A Rolex? They just gave you a Rolex?
Well, my book was number one on the best seller list for 12 weeks.
It sold 630,000 copies.
They're, you know, showing their appreciation.
So that means that you made...
Well, I don't really know how much, actually, but I was told I'll never have to work again.
Booth. What? No! Slow down, pal. That is extortion right there.
What? No. No, forget it. No-- no way I'm paying that. Bye.
Some plumber-- he wants to charge me 800 bucks to fix the plumbing in my walls.
Forget it. I'll do it myself.
Well, that should be no problem.
You've told me numerous times how skilled you are as a repairman.
Right, well, since after the coma, I seem to have forgotten a few things.
I'm gonna have to figure out how to do it myself all over again.
I could lend you some money.
That's okay, Miss Rolex, I'll be fine.
- Well, if you change your mind... - I'm all right.
This is exactly why I hate cats.
They're feral. They're natural scavengers.
Hodgins is going to have to sift through their excrement for evidence.
Right, don't want to take his fun away from him, huh?
I need all these cats brought back to the Jeffersonian.
- Come on, shoo, shoo! - Come on, puss, puss, puss...
- Pussy! Move! - Kitty, kitty, kitty.
Hey, hey, get out of there!
The victim is an adult male, Caucasian.
Bullet wounds to both the sternum and the third left rib.
Hand is severed just below the radius.
Barely anything left of this guy. How long has he been out here?
From the degree of scavenging, I'd say two days. Come on.
Hey, you, parking guy. You the guy who found him?
Yeah.
My partner here says that he has been kitty kibble for two days.
Why didn't you notice him sooner?
This structure is long-term parking.
Roof isn't used much. People don't like their cars baking in the sun, you know...
Security cameras around here?
Somebody cut the feed.
- Booth? - Yeah?
He suffered comminuted fractures to the femur.
Right, he broke his leg-- I get it.
Uh, someone ran over him after he was shot.
Hey, you, do me a favor and pull some, uh, paint samples off that speed bump, okay?
Okay.
Why are the cats staring at us?
Michelle's been asking for months if we can get a kitten.
I'm thinking no.
Actually, it's much more likely the family dog would attack and consume its owner.
Can you pass me the forceps? I think I see something.
It appears to be steel wool. I found it in the exit wound.
Steel wool-- commonly used in silencers to muffle the sound of a gunshot.
A silencer definitely points to a professional hit.
An Ilizarov apparatus was used to lengthen his bone when he was a child,
so he was definitely Russian.
Don't people limp in every country?
Prior to 1981, the Ilizarov apparatus was used exclusively in the Soviet Union.
Ergo, dead Russian.
Very good, Mr. Bray.
Yeah, don't often get to say "ergo."
And, for bonus points, any clue why his hand was chopped off?
The bone has been chipped and bruised around the triquetral,
like someone was trying to pull something off his wrist.
And when they couldn't, they cut off his hand.
Wendell, my man, we still on for lunch?
You are discussing lunch while holding a tray of cat excrement.
Everybody poops. They even wrote a book about it.
I found a piece of plastic in the cat's feces from a bag of airline peanuts.
- Aeroflot. - Yep.
Preferred airline of Mother Russia.
Looks like our Russian friend was a recent arrival.
Yuri Antonov.
He's a courier for a Ukraine diamond manufacturer.
That's it? Why are you State Department guys all over this?
Uh, because that's not it.
What is "it"? What else do you have for me?
I was told to assess whether you'd be the best agent with whom to entrust some very sensitive information.
This is my case.
Uh, State is supervising, Agent Booth. We...
I approve the investigator.
Oh, you, I, okay, an ex-Army Ranger with multiple commendations
and a pristine record at the FBI isn't good enough for you or them?
- You shot a clown. - It was a mechanical clown.
You're telling me you never wanted to do that?
This one has to be done with discretion.
I mean, it's not just your career. It's mine, too.
I mean, you're old, but I'm still...
- Here. - Right.
Sit down.
Antonov went missing after arriving three days ago from Dulles International.
These photos were taken as he passed through the diplomatic checkpoint.
Well, that doesn't make any sense.
I mean, why would a diamond courier have diplomatic clearance?
That's why this is so sensitive.
State didn't authorize a diplomatic visa.
What about the briefcase that wasn't found on the body?
Are you sure we're dealing with diamonds here?
We're not sure of anything...
but we have to assume the worst.
That's why this is being treated as a national security threat.
What about the diamonds? Have they been recovered?
All right, well, we think that Antonov's hand was severed in order to steal the briefcase.
Of course.
He was getting $2 million worth of gems from our mine in Siberia.
How did your courier manage to get cleared past the diplomatic checkpoint?
- The diplomatic? - Yeah.
- No, you must be mistaken. - I'm mistaken? No, I'm not that.
See, look. There he is on the approach.
And that's him clearing the diplomatic checkpoint.
Briefcase.
I don't understand.
As you can see, all the paperwork was in order.
There should have been no complications at Customs.
We have couriers bringing in stones all the time.
Have you worked with Antonov a lot?
This was the first time.
Well, we're going to need all your import and export information from the company
and any other information you might have on Mr. Antonov.
Of course.
Um, every courier is thoroughly checked out.
There are psychological profiles, recommendations from past employers.
- You can have it all. - All right.
Any reason Antonov, um, wouldn't want Customs to see the diamonds?
No.
Unless he wasn't carrying diamonds.
I loaded the victim's X-rays into the simulator.
Now, looking at the fracture lines,
the computer should be able to determine the weight of the car that ran him over.
According to this, the car weighed approximately...
3,700 pounds, which gives us...
152 possible vehicles.
The paint from the speed bump is called Tungsten Silver.
Trade name: Casino Royale.
Might narrow things down a bit.
Hey, have you two seen Dr. Brennan?
Yeah, I think she's with Booth. Why?
It appears Mr. Bray has lost his scholarship.
No scholarship means no internship at the Jeffersonian.
What? Well, how did that happen?
Apparently, the trust that funds his scholarship ran out of financing because of the economic mess.
Oh, that stinks. I like Wendell.
Hey, we got drunk together last week.
That carries great meaning for men.
He's one of us-- even Booth likes him.
Well, how did he react?
I haven't told him yet. I want to see if there are other funding options.
What's that?
Dude! What's new?
Um, since you saw me on the forensic platform five minutes ago, not much.
- Great. - You?
- Nothing. - Nada from here.
Zippo on my end.
Well, it appears you have a match for the car that ran over our victim.
- That's new, isn't it? - Yes... I do.
Yes, you are something, Wendell.
- You really are. - Unbelievable.
That's crazy.
Casino Royale and that car?
That is Bond's car. James Bond.
Those wheels and a silencer. You haven't, by any chance, found evidence of a martini?
Shaken, not stirred, of course.
So, you believe James Bond killed our Russian.
Well, no, but come on, there was more than a grain of truth in those Bond films.
Pussy Galore-- that's never gonna happen.
Well, we can always hope.
Boys and their spy fantasies.
I'll tell Booth to put out a search for the car.
Trust me, Angela...
nothing is as it seems.
I know, I actually felt you guys were a little too psyched to see me when I came in here.
What, we can't be excited to see you, Wendell?
You got some intimacy issues there, man.
So, Sweets, come up with a profile yet?
Antonov a spy?
Nah, still putting the pieces together.
Whatever he says is a guess.
No, it's a subjective evaluation based on quantifiable psychological markers, okay?
Do we have to go through this every time?
He may as well be telling stories around a campfire.
Anyone want some s'mores?
Okay, all of Antonov's answers from his psych evaluation are too perfect.
No one is this perfect.
Now, that coupled with the fact that he had an unexplained diplomatic cover
and was killed by a professional would lead any reasonable person to conclude that...
He's a spy.
- Spyish. - Booth.
Oh, great, I'll pick it up this afternoon.
It's not Pilates for Dummies, it's Plumbing for Dummies. All right?
Get back to me. Thank you.
Why won't you let me help you, Booth?
I just want to fix the leak in my wall, that's all.
I mean, I'm very capable of doing it myself.
With a Dummies book?
Is that wise?
Since the coma, Booth can't remember how to take care of his own plumbing.
You know, that's great. You make it sound like I gotta wear diapers.
I offered to lend him money for a professional plumber.
I just received a very large check from my publisher.
Ah, there goes the "ah." You had to bring this up. Great. Thanks.
Well, a very large disparity in income can often have a detrimental effect on a relationship.
No, this doesn't. I just get more satisfaction on relearning an old skill.
Instead of paying a plumber $800.
- Okay. - Yeah.
- What was that supposed to mean? - Nothing. I accept what you're saying.
Booth. Okay, great, we're on our way.
- What, the book? - Found the killer vehicle.
I will pull the car around. You can buy breakfast, okay, Miss Rolex?
- You want my advice? - No.
Okay, if you really want to help Booth, you should let him teach you about plumbing.
I'm a wealthy, accomplished woman.
Why would I want to learn a menial skill?
Well, for Booth, so he can regain whatever he feels he's lost.
I think, for once, it would be beneficial if you were the student.
The car's registered to a high-class rent-a-car service.
It was leased using a corporate credit car Universal Exports.
We're tracking them down now.
It is Bond's car, Bones!
- Booth? - Yeah.
I see superficial lesions on the lateral anterior surface.
No, no, no, Bones. What you see there is scratch marks on the front bumper, okay?
People have skeletons; cars, they have chassis. Right?
Gas tank-- stomach.
And here, this shattered window proves...
there was gunfire.
The ballistics guy got the bullet out of the dash.
He said it was fired from at least 500 feet away.
So someone was staking him out, huh?
- Booth? - Yeah.
I think the car is bleeding.
No, no, no. Bones, a car has oil-- that's oil.
- No, this is blood. - It is blood.
Thank you.
Okay. That is gonna kill the Blue Book value.
The body is three to four days old.
The heat in the trunk is causing the skin to liquefy.
So, cause of death?
There's too much flesh. This is Cam's department.
- Look at this. - What do you got there?
That is a Walther PPK. It's Bond's gun.
- Booth? - Yeah.
I hate to admit this but I think Sweets was right.
The victim was CIA.
It is unfortunate Mr. Bray is losing his scholarship.
He's one of our best interns and quite deserving of financial assistance.
Clean gunshot wounds.
There seems to be damage to the spine.
The cartilage from L1 to L5 is torn.
Hey, have you thought about starting a scholarship?
I mean, you have a lot of money now.
I support many different organizations that provide food, housing and medical care for people in need.
Should I withhold funds from them?
No, no... but it's Wendell. He grew up with nothing.
He worked his whole life for this.
I try not to get attached to my assistants.
I have learned that even the best ones can disappoint.
I noticed that there was microfracturing on the inside edges of the scapula,
as if they'd been rubbed together.
Gun powder residue on his hand.
My bet: that Walther PPK killed our Russian.
But who killed James Bond?
Whoever shot out his window on the roof.
And where's the briefcase?
And what's in the briefcase?
We're going down the rabbit hole here, people.
The CIA has no problem silencing people that poke around in the business.
I hate to break it to you, Jack, but you're the guy who studies bugs, slime and poop.
It's hardly assassination worthy.
Hey, a lot of people would like to see me dead.
I'm not gonna touch that one.
Aren't you on a board that grants scholarships?
To high school students.
What about you, Mr. Conspiracy Man?
Doesn't your foundation give out grants?
Yeah, after the crash, our trustees froze all assets until they could reevaluate the portfolio.
I pack my lunch.
- You guys are gonna have to try... - Excuse me, Dr. Brennan?
Hey, dude!
What are you doing here?
Uh, Agent Booth is here to drive Dr. Brennan to Langley.
Thank you.
In 500 BC, Sun Tzu devotes attention to intelligence gathering in The Art of War.
He argues that all wars are based on deception.
Logically, that would mean that if we don't deceive each other, then war would be unnecessary.
Yeah, but not everyone is logical, now, are they?
I mean, frustrating, but that's just how the world works.
Not between us two.
Shouldn't we be honest with each other?
We're honest. I mean, aren't you? I mean, I am.
So you have no problem with me making so much more money that you?
No. Well, yeah, it's...
it's a little weird.
I mean, you're loaded.
I mean, you're really loaded. And you still don't even have a flat screen.
It's just kind of weird, to be honest.
It's a little French, if you ask me.
Don't you feel that your life would be different if you're wealthy?
Sure. But better?
I mean, yeah, I wouldn't have to fly coach but what life throws us,
that's what makes us who we are, right?
I mean, fighting through stuff.
And the good things, they're not any sweeter if you're rich.
Parker, okay, giving me a hug because it's my weekend. And me and you, when we solve a case.
I mean, that's not about money, right?
No. No, it's not.
But I'll never have to fly coach.
I'm Arthur Rutledge, Assistant Director of Intelligence.
We are very sorry about Greg.
But he wasn't working on anything for us when he was killed.
Well, the FBI matched ballistics from Greg Dorit's gun to the shots that killed Yuri Antonov.
Greg Dorit wasn't issued a gun.
I'm afraid that protocol in the intelligence community isn't as simple as someone like you is used to.
Someone like me.
Look, Rutledge, the more you tell us about your agent's assignment,
the easier it will be for us to track down the guy who murdered him.
- That's what someone like him does. - Correct.
Well, Greg Dorit wasn't an agent; he was an analyst.
And a rather poor one at that.
So that means it doesn't matter that he's dead?
As far as what assignments he was working on, that information is classified.
And far beyond what I'm able to share with someone...
- With someone like me. - Yes.
FYI, you know, I have level-three clearance and my SSBI was renewed two months ago,
which allowed me to get this warrant.
- Well played, Booth! - Thanks, Bones.
Right. She doesn't have clearance.
You can wait in the lobby, Dr. Brennan.
You know, I can keep a secret.
Right, Bones, we know.
Greg worked the Turkmenistan desk, analyzing Web sites,
searching for communications hidden in images and texts.
So you got an analyst to assassinate a Russian courier?
I already told you we didn't.
Whatever motive Greg had for killing Antonov, I'd like to know just as much as you would.
Well, it seems to be about the briefcase.
So... do you know anything about that?
Not other than the fact it's gone missing.
Do you know what might be inside the briefcase, Mr. Rutledge?
Just diamonds, right?
Those eyes are New Year's Eve bloodshot.
You think Dorit was hammered when he died?
There's no alcohol in the tox screen.
I found these marks on his right arm.
Whew, must've hurt.
They're holes uniform in diameter but the pattern is random.
Looks like they were made by a drill press.
He might've been tortured. I'll get X-rays and high-res photos for Dr. Brennan.
Wendell, let me ask you-- you mentioned the neighborhood where you grew up.
And I don't mean to pry, but you said it was kind of poor?
I like a good bar band rather than the opera.
But trust me, there are more people on my side on that one.
No, I don't, I was just asking because of...
...your scholarship.
- Oh, you mean the miracle. - Miracle?
Yeah, that's what me and my mom call it.
- Really? - Yeah.
She's in church every day giving thanks.
I think she's there more than the priest.
You know, I come into cash someday, I'm starting one myself.
For other guys like me.
I'm sorry, you had a question about the scholarship?
No, that answered just about everything.
This was Greg Dorit's office.
Mr. Rutledge wanted me to make sure you have everything you need.
I can't believe Greg is dead.
There's nothing here. There's, there's no computer,
there's no files, there's nothing.
Any employee who dies has his equipment and files secured.
Were you friends with Mr. Dorit?
You know, they said that he wasn't a good analyst.
Maybe that's what got him killed.
No, no, he was exceptional at his job.
He was always finding threats the other analysts missed.
Why would they say that he wasn't good?
Because Greg would push--
make sure his leads were followed or he'd file a report.
They wanted him to look a little nuts, so his reports wouldn't be taken seriously.
Do you know what he was working on before he disappeared?
No, but he was working late.
We were supposed to have lunch over the weekend but...
But?
I never heard from him.
Is there anything else you want to tell me?
No.
Mr. Rutledge did say whatever I need.
- He did say that. - Yeah.
Greg was told to testify against someone,
and he wasn't sure whether the guy was really guilty,
but it was part of his job as an analyst and he wanted to be a team player.
Who did he testify against?
His name was Pedro Marquez.
The Agency thought he was a terrorist.
He was detained in a federal prison for almost a year before he was cleared of all charges.
So was Greg's testimony that put him behind bars?
Did Greg think that this Marquez guy was seeking revenge?
Well, I did.
Marquez was released from prison last week.
So, Pedro... recognize this man?
Yeah. That's the spook that accused me of being a terrorist.
But come on, look at this sweet face.
He thought you were retrofitting SUVs, huh?
When really you're just a poor little misunderstood car thief who owns a chop shop, right?
- Yeah. - So... Greg Dorit, Pedro.
My mom says I should write him a thank-you note.
What, for sending you to jail?
The CIA just cut me a check for a hundred grand for, uh,
wrongful something and defamation of something else.
I got it yesterday.
Hey, I might not have to steal cars anymore.
All right, so where were you last Friday night?
Working.
Like I said, I only just got the check.
But at your chop shop, do you have a 70-gauge drill bit?
Yeah, I got every size.
We have evidence that, um, Dorit here was tortured before he was killed.
Wait-- the dude's dead?
Yeah, and they drilled holes into his arm.
A 70-gauge bit would be a perfect fit.
- Come on. - That was before the CIA gave you the check.
I'm thinking he's looking to take some revenge.
Hell, no!
You can ask my mother-- I would never kill no one.
So I'm saying that you followed Dorit, saw him take out the courier,
so you probably figured that the briefcase was very valuable, so...
you kill Dorit and take off with the case.
Is there any way possible you guys would accuse me of all this in a public courtroom?
'Cause I'd really like to buy my mom a new condo.
According to his file, Dorit fractured his ankle twice
trying to complete an entry-level obstacle course during CIA training.
This makes no logical sense.
He dressed like a fictional British spy and pursued a shadow career as a CIA field agent,
even though he clearly did not possess the physical aptitude necessary for success.
He didn't want to be stuck behind a desk.
He saw an opportunity to live out his dreams and he took it.
It's ridiculous.
I don't know, it's always been my dream to work with you.
Sometimes dreaming is the way to go.
Not in this case, of course.
I, ah, cross-referenced the X-rays and enlarged photographs of the holes drilled in the radius.
Most drill bits leave striations.
- These have none. - So... not a drill.
Find out what other objects can make cavities this smooth.
Already on it.
Excellent work, Mr. Bray. I'll be sorry to see you go.
Um, where am I going?
Cam didn't tell you?
I guess not.
She can occasionally be quite sentimental.
Uh, there were funding cutbacks and you've lost your scholarship,
which, of course, means your internship is canceled.
But aren't there other funding resources?
We have explored all of the alternatives.
Fine, I'll... take the year off and work.
But if I'm, uh, replaced here, there's no guarantee I can come back, right?
We can't hold a place. No, I'm sorry.
Sure, I understand.
You are one of the best interns I've ever had the pleasure to work with.
You will be missed.
Okay. So I was inspecting Dorit's watch, right?
And I see that the battery case is loose, so I open it.
And what do I find? A bug.
Why such excitement over this particular insect?
Because this bug is not an insect.
It's a bug bug.
Someone was spying on our spy, who was spying on another spy.
Come on. A little enthusiasm here?
I lost my scholarship.
Oh, man. You told him?
I thought he knew.
I'll-- I should tell Booth about the surveillance device.
- You okay, Booth? - Yeah.
Did Mandy fight back when you brought her in?
I'm fine; I just cut myself trying to fix the pipes.
- Let me see. - No, Bones, I'm fine, okay? Let's get to Mandy.
- She's waiting at the interrogation room. - She can continue to wait.
Didn't your book for imbeciles teach you how to avoid injury?
No, the bookstore ran out of copies, and it's a book for dummies, not a book for imbeciles.
I thought that I could remember how to fix the pipes, but obviously I can't.
I'm sure it' very difficult.
I mean, I can't imagine being capable enough to fix my own plumbing.
Because you don't want to. You'd rather buy a plumber.
Well, I'd rather have someone teach me.
Look, I can teach you-- well, I could have taught you.
I just-- let's get inside, all right?
Rutledge said the bug was checked out in your name.
I got the bug because I was afraid Greg was cheating on me.
So why didn't you mention this before?
We weren't supposed to date.
I guess it's not like the FBI.
We're not allowed to sleep with someone we're working with.
Wha-- is she talking about us?
- We're not. - No.
Oh, it's okay, I'm CIA. My lips are sealed.
Greg and I were under the radar, but a week before he went missing, Greg broke up with me.
I guess I got a little too jealous.
Let me see this.
Wait a second. This is how he broke up with you?
He sent a picture of him waving good-bye to you in an e-mail?
Well, we had our problems, but we loved each other.
Greg was about to propose to me.
And why did you think that?
Because the last conversation I overheard, it was Greg and Mr. Rutledge.
They were talking about diamonds.
And I felt so guilty for not trusting Greg, I disconnected the bug and never heard anything else.
I swear.
What kind of creep breaks up with someone over e-mail?
Yeah.
Well, like there's an acceptable protocol for crushing someone's soul.
Hey, wait a second. This is weird.
This image file is way bigger than it should be,
which either means there's some sort of compression error or...
Or our steganographer hid data within the file.
Look at all that code.
Maybe he wasn't breaking up with her at all.
She was the only person he could trust.
He was sending her a message.
Still no cause of death, but the damage to the cartilage and lumbar vertebrae definitely indicate torture.
He was bent in some very painful way for a long period of time.
I'm analyzing the injuries to get the exact position.
The strange thing is I found no contraction band necrosis in the myocardium in the heart.
Well, that means he showed no signs of distress, even after hours of torture.
Isn't that impossible?
Unless the CIA underestimated this guy.
Anyone who can take that kind of abuse makes James Bond look like a weenie.
Weenie?
I'm sorry, I have no idea where that came from.
I'm gonna miss you.
Yeah.
Hey, Angela is still trying to decode the picture.
She says it's very complex.
Well, we're dealing with the CIA here, Bones.
What's that?
The book you wanted-- to fix your plumbing.
I found it at a used bookstore.
Look at that. Thanks, Bones, that is the sweetest thing.
Sure. Uh, the book was, um, $6.42. You can pay me later.
Mm, excuse me? It's a gift.
No, wai-- no, if I gave-- it was a gift, you might think of it as an assault on your virility.
I-I can take a check if that's easier.
How about a credit card?
- No, I don't take credit cards. - Right, no, just joking, okay.
Well, you know, once I flip through this, uh, you know, if you want to learn, I...
Sure, I've always wanted to wield a wrench.
Okay, just don't get all defensive if I know something more than you do.
There's something that I don't understand.
How come we can't bring Rutledge in for questioning?
Mandy said that he and Dorit were discussing diamonds.
I mean, clearly he was lying.
Bones, he's the Assistant Director of the CIA.
We can't just accuse him of murder without something more definitive than an overheard conversation, right?
But perhaps Mr. Bray has found something more on the remains.
Cam says he's staying remarkable focused despite losing his scholarship.
I found, in addition to perimortem disc compaction, there was also significant hemorrhaging on C-3.
Trauma confined to a limited space.
If a precision knife-hand strike was delivered to C-3...
it could be used to render a victim unconscious.
A blow to that region can cause severe nerve damage.
Which is why the maneuver is known only by trained combatants: Special Forces, Navy SEALs.
And perhaps the Assistant Director of the CIA?
If he had been a field agent first, it seems likely.
Uh, that's my mom. I haven't told her yet. You mind if I take this?
I'll let Booth know.
Hey, Mom.
Prior to becoming Assistant Director, Rutledge was a field agent in Russia.
Where he could have met Antonov.
And in 2004, he headed a detention center in Afghanistan.
Yeah, where he earned a reputation for very effective interrogation techniques.
Torture?
Yeah, one of the techniques was temporary nerve damage to the spine.
Why would he torture Greg Dorit? They were on the same side.
Perhaps he's a double agent.
I mean, Rutledge certainly fits that profile.
They're usually intelligent male officers who had poor father figures,
resulting in repressed anger and revenge fantasies.
Double agent?
By betraying his country, Rutledge is, in a sense,
choosing a new father, one who might treat him better than the last.
Yes, but that would also fit Booth, and he's not a double agent. Are you?
Stop. Watch it, Sweets.
Elephants are gray, Agent Booth, but not all gray thing are elephants.
- Is that good for me? Right? - Yeah.
You're really going to trust something this important with a kid?
Oh, me? At least I tuck myself in at night, okay?
Okay, there is a briefcase out there with God only knows what inside of it,
an-and apparently you people don't seem to have a clue.
What is it?
I think we just found our smoking gun.
You put a request in to I.C.E. to pull a baggage inspector of the diplomatic line,
and replace him with one of your own men.
You created the security holes, so the briefcase could enter the country.
See that right there? That's your signature. You're going down.
All right, whatever recording equipment you have in this room-- turn it off.
I created the hole so an additional $20 million in diamonds could be brought into the country.
The diamonds were then to be shipped to Pakistan in exchange for political prisoners.
To keep Congress in the dark.
Iran-Contra all over again.
So you killed your own analyst because he got in your way?
No. Dorit read some online chatter about the exchange.
I told him to mind his own business.
I tried to save him.
Dorit got killed because he didn't listen to me.
Or maybe he got killed because there was something more dangerous in that briefcase instead of diamonds.
Hey, have you seen Booth and Brennan?
Uh, they're in the bone room. Is everything okay?
No. The CIA's taking over the investigation.
They're coming to collect both sets of remains in ten minutes.
- Wait, wait-- so we only have... - Ten minutes, yeah. How are things coming in here?
Um, I'm-I'm still trying to decode the image.
It appears that most of the data is centered in his hand, and it could be a map of some kind.
Well, do it fast.
Rutledge is claiming national security.
He can't do that.
No, he can't, he can just bury the evidence, and we won't be able to touch him.
- Nine minutes left. - Nine minutes. You're joking, alright?
No, it's not a joke. Let's just pretend this is the Stanley Cup finals right now, all right?
You're down by two goals, you got nine minutes left.
Yeah, but there's so much data here.
The puck is about to drop. How do you want to go down? How do you want to be remembered?
All right. I found avulsion fractures along the proximal humerus.
Also, the heads of each femur were dislocated from the acetabula.
Mr. Dorit's body was bent back so far that the tendons snapped the bone.
That would happen if his hands and feet were tied behind his back.
Right. He was then hung by his hands-- I did a computer simulation.
Okay, if he was left upside down long enough, congestion of the head and brain would lead to asphyxiation.
Petechial hemorrhaging explains the bloodshot eyes.
We have cause of death.
Okay, great. That's one goal, but we still can't tie Rutledge to the murder.
But when I was in Chechnya identifying bodies,
there was one victim who suffered a Ukrainian torture called "the swallow."
He was suspended upside down, very similar to this.
No, that's not enough. Okay, look, you got one shot.
One shot on goal. It's an empty net. What are you going to do?
The holes in the radius.
I've-I've been trying to figure out what caused them. It wasn't a drill.
It was something strong enough to bore through bone, but leave no trace.
A laser.
Diamonds are cut by lasers.
But Lena Brodsky is the head of a diamond firm.
She would have easy access to a laser.
She's Ukrainian. Dorit got to the case before she did.
She's the one who tortured and killed Dorit.
- Take the body. - But no! Wait! You can't take him.
Yeah, we're still in regulation here. We got four minutes left on the clock.
Look, we know you didn't kill him.
But Dorit knew Antonov was working for Lena Brodsky.
He came to you guys, you didn't listen, so he takes care of it himself.
And then Lena finds out, kills him.
She must know where the briefcase is.
We have the neodymium laser you used to burn holes in Greg Dorit's arms.
And the gun you fired at Dorit's car after you saw him take off with your case.
What was in that case that is so much more valuable than millions in diamonds?
Where's your briefcase, Lena?
Okay, great. You know what? Whoever hired you--
they can't be too happy, so when we send you back to the Ukraine...
you know, I'm sure you'll live a long life.
I don't know where the case is. Dorit never talked.
After what I put him through, he should have talked. Anyone would have talked.
I've never seen a man so brave.
Booth.
I was right. It's a map. Keep your eye on his hand.
He wasn't waving good-bye.
He was telling Mandy where he hid his briefcase.
We don't know what's in that case. You call in your cavalry.
I know how to do my job.
Well, then, how come we found the killer and the case?
We're all clear.
Alright, call it in.
A USB computer drive.
That's what all this was about?
Information. Today that can be more dangerous than one bomb.
Stars on the memorial wall represent agents who died courageously while serving their country.
The memorial wall is reserved for agents. Mr. Dorit was not an agent.
In Mr. Dorit's case, I asked that an exception be made.
Well... I'm gonna miss you, Wendell.
Stay safe, okay?
Yeah, you, too.
Won't be the same without you, man.
We are all grateful for your exceptional work, Mr. Bray.
- Thank you. - Hold on a second.
Uh, don't worry. I wouldn't have left without saying good-bye.
That's nice, but you don't have to leave.
Excuse me?
I was just notified that they found new funding for your scholarship.
You are covered in full for the next two years.
Apparently, a donation was made anonymously.
Anonymously?
Well, then, uh, please allow me to say thank you to Anonymous.
We still need all of the evidence photographed and catalogued
before we send it to the Federal Prosecutor's Office, Mr. Bray.
Yes, Dr. Brennan, right away.
Thank you.
Actually, they received enough anonymous donations for three scholarships.
That is quite a coincidence.
It really is.
- So, for the next step, you need to attach the elbow pipe... - Okay.
- ...using the PVC cement there. - Okay.
So stick that little fuzzy ball in there, and swish it around...
- You got it? - It stinks.
Yeah, well, you smell dead bodies, and that stinks? Okay.
There is a beautiful logic to this. You know?
It's like reconstructing the circulatory system.
The water is the blood. The pipes, veins.
Right, right, right.
So what you need to do is just apply pressure right in there and hold it for a minute, okay?
Got it.
Got it. Right, I know. Just...
making sure that it's safe.
Student-teacher, student-teacher.
You know, Bones, I'm...
I'm glad that, uh, you know, that we don't have any secrets between each other.
Yeah. I like that.
I mean, if we have something on our mind, just, we just share it.
Sure.
Even with all of the financial and intellectual contradictions, I...
still feel close to you.
Right, because, you know, none of that really matters anyway.
Sometimes, looking at it through your eyes, I believe that.
Right, so... pipe seems nice and secure, right?
- Yeah. It seems secure. - Tight? All right, just hold onto it there.
Let me just open up the, uh, water.
right... there.
Oh, it's an old apartment, it's Washington.
Close that. There.
You can take your hand off now, Bones.
- Are you sure? - Positive.
Look at that, huh? Nice and secure.
- No drip? - No drip.
You're a... You're a good student.
Only as good as my teacher.
Turn it off. Turn it off.
- My watch is ruined! - What do you mean your watch is ruined?
- It's a Rolex. - It's a Rolex.