The Throwaways Page #2

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I really don't remember

asking either one of you for your opinion.

So, shut the hell up, okay?

Now, you will lead and,

Drew, you will follow.

Adios.

Thank you, sir.

- You don't want me on a team.

- What?

You don't want me on a team.

I don't play well with others, okay?

You know that about me.

I mean, people are fine

in the abstract, but up close and personal,

they're the worst.

I know that. I mean, I understand.

I know you're very

comfortable hiding in your trailer,

playing with your little toys.

See, but those days are kind of over.

So, you got two options.

A, you can take that

wonderful talent you have

and let it rot in a cell

for 30 to 50 years,

or, B, be a man and be useful, okay?

You said I'd have immunity.

This is Eastern Europe.

I don't need to charge you.

I've got three black sites

within an hour's drive of here.

I'm not going back.

Drew.

This is your code.

There are millions, millions of people

whose lives are at stake.

And if I'm going to stop it, I need you.

I know it's going to be

really, really dangerous.

I mean, horror of all horrors,

you are going to have to

deal with real people.

Fine.

But I get to choose the rest of the team.

Because if Tom Slick chooses the team,

I'm gonna be surrounded by frat boys

with firm handshakes and five-year plans.

Fine, I'll get you the dossiers

on 20 of our top agents, and you pick.

I don't want your dossiers,

I can hack your personnel files.

- And I sure as sh*t don't want your top 20.

- Why, why, why?

Because it's full

of fast-trackers and yes-men, okay?

No, I've got an algorithm.

It will choose the best

team scientifically.

You picked these guys?

They're throwaways,

they're finished, washed up.

I mean, maybe they'll use

them for suicide missions.

The numbers don't lie.

This job, these are the best people.

Have you read their files?

Yeah, I glanced at them.

Dan Fisher.

He managed to roid-rage his way

into blowing every one of his missions.

He was kicked back to making copies

in the embassy sub-basement.

- Amalgamated vending.

- Yes.

Machine number zero, eight, nine, six...

Thank you for calling with your concern.

All of our operators are busy right now.

Estimated hold time is 47 minutes.

All you have to do is insert the

change, press the button then, wow,

fresh snacks.

Hello!

Gloria Miller.

Swallow.

Oh, come on, don't call her that.

- What's a swallow?

- He's right.

It's just a disgusting term

the KGB used to use.

She's actually an agent who uses

special weapons to get intelligence.

Special weapons?

Another happy customer, huh, Miller?

Screw you, Langstrom.

Listen, I got a lead from him on Ukraine.

An FSB operative

is coming in from Moscow tomorrow night.

- And maybe I could intercept...

- We can take it from here.

Dmitri Stanislov.

Former KGB.

He speaks Russian.

Yeah. According to

his S.O., he's not good for anything else.

You.

You commie.

He was on that failed Ukrainian

Ministry Building run last month.

You left me.

I got cavity searched

in a Ukraine prison because of you.

F***.

Dmitri!

No, because of you.

You were late.

Dmitri, get back here!

You blew the mission, not me.

Because of me?

Okay, no, guys, guys.

You need to settle down.

Well, you picked them. Go brief them.

I said, get up and go f***ing brief them.

I ought to kill you right here.

Oh, come on.

You left me! I want an apology!

You left me! I want an apology!

You were late.

Hey!

Hi.

I see you've been acquainted.

Yeah, so, thank you

for coming on such short notice.

Who the hell are you?

I'm... I'm Drew.

Are you intelligence or an intern?

I'm, uh, just... I'm, you know, just me.

A private contractor of sorts.

What do you do exactly?

Well, that's difficult

to describe, you know.

I'm probably best known for CVE-2010-1807.

But, you know, my passion is for Boolean

operations and complex adaptive systems.

- So, you know, it's natural that...

- Drew!

Christ's sakes, show 'em, will ya?

Just show 'em!

So, I'm just gonna show you guys.

Name someone you actively dislike.

Christopher F. Langstrom.

For someone with his clearance,

that was embarrassingly easy.

Current tax return has him living

on Glen View Terrace in Herndon, Virginia.

It turns out you were correct.

He is a world-class douche bag,

he was actually

diagnosed with Narcissistic

Personality Disorder.

How did you get his password so quickly?

Well, he uses

an NSA type 2 encryption,

which he thinks is safe,

but, really, there's a known vulnerability.

And he's e-mailed himself

all his passwords,

so if you guys want to drain

his bank account, we can do that.

What else can you do?

Uh, we could turn his phone

into a listening device,

or a live camera feed.

Look, now I have his real-time location,

and control over his vehicle.

Three lines of code

and I could send his car into a brick wall.

So, what do you guys think?

Should we kill this f***er?

Yeah? Murder, anyone?

Tell you what. Let's see the system.

Looks like he's got another Gmail account.

This one he uses for numerous affairs

with female staffers.

She's cute.

So, what do you think?

You want him divorced or fired?

I'm tempted.

Yeah, you don't have to raise your... Yes?

I will do mission on one condition.

You never go in my mail, okay?

Because sometimes

I have e-mailed pictures that are jokes.

Not photos that turn me on, photos that

turn very strange people on, understand?

I'm driving this crap of junk?

It's for surveillance, not for racing.

Pick one.

Go in.

I'm good. Shotgun.

No, I have pistol.

No, I mean, I

called the front seat.

Speaking of shotguns,

where's the heavy weapons?

Can't I at least get an FIM-92?

A what?

A bazooka, man. A bazooka.

You're not getting a goddamn bazooka.

Would you rather be

the guy who has one and doesn't need it,

or the guy who needs one

but doesn't have it?

You're giving me a headache. Get in.

You should at least

give me some grenades, man.

Uh-uh. No, no, no.

Put it down, put it down.

Not for geeks, it's for agents, okay?

It's none of your business.

Sir, are you sure about this?

No.

I can't find the Pantheon key,

but the code did give me

a line on who patched the back-door.

I've got no name or photo,

but I was able to track the IP address

of whoever patched

the back-door to this location.

This is a skinhead bar.

Great. Any chance we get, let's mix it up.

- Excuse me?

- These guys are nee-Nazis, right?

It'd be a shame to come

all this way and not bust a couple heads.

Fisher, stop it.

I just need to tap into the guy's computer

and get some information, that's it.

Yeah, Fisher. Low-profile, okay?

No bazookas,

no fist fighting, you understand?

You stay in the van.

Dmitri, come back me up.

Impossible.

What is he saying?

I am one twelfth Jewish

on my mother's side.

These guys will kill me.

English. Hey, English, okay?

I drive. Ls better.

I am driver.

P*ssy.

Listen, I'll go in. But I should go alone.

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