Original subtitles

Are you gonna help me out here?

Feels like I'm eating the whole thing.

I'm helping.

Mm-hmm.

And it's your turn.

Do you love me...

more than your truck?

Tough one.

But heck, yeah, I do.

Do you love me more than your dog?

Now that's not fair. I love my Betty.

I love my truck.

Then I guess I love you both equally.

In very different ways, of course.

You okay?

I'm so sorry.

Why are you sorry? It's...

it's a ring.

It was my grandmother's.

Too soon?

By years.

This is our 11th date.

You haven't even met my parents.

Well, guess this couldn't have gone any worse.

Look out!

♪ NCIS 12x22 ♪ Troll Original Air Date on April 28, 2015

== sync, corrected by elderman == @elder_man

♪ ♪

Morning, men.

Wow. Look at these early birds!

Oh, if it isn't

Jake the snake, who...

takes the cake, never wakes and bakes and...

I haven't had

my coffee yet.

To what do we owe the pleasure?

Jake and I decided to carpool.

And it's been a while, so I thought

I'd pop in, say hi to the gang.

Oh... the gang. Oh... the gang.

Yeah. Why? Is that weird?

No. I mean, maybe. But... it's okay.

Unfortunately, your, uh,

BFF has yet to join the gang this morning.

Oh. They really call us that? You thought I was kidding?

Look, guys, um, maybe Gibbs and I are starting

to become buddies, kind of, but, uh, when I say "the gang,"

I mean all of you-- I mean Jimmy, Ducky, uh, Abby.

Ev... All of you.

We're just messing with you, Jake.

Mostly.

To be honest with you, we're not even remotely

accustomed to anyone getting close to Gibbs.

Well, I'd-I'd hardly say we're close.

None of our phone conversations last more than a few minutes.

Phone conversations? Like on the phone?

Mmm. They talk almost daily.

Again, very brief conversations.

Still, it sounds like you buddies

are getting... b-b-b-buddier.

Maybe a second covert operation in the works?

Funny, I don't remember the first.

Uh, not covert, boss. I meant the thing

with the-the Russian Intel, when you and...

you and Fornell were at the, uh, cabin.

I'm...

I haven't had my coffee yet either.

Uh, Gibbs. Uh, glad I caught you.

I was gonna get Ellie to return this,

- but, uh... - Yeah, it really did

the trick on our bedroom door. Silly thing kept

swelling and jamming and sticking. Mm-hmm.

So many setups to so many jokes I can't say out loud.

Mmm.

No joke. Got a dead Navy officer in Franconia.

Come on. Let's go.

Then I'll get to work, too.

What about the rest of the gang?

Yeah. Don't you want to say hi to Ducky and Abby and Jimmy?

Well, I-I imagine they're busy, too.

I'll catch them another time.

I'm sure they'll understand.

Victim is Navy Ensign Janine Wilt, 25 years old.

Crash occurred just after midnight.

Miraculously, no witnesses were injured.

Can't say the same for her.

She had to be going awfully fast to jump the curb

and smash through this place.

Yeah, but her wound is hardly from the crash.

Her throat's been cut.

Severed the carotid artery.

The poor girl tried to stem the flow

with her free hand...

but likely bled out in a minute or two.

There's a hospital not far from here.

She was probably trying to get there before she...

McGee, you got an address for her?

Yeah, that's about all I've got, boss.

License has her living in Fairfax,

but the Navy database has pretty much everything else classified.

Classified?

Keep digging. DiNozzo.

Yeah. I got a gym bag in the backseat here.

Sweaty clothes and a cell phone.

No calls in or out since mid-afternoon yesterday.

Why didn't she call 911 from wherever she was slashed?

I rather doubt anyone would be thinking clearly when

rapidly bleeding to death, Mr. Palmer.

"Wherever she was slashed." That's the question.

No GPS to locate the starting point of the car.

Boss-- "Gorton Poly Proud."

Oh, Gorton Poly High School.

That's all the way over in Arlington.

It's about 12 miles from here.

It's in a whole other direction from where she lived.

DiNozzo, McGee, finish up here. Bishop, come on.

You're with me.

Principal said to bring these people to you, Coach Curry.

Thanks, Brad. Get back to class.

What can I do for you?

NCIS.

I'm Special Agent Bishop,

this is Special Agent Gibbs.

Navy Ensign Janine Wilt.

We understand she works for you.

Volunteers, yeah. We coach the girls basketball team.

Why? Is she okay?

This can't be.

Janine was just here last night.

Was it a robbery? Like a-a carjacking?

What time last night?

Uh, practice ended at 9:00.

She stayed after to work out, while I graded report cards.

Left a little before me, 11:00 or so?

You see her leave?

She threw me a big wave when she drove off.

Any idea where she was headed?

Home, I assume.

Was she in a relationship?

No. I mean, not that I'm aware of.

Between this and her Navy job, I doubt she could find the time.

And what was her Navy job?

You'd know better than I would.

She was always very private about that.

Something to do with computers.

Dragons!

What am I gonna tell the girls?

Janine was more than a coach.

She was a friend.

Do they really need to hear that she was murdered?

Until we know more, maybe just...

tell them about the car accident.

So basically we have a lost hour between the time

Ensign Wilt left here and then crashed her car.

Check street surveillance-- any stops she made--

stores, traffic lights, hitchhikers.

Yeah, McGee. What do you have?

Uh, dug up a little more, boss. Actually, a lot more.

Turns out Ensign Wilt was working

as a Cyber Warfare Engineer

with the Office of Naval Intelligence.

Pretty young for that detail.

Yeah, well, that explains the classified status.

Well, that's the "a lot more" part.

Her personnel file went dark not two weeks ago.

Kind of makes you wonder.

Wonder what she was working on.

Maybe it got her killed.

Got any daughters, Director Vance?

I do. I have one. I have three.

If any one of them grows up to be like Ensign Wilt,

I'll be one proud papa.

Just a special kid, in every way.

A kid with a very heady position at ONI, Captain.

She earned it.

Smart,

squared away, and a knack for computer analysis

and code-breaking like I've never seen.

Please.

She had far greater access to code-word operations

than a lot of our more experienced hands.

Her file just went dark two weeks ago.

What was she working on?

Espada de Satanás.

"Sword of Satan."

Colombian drug ring moving product

through our ports for years.

That is, until Ensign Wilt successfully hacked

their Dark Web server and deciphered their communications.

So is there a chance that her murder was retribution?

Absolutely not. We had a joint task force

round up every known member of the ring.

Every known member.

We got them all, Agent Gibbs.

Besides, Wilt's covered status was enough to protect her.

Not enough to keep us from tracing her to you.

Gibbs...

If Wilt did track down the cartel,

it's not a large stretch to think that they

would've tracked her back.

Is it, Cap'n?

It is kind of interesting if we really break it down, right?

'Cause, I mean, there's the age disparity...

Hey, Bish, quick question. The BFFs.

Are they on the phone every day?

Are we still on that?

Well, he is. It's not...

every day, Tony.

See? What did I tell you?

Most Tuesdays

or Thursdays, they just meet for racquetball.

Okay, let's have it.

Any luck on the car?

Nothing yet. The thing about traffic cams

is they only take a picture when you do something wrong.

We went to the apartment. No sign of foul play.

Uh, we did bring her laptop.

I tried opening it there, but this thing is

a virtual Fort Knox of firewalls

and security codes.

Run it by Abby. Well, she's tied up

trying to get Ensign Wilt's car into evidence,

so I called Cyber Operations

and they have their best agent on the way now.

I don't know about best, McGee,

but I'm working on it.

Special Agent Dorneget.

Reporting for duty, Agent Gibbs.

How's it going, Tony,

McGee...

you?

Bishop. Ah, of course.

I've seen you around campus. Ned.

Look at the Dorney, all grown up.

Accelerated past probie to special agent,

graduated to Cyber.

What can I say? My mom was wrong.

All those years of playing Xbox finally paid off.

Ah, good.

See if you can make this pay off, Dorney. Come here.

Oh, and, Dorney, I'm here

if you need help. Just...

Uh-oh.

Yeah, wuh-oh.

You're gonna be busy, Tim.

What is it, McGee?

It's a whole bunch of secured e-mails from ONI.

Subject: Ensign Wilt.

It's Intel on a drug ring she helped take down.

Split it up with DiNozzo, see what's there.

You thinking revenge, boss?

No, I'm thinking "see what's there."

Rather quiet today, Doctor. Everything okay?

Yes, I'm enjoying the silence.

It is nice.

It's different.

We've been at this a while,

and not one Jack the Ripper comment

or Isadora Duncan comparison...

I'm not a... jukebox, Mr. Palmer.

Nor do I take requests.

And as to Isadora Duncan, she was strangled

by her scarf, which got tangled in the rear axle of a car.

There is no comparison.

What do we have, Duck?

Cause of death confirmed.

A single wound

to the ensign's carotid artery

with a wide blade.

What do you mean "wide"?

Well, see for yourself.

It's not a clean razor cut,

but, uh, rather sloppy.

The skin around the incision

is pulled and torn. I'll take your word for it.

Another point of interest, Agent Gibbs,

are the nicks and abrasions above and below the wound.

The killer likely held the weapon

against the ensign's throat

before delivering the final slice.

What are those?

Neck tissue samples.

If any residue was left behind,

it may help in identifying the weapon.

I was just about to take it over to Abby.

And still you are here?

Palmer.

Thank you.

Why wouldn't Gibbs thank you, Jimmy?

He thanks us all the time.

No, he always thanks you.

Well, maybe it's just the first time you actually heard it.

Maybe. Oh, that makes me feel appreciated.

Well, gratitude has a way of doing that.

Gibbs likes me! He really likes me!

That's Sally Field.

I really, really like you, too, Jimmy,

and I would really like it if you would take

those tissue samples upstairs

and put them in the fridge in my lab.

'Cause I have to focus on this car.

Hope you can figure out where it's been.

Okay, little deuce coupe...

show me what you got.

Where is Dorneget?

I don't know. We looked up a minute ago and he was gone.

Gibbs, I found Wilt's car-- running a red light

on Route 7 in Falls Church at 11:42 p.m.

No other vehicles on the road, luckily.

Can't see the interior. It's a bad shot, I know.

But... she couldn't have been stabbed yet.

I mean, both hands on the wheel.

And this is a full 20 minutes

before she crashed into the pie shop.

She was in a hurry. Let's do this.

At last, a kindred spirit.

Just fueling up for battle.

Talk about peeling the onion-- I've never seen this level

of security on a personal computer.

Even for a techie, this Ensign Wilt was pretty paranoid.

Or afraid of this guy.

Alfredo Montez-- he's a paroled drug trafficker...

turned "legitimate" computer consultant.

What is this?

Well, his main client was the drug ring.

He created a secure online network

and messaging system for them.

Not so secure after all.

Not after Ensign Wilt cracked it.

Maybe he traced her back. That many aliases,

he could be hiding in plain sight.

I'll take the first three. I'll take the next three.

Count me in. Winner buys dinner.

Well, hey there, Alfredo.

Looks like you turned in your prison jumpsuit, huh?

NCIS! Don't move.

Hey!

Just go ahead.

Just kill me! Just get it over with.

And why would we do that?

Alfredo...

we're NCIS.

So, like, Feds can't be bought?

That's not really our style.

You're not gonna kill me?

Your boss says you were off last night, Alfredo.

Or is it...

Alfonso?

Isn't that the name you go by now?

And you can't tell us where you were?

Alfredo. What? I was home.

Yeah, just now, where were you?

Thinking how relieved I was that you guys are legit NCIS.

I thought Espada De Satanás had sent you.

You thought she was a hit man?

Hey.

I've been going crazy.

Hiding out...

laying low ever since the man hacked the system

that I built for the Colombians.

"The man"?

I swore to them it was hack-proof.

Then one of your damn white hats backdoors my server

with a Trojan, click-jacks my message chain,

and then I got owned without even knowing it.

Yeah, I hate it when that happens.

So, you don't specifically know

who backdoored your server?

It was you. The man. Federales. Pues...

And not the individual hacker?

Whoever it is, he's no Script-Kiddie,

I can tell you that.

Last known cartel member,

but I'm not so sure that he's our killer.

Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs.

What do you got, Abbs?

Ensign Wilt was not in this car alone.

How do you know that?

It's hard to see...

but there is a glove print on this handle

that has our girl's blood on it.

She ran a red light with a knife to her throat.

Got any idea when he got in there? As far as we know,

the sadistic creep could have been hiding back here the whole time,

till he decided to finish her off and jump out.

What you're collecting's gonna tell us who it is?

Well, Major Mass Spec's gonna tell us.

Meanwhile, I've got some neck tissue

in my fridge I need to get started on.

Oh, yeah, hits just keep on coming.

Yeah, McGee.

Hey, Dorny, you need a towel or a fan over there?

You try navigating this gauntlet, Timmy boy.

Feels like I just spent hours running through catacombs

to kill a dragon priest, only to step outside and have

another dragon land right on my head.

It's an obscure

Skyrim reference, boss-- it actually makes perfect sense.

Thank you, Elf Lord.

What did you find,

Dragon Priest?

It may be nothing, but it seems Ensign Wilt

gained remote access from this laptop

to a home computer

in Annandale two nights ago.

I sent McGee the IP address.

I got a name here.

Adem Faruk Korkmaz.

Listed as a businessman.

Appears to run it out of his home.

Our girl was poking around his hard drive for a half an hour.

Yeah? Doing what?

Only his computer can tell us that.

Hi.

We're wondering if there is an Adem Korkmaz home?

Oh. Sure.

Dad!

It's for you!

He'll be right down.

Who is it, Layna?

I don't know.

Mr. Korkmaz.

NCIS. We're here to ask you some questions

regarding some information linked to your home computer.

Uh, it is a...

it is a business computer. What about it?

More specifically, it's about remote access to it

obtained by...

this woman,

Ensign Janine Wilt.

Never saw her before.

And no one has access to my computer but me.

It's for business only.

Right. We-we got that.

But you think maybe it's possible

she could have gotten in without your knowledge?

No. No, it's quite secure,

and I would know if someone were tampering.

Well, you would know even better

if you'd let us take a quick look.

Do you have a warrant?

Mr. Korkmaz, if it makes any difference,

we're pursuing a murder case.

Ensign Wilt's murder.

I'm sorry.

But I assure you I don't know this woman,

and she certainly had no access to my computer.

Mr. Korkmaz... And...

if you don't have a warrant,

there is nothing else to discuss here.

Nothing suspicious about that.

Let's get that warrant.

Okay, let's hear it-- who is this guy, what's his business,

what's he hiding? Adem Faruk Korkmaz.

46. Immigrated from Istanbul in '98.

Granted U.S. citizenship

in '03.

Founded Korkmaz, an import-export business in '05.

Importing, exporting, shipping and receiving, huh?

Possible cartel connection?

Korkmaz Apparel Imports

has been cited twice since '05 for late taxes,

but otherwise, no criminal record.

And no warrant.

Judge denied the warrant

on Korkmaz's computer-- he cited jurisdiction

from another agency.

What other agency?

Details are classified.

Classified? Popular word on this case.

Classified, McGee? By who?

Take your pick of agencies, boss.

I mean, it could be FBI, DEA, Homeland...

NSA.

I just got called from one

of their people asking us to back off.

They hold a FISA warrant

to monitor Korkmaz's dealings with Turkey.

Who was it that called, Director? Doesn't matter.

What matters is, NSA Director Conte

is on a red-eye to Geneva.

I will call her in the morning. So in the meantime,

I suggest that we all get some rest.

Forget resting.

Hey.

Long day. Did you eat yet?

What's NSA's interest in Adem Korkmaz?

I know you know.

You know better than to ask me about NSA affairs.

Yet here we are.

We used to talk about this stuff all the time.

The operative words there: "used to."

Why are you guys monitoring him?

Like I know specifics.

You're the agency's lead attorney. And how many

foreign-born businessmen has NSA followed since 9/11?

Thousands. Millions.

And for a million and one reasons.

We don't care about millions.

We care about Korkmaz's computer and its possible connection

to the murder of a young Navy officer.

And... what happened there?

Well, if NSA wasn't interfering,

I might know the answer to that, Jake. We're not interfering.

Just maintaining jurisdiction on a case

that's been ours for months, years.

Years?

What, you think this is personal? Like we suddenly

decided to block you guys for no reason?

Well, the call Vance just got was pretty sudden.

Okay, look, no, stop.

You're asking me to betray my agency.

No, I'm asking for your help.

In a way you never would have dreamed of before.

Something's changed here, Ellie.

Something's different.

You're different.

Yeah, everything is different!

I shot a man in Kabul last week.

I killed him.

Has a way of changing a person.

Wait.

What?!

You...

You didn't tell me.

Why would I?

We don't tell each other anything anymore.

But...

how, Ellie?

What happened?

It was him or me.

And...

as long as I keep reminding myself of that,

I can also keep pretending that I'm fine.

You should have told me.

I could have helped.

Then help me now.

Let go of Korkmaz's computer.

We need it.

Please?

I can't. No.

I'm sorry.

Look, Ellie, you chose to leave NSA and take this job.

No one pushed you.

I know.

And it's changed things between us.

But we can work it out.

Right?

That's hilarious, right?

Hey. Who's the early bird now?

Did you take the carpool again?

Uh, that beltway can be murder, you know.

Carpool lane was

flying, though, wasn't it, McGee?

Oh, yeah, it was flying.

- Gentlemen, morning. - Oh.

Hey, Jake.

Sit.

I do hate to put you in this position,

especially with your wife being an agent.

My wife's job's beside the point, Director,

and this position is my job.

It's what I do. Then there's what we do.

And the only thing I haven't been letting you do, Gibbs,

is override NSA jurisdiction,

and we're under no legal obligation to explain why.

You want my opinion? Your job sucks.

Gibbs... The longer we go

before checking Korkmaz's computer,

the better chance we have a killer gets away.

Okay, then, go ahead.

NSA surrenders access.

Excuse me, did you just say...?

I'll clear it upstairs.

Any repercussions,

I'll take the hit.

Well, you heard the man, Gibbs. Go get your warrant.

Actually, let me save you a step.

Is this what I think it is?

I have no idea.

This is like a nightmare.

You have no right to search my data.

What are you afraid we're gonna find?

I make my living on that machine.

If your people corrupt my files, it could ruin my business.

Oh, you need to relax.

Our computer techs are very careful.

They're very, um... discreet.

Holy guacamole, look at all

the business he does through Turkey.

Nothing through Colombia?

Not unless Istanbul is code for Bogota.

Wait.

Where are you getting this?

I don't see Korkmaz's computer.

Don't need it.

We're using the SSD drive Gibbs gave us.

And where did he get that?

We didn't ask, Bishop, and neither should you.

Okay. So, what's it telling us?

Telling us that Korkmaz is shipping and receiving

a whole lot of designer clothes and accessories.

And he's making a boatload doing it,

but it all seems legitimate.

Uh, Dorney, need your help here.

I got folders that won't open.

I got it.

Interesting.

They're both protected by the same firewalls

Ensign Wilt used on her laptop.

We'll consider that her signature.

Any way to see what's in them?

I've conquered this dungeon before,

but this time, I have dragon arrows.

Skyrim. Okay, one folder's

empty, but it held an e-mail account

that's been deleted.

What's in the other one?

A link to a chat room,

but no access.

All that's left is a list of screen names.

Let's print 'em. Print everything.

Well, how much longer must I wait?

Until we know what's on your computer.

But you're free to go any time.

No worries. When we find something, we'll come get you.

We found something.

Ooh.

Hey, have a seat.

Uh...

O-Okay, you must believe me,

I had no idea they were knockoffs.

My distributor assured me

that these were genuine designer bags,

and when I figured out that they were fakes,

the demand was too great to stop.

I could have lost my house.

This what NSA was monitoring?

NSA?

Well, they had to be suspecting a little bit more than this.

That's not at all what I have here.

What is it?

A deleted e-mail account

and a chat room that's been blocked.

Y-You found this on-on my computer?

You hardly seem like the chat-room type.

I'm not. I've never seen this.

Any of those screen names ring a bell?

I mean, of course not. I...

Just it... it makes no sense. I...

"Scout99"?

That mean something?

Your daughter.

She was born in '99.

That Mockingbird book is her favorite.

And she uses your computer?

No, she's forbidden. She-she knows better...

Gorton Poly High-- that where she goes to school?

She play basketball?

How do you know this?

Wait...

How...?

Our school tablet is unbelievably restricted.

No private e-mail, no social media.

You snuck onto Dad's computer.

Tell them everything, Layna.

We'll discuss it later.

Secret e-mail account? Chat rooms?

Just one chat room... at first.

It was fun talking with other kids

around the country, the world even.

At first?

Until things got creepy.

I got talked into joining this other chat room.

Only nobody there was talking movies or music.

What were they talking about?

Bunch of haters complaining about life.

Everybody and everything.

Asking if I was lonely, and did I know my calling.

What's your calling?

I-I don't know.

They talked about that a lot.

About who I was and did my life have meaning?

So I quit.

Both chat rooms.

That's when the weird messages started coming.

Messages from who?

The crazy people.

Trying to shame me into coming back, saying I needed them,

and that my life was nothing without a purpose.

So you turned to Ensign Wilt.

She saw I was upset, and she promised not to tell my dad.

She knew computers,

and said she could help without even having to be there.

By accessing your dad's hard drive. All I had to

was give her a few passwords,

and she got in there in the middle of the night.

Deleted the e-mail account,

blocked the chat room and everyone on it.

Do you know any of them personally?

Just their screen names.

And only a few of these are from that other chat room.

Which ones?

Hater-extreme39,

Joker-B...

and this one.

Hellbent427.

He's the one who got me to join

and got real mad when I quit.

He took it personal.

Said I made him look bad to the others.

Hey, McGee, try Hellbent427.

Dorneget, Hellbent427-- find him.

Ooh, very original.

Hell this, Hell that.

Where's Gibbs? He's on his way.

The car give you anything?

Yeah. A lot of lint and asphalt, but...

Major Mass Spec made up for it

with tissue samples from the wound.

Come on, Abbs, keep talking.

Perfect timing, Gibbs.

Okay, so, first of all, I would bet

that the weapon was most certainly a bayonet.

It was dull, it was old, not quite an antique.

What? Not quite?

Well, these mold spores found inside the wound--

they're dried up, they're practically mummified.

I'm guessing maybe 50 years old.

That's a pretty specific guess.

Well, it's based on a specific fungus.

Aflatoxin B-One is

commonly found in deep-water rice paddies,

and they're grown in the Mekong Delta.

It's off a Vietnamese bayonet.

Yeah, but it could be one of ours used over there.

I found six significant collectors

of Vietnam War memorabilia in the Metro area.

- So, all we have to do is visit them... - Excuse me, but

is one of those collectors named Simek? Bradley Simek?

I have a Peter Simek in Alexandria.

Hellbent?

According to the chat-room support site, Hellbent427

is Bradley Simek.

Brad, get off your computer and come down, please!

You have company!

Don't tell me he skipped school again.

Uh... No, nothing like that. We just have a few questions for him.

Is this Brad?

Yeah, that's my little guy. Not so little anymore.

This is quite the collection.

Oh, Peter thought so-- my late husband.

I'm not a fan, but Brad likes it.

Reminds him of his father.

Um, you know, he must be on those damn headphones.

Why don't you just come on up?

Brad?

I've been calling you.

No Brad.

This looks like your rig at home.

Not really. I certainly don't have a 3-D printer.

That is our garage door.

NCIS, stop!

That's my car!

He doesn't even have his license!

Oh, my God.

Okay, boys, lay it on me.

If one of these isn't the murder weapon, there's a third one

missing that probably is. Okay, I'll look at them,

but I was talking about this baby.

Careful, this baby's heavy.

BOLOs are out on the car and Bradley Simek.

No sightings yet.

You ping his phone, McGee? Well, I kept trying, boss,

but either his phone is turned off

or he's figured out a way to block my signal.

Either way, he's savvy enough to know

we can use his phone to find him.

Savvy enough to figure out Ensign Wilt

blocked his chat room?

Well, if not him, definitely the people running it.

Dark Web stuff.

Nothing you can Google, and very advanced.

It's all right here on the computer-- files, programs,

games, 3-D printer software.

He has a 3-D printer?

Mm. McGee was very jealous.

I'm very jealous. I call dibs, Gibbs.

Whoa, dibs, Abby? I'm Cyber Ops now, I already have dibs.

Now you both got dibs-- double dibs, both of you, go,

together, now.

Send everything you got on this kid to Ducky for a profile.

Huh. You hear Dark Web or Deep Web--

think it'd be scarier.

Jimmy, the Deep Web's not a bad place.

There's just bad apples, like everywhere else.

And that's not even the Deep Web.

That's just my screen saver.

This is Bradley Simek's desktop.

Aah!

Okay, then.

And these are his chats and his e-mails

for you and Ducky to profile.

Oh, thanks for including me in there, but

Dr. Mallard's really the profiler, I'm just the...

You are the wind beneath his wings.

Now go...

blow.

So this kid was friends

with Korkmaz's daughter?

Hardly friends, Director. They are in the same school

with hundreds of other teens, but Layna barely knew him.

She had no idea he was in the chat room.

The kid wanted to pull her into what he was doing.

But they never even spoke.

Apparently, he rarely spoke to anyone.

Shy, loner, brooding.

Practically a stereotype.

Yeah, Duck,

I'll be right down.

Jake, need something?

Gibbs, Director, are we good?

I hope the delay didn't hurt you any.

Well, we'll find out.

All good, Malloy.

Jake, I... I did my job.

No worries.

Then I should get back to mine.

Ellie.

I wish you'd told me.

We'll talk later.

What do we think, Duck?

We have a textbook teenage misfit here, Jethro,

using his chat room to express

unsettling thoughts

that he would never have the nerve to say in public.

He's hiding behind a screen name.

Well, with few friends and no one to turn to, he finds

kinship with others facing similar demons.

They're-they're linked by a common cause.

Like a terrorist group.

Well, I wouldn't hesitate to make that leap.

And SS_BUILDER-48

is especially hostile.

"The world hates you, Hellbent427,

even more than you hate the world."

Steady diet of that's liable to twist any kid's mind.

There anything in here about where this kid might have gone?

Not in his chat room.

Mr. Palmer? Uh, not in his e-mails, uh, no.

From what I can tell, when he's not at school, his whole world

is about his room and his computer.

And his father.

His father? Father's dead.

He died three years ago, of a heart attack,

but Brad still e-mails him every few weeks.

None of them being returned, obviously.

Having trouble coping with a significant loss

at a delicate age makes him an easy mark.

Why the ensign?

Well, they were trying to recruit young Layna Korkmaz.

Ensign Wilt got in the way.

And what's more to the point,

she could trace them back to their true identities.

So Hellbent handled it?

To prove himself.

There's a whole lot of hate being thrown around on here.

Who are these people? I don't know.

I'm hating this encrypted folder right now.

A dictionary attack on this password

would take, like, years.

Did you try Hellbent427?

His screen name?

Huh.

Well, that was easy.

Some of the best hackers I know use the most obvious passwords.

Oh, Major Mass Spec needs me.

What's the magic machine chewing on now?

Whoa.

Gunpowder.

In minute traces.

From where?

Brad's computer tower.

I swabbed the power button, just in case.

What do you make of this?

Looks like a blueprint.

Encoded for a 3-D printer.

McGee said the kid had one, right?

It's some kind of mechanism.

Wait a minute, is that...

Where's Gibbs?

Got a hit on the BOLO, Gibbs.

Somewhere in McLean.

We're trying to get an exact location.

Okay, the helo's up; Virginia State Police are on it.

Gibbs, he's got a bomb. Where, Abbs?

I don't know, but the kid has gunpowder

on his computer,

and a blueprint for a plastic detonator.

Gibbs, he printed a detonator.

Okay, we got the car parked near the corner

of Waverly and Birch Hill, in McLean.

No sign of Simek.

Wait, I got his phone.

Must have turned it back on.

Okay, get us a location.

He's on the move.

Everyone, let's go.

Brad?

Bradley, is that you?

Talk to me, baby.

Answer me.

Please come home.

I'm so worried.

Sit-rep?

Bomb squad's on standby, waiting for a location.

Location keeps changing.

The kid's cell signal's moving fast.

Too fast to be on foot.

Ditched his car for someone else's

and heading across town.

That road's a bus line.

Six eastbound.

I need a bus number.

Tell the driver to pull over and stay put.

Open the side door.

Okay, get off.

Everybody get off.

No! Nobody move!

Don't!

Don't.

Let them go, Brad.

They haven't done anything to you.

Stay back.

Go on, get out of here.

Go, go, go, go, go.

Easy.

Easy, easy.

Come on.

You made your point, Brad.

Hellbent.

The coach?

No, no, Th-that wasn't,

that wasn't me.

It-it-it was my knife,

but I didn't, I didn't do it.

Well, don't do this.

Your dad wouldn't want you to do this.

Your mom, either.

She's outside.

Come on.

Come on.

Let's go talk to your mom.

Follow me out.

Follow me.

Come on.

It's okay.

Let's go talk to her.

Follow me.

Come on, Brad.

That's it.

Doing good.

Come on, almost there.

That's good, Brad.

Drop the bag.

Just put it down.

Put it down.

That's it.

Look-- Brad, look at me.

You're a good kid.

No, I'm not.

No!

== sync, corrected by elderman == @elder_man

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