08x04 - Royals and Loyals

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

You know, I think my wife and I made an offer on this place once.

We didn't get it.

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

Yeah, I'm sure.

Whew! Wow, looks to me like you got yourself a full-on stage three larval infestation.

All right.

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

It's kinda gross, huh?

Little bit.

Yeah, you got enough malaria-carriers here to make mosquito mojitos until May Day!

But y-you can pump it out, right?

Remove the red tag?

Let's drain it. Go from there.

Okay? Makes sense. Yeah.

Oh, jeez! Oh my God!

What? What?

Wh-Wh-What is it?

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

I'm just messing with you.

You gotta lighten up, man, really.

Nice. Nice.

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

Oh, no.


♪ NCIS 8x04 ♪ Royals and Loyals Original air date on October 12, 2010

I actually think it's--

What are you doing?

Uh, nothing, I was, uh--

Lost a contact.

Uh, where? On Ziva's keyboard?

You do not wear glasses.

Maybe I started.

Maybe you're lying.

Maybe you should butt out, McThird-Wheel.

What were you looking for, Tony?

I'm sorry, that's classified.

You were trying to access my email.

How do you know that?

Because McGee installed a security system on my desktop. Very hi-tech, by the way.

You got caught red-handed.

I got what?

There! Guilty as charged.

So, what were you looking for, Tony?

Well, ever since you got back from South Beach, you've been... flirting with the Miami Heat.

He's just a friend.

You are jealous.

No. But I am concerned about our national security.

He's got a very impressive clearance level.

Now you're trying to make me feel inadequate.


No, that's my job, DiNozzo.

A dead petty officer, grab your gear.

I'm going to ride with Gibbs.

Now who's the third wheel?

Shotgun, McGee!

No... ow!

This tub needs a new filter.

Not exactly Davy Jones' locker.

But he did meet a watery grave, even if it was only 18 inches deep at the time.

Here we go.

So Ducky... all right... our deceased is Petty Officer First Class Edward Bick.

Stationed at Norfolk, assigned to the USS Lockwood.

Fish him out.

Uh, boss, this really is a HazMat situation.

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

I think we really should call...

Get in the hot tub, Tim.

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

"Get in the hot tub, Tim."

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

We had one up on the roof of the dorm.

And you would study in the Jacuzzi.

Of course you would.


Ah-- Archimedes' theory, boss.

My foot mass is going to displace enough liquid to breach over the top of the boots.

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

Swim, Tim.


This reminds me of the I Love Lucy grape-squishing episode.

I love that episode.

Lucy gets dressed up like a gypsy, and then she jumps into the vat of grapes, so Ricky won't find out.

It's inappropriate. Sorry.

Crime scene.

Got a time of death?

Ah, the body's been in the water too long to determine that.

You got a cause of death, Duck?

Well, I won't know for certain until I get him back on the table.

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

Ziva! You find that round?

Found part of it.

Shooter had to be standing somewhere over there.

Well, there's nothing in the tub.

Yep, nothing here.

He policed his brass or used a revolver.

This could've been a violent drowning.

But perhaps not here.

Body was dumped.

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

What have we here?

His abdomen's been slit open.

Also his stomach.

Somebody was looking for something in our dead sailor.

Why would they zip his jacket back up?

Dumped body.

Easy to transport. Less messy.

Well, I don't see anything, Doctor.

Maybe they found what they were looking for.

Petty Officer Edward Bick grew up in Concord, California.

Currently stationed at Norfolk, assigned to the USS Lockwood.

Bick recently served two tours in Afghanistan.

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

Immaculate service record.

No enemies, no disciplinary action.

Yet he ends up in a strange hot tub, filleted like a fish.


Married to his high-school sweetheart.

Tara Bick.

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

Okay. Start with the wife. Tony, Ziva.

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

And I would rather be fishing. Go!

Interviewing the widow, boss.


Uh, I'll look, I'll look into Bick's last movements, before he disappeared.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

Eddie was being so careful.

We were about to start a family.

Is there anything you can tell us about your husband, Mrs. Bick?

Had anything out of the ordinary happened recently?



I jumped in the car as soon as I heard.

I'm so sorry.

Jason, these are NCIS agents.

They're investigating Eddie's death.

How did you know Petty Officer Bick?

Ed and I were stationed on the Lockwood together.

We were tight.

I knew something like this would happen.

Knew how?

Ed had been acting all nervous.

Really out of character for him.

Eddie was fearless.

Tell them.

Tara, I can't.

Tell them, Jason.

Or I will.

Eddie was selected for a special duty assignment.

Special assignment.

On the Lockwood?

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

Duty roster shows he signed in every day.

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

What's that supposed to mean?

It means, whatever secret assignment Ed was on, it probably got him killed.

Well, do you know that for a fact?

My husband told me he thought he was being watched.

Was he?

Three nights ago, I heard something outside.

I found Eddie peeking out the living room window.

He said somebody was watching the house.

Did you see anyone?


But I heard a car drive off.

Whatever he saw, whoever he was working with, that's what got him killed.

Hey, you got anything, Duck?

Ah, Jethro.

Well, as I predicted, our petty officer suffered a violent drowning and not where the body was found.

There were no algae in his lungs or in his nasal passages.

But why someone should shoot a man after they drown him remains a mystery.


Well, it entered here, it smashed the scapula, and then part of it exited and lodged in that railroad tie behind him.

I found a piece of bullet lodged in his shirt.

It may match the fragment that Ziva found.

What are you doing, Palmer, making lunch?

A... lung sandwich?

I am so sorry. Not a sandwich.

Dr. Mallard noticed a slight irritation in the tissue of the lining, indicating a possible allergic reaction, so...

Reaction? Mm-hmm.

To what?

It's too soon to tell.

But take a look at this depressed fracture of his cranium.

Note the indentation mark on his right temple.

Remind you of something?

Bolt, maybe?

Well, it's definitely metal of some sort.

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

I've sent everything up to Abby.


Wait a minute...

Mr. Palmer!

Yes, Doctor?

A hemostat. A small one.

There's something impacted between his molars.

What is that?

Looks like, uh...

Benjamin Franklin's mouth and chin.

Part of a hundred-dollar bill.

Maybe that's what they were looking for inside of his stomach?

We found no traces of paper in his digestive tract.

Why would he swallow money?

Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs!

Abby! Help!

What are you doing?

Stuck. I can't breathe.

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

It's like a thousand cute little mice that are pulling the flesh off my thigh with blowtorches...

Up. Move.

...and little tiny fondue forks. Ahh!

Point your toe.

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

Uh, no.

So last night I was watching this documentary, which is what I do when I can't sleep, which is like, every night, but last night, it was about this circus performer who could compress his body into spaces that are actually smaller than his body mass which is actually impossible, but--


Okay, so the round fragmented into two when it exited the body and it hit the railroad tie.

So I was able to process each half separately, and then combine them virtually, and... voilà !

What about the gun? Um...

It's a Webley.

English, a .38.

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

Nice. What else?

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

There were high levels of marine fuel and a lubricant used mostly on large Navy vessels and it has oil dispersants in it.

That salt water or fresh water?

It's both.

So, the water that Bick drowned in had to be in a place that had salt water and fresh water, or at least condensation.

Well, that's the hull of a ship.

There's only 900 ships docked at Norfolk harbor right now, so that'll narrow it down.

What about the head wound?

Metal shavings, rust and a cleanser that's used exclusively on marine craft.

And the cleanser is not American-made.

You good?

Yeah, I'm running the impression spec right now, so if I could match like a valve...

Yeah, go. Make it happen, Abbs.

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

Thank you, Gibbs!

Apologize. For what?

For being you.

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

You could've just asked to see my email.

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

Somebody tell me something.

Boss! This is what we've got.


McGee, explain why we have nothing.

We ran into a firewall, boss.

Petty Officer Bick was working on a classified Navy project in conjunction with the CIA, which NCIS hasn't been read into.

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

Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs!

I found our bolt of lightning.

Actually, it's not a bolt.

By mapping the impact points on Bick's head, I matched it to a steam control valve.

But not just any steam control valve.

This one is an exact match to a specific piece of plumbing on a ship.

Made by who?

Barish Industries.

They're out of Liverpool, but they make transport vessels for the British Royal Navy.

The only British Royal Navy ship currently berthed at Norfolk is the HMS Sparrow-Hawk.

So that means the murder occurred on a British naval vessel.

Which means our crime scene technically on British soil.

Do we have the authority to investigate this, boss?

Major Malloy, British Royal Marines, Special Agent Gibbs.

Pleasure to make your acquaintance .

Major Malloy's the liaison between the U.S. and British Navies while their ship's in our port.

Mm. We need access to your ship.

I've already requested permission for NCIS to board the Sparrow-Hawk.

And unfortunately,

Sparrow-Hawk's orders are to set sail at 1100.


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

Means your ship's a crime scene.

Yes. Unfortunately, my orders--

U.K. and the U.S. have a status-of-forces agreement.

I'm well aware of that agreement.

Then you're aware that NCIS has the authority to investigate a crime committed on a British ship in U.S. waters.

With one exception.

If the mission of the British vessel is deemed of a critical nature.

Then its departure cannot be disrupted.

I'm terribly sorry, gentlemen, but I'm afraid Her Majesty's vessel will be leaving in two hours.

Good luck getting out of port.

Excuse me.

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


You're sailing off with my crime scene!


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

Gary Cooper.

Oh, Sergeant York.

How silly of me. Yes.

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

Always a Marine, Malloy.

Mm. Well, did you know that your Marine Corps was modeled after its British counterpart?

What's your point?

I think you should remember that we are allies.

And I think you should start acting like one.

I've got a murderer on my hands.

Maybe, he's on your ship.

I'm calling SecNav.

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

Get me the Secretary of the Navy.

Charming facility.

Agent Gibbs.

Is this your team?

Peter Malloy.

Major, British Royal Marines.

Probationary Agent Ziva David.

Now... Israeli. Tel Aviv.

Do I detect a trace of the Haifa Coast?

Very good.

North London.

Ah. Precisely, yes.

Pleasure's all mine, mate.

Anthony DiNozzo.

My brother's name is Anthony.

Best man at my wedding.

It was a previous marriage, of course.

Of course.

And who might you be, sir?

Ah, I'm Special Agent Timothy McGee.

Oh, an Irishman.

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



We done with our tea and crumpets?

Malloy... beat it.

Not so fast.

SecNav has granted NCIS permission to board the Sparrow-Hawk.

Yes, well, I shall need to get clearance from Fleet Command in London.

You understand. It's a formality.

Long as it doesn't take time.

Agent David.

Have you ever been to Zurich?

Several times.

Good. Today, you're Switzerland, between England and the U.S.

Boss, Abby needs to see you.


Exhibit A.

Actually, it's evidence exhibit 2731.

In this jar is the scrap of the hundred-dollar bill that was pulled from Petty Officer Bick's la boca.

La boca is Spanish for--

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

Well, allow me to show you the money.

The money is coated in an ultraviolet fluorescent powder.

It's invisible to the naked eye.

Undetectable, except for the black light, and it's transferable to anyone who touches it.

So, anyone who touches the cash--

Lights up like a Christmas tree.

Now, I ran the black light over Petty Officer Bick's stomach.

He swallowed at least one entire bill before someone cut it out of him.

But watch this.

Radioactive? Nope. Better.

The cash is emitting low-watt radio waves.


I mean, we're talking crystal radio technology.

You're kidding me.

I built a crystal radio when I was 11.

So, the powder is emitting a radio signal. If we knew the frequency, you could track this cash, and anyone who touched it, for miles.

Okay. So we can track it.

No, because we don't have enough to determine the exact frequency.

The sample's too small.

We need more dinero for that.

Dinero is Spanish for--

Yeah, I know, Abbs.

So where do we find the dinero?

Well, since the CIA uses this tracking technology, Gibbs, the CIA's ATM.

Ms. Tennison?

Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS.

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


Uh... walk with me.

Thank you.

You know this sailor?


His name's Petty Officer Edward Bick.

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

CIA doesn't operate domestically.

Really. What's all this, then?

Staging for an operation off-shore.

Did, uh, Bick work with you or not?

Hold on.


This man was murdered.

In Norfolk, here.

If you know something about it, now would be a pretty damn good time to tell me.

Like I said, the Central Intelligence Agency is restricted from conducting operations within the borders of this country.

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

We found this inside him.

Piece of a tagged one-hundred-dollar bill.

Figure it belongs to you.

I think somebody stole CIA money in Norfolk.

And whoever stole that money, killed a United States petty officer.

There was a CIA mission to deliver cash to warlords and tribal leaders in Helmand Province, Afghanistan.

Sometimes we pay the enemies of our enemies.

Helmund is under British control.

May I go now?

How much money?

We scrubbed the mission last week.

The money never made it onto the ship.

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

I'm afraid I can't help you.

Yeah. It's Gibbs.

Boss, Malloy's at NATO Headquarters, trying to get permission to set sail.

Well, don't let him leave.


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

I do not see anything.

That's because they're invisible.

It's just a musky scent given off to attract the opposite s*x.

Now you're being ridiculous.

Oh, no. It's true.

Think about it.

First you had your little Miami Vice.

Now Prince Albert in a can.

Oh, they can't help it.

You're just a walking Israeli love machine.

He is... charming.

What is it with chicks and Brits?

Jagger, Bono, Beatles, Bond.

I'm not into bondage.

I can assure you.


How are you?

Couldn't we just do a quickie?af It's like looking for a needle in a haystack.

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

Oh, Lord.

So, according to the ship plans Abby sent, the valve in question... should be somewhere through here.

Tony, look over there.

I see it.

Perfect match.

Well, that's enough water to drown a man.

There you are.

CENTCOM's just moved up our departure.

You'll have to leave.

What about our quickie?

Weather alert.

Headwinds off the Atlantic current require us to depart immediately.

But we just found our crime scene.

Oh, that's a pity.

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

I have my orders.

What if we want to stay on board?

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

Your jurisdiction ends there.

Follow me.

I'm calling Gibbs.

Excuse me.

What's happening?

It's a warning light for the turbines.

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

Hey. Trouble?

Big ship.

A lot could go wrong.


Get back down there, keep processing.

Oh, lucky break, huh?

We got some time.


No such thing as luck.

Are you accusing me of something, Malloy?

Yes, sabotage.

That's a serious accusation.

It's a serious crime, mate.

Prove it.

Bracket broke loose in the engine room; we replaced it.

We depart in ten minutes.

Please escort your people from my ship.

What did Gibbs say we were looking for?

Pixie dust.

We're looking for drugs now?

Not exactly, Tinker Bell.

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

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


Yeah, that's much better, thanks.


They're preparing to leave port. Yeah.

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

What do you know.

Money talks.

Okay, put these last two on the manifest and give me an inventory report of everything coming off the ship.

Okay. Thank you.

Agent Gibbs.

There someplace we can talk?

I thought we already talked.

Talk again?

You lied to me.

Money was on this ship.

No, there wasn't.

We scrubbed the last mission.

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

So we can track it back to targets we might want to eliminate.

Just not this time.

According to the ship logs on the Sparrow-Hawk, that ship hasn't been to the Mid East one time.

Not one time.

We are the CIA, Agent Gibbs.

We don't leave paper trails.

He swallowed the money just before he died to prove that it was there.

Listen, I worked with Petty Officer Bick.

Okay, he was a good guy.

I liked him a lot.

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

There were only three people who knew the money was on board that ship.

Bick, who was in charge of guarding it; myself, who just lost

$3 million in CIA money; and the limey b*st*rd in charge of coordinating the helicopter money drops to Helmand Province.



You do the math.

What, McGee? Boss, hey.

I got surveillance footage in from the east gate at the Norfolk shipyard.

Yeah, and?

Shows Major Malloy's car leaving the gate minutes after Bick was murdered.

Phone records?

Let me access his British carrier.

Call was made from Malloy's cell less than a quarter-mile from where the body was dumped the night of the murder, boss.

Get DiNozzo and Ziva to go pick him up.

Isn't he on the ship?

Send a helo from Norfolk.

That ship is still in American waters.

Got it.

You know, it's hardly surprising all of your tea tastes like paper, now, is it?

Petty Officer Bick was assigned guard duty to watch over $3 million in marked CIA cash.

Well, I'm a liaison officer.

I just coordinate between the Royal Navy, U.S. and NATO forces.

Where's the money?

I have no idea.

You own a Webley revolver?

I do, yes.

It's in my flat in London.

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

Had a few poor investments in Greece.


That's an interesting motive for stealing cash from the CIA's slush fund that they wouldn't want reported missing.

Well, that's interesting conjecture.

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

Four blocks from where the body was dumped.

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

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

I mean, where is the cash, Gibbs?

Where is it?

Where's any evidence, for that matter?

Where is DNA? Where is a murder weapon?

Where is an eyewitness?

You know, I-I should like to call the British Consulate now, please.

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

You have absolutely no right to keep me here.

Abby, talk to me, now.

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


Okay, bad news.

Still can't I.D. the trace elements that caused the allergic reaction in Petty Officer Bick's lung tissue.

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

Oh, blasphemy! I would never do that.

I got a clean print on Major Malloy.

Never throw your tea away at NCIS, Gibbs.

Yeah, and?

And I ran it through NATO, Interpol and the British Royal Navy databases-- nothing, Gibbs.

He's not in any of them.

How great is that?

The guy's a-a bogus British sailor.

He's a faux seaman.

He's an imposter. Who is he?

He's MI-6.

British Secret Service.

He's on a special attaché attached to the Sparrow-Hawk whenever it's docked in an American port.

Where's Malloy?

Walked out a while ago, boss, with a rep from the British Consulate.

McGee, track his cell phone.

On it.

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

Then track something from the past few weeks.

Cell footprints.

He's made multiple calls from a single location.

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

Give me a location.

It's a hotel.

The Drake.

Constitution and 14th Southwest.

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

He's in room 238, boss.


We're clear.


I'll put a BOLO out.

Yeah, Ziva.

Tracking powder.

Money was here.

Malloy and the money both gone.


BOLOs-R-Us, boss.

We got the entire Eastern seaboard covered.

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

We've alerted airport police, the state troopers in Maryland and Virginia.

Customs and ICE are staying frosty.

Secret Service Uniformed Division is monitoring the British Embassy and Consulate.

And the Coast Guard's got the shipyards wired.

Good work.

Complimented us.

That's never a good sign.

Congratulations, Agent Gibbs.

You've somehow managed to tick off both your own government and one of our closest allies.

Call the CIA, have them track their money.

Tennison's already complained about you.

The tracking powder wasn't meant to help us.

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


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

This time, it's different.

These payments were earmarked for groups in Afghanistan.

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

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

The CIA brought down the Taliban in eight weeks back in '02; I think they've earned a little leeway.

Ziva, contact the British Consulate worker...

You've done enough.

Cool off, Gibbs.

We'll catch this killer.

I don't want this to turn into some international incident.

Find him.

Cheers, Gibbs.

You know, it does read "beer" on the label here, but unfortunately it tastes rather more like horse excrement.

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

Yes, I do apologize if I misled you.

What are you doing here, really?

I need your help.

I'm not a lawyer. No, well, it's not your law that I'm in trouble with.

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

You have ten seconds...

...until I accidentally shoot you for trespassing.

I've been set up.

You know, I thought MI-6 were good, but your CIA, they're very impressive.

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

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

You can keep the change.

That's for the ship.

Should be enough currency there for you to track the CIA frequency.

That'll lead you to the rest, and to the person who is responsible.

What's in it for me?

You get your killer.

Hmm? What's in it for you?

I don't get killed.

Hey, boss, good news.

A guy fitting Malloy's description just paid cash for a ticket to Glasgow.

It wasn't me.

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

He found me.

Ziva, you watch him.

Watch him like Syria, not Switzerland.


Yeah, Abby, hi.

Gibbs, I got something. Yeah. Coming.

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

You like Peter Sellers?

Yes, I do.

What's his best movie?



That's good.

It's not his best.

That would be Being There.

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

Sellers is terrific in that.

You like Dudley Moore?

Yes, I do like Dudley Moore.

But I prefer his earlier work with Peter Cook.

Peter Cook? Peter Cook!

Nobody knows about Peter Cook anymore.

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

Gibbs, meet my new main squeeze.

This is Ken the SEM.

My new scanning electron microscope.

This baby can magnify up to 500, 000 times.

Mm-hmm. See anything good?



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

And this isn't just any pollen.

It's a specific strain of the Cordyline fruticosa.

See, every plant has its own fingerprint, as specific and unique as DNA. This pollen came from Petty Officer Bick's lung tissue.

This helps us how?

Pollen is embedded in everything.

And it stays embedded for months.

It's nearly impossible to wash off.

It sticks using these microscopic little hookie things. Meaning?

Meaning, I can track where someone's been and who they've been in close contact with simply by looking at the pollen spores that are in their clothes, and their hair and their lungs... What's the point, Abbs?

The pollen that was in Petty Officer Bick's lungs is found only one place on earth...

Diego Garcia?

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

Guess where Petty Officer Bick has never been in his entire life. Diego Garcia.

Exactly! Which means that whoever was in close contact with Bick-- and when I say "close, " I mean like close enough to, say, drown him and cut him open, transferring the pollen spores-- that's your killer.

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

What's that right there?

It's a level-three security facility.

It's not on the basic map directory.

Well, then make it un-basic, McGee.

Who is the most recent station chief there?

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

Do it, Agent McGee.

Well, I'll be damned.

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


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

This'll show us exactly where the marked money can be found at this very moment.

She's hiding it all over town.

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

You're right, boss. Looks like the money has been spent at vendors all over the city.

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

The Royal Navy did.

Got the manifest for the Sparrow-Hawk?

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

Payroll while they were at sea.

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

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

So, somebody switched out the CIA's marked money with the Brit'' clean currency. Laundering.

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

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

So she killed him. She's still got additional currency to switch out, too, so what's next?

McGee, where's Tennison?


She just arranged for a Navy helo to transport her to the USS Tripoli.


Initiate cell search.

All right, multiple recent cell calls to a Lieutenant Malcolm Dufrain on board.

Works in the Tripoli's disbursement office.

Dufrain must be her new contact to switch out the rest of the money.

What's her ETA?

Pulling up Tennison's flight request.

Right here's the time of departure.

Here's her arrival on the ship.

McGee. You can beat it.

I got it. All right.

Lieutenant Dufrain, sorry I'm late.

Yes, now I assume you'll be wanting to exchange this for smaller bills.

What are you doing here?

Give me the money, Tennison.

Not so fast.

An English pistol.

You killed that Yank sailor, didn't you?

I killed him because he saw what I was doing, and he tried to stop me.

Don't make the same mistake he did.

I think you just made the mistake.

You're under arrest for the murder of Petty Officer Edward Bick.

A Webley. Bet it matches our slug.

The money was going to drug smugglers and opium growers.

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

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

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

You didn't save Bick's.

E-mailing Señor South Beach?


Well, I like that there's someone out there that makes you smile.

Yes, there is.

Yeah, maybe I can meet him someday.

Maybe... one day.

Got a big date tonight?

Um, no. I'm going home.

Uh, Tony, I have a question.


If and when you meet my friend-- and I emphasize if-- what will you say?

"Be careful."


"Handle with care."

"Contents priceless."

Good night, Tony.

Good night, Ziva.

Gotta get my keys.



Oh, come on...!