- Synced and corrected by chamallow - - www.addic7ed.com -
Well, the race is on to save a young, British Asian man, Hassan Ahmed,
who has been kidnapped by members of a far right group
calling themselves the Sons of Albion.
- The kidnappers have made no demands... - Jesus.
and it appears the authorities are no closer...
- Shit. - ... to discovering his whereabouts.
- So bleak. - Yeah.
I mean, we're behind the scenes, and we know nothing.
Well, we know the bastards are gonna kill him.
- Yeah, because they haven't made... - Made any demands, yeah.
how and, indeed, why he was targeted
beyond his ethnic background.
Do you think Lamb knows what's going on?
Well, I'm sure he could find out if he wanted to.
I'm not sure he cares.
You know, Lamb's password is "password."
- "Password"? - Mm-hmm.
- How do you know? - Ho told me.
- And what did that cost you? - Nothing.
He just wanted to tell someone, didn't he? To prove how clever he is.
How much do you think the Park's gonna be telling Lamb?
I mean, we could find out.
He's bound to be copied in on updates for live ops.
Mmm.
But... probably shouldn't.
Um, do you want another drink?
Yeah, maybe.
Or... I don't know. Maybe back to the office.
Mm-hmm.
Yeah. Okay. Well, I mean, it's better
than getting pissed here, isn't it?
- Not helping, are we? - Exactly. No.
- Yeah. - Last order at the bar, guys.
Okay, thanks. Another drink?
Okay, but something quick. Shots.
- Oh, my God. I don't know... - Can you hurry up?
- Can I just do it? - Here.
- 'Cause it's really painful to watch. - Go on.
- All right. Are you ready? - Yeah.
- Want to see my technique in action? - Yeah. Mm-hmm.
Okay.
Ow. Arse.
- You have to turn the handle at the same... - Shh!
How have you still not learned how to open the fricking door?
- But that was smooth. - Uh-huh.
- That was smooth as you like. - According to who?
What? Me. That was cool. Cool as a cucumber. All right, shush.
- Try and be quiet. - No, you sh...
Try, if you can.
I can't see.
Right, turn that w...
Let me get the light.
Sorry. Uh, am I not doing it right?
- I haven't... It's been a while. - Did you hear that?
Hear what?
I don't know. A noise.
Like a mouse?
Do we have mice?
Yeah. Yeah, we've got lots of mice.
Or something that does mouse droppings around the place.
- Shut up. - Ho.
Okay, I heard that.
I think it was Lamb's office. Sounded like Lamb's office.
I don't know. There's no lights on.
Wait. Are you sure we wanna do this?
What else should we be doing?
Well, I mean, I'd rather be doing what we were just doing.
- God. - All right. Of course. Priorities.
No.
Corkboard?
No, there were two noises.
Well, maybe it bounced.
Okay.
Fuck it.
So, what... what... what now?
Do you wanna go back to my place or we go back to yours?
Let's do one more sweep.
Min? Min!
Min.
- Min, you all right? - Yeah. Yeah.
- Min? - The gun, the gun.
- You okay? - Fine. I'm fine.
No pulse. I think you broke his neck.
He broke his own fucking neck.
Oh, my God.
- Fuck. - What the fuck?
Dr. Lawrence, come to surgical three.
Non-emergency.
Dr. Lawrence, please. Dr. Lawrence, please.
Dr. Lawrence, come to surgical three. Non-emergency.
Can I help you, sir?
Think you must be lost, sir.
They'll help you at reception with whatever you're after.
A shoe...
in a bag?
I'm embarrassed for you.
Wait, wait, wait.
He's got my phone and my pass.
- Take all the time you need. - Yeah.
Sorry. Um, Sidonie Baker, do you where she's, um...
Lamb. La...
Lamb, I can't just leave without knowing how she is.
She's still on the table.
What do you mean? Is she gonna make it?
Why the fuck did you ride in the ambulance?
I thought she was dying.
I'm not just gonna fucking leave her there, am I?
- Would you? - Yes.
It was a dumb dick move.
Once you called it in,
your ID was flashing lights and sounding whistles
from here to Regent's Park.
That's why that Dog was waiting for you.
Wait, how did you know I was here?
'Cause once you went walkabout,
- I got Ho to monitor the Park's alerts. - Why?
In case you did something as stupid as you did.
Okay.
They, uh... They say she might live.
Oh, thank Christ.
No thanks to you.
No indication as yet
that the authorities know where Hassan is being held.
Police are now saying
the threat to Leeds University student Hassan is grave and imminent.
His liaison officers remain with Hassan's parents,
but it has been some hours since anyone has been seen
entering or, indeed, leaving the house.
We can go to a live press briefing
- being given by West Yorkshire Police. - Yeah?
Cartwright's gone. I think it was Lamb.
Find them.
Hassan Ahmed was here
after he left this comedy club,
The Last Laugh, at approximately 11...
Slough House?
Why have you brought me back here?
Because you're my agent,
and you were there when another of my agents was shot,
so I'm doing your debrief.
What the hell were you two doing at Hobden's?
He's got something on his laptop that the Park want.
I think he's connected to th... to the kidnappers.
Sid thought this too?
Well, she followed me following Hobden.
She told me she'd been put in Slough House to watch me.
Was that before or after she got shot in the head?
Who was it?
Who was what?
Who shot her, you pillock?
I don't know. I couldn't see his face.
He had a balaclava on and tactical gear.
So, a pro?
Yeah. But, uh... Well, kind of.
For fuck's sake, Cartwright.
- I... - God.
Can you let me think for one minute? Would that be fine?
I don't know. It was strange. It was like he... he...
he wanted me to think that he was one of the Dogs.
But it just... It wasn't quite right.
And he didn't speak the whole time.
Like he was worried I might recognize his voice.
God.
There's your answer, Cartwright. Jed fucking Moody.
If you had issues with him, I could have spoken to HR.
No, we didn't know it was him.
- He jumped out. - I'm not sure that counts as a defense.
He had a gun.
Better. He used it earlier.
- Shot Sid Baker with it. - What, he killed Sid? Why?
No. She's... She's fine. She's alive.
Mmm. She was 20 minutes ago.
But wait. Why... Why the fuck did he shoot her? Where were they?
We were at Robert Hobden's. Sid followed me. I never asked her to.
What was Moody doing there?
I don't know why he was there. He broke in dressed like this.
- What was he doing here? - Well, we didn't get a chance to ask.
But he'd... He'd been in your office.
Your corkboard was off the wall.
Can you account for your movements?
- Well, we were over the road. And... - In... In the pub.
Fuck me.
If this is nicer than going back to your place, I pity you.
Where's, uh... Where's the gun?
It's over there.
He looked like using it?
Look, let's get this straight.
This is not a court of law.
Did he look like using it?
He didn't point it exactly, no.
Yeah, well, you might want to reconsider your position on that.
- I didn't mean to kill him. - Of course you didn't.
If you meant to kill him, he'd still be alive.
Hmm. What's this?
Dirty bastard.
What, was he gonna bug your office?
Uh, it'd be an odd move after shooting one of my joes.
No, he was cleaning up.
Prior to getting out.
Well...
the prostitutes of Paraguay,
or whichever non-extradition destination he was headed for,
have had a lucky escape.
Two mobiles.
Jed, Jed, Jed.
Eh, I'm surprised you had enough friends to carry one.
This one's barely used.
Just one incoming call.
You should ring it.
Thank fuck you're here.
I would never have thought of that.
Moody?
I'm afraid he can't come to the phone right now.
Jackson.
We need to talk.
Come on.
- Yes? - I need to see him.
It's very late, sir.
- I know that. Is he here? - Who shall I say, sir?
Hobden. It's Robert Hobden.
Whoa. Just... Just save us all a lot of back and forth.
Just tell him, if he's not receiving guests now,
he will need to make himself available in the morning,
'cause there will be cameras out front
and tabloids trying to get in the back.
Wait here.
Robert Hobden, as I live and breathe and shag like a lord.
Good to see you, old chum.
Timing's a little off.
But when a friend drops by, my door is always open,
and my wine is waiting to be uncorked.
I've got this, Seb. Give us a moment, would you?
What the fuck are you doing here, you stupid fucking twat?
I have been trying to contact you.
I've been avoiding your calls. Take the hint. You're fucking toxic.
- Did anyone see you arrive? - I don't know.
- What kind of prick answer is that? - It's the only prick answer I've got.
What happened?
Someone tried to kill me tonight.
Well, a lot of fanatics about.
- You're not the most popular... - It wasn't a fanatic. It was a spook.
- A spook? - Mmm.
MI5 sent a man, masked man, to my flat, with a gun, to get my laptop.
Fucking hell! I don't know where anything is.
I hardly ever come in here.
Why would MI5 want your computer?
Because I have intel about the kidnapping. The Muslim boy.
Why should I care about the kidnapping?
I've already made enough of a tit of myself, claiming it was ISIS.
Because your entire career has been playing the nationalist card.
And if that boy dies, the closest you'll get to Downing Street
is looking down on it from an open-top bus.
You alone?
Don't know why they had to clean up the canals.
There was a time you could find an oil drum
or a corpse to use as a target.
What do you think you're playing at?
Well, that's fucking choice, considering I lent you an agent
for what you said was a run-of-the-mill op,
who now has a bullet in her head.
"What do you think you're playing at?" is my line,
with a few fucking fucks thrown in.
I'm sorry, but the brief was not for her to be on Hobden 24/7.
No, the brief was to be on Cartwright 24/7.
Which makes me think she was your agent all along,
and you were just asking for show.
- Where was she when she was... - She was shot outside Hobden's.
Intentionally or otherwise, by Jed Moody, another one of your recruits.
So, if I may be so bold,
what the living fuck do you think you're playing at?
Check the rule book, Lamb.
You run Slough House, and God knows
no one wants to take that away from you,
but I am Second Desk, head of ops,
which means directing personnel.
All personnel. Yours or anybody else's.
Better out than in.
Oh, God, you're vile.
Actually, maybe not.
So, say you're right and this is none of my business,
what do I do about the body on my staircase?
- Moody? - Yeah.
He's dead?
It's hard to tell, given his IQ, but yes.
- Jesus. - Yeah.
But if you wanted to subcontract,
you could've done better than Jed Moody.
Even when he was good, he wasn't any good.
The guy's a fucking fridge magnet.
- Who took him down? - W...
Here's the funny part. He forgot to tie his shoelaces.
He f... He fell down the stairs.
Yes. When you're in front of Limitations,
you might want to leave out the bit about that being funny.
Oh, Limitations.
So, do we call in the Dogs?
Hell, it's a death, Diana.
I could call the police. I should.
I've got a mobile phone on me.
Yeah, I could use that.
Yeah, I found it on Moody's body.
The odd thing is, the only number in it is yours.
Yeah, you've made your point.
It's after 02:00, Diana.
And my team is smaller than it was yesterday.
You've got till I finish this fag before I start making calls.
Okay.
I was talking to my brother at the Frontline Club.
And I mentioned we were developing operations
to neutralize the nationalists.
You are fucking kidding me.
Sons of Albion have links to groups all under Simmonds's umbrella.
I can use this to roll them all up.
So, you set up some half-arsed scheme
involving a neofascist group kidnapping a Muslim kid
and threatening to chop his head off on YouTube?
Except it's not going to happen 'cause one of the group is yours.
- Close? - Half-arsed?
One dead and one in intensive care because what?
You... You... You think Hobden's got a piece of the puzzle?
When I went to the bar at the Frontline Club,
I saw Hobden in the booth behind us.
Bad tradecraft on my part, no... no question.
Uh, you thought he might have overheard you or recorded it?
That's why you needed to know what he had.
Do you have any proof?
No, but MI5 must think I do. That's why they tried to kill me tonight.
And you come here, leaving a trail of mad, shitty footprints.
- I don't want to be caught up in this. - You're already caught up in this.
You have to warn them and get them out!
And say what?
Tell them that th-this whole setup, this supposed execution, is a fake.
That the Sons of Albion,
who've never been more than a bunch of moronic street thugs,
have been set up by the intelligence services.
By an agent provocateur.
And I'm to, what, announce this in the House?
Or maybe on the Today program?
Peter, we've known each other for years. Don't try and fob me off.
We are not friends, Robert.
You've always treated me fairly in print, and I respect that.
But let's face it, you're a fucking has-been,
and it's no longer appropriate to be associated with you.
So take it somewhere else.
Maybe to your pals in the British Patriotic Party.
What? They won't believe me.
Well, I can't warn these Sons of Whatever. I don't know the fuckers.
But you know people who know people.
You have to warn them.
You have to get the word out. A spy's in their midst.
A rescue will be staged, and they will all be killed.
I'm a respected and much-loved national figure.
I don't have any of the contacts you're talking about, you mad bastard.
Peter, you're needed!
The second I go upstairs,
you get the fuck out of here, or I'll have Seb drag you out.
I have the photo of you at the rally.
Darling, Nahim and Ursula are going to go very soon.
Already? And skipping cheese, are they? I'll see about that.
Let's open some port and tempt them to stay.
Would your friend care to join us?
Rob and I have been discussing
some very official secret hush-hush, darling.
No one's supposed to know he's here.
You wait here, bud.
I'll settle things upstairs and be back in a jiffy.
I can't help but notice you seem, you know, pretty relaxed
for someone who set up a false flag operation
to behead an innocent kid in what, uh, four hours.
They're not gonna do it.
Their core messaging suggests they very much are.
Our agent told them they didn't actually need a beheading.
They just had to show that they could do it if pushed.
That's a hell of a gamble. I wouldn't fancy your odds.
You underestimate me.
The boy was chosen with care.
The kid. Who is he?
He's Mahmud Gul's nephew. Gul is...
I know who Mahmud fucking Gul is.
He's number two in Pakistan's military intelligence.
And... And this gets you what?
We will rescue his nephew,
and if that gets us even 10% more cooperation with the Pakistanis,
it will be worth it.
If this goes tits up... and Christ knows it hasn't gone right yet...
you... you've assassinated his nephew!
- Our man is... - Oh, "your man."
This isn't a sanctioned service op, Diana.
This is off the books!
This is pirate shit! Now you've got Hobden in the wind!
You gotta roll this up!
- It can still work. - It...
- This can neutralize the far right. - It can't.
How the fuck is he sleepin'?
I know I couldn't sleep with what he thinks
is about to happen. I know that.
He won't have slept since we grabbed him.
He must be exhausted.
You wanna go down and sing him a lullaby, do you?
Fuck's sake.
I'll mute it.
Can still see the lights.
- Little fucker! - Bastard!
Come on then.
Get down there.
Help! Somebody help me!
Somebody help me, please!
- Grab his legs! - No, no.
- Somebody help me! Oh, no, no! - Get him down from there!
- Help me! Help me! Help! - Get the fucker out of here.
Just humor me and explore the flip side.
If those Sons of Nonsense get wind of what you're up to,
that kid is as good as dead, and your man too.
You've gotta call him and tell him his cover's blown.
Not possible. He wanted them to go dark. No phones.
Send in the Dogs early.
If we bring it forward, we need to let him know
so he can secure Hassan and get out himself.
- Yeah. Well, lots of luck with that one. - You're gonna help me.
Ugh. Oh, no, I'm not. And nor are any of my people.
They brought the boy to London.
They're holding him in a house this side of the river.
All I'm asking you to do is literally knock on the door.
Our man will answer, and...
- What's the signal? - Your face is the signal.
My face?
Oh, you're a legend in the service, Jackson.
He'll recognize your face and know something's about to go down.
He'll secure Hassan, and Dogs will be right behind you.
They'll go in and do the dirty work.
I've got other things I could do tonight, Diana.
I've got a really massive shit brewin'.
I could sit and read a book and birth that beauty.
Was Moody alone when he died?
We're all alone in the end, don't you think, Diana?
In those final moments?
If he did have company,
that company might come under intense scrutiny.
Oh, by all means, call in the Dogs.
And when they're finished tearing you apart,
maybe they'll have enough strength to pick at the rest of this.
Either way, I couldn't give a monkey's.
Even if it was Standish?
Y... You're tossin' darts.
Standish wasn't there. She's at home asleep.
I'm not talking about tonight.
I'm talking about the night Charles Partner died.
Catherine Standish came very close to a treason charge.
That file could be reopened, reassessed.
Didn't fly then. It won't fly now.
A lot of other things might come out.
That is not a can of worms you want to open.
Do I look keen?
Like it or not, Slough House is part of this now.
You'll all get turned over.
Standish will find out some things
it would be better for her not to know.
I'll go knock on the door for you.
But in return, I want the Standish file.
And you've been using Slough House as your personal toy box,
which pisses me off.
- Are we clear? - Crystal.
Oh, there's more.
Moody disappears.
Baker, a victim of street crime.
Anyone with me tonight is fireproof.
Oh.
And you are in my debt until you're in a care home.
God, you really care about them, don't you?
Mmm.
Nah. I think they're a bunch of fucking losers.
But they're my losers.
For what it's worth, I'm sorry about Baker.
I'll have that marked on her chart.
You know, the one that clips to the bottom of her bed
that tells you when her catheter needs changin'.
I apologize for the threat, but I do need you to listen to me.
Don't you see?
They want everyone to forget
a-about body parts on the tube.
Madmen with swords, hacking people to bits on bridges.
But instead, we'll have footage
of our brave spooks rescuin' some brown-skinned boy
and paintin' the right as a bunch of murdering bastards.
Do you want them to get away with it?
This will stop you from taking your party
and your country further to the right.
Oh, that ground will be poisoned,
and there'll be a swing to happy-clappy, rainbow Britain.
Where the rights of the minority
drown out the rights of the true-born majority,
and you'll have to go along with it.
And that will pain you. And I know that you're with me on this.
Now I don't want to have to use that photo to make you do this.
I want you to do this willingly.
Listen to me, fucko.
That photo doesn't exist.
If it did, anyone who was in it
would make sure all copies and negatives were destroyed.
But say it did exist and you somehow had a copy.
I can brush it off quicker than you can cream your piles.
"It's photoshopped.
It's a wave, not a Nazi salute.
It was fancy dress. Poor taste, but not a crime.
I was young and drunk and stupid,
and this is not the man I know myself to be.
Here's ten grand to an anti-fascist group."
Now get the fuck out of my house
before I punch you so hard, I break my fist.
Seb.
You want me to follow him? Warn him off a return visit?
No, but I'll need you to make some calls.
Fuck! That was close.
He is a horrible, slippery little prick.
Yeah. Well, he's not goin' anywhere now,
so if either of you wanna doze off.
Nah. I'm pretty wired now.
No. I'm stayin' awake, because I don't trust this little bastard.
Easy. All in good time. All in good time.
Where's fucking laughing boy?
Don't know. Probably upstairs, havin' a bubble bath.
All right, let's have some fun then.
Might as well make some money off you two.
Who's in?
- I'm all for a game of cards. - Yeah, all right.
Um, let's get rid of some of these bottles.
- Don't be falling asleep in there. - Yeah, go on.
Mmm.
What happened to the gun?
All right. Come on, pillocks.
Keep an eye on the place, eh, Jed?
- Has anyone else got a car here? - I have.
- You in a fit state to drive? - I can drive.
I hold my drink better than Min.
All right. Cartwright, you're with me.
You two fuckbirds follow.
Where we going?
Roupell Street. South of the river.
- Why? - To assist with the rescue
of Hassan Ahmed.
Speaking this morning,
the Prime Minister described the kidnappers as pure evil.
Government is doing plenty of tough talking...
The kidnappers are claiming to be
from a group called the Sons of Albion.
despicable and ghastly acts.
The fear is that another British citizen is going to die...
The British government now finds itself
fighting international terrorism on its home turf.
as extremely worrying
and added the investigation continues...
The deadline set by the men holding Hassan Ahmed
is now less than four hours away.
Proceed. Lamb will knock. You clean up.
Go!
- It was money, wasn't it? - What?
"What?" Come on. In that envelope you took off Moody.
It's your flight fund, in case you need to make a run for it.
Flight fund? Why, I haven't heard that for a long time.
- Where'd you get that? Your grandfather? - How much?
Fifteen hundred,
a passport and a key to a box.
- Switzerland? - Fuck you, Switzerland.
Bank in a two-donkey French town four hours' drive from Paris.
Why am I telling you all this?
Probably so you'd have an excuse to kill me.
That's probably it.
Home Office, ma'am. Barrowby.
Tell him I'm operational. I'll call him back when I can.
Yes, ma'am.
Do you, uh, think he can breathe in there?
Get a move on.
He hasn't moved in ages.
That's 'cause he's tied to a chair.
You can breathe, can't you?
Don't piss about. Nod. I know you can hear me.
See? He's fine.
Fifteen.
Call.
Fifteen.
Where have you been?
Hugging a pillow and crying?
Hey, what were you doing up there?
Just thinking.
Thought I heard a dull clang.
Want me to deal you in?
Playing for real money though.
You may not have the stones for that.
I'll raise another 30.
What regiment were you in?
- What? - In the army.
You know, when you were out killing towelheads.
Marines.
Asked about the regiment...
Marines don't have regiments.
It's battalion units known as commandos.
Stop makin' a twat of yourself.
Well?
All in.
Bollocks to it.
Ooh, looks like you two are finally growing a dick.
One between you.
You haven't used one of these though, have you?
Put it down.
No.
It feels good in my hand.
All it'd take is one swing, I reckon.
Cut right through.
Put it down before you fuck everything up.
Hold on.
So, killing him now would fuck everything up?
That's odd.
I mean, what are you talkin' about, mate?
I thought we were strikin' a blow for Britain at sunrise.
Look.
At the end of this, I report to Simmonds, yeah?
Now, I can tell him you're a good soldier. You get a pat on the back.
Or I can tell him you're a twat liability
and have his boys break your spine.
Up to you.
You little prick.
- Full house, dickheads. - Ah, bollocks.
- Hey! - No!
Seems pretty quiet.
What'd you expect? Balloons tied to the door?
Whoa. Why are you takin' a gun if you just have to knock on the door?
Because this whole op is fucked up.
Taverner's playin' London rules, but I'm the one in joe country,
so I'll play Moscow rules. Thank you.
Hey.
What are you doin'?
Stroking a cat.
Shit!
Go around the back!
Lamb?
Kitchen.
Oh, fuck.
- Synced and corrected by chamallow - - www.addic7ed.com -