The Recruit (2022–…): Season 1, Episode 1 - Episode #1.1 - full transcript
♪ I knew you were trouble
When you walked in ♪
♪ Now I'm lying on the cold, hard ground ♪
Who the fuck are these guys?
Overwatch One. Come in, Overwatch One.
Overwatch, we got a problem.
Do you copy?
Stay off this channel.
No, we have a serious problem.
Did you not hear me?
That's why you ever bring a lawyer
on an op. Stay off this channel.
Fuck!
♪ Wanna a little bit a
And a little bit a ♪
♪ I was like, good gracious
Ass is bodacious, uh ♪
♪ Flirtatious, tryin' to show faces, ah ♪
♪ Lookin' for the right time
To shoot my steam, you know ♪
♪ Lookin' for the right time
To flash them keys, then, um ♪
Mr. Nyland will see you now.
Great. Thank you.
- Sir.
- Are you Henderson?
Uh, Hendricks, sir. Owen Hendricks.
How long you been here, Mr. Hendricks?
Only ten minutes, but you're very busy.
You're running the whole operation...
You mean how long I've been working here.
About two days. Just finished CIA 101.
I'm sending you to the Senate.
Score.
Word is, head of the Senate
Intelligence Committee is planning
to read a classified document
at a public hearing.
Okay, and you want me
to tell him he can't.
Tell him that he's an engorged ball sack
who should walk
into an airplane propeller.
Yes, sir.
You mean tell him that figuratively.
No, I don't.
Listen to me carefully, Mr. Hendricks.
If you fail to stop Senator Smoot
from reading that document...
you won't be working here tomorrow.
Am I clear?
You're a dead man walking.
Nyland thinks he can keep me in the dark
on the agency's covert clusterfucks,
but he's wrong!
If I wanna read a document,
I'll read a document!
I have a constitutional mandate
to oversee the CIA,
and I am gonna exercise the hell
out of it, starting by subpoenaing you.
Now, I'm going back into my hearing...
and I'm quoting this document.
Sir, that is completely your prerogative
as you are head of... the committee,
but may I just remind you
that revealing classified information
is in violation
of 18 U.S. code section 798
and will result
in not only criminal sanctions,
but potential reprimand
and censure in the Senate.
Also, that type of shit looks really bad
in a campaign video against you.
If there's nothing else I can help with,
I gotta get back to Langley.
It was a pleasure meeting you.
- How did it go?
- Pretty good.
- Dave!
- Thanks for your help.
In my office! Now!
Hey. Did you check out that new CIA swag?
Yeah. I'm gonna get me
one of those ski masks.
Yeah. Those are nice, right?
- I don't even ski.
- Well...
- I just wanna look like a bank robber.
- Oh, oh, oh.
Here we go.
Oh, shit... I'm sorry.
Okay. What?
- Yeah. Hi. This is my office.
- We heard Nyland sent you to Capitol Hill.
Yeah, I didn't get to the Senate
for six months. You get there on day two?
- Trust me, it wasn't a reward.
- What was the assignment?
Just advising on a classification.
Don't lie to us, Hendricks.
I was a professional sneak.
We know you met
with the head of Senate Intelligence.
Yeah. And I got my ass handed to me.
I was straight-up cannon fodder
in the Nyland-Smoot feud.
Only reason
the general counsel sent me was...
Because new guys
get the shit work.
What the hell is this?
This is the crazies.
- The nutjobs.
- People trying to graymail the CIA.
Every letter is from someone
threatening to expose classified
information if we don't help them.
- That's extortion.
- Yet we get hundreds a year.
Your job? Vet each one of those.
See if the author can back up the threat.
- How often does that happen?
- Hmm.
It happens.
Yeah. Oh, and if the secrets
they're threatening to reveal are bad,
it's a nightmare to navigate.
- That is a lot of coffee.
- Fuck.
I can't afford to fall asleep.
- Why? You got a brief?
- A brief? No. I work directly with SOG.
Sorry, who are they? I'm struggling
to keep all the acronyms straight.
Special Operations Group.
Imagine if meth became sentient
and was given weaponry.
I've been in this building
for three straight days,
but if I leave, those crazy fucks
are gonna green-light a covert op
that I am single-handedly
keeping them from executing.
They don't listen to their lawyer?
No, this place
is an organization of con men,
which makes us lawyers
for cheats and liars
who are actively trying to sabotage us.
If you have any brains, get out before
the ink dries on your paperwork, kid.
Thanks.
I've been unjustly imprisoned
in Connecticut.
I don't know how that ham
ended up in my purse.
I know about the aliens. I worked
for the agency in Cuba in 1963.
It was a false flag operation.
If you don't help me, I'll expose
all I know about the JFK assassination.
My boyfriend is cheating on me.
If you don't get him to stop, I'll expose
all the secret CIA prisons in Jersey.
My name is Max Meladze.
I'm in prison in Phoenix.
Get me out or I will spill agency secrets
on Selby Shaw, PW Butcher, and more.
You owe me.
Um...
- Yo. Whoa, whoa, whoa!
- Jesus Christ! Okay.
It's just Owen. You good?
It's me, from the coffee... room.
What do you want?
Working on the crazies,
hoping you could help me.
No. Absolutely not.
It'll take a second.
Rule number one:
Never help anyone around here.
And definitely do not trust anyone.
This place is designed
to pit us against each other.
Okay.
Got it. Except I really do need your help.
So, what can I do to get you
to answer a few questions?
Do you have any speed?
No.
- Well, this has been fun. Toodle-oo.
- My roommate takes Adderall.
Good enough.
Five pills for every question. Go.
Okay, so I got this letter and I came
across a very weird name, PW Butcher.
Any idea what that means?
Yeah, that's a cryptonym.
An agency code name
for a clandestine operation.
The first two letters, PW, are a digraph,
literally the country code
where the operation is taking place,
and the two-syllable word that follows,
Butcher, is the actual code name.
Where did you find that?
In the graymail letter.
Some woman in prison for murder.
Yeah, there's no way an asset
should know an agency cryptonym
or even know they exist.
Does that mean this is the real deal?
- Pfft. Not my department. Mm-mm.
- Come on.
I'll give you ten extra pills.
Do I follow up on this or not?
I wouldn't.
Why does it feel like that's a yes?
Okay, if you were not gonna follow up
on this, where would you not go?
I gotta talk to someone about an old op.
Excuse me, ladies, could you...?
What's up, dude? Could you, uh...?
My name's Owen Hendricks
from the general counsel's office.
Not interested.
I can respect that,
but I got questions that need answering.
Make it fast.
Sure.
What can you tell me
about the cryptonym PW Butcher?
PW is the country code for Belarus,
and then Butcher...
is a code name
for an operation in Belarus in 2009.
Okay. Great.
And what about the name Selby Shaw?
- What about it?
- Is it connected to PW Butcher?
I don't have access to the specifics,
but Selby Shaw
is a pseudonym for a DO officer
who operated in Belarus at that time.
Hmm. Okay. They're both tracking as...
Would you mind putting in the name
Max Meladze? Maxine Meladze.
M-E-L-A-D-Z-E. See what comes up.
Please.
Nothing.
- You sure?
- Yeah.
What's this about, anyways?
Agency got a graymail letter from Meladze.
Jesus Christ.
- What?
- There's no way anyone outside the agency
should know a classified agency cryptonym
and an officer pseudonym.
- Could Meladze could be one of ours?
- Not without her showing up in the system.
But?
But it's possible
she was a hip-pocket asset,
so there wouldn't be a file on her
and no way to ID her case officer.
Why would her handler soft file her
in the first place?
She could've been a new source
he hadn't fully vetted.
With that level
of institutional knowledge?
No.
That's troubling.
Okay.
Listen to me. I need you
to give me Selby Shaw's real name.
- And you think this is real?
- Yes.
Sir, she knows classified information.
- And you ran all this down in a few hours.
- Yes, sir.
And I have a lead on where to go next.
Our operative's real name.
Selby Shaw
is a pseudonym for Dawn Gilbane.
What the hell is wrong with you?
Never write an officer's true name
and their pseudonym on the same paper.
- Uh, sorry, sir, I didn't know.
- Get Kitchens and Ebner in here.
This can't be good.
- Where is she now?
- Meladze? At a prison in Phoenix.
- No, the operative.
- Gilbane.
She's at an agency black site in Yemen.
Yes, sir?
Who had the crazies
before Hendricks?
- I did.
- Did you even open the folder?
Of course, sir. I did my due diligence
with everything in there...
Keep going with the investigation.
These two will pick up the slack
on your workload.
Yes, sir.
Yes, sir?
Oh, sh...
- Thanks for screwing me over.
- I'm sorry, man. I had no idea.
Yeah, bullshit. You set me up.
You set yourself up by doing jack shit
with those folders when you had them.
That's not true.
Violet had the folders before me.
- How many cases of graymail did you find?
- A few. So, what's the story?
A possible hip-pocket asset
that knows too much.
How do I get to Yemen?
Nyland didn't say, "Go to Yemen."
He said:
"Keep going with the investigation."
Yes, but the answers I need are in Yemen.
So how do I get there?
Travel coach. Rent an economy car.
Seriously?
Yeah.
And keep the receipts for everything.
They don't call this place
"the Company" for nothing.
I don't think
I've ever seen you dance like that before.
This is amazing.
- All right. What's up?
- Okay.
If I get this in,
you have to buy groceries for the week.
- Oh, wow, that was so close.
- Ooh.
Okay, you have gotta clean the bathroom.
No. You gotta clean Owen and I's shower.
That sounds disgusting.
Whoo! Thank you.
- Hey.
- Hi.
Did you bring beer? I texted you.
Uh, no. You didn't.
- Huh.
- Hey.
- What's up, Bubba?
- I texted my mom.
No, you slow down, Mother.
- Ooh. Sucks. Is there any food?
- Uh, there might be some pizza left.
What are you wearing?
It's Tad's. We're role playing later.
I am making a special delivery.
I'm so sorry that I asked.
- I'll take that.
- Where you going?
- Ah. You got next.
- I gotta pack.
To go where?
It's classified.
Look how smug he is about that.
So smug. Why so smug?
Are you ready, Chicago?
So, seriously, where are you going?
Seriously, I can't tell you.
Okay. Well, how's your new job?
Have you made any new friends
or overthrown any foreign governments?
No to the friends.
Maybe to the governments.
Fingers crossed.
- Your mom called me.
- Oh?
Apparently, you forgot to tell her
that we aren't dating anymore.
Well, I haven't talked to her
in six months,
so she also doesn't know
I work at the CIA.
You can't avoid dealing with her forever.
Sure I can.
- Hey, how's the firm?
- Ugh.
All I do
is freeze my ass off in a conference room,
reading technical specs
on homicidal dialysis machines.
The joy of being a first year
at a law firm.
You should've joined the agency with me.
Oh, my God. Could you imagine?
My parents would kill me.
There's this cool thing.
It's called "not giving a fuck what
your parents think." Super liberating.
- Did you find out where he's going?
- My powers of seduction were ineffective.
Do you mind if I take this?
- No.
- Thank you.
Well, he's definitely flying
because he's packing a carry-on,
but he is not flying for long
because he's only packing a carry-on.
Your powers of deduction
are wasted at the Department of Treasury.
Okay, just for that, Tad and I,
we're gonna role play in your room tonight
once you're off circumnavigating the globe
in your government jet.
- I don't get a jet.
- Since when do spies fly commercial?
I'm not a spy.
I am a lawyer.
Hey!
What's going on, man? How's it going?
I'm Owen Hendricks
over at the general counsel's office.
Oh, shit. Oh, fuck.
Okay, listen, man. No, no, no. Wait. Whoa!
God.
Hey, hi.
I think there's been a mistake. Fuck.
Wow. You guys really loosened these teeth.
I'm an American, dumbass.
So, there's been...
Thank God. Hi. I'm Owen Hendricks
from the general counsel's office.
And you just thought
you'd pop by a black site unannounced.
Sorry. Was I supposed to call?
There was no cable traffic
about your trip.
No clearance
from the ambassador or diplomatic cover.
- Well, I'm new.
- You're an idiot.
- Or just pretending to be one.
- It's actually neither of those.
- Hmm.
- I flew all the way here
to talk to you about an old op
- from many years ago. What...?
- Bullshit. Bullshit.
What color is this?
Blue?
You really are new. Otherwise, the agency
would have issued you a black passport
which grants you diplomatic immunity.
No one told me that.
- Strip him.
- What?
What? Wait a second.
What are you doing? No, no. Whoa, guys.
Fuck. No.
Hey, this is a new suit. What is going on?
That's what I wanna know. No way
you came out here to talk about an old op.
I think you're here to investigate us,
which makes you a hostile.
But you fucked up.
Without a cover identity
and a diplomatic passport,
the Yemeni secret police will arrest you
for spying and shoot you in the head.
With a black passport,
you just get deported.
But someone should have told you that
before you got on the plane.
- Made some enemies at work already?
- Looks like it.
- You sure don't have any friends here.
- All right. Let's... Wait.
So... here's what's gonna happen.
You're gonna tell me
what you're really doing in my black site
or the PSO is gonna get
an anonymous tip you're up to no good.
You're gonna end up with a cattle prod
in one end, a hollow point in the other.
No, no, no.
Fuck!
God! I'm telling you the truth!
I came across a graymail
that was connected to a fucking operation
that you ran. Wait, wait, listen to me.
It's my first week on the job.
I got recruited in law school.
I said no to a bunch of high-paying jobs
because I got this pathological need
for stimulation.
Probably 'cause my dad
got blown up in Afghanistan.
My mom never got over it.
I have just been running away
from having to spend any longer than five
minutes with my thoughts alone ever since.
So, yeah, when that recruit came
and he promised me I could do cool stuff,
I thought, "Fuck it."
And, you know, fuck it.
Maybe I'll even make my dad proud.
You know, I have been faking it
until I made it for my entire life,
but I'm sorry
because I can fucking understand
how I have clearly miscalculated
applying that approach to the agency.
What's the op?
PW Butcher.
The asset's name is Maxine Meladze.
She wrote us a graymail letter.
Cut him loose.
Yeah, I fucking pissed myself.
Congratulations.
You are good at your jobs.
I never met Meladze.
But you remember her.
Vaguely.
I used HUMINT from her to carry out an op.
If I remember right,
she was a pretty valuable asset.
Upper-level player of the Belarus chapter
of the Russian mafia.
She had serious connections
inside Russian intelligence.
- Who was her handler?
- Sorry, I don't remember.
It was a long time ago,
and I've run a hundred ops since then.
But she was a big deal.
And the fact that somebody
would hip-pocket a girl like that
should scare the crap out of you.
Listen,
sorry about the enhanced interrogation.
- Yeah.
- Some guys might hold a grudge.
I chalk it up to a communication breakdown
and a lesson on the importance
of following protocol when interacting
with clandestine services.
So I don't have to tell anyone
at Langley about the whole torture thing?
Exactly. Although some people
might enjoy hearing about it.
Yeah. Pretty sure
I can smooth things out with them, though.
Working at the CIA is like
a never ending game of musical chairs.
Everyone is maneuvering to figure out
who will have a seat when the music stops.
Easiest way to make sure you have a seat
is to hamstring the guy next to you.
If you don't start playing,
figuring out how shit works,
you're gonna be in trouble.
More trouble than getting
my fingernail pulled out?
Nails grow back. Drive safe.
Keep an eye peeled for the PSO.
How did it go?
Oh, I can't talk about it.
- What?
- I can't talk about it.
- Come on, man. Just let me sleep.
- What are you wearing?
My suit got ruined.
Mm-hm.
I'm surprised they let you
on the plane wearing that.
Suggests a country
with lesser security standards.
- Third world, perhaps?
- I said I can't talk about it.
- What's going on?
- Oh, my God.
- Owen was in the shit somewhere.
- Owen loves being in the shit.
- He didn't love this.
- Can you guys please just let me sleep?
What happened?
I can't talk about it.
But I'm fine.
You don't seem fine.
Come on.
What...? What are you doing?
Mm. Being human.
Come on. Get in here.
- I don't wanna wrinkle my outfit.
- Said by no one young ever.
I'm running late.
Call me if you wanna talk. Okay?
Thank you.
Are you okay?
I am now.
Now, get out of my room.
Okay. Get some sleep.
No.
- Hello.
- Hold for the general counsel.
Where the fuck are you?
♪ Full of knowledge
But beyond the rights of college ♪
♪ Badge of honor
Then you have to hand it over, over... ♪
- Hi.
- How was Yemen?
It was great. No thanks to you two.
Look, I don't mind getting hazed
'cause I'm the new guy,
but if either one of you try to
torpedo me like that again,
we're gonna have a problem.
Hmm.
Now, I gotta get upstairs.
General counsel needs me. Again.
Cheers.
Without a 201 file, no way to know
who Meladze's handler was.
But given that Agent Gilbane
confirmed that Max was an asset,
we have to take
the graymail threat seriously.
- I didn't tell you to go to Yemen.
- Yes, sir.
I decided to make the judgment call
that it was the necessary next step.
Plus, I figured you're the type of leader
who appreciates initiative,
but if you want me to get approval...
No. Initiative is good.
Nice job.
Thank you.
What happened to your hand?
Closed it in a car door.
Ah.
Go to Phoenix. Talk to Meladze.
Yes, sir.
Now?
Sir, it's just,
my day started three days ago.
Great. Yeah. Phoenix it is.
What can you tell me about Max Meladze?
She's been held without bail
due to the brutal nature of her crime.
- Who'd she kill?
- A trucking guy named Salvatore Kwitny.
Phoenix PD thinks Miss Meladze
was using his trucks to run product.
So, what is the CIA's interest in her?
Not at liberty to say,
but I'll need a digital copy of her file
and a private room to meet with her.
No listeners, no cameras.
Shall we?
Who are you?
I'm Owen Hendricks from the
general counsel's office at the CIA.
We got your letter.
- Took you long enough.
- Yeah, it's a busy place.
You know that making threats
against the agency's a crime, right?
I know many things.
More than you, that's for sure.
So how long has it been, huh? A few weeks?
- You know how to use the copy machine?
- We're not here to talk about me.
- What happened to your hand?
- I closed it in a car door.
Liar. I've pulled out enough fingernails
to know what it looks like afterwards.
You seem really proud of that.
Shouldn't I be?
Some of those nails were for the CIA.
Oh, is that one of the things
that you're threatening to expose?
No.
- So how do you like the agency so far?
- It's great. Who was your handler?
Dumb question, because now I know
you have no hard file on me.
Which means you have no idea
what I know or who I can burn.
Maybe. But I'm gonna find out soon enough.
Only if I tell you, which I won't...
unless you do some things for me.
- Who pulled out your fingernail?
- No one.
I have classified CIA documents.
You have documents?
So many documents.
Who pulled out your nail?
An operative in Yemen.
I went to ask her about you.
"Her." You know, you give away information
without realizing it.
I'm surprised you survived your trip.
It certainly doesn't inspire confidence
that you're the right lawyer
to help me get out of here.
- I am not here to get you out.
- Games.
I am bored.
- Tell your boss to call someone else.
- Wait, hold on. Just...
Hi, excuse me, one second, excuse me.
Excuse me. Miss, please.
Give me those documents.
If you're telling me the truth,
then I'll help you.
There. See?
Was that so hard?
- They're in a storage locker.
- You have top-secret CIA documents
in a storage locker
where anyone can find them?
I like to live dangerously.
you need to secure
those files ASAP.
Call the local FBI office
and get an escort.
Yes, sir.
- You need me to send Kitchens to help?
- No, sir. Definitely not.
- I've got this.
- All right. Don't fuck this up.
You have reached
the Phoenix Division
of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
If you know your party's extension,
you can dial it at any time.
For Cyber Division, press one.
For International Operations Division,
press two.
For Critical Incident Response Group,
press three.
For Criminal Investigative Division,
press four.
You have pressed four,
Criminal Investigative Division.
All investigators are...
Fuck it, man.
Empathy can be thought of in several ways.
The first is to contrast empathy
with sympathy...
In true psychopaths...
Who the fuck is this guy?
...the parts of the brain
that control empathy are dark.
Psychopaths have reduced connections
between the ventral medial
prefrontal cortex,
the part of the brain responsible for...
We'll take the bag.
Bro, what's your plan here?
It's not like you'll get out of there.
I'm sorry. Who are you?
We're the guys who are gonna take the bag.
Did you not see his gun?
No, I saw it, man.
Just not the first one I've seen today...
Yesterday.
It was two days ago.
I can't do the math, man.
- It's been an epically strange day.
- No problem. We can end it for you.
No, I'm good. Wasn't really complaining.
Open the gate. Give us the bag,
maybe we'll let you go home.
Not gonna happen, man. My bad.
You do know
bullets go through metal, right?
Yeah. Yeah, I know.
Hey, relax! Relax! Calmate!
I got it! It's fine! Come in. I got it.
All right.
Shit.
♪ You say that you don't love me
I'm guessing I'ma be okay ♪
♪ You say that you don't feel me now ♪
♪ I feel like I'ma live somehow ♪
♪ The God killer
This Tokyo, and I'm Godzilla ♪
♪ Playing blackjack versus death
Gun on the card dealer ♪
♪ Just bought a demon
I'm screamin' up out the car dealer ♪
♪ The last temptation of Mike
But I'm a God figure ♪
♪ Tell Beelzebub
That the God don't need a job ♪
♪ And if I did, the oligarchs
Would be missing, murdered, and robbed ♪
♪ This is Bonaparte
And he playing with Toussaint ♪
♪ And they went on a world conquest
Tear your bone apart ♪
♪ Your love never meant much to me ♪
♪ Love never meant much to me ♪
♪ Your love never meant much to me ♪
♪ Your love never meant much ♪
That was not cool, bro.
You made me run. I hate running.
The bag.
Fuck you.
♪ Life a bitch
Leave you battered and bent ♪
♪ Lose or win, gotta hold up your chin ♪
♪ And I put it on Jaime and me ♪
♪ We just gave you inspiration for free
The money never meant much ♪
You look rough.
You got a little bit of vomit...
Using me as an errand boy
almost got me killed.
Who the fuck booby-traps a bag with acid?
A survivor.
Where's my money?
In my trunk. Who were the guys
trying to get it from me?
Disgruntled competitors.
They think it belongs to them.
As soon as we're done,
I'm giving it to the police.
Are you really this stupid?
No, you're not handing it over.
When you leave here, take the bag,
put it in a garbage can
at the back of the parking lot,
and I will have someone
pick it up and secure it for me.
Why would I do that?
Because I have all the leverage.
You have no idea who I am,
or what I know, Owen,
and that should scare the shit out of you.
So I spent the afternoon
going through your social media.
Thank you for giving me
your real name by the way.
Who I am is hardly relevant.
I disagree because now I know
everything you've done since college.
Every place you've lived.
Every woman you've dated.
I know that your father
is buried in a military cemetery and...
you spend a lot of time there.
I don't need social media
to know who you are, Max.
I read your arrest report.
I saw the photos of your house.
You're a woman that lives without life.
Not even one photo on any of your walls.
What, no family? No friends?
No joy?
Seems like the only thing that you have
is being a criminal.
How I live my life isn't important.
I know about dozens of top secret
CIA operations in Belarus and Russia
involving incredibly
well-connected people.
Stuff the agency
would do anything to keep secret.
So here's what you're going to do.
You're gonna go back to Langley and make
sure the Company's number one priority
is having the murder charges
against me dropped.
And if anyone there thinks
it would be easier to have me killed,
if anything happens to me,
a press release will go out
detailing the minutiae of a decade's worth
of clandestine operations.
- And guess who will be blamed?
- I get it.
Let me call my boss.
Oh, my God.
No. Owen.
You're not calling your boss.
He isn't going to want
anything to do with this.
When he finds out how bad this is,
he will do anything
to wrap this around your neck.
There's no reason why you need
to be collateral damage in all of this.
Do not try to manipulate me. Don't.
I'm just a lawyer doing my job.
No. You're just a lawyer
standing in the middle of a minefield,
and you don't even know it.
So, yeah. Do what you need to do.
Stumble around, blow yourself up,
or you can let me guide you through this
so you don't destroy yourself.
Your compassion is touching,
but there's no way you're offering to
help me out of the goodness of your heart.
So, you don't have
the leverage that you claim.
- Oh, no?
- No.
If I'm in a minefield,
and I'm not buying your premise...
you need me to get out safe
or else you might not survive.
You really thought it was
Christmas morning when I walked in here.
A kid fresh out of law school who
doesn't even know how to run the copier.
I think that's what you said.
You thought you could manipulate
and bully me into doing things your way,
but you made a mistake, I'm a guy
that doesn't mind falling on his face
or getting in over my head.
I actually kinda like that.
It's why I get up in the morning.
So stop playing games.
I need you and you need me.
So let's make a deal.
Forget it. You're a murderer.
The last thing I need is your help.
I'm going back to Langley,
giving a full report on what happened.
I'll be in touch.
- Okay.
- Guard.
You do that, but before you leave,
I have a parting gift for you.
My handler was Not Bob.
- What is that, a fucking riddle?
- No, your agency will know who it is.
Good luck.
You're gonna need it.
So I spent the afternoon
going through your social media.
Now I know
everything you've done since college.
Every place you've lived.
Every woman you've dated.
Sor... Just one second.
Oh, no. No.
No, no, no. What... What time is it?
- What day is it?
- It's 9 a.m. on Thursday.
Oh, fuck.
Fuck. Uh...
Last thing I remember, I... I was eating...
Yep.
Those barbarians. They drugged me
so they could go run their op.
Uh, can't you stop them?
No, once they're wheels up,
all I can do is damage control.
Well, so long as you're not busy, um,
if I said the name "Not Bob,"
what would you say?
What?
Hey, I ate an Ambien sandwich.
I need short simple questions.
Who is Not Bob?
- Everybody's heard of Not Bob.
- I haven't.
He's a legend inside the agency,
ran the most dangerous ops in history,
he retired as a division chief.
Why do we call him Not Bob?
Because he refused to use the pseudonym
of Bob or Robert as a first name.
Well, I just got Not Bob's name
from my graymailer.
- You're lying.
- I'm not.
Assets don't know
their case officers' real names,
and sure as shit wouldn't know
an internal nickname.
People keep saying that she shouldn't know
these things, and then she does.
- So, what am I supposed to do?
- Get out of my office.
Janus.
I have enough trouble
trying to control my rogue spec ops team.
The last thing I need is any of your
radioactive graymail case getting on me.
Come on. It can't be that bad.
It's always that bad, you moron.
Not Bob isn't just some
former king shit CIA officer.
He is currently the chief of staff...
The... The president?
For the fucking
President of the United States.
So, what happened in Phoenix?
Uh...
Um...
Well?
Upon interviewing Max Meladze,
I feel that
her threat of graymail is credible
and requires further investigation.
Okay.
Keep me posted.
- Hello?
- I'm gonna ask you one question.
And if you answer honestly,
I'll accept your offer.
What's the question?
Can I trust you?
When our interests align.
Otherwise, no.
I'm in.
You already pissed off
the Senate Intelligence Committee.
It's the least of my issues.
Since I met you, I've been chased,
tortured, and subpoenaed.
You're being followed
by the entire United Nations.
- Get this under control.
- Yes, sir.
Ever had a panic attack?
I've had one since 2019.
You get used to it.
You have a plan of action
for this woman or not?
No, not yet.
Higher stakes make it challenging.
But as soon as I figure out the system,
I'll be able to navigate the obstacles.
I'm 24, I'm supposed to make mistakes,
take big swings.
- Martini?
- How about a White Claw?
Inserting yourself in my operation
without notifying me?
Wanna climb in so the whole world
doesn't see through our covert clown car?
♪ I always advance
Say I fail, you know I stand... ♪
I'm just a lawyer.
♪ I ain't got a limit
Cannot be stopped ♪
♪ You paying attention?
I ain't gotta say it ♪
♪ They know where my head is ♪
Is that a piña colada?
Yeah.
When you walked in ♪
♪ Now I'm lying on the cold, hard ground ♪
Who the fuck are these guys?
Overwatch One. Come in, Overwatch One.
Overwatch, we got a problem.
Do you copy?
Stay off this channel.
No, we have a serious problem.
Did you not hear me?
That's why you ever bring a lawyer
on an op. Stay off this channel.
Fuck!
♪ Wanna a little bit a
And a little bit a ♪
♪ I was like, good gracious
Ass is bodacious, uh ♪
♪ Flirtatious, tryin' to show faces, ah ♪
♪ Lookin' for the right time
To shoot my steam, you know ♪
♪ Lookin' for the right time
To flash them keys, then, um ♪
Mr. Nyland will see you now.
Great. Thank you.
- Sir.
- Are you Henderson?
Uh, Hendricks, sir. Owen Hendricks.
How long you been here, Mr. Hendricks?
Only ten minutes, but you're very busy.
You're running the whole operation...
You mean how long I've been working here.
About two days. Just finished CIA 101.
I'm sending you to the Senate.
Score.
Word is, head of the Senate
Intelligence Committee is planning
to read a classified document
at a public hearing.
Okay, and you want me
to tell him he can't.
Tell him that he's an engorged ball sack
who should walk
into an airplane propeller.
Yes, sir.
You mean tell him that figuratively.
No, I don't.
Listen to me carefully, Mr. Hendricks.
If you fail to stop Senator Smoot
from reading that document...
you won't be working here tomorrow.
Am I clear?
You're a dead man walking.
Nyland thinks he can keep me in the dark
on the agency's covert clusterfucks,
but he's wrong!
If I wanna read a document,
I'll read a document!
I have a constitutional mandate
to oversee the CIA,
and I am gonna exercise the hell
out of it, starting by subpoenaing you.
Now, I'm going back into my hearing...
and I'm quoting this document.
Sir, that is completely your prerogative
as you are head of... the committee,
but may I just remind you
that revealing classified information
is in violation
of 18 U.S. code section 798
and will result
in not only criminal sanctions,
but potential reprimand
and censure in the Senate.
Also, that type of shit looks really bad
in a campaign video against you.
If there's nothing else I can help with,
I gotta get back to Langley.
It was a pleasure meeting you.
- How did it go?
- Pretty good.
- Dave!
- Thanks for your help.
In my office! Now!
Hey. Did you check out that new CIA swag?
Yeah. I'm gonna get me
one of those ski masks.
Yeah. Those are nice, right?
- I don't even ski.
- Well...
- I just wanna look like a bank robber.
- Oh, oh, oh.
Here we go.
Oh, shit... I'm sorry.
Okay. What?
- Yeah. Hi. This is my office.
- We heard Nyland sent you to Capitol Hill.
Yeah, I didn't get to the Senate
for six months. You get there on day two?
- Trust me, it wasn't a reward.
- What was the assignment?
Just advising on a classification.
Don't lie to us, Hendricks.
I was a professional sneak.
We know you met
with the head of Senate Intelligence.
Yeah. And I got my ass handed to me.
I was straight-up cannon fodder
in the Nyland-Smoot feud.
Only reason
the general counsel sent me was...
Because new guys
get the shit work.
What the hell is this?
This is the crazies.
- The nutjobs.
- People trying to graymail the CIA.
Every letter is from someone
threatening to expose classified
information if we don't help them.
- That's extortion.
- Yet we get hundreds a year.
Your job? Vet each one of those.
See if the author can back up the threat.
- How often does that happen?
- Hmm.
It happens.
Yeah. Oh, and if the secrets
they're threatening to reveal are bad,
it's a nightmare to navigate.
- That is a lot of coffee.
- Fuck.
I can't afford to fall asleep.
- Why? You got a brief?
- A brief? No. I work directly with SOG.
Sorry, who are they? I'm struggling
to keep all the acronyms straight.
Special Operations Group.
Imagine if meth became sentient
and was given weaponry.
I've been in this building
for three straight days,
but if I leave, those crazy fucks
are gonna green-light a covert op
that I am single-handedly
keeping them from executing.
They don't listen to their lawyer?
No, this place
is an organization of con men,
which makes us lawyers
for cheats and liars
who are actively trying to sabotage us.
If you have any brains, get out before
the ink dries on your paperwork, kid.
Thanks.
I've been unjustly imprisoned
in Connecticut.
I don't know how that ham
ended up in my purse.
I know about the aliens. I worked
for the agency in Cuba in 1963.
It was a false flag operation.
If you don't help me, I'll expose
all I know about the JFK assassination.
My boyfriend is cheating on me.
If you don't get him to stop, I'll expose
all the secret CIA prisons in Jersey.
My name is Max Meladze.
I'm in prison in Phoenix.
Get me out or I will spill agency secrets
on Selby Shaw, PW Butcher, and more.
You owe me.
Um...
- Yo. Whoa, whoa, whoa!
- Jesus Christ! Okay.
It's just Owen. You good?
It's me, from the coffee... room.
What do you want?
Working on the crazies,
hoping you could help me.
No. Absolutely not.
It'll take a second.
Rule number one:
Never help anyone around here.
And definitely do not trust anyone.
This place is designed
to pit us against each other.
Okay.
Got it. Except I really do need your help.
So, what can I do to get you
to answer a few questions?
Do you have any speed?
No.
- Well, this has been fun. Toodle-oo.
- My roommate takes Adderall.
Good enough.
Five pills for every question. Go.
Okay, so I got this letter and I came
across a very weird name, PW Butcher.
Any idea what that means?
Yeah, that's a cryptonym.
An agency code name
for a clandestine operation.
The first two letters, PW, are a digraph,
literally the country code
where the operation is taking place,
and the two-syllable word that follows,
Butcher, is the actual code name.
Where did you find that?
In the graymail letter.
Some woman in prison for murder.
Yeah, there's no way an asset
should know an agency cryptonym
or even know they exist.
Does that mean this is the real deal?
- Pfft. Not my department. Mm-mm.
- Come on.
I'll give you ten extra pills.
Do I follow up on this or not?
I wouldn't.
Why does it feel like that's a yes?
Okay, if you were not gonna follow up
on this, where would you not go?
I gotta talk to someone about an old op.
Excuse me, ladies, could you...?
What's up, dude? Could you, uh...?
My name's Owen Hendricks
from the general counsel's office.
Not interested.
I can respect that,
but I got questions that need answering.
Make it fast.
Sure.
What can you tell me
about the cryptonym PW Butcher?
PW is the country code for Belarus,
and then Butcher...
is a code name
for an operation in Belarus in 2009.
Okay. Great.
And what about the name Selby Shaw?
- What about it?
- Is it connected to PW Butcher?
I don't have access to the specifics,
but Selby Shaw
is a pseudonym for a DO officer
who operated in Belarus at that time.
Hmm. Okay. They're both tracking as...
Would you mind putting in the name
Max Meladze? Maxine Meladze.
M-E-L-A-D-Z-E. See what comes up.
Please.
Nothing.
- You sure?
- Yeah.
What's this about, anyways?
Agency got a graymail letter from Meladze.
Jesus Christ.
- What?
- There's no way anyone outside the agency
should know a classified agency cryptonym
and an officer pseudonym.
- Could Meladze could be one of ours?
- Not without her showing up in the system.
But?
But it's possible
she was a hip-pocket asset,
so there wouldn't be a file on her
and no way to ID her case officer.
Why would her handler soft file her
in the first place?
She could've been a new source
he hadn't fully vetted.
With that level
of institutional knowledge?
No.
That's troubling.
Okay.
Listen to me. I need you
to give me Selby Shaw's real name.
- And you think this is real?
- Yes.
Sir, she knows classified information.
- And you ran all this down in a few hours.
- Yes, sir.
And I have a lead on where to go next.
Our operative's real name.
Selby Shaw
is a pseudonym for Dawn Gilbane.
What the hell is wrong with you?
Never write an officer's true name
and their pseudonym on the same paper.
- Uh, sorry, sir, I didn't know.
- Get Kitchens and Ebner in here.
This can't be good.
- Where is she now?
- Meladze? At a prison in Phoenix.
- No, the operative.
- Gilbane.
She's at an agency black site in Yemen.
Yes, sir?
Who had the crazies
before Hendricks?
- I did.
- Did you even open the folder?
Of course, sir. I did my due diligence
with everything in there...
Keep going with the investigation.
These two will pick up the slack
on your workload.
Yes, sir.
Yes, sir?
Oh, sh...
- Thanks for screwing me over.
- I'm sorry, man. I had no idea.
Yeah, bullshit. You set me up.
You set yourself up by doing jack shit
with those folders when you had them.
That's not true.
Violet had the folders before me.
- How many cases of graymail did you find?
- A few. So, what's the story?
A possible hip-pocket asset
that knows too much.
How do I get to Yemen?
Nyland didn't say, "Go to Yemen."
He said:
"Keep going with the investigation."
Yes, but the answers I need are in Yemen.
So how do I get there?
Travel coach. Rent an economy car.
Seriously?
Yeah.
And keep the receipts for everything.
They don't call this place
"the Company" for nothing.
I don't think
I've ever seen you dance like that before.
This is amazing.
- All right. What's up?
- Okay.
If I get this in,
you have to buy groceries for the week.
- Oh, wow, that was so close.
- Ooh.
Okay, you have gotta clean the bathroom.
No. You gotta clean Owen and I's shower.
That sounds disgusting.
Whoo! Thank you.
- Hey.
- Hi.
Did you bring beer? I texted you.
Uh, no. You didn't.
- Huh.
- Hey.
- What's up, Bubba?
- I texted my mom.
No, you slow down, Mother.
- Ooh. Sucks. Is there any food?
- Uh, there might be some pizza left.
What are you wearing?
It's Tad's. We're role playing later.
I am making a special delivery.
I'm so sorry that I asked.
- I'll take that.
- Where you going?
- Ah. You got next.
- I gotta pack.
To go where?
It's classified.
Look how smug he is about that.
So smug. Why so smug?
Are you ready, Chicago?
So, seriously, where are you going?
Seriously, I can't tell you.
Okay. Well, how's your new job?
Have you made any new friends
or overthrown any foreign governments?
No to the friends.
Maybe to the governments.
Fingers crossed.
- Your mom called me.
- Oh?
Apparently, you forgot to tell her
that we aren't dating anymore.
Well, I haven't talked to her
in six months,
so she also doesn't know
I work at the CIA.
You can't avoid dealing with her forever.
Sure I can.
- Hey, how's the firm?
- Ugh.
All I do
is freeze my ass off in a conference room,
reading technical specs
on homicidal dialysis machines.
The joy of being a first year
at a law firm.
You should've joined the agency with me.
Oh, my God. Could you imagine?
My parents would kill me.
There's this cool thing.
It's called "not giving a fuck what
your parents think." Super liberating.
- Did you find out where he's going?
- My powers of seduction were ineffective.
Do you mind if I take this?
- No.
- Thank you.
Well, he's definitely flying
because he's packing a carry-on,
but he is not flying for long
because he's only packing a carry-on.
Your powers of deduction
are wasted at the Department of Treasury.
Okay, just for that, Tad and I,
we're gonna role play in your room tonight
once you're off circumnavigating the globe
in your government jet.
- I don't get a jet.
- Since when do spies fly commercial?
I'm not a spy.
I am a lawyer.
Hey!
What's going on, man? How's it going?
I'm Owen Hendricks
over at the general counsel's office.
Oh, shit. Oh, fuck.
Okay, listen, man. No, no, no. Wait. Whoa!
God.
Hey, hi.
I think there's been a mistake. Fuck.
Wow. You guys really loosened these teeth.
I'm an American, dumbass.
So, there's been...
Thank God. Hi. I'm Owen Hendricks
from the general counsel's office.
And you just thought
you'd pop by a black site unannounced.
Sorry. Was I supposed to call?
There was no cable traffic
about your trip.
No clearance
from the ambassador or diplomatic cover.
- Well, I'm new.
- You're an idiot.
- Or just pretending to be one.
- It's actually neither of those.
- Hmm.
- I flew all the way here
to talk to you about an old op
- from many years ago. What...?
- Bullshit. Bullshit.
What color is this?
Blue?
You really are new. Otherwise, the agency
would have issued you a black passport
which grants you diplomatic immunity.
No one told me that.
- Strip him.
- What?
What? Wait a second.
What are you doing? No, no. Whoa, guys.
Fuck. No.
Hey, this is a new suit. What is going on?
That's what I wanna know. No way
you came out here to talk about an old op.
I think you're here to investigate us,
which makes you a hostile.
But you fucked up.
Without a cover identity
and a diplomatic passport,
the Yemeni secret police will arrest you
for spying and shoot you in the head.
With a black passport,
you just get deported.
But someone should have told you that
before you got on the plane.
- Made some enemies at work already?
- Looks like it.
- You sure don't have any friends here.
- All right. Let's... Wait.
So... here's what's gonna happen.
You're gonna tell me
what you're really doing in my black site
or the PSO is gonna get
an anonymous tip you're up to no good.
You're gonna end up with a cattle prod
in one end, a hollow point in the other.
No, no, no.
Fuck!
God! I'm telling you the truth!
I came across a graymail
that was connected to a fucking operation
that you ran. Wait, wait, listen to me.
It's my first week on the job.
I got recruited in law school.
I said no to a bunch of high-paying jobs
because I got this pathological need
for stimulation.
Probably 'cause my dad
got blown up in Afghanistan.
My mom never got over it.
I have just been running away
from having to spend any longer than five
minutes with my thoughts alone ever since.
So, yeah, when that recruit came
and he promised me I could do cool stuff,
I thought, "Fuck it."
And, you know, fuck it.
Maybe I'll even make my dad proud.
You know, I have been faking it
until I made it for my entire life,
but I'm sorry
because I can fucking understand
how I have clearly miscalculated
applying that approach to the agency.
What's the op?
PW Butcher.
The asset's name is Maxine Meladze.
She wrote us a graymail letter.
Cut him loose.
Yeah, I fucking pissed myself.
Congratulations.
You are good at your jobs.
I never met Meladze.
But you remember her.
Vaguely.
I used HUMINT from her to carry out an op.
If I remember right,
she was a pretty valuable asset.
Upper-level player of the Belarus chapter
of the Russian mafia.
She had serious connections
inside Russian intelligence.
- Who was her handler?
- Sorry, I don't remember.
It was a long time ago,
and I've run a hundred ops since then.
But she was a big deal.
And the fact that somebody
would hip-pocket a girl like that
should scare the crap out of you.
Listen,
sorry about the enhanced interrogation.
- Yeah.
- Some guys might hold a grudge.
I chalk it up to a communication breakdown
and a lesson on the importance
of following protocol when interacting
with clandestine services.
So I don't have to tell anyone
at Langley about the whole torture thing?
Exactly. Although some people
might enjoy hearing about it.
Yeah. Pretty sure
I can smooth things out with them, though.
Working at the CIA is like
a never ending game of musical chairs.
Everyone is maneuvering to figure out
who will have a seat when the music stops.
Easiest way to make sure you have a seat
is to hamstring the guy next to you.
If you don't start playing,
figuring out how shit works,
you're gonna be in trouble.
More trouble than getting
my fingernail pulled out?
Nails grow back. Drive safe.
Keep an eye peeled for the PSO.
How did it go?
Oh, I can't talk about it.
- What?
- I can't talk about it.
- Come on, man. Just let me sleep.
- What are you wearing?
My suit got ruined.
Mm-hm.
I'm surprised they let you
on the plane wearing that.
Suggests a country
with lesser security standards.
- Third world, perhaps?
- I said I can't talk about it.
- What's going on?
- Oh, my God.
- Owen was in the shit somewhere.
- Owen loves being in the shit.
- He didn't love this.
- Can you guys please just let me sleep?
What happened?
I can't talk about it.
But I'm fine.
You don't seem fine.
Come on.
What...? What are you doing?
Mm. Being human.
Come on. Get in here.
- I don't wanna wrinkle my outfit.
- Said by no one young ever.
I'm running late.
Call me if you wanna talk. Okay?
Thank you.
Are you okay?
I am now.
Now, get out of my room.
Okay. Get some sleep.
No.
- Hello.
- Hold for the general counsel.
Where the fuck are you?
♪ Full of knowledge
But beyond the rights of college ♪
♪ Badge of honor
Then you have to hand it over, over... ♪
- Hi.
- How was Yemen?
It was great. No thanks to you two.
Look, I don't mind getting hazed
'cause I'm the new guy,
but if either one of you try to
torpedo me like that again,
we're gonna have a problem.
Hmm.
Now, I gotta get upstairs.
General counsel needs me. Again.
Cheers.
Without a 201 file, no way to know
who Meladze's handler was.
But given that Agent Gilbane
confirmed that Max was an asset,
we have to take
the graymail threat seriously.
- I didn't tell you to go to Yemen.
- Yes, sir.
I decided to make the judgment call
that it was the necessary next step.
Plus, I figured you're the type of leader
who appreciates initiative,
but if you want me to get approval...
No. Initiative is good.
Nice job.
Thank you.
What happened to your hand?
Closed it in a car door.
Ah.
Go to Phoenix. Talk to Meladze.
Yes, sir.
Now?
Sir, it's just,
my day started three days ago.
Great. Yeah. Phoenix it is.
What can you tell me about Max Meladze?
She's been held without bail
due to the brutal nature of her crime.
- Who'd she kill?
- A trucking guy named Salvatore Kwitny.
Phoenix PD thinks Miss Meladze
was using his trucks to run product.
So, what is the CIA's interest in her?
Not at liberty to say,
but I'll need a digital copy of her file
and a private room to meet with her.
No listeners, no cameras.
Shall we?
Who are you?
I'm Owen Hendricks from the
general counsel's office at the CIA.
We got your letter.
- Took you long enough.
- Yeah, it's a busy place.
You know that making threats
against the agency's a crime, right?
I know many things.
More than you, that's for sure.
So how long has it been, huh? A few weeks?
- You know how to use the copy machine?
- We're not here to talk about me.
- What happened to your hand?
- I closed it in a car door.
Liar. I've pulled out enough fingernails
to know what it looks like afterwards.
You seem really proud of that.
Shouldn't I be?
Some of those nails were for the CIA.
Oh, is that one of the things
that you're threatening to expose?
No.
- So how do you like the agency so far?
- It's great. Who was your handler?
Dumb question, because now I know
you have no hard file on me.
Which means you have no idea
what I know or who I can burn.
Maybe. But I'm gonna find out soon enough.
Only if I tell you, which I won't...
unless you do some things for me.
- Who pulled out your fingernail?
- No one.
I have classified CIA documents.
You have documents?
So many documents.
Who pulled out your nail?
An operative in Yemen.
I went to ask her about you.
"Her." You know, you give away information
without realizing it.
I'm surprised you survived your trip.
It certainly doesn't inspire confidence
that you're the right lawyer
to help me get out of here.
- I am not here to get you out.
- Games.
I am bored.
- Tell your boss to call someone else.
- Wait, hold on. Just...
Hi, excuse me, one second, excuse me.
Excuse me. Miss, please.
Give me those documents.
If you're telling me the truth,
then I'll help you.
There. See?
Was that so hard?
- They're in a storage locker.
- You have top-secret CIA documents
in a storage locker
where anyone can find them?
I like to live dangerously.
you need to secure
those files ASAP.
Call the local FBI office
and get an escort.
Yes, sir.
- You need me to send Kitchens to help?
- No, sir. Definitely not.
- I've got this.
- All right. Don't fuck this up.
You have reached
the Phoenix Division
of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
If you know your party's extension,
you can dial it at any time.
For Cyber Division, press one.
For International Operations Division,
press two.
For Critical Incident Response Group,
press three.
For Criminal Investigative Division,
press four.
You have pressed four,
Criminal Investigative Division.
All investigators are...
Fuck it, man.
Empathy can be thought of in several ways.
The first is to contrast empathy
with sympathy...
In true psychopaths...
Who the fuck is this guy?
...the parts of the brain
that control empathy are dark.
Psychopaths have reduced connections
between the ventral medial
prefrontal cortex,
the part of the brain responsible for...
We'll take the bag.
Bro, what's your plan here?
It's not like you'll get out of there.
I'm sorry. Who are you?
We're the guys who are gonna take the bag.
Did you not see his gun?
No, I saw it, man.
Just not the first one I've seen today...
Yesterday.
It was two days ago.
I can't do the math, man.
- It's been an epically strange day.
- No problem. We can end it for you.
No, I'm good. Wasn't really complaining.
Open the gate. Give us the bag,
maybe we'll let you go home.
Not gonna happen, man. My bad.
You do know
bullets go through metal, right?
Yeah. Yeah, I know.
Hey, relax! Relax! Calmate!
I got it! It's fine! Come in. I got it.
All right.
Shit.
♪ You say that you don't love me
I'm guessing I'ma be okay ♪
♪ You say that you don't feel me now ♪
♪ I feel like I'ma live somehow ♪
♪ The God killer
This Tokyo, and I'm Godzilla ♪
♪ Playing blackjack versus death
Gun on the card dealer ♪
♪ Just bought a demon
I'm screamin' up out the car dealer ♪
♪ The last temptation of Mike
But I'm a God figure ♪
♪ Tell Beelzebub
That the God don't need a job ♪
♪ And if I did, the oligarchs
Would be missing, murdered, and robbed ♪
♪ This is Bonaparte
And he playing with Toussaint ♪
♪ And they went on a world conquest
Tear your bone apart ♪
♪ Your love never meant much to me ♪
♪ Love never meant much to me ♪
♪ Your love never meant much to me ♪
♪ Your love never meant much ♪
That was not cool, bro.
You made me run. I hate running.
The bag.
Fuck you.
♪ Life a bitch
Leave you battered and bent ♪
♪ Lose or win, gotta hold up your chin ♪
♪ And I put it on Jaime and me ♪
♪ We just gave you inspiration for free
The money never meant much ♪
You look rough.
You got a little bit of vomit...
Using me as an errand boy
almost got me killed.
Who the fuck booby-traps a bag with acid?
A survivor.
Where's my money?
In my trunk. Who were the guys
trying to get it from me?
Disgruntled competitors.
They think it belongs to them.
As soon as we're done,
I'm giving it to the police.
Are you really this stupid?
No, you're not handing it over.
When you leave here, take the bag,
put it in a garbage can
at the back of the parking lot,
and I will have someone
pick it up and secure it for me.
Why would I do that?
Because I have all the leverage.
You have no idea who I am,
or what I know, Owen,
and that should scare the shit out of you.
So I spent the afternoon
going through your social media.
Thank you for giving me
your real name by the way.
Who I am is hardly relevant.
I disagree because now I know
everything you've done since college.
Every place you've lived.
Every woman you've dated.
I know that your father
is buried in a military cemetery and...
you spend a lot of time there.
I don't need social media
to know who you are, Max.
I read your arrest report.
I saw the photos of your house.
You're a woman that lives without life.
Not even one photo on any of your walls.
What, no family? No friends?
No joy?
Seems like the only thing that you have
is being a criminal.
How I live my life isn't important.
I know about dozens of top secret
CIA operations in Belarus and Russia
involving incredibly
well-connected people.
Stuff the agency
would do anything to keep secret.
So here's what you're going to do.
You're gonna go back to Langley and make
sure the Company's number one priority
is having the murder charges
against me dropped.
And if anyone there thinks
it would be easier to have me killed,
if anything happens to me,
a press release will go out
detailing the minutiae of a decade's worth
of clandestine operations.
- And guess who will be blamed?
- I get it.
Let me call my boss.
Oh, my God.
No. Owen.
You're not calling your boss.
He isn't going to want
anything to do with this.
When he finds out how bad this is,
he will do anything
to wrap this around your neck.
There's no reason why you need
to be collateral damage in all of this.
Do not try to manipulate me. Don't.
I'm just a lawyer doing my job.
No. You're just a lawyer
standing in the middle of a minefield,
and you don't even know it.
So, yeah. Do what you need to do.
Stumble around, blow yourself up,
or you can let me guide you through this
so you don't destroy yourself.
Your compassion is touching,
but there's no way you're offering to
help me out of the goodness of your heart.
So, you don't have
the leverage that you claim.
- Oh, no?
- No.
If I'm in a minefield,
and I'm not buying your premise...
you need me to get out safe
or else you might not survive.
You really thought it was
Christmas morning when I walked in here.
A kid fresh out of law school who
doesn't even know how to run the copier.
I think that's what you said.
You thought you could manipulate
and bully me into doing things your way,
but you made a mistake, I'm a guy
that doesn't mind falling on his face
or getting in over my head.
I actually kinda like that.
It's why I get up in the morning.
So stop playing games.
I need you and you need me.
So let's make a deal.
Forget it. You're a murderer.
The last thing I need is your help.
I'm going back to Langley,
giving a full report on what happened.
I'll be in touch.
- Okay.
- Guard.
You do that, but before you leave,
I have a parting gift for you.
My handler was Not Bob.
- What is that, a fucking riddle?
- No, your agency will know who it is.
Good luck.
You're gonna need it.
So I spent the afternoon
going through your social media.
Now I know
everything you've done since college.
Every place you've lived.
Every woman you've dated.
Sor... Just one second.
Oh, no. No.
No, no, no. What... What time is it?
- What day is it?
- It's 9 a.m. on Thursday.
Oh, fuck.
Fuck. Uh...
Last thing I remember, I... I was eating...
Yep.
Those barbarians. They drugged me
so they could go run their op.
Uh, can't you stop them?
No, once they're wheels up,
all I can do is damage control.
Well, so long as you're not busy, um,
if I said the name "Not Bob,"
what would you say?
What?
Hey, I ate an Ambien sandwich.
I need short simple questions.
Who is Not Bob?
- Everybody's heard of Not Bob.
- I haven't.
He's a legend inside the agency,
ran the most dangerous ops in history,
he retired as a division chief.
Why do we call him Not Bob?
Because he refused to use the pseudonym
of Bob or Robert as a first name.
Well, I just got Not Bob's name
from my graymailer.
- You're lying.
- I'm not.
Assets don't know
their case officers' real names,
and sure as shit wouldn't know
an internal nickname.
People keep saying that she shouldn't know
these things, and then she does.
- So, what am I supposed to do?
- Get out of my office.
Janus.
I have enough trouble
trying to control my rogue spec ops team.
The last thing I need is any of your
radioactive graymail case getting on me.
Come on. It can't be that bad.
It's always that bad, you moron.
Not Bob isn't just some
former king shit CIA officer.
He is currently the chief of staff...
The... The president?
For the fucking
President of the United States.
So, what happened in Phoenix?
Uh...
Um...
Well?
Upon interviewing Max Meladze,
I feel that
her threat of graymail is credible
and requires further investigation.
Okay.
Keep me posted.
- Hello?
- I'm gonna ask you one question.
And if you answer honestly,
I'll accept your offer.
What's the question?
Can I trust you?
When our interests align.
Otherwise, no.
I'm in.
You already pissed off
the Senate Intelligence Committee.
It's the least of my issues.
Since I met you, I've been chased,
tortured, and subpoenaed.
You're being followed
by the entire United Nations.
- Get this under control.
- Yes, sir.
Ever had a panic attack?
I've had one since 2019.
You get used to it.
You have a plan of action
for this woman or not?
No, not yet.
Higher stakes make it challenging.
But as soon as I figure out the system,
I'll be able to navigate the obstacles.
I'm 24, I'm supposed to make mistakes,
take big swings.
- Martini?
- How about a White Claw?
Inserting yourself in my operation
without notifying me?
Wanna climb in so the whole world
doesn't see through our covert clown car?
♪ I always advance
Say I fail, you know I stand... ♪
I'm just a lawyer.
♪ I ain't got a limit
Cannot be stopped ♪
♪ You paying attention?
I ain't gotta say it ♪
♪ They know where my head is ♪
Is that a piña colada?
Yeah.