Transcripts - Forever Dreaming

Welcome back to Daily BackTalk, 86.9 FM.

I'm your host, Adam Gator.

This morning I am joined by a very special guest...

Navy Commander Walter Daniels.

Many loyal listeners of this show have complained and questioned why we spend hundreds of billions

sending troops, planes and ships to protect other countries.

Resources they say should be here, protecting and bettering the homeland.

They are.

The age of isolationism is long over.

What about those that complain about the U.S. having to pay to be the policemen of the world?

American m*llitary deployment around the globe assures the safety of free trade for all.

Trade that invariably benefits our own markets.

Second, we are constantly eliminating t*rror1st threats that may otherwise end up in our own backyard.

That brings us to our next topic, and the main reason I asked you to be here today.

Right after a word from...

Don't. Don't!

What are you doing?

Put it down! You can't be in here.

Please! Please don't! Somebody call 9...

NCIS Season 8 Episode 05 Dead Air

Tony, it's the world we live in.

The time has come to embrace change with open arms.

It's either that, or we risk further controversy and scorn.

For once, I think you might be right.

You've changed my McMind. And I thank you, Tim.

Have you been drinking?

Why?

I could have sworn I just heard you thank McGee.

I appreciate his insight.

On what?

Baseball.

Specifically, the implementation of instant replay in baseball.

We have the technology, why not use it?

Bad calls hurt everyone.

I do not know which is more disturbing... the fact that you both agree on something, or that McGee is a fan of a sport.

It's not just that I'm a fan, Ziva. It is also, I'm...

American? Alive?

It's October, Ziva.

Reggie Jackson is Mr. October.

Baseball has seeped into the native consciousness of this country.

I do not feel any seeping.

Well, maybe you just got to be born here.

Come on, you two. It's just a game.

It's our game.

"If you build it, they will come."

Field of Dreams.

Maybe that's speaking to the immigrant experience.

I did not become an American citizen because of baseball.

It's every kid's dream. Even McGee.

It's true. Center fielder.

Right on the list. Right before Imagineer.

It's a hard day when you realize those dreams may not come true.

Got to keep the dream alive, Tim.

Got three people, aren't gonna get that chance.

Three strikes.

And you're out.

It looks like the sh**t started in here before making his way into the recording booth.

These are not the kind of hits one expects to hear on the radio.

No shell casings anywhere.

Our sh**t must have picked them up.

See, this is why podcasts were invented.

Who needs the radio when you got the Internet?

People who don't have the Internet.

Or those who prefer to listen while driving.

They actually make a cell phone app for that now, Ducky.

Got an app for doing your job, McGee?

Right.

Virginia State Police found the bodies when local listeners called in, hearing g*nshots live on the air.

Anybody see what happened?

No witnesses. It's a small rural station, and the only registered employee is our body in the engineering booth...

Vincent Clark.

Local poly-sci major.

How about the Navy officer?

That is Commander Walter Daniels.

He's a Special Duty Officer in the Office of Public Affairs.

Big fish for a small station.

Big crime scene for a small town.

What's he doing way out here in the boonies?

According to a press release, Daniels was asked to give an interview on foreign m*llitary policy.

Asked... by whom?

King of Zing himself... Radio host Adam Gator.

Married. No kids. Been on the air three years.

Articulate conversation from intelligent guests like the commander was not the show's usual fare.

You're not a fan of BackTalk, Duck?

People calling in to be mocked and berated by a smart-aleck host?

No.

Neither, it would appear, was our sh**t.

The engineer and the commander were sh*t once, and then, judging by the pooling, left to bleed to death.

Yeah, the host is a different story.

Indeed.

Adam Gator here was sh*t three times, all in the chest.

Means that Gator was the primary target.

Why k*ll him live on the air, though?

Perhaps the sh**t was looking for an audience, as well.

86.9 FM, home of Daily BackTalk with Adam Gator.

Sorry, Boss.

I hit the wrong button.

You know, I considered going into radio once.

You certainly like to hear yourself talk.

No. Not talk radio.

I would have been a great sports commentator.

Jack Buck, Vin Scully.

Harry Caray.

Cubs win! Cubs win!

Oh, my God! Oh, my God!

You wouldn't understand.

You know, Tony, baseball is actually very popular in Israel.

They even started their own...

Boss, you might want to listen to this.

Hey, floor.

Our sh**t may have been more than just an angry listener. Check it out.

After the break, I want to address a very disturbing thr*at that I received from a group of my... a group of my fans.

Whack-pots who don't know the difference between patriotism and terrorism.

I will expose what might be the next great thr*at to National Security, right after a word from...

Hey, what are you doing?! Hey, put it down!

Gator wasn't k*lled for something he said.

He was k*lled for something he was about to say.

I usually listen to the show on my way to work, but...

I hit traffic.

First time I've ever been thankful for a weak signal.

Your husband said he received a thr*at from a group of listeners?

Adam got angry calls and idle threats all the time.

A lot of redneck crackpots out there.

Except, um, well, these ones were actually trying to recruit him.

For what?

I don't know.

Adam said they were some kind of, like, half-assed extremist group that claimed to have a b*mb.

I've never seen him so excited.

Excited?

He said it would make for a good program.

Listen.

His on-air persona... that was just for show.

Adam was a decent man, a patriot.

And he would have called the police if he thought that they were serious.

But I guess if they were just willing to k*ll him...

Do you know who they are?

Adam never said.

But he always kept every piece of mail, and he recorded every phone conversation, both on and off the air, just in case.

Please find whoever did this?

Please?

Nuts! I thought I had it that time.

Come in.

I'm just practicing active sonar.

Did you know that there's blind people who can navigate themselves by making... with their tongue, so they can hear objects around them?

Did one of them k*ll our victims?

No, but the principle behind that is what's gonna help us catch who did.

Welcome to the world of binaural audio.

In the radio interview, the radio host and the Navy commander were using separate microphones positioned in opposite directions, so, when you listen with one channel in one ear, and the other channel in the other ear, your brain recreates a three-dimensional space.

It's like listening to "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida."

Only it's g*nshots instead of a drum solo.

That's why we have ears on opposite sides of our head.

So I was able to listen to the sh**ting as if I was in the room.

So, using acoustics, I could isolate minute characteristics in our m*rder w*apon, and I compared them with catalogued audio files.

It's a Remington 7400, four-cartridge magazine, improved gas release, smooth cycling.

Hunting r*fle. These the tapes the wife gave us?

Tony just brought them down.

Great. Keep listening, Abs.

Here's one.

"I would listen to your program more if you were on it less."

This one's nice.

It's a marriage proposal from a woman who thinks that he'd be just as sharp-tongued in the bedroom.

It's good.

I get the sense these people have a little too much time on their hands.

None of these are credible threats. Why would Gator keep them?

Guess you never know who's gonna get you the ones that love you, or the ones that hate you.

"Together we can make a difference. Matt I."

Look at this.

Ben Franklin's old political cartoon.

Short.

Sweet. Creepy.

And no postage.

Someone didn't want to be tracked down.

And it's addressed to the radio station's P.O. box.

Only someone with direct access could have delivered this letter.

Sounds like I'm searching the postal worker database for any Matt I.

Unfortunately, Commander, the broadcast media today is programmed to as*ault our senses.

You're too young, but I remember as a child listening to my favorite radio programs.

d*ck Barton, Special Agent.

The Man in Black.

Mystery, intrigue, suspense.

Answers?

That, too.

No doubt something the grieving families of these three men eagerly anticipate.

So do I, Duck.

I confirmed the cause of death as g*nsh*t wounds to all three victims.

However, in the process of collecting the rounds, I noticed a peculiar odor.

You mean other than gunpowder?

I sent the b*ll*ts from these two up to Abby, and according to her test results, it's deer urine and from an adult doe.

Used by hunters to attract bucks.

It was probably on the sh**t's fingers when he last loaded the w*apon.

Any specific brand?

That's not a chemical reproduction.

What's on that b*llet was collected at the source.

Yeah, the source of this, Duck, by now is probably hanging on a wall over a beer tap. Who are we looking for?

The radio station predominantly reaches an agrarian area.

I would hazard a guess that you're looking for someone on the outskirts of society, separated from the others.

Except those that agree with them.

It's not uncommon for the like-minded to unite.

Perhaps they felt they didn't have a voice, hence the need, as the wife suggested, to recruit our radio host.

Matt I.

You always deliver mail with no postage?

You do have access to P.O. boxes, don't you?

Your point?

We pretty much get what you mean by "die", but what I'm curious about is the "join".

You a member of some kind of secret club?

Just the local "Y".

I saw Gator last week and asked him if he'd do free ads for a fund-raiser.

Turned me down, so I was just giving him a hard time.

Sure, in a letter with no postage.

You here to talk to me about 44 cents?

Adam Gator is dead.

When?

You don't listen to his show?

I've been on my route all day.

Do you have anything to verify your whereabouts at 8:05 this morning?

How about Uncle Sam?

7:49 a.m.

Priority delivery in Groveton.

That's a good 20 minutes from the radio station.

I know.

Are you trying to give me heart palpitations?

What do you got, Abs?

Heart palpitations... and a headache from listening to all these tapes that Gator's wife sent us.

The guy recorded everything... calls to the radio station, his cell phone, his home phone.

These the "best of"?

No, I got something more like a one-hit wonder.

It's a call that came in to Gator's cell phone the night before he was k*lled.

Okay, let me hear it.

Have you given any thought to our offer?

I don't want anything to do with you, your group, or its grand plan.

You should reconsider. M.A.H. could use someone like you.

If it's airtime you want, you're going to get it. Tune in tomorrow.

I'm gonna expose you and M.A.H. for what you really are... domestic t*rrorists.

M.A.H.?

I checked the GTD databases, the terror-watch databases, even Google.

Haven't found any group.

Whoever it was, they were willing to k*ll to keep it that way.

Did you track the call?

I checked Gator's phone records.

The call came from a blocked landline. I am tracing the call-routing now.

I was tracing the call-routing now.

The line quality failed. Must be old wiring.

Maybe a rural area?

No, actually, used to be a rural area.

I don't think we're looking for a hillbilly militia.

Our mystery voice wasn't calling from the backwoods.

He was calling from Royal Woods, one of the wealthiest gated communities in suburban D.C.

There goes the neighborhood.

Royal Woods is a nice place.

I should live there.

It's quiet, it's private, secure.

It's got everything but the white picket fence.

A picket fence would provide neither security nor privacy.

I was speaking more... a metaphor... American dream.

All right. According to the FBI and Homeland Security, that dream is still alive and well at Royal Woods Luxury Living.

Nothing on our domestic t*rror1st group there?

Nope, and the only records they have on the initials M.A.H. are a political slogan. That stands for "m*llitary at Home", the belief that we should protect the homeland first.

Rather than acting as the world's police.

I find it hard to believe that someone would be willing to risk this slice of cherry pie to become criminals.

I don't know. Arlington Road with Tim Robbins.

So-called Harvard militias are like Urban Legend.

Urban legend did not m*rder three people.

Urban Legend was a movie with Rebecca Gayheart.

Never mind.

Royal Woods... go.

"Just outside Alexandria, an exclusive gated community of 35 beautiful homes."

Background checks on the residents came up empty.

They appear to be model citizens.

Appearances can be deceiving.

If we can get voice samples from each man who lives there, then Abby can match them against our mystery caller.

How are we going to get that without tipping off our underground cell?

No, not sell, DiNozzo.

Buy.

Start recording, McGee. Neighbor number one, here we go.

How did a salesman get past the guard?

I'm not a salesman.

I'm actually looking at buying the home down the street and I was wondering if you could tell me about the previous owners.

My name's Tony, by the way.

Italian.

I think the previous owners had some structural problems.

Sorry.

The neighbors are friendly, the streets are quiet, and the H.O.A. dues are super reasonable.

Good drainage and the schools are great.

Yeah.

You did say that your husband was at home, right?

You know... do you want to talk out back?

I've got the Jacuzzi all warmed up.

I'm married.

Really?

Where's the ring?

Practice is at 4:00 and don't forget you got to pick me up.

I can't make it. Can you get a ride?

Wouldn't need one if I had a car.

Fine. I'll talk to one of my friends.

Maybe one of their dads will be there.

Can I help you? I'm kind of in a hurry.

Sorry to bother you. I'm just looking at houses and I really love it here.

It's just I'm worried about the commute. I work in D.C.

You get to know the traffic patterns.

Sorry.

Thanks.

Hey, excuse me.

Excuse me, jogger people.

Joggers.

Hello!

What happened to you?

Don't play dumb.

You reveled in every minute of my suburban suffering.

Actually, no, we've been not listening for the last couple hours.

One can only stand your voice for so long.

Did you talk to everyone?

All 43 residents, including the entire cast of American Beauty... in a nice bikini... and The Stepford Wives. Have we got anything to drink?

I got a little tickle in my throat.

Just let the cherry ethyl propionate coat your throat. You'll be okay.

I forgot how strong this stuff is.

Any hits yet?

But listening to your conversations with the Royal Woods residents was so much more entertaining than listening to Adam Gator's phone calls.

Thank you very much, I'm putting out a CD.

Voiceprint for Gator's caller matches lucky interviewee number 11.

Number 11... 26724 Royal Woods Circle.

Okay, house belongs to Arthur Haskell.

He seemed more Ward Cleaver than Bin Laden.

Arthur Haskell... he's a successful investment banker out of Alexandria.

Moved to Royal Woods a year ago.

No criminal record and there's nothing to suggest any kind of history of political activism, violent or otherwise.

Any connection with Adam Gator or M.A.H.?

I'm sending his name and his info to McGee.

Arthur Haskell's wife was k*lled 18 months ago in a home invasion... drug addict with a g*n.

Haskell and his 16-year-old daughter witnessed the m*rder.

Reason enough to want m*llitary protection at home.

Boss, I found a series of messages in Haskell's e-mail history discussing an anniversary gift for his wife.

His wife has been dead for over a year.

Makes a custom wristwatch kind of an odd choice.

Obviously it was a code.

How do you know this?

Haskell met last week with a Deeter Johanson.

He is not a watchmaker.

Mr. Johanson is a chef.

Former meth cooker from South Africa who, according to Homeland Security's wanted list, now bakes specialized expl*sives and sells them on the black market.

According to Haskell's calendar, the 2 of them are supposed to meet again.

Haskell and M.A.H. are not buying a wristwatch.

No, they're buying a b*mb, and Deeter's not going to that meeting, we are.

We only have 2 hours until the meeting.

That's not enough time to build a full cover alias.

It's okay.

We're not going to need one.

Deeter is late.

We're all set here.

One final keystroke and the last five years will be completely erased.

There he is.

Go.

Boss?

Do it, McGee.

Okay, slate's clean.

Whoa-ho-ho, excuse me.

Can't park there... 15-minute loading and unloading zone only.

I'll take my chances.

You're a risk taker. Hi, Deeter. NCIS.

I don't have anything on me.

We'll see about that.

This turns blue, then you, Deeter, have been handling some very bad things.

All right.

Drumroll.

Congratulations, I think you're pregnant.

Awesome.
Hands behind your back.

Can I help you?

No, but I can help you.

And your group.

If you don't mind, I'm actually waiting for someone.

I'm afraid Deeter Johanson is out of business.

In his line of work, competition can be a k*ller.

Who are you?

I'm Ziva David.

The competition.

Your throat sounds like it's getting worse.

How's Miss America doing?

Who's she supposed to be again, anyway?

She's playing herself, Tony, from five years ago, before she started at NCIS.

Sassy rogue Mossad agent.

Sometimes I miss that little minx.

It's only temporary till we find out what our suburban t*rrorists are planning.

She's not doing a very good job.

The body language is all wrong.

Classic Ziva would've been more reckless, hair would've been more wild.

She was very sexual then.

You think Ziva's less sexual now?

Compared to the Ziva I shared a bed with five years ago, yeah.

You guys were undercover.

I mean, you were just putting on a show.

You were putting on a show, right?

Deeter's line of work made him an enemy to Israel.

Getting rid of him was for country.

Doing business with you, now, that's for money, I believe I have something that you need.

A Mossad profiteer working on American soil.

Where exactly do your allegiances lie?

That does not matter. It is not my job to police America.

I have other customers.

Deeter had a thriving business.

Good luck.

Wait-wait.

If I did need to get in touch with you, how would I do that?

Do not bother unless you're serious.

I assume you know where I live.

Why don't you stop by later, and we'll talk.

Why don't we talk now?

I have a few phone calls to make, Miss David.

That cough gets worse, you might want to have it looked at.

You spend a lot of time around fresh-cut grass?

I just did.

Why?

I know something about fertilizer.

It can permanently atrophy your vocal cords.

So you admit to... mixing expl*sives?

What's our little nest of yuppie t*rrorists up to, huh?

Besides renovating their game rooms.

I said I wanted a deal.

You want to spend the rest of your life in prison?!

Fine by me! Start talking!

I'm sorry, I can barely understand. You're gonna have to speak up.

Start talking!

Sta...

Help.

Boss.

We don't negotiate with t*rrorists.

Unless I cooperate.

Homeland Security's gonna make you their new poster boy.

And you will cooperate, because... you'll be trying to save your own ass.

That's not negotiating.

Okay, Haskell hired me to make him a batch of expl*sives.

They had to be undetectable to scanners and dogs.

What's the target?

I don't know.

Where's the b*mb?

Haskell's got it.

Then why the meeting this afternoon?

Because my expl*sives don't detonate below 400 degrees, Celsius.

That much concentrated heat, it requires... a unique combustion trigger.

We were meeting about a price on a detonator.

I'd already sold Haskell the expl*sives.

He's gonna need a trigger.

I'm gonna need a deal.

Gearing up for your trek into the American dream?

Anthony, this would be so much easier if you would just keep still.

I didn't know you stopped using those.

Ever since I became an official probationary agent.

Does that feel good?

Heavier than I remember.

You'll get used to it.

I'd hate for you to completely relapse.

You did not like me then?

My apologies, Anthony, but I don't see anything serious.

Merely some inflammation from overuse.

Nothing to be concerned about.

However, to prevent further damage, I suggest that you refrain from talking for the next 24 hours.

I understand it won't be easy.

But we certainly look forward to seeing you try.

Let's hope there are no movie references that require your edification.

I'd hate for your ego to write a check your body can't cash.

Oh, I know that one. That's...

Gone With the Wind, right?

Don't do it, DiNozzo.

Willpower.

Ready, Gibbs.

Top g*n.

So... you armed?

Of course.

I hear you have quite the famous father.

I see you did your checkup on me... Did I pass?

Great.

Let's get down to business.

Deeter was gonna charge us 150 for the detonator.

Then he was selling you junk.

If you want a b*mb that size to go off, it's 300 thousand.

Up front.

What's the target?

How do you want the money?

You can wire it to this account.

Do we have a deal?

Why don't we join the party?

Make yourself at home. Try the sangria.

It's my secret recipe.

I'll be right back.

Daddy?

Where were you?

Kristin, honey, I am so sorry I missed your game.

I scored two goals! What the hell!

I'm afraid that was my fault.

I was late for a meeting this afternoon.

Who are you?

A business associate.

Excuse us.

I am really sorry, Kristin.

Dad, you missed my game again.

I know.

Matt Lane, barbecue king.

Welcome.

You just have to try his sauce.

He may be our mailman, but he was born to grill!

You must be Ziva.

I'm Annie Nelson.

And this is my husband, Zach.

Tell us about yourself.

How long have you been part of the cause?

I'm not officially a part... yet.

Perhaps you can enlighten me.

In a way, you're fortunate.

When Israel spends money on its m*llitary, it's usually to protect itself.

We send our money halfway around the world.

You're not fighting a w*r on your own soil.

But we are.

Crime, dr*gs, illiteracy.

Fixing these would be a much better use of our resources.

Except the only thr*at our government takes seriously are the violent ones.

So in order to bring that money and focus back home, some of us here have decided to become a thr*at ourselves.

Only some of you?

The ones willing to risk the most.

They would not tell me the target.

We don't need it.

We know where he keeps his bombs.

Haskell needs our detonator...

I may have sold him on letting me be there to set it off.

Not gonna happen, Ziva.

Make the call, it's not gonna get that far.

I just got a hit on the dummy account Ziva gave Haskell.

Transferred the funds from a bank in the Middle East.

He's using his corporate access to illegally drain dormant accounts.

Investment 101.

Always use somebody else's money.

But this money's already been red-flagged by Homeland Security.

It belongs to real t*rrorists?

Arthur Haskell and his band of suburban patriots are stealing money from Al Qaeda.

The b*mb disposal unit is ready.

They'll meet us at Haskell's house.

Let's go.

Federal agents!

Back here!

He's still breathing.

The b*mb is missing.

Daddy, I'm home!

Federal agents. Stop.

What happened?

What's the status on Haskell?

He regained consciousness and is being treated for a mild concussion.

The doctor plans on releasing him to us very soon.

The daughter...

She refuses to see him.

Child services?

We need to find out who took the expl*sives.

She has nothing to do with this.

Ziva, you go talk to her.

She knows more than she thinks she does.

Go.

I know my dad's in trouble.

Yes, he is.

But he didn't sh**t those people at the radio station.

It is only natural to want to protect him.

If he was stupid enough to get involved with t*rrorists, he can rot in jail.

But I don't want it to be for something he didn't do.

It was the one morning he took me to soccer practice.

He went to work late so he could stay and watch.

So he was with you the entire time?

He couldn't have done it.

First Mom and now...

Fathers...

They make, mistakes.

Mistakes that sometimes require a lot of forgiving.

We need to find out who sh*t these people and who did this to your father.

I wish I could help.

Did you... overhear anything or was your father close to anyone?

For a long time, nobody.

After Mom was k*lled, he kind of shut himself off.

Then we moved...

To Royal Woods, I know.

New place.

New friends.

Dad even took a trip last winter with one of the neighbors.

Hold on. What kind of trip?

A hunting trip.

Apparently, Mr. Nelson's really into it.

Zach Nelson?

I think there's been a mistake.

What's this?

Funny. A sportsman like you should recognize his own r*fle.

You searched my house?

I have a right to protect myself.

Gated community wasn't enough protection?

That's typical.

Government officials telling me how I should live.

This is how you spend my tax dollars?

This is.

b*ll*ts from your g*n match the ones found in the victims.

And your supply of deer urine matches the residue found on the slugs.

Yours, yours, yours, yours.

Your police resources are stretched so thin.

All you can do is try and solve crimes after they've happened.

Is that the line you gave Haskell?

What if you had a hundred times the manpower for police at home and you could spend whatever you want?

Like the m*llitary.

How many deaths could be prevented?

It wouldn't have stopped you from walking into that station.

You wanted a voice for your cause, but Gator turned you down.

Where's the b*mb?

Arthur has it.

Had it. Until last night.

When you att*cked him.

I know nothing about that.

Arthur Haskell has been released.

What do you want me to do?

Bring him in.

I swear, I didn't take the b*mb.

Ask Arthur.

We plan to. He's on his way in.

Cuff him.

Stand up, please.

They say chamomile tea is very soothing.

This was all a bluff?

You didn't search my house?

Now we know what to look for.

Your tax dollars at work.

I wanted my lawyer.

I'm not saying anything.

You don't have to talk to me.

But I think your daughter deserves some answers.

Let me talk to her.

She's been through hell.

This time it's your fault.

At least let me apologize to her.

You can start right now by helping us. Who did this?

Matt Lane.

Our mailman.

You tell him your patriotic group was stealing money from Al Qaeda?

He snapped.

Said that he and Zach got tired of waiting.

After what happened with Adam Gator, the two of them, they got reckless.

I wanted to lay low and wait it out.

All we wanted to do was destroy that communications tower at Norfolk Navy Base as a symbol.

No one was supposed to get hurt.

Matt Lane is doing this alone?

He was the one who was supposed to get the expl*sives on base.

In his mail truck.

I pulled the GPS data from Matt Lane's mail truck.

It hasn't been anywhere near a Navy base in the past 24 hours.

It's been sitting in front of the post office.

Lane called in sick this morning.

He's changing targets.

How's he gonna use the b*mb without a detonator?

Don't want to find out.

Where's Lane?

Supervisor, says that he uses his sick days to umpire girl softball.

According to the league Web site, Matt Lane is scheduled to officiate a game this afternoon at Fulton Park.

Not exactly a m*llitary target.

Depends who's playing. Pull up the rosters.

It's just a game between two private DC schools.

Just a bunch of high school girls.

Last names.

Check the last names.

Some of these names look awfully familiar, Boss.

Judges. Senators. m*llitary personnel.

Almost every kid is the daughter of a high-profile government official.

He's targeting the parents.

Let's go.

Your hands!

Get out!

You missed a good game.

Not here.

Where's the b*mb?

Good luck. You'll never find it.

That's the grill Lane used at the barbecue at Royal Woods.

It's a hell of a lot of gas for cheeseburgers.

He is using the heat buildup to detonate the expl*sives.

It's too late. It's done!

Federal agents!

Clear the area!

Get out of here!

It's a b*mb!

Forget your cheeseburger! Keep going!

This is nice.

I miss the old Ziva.

I can tell.

Don't flatter yourself.

That's just my knee.

So Matt Lane planted a b*mb, then stayed behind to umpire a game rather than flee the scene?

We told you, Ziva.

It's baseball.

Nice.

You two need a moment?

You'll understand.

Eventually.

Will I?

Have a catch?

Look at this!

So you do know a little something about baseball?

My father taught me.