All language subtitles for ncis.origins.s01e06.1080p.web.h264-nhtfs

- Who's Eddie?
- Boyfriend.

He's moving in.

No. Wait, no,
they're fine.

Get out of the car!

Get out of the car now!

Gibbs!

Lower your weapon now!

What I don't like are
workplace distractions.

Workplace distractions.

They were great.

You grab a drink,

tell a joke,

play a game.

And somehow,
all the awful things

you saw and heard that day

seem less awful.

Franks called her
a workplace distraction.

He didn't mean it
as a compliment.

I didn't know he said it
until later.

She usually didn't repeat
things like that.

Thought I had you.

Maybe next time.

Hey, when Franks gets done
with his paperwork,

we're gonna grab a drink.

I can't.

I'm going out with the girls

to celebrate Vera's
profiling thing.

Well, that's later, right?

Should grab a drink
with us first.

Randy's coming, too.

Nah, it's been a long week.

I need to get out.

She said she needed to get out.

Back then, I didn't know
what she meant.

Later, she told me she
felt like she was in a box.

We're getting too
old for this crap.

Come on.

You're off the clock.

Live a little.

Sexy.

She told me she felt like

the box was getting
smaller and smaller.

Thank you.

To the brand-new

NIS Profile
Criminal--

Oh, so...
Damn it,
what do you call it?

Criminal Profiling Program!

Trailblazer right here!

Yeah, Strickland!

Oh! I have this record!

My favorite song.

What the hell are you doing?

Hey.

Where are we going?

Get out of my car, dude.

Oh, you didn't ask me
to come with you?

It was loud
in there.

I gotta go to work.

You a drug dealer?

Come on, man,
get the hell out of here.

I got a boyfriend.

Too bad.

Come and find me when you don't.

She told me she felt trapped.

And she hated herself

for getting that way.

Damn it.

We were just about

to send a search party
out for you.

Suicide?

Petty Officer
Second Class Greg Piccolo.

28 years old. Fire controlman.

A neighbor heard loud music
playing for hours,

called the cops.

Family been notified?

What the hell's
wrong with your lips?

Hey, Dominguez.

Great to
see you.

I mean, horrible circumstances,

as always,
I'm guessing?

I know nothing.

The asshat that called me,

he just said show up here, so...

The...

the victim is a 26--
28-year-old male.

Gunshot wound
to the head.

Appears to be self-inflicted.

There's a .38
in his left hand.

Great, thanks.

Oh, I told my grunts

to bring the gurney in
through the back.

They're not grunts,
they're good kids.

O'Malley said
they're reading them

out loud in there.

"But I won't
be able to stop myself

from nearly ripping it."

Yeah.

"Then, I'll slip off my skirt,

and I'll slip my
tongue in your--"

Hey.

Box under the bed
had letters

and photos
from a pen pal.

Yeah, uh,
forensics already

snapped pics of 'em,
so we were just...

Um...

This one says her
and the victim

were supposed to meet for
the first time tonight.

Guy sets up
a romantic dinner,

goes the whole nine,

lady pen pal
never shows,

guy's so broke up
about it,

he offs himself.

You sure about that
cause of death?

Could've been
blue balls.

Hey, Randy,

keep reading, I could use
a couple pointers.

Okay.

Um...

"I can't wait to,"

uh, redacted,

um, "your,"

uh, redacted,

"until it,"
you know,

uh, yeah, redacted.

Oof.

She goes on to say
how excited she is

to finally get what
Greg's gonna give her.

In reference
to his johnson?

Hey, Franks,

I need you out here.

I found a series
of broken blood vessels

on the victim's left
thumb and forefinger.

They fresh?
Yup.

They match the positioning
of the weapon.

Somebody forcibly made
him pull that trigger.

This isn't a suicide.

Excuse me, miss?

You all missed something.
It could be blood.

No.
No, no, no.

It was sitting right here.
It could be blood.

No, I dropped it. It's mine.

My lieutenant
told me not to--
What?

My lieutenant
said not to--

I don't care what your
lieutenant said, dude.

This is my scene.

I'm telling you I dropped it.
I'm telling you it's mine.

Hey.

Hey, the hell's your
head at tonight, huh?

Those of you who
haven't heard,

we're looking
at a homicide.

I need a sweep
for evidence

and transport
to forensics.

Someone grab those letters
from the bedroom.

Let's get this place
bagged and tagged.

Hey, I thought you
were staying at Vera's.

Oh, we had a call
last night. Homicide.

The woman that wrote these
letters is our best suspect.

I'm trying to read
them, but...

Pictures of letters, huh?

It's too blurry.
You don't have the originals?

They're at the lab.

They're from
the crime scene?

Why didn't you
look at them there?

The guys bagged them
before I could.

How'd that happen?

You're always
first on the scene.

Hey, why'd you, uh,

why'd you stay here last night

when you knew
I would be at Vera's?

I thought I could make you
coffee when you got home.

But now you beat me to it.

You know what? I'm gonna
go hop in the shower.

Oh, my deadline
got pushed.

I mean, for the Tribune,
not the long-form.

I still have maybe
300 words to go,

but tomorrow really cleared up.

I thought maybe I could start
moving some stuff over early.

I, um,

I haven't made space
in the closet yet.

That's-that's fine.

I can just keep it in boxes
until you do.

It's okay.

Okay.

Morning, Woody.

Hey, buddy.
You lost?

I was hoping to
read those letters

they dropped off
last night.

Yeah, I was gonna
give you a call about these

once I had a second
to drop off my bag

and do my morning meditation.

Phil!

I forgot my keys at home.

Phil, open the door!

Yeah, I don't see his car.

I don't even
think he's here yet.

It can wait.

Okay, well, if you want

to read those letters,

I copied 'em,

brought 'em home
last night.

Read through.
Real spicy stuff,

but nothing
relevant I could see.

No prints except
for the victim's.

Thanks, Woody.
No sweat.

I wasn't finished
talking, though.

I showed
some copies

to our handwriting guy,

and after about ten minutes
of insane psychobabble,

he finally said
that it was definitely written

by the same person.
Definitely a man.

And that's something
they can be definite on?

Graphology's not
an exact science,

but when it comes to gender,

they're right
more often than not.

All right then.

Yeah, it's like the spaces
between the letters,

and the way the slant
of the letters,

you can tell there's
a firmer grip on that pen.

It's a man-grip!

No one ever lets me
finish talking.

The pen pal was a man
posing as a woman.

So, who were the
pictures of then?

They were body parts,
not even a face.

Could've been anyone, right?

Multiple women, even.

So, the killer sends
a targeted letter to Piccolo,

writes him letters for weeks

and then sets up a meeting
to kill him?

There was a targeted letter?

Yeah, the first one.

It said
that she...

Well, he found Piccolo
through a pen pal database,

"Penpal Picks."

Did you read the letters?

Not yet, but I have copies.

I'm good.

You sure?

Did we look into the database?

Yeah. Wasn't real.

Killer must've wanted something.

What do you mean?

You want a guy dead,

and you've got his address,

you just go over there
and take him out, easy-peasy.

Why write fake letters
beforehand for weeks?

The killer must've wanted
something from him.

I am telling you, you just
keep interrupting me.

I ain't interrupting you,
I just want to know

what the words
were exactly.

What's going on?

You're just
getting here now?

Mary Jo got an anonymous call
on the case,

Franks is making her
repeat it exactly.

It was a man who called.

He had a small, quiet
voice, and he said,

"Greg Piccolo
did some bad deeds."

Come on, Mary Jo,
he used the word "deeds"?

I mean, if he was going
for drama, it makes sense.

He said deeds!

And then he said...

"Check out where he worked."

Maybe not those exact words,

but that was the gist
of it, all right?

Can I go about my life now?

What'd Piccolo do?

He was a fire controlman.

Worked at the Naval
Weapons Station.

Petty Officer Piccolo's job

was to oversee
the classifiers.

He spend all his time
in the SCIF?

Um, not all.

I can show you his desk
after you take a look in here.

Piccolo didn't say much, but...

he was a good man.

Petty Officer Piccolo oversaw
the operations of this room.

Personnel can remove files
based on clearance level.

Files can be reviewed at a table
just outside the room,

then they're
logged back in.

What's in the files?

Weapons construction orders,
design schematics.

I can get you
a generalized list.

You worked with
Petty Officer Piccolo?

Yes, sir.

He was your supervisor?

Yes, sir.

He ever have any problems here?

Not... that I know of, sir.

You ever have
any problem with him?

No, sir.

What's your name, boy?

Walt.

Petty Officer Lewis, sir.

Petty Officer Lewis,

you been known to use
phrases like "bad deeds"?

Why'd you call in the tip?

What was Piccolo doing?

Permission to stand, sir?

There ain't nothing on it.

He took the real one,
replaced it with that.

What's on the real one?

The latest schematics
for the Tomahawk missile, sir.

Hey. I've been
looking for you.
Hi.

Are those those dirty letters
everybody's talking about?

Yeah...

All right,
so what gives?

I thought you guys moved on
to government secrets now.

Yeah, I just need
to finish reading these.

For what, the 18th time?

No, the first.

I am behind.

Okay. Well, I, um...

I saw that guy leave
the club right after you.

I went out to, uh,
make sure you were okay.

There's nobody out there.

You want to talk about it?

Okay.

Catch you later.

- Kid's never heard of flowers?
- Chocolate?

You know what I gave Shelly
on our first date?

A firm handshake.

This kid is forking over
Navy Tomahawk intel.

And took one to the head
for his efforts.

There was nothing in the letters

directly asking Piccolo
to steal the intel.

And he probably destroyed
the ones that mentioned it

to cover his tracks.

What's the matter, Cliff?
You're looking paler than usual.

Yesterday it's "oh, we've got
a pen pal killer,"

now the guy's
a national security threat.

Well?

What?

You already know
what I'm gonna say.

What?

Three months ago, the DOD
partnered with the FBI...

No. No. Mm-mm.

DOD and FBI had an op
on Tomahawk intel.

Now, I don't
remember the name of it,

but you know what
I'm talking about, Cliff.

I don't know anything about it.

You're the one who told me
about it, for God sakes!

Look, we go to your guy
at the FBI,

we ask him what the chatter is.

They got to still be monitoring

anyone in the market
for Tomahawk intel.

I imagine that list
is pretty short.

I just went to my guy.
For your thing, Mike, for you.

Off the books, no less.

Okay, we don't got
to get into all that.

I cannot keep ringing that bell.

The FBI is not gonna want
to hand over their intel.

They're gonna want to take
the investigation from us.

And they should!
Yeah, they're gonna take it

and move like molasses
with it.

Call your guy, Cliff.

Come on, ol' pal.

Let's dance.

Wheeler.

They shouldn't let you
out of your cage

wearing a suit that sad.

You mind if we--
We're sitting down.

Okay.

You must be Franks.
Good to meet you.

Thought I was here
to meet one G-man,

not the whole damn alphabet.

Place is walking distance
from the office,

plus it's got
the best enchiladas

this side of the border.

You want to try?

Not a fan of Mexican.

Ooh. Then you haven't spent
enough time in México.

Look. We need to know who's in
the market for Tomahawk intel.

Yeah. I heard you on the phone
the first time.

Noah, you're gonna give us
what you've got,

or I'm going to have
a whole lot to say

about what happened in '86.

The hell happened in '86?

That card's only good
for so long, Wheeler.

I was gonna give you
your thing anyway.

Tobias.

Yeah, boss?

Give 'em the stats I asked
you for on Samuel Rhodes.

Swallow first.

Rhodes is a high roller,
gets his rocks off

selling intel
to the highest bidder.

He put out feelers
on the black market

three months back
for Tomahawk intel.

Flew into town two days ago,

but we got him on a yacht
in Newport Beach

at the time of your murder.

Where can we
find him now?

Did you hear what I said?

He's got an alibi.
He's not your killer.

But he could be buying
intel from our killer.

You do see where I'm going
with that, right?

Ah, forget it, get your tacos
out of my face.

His name is Rhodes,
this guy?

Where can we find him?

I took the liberty of having him
couriered over to NIS.

I just wanted you to stop
in here and spring for my lunch.

Franks just got back.

He's sending Randy
in the box.

I thought you
were going in.

I told him to send Randy.

Why?

Mr. Rhodes.
I'm Special Agent Randolf.

Nice to meet you.

Can I offer you
some coffee, tea, soda?

Cigarette, if you've got it.

Actually, I don't. But...

...I'm trying to quit.

Cheers.

You're right,

it's awful, but what
are you gonna do?

I just had a kid
not too long ago.

Well, my wife had the kid,
I just stood there.

Bernard, Jr.
God, he's the absolute best.

But he's got a touch
of the colic, you know?

So it's been tough.

- You have kids?
- No.

Yeah. I remember life
before kids.

He doing the Chatty Cathy?

Yep.
I could smoke
like we were picking

the new pope
and not think twice about it.

Agent Randolf, I have
a commitment this evening.

If we could get
to your questions.

Yeah. Yeah.
We can jump to the questions.

Um, what was
your thing for tonight?

You said you had
a commitment.

That's really my question.
What's your commitment?

I'm meeting a friend.

Is it the friend
who you're planning to buy

U.S. government intel from?

And before you
say "lawyer,"

could you just humor
me for a second?

Because you could say it,

and then we could splash
your super handsome face

all over every newspaper
from here to Bombay.

But it kind of
seems like someone

who likes selling intel
to the highest bidder

would want to stay
out of the limelight.

Am I right?

Make me an offer.

Name and location of the friend
you're buying from,

you get a bulletproof
immunity rec

and zero press.

He calls himself Baker.

That's all I know.

Never met him in person.

I was supposed
to meet him tonight.

Where?

Members-only club
in San Diego.

I was supposed to wear a yellow
flower so he could find me.

Like, on your lapel?

People really do that?
I'm stunned.

Name and address
of the club, please.

What?

You're about his height.

You got the hair.

Slap a yellow daisy on
you, you'll pass fine.

You're sending him in
undercover?

He has zero experience, Franks.

Yeah, so you'll
be his arm candy.

Get yourselves dressed
and ready to go.

If you want me to
talk to him, I will.

About what?

Arm candy?
The letters at the crime scene?

What?

That stuff isn't me.

No, it's not.

You offer me a bowl of cereal,
and that makes you different.

Last week, out in that desert,

if it were Franks or Randy
standing next to you,

would you have gone off
on those guys?

I don't need you
to talk to Franks for me.

I'm good.

You are lucky we got
these new wires.

Old wires were complete crap.

All right.

So, that's done.
Now let's, uh...

Yeah, let's do your hair first.

Yeah, the old wires,
you'd get an hour, tops.

Those things would heat up
like nobody's business.

I did this one op,

target was this
mouth-breathing swine.

Parks his ass
right in front of the door.

He will not let me
out of the room.

Wire starts heating up...

What I don't like

- are workplace distractions.
- Redacted.

He had his hands on you!

I said I had it!

He's moving in.
Boys' club is over there.

Franks will promote him
over you.
Lower your weapon, now!

Got the guy, though.

That dumb swine did not stand
a chance against all this.

You know?

That guy who got in my car?

I don't even know why I did it.

All right.

At work,
you put yourself in a box.

You know, you speak up enough
to show you're not a pushover

but not enough to be a bitch.

They tell a joke, you
tell an even racier one.

You figure out which pants
hug your ass a little too tight,

and you save those
for your days off.

A person like you...

Lala,

if you put yourself
in a box at home, too,

something's got to give.

FBI's officially
playing ball with us here.

Their SWAT team's
already posted.

They'll advance inside on my go.

All right, now, probie, I want
you to repeat it all back to me,

show me you know it.

Which part?

All of it.

Target goes by "Baker."

I check in as Samuel Rhodes,
my date is Rebecca.

Weapons stay in here.

We'll likely be frisked
before seeing Baker.

Lala's got the wire.

And don't be walking away
from me.

I'm not gonna chase you down

just so they can hear you.

Once Baker hands
over the microfiche,

I confirm that the Tomahawk
schematics are on it.

I give him the money,
the alert word

is "congratulations,"
that's your cue

to call in SWAT and arrest.

That was super solid,

you just skipped the part
about the briefcase.

Right. Combination is 209.

Let me see you do it.

Money's $20K short.

Money's $30K short
because the FBI

"is a bunch of
molasses-moving SOBs."

Your words, not mine.

Okay, Mike, we don't
need him quoting you.

If they start
counting the money,

we call "congratulations."
He knows it, let's go.

You keep your head in the game,
you hear me?

Dominguez,
you run point on this.

You do what she says.

What?

Nothing. We're good.

We're good.

Okay, people, let's get swanky.

Good evening, sir.

Samuel Rhodes.
I'm a guest of Mr. Baker.

Enjoy your night,
Mr. Rhodes.

Thank you.

Welcome.

May I take your briefcase?

No, I'll keep it,
thank you.

Your coat, miss?
Yes, thank you.

We're in.

Looking out
for Baker's approach.

Should we
order something?

We should
order something.

Kid needs
to calm down.

Take it easy.

Get us some bourbons.

Can we get
two bourbons, please?

Guy approaching.

Six feet, white, 40s, blond.

Could be Baker.
Where?

Your six o' clock.
Eyes on me.

Two bourbons.

Cosmo and a bourbon, neat.

False alarm.

What?

I think that's my dentist.

His dentist?
What're the odds?

He could blow your cover,
get out of there!

They can't hear you, boss.
Wires, they only work one-way--

And I'm saying stuff
you already know.

My pits are so sweaty right now.

Let's move.

No. He ordered two drinks.

He's gonna head out.

Would you like
an orange twist?

Uh, I'm not sure.

Honey?

Would you like
an orange twist?

Yes, please.
Yeah?

- Okay.
- You got it.

Thank you.

He's gone.

You sure?

We're in the clear.

Cover intact.

Waiting for Baker's approach.

Relax.

Dr. Teeth is across the room,
I got eyes on him.

Hey.

We got this.

Mr. Rhodes.

Mr. Baker's ready. Follow me.

These shoes are a bitch
to walk in.

She's playing drunk?

She's making herself
a zero-threat.

You hear that?

Damn it.

Oh! Sorry.
I'm ticklish.

We're mid-op.

I'm requesting
a "hold in place."

Yes, sir.

SWAT's moving out.
What?

There's an active terrorist
threat, Downtown San Diego.

You need to move
your guys out now.

How the hell am I
supposed to do that?

Baker already tapped them
to go in.

They're clean.

Rhodes, come in.

Either of you two want a drink?

You look thirsty.

- I'm good at pouring.
- Have a seat.

- What about the guys outside?
- They looked parched.

- Are they twins?
- She's a talker, huh?

Boss.

Lala's count,
we got four armed guys.

Two inside the room, two out.

There could be more
that she hasn't seen yet.

I need more bodies in here now.

I'm trying.
Didn't you hear what he said?

That room is stacked, and I got
two unarmed agents in there,

you molasses-moving
son of a bitch.

Samuel Robert Rhodes.

I read up on you.

Not in a creepy way.

I always do my due diligence
on people I'm in bed with.

Originally from
Wisconsin, eh?

My mother was born in Milwaukee.

Go Brewers.

I think you'll be very happy.

Williams.

It's not turned on.

You're right.

I am happy.

The money.

Baby, this is the thing.

This is the deal you've been
talking about.

Congratulations.

Let her be.

What's the combination?

Two, zero, nine.

Let's do this again sometime.

Uh, you don't mind
hanging out while

Williams counts it,
do you?

I'm big on due diligence.

That is a lot more money

than the last thing
you bought.

I need to cheers to that.

And congratulations

to me for dating you.

Boss, she called it again.

I think they're gonna
count the money.

I got a team of six.
They're five minutes out.

Congrats. Congrats. Congrats.

Going in.

Randy, you can jump out
if you want.

Nope, I'm going in
with you, boss.

Hey.

There are four armed guys
in there, at least.

Best bet, let this play
till the team gets here.

My people are in there
$30K short 'cause of you.

I ain't letting nothing
play out.

You know,
the drinks are tasty.

They are, but

I'm kind of wondering,

you know how long
this is all gonna take

because we have...

Well, we have things
to do, right?
Mm-hmm.

Unless you want to
do them with us?

Do you have friends?

Yeah, I have friends.

What kind of friends
do you like?

Members only.

Federal agents.

NIS? The hell is that?

It's the
Naval Investigative Service.

You best step aside.

FBI. Let us through.

Team's still
three minutes out.

Glad you found your balls.
The hell are they?

What about Holly
and Christine?

Oh, he would like Holly,
don't you think?

Oh, yeah.

I'm gonna call them.
They're good girls.

Can I...?

Where did you
find her?

I always say,

"Dirty but not trashy,"

and nobody ever understands
what I mean.

Boss, count's not coming out.

What?

He's shorting you.

Gibbs.

Drop the weapon.
Williams, no.

Take the shot.

Take the shot.

- Drop it.
- Ah, no.

Williams,
take the shot.

Drop it.

Three, one down.

Oakley, call an ambulance.

You, call 911.

Turn around.

Okay, probie.

I got him.

I got him.

I got him.

78 minutes for a confession.
Not bad.

Just played them
against each other.

Baker gave up Williams
as the trigger man.

He say whether
he made any copies of this?

Claims he didn't.

Dominguez will get you her
after action report tomorrow.

Williams is still
in the hospital. Critical,

but he'll probably make it.
Okay.

Mike.
Dominguez--

How's she taking it?

Seemed fine to me.

Hey.

I thought I'd be productive
till you got home.

What's the dress for?

Something happened.

At work?

Someone got hurt?

No.

Last night.

When I went dancing.

Later, she told me she felt like
she was in a box.

She told me it felt like the box
was getting smaller and smaller.

Yeah, it was the first
undercover for the new guy.

I heard he did good.
Oh, yeah?

That's what
Wheeler said.

Hey, did you guys
see what Dominguez

was wearing last night?

I saw her
walking out. Damn.

Cleans up nice, huh?

She told me she felt trapped,

and she hated herself
for getting that way.

Yeah, it's like, uh,

tight little number,
strippers' heels, the works.

Think Franks took pictures?

I'd give you guys a lap dance,

but your broke ass
can't afford me.

She's over there.

Dominguez, we didn't know
you were back there.

- Oh, yeah, sorry.
- JJ's an awful human being.

But I never saw her as trapped.

I only saw her as always,

always busting out of the box.

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