Acting Operations Manager Nell Jones leads her team against some twenty-first century threats to the U.S. Navy.

Caution: Rated T for some double entendre that would make Eric's bedpost blush!

Standard disclaimers apply: Characters property of Shane Brennan and CBS.

As the dust-reddened morning sun streamed through a skylight, Acting Operations Manager Nell Jones sat at her makeshift desk in the electronics lab, looking over operations reports. It all seemed unremarkable: a suspicious fire aboard a sub in Groton, a gang trying to sell meth to the crew of a destroyer in Manila. One item caught her eye, though. Aboard the USS Van Buren, at port in San Diego, beside the HMS Lord Melbourne, the US and UK men's national basketball teams would play an exhibition game in preparation for the next international tournament. Nell laughed at the symbolism, then looked at the security staffing for the event. For both MP's and NCIS, the status was "all hands on deck." In fact, several teams from the Mission had been sublet to the San Diego field office for the event.

Nell proceeded to LAPD crime reports, noting a slight dropoff in cocaine arrests since the team took the narco-sub's cargo off the street. Only one incident involving Navy personnel caught her eye, the assault of Bob Bolin, a Master Sergeant honorably discharged three years ago, living now in Reseda. Nell checked the case file and saw that it had been assigned to Mike Cochran and his team, one of the NCIS teams on the night shift at the Mission. "That can't be right," she muttered. With the Van Buren files, she checked her recollection, then made her way to Cochran's office.

She knocked on the ironwork by his portal. "Agent Cochran, do you have a minute?"

"Agent Jones, I've got nothing but minutes."

"Please, call me Nell." Tentatively, she stepped across his portal.

Resignation colored his frustrated voice. "You're looking at an operations manager with nobody to manage."

"And then you caught the Bolin case."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right. This just after they sent my agents down to the Van Buren for some basketball game."

"I noticed. Hey, listen: my team doesn't have anything on their plate right now. Could you use a hand?"

Suspicion narrowed his brows. "What's the play here, Hettybot?"

"There's no play. I just figure we're on the same team, we might as well further the cooperation."

"Oh, come on. We both know this case is below their security clearance."

"Just like the basketball game is below your team's. I'm just trying to help grease the skids."

"For the time you need my guys for one of your raids? What 'cha gonna blow up next?"

"It's always a possibility, but would you rather let this case get cold until they get back from San Diego?"

Suspicion mired Cochran's mind in indecision. Finally, he relented, grumbling, "Okay. Count 'em in."

"They'll be over in ten."

As Nell left his office, she heard a muttered, "Tell Sun Tzu Lange I said hello." She did not reply.

Rather, she went to the bullpen, where she found the team in a heated disagreement over the relative merits of Facebook and Twitter. Even Eric had been called in to referee, offering opinions on the security protocols for each. "Okay, team. Huddle up."

They gathered in the clearing between the four desks, while Eric took the end of the clearing opposite Nell's.

"I've been really impressed by how you've cleaned things up on the cases we were working." They smiled.

Kensi smirked, "Even Deeks?"

"Hey. Low blow there, partner."

Nell's gaze sterned. "All of you."

Callen leaned back. "But there's a 'but.'"

"There's always a 'but.'" Sam nodded.

"No, it's all true. There's nothing in your pending box right now. Cases are cleared; even expense accounts are up to date. But there's a problem."

Deeks bumped Sam. "You were right, there's your 'but.' No, not like that. I didn't mean your butt-butt, which is safely against your desk right now. I meant your however-but, which Nell just said, just like you said she'd say, see?" He looked around at his frustrated team. "But," he drawled, turning it into a whole note, "I'm interrupting."

Kensi crossed her arms. "As usual."

"No problem, Deeks. You're just keeping it light, right? Like I said, there's a problem. Headquarters sent Cochran's team to work security for that event aboard the Van Buren, and then he caught an assault case."

"So he needs a hand," Callen completed.

"You got it."

"Oh, man! I was hoping to take it easy today."

"Me too," Nell confirmed, "but would you rather do this or do your level four biohazard training?" The agents startled, but Nell continued. "Three pairs of gloves, physohex and Lava soap in the showers, positive pressure moon suits, and" she peeked in the trash can, "it looks like you guys are on your third pot of coffee."

Callen relented. "You've convinced us Nell. Say no more."

She pointed down the hall. "He's ready to brief you now."

Eric picked up his cup of Earl Grey to follow. "You want me to tag along with them?"

"Nah. It's mostly a field op."

"Good. I just got in a production model of the new IFF transponder I was hoping to evaluate."

Nell's puzzled look prompted his explanation.

"Congress is pushing the Navy to update its 'International Friend or Foe' hardware. It's a radio beacon that sends out ID information for every plane in the sky, but since it hasn't been updated since the seventies, the Defense committee wants us to change over to this modern version. There's a bill called 'Secure Identities' coming up for a vote soon."

"Better you than me, Beale."

"Okay if I use the electronics lab?"

Nell was about to roll her eyes and say, "That's the best place for it," when she realized what he was asking. "Umm… yeah. I'll clear a space, then move to ops. Okay?"

"Okay." and with an underhanded high-five, they went to the lab.

About an hour later, Owen Granger marched into the ops center. "Where's your team, Jones?"

"Nice to see you, too, Mr. Assistant Director." He scowled, so Nell smiled brightly. "They're off helping Agent Cochran. His team is down in San Diego, but then he caught an assault case. Everything's caught up here. I figured he could use a hand."

"So you simply reassigned them? That goes through me, Jones."

"They're still technically under me. Cochran needed a hand."

"Jones," he growled.

"Okay, Mr. Assistant director. Just so I know for the future, what outcome would you have liked? Would you have preferred that case go cold 'til Cochran's guys get back from the Van Buren?" She leaned in to meet his stare.

"No, just…" He turned on his heels and stormed out of Ops.

Three hours later, Nell returned to the lab to find Eric looking precisely as frustrated as she did. "We need a break."

Eric pushed away from the counter and rubbed his temples. "You can say that again."

"We need a break." They laughed.

"What's going on? Why are you upset?"

"Let's do lunch. Maybe things will be clearer after."

Eric frowned. "Sorry, I brought a bag lunch."

"Me too. That's what I meant. We can eat on the sofas."

After Nell had spread her pasta salad, yogurt, and pear on the coffee table, and Eric his pastrami on rye, she continued her rant. "I just don't get it."

"My thoughts exactly."

"What's…" they asked in unison, "No, you first…"

Finally, Eric broke the unison. "Ladies first."

"Okay, I've been following the weekly balance of payments for the United States, and noticed something funny with South Korea."

Eric rolled his eyes. "Right, 'cause balancing the books in international finance is what everybody does when they have time on their hands."

"No, seriously, now that I've got the clearance, I can monitor economic trends, too. Our mission is to protect the health of this country, economic as well as military. Anyhow, it seems like our imports from them are worth a little bit more than their exports to us."
"What? They're the same thing!"

"Right. That's what I thought. And they should be the same amount, but starting about a year ago, the dollar value of stuff we buy from Korea, seen in US accounting, is a little bit more than the amount showing up in South Korea, seen in their accounting."

Eric's eyes widened. "You can access their accounting?"

"Well," she dragged it out. "I might have had to hack into their export bank, just a little bit."

" Just a little bit'?" Eric asked, incredulous. "Nell, you're either in or you're not."

"Okay, Mr. Reprogrammed-Russian-GPS-and-made-their-missile-crash. I hacked, all right? The fact is that there's a little bit of money going out of the US that doesn't seem to be ending up in South Korea."

Eric took a bite of his sandwich. "How much are we talking, here?"

"It's subtle, a fraction of a penny on the dollar."

"Still, that's a lot of dollars, so it's a lot of pennies that are being skimmed."

"Right. It looks like about ten million dollars so far."

"That's a lot of pennies." He looked at the ceiling. "A quick guess says in a roll, they'd stretch from here to Minneapolis." He looked again at her. "Have you tried following individual transactions?"

"I haven't gotten that far, but I think that's my next step." She sounded resigned. "Anyhow, how 'bout you? What's got your tool in a twist?"

Eric almost jumped. "Pardon?"

Nell blushed. "No, not like that, I meant your probe, your screwdriver."

Eric sounded unsatisfied. "What?"

"Your pliers, your voltmeter. Whatever you use when you're doing your electronics. Good grief! What is it with you guys, anyhow? I was thinking about electronics! Nothing umm… below the belt!"

Eric relaxed and sat back on the sofa. "Good." Nell looked, though, at the hands he kept crossed in his lap. "Anyhow," he took a breath to center himself. "There's this one chip with one circuit that I can't figure out. I've no idea what it's for."

"What's it do?" Nell blotted her lips with her napkin.

"That's what I can't figure out. It looks like it just sits there. It's wired to the receiver portion but it's also wired to the transmitter."

"Is there anything you can do to 'wake it up?' a special frequency or something?"

"I like that idea." Eric gathered his Tupperwares, then Nell's, and carried them to the sink where he loaded them with a squirt of soap.

By the time he'd started scrubbing Nell's yogurt cup, Nell tried to elbow him away. "I've got it."

"No let me: think of it as my way of thanking for the idea. You really helped me out."

"You did too, Eric. It was a good lunch, except…"

"Yeah, when you thought there was a knot in my…pliers."

She looked up at him. "Yeah, pliers. It's hard to knot a voltmeter."

"It's not easy to knot a pair of pliers either, but at least you gave me a good idea, a place to start."

"You did too. If we don't catch a case, let's regroup for dinner here, too."

Eric smiled. "Takeout, perhaps? You got it."

A few hours later, Nell stopped by the electronics lab. Eric's face, satisfied already, brightened further. "Just the person I was hoping to see!"

Nell smiled. "I'm flattered."

"Yeah, look at this!" With Eric's back to her, Nell's face dropped a bit. He pointed to one digital display. "There's the frequency going in, but watch over here." He pointed to a display, showing US Navy, F-18, 2135.

A few keystrokes later, the frequency turned to a different number. The output turned to

Happy Birthday, Nell!

"But Eric, it's not my birthday."

"That's not the point. My point is that somebody who knew this frequency, and knew what to do with it, could make any plane in the US Navy wish you a happy birthday."

Nell considered this only briefly. "Or anything else they wanted it to say."

"Right. Like somebody else's call sign."

"But what about redundancy?" Nell asked. "Surely we're using other ways of keeping track of our planes."
"Yeah, but that only makes it worse. We track our planes from takeoff to landing, so we'd still know it's our plane. But if somebody flipped this switch, our plane would be telling everyone else whatever they wanted it to say."

Nell completed the thought. "Somebody could get the Israelis to shoot this American plane down, simply by telling them it was Iranian instead."

"Right, and it would look to the Americans like Israel had opened fire on an American plane." He ran his fingers through his hair. "Think of the confusion someone could create doing anything like that!"

"But who'd do something like that? Who's behind this chip?"

"I'll have to look into that. Anyhow, you came down here. What's up for you?"

"Your idea was good, looking at the individual transactions. It turns out the bank in Macao is playing currency arbitrage with the individual payments. The money is wired from here to Macao, China. There it's turned, briefly, into Chinese Yuan and then turned into Korean Won. But the time it takes, the time it spends as Yuan, depends on the trend in Korea.

"Then the bank tells the Korean firm it did the exchange at the lower rate, when in fact it was at the higher rate. That allows the Macao bank to keep the difference. It's a little skim on a lot of transactions, and must have been really tough to program."

"Yeah. How do they do it?" Eric's eyes drifted out of focus.

Nell's contemplation matched Eric's. "And where does the money go?"

"And where do these chips come from?"

Nell's eyes brightened as if inspiration-struck. "I think it's time for some deep throat action."

"What!?" Eric nearly choked.

"Follow the money! During the Watergate thing, Woodward and Bernstein had this confidential informant—he turned out to be Mark Felt, Assistant Director of the FBI—who told them to 'follow the money.' In the movie, they called him Deep Throat, because he was on what they called deep background. He was played by Hal Holbrook. I thought you knew this stuff, Eric!"

"I did. I do! It's just that I never thought I'd hear 'deep throat action,' when it didn't sound…"

"Off color?" She completed.

"Way off color." Doubt and despair distorted Eric's face. "Is my mind just in the gutter, or would anybody jump to that conclusion?"

"I wouldn't want to do the experiment. Would you?"

"No way, Boss. Let's just drop it."

"Just."

"Okay. Let me clean up here, then I'll be upstairs. I need to find out who's behind this chip."

"Well: follow the money. See you up there, Wolfram."

Another hour of hacking in Ops led each of them to complete the scheme.

"Okay, Nell. I think I've got it figured out."

"What have you got?"

He used his tablet to display some files on the big screen. "The circuits for this thing are built in Anaheim by Securitas Electronics. About a year ago, an investment company bought them out of bankruptcy. They brought in a new manager, a Mr. Raymond Li. Through about a dozen shell corporations—all over the world, I might add—" Eric smirked. "They are owned by a company registered in Gibraltar called" Eric looked at his arrow-covered notes.

"Ocean Sun." Nell completed.

Eric looked up, astounded. "You know them?"

"I just found out about them." Nell threw her files onto the big screen, plastering over Eric's, "Turns out the currency scheme is run by a virus on the Macao bank's computer. It plays the currency game and skims the profit into another account there. From there, the funds go through shell corporations, and end up in Gibraltar owned by—three guesses." She prompted Eric.

"Ocean Sun."

"Got it in one! Okay. Now we've got the scheme. This Ocean Sun Corporation has skimmed ten million dollars from the US-Korea trade account, and is using it to put a defective chip into US warplanes. So I guess the question is 'who's behind it?'"

"Right." Eric agreed. "We also need to figure out what we can do about it."

"A virus: Eric, that's just your thing. Can you take a look at it?"

"Got it, but I was wondering what else this Ocean Sun is up to. Why is Congress so fixated on this particular IFF transmitter?"

"Trade?" Nell cocked her head up. "I'll check up on the political angle if you can dissect this virus. How's that sound?"

Even before answering, Eric started sweeping the files from his workspace to Nell's. "You've got a deal." Then he pulled her virus files to his workspace and settled into his swivel chair.

Half an hour later, Eric leaned back in triumph. "Ha!" When Nell looked up, he continued. "I've been reverse-engineering the code for the virus—it's written in Chinese—and its syntax matches a virus written by the Chinese People's Liberation Army."

Before Nell could congratulate him, Cochran led the agents into ops, clearly in the midst of conversation that exceeded, by one notch, their standard level of bickering. Deeks grumbled, "I tell you Kens, you didn't have to slug him that hard. You broke his jaw!"

"A bodybuilder stands six-foot-five, two-eighty, and he resists arrest. I could'a just let him throw you. Would you have preferred that, Deeks?"

"No, but sending him to ER? That's a little extreme even for you, Kensa-bear."

"Ah, well. At least now we can catch our breath. We can interview him later."

"Wait," Nell interrupted. "Are we talking desk duty pending investigation?"

Sam pulled his chin. "Probably not, but I wouldn't want to do her next psych eval."

Callen put his hand on Sam's shoulder. "That's what Nate's for, Big Guy. I'll let him slug it out with Kensi."

Deeks eyed Kensi nervously. "You might want to choose a different idiom there, Cap'n."

Callen smiled. "Duly noted." He turned to the tech team. "What did we miss here?"

Since Nell had turned back to her workstation, Eric answered. "We've been working on a bug in the IFF hardware Congress is pushing, and have uncovered the scheme behind it, but haven't yet connected all the dots."

Nell looked up. "Actually, I just got it. Up 'til three months ago, income from the Chinese currency hack went to Ocean Sun, just like we said."

Eric interrupted. "They're a shell company in Gibraltar that funnels—err, funneled—about, what, eight million into developing a chip to put US warplanes at risk."

"Right, but starting in April, the money started going to a defense-related Political Action Committee: Strategic Security America. It's run by this guy, Michael Watson. They've dumped about two mil into the ads for three at-risk senators who sit on the Defense Authorization Committee, Senators Wilson, O'Donnell, and Jones—no relation."

Callen asked, "Lemme see if I've got this straight. The Chinese are hacking money that they then use to design a component for our warplanes."

"With a flaw they put in." Eric interjected.

Undeterred, Callen went on. "Right. Then they're buying influence with Congress to jam it down the Navy's throat?"

"You've got it."

Kensi tentatively asked, "So is there anything we can do about it?"

Nell explained, "It turns out Securitas Electronics—that's the company that actually makes the IFF hardware—has tickets for a luxury box at tonight's Dodgers game. The lobbyist, Watson, is headed to Dodger Stadium right now, bringing a few guests, Senators Wilson, O'Donnell, and Jones."

"So, can we take 'em down?" Deeks asked.

Nell nodded. "It's worth playing the hunch. Let's head on over there."

"Mind if I ride along?" Cochran interrupted. "Call it cross-training. I'll get a chance to learn from the A-team."

Deeks crossed his arms and dropped his voice an octave. "You crazy fool."

Nell narrowed her eyes. "Relax, Mr. T. If I go out, we'll make three teams. Callen: you okay with this?"

He nodded, so Nell continued. "Eric, run up the flagpole what we've got so far. If the director doesn't think we've got enough for the arrest, we can stand down, but until then, Agent Cochran, you'll be teamed with Callen. Agent Hanna, take me out to the ballgame." With that, she and the agents bolted for the door.

A few minutes later, Eric called into the comms line, "Okay, team. Headquarters gave us the green light. I've got the blueprints for that part of the ballpark loaded onto your phones. Tapping into security cameras now."

"Hang on, team. Watson and the senators just arrived. They were surrounded by five, no six guys in matching gray dress shirts. Some monogram: Pacific Sun Security. Asian Americans. They stopped outside the box, A23. Running facial rec. Nothing with DMV."

Nell's voice came over comms. "Hey Eric, any chance they're Chinese operatives? Run 'em against the foreign operatives database."

"Bingo. All are agents with the People's Information Bureau, their CIA. Looks like they've set up a perimeter around the senators' box."

"Okay. Let's quietly take out the security guards."

Agent Cochran's voice came on. "Are we sure that's them? Beale said they're in dress shirts, but these guys are in polos."

Callen cut in. "For Eric, that is a dress shirt."

"For Eric, anything that doesn't have a superhero logo on it is a dress shirt."
"I'm right here guys."

"Okay. Let's take out the guards silently. We can hold them on concealed weapons charges."

A few minutes later, Nell made the arrest. "Raymond Li, Michael Watson: you're under arrest for treason, influence peddling and a variety of military procurement felonies."

Detective Deeks called in some favors with LAPD, and had some uniforms take everyone to the holding cell in the basement of the stadium. Before the team left the box, Nell's phone rang. Surprise colored her voice as she answered. "Madam Secretary!"

"Agent Jones, are you with the senators still?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Put me on speakerphone."

Turning to the senators, Nell said, "Senators Wilson, O'Donnell, and Jones: the Secretary of the Navy, Sara Porter."

"Thank you, Nell. Senators, Agent Jones and her team just uncovered a plot to use the Secure Identities bill to give a foreign military access to the International Friend or Foe transponders across the US Navy."

Senator O'Donnell glad-handed the team. "Thank you, Thank you for what you've done."

The other two senators emerged from a whispered conversation, Wilson saying, "I think you're absolutely right, Senator Jones." He turned to the speakerphone. "Madam Secretary, I think these loyal, hard-working agents deserve recognition for their work. We've already got the seats and the box holds plenty of people. Can we prevail upon you to give them the rest of the afternoon off?"

"It's Agent Jones' team, it's her call, but it's fine with me," then her voice lightened. "As long as they cheer for the Dodgers."

Nell smiled at the phone. "Sorry, no can do… Twins fan, born and bred."

"Oh, come on!" Deeks wailed, "You'd turn down tickets in the luxury boxes out of loyalty to some cellar scrubbers?"

Senator Wilson cut in. "In the spirit of congressional cooperation, I'm sure I could enjoy the game with even a Yankees fan. But Madam Secretary, I fear your condition is unreasonable. Perhaps the committee needs to re-evaluate your latest request for another aircraft carrier."

A cackle came over the phone line. "Touché, Senator. Agents, enjoy the game. There should be room for Beale as well. Make sure he enjoys it, too." Then the call ended with a click.

Kensi reached for her phone. "Eric, we just had the Secretary of the Navy command your presence at this ball game."

Senator Jones cut in, "And three sitting US Senators. It's the top of the first, young man: there's plenty of time."

"Okay, I'll be there. But there's one condition. Deeks, over comms I heard you putting down the Twins. Before I get there, you'll need to have apologized to Senator O'Donnell, the senior senator from Minnesota."