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 m*rder 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.
Gibbs: Okay, let's have it.
Any luck on the car?
Bishop: 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.
Tony: 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.
McGee: Oh, and, Dorney, I'm here if you need help. Just...
(computer chimes)
Uh-oh.
Gibbs: 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."
(grunts)
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.
Ducky: The k*ller likely held the w*apon against the ensign's throat before delivering the final slice.
What are those?
Jimmy: Neck tissue samples.
If any residue was left behind, it may help in identifying the w*apon.
I was just about to take it over to Abby.
And still you are here?
Palmer.
Thank you.
Abby: 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!
(laughs)
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 sh*t, 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...
(wry laugh) 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.
Tony: Well, hey there, Alfredo.
Looks like you turned in your prison jumpsuit, huh?
NCIS! Don't move.
Hey!
Just go ahead.
Just k*ll me! Just get it over with.
And why would we do that?
Tony: Alfredo... we're NCIS.
So, like, Feds can't be bought?
(quietly): That's not really our style.
You're not gonna k*ll 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? (chuckles)
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.
(sighs)
Last known cartel member, but I'm not so sure that he's our k*ller.
Abby (over phone): Gibbs, 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 Kn*fe 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.
(phone rings) 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 k*ll a dragon priest, only to step outside and have another dragon land right on my head.
McGee: 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.
(loudly): Dad!
It's for you!
He'll be right down.
Adem: Who is it, Layna?
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 m*rder case.
Ensign Wilt's m*rder.
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.
(sighs)
(sighs)
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 m*rder of a young Navy officer.
(sighs)
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 sh*t a man in Kabul last week.
I k*lled him.
(sighs)
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?
(sighs)
(laughter)
That's hilarious, right?
Hey. Who's the early bird now?
Did you take the carpool again?
Uh, that beltway can be m*rder, you know.
Carpool lane was flying, though, wasn't it, McGee?
Oh, yeah, it was flying.
Gentlemen, morning.
Tony: 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 k*ller 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.
(sighs)
Ned: 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.
(sighs) 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.
Abby: Perfect timing, Gibbs.
Okay, so, first of all, I would bet that the w*apon 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 w*r memorabilia in the Metro area.
So, all we have to do is visit them...
Ned: 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.
(distant whirring)
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 m*rder w*apon, 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.
Jimmy: 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.
Vance: 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.
Bishop: But they never even spoke.
Apparently, he rarely spoke to anyone.
Shy, loner, brooding.
Practically a stereotype.
(phone rings)
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 t*rror1st 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 d*ed three years ago, of a heart att*ck, 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 att*ck on this password would take, like, years.
Did you try Hellbent427?
His screen name?
Huh.
(chuckling): Well, that was easy.
Some of the best hackers I know use the most obvious passwords.
(beeping)
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 b*mb.
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.
Lois: Brad?
Bradley, is that you?
Talk to me, baby.
Answer me.
Please come home.
I'm so worried.
Sit-rep?
b*mb 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.
Bishop: That road's a bus line.
Six eastbound.
I need a bus number.
Tell the driver to pull over and stay put.
(engine slowing)
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.
Gibbs: 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 Kn*fe, 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!