All language subtitles for NCIS.S05E08.Designated.Target.1080p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DDP5.1.H.264-NTb

TAXI DRIVER:
See? Shortcut through the park

will be working.
You just doubled

your tip.

(motorcycle engine revs)

It's Kirkland.

No, my car broke down.
I had to take a cab.

I should be there in 20.

Have Bob start the presentation.

Yeah, use the laser pointer.

The GAO guys are distracted
by shiny things.

That'll keep them busy.

Be there soon.

Be passing us, already.

What the hell?

Come on, come on.

Go, go.

(tires screeching)

(groans)

(gunshot)

(gunshot)

Captioning sponsored by
CBS PARAMOUNT NETWORK
TELEVISION

ZIVA (into phone):
No, no, no, it is not you,
it's just...

well, you know, these things
run their course.

And, uh, well,
you must accept it...

Personal call, David?

Yes. Go away.

Somebody being dumped?

Oh...

How do you tell someone
you no longer want to see them?

Easy.

Listen, dirtbag,

this is Ziva's husband.

I have your phone number now.
I can find your address.

if you ever try
to contact her again,

I will reach down your throat,
grab your intestines,

rip them out and
drive over your head!

Lose this number
or lose your life.

You're welcome.

That was my Aunt Nettie
from Tel Aviv.

She was trying to stop seeing

her 86-year-old mahjong partner.

Why didn't you stop me?

Too stunned.

Where do I send flowers?

If you ever communicate
with her again, I will kill you.

McGEE:
Is it always
this bright in here?

Wait a second.
I recognize that look.

You had sex, and I'm guessing
it was with a girl.

No.
No, it wasn't a girl?

No, it's none of
your business.

If the probie was probing last
night, I demand details.

Actually it was this morning.

And it wasn't sex,
it was coffee.

And it was good.

The coffee or the sex?

It wasn't sex.
I met a nice girl,

and we're hitting it off,
that's all.

Where'd you meet?

Moved into my building
a few days ago

right across the hall.

Proximity, that's convenient.

Very, hmm?

Wow. McGee is getting some.

Get it out of your
head, DiNozzo.

And gear up, we got a dead one.

You know, repeated head trauma
causes brain damage?

Explains a lot.

Is this side of my head bigger?

Yes, but so is the other side.

(Ziva chuckles)

TONY:
Bonnie and Clyde.

ZIVA:
Who and what?

It's a movie.
(Ziva laughs)

1967, Warren Beatty.

Faye Dunaway.

It's a classic tale

of crime and punishment.

Focus on this crime
scene, DiNozzo.

Nine millimeter cartridges.

It's not a robbery.

Cash box is still
under the seat.

Credit cards are here, too.

Rear Admiral Kenneth Kirkland.

Worked at the Pentagon.

The driver's name...

"A-tife"?

Atif Nukunda.

Gesundheit.

Address is listed as DC.

Tire tracks.

Single alignment,
looks like a motorcycle.

Top choice of assassins
who often

dump their weapons.

Look, Ziva.

Duck?

DUCKY:
Well, this was

no traffic accident.

No kidding.

Little doubt
they were killed here.

Cause of death:
multiple gunshots.

Any one of which
could have been fatal.

Time?

That's not gonna be a problem.

Onboard digital
surveillance camera,

probably time-stamped.

Let's see it, DiNozzo.

What? There a problem?

Well, I...

um, McGee has the cable...
McGee.

Normally I have the cable,

but McGee has the other bag.

Recorded straight
onto a flash drive,

probably on a 15 minute loop.

Let's see the last
recorded images here.

At 9:23, first shot was fired.

Cab crashed seven seconds later.

ZIVA:
A turkey shoot.

TONY:
Fish in a barrel.

DiNozzo, find out where
the admiral

was coming from,
headed to,

who knew about it...

and if any of those
files are missing.

All right, I'll take care...

That lipstick

on your collar, McGee?

Well...

Good for you, Tim.

Good for you.

Just don't ever get married.

(cell phone rings)

Hello?

Uh, I didn't order a sofa.

Yeah, that's
my credit card number.

Rear Admiral Kirkland's credited
with several

innovative efficiency programs
at the Pentagon.

He was involved in developing
the Ready-Rapid Deployment model

for moving massive
amounts of assets

with minimum delays.
Possible target

for terrorists?
Admiral hasn't left

dry land since '02.

Not exactly a high-value
al-Qaeda target.

Any admiral is
a high-value target.

Taxi.
Kirkland was

heading from his home to attend
a budget meeting at the GAO.

No government car?

Broke down on 14th Street.

His aide stayed with the car,
Admiral called a cab.

Why go through the park?

Three car pile-up
on Connecticut.

The cabdriver was probably
trying to make up time.

Sabotage?
ZIVA:
No, we checked

the Pentagon surveillance tapes.

Nobody touched the car before it
left to pick him up.

Files?
Staff checked his briefcase.

Nothing was missing.

Personal.
No enemies, loving family,

devoted wife.

No large insurance policies.

No motive.
Every murder

has a motive, McGee.

Not this one.

I thought you
were quitting.

I did.

It's no caffeine.

No kick.

I can suck down, like,
a half dozen of these babies,

no ill effects.

Gibbs, I'm steel.

No, I am okay.

I'm better than okay.

Way better.
From the taxi.

Bullets, the slug on the right

is a nine millimeter,

full metal jacket,
high velocity; you can see

by its deformation
that it went through metal,

glass, the whole she-bang.

The other one?

Also nine millimeter.

but just a standard
hollow-point.

The striations on the rounds

indicate that they were using
silencers.
Casings?

Ejection port marks

show that you're looking
for a Glock or a Beretta.

You should really
try this, Gibbs.

It'll change your life.

Motorcycle?

The tread on the bike
was only offered

as an option
on the Yamaha R-six series.

No hits on sales records yet,

indicating that
the bike may have been

purchased overseas and then
brought across the border.

All that, no caffeine.
Crime scene?

I'm working on some

fresh oil drops
that were found near

the tire tracks.
GIBBS:
Cab took a detour.

Must have followed them.

Or they could've hacked
into the taxi's

onboard navigation system

and were waiting.
Ambush.

Okay... can I just have one
little teeny-tiny baby

booster sip? Please?
No.

Thank you, sir.
Welcome.

(into phone):
McGee, garage. Now.

McGEE:
Boss, the navigation system
was definitely hackable.

All they would've
needed was the car's

VIN number
and the owner's address.

They could have requested
a diagnostic test,

then captured
and cloned the signal.

Who hacked it?
No way to tell.

The signal doesn't ghost,

and there's no recording
of GPS markers after the fact.

Does anyone have any answers?

Ziva?
No.

Ziva doesn't have
any answers, boss.

(cell phone rings)

Yeah, Duck.
I'm on my way up.

(electronic whirring)

You look into the cab company.

(cell phone chimes)

Hey, uh, I can't really
talk right now.

Sure you can, probie.

You can talk right now.
Go away, Tony.

Put her on speaker, probie.

Get out of here!

Probie...

Look, there's something...
Ah, look at him.

He's all grown up
having his first fight.

Now, where did you get
my credit card number?

You opened my mail?

Listen, I need to go,

but we'll talk
about this later, okay?

You, too.

(whispering):
I'll see you later, Bumby.

(kissing noises)

"Bumby"?

Well, we can't all be called
"probie," can we?

What have you got, Duck?

Bullet from the frontal
lobe of your rear admiral.

Yeah, both bodies

received multiple rounds
from a variety

of ranges and angles.

Indicating?

Yes, well, the first
projectiles struck them

after deflected off
metal or glass.

And they were followed by
two close contact wounds

with stippling, indicating
that they were shot

execution style.

Okay. That's it?
No, no,
no, no.

Come here.
Take a look at this.

What am I looking at?

Between the second bicuspid

and second molar,
lower left.

Missing tooth?

Freshly extracted.

And the lack of bleeding
around the gum tissue indicates

that it was postmortem.

There was no tooth
in his throat or in his stomach,

so he didn't
swallow it.

And there was no tooth
at the crime scene.

They pulled his tooth?

Well, they could have used
a pair of pliers.

It's a crude if effective means

of extraction.

Anything taken
from our admiral?

No, no, no, no, but I found
something really interesting

on the driver's
right hand.

(clacking and whirring)

What is that?

Abby ran the analysis.
It's a fingerprint salve.

Invisible until it's
pressed on paper.

Fingerprints
and tooth pulp DNA.

Two of the best ways
to identify a body.

Yeah, your rear admiral
wasn't the target, Jethro.

No.

The cabdriver was.

Dead driver's name
was Atif Nukunda.

Immigrated here
seven years ago

from Burundi, in East Africa,
after his name was found

on a death squad list.

A political refugee.

Employment records show
he worked two jobs--

Cab and pizza delivery
driver, about 85 hours

a week.

Land of opportunity.

Check his address.
Metro Police have
been there, done that.

Vacant lot.
Attacks

on other cabdrivers
in the past 60 days?

Already working on it.

DiNozzo,

check out
the cab company.

Go to, boss.

"Go to."
It's the new "on it."

New catchphrase,
just came up with it.

You like it?
No.

Cab company?

On it, boss.

Go, too.

McGee, what do you got?

Well, boss, the time-stamped
footage of the killings

enabled us
to track all cell calls

made from the park in the two
minutes after the shooting.

Ten calls in all.

One that stands out
was a high-density

bandwidth transmission,
almost certainly

a video file.

Someone filmed the execution.

Proof of death.
Call was made

from a pre-paid cell phone,

then sent through a
router in East Africa.

Lost it there.

Find it.
Well,

it went to a series
of public pay phones,

all of which were answered.
Impossible

to tell which line was actually
the intended number.

Whoever these guys are,

boss, they're very good.

But so are we.

ZIVA:
Nukunda is dead,

Mr. Bayliss.

Oh, my God.

Really? Dead?

What happened?

Have you not
missed him?

No, he works

the morning
shift, so, uh,

usually he's sleeping
all day long.

Where, in his cab?

In his apartment.

Fake address.
Really?

Wow, that is weird.

You know, I can't figure out

if you're DeVito in Taxi
or De Niro in Taxi Driver.

(chuckles)

What?

You're acting.

I worked transit detail

in Baltimore
for two years.

Come on.

Okay, Nukunda
was off book.

Off book?
Off book.

Means he worked for himself,
not just the cab company.

It also means he required

an illegal hack license.

'Cause there's a lot of places
that cabdrivers

won't go in
the city,

so we let
the gypsies

work those areas,
service the public.

Everybody wins.

The dead cabdriver
was not a gypsy.

What?

No, "gypsy" means
a cabdriver

who works for himself
off book.

It's also a great way
to take advantage

of immigrants who are
desperate for work, isn't it?
Dude,

look, all I know is that the
guy worked his ass off, okay?

He never invited
me to his house,

so I don't know
where he lives.

I just can't
help you out.

Listen, dude,
every dispatcher knows

every driver and
everything about them,

so...

(over speaker):
...I could have
the Taxi Commission

come down here and
talk to you guys

'cause I know
they'd like to meet

each and every one
of you and...

Wait, whoa,
whoa, whoa, whoa.

Look, okay, the
Burundi drivers,

they hang out at a little café
on 18th Street, Northwest.

Little tip:
lime juice.

It cuts
that just-barfed-on

backseat smell, smelly guy.

How long have you
been in this country?

Why?

Well, you never
heard of gypsy cabs?

You don't use
contractions.

Assimilate
already.

What are contraptions?

(sighing):
Never mind.

There's definitely
a photo missing.

Any way to tell
what was there?

Would I have you

down here to watch me fail?

Silver bromide particles

on any positive print
leave minute traces

on any surface
when they're combined

with compression and heat,

like, say,

a wallet being sat on for
ten hours a day in a hot taxi.

Abby-cadabra,

your picture from the cadaver.

Oh,

that's sad.

Why would they take
the family photo?

More proof
they got the right guy.

Any good news?

Yes, um, the oil,
not from the taxi

but from the motorcycle.

I was able to determine

the exact viscosity
and degradation,

and I found microscopic
metal shavings in it.

Trace the bike?

Well, not exactly.

Well, actually,
um, not at all,

but if you find
the motorcycle,

then I can
positively

place it at the murder scene.

Unless they
change the oil.

Unless they change
the oil. Hmm.

This is a gift
for you.

It's decaf.

I sleep at night.

I actually eat food.

It is so weird, you've got

to try it.

Abs.

Don't let that
hurt your feelings.

(all speaking foreign language)

You speak Burundi?

The official language
is Kirundi and French.

But these people
speak English.

They just don't want
to speak it with us.

NCIS.

Federal agents.

Looking for anybody

who knows this man, his
family, where he lives.

I take it this is
the hack section--

I'm just guessing--

and your work
visas are in order,

'cause I hate
paperwork, so, uh...

how about a
little help here?

May I see
the photograph, please?

I know the man
you're looking for,

but his name is not Nukunda.

You must forgive them.

Where they come from,
agents of the government

seldom bring good news.

Well,

we have questions.
Even worse.

These are delicious.

Then I won't tell you
what they are made from.

(chuckles)

Mr. Abaka, you say
you're a professor?

At Waverly University.

I teach African Studies there.

How long have you been
in this country?

Seven years.

Same as our
dead cabdriver.

The same
as many people

in here.

It was a time of unrest

and upheaval
in the region.

Thousands of us
came here looking

for freedom and safety.

It is unfortunate

that this man and his family

only found death.

Someone must know

where his family is.

If they are
in hiding, no.

What's his real name?

ABAKA:
I don't know.

We keep secrets
because secrets keep us alive.

We don't put people in
jail for cooperating,

but we do put them in
jail for not cooperating.

Tony.
I have been tortured

in prison.

I am not afraid
of your legal system.

How do you feel
about deportation?

Tony.

I will ask,

but it is not
in their culture

to cooperate
with the government.

They are too afraid.

He is lying
about something.

He looked suspicious.

They all looked
suspicious.

I'm surprised you could
understand him, Ziva.

He spoke perfect English.

You are xenophobic.

I am not Xena-phobic-- it's
one of my favorite shows.

Leather skirts, lesbian sword
fighting, female empowerment.

Maybe I'm a little
Ziva-phobic.

Do you see what I see?

A crazy Israeli chick
with impulse issues?

The reflection.

Oh.
We could go ask him

who he's calling.

Or we can have McGee
ask for us.

Okay, triangulating all traffic

from the towers
closest to Café Butu,

narrowing it down to
all outgoing calls at the time

Abaka made his call.

Less narration, McGee.

Tracing.

Look at that.

It's incredible.

Probie's lips
are still moving

while he's working.

He's like one
of those Romanian orphans

who can't
stop rocking.

You are so prejudiced.

I am not.

I'm not.
By the way,

that's a
contraction-- "I'm."

You should try it
sometime.

Got it.

Ha! Beat my old record
by two seconds.

Uh...

cell number is listed to
Delphin Abaka of Georgetown.

Who'd he call?

The Wilmont Hotel,
room 234.

Currently occupied
by a Sayda Zuri.

African.

Accessing immigration files.

ZIVA:
Probably Burundian.

Cabdriver's wife
maybe?

She came through Customs
two days ago from Burundi.

Restricted
travel visa.

DiNozzo.

Picking her up, boss.

Found her.

I have come to claim
my husband's body.

His name is Thomas.

Thomas Zuri.

Did he change it
when he got here?

Many times.

I don't know
what he calls himself now,

but he'll always be Thomas
to me.

You said he came from
Burundi seven years ago?

Yes.

But according to
immigration records,

this is the first time
you have been here.

Why?

The situation in Burundi
is very complicated, miss.

I have not been free
to come before now,

but it seems I am too late.

I am sorry for your loss.

Who told you
to come to us?

A friend called me.

Professor Abaka?

He has been helping me
to try and find Thomas.

We are soul mates, Thomas and I.

Have you met your soul mate,
miss?

You will know
the minute you do.

Ziva.

Ready.

No, this is not Thomas.

Yes, well, there's
considerable swelling...

May I see his body?

Thomas was tortured.

This man
has no scars.

No.

This is not my husband.

You gotta be kidding me.

$15,000?

$25...

Something wrong,
McGee?

Computer glitch.

Better?

Much.

Where's Ziva?

Right behind you.

There have been 11
attacks on cabdrivers

in the past 60 days
in the DC and Maryland area.

Three of them
are very interesting.

DiNozzo, put them up.

All three were shot
with a nine-millimeter.

And all three autopsies
showed a tooth missing.

Enlarge the photos.

Ah.

(Tony groaning)

Oh.
Come on.

Tell me you
just didn't lose

all that
information.

(whispers):
McGee!

I hit the space bar.

Just push the buttons
I tell you to push, monkey.

Love is not treating
you well, my friend.

Yeah, no kidding.

Bring up our John Doe
from the morgue.

Anybody see
what I see?

Black males.
All in their

mid to late 40s.
All local cabdrivers.

None of them work for the
same company, though.

Vitals.

Similar age,

similar height,
similar weight...

they all have shaved heads
and facial hair.

Bad guys
don't know exactly

what their target
looks like now.

They only have
a general description.

Seven years.
Long time. People change.

Would explain
the teeth pulling

and the videos.
DiNozzo.

How many cabdrivers in DC

fit this general
description?

Huh.

I'd say dozens.

Thomas was a storekeeper.

He had no interest in politics.

But his words were so eloquent,

so passionate, that his message
spread from village

to village.

He became a symbol of hope

against a system of injustice
and corruption.

Extremists saw him
as a threat.

Privately, many in
the government

did not care
if he died.

That was seven years ago.

What's changed?

There is a growing movement
against the old ways.

Some people

are openly calling
for him

to return and lead
the new people's party.

His enemies fear
he will do exactly that.

I have been told

they have sent people
here to kill him.

Came to warn him.

Yes.

How did your husband get here?

He was smuggled out
of the country

by your embassy
in Burundi.

Our government brought him here?

Yes.

You see,
Thomas was pro-American.

That is why
the extremists hate him.

Why did you stay?

I could not leave

my family, Miss.

My father was dying.

Thomas felt that if he left,

the extremists would no longer
be threatened by him.

He was right.

They left me alone.

A year after he left,

I received this.

No postmark.

It was smuggled to me
by the embassy.

He writes that he's working
in Washington,

driving a taxi.

That he misses me.

That he wants me
to join him in America.

And then?

And then there was
another civil war.

I never received another letter.

The embassy could
no longer help me.

And now they have come for him.

I know men
like these.

They will not stop

until they are sure
my husband is dead.

We need something from you.

Anything.

The name of the embassy official
who helped him get away.

Are you aware
that I no longer work

for the State Department,
Director?

Mr. Choyce, are you aware
that the State Department

and NCIS are part
of the same government?

I doubt if there's anything
I can do to help you.

You smuggled Thomas Zuri out
of Burundi seven years ago.

You set him up in DC.

Gave him a new identity.

Don't know
what you're talking about.

GIBBS:
Talking about
saving a life.

Maybe several.

I wish I could help.

Sit down.

You're not done yet.

You're a consultant now

with an Asian-based oil company.

What do you think
would happen

to your value
in the private sector

if I were to
call ZNN,

and tell them you
refused to help us

solve a murder
of a United States

Naval Officer?

An Admiral.

Off the record.

Zuri walked away.

Happens all the time.

Once we get

a political asset
into the country,

we hold onto them

in case we need them
in the future.

Zuri was very helpful.

But often the assets don't
like the restrictions,

so they leave
the program.

We have no control over that.

Zuri left.

That was five
years ago.

How do we find him?

Anything I tell you

is a violation of the agreement
we had with him.

I am sure he'll understand.

I don't know
where he is.

Last known address.

Look, he changed
his address often.

All I can give you
is where I know

he lived five years ago.

(woman laughing)
Do you understand?

Stop laughing. It's not funny.

What's not
funny, McGee?

Uh, nothing.
Personal...

Well, don't tell
me about it.

I want you to visit
the State Department's

strategic
analysis unit.

Visit?

I'm going
to need clearance.

Visit.
Visit.

Visit, visit,
that kind of visit.

Okay.

Uh, what exactly
am I looking for?

Uh, oil in Burundi.

Don't think
there's oil in Burundi.

Well, yeah, that's why
I want you to look.

Ah, and run this.

Last know address
for Thomas Zuri.

Okay, multitasking, boss.

TONY:
Take my money, take my money.

Take my money.
Give me my candy.

(whirring)
(grunts)

You cannot buck
the system, Tony.

Trade bucks with me?
(coins jingle)

If you stop

forcing things, they
will come to you.

Thank you, Obi-Wan.

Why don't you like immigrants?

What?!

My great-grandparents came

through Ellis Island,

not the first-class
lounge at El Al.

I came here in the jump seat
of a C1-30 with turbulence.

Whatever.

My point is, you're here
on a weekend fun pass.

I'm the immigrant.

My family came here
with nothing.

Just loads of charm,
talent and great looks.

My great-grandfather
drove a truck

for two dollars a day.

Took him 20 years to start
his own transportation company.

And now their great-grandson,
he's an NCIS agent.

So don't tell me

about the immigrant
experience.

Until you are one.

Any of that true?

Parts.

Is this stuck to my teeth?

Nothing sticks to you.

Mmm.

(whirring)

(beeping)

Do you ever think
about soul mates?

They were on Decca, right,
big hit, mid-'70s?

Sort of a disco thing?

Sing a few bar,
I'll get it.

You'll never get it.

(whispers):
Boss.

I did that thing you

told me to do.
You don't have
to whisper, McGee.

I don't care who hears.

Do you want me
to tell you how...

Nope.

'Cause I can give you
the short...

Forget I asked.

Classified satellite
recon photos

of a petroleum
exploration firm

linked to China,

doing drilling
in the Dajee region of Burundi.

They find anything?
Considering the money

they're poured into the
region, I'd say yes.

Oil.

And guess who still has
top-level clearance

in the State Department?

Choyce.

He's still working
for them.

Not as an employee,
but as a consultant.

Plausible deniability.

You run that address
Choyce gave us?

Yeah, construction site.
New condos.

Original building was
demolished two years ago.

Guess Zuri moved on,
found a new place to live.

Four drivers, four
different cab companies.

McGEE:
Nothing in common?

All attacked at different
times of the day.

Time of death
of the first driver?

2:30 in the morning.

McGEE:
Which was 90 minutes
after he clocked out.

Second driver?

9:45 in the evening.

Two hours after
he logged off.

None of them were officially
working when they were attacked.

Boss, in two of the attacks,

the cabs
had passengers.

In each case,
including the admiral's,

the passengers called
for a cab.

Meaning, they didn't
just hail it on the street.

Meaning someone had to have
dispatched it.

Even if they was off
the records.

Meaning Bayliss,
the cab company dispatcher.

McGEE:
He was working when
every attack happened.

Probably used a bypass
to channel the calls.

Bayliss did not report
to work today.

Address.

Yeah, got it.

NCIS!

Warrant!

Clear.

Clear.

DiNozzo. McGee.

Ziva, pick it.

No problem.

Fives and tens. Curb cash.

What's curb cash?

Fares.

Small
denominations.

Street money.
Kickbacks.

Lollipop for McLoverboy.

Those real?

No.

Fakes. But they're
really good fakes.

Guy's a regular
cab coyote.

Is that like a wolf
in sheep's clothing?

Coyote is a person
who exploits people

that come to this country
illegally.

TONY:
As opposed to outsourcing,

which is what you are.

(metallic clanging)

(ceiling creaking)

Whoa!

That's Bayliss.

Attic space.

He must have
been hiding.

Been shot.

Still warm, boss.

(engine revving)

Boss, MPD shut down
a 12-block perimeter

around Bayliss's
apartment. Nothing.

Got a BOLO out on the Yamaha.

Traffic cams?

McGEE:
Lost the bike

after three blocks.
He took side streets.

How did they know about Bayliss?

GIBBS
McGee, Choyce's

bank records
and personnel file from State.

And find out
who the hell Choyce called

after he left here.
DiNozzo?

Boss.

Bring him in.

Ziva,

get Sayda.

(cell plays tune)

(phone beeps on)

Yes?

No, I told you I don't want
to give you her name.

I just want to cancel
my credit cards.

57, 58, 59.

60...
Well, why would you send
the IRS after me?

I haven't done anything.

McGee?

(sighs)
Yeah?

Did you know that it's
365 steps from my lab

to your desk?

(sighs)

Trying to get my
blood pumping.

What's wrong
with you?

Nothing.

Okay, this is the
new, caffeine-free,
non-jittery Abby.

Still waters. Deep.

You're hiding
something, and I seek it.

Speak.

I've been seeing this girl.

Oh. That's nice.

No, actually,

it's not nice.

She, uh, stole my mail,

and took out $65,000

in pre-approved
credit cards in my name.

Wow. You have
really good credit.

FICA score's 750.

Well, was.

So, this is, like, the best
worst love story ever?

Abby, what do I do?

It's like

I'm nuts for this girl,
you know, and she's just...

nuts.

She stole your heart,
she stole your money.

Arrest her.

That's the thing.

That's what she wants.

She admitted everything to me.

That is a check
for $65,000.

Yeah, her father's
Earnest Leonard.

He's worth billions.

She does this for fun.

She's been arrested twice.

She steals people's money,
she buys things.

The crazy ones are the best.

See, the weird thing is...

I kind of dig it, you know?

Okay, love is never
having to read her
her Miranda rights.

But she's going to do this
to somebody else.

Throw her psycho
ass in the brig.

I love you, McGee.

That should be enough.

One, two, three,
four, five, six...

Shall we try
this again?

Has something changed?

Oh, you might say that.

Recognize these?

My banking details.

This is outrageous.
How did you get these?

Warrant, and this
is what we found.

Two deposits.

One for $100,000.

The second for $150,000.

From a bank
in Burundi.

Now, we're
still following

the paper trail,
but I think we all know

where it's going to take us,
don't we, Mr. Choyce?

To Burundi
political extremists.

With well-oiled pockets.

You sold them
information about Zuri.

I want a deal
before I say anything else.

SHEPARD:
First the truth.

Then a deal.

Look, I didn't sell them
anything useful.

It was information
from years ago.

Old addresses
and phone numbers, that's all.

He was paranoid!

He moved six times
in the first year!

There's no way
they could find him!

Was one of these
old phone numbers used

by a taxi dispatcher
named Bayliss?

Zuri only drove cabs for
a couple of months years ago.

Then he quit.

Wrong. He went gypsy,
off the books.

You gave them
Bayliss's name.

Bayliss is dead.

Got to believe he told
them where to find Zuri.

Oh, my God.

How did you
communicate with them?

They contacted me.

By phone?
Pre-paid cell.

They called me.

Non-traceable.

I tried.

Name.

Tie him to Burundi terrorism.

Send him to Gitmo.

No lawyer, no phone.

Good luck
with that deal.

Delphin Abaka.

Delphin Abaka.

McGEE:
No luck, boss.
Abaka's off the grid.

He's a damn teacher
at a university, McGee.

McGEE:
Also served in the Burundi army
20 years ago

and hasn't been teaching
since last semester.

I guess when he realized
we were involved,

he tried to use Sayda to
find out what we knew.

We probably know less
than he does.

The DMV needs a thumbprint

to get a
driver's license.

Means Zuri's
in the system.

If we can match

his prints to DMV records,
we can get

his current alias
and an address.

TONY:
That's a nice try, probie.

If Zuri's still
out there,

he's got his fake
hack license with him.

I'm sorry, boss.
I already looked.

I think I know where we
can get a fingerprint.

Sayda's locket.

Scanning.

Okay.

Let's see what we got.

(trilling and beeping)

It's a partial
right thumb.

Degraded by age,

but I have enough

whirls and deltas
to get eight points.

How long is this going
to take, madam?

You know what?
It's hard to tell.

Tell, Abby.

Somebody needs
to switch to decaf.

Could be seconds,
could be hours

if he used his other thumb
for his driver's license.

(beeping)

Okay, he's not
in the DC system,

or Virginia
or Maryland.

Do you want me
to run all 50 states?
Yes.

(trilling)

Wow, it's getting
really late.

Not that I'm tired or anything
from a lack of caffeine,

mind you,
'cause I'm not.

At all. Really.

(trilling)

My meter is

running full blast, Gibbs.

Relax, Abs.

I think you just
solved the case.

I did?

Meters.

A form of measurement
used extensively in Europe.

Taxi meters, DiNozzo.

Bayliss keep
meter records

for gypsy drivers?
Yeah, sure.

Without records, he wouldn't be
able to keep track of kickbacks.

Bayliss's laptop.

Every driver who hasn't reported
to work for the past 72 hours.

I'm only interested in
meters that are not running.

I don't follow.

But I'm willing

to give it a try.

TONY:
I get it.

Zuri heard

about other cabdrivers
being attacked.

He knows they're
after him.

So he would have stopped driving
after the first attack.

Put it up.

McGEE:
Dumping all females,
non-African-Americans,

everyone over 50
and under 30.

Match the rest
against our victims' stats.

Five left, boss.

Sayda?

That is Thomas.

That is my
husband.
Are you sure?

Yes, I'm sure.

Give me the
address, McGee.

I want to come with you.

I want to see him.

Please.
No.

Please.

Yamaha's on the side.
Engine's still hot.

McGee,
you're out front.

DiNozzo,
you're with us.

MAN:
I will not have a...
to ruin my country

It's time for
you to die.

If you're going
to do this, do it,

but do not harm my wife.

(grunts)

Shut up,
shopkeeper.
Be still.

Be still, or she will
end up dead like you.

If you think I would let you
return to my country,

you are wrong, very wrong.

NCIS!

Drop your weapons!

(grunting and gunshots)

(groaning)

(glass breaking,
bullets ricocheting)

(groaning)

(groaning continues)

You.

Hello again,
Professor Abaka.

(sirens blaring,
groaning continues)

Thomas Zuri?
Yes.

You're a hard man to find.

Well, perhaps...
not hard enough.

(panting)

My wife...

(garbled radio transmission)

(indistinct shouting)

He is okay.

Oh, thank you.

Seven years
is a long time.

Thomas.

Sayda.

I have missed
you so much.

You have been in my
heart every moment.

Sayda.

I-I wrote to you.

So many letters. Hundreds.

But I just received
one letter, Thomas.

And then I heard

that the army had killed
everyone in our village.

I survived.

We both survived.

(house door squeaks open)

I thought I would
never see you again.

I'm so sorry, Sayda.

I am so very sorry.

It's okay, Thomas.

I understand.

(voice breaking):
I am just glad
you are safe.

Sayda.

Sayda.

(engine starting)

Everything will be
all right.

Let's go in.

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