Original subtitles

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