NCIS (2003–…): Season 8, Episode 5 - Dead Air - full transcript

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 military deployment
around the globe assures

the safety of free trade for all.

Trade that invariably
benefits our own markets.

Second, we are constantly eliminating
terrorist 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 1.0 720p Web DL

Synchro: Gaillots, Blackou.

Rereading: Bruno & Magic Turtle.

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.

The shooter 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 shooter 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 gunshots 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 military 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 shooter.

The engineer and the commander
were shot once,

and then, judging by the pooling,

left to bleed to death.

Yeah, the host is a different story.

Indeed.

Adam Gator here
was shot three times,

all in the chest.

Means that Gator was
the primary target.

Why kill him live on the air,
though?

Perhaps the shooter 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 shooter may have been more than just
an angry listener. Check it out.

After the break, I want to address
a very disturbing threat

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 threat

to National Security,
right after a word from...

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

Gator wasn't killed
for something he said.

He was killed 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 threat 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 bomb.

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 kill 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 kill 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 gunshots
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 shooting as if I was in the room.

So, using acoustics,

I could isolate minute characteristics
in our murder weapon,

and I compared them
with catalogued audio files.

It's a Remington 7400,

four-cartridge magazine,
improved gas release, smooth cycling.

Hunting rifle.
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 L."

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 L.

Unfortunately, Commander,

the broadcast media today
is programmed to assault our senses.

You're too young, but I remember

as a child listening
to my favorite radio programs.

Dick 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 gunshot 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 bullets 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 shooter's fingers
when he last loaded the weapon.

Any specific brand?

That's not a chemical reproduction.

What's on that bullet
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 L.

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 killed.

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 terrorists.

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 kill 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
terrorist group there?

Nope, and the only records
they have on the initials M.A.H.

are a political slogan.
That stands for "Military 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 murder
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 killed

18 months ago in a home invasion...

drug addict with a gun.

Haskell and his 16-year-old
daughter witnessed the murder.

Reason enough to want
military 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 explosives
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 bomb,

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 killer.

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 terrorists
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 explosives?

What's our little nest
of yuppie terrorists 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 terrorists.

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 explosives.

They had to be undetectable
to scanners and dogs.

What's the target?

- I don't know.
- Where's the bomb?

Haskell's got it.

Then why the meeting this afternoon?

Because my explosives 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 explosives.

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 Gun.

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 bomb
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 military,

it's usually to protect itself.

We send our money
halfway around the world.

You're not fighting a war
on your own soil.

But we are.

Crime, drugs,

illiteracy.

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

Except the only threat 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 threat 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 terrorists?

Arthur Haskell and his band
of suburban patriots

are stealing money from Al Qaeda.

The bomb disposal unit is ready.

They'll meet us at Haskell's house.

Let's go.

Federal agents!

Back here!

He's still breathing.

The bomb 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 explosives.

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 shoot those people
at the radio station.

It is only natural
to want to protect him.

If he was stupid enough to get involved
with terrorists, 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 shot 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 killed,

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 rifle.

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.

Bullets from your gun

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 military.

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 bomb?

Arthur has it.

Had it. Until last night.

When you attacked 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 bomb.

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 explosives 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 bomb 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 military 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.
Military 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 bomb?

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 explosives.

It's too late. It's done!

Federal agents!

Clear the area!

- Get out of here!
- It's a bomb!

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 bomb,

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.