-- no, the real danger is from suspending civil liberties, gutting the bill of rights, allowing our fear to destroy our democratic ideals --
-- the political extortion you committed in order to destroy my vice presidential bid so that --
-- so that you might vicariously bask in reflected limelight from your son --
you know, i have such contempt for you, eleanor, that when i think of you, i actually fear for this country. raymond is nothing. a riddle. a wild card at worst. but you, you are the smiler who wraps her dagger in the cloak of the flag and waits for her chance to strike. which i pray will never come. he wheels away --
nobody will believe this.
on the advisory board of manchurian- global, should they ever publish a list -- which they won't -- you would find former presidents, deposed kings, retired prime ministers, ayatollahs, african war-lords, fallen communist dictators and an assortment of the fucking rich, who are distinguished from the merely filthy rich by factors of billions. he puts the noyle file down, pushes everything away.
you bring me rumors and conjecture.
nightmares you've interpreted, using as primary resources a) your spotty memory, b) the internet -- sacred sanctuary of idiots and nutters -- and c) random faces and coincidences, and evidence you chewed out of a man's back -- all neatly stitched together with the common thread of a powerful, well-connected private equity fund -- who will plead ignorance, and be shocked, shocked, to learn what
some of their subsidiary partners are engaged in.
no, i'll wait until raymond gets here and we can all --
hello raymond. raymond smiles -- it's terrifying -- the fragile, forced, frigid smile of a man in pain.
do you recognize this man?
his name is atticus noyle. he is a south african physician, neuropsychiatric scientist and mercenary -- someone our cia trained for covert mind warfare against the soviets in aghanistan -- someone who has sold technology to and done research for terrorist groups, and rogue states. major marco claims that this man --
nevertheless he's pulled from his mad hat some remarkably lucid connections between his dreams of your exploits in kuwait, and this dr. noyle, and the private equity fund manchurian global -- raymond frowns, looks from jordan to ellie.
-- your mother's primary political benefactor for the past fifteen years.
at the time of desert storm, dr. atticus noyle was working under a research grant from manchurian global. your mother's friend. the color suddenly drains out of ellie's face.
rogue scientists. mind control. manchurian global. your mother. you. connect the dots, raymond. possibly, your mother's blind to them, because they pay their way --
it's not about me. as far as i'm concerned, this should never come out -- it would shred what little remains of the fabric of our public trust -- think of the nation --
everything you stand for is upside down! if this were to come out, true or no, it would be catastrophic for the campaign. and it will come out.
you withdraw. you bow out gracefully. personal reasons. an obscure illness. yield your spot on the ticket, go into seclusion .  he glances coolly at ellie --
 and then surrender yourself to federal authorities who can help you address the damage that may have been inflicted on you. -- and walks out. raymond and eleanor have hardly moved. sound of the front door opening, closing.
who's that?
stops paddling, and lets the kayak drift in. he's breaking hard, sweat glistening on his face.
wait. oh, don't do that, i can --
-- the water must be freezing. what are you doing? raymond. don't bother, i can -- raymond catches the bow of the kayak, turns it.
i am too. but, your mother must -- with one motion, raymond rips the two-blade paddle out of jordan's hand, and flips the boat over --