Original subtitles

♪ 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.