(phones rings)

Topple.

So I've been thinking about it,

and the fact that you personally know the guy

in charge of North Korea's cyber-warfare program seems--

What, relevant to our interests?

I was going to say treasonous,

but sure, let's go with relevant.

Who is he?

Charles Watson, a.k.a. Chubby Chuckie,

a.k.a. Chuckie Chubbers, a.k.a. Chubby McCharles Chomper,

a.k.a. A Mid-Chubby Night's Chuck,

a.k.a. the man with a thousand nicknames

regarding his weight.

Do you remember all those propaganda photos

of Kim Jong Il looking at cucumbers and radishes and shit,

surrounded by North Korean officials?

Mm-Hmm. There was always

that one goofy-looking white guy, kind of chubby?

That's Chuckie.

How did a WASPy Yale graduate end up working

for the North Koreans?

They came to the job fair.

A nice brochure, very glossy, lots of horses on it.

Did you ever bother to tell Rollins any of this?

No, but I had a good reason.

Chubby Chuckie's a double agent.

Huh, hardly.

My understanding is that he loves North Korea.

No, on our first night, freshman year,

Chubby Chuckie and I shared a bottle of Pimm's

and made an oath to never betray each other, no matter what.

It's the most important oath I've ever made, Winters,

because it's the only one that involved blood.

(sighs) Lots of blood.

Your pal probably had Deputy Chief Rollins killed.

And I cheated on my chemistry mid-term and guess what?

Chubby Chuckie said nothing.

He's trying to bring down our country with this virus.

Well, now, call me old-fashioned,

but some things are more important

than the well-being of 300 million innocent civilians.

Besides, would Americans really wanna live in a world

where members of the elite are held to the same standards

that they are?

I doubt that very much.

I'm your supervisor.

I am commanding you to contact this Cubby Chuckie asshole.

(sighs) Do I have to?

[Winters] Yes!

Or I'll tell the alumni association

about that chemistry mid-term.

You would not dare!

I'm typing the email now.

Do as I say or I'll hit send.

Well, I was wrong about you, Ms. Winters.

Didn't realize you had it in you

to take the kill shot on an old man.

Well, I do.

I'm a cold-blooded hit-send-on-an-emailer.

Fine, but we need a secure communication strategy

for contacting Chuckie.

We can't just put a coded message on the cover of Us Weekly,

like we're telling OPEC where to set the price of oil.

He needs to know it's me.

I'm the only one he'll trust.

That means we're gonna have to do this old-school.

What does old-school entail?

It means we need $600,000 cash,

two identical briefcases, a Fialka cypher machine,

a hot-air balloon, Cadbury cream eggs, half a bald eagle,

and a fake mustache.

If I get you all that stuff,

how soon can you reach Chubby Chuckie?

Definitely within the next five years?

Five years!

We need this mission activated by Thursday.

[Topple] Oh, next Thursday?

No, this Thursday.

Oh, well, ah, no.

This is going to seriously inconvenience

my Thursday bridge partner.

Which half of the bald eagle do you need?