A/N: Thank you to all of those who have left reviews.

The drive to Baylor Zimm was filled with shop talk and techno music. When they arrived at Baylor Zimm, the conversation turned to other things.

"How are our boys doing?"

"You sure someone isn't listening?"

"I don't think that Eric would bug our phones."

"And Hetty?"

"I have found that is best to proceed on the assumption that Hetty knows everything we know and then some at all times." Nell looked slightly troubled. Kensi supposed that was a little too pointed.

"They're still looking for Deeks. Eric ran another check through kaleidoscope and the DMV. How does he manage to stay off it by the way?

"Urban evasion course for professional development, Sam's counter surveillance training."

"Well, they're not giving up."

"Yeah. Sam has been camped outside my house all week."

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

"Its best for you if you don't know."

"If I don't know I can't help you when it all hits the fan."

Kensi didn't have an answer for that. Fortunately, they were at the front door.

They were greeted by a twenty-something receptionist.

"I'm Agent Blye, this is Agent Jones, NCIS, we're here in regard to Gregory Peck."

"I'm sorry, he hasn't come in today."

Kensi paused. She really hated this part. "I'm sorry, Mr Peck was killed last night."

The receptionist paused for a full five seconds. "Oh, uh I'll call, uh, his supervisor is Jennifer Gates." The poor girl was in shock. Kensi wanted to reach out, but she had a job to do and if the receptionist was off-balance, then she was more likely to tell the truth.

"Did you know him?"

"Greg and I were friends, we'd go out with some of the analysts and the staff, a few traders who don't have too much of an ego."

"There are traders without egos?" Nell asked.

The girl, Kimberly from her name tag, let out a strangled laugh. "No, just ones that were bearable."

"Kimberly, why don't you call Greg's boss."

"Is he in some sort of trouble?"

"No ma'am, he was killed last night."

"Oh, oh my."

"Why don't we go somewhere more private." Someone, she was pretty sure it was Callen, had said that you should never let suspects stay together. And right now everyone was a suspect.

"How was Mr Peck's relationship with his colleagues."

"He got along well with everyone."

"Everyone liked him?"

"A cliché, I know, but he was a good guy, was right a lot but didn't let it go to his head too much."

"Any family?"

"His parents live in San Francisco I think. No wife, no kids, fortunately." The supervisor paused. "Oh god, that doesn't make it any better at all."

"Why don't we head down to his desk," Kensi said.

"Greg worked in our risk management division. He mostly performed analysis of our investments to ensure that we weren't too exposed to any shift in the market."

"How does that work?"

"I honestly don't know."

"That reassuring."

"I've never heard that one before." They came to a stop in one of the rows at the far end of the room. "This was his desk."

"We'll need to take his computer."

"Of course. We are always happy to comply with any investigation." Which meant they'd been investigated before.

"Had Mr Peck ever been in any trouble before?"

"Gregory would never be involved in anything illegal. He was honest to a fault. You can take the boy out of the Navy, I guess."

Gates pulled a card out of her pocket and wrote a number on the back left handed. "If you find out what happened to Greg or if you need anything else, please give me a call."

Deeks walked into the fourth storey building. At the desk was a blonde receptionist in a black skirt suit and pink blouse, tasteful cleavage. He was still a man with a pulse. He also noticed how her hand went under the desk, probably a .45 pointed directly at his groin.

"Max Gentry, I have an appointment with Graeme Partridge."

The young lady, Emily by her nametag, checked the diary sitting open on the desk. "Of course, Mr Gentry. I'll call someone down." She picked up the phone.

A blazered guard with a shoulder holster soon appeared. Deeks was escorted past a spinlock door where another guard had taken his phone and run a metal detector over his entire body. He was led through a small nest of desks, up a set of stairs, passed through another spinlocked door and through another bull pen to a corner office.

Graeme stood as he entered and nodded to one of the seats in front of his desk. The other was occupied by one of the men who had been following him a few weeks before.

"Don't think we ever got a chance to be introduced, I'm Kevin."

"If you'd come a little closer we might have been able to get to know each other better." Deeks sat forward in his seat and pushed his chest out slightly. Max was a prickly and hostile man who jumped at a chance to prove his worth with his fists.

"Well, I would have, but the only time I tried, you shoved a gun in my face." The man wasn't going to be intimidated.

Partridge intervened. "Simmer down. Kevin, keep on her, we need to clean this up."

"On it." Kevin got up and headed out.

When the door was closed, Graeme turned to Deeks. "As you probably saw on the way in, Private Investigations is a functioning business. We handle your standard finding people, catching cheating husbands. We also handle some local political stuff. But Private also shelters our security wing."

"You sure that's a good idea? It gives the cops a virtual members list."

"The guys have to be paid. And the more serious stuff isn't run out of here." Which explained the guys at the money warehouse, and it was not like Partridge would be claiming bribes as a business expense. "At the moment, it's just collections, which is what you'll be dealing with today, but also intelligence. In a week or so, I want you to put it out there that we'll pay big cash for any information whatsoever. Cops, other gangs, whoever. We also need weapons, but intelligence is the key."

"I'll talk to people."

"Today's job is a bit more basic. We gave a guy some product, he was supposed to give us money."

"And he didn't."

"No integrity these days. The kid's name is Marcellus Wallace." Partridge paused. "Say it, get it out of your system."

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Deeks.

Partridge smiled. Then handed him the address. "It's not about the money, it's about sending a message."

"Now you're just mixing your metaphors."

"Just make sure he doesn't do it again."

"On it."

"Now, I have to make some calls." Deeks remembered what Ernest had said less than an hour earlier. He saw Partridge pick up a list of numbers, next to each were a word and a string of numbers. About two thirds of the lines had been crossed out. Deeks noted the first two lines, then turned and walked out.

Callen and Sam were driving back to the Mission. Callen couldn't help but notice that Sam was taking longer than usual. Then he saw the same convenience store from a few minutes earlier. A heat run, a really long one.

"You do realise the drug bust went wrong because there's a mole in LAPD."

"Or DEA."

"So why the long way home?"

"We've been getting sloppy. Letting people in we shouldn't, getting into routines. We can't keep going the way we are."

Callen wasn't entirely certain that Sam was just talking about security protocol. He was about to reply when the phone rang. "What is it Eric?"

"We received a call from the FBI financial crimes division. They want to meet to discuss our interest in Baylor Zimm."

"Direct them to the boatshed." Even if he was just talking about security, his partner was rarely wrong.

"Got it."

When Sam and Callen arrived at the marina, they sat for five minutes, waiting to see if someone elsewas following. When they got out performed a quick check of the area, looking for cameras and observers.

They wound up playing cards while they waited for the FBI's Agent to arrive.

When she did, she smiled. "This place isn't easy to find."

"That's the point of a saf ehouse," said Sam.

"Agent Stephanie Platt, financial crimes."

Callen and Sam introduced themselves.

"You want to tell me why you're investigating Baylor Zimm."

Callen briefly considered holding out, but then thought better of it. There was no need to be a dick and Agent Platt seemed more likely to respond well to cooperation. "One of their risk analysts, a navy reservist, was shot and killed last night."

"Any leads?"

"The day is young. What's your interest?"

"There have been allegations of insider trading around the firm."

"I'm sure there are allegations around every firm."

"This isn't Baylor Zimm's first rodeo."

"Last time the traders closed ranks against us. This time we received an anonymous email and documents apparently from inside Baylor Zimm."

"A whistleblower?"

"One who wanted to keep their identity a secret."

"Sounds promising."

"Which was why I didn't want a bunch of blackops types rushing in and scaring my guy off. With respect, from what little I've been able to gather, you have a tendency to deal with things directly at the expense of the wider issues."

"Such as a career enhancing bust," said Sam.

"Such as a large firm involved in fraudulent financial activities which will continue long after you have moved on," said Agent Platt.

"Have you had any further contact with your informant?" Callen asked.

"No, and I've tried. I need her to get a warrant for Baylor Zimm's files."

"Her?"

"Figure of speech. Their digital trail dead ends in an internet cafe in Long Beach. No surveillance close by."

"Our victim had intelligence training. We have a possible motive."

"I'm glad. And if I can be of any assistance."

"You'll be the first person we call."

"Thank you."

"You okay?"

"Not my first dead body, are you?"

"I'm fine." Kensi knew what that meant, and that there was nothing she could do.

"His name was Gregory Peck. He worked in Naval Intelligence then as a risk analyst for Baylor Zimm."

"Never heard of them.

They're a second tier stock brokerage in east LA."

"I haven't heard anything. Though Partridge seemed pretty certain that Organisation was going to come into a lot of money soon."

"Could you find out more?"

"Thornhill has things set up with a cell structure. There's guys on the outside who know nothing, guys further in like me who know some, but only Thornhill and the guys who are really close to him know everything."

"It's going to be a tough nut to crack."

"It's going to require manpower, and an operation."

"We knew that going in."

"The others know about me?"

"I haven't told them yet."

"They're not going to be happy."

"They'll get over it."

"We need them. You have to tell them."

"I will tell them when we're ready."

"I'm ready now."

"I'm not. We need more."

"They're buying and distributing drugs, not to mention cops, and almost certainly weapons and we know who they are."

"It's all small time."

"Why do I get the feeling there's more going on here?"

"Come on Deeks, you know that Hetty will bounce this to LAPD and it won't get investigated. We need more."