Original subtitles

Is that really a magic bracelet?

- It is. - So you heard about Steve?

- He's requested a transfer. - She's gorgeous.

- What have you possibly got to complain about? - I'm not sure.

- That's the problem. - Do I kill people?

- Do you? - What does my police record say?

It's clean. Spotless. Almost artificially so.

My colleagues were telling me about this mad woman,

she jumped out in front of a car.

It's a miracle they didn't kill her, so they say.

Harry!

Is he dead?

- Do you trust me now? - I might be getting there.

The man who killed her children, what did she do to him?

She nailed him to a tree and slit his throat.

Woe betide anyone who crosses Isabella Augustine.

What do you call this?

A way to get your attention.

Torturing people?

That's the wrong way, Eve.

You needed to know.

Not from you,

not like this.

I can handle Isabella.

She's my problem.

That's because she's made herself your problem. That's what she does.

She's a wildcat, Harry. Play with her, you'll get bitten.

Well, then.

I'll have to bite back.

Intercept the localiser runway two eight right.

Cleared ILS two eight right.

Right, ladies and gentlemen,

the seatbelt sign's now has been switched off.

So, if you'd like to start gathering your things

we'll have you disembarked in a jiffy.

- OK, final honeymoon video. - Yay! We made it home.

Hi, guys. We're just back from honeymoon. Had an amazing time...

Oh, here we go.

Good evening... argh!

- What the... - Oh, fuck!

Well, well, well, if it isn't MIS's very own welterweight champion.

Please go on joking about my anger issues.

- I'm gonna get suspended. - What?

Winter gave me an official warning.

If Cartmell's solicitor presses assault charges,

DPS will have no choice.

I shouldn't have let this happen.

I lost control. And I don't do that! I don't.

Hey, I still have to have my debrief.

I'll talk to the DPS, smooth things over.

Ah, there'll be no talking and smoothing of things.

I'm going to keep my head down and stay far away from trouble.

I pray for a world where that's possible, DS Chohan.

Unfortunately, you're needed.

Flight E307 from Oslo landed just under four hours ago.

Jesus Christ!

We're still assessing the scene.

Apparently, bullet wipes around the wounds

indicate the shooter used a silenced pistol.

Is this a terrorist attack?

Doesn't seem likely.

Not messy or loud enough, and so far no one's claimed it.

Wait a minute. "He"? This was the work of one person?

Yep. Got him right here.

- He was dressed as ground crew. - What's in the bag, I wonder?

Well, the passengers' hand luggage has all been gone through.

He acted alone and killed without hesitation.

So who was he?

What'd he take?

A Norwegian import agent was on board

carrying bonds worth 30,000 euros.

And the backpack?

It doesn't feel right.

Would you break into an airport,

kill nine people for 30,000 euros in change?

Well, no.

So you think he was after something we don't know about.

_

_

- What about their phones? - All gone.

- Why would he take them? - Camera phones.

Didn't want to be seen.

Are we sure they're all...

You hear that? It was a phone, right?

Yeah.

Got you.

_

Come on, Dai! Chop chop. We wanna get a move on

if we're going to be on time for this...

I see.

- No, Mum, no, Mum... - Ah-ah-ah, what did I tell you?

Anything you watch in this house I get to watch.

Right, what is this?

It's real. Dad has superpowers.

Nobody's that lucky.

Look, watch it.

Dais, this is just...

- digitally manipulated nonsense. - No, it's Dad.

Thrown together by some basement-dwelling computer geek

- desperate for hits. - He can do things. He's told me he can.

Because Dad's going through a mid-life crisis.

- And imagining he's somehow special helps. - He knew you'd be like this.

- Daisy... - OK, fine.

You don't have to believe it,

but he puts himself in danger every day

and this is what helps him, Mum.

He used to have us, and now he's got this.

Aargh! Ugh!

Let me see, let me see.

They don't tell you that when you hit someone

it hurts you as much as the person you hit.

Hmmm. Oh, Jesus.

I wouldn't count on that.

OK.

Let me ask you something.

Why are you here?

Hm?

Why are you

in the police force?

I suppose I wanted to make a difference.

If you want to make a difference, join the Girl Guides.

We just saw nine dead bodies laid out.

Why are you really here?

- Because the world is a shitty place. - Right,

and how does that make you feel?

- Angry. - Exactly.

We're all angry. Me, you, Winter. Especially Winter.

That's why we're police.

You have to let it out. You do.

The secret is to know when.

Draw a line. Anyone steps over it,

you give 'em a good kick in the bollocks.

And that'll stop me getting suspended?

No.

But it'll make you feel a lot better.

Fine. When do I give you yours?

- What, you owe me one, do you? - Five, I'd say.

At least five.

Oh, listen, um, I need to take this.

- Isabella, hi. - Hello, stranger.

You've been hard to reach.

Work. Busy. You know how it is.

I haven't heard from you in days.

Besides, I seem to remember saving your life,

which in my book means you owe me dinner at Nobu.

Harry?

Uh, I'm sorry, I've gotta go.

Jurgen Bloch, 47.

South African national.

Started out in private military companies in the Congo and Angola,

then progressed to personal contracts.

Interpol has a file on him

that reads like a Tom Clancy's Big Book of Ideas.

Hong Kong.

Prague.

Mexico City.

All high-profile, high-casualty hits.

Eight years ago he was linked to a car bombing on the Amalfi coast.

Then the trail went cold.

Bloch's been a ghost up until three days ago,

when Dutch police photographed him at Schiphol Airport.

So Flight E307 was a hit.

But why kill everybody on board if you've got a specific target?

Well...

nothing like a bit of chaos to keep us busy.

We've got our hands full with nine bodies.

We don't see that Bloch had a particular target,

but why does he go to all that effort

to keep that target hidden?

Because he has a second target connected to the first.

Exactly. He's planning another hit.

Soon.

Get on to Pathology.

Tell them to look for any aberrations in the victims' wound patterns.

Anything that suggests a target.

What was that mark on his neck?

- Tattoo? - No.

That's not a tattoo.

That's a scar.

Tell me more about how Isabella's children died.

- Can't it wait? I'm going to dinner. - I brought dinner.

You're staying and you're talking.

- They're somewhere in Italy. - Yeah, Salerno on the Amalfi coast.

Eight years ago, local Mafia took a contract out

on a judge who picked a fight.

- Are you telling me or am I telling you? - I'm sorry, but detail is important.

The hit man obviously had a taste for the dramatic

'cause he put too much plastique under Mr. Judge's motor,

took out two cars either side of him

and Isabella Augustine's perfect life is over.

But she didn't let it lie.

She went after him with everything she had,

caught up with him in Morocco.

Ran him off the road just outside Rabat.

OK, and what did she do, Eve?

She nailed him to a tree by the palms of his hands,

cut his throat and left him there to die.

And the killer's name?

What was the killer's name Eve?

It's Bloch.

Jurgen Bloch.

Take a look.

See there? And there.

His hands, those aren't stigmata.

He survived.

He's alive. And he's in London right now.

Bacon?

I smell bacon.

Thought that would rise the savage beast.

- Yeah. - Here.

You're a beautiful man. You know that?

Ah, don't thank me...

we've got company.

They did not have strawberries, but...

they had bagels.

Rich?

Um, yeah. I should probably get some... jam.

From the, um,

jam shop.

What are you doing?

Well... I brought you breakfast.

How close are we, Isabella?

We spend all this time together.

We have this connection.

How well do I really know you?

What do you want to know?

People are dying every day in this city,

always by accident.

She is always there.

How many?

- I don't know. - Eve...

- She wants them dead and they die. - Jesus.

You can't seriously think that means anything.

I think it means you've been murdering innocent people.

Were you going to tell me?

Your pain, your anger, just letting it out like that.

- Is that how you do it? - I...

don't do anything.

Some people just get the luck they deserve.

I think it might be best if I...

leave London for a while.

- Oh. - Yeah, get some time alone.

Me with my anger and, oh, you in your work.

What? You're just going to walk away?

Look...

- What's this? - Nothing.

You know who this is?

Jurgen Bloch...

gutted me.

I was just trying to find out what happened to you.

When was this taken?

I don't know.

He's still alive.

I'm, ah, going.

We have something so good, Harry.

You decide whether you want to throw it away.

Passengers were fish in a barrel.

Bloch fired at them indiscriminately. Quick kills.

But there was one victim he took his time with.

Elliot Aimes was his target.

See? One in the leg to floor him.

Then he moves in close.

Note the micro abrasions around the second bullet wound.

The end of the barrel.

An execution.

Elliot Aimes was a post-graduate

art restoration student at The Courtauld.

He took a year out to go travelling in the Far East

on the bank of Mum and Dad.

The suspicious thing is that he spent a whole month coming home.

Backwater routes, private charters.

Like he didn't want to be noticed.

There's something else.

He boarded with a carry-on in Oslo

and no sign of it at Docklands Airport.

Right.

So Bloch kills him, takes his backpack.

Right.

And I'm thinking drugs.

Yeah, maybe.

Anyone in London we can talk to about Elliot and drugs?

He has a girlfriend, Hannah Okoye.

She runs a gallery on Grove Street, Shoreditch.

Good place to start. Up for a bit of culture, Orwell?

- A bit of what? - Come on.

Like it?

It's pretty full of itself, but I suppose it does have a certain...

neo-Dadaist humour to it. What do you think?

Right, yeah. Good.

Private view's tonight.

- Invitation only. - Hannah Okoye?

DI Harry Clayton.

We were hoping to have a word with you about Elliot Aimes.

Then you've got the wrong person. I'm not with him any more.

I'm afraid we have to tell you he was murdered last night, Hannah.

Jesus!

Silly sod.

Silly, silly sod.

You went travelling with him, didn't you?

For a bit.

While it was fun.

Elliot was very good at spending his parents' money.

About five months in, they cut off their credit card.

We were in Macao.

I thought, shit,

that's it. Home time.

- But Elliot had made some friends. - Who?

Anders and Livia. Backpackers.

Bottom feeders living off crumbs from the jet set crowd.

They convinced Elliot they could find him some work,

so he got happy and stupid and started shagging,

probably both of them.

And I came home.

Anders Sorrenson and Livia Warren.

I'll do a background.

Hannah, do you know if, um, Elliot was involved in drugs?

I haven't spoken to him in months.

Whatever he got up to out there was down to him and his friends.

Well, I officially love how easy social media makes police work.

OK, so Anders Sorrenson is a Swedish national.

Livia Warren's a Londoner.

They both studied at Central Saint Martins,

and they both travel extensively.

Where in the world are they right now?

London, surprisingly.

According to Customs, they both took different routes back from Macao.

They both arrived yesterday.

If they're a couple why are they travelling separately?

Yeah.

It may be easier to remain unnoticed.

- They might be Bloch's next targets. - Could be.

So Warren has a studio space in Shadwell,

and Sorrenson's got a room booked over in Hackney.

See, look how useful DC Orwell is, Suri, yeah?

If everyone at MIS was that informative and helpful...

Yeah, I know what you're doing. Still getting a transfer.

Coin toss.

Coin toss?

It always leads me to where I want to be.

Heads, you and Suri take Warren. Tails, Sorrenson.

And away we go.

Suri?

Tell me good things.

No good things to tell. We're at Warren's place.

Looks like someone got here first.

Hard drive's gone from her computer.

OK, so you need to get out of there.

Bloch's been there, which means he can come back

which means you're dodging bullets.

Right, yeah. Definitely not into that.

- Sorrenson... - What?

He's here. I'll call you back.

Anders Sorrenson?

Aargh! Argh! Ugh!

- Go! Go, go! - Argh!

Go!

Aargh! No, please... !

Go!

Harry.

I'm afraid he didn't make it.

Bloch's bullet hit a major artery in his leg.

How many sugars are in it?

At least four.

Right, let's take a look at this stuff.

Harry, what the hell are you doing?!

That's evidence!

What is that?

I don't know.

But I know a man who does.

You're still in your jarmies?

I'm still recovering from this morning's drama.

Action movie marathon, best thing for it.

Come, divest thyself of those fine garments

and join me in worship at the church of John Wick.

Little too close for comfort right now.

What does that look like to you?

Oh, well, on its own,

I'd say about six million euros.

- On its own? - Yeah.

It's a Francis Bacon sketch.

Looks like prep work for Triptych 1973.

It was a series of paintings he did after his lover killed himself.

All three sketches together would be worth about 20, 30 million.

- That's interesting... - Mm.

because this particular piece is sat on my desk back in MIS.

Jesus!

That's one hell of a score.

The world of the billionaire art collector is a secret war zone.

You get something stolen from you,

you don't go through the authorities

'cause that would make you look weak, instead...

- you set up a bounty. - What? Our hitman?

Maybe, if you're really pissed off.

- Ah, here you go. - Ai-ya.

Three studies for Triptych May-June 1973.

- Stolen in Macao just over a month ago. - From who?

Well, it's unlikely we'll ever be able to tell that.

Well, this bounty notice was set up by a shell of a shell of a shell.

So all three were stolen?

And given that you're...

such an extremely legitimate businessman,

ah, you couldn't possibly have any idea where these thieves

might fence such desirable items?

- No idea whatsoever. - Uh-huh?

But if you were to say the right name,

it might trigger some deeply repressed memory.

Right.

Suri, there are three sketches.

Bloch must have taken one from Aimes' backpack.

- Are you eating popcorn? - No.

Livia Warren must have the third,

so she'll be next on Bloch's list.

Any luck on Sorrenson's phone?

I'm looking for high-frequency hits,

on names, regularly dialled numbers over the last month.

No go. His emails and IMs have been scrubbed.

We'll need more time to retrieve them.

Ooh, try his appointments. Anything in London over the next day or two?

Ah, nope. Nothing.

Wait. There's something here.

On a book from Sorrenson's bag.

"Stark, 1600." And then today's date.

Andreas Stark.

He's definitely the kind of dealer who would buy stolen art.

- He's in London now? - In just a wee bit.

He's opening a big new gallery in Bermondsey.

- It's called The Stark House. - D'you hear that, Suri?

We get to him before Bloch does.

Get Winter to rally the troops. Good man.

- Hello there. - I'm staying over.

Me and Mum had an argument about your superpowers.

Oh. Right.

Does Mum know about my... superpowers?

Of course she does. I told her that I'm extremely concerned about you.

Brilliant. Um...

Look, sweetheart. It's great

that you're taking such an interest in, um...

ah, but, ah... I've got to go and... fight evil.

Er, hey, Daisy. You're not staying, are you?

She's staying, I'm going.

Here.

Pizza money.

Don't let him stay up too late.

So,

do you like the films of Keanu Reeves?

We need to talk about you torturing my staff.

Ugh!

Fine.

Let's talk.

Every time you throw one of these,

it's a 50/50 chance which way I need to dodge.

Good odds.

Good. Not perfect.

Oof! Ugh!

So...

now you have a choice.

We can continue

or you can tell me what Harry told you about Jurgen Bloch.

You knew, didn't you?

I know you don't mess with John Wick's puppy.

No, I meant about Dad

- and the bracelet. - Ah.

That, yes.

- 'Cause I've been thinking. - Mm-hm?

About how all superheroes need a person to help them.

Batman has Alfred,

- Spider-Man has Aunt May. - Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.

I'm not your dad's Aunt May.

No, but he does need someone.

You know about old things.

I like weird things.

Maybe it should be us.

Maybe it should.

Yep.

Hey!

Leave some for me.

Harry, we're moving.

If Livia Warren's meeting Stark at four. We're short on time.

I'm minutes away, but the traffic's heavy.

We've gotta get there before Bloch does, or she's in real trouble.

Yeah, I got it.

_

Shit!

I thought that might get your attention.

Have you hurt Eve?

She's a little scuffed around the edges,

but now we're having a drink together.

She has told me

about our mutual friend being in town and here's the deal.

You step aside for 24 hours and let me handle him.

I can't do that. You know I can't.

I need you to think carefully about this, Harry.

We're approaching a point of no return and

if we don't start helping each other, we might fall out.

Isabella, listen to me. I can do this for you.

I can put Bloch away for the rest of his shitty little life.

I killed him eight years ago. I shouldn't have to do it again.

- You don't have to do it at all! - But I will.

He never deserved justice. Never.

So, now you're going to tell me where he is?

It's never gonna happen.

DS Chohan to DI Clayton.

ETA five minutes to Stark House, Bermondsey.

Oh, bad luck.

Isabella, that's got nothing to do with Bloch. I'm telling you.

For a man who loves to gamble, you're a terrible liar, Harry.

- I'll see you there. - Isabella...

What?!

I'm DS Chohan. This is my colleague DC Orwell.

We're looking for Andreas Stark.

Ah, he's in the White Room.

It's, uh, through there.

OK, you two cover the exits.

He's not in trouble, is he?

Mr Stark?

Mr Stark?

My co...

Shit.

Urgent medical assistance required.

Adult male, believed Stark,

fatally injured.

Livia's backpack.

Either you got here too late or too early.

I'm not sure which.

- It's OK, Livia. - Radios.

Come on. Give me your radios.

Come on.

You.

Pass me the bag, eh?

The box in the bag. Pass it to me.

Come on, do it!

Take us.

You're in control, OK?

She's not important to you.

You leave her, take us.

Fair enough, bro.

Ah!

No!

- Argh! - Orwell?!

Don't move! Don't you move.

I'm afraid I'm going to have to, sweetheart.

Places to go.

People to see, huh?

So, you're going to have to give me your best.

You heard the man, Suri.

Give him your best.

I thought you didn't look the type.

Argh! Oh!

Shots fired! Repeat, shots fired!

- Bloch is on the move! - Steve?!

Steve, are you OK?

You should be dead.

- Most people tell me that. - I'm not most people.

You remember me, don't you?

I'm not sure I could forget you.

Pulling those nails through my hands.

Holding my throat closed.

Hot.

Sticky.

Flies crawling inside me.

- I walked miles like that. - Good.

So you remember why I did it?

You see, that's the problem with my job.

I make a lot of enemies.

So you're going to have to refresh my memory.

Salerno.

Two children caught in a car bomb blast.

You killed them.

My children, my loves.

And I thought what I did to you would be enough,

but here we are again.

So, what are you going to do to me this time, eh?

Why don't you point that gun at me and find out?

Pleasure.

Bloch, no!

Ugh!

Welcome to the point of no return.

Where's Bloch?

Bloch's gone because you let him go.

He was about to kill you.

He was about to die.

Now we're going to have to start all over again.

Or I call for our boys with the big guns and have you arrested.

For what exactly?

It's not my fault if accidents keep happening around me.

See, Harry,

you may be the law,

but I'm above it.

No one's above the law.

I can't let you go.

I might not be able to prove what you've done,

but I know what you are.

That's a pity

because I know exactly where Bloch is going

and I'm pretty sure you want him almost as much as I do.

Your choice, Harry.

Bloch or me?

You never know, you might learn something.

Clock's ticking.

I'm driving.

Argh!

Ugghh!

So what do you know that I don't?

When it comes to Bloch, everything.

After Salerno, I spent months hunting him,

so, I know he's on way too many watch lists to travel.

- So, someone flew him in? - No, he flew himself in.

He has a plane, licensed under an alias.

It's been stowed at Ripley Airfield,

north of the city, for the past three days.

- There's no guarantee that's his exit. - True.

So, I paid an air traffic controller an inordinate amount of money

to keep an eye on his flight schedule.

His has a departure window in the next hour.

60 minutes to the other side of the M25? No chance.

Really?

All this time together and it still amazes me

how little you've learned.

This isn't over. Not yet.

We need a locator trace marker out on Bloch,

a visual ID sent out to every major station and airport.

- Sir, I shot him, sir. - I know.

Good work, DS Chohan.

- And Steve got shot, too. - Twice.

Yup. Excellent work, too, DC Orwell.

There should be second warnings,

mandatory leave, and three miles of paperwork.

Well, there probably will be. First, we finish this.

Back to the station.

Orwell, try not to get shot again.

- Working on it, sir. - And somebody find me Clayton!

You're up.

DI Harry Clayton. Got business with one of your clients.

Thank you, sir.

Isabella...

Listen to me.

You don't have to kill this man.

You don't. Bloch...

- needs to answer for his actions... - No.

but that is my job. Please, please, let me do it.

No! You don't get to decide what's enough for that man, Harry.

You don't!

Think about what he took from me.

Their names were Aaron and Asa.

And I am so sorry that you have lived with this,

I'm so sorry that this is what you have become.

But I can't let you do this.

Don't you walk away, Harry!

Don't you fucking walk away!

Ugh!

Oof!

Argh!

Ugh!

Ugh...

argh!

Oh, oh, oh.

Bad luck.

What is it about men that makes them so intent on screwing things up?

I'm not sure I'm the man to ask.

If you don't mind, I have a plane to catch, eh?

Actually, she's talking to me.

See, we're having a bit of a row.

And you somehow ended up in the middle of it.

So here's the thing.

You can fight with her,

that'll probably end when she drops a helicopter on you,

or you can come with me.

You can't stop this, Harry.

You two, you are both completely insane, eh?

Me a little less than her,

but that's your fault, mostly.

36 hours ago, I stood looking at nine dead people that you shot.

Nine people!

And all because a billionaire wanted three drawings back

he's probably never looked at!

What can I tell you, bro?

This world is grim.

This is the way it made me.

You and me both.

Go on.

Go on, do it.

Do it.

- Do it! - Isabella, don't!

Please! I am begging you!

I'm not a murderer, Harry.

He'll get what he deserves even if I don't pull the trigger.

So, don't do it!

Fine.

Fine.

We'll do it your way.

No!

Shit!

Argh! Argh! Aaaargh!

My radio was smashed at Stark House.

I got to my car,

I followed Bloch to Ripley Airfield.

Do I wanna know how you managed to do that?

No, Alistair.

I don't think you do.

I intercepted him before he could reach the plane,

we struggled

and then...

Then the bad thing...

happened.

Yeah.

The bad thing.

So it was an accident?

That's all.

Because I've noticed, Harry,

a lot of them seem to happen around you,

so if there's anything that you want to tell me,

now would be the time.

No, sir.

S'pose I just need a change of luck.

There they are.

Bonnie and Clyde.

I've got a present for you.

My first official warning.

You framed it.

- You shouldn't have. - These are for you.

Ha! Jelly babies.

- My favourite. How did you know? - I know.

- Well, thank you. - Thank you.

For looking after my partner.

- That was pretty brilliant. - Yeah, yeah, kind of was.

I'm still getting a transfer.

- Yeah. - We know.

I got bitten.

We both did.

When we were young,

neither of us had much, didn't want much either.

And back then she seemed so... good and kind.

I thought

if I gave her the bracelet, she would do

good and kind things with it.

It was my mistake.

So, you gave me my bracelet to...

clean it up?

I thought you two might find each other.

I didn't know what would happen next.

I do.

I've seen what she's capable of,

but I can't prove it.

So, what am I supposed to do with her?

End the game.

- Lily-Anne Lau. - Business or pleasure?

One dead body belonging to... ?

Dean Adams, 47, property developer.

We have so many clients, don't we, Harry?

She's put someone in amongst us and now

we've all ended up fighting each other!

If you are lucky, the caretaker might find you in time.

I think one of our officers is bent.

The guilty will be punished, Harry.

- Synced and corrected by chamallow - - www.addic7ed.com -