Sterling Archer.
Code name Duchess.
Hm.
Known from Berlin to Bangkok as the world's most dangerous spy.
So for us, this is... How you say?
A good get.
But not so good for you, Mr. Archer.
Because you have information that I want.
And this may be old cliché...
but we have ways of making you talk.
What? Your little go-cart battery?
- Golf cart. - Whatever.
- Would you pick an accent and stick with it? - Listen here...
Son of a bitch. - Now you did it.
- What is the point of these simulations... - Krenshaw's arousal?
If you don't take them seriously?
How can I? Between his lame accent and the go-cart battery...
- Golf cart. - Shut up.
And speaking of lame, my code name...
Was chosen at random by the ISIS computer.
Random? It was your dog's name.
Oh, Duchess.
I loved her so much.
That it was creepy and pathetic?
And if you were half as smart as she was...
She wasn't too smart to die from eating chocolate, was she?
Exercise terminated.
- All right, that's lunch then. - Agent performance unsatisfactory.
Oh, come on... At worst, that was "needs improvement."
- Jesus, Archer. - What?
- You think this is a game? - No, I think Jenga is a game.
What if I'd been real KGB?
I assume you'd try to suck a promotion out of some Russian guy's cock.
- Maybe I never get promoted... - Never will.
Because my mommy's not the boss.
And maybe you just got your face kicked off.
That is my foot in your face. Smell the embarrass...
Ow, oh!
Mother, did you see that?
Mother.
Leave a message at the tone.
Um... Tone.
This is Four-Five-Six Laundry. Your shirts are ready... for a week.
Oh, no.
- Good morning. - Hey, you.
I'm so hungry.
Just give me five minutes on my backhand then we'll see if there's a...
- Is that a dog? Is it a dog? - Oui, that is Abelard.
Oh, adorable. Now get the hell out of here.
But you promised me breakfast.
You want breakfast? Try the diner. You're obviously into Greek.
Get it?
Thank you, Abelard.
- It's a short list, Woodhouse. Yes, sir.
- Things we don't allow in. What are they? - Dogs and your mother.
- That's a very short list, isn't it? - Yes...
but you were quite insistent... - What was I?
That an exception be made.
No, no, no, because forget the dog rule, because this pug is amazing.
Watch this. Abergard, go.
Do you not hear that?
That's "Puttin' on the Ritz," man.
- I'm always insistent, Woodhouse. - Yes, sir.
- But I'm not to be trusted, am I? - No, sir.
Stop. Shut up. I have to go.
But if I find one single dog hair when I get back...
I'll rub sand in your dead little eyes.
Very good, sir.
- I also need you to go buy sand. - Yes, sir.
I don't know if they grade it but...
Coarse.
One entire whole week we've been calling you.
Highly unprofessional.
Really? Because I find your sweatiness unprofessional.
So we have something in common.
Besides the fact that now both of our shirts reek of curry.
- And when will you settle your account? - When will you buy some dress shields?
- This is not a dress. - Are you serious? That's not a dress?
Oh, God, with the curry again.
This shirt smells like Indira Gandhi's thong.
- Hey, you wanna smell something? - Swear to God, Mr. Archer...
I have H.R. On speed dial. - Shut up.
Hey, Krieger, you gotta smell this.
Krieger? Huh.
You geeks wanna smell something?
- Archer, get the hell out. - What is it with you people?
Try to include people in your life and then you... Lana.
Hey. Hey, what does this smell like?
Like the dysfunctional asshole I broke up with six months ago.
Oh, my God. You're amazing.
You are amazing, sweet stuff.
Wanna do it again and put on some interracial porn?
God, it's like my brain's that tree, and you're those little cookie elves.
Just a second.
- No, baby, don't answer that. - I have to. Sorry, it's Mother.
- Mother, hey. Just a second. - I cannot believe you.
No, turn it on. I can do both.
- What? - So don't speak to me, ever.
And while you're not ever speaking to me, jump up your own ass and die.
Oh, rea... After all that H.R. Mediation. Really?
- Yup. - After all the hard work Pam did.
- Is that Archer? - Goddamn it.
- Archer, hey. - Go away.
- About your operations account... - Not...
- Cyril, not now. - Yes, now.
- Not a good time. - You've got serious discrepancies...
in your account. - No, Cyril.
I'm sure you wouldn't use operational funds for personal expenses.
Come on, 22 black.
Twenty-two black. Twenty-two.
Black. Ass. Son of a bitch. Heh.
Not you, giant African man. I'm sorry. Can I offer you a drink?
How about this expensive prostitute?
That is a very serious implication, Cyril.
Well, so is embezzlement.
Yeah? Well, so is the fact that you, some crazy-how, are screwing my ex.
- Archer, please. That's private. - Not calm enough?
You all know about Cyril and Lana, right?
Of course, because if Pam knows, then everybody knows...
because of Pam's huge mouth. Right, Pam?
H.R. Mediations are supposed to be confidential, Pam, you manatee.
- And as for you, Cyril, good day, sir. - Archer.
Hey, wait. What about your account? Oh, I get it.
Classic misdirection.
No, don't. You're so ugly when you cry.
- Mr. Archer. - I'm fine.
Is she in or out eating a baby?
- You stood me up again last night. - Last...?
Oh, yeah. Oh, my. What happened was...
Did you see Brian's Song? Same thing pretty much happened.
I helped a guy with cancer. Look, I'm really sorry, Carol, but I couldn't...
It's Cheryl.
I know, Ca... Cheryl. So to make it up to you...
- I'm ready. ...could you buzz me in?
Ugh. Is that all you have to say?
Yes.
Now tell me again how...
No, not that part. Go back. Yes.
The pepper. Oh, yes, God. Oh, God.
Oh, goddamn it.
What the hell are you doing?
What are you doing?
L... I'm...
For your information, I've just been reviewing your operations account.
- No. No. No. - Yes. Yes.
- No. No.
And it makes for fascinating reading.
- No. - Let's see.
You turned in an expense report from Berlin...
where the German desk says you never checked in.
- Oh, Berlin was... - Ditto Buenos Aires.
- Too busy to check in? - There was... Yeah.
Already off to Monaco?
- I'm spying. - Or was it Mallorca? Oh.
- Or Tunis? - Tunis kind of rings a bell.
ISIS isn't your own personal travel agency.
It doesn't exist just so you can jet off to Whore Island.
That's not a real place.
I have 50 agents who'd literally kill to move up to your position.
If you don't square your operations account by Monday...
they won't need to. Your position will be vacant.
- Sterling. - Hm? Sorry. I was picturing Whore Island.
Have I made myself clear?
Are you...? You're looking for the answer "yes"?
- Yes. Good. - Then, yes.
Then get out.
And for God's sake, take a shower.
Smells like a whorehouse in here.
Okay. Your own fingers.
- Hm? - Nothing.
Johnny Bench called.
So here's the thing.
I need to access my operations account and you're preventing that.
Now, we can do this easy or we can do it hard.
Your call. No? Hard it is then.
- Oh, God, sorry. Goddamn it, Archer.
- I forgot that... Did I get you? What is wrong with you?
Me? Nothing. You, on the other hand, have a bullet inside you.
- I see the foot's all better. - And I see you're still a hatchet-face prick.
- Do you see that sign? - Do you see that sign?
- Well... - That's why. So we don't get ants.
Because when your co-workers put food in the refrigerator...
that's a bond of trust, okay?
And if you violate that trust, or the food, there's...
There's my favorite section head.
I am dealing with the break room problem.
Oh, good. You caught the... Oh, wait I had something for this.
- The Pita Predator. - You know what?
Sorry. Let's just call it what it is.
- Food rapist. - Not a pretty name, is it?
Pam, if you want some food that's supposed to be cream-filled...
I offer these delicious doughnuts.
Yeah? - In exchange for a favor.
- A favor? - Yeah.
After how you treated me?
- **** your dolphin, Pam. Archer, she's down, all right?
- Your ******* dolphin. She's tapping out.
- You. - I think she peed.
I had to get three stitches.
And I broke my watch. And I'm sorry for that.
- Three... - But I need your help, Pam, because I'm...
um, conducting a mole hunt.
- Aah. - Gasp you should...
because if you let me in the mainframe, I'll drop these doughnuts.
Then you can pretend they're marbles and you're a hungry, hungry...
hungry hippo.
Lana. Hey, I know I'm supposed to be up my own ass right now but...
- Oh, is that what you want? Yup.
- Because that's how you get ants. Yay.
Cyril, my favorite section head.
- What do you want? - To apologize for my behavior.
- Well... - And also to...
- What are you doing? - Oh, just dicing veggies for dinner.
- I always make Lana stir-fry on Friday. - Neat. Listen...
- Guess what we call it. - Stir Friday?
- Wow, that's actually better. - Yup.
It's all yours. So come let me in the mainframe.
Is this about your operations account?
- No. Cyril... - Yeah?
I'm on a top-secret mole hunt.
Oh, yeah, Pam mentioned that.
- Wha...? When? - Well, she called a minute ago.
- You know how Pam loves to gossip. - Yeah. I need rug marbles. I know.
- Come let me into the mainframe. - Okay.
- I need to confirm this with your mother. - No. No. I mean, what? Cyril.
- What if she is the mole? Think about it. - Your own mother.
Think what that would do to me if we had to kill her...
- Archer. ...by stabbing her wrinkly neck...
with a knife? - Yeah. I can't let you in there.
Can't or won't?
- Either? - And after I gave you Stir Friday.
- That is much better. - I know.
- But if you wanna access the mainframe... - What?
I guess you'd have to break in.
Break in to the ISIS mainframe.
Which is obviously ludicrous. As is this baby corn.
What is that about? Archer?
ISIS headquarters makes Fort Knox look like a gingerbread house.
Only two means of ingress.
The first, at street level. Impenetrable after 6.
The second, through an access door on the roof.
Inexplicably unprotected.
But even if you zip-lined across...
... reached the access door...
... and somehow made it into ISIS headquarters...
... you'd still have to find the mainframe.
But, wait, it gets worse.
Inside, there are three countermeasure systems.
The first is pressure sensitive in the floor.
Even a mouse triggers it.
The second is sound sensitive. Anything above a whisper sets it off.
And the third system is state-of-the-art voice activation.
Cyril Figgis.
So, obviously, it would be a lot easier for me...
if you just disabled all that when you left work tonight... somehow.
- Ooh. That would make me uncomfortable. - Yeah.
Oh, God, everything makes you uncomfortable.
Just the tip?
Just the tip.
How was I to know you're lactose intolerant?
Because I kept screaming it.
- Well, what? - And this...
I'm just a secretary.
- I don't have access to security whatevers. - What?
- Then get them from Cyril. - How would I do that?
- Seduce him or Pam, or both. - I can't do that.
- Can't or won't? - Either.
That's how you wanna play it? Fine.
- Are you gonna pay for your lunch? - Just the tip.
Actually, I don't have any cash.
Can you get it? Sorry. I also need cab fare.
Oh, ugly duckling.
Bock, bock.
So thanks for nothing, Carol.
Now I have to break into ISIS headquarters in a $900 turtleneck.
And if it gets ruined...
I'm gonna make you drink heavy cream, you...
Carol.
Wow, that was actually pretty easy. Thanks, new turtleneck.
Oh, and thank you, duffel bag.
Jesus, what else could go wrong?
Exactly. You're not Archer. That's what's so great about you.
And the fact your mother died in a fire.
- What? - I said where are we on that stir-fry?
Agent Kane. What?
Yes, confirmed.
Confirmed a naughty nellie's breaking our after-work phone rule.
- Cyril, there's been a break-in at ISIS. - What?
- Think it's the mole? - God, you and Pam...
- Pam's all right. - Wow.
Okay. I've got to go.
- But it's Stir Friday. - Hurray.
- But if I'm not here... - Yeah.
Because after three months of whatever it is we're doing...
it's weird that you can't leave me alone in your apartment.
- I know I have trust issues, all right? - But it's...
- It's Archer's fault I'm like this. - Here we go.
- All of those years of lying and cheating. - It's fine.
That thing with the mayonnaise.
- How messed up he is about his mother. - Fine.
Do you know he called out her name once when we f...?
Fine!
- And here we are. All fine. - Cyril, come on, hon, please?
Now who's a naughty nellie?
- Hello? Hi, who's this?
Cyril Figgis.
I'm sorry. Did you say Faggis?
- Figgis. Figgis. - Who is it? Better not be Pam.
Not Faggis? - Figgis. I was very clear.
Hi, I'm a huge fan of cock and my name is...
Cyril Figgis.
Holy shit. Our security is atrocious.
Seriously, it's really bad.
Password.
Hm. Password. How about "guest"?
No way.
It can't be. Jesus Christ, that is just Baby Town frolics.
Okay, operations account. Just how deep in the red am I?
Out of my mind. Oh, no.
How? How did I spend that much money?
Yeah, I know it's sexy, Woodhouse. That's why I bought 10.
Now arrange those by color.
These are all black.
Oh, are they? Or are five in a dark black and five in a slightly darker black?
And now I'm short a slightly darker black one.
So let's just put all my expenses...
into some pathetic idiot's account by the name of...
Oh, Krenshaw.
- Oh. Now that's not very nice. - Oh, God.
Hey, I was... I was just talking about you. And about how this isn't what it looks like.
- A lot of that going around. - Yeah. It's an epidemic.
For example, my real name is Kremenski.
- Is that sound...? Is that Jewish? - It's Russian.
Um...
- Russian-Jewish? - I'm the mole, idiot.
What? I made up the mole.
Yes, but you told Pam and now everyone is looking for a real mole.
God, do we hate Pam.
- So I have to escape. - And irony.
Thanks for breaking into the mainframe for me.
- Double irony. - I'll need 50,000 for travel expenses.
- Fifty thousand? - From your account.
- That's too much. - It's all last-minute bookings for two.
Wha...? Oh.
Because when I hand the notorious Duchess to the KGB...
I won't just get a promotion, I'll get my own dacha.
- Too bad you'll never see it. - What the...?
Lana, Krenshaw's a mole.
And his name's not really Krenshaw, it's Kremenski.
Definitely Russian, possibly a Jew. I don't know. Thoughts?
Yeah. Shut up. And you, drop it.
- Or what? - No, no, no. Do not wind her up.
That is a big gun, and she is baby crazy.
- Baby crazy? - That's why I dumped her.
- You little... You sack of shit. - What? What?
I dumped you because you're dragging around a 35-year-old umbilical cord.
See? All you talk about is baby shit because you're baby crazy.
- You wanna see crazy? - No, I've seen that movie...
and spoiler alert, it ends with a closetful of my suits on fire.
- I wish you'd been wearing one. - Who would want to wear an on-fire suit?
- Cosplay enthusiasts. - What?
Do you even hear how totally batshit insane you sound?
I'll tell you what I hear.
Yeah, please keep talking.
So why are you sitting here in the car eating stir-fry?
Oh, it's Stir Friday. And Lana said to.
Krenshaw? - Ms. Archer?
- What's this flap about a break-in? - Mother, look out.
Krenshaw is a mole.
Oh, Pam's just full of crap as she is of carbohydrates.
- Now... Hey. - Not this time, you impossible bitch.
Also, you should all be nicer to Pam.
- I am always nice to her. - To her face.
- Why aren't you in the car? - Will somebody do something?
What are you doing, you idiot?
Shut up. It's classic misdirection.
Looks like we've got a Mexican standoff, Kremenski.
How is this a Mexican standoff?
- Dumb-ass. I don't care if you shoot her.
- I do. - But what if I shoot her, mama's boy?
Sterling? - Yes.
- Picture her dead in the gutter... - Sterling.
And what your pathetic life will be like without old Mommy dearest.
Jesus Christ.
What is it? - He's got an erection.
What? - What the hell is wrong with you people?
Nothing. You, on the other hand... Ow. Ow.
- An erection? - Ow. Hey.
What's in there, buckles?
The thought of me dead gives you an erection?
No, just half of one.
The other half would have really missed you. I mean, not...
- Oh. - Ugh.
Johnny Bench called.
Yep. See here, Krenshaw just stole 50,000 from Archer's account.
- Must have been doing it all along. - Apology accepted, ass douche.
- What? Call him that again...
- Make me. What?
- Do you see this? - I just don't understand.
- This is a hostile work environment. - I would have known if we had a mole.
- How? - How what, dear?
- How could you know if we had a mole? - Um...
Then I am taking hot pepper...
and slowly I am rubbing it around... Goddamn it.
Hello? Darling?
- Who was this? - Who are you, Comrade Question?
And who are you, Comrade Questions?
- Comrade...? - Oh, shut up.
You and your erection.
- And why are there doughnuts everywhere? - Lana did that.
Do you want ants? Because that's how you get ants.