All language subtitles for White.House.Plumbers.S01E02_EngCP

Hey! Does commitment
have one T or two?

Nobody?

Ah, fuck it. Who cares?

Love it.

Ah. So, Gordon told me
what you did...

Oh!
You know what, tell them.

Come on. Tell them,
tell them about Guatemala.

Ah! Uh, yeah.

These girls don't want
to hear about that.

- Tell us!
- Please, Edward.

- Yeah, go on.
- Tell a story.

You know how a lot of guys
say they're with the CIA

so they can get you into bed,

when they really just sell
aluminum siding?

Well, he really worked
for the CIA.

Come on!

No, you're right.
I sell aluminum siding.

- Stop it!
- I knew it!

He's lying.
He's making me look like a liar.

Funny story about Guatemala.

I let el presidente
and his wife escape into exile.

They insisted that this scrawny

Argentine medical student
come with them.

And do you know

- who that kid was?
- Who?

Ernesto Guevara.

Che fucking Guevara.

- Che.
- Far out.

Do you know who that is?

- A musician?
- No.

When the CIA assassinated Che,

they sent this guy
the son of a bitch's hands

- in a fucking box! In a box!
- Hey, who's telling this story?

I'm sorry.

I just love that part, though.

In a box! Hello!

- Hands in a box.
- And tiny.

"Merry Christmas.
Oh, it's a present?

No, it's fucking hands!"

So, like,
what do you need us for?

Well, we've got big plans
for the Democrats!

As you may or may not know,

the Democratic National
Convention will be held here.

- In Miami.
- Uh, yeah. We're well aware.

- It's high season.
- We would set you two up

with a few of your friends
in a swanky yacht,

with all the champagne

and cocaine
your little hearts desired,

and a couple
of hidden movie cameras

for our friends
back in Washington.

- Like, for blackmail?
- Ooh!

So, how do we know
we can trust you?

My word is my bond.

I do not bend.

And I do not break.

Please stop.

Oh! May I see some ID?

Jim. I just walked out of here
15 minutes ago.

- You saw me leave.
- Did I?

You know I outrank you.

Members of the Committee need
to have ID on them at all times.

Do you ask Mitchell for his ID?

No. I know John Mitchell
by sight.

He's the attorney general
and head of the committee.

Well...

you're about to get
very used to the sight of me.

- I just moved my office here.
- I'll vouch for him, Jim.

Gordon here's in charge
of dirty tricks.

First thing tomorrow,

we're actually going
to pitch his million-dollar,

rat-fucking idea
to Mr. Mitchell.

Oh, is that so?
Good luck with that.

Let's go.

Jeb, do not tell people
what I really do here.

- Especially that oddball.
- Ooh!

- Are these the goods, Gordo?
- Hey!

Yes, straight from the CIA
art department.

- What happened to your hand?
- I burned it. On purpose.

Hey, where is this spook
partner of yours?

He'll be popping by
from the White House.

Don't you worry.
He will be here.

- Morning, gentlemen.
- Howard Hunt, Jeb Magruder.

Jeb, pleased to meet you.

How did you get in here?

- How do you like steel?
- Oh, do you play?

Well, I dabble. Yeah.

You and I might need
to get out on the court,

mix it up at my club.

Ah, Chevy Chase, right?

I heard all you CIA spooks
belong there.

Lakewood, actually.

Chevy Chase is a little stuffy
for my taste.

See you on the court.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!

- What is that?
- Walther Luftpistole.

Like the James Bond posters?

Mm, mm.

Silent.

Lethal.

German.

Oh, okay! Okay.

Hey, I don't care if it can suck
my cock and cook me breakfast,

there's no guns
in the office, Gordon.

Everyone's a lot safer
with this baby here in my desk.

Oh, Jesus.

Hi, Willie.

- Oh, let me get that, dear.
- Oh!

- Wow, this is really something.
- Oh, well. It's not bad.

You should see
the University Club.

Oh, hi!

Gordon, maybe we should join
a club.

I'm game. Good for hobnobbing.

Think you could get us in here?

Well, it is a two-year waitlist.

Dear, I think
that's a very kind way of saying

- we wouldn't get in.
- Oh, I... I got it.

Don't take wop-mick
mongrels from Hoboken.

So much for the Master Race,
eh, Gordon?

Touché.

- Ah, aloha, Mr. Hunt.
- Ah, aloha, Louis.

Got your favorite table
all ready.

- Right this way.
- Thank you.

Wonderful.

This is so exciting!

By this time tomorrow,

Gordon and I
should have John Mitchell

eating out of our hands.

Hmm, just like Martha.

Ow!

Hell, yeah.

Okay! Come on

Did you know they were going
to be here?

- No, I didn't.
- Are those your children?

- Hmm.
- Yes.

- Hey!
- Oh.

Going up.

I am way too fucking high
to go over there right now.

It'll be worse if we don't.

- Good. Here they come.
- Coming over.

- Lisa's acting weird.
- How can you tell?

Hello, Daddy-o.

Lisa, St. John,
this is Fran and Gordon Liddy.

Hi. You must be the Smithie?

No, that's Kevan,
my younger sister.

- I'm Lisa. The other one.
- Oh.

Yeah, I'm the one
they don't talk about.

The college dropout.

Your father
absolutely mentioned you.

You are the one
that had the car accident.

- Gordon!
- What? She did.

A pretty bad blow to the head.

Sorry.

Are you okay, sweetie?

She's fine.
She just needs some air. Right?

Uh, yeah,
we should hit the road.

Yes.

- Enchanté.
- Auf wiedersehen.

- She seems very bright.
- Hmm.

The boy, too.

I don't know what gave you
that impression.

Who's hungry?

You know, that's quite
the, uh, hippy cut on your boy.

Hmm. Reminds me of the time
that I busted Timothy Leary.

Oh, that man should be rotting
in a cold cell.

He was living
in this great big mansion,

all these zonked-out
hippie kids...

- Mm-hmm.
- urinating

- and defecating on the floor.
- Good Lord, Gordon.

Maybe we're not country club
material after all.

Say, what if we were to pitch

Mitchell something like that
at the Democratic convention?

You know, sort of show some
of those stoner supporters

pissing on the floor.

You could have them shouting.

"Piss on Nixon, Piss on Nixon!"

"Piss on Nixon"! That is genius.

Uh, what do you think
about that, Fran?

Oh, Gordon and I
never discuss his work.

That's our secret
to a happy marriage.

Oh, I wondered
what the secret was.

Well, the junkies
would certainly be arrested,

and they would tell the police
that they've been paid.

Excuse me?

It's very high-risk, low-reward.

Howard, maybe we just talk
about it tomorrow at work.

I don't know. It's risky.
Maybe too risky.

- I'm sorry, uh, Mr. Hunt?
- Hey, Don!

- This is my friend, Gordon.
- Oh, pleasure. Uh...

Um, there's a bit of an incident
with your daughter.

What? All right. All right.
Let's go.

Then why don't you
apologize to him!

- Get your hands off of me!
- Calm down!

Louis, tell them
what he just said to you!

I really didn't hear anything.

Now, Lisa, maybe you misheard
what you thought you heard.

Louis just doesn't want
to be fired

for being Black and outspoken!

I don't want
to be fired, period.

You had to create a scene here?

Do you have any idea
how important tomorrow is to me?

Do you know how much
you've embarrassed us?

I am so sorry, everyone.

Lisa, honey, we love you.

I think you need
some rest, okay?

So why don't you go home,
the two of you.

Come on, sis. I'm really hungry.

Oh, Tom?
Uh, Lisa wants to say sorry.

Yeah, go ahead.

I'm sorry.

- Thank you.
- Racist fucking pig!

- Goddammit!
- Hey! Stop that!

I am so sorry, everyone.
Tom. I really...

Uh, Don,

whatever the damages are,
just put them on my bill.

Right. Of course, I will.

Okay. Thank you.

Excuse me, Mr. Hunt,

speaking of finances,
uh, you're late again.

I'd ordinarily let it slide,

but this has been four months
in a row.

- Oh! It's been that long?
- Four months?

It's still... The White House
has been running me ragged.

And... And we're very proud

that you're there working
on our behalf,

but I just wanted to remind you,
in case it had slipped your mind.

No, absolutely not.

We will take care of everything,
won't we, Howard?

Yes. Absolutely,
we will take care of everything.

Thank you.

And that, gentlemen,

is how we will suppress
the Negro vote.

Next up, in this treasure trove
of operations

we call Project GEMSTONE,
Project SAPPHIRE.

What if we were able
to turn Democrats

into free-flowing sources
of information?

- How would we do that?
- Blackmail.

While the Democratic convention
is in full swing in Miami,

we charter a yacht.

Downstairs in the staterooms, hookers.

Behind the two-way mirror,

lowlight movies
and still cameras.

We are envisioning
an Oriental theme for the boat...

- Sorry, question.
- Yes.

So, the hookers are Oriental?

Uh, negative.
The hookers will pose

as unfaithful DNC housewives
and staffers,

so, ergo,
Celtic-Teutonic extraction.

Uh, so, the hookers are German?

No. Celtic-Teutonic.
You know, like my wife.

- Your wife's a hooker?
- Jeb...

Next up, radical agitators
have vowed to disrupt

the GOP convention in San Diego.

Project DIAMOND will temporarily
decapitate the leadership

of the radical left.

And transport
the leading hippies, yuppies,

and Weather Underground
maniacs to Mexico

for the duration
of the convention.

Said leaders are returned,

unharmed but disoriented,
after the convention.

Or not, you know.
A fist full of pesos

digs a pretty deep ditch
in Mexico.

So, you're going to kill people?

That was a joke.

- Yeah, but we can.
- Temporary relocation. Unharmed.

We can absolutely
have them killed, that's not...

Fine. We won't have them killed,

because Project RUBY
is already underway,

as we have recruited

covert operatives
to plant inside

both the Democratic candidate's
campaign and the DNC.

That about wraps it up.

Oh, no. Project GARNET,
is a classic false flag op.

We round up Miami's seediest
undesirables and outfit them

with all the Democrat paraphernalia

their filthy little hands
can carry.

Which brings us
to Project EMERALD.

Our high-speed chase plane
electronically eavesdrops

on the enemy candidate's planes
and campaign buses.

Project CRYSTAL,
microwave interception

of telephonic conversations.

Project TOPAZ.

And last, but not least,
Project OPAL.

Bugging the DNC
and the candidate.

We'll be able to intercept
confidential information,

and anticipate strategy,
whether it's Muskie,

or if Teddy manages to steal
the nomination.

But no matter who they run,

Project GEMSTONE will give us
the strategic edge we need

to secure
the president's victory.

Four more years of peace,
prosperity, and strength,

all for the low, low price
of one million dollars.

A million dollars is a hell
of a lot more money

- than I had in mind.
- A lot more.

What about
a half million dollars?

Gordon. Burn all that.

Don't give it to some lackey
to throw into a dumpster.

I want you to burn it
in your own fireplace

with your own two hands.

Yep.

Want to grab a beer?

Yeah, sorry. I gotta go home.

You still have your writing.
They can't take that from you.

I feel like I was given
one last chance

and it got yanked away.

Mitchell was furious.

Gordon just kept going
and going. It's over, Dot.

I'm going to be stuck at Mullen
for the rest of my life.

On the bright side,
we're done with Herr Liddy.

Welcome home, Papa.

We're jamming at Sully's.
You want to come?

Doesn't that sound like fun,
Papa?

That is absolutely

the last thing
my splitting headache needs.

- Good luck, kiddo.
- Sure, whatever. It's fine.

You'll get another chance, honey.

I would love to see your band.
Are you taking requests?

- Mom.
- Yeah?

We're not playing
MacArthur Park.

Come on!

Mr. Hunt! Mr. Liddy wants you
to read Jack Anderson's column

and call him immediately.

Mr. Liddy
can go fuck himself.

Good evening.

Charges made by newspaper
columnist Jack Anderson

have raised grave questions
about the integrity

of the Nixon administration.

Anderson wrote today
that he has evidence

that the International Telephone
and Telegraph company

made a secret deal
with the administration

to obtain a favorable settlement
of a giant antitrust suit.

Anderson said that a memo
he obtained from ITT files

showed that the settlement
was a payoff for a pledge

by ITT to contribute up
to 400,000 dollars

for the upcoming Republican
National Convention

in San Diego.

Anderson quotes ITT's
top lobbyist, Dita Beard,

saying she discussed
arrangements for settling

the case with Attorney General
John Mitchell

at a party last May.

- Liddy here.
- It's Howard. Got your message.

Howard, thank you
for, uh, calling me back.

Of course.
I just read the paper.

- You saw it?
- Hmm.

"We now have evidence
that the settlement

of the Nixon Administration's
biggest antitrust case

was privately arranged between
Attorney General John Mitchell

and the top lobbyist
for the company involved."

"For 400,000 dollars
in hotel rooms,

and we have this on the word
of the lobbyist herself,

crusty, capable Dita Beard,

the International Telephone
and Telegraph Company.

She acknowledged the secret deal
after we obtained

a highly incriminating memo,

written by her,
from ITT's files."

They're going
to crucify Mitchell.

And the president, unless we
can figure out how to stop it.

Shit.

We've got
a second chance, Howard.

I will call you later.

Hey, Gordo.

You see the papers? Dita Beard?

Jack Anderson has her memo
that says Mitchell got Justice

to drop an antitrust lawsuit

in exchange
for 400,000 dollars' worth

of San Diego hotel rooms
for the Republican convention?

Yeah.

He is accusing our boss
of felony bribery.

If they connect this
to the president...

Calm down, okay.

The White House said
that the memo's a fake.

It's just the usual anti-Nixon
hatchet job

by the liberal press.
This will blow over, trust me.

The Senate Judiciary Committee
plans to hold a hearing tomorrow

on charges
that the Nixon Administration

made a secret deal
with the International Telephone

and Telegraph Company.

Attorney General John Mitchell
has been summoned to testify

and answer accusations
of bribery

raised by the so-called

Dita Beard memo.

Well,
Mitchell's officially fucked.

But we still need
to have a goddamned convention.

Yeah, well, I'm not going
to hang him out to dry.

Jim, we are moving
the convention to Miami,

ergo, we're not paying

a San Diego security firm
jack shit.

All right, I'm gonna call him
right now.

Okay, I'll have the president
send him a bunch

of fucking buttons or something.

Oh, may I see some ID?

In which she
emphatically denied... Jeb.

Howard and I would like to talk to the
attorney general and offer our support.

Are you two
out of your fucking minds?

Do you think John Mitchell
gives a rat's ass

about your bullshit pranks
right now?

Mitchell doesn't want to hear
from you two bozos.

The almighty United States
Senate is investigating

this ITT memo bullshit. Okay?

We had to move the entire
convention out of San Diego

so there would be no reminder
of Sheraton Hotels.

And the worst part,

is that we had 400 grand
in free hotel rooms.

And you know who's paying
for it now? I am!

Columnist Jack Anderson returned
for a final day of testimony...

I knew this Dita Beard stuff
was gonna come back

and bite us in the ass.

- This is the whole reelection!
- What can I do to help?

You want to help?
Go kill Jack Anderson.

- Roger that.
- I mean...

and for him
to suggest that he didn't know

about the arrangements

for the convention
that he's going to direct,

uh...
that strains the truth.

- And, uh...
- I just talked to my guy.

If we don't pay,
he's going to sue.

Uh, where is Gordon?

- He left.
- Where'd he go?

He said he was off
to kill Jack Anderson.

Oh, shit. Here.

Move! Goddammit, move! Move!

Gordon! Gordon! Hey! Hey!

McCord told me...

Are you going
to shoot Jack Anderson?

When I get an order,
I execute it, Jeb.

I was joking, you crazy bastard!

Come on,
I want to talk to you upstairs.

I am no joke.

I am serious. Deadly serious.

You touch me again,
and I will kill you.

Yes, if you could
have, uh, Dr. Downey call back

as soon as possible.

Well, it's about
my daughter, Lisa.

Howard.

Yeah. Okay. Thank you.

I left word with the doctor.

- She's going to be okay.
- She... she's locked herself

in the bathroom.

She won't come out.
It's... It's getting worse.

Lisa. Open up.
Your mother's getting worried.

Maybe she fell asleep?

- In the tub?
- I hear something.

Lisa? Sweetie?

- Lisa, open this door right now!
- Don't yell.

- I'm not yelling!
- Yelling doesn't help anything.

- Is Lisa gonna be okay?
- Go back in your room!

Don't yell at him!
Lisa, open this door right now,

- or I'm gonna break it down!
- Howard. Howard!

Go answer that.

It might be the doctor.

- What a nightmare.
- Lisa, please. Lisa.

Hunt residence.

- Howard Hunt, please?
- Speaking.

I have Charles Colson calling
from the White House.

- Put him through.
- Hold, please.

- Howard!
- Mm.

Chuck!
How the hell are you?

- Doing good, and you?
- Oh, fine and dandy.

Just a typical
Saturday with the family.

Howard,
there's been a development

with the Dita Beard situation.

Sweetie? Lisa.

Sis? Come on. Open up. Please?

What did the doctor say?

That was Colson.
I'm needed at the White House.

No. You're needed here.

Your family needs you.

Your daughter needs you.
I need you!

I don't know
what to do with this.

She won't come out.
Everything I do is wrong.

What do you want from me?

How about for once
you make us feel like we matter

more than your stupid job
or the stupid White House?

That you give a damn
about your family?

Lisa. Lisa, please, honey.
Come on.

Sweetie?

- What the fuck!
- Lisa?

She's fine. I care.
I'm going to work.

- Honey.
- Hi, Mama.

My God.

Sorry.

Gentlemen. The White House's
experts say the Dita Beard memo

is a problem.

But if we can keep
Beard from testifying,

the case against Mitchell
will collapse.

Uh, I'm sorry. Sorry.
So what do you need us for?

Because the Senate
deposes Beard tomorrow...

and if she testifies
that she did write it,

her testimony will be
on the record, then the...

that's enough
for the Senate to keep digging.

And why would she do that?

- Jesus Christ.
- That's why Colson wants us

to get her out of town
and shut her up.

That would certainly
be fortunate.

Gentlemen. Who knows? You may
even impress Mr. Mitchell.

You know what we could do
which would solve this problem...

Please, Gordon,
do not say, "Kill her."

A dead dog chases no cars.

The murder
of the Senate's lead witness

would not lessen Mitchell's
legal scrutiny.

Fine. But solving this
would put us

in Mitchell's good graces.

Yeah. That is going
to take some finesse.

Who the fuck are you?

Mrs. Beard,
my name is George F. Leonard,

and I am an attorney.

Bullshit! You look like one
of those Manson family freaks.

I apologize for the late hour
and the disguise,

but I suspect
you are under FBI surveillance.

What do you want?

I'm here to offer you
some free legal advice.

Hmm. How many kids do you have?

- Five.
- Oh?

All grown or in military school.

Outstanding. I have five myself.

So, George,

you said you had friends
at the White House?

Affirmative.

Well, some fair-haired fucker
over there is spreading rumors

that Jack Anderson
and I are homosexuals,

that we're in cahoots
on some sort of lesbo-homo plot

against Nixon.

I can assure you,
I know nothing about that.

Neither homo nor lesbo.

Do I look like a lesbian?

No, ma'am.
You seem straight as I am.

They're making me a pariah!
My own party!

I am in some goddamn pickle!

You're not wrong.
You could go to jail.

Thanks for the pick-me-up,
fella. Shit on a shingle.

But... here's the good news,
you can avoid being deposed,

with no legal repercussions.
Just abracadabra,

- it all goes away.
- But I did write the memo.

And I told Anderson
I wrote the memo.

They're grilling me first thing
in the morning.

Do you have any,
um, medical conditions?

I'm a very physical woman, George.

Hiking, camping,
snowmobiling... fucking.

I meant, like...
cancer in the family?

- I wish.
- Psychiatric problems?

- Oh, hell no.
- Fainting spells?

George,
I am as healthy as a horse,

except for the occasional angina.

What is angina?

Coming through!

Rocky Mountain is the finest
osteopathic hospital

in the greater Denver
Metropolitan Area.

Osteopath? You may as well
take her to a veterinarian.

And you're on oxygen!
Why are you...

Edwina, you are raising
my blood pressure!

Hold the door!
Hold the door!

Dita Beard
experienced chest pains

while flying into Denver

and had to receive
oxygen on the flight.

Mrs. Beard was admitted
to an area hospital

in a serious condition.

As for Dita Beard
getting out of bed

to come back to Washington,
not now,

and not for some time yet,
doctor's orders.

We've got a problem, Howard.

A Dita Beard problem.

A team of senators
is heading to Colorado

to depose her in two days,

including your good friend,
Teddy Kennedy.

That fat-headed booze bag.

They should depose him
about Chappaquiddick.

If there were any justice
in the world.

You know, it wouldn't be
the worst thing for Beard

to actually have a heart attack,
right as Kennedy's grilling her.

Then you could say,

"Senator, now,
you've killed two women!"

Howard, this Beard thing
keeps escalating.

I know. What if Beard herself
were to question

the memo's authenticity?

Hypothetically,
how much in the way

of funds could someone
access for the purposes

- of such an endeavor?
- No. No, no, no.

There is no way I or anyone
at the committee would authorize

funds to influence the testimony
of a witness in a federal case.

What about ITT?

She's still on the payroll.

Say no more. I know what to do.

I feel the need
to say this again, Howard.

For the record,

I am not even suggesting
that you do anything.

Roger that.

Aw, I don't want
to read this shit.

I want something
with small words

and big pictures. Cosmo.

Okay.

It better be the red
fucking Jell-O this time!

- Mrs. Beard. Edwina.
- Who are you?

My name is Edward J. Hamilton,
I represent men

at the highest levels
in Washington D.C.

Yeah, Mr. Leonard said
you might come by.

- Edwina, run along, huh?
- Okay.

Why are you wearing a wig?
It's not even on right.

I assure you, Miss,

nothing I do is accidental.

Well, that's her drinking water.

- Oh, I know.
- Edwina! Scoot!

I'll be right outside, Mother.

- Hmm.
- How are the osteopaths treating you?

I've been in a pig farm
that's cleaner.

I wouldn't trust them
to clip my toenails,

let alone...
treat a heart condition.

- Hmm.
- You got a smoke?

Yeah. I guess the, uh...

the party's over, huh?

Sounds like the whole goddamn
Senate is coming to visit.

I'm sorry.

Hold on.

There's nothing
those Senators want more

than for you to declare
that memo a fraud

so that they can go back
to business as usual.

- Bullshit.
- Listen.

I have worked
in countries across the globe,

I've met presidents,
kings, dictators,

and they all desperately
need one thing

to keep them in power. Money.

How many of those
Senate fat cats

have been greased by lobbyists?

All of them. Believe me.

I know. I do the greasing.

So these are your choices.

You can tell
the Senators tomorrow

what you told Britt Hume
and Jack Anderson.

And you know who benefits?
Not your party.

Not your president.
Not the Senate.

Not your country.
Not your family.

And certainly not you.

Because you still go to jail
for bribery.

And for what?

To make the journalists
and Democrats happy?

Donkey fuckers.

Donkey fuckers, indeed.

On the other hand, if you stick
with the White House's story...

and you stay loyal
to your party.

There's a very good chance
that you walk away scot-free,

and sparing your family
the embarrassing

public spectacle
of a lengthy investigation.

Yeah, Edwina...
Edwina is just wrecked by this.

And she works
for the fucking RNC.

Poor kid.

I can see...
how much you love her.

Fuck yes. She's my baby girl.

She needs you right now.

She needs to know...

that she's the most important
thing in your world.

More important than ITT
or anything else.

Because she's your family,

and family always comes first.

- Oh, yeah.
- Before work.

Before country.

Before everything.

And I'm willing to bet...

that your ITT family...

rewards loyalty...

especially around Christmas.

In the meantime...

here's a stocking stuffer.

Edwina!

Please state your name.

Dita Beard.
A lobbyist for ITT.

We are on the record.

Mrs. Beard,
do you recognize this document?

I do not.

Mrs. Beard,
is this not your signed memo

regarding ITT's bribery
of the Nixon Administration?

That is certainly what it says.
But I didn't write it.

No, that is a goddamn forgery.
That is not even my signature.

Mrs. Beard, may I remind you,
you are under oath?

I was not even in the offi...
Oh, God... Oh, honey!

- Mrs. Beard...
- Edwina!

I'm here, Mama!

Mrs. Beard, is this your...

- I can't breathe!
- Stop it, stop it!

That's enough! Everyone out!

- Oh, help. Help me!
- Get out!

- Someone get the doctor!
- Oh, my God! I can't breathe.

I can't breathe.

Doctor! Doctor!

- Doctor!
- I can't breathe.

Go away! Go away!

- Once.
- Shit!

- Very nice, Lisa.
- Thank you.

Testifying from
her Denver hospital bedside

in front of the Senate
subcommittee members... Four.

Very nice. Lisa, honey,
did you remember to...

Yes, Mother. I took my pill.

Thank you.

Coming in for the kill.
B-E-D. Bed.

Anderson
and his associate, Brit Hume,

believe somebody persuaded
Mrs. Beard to change her story

in Denver...

Bonsoir, bonsoir.

- Hi, Papa. Where were you?
- Denver.

Do you wanna play with us?

Yeah, Papa?

Sure.

Make room for Papa.

- Mama. Your turn.
- Hmm?

Uh, D-O-N-E. Done.

Us are useless without Qs.

Actually,
it's the other way around.

- Touché.
- Ooh.

Xerox.

That's a proper noun.

- What is?
- Xerox.

No, it's become
just a regular word.

I mean, nobody says,
"Hey, can you photocopy this?"

- It... it's still a proper noun.
- Mama.

We're just playing for fun.

We're not keeping s... score.

What's the point of playing
a game with no rules. Right?

- Then it's just anarchy.
- Actually, Papa,

this is anarchy!

Fuck your college education.

Howard.

- That was unacceptable.
- I agree.

- Bravo! Bravo, gentlemen!
- Thanks.

Bravo! Have a seat right there!

We, uh...

we thought
you might like to know,

our sources tell us
that the Senate

has denied Ted Kennedy's request

for further hearings,
thanks to you.

Oh, no. Thanks to him.

- Oh.
- I'm still not quite sure how he pulled it off, though.

It... It was a team effort.

I assume you guys heard the news
about Mr. Hoover this morning?

We sent our condolences
to the Widow Tolson.

The Good Lord finally did

what the last five presidents
never could.

Oh!

Congratulations, gentlemen.
Great work on helping Ms. Beard

- get her facts straight.
- Our pleasure, sir.

Oh, by the way, Project GEMSTONE
has been approved.

I want you two to put together
your team ASAP.

Uh, that's... that's my cue.

- Uh, nice work. Nice work.
- Oh, yeah.

- Thank you.
- All right,

I want you two
to huddle with McCord

and tell me what you're going
to need, all right?

McCord? What are we doing
with McCord?

He's head of security
for the committee

and Mitchell thought
he could be useful.

What? Mitchell fired him!
He was Martha's babysitter!

I know. He's also a whiz
with gizmos, bugs,

and electronic surveillance,
ex-CIA and ex-FBI,

so he's the perfect playmate
for you two.

And we can afford him, because
he's already on the payroll.

Don't you get it?

We need operatives
who are off the payroll.

Plausible deniability.

- It... It's fine.
- No.

We'll have McCord
wire the yacht.

Oh, about that.
Uh, there is no yacht.

- What?
- And no hookers, sadly.

Those hookers
were looking forward to it.

I know, but only one GEMSTONE
was approved

and your new operating budget
is 250 thou,

which should be more than ample.

Goddammit, Jeb, that's a quarter
of what we were promised!

- Easy.
- Hold on.

Which gemstone was approved?

Project fucking OPAL.
Out of 12 gemstones,

they pick the bugging
of the DNC. Where's the vision?

It is the cheapest.

And you're still gonna need
to pay me, Gordon.

Not now, Jim.

That's a really
big fucking building, boss.

I heard the hotel is nice.

Don't worry. Villo can pick
any lock in there. Right, Villo?

Qué? Qué?

What the fuck are we doing
staring at this building?

Some of us are six hours overdue
for pussy.

- Adiós.
- Oh, Frank.

Gentlemen. Frank! Forget Frank.

Gentlemen, we are going to do
great things for this country.

Can I ask a question? I'll say.
Which one is the Watergate?

It's right there. That's it.
The condominium.

I know, but
it's my first time here, boss!

No parkin' by the sewer sign
Hot dog, my razor's broke

Water drippin' up the spout

But I don't care
Let it all hang out

Hangin' from a pine tree
By my knees

Sun is shinin' Through the shade

Nobody knows What it's all about

It's too much, man
Let it all hang out

Saw a man walkin' upside down
My TV's on the blink

Made Galileo
Look like a Boy Scout

Sorry 'bout that
Let it all hang out

Sleep all day, drive all night
Brain my numb, can't stop now

For sure ain't no doubt

Keep an open mind
Let it all hang out

It's rainin'
Inside a big brown moon

How does that mess
Your baby up, leg

Eatin' a Reuben sandwich
With sauerkraut

Don't stop now, baby
Let it all hang out

Let it all hang out

Let it all hang out

Let it all hang out