All language subtitles for Elementary - 06x02 - Once Youve Ruled Out God.WEBDL.English.C.edit.Addic7ed.com

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