All language subtitles for Smokin Aces 2 Assassins Ball 2010 UNRATED 10u H264 AAC-RARBG

Is this the past or the present
you're talking about?

And this is real?
This is a story, or this is real?

Working on your man, Walter Weed.

Yeah, interesting career.
Forty years, same division, same desk.

Is this that in-transmission
that's been tracking?

Yep. There's an awful lot of
crypto in the carrier wave,

and they're using
some kind of spread spectrum.

Is that accurate? The name?

Walter Weed. Yes.

My wife, Elizabeth, daughter, Mary.

Why is the bureau putting
a close protection team on Weed?

The question's why would they need to?

Retiring, wheelchair-bound,
mid-level information analyst.

There's really nothing to tell.

How many enemies can this guy have?

Tell me about April 19th.
April 19th, 3:00 a.m., to be precise.

Am I in some sort of trouble?

No, Walter, you're in very
specific trouble.

Bureau intel has decoded credible data

that a multimillion-dollar
contract has been put into play

by parties as yet unknown.

Unconfirmed information is that
this is an open contract,

and that multiple assets may be involved.

Confirmed information
from our good friends at ViCAP

had the termination date
April 19th, 3:00 a.m.

Tomorrow?

Tomorrow.

And you said, "Termination date"?

Your termination.

You're the target.

Tomorrow's the day
you're supposed to die, Walter.

This is some kind of a gag, isn't it?

Abrams is behind this, isn't he? Right.

For my retirement party?

This is an assassination market.

Normally this level of asset engagement
is associated with heads of state.

Mubarak was a market target four years back.

Hamid Karzai more recently.

You're talking about people
of great importance and power.

What do I have in common with them?
Why would I be a target?

That's what we want to know, Walter.

So tell me a story.

You asked to see me, Father?

I thought we should pray together, girl.

Pray together and ask the Lord
to forgive you your sins.

You do want God's love, don't you?

Of course, Father.

Well, then you know what you must do.

Please, Father,

kiss me first?

I was sent by the parents
of the children you took liberties with.

As penance for your sins, they've asked
for nothing less than your life.

Sometimes, true forgiveness
has to be forced upon us.

An unknown individual
has put a bounty on your head

that'll draw every animal
who can point a gun,

wield a knife, or crush a skull.

Sublime, as always.

This individual,
the un-sub contracting this hit,

is likely a major player in
international assassinations.

It's not likely that we'll know the size
and scale of the threat against you,

but we should be ready for anything.

I've been employed and
entrusted with a responsibility.

What would happen to the world if we
all abandoned our responsibilities, Marty?

Look, we could. . .

Chaos. That's what would happen.

Yeah. I understand that, all right?
Believe me, I do.

But everything has a price, right?
And I can pay.

I'm talking $2,000,000. Please.

Okay, okay, fuck that, fuck that.

Look, I. . .
I could get you more.

A lot more. My brother, Morris Mecklen,

he's got this client, Buddy Israel,
he's got shitloads of cash.

Two days and you'll have the money.
Just two days!

Please!

We don't have two days, Marty.

We only have now.

The Mayans and the ancient Egyptians
practiced brain surgery.

What the fuck?
But it was Dr. Walter Freeman

who perfected it.

Depending on the position. . .
Don't do this.

. . .and the depth of the ice pick,
one can neutralize pain,

the language center,
or short-term memory.

My eyes! I can't see!
Jesus. God. What the fuck?

Different parts of the brain,

- different results.
- Wait, wait.

$3,000,000. I can get you $3,000,000.

The cerebellum controls speech, Marty,

not your hearing,
so listen very carefully.

Don't do this.

The people who have employed me
have already paid me,

and once I've been paid,

- I see the job through.
- No!

- No! You don't have to do this!
- Otherwise, chaos.

This is like an open casting for killers.

Every sociopath in the known world
looking to pick up a paycheck

is gonna be coming out of the woodwork.

McTeague.

I have a job for you.

Are you free?

Free, no. Available, yes.

Our intel is still
in the assessment phase.

What we're finding
is that these assets

show no allegiance to any individual
government or political ideals.

They're just cold-blooded killers.

- Yeah! Yeah!
- Fucker! Look at me.

Where's my fucking shipment?
Where is it?

Where's my fucking shipment?

They're on the base.
They're on the base. All right?

All right? They're watching me.
They were watching so. . .

You're gonna fuck me?

Oh, I am fucking you.

I want my motherfucking weapons!

You motherfucking filthy. . .

They're in the depot.

Excellent work, sailor. Dismissed.

The variety of monsters tracking
you that are already

more than likely on their way here

is like the World Series of assassins.

Gonna make this joke about you shooting
your load and then me shooting you,

but it wasn't as good as "dismissed."

How was the old swabbie?
Ring your bell, did he?

Fucker said they's holding our stash
in an armory just inside the depot.

You know, I heard that
most Navy recruits

have had at least
one homosexual experience

before they's even midshipman,

so, Sis, I was wondering,
I mean, was his deck gun firing?

Or maybe he was banging you while he
was thinking about Popeye's forearms.

Lester, why don't you just admit

that you want this sweet little
package all to yourself, huh?

I admit I wouldn't mind a little. . .

Come on. Come on, now.
Don't you fucking touch me,

you fucking prick. Get your
fucking dirty paws off me, fucker.

Don't you know, boy,
the danger of blood relations?

That's what double-fucked the Confederacy.

That's how we lost the Civil War.

You think you want
a whole slew of kids running around

whose eyeballs are touching because you
can't keep your hands off your sister?

Bunny Rabbit.

Time to get serious.
We gonna acquire us some fire.

God damn!

That's a mini!
Four thousand rounds a minute.

Let's go, Sling Blade, shake a leg!

Well, if it ain't the great benefactor.

God damn it, Lester!
Suppressive fire!

Always busy, sugar.

We like to keep it oiled
so we's always ready to roll hard.

What you got for us, honey?

Why?

There's a theory that this has to do
with some code that you cracked,

some piece of cryptology
that is meaningless with you alive

but invaluable with you dead.

I am only medium-security clearance.

Any top secrets that are disseminated

are deemed declassified
long before they ever cross my desk.

Walter, we can head-scratch
the semantics of this all day,

but the clock is ticking.

Oh, God, my face.
What's wrong with my face?

What did you do to my face?
No! No, please!

That's it?

I thought you were gonna cut my face.

You're not gonna cut my face, are you?

No. The face is sacred.

But the throat. . .

Most of these operators
we know by deed only,

but they will be cold-blooded,
ruthless professionals.

The bureau has mobilized
my team with the express purpose

of protecting and thereby extending
your life, and that's a good thing.

I trust these people with my life,

and we're asking you
to trust us with yours.

Agent Dumare, counter-protocol.

Agents Abrego and Nicholas,
transport and monitoring.

Sir.

Agent Redstone's gonna be on close
protection detail with our SAC.

Hey.

You'll be moved to
an undisclosed location

until the deadline
and the bounty expire.

What is the price?

$3,000,000.
That is mmm-mmm good.

For $3,000,000. . .

I'd kill my own mother.

Actually, I did,
for a lot less than that.

God, I. . . $3,000,000?

I can't imagine what I would've done
in my life to warrant such. . .

Walter. They're never gonna collect.

You just give us the word and we'll
go all the way to the wall for you.

The exact time of kill is. . .

Is a non-negotiable point.

April 19th, 3:00 a.m.

Any deviation from this timeline
nullifies any form of payment.

You just have that money
waiting on the 20th, sugar,

and I will have something sweet
waiting for you.

All right, Agent Baker.
My life is in your hands.

Keeping our subject alive

depends in no small part
on the secrecy of this op.

We are ghosts, gentlemen.
We do not exist.

We're completely off
the clock on this one.

We're all being paid cash, tax-free,

in an effort to leave
absolutely no footprint.

You all know Agent Dumare.
He'll be in charge of overwatch.

Agents Williamson, Osterberg, will be
in charge of sniper and recon at location.

Culham will be down on the street.

Jules and her team will be our sole point
of contact within the bureau.

We're overlord 24/7.

We'll have real-time sat images,
local news and law enforcement feeds.

Anything happens in or around you,

you'll know about it immediately.

All this trouble for me.

Why this guy?

I suppose I should be flattered,
somebody wanting me dead so badly.

Great men attract great enemies.

Well, I hardly qualify.

I shot a gun once on a range
in Quantico, at a paper target.

Well, I've fired hundreds
of them hundreds of times.

Don't worry, Walter.

We promise not to let things
get too exciting.

Our location will be unknown
until we touch down.

That means we'll be
traveling signal-free.

That's no cell phones, PDAs,
nothing that receives or transmits.

You got them, give them up.

And all forms of ID, as well.

Remember, none of us exists
as of this moment.

So, what, things go sideways, no pension?

The way you fucking eat,
you won't make it to pension anyway.

We're T minus 30.
I'll see you in transpo.

All right, immediate mount and mobilize.

Don't let the door hit
your ass on the way out.

Dom, I'm serious about that pension, man.
I got a kid. You know that.

You fucking stunad,
they can't take your pension away.

Not unless you do something
completely horrible.

Don't you remember Cabo, with the soap?

How old are you? Thirty-two?
In charge of this unit?

Somebody up there likes you.

You're soaring up, and I'm headed down.

You must have some pretty
amazing memories, though.

Any one in particular stick out?

Meeting Ronald Reagan.

I can only imagine, it must've
been like Moses going up the mount

and God coming forth.

He was a colossal figure.

God?

Reagan.

Sorry.

Okay.

God was colossal, too.

Okay, gentlemen, recon takes up
station and plots position.

We don't breathe
until they say it's good.

Good to go.
Clear to offload. Over.

What do you got for me?

Rocket fuel.

Thank you.

Want you to meet
Special Agent Malcolm Little.

Welcome to Little Jazz.

These are my agents you guys
are gonna be working with.

This door is your
first line of defense

out of what essentially is a bunker.

Gentlemen, you're looking
at a little piece of history.

Turn of the last century, they built
freight tunnels throughout all of Chicago.

Transport butchered steer.

Back in those days, these tunnels
were swimming in blood.

And if it wasn't the
slaughterhouses using them,

it was the bootleggers
running guns and liquor.

These tunnels used to connect
the sewer system.

They sealed them shut
in the early '50s.

In 1955, Ike's administration
came through and built the bunker.

Sorry. Ike?

Eisenhower, rookie.
Jesus, who hired this punk?

If it's not on an iPod,
these kids haven't heard of it.

Don't let them ride you, Nick-Nick.

You don't give it back tenfold,
they'll eat you alive.

Next time Red messes with you,
ask him about Gearbox.

- Gearbox?
- Yeah.

Gentlemen, the main bunker.

You know, truth be told,
it used to be a private speakeasy

for Sammy "The Ant" Battaglia
during Prohibition.

Later on, one of our most wanted,
Primo Sparazza,

used to take his girls in here,

get his little geriatric
shimmy-shake on.

What evac points are available to us?

Well, that's the good and the bad.

It would take more munitions to bring down
my doors than level all Chicago,

but it's a warren.
There's only one way in and one way out.

Not too crazy about that.

You guys got enough food and booze
to last you about six months.

Plus you have complete surveillance

of upstairs, corridors,
and outside the club.

Seriously, you'd have to be suicidal
to take a run at my spot.

Walter, what do you think?

I think I'm about as safe
as it's possible to make me.

What do you got here?

That would be a spider hole.

Jesus, Saddam renting this place from you?

Wow.

If you're that impressed, rookie,
why don't you jump down in there?

- Sorry?
- No, don't be sorry.

Just get down in there.
Give us a demonstration.

Come on, rookie, in the hole.
Go on, get in there.

- Go on.
- Oh. Okay.

Yeah. Right after you explain Gearbox.

Oh, rookie fights back.
I like that.

Okay, who the fuck told him that?

That would be me. You know,

I figured he ought to know
the kind of man he's working with.

- You fucking. . .
- No, hey, hey, hey. It's okay.

You didn't follow through.
It's the follow-through that matters.

Still, he nearly fucked a tranny.

A she-he, bro.
That's gotta fucking leave a mark.

- Hey!
- Easy.

You girls want to play grab-ass,
you do it on your own time, not mine.

I need you right and tight.
Yes, sir.

- Yes, sir.
- Yes, sir.

Let's load in and station up.

Yes, sir.

Fucking guineas.
You get them to Chicago, they get brave.

If I'm not mistaken,
he sounded a little racist.

Easy, the guy's a fucking hard-on.

You fuck with the bull,
you get the horns, right?

Minotaurs.

Minotaurs are cloven-hoofed creatures
of mythological origin.

You mean miniatures.

Yeah.

You know what he meant.

Yeah.

You all be careful.
Them clown fuckers can be dangerous,

and the little ones can be lethal.

I always make it a point not to
cross swords with carnies and harlots,

but we can use them little boys
as a facade, so there we are.

Yeah.

They're Satan's little secret agents,
collecting souls on the side.

I saw one of them little bastards
levitate one time,

took the heart right out of a Great Dane,
eat it whole, just like that.

- You seen what?
- Yep.

Where'd you see that?
Now that must've been a sight to behold.

Yeah. Sent me running for my Bible.

You still take comfort
in them fables, Daddy?

Don't you blaspheme, boy.

Never too old to put you over my knee
and beat a reckoning into you.

You're still scared of clowns, Lester.

I ain't scared of them, per se,

just very mindful of their movements,
that's all.

Card tricks?

Oh, a little.

It's playing cards themselves that
I'm interested in.

They're based on the old tarot deck,

cards that were used
for foretelling the future.

Can't tell you how handy
that's gonna come in down here.

You don't really buy into that old-world
gypsy bullshit, do you, Walter?

The psychologist Carl Jung
had a different term for it.

Synchronicity.

The idea being that all of nature's
interconnected in such a way

that the past, the present,
and the human mind,

through an act of random sampling,
if you will,

can predict the course
of future actions.

What's that thing I heard? It's like the
deck itself was like the days of the week?

Something like that?

Mmm.

Well, there's four suits
for the four seasons,

52 cards for the weeks in the year,

and if you add up the pips on every card
in the deck, it totals to 365,

the number of days in the year.

All right.

Where's my card, ace of spades?
It's not in here.

It's not there?

No, it's not.

Well, why don't you look
in Agent Baker's pocket?

Not bad. That's good.
You see one of those.

How the hell did you do that?

I can't tell you that.
It'll spoil it.

What are these?
Are these government-issue playing cards?

No.

I had them made.
You probably think it's silly.

Not at all.
You love your country.

You've dedicated your life to it.

You want bald eagles on your playing cards,
I think you've earned it.

Gentlemen, should have a real nice
crowd in here tonight.

Cats playing? Tight.

Yeah? Who's that?

Well, the feature soloist
is this brother named Little.

Got mad skills on the horn.

Uh-huh.

So, how long you guys gonna
have it locked down in here?

We'll hold out till tomorrow.

This thing's got an expiration date on it.

After that, it won't be
worth anything to go after him.

They gotta find us first.

Even if they do,
they ain't getting down there.

You going back to DC after this?

No, man.

Working on this alias for this project
I've got in Vegas next year.

Cat I like to call Beanie.

Ghetto retard,

barely educated, brought up in
a gang environment.

Oh, that should be a pretty easy
transition for you, then.

What? I fucking hate hip-hop.

You hate hip-hop?
Come on.

Oh, what? A black man
can't hate hip-hop?

I bet you tell me
my favorite food's watermelon.

I just can't live
without chicken, huh?

Just gonna snatch up my brother badge
if I ain't bumping some hip-hop.

You're putting words in my mouth.
Hey, man, listen to me.

Hip-hop is the unwanted bastard son

of superior musical forms
like jazz, blues.

These kids don't know
anything about Louis Armstrong,

Miles Davis, Dizzy Gillespie,

but hey, when it's required of me,
I be pulling hos out the club,

flashing knots and nines on these niggas.
You know how I do, pimp.

Like I said, should be a pretty
easy transition for you.

Little too convincing, Culham.

Fuck you.

Excuse me.

Excuse me.
The keys to 409, please?

Excuse me?

Of course, sir.
Sorry, I'm still new.

Culham, what do you got?

All clear down here.

Good, good. Just stop short of blowing
strangers for bags of crack.

Osterberg, how's the view?

Wide open and whisper-quiet.

All right, keep it primed,
keep them peeled.

All clear here, Baker.

Copy that.

Let's get all-around
sit-reps every 20.

Copy that.

Hey, how's my paesan doing?

Fat and getting fatter.
Fucking fatty.

Hey! Hey!

- Hey, watch it.
- Stakeouts equal flab, Abrego.

Sit-reps every 20.

Yeah?

Evening, neighbor.
I'm Troy from next door.

I just want to make sure
that you got settled in all right.

I'm okay, thank you.

A beautiful woman like you
in a town like Chicago. . .

As your neighbor, I just wanted
to extend every hospitality I can.

Hmm.

And what's that hospitality consist of?

What was it? Troy?

Mmm-hmm. So, so many things.

You like to get loco, huh?

Yeah.

- Crazy.
- Yeah, really crazy.

What about experimenting?

Baby, I'm at your disposal.

No. You will be.

What do the cards say, Walter?

Wish I knew.

I never could get into cards.

My grandfather, he would sit at the
kitchen table and just wile away for hours.

Always seemed a bit more
of a time-killer to me.

Well, that's not surprising.
You're a man of action.

Cards are more cerebral.

Are they, now?

So do you have family, Walter?

This is my wife, Elizabeth,
and my daughter, Mary.

Wow, really. . .

Wow, they're like mirrors to one another.
Your wife is beautiful.

There you go.
That's mine. Amelia.

I never figured you for a father.

You almost seem shocked.

Sorry. Pardon me.

Well, that right there's
my pride and joy.

So were mine.

Tractor-trailer on the beltway

lost...

Lost control.

I lost all the things I love,

but through all the horrible,
horrible things we have to go through,

I still find that one
thing worth living for.

What's that one thing?

Sir?

I'm sorry, Walter.

Who is it?

Agent Dumare?

Who's there?

Miss me?

A girl doesn't want to seem too eager.

Go secure for encrypt.

Line secure.

What's on the grid?

Nothing. You're completely spectral,

and your location through everything
we've been monitoring is spotless,

but we did find something
on our mystery man.

He's been on the radar
for about three years

and he's been a very busy boy.

Brokered at least two dozen
high-profile contract kills.

This guy has worked
schoolboy hard to shield his ID,

but I think we got a name.
I mean, most likely an alias.

Hal Leuco.

Hal Leuco?

Okay, do me a favor. See if you get
any cross-corollary hits with ViCAP.

Check the right-wing stuff.

You know, those Limbaugh assholes,
just like the boys you used to date.

Never been that lucky.
What are you thinking?

I don't know. Maybe nothing.
I just got a gut thing on this one.

You got it, honey.

And your heart forever?

You've always had that. Bye.

This town's got more tunnels
than Ho Chi Minh's whorehouse.

The whole city's a warren
of the wicked and depraved.

Speaking of depraved,
you lay a paw on me again,

I'm gonna shove that RPG
where the sun refuses to shine.

Remember old Bobby Dubap, y'all?
Down out of Tulsa?

That shitstain got himself
keistered with an RPG.

Did they fire it?

Fire it?

I'm telling you, boy.
I mean, if you took the time now

to bother to stuff a collapsible
shoulder-launch RPG

up somebody's bunghole,
don't you think you'd fire it?

Wouldn't you feel just a little
let down if you didn't?

Why would you put it up there
in the first place?

I don't know. You got your thumb
up there most of the time.

Why don't you tell me?

Y'all are real at
each other right now.

Ah, don't pay him no mind.

His brother Jeeves,
brother Darwin up to stir, see?

Now he thinks he's fit, maybe,
to take over this clan.

I'd rather be incarcerated than have to sit
here and listen to your jibberjabber.

Yeah, I can see that.
You'd last about one minute up in the pen.

Yeah, you'd really be reckoning
with your feminine side.

Yeah, well, there's gonna be reckoning,
old boy, right quick.

"There's gonna be a reckoning, old boy."

Good to see you're prepared.
Staying focused.

Oh, I am.
I'm utterly focused on that rack.

Is that not a majestic set of tits?

What? Are you being serious?

What?

You're joking, right?

What? What the hell you talking about?

Vandeven is a transvestite.

What?

Her vagina was made with, like,
the scrotum sack.

She's, like, 85% man.

Come on. Come on, Red.
Oh, fuck.

Are you serious? I didn't know.
Seriously?

No. Go relieve Abrego and O'Keefe.

Okay. Okay, Bake. You guys,
you got to knock that Gearbox shit off.

And if that kid gives me lip about it,

I am gonna permanently
alter his speech pattern, I'm serious.

All right, take the kid with you.
Try not to kill him. Come on.

Jesus, you guys. Rookie, let's go.

You're worried about something.

Lot of steel and concrete between you
and anyone that wants to get to you.

A name did come up, though.

Hal Leuco. That ring any bells?

No.

Never heard of it?
Never came across your desk?

I haven't been involved in that
level of intel in quite some time now,

but if I was, I would've
cross-referenced it.

A name as distinctive as Al Leuco.

Hal Leuco.

Walter, if you know anything. . .

Sorry, I wish I could be more helpful.

- Hey!
- Hey, neighbor.

I knew you were a working girl.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no.
Slow down, slow down, stud.

Hey. I just got paid, okay?
Make this shit happen.

Wait. Troy.

- Troy.
- What?

I like to be seduced, Troy.
I like to be kissed slowly.

I didn't think you whores
went for the mouth.

Think of all the grateful women
who will be spared your charms.

Hmm?

Asshole.

♪ Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ♪

Look, maybe it's not just about Weed.
Why the 19th of April?

What's the significance of that?

Well, that's gonna take some real time,
sweetie, a search that broad.

I'm gonna get the whole world back.

Well, press it, okay?
Something feels off.

I ran Hal Leuco by him
and he had no recollection.

But I did get some preliminary kickback

on that name crosscheck
with potential link

to what looks like some kind of veil
or shadow op codenamed "True Patriot."

True Patriot?
Now, where'd that data come from?

It's just a random hit off this
right-wing militia blog,

which went off post-9/11.

Okay, dig it out for me,
will you, babe?

We always do.

Baker for overwatch.
Dumare, you copy?

Dom? Sit-rep. Where you at?

Dumare, you copy?

Dom?

All clear here.

Good. Let's hope it stays that way.

All right, boys, we're getting
into the witching hour.

That's when the party starts,
or the people go home and go to sleep.

Let's hope for the best
and expect the worst.

I want you to keep your shifts rotating.

The next three hours are critical.

Anything looks out of place,
I want you all over it.

Keep your mind tight and your step light.
Baker out.

Hey, man. Help a brother out.

Baker, do you copy? Okay.

Remember now, honey pie,
3:00 a.m. and $3,000,000.

Put the fear of God in them.

You'll hear me coming, Daddy.

Lester, you just try and keep
your hands off your pecker, now.

What can I get for you?

What are you offering?

That depends what you have a taste for.

And if my taste runs toward musicians

who happen to have their own club?

Hey, that makes you an epicurean, baby.

Excuse me.

Mike Gooding, CYA Records.

- I just listened to that set, man.
- Nice

Very impressed, very impressed.

My man. Welcome to Little Jazz.

Thank you.
Hey, you want to meet the band?

Sure.

All right. Enjoy the show.

Too much oil.

Excuse me?

You use too much oil.

You're wearing Caron Poivre,
which is a good fragrance for you,

but it's being ruined by the oil.

Bravo. You're very good
about the perfume,

but I don't use oil on my skin.

I didn't mention anything
about your skin.

Think it's on the gun you're wearing.

I think tonight's gonna end
very badly between us.

Overwatch, we got
a vehicle pulling up.

Like a low-rent
Cirque du Soleil-type thing.

It's being towed by a garbage truck.

That pretend street urchin smells
like John Law from here.

Probably a couple hawks on the roof.

It's time to set your brother loose.

Dom, do you copy?

Overwatch.

What's wrong with this thing?
I'm not getting anything.

Overwatch, do you copy?

Copy that.

Check it out.
Copy that.

Osterberg!

Dumare, I got an agent down,
I got an agent down. Dom. Dom.

Injuns two, cowboys zero.

Okay, so we got
some things on the date.

April 19th. On current or planned events
we drew nothing, but historically,

Baker, some stuff came up.

Oklahoma City bombing
took place on April 19th.

Both the Bay of Pigs and the siege
at Waco ended April 19th,

and what a lot of Americans don't realize

is that April 19th was
originally Patriot's Day.

But, Baker, April 19th was the day
that Weed lost his family.

Jesus Christ.

What the hell is True Patriot?

From what I can glean,
some kind of reverse PR campaign

against the United States
on or around the time

of widespread international criticism
of the US government.

So we already look bad, and this
is supposed to make us look worse.

Okay, what kind of ops
are we talking about?

Torture of prisoners in US custody,
all photographed.

Radiation poisoning of a
Russian official by the ClA.

Murder of an Iraqi family,
supposedly by a US soldier,

and the bombing of a subway
in an allied country

in order to sway support
against the Iraqi war.

All carried out under the banner
of True Patriot.

Prisoner torture, that's Abu Ghraib.

Radiation poisoning, Litvinenko.

Iraqi family murders,
Mahmudiyah killings.

Train station bombings,
Madrid subway attacks.

Look, I want you
to dig deep on this.

Okay? I want bank accounts,
I want anything and everything...

Already done. We got
classic shells, offshore,

so no one who wasn't staring at them
would ever connect them to True Patriot.

They're similar to the tracking accounts

this Hal Leuco character
is using to go after Weed.

Nice.

Osterberg.

Hey! Don't shit yourself, son.
It's just me.

Hi!

I look like that dude,
the one in Platoon.

He's in Sniper.
"One Shot, One Kill!"

All these gentlemen callers
competing for your attention.

I like the single life.

Look, this situation,
you know what they say.

Two heads are better than one.

Bigger targets.
I don't need your help.

Then why haven't
you killed me already?

The night's still young.

Well, hello, handsome.

Walter, why didn't you
tell me that today,

April 19th, is the day
your wife and daughter died?

It hadn't occurred to me.

Someone says you're gonna die,
the last thing you think about is the date.

Something's not right here, Walter.

You know how some people,
they get a trick knee before it rains?

You see, I get this twinge in my gut
and it's never let me down,

and right now it's telling me either you
or this situation is full of shit.

Which one is it? Is it?
That's outrageous, Agent Baker.

Yes, and I resent
what you're implying.

I have given the better part of my life
to this bureau and my country.

You have no right to
speak to me this way.

Hey, paesan. You check out
the Latina at the bar, man?

Sexy as fuck, but man,
I don't trust it.

It's got this serious-ass
black-widow vibe type thing.

I don't know about her
bullet-head boyfriend, either.

Dom.

I'll keep an eye on her.

What's with you, man? You okay?

I'm fine.

All right, man.

Come on, come on.
Move your sorry ass.

Time is a-wasting.

All right, spuds.

Fire in the hole.

- What the hell was that?
- What?

- Where's our generator?
- Oh, fuck.

Are you serious?

Everybody be cool. A little power outage.
Happens all the time.

Go with me on this.

Everybody freeze.
This woman's a wanted criminal.

Who the fuck are you?
Mike Gooding, FBl.

I've been following this woman for three days.
She's a wanted murderer.

Now get Baker on the line.

Baker, you getting this?

Baker, do you copy?

Dom, did you get a movement order on this?
Is he with you?

Man, fuck this.

Everybody relax, this fucking second.

Deep breaths, dry palms.

We're gonna take care
of the situation.

I want everybody
within the sound of my voice

to place their weapons
on the ground.

Slowly.

I believe we's ranged.

Reload!
Yeah!

Oh, shit!

Someone's compromised this operation.

We were invisible.
We were fucking invisible.

Wait!
Wait till it's safe!

I'm not paid to play safe.

Fuck!

Shit!

I should've listened to you.

Not my strong suit, I guess.

It never was.

Dumare, where is my overwatch?

- Nick?
- Link's still down, sir.

Can anybody up there hear me?
Osterberg? Abrego? Somebody?

Copy that, Chief.
Our door is still sealed.

Locking mechanism unaffected.

You hold your position.

You kill anything you don't know.
You understand me?

Jules, overwatch is down or dead.

I need full response,
all available agents.

I repeat, full armed response.

Copy, Chicago field office deploying now.

Send me everything you got.
We're under siege here.

I'm on it. Are you okay?

No, not at all.

Fuck!

Yeah, yeah, yeah!

Yeah, baby, go wide! Hit the deck!

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

Hey! Check this one out!

That's not a close-quarters weapon.

You could've killed us all,
shit for brains!

God damn it!

And that's for taking
the Lord's name in vain.

I've been shot.

I've been gut shot. Abrego, please.
Can't you see I'm dying out here.

Baker, I got Dumare on the other side
of the elevator door.

- Open the goddamn door!
- He's hit.

He needs medical attention immediately.

What the hell is he doing down there?

Dom, what are you doing in the bar?

Why aren't you at your post?

What's he doing?
Abrego, keep that door sealed.

What are you talking about?
He's hit. He's in a bad fucking way, man.

- Stand down, Abrego.
- Bullshit!

What, are you fucking nuts?
We gotta get him out of there.

Not till Baker gives the okay.

Do not open that door.

I'm feeling cold,

and I know that's really bad.

Wait, wait.

Now.

My eyeholes!

Oh, dear me.

Baby Boy.

You did real good.

There's a time for tears, Daddy,
but this ain't it.

There's money for the taking.
$3,000,000 worth.

Do not open that door.

Step away, man.

Open the door.

Now! It's fucking Dom,
for Christ's sakes.

I am not letting him die
three fucking feet from me.

- Stand down now!
- Abrego.

- Abrego, this is a direct order.
- Hold on, Dom!

Do not open that door!
Do you understand me?

Fuck.

I'm coming!

What the fuck, Dom?

You're not Dom.

Sir, I've got gunfire in the stairwell.

Proceed with extreme prejudice.

You are our last line of defense.

Hold your fire!
Hold your fire!

It's me! It's Dumare! I think I'm hit!
These guys are on my ass!

I'm coming out!

Hell!

Jules, where's my backup?

They're en route. But, Zane,
listen to me, the contractors. . .

Jules, the fucking
ceiling is coming down.

The assassins targeting Weed all have
extensive government kill sheets.

Wetwork for Uncle Sam.

So you're saying that they've targeted
US government agents before?

No, that's just it.

All of the vendors
have been classified "liquidator,"

and at one point or another have
engaged in illegal covert activity

for the US government.

Do you hear me?
They've worked for us.

Jules? Jules?

Shit.

You've been lugging that
damn rocket around

like a Afghani at a fucking Bar Mitzvah!
Shoot that sucker!

Hold on! Hold on down there!
Hold your fire for a second!

Any of you want to see
my sister's tits?

What?

How far away is tactical response?

It's 20 out.

Local PD's onsite in three.

Just stay on it. Get my line back up.

What the fuck is that?

Sir?

I'm a businessman.
I'm here to negotiate with Mr. Weed.

Stand down.

Relinquish your weapon and
get in the prone position.

If you don't let me in,
your man's no use to me.

Deal or no deal?

No deal.

God damn it, Bake.
Open the door.

Shut up.

You're wasting time,
and he's losing blood.

No matter what you do,
I will not open this door

and if you kill that man,
I swear to God, I will hunt you down.

Repeat. I will hunt you down like a dog

and kill you if it's the last thing I do.

I'll make sure that it is.

- Will that door hold?
- It's got to.

If our intel's correct,
three minutes, it's roll credits.

If he's not dead at 3:00 a.m. exactly,
there's no payment.

Cheer up, Houdini.
You're about to live through this.

Y'all mind if I crash your little party?

Eeny. . .

- Walter!
- . . .meeny. . .

. . .miny. . .

. . .moe.

- Walter, you okay?
- Yes.

Nick.

Come on. Come on.
Come on. Oh, shit.

Look, okay, okay.
No, no. No, no. No. No, no.

No, no, no. Cover his chest,
cover his chest, cover his chest.

Cover his chest. Wound. Right here.
Wound, wound, wound.

Okay, look at me.
Breathe. Breathe. You're okay.

What is happening to me?
No, no, you'll. . .

No, no.
Lay down, lay down.

- No, no. No. No, no.
- Just breathe. Come on.

No, no. Open your eyes.
Come on, Nick. Come on, Nick.

Come on.

Come on. Come on.

Fuck!

Hit him again, Lummox.
Two more minutes and we're shit out of luck.

Wait, wait, wait, wait.

Get away from that goddamn door.

Hey, hey, hey.

This is a dead man's switch.

There's enough C-4 explosives
wired to my chair

to bring down this entire bunker.

If I release this button,
it detonates the explosives.

Okay, okay.

I can take him.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Hey, hey.
Take three steps back, okay?

Just stand down. Just hold on.

Requesting permission to terminate target.

No, Red.

Stand down. Red!
He is a goddamn suicide bomber, Bake.

A dozen men are dead.

Red! No!

Whoa!

All right?
Everything's cool. Everything's cool.

Red, you okay?

Do I look like I'm fucking okay?
No, you just shot me!

See? Red's okay.

Walter, you're a government official.

You're about to murder your own.

For the greater good.

There are men outside that door

that are wanted enemy combatants

directly aligned against our country.

They have engaged in the most heinous acts

ever perpetrated against the United States.

In 40 years, I have never had
the opportunity to do anything heroic.

Walter, this isn't heroic.

This is sanctioned murder.

You're sweeping up for
somebody, Walter, okay?

Hal Leuco fed you a line of bullshit,
and now they're using you, Walter.

I am not being used. I lied to you.

I am well aware of True Patriot,

a vicious, coordinated assault
by animals like Finbar McTeague

conducting tortures in the name
of American interests.

He stages these sessions,
photographs them,

and disseminates the pictures
around the world.

And Ariella Martinez, mercenary,

well-versed in exotic
poisons and toxicology.

She liquidates a Russian dissident
with radioactive poison

used only by the US military.

Lazlo Soot. He murders an Iraqi family
and pins it on a US soldier.

Those crazed hillbillies, the Tremors?

The True Patriot is a fabrication.
Hal Leuco made it up.

They blew up a train station in Spain.

It swayed a major election,
voted in a liberal president,

who then pulled his
support on the Iraqi war.

191 people were killed today,
and more than 2,000 were...

It seems the train targeted by the
bombers were either in station or...

These are cold-blooded
mercenaries and killers

in open warfare against our government.

They have been sent a contract on me
to lure them here,

where I can terminate all of them.

Okay, Walter, wait a minute.

Everything you know about
True Patriot is a lie.

Yes. Hal Leuco, whoever or whatever
the fuck he is,

he's been planning on using you for months,
maybe even years in advance.

Yes, Walter.
They planted these stories.

They stitched them together to get
you here to this moment.

It's blowback, Walter.

Everyone you mentioned,
all those enemy combatants,

yeah, they've done some
sinister things, Walter,

but on behalf of the US government,
and now they want them dead.

Do you see what's happening here?
This isn't about patriotism.

- This is about eradication.
- No.

Yes, and that's what
they're doing to you, Walter.

- Don't let them. Don't.
- No.

My wife and my daughter
were taken from me.

By what? Chance?

Ideas live on, Agent Baker.
People don't.

And when I roll out that door
and detonate these explosives,

I join the grid of destiny.

I will be remembered.
I will be history.

You have a choice.

Destiny's plaything,

or avenging angel?

Please don't do this.
Please don't do this, Walter.

Walter, please. Fuck.

Come on. Come on.

Help me.

Help me, boy.

Help me. Help me. Help me, boy.

I'll help you, you old fucker.

- Sir?
- Sir, are you okay?

Hey, buddy, you all right?

Gun! He's got a gun!

Whoa! I'm Agent Baker.
I'm in charge.

Don't. Don't move.
Get down on the ground.
Get down on the ground.

Get off him! He's FBl.

You four, lock this place down,
check for survivors.

See to Lester Young there
while you're at it.

Agent Baker, I'm Special Agent Anthony Vejar.

I know you've been through hell,
but I'm out of time.

Where's Walter Weed?

He's dead.

You can verify that?
You saw him die? You saw a body?

He blew himself up
into a million pieces.

I'm gonna ask you one more time.

Did you see a body?
Did you actually see him die?

He was sitting on enough C-4
to level downtown Chicago.

He was a suicide bomber.
There's no body to recover.

We have reason to believe
that Walter Weed was Hal Leuco.

What?

We think Leuco was
some sort of cleanup man,

taking care of old assets
like the Tremors, McTeague, Lazlo Soot,

in order to eradicate
any link to True Patriot,

anyone he'd dealt with personally.

There's an element
of shadow government behind this.

ClA, NSA, agency in the black.

It's unclear, but you and your men
were used, co-opted.

Okay, wait a minute, wait a minute.

My team did an extensive
background check.

They tracked Weed all the way back
to his childhood.

He worked for the agency,
for God's sakes.

It was all fabricated.

Leuco papered, disseminated
information in the agency

to create the illusion of Weed.

Hal Leuco isn't even a real name.

It's short for Haliaeetus Leucocephalus.
It's Latin for "bald eagle."

You want bald eagles on your playing cards,
I think you've earned it.

The assassins, the money we were tracking,
where did all that come from?

As Walter Weed, Leuco had access
to bureau intel,

everything we'd been
working on domestically.

As Hal Leuco, he was privy to more
than his share of CIA ops.

We were a week away from proving
the connection between the two

when this happened.

$3,000,000. That is mmm-mmm good.

I'm glad.

How could he get away
with two identities,

working at the highest
level of intelligence?

Leuco is a ghost, a will-of-the-wisp.

Now you see him, now you don't.

That's why I needed to know,
did you see him die?

Are you sure?

How could he survive that blast?

How the hell did you do that?

I can't tell you that.
It'll spoil it.

Son of a bitch.

Southside bar owner Malcolm Little
had no idea this morning

that his place of business

would be the scene of a massive
gas leak explosion.

Firefighters are on the scene. . .