All language subtitles for The.Recruit.2023.720p.WEBRip.400MB.x264--GalaxyRG

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!

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.

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."

"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?

- 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.

That was not cool, bro.

You made me run. I hate running.

The bag.

Fuck you.

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.