And if it happens again I'll put a lock on it...
so no one can enjoy it.
Moving on, item seven.
Oh, I'm afraid I have some tragic news.
- Um, item six wasn't tragic? - Zip it.
- Wow. - Agent Hector Ruíz...
who had infiltrated El Frente Rojo...
was killed last night when his cover was blown.
- My little burrito. - Wait, who?
How in the world did his cover get blown?
Ruíz? Hey man, talk to these chicks, all right?
Tell them how we're really ISIS agents!
They don't believe me. Hello?
Señor Wingman?
- He probably got careless. - I'm sure Hector didn't get...
Oh, come on. Ruíz was a loose cannon.
He played fast and he played loose. And in the end, he got burned.
- Be that as it may! - Loose cannon.
For ISIS to continue enjoying Title 6 tax incentives...
we have to meet certain...
diversity requirements.
- Oh, I think we're pretty diverse. - Ha. Please.
What? You're blackish.
- Ish? - Well, what's the word for it, Lana?
- You freaked out when I said "quadroon." - Imagine that!
- You imagine it! - Both of you, imagine shutting up!
Because after losing Agent Pak last year...
Hey, tell this broad what's up with ISIS, Pak-man.
Wokka, wokka, wokka!
- And then Agent Mgumbe... - You going to this lame ISIS picnic?
- Loose cannons! - the ISIS palette has become...
decidedly monochromatic.
- I'm one sixty-fourth Cherokee. - Shut up!
- So stupid. - What?
- A, no, you're probably not. - And B through Z, nobody gives a shit.
- Racist! - What?
You're anti-Native American.
- Jeez! - Come on.
Item eight.
We need a diversity hire.
- I vote Asian chick. - And after an exhaustive search...
I found the perfect candidate.
So join me in welcoming our new ISIS agent...
Stern. Conway Stern.
He's a diversity double-whammy.
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So that was the firing range...
and the cafeteria, and...
- Do you keep kosher? - Well, I do have a weakness for prawns.
Me too! I'll have them make paella tomorrow.
Okay, that's the mainframe, and these are all just...
- drones. - Hey, come on!
Malory, these are the unsung heroes of ISIS.
Where'd we be without my man Cyril in accounting?
Hey, thanks, bro.
You got it, buddy. Or the lovely Pam in Human Resources.
Yeah, I am kind of lovely.
And last but not least... I'm sorry, I don't know your name.
- Me neither. - See? They don't know anything.
- Now, over here is a big corner office. - I see it's currently empty.
Like my "vagine."
Yeah, but unlike your dusty "vagine," it's not going to stay empty.
Wait, you don't think you're getting the office.
Well, I am the Human Resources director.
Pam, come on, let's face it. Your entire job could be done by a...
- A bulletin board. - You heard Conway. I'm essential!
How? I can go online and get a list of every federal holiday for the next...
- Wow, ten thousand years. - Wait, really? Ten thousand?
Hmm? Oh. No, this isn't even on.
- I'm gonna get that office! - I'm getting it, Pam!
Oh, my God, I am surrounded by idiots.
And this is the locker room.
Yeah, the, uh, lockers were a tip-off.
Well, I'll leave you to it. But if you need anything...
you know how to whistle, don't you, Conway?
- Yup, lips together, blow. Got it. - Oh. Ha, ha. You are just a little treasure.
Jesus, Conway.
- What have you got yourself into, man? - You better pray it wasn't my mother.
I'm fairly confident you misread that whole situation.
- Oh, yeah? - I'm real confident you misread this one.
- Uh, how about this one? - This one, uh...
- actually seems kind of gay. - Maybe because our penises are touching.
Yeah, so, let's go on...
Three!
- What? You, uh, see something you like? - Wha...? No, you queer!
Oh, I'm queer? From the guy...
whose tiny gun came with a matching purse?
Hey, it's got plenty of stopping power.
What? That little...?
- Goddamn it, Archer! Again! - Oh, shit.
See that? He was putting on his pants and I stopped him.
So you just watch your step, mister, uh...
- Damn it. - There, should have gone with:
- "Sammy Gay-vis Junior." - Damn it!
Come on. She doesn't need a corner office...
- just to Xerox the ISIS newsletter. - Color Xerox.
And what, you need more room to chop vegetables?
All right! Obviously, I need to make a decision.
But which shall it...? Oh!
Or I could just give Conway both!
- You what? - I already took care of those.
Frodo and Salsa were my operations.
At ease, Career Admiral, Malory was getting impatient on Salsa.
- Salsa was a highly complex operation. - Two phone calls.
- And as for Frodo... - Wha...?
Well, some pun involving hobbits.
Like, I bet he wishes he was wearing Bilbo's coat of Dwarven mithril.
- Gonna take your word on that. - Yeah?
Well, take my word on this.
I am the top agent around here.
- So watch it! - So, see, in Middle-earth...
Shh. Shh, shh, shh.
Come on, buddy.
- You're kidding. - No, I'm dead serious.
I wanna file a complaint against Conway.
- On what grounds? - He touched my penis with his penis.
- Wow. - Yeah.
"Byoop!"
- Where? - All of it. Head and shaft.
- And... Oh, you mean where in the building. - No.
- That shouldn't matter, Pam. - I got this other complaint from Brett...
- who said you shot him again. - Uh...
here's the thing about Brett.
Oh, shit! Those were the newsletters!
Cyril, I need a little favor.
Okay, Carin... Oh.
- Now it's Cristal? - Cristal.
You know? Like the champagne. It's what hot black guys drink.
- Uh, you sure about that? - And I want Conway to drink me...
- so I need you to hook a sister up. - Well, I will certainly try.
Don't try, do. And here, use this.
Wow, what is this?
Tell Conway that his Secret Santa wants to come early.
Or, you know, whoever brings Jewish people their Christmas presents.
- What are you doing? - Uh, none of your businessing.
What kind of spy agency scrimps on a freaking shredder?
Apparently the kind that scrimps on background checks.
- Who is this guy? - I don't know.
But I got a bad feeling about Mother's little "Project Conway."
So I must be having a stroke...
- because we actually agree on something. - Wait, really?
Totally. I mean, he shows up out of nowhere...
and starts trying to get all up in everything?
I mean, Salsa, Frodo.
- Possibly Mother. - And what do we even know about him?
- Only that he's not circumcised. - Okay.
- Glossing over how you know that... - We touched penises.
No! Glossing.
But a non-circumcised Jewish guy, that's not weird to you?
No, why would...? I mean, I'm not Jewish...
- and I'm circumcised. So it can... - It doesn't work like that.
Lana, come on. I think we both know it works fine.
Oh, come on. Not your dick, dumb-ass.
Oh, my God! This is about you and me, right?
- Oh, my God! Get over yourself! - Hey, I am over me.
But apparently you're not.
- What the hell smells like shrimp? - Just my sensual womanhood.
Oh, wait. Ew.
I bet your womanhood smells divine.
- Conway! - Now, whom can I thank for these shrimps?
Me, your secret Jew Santa.
Conway! That was amazing.
Yes, so, uh...
okay.
- Oh, my God, I hope I'm pregnant. - What are you talking about?
The system bounced your sexual harassment complaint against Conway.
- Well, unbounce it back. - Who am I, Tron?
Talk to your mother, she bounced it.
- Why? - Hey. Whoa.
- Why would she do that? - Don't go starting rumors...
- about Conway boning your mother. - Oh, my...
- You get any of that in the trash can? - No.
I, uh, missed it on purpose.
- Hey, Malory, uh, you got a second? - I sincerely doubt it.
- It's about Conway. - Then yes, I have entire minutes.
Isn't he just a dream come true?
Well, that's the thing. How did you actually find Conway?
Well, he just sort of appeared.
- Uh, yes, okay. - Like a foundling, carved out of onyx.
Yes, but from where? I mean, if you didn't do a background check...
Are you an idiot? Or do you just think I am?
- He totally checked out. - Okay, so do you mind if I take a little...?
Lana Kane! Just because now you're not the only black agent...
- Hey, that is not... - Urban. Whatever.
You come in here and accuse Conway of what, exactly?
Okay, fine, I can't prove anything right now.
But that never stopped J. Edna Hoover from persecuting Martin Luther King...
- now, did it? - What does that have to do...?
Wait, J. Edna?
You never heard that? How Hoover was this huge, cross-dressing chicken hawk?
- I had not. - That's exactly the kind of slanderous...
and unsubstantiated rumor I will not tolerate at ISIS.
- Think about that while on suspension. - While I'm on what?
- What are you, deaf and racist? - Wha...?
- I'm black. - Oh, put it back in the deck.
- Hey, how is my lovely lady. - Suspended.
- What? - Malory suspended me.
Just because I had the nerve to ask questions about her little...
- homeboy McJewerson. - Whoa, Lana, honey.
- What? - Even though it's perfectly natural...
for you to be jealous of Conway...
- Then she cold-cocked you, huh? - Yeah, with that big Flintstoney fist of hers.
- Seriously, "Homeboy McJewerson"? - Oh, come on, I've heard worse than that.
Yeah, but it doesn't even make sense.
- I mean, maybe if you were Scottish or... - Hey, man, racism, anti-Semitism.
You can't go looking for logic in it. Here, this'll help the swelling.
Oh, thank you. Ha, ha. Where'd you get the steak?
Cristal. Yet another offering of unrefrigerated meat and/or seafood.
- Yeah, she's kind of weird that way. - She's kind of weird a bunch of ways.
What you doing, Birdbones?
- Looking for a pregnancy test online. - But there's a drugstore half a...
Oh. You mean that you take online.
- Yeah I want to know like, now. - Well, thank God for them internets.
- Okay, what is this lame meeting about? - No idea, I'm busy and go away.
- Excuse me? - Oh, my God, why are you still here?
- Mother called me for a meeting. - But I thought you called a meeting.
Oh, and by the way, you don't call a meeting, only I call a meeting.
- I called the meeting. - Which I love. That you did that.
I know it's not standard procedure...
- but we've got a problem. - A problem or a blessing?
A problem.
It's a silent submarine propulsion system, called the Whisper Drive.
- Oh, sounds sexy. - Would you stop it.
- Folks, please. - Embarrassing.
- You are embarrassing. - Jesus.
This is Wilhelm Schmeck, inventor of the Whisper Drive.
Schmeck went missing along with the plans for the Whisper Drive.
I tracked him to South Beach. He's arranged to sell the plans...
to Cuban Naval Intelligence. If that happens...
undetectable Cuban missile subs could be parked right off Miami Beach.
Ugh. Just what Miami needs. More Cubans.
And all we need is a stand-in, who resembles Schmeck's Cuban contact...
Wha...? What? That looks nothing like me.
- Well, he's just a lot more handsome. - Whatever.
Zip it! Conway, dear?
- The plan? - Using Archer as bait...
we slip in just ahead of the real Cubans, capture Schmeck, and recover the plans.
If we could run this thing through your condo, that...
- You have a South Beach condo? - I, uh...
Oh, hey, how's the, uh, lemon tree doing?
Raúl says it already has tiny lemons.
That was a wonderful thank-you gift.
- Well, it was a wonderful weekend. - It was, wasn't it?
You were there, in the condo, together?
- Yeah, last weekend. - Oh, my God.
Oh, for... See? That's what happens when you drink all day and skip lunch.
Oh, we were supposed to have paella.
Archer, come on, man, let's go.
You go! Get on the plane, buckle in, sit there...
and think about how you're not the boss of me.
Hey, babe. Got any extra puke bags?
Why? You taking a moral inventory?
Jesus, God, what are you doing here?
- I'm, trying to save... - A relationship?
Lana, maybe when I get back, we can work out some kind of bang-buddy deal, but...
Ow!
- I want you to listen to me. - Well then unperforate my eardrum.
Un...
head up your ass!
I think Conway is totally up to something.
Duh! You think I'm an idiot? I know he wants to marry Mother...
- and cut me out of the will. - Ugh. Archer.
- Which is why I'm going to kill him. - Oh. Okay, well, whatever the reason.
It's not because of the whole black stepfather thing.
- You know me better than that. - Yeah, I do.
So try not to do anything stupid, okay? Conway could be dangerous.
Yeah. You know what's dangerous?
- Your obsession with me. - Just...
Seriously Lana, call Kenny Loggins because you're in the Danger Zone.
- From Top Gun. - Just be careful.
No.
God, this is so classic Mother.
Yeah, it's pretty tastefully done, huh?
No, you ass. The selfishness.
She never shares anything with anybody.
You're keeping that office for you?
I need it to escape the glare from those windows across the street.
From the...? There's no glare.
Well, not now. But mid-April? Every morning. For almost 20 minutes.
So you're gonna keep that huge corner office empty the other...
- Ninety-gazillion percent of the time. - Just because the glare is annoying?
Well, semi-annoying.
Okay, you're meeting Schmeck at that café across the street.
- And, uh, why do you have that? Exactly? - You never know what's gonna happen.
Yeah, two people all alone together, down here in South Beach.
- I'd rather have it and not need it... - Uh-huh.
- Than need it and not have it. - Ah. Uh-huh.
Kind of like a condom. Which happened last weekend.
- Oh, my...! Ugh! - Damn, man, I was kidding!
- Look, if you're too nervous... - I'm fine, all right?
Just let me rinse off my mustache.
You are more handsome in your photos.
Oh, yeah, talk to me about handsome.
And you have no trace of Cuban accent.
Yeah, it's called tradecraft, genius.
- I blend. - Just shut up and get the plans.
- You shut up and get the plans. - What?
I mean, give me those plans now. Give me those plans.
You may have them once I confirm the balance in my Swiss account.
- Tell him not to bother. - What?
Wait, what are we doing?
- Conway! What the shit, man? - What? Schmeck was a traitor.
Yeah, now he's all over my 400 dollar custom shirt.
I'll buy you a new one. Now grab the plans before it's too late.
- It's already too late. - Ha, ha! Yes it is, now hand over...
Because it's already soaked into the fibers, dumb-ass.
This is linen!
And that is a Cuban hit squad.
And you might want to duck.
Oh, my God. Conway!
- That was amazing! - Yeah, well, you know.
No, seriously, that was like...
- That was like, uh... - A Charles Whitman Sampler?
Damn it, yes. Seriously, thanks.
Oh, don't thank me yet.
What, Conway? No!
- Now you can thank me. - Oh, my God.
You saved my life twice.
You'd have done the same for me.
- No, I wouldn't have. - Ha, ha.
I was actually kind of planning to kill you.
- Wait, what? - I know, now I'm totally embarrassed.
Hey, you know what? Water under the bridge, dude.
- Come over here, let's man-hug it. - All right. Okay. Um...
I mean, after all we are going to be family. Once I marry your Mom.
- What? - I'm kidding. God, relax, man.
Because for a second there, I was like... I mean, not in a racist way, but...
- Conway? - Yeah, buddy.
- Uh, are there more bad guys behind me? - Nope.
You dick.
You dumb-ass. I set this whole thing up.
I just needed a stand-in for those broke-ass Cubans.
- Yeah, I get it. - I mean, come on!
The Chinese'll pay five times as much for the Whisper Drive.
And once they do? Let's just say you better learn to use some chopsticks, buddy.
Conway, wait. Just answer me one question.
Yeah, make it quick. My ride is here.
- And your lungs are filling up with blood. - Did you have sex with my mother?
Wait, what? That is your only question?
Not who am I, not how did I infiltrate ISIS...
- or who the hell is flying the helicopter? - Just answer the question!
No, Archer, I didn't have sex with your mom.
- Oh, thank God. - Oh, and that?
That would have been a though image to get out of my head.
That, right there? That kind of racism...
is exactly why I can't wait to see tiny little Chinese boots...
on your white-ass necks.
Which may sound hypocritical, I know, but...
Would you go?
- Aah! What the...? - Sorry, Conway.
- Oh, wait, shit, I had something for this. - Aah.
Is it something like, uh, "You don't get off the hook that easy"?
- Damn it. - Yeah, he's good at those.
- Well, crawl on over there and blow him. - Hey, come on.
- Now, drop the case, Conway! - It's cuffed on, woman.
Aah! And how the hell are your hands that freaking strong...?
Ew.
You haven't seen the last of Conway Stern!
Which is not my real name!
- Uh, so let me guess. - Yeah.
Whoever he is, he ghosted an ID file onto our worldwide database.
Yeah. Which you probably found while researching me.
Lana, because you're in the, uh...
Danger Zone.
And those were his last words.
Right before he bled to death on the rug.
Which rug? Oh, good. I thought you meant in the bedroom.
No, that one is just jute. Exactly.
Guests come in from the beach, they're all sandy or whatever, and...
Suspension? Lana, dear, you are getting a bonus. My God!
You foiled that perfidious Conway, saved Sterling's...
All right, just pull the knife out.
And then slap Saran Wrap on the hole.
Oh! But leave me enough to make guacamole.
No, you squeeze lemon juice over it, then smush the Saran Wrap right down on top.
That way it doesn't go brown. Oh, let the paramedics do that.
You just have fun, dear. Mm-hm. Bye.
Oh, damn. Now I bet she's going to squeeze up all my brand new lemons.
And I'll have nothing left to remind me of Conway.
- Except his little mocha love child. - His what?
- Yeah. - You had sex with Conway?
Yeah, and he totally impregnated me.
Wait, he was only here two days.
How is that pregnancy test showing positive?
Oh, this is just a detergent pen. I just put a little blue sticker on it.
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