Sorry.
Which way?
That one.
Excuse me. I need to see your pass.
Shut up. Close the door.
GUNMAN 1: Listen up.
Stay in your seats,
stay calm,
and please don't move.
Anybody tries to text
or make a phone call, they're dead.
Now...
which one of you is Matt Driscoll?
Show yourself, Driscoll,
or we kill everyone on this damn bus.
Get up!
Wait! Wait.
I'm Matt Driscoll.
♪ NCIS: LA 2x13 ♪ Archangel Original air date on January 18, 2011>
== sync, corrected by elderman == == for www.addic7ed.com ==
Move it, Mr. Callen.
I got more body mass to move than you.
You got a lot more excuses, too.
Use your legs, not your arms.
I know how to climb.
Doesn't look like it.
From here, I can see your arms shaking.
Ignore her.
She's trying to psych you out...
again.
Careful...
Mr. Callen.
One small slip, and you'll drop 1,000 feet
to the jagged rocks below,
splitting your head open like a pumpkin.
Where's Hetty?
I'm up here, dear.
Uh...
Director Vance is on the phone for you.
You leave the wall, you forfeit.
Tell the director that, uh,
he needs to wait the extra 30 seconds
for Mr. Callen to fall.
Don't let her get in your head, G.
Director says it's urgent,
and also to tell you, "Archangel."
Oh, bugger.
All right.
Meet us in the bullpen. Uh-huh.
You won. Come on.
You know, it's a lot faster going up
than it is coming down, all right, big guy?
Just let go.
You gonna catch me? You're kidding, right?
No. You have a mat. You'll be fine. Come on.
I'm letting go.
I think I'm gonna need some ice.
So what's the word?
Waiting on Hetty.
Nell... what do you know?
"Archangel" is the Pentagon's code alert
for a major security breach.
The Office of Naval Intelligence
has discovered someone's uploaded a file
containing thousands of classified Pentagon documents
pertaining to the war in Afghanistan.
Where's Mr. Callen?
He's icing.
Uploaded where?
We don't know yet.
Was it a hack or an inside job?
We don't know that, either.
So... what do we know?
We know it'll be a bloody mess
if it goes public.
Embarrassing to our government, valuable to our enemies,
dangerous to our military.
I got something.
I've been working with the Pentagon.
Might have a lead on a leak.
Maybe not who took it,
but I've got the IP address of the person
that received the uploaded file.
IP is owned by Ray Crossen.
Good news is, he's local-- lives in Santa Monica.
What's the bad news, Mr. Beal?
He has his own popular weblog,
specializing in governmental exposés.
He's a bit of a recluse.
Likes to keep his identity secret.
Has he posted the file onto his site yet?
Not yet. Can you shut down his server?
His server, his cell service, his electricity-- you name it.
Can you get me free cable?
No, because that would be piracy.
Shut him down, Mr. Beal.
Mr. Hanna, Santa Monica.
And take your gravitationally challenged partner with you.
Another day in paradise.
Got to love that fresh ocean air.
You mean the smell of fish?
It's one of the reasons I moved away from here.
We come from the ocean, G.
It's Mother Nature's womb.
It's true.
It's the primordial soup of life.
Stop with the New Age stuff. You know that freaks me out.
Next thing I know, you'll be rubbing me with crystals.
You alienate yourself
from the cycles of the Earth.
It's not good.
That's probably why you can't sleep.
Your circadian rhythm's all messed up.
Are you saying I don't have any rhythm?
Don't make me break out my Running Man on you again.
Last time you unleashed your Running Man,
people thought you were having a seizure.
How we going to do this?
Where's the fun in that?
Federal agents!
Mr. Crossen?
Got a body.
It's Crossen.
Place is clear.
I'm guessing they
waterboarded him,
then drowned him when they were done.
Here we go.
That's our missing file.
It's worthless without the decryption key.
Yeah. Eric.
Ray Crossen is dead.
Look, we got a computer here. Looks like it might be
the classified Pentagon file on it.
We should have access to it... now.
Uh, got it.
Can you open it?
I'm trying.
You okay?
I'm okay.
You don't look okay.
I just don't understand why someone would do this.
Betray their own.
A lot of different reasons, according to Nate.
None of them good.
Callen, this is
seriously encrypted.
All right, well, how long until you can crack it?
Anywhere between an hour
and... never. I honestly don't know.
Can you tell if anyone's opened it?
Oh... somebody's been trying.
32 attempts, to be exact, all of them failed.
But... they did make a copy onto a flash drive.
Not good. Got it.
They copied it.
Got to assume Crossen didn't know the decryption key.
But whoever sent him the stolen Pentagon file does.
They're next.
Mr. Callen.
I just got off the phone with Director Vance.
He's on his way to brief SECNAV,
who in turn has
an appointment with the president.
You know what that means, don't you?
Heads are going to roll.
It's that other end
of one's anatomy I'm worried about.
The ass chewing
gets worse on the way back down the ladder.
What does that mean? You're next?
No.
Because you're going to resolve this
before that happens.
I will do my best to protect your ass...
...sets.
Crossen's server and laptop have drawn a blank.
Compartmentalized encryption,
multiple proxies, and if he had an e-mail list,
it was in his head.
But... what we do have
are his loyal followers
who log onto his Web site regularly
to read the latest doom.
Now, I figure whoever uploaded
the classified files to his Web site
was probably a frequent visitor.
How many frequent visitors?
Over 700.
So, I filtered them
through Nell's data analysis.
We've been anatomizing the type of documents
that might have been accessed from the Pentagon.
Now, we can eliminate anyone
without the security clearance.
And by cross-referencing
Eric's information, we were able
to track it to one standout candidate.
The admin department of one Shaktorn Defense Systems.
They uploaded it to Crossen.
It's a defense contractor that works for the Navy.
We got a name? Not yet.
They run their own internal network
through a secure system,
so we can't tell which computer was used. Whoever it was
uploaded the file to Crossen.
Crossen hadn't posted it onto his Web site yet
because they didn't give him a decryption key.
So they're anxiously waiting.
We send a message from Crossen
to every computer
in the admin department.
Tell them Crossen needs to meet
to discuss an important development.
Flush out the real culprit.
Sounds like a plan.
How did they know?
How did who know?
Team that's after this decryption key.
The guys who killed Crossen.
How did they know the file was coming?
One answer at a time.
If I drink another espresso,
somebody's going to have to bring me some Rolaids.
I told you to switch to decaf.
CALLEN Kensi, you see anything?
No.
This is awesome.
What are you looking for?
I'm looking for something to eat.
Well, that's a glove compartment,
not a refrigerator.
Yeah, like you don't stash your Ho Hos in here?
All right, come on, lady.
Don't hold out on me, 'cause I am starving.
I don't have anything. Yes, you do.
I don't have anything.
How come I smell...
Peanut r at?
Yeah. Peanut butter, chocolate-- I smell it.
Where is it? No.
You know why you smell them?
Because... Because...
I left one on the seat, and it... melted.
Many, many, many months ago.
Hmm, So why do we smell it now?
Hmm?
Got an anxious brunette coming up on Callen.
She's clocking him.
Got her.
You Ray Crossen?
Sorry.
Hey.
Hi, have a seat. You must be...
Jenny.
It's nice to finally meet you, Jenny.
What did you need to talk about?
I just want to ask you some questions.
You know, my blog's important to me.
I feel like what I do has an impact on others.
I agree.
Then you agree that it's important
for people to know the truth?
Like you say on the Web site, "True freedom only comes
through the transparency of our government."
Exactly.
My blog is my reputation.
Which is why I need to know where you got that file from,
and what's in it exactly.
I can't do that.
I won't publish any names.
I just want to make sure it's the real deal.
Trust me. It is.
But I have to protect my source.
Head's up. I think
Jenny brought company. Callen, check
the couple behind you.
Got 'em.
There's another one coming in the opposite direction.
They're boxing them in.
Let's go.
Hearing this, Sam?
I hear what you're saying.
Get ready to move.
Hey.
We need to move now. You're in danger. What are you doing?
- You expect me to say something? - How about, "Excuse me"?
You bumped into me.
Oh, really?! Is that it?
Get the hell out of my way.
Oh, you're one of those guys, huh?
You think you own the sidewalk.
I bet you do the same thing on the freeway; you think you own that, too.
Like maybe you got to get home a little faster
than everybody else, is that it?
Let's go.
...in your big, fat European sports car?
Hey. I'm talking to you.
Who are you?
Did you lose somebody?
I hate when that happens.
I wouldn't do that, if I were you.
Morning.
You're making a big mistake.
That's actually my line.
You prepared to shoot three FBI agents in broad daylight?
May I?
Left hand.
You looking for this?
Oh, buddy.
That badge better be real,
or my partner is going to kick you in the FBI balls.
Is that what you call surveillance?
Uh, we sure as hell surveilled your FBI asses.
You're interfering with a federal investigation.
Uh, our investigation, actually.
We've been working this case for months.
Then, it's clearly time for us to take over.
You wouldn't have even known
there was a leak if Naval Intelligence
hadn't discovered it.
Isn't that an oxymoron?
No.
But there is a moron in all this.
Several, in fact.
Oh, snap.
What? Point: Kensi.
FBI serves.
You've overstepped your jurisdiction.
We're the senior agency here.
Good point.
But... it's best to be sure about a thing like that.
I'll get Hetty in on this.
Hetty.
As in Henrietta Lange?
Hetty, this is Callen. We got a situation. You know her?
We've heard stories. Sounds like a whole lot
of urban legend, if you ask me.
Au contraire, mon frère. She's real.
And you do not want
that little chupacabra surveilling your asses.
She wants to talk to you.
This is Agent Frisbee.
Landon Archibald Frisbee,
born in Hackensack, New Jersey.
Agent Landon Archibald Frisbee,
from Hackensack? Yes.
His wife's name's Darlene.
How's your wife, Darlene? She's fine.
Lots of late-night phone calls to this woman...
uh, Heather Teasdale.
She's a recent divorcée,
works in the same federal building.
How's Heather?
Heather?
Teasdale.
Oh, no.
Oh, was that a secret? I'm so sorry.
I think we can both agree,
Agent Frisbee, that this is a matter of national security.
It's "Freeze-be."
I would hate to have
to call Bobby and complain to him
about your reluctance to collaborate with us on such
a serious matter. Bobby?
Your director!
I don't, um...
think that'll be necessary.
Oh, I'm so glad to hear that.
Have a wonderful day... Agent Frisbee.
It's Freeze...
Is everything okay?
Tell them.
We were tasked to investigate a series of...
low-level leaks here in Los Angeles.
Our investigation has been focusing on a petty officer.
We know he had a partner, but we didn't know who it was...
until today.
The woman who met Sam.
And her name is...
Jennifer Waincroft.
She's an admin manager at...
Shaktorn Defense Systems.
Your turn.
Where is she?
I have no idea.
Are you going to arrest me?
Depends on what you've done.
And what can be undone.
How long do we have to stay up here?
Until it's safe enough to leave.
Or till you tell me what you know.
And what makes you think I need your help?
Because I'm pretty sure you don't want to end up
like the guy you came to see.
Ray Crossen.
Who did that?
That's what I'm trying to find out.
My boyfriend's in the Navy.
He compiled operational
and after-battle reports.
First in Iraq, more recently in Afghanistan.
After a while,
it started to get to him.
Get to him how?
It wore him down.
Day after day, reading the reports,
compiling casualty lists...
feeling helpless to do anything.
He's a petty officer with top-level security clearance.
At some point, our petty officer
went from believer to an observer.
From patriot to traitor.
He started stealing classified documents?
He asked me to leak material onto the Internet.
He just wanted someone
to listen.
And you agreed.
I just wanted to help him get through this.
What started out as some rather benign statistics
eventually ballooned into a full-scale breach
of very... sensitive material.
What kind of material?
We don't know exactly.
He logged into a database that contained information
about past operations in Iraq
and ongoing operations in Afghanistan,
including black ops.
Your boyfriend's trying
to affect change
by shaming the government into changing its policy.
What's your boyfriend's name, Jenny?
We can't reveal that.
And you haven't brought him in?
Oh, we know where he is every second.
I thought we were cooperating.
I think we've told you enough.
Hetty is not going to like that.
That's probably her now.
Yeah.
Her boyfriend's name
is Matt Driscoll.
Petty Officer Matt Driscoll.
I'm sending an address. Got it.
So?
So, I think we're good.
Thank you for sharing.
We'll be sure to let you know if we find anything, and...
I hope you'll do the same for us.
Of course.
Oh, and, uh...
We don't validate, just in case you're wondering.
Oh, and uh...
be sure to try the churros around the corner.
They're awesome.
Jenny's boyfriend
is Petty Officer Matt Driscoll.
Lives in Silver Lake. I e-mailed you the address.
We are on it.
Eric.
Yeah. Gonna need everything we've got
on Petty Officer Matt Driscoll.
Matt's a good man.
Good men don't steal national secrets.
Matt's not a traitor, Agent Hanna.
He just wants someone who'll listen.
He took an oath when he joined the Navy.
I know... and so does he.
He is so torn up about doing this, I swear. He just...
didn't know what else to do.
Promise me you won't hurt him.
I'm trying to help him.
But he has to let us.
Call him.
Tell him to go home and wait.
Tell him we're coming.
Like the way you handled that FBI agent.
Can you believe her attitude?
Should have thrown down with her.
Why, so you could watch us cat-fight?
What?
No... Wait. Maybe.
What about a pillow fight in lingerie?
See? Now you're
just teasing me.
Someone's inside.
Driscoll?
Didn't get a good look.
I'll cover the back.
Take the front.
Oh... Kensi?
Petty Officer Matt Driscoll?
Yeah.
NCIS.
They got weapons! Get down!
More company.
Six is clear. Okay.
Go!
You okay?
Yeah. You?
Yeah.
Uh-huh. Got it.
Okay.
Oh, my God.
Stay here.
Driscoll?
He came, he saw, he fled.
Pickup. Eric's putting out a BOLO.
Two down, two got away.
Cashed up. No I.D.
They were inside waiting for him.
How's our girl?
On edge.
Go.
Putting you on speaker, Sam.
Two shooters at Driscoll's house were both contract soldiers.
Travis Dale Donovan, former British Army,
and Peter Van Hoost,
former South African National Defense Force.
Mercenaries.
Arrived in the country on tourist visas
three weeks ago.
Multiple entries into the U.S.,
Europe, Asia and Africa over the past 18 months.
These guys get around. Who do they get around with?
Known associates--
Jans Christian Kemp,
former captain in the old South African Defense Force.
Kemp runs a private security firm
based in Amsterdam.
Boasts he has connections on all levels of U.S. government.
And then there's... Bradford Harris Elgin,
former Army Ranger from Ohio.
Cashed out 12 years ago.
Bet they all flew in on the same flight.
Send the photos to Kensi and Deeks to I.D.
Eric, see if you can track
Driscoll using his cell phone.
Sam, what are you thinking?
Thinking classified intel's not worth much
on the black market if everybody
with a computer can download it on the internet.
They need that decryption key.
They need Driscoll.
FBI still claiming they don't know what's in the file?
Yep.
You believe them? It's possible.
The only one who can answer that is...
Him again.
Popular guy.
Not with everyone.
That is one of the guys.
Yeah. There's your other one.
Driscoll's downtown somewhere. I can't pinpoint him.
He turned off his GPS.
Driscoll answered last time Jenny called.
Yeah.
Last time he did what she asked,
he ended up almost getting killed.
Will you call Matt again?
Leave your number. I'll get back to you.
Matt, it's Jenny.
Call me as soon as you get this.
Where would he go if he was scared?
My place.
Who are they?
FBI.
What do they want?
You.
Agent Frisbee.
Hey, buddy. Missed the shootout.
Well, thanks for taking care of our suspect.
We'll take it from here.
I'm sorry. I can't do that.
I just arrested her.
How long will that process take, Agent Blye?
48 hours.
Shocking,
isn't it?
Please.
Find him.
This way.
You guys waited too long to move.
And when you did, it was too late.
Now you want to save face
by doing it all on your own?
You guys don't even know
what Driscoll downloaded into those files, do you?
We will win this. You know that.
I'll tell Hetty to expect your call.
Yeah.
Eric, I need Jenny Waincroft's address.
Copy that. Jenny reach him, Sam?
He didn't pick up, but she says he'll go to her place.
FBI just left empty-handed. They're not happy.
Where's Jenny?
Deeks and Kensi are taking her to the boat shed.
Address is on your phone, guys.
Meet you there. Cool.
Yep. Eric, I'm at the address. What's G's ETA?
Callen's still 20 minutes out, Sam.
Thanks.
Matt Driscoll, Special Agent Sam Hanna, NCIS.
Matt, Jenny sent me.
Come on.
You alone?
Yeah.
What the hell's happening? Is Jenny okay?
She told me to go home.
And I got there and...
You walked into something.
Who were they?
They want what you've got.
What could I possibly have...
The decryption key.
They want the decryption key.
The file's worthless without it.
Here.
Give it to them, for God's sake.
That quick, huh?
That quick.
What did you download, exactly?
You can see for yourself.
I can't... I can't look at it anymore.
I can't keep doing it.
This was Jenny's idea-- putting this file together.
She thought it would help.
Did you ever do a tour?
No.
Ever volunteer?
Is that what you think? I'm a coward?
Are you?
Every rotation, I volunteer.
I always get knocked back.
Same reason every time.
Too valuable.
We who stay behind serve, as well.
You know, they give a medal for that.
That's me-- too valuable, too good at what I do.
What do you do?
Turn names into numbers.
People into statistics.
Important stuff, right?
Nobody's better at it.
Good old Matt-- Mr. Numbers.
You former military?
SEAL.
You'll never understand.
Try me.
Operational debriefs.
After-action reports.
Names.
Places.
Dead, wounded, breaking and broken.
You know what my C.O. said to me?
No one in the military
knows as much as I do in my field.
No one.
And at the end of the day, I just turn them into numbers.
Your friends are here.
I'm only expecting one.
There a back way out of this place?
Eric, tell Callen we've got company.
Kemp.
Party of seven.
Copy that.
Nell, I need a street map, six-block radius
centered on Sam's current location. Typing.
And then alert Kensi and Deeks.
Tell them to get down there.
Callen, we've got a little problem.
You two, check the back. All right.
Move!
If you've stopped for doughnuts, I will be pissed.
I can stop if you want. What's the sitrep?
Driscoll's with me.
We're south of the apartment building.
The cross street is 23rd.
Can you get to your car?
Kemp's flooding the area.
They're boxing us in.
I'll be there in ten minutes.
Not sure we got ten minutes.
Wait, Sam, the FBI said
they knew where Driscoll was every second.
Kemp must have hacked into the system. Driscoll's bugged.
Give me your phone. Here.
Hey. What the hell?
You're bugged with a GPS locator.
Wristwatch, keys, anything electronic.
Come on. Come on.
That's all I got.
Come on, we got to keep moving.
What about a cab?
In L.A.? What, are you kidding me?
Nowhere to run, G.
Be there in five.
Drive faster. Where to?
There.
The Hollywood Safari Tour will be leaving very shortly...
They're still tracking you.
Empty your pockets.
Garage remote.
Excuse me. I need to see your pass.
Shut up. Close the door.
Listen up.
Stay in your seats, stay calm...
...and please don't move.
Anybody tries to text or make a phone call, they're dead.
Now, which one of you is Matt Driscoll?
Show yourself, Driscoll,
or we kill everyone on this damn bus.
Get up.
Wait. Wait.
I'm Matt Driscoll.
The FBI assigns you one agent.
You're worth more than that, Driscoll.
Off the bus.
Move.
I don't have the decryption key.
You still don't get it, do you?
It's not the file I want.
It's your talent to get into the Pentagon database.
You have any idea how much that's worth to me?
That's not him.
That's not Driscoll.
Eric, I need an ambulance now.
Multiple casualties.
One of them is Driscoll. On it.
Help's on the way.
You hang in there.
You hear me, Matt?
Help's coming.
Names...
not numbers.
It's too late.
Next time you want to entrap someone,
be prepared for the consequences.
Come on, get in the car.
Every time he applied for a posting,
I prayed they'd say no.
And they did.
Made me happy.
Made him sad.
He said releasing the file on the Internet was your idea.
I thought it would help him.
He was so haunted by his work.
What happens now?
There'll be an investigation.
And the FBI?
Them, too.
I did it for Matt.
So he'd have something
he could be proud of.
You haven't looked at the files.
No.
Agent Callen mentioned that Matt said something.
Your name.
FBI is on their way over.
I'll wait with her.
Which would suggest that I'm going somewhere?
For Eric.
What did Driscoll really say before he died?
"Names, not numbers."
See if that works.
Decryption key.
Hetty's looking for you.
Something about unfinished business.
It works.
They're all Special Forces.
Somebody want to explain why this is so sensitive?
It's not.
The FBI just thought it might be.
So, what is it, exactly?
A tribute.
To the fallen.
Driscoll wasn't accessing confidential information
to steal secrets.
He was compiling the names of soldiers
killed in classified missions.
Names, not serial numbers.
You know I didn't fire my first gun until I was 20?
Ah.
A necessary evil in our trade, I'm afraid.
We are a violent bunch, aren't we?
Humans.
Sometimes.
But we can also be poetic, musical, spiritual,
compassionate.
So what is it that made Driscoll do what he did?
Oh... misguided... frustration.
Throughout history, warriors were heralded.
Stories were told, songs were sung,
statues were built.
Today, it's easy to forget
the sacrifices our men and women make
when much of the country
is more concerned with dancing celebrities.
This is starting to sound an awful lot
like a pep talk on why we keep doing this.
I don't need to tell you that.
No.
This is where I give you a chance
to feel better by granting you a rematch.
Climbing wall...
ten minutes.
And what makes you think I want a rematch?
I just thought you'd like to dispel the rumor going around
that, um, you were owned when we last met.
Yeah.
You can't hold back, G. You got to go for it.
You win up here, not up there.
Don't look. She's just going to think
you're nervous.
Thank you, coach.
I'm not nervous.
I'm... resigned.
Come on, Mr. Callen.
I can't hang out up here all night.
You don't want her beating you
before you even get to the wall.
She's already beaten me three times.
Best of seven-- you can do it.
So I can lose one more time?
Where's your fighting spirit, G?
Sam, it's Hetty.
== sync, corrected by elderman == == for www.addic7ed.com ==
You're screwed.