"What do you mean you can't? I thought you knew the Mandarin!" Zemo stalked the length of his private office on the north side of the base, churning his wine glass with agitated swishes.
"He's no longer in business," growled Rumlow, the irritation in his voice adding an extra rasp. "I don't know why it's necessary to broadcast it anyways."
"It is the prime moment of our victory! The salt poured into America's wound! It will be beautiful, my friend." He smiled down at his drink. "We don't want them to miss it." Zemo paused to take a long sip, then sighed, returning to his pacing. "There must be someone else we know who is capable of infiltrating the system."
"There is one."
"Well spit it out, man, who is it?"
Rumlow hesitated. "I have an agent stationed as an undercover in Stark's team of engineers. He's a top notch hacker and more than capable of overriding the system."
"Why didn't you bloody say so? It would have saved me days of trouble!"
"He's busy with a project I have him assigned to, but if there's no other option, I'll put you in contact."
"By all means, Rumlow, look into it!"
When his associate had left, Zemo drained his glass and sank into his chair. "Why, why do the fates curse me so?" He got up, uncapped a vodka bottle and sat back down. "Idiot!" He took a shot and breathed a heavy note of frustration. "I've been waiting, planning my whole life for this moment and you mean to tell me you've had the man I needed at your fingertips the whole time?" He slammed the bottle down on the table and threw the crystal shot glass across the room. It met the wall and bursted into a firework of jagged fragments. He took another swig straight from the bottle.
By the time a soldier came in for a report, the man was humming a Russian lullaby and swiveling himself back and forth with a stupid grin plastered on his face. The agent figured he'd leave the report for another day.