"This isn't Tenerife."

Ziva greets me with a warm smile while Goliath, Tony, and Gibbs step out of the opening of the aircraft. They squint from the sun falling directly on their faces.

"Welcome to D.C., Goliath."

The four of us ride back to headquarters, Gibbs taking the driver's seat as predicted. Ziva sits up front with him, which leaves me and Tony in the back together.

As soon as we arrive at the building, McGee briefs us on what he's found about the exchange between Goliath and Harrow.

"Uh, Eva?" McGee calls out to me.

"Right, right." I grab the plasma remote. "Charles Andrew Harrow, 68, civilian encryption specialist who was employed by the DOD until retiring three years ago."

A yawn leaves my lips involuntarily, to which Gibbs looks back at me.

I clear my throat. "Sorry, boss. His most notable project is —"

"A.R.E.S.." He cuts me off. "Top secret Navy encrypted satellite targeting system named after —"

"The Greek god of war, I know."

"Right." The stern man nods once. "Is that all?"

"No, of course not. Who do you think we are?" Nervously, I scratch the back of my neck. "And we're back to you, McGee."

His eyes narrow slightly because of my words. "I'm also running Harrow's phone and email records for the past ninety days against databases of known arms dealers. No hits yet, but I did just start."

"205 Rosewood Drive, Northwest D.C.. Is that address still good?"

"As far as we know, yes."

"Eva, DiNozzo, go get him."

"Are you-Are you sure about that, Gibbs?" My eyes widen.

He cocks a brow. "Did I stutter, Eva?"

I plead silently, crossing my fingers behind my back. Holding my stare for a few more moments, Gibbs caves.

"McGee, take Ziva with you."

After they leave, Tony takes care of the computer logistics, mostly just uploading Goliath's file to the database, with a bit of backseat-driving from me.

"Computers really aren't your thing, are they?"

"Do I look like a McGeek to you?"

"Do you think it's a good idea to ask your ex-girlfriend that?"

"Good point."

Gibbs clears his throat in an obvious manner. "If you two are done flirting, we have business to tend to."

"Briefing paper's already completed, and the audio tape from interrogation is in the process of transcription."

Beep! Beep! Beep!

McGee's computer sounds an alert.

"I think it'd be better if I checked his computer." My eyes scan Tony's figure. "God knows what you would search up on it."

His eyes glare in my direction. "Did you get extra bitch with your coffee this morning?"

"Let's see what we have here." Sitting down in McGee's chair, I sink back in comfort. "McGee got a name match from Harrow's emails."

"Trent. . .Kort." Tony peers over my shoulder incessantly. "On the FBI arms dealer watchlist for the past five days." He reads off the screen.

"Very thin file. 37 years old, British national. . .um, believed to have recently joined. . ."

I glance up at the plasma instantly, recognizing the man photographed.

"Hey."

Gibbs' voice tears me away from my racing thoughts.

"You two know this guy?"

For some reason, Tony had been staring at the screen in thought. . .similar to me.

"I've never seen him in my life." I shake my head.

"Me neither." Tony nods in agreement.

He knows something.

"Kort's believed to be an association with international arms dealer La Grenouille. He's fronted corporations in Paris, Nairobi, Cape Town."

There's that damn name again.

After some hours, Jenny comes down from her office. I've already seen Tony go up there as well as Gibbs, so either they know about the undercover mission. . .or we're about to tell them.

"We have another bidder from McGee's search process."

I pull up the file on the person of interest.

"The Black Rose, a.k.a. Rose O'Leary." My stare meets hers.

"She ran guns for the I.R.A. until peace broke out." She stares at the screen. "Who's flagged her?"

"MI-5. Tracked her in Africa until losing contact six days ago." I click through the various pictures of her. "Might have slipped onto a Varig to Brazil under the alias Grace O'Malley."

Jenny chuckles under her breath. "Grace O'Malley was a 16th century Irish pirate."

"Her bid's less than La Grenouille's, though. Only eighteen million dollars."

Gibbs walks off silently — followed by Tony — leaving me alone the director. I shut my eyes for a few seconds, pinching between my eyebrows.

"He's going to forgive us eventually, won't he?"

"Send me a hard copy when the data's in."

"I'll just take that as a maybe."

Unfortunately, a part of our plan fails when Ziva calls after Mr. Harrow has a heart attack. Jenny joins on the ride-along, only to explode at the two agents for "killing" our only lead.

Ziva and McGee drive to Harrow's house to retrieve the pirated part of A.R.E.S., estimated to be worth twenty million dollars.

After returning to discuss with Abby, McGee reports back in the bullpen with good news.

"The software was stored on microdrives in condoms."

"Condoms? Like condom condoms?"

"Yes, Eva, condoms." McGee mimics in a teasing tone. "We analyzed every detail, the source code: the source code to the circuitry of the motherboard —"

Gibbs interrupts his geek-out. "McGee."

"It's like PS3. You can't play Killzone without the hardware to run it."

"PS-what?"

"Let me translate for you, Gibbs." I turn to the pepper-haired man. "You need the horse to be able to use the buggy."

"Why didn't you just say that?"

Jenny runs down the staircase after hearing the name A.R.E.S. being thrown around.

"You found it? You found A.R.E.S.?" She pushes past me and Ziva, standing front and center to the high-definition television.

"We did, yes." McGee answers. "Here it is, Director. Live from Abby's lab."

She looks back abruptly. "Were there any more bids?"

"La Grenouille had the highest one." I reply in disdain. "Like it matters."

With a bit more talking — and a few more uses of illegal tracking methods — we figure out the location and time of the drop-off with La Grenouille. But with Harrow dead, how do we meet him?

Since La Grenouille has never met Harrow, all we need is someone who looks enough like a 68-year-old Englishman.

And luckily, we have one: Ducky.

Outside of the airport, Tony and I sit up on the rooftop with night-vision cameras and an infrared scanner. Jenny, Gibbs, Ziva, and McGee sit in a disguised truck with all and any equipment they need. Finally, Ducky prepares for his first undercover mission.

"Why don't we go out for a few drinks tonight?" Tony suggests.

For the first time, his voice isn't full of pure hatred or despise directed towards me.

I shake my head, declining the offer. "Just because we both know about our undercover doesn't mean we know exactly what the other is doing on their mission."

"Well, if we're able to catch him tonight. . .there'll be no more secrets."

"Something tells me it won't be easy."

My gut feeling proves correct when Jenny never gives us the order to shoot La Grenouille, even with a perfectly shot. On top of that, Kort is really C.I.A., which only reveals itself when he confronts Ducky by his real name.

"It was a sting."

"We got stung."

"More like bitten in the ass."

"No. We got screwed."