CHAOS

I'm Agent Rick Martinez.

Let me be the first to welcome you to the CIA.

And this is the story of America's great house of spies.

You've heard of office politics?

Ours come with poison pills and guns.

Spy trap.

I knew this was going to be a fiasco.

I've been assigned to a special covert unit,

conceived to go where others can't, and to do

what others won't, whether the mission's authorized or not.

We each have our own special skill, Martinez.

I lead, Billy charms people,

Casey hurts people, and you translate.

We are the ODS, last of the old-school spies.

Oh. I'm gonna have to look inside that box.

Oh. Okay. Uh,

it's just a bunch of pictures and things.

To decorate my desk.

Who's Rocket Rick?

Oh, that's me.

I pitched a no-hitter back

when I played in the Modesto Peewee League.

They let me keep the game ball.

You signed it to yourself?

I was eight.

Uh, I don't know you.

Oh. I'm new.

I'm Rick. Rick Martinez.

Rocket Rick Martinez.

I'm committing it to memory.

I'll have the three-egg-white omelet.

Would you like to order something?

No. I've already ordered breakfast.

So, what's next up?

This is the Afgooye Refuge Camp.

The Islamic militant group, Al-Shabaab,

has been staging raids, rocket attacks,

on the camp, targeting civilians.

Heartbreaking, but what makes it a CIA concern?

Three dead Americans.

They were pulled from their tents

and executed last week by Al-Shabaab,

who accused them of being U.S. spies.

They weren't.

We've been working very hard to try and find out

who's been selling weapons to Al-Shabaab...

in violation of the U.N. embargo,

but haven't had much luck till now.

N.G.A. satellites spotted this tanker beached off the coast

of Namibia last week, and as of yet,

no one has reported the tanker missing.

Which leads you to suspect that it's hauling weapons.

I take it, you'd like a look inside that ship?

This may be our one and only chance

to find out who is selling weapons to Al-Shabaab.

I want our best men on the tanker in less than 12 hours.

Who do we have available?

The ODS.

Who else do we have available?

Ready to fly, with their level of expertise and experience?

No one.

Look, everyone.

New guy's screwing up again.

What?

You should never display personal items in the office.

It exposes you to potential compromise.

What about the picture on Casey's desk?

Came with the frame.

Yes?

Uh-huh.

Just Rick?

I'll send him up.

Director would like to see you.

Why? He didn't say.

But the man is in charge

of worldwide clandestine operations,

which is a thankless job.

Maybe he needs a hug.

All right.

Well, that's interesting.

Ah. Mr. Martinez.

Good to see you.

Can I trouble you to join me for a walk?

I like to do my morning rounds, as it were,

and make sure the agency is firing on all cylinders, huh?

Oh. Sure.

You know, I confess.

I'm worried that we have started off on the wrong foot.

That my asking you to function

as my mole within the ODS and your refusal to do so

has compromised our trust.

Do you feel the same?

No. No, I... trust you.

Relax, Mr. Martinez.

I have only one agenda today,

and that's to mend fences.

The CIA seal.

The radiating spokes are meant to depict the convergence

of intelligence data from all areas of the world

to a central point.

To the CIA.

To me.

To you.

I'm no fan of your new partners.

What they lack, in my opinion, is a fixed moral compass.

That is why I chose to assign you to the ODS.

As their moral compass,

am I expected to secretly report back to you?

Of course not.

Your allegiance is to your partners.

Now, that said,

should you feel your partners twisting your compass

towards lawlessness, my door is always open.

I have an assignment

that I was reluctant to assign to the ODS,

but now that you're on board,

I have renewed confidence that the job will be done right.

No sign of crew.

What about the manifest?

No. They must have taken it with them

when they abandoned ship.

One of us needs to climb down

to look for anything that'll help ID the owner.

I'll go.

You don't need to volunteer.

I don't mind.

Numb-nuts, what he means is...

...we expect you to go down in the hole.

Looks like people have been living down here!

What?

I said, it looks like...

I don't like his odds.

I found the crew and the manifest.

Stinger missiles. Two per case.

How many cases?

15 cases.

What's this?

Butterfly mine.

Butterfly mine?

Yeah, that's what they're called.

When they drop them from helicopters,

they fall from the sky like butterflies.

Bright colors make them more attractive to children.

That way, they're more inclined

to pick them up and play with them.

The initial blast usually takes their fingers or hands,

and that's followed immediately after

by a spray of nitric acid intended to blind them.

You see, Martinez, the Soviets figured out

a long time ago that the most effective way

to break the will of the enemy is by targeting their children.

How many of these mines you figure we're looking at?

Thousands. Mm-hmm.

Anything helpful?

Manifest claims the shipments were meant for Malaysia.

If that were true,

they've missed their mark by two full oceans.

Well, the crew say they went into hiding,

thinking we were local pirates.

No doubt because of Rick's flamboyant attire.

You making fun of my vest?

Is that what you're doing?

Well, you have to admit, it has a ridiculous number of pockets.

Did the crew tell you where the shipment was really headed?

Port of Kismayo, Somalia.

Currently under the cosh of Al-Shabaab.

Casey, you have any luck

finding out who owns these weapons?

Arms dealer of record is Bernard LaRouche.

Wonder what dark corner of the world we can find LaRouche.

Yemen, Libya.

Can't get a location.

Our fabulous agency computers

keep kicking me off-line.

Try Google.

All right.

Huh.

What?

The son of a bitch is back in the U.S.

Behold the birth of a legend.

I am extremely happy with the resolution on my camera phone.

What's wrong? It's embarrassing.

Rubbish.

You stared down a tank.

There's no need for you to hide your light under a bushel.

So what are we gonna do about LaRouche?

Nothing.

His arrest falls under Justice Department jurisdiction.

We gathered all the intel.

Which means our work is done.

Responsibility and credit-- it goes to Justice.

As you well know, the CIA is not permitted

to operate within U.S. borders.

Well, officially, anyway.

What are you doing?

Grabbing a snack from your secret stash.

You moved your snacks?

Yes, I did. When?

I'm trying to sever ties, Michael.

Being divorced and working together is hard enough.