Chaos (2011): Season 1, Episode 1 - Pilot - full transcript

CIA

created in the shadow of the bomb

and operating
in the shadows ever since.

A proud agency,
where brave heroes

and brilliant minds

joined forces to battle
godless Communism,

manage strategic alliances,

and develop effective
interrogation techniques,

en route to winning
the Cold War.

This is the story of America's
great house of spies.

It is also my story,
of how I learned



to defend our country
by defying intelligence.

License?
Good morning.

Here you go.

Oh, uh...

do you need to see my fluids?

Huh?

I...

bagged my fluids.

What's that?
Gumbo.

Asopao.

My mother made it
for me to celebrate
my first day at work.

She's very proud,
as you can imagine.

She, uh...

Yeah.



Hands up!

We have suspicious fluids!

What?

No. No, no, no, no.

That's my lunch.

Okay. Okay. Thank you.

Okay. Okay.

All right.

Mr. Martinez, apparently,
you've been the victim
of a security glitch.

I've been told that
there was a memory leak

in our database which
apparently merged
our "new hired" list

with our "terrorist
watch" list.

Our apologies.

Okay.

Between you and me,

consider yourself lucky
that these gate jockeys

don't keep up on the
terrorist briefings.

Technically, you were
to be shot on sight.

Well, let me be the first
to welcome you to the CIA.

I can't think of a better
way for a proud American
to serve their country.

Thank you.

Ooh.

Say, you're not
planning on taking

any domestic flights in the
next few weeks, are you?

No.

Good. Good.

That's probably best.

♪ ♪

You look lost.

Are you lost?
Yeah.

This is my first day.

I have an appointment
with the director.

Well, which director?
Science and Technology?

Intelligence? Support?

Clandestine Services.

Well, lucky you.

Come on, I'll show you.

Clandestine Administration
and Oversight Services,

or as we like to affectionately
refer to it around here:

CHAOS.

You are entering a
house of mirrors,

and you will not
survive without help.

I can provide that help,
and all I ask for

is a chance to
prove my value.

Mr. Martinez is here, sir.
Send him in.

I apologize for the mess.

We're under serious
cost-cutting pressure.

Every program is up
for funding review.

Remind me...

which program
did you apply for?

Core Collector Training.

Well, that's unfortunate.

Our CC program's
been red-tagged.

Red-tagged?

Yes, the program
lost funding.

Job's been cut.

Sorry.

Well,

it was a pleasure
meeting you, Operat...

Mr. Martinez.

So that's it?

I'm out?

But I've trained

my whole life for a
career with the CIA.

My whole life.

When my brothers
were at soccer camp,

I stayed home and
studied Arabic.

While everyone
else was dating,

I was working at a
firing range getting
paid in bullets

so I could train
on semi-automatics.

I-I-I will, I would be,

I could be... a good spy.

I'm dedicated,
I'm focused...

and embarrassing myself.

I'm sorry.

I suppose I should
let you get back

to slashing jobs.

Wait a minute, Mr. Martinez.

Have a seat.

I'm won over by your spirit.

As it happens,

there is a position
available here

at the Agency,
an assignment

that requires the skills
and savvy of a seasoned spy

cloaked in the veneer
of youthful innocence.

Are you interested?

Yes.

Good.

Good.

Starting today,

you will be assigned
to the Office of
Disruptive Services.

Your task will be
to monitor the activities
of your office mates,

report back any
proof of misconduct.

Consider no offense too small.

You...

want me to be a mole?

I want you to be a spy.

That is what you trained for
your whole life, is it not?

Well...

yes, but...
I see.

You're conflicted.

Well, I assure you,
Mr. Martinez,

these men, the ODS...

represent a cancer...

a cancer fueled
by feckless ego...

a cancer sucking
the precious lifeblood

from the intestinal walls

of this agency.

You would be doing this
country a great service.

Can I have some time
to think about it?

No.

You're faced with a clear
choice, Mr. Martinez.

Either you walk out of this
office as you walked in--

a civilian...

...or you walk out
of this office a spy.

♪ ♪

Get the door, would you?

The door?

Pants on, Billy!
New guy.

Where are
your manners?

"New guy" has a name.

Mick, right?

No, no, it's,
uh, Rick.

Rick Martinez.

Martinez?
You're a Mexicano!

Bueno, bueno!
No, I...

Hey, where'd you pinch that?

Plotkin's office.

Chair's stolen?

If we were to put in
a formal request,

you'd be sitting on a milk crate
for six months.

Besides, Plotkin
won't miss that.

He ate a bullet last week.

I'm sorry.

No, literally.
He ate a bullet, on a dare.

It got lodged in
his lower intestine,

and septic shock set in.

Now he's out

on full disability, and you're

the proud new owner
of his Herman Miller.

Hey.

This the new guy?

His name's Rick.

And he's Mexican.

I'm Puerto Rican.

Oh, I stand corrected.

There you go--
your very own desktop.

Comes with Windows
'97 installed.

You're kidding
me, right?

You're familiar with the IRS,

U.S. Postal Service, FEMA--
what do they all have in common?

They're government-run agencies?

As is the CIA.

Now, when was the last time
you walked into the post office

and shouted, "My God,
I've stepped into the future"?

Will you look

at the furry mug on that!

He's so cute!

You're Scottish.
Indeed, I am.

Billy Collins, born and bruised
in North Edinburgh.

And I imagine you're wondering

what I'm doing
working for the CIA.

A bit.

I was with
the British Secret Service,

until I was... decommissioned

for a wee bit of reckless,
boyish mischief.

Meaning he
was deported.

A mostly
irrelevant detail.

This proud fermenter

of negativity
is Casey Malick.

I suspect

you're wondering how
such a boorish man with...

well, zero discernable charm

has managed a 12-year stint
with the Agency.

Oh, go on, don't be shy,

tell him.

I'm a human weapon.

I can never bring myself
to admit it, but it's true.

That fine-looking specimen

is our fearless leader,
Michael Dorset.

He's a tactical genius
with a fevered brain.

Which has sadly rendered him
a devoutly paranoid bastard.

Tell me... how
did it come to pass that

Director Higgins chose to bless
us with additional staff when

the Agency's cutting
jobs right and left?

And the bastard emerges.
I just

find it strange
that Mr. Martinez is here.

I can only assume
that the director's plan

is for me to absorb your working
knowledge of the Agency...

and then replace you
at half the pay.

Ho-ho!

I like this guy!

He's muy caliente!

You guys seeing this?
Yeah.
Yeah.

Um... is there
something I need to know.

Hey, how about
some coordinates?

I'm driving blind here.
Working on it.

What's happening?

Plutonium residue
was picked up at Dulles.

Passenger manifests ran
against our terrorist list

a guy

named Khalid Farooq.
It's our job

to locate and track
Farooq's activities.

Michael's trying to get
a lock on his cell.

Got him. Three
blocks southeast.

That's on the other
side of the square.

Do what you got to do.

Excuse me.
Out of the way.

Sorry.

Excuse me.

So, tell me, how much do
you know about the ODS?

Uh, I know that the program
was created under Reagan,

that the ODS was meant

as a return to the days
when ops were identified,

planned and implemented
by a single team.

Right here. Stop.

Hey, that pretty
much nails us, lad--

the last of the
old-school spooks.

There. Farooq.

Ugh, look who's on his tail.

- Damn.
- Who is that?

Clarkson, Homeland Security.

We're in potential hot water--
we're operating

within U.S. borders and
failing to share intelligence.

Farooq's leaving.
Martinez, make contact
with Clarkson.

Give him this copy

of our coordination codes,
and by all means,
Okay.

treat him nicely-- he
could have all our necks.

Clarkson's on the move.

♪ ♪

No, no, no, no!
No, no! Wait! Wait!

It's cool. I'm CIA-- we're
tracking your man, Farooq.

Our coordination codes.

We...

I want you to have them.

As a sign of
mutual respect

and cooperation between
our two great agencies.

What?

You're Russian?

Get in.

Hmm?

You're understandably
confused.

It's because
you've been set up, duped.

We made up the threat,
we made up Farooq.

And we did all that to trick you
into climbing into a car

and handing an envelope
to a known Russian operative.

Casey?

It's a little slide show.

That there's some
pretty damning stuff.

Selling secrets
to the Russians?

You're looking at life
without parole.

But why?

You think we didn't know
that Higgins recruited you

to spy on us, Mr. Mole?

That he's been looking for
an excuse to cut our program?

This is day one
for you, right?

Well, consider this
your first big lesson

about life on the inside.

Trust within the Agency
isn't earned.

It's owned.

And now we own you.

If it makes you
feel better,

I'm not ruling
out a second date.

You've got to believe me.

It wasn't my idea
to be a mole.

The director manipulated me
into saying yes

before I even knew
what I was saying yes to!

You traded your soul,

your honor, for the
promise of a job.

Now, I can tell you've
got the heart of a hero,

but heart isn't enough to
survive in the spy game.

No. You need cunning.

You need to be able to sniff
out deception, manipulation.

You need to think three
steps ahead the whole time.

I'm not trying to make excuses,
but it was my first day.

Don't despair, son.

From where I'm sat,

you've still got a bright
future with the Agency.

Provided you play
your cards right.

What? What-What do you mean?

What cards do I have?!

I have cards?!

What, no coffee?

You should have at least
brought coffee.

It would go a long way
toward winning us back.

You don't
own me.

Sure, you've got

photos of me passing sensitive
secrets to the Russians,

but I have an 800-pound gorilla
in my corner.

I am sanctioned

by the Director of
Clandestine Operations.

Show him the photos!

And I say he will pick my word
over yours.

We wouldn't show the pictures
to Higgins.

We'd leak the pictures
to the press, and then you

would become so toxic that
Higgins would have no choice but

to deny any
connection. In fact,

he'd most likely end up leading
an investigation

into your double-agent
activities.

I thought you said I had cards!

I say a lot of things
I don't mean.

Relax.

As Higgins' committed minion,

you still have value to us.

Jonathan Aldridge.

Freelance reporter.

He's been held hostage
by Sudanese rebels

for the last
five months.

And his family
has tried repeatedly

to negotiate his release,

but every time they think
they've reached an agreement,

the rebels simply up
the ransom,

which currently stands
at eight million dollars.

This came to us yesterday

courtesy of a French
operative we know.

My hosts have become frustrated

with the slow response
to their demand.

I am to be denied food and water

until the full ransom
has been delivered.

I suggest...

I implore you
to take them for their word.

Guys, if we're going to do this,
we need to hustle.

We've tried
repeatedly

to get Higgins
to authorize a
rescue mission,

but he's turned us
down every time.

Why?
Gutlessness.

He's the kind
of guy who thinks

you can steal second
while keeping a foot on first.

What Casey's trying
to say is, Higgins
defines success

as the absence
of failure.

Inaction has become the
battle cry of the Agency.

Good
morning!

What are
we up to?

Back off!
Right now!

Weather report
for tomorrow says rain.

Don't forget your umbrellas!

Freakin' zombie.

What's with
that guy, anyway?

His program
was cut.

He's got no office,
no place to report.

Now he's stuck
walking the halls.

Here's the deal.

We want you to go
into this briefing

and convince Higgins to
authorize a rescue mission,

which we, the ODS,
will spearhead.

In return, should
you prove successful,

we'll give you
back your freedom.

Well, I think that
should about do it.

Ah. I'd like everyone
to welcome

Mr. Martinez,

a shiny new star
in the Agency constellation.

We were just
finishing up.

Do you have, uh,
some business

that needs addressing?

Well, uh,

actually, sir, I was hoping
you might reconsider

your position
in the Aldridge hostage

situation.

Read your case file.

Mr. Aldridge is
a French citizen.

That, per national interests,
makes him a French problem.

Ah, yes,
but he has dual citizenship.

He's lived here
most of his life.

More importantly,
he's All-American.

Literally.

He played cornerback
for Florida State.

These briefings
are about

new information.

Do you have some new information
on Mr. Aldridge?

Well, we know that the rebels
have cut off food and water.

The rebels have made a threat.

A threat does not constitute
actionable intelligence.

But isn't this a time
when a threat is enough?

These images are from the
Chechen-Azerbaijan border,

a known haven for
Al-Qaeda sympathizers.

Give me your assessments.

What are we looking at?

It appears
to be some sort of bunker.

Possibly an ammunition cache.

Making it a site

worthy of a preemptive strike?

Yes, I suppose so.

Miss Carson, would you care

to bring Mr. Martinez
up to speed?

It's not a bunker.
It's a root cellar.

Those are potato farmers
storing potatoes for winter.

Actionable intelligence,
Mr. Martinez.

I suggest you
take the time

to learn its true meaning.

Well, we're
done here.

Ladies and gentlemen,
thank you.

You know, I wouldn't sweat
your call back there.

Half the room voted
to bomb the potato people.

Thanks.

Fay Carson.

Rick Martinez.

I wouldn't bother committing
the name to memory.

I won't be around very long.

You know, I could
really go for a steak.

You like steak?

I'm betting you do.

I don't get it. Why

does the director need me?

You have to remember

that Higgins is
mid-management.

The ODS has friends
in high places.

They are protected, right up to
the point where they screw up.

You've heard of
office politics?

Ours come with poison
pills and guns.

But enough shop talk.

Tell me something
about yourself

that I can't
expertly deduce.

I was engaged
for three years

to my college sweetheart,
but that's over.

Your choice or hers?

No, it was actually
my brother's.

He convinced her to move
to Denver with him.

Turns out that

they were secretly in love
with each other for two years.

I know what
you're thinking.

How could I possibly
be a good spy

if I'm that blind
to matters of the heart?

I don't consider that
a character flaw.

It simply means that
you're open, trusting.

A quality seriously lacking in
most of the men at the Agency,

who, as you can imagine, tend to
be rather secretive creatures.

Yeah, tell me about it.
You know,

I have this crazy theory
about dating in the Agency.

Would you like to hear it?

Yeah, sure.

Commit to being a couple
on the first date.

Then work out the
relationship details later.

Look at us, for example.

If we were to couple up,

we'd have to commit
tonight, this minute,

because within a week,

we'd be keeping so many
secrets from each another,

it would doom any hope of us
surviving a normal courtship.

Are you trying to seduce me?

No.

Oh, man. Ah...

Excuse me.

Potty break.

What are you doing?

Saving your ass.

You obviously don't know
that Fay works for Higgins.

She does?

She's his right-hand gal,
his functioning brain.

My guess is,
Higgins knows

that we know that he
sent you to spy on us.

Oh, man. You think
Fay was working me?

Have you looked
in a mirror lately?

That woman is way
out of your league.

Why else would she be wining
and dining a newbie like you?

Oh, I'm such an idiot.

Martinez, meet
our French operative.

Hi.
Vidor, bonsoir.

Gentlemen, I do not
bring you good news.

My government sent two
agents in to negotiate

the release of Aldridge,

and, uh, well,
we lost them.

Killed?
Vanished.

Poof. My government
has no more appetite

for further loss of life,

so we informed your
director, with hopes

that he would step
in, but sadly,

he doesn't trust our account
of the lost agents.

Well, then, it falls on
us to get it done. Billy?

Agreed. We'll get it done.

What are we getting done?

We're going to travel to Sudan
without Agency authorization,

and rescue Aldridge.

I got us booked on a flight
to Cairo, leaves Reagan at 6:40.

From Cairo, we'll piggyback
a CTC hopper into Khartoum.

Our mission requires
a translator.

An Arabic-speaking translator.

I don't suppose you've been
inoculated for cholera?

No, malaria
and yellow fever.

No cholera.

Oh, we'll have
to deal with that.

The plan-- make contact
with the rebels,

present ourselves
as representatives

for Aldridge's family
and pay the ransom.

And who exactly
are you planning

to hit up for eight
million dollars?

Okay, I see where
this is heading.

Well, it looks
like you guys
got this covered.

I'm going
to hit the gym.

Maybe sneak in
a massage.

We're in for a hell
of a long flight.

Is he always so helpful?

Don't worry
about Casey.

At crunch time,
he'll bring it.

Hello, Miss Moneypenny.

You look ravishing today.

I'm not really
a Connery fan.

Oh, how is that possible?

This accent is a siren's call
to reckless fornication.

Not for me.

Maybe if you could manage
a Tobey Maguire accent.

You're joking.

What can I say?

I like a lap-size man.

We really need your help,
Balshik. And we're willing

to make it worth
your while.

A trade, perhaps?
A trade?

You mean, a bribe?

What are you going
to bribe me with, Dorset?

Money?

I work
for the Counterfeit Office.

I'm sitting on billions.

Mm-hmm.

What about Greece?

What if I could get you
stationed in Greece?

Then would you be
willing to make a trade?

You could make
that happen?

I spent three weeks
in a Serbian tool shed,

duct-taped to the
Mediterranean Field Director.

In his darkest hours,
my co-captive confided in me

a rather colorful array
of personal failings

and professional
malfeasances.

Trust me,
I can make it happen.

Rest assured,
if I am not surrounded

by slim, tanned Greek men

by week's end,

I will destroy you.

Higgins is gunning for you.

What?
Yeah, well,

he's convinced the ODS
is inserting themselves

in this Aldridge problem

and that you're
helping them.

I...

am not at liberty to say.

Look, I can only warn you.

I can't protect you.

By the way, you owe me 54 bucks
for that steak dinner.

Oh, I'm so sorry about that.
I got pulled away.

By Michael, no doubt.

He was saving me

from whatever nefarious
plan you were, you know,

seducing me for.

And you believed him?

Yeah.

Because I'm the evil ex.

You didn't know?

Yes, Michael and I
used to be married.

Until I divorced him
for being too controlling.

Which was apparently a message

he failed to receive.

So, you weren't spying
on me for Higgins?

I mean,

you really did like me?

Yes.

I really did like you.

Note the past tense phrasing.

How did you know
where to find me?

Your company-issued phone

comes with a tracking system.

Higgins knows
where you are at all times.

Bring him in.

Okay, he's headed
toward the ground floor.

He's exiting
the building.

Split up.
He should be in the courtyard.

What up, my bros?

His phone was stuffed
in the bag of bird seed.

And just when I was beginning
to think him an idiot.

Hello?

No, this is his boss.

Well, I'll be sure to ask.

Someone claiming
to be his mother.

Wondering if he enjoyed

the asopao.

Asopao?
Do you think it's code?

Look into it.

That is a beautiful
color on you.

Not every man can pull off
such a flamboyant undershadow.

They confiscated my good
sunscreen at the airport.

Which is why I hate--
hate-- flying commercial.

Why the
sour puss, lad?

We're on horseback, riding
through the heart of hell

to save a man
from certain death.

This is heroes' work.

Trust me, when you're old and
feeble like Pink Cheeks here,

you'll look back
on these as happy days.

It's just...

you're not worried about
what Higgins is gonna do

to us when we get
back to the Agency?

Only if we fail.

Only if we fail.

They're sending out
a greeting party.

Mm-hmm.

Casey, I want you to ride down
and make contact.

Inform them
that we've come to pay

Aldridge's ransom.

Me? What about the mole?
He's the one who speaks Arabic.

Which is why I can't risk
having his head blown off

before we settle
into negotiations.

This will explain
everything.

Good luck.

Yeah, bite me.

Here you go,
read this.

Human weapon?

No doubt, he's picking
his moment.

At the risk
of sounding disparaging,

I sense we're not
dealing with gentlemen.

Tell them that's
two million.

The remainder will be brought
once we've confirmed

Aldridge is alive.

He wants to know where the rest
of the money's hidden.

That remains a secret until we
have Aldridge safely in hand.

Okay, that guy just
handed him a machete.
That can't be good.

He says he doesn't
like secrets.

Or us. And he's happy

to start chopping off fingers
until we tell him.

Well, he's clearly gained the
upper hand in this negotiation.

Oh, great.

...CIA!

Okay. Okay, what did...
what did you say?

I blew our cover.

I told him that we are elite
operatives of the CIA.

That chopping off our fingers
would accomplish nothing.

That we've been trained
to endure intense torture.

Trained to beat
death itself.

I'm loving the bold
words, sonny,

but I fear he's about
to ask for a demonstration.

I know.

Highlight of the mission,
right there!

What did he say?

He says that I am a fool.

And he's always happy
to do business with fools.

Tell him you want
to see Aldridge.

Aldridge.

Jonathan?

My name is Michael.

I'm with the CIA.

The rebels have agreed to let us
take you home tomorrow.

They're allowing us to leave to
go get the rest of the ransom.

They want to show that they
can be trusted to do business.

What was your head count
back there?

14 hostages.

Chinese oil
speculators,

Dutch aid workers,

and our two missing
French operatives.

So, what are you
thinking? Extraction?

Four of us against 100-plus
heavily-armed rebels?

Not a chance.

You are aware that halof
those poor souls will starve

before their releases
are negotiated.

But the four of us mounting
a suicide mission

won't solve
that problem.

So I say we
contact the Agency,

share our intel. There are
multiple lives at stake now.

That's exactly why
they won't take action.

CIA's not in the business of
rescuing foreigners, remember?

We're going to have
to find another way.

Today I witnessed the bravest
thing I've ever seen in my life.

I watched a man
eat a scorpion.

A live, poisonous
scorpion.

It was somewhat extraordinary.

Less extraordinary
than it appears.

I recognized it as
an Emperor scorpion.

They're not lethal.

They're actually considered

a delicacy
in some parts of the world.

Martinez, I owe
you an apology.

Why?

Well, it's hard
to pinpoint.

Truth be told, I've lost
track of all the lies

I've fed you over the
last couple of days.

What I'm offering is

a blanket apology.

You see, the thing is,
we're a pretty tight group.

We watch out for one
another, and it's been
that way for, what?

Six glorious years.

I want you to forget
what I told you

about trust being owned
within the Agency.

It can be earned.

And today you earned
it, plain and simple.

Well, since we're in love again,

I say we give
the kid his present.

What's this?

Your photos
from the Russian tryst.

You, sir,

have earned your freedom.

I propose a toast to
Señor Rick, mission MVP.

First honors.

Wow.

Well, uh...

I suppose it's no secret,
but I really hated you guys

the first day on the job
when you took ownership of me.

I really hated you guys
the second day, too,

when you forced me

to put my career
on the line with Higgins.

Yesterday was a travel day,

so mostly, I hated the airline
food, but today, after seeing

those hostages,
after seeing how much

you guys are willing to risk
to save even one life,

I recognize now that

you're not bad
for the sake of being bad.

You're bad
for the sake of doing good.

You guys are true heroes.

I mean that.

Ah.

Oh, man, that is, uh...

That is...
good... stuff.

Sometimes
we can be right bastards.

Oh.

You've been listening

to the dulcet pipes
of my beloved homeland.

Don't bother trying
to dig out the receiver, lad.

It's glued to
your inner eardrum.

What did you do to me?!

Apologies for drugging
and ditching you like we did,

but you see, it was the only way
we could see fit

to motivate Higgins
to launch a rescue operation.

By getting me taken hostage?

We needed
to put pressure on him.

We needed to put an operative
in impending danger,

and that meant you.

Okay, and you couldn't
tell me that in advance, huh?

Well, there was some concern
you might chicken out.

Not from me, mind.

Who thought I would chicken out?

No, no, I'm not naming names.

Just know I was
outvoted two-to-one.

What's happening?!

Mission is underway.

Keep the hostages covered

and on the ground.

A CIA rescue
operation is underway.

I need everybody
to lie flat

and cover yourselves.

Martinez, it's very important

you try and not get wet.

Why?

Huh, guys? What happens
if you get wet?

Sorry, buddy.
This might sting a wee bit.

Oh.

We have to split the hostages
into two groups.

We can't fit everybody
into one helicopter.
Come on,
let's go.

Billy and I will take
the more injured.

You and Casey will lead the
others to the second drop point.

You got it?
Let's hustle.

We only got
about a minute

until the rebels
are back on their feet.

Come on.

Hold 'em here.

Hold, hold.
Okay.

Do you know how to say
"We surrender" in Arabic?

"Isteslemna."

Great.

I suggest
you start shouting it now.

You're running away?!

What happened to the
Human Weapon?! Huh?!

You know, I knew
you would suck!

Isteslemna!

Isteslemna!

Isteslemna!

Okay.

Isteslemna! Okay.

I heard your doubts and insults.

Your words stung.

They stung hard.

Any hostages hurt?
No, we're good.

Keep them safe. We'll
provide all the cover we can.

Rescue copter's
on the way.

You're in charge
of the hostages.

Before I do
what I'm required to do,

I feel compelled

to offer you a chance
to redeem yourself,

Mr. Martinez,
if only in my eyes.

Do you have anything
to tell me?

You mean about the ODS?

What I can tell you is this...

The men of the ODS
prioritize results over risks.

In my opinion,

that's what makes them
so awesome.

It's been said

that the two greatest dangers
facing the world are these--

order

and disorder.

I happen to accept half
of that statement as true.

Clearly, you accept
the other.

I'm confident
that time will
prove me right.

And when that day comes,

rest assured,

I will show no mercy.

That'll be all.

I'm not fired?

Oh, no.

You are now permanently assigned
to the ODS.

What's this?

Official memorandum.

We pulled a few strings

and got you assigned
a super cool code name.

"Scorpion."

I mean, there's no
practical application,

but it sure helps
with street cred.

I don't understand.

Why am I still here?

Our mission report

was leaked to the White House,
detailing your personal heroics,

which is why
your job is safe... for now.

That's...

Wow. Thank you.

Why are you thanking us?
We didn't leak it.

Well, if not
you guys,

then... who?

Fay, hear me out.

I came here
for two reasons.

First, to thank you
for leaking the report.

And secondly,
and most importantly,

to ask you
to come home with me.

What?!
We should
couple up.

Tonight. Right away.

We should walk
right out of this bar

and into a committed
relationship.

You know, from day one at
the Agency, everyone I've met,

everyone I've trusted,
has tried to play me.

Everyone but you.

And in spite
of the crazy week I just had,

I still want a career
in the Agency.

I need someone
that I can trust completely.

I hope that someone
can be you.

Evening, laddie, Fay.

May I say you look
quite ravishing tonight?

I think the more appropriate
description is "ravished."

Hi, Billy.

Casey.

Jerk ass.

What are you guys
doing here?!

We've been activated.

I-MINT shows a handful
of organic tea farms

in central Cambodia
that might be a front

for heroin
refinement.

I suspect the director
is throwing us back

into the field as punishment
for the Aldridge affair.

Am I right, Fay?

You have to expect bite-back
when you poke the bear.

Martinez, I don't want
to see any tears about this.

You're in the
spy game now.

So, you with us?

What's our cover?

We go in as buyers

for a Portland-based
organic tea company.

I packed for you.

That's a sexy look.

Has jungle fever
already set in?

You won't be laughing
when we encounter leeches.

And we will
encounter leeches.

All right, ladies, we
got about a two-mile hump.

That's great.

Casey, you
think you can
take them?

Yeah, but I'll need somebody
to draw their fire.

Not it.
Not it.