To whom? - To me.

What did it say?

No clue. I threw it away.

Your long-lost father,

who is a virtual stranger to you, wrote you a missive,

and you threw it away?

The last time I got a letter from my father was in college.

It was a dozen pages long and in Chinese.

I spent hours trying to read it, and then I realized

it didn't make sense in any language.

His schizophrenia?

Yeah, it was sad and disturbing.

I didn't want to put myself through it again.

But you know what? I felt bad for Lin.

I mean, she had so many good years with him.

He stayed on his meds back then.

And then, seeing that letter, and realizing

that he remembered me, but not her...

You know, I could see that it hurt her.

Spotted something?

- What? - Spotted something in the footage?

How did...?

I'm blind. I'm not deaf.

Your breathing changed. What did you see?

Do you remember that article

about the express delivery companies

using software to optimize their drivers' routes?

Yes.

Well, there's a whole section about

how they avoid making left turns to save time and fuel.

I just saw an express

delivery van making a left turn

at 127th Street and 20th at 3:00 a.m.

on the night of the robbery.

The late hour

and the inefficient left are suspicious.

Can you make out the van's serial number?

Hey.

Kohler said we should keep our distance

till he gives the all-clear.

You said the van was stolen and then recovered.

Here's the company report.

Stolen out on Long Island,

and found looted and abandoned two days later in New Jersey.

Well, if our suspicions are correct,

the looting was a cover, and the van was the actual objective.

Well, the point is, the company didn't think much of it.

When something like this happens,

they just reclaim the truck,

put it back in service soon as they can.

If this one was used to transport the plutonium,

then it's a good thing you spotted it when you did,

'cause they were gonna wash it and get it back out there today.

I'm detecting radiation.

Beg your pardon?

She downloaded an app last night

that turns her phone into a Geiger counter.

For real?

It works through the camera.

You have to cover the lens with foil.

I'm not sure if I'm reading it right.

You are. May I?

This indicates alpha particles.

My guys got

a lot stronger readings around the back of the truck.

It's a sure sign that there was some plutonium inside.

Is it safe to approach? Not enough radiation

to be dangerous with a short exposure.

Shall we?

Well, I want to have kids some day.

But you go, tell us what you find.

The report includes mileage logs,

so we know exactly how far the van went

after it was stolen.

It's enough distance to account for

driving from the point of its theft to

Amberlin's lab, and then to the place where it was abandoned,

about 16 miles to spare.

Yeah, obviously, they must have taken a detour

to drop off the plutonium along the way.

There's a good amount of gravel stuck in the tire treads,

but the route from where the van was stolen

to where it was found is entirely paved.

So, you think it picked up the gravel during the detour?

Yeah, the composition of

this gravel is, I believe, consistent with that

used by the Department of Public Works in Somerset County.

If you want to find your missing plutonium,

I suggest you check properties along the gravel roads

near Bedminster, New Jersey.

House belongs to Hayden Wischer.

He's on parole.

Served seven years for making homemade bombs

and land mines for local pot farms.

Might be a coincidence that a known bomb-maker lives in

the same area where someone may have stashed a supply

of stolen plutonium, but I tend to doubt it.

Any sign of this Wischer guy?

Not yet. No one's seen him for a few days.

There's no radiation in the house,

but my guys got a hit in the driveway.

Could be naturally-occurring,

but I think we're in the right place.

Where's your other consultant?

I asked everyone to stay put

till we cleared the area.

She was trying to call Wischer's parole officer.

Couldn't get a signal, so...

Guys, you got to see this.

So I was trying to get a clear signal

when my Geiger app went off.

Gets stronger the deeper you go into the woods.

May I?

Alpha particles.

Still within safety margins, but barely.

I need a team to my location.

The plutonium may be in the woods.

Not in the woods.

Under them.

Looks like some kind

of a bunker.

You were right about Wischer.

He was using the bunker as his workshop.

No sign of the plutonium, but it's pretty damn obvious

he built an explosive device

sometime within the last week or so.

Unfortunately, it's gone.

Well, we got to find Wischer.

Get him to tell us who he built it for and where it went.

That's not gonna happen.

Wischer's dead. Shot through the eye.

I guess whoever he was working for

didn't want any loose ends.

May I?

Yeah.

Look at the tattoo.

“88” is prison gang code.

“H” is the eighth letter

of the alphabet.

So two eights stands for “H.H.”

As in “Heil, Hitler.”

That's great.

Our guy wasn't just a bomb-maker,

he was in a white power gang.

Watson, does your phone

also have an app for locating white supremacists?

Because a group of them may now be in possession

of a dirty bomb, and our best hope of finding them

has a bullet in his brain.

According to prison officials, while he was inside,

Wischer was a member of the Pure Aryan Independent Nation,

A.K.A. PAIN.

Now, he told the parole board he only joined PAIN for protection,

and that he would be done with them once he was out.

No one's ever done with a prison gang.

They promise you protection while you're locked up,

and then force you to work for them for the rest of your life.

This gang-- how extremist are they?

Well, they're part of the so-called

Christian Identity movement.

They preach that all non-whites

need to be exterminated to usher in

a new heavenly kingdom

on Earth.

So, basically, the American equivalent of the Taliban.

Now they have a weapon of mass destruction.

Or...

they rented out their bomb-maker

to build the thing for someone else.

Either way, prison gangs like PAIN have a strict hierarchy.

Something like a terrorist attack

would have to be approved by senior leadership.

Think you're talking about this guy.

Colm Frick is PAIN's top shot-caller.

Unlike a lot of prison gang leaders,

he's on the outside.

Served 20 years for manslaughter,

got paroled about two years ago.

Unfortunately, he's in the wind.

Absconded as soon as he got out.

There's been a warrant out for his arrest ever since.

Safe bet he's either planning to use the bomb himself,

or he knows who is.

Much as I'd like to help you find this guy,

I have a meeting at the Joint Operations Center,

to start preparing for large-scale evacuations,

potential mass casualties.

All the nightmare possibilities.

We'll take care of Frick.

Hopefully, we can grab him before the bomb goes off.

Hope for the best.

Prepare for the worst.

That's the rest of it.

Portrait of a hate-filled idiot.

I don't know how this guy ended up in charge of anything.

He's a high school dropout

and his whole life is a rap sheet.

Well, you only have to be the brightest bulb of a dim lot.

Racist ideology mostly attracts

failures and reprobates.

Gives them a sense of elevation

that they cannot otherwise justify.

Any luck, we'll find something which sets him apart

from his fellow dullards.

The better to track him by.

Something like this,

for example.

A list of confiscated items from... Frick's cell.

Most notably,

several dozen 15-millimeter figurines

of Napoleonic-era soldiers,

along with various paints and brushes.

He paints toy soldiers?

More than paints, I suspect.

Miniatures of that type are painted for a purpose.

I think Frick is a tabletop wargamer.

In this particular brand of wargaming,

enthusiasts use painted miniatures to refight

historical battles.

Frick went to great lengths to maintain his hobby

while he was in prison, despite the fact

that his figurines, paints and glue were all contraband.

I doubt he would abandon it now he's in hiding.

Well, these figurines seem pretty specialized.

I mean, there can't be that many places you can buy them.

In the morning, we will contact the relevant hobby shops,

and see if they have any customers matching

Frick's description. Meanwhile,

I think we should check wargaming websites,

message boards.

It's possible he appears in photographs

taken at tournaments.

I don't think you should be working on the computer.

You don't want to trigger another headache.

So far, all is well.

That's the blessing and the curse

of a condition with intermittent symptoms.

There are good days and there are bad days.

So far, today has been a good day.

Which reminds me...

Your father's letter.

I think he wrote it on one of his good days.

I threw that away for a reason.

You did.

But if you were resolved not to read it,

why not put it in your shredder instead of the trash?

Alternately, there are several fireplaces in this house.

You could easily have turned it to ash.

Maybe I'm just lazy.

You most assuredly are not.

In this case,

I suspect you were leaving yourself room to reconsider.

It was a good instinct; I advise you to follow it.

Watson.

You said that you thought that my father wrote that letter

on a good day. Why?

While I did not open it,

it was clear that it is a brief missive.

Just a few hundred Chinese characters

neatly printed on a single sheet of paper.

And given my current difficulties,

I can appreciate how much self-discipline

it would take a man in your father's condition

to write something so succinct.

Okay, so he worked hard on it.

I mean, it could be more craziness.

Unlikely.

The envelope was resting beneath the letter as he wrote it.

From the impressions thereon, it's clear

that he penned several drafts.

So?

So, from my experience,

one rarely edits when in the throes of madness.

The madman perceives

his every written word to be vital.

That letter was written by someone

in control of their faculties, at least temporarily.

But you already knew that.

I did?

You're too fine a detective to have missed it.

Then why did I throw the letter away?

If I had to guess, I'd say that you were worried

it was an attempt at rapprochement

from a man that you had already dismissed.

You were afraid to reopen old wounds.

And what's wrong with that?

Nothing.

But you are a detective.

And that letter is the final clue

in your lifelong personal mystery.

It might confirm

your theories about your father,

it might force you to reevaluate.

But it is evidence, nonetheless,

and... a good detective

must never ignore the evidence.

Well...

We have a bomb to find.

The letter can wait.

I guess playing in that tournament was a bad idea.

In hindsight.

So was holding back

your cavalry until far too late in the battle.

You missed a golden opportunity to override

your opponent's artillery.

Probably should've gotten rid of

those racist tattoos, too.

One look at those tells us you're Colm Frick,

no matter what you're calling yourself these days.

This seems like a-a lot of fuss over a parole violation.

This is about a hell of a lot more than that.

You remember Hayden Wischer?

Someone killed him?

Well it wasn't me. I can tell you that.

Nobody I know, either.

Just supposed to take your word on that?

Or use some damn sense.

I would never kill Wischer.

He made me and my friends too much money.

Building bombs?

Selling phones.

He was smart. He knew how to...

to take things apart, and put them back together.

Things like cell phones.

Precious commodity in prison.

Wischer could break them down into smaller parts

and modify them so they'd snap back together without any tools.

We got them inside one piece at a time,

and snap, snap, snap.

Presto. Profit.

So why the hell would I put a bullet in his head, huh?

Maybe because you didn't want

anyone to know that he'd built you a dirty bomb.

A what?

A conventional explosive

coated with stolen plutonium.

A weapon of mass destruction.

You...

You think I'm planning a terrorist attack?

You don't get it.

All these tattoos,

the-the white pride stuff, it's just...

it's a scam.

To keep all the foot soldiers in line.

To get the white prison guards on our side.

So, you honestly expect us to believe

that you are not a racist?

The only color me and the other PAIN leaders

really care about is green.

Money from drugs,

contraband, extortion, protection.

Mostly, we get away with it.

Now, we set off a dirty bomb,

we'd be public enemy number one.

The feds would tear us apart.

If no one in PAIN had Wischer build a bomb,

who do you think did?

Could be anybody.

Those pot farmers he used to hang out with,

they were a bunch of nutjobs.

And there's the Euros.

Euros?

A few weeks back, um, lieutenant of mine,

he gets approached by a couple of Europeans.

He said they were slick, tall, expensive suits.

They wanted a bomb.

Nothing nuclear,

just something to blow up a car, you know.

My boys set up a meeting with Wischer,

the Europeans, they didn't show.

We figured they must've...

got cold feet.

Or maybe they already got what they wanted:

the name of your bomb-maker.

You think he was lying?

Prison gangs come in every size and color,

but they all preach some version

of “lie or die.”

You get interrogated, you don't tell the truth.

Sounds like PAIN has two sets of rules,

one for rank and file and another for leadership.

Frick is despicable, but I'm inclined to believe him.

Because of his story about some European bomb shoppers?

Because earlier today,

I reviewed the footage that we found

of his wargaming play.

He never goes for the big, splashy victory.

Instead, he carefully preserves

his units,

often sacrificing important game objectives

to avoid casualties.

It's the exact opposite of a terrorist mentality.

I think his claim regarding the Europeans

is-is worth looking into.

Frick give you anything?

We were just trying to figure that out.

Well, unless you got something actionable, I need you in the bullpen.

We just got a credible threat.

A woman called 911 from a pay phone,

said she knew some men

who were gonna blow up a New York City mosque.

She wouldn't leave her information,

but the device she described

sounded a lot like a dirty bomb.

According to her, they hid it in a taxi cab

and they plan to attack today.

The Department's Security

Coordination Center is streaming us footage

from surveillance cameras near mosques

and Muslim community centers all over the city.

I need every eyeball on a monitor.

Captain, I've got my teams deployed,

but we don't have enough mobile radiation detectors

to cover 14,000 taxis and a few hundred mosques.

Hopefully you'll get lucky.

Or they will.

Nothing. Nothing.

Nothing.

How's your head?

Still attached to my body and not in the least bit irradiated.

I'd very much like to keep it that way.

I got something.

This cab. It's got

its “available” number lit,

but it's passed a dozen potential fares.

And it's been circling

this mosque in Midtown.

Can you zoom in?

That's got to be our guy.

We have to evacuate that entire area.

Tell ESU

to get down to that mosque.

Listen up, everybody!

We're going straight to a level two mobilization!

You know what to do.

Before you leave, I-I'd like to review

all the footage of this area from the last hour or so.

Particularly Camera 55-103.

What is it? You think I got the wrong cab?

Not at all. But I think there's more going on

than meets the eye.

More than a WMD?

Camera 55-103.

- Sir. - Thanks.

Can I have a word? Uh, make it quick.

I got to get to Midtown. You do.

But I don't think you'll be needing that.

What are you talking about?

Based on video footage of the area, while there may well be

a bomb inside the cab that Marcus spotted,

I'm quite certain it's not a dirty bomb.

And how can you know that? Simple logic.

The men who've been planning this day, the ones who put

the cab there, they won't want to be exposed to plutonium

while they're committing their crime.

It is not a terrorist attack. It's a heist.

Don't move. Open the case.

Open it.

Police! Drop your weapons!

Drop it!

Obviously,

you know about the bomb outside.

Let us go,

or I will trigger it and poison the entire city.

We know the bomb isn't radioactive.

You try to set it off,

the only people who are gonna die today are you and your men.

Your choice.

Once the bomb squad defused the device,

my guys were able to confirm that it wasn't a dirty bomb,

just a conventional explosive.

It was a bluff, like you said.

The thieves didn't need an actual dirty bomb

to pull off their heist, merely the appearance of one.

Getting us to evacuate those buildings

let them walk right into the offices

of an international diamond cartel

and scoop up $300 million in diamonds.

That's what I don't understand.

How did you know that the bomb was-was just a distraction?

It was easier to know it than to explain how I knew it.

If you were asked to prove

that two and two made four, you might find some difficulty.

And yet you are sure of the fact.

Bottom line is, there were

too many things that didn't add up.

For one, why bomb a mosque on a Wednesday afternoon,

when there's almost no one there?

I was trying to puzzle that out

when I noticed the next inconsistency,

the Dutch Reach.

The Dutch Reach?

When our false cabby exited his vehicle,

he turned his entire body

and used his right hand to open his door.

That's a technique that's taught in the Netherlands

to prevent drivers from opening their doors

into oncoming cyclists.

Now, PAIN is an American group,

and a Dutch member seemed unlikely.

But it did remind me of the Europeans

that Colm Frick mentioned.

Netherlands has racist gangs, too.

Still could've been an attack.

Except that, after our mysterious Dutchman

disappeared into the crowd,

I spotted him on another camera,

entering a different building.

If you're planning to set off a dirty bomb,

why go into a building near the blast site?

To answer that question, I checked the footage

from before our suspect entered.

And I saw this.

Three uniformed officers

entering the building just minutes earlier.

Uniforms work in pairs,

so a group of three stands out.

- Mm. - I realized that they were entering

the North American headquarters of the Vonale Cartel.

That's a company which controls 25%

of the world's diamond market.

Ergo, heist.

Once we really knew what was going on,

it was just one last question that was raised.

The thieves' plan relied on creating

a credible dirty bomb threat. That's why they stole

the plutonium from Dave Amberlin.

But how did they find out about the plutonium

in the first place?

Maybe somebody at the lab talked.

I can look into it.

No. No need.

Mr. Amberlin is cooperating.

He told us how he smuggled the plutonium into the country.

It's a funny thing. On the day it came into port,

records show

that one of the port's radiation alarms went off.

Your agency is in charge of investigating those alarms.

Right? In fact, you personally cleared that particular alarm.

You intentionally let the plutonium through.

Then you told the Dutchmen about it

so they could use it in their heist.

That's the craziest damn thing I've ever heard.

We get false alarms all the time.

Well, we thought there could be

an honest mistake, so we looked into you.

Turns out that you have a new girlfriend from Amsterdam

named Natalie Van Rijn.

Her cousin is one of the jewel thieves.

Whether you were honey-trapped or whether the whole thing

was your idea, we're not quite certain.

But, at this point, it doesn't much matter.

We paid Natalie a visit.

She admitted to hooking you up with the thieves.

She's the one who called in the tip about the bomb.

She told us the plutonium is in a storage unit

in Long Island City.

You arrested her.

Hours ago.

Now it's your turn.

You're up early.

Yes, and just look how productive I've been.

Ah, you're trying the puzzles.

I recognize that, like any potent adversary,

PCS is best attacked from different angles.

Yesterday, I helped foil

an international ring of jewel thieves.

And, today, I'm assembling Unicorn Utopia,

ages eight and up.

And?

I prefer the jewel thieves.

How long are you going to be at the cemetery?

It's customary in Chinese culture

to leave food at the grave of a loved one, and oranges

are the most common offering, so...

May I take it that you read your father's letter?

When you're done with that one, I have three more downstairs.

If you like Unicorn Utopia,

you are gonna love Pretty Princess Party.

They took the flowers away already?

They clear the graves every other Thursday.

You wanted to talk?

I read the letter last night.

It wasn't what I expected.

What do you mean?

I guess I thought that he wrote the letter when he wasn't well.

But I was wrong.

The things he said were special.

I'm happy for you.

He might have addressed the letter to me...

but it was about you.

I don't know exactly when he wrote it,

but he could tell that his health was failing.

He didn't want to die without telling me about you.

He said that you were...

amazing.

And beautiful. And that he loved you very much.

He wanted you to find me.

He wanted us to be sisters.

Obviously, that happened without him.

But... the time that you had together, he remembered it.

He remembered you.

== sync, corrected by elderman == @elder_man