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Blackadder: Royal NCIS

by: keith (Send Feedback)

Series: - No Series - #1
Chapters: 001 Word Count: 7618
Rating: TEEN
Character(s): Ensemble
Category(ies): Alternate Universe, Crossover, Parody
Pairing(s): - No Pairing -
Episode(s): 1-13 One Shot, One Kill
Crossover Shows: Blackadder Series
Summary: An NCIS episode rewritten with Edmund Blackadder in charge

Chapters: 1



(Two teens play a video game in an arcade.)

VIDEO GAME: Near miss. Near miss. Target not acquired. Taking fire. Near miss. Taking fire. Reload.

Teen 1: Dude, you so suck.

Teen 2: This machine sucks, it's impossible!

VIDEO GAME: You're hit. Game over. Enter fifty p to continue.

Teen 1: No way, I’m not loaning you any more money to continue sucking.

Teen 2: Screw it, y'know what? This sucky game’s rigged anyways. No one can win.

(Sounds come from an identical game next to it. The teens approach.)

VIDEO GAME: Kill shot. Kill shot. Target destroyed. Kill shot. Kill shot. Bonus level. Kill shot. Kill shot. Kill shot. High score. Mission accomplished. You are the new high score.

(A recruiter for the Royal Marines stands there pumping virtual rounds into the screen. He smiles, slyly, at the teens.)

(Later, in the recuiting office:)

Teen 1: So if we sign up now, can you guarantee us a non-combat position?

Smythe: Son, this is the Royal Marines. The force that was invented so sailors wouldn’t get hurt. Like the Army, but we splash our way to the enemy. We exist as the pointy end of the stick that is our government’s foreign policy. First in, last out, and most likely to end up as a corpse floating in the wake of a amphibious craft.

Teen 2: Yeah. And about the non-combat positions?

SMYTHE: I ain't gonna lie to you boys. If you’re willing to sign an open six-year contract, and take a verbal guarantee that you’ll never see combat in the Royal Marines, you’re exactly the kind of boys, I mean, the Men We Want.

Teen 2: Yeah, okay.

Teen 1: Yeah, sounds good.

SMYTHE: The truth is, most Marines don't see combat. I mean, look at me. Been in the Corps sixteen years. The closest I've ever come to a bullet is –

(Classic ricochet sound coincides with the explosion of a vase of flowers on the SM’s desk. He stiffens upright to a shocked ‘Attention.’ His eyes glaze over as he falls back to his chair, but remains rigid and board-straight. The teens leap up, stare at him, stare at each other….then grab his desk computer and run from the office.)

(Later, the RNCIS team is in the office.)

KATE: All right. So, what happened next?

BALDRICK: If it's any consolation, Edmund, Royal Sergeant Major Smythe's death was almost instantaneous.

EDMUND: His CO's on the way down here, Balders, can we move him yet?

BALDRICK: Well, that’s funny, Mr. Blackadder, because usually we can move them around, before they stiffen, right? Then we can put them in funny poses when rigor mortis sets in, y’ see. But the SM, here, he’s just naturally stiff as a board. Can’t budge him.

EDMUND: That was his job, Baldrick, he’d never be so unprofessional as to slouch while in uniform. And when I said to ‘move’ him I meant out of sight.

BALDRICK: Oh. Well, we’re waiting for the gurney, really, but if you want, we could take the wheels off the chair, tape ‘em to his ankles.

EDMUND: (Sigh) Why would we do that, Baldrick.

BALDRICK: Well, stiff as ‘e is, we could just wheel him out that way.

EDMUND: No. We’ll wait for the gurney, Baldrick. And now the image of a dead Sergeant Major will be wheeling after me in my sleep for weeks. Thank you, Baldrick.

BALDRICK: My pleasure, sir.

(Edmund walks off. Baldrick turns to the corpse)

BALDRICK: Well, if it's any consolation, Sergeant Major, Edmund is the absolute best we got. Anything he can’t solve, he figures out who should be guilty and sees to it they’re punished anyway.

EDMUND: George, where's my bullet?

GEORGE: I’m very hopeful it’s in this box or the wall behind it. Got your knife on you, boss?

EDMUND: Rule number nine.

GEORGE: Oh, oh, don’t tell me. Let’s see. The single-digit rules mostly deal with how one dresses. The lower ones involve articles of clothing, and the upper ones what one carries in his pockets. I even made up a rhyme. “Ones for fun, pants on your buns, on to the twos, steel toed shoes, three’s for me, a first class…”

EDMUND & KATE: Never go anywhere without a knife.

GEORGE: You sure about that? I thought nine was never ask a girl her weight on the first date.

KATE: Well, that depends entirely on whether you want a second one or not, George.

EDMUND: What do you have, Caitlin?

KATE: Well, the kids can't tell us much except where Smythe was sitting when he was popped. Several people reported hearing a gunshot around 1300, but no eyewitnesses.

(George is admiring a recruiting poster on the wall above the box)

GEORGE: I bet you had no problem getting dates wearing one of these, Edmund.

EDMUND: Dating was not exactly my problem in the Royal Marines, George.

GEORGE: Well, whoever it was, they're packing serious heat. It went straight through the sheetrock into what looks like - some kind of toy warehouse?

BALDRICK: Ooooh. What age group?

EDMUND: “Serious Heat?” You’ve been watching American television again, George?

GEORGE: Yes, sir. I’m learning rather a lot about big criminal investigations.

EDMUND: Been in a lot of hot car chases recently, George? Had hot blondes fall in your lap with timely clues? Beaten a dope dealer half to death for information that never comes back to haunt you when the case goes to trial?

GEORGE: Well, no, not yet. But I have asked for a transfer to Bath.

EDMUND: Give me my knife back before you hurt yourself, George. (He waves in the direction of the toy warehouse) You two better get moving. Don't come back without my bullet.

GEORGE: You think he'd let me borrow his uniform for a weekend?

KATE: Don't know. I just hope I'm there when you ask him.

(Inside the warehouse, George picks up a Betsy Wetsy doll)

GEORGE: You ever play with one of these as a kid?

KATE: Do I look like the doll type, George?

GEORGE: Well, maybe if you smiled more and did something with your hair.

CARL: Can I help you?

KATE: Oh, yes. We're with RNCIS.

GEORGE: Stands for Royal Naval -

CARL: Criminal Investigative Service, yeah. I'm Carl. AWM. System Warehouse manager.

KATE: You've actually heard of us.

CARL: Watch Forensic Files on BBC TV. They profiled a case you guys did a few years ago.

GEORGE: Really?

CARL: Yeah. You guys couldn't solve it. Luckily, MI6 had jurisdiction, and those guys -

KATE: We're here on official business.

CARL: Oh. About the murder next door? Not that we know it's a murder yet, but from all preliminary indications it appears that it's probably -

GEORGE: Bullet went through the common wall into your warehouse. We need to forensically trace its trajectory.

CARL: Not a problem. You gonna use the laser projector, or the more outdated string technique?

GEORGE: Lasers? Zapping beams around the building? Doesn’t sound safe, what? KATE: Rule 45, George.

GEORGE: AH. That one I know. Edmund invented it 20 seconds after meeting me.

KATE: George?

GEORGE: Ah. Yes. “Rule 45: Shut up, George.”

(back at the recruiting office)

EDMUND: Leftenant Darling.

DARLING: Yes?

EDMUND: Special Agent Edmund Blackadder. RNCIS.

DARLING: Five months in the Falklands, I didn't lose a single man.

EDMUND: Odd, I have a few I’d pay money to lose.

DARLING: What did you say?

EDMUND: What can you tell me about the Royal Sergeant Major?

DARLING: Oh, he was a legend. Career recruiter who never missed a quota.

EDMUND: Any ideas?

DARLING: Well, I think he just put in the hours necessary to contact each and every...

EDMUND: Not about how he met quota. Ideas about who might have wanted to kill him.

DARLING: Oh, yes of course.

EDMUND: (pause) Well?

DARLING: Well, what?

EDMUND: What are your ideas?

DARLING: I don’t have any ideas.

EDMUND: You just said you did. I asked if you had ideas and you said of course.

DARLING: Of course I did. I just don’t.

EDMUND: You don’t? But you did.

DARLING: No, I said of course as in, of course, I see what you mean. Not of course as in, of course I do.

EDMUND: So you don't see what I mean?

DARLING: No, I do. I did. I just don't.

EDMUND: So you....never mind.

DARLING: Never mind what?

EDMUND: (visibly restraining himself) What about complaints filed from the kids he recruited?

DARLING: We have a few.

EDMUND: I'll need to see those.

DARLING: Not a problem.

EDMUND: I should think that the very fact there's a complaint would indicate that there's a problem.

DARLING: Oh, I see. No, there's no problem showing you the problems. That's what I meant.

EDMUND: Yes, well, I need to see the real ones, Major. The ones that tend to surface when you don't make your quota.

DARLING: Hell, if it helps you find his killer, I'll give you his whole damn filing cabinet, Agent Blackadder.

EDMUND: All right.

(back at the warehouse)

GEORGE: Where the hell's the bullet? It's like it just disappeared!

KATE: I'm going to need you on your knees over here, George, it's time to get dirty.

GEORGE: What? I say. I’m flattered, naturally, but at a crime scene?

KATE: We have to sweep the floor for marks. It may have lost velocity and dropped.

GEORGE: Right. Right, I knew that. Hah. Hah-hah.

CARL: That's not how they do it on CSI.

KATE: You really need to get off that couch more, Carl.

GEORGE: Was there a pallet or display like right around here, say at one o'clock this afternoon? (Carl is paying more attention to Kate’s search of the floor..or to Kate, searching the floor) Carl!

CARL: Ah...ah, yeah, went out about an hour ago. It was a load of dolls heading for Richmond.

GEORGE: Can you contact the driver?

CARL: Sure.

GEORGE: Good. 'Cause we got a new address for drop-off.





TO be continued, as time allows



(in the team cubicles)

EDMUND: Caitlin, I have a present for you.

KATE: Okay, what is it?

EDMUND: Seven years' worth of Royal Sergeant Major Smythe's personal and professional correspondence. Need it sorted by category.

KATE: Which are?

EDMUND: Gonna leave that part up to you.

KATE: Oh, come on, Edmund, at least tell me what I'm looking for!

EDMUND: Same thing we're all looking for, Caitlin. A murderer.

KATE: Ooh, why didn't I take the damn dolls?

(in the lab)

GEORGE: Is there a reason you pulled all their heads off, Abby?

ABBY: It's so we know that we've checked them.

GEORGE: Yeah. But the one with the round in it was sitting practically on top. You emptied the entire box.

ABBY: Well, it was kinda fun.

GEORGE: And they're naked.(slight whine in the voice to indicate how upsetting this is for George)

ABBY: Shhhh. I am about to perform my first autopsy. Aha! Gerald, Take ‘is ‘ing up t’ Abby, please!

EDMUND: Abigail, does Baldrick know you do that?

ABBY: Edmund! I told you, call me ’Abby.’

EDMUND: I don’t ‘call’ you anything. I address you by your given name. You call dogs, in billiards you call shots. Events involving a call-girl are quite specific and include a price list.

ABBY: Edmund, just because I won’t sleep with you doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.

EDMUND: ‘Just friends’ is an item on the price list. Have you done the ballistics on the bullet yet?

ABBY: I was just about to run this through the ballistics lab.

EDMUND: Good. Because when you're done, I want to see that mockup of the trajectory on the computer.

ABBY: And I'm gone.

EDMUND: George, is there any point to asking why all these dolls are naked?

GEORGE: Don't look at me, boss. Must be a Goth thing.

(they share a look and back away from the lab)

(At Abby’s desk:)

ABBY: Definitely wasn't a pistol, Edmund. 7.62 millimeters.

KATE: A rifle.

ABBY: Problem is, I can't tell which kind. Hopefully I can look it up on the plates.

EDMUND: Then why don't you start with what it's not, Abigail?

ABBY: Well, I know it's not an AK-47. There's lots of those floating around. The grooving's all wrong. Without knowing the exact make of the rifle...I'm going on guess work, but I think I can explain why there are no eyewitnesses. The shooter was long range. Really long range.

EDMUND: Oh, wonderful. Our shooter's a sniper.

(in the team cubicles, Kate is teaching George to use Chopsticks)

KATE: Relax your hand, or you're never gonna get it in your mouth.

GEORGE: I'm trying, but this thing's too gosh darn it all slippery.

KATE: Never gonna impress a girl that way.

GEORGE: Oh, whatever. If I wanted to use newfangled eating tools I’d eat at trendy nerd diners.

KATE: Actually, George, chopsticks aren’t new fangled, they’re at least a hundred years older than Christianity.

GEORGE: Really? Well, until last year, I’d never seen them. Have we got any soup? Ahhh.

EDMUND: That had better not be mine, George. My caterers will avenge the theft of my victuals, and some of them are Vulcans.

GEORGE: (to Kate) Blackadder ordered soup? Great. (To Edmund) If it's any consolation, it's not very good.

EDMUND: Whose chow mein?

KATE: George's.

EDMUND: You want to explain to me, George, how you ordered a meal, got the meal, opened the meal, and then fell to slurping my soup instead of the food that is here for the express purpose of being crammed into your gaping maw? No? Anyone? So. Anything interesting in Smythe's complaint file?

KATE: Well, it seems he had a gift for exaggerating the opportunities available in the Royal Marines. This kid wanted to be a pilot. Smythe told him he'd be sitting in a cockpit by the end of his second year.

GEORGE: Plane mechanic?

KATE: Close. Ejection seat technician.

EDMUND: Any of 'em contain threats?

KATE: No. Not yet at least.

GEORGE: By golly, come to think of it, you’ve never told us why you enlisted, boss. For queen and country, or to see the world, or some other reason?

EDMUND: That's something that would come up in personal conversation, George. Something that occurs between friends.

GEORGE: Yes, well?

EDMUND: Strangely enough, George, while I have a small list of people that I number as friends, I have a rather large list of people that I would cheerfully identify to the Americans as Islamic Terrorists that have infiltrated the allied countries for the purpose of spreading mayhem and confusion. Then I’d wave happily at the back of the van that takes them away to whatever dank, dreary cell the CIA or NSA conducts interrogations in these days. Would you like to know what list you’re on, George?

GEORGE: (shakily)Um, no.

EDMUND: Good answer, George. (phone rings) Blackadder.

KATE: You think his recruiter told him a fast one?

GEORGE: I rather doubt it.

KATE: Why?

GEORGE: Can you imagine someone lying to Blackadder and getting away with it?

EDMUND: That was our authorization for the building that Abigail theorizes the sniper fired from. George, you're with me.

KATE: Wh - what about me?

EDMUND: Nope. You need to see if there's a murderer hiding in that stack of files.

GEORGE: Good luck.

KATE: Alone, eating Chinese food again. What a refreshing change, Kate.

(among back streets and abandoned warehouses)

GEORGE: Edmund, I really appreciate your taking me along on the physical investigation. Not leaving me with those dreary letters and reports.

EDMUND: It’s just a logical division of labor, George. I need someone with at least a 6th grade reading level for that work, here I need someone with the body mass to absorb stray bullets that pass through them.

(at the padlocked gate covering building entry)

EDMUND: You have a key?

GEORGE: Right here. (plays with key for a while) Hmm, thing's stuck.

EDMUND: Let me try.

(dope slaps George, George’s head bounces off padlock, which pops open.)

EDMUND: See, George, that logical division of labor keeps paying off.

(wandering through warehouse)

EDMUND: Interesting, George, rather reminds me of your apartment. Except, of course, for that minty fresh urine smell.

GEORGE: For your information, I have a maid now.

EDMUND: You can afford a maid?

GEORGE: It's amazing what you can do when you don't have to pay three alimonies. Oh, this doesn't make any sense. You sure this is the wall facing the recruiting station?

EDMUND: Yes. Northeast.

GEORGE: Abby's trajectory's got to be wrong. How could a guy fire from here - there isn't even a window.

EDMUND: I don’t know. That's what we're going to find out. Move about smartly, maybe you can trip over a clue.

GEORGE: Minty fresh urine smell... Well, I dunno what we got, but I'm done. Edmund?

EDMUND: George! Got your knife?

GEORGE: Rule number nine, never go anywhere without your -

(George starts to pull out a knife, just as Edmund whips out his own and starts prying at one brick in the wall)

EDMUND: I was testing you, seeing if you were paying attention.

GEORGE: What exactly are we looking for here?

EDMUND: This, right here. (pulls a brick from the wall) Okay. Let's bag it. (peeks through remaining hole) Oh, boy. We have a large problem.

GEORGE: What do you see?

EDMUND: A shooter who is highly intelligent and methodical. Out of a thousand bricks in this wall he only removed the one he needed.

GEORGE: So, it’ll be something of a challenge, what?

EDMUND: George, it’s challenging to try to get through a day’s work without shooting you in the foot. I’d far rather be chasing dumb criminals down a short, straight path than trying to outsmart someone down a long, twisty one. Most of my career has been built on arresting people barely smart enough to put out a match when it starts to burn their fingers. In the Marines, someone that stole supplies without accidentally signing their own name to the requisition was a master criminal. It’s going to take a dedicated, professional, experienced team to bring this man in.

GEORGE: Well, sir….

EDMUND: And until this case is assigned to them, we’ll just do our best to look busy, right?

(back in the team cubicles, the next morning. George walks tiredly into the office)

KATE: Did you have fun last night?

GEORGE: Oh, yeah. Got in around four AM and (YAWN), filed evidence for another hour.

KATE: Really. Was Blackadder with you?

GEORGE: Oh, God, thanks for reminding me. I'd better call him, make sure he's up.

(Edmund walks up behind George)

EDMUND: Good morning, George. You're late.

GEORGE: And a good morning to you, sir.

EDMUND: Caitlin, you get those files sorted?

KATE: Looks like we might've had our Gunny figured wrong. These aren't complaints, they're letters thanking him. He kept in touch with a lot of his recruits after graduation. The middle ones are mostly bitching and moaning along the lines of last night, and these are the two that stood out. This one sounded the most promising.

EDMUND: Oh, I'll say. This guy's threatening to cut of Smythe's head, and then – Oh, this is good. Very good. I may need to write this one down for use later.

KATE: Yeah, well, he's dead. Six months ago, in Iraq. This one is our best bet. Sergeant Aaron Barnes. Now he claims that Smythe told him that if he signed up for a six year hitch, he'd qualify for the Marine Enlisted Commissioning Program.

(flashback scene to Smythe’s office)

SMYTHE: Listen, son. You wanna be an officer, you gotta show the Marines that you're committed. Now, between you and me, nothing says commitment like a six year hitch. Hell, I can even see myself saluting you someday.

KATE: Turns out Barnes's school grades weren’t high enough to qualify for any Officer Program, and when he found that out, he wanted to break his contract.

EDMUND: The enlistment contract is the single most bulletproof piece of legalism drawn up since Henry the VIII’s third prenuptial agreement. Your lawyer will break before that contract does.

KATE: Yeah. And when that got shot down, he fired off a personal letter to Smythe promising to look the Sargeant Major up again when his contract was up.

GEORGE: That's not exactly a death threat. I mean, I’ve been in this office for two years, and I know a death threat when I’ve been threatened with one. In fact, just the other day, I took the last donut before Edmund got out of his meeting with The Director and ….

EDMUND: George…

EDMUND & KATE: Rule 45!

KATE: Well, his contract's up this year. But here's the kicker. Two years ago he was selected for sniper school, and he was so good that they brought him back as an instructor. He's there now.

EDMUND: Let's roll.

(at sniper school. A shot rings out across a small clearing, poking a hole in a target approximately ½ a centimeter away from dead center. A Sargeant steps up to the hole and measures the miniscule distance between the hole and the bullseye)

BARNES: Adjust your mil scale, you greasy maggot! You're shooting upscale with a variable ten knot wind. Close doesn't count in combat, Corporal. Even a half inch off the mark your target gets an opportunity to live, and return the favor.

CORPORAL: Yes, Sergeant!

EDMUND: Sergeant Barnes.

BARNES: Stand by, gentlemen.

EDMUND: Special Agents Edmund Blackadder, Caitlin Todd, George Colhurst St. Barleigh. RNCIS.

BARNES: What can I do for you, sir?

KATE: We want to talk to about Sergeant Smythe.

BARNES: I guess he couldn't get away with it forever.

EDMUND: What?

BARNES: Promising things he knew he could never deliver on, sir.

EDMUND: Thing is, we're not here to talk about his recruiting methods.

KATE: He was killed yesterday.

GEORGE: Shot by a sniper.

EDMUND: Not many people could make that shot. Six hundred meters, through glass, at an angle...

BARNES: You think it's me. I can't believe he kept this letter. You've gotta believe me, sir, it's not what you think.

GEORGE: It never is.

EDMUND: Where were you, Sergeant? Yesterday, between noon and 1400?

BARNES: Individual PT, sir. Running the loop around the reservoir.

KATE: Can anyone corroborate that?

BARNES: Corporal Stenson. We work out together every Wednesday.

GEORGE: And where's the corporal now?

(in front of the main gate to the base)

EDMUND: Corporal Stenson!

STENSON: Sir?

EDMUND: Special Agent Edmund Blackadder. RNCIS.

STENSON: What's up, sir?

EDMUND: Did you PT with Sergeant Barnes yesterday afternoon?

STENSON: Yes sir, every Wednesday between noon and 1400.

KATE: What'd you do?

STENSON: We, uhm...we were running the obstacle course, ma'am.

(in the interrogation room)

BARNES: Here it is, okay? Sergeant Major Smythe lied to me. It pissed me off, so I wrote him that stupid letter. But joining the Marine Corp's the best thing that ever happened to me.

EDMUND: It's sixty-eight degrees in here, Sergeant. Are you hot, or do you always sweat this much?

BARNES: I am not a murderer, sir.

EDMUND: Swear that on a stack of bibles, eh?

BARNES: Yes, sir.

EDMUND: Are you familiar with the bible, Sergeant?

BARNES: Um, yes sir.

EDMUND: Know about Judas? What happened to him?

BARNES: They hung him, sir, didn’t they?

EDMUND: ‘Hung him.’ No, if you ever actually read the book, you’ll find that part of it says he hanged himself and part says he fell headfirst to the ground and burst apart.

BARNES: Oh. Yes, sir, I remember that now.

EDMUND: DO you? Because I think biblical inerrancy should be very important to you right now, Sergeant.

BARNES: Sir, I may not have the verses memorized, but I swear to you…

EDMUND: Yes, yes, swear on a bible and all that. But you see, about Judas….as a Cop, when I get two different stories about the same event, I suspect someone is lying. But to a dedicated Christian, they just say it’s two different parts of the same story. That Judas hung himself, and then some time later, after the body was really ripe, the rope broke and the body fell headfirst onto rocks and burst open.

BARNES: Sir? I…

EDMUND: (loud, to override the Sergeant) SO the only way you and your buddy’s stories could be the truth, you’d have to have completed a 9-mile run around the reservoir AND THEN done the obstacle course.

BARNES: Uh……

EDMUND: Just let me know when your lawyer has you do it again, for the court. You know, to prove you’re in the physical condition necessary to do the whole thing inside of two hours. Should be an amazing thing to behold.

(Sweeps up the file folder from the desk and walks out. Sergeant remains at the table, visibly shaken)

(on a street, scene is crowded with ambulances and police cars. The team piles out of the RNCIS truck)

KATE: Next time, drive a little faster, George. I think my glands still have an ounce of adrenaline left.

GEORGE: Responsible crime scene investigation demands a timely arrival, Kate.

KATE: Yeah, well it would help if the investigators didn't puke all over it.

EDMUND: (Sigh) My, this brings back memories.

KATE: Memories of what?

EDMUND: Marriage. And other blood sports.

GEORGE: The second Marine recruiter was killed why Sergeant Barnes was in custody - why are we still holding him?

EDMUND: He's not telling the truth. I just don't know about what.

KATE: Well, he could have a partner. Snipers like to use spotters.

EDMUND: Why don't we see if these two shootings are even connected, first, before speculating on how they are connected?

GEORGE: Boss - you expecting company?

(George indicates a number of suited individuals approaching)

EDMUND: The victim was a Marine. That puts it in our jurisdiction, Agent Melchett.

MELCHETT: Maybe, but the second shooting is in Portsmouth, which puts it in ours.

EDMUND: According to who?

MELCHETT: The director of the MOD.

EDMUND: Oh. Is he here, (Edmund waves to indicate the large horde of MOD individuals crowding the recruiting office) somewhere?

MELCHETT: Look, if you pull your people back, I promise you'll get copies of everything we find.

EDMUND: And if I don't?

MELCHETT: Well, I wouldn't worry about that. You'll be receiving a call from your director any minute now. Oh, and one more thing, Agent Edmund. Fornell warned me about you. Do not try and remove the body.

EDMUND: Alright, if you want the body so bad, we'll leave you the body, but I do suggest that you use protection for anything you do with it.

GEORGE: O-ho-ho. You're not still using laser? They're still using laser.

KATE: Maybe...they didn't get the memo.

GEORGE: You didn't get the memo, did you? MOD memoranda? 12 August? Ballistic laser calibration devices? The health warning? May lead to impotence? Maybe he doesn't have to worry about that any more.

(They step away from the ministry of defense minions and lower their voices)

KATE: We can get the trajectory, no problem.

GEORGE: Competition's going to be for the bullet.

BALDRICK: I don't think the unfortunate Sergeant Allen is going to be of much use there. The bullet passed clean through. Well, when I say 'clean' I don' tmean there wasn't a lot of blood, and a few other fleshy bits...

EDMUND: Then I suggest we help our good friends the MOD find it. George, make a hole.

GEORGE: Scalpel.

EDMUND: Caitlin? Find the bullet.

BALDRICK: (to the MOD ME) I find that the first step in an analysis of a dead body is to make sure he’s dead. (leans towards the head of the corpse) ARE YOU DEAD? (back to the ME) You’d be amazed how many embarrassing moments can be avoided with that simple step.

(George jabs a knife into the wall to create a small hole)

GEORGE: Got the secondary bullet hole, boss.

MELCHETT: All right, we'll take it from here.

GEORGE: Ah, no, I'll wait for my boss. He's the guy with all his hair.

EDMUND: George, I'll handle this.

MELCHETT: What, you still haven't heard from your director yet?

EDMUND: Nope. And until we do, that bullet in the wall behind us belongs to RNCIS.

MELCHETT: Well, from where I'm standing, you're a little outnumbered.

(Kate finds another hole in the wall and removes the real bullet from it)

EDMUND: Well, from where I'm standing, I'm not real worried about it. Being outnumbered by Ministry of Defense minions is more threatening by virtue of having to smell their cologne than any physical threat.

MELCHETT: All right, listen, Blackadder, I don't have time for this bull. Will somebody please get me the damn RNCIS director on the phone!

EDMUND: Well, that may be a bit of a problem. See, Thursday's his golf day.

MELCHETT: Listen, I'm not fooling around anymore, Blackadder!

EDMUND: Oh, I'm not either. Man has a mean handicap. (Edmund’s cell phone rings) Ministry of Justice Clearing House, Blackadder speaking.

GEORGE: (on cell phone outside) Hehe. Kate's got the bullet, boss.

EDMUND: Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Won't happen again, sir. Looks like you win this one. Don't get used to it.

MELCHETT: Don't take it personally, Edmund. We all have our orders.

EDMUND: Listen, if you see Fornell, you say hello to him for me.

MELCHETT: My pleasure. You have a nice day now.

(as Edmund turns to go, he sees a dead dove under the office coffee machine. He scoops it up into his sleeve and walks out with his team)

EDMUND: Halfcock...

KATE: Who's Halfcock?

EDMUND: Carl Halfcock, a Marine sniper legend. Thirty-nine confirmed kills in the Falklands.

KATE: What's that gotta do with a dead pigeon?

EDMUND: It's not a pigeon. It’s a dove.

KATE: Okay. That small white bird.

GEORGE: The Argentinians nicknamed him Bird of Peace after the peace people in his sights found in the grave.

KATE: History buff?

GEORGE: His biography.

KATE: Ha. You read his biography?

GEORGE: I watched his biography on Biography.

KATE: So you think it's somehow connected to the shooter?

EDMUND: Don't know. Find another one of these that matches it in Royal Sergeant Major Smythe's office.

GEORGE: We'll strip search the roaches, boss.

KATE: You realize what this means, if it is some kind of a calling card?

EDMUND: Yep. Means he likes to meet the recruiter before he kills him. Then rolls a dead dove onto the floor somewhere.

GEORGE: So we're looking for a man with large pockets, perhaps with a dead dove in them.... (back at Abby’s desk)

ABBY: The second bullet's in way better shape than the first. Some of the rifling patterns are matching up like the Glam Slam Techno Twins. Oh, sorry. Wrong generation. Um, think, the Andrews sisters.

EDMUND: Ahem. You're going back a little far there, Abigail. However, I am able to grasp the idea, here.

ABBY: So I don't have enough to be 100% certain it's the same gun, but I am 100% sure it's the same model.

EDMUND: Did you backtrack the shooter's location yet?

ABBY: Looks like our shooter might be mobile. Following the trajectory in reverse, there isn't a building or a structure that makes any sense as a shooting position. There's only road.

EDMUND: Shooter fired from a car?

ABBY: Or a truck, or a van..

(In Smythe’s recruiting office, George and Kate search)

KATE: What's up?

GEORGE: This whole sensitivity to women in the workplace thing? Backfired.

KATE: What are you talking about?

GEORGE: I'm talking about the way we divide our tasks. I always get the floor. Up close and personal, floors are scummy.

KATE: It's no big deal, George, I would've done it.

GEORGE: Haha. But you didn't.

KATE: Floors are scummy.

GEORGE: My point exactly. You would never volunteer to take the floor, I would have to suggest it. Then I would be met by lots of comments about my chauvinism and insensitivity.

KATE: Ha. I don't need a floor for that.

GEORGE: Cute, but my point is in order for me to be PC, I've got to take the floor.

(Kate opens a closet, finds a large number of flies buzzing around inside. Closes the closet, turns to George)

KATE: You want me to take the floor?

GEORGE: Ah, you're just saying that to humor me.

KATE: No, you have a point. And if it bothers you that much, I'll take the floor. I insist.

GEORGE: Thanks.

KATE: No problem.

(George opens the closet)

GEORGE: Oh!

KATE: Heh.

(Interrogation Room)

BARNES: I've been here for three hours without anybody telling me what's going on.

EDMUND: You'll be here another three hours if that's what it takes. It’s not like it’s a crimp in my social calendar.

BARNES: It takes for what, sir? You said you weren't charging me.

EDMUND: Not yet. But Stenson’s version of the events on the day in question contradict yours. You don't have an alibi Sergeant. Whether you're the shooter or not, you lied during a criminal investigation. Hey, let’s play a game. It’s ‘how many years will that earn me.’ Have you ever done time, Sergeant? Many people think it’s as bad as being in the military.

BARNES: Rachel Hauser.

EDMUND: I’m sorry?

BARNES: Rachel Hauser, sir.

EDMUND: When and where? I’ll assume the what and why remain the standard they have for the history of the human species.

BARNES: Noon to 1400. Motel, just outside the main gate.

EDMUND: Rachel Hauser have a phone number?

(Barnes writes a number down for him)

BARNES: Sir. My wife - she doesn't know.

EDMUND: I'm just checking an alibi, Sergeant. The rest is between you and her. Although the way your luck’s running, she’s probably doing ‘what’ with Rachel as well.

(In Smythe’s recruiting office, George and Kate still search)

GEORGE: Royal Sergeant Major Smythe must have recruited the cleaning crew, because they obviously haven't been here in a while.

KATE: Maybe the one he left here wasn’t dead, and flew away.

GEORGE: So tell me, Kate, how would it affect the profiling if he leaves a living animal at the scene of an impending crime?

KATE: We still thinking this guy's in the military?

EDMUND: Something tells me you don't believe it.

KATE: It's the profile. This dove is our shooter's calling card, it's like a signature.

GEORGE: But a dove? For all we know, it could mean he has a fixation on hippy peace-out art.

KATE: Well, it doesn't matter if other people know what the dove means, he knows. I just think this guy's living in a fantasy world. And I can't picture him functioning in some highly organized military environment.

GEORGE: So you think he's ex-military?

(Kate bumps the water cooler looking under it…a dead dove falls into her hair)

(The conversation continues back in the office)

KATE: Possibly. But why target only Marine recruiters?

EDMUND: Because they turned him down. This guy isn't military, he's a wannabe. Someone that swallowed the entire life of guff from the movies, the telly, the commercials and the appeals of politicians to vote for them because they’ve been in uniform.

KATE: Now that fits the profile.

GEORGE: How many people do the Marines turn down every year?

EDMUND: Many. But that won’t help us. Not all of the ones the recruiters screen out make it as far as completeing paperwork. If this guy was an obvious wanker, Smythe might have rejected him without even learning his name.

KATE: If he continues his pattern, we have less than twenty-four hours.

EDMUND: Then maybe it's time we became a bit more proactive.

(In front of Smythe’s recruiting office, Darling speaks to the press)

DARLING: And our heartfelt prayers and wishes go out to the families of Royal Sergeant Major Smythe and Sergeant Allen. We are continuing to work with law enforcement to bring the person or persons responsible to justice.

RR: Will the Marines suspend recruiting?

DARLING: No. Marines don't run from danger. This recruitment office will re-open tomorrow morning, manned by one of our finest - Sergeant Thomas.

RR2: How do you feel about being selected for this assignment, Sergeant Thomas?

EDMUND: I wasn't selected, sir. I volunteered.

(in the RNCIS office )

EDMUND: What did we hear back from the MOD? GEORGE: Ha. Besides Agent MELCHETT's extreme dislike for you...ah, they'll cooperate, but he's not too keen on the visible part.

EDMUND: Our shooter isn't a moron. If he doesn't see police and MOD presence in the neighborhood, he's going to think something's wrong.

GEORGE: Yeah, I have a problem with that part, too, boss. What's the point of setting a trap if he knows about it?

KATE: Part of a sniper's mission is to infiltrate enemy territory. Our guy wants to prove himself - validate his skills. He's not going to pass up an opportunity like this.

GEORGE: What if he succeeds?

EDMUND: He won't.

KATE: George, Have you tried your uniform on yet?

GEORGE: Try what?

KATE: Edmund said you'd be in uniform.

GEORGE: He did?

KATE: Mhm.

(Telephone pole, George is aloft, dressed as a lineman, working on something mounted on the pole)

GEORGE: Edmund gets Dress Blue Charlies, I look like one of the Village People.

ABBY: Haha. Maybe you could find a local bobby and get a dance routine going.

GEORGE: Ahaha.

ABBY: How you doin?

GEORGE: I'm hardwiring the main microphone to the, ah, DSL line now. I've already got the other two on a wireless relay. There we go. Y'know if this works, Abs, you're a genius.

ABBY: Oh, George, tell me something I don't know.

GEORGE: Alright. I once dated my high school music teacher.

ABBY: Really. What was his name?

GEORGE: Haha. Cute.

ABBY: Okay - all mikes are operational. I'm set here.

GEORGE: All right. I'm coming down now.

ABBY: You're a macho, macho man, George.

(In the recruiting office)

DARLING: The new window looks good.

EDMUND: Yes, it does.

DARLING: How's it feel to be back in uniform, Blackadder?

EDMUND: It's a little tighter than I remember.

DARLING: So you really think this'll work?

EDMUND: I don't know. If it doesn't, no sense worrying about it.

DARLING: Spoken like a true Marine. Good morning, Captain.

KATE: Major. Edmund. I mean, Sergeant,

EDMUND: Caitlin. Cover is off inside. You're looking good. No - these are out of order.

(Edmund points to two of her ribbons)

KATE: I spent an hour trying to get them right!

EDMUND: It's okay. Common newbie mistake.

DARLING: Maybe I should take her place. Your whole plan rests on this guy believing that you're both Marines.

EDMUND: We have it under control, Major. She'll do fine.

DARLING: Well then, maybe I'll just stay and...help out. There's nothing wrong with another set of eyeballs.

EDMUND: Not a good idea. Best thing you can do is leave this to us.

DARLING: I've lost two of my men to this psycho. You really think I'm passing up on a chance for payback?

EDMUND: Major. Your mission is to protect our country. Our mission right now is to protect you. And one thing I’d like to protect you from is doing the wrong thing for the right reasons. Marines are not usually trained for undercover work, other than under cover fire. Get out.

DARLING: Good luck, Sergeant. Captain.

GEORGE: Comm check.

MELCHETT: Loud and clear, over.

KATE: Hear you fine, George.

ABBY: Crystal.

KATE: Comm's up, Edmund.

EDMUND: Now for the hard part - waiting.

KATE: You really think we're going to get any potential recruits today?

EDMUND: Yup.

KATE: A man was murdered here three days ago. Who'd choose today to decide to join up?

EDMUND: Violence-oriented knuckle-dragging TV-watching lip-reading mouth-breathers whose idea of a good time is to blow something up, watch a movie about things being blown up, or play blow-things-to-hell-and-gone video games. In short: Marines.

KATE: Good point.

EDMUND: Get ready to profile. (turns to door as a Cro-Magnon type shuffles in) Can I help you?

(later, George sits in a car down the street)

GEORGE: What are you doing, giving away free choc-ices in there? This is the tenth kid this morning.

KATE: He's really good at this. I'm even thinking of signing up. Surprisingly enough, when he’s not being scathingly patronizing, Edmund’s got a pretty good grasp of what it means to be a Marine.

GEORGE: What about potential snipers?

KATE: You'll be the first to know.

GEORGE: No. Edmund will.

EDMUND: You realize we have an office in Portsmouth. Why take the train all the way over here to see a recruiter?

TEEN 3: Well, I was watching the news. Thought I'd check it out.

EDMUND: Sniper doesn't scare you?

TEEN 3: Well, I figure he was shooting recruiters, not recruits, right?

(behind the teen, a man changes the water bottle in the dispenser)

EDMUND: So, you'd come all the way here to see if I get shot or not?

DELIVERY GUY: If I could get a signature?

KATE: No problem.

DELIVERY GUY: 'Kay. See you later.

EDMUND: Good luck to you.

MELCHETT: It's four-thirty, I think this guy's a no-show. The last two attacks were between noon and two, so I, I say we call it a day, Agent George.

GEORGE: Negative. Office isn't supposed to close for another thirty minutes. If we close early, it'll look suspicious. Even I could see that.

EDMUND: What d'you think, Caitlin?

KATE: I think you have at least one more day as a human target.

EDMUND: Hello. Sergeant Alvin Thomas. How can I help you today, son?

TEEN 4: Yeah, I dunno, I've been thinkin' about it a little, I guess. You got some pamphlets or something?

EDMUND: Right here. The Marines offer a wide variety of choices. What kind of things interest you?

TEEN 4: Uhm, not sitting around in an office like this.

EDMUND: Can't say that I blame you. You interested in something more active?

TEEN 4: Yeah.

EDMUND: You seem like a combat arms kind of guy to me. Artillery? Combat engineers? Infantry? Sniper teams?

TEEN 4: Yeah...I dunno. Like I said, I'm not really sure. I just...maybe I should come back.

EDMUND: I'll be here. If God is merciful and stays His mighty smiting hand…

KATE: George. The kid who just left. 6'4", blond hair, black jacket, jeans, early twenties. We think he might be our man.

(Edmund notices a dead dove between the water dispenser and a file cabinet. He gets up…)

EDMUND: He was already here.

KATE: Forget the kid, George. The sniper is the water delivery guy. I repeat, the sniper - Oh!

(Camera tracks a bullet screaming towards Edmund. It hits the glass transom, which turns out ot be bulletproof glass, ricochets out to the street, hits a lamp post, ricochets to another, back to the office, where it bounces around the room three times, knocking over lamps and monitors, and punches through the back of Edmund’s chair at heart-level.)

ABBY: The mikes picked up the shot. I'm triangulating now. Got him! He's at the merchant building on the corner of 6th and K. Tenth floor. The building has an alley in the back, it's the most likely exit from where he's positioned.

GEORGE: I'm on it!

(Edmund turns his head to the recruiting poster he’s standing next to, staring at the bullet hole between the poster Marine’s eyes)

KATE: Go get him, George.

MELCHETT: We'll take the southern entrance.

(George gets the drop on a young man with a large rifle)

GEORGE: Federal agent, drop the weapon! Drop it! Drop it! Drop the weapon! Hey!

(as the sniper lifts his weapon to fire at George, George slips in an oil puddle. The sniper fires and another complex series of ricochets ends with the sniper shooting himself in the heart)

MELCHETT: Thank you Agent George, we'll take it from here. Hey, secure the weapon.

AGENT 2: Got it.

(Edmund and Kate race up as George walks back to his car)

GEORGE: Hey. Caught our guy. MOD's taking the credit, of course.

EDMUND: Caitlin! Where's your cover?

KATE: What?

(Back in the RNCIS office…)

KATE: Kyle Hendricks, 22, rejected by Sergeant Gordon Mackenzie, 11 August 2002 at the Rockville recruiting center. Failed the personality profile assessment. Sociopathic tendencies with antisocial behavior.

EDMUND: “Sociopathic tendencies with antisocial behavior,” eh? So why didn’t the Marines recruit him?

KATE: He had a heart murmur.

EDMUND: Yeah, well, you gotta admit. he was one hell of a marksman. George. Cap'n.

(Blackadder walks out)

GEORGE: So what was it like?

KATE: What like?

GEORGE: Being his superior officer.

KATE: You mean, did I get to boss him around? Make him salute me? Call me 'ma'am'?

GEORGE: Basically.

KATE: It was great.

GEORGE: Nah, you're lying.

KATE: Am I? Y'know, Abby said you looked really good in your uniform too.

GEORGE: Did she.

KATE: Yeah. She said you'd fit right in with the biker boy, and the Indian chief, and the cowboy and all the other macho, macho men…

(Kate walks out, waving her hands to the beat...)

Chapters: 1

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MTAC - NCIS Fic