06x02 - Inelegant Heart

[bunniefuu]

(doorbell rings)

Oh, wow.

(barking)

Whoa. Hey, buddy.

Shh.

It's okay.

Oh, my God.

♪ NCIS: LA 6x02 ♪
Inelegant Heart
Original Air Date on October 6, 2014

♪ ♪

Man: Fundamentally, this phase of our investigation is a fact-finding mission.

And unfortunately, Ms. Lange, your open hostility is making it difficult for all of us.

You're not going to respond?

I-I'm sorry.

Was there a question in there somewhere?

Why are you stonewalling us, Ms. Lange?

You have to at least pretend to give me advice.

You are my attorney.

I am. But every time I give you advice, you ignore me.

And to be honest, I'm not even sure what your play is here.

(indistinct whispering)

You're not supposed to.

Just... say this.

And sit up... straight.

Uh, I'm sorry, Mr. Prosecutor.

I, uh, I understand your frustration.

But you and the Intelligence Oversight Committee have to understand the, uh, delicate nature of the work Ms. Lange is responsible for.

We are trying to give you full disclosure, while still, uh, protecting active and ongoing operations.

We appreciate the nature of Ms. Lange's concern.

Thank you.

I'm sure Mr. Thomas has no intention of putting agents' lives at risk.

Of course not.

Good, because preventing that will take a little extra patience on the part of you and your committee.

Ah. All right, then.

Let's talk Afghanistan, shall we?

(thunder rolls)

(whoops)

Welcome to Thunderdome.

What's up, girl, huh?

You all right?

Oh, I'm good.

Just for the record, you're a terrible dancer.

Oh, yeah?

How do you feel about that?

(both grunt)

You know what it is?

You lack the poise that most girls get from doing ballet and gymnastics.

Probably 'cause you spent so much time as a tomboy.

(both grunting)

Get out of this, huh?

Get out of this now!

(both grunting)

Wow, that's a pretty nice move.

Did you learn that in pole dancing?

What did you say?

(grunts)

God, you punch like a girl!

(groans)

Uh, Beale, tag up!

(grunting)

Oh, no...

(grunts)

Oh, tag up!

Brother, tag up! Aah!

Beale! Tap out!

Beale!

Deeks, tap out!

Aah! Beale!

Tap out! Oh!

Yes! What the hell, man?

Yes!

Where were you on that one, Beale?

What? What was I supposed to do?

What do you mean, what were you supposed to do?

You're supposed to come off the turnbuckle with the atomic elbow.

Dude, I don't watch wrestling.

What?!

What are you, a Communist?

You hate America?

Granger's up in ops.

Granger probably watches wrestling.

All right, my friend.

(groans)

I'll meet you up there.

Oh...

You know what? I am definitely gonna wash that in the urinal.

Oh, that's okay. It's yours.

What?

(groans)

Come on.

Who does that?

Honestly, that's so disgusting.

Wait, no... Oh!

Granger: Hollywood police got an anonymous tip about a dead body this morning.

Nell: His name is Brian Bell, a freelance computer programmer.

And he was strangled to death.

Now, you may recognize him from this.

He was a boy genius.

Ah, I mean, he was bright, but genius might be stretching it.

I mean, he did get caught, right?

You're still my favorite brain, Beale.

Kensi: What's his connection to the Navy?

He was a private contractor who did cyber security work for us.

Lately he was trying to penetrate the online black markets located in the Deep Net.

The FBI shut down the Silk Road last year, but a new one's popped up.

It's called Chauvenet.

"Chauvenet"?

What, is it only for misogynists?

William Chauvenet, he was a mathematics professor in the U.S. Navy.

He also helped to found Annapolis.

He's also the namesake of a crater on the dark side of the moon.

Oh, geek humor-- always better with a syllabus.

Didn't you take the silly bus to school?

Why, I ought to...

(clears throat)

So, 90% of the Internet is inaccessible through the use of traditional search engines.

The deeper locations need to be accessed using something called Tor, or onion routers.

It's something to redirect traffic through thousands of different relays to protect the anonymity of both the buyers and the sellers.

Everything from weapons to human trafficking are sold on these sites.

It's like Amazon for t*rrorists.

Eric: Exactly.

Rough estimates are: A billion plus in contraband is moved a year.

Plus, it's all made with, uh, virtual currency, which makes it even harder to track.

We're not sure his m*rder is related.

But if it is, I want to know why.

Bell had access to sensitive Navy intelligence.

And he was well-versed in our own cyber security defenses.

The k*ller took all of his computer equipment, and we can't have that getting into the wrong hands.

Did they track the hotline tip?

It was made using a pay phone.

Why would he call it in himself?

And more importantly-- who uses a pay phone?

Granger: LAPD agreed to sit on the crime scene for 48 hours, which means we've got to move fast.

I'm calling in Callen and Hanna.

Uh, they're actually on a case that they've been working on for weeks.

Deeks: And the only thing worse than being undercover for that long is being pulled out before you're finished, so maybe we should just see how far we get first. Deal?

This isn't a game show, Deeks.

Get out of here, both of you.

I just got whammied.

Pull Callen and Sam out.

Aye, aye, sir.

(cell phone rings)

Briggs.

Eric: Good Morning. I'm calling on behalf of Ocean Park Pest Control.

We just wanted to let you know that our exterminators are done at your house and you can return home now.

Thanks, but now's not a good time.

I see. Well, my supervisor was the one who asked me to call you.

Tell your supervisor that I can't leave now.

I'm working.

I understand that, sir, but it's important that you check in on things before we close the work order.

Got it.

We at Ocean Park Pest Control appreciate your business.

Thank you and have a great... Hello?

Put some effort into it! This ain't a picnic.

You got a problem, Walinski?

Just relax, man.

It's a thousand degrees out here.

I suggest you enjoy the fresh air.

(laughs)

I'm enjoying it now.

Pick it up and get back to work.

Why don't you pick it up?

Sam: Pick it up.

(grunts)

Congratulations, Walinski.

You got your wish.

You'll be begging for some sun after two weeks in the box.

What are you looking at?

Get back to work!

Guard: You heard him.

This better be good.

Why is that, Agent Hanna?

Because we've been working a case that's required me to be locked up for weeks.

He doesn't like prison food.

Or my cell mate.

Well, you can go back under when this is done.

Yeah, if we didn't blow our cover coming out.

Well, that's on you two, isn't it?

Navy contractor with access to our cyber defense program was m*rder*d.

He was trying to identify those operating a Deep Web site dealing in dr*gs and weapons so that we could shut them down.

Kensi and Deeks are operating the crime scene.

I need you to talk to the deceased's next of kin.

A sister.

You pulled us out on a hunch?

Think of it as a furlough for good behavior.

When is Hetty coming back?

That is a good question.

I mean, seriously, how long can a hearing drag on?

(short laugh)

That is gonna depend on how cooperative she is.

Wonderful.

Why did you send Special Agent Blye to Afghanistan?

Uh, Ms. Lange has already answered this.

Agent Blye was taking part in a joint task force.

A task force that was, uh, charged with, uh, finding a suspected Westerner working with the Taliban, correct?

That is correct.

But why Agent Blye?

She had the necessary skill sets required.

I'm asking Ms. Lange.

How is it, Ms. Lange, that of all the specially trained forces that we have in our country, Agent Blye, an NCIS agent who lives in Los Angeles, is somehow a better choice than a Navy SEAL or an Army Ranger?

Have you been to Afghanistan, Mr. Thomas?

No, I haven't.

Perhaps I could arrange a visit.

Perhaps you could just answer the question.

Uh, Agent Blye has something that no Navy SEAL or, uh, Army Ranger does.

And, uh, what secret skill is that?

She's a woman.

Attorney: Intelligence gathering can be limited if you can't talk to half the population.

The local women won't talk to men, but they would, uh, speak to Agent Blye.

Hetty: I'm afraid it's not quite a secret skill, but perhaps just common sense for anyone who's had combat experience or actually served their country.

Next question.

(sighs)

Call Adams at the DOJ and tell him to send his people in now.

Mm-hmm.

Kensi: Can you believe this place?

It looks like a 12-year-old lives here.

How much you want to bet that Beale's place looks like this?

You obviously don't have an appreciation for sci-Fi and fantasy aesthetic.

Yeah, what is that, geek chic?

Sorry, but I see a guy's place full of toys like this, and I know somebody has mommy issues.

Well, he's obviously a fan boy, but you are misjudging this because some of these are valuable collectibles.

50 bucks says he has a sex doll dressed up like Princess Leia in his closet.

I'm sorry, what?

They make those?

Wait, how do you know that?

(sighs)

Wow, this guy's even got less in his fridge than you do.

No wonder his dog turned on him.

And that is another reason why I don't have pets.

Yeah, that and the fact that the only thing you ever managed to keep alive in your apartment was mold and mildew.

I had a mouse once.

Mm-hmm, and it lived in your cupboard, and even it d*ed of starvation.

(laughs)

You are so mean.

Hmm. Looks like he was a little bit of a conspiracy nut.

Also got a lot of anarchy material here, too.

Deeks.

Closet.

Oh.

Is it Princess Leia?

Nope.

Damn it.

I got the same one in plaid.

Brian started to change when our parents split.

I was 11.

Brian was eight.

It was an ugly divorce, and Brian spent most of it hiding out in his room playing on his computer.

At the time, it seemed like a godsend.

He could just put on his headphones and escape, but he never really came back.

Can you think of anybody that would've wanted him dead?

No.

No, he...

He didn't have any enemies I knew of.

Or friends, for that matter.

He barely left the house.

He even had his groceries delivered.

No relationships?

(sighs) No, not really.

Not in the flesh and blood, anyway.

He was always happiest online.

He ever talk to you about his work?

No.

But I wouldn't have understood it if he did.

He was the boy genius.

I can barely program my DVR.

And he didn't make any indication recently that he felt like he might be in trouble or feared for his life?

All the time.

He was... prone to paranoia.

I did what I could to help him.

I'd even sleep over some nights, but I have a family.

I tried to get him to move in, but... he wouldn't hear of it.

Well, I'm sure wherever he is now, he feels happy and safe.

I'd like to believe that.

Thank you.

If you think of anything else, give us a call.

Yeah.

Um, I don't suppose either of you want to adopt his dog.

My place doesn't allow pets.

Oh, I'd love to, but my daughter's allergic.

G?

I'm never home, but, uh, thank you.

You sure?

(clears throat)

Take care. Bye.

Come on.

(chuckles)

Maybe you should reconsider.

What?

The dog.

What am I gonna do with a dog?

Ah, you can take care of it, play with it, scratch its ears.

They're man's best friend.

I thought you were my best friend.

Oh, you want me to scratch your ears, is that it?

A dog would be good for you. Come to think of it, I feed you, I take you for walks, and you are very protective of me.

Don't say it.

You my dog!

(engine starts)

Huh?

You my dog!

Hey.

Open up.

(tires squealing)

Come back, big dog!

So, our dead guy, Brian Bell, had some surveillance cameras.

Actually, he had a lot of them.

But whatever they captured disappeared with his stolen hard drive.

Correct, but lucky for us, a lot of people have surveillance cameras these days, including his neighbors.

Now, I couldn't find anything around the time he's thought to have been k*lled, but I did find this.

Deeks: The coroner said that Bell had been dead for days, so this guy broke in after Bell had already been k*lled?

Nell: Yeah, it looks that way.

Now, we don't get a good look at his face, and the plates are stolen, so I looked at similar B and E's in the area and...

Kensi: Hmm, same silver van, different signage.

Nell: Yep, and they changed plates every job or so.

Oh, and check this out.

Now, this is the pay phone used to tip off the police about the body.

Eric's running it through image enhancement and, uh, facial reconstruction software to see if we can get a match.

Well, if he called the cops, he's obviously not the k*ller.

No, but whoever stole Brian Bell's equipment might have footage of the guy who is.

Yes.

Oh! What?!

Is that real? Oh, my God.

It's so glorious.

It's like a... It's like an angelic bathmat.

I just want to touch it.

It looks so fluffy.

Sam: Clearly I'm no hair care expert, but, uh, you shouldn't comment on hair.

What? No, don't do that.

Don't be jealous of my glorious, golden, Viking mane.

Although I bet you had some badass dreadlocks back in the day. Irie.

Not even close, and please,

(in Jamaican accent): don't ever say "irie."

All right, then please tell me that you had an Afro.

Like, an epic Afro of just, like, hair orbiting your head like the Death Star.

Easy, Thor.

Thor.

Maybe a Thor loser.

Maybe he has bed Thors.

Open Thors are the worst.

That's not funny.

I had a lisp in high school.

This is too far.

Fair enough. Maybe you're right.

Kensi: Sorry, I didn't mean to, uh, hurt your feelings.

You delinquents finished?

Where are we?

Sam: We talked to the dead guy's sister.

Seems like he lived his life online.

No friendships, no relationships.

He also had a full m*llitary MOPP suit in his closet.

Callen: She said he was a little paranoid.

Nell: And Eric's working on a possible I.D. of someone who may have stolen Brian Bell's computer.

We got trouble.

Intruder alert. Intruder alert.

What the hell is going on, Beale?

Look.

Sam: That's outside this building.

Who are they? Don't let them in until we know.

Nell: Department of Justice?

(buzzing)

Someone just buzzed them in.

Granger: All right, stay here.

Jones, with me.

Yeah.

Can I help you?

Assistant Director Owen Granger.

Special Investigator Wallace, Department of Justice.

This is an order from the executive branch for a forensic audit of this facility and all employees.

I don't know. I called you as soon as I got it.

I'll have it sent over.

Thank you, Madam Secretary.

Send a copy to the director's office and CC the secretary of the Navy right away.

Everything in order, Assistant Director?

Since when did the Department of Justice become a pawn for Thomas's personal agenda?

It's a joint investigation.

Okay, so you scratch his back, and he flays ours.

My team will require adequate work space and something that provides privacy for interviews.

Okay.

Set them up in the gym.

Right this way, ma'am.

Kensi: So, what's happening?

Full forensic audit of our operations and personnel.

Bring up the gym feed.

Sam: It's no coincidence this is happening while Hetty's in D.C.

They pull her back to Washington so she's not here to stop them.

So, what are they looking for?

amm*nit*on to bring down Hetty.

They need a sacrificial lamb.

Once they break her, they'll come after the rest of us and this whole operation.

So, what do we do?

Make yourselves scarce.

We'll work out of the boathouse.

Keep your eye on these guys, Beale.

Copy me on everything they're looking for, and don't make it easy.

We need to give Hetty a heads-up.

Beale: She dumped her phone.

She was convinced it's tapped.

(computer trilling)

Let me handle that.

We got a match.

Our anonymous tipster is Douglas Fisher.

He's got a lengthy criminal record.

It's about to get longer.

What can you tell us about Bernstrom Kohl?

(clears throat)

I-I don't know.

Who is he?

He was a German agent that you sh*t several years ago.

Did I k*ll him?

We don't know.

He disappeared.

I was never a very good sh*t.

(chuckles)

Thomas: Recent evidence has come to our attention that suggests that Bernstrom Kohl was actually sequestered in a Los Angeles nursing home, under the name of Branston Cole, until his death four years ago.

Huh...

Supposedly, he had a wife, who by all accounts matches your description.

Was she a brunette?

Did you keep a foreign operative in custody without this administration's knowledge or consent?

(clears throat)

Uh, being as this is... new information, Mr. Thomas, uh, we will need some time to do our own investigation in order to determine, uh, what, if any, ongoing operations and/or personnel may be affected by this line of questioning-- for the sake of national security, of course.

And how long does Ms. Lange intend to hide behind the sake of national security?

I do not hide, Mr. Thomas. I protect. And yes, I did keep Kohl under my custody as an asset until he was m*rder*d by his own country.

Thank you. And on that revealing note, I suggest we recess for an hour.

Why would you admit to that?

Because it was the truth.

This is Washington-- the truth is whatever you need it to be.

Careful, I still have company.

I've had at least two of them, night and day, since I've been here.

What do they think I'm going to do, dash for the border?

Maybe it's for your own protection.

Protection from what?

Oh, God! I am so sorry!

Oh, that's okay.

Thank you.

And, again, I'm really sorry.

Don't worry about it.

I'm going to use the restroom.

(cell phone rings)

Granger.

What's going on, Owen?

Well, we're under siege.

Full forensic audit and personnel interviews.

DOJ's involved now, too.

Oh, Thomas-- that sneaky bastard.

I may have underestimated him.

I'll do what I can to contain them, but they've got executive branch orders to go through everything.

Remind Miss Jones that we have an old building.

Okay.

How you holding up?

Oh, well, I-I think they're digging me a very deep hole.

Well, you watch your back, all right?

Always.

Well, told you we should have called first.

Yeah.

Oh, uh... we're not open.

We just want a quote.

Yeah, call back later, make an appointment.

Gonna be easier just to let us in.

What's this about?

You and a dead guy.

Okay.

Uh, just not in front of my workers, all right?

I-I'll be right out.

What are the chances he actually comes back out of there?

I'd say zero and none.

Hey, guys. I think he's coming your way.

Kensi: We got him.

Fisher! Fisher!

Fisher!

Hey!

It's like playing Whack-A-Mole.

Fisher, open the door!

You're only making it worse for yourself!

Doesn't he know we're in the middle of a drought?

Apparently not.

I'd like to begin interviews with Agents Callen and Hanna.

They're not here today.

Call them in.

Well, they're working a case.

Well, call them in anyway.

We'll begin with Agent Blye until they arrive.

She's not here, either, but, look, you can interview me.

I like being interviewed.

Assistant Director Granger has 30 minutes to get his people here-- before we issue warrants to bring them in.

Got it.

Sir.

The invading horde's getting restless.

They're threatening warrants for any agents not here for interviews.

Okay. Let me deal with that.

I'm sending Beale to the boatshed.

You should go, too.

Okay.

Oh, and, uh... Hetty wanted me to remind you that this is an old building. Whatever the hell that means.

Got it.

Man: Damn it.

Wallace: What was that?

Man: Some sort of blackout.

You!

Me?

What's your name?

Uh... Beale. Eric.

Eric Beale.

Eric Bartholomew Beale III, to be exact.

Esquire.

Well, what the hell happened here, Eric?

We lost power.

Oh. Well, this building is super old and so is the surrounding grid.

So we get rolling blackouts this time of day, especially when everyone's cranking their AC.

Hope you used protection.

For the surges.

How long's it last?

Uh, well, if the marine layer rolls in and the temperature drops, it could be about 20 minutes.

Uh, but if it stays hot, probably three or four.

O'clock?

Hours.

Unacceptable.

I know.

Welcome to Los Angeles.

Wh-What about backup generators?

(chuckles)

I wish.

What do we look like, Homeland Security?

We've been requesting backup power for years.

Yeah. Oh, maybe you guys can put in a good word for us when you get to Washington.

See what you can do to get us up and running.

If we don't have power in 20 minutes, we're bringing in generators.

Got it.

Guys! You know, I just remembered-- there's a taqueria a few blocks from here that has free WI-Fi.

And the best empanadas DE machacas.

Mmm.

No tienes hambres.

Bueno.

Hasta luego.

That's our k*ller.

Guy slipped in through the doggie door, which is why he didn't trip the alarm.

We have any footage where we see his face?

No, he's wearing a mask.

Sam: Vehicle?

Nell: Not yet.

I'm still checking traffic and neighbor cams.

There is this, however.

The hell's he doing?

Posting it to Murdergram?

He e-mails it to someone.

Proof of death.

m*rder for hire.

Can you get us the number or the e-mail he sent it to?

I can get a list of numbers that were active in the area's cell tower, but I have no way of accessing that specific phone number.

Eric: I think I found a motive.

Where'd, uh, Kensi and Deeks go?

They're dropping off Fisher at the LAPD.

What do you have?

All right, Bell was investigating Chauvenet, the black market site which is operated by someone calling themselves, uh, Papa Legba.

Sam: Papa Legba?

You know, in Haitian voodoo, Papa Legba is the gatekeeper at the crossroads between life and death.

Yeah. Well, I think Bell figured out Papa Legba's real identity.

So, why didn't he turn him in?

Blackmail.

He wanted half a million dollars in Bitcoins to keep Papa Legba's identity a secret.

Okay. So, Chauvenet is a Dark Net Deep Web site that deals in billions of dollars of illegal goods and services that we can't shut down because we don't know who this Papa Legba guy is who runs it, in part because of the way they can hide using Tor.

And all that goes away if you find out Papa Legba's true identity.

Exactly.

If you're Papa Legba and there's that much money at stake, not to mention jail time, you eliminate the thr*at.

All right, so who is he?

That, I don't know. I can't find anywhere where Bell actually puts it down in writing.

I'm going through his files trying to piece it together from his research.

You can hire a hit man on Chauvenet's Web site?

Eric: Sure.

I'll give you even money-- whoever k*lled Brian Bell was hired off Chauvenet.

Nell: If you can get a list of those offering assassination services, I can run it against the numbers in the area when Bell was k*lled.

We may get lucky, find some commonality.

What if Brian Bell wasn't k*lled?

I mean, the k*ller left him for dead, but what if he survived?

Police are sitting on this for us.

We use the anonymity of the Web to reach out to Papa Legba as Brian Bell.

Tell him his plan didn't work.

We want a million dollars by the end of the day, or we send his name to the Feds.

Whoa. Won't they suspect it's a trap?

Not if we make it look believable.

We send Papa Legba photos of Bell's wounds.

We just have to make sure it looks like he's still alive.

You hire me to k*ll somebody and they survive the first attempt...

Gotta come back and finish the job so you get paid.

Mmm. Satisfaction guaranteed.

You know what, this was Sam and Callen's idea-- maybe they should be the ones here doing corpse selfies.

Yeah, they probably figured you've done this before, so...

Well, I have dated some lifeless women, but none of them were actually dead.

No, they just wished they were.

Oh, wow. Look at you. Nice.

You know what that is?

That's a touché.

I'll give you that.

So, uh, how are we gonna make this guy look like he's still alive?

It's called makeup.

Oh, yeah? It does wonders on you.

Shut up.

Okay, here's what we're gonna do, uh...

You are going to help me put him in a chair.

Okay, but if this guy leaks dead-guy juice on me, I'm gonna freak out.

Actually, you know what?

I think we should use your... your shirt.

What?

You want me to give you...?

No, no.

(laughs)

No. This is my favorite shirt.

You're not putting it on a dead guy.

Hey, relax, princess.

I'll dry-clean it.

You can't wash out ghost!

That doesn't even make any sense.

Give me your shirt.

No.

Give me your shirt.

No.

Deeks, give me your shirt.

No.

Give me your shirt!

No.

Why are you being weird?

No.

Give me your shirt.

No.

There is no version of me that gives you this shirt.

All right, I'm sending the photo to Papa Legba now, saying that I know he tried to have me k*lled, and for that, the price of his anonymity has gone up to a million dollars.

And he's got three hours to deliver. Cool?

Send it.

Now what?

Now we wait.

Put this on.

Am I gonna need this?

Hopefully not.

It's for your own protection.

Should I have a g*n?

Absolutely not.

That's for our protection.

(computer beeps)

That was fast. It's Papa Legba.

We got his attention.

Eric: "Give me a couple hours to get the money.

"Half now, $50,000 a week for ten weeks to follow.

Acceptable? Papa Legba."

Say yes.

If we're gonna get company, it'll be within a couple hours.

All right, what should I do now?

Stay at this computer.

And don't leave this room under any circumstance.

What if I have to pee?

What if there's a fire?

Then I suggest you fill it.

Stay put.

Bad doggie.

You clearly shouldn't have any pets.

"Daniel Howard."

It's an interesting résumé, man.

"ROTC...

"National Guard, West Hollywood Sheriff's Department."

For about eight seconds.

Till you turned the evidence lockup into a personal pharmacy.

I don't know what you're talking...

Talking about? That's what everybody says when they know exactly what we're talking about but they don't want to admit it.

Sam: Daniel, we've got footage of you murdering Brian Bell.

Not to mention you going back to finish the job when you thought he survived.

Callen: They say criminals always return to the crime scene, but that's actually not true unless they're just... dumb.

Sam: Look, Daniel, you only got one play here.

One play only.

Tell us who hired you.

I don't know anything about a m*rder.

I was only trying to rob the place.

With a sil*ncer on your g*n?

Plus you took a picture of Brian Bell after you k*lled him, you e-mailed it to someone... on your phone.

Sam: We call that a "death dunk."

Mm-hmm. Death penalty slam dunk.

E-mails between Papa Legba and our Mr. Howard discussing the hit, the price, everything.

I don't know who he is.

I swear.

That's the whole purpose of Chauvenet.

It's anonymous.

I have no idea who Papa Legba is.

Nobody does.

But the man you m*rder*d did, which is why Papa Legba hired you to k*ll him.

Kensi: I don't think he knows Papa Legba's true identity.

Yeah? Then how did Brian Bell find it?

Well, he spent months searching.

We've only been at it a couple days.

Guys, guys.

I think I know who he is.

Okay, Papa Legba created Chauvenet.

And like any new product or service, you have to advertise so people can find you.

So I started searching for the first mentions of it.

Like similar sites, it starts out as rumors.

So I chased down the first users to post or chat about it.

Most were from e-mail addresses that were used once or twice but then never again.

I figured out who they're registered to.

And six belonged to one man.

Behold Justin Stewart, aka...

Papa Legba.

He looks like he works after school at Foot Locker.

(laughs)

And, uh, here's the best part-- he leases a recycling facility in Los Angeles, but with no business license and no contracts.

Hmm. Boy genius.

(man humming)

(clears throat)

Mmm. Got a half a muffin in here.

Where are we?

Nell: Looks like he has at least one armed guard at a lobby security desk.

Sending you guys blueprints and a layout of the recycling center.

Callen: Thanks, Eric.

What about surveillance feeds?

Sorry. This guy is careful.

All right, finish your 360, Deeks, then we move.

Oh...

(grumbling)

(clears throat)

Got a, uh, guard out back smoking.

Lot of security for a place recycling cereal boxes and soup cans.

Callen: Papa Legba's one careful guy.

And there's probably gonna be more inside.

You ready, Kens?

Let's do it.

Kensi: Get your hands off of me!

(indistinct arguing)

Get off me!

Get in the car!

I'm not going with you!

Get in the car!

No! Get... Look, get in or I'm gonna drag you in!

Get in the car!

Let, let go of me!

Stop it! Stop!

Get-get in the car!

Is there a problem here?!

Hey! Get...

Yes!

Get in the car!

He's trying to abduct me.

Why don't you come inside, miss?

Get in the car!

No!

Get in your car and drive away, man.

Mind your business! This is a private matter.

Get in your car and drive away.

Pretty brave for a rent-a-cop.

Try me.

Put it down.

(grunting)

(shushing)

Federal agents! Everybody down!

They're coming your way, G.

Callen: Federal agents!

Face down!

On the ground!

Go for it.

Save the taxpayers some money.

Callen: Papa Legba, I presume.

I want to speak with my lawyer.

I bet you do.

Safe?

For the time being.

Our unwanted friends from the Justice Department leave?

No. But they've only got a skeleton crew working during the night.

They'll be back with a vengeance tomorrow, and I can only hold them off for so long.

You guys did good today.

Putting these guys out of business was big.

Nell: Well, Stewart's computer's proving to be a treasure trove of black market buyers and sellers here and abroad.

That's great.

(sighs)

So, what's wrong?

We're running standard protocol searches through the Chauvenet files.

We got a hit on this.

I recognize that address.

If you replace the number 13 in the file name with the word "thirteen," it becomes an anagram.

That's why I recognize it.

It's Hetty's house.

What about the other addresses?

We're still checking.

The file was sold on Stewart's Chauvenet Web site.

Somebody paid $250,000 to find out where Hetty lives.

(thunder crashes)

♪ ♪

(car door closes)

Careful.