All language subtitles for The.Phoenician.Scheme.2025.2160p.WEB-DL.DV.HDR10 [Ben The Men].mp4

Charlie-Oboe-Seven-Sugar.

Distress call acknowledged.
Divert to new coordinates.

- Negative! Negative!
- Heading two-three-zero.

- Vector two-three-zero.
- Negative!

- Ascend three-zero-zero.
- Unable!

Stay on course.

We're only losing altitude
at 50 feet per second.

Let's clear that ridge,
then reassess.

There might be
a more survivable crash site.

More survivable crash site?

I told you! I warned you!

Wet tarmac! Short runway!
25-knot crosswind! Lightning!

You disallowed me to complete
a proper safety check

despite credible threats
of sabotage.

You forced me to take off
and needled me and teased me

and bullied me, but I managed
to get us airborne anyway.

And now, needless to say,
we've been blown up by somebody

trying to assassinate you again,
and we're gonna crash after all!

If we survive, I'm reporting you

to the Trans-European
Aviation Authority.

- You're fired.
- What's that?

- What'd you say?
- You're fired.

I'm fired? In the middle of

emergency
forced landing procedure...

Mayday, mayday, mayday.
Charlie-Oboe-Seven-Sugar.

Request for immediate clearance.

I've got a cornfield and a,
uh, looks like a soybean field.

Which is gonna be softer?

Inconclusive.

Never mind.
I'll be in the cornfield.

At this moment, rescue workers

are laboring to extinguish
the fiery wreckage

of an ill-fated
dual-engine aircraft,

in a perhaps futile attempt
to recover and identify

the remains of
Anatole "Zsa-zsa" Korda,

international businessman,

maverick in the fields
of armaments and aviation,

among the richest men in Europe.

This was Korda's sixth recorded
airplane crash.

Dogged for years by accusations
of profiteering,

tax evasion,
price-fixing, bribery,

Korda specialized
in the mediation of

clandestine trade agreements.

His moniker
in financial circles: Mr. 5%.

He is survived by

ten children--
nine boys, one novitiate nun,

his daughter Liesl--

and is predeceased
by three wives.

A controversial figure,
some will mourn his death,

others, inevitably,
will celebrate.

Who was this man?

How do we recognize him?

Does he have even an identity?

Let us consider
his life and deeds.

Born to an unscrupulous...

Grandmother.

Why are we here?

I don't know you.

...in a cold house

and brought that cold life...

Captain,
what exactly would Mr. Korda

have experienced during those
final seconds of his life,

before he was incinerated,

while you rocketed through
space strapped to a chair?

Surely a horrific display of...

Actually, no. He's still alive.

Mr. Korda. Sir.

- Wow.
- I'm fine.

What's that in your hand?

I don't know.
I think it's a vestigial organ.

I tried to get it back in.

It's not as easy as it looks.

The chair recognizes
the bureaucrat from Baltimore.

Thank you.

Subject: Zsa-zsa Korda,

our single common enemy
who works consistently

and relentlessly against
the interests

of all our competing nations.

The one item only on our agenda
which unites us.

He swindles our banks.

He dodges our tariffs.

He ties up our courtrooms
in tactical lawsuits.

He provokes war
as well as peace,

in direct conflict with
our shared diplomatic agenda.

Subject's new venture
relies heavily

on personal capital and wildly
overreaches liquid resources.

Our objective,
with your approval:

disrupting, obstructing,
impeding,

crippling Korda's enterprise
in any manner possible,

with option to cancel
in event of subject's sudden

and probable death.

- All in favor?
- Aye!

Your bag, Miss Liesl.

- I'll put it in the cupboard.
- I wish to retain it.

Yes. No, no, I'm keeping it.

I understand.

Be seated.

Liesl. I expect
you received news of my death.

The reports were inaccurate,
needless to say.

Let me get directly
to the point.

I've appointed you
sole heir to my estate,

which you may come into
sooner rather than later,

and provisionally
manager of my affairs

after the event of my actual
demise, on a trial basis.

- Why?
- Why what?

Why sooner rather than later,
since you survived again?

And why am I sole heir
to your estate?

You have eight sons
at last count.

- Nine sons.
- Nine sons. What about them?

- They're not my heirs.
- Why not?

- I have my reasons.
- Which are what?

My reasons? I'm not saying.

I'm saying I'm not saying.

It's been six years
since our last meeting.

I apologize.

I apologize.

I forgive you.

Are you dying?

Thank you. No.

But I keep getting assassinated,
unsuccessfully so far,

and I can't allow my enemies
to benefit from killing me.

That's the top priority
in my life at this time.

If they get me,
you get them, provisionally.

Like an audition.

Like a trial period.

Of being your daughter.

Of being sole heir to my estate
and manager of my affairs

after the event
of my actual demise.

The personal family aspect,
I agree,

that merits further discussion,
but for now,

there's much to explain,
and it's all in these shoeboxes.

Korda Land and Sea Phoenician
Infrastructure Scheme.

My most important project
of my lifetime.

30 years' work.

May I move? Over there.

Over where?

Over there? Why?

They say you murdered my mother.

- What? -They say
you murdered my mother.

Who said that? Who said that?

"They." It's what they say.

I feel the need to address it.

It's why I agreed
to come here today.

They say that? Well, it's a--

Forgive me.

I know you're pious.

It's a goddamn lie.

I never murdered
anybody's mother in my life.

Okay. I have no choice
but to take you at your word.

I never personally murdered
anybody at all, ever!

You arranged murders perhaps.

Don't put words in my mouth.

Of course I didn't and don't.

I've employed violent men
to do violence on occasion

in the distant past.

I take no relish in it.

They say you murdered
all your wives.

I'm gonna sue them for libel in
that case, whoever "they" are!

If you can provide me
with their identities.

In fact, I was very fond
of your mother

and never would've murdered her

under any circumstances
whatsoever.

I didn't know her that well.

I thought you came here
because I summoned you.

My plan is to be a nun.

Not anymore, right?

Your brothers are there.

Jasper, David, Phillip,
Michael, Harry,

Jamie, Samuel, Steven, Thomas.

Hello, boys.

Will they be joining us
for luncheon?

Of course not.

They live in a dormitory
across the street.

I don't know, I don't know
what they're doing here.

Is today a Saturday?
That might explain it.

I bought Jasper a crossbow.

Be careful of your eyes.
He's a very good shot.

You understand
this changes your life.

Listen carefully.

This shoebox contains my idea

for the dam
we're going to build.

This shoebox contains my idea

for the canal
we're in the middle of digging.

This shoebox contains my idea

for the tunnel
we already finished drilling.

I think he sharpens them.

It's supposed to have
a suction cup.

This shirt box contains
my plan to assemble

the massive workforce required
for the project.

In short,
we're gonna need slave labor,

but that's available to us.

This hatbox contains
my negotiations

with barons in shipping,
mining and railroads.

These littler sock boxes contain

my agreements with titans
in banking, real estate

and black market syndicates.

Excuse me.

Hello.

Yes.

You're not my heirs!

Who the deuce is that?
He's been eavesdropping on us.

I'm the new tutor.

Ah, of course.

Welcome.

Bring me the polygraph.

I always keep a tutor on staff
to give lessons

during intervals
of my free time.

He's gonna teach us about
insects and related subjects.

He's an expert in that field.

We'll be with you shortly.

This is my daughter Liesl.

This is Professor...?

Bjorn.

Professor Bjorn.

Watch out!

In summation, the boxes on this
carpet all together present

a blueprint to set the wheels
of commerce in motion

throughout a potentially rich,
now dormant region.

Then to retain an appropriate
but extremely valuable

five percent of the revenues
for the next 150 years.

This is just...

crazy.

Yes, I admit.

If it works, it's a miracle.

But it's going to.

What's in the glove box?

That's the gap.

We'll discuss that later.

You still didn't sign it.

I told you, I take my vows
at the end of the month.

I told you, unfortunately, no.

The church could claim a lien
on our family business.

You can still believe in God
if you wish.

- The pigeons are there.
- Not for me.

I take only a few crusts
of bread in the daytime.

- How about you?
- Hmm? Me?

I could eat a horse
and easily a pigeon.

You're invited
to lunch in that case.

Oh, thank you, sir.

Point your finger.

- Full name?
- Bjorn Lund.

- Place of birth?
- Oslo.

- Are you wearing a bow tie?
- Yes.

Are you now or have you ever
been employed

- in the conduct of industrial
espionage? -No, no, no.

Or engaged as a professional
contract assassin-for-hire?

Goodness, no.

Give him the overcooked one.

Your bread crusts, Miss Liesl.

Peace be with you,
Reverend Mother.

I write with perplexing tidings.

See what I mean? Poisoned.

- Oh, it's poisoned.
- Why did it turn black?

My father has appointed me

provisional successor
and prospective beneficiary

of his vast fortune,
gained entirely, as you know,

through unholy mischief.

How will your slaves
be compensated?

I believe they will receive
a small stipend.

It's really up to the king.

We can't interfere
on that level.

God may have something
to say about that.

Is he against slavery
in the Bible?

I'm against it.

What worth is the pledge
of a swindling rogue?

There's a terrible famine
in this region.

- This shoebox, I mean.
- I know. That's us.

This friendless man
bewilders me.

- In what sense that's you?
- We-we did that.

Normally, there'd just be the
normal level of poverty there,

but presently
we control the grain.

Now we make our move,

and we supply provisions
on our own terms.

My word. Is that ethical?

It's damnable. To hell.

Nevertheless,
I foresee an opportunity

to accomplish,
by the grace of God...

...significant good works
with the enormous resources

he proposes to place
at my disposal.

Memorize this combination.

I can't tell you
where the safe is.

That'll be in my will.

Perhaps this could be
even his deeper intention.

Where does it come from?

Mexico.

Not the cactus.

I mean this ruthless brutality.

You don't know me.

The boys live across the street.

There's no love in this house,
as far as I can observe.

God is absent. Why?

I remain profoundly reluctant
to leave the order

and long for the hour
of my return to sanctuary.

I think it's not my fault.

It's a self-fulfilling prophecy
which starts in the nursery.

No one cared about or for me
except my nanny,

and she was dismissed
and put to shame.

- What for?
- She overstepped her position.

It had to be done.

Also,
his poor boys, my brothers,

thirst and hunger
for sisterly affection.

The wings have a scent
which gets on your fingers

if you catch them.

Some smell like lemons.

Some smell like chocolate.
Some smell like urine.

Are you interested
in butterflies?

Is that a real question?

Is this an act?

I'm interested in the welfare
of all living creatures.

Very good. Very good.

What advice can you afford

your humble servant, me?

She was murdered, by the way.

Not a suicide,
the official ruling.

I think I know who did it,

but I've tried
to stay out of it, frankly.

The son of my father.

He's the murderer, I suspect.

The son of your father?

In other words, your brother.

- Half brother.
- Uncle Nubar?

- He's my mother's murderer?
- I suspect.

We always hated each other,
of course,

but we do
conduct business together

through an intermediary,
because he's very clever.

- "Thou shalt not kill."
- I agree.

We must bring that man
to justice,

if what you say is true.

Broadcloth.

Wake up my notary.

Yes, sir.

Sign the paper
in front of you...

...and I swear
my word of solemnest honor,

we shall bring
ferocious revenge down upon

this cold-blooded butcher,
your Uncle Nubar.

Meaning get him arrested?

I think so.

He is one of our
principal partners, of course.

I'll pray on the matter.

Heavenly Father,
please grant me

with some guidance
for this difficult decision.

Amen.

- God has called me here
for a purpose. -

No slaves. No famine.
No dormitory.

You're on a trial period.

We've annulled your
sacred covenant, Miss Liesl.

A secular rosary
will arrive from the jeweler

later this afternoon.

I hope you'll find it
to your liking.

P.S. How is your rheumatism?

I pray for your health
and comfort.

Jasper.

Bless us and these,
thy holy gifts,

which we are about to receive.

- We pray for the poor...
- What's this about?

Don't make them be religious.

I already did.
We're reading Genesis.

- ...before thee in thy name.
Amen. -Amen.

Why would anybody do something
I didn't tell them to do?

Does this soup
come from our usual kitchen?

I feel it tastes better.

It does taste better.

I have a French cook.
You have a Belgian cook.

Yes.

What? What, what?

- What are you afraid of?
- Don't worry.

They eat only worms and crickets

and sometimes their own mates.

Are you men or mice?

You should be lions!

No bugs at the table.

I am sorry.

Of course.

Yes, sir?

The snails are good.

Thank you, sir.

They're good.

Also, he likes your soup.

Did you eat dinner
with your father

when you were a little boy?

No.

A new rule.

From this day forward,
you're allowed a maximum

of two authorized friends,
each of you.

And we're gonna make a list.

Nobody not on that list
will be permitted

to enter these premises
at any time.

Also, a new motto:

"Break but don't bend."

I didn't know
you live in a slum.

Fix the leak.

Never buy good pictures.

Buy masterpieces.

Why do you adopt children
into this madness?

I play the odds.

Of course I have my boys,

but the adopted ones
might turn out to be better.

This fella could be smarter
than Einstein, for all we know.

This is a bashable rivet,

perhaps the most effective
device of mechanical hardware

ever conceived for the purpose
of permanently coupling

two beams, rods,
posts or pillars.

It's the foundation
of modern civil engineering,

though its usage, of course,
dates from the Bronze Age.

Regular price: ten for a nickel.

Wake up.
The new plane is on the tarmac.

- We're leaving in ten minutes.
- What?

- Wake up.
- Wait.

Wh-Why? Where are we going?

- I'll tell you in the air.
- Tell me now.

I'll tell you in the car.

- Tell me now.
- Obey me.

I'm going back to sleep.

It's sabotage! Look.

Over the past 50 years, the
market value of bashable rivets

has risen calmly, measuredly
from three and a quarter

to 27 and a half Yankee dollars
per keg-barrel.

Last night,
rivets rocketed to 900.

- What does that mean? For us?
- It means the gap explodes.

There's a run on bolts, spikes
and pulverized gravel, too.

All category
of construction materials

across the entire
western Near East.

My enemies are manipulating
the markets we manipulated.

Who's that?

Arsonists. I hired
them to burn the house down,

if necessary,
for insurance purposes.

They're just doing
an assessment right now.

That's not my suitcase.

I got you a new one.

The other one wouldn't be
suitable for this voyage.

It looks like a picnic basket.

Today, tonight and tomorrow,
we rendezvous with every titan

in every shoebox and pretend we
agree what we already agreed,

but, in fact, we don't.
We can't.

Somebody's got to cover the gap.

How much is the gap?

The gap?
The gap is not like that.

Yes, it's partly
a deficit in funding

against our total
projected revenues,

but more precariously,
it's a missing slice of a pie

that was baked
too big for the pan.

I mean the amount.

Everything we got.

Our entire fortune
plus a little bit more.

Wake up the tutor.

Initial countermeasures rendered

highly effective results,
as you can see.

Subject now engaged
in desperate campaign

of clandestine site visits.

Crisscrossing region to
confront each principal partner

in effort to re-renegotiate
terms of charter agreement

and salvage enterprise

before official signature
signing ceremony end of month.

Also, newly obtained medical
report indicates subject may be

suffering trauma
from blunt force head injury.

Are those screws or bolts?

Possibly both.

Likely accumulated
over several incidents.

What's in the fruit crate?

Leave that alone. It's fragile.

- What is it?
- That?

It's fragile.
Leave the fruit crate alone.

- But what is it?
- Just...

It's hand grenades.
Are you satisfied?

Can you accept now
to be careful around it?

Why are we traveling
with a boxful of hand grenades?

I have extras--
a large number of them.

For me, at this time,

a hand grenade is cheaper
than a bullet.

Do you use them?

That's not really the point.

Point your finger.

You'll be acting as
my administrative secretary

for the time being.

- The last one got blown in two,
as you know. -Oh, marvelous.

That rucksack, which you're
responsible for, contains

all the liquid currency
to my name at this moment.

Keep it on your person
at all times and don't lose it.

I'll do my best. Great Scott!

Look at this one.

Isn't it remarkable
how he's able

to hang on at this airspeed?

How does he hang on
at this airspeed?

Shall we do a lesson now
or should I talk to you?

I expect you know about
tarsal segments:

the tiny hairs with
clawlike structures that grip

microscopic irregularities on
an apparently smooth surface.

But the dragonfly is also
furnished with little pads...

Hold that thought.

...called pulvilli.

When was your last confession?

- I think I was 14.
- Oh, dear.

Do you still believe in God?

Sadly, no.

Are you an atheist?

I'm a scientist.

You're an atheist.

Are you chaste?

Not particularly.

Is that important?

I don't really know.

Are you very terribly
pure yourself?

Obviously. How can you
ask me such a thing?

Look at me.

It wouldn't matter in the least.

Even if you were the cheapest
girl at the filthiest brothel

in the seediest
red-light district...

- Oh, dear.
- ...on this swirling orb,

nothing could detract
from your loveliness.

Thank you.

You're welcome.
I speak my heart.

I'm a bohemian.

I thought you were born in Oslo.

Not literally bohemian.

Actually, I've only been
to one brothel.

It left me cold.

We're starting our descent.

Prepare your documents
before we deplane

so you never delay my schedule.

Passports?

Where's yours?

I don't have a passport.

Normal people want
the basic human rights

that accompany citizenship
in any sovereign nation.

I don't.

My legal residence is
a shack in Portugal.

My official domicile is
a hut on the Black Sea.

My certificated abode is
a lodge perched on the edge

of a cliff overlooking
the sub-Saharan rainforest

accessible only by goat path.

I don't live anywhere.

I'm not a citizen at all.

I don't need my human rights.

What was that?

I think nothing.

It's the same sound
I heard last time

before the plane exploded,
but this time, it didn't.

So, nothing to worry about.

Myself, I feel very safe.

You have a long journey,
don't you?

You must find a suitable place
to bury it.

Yes.

I never lost interest in you,
by the way.

I always followed your progress
with great interest.

- Followed how?
- Bjorn!

- Hmm?
- Where's the rucksack?

In the car.

Followed how?

Well, I generally kept
various operatives observing

your activities,
your report cards,

your medical history,
your personal correspondence,

- et cetera. -You've been spying
on me all my entire life?

It's not called spying
when you're the parent.

It's called nurturing.

Or at the very least, interest.

Here comes the prince.

Actually, that's
some other fellows.

I think assassins.

Driver, get the hand grenades.

Driver!

Ahoy!

You armed yourself. Good girl.

Oh, no.

The assassins shot your driver.

I pledge to compensate his
family on behalf of the king,

who regrets the presence
of devilish brigands

in the imperial realm.

I think I recognize
that assassin.

He used to work for me, maybe.

Who's this?

- My daughter Liesl.
- How do you do, Your Highness?

Oh, she's a bride of Christ.
What a pity.

You may address me directly.

I beg your pardon.
You're stunning.

- Thank you. -They got him
right through the pump.

- The driver, I mean.
- Poor man.

- He didn't suffer.
- I believe he did suffer.

I brought you a humble symbol
of the gratitude

of my father's people
for your heroic endeavors

toward the prosperity
of our commonwealth.

Another knife.

She's got one, too,
under the habit. Show him.

- Holy moly.
- I bought it at the airport.

Help yourself to a hand grenade.

You're very kind.

How confident are we
in this tunnel

at the current stage
of construction?

One hundred percent.

Don't be alarmed by that tremor.

- Miss Liesl...
- Would you like to hold my hand?

I was going to suggest
the same thing.

Thank you both.

It's a very good tunnel.

Myself, I feel very safe.

Yes, but you're in the habit
of surviving.

Stop!

I beg your pardon.

Right on schedule.

This is not the document
we agreed to validate.

What? Of course it is.

You've been fiddling with it!

Th-The deal's already in place.

This is just a symbolic meeting

to connect
the unfinished tracks.

It's a formality.

Not anymore.

Oh, help yourself
to a hand grenade.

Have you been fiddling with it?

Barely.

- Liar! How dare you?!
- What in the hell made you...

It's not my fault!

...goddamn liar!

Somebody's got to cover the gap.

Somebody else.

I'll change it back.
We concede the point.

We're walking away.

The resources of our
bountiful treasury have been

acutely depleted during the
drilling of this magnificent...

- That's not our problem.
- It's his and yours.

Goodbye.

Halt!

Let's resolve it
the way we did in Colorado

with the dispute
over the Fort Junction claim.

Two-on-two, first to five.

This puts us at
a spectacular disadvantage.

I've never played the game
in my life.

I don't even know
the regulations.

We're the underdog, yes.
I still like our chances.

Basketball, by the way,
it's their greatest strength,

but it's
their greatest weakness.

Two beers, please.

Uh, not for me.

I've never tasted hard liquor
in my life,

except communion wine.

Uh, communion,
this is not hard liquor.

Anyway, on a hot day, in a
dark tunnel, beer's delicious.

You should drink this.

Okay. Two beers.

- Call it.
- Heads.

Heads.

One-zip.

A respectable attempt.

Classic backhand layup.

- I beg your pardon?
- I didn't say anything.

Did you hear what Mr. Reagan
just spoke to me?

When he refers to my mother,
he refers to the sovereign queen

of a population
of ten million loyal subjects.

He didn't say anything
about the sovereign queen.

Don't listen to that.

He's trying to get in your head.

Just play your game, Farouk,

if I may call you that,
Your Highness.

I don't know
how to play my game.

It's utterly foreign to me.

- You're good.
- I'm not good!

Two-zip.

Does that count?

It doesn't count, but
I've never seen it done before.

You got to bounce it
when you move.

That's a rule
I should've mentioned.

How well do you know him?

How well do I know...?

Anatole Korda. Zsa-zsa.
Your father.

Not well. Mostly by reputation.

I see.

What's your directive,
in that case, here?

- My directive?
- If you have one.

I would say, I think,
to prove himself to me.

Also, the other way around.

Am I prying?

Are you prying?

Maybe. Half and half.

Prying and, for selfish reasons,

genuinely concerned
for your future welfare.

Double hop-back jump shot.

Hmm.

- What's it like?
- I wonder.

- Plummeting to earth, on fire.
- How many times?

- Six, so far.
- Yikes.

- Sportsmanship, gentlemen.
- Part of the game.

Nothing personal.

Get it right this time,
you twerp.

Could you imagine falling
in love with a man like me,

by the way, hypothetically?

You're drunk. On three beers.

I think I mean it
as a genuine question.

Sisters of the cloth
do not engage

in romantic behavior
of any kind.

- Oh, really?
- It's a vow.

In that case,
stop flirting with the prince!

Besides, I thought
you're not a nun anymore.

You're a business lady.

Is this an act?

You asked me that before!

I don't know
what you're talking about.

Left-handed, blind-man,
over-the-shoulder swoop.

Yow!

That was the worst plane crash
I ever survived in my life.

I think I died, actually,

for about a minute and a half.

It's coming back now.

- What's going on?
- I don't know.

Did we give up?

Just, Sir Zsa-zsa,
as you say, play your game.

I'm not really a sportsman.

I'm more interested
in gardening, for instance.

My enemies are everywhere.

I'd like my daughter
to come to me.

She's drinking beer
in the dining car

with your
administrative secretary.

Fetch the nun.

He's actually a tutor.

Insects and related subjects.

Sorry for my bad manners.

- The beers were too strong.
- Hush.

I was present at your birth.

The midwife was
a leathery old hag.

I cut the umbilical cord

with hedge clippers
of my own design.

I was very fond of your mother
and never would've murdered her

under any circumstances
whatsoever.

How'd you get so religious?

My surviving parent sent me to
live in a convent at age five.

To keep you away from boys.

Didn't expect you
to get brainwashed.

You're the only child
I did wish to try to be

a proper father to,
but it wasn't possible.

You're named for my grandmother.

She didn't recognize me.

Is this typical of him?

In my experience? Not at all.

Normally, I'd say
he's the shrewdest,

most resourceful
businessman alive.

Ha!

One last shot.

From the end
of the train tracks.

If Farouk succeeds,

the deal proceeds according
to the original document

before I fiddled with it,

but you cover
ten percent of the gap,

and I swear my word
of solemnest honor...

- Skip it.
- Me?

- You.
- He misses,

there's half a million
Swiss francs in that rucksack.

It's yours.

The rucksack.

Okay, Farouk, if I may
call you that, Your Highness.

Take the shot.

Is it acceptable for me to
propel the ball in this manner?

We knew your mother.

One moment.

Dear merciful
and Heavenly Father,

please grant us good luck
and fortune in the circumstance

of my father's business dealings
with the Sacramento...

Good husband...

...what tribute is this?

Money.

She's not your daughter.

You do have my eyes.

Do people not tell you that?

Nobody ever told me
I have anybody's anything.

I think I see it.

Except yours aren't blue.

What's that?

I don't know. Go find out.

He has my eyes, too.

Uncle Nubar.

He's not human.

He's biblical.

What did you pray, specifically,

to get Prince Farouk to make
that impossible granny shot?

Even as an atheist,
without God's will,

he would've botched it
by a mile.

It's not witchcraft.

The phrasing of it, which
I don't recall, doesn't matter.

What matters is
the sincerity of your devotion.

That's it.

That's what?

- No, that's it.
- What?

That's it.

The pilot says
you got a telephone call.

- On an airplane.
- Who is it?

A Mr. Savarin-Montrachet.

Marseille Bob.

Hello, Robert.

Hello, hello.

Hello, Robert!

Yes, everything's going fine.

The tunnel?

It's perfect.

Yes, the brothers agree
to cover the gap.

Yes, all of it.

Everyone's delighted.

See you tonight.

Hugs and kisses.

Did you just tell Marseille Bob

the Sacramento Consortium
agreed to cover the gap?

- No.
- "All of it," you said.

I speak French, of course.
You're fiddling with it again.

Okay, yes,
but I'm doing a strategy.

Listen carefully.

Is this supposed to be here?

It was under the lunch trolley.

- Oh, dear.
- How much time does it say?

18 minutes.

Perfectly fine. We land in ten.

Myself, I feel very safe.

One, two, three.

The freighter docks

at high water.

The meeting's at midnight.

Should we take two taxis?
Two taxis.

Uh, I've arranged
a light supper, in the meantime.

Help yourself to a hand grenade.

You're very kind.

May I offer you
a champagne cocktail?

Uh, not for me.

I've never tasted hard liquor
in my life,

except beer and communion wine.

That's not hard liquor.

It's a delicious concoction
with cherries and a sugar cube.

Okay. Two champagne cocktails.

I knew your mother.

- You don't know?
- No.

I recognize your handwriting.

This is you.

Obviously,
the Sacramento Consortium

refused to cover the gap,
and you're trying to secretly

blackmail me
to salvage the agreement.

Actually, I suppose
it's extortion.

It's so crude.
You've been fiddling with it.

That's absurd.

It's far-fetched.

Where do you get
such suspicious ideas?

It's very French.

How could we know
you were gonna receive

an anonymous letter
in the middle of...

Nothing you say
will convince me.

I'm absolutely,
unflinchingly certain

you are responsible for this,
as you say, anonymous letter.

If you deny it again,
I'm throwing you out.

Is that a threat?!

Somebody's got to cover the gap!

It's sabotage!
The bashable rivets!

Not my fault!

Somebody's manipulating
the markets...

Well, anyway, you're wrong
about my handwriting.

Bjorn redrafted it.

Why'd you just do that?

You just admitted everything
after swearing us

to never reveal
your deceitfulness,

even under pain of torture,
for the rest of our lives.

You call that a strategy?

He doesn't fall for it.

They covered ten percent
plus Farouk another five.

What's become of you?

Too many airplane crashes,
I think.

I'm walking away. One taxi.

I'll change it back.
We concede the point.

- Too late.
- No, no.

I'll change it back.

- We concede the point.
- Still too late.

No, no, no, no.

I'll change it back.

We concede the point.

What was that?

This is a robbery.

On behalf of the Jungle Unit

of the Intercontinental
Radical Freedom Militia Corps.

All money, jewels and watches
into the bags, please.

We're outgunned.

Who are they?
I don't know these terrorists.

Must come from out of town.

The proceeds of this seizure
will benefit not only

the administrative activity
of our organization

but also orphans and widows,

the blind, the sick,
the wounded,

farmers, teachers
and the construction

of hygienic wastewater
disposal systems.

Why is he shooting my ceiling?!

Just rob my customers
and make your getaway!

- Bjorn, get the hand grenades.
- No.

None of the funds generated
by the sale of your property

will be squandered.

These pamphlets articulate
our policies.

It's too much.

Why are you shooting my ceiling?

This is a robbery on behalf
of the Jungle Unit of...

I know. I understand that.
I'm asking about my ceiling.

You idiots are destroying
a magnificent nightclub.

Grab the loot and get out!

Let's communicate.

He took a bullet for me.

- I took a bullet for you.
- I'm aware of that.

I witnessed the event.
Where's the wound?

Right here where the blood

- is gushing out of me.
- Okay.

Oh, it's not too bad, actually.

I think your diplomatic
credentials slowed it down.

Excuse us.

For that needless violence.

Did they shoot you?!

They shot me,

but your father did
something heroic, I suppose.

It should have been him,
actually.

Pluck it out.

Me?

Go ahead.

Keep it.

It's the one
that didn't get you.

I'm glad.

The meeting's at midnight.

Are you still walking away?

How can I now?

Two taxis.

Don't mention anything.

To Marty about the gap.

Just pretend our job
is building trust

and cementing it.

- Bjorn!
- Hmm?

Where's the rucksack?

Oh, I shouldn't keep it
in the taxi.

Any of you folks allergic
to powdered insecticides?

Of course not.

Any of you folks
bearing firearms

or other weapons on your person?

I carry a dagger.

May I ask the purpose
of the hand grenades

you folks brought on board?

It's a gift, I think.
He has extras.

Do I need a blood transfusion?

Hiya. Hiya! Come in!
Good to see you, man.

Come in. Hiya. How are you, man?

Come in. Hiya. Hiya.

- Come in.
- I've been shot,

but my diplomatic credentials
slowed it down.

This is my daughter Liesl.

Do you need a blood transfusion?

I'm O negative, universal donor,

if that's what
you're looking for.

- Who shot him?
- Terrorist from out of town.

- Geez, man. You shoot him back?
- Not yet.

This is Professor Bjorn,
my administrative secretary.

Welcome aboard.
Make yourself at home, man.

Have a seat.

You sit there, you sit there,
you sit there,

you sit there, I sit here.

Don't ask me
to cover the gap, man.

I know about
the bashable rivets.

Of course not.

This is just a symbolic meeting.

It's a formality.
Give me a pretzel.

Certainly.

Help yourself to a hand grenade.

You're very kind.

- Damn it!
- Oh, dear!

Hey.

I woke up in the middle
of the night

to a commotion downstairs.

Shouts and slams
and breaking glass.

A shriek like a cat
trapped in a cupboard.

I got up and snuck out

through the hatch
in the upstairs scullery.

They locked me in at night.

I slid down the spiral banister.

Deadstock didn't see me,
the underbutler at the time.

I walked down
the long front room gallery,

Bun-Bun in one hand,
Mousey in the other.

The grandfather clock
chimed 3:00 a.m.

The door opened, and my father
stepped out into the light.

He was wearing white pajamas
and a white dressing gown.

His face was covered with cuts
from a plane crash, as usual.

His hair was wild.

"Go to bed," you said.

"Where's Mama?" I said.

"Asleep," you said.

But it wasn't true.
She was there.

Standing in the reflection
in the mirror

in the doorway behind you
at the back of the room.

She had on gloves and a coat.

Her blouse was unbuttoned.

Her breasts were naked.

"Your mother won't be living
with us anymore," you said.

"Go to bed."

I walked in reverse
to the stairs, then I ran.

They sent me away in the spring.

Ob-Objection, Your Honors.

That's such a distorted version
of the story.

It's told from
a child's point of view,

which is forgivable
but maddening.

I never saw her again.

I'm not on trial here, am I?

I'm gonna confess
something terrible

which you may never forgive me.

Take five, man.

The reason I know who killed
your mother, which I didn't do,

is because
I did do something else

which maybe caused it to happen.

Your mother wasn't
a nun like you.

She took lovers.

One... one was your Uncle Nubar.

I profoundly resented
this insult,

in spite of my own infidelities,

and I tricked him,
not in my own handwriting,

into thinking your mother was
betraying him behind his back

with my administrative
secretary at that time.

The result:
he murdered them both, I think.

Did you love her?

I was very fond of her. No.

We must bring
that man to justice,

meaning get him arrested,
if what you say is true.

I swear my word
of solemnest honor...

- No, skip it.
- I apologize.

I forgive you.

Just like that?

That was my confession
of something terrible.

I told a poisonous lie,
and your mother's dead.

I always expected
the worst from you.

I forgive you. We're taught to.

We can no longer honor
the precise terms

we agreed to validate.

This document outlines
our revised proposal.

That's enough blood, man.

- How dare you?!
- How dare you?!

- You liar!
- Somebody's got to help me now!

What in the hell made you think
you had the gall

and the guts to get away
with anything, goddamn it?!

It's sabotage!

It's not my fault!

I know about
the bashable rivets!

- I told you so!
- It's the bashable rivets.

Prince Farouk and his father
covered five percent.

The Sacramento Brothers
covered ten.

Marseille Bob agreed to 15.

You're the richest-- 25.

Why would I do that?

We made an airtight,
legally binding contract.

No, I said 12.5.

15 because
I took a bullet for you.

Why... is because, if you don't,

I refuse to put the pin back in.

A live hand grenade.

It's a great scheme,
which, if it works,

is gonna benefit
all our partners

for generations to come,
and we're privileged

to thank you
for your participation.

Liesl, out.

I'm not leaving the room
so you can hand-grenade yourself

as a business tactic.

You asked me my strategy.

- This is my strategy.
- Will it work?

Not with my daughter in range
of the shrapnel, it won't.

- Liesl, out.
- You should go.

You should go.

Why wouldn't I just say yes now
and betray you later?

You're putting a hand grenade
to my head.

I trust you.

I think I trust you, too,
in return.

Not to tell the truth
or keep your word, obviously,

but I suppose I'm moved
by this absurd performance.

I'll pitch in, man.

20 percent.

Sharply compromising
my chances of profitability

in an already
extremely high-risk venture

just to watch you conduct
the grand finale.

Thank you for the blood.

You're welcome.

Intercepted message
from subject in transit

suggests possible
strategic merger

with House of Sussman-Korda.

Also, encrypted dispatch

from undercover operative
reports as follows.

"Target's resources
continue to dwindle

"as partners grow
dubious and bewildered.

"Target repeatedly places
significant cash funds

"directly into operative's
personal possession.

"Tried to misplace.

"However, operative
does not have heart

"to steal or destroy.

Too cruel under circumstances."

I'll debate that with him.

Further, "Target has
appointed daughter

"his official successor.

"Currently a nun.

Not for long, I hope."

Should I be kneeling?

The only terms I dictate is:

our marriage,
on a statutory basis,

would have to be
a purely romantic union.

I'm obliged to keep my daughter
sole heir to my estate.

My father and his father,
your grandfather, I mean,

nearly killed each other.

Maybe you know that. Do you?

No. I'm new to my family.

Best friends, whatever it means
in their case.

They went into business
together.

Formulated
a very effective poison gas.

Killed tens of thousands
of soldiers.

Made tens of millions
of dollars.

One day, in their laboratory,

a heated argument erupted
into a slugging match.

They attacked each other
with lethal measures

of an experimental new version
of their weaponized aerosol,

which fortunately
turned out to be

less effective than
the original compound.

Both survived, but that was
the end of their partnership.

I asked my father, 40 years
later, nearly on his deathbed,

still suffering minor neural
effects from the incident,

"What was the argument about?"

- You know what he said?
- Mm-mm.

"Who could lick who, I guess.

Or whom."

That maybe is the source
of most of our problems

on this barren earth.

"Who could lick who.
Or whom, I guess."

"If something gets in your way,

flatten it."

That was my father's advice

before he cut me
out of his will.

He asked to be mummified
and buried in a pyramid.

We bought the land and drew up
the plans but never built it.

We had him cremated instead.

Nothing he can do about it.

- Is this paste?
- Of course.

It's a proxy for the real one,

which I'm unable to pay for
at this time.

If you care to advance me
a portion of the funds,

- I'm more than...
- I'm not paying for anything.

I authorize a 150-year lease on
the property and water rights.

Maybe I might consider briefly
marrying you as an experience,

like a chapter in a book,

depending on the advice
of my tax attorney,

but I'm not going to help you
cover the gap.

It's against the interest
of my utopian outpost.

I'm not asking you,
I'm telling you,

as your potential
future husband.

No.

I'm not asking you,

I'm begging you,
as your favorite second cousin.

No.

Obey me.

Why?

If she does marry me,

I'm not sure we can't
compel her to cover the gap.

Depending on the jurisdiction
where the wedding takes place.

Do you believe
the official ruling

my mother's death
was caused by suicide?

No.

Who murdered her, then,
in that case?

In your opinion?

I only know what they say.

Is my uncle my father?

The diplomatic pouch arrived.

Open it.

List of contents.

One: fresh socks, ten pairs.

Two: a book.

Fleas of the Americas
by Karlsen and Voit.

Three: financial reports,
for review.

Four: bills to be paid.

Five: emergency directive,
urgent.

Six: fresh handkerchiefs,
a bundle.

Go back to five.

Ah, yes.
Might be important, looks like.

Bring it to me.

It's sabotage again.

Give this to the pilot.
New flight plan.

- Where are we going?
- Home.

A parliamentary motion
just passed

intended to thwart me
specifically.

I need to be there
with a notary by noon tomorrow.

What happens if you don't?

I become an English subject.

Then they seize
our worldwide assets,

extradite me
and send me to prison.

Ah, got it.

This is for you.

Happy birthday.

How old are you?

Twenty-one.

We can't read your handwriting.

Is this a one or a seven?

It's-- Goddamn it.

It's a "G."

"He's... been...

fiddling with it."

What?

You're tapping in Morse code.

Am I? Was I?

I didn't notice. How strange.

"He's... been...

...fiddling with it."

You speak Morse code.

Oh, no, no, not fluently.

I learned it as a schoolboy.

You speak Morse code.

I'm the librarian of our--
back at the convent--

collection of classical Latin
scrolls and codices.

I do deciphering.

Fascinating.

- Golly.
- Oh, dear.

Somebody poisoned his beer.

We should've tested it.

You let him drink
in the cockpit?

Just beer.

Stand back and hang on.

Uh-oh.

Why am I up here being stalked
by a fighter jet?

I have a vocation.

I think I recognize
that assassin, too.

He used to work for me, also.

I'm disinheriting myself
from you.

What a terrible thing to say
to a father.

Especially during
your trial period.

Good heavens! He's back!

Next time he strafes us,
peg him with a hand grenade.

It is an act.

I bear no hostility toward
your father or his interests.

Your father, however,
on occasion,

bears decisive hostility
to the United States government

and its allies and enemies.

It's my job to observe,
report and maintain...

You're a spy.

Uh, well, it's an interesting
story, I suppose.

After the war, my own primary
interests are very similar

to the persona I present to you
as Professor Bjorn.

I completed my studies
at Princeton

and helped establish
an expatriate scientific journal

publishing poetry, drawing
and ecological prose.

Eventually,
our government offered

to subsidize the magazine
in an effort to promote

American cultural interests,

but really
they just wanted us all

to become
intelligence operatives.

I hope you don't feel betrayed.

I could go ahead and turn back
into my normal self right now,

if you like.

It's not that different
from how you see me already.

See what I mean?

Basically the same person.

No, you're different.

I'm not actually a bohemian.

I'm a moderate conservative,
politically.

Also, I'm not from Oslo.

I'm from Wilmington, Delaware.

Also, I know how to drink,
although I do find

I'm less inhibited
when I pretend to be drunk.

Also, I wrote that book.

I was going
to recommend it to us.

Is that a fake mustache?

Oh, yes, uh, based on my real
one, which I usually have.

I do feel betrayed.

Me, too.

You lunatic!

I feel deeply terrible
about this.

You employed me in good faith
to teach you about insects.

This is a wonderful setting
for us to continue our lessons.

I've never seen so many bugs
in one place in all my life.

With the possible exception
of a garbage dump near Rome,

which was equally breathtaking.

Why'd you ask if I could
imagine falling in love

- with a man like you,
hypothetically? -Oh.

- Yes.
- Was it part of your mission?

No, it wasn't part
of my anything.

I might justify it
as trying to infiltrate

your family business,
but to tell you the truth,

I still mean it
as a genuine question.

Both as Professor Bjorn
and as Agent Karlsen

of the Covert North American...

Don't help me!

Don't help me.

Wrap this around a tree trunk.

I may go under for a moment,
but I'll save him.

No, you won't.

I'll save myself myself.

Bless us and these
thy holy gifts which...

- What's this about?
- ...we are about to receive

through thy merciful bounty.

- We humble ourselves...
- Dost thou not fear God?

...meekly before thee
in thy name. Amen.

- Amen.
- Amen.

Are you against slavery?
In the Bible?

It's damnable. To hell.

I believe they receive
a small stipend.

The yield of Adam's loins
crucified my only begotten son.

I know, I know.

Jesus.

I'm not dead yet.

Why didn't you let me sink?
It's redundant.

Our mission
is strictly dedicated

to sabotaging
your business interests.

We never resort
to extralegal violence.

I'm not gullible.

- I'm aware of that.
- What's the idea?

To demolish your enterprise
and pillage all its assets.

That was horrible.
I'll never forget it.

I'll feel a traumatic effect
on myself until the day I die.

Really?

I don't know if I feel
terrible or flattered.

Or both.

Like maybe I matter.

What did they do to you?

Our family.

I'm sorry I frightened you.
It won't happen again.

How'd you pass my polygraph?

We're taught to.
It's not difficult.

- You do karate?
- Of course.

I'll teach you if you like.

No, it's too late.

I don't know
how many more times I can die.

These filthy books
should all be burned.

Except this one.

It's sacrilegious,
but it speaks to me.

Keep it. It's yours.
Open your birthday present.

I love it.

It's a beautiful piece.

What's your real
first name, Agent Karlsen?

I'm happy to just go by Bjorn.

My only pleasant memories
of a miserable childhood

take place below stairs.

I was allowed to dine with
the household staff once a week.

They pretended to love me.

What choice did they have?

To this day, I'm a very good
cook and dishwasher.

6:15. The cock crows.

The robin brings worms
to its chicks

in the nest on my windowsill.

Sister Mary pumps
the water pump at 7:00.

The bell rings
for morning prayers.

The shape of the day, each day,
is exactly the same.

We like it that way.

As a little boy, I kept fleas
in plastic bags in my bedroom

and did my morphology
and microscopy at night.

I lived with my mother's sister.

My parents conducted
their research abroad.

Aunt Beth was very kind,

but she never approved
of my practices.

The house
was regularly fumigated,

resulting in a great loss
of specimens.

And later, out of jealousy
and loneliness, I betrayed them.

The kitchen staff.

I told my father the truth.

They steal.

I thought
I would become his ally.

Instead, he gave me
a tremendous beating

and didn't speak a word to me
for 90 days.

He fired them all just the same.

I'm going back to the sisters.

No, you don't.
How can you? We're marooned.

- Besides, you're my sole heir.
- On a trial basis.

That's finished. You're hired.

I don't forgive you after all,
I'm ashamed to say.

Plus, we got to get revenge
on your Uncle Nubar.

Or bring him to justice,
if you prefer.

I leave that to you
and your conscience.

I don't have one.

Plus, what about
the poor slaves and the famine?

I'm going back to the sisters.

To pray and study
and work diligently to overcome

my weaknesses of character,
which are probably genetic.

In other words,
it's all my fault again.

You can burn the house down
after all if we survive.

There you are.

Hello again, here in
the middle of the jungle.

How extraordinary
to stumble across

your crash site, I gather.

Hello, hello, hello.

I'm not a businessman.

On the contrary,
I'm a communist revolutionary

heavily armed and living
in a secret jungle encampment

with a band of freedom fighters.

However, even I can see
your plan on its surface

defies the basic laws
of economics.

That's why it's never
been done before.

My plan defies everything.

What's your connection
to the company?

Me? I pretend to be
his administrative secretary,

but really I'm the tutor.

But actually, in fact, I'm a spy

for the United States
government.

Wow.

Religion is the sigh
of the oppressed creature.

It's a protest
against suffering.

I agree. You're not an atheist?

Of course I am.

Some of my colleagues,
however, only claim to be.

I had a private army once.

Big headache.

15 minutes to spare.
Where's my notary?

We need fingerprints
and signatures.

You're all official witnesses.

- Mother Superior.
- Including the terrorists.

Peace be with you, my child.

A fighter jet shot us down
in the jungle.

By the grace of God,
we survived.

You received my letter?

Yes. I wrote you back.

I'm prepared to take my vows.

Read the letter first.

We received a marriage license
and antenuptial contract.

I assume you're aware
of the proposal.

I didn't know she says yes.

You're very pious, Sister Liesl,

but you're not plain.

The stones on your pipe,
for instance.

Not to mention the opulence
of your rosary

and this astonishing dagger.

A gift from a prince.

Mother Superior, you reproach me

when I most require
your trust and guidance.

Worldly adornments do serve

certain good people
for the good.

We're not all destined
to deny ourselves

man's earthly pleasures.

Some thrive
in tranquil simplicity.

Others find beauty in color,
splendor and jubilation.

This is no reproach, my child.

You're a rich girl, always were.

Of course, we would
continue to cherish

your ongoing patronage
of the abbey.

You just won't be a nun anymore.

Is God more interested
in my money or my soul?

I can't speak for him.

Maybe I can assist in this area,

both as a father
and as an expert mediator.

I gather you kicked her out.

I'm urging Liesl to return to
her family and greater society.

Mother Superior still wants us

to fund construction
of the new refectory.

- With gratitude.
- Of course.

Are you authorized, by the way,

to do a baptizing if somebody
wants to be Catholic? Me?

You're an atheist.

I feel I have
a religious awakening now,

if that's what we call it.

Tell me how this awakening
came to pass.

Well, I would say

partly it's because of
my near-death episodes.

I get, I get a kind of visions.

Never mind the details.

Then partly there is
the fiduciary benefit.

Then mostly, and I would weight
this factor out to maybe 75%,

it's simply the influence
of my daughter's influence,

which has
a profound effect on me.

And I think, at my age,
in the end, finally,

it's better
I just go on her side.

The point is to be delivered
from sin and purified.

It doesn't work if you're lying.

I'm not lying.

I'm capable of, and willing to,
genuinely believe

in the opposite
of my personal convictions.

I can do that

in certain situations.

You remember the combination?

Another shoebox.

This one's older.

- What's inside?
- I don't know.

Supposedly, a reliquary
of our family history,

sealed half a score ago
by my father's notary.

I willed it to you,
but since we're here, take it.

I'll open it later.

My great-grandfather
built the hotel.

Liesl would've been
the fifth-generation proprietor,

except my father sold it
to an American conglomerate.

Who ruined it, of course.

The venue is situated
on a precarious border

among three fiefdoms,
two of which remain

under martial law
after a military coup.

In exchange for me allowing you

to steal the painting rolled up
in that shipping tube,

you and your terrorists
provide security services

to our entire party
throughout the event.

Ah, they stole the painting.

You'll officiate.

It's good timing
in a business sense.

Function hall number
five has been duly sanctioned,

in accordance with the laws
of this territory...

Even an immediate
divorce might bear a profit.

- You reach him?
- Yes.

His Holiness refuses
to cover the gap, any of it.

I know Felix. He's stubborn.

We'll need to sweeten the pot.

Tell him
I offer nine more souls.

Are you still an enemy spy?

At the moment, no.

I thought I might be
more useful as a double agent.

I couldn't pay you any extra.

Oh, no, naturally it would be
included in my tutorial fees.

My operational handler,
code name Excalibur.

- Agent Karlsen.
- Excalibur.

I know about the bashable rivets

and the bolts, spikes
and pulverized gravel, too.

This office can neither confirm
nor deny any such knowledge,

nor would it elect
to acknowledge said knowledge

- if it did in fact...
- It's sabotage!

I swear my word of solemnest
honor, I'll never let you win.

Ha.

I've arranged for you
to accuse him in person,

by the way, your Uncle Nubar.

- Really?
- Of course.

It's crucial we confront
this unspeakable evil.

- Als-- Amen.
- Amen.

Also, it's even more crucial
we secure

his financial
investment position.

As you know,

I never admit
the possibility of--

and even avoid the word--
failure.

Maybe that's a weakness.

On the other hand, we're only
missing one slice of the pie

that was baked too big
for the...

Just a dud. Just a dud.

Myself, I feel very safe.

Sir Nubar has arrived.

Off the record,
the gap might be bottomless.

Closer to an abyss.

In fact, there's
even more to it now,

a further dimension
than I previously anticipated.

The emotional gap.

If it tur--

You used to work for me.

- Who? Him?
- Who? -Hmm?

I'm sorry. Me? No.

I was in disguise.

Oh, Dr. Lanzmann.

I recognize this assassin.

Who hired you to kill me?

Oh, no.

Suicide pill.

If it turns out you're not
my daughter, can I adopt you?

With your permission.

Yes.

In that case, whatever happens,
we'll be fine.

Restate the purpose
of this visit.

Exactly as we agreed,
my dear Nubar.

The validation
of your proprietary shares

after 55% advance
against the interim shortfall.

This is just a symbolic meeting.

It's a formality.

Liesl has additional objectives,
of course, as you're aware.

My father promised to arrange
for me to accuse you in person.

That's what I'm here to do.

Why would I murder her?

She wasn't my wife.

Help yourself to a hand grenade.

Oh, you're very kind.
I have my own.

What's your blood type, Liesl?

I don't know.

They never tested it,
to my knowledge.

You have my eyes.

Do people not tell you that?

Nobody ever told her
she has anybody's anything.

I'll wait outside.

She's not your daughter.

I don't care.

One thing you'll never know,
because you can't:

the truth.

Although in my opinion,
it was probably

your administrative secretary
at that time.

He's the father.

Actually, I think
I know it for a fact.

I'm astonished
you didn't see it already.

And if I did kill him,
I'd never admit it.

I invented that lie.

- To trick you.
- Of course you did,

but it was true.

The blood types prove it.
Probably.

You've got my blood?

- And hers?
- I've got everybody's blood.

- No, you don't.
- Yes, I do.

- No, you don't.
- Of course I do.

No, you don't.

They say you murdered
all your wives.

Wait.

I'm putting this on
just so I don't lie.

I didn't murder that wife,
your mother, or any other.

I would even go so far
as to say I'm incapable of it,

whatever they say about me
behind my back,

whoever they are.

I wasn't taught to, either,
to beat the polygraph.

Where did he come from?

I can't remember.

I'll open the shoebox.

My father. On his birthday.

My uncle. All A's.

My mother. On her wedding day.

A carton of
six poison gas ampules.

A rare stamp, a gold coin,
a skeleton key.

Secret letters.

My grandfather.

Some of him. Just ashes.

I'll take one.

It's a staggeringly
ambitious project

but situated entirely
in a perpetual war zone.

For the next 150 years,
I'd rather sell

guns, bombs and ammunition.

It's our family business.

My no is final.

Wow, you're pulling out
your entire investment

and breaking your promise to me.

Stabbing everybody,
all at once, simultaneously,

- in the back.
- Yes.

Why'd you come here,
in that case?

I couldn't resist.

It's me.

I'll cover the gap.

Everything we got,
our entire fortune,

plus a little bit more.

I proceed as a silent partner,

taking a complete loss
of all my assets

with no opportunity
for any future upside,

and I'm still on the hook for
unlimited debts and deficits.

Fine. I'll do it.

Fine. I'll do it.

The slaves will be paid.

The slaves will be paid.

The famine will be finished.

The famine will be finished.

We'll beat those bureaucrats.

We'll beat those bureaucrats.

And my most important project
of my lifetime

comes to pass...

...without us.

I don't want a fortune.

I present to you now,
at this time,

the first symbolic demonstration

of our abundant desert harvest,

borne from deep within
the earth's rich,

elemental...

Sir Nubar asks for another word.

Oh, shit.

I'll be right back.

Yes, my dear Nubar?
How can I assist you?

I've changed my mind.
I'll do it myself.

Stupendous. I knew it.

No, not the business deal.
My no is final.

I mean your assassination.

So it is you.

The enemy trying to murder me
all along.

Yeah.

The son of my father.

- My own half brother.
- Yeah.

- I've got everybody's blood.
- No, you don't.

- Yes, I do.
- No, you don't.

Yes, I do.

I won't die.

I never do.

You're worse than me.

You're not human.

You're biblical.

Can't you stop?
Can't you leave me alone?

Why do you need to always keep
assassinating me all the time?

You know the answer.

I don't need to say it.

"Who could lick whom, I guess."

Yeah.

Let's communicate.

When I pray, no one answers.

I only pretend he does.

Then I do whatever I think God
probably would've suggested.

Usually, it's obvious.

Amen.

Peace be with you,
Reverend Mother.

"Chapter one.

Cedric himself knew
nothing of..."

Our new quarters,
though modest, cramped,

meager and shabby,
are nevertheless

charming and versatile.

"But then his papa had died
when he was a little boy..."

The boys, to my delight,

finally begin
to thrive and flourish.

I do serve a purpose here.

"Since his papa's death,

Cedric had found out
that it was best..."

Agent Karlsen resigned
as a double agent

and accepted a staff position
at our local grammar school.

...predators, much like our
friend, the plebejus beetle,

who has a similar kind
of casing,

and he doesn't mind
predators at all.

My stepmother annulled

her brief union with my father.

And one and two
and three and four.

My father's
entrepreneurial energies remain

robustly invigorated
by the austerity of our poverty.

Tell him he's welcome,
but don't let him leave.

I do admire
his resilience and ambition,

though I don't believe
these come from God.

The Phoenician Scheme continues
to deepen and widen.

It may be a sizable step
backwards for civilization...

...but it will produce some
good works, I'm sure of it.

Could you imagine
marrying a man like me?

I mean it as a genuine question.

Is that paste?

No. Yes. I think so.
I don't know.

It's the same one.
Cousin Hilda sent it back.

I asked your father
for his consent,

and he loaned it to me
to give to you.

P.S. To this day,

he's a very good cook...

...and dishwasher.

Two whiskeys.

You say yes?

On a trial basis.

Hearts.