All language subtitles for Spooks.S02E08.Unions.1080p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DD+2.0.H.264-playWEB_track3_[eng]

Transport
chaos hit the Capitol

as the latest 24 hour
strike on London Underground

started at 8:00 PM tonight.

Increasing pressure on the
government to find a solution

for what is now looking like
a new winter of discontent.

New labor came to power
on a wave of optimism,

particularly in the public.

Don't you to have homes to go to?

Tube strike.

It's raining, no cabs.

We train you to be resourceful.

I'm sure you'll find a way.

Maybe we could book out
a pool car on strike days?

Operational purposes only, I'm afraid.

I can provide you with specially

designed waterproofing equipment.

Standard field officer issue.

You press this button here.

Air traffic controllers,
railway staff, firemen.

The government must be
asking itself, what next?

Attention!

Go turn to the point, right, turn!

Charge of fighting,
contrary to section 43A

of the Army Act, the
accused Corporal Eric Woods

wishes to make a statement
to a senior officer

outside his Regiment.

Sir.

I wish to inform you about a situation,

a matter of national security.

We have an enemy within.

I can name the man who poses
the single biggest threat

the British Army is currently facing.

The man who rank-and-file
army thinks walks on water.

Major Samuel Curtis.

Major Curtis may be a hero to
a generation of junior ranks.

He may have a chest full of medals,

and a place in the public heart,

but it is my duty to inform you

that he has the power to destroy our army.

You see, Major Curtis is
planning industrial action.

A laying down of arms.

This government is about

to face a mutiny from the British army.

What's going on today

in the wonderful world of espionage?

Well, the tube disputes ongoing.

Our people inside the RMT
and the TGWU say they're

just about to get back into the ring.

Possible wildcat actions planned.

What's the headline intel?

I've only had time to check

the overnight grade one headers.

There's an avalanche coming
in from our union sources.

Almost 50 agents in key sectors,

now all saying the same thing.

Specifically?

Well, while the government's
got its back turned on

domestic issues, the unions
are gathering strength.

Stay on it, keeping this
country's infrastructure

working is part of defending the realm.

Next, how's Tom getting on?

To enemy front, to enemy front!

Enemy front!

Trees opposite!

Who's going first?

Hold on, hold on, wait one.

Go!

What section?

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa,
whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.

Stop.

What are you doing?

Everyone all right?

Sir.

Weapon.

Never ever forget.

the SA80 individual weapon
cannot under any circumstances

be fired from the left shoulder.

Do so, the caulking handle
will break your jaw,

and you'll get a face full
of red hot metal casings,

even when firing blanks.

I'm afraid that's the standard issue,

British army rifle, learn to love it.

Yes, Major Curtis.

Not your fault, you
didn't design the bastard.

David end ex, return your men to barracks.

Sir.

Sergeant Major Baker.

Stand the rest of the men down.

Sir.

End ex, end ex!

Tom has been contacting us daily

at 0700 and 2300 hours without fail.

Curtis' company are next in line

for overseas deployment as required,

so they don't full-time exercise,

but there are some
morale problems on base.

Tom photo messaged this over
from his mobile last night.

"Fancy spending nine months
away from home on crap pay,

provide strike cover for fireman,

earning twice as much
money for six months work,

and face the possibility of
being killed for a country full

of greedy, pathetic,
and selfish individuals?

Sign below.

Army, be depressed."

Well, it's a fair point.

Satire never brought a country down.

Curtis is a soldier's soldier.

He'd rather be in the company of his men,

than sitting behind a desk.

He takes full part in all exercises,

but Woods, our whistleblower corporal code

named Nightingale come up with no proof,

no evidence that Curtis
is planning mutiny.

We could be wasting our time.

No strike cover for industrial disputes.

No security backup in case
of major terrorist incident.

Britain's interests overseas
put in severe jeopardy,

every tinpot general from Somalia to poor,

sad little North Korea
and all points in between,

gloating on CNN.

The special relationship with our cousins,

severely embarrassed.

Until we know for sure,
it's not time wasted.

So...

What do we know about Curtis?

Well, Sam Curtis led
five men over 200 miles

of Iraqi desert in 1991
and was a subject of

a bestselling encounter for the operation.

Eric Woods glassed a fireman in a pub,

and then put the
spotlight onto Sam Curtis,

in a bid for leniency.

He could be playing us.

I say we just pass this
over to army intelligence.

Curtis' reputation precedes
him throughout the country.

It'd be like asking the Vatican

to prove Mary wasn't a virgin.

He's a military legend, a public hero.

Sort of Englishman who'll
end up with a statue

in Trafalgar Square and a building

named after him in Whitehall.

Chief of defense staff is
adamant, this is our jurisdiction.

If Curtis is guilty,
we've got to stop him.

Thank you all.

What if we went on strike?

Well, if the army went on strike,

it'd be pretty obvious
once the Chinese Red Army

started marching down Whitehall.

If we went on strike,

I don't think anyone would notice.

Sir.

- Afternoon, sir.
- Sir.

Afternoon.

You're late.

Game of poker, I won a big pot.

Three more minutes,

I would've assumed you were compromised.

Pulled the operation.

Yeah, well you didn't and I'm not.

Right, I've been here two weeks.

Curtis has said half a dozen words to me.

You are on his diary, you
push me in front of him, okay?

Yeah, there's movement.

Curtis is reassembling his old team.

The crew from Desert Storm.

Sergeant Major Baker's not the only one.

Two more men are shipping in
tomorrow, Wallace and Parks.

Why's that significant?

The bondsman fortune battle
are the strongest you'll find.

Curtis trusts them.

He can't run an industrial action solo.

He needs men beneath him,
spread it through the ranks.

Curtis is moving his pieces into place.

How many officers are up for it?

- 19.
- Budget?

- 125.
- 125 quid, is that it?

We can't afford something
like this on 650 an officer.

657, actually.

What about time, date, location?

1900 hours, 21st.

Budget means we'll have to do it at home.

What's the
transport infrastructure

gonna be that night?

Well, there are no tube strikes planned,

if that's what you mean.

Good, good, and we're sure.

We are sure Harry suspects nothing.

Nothing.

Danny, we're not trying
to infiltrate Baghdad.

It's just a bloody birthday party.

Sh!

He's bang on time every night, watch.

That is so cool.

And yet so simple.

Tom's phone allows him to sweep the bugs,

then prerecord a message, hits the button,

the message is digitally compressed,

electronically scrambled and transmitted,

in a point one second microwave burst.

Almost impossible to intercept.

Thank you, Malcolm.

Nightingale reports activity...

Eagle One has two men
reporting for duty tomorrow.

Former colleagues from Desert Storm.

Requests confirmation and
any relevant background.

Face-to-face meeting a blue location

to discuss at 1100 hours.

What's the coefficient?

Minus six, he wants to meet at 5:00 AM.

Is it just me or does
he sound a bit hacked off?

He doesn't exactly look forward

to his fortnight's annual
training with the SAS.

I wouldn't say this is
his dream assignment.

Count yourself lucky.

It's only section heads
who have to train alongside

the Regiment, otherwise you'd be in there.

I could cope.

You in the army?

They don't do designer khaki mate, mate.

You go, try and cheer him up a bit.

I've accessed the MOD database

for some background on
the five man Curtis led

in and out of Iraq, Sergeant Major Baker,

Sergeant Philip Wallace
and Corporal Harry Parks.

They're the men joining Curtis tomorrow.

Could you run me off a couple
of prints please for Tom?

Okay.

The other two have since left the army.

William Scobey, whereabouts unknown.

Last seen in a homeless
hostel 18 months ago,

and Derek Hanson lives on a
North London council estate.

They might be worth a look.

Good, right.

Well, time for three
hours sleep before I go.

I don't trust Woods.

What's Harry saying?

- Stick with it.
- Of course he does.

Correspondence from the chief
of defense staff's office.

Curtis has written 86 letters
over a five year period.

Litany of suggestions, complaints,

and occasional sarcasm
direct at the military brass.

He has issues with everything

from pensions to personal kit.

He argues a good case.

He's not wrong about the SA80 rifle.

Harry's adamant,

a strike could spread
throughout the armed forces.

Catastrophic in the
current climate, I know.

I reckon 48 hours.

What do you want me to say to Harry?

That I'm getting closer to Curtis.

And that I said hello.

Close quarter battle,

escape and evasion,
resistance to interrogation.

We'll be practicing the basic drills,

until we can do them in
the dark, under fire,

and on our chin straps.

Distribute the equipment
please, Sergeant Major.

Sir.

Today we're gonna stick
you in that building,

and we're gonna pump tear gas inside.

By the end of the day, I
want you in your respirators

within nine seconds of a gas alert.

If you don't, you'll end up in tears,

because Sergeant Major
Baker will stick his toe

so far up your ass at high speed,

you'll be able to chew
his toenails for him.

War is shit.

Anyone who tells you otherwise
has never been in one.

You train hard, you fight easy,

you train easy, you fight hard.

And die.

Go pro!

Okay, fellas, start filing
into the chamber, then.

Our RMT source says
there'll be a wildcat strike

in the West Midland railway
lines in the next 30 minutes.

What do they want now?

That's not the issue.

There's a consignment
of spent nuclear fuel

on its way to Dover by rail.

It's about to grind to a halt

sitting in the open countryside.

Well, liaise with the nuclear authority

and get it moving again.

Right.

Remember, lads, be
in time, mask in nine.

Okay.

Gas, gas, gas!

7...

Shit!

5, 4...

Shit!

Watchers have
located Derek Hanson.

Go talk to him.

Find out if he's joining
his former colleagues

for the class reunion.

If not, why not?
- All right.

And try not to spend all day in the pub.

Breathe, come on, breathe
normally, cough it up.

Cough it all up, go on,
you'll be all right.

Come on, come on.

You'll be okay, happens to the best of us.

First time I put on a
respirator, threw me guts up.

Good job, David.

Right, one more time.

With all due respect, Major, Company

quartermaster should be shot.

- Accidents happen.
- Right, it's not good enough.

Our equipment's a disgrace.

We've got rifles spitting
cartridges in our faces.

Gas masks falling apart.

Thank you, David,
your comments are noted.

Something should be done about it.

That's enough, Lieutenant.

Right.

We do it again.

Thank you.

Hello.

Whatever it is, the answer's
no, but thanks for the drink.

Thank you, I'd love to sit down.

My name's Rob Simkins.

I'm writing an article for
Today's Soldier Magazine.

What ex-servicemen have
done since leaving the army.

Piss off.

I know who you are, Mr. Hanson,

and I know what you've been through.

I read the Sam Curtis book.

That bollocks.

Thought Curtis was your friend?

Curtis should never have told his story,

put all of us in the spotlight.

He gave you pseudonyms.

Book it all good that did.

You're a journalist.

You're here talking to me
about it, 10 years later.

The nuclear authority
has an off-the-shelf plant

to transport the spent nuke fuel by road

on a low loader accompanied
by its own security personnel.

Convoy will be code named "The Stick."

Departs tonight, 10:00 PM,
arrives Dover tomorrow, 6:00 PM.

We've been tasked with maintaining

a rolling threat assessment.

This is highly irradiated uranium,

traveling halfway across the country.

So if there's so much as a
drawing-pin on the inside lane

of the M25, I want to know about it.

You're the overseer, Ruth will process

relevant reports as they come in.

This might sound like a
routine babysitting job,

but something as simple as a puncture

could mean that we all
have a really bad day.

So, thank you.

No idea where Scobey is, lost touch.

Everyone else has, he was in a hostel

two years ago since then, nothing.

There you go.

Lots of ex-servicemen
end up sleeping rough.

Meantime, we provide hotels
for the asylum seekers.

Still can't all be the subject
of bestseller books, can we?

Why not?

Never think of looking for a ghost writer,

tell your side of the story?

Official Secrets Act, son.

I signed it and I take it very seriously.

Something that people
don't understand anymore.

I understand it.

Come across it all the
time in this line of work.

Well, you've just run into it, again.

That's why I don't talk about Iraq,

and Curtis shouldn't have either.

Everyone else seems to
think Sam Curtis is a legend.

In his own mirror, sure.

I passed SAS selection.

They binned me when the book came out.

Oh, you can't have a covert
ops soldier whose face has been

on the front page of
every western newspaper.

Curtis has ruined my career.

I told him I'm a soldier,
not a bloody chauffeur.

What do you mean?

Excuse me.

You're green slime, aren't you?

Army spook?

Who are you?

I've also signed the Act.

All I can tell you, it's important,

and I think we're on the same side.

Baker came to seeing me six months ago,

said Curtis wanted to gimme a lead

on some sort of driving job.

Told him to stuff it.

He was looking for Scobey
as well, dunno why.

Don't wanna know why.

I believe Curtis is trying to recruit

his own little squad of wild geese.

For what?

No idea.

Well, no matter what he says, you can bet,

it'll be for the greater
glory of Sam Curtis.

Operational tours in Bosnia,
Belfast and Sierra Leone.

Hmm, clean progress.

Mr. Getty seems extremely capable.

I'd like to know more though, dig deeper.

Put Wallace onto it.
- Sir.

Corporal Woods, do you need me?

Sorry sir, I didn't want to interrupt.

Today's op reports, sir.

Dismissed, Corporal.

Hello there, Mr. Getty?

Yes?

Hi, I'm a friend of David's.

We, we served together in Belfast.

Said I'd pop by, say hello
if I was in the neighborhood.

Oh dear, well, I'm
afraid David isn't here.

Oh, he's not overseas, is he, or?

No, he's on exercise in the UK.

Well, if you'd like to leave your details,

I'll pass them on.

I'll leave it actually,
but thank you very much.

This is Gatekeeper.

You are sure it's not just hearsay,

a drunk with a grudge,
jumping to conclusions?

I think Hansen's a principal ex-soldier

turning his back on
under the table offers.

Our source in the TGWU says the dockers

are gonna come out in
sympathy with the RMT.

If Dover shuts down, we
have the same problem.

A battery uranium left
sitting where it shouldn't be.

How long?

Best guess, 24 hours earliest.

I'm pushing all of our agents on this.

This could be coordinated
nationwide action

across a whole range of industries.

Has the nuclear
authority stressed to them,

the urgency of getting that convoy moving?

We're into head of section territory.

During Tom's absence, I
want you to run this op.

Someone just took an
eyeball at Tom's legend.

Fitted Phillip Wallace's description.

I think Derek Hanson was
telling me the truth today.

Update Tom.

Zoe, CIA are looking
for Tom on line four.

Hi, Zoe, Tom's on operation,
I'm acting CIA liaison.

I thought he'd been a bit quiet.

Is there anything I can do?

No, no, how long's he away for?

- Well, you know...
- Right.

If you speak to him,
tell him I said hello.

Sure, bye.

It all stands up, Sam.

Wallace took a look at his parents,

and of course checked his records.

They even include a disciplinary charge.

Taking stores abandoned by the enemy.

He found an IRA arms dump
in Armagh four years ago.

It included a case of whiskey

which ended up behind
the bar in the NAAFI.

And good for him.

He might be one of us.

Tell him I'd like to see him.

George Bingham, 3rd Earl of Lucan.

Sent almost 500 men
into the valley of death,

charge of the light brigade.

It's, it's there to remind me how easy

it is for a soldier to be
remembered for the wrong reasons.

Drink?

- Thank you, sir.
- Take a seat.

War is just an adventure
to some of our boys.

They've been waiting for
after months of training.

They have no idea.

No one does till they're in one.

A teenager signs up for the army,

spent his whole life wearing trainers.

Suddenly we give him a dirty,
great pair of boots to wear.

Usually he gets the wrong size,

ends up buying his own city pair.

It's no good trying to
turn a man into a soldier

if you start off by crippling him.

Excuse me.

Did you take part in Operation Fresco?

Yeah, I just got back
from six months in Belfast.

I was due three weeks leave,

but they handed me a
Green Goddess instead.

Still haven't made up the leave.

Try explaining to the junior ranks

on 12 and a half grand a year,

why they're covering for some firefighters

who earn nearly twice as much.

You didn't agree with the strike?

On the contrary.

Yes, firemen risk their lives, so do we.

How do you put a salary bracket on that?

I...

I understand what you were saying

about rifles and respirators,
you're not wrong.

Can't you do anything about it?

I can only look after the men below me,

can't be responsible for the ones above.

Mm.

Sometimes we have to take on trust

that our superiors know
what they're doing.

Hmm, that's the irony
in defending democracy.

You do it for peanuts and your equipment's

made by the cheapest bidder.

Belfast, you were at Blackwood Barracks.

- Yes.
- Sullen part of town.

Yeah, two communities
bashing up against each other.

Brit base right in the
middle, pretty vicious, yes.

Your OC there was Tim Darybshire, right?

Sorry, I'm not trying
to make you paranoid.

New platoon commander in my company,

I took a look at your background.

Did you find anything interesting?

To be honest, David,
you need to get out more.

My auntie Alice has a more exciting life.

Ah, dammit, I'll, I'll go grab another.

Here we go.

Little top up.

Cheers.

Here's a question for you, David.

Some of the stuff we've discussed,

how strongly do you feel about it?

How do you mean?

I mean,

would you take the chance to do something?

If I really thought it
would make any difference.

I have a small...

Protest in mind.

Great if I could count on your support.

What form would this protest take?

I'm asking each man in the company,

if he's prepared,

to sign this.

The issues we're worried about.

I recognize I'm in a position

to get them direct to Downing Street.

It's a petition.

You're organizing a petition.

You've got to start somewhere, David.

Do you have a pen?

They're about ready to go.

Nuclear authority, central control

have been assigned to callsign "Polestar."

Tell Polestar we are
ready to go when they are.

Polestar, this is
we're good to go.

Copy that.

Well, it's just you and me, now.

And they're off.

Hardly the Whacky Races, is it?

Eagle One is not a threat.

Repeat, not a threat.

He's simply exercising his democratic

right to written protest.

Nightingale however, is
a weasily little bastard,

who should be sent to the tower.

He's an amateur.

Who didn't even tell us Eagle
One had two mobile phones.

Those of you still have
a paranoid disposition,

may confirm Eagle one's
innocence by listening unlawfully

to his voicemail on the following number.

0-797-923-4642.

My next call in will be at 0700 hours.

When I tell you how I want to be extracted

from this badly sourced
pigs ear of an operation.

Night, night.

Is he pissed?

Tired.

Night exercise earlier on in the week.

Rendezvous with me in the
small hours yesterday.

Just let him sleep, excuse me.

Curtis' voice box is pin protected.

Get the code from his service provider.

Let's be sure.

I don't like it.

Dammit, the dockers are
coming out, 7:00 PM tomorrow.

Let Polestar know, Sam.

The Stick has to stay on schedule,
we're back to square one.

Polestar, Polestar, be advised,

industrial action at Dover
in less than 20 hours.

Vital you maintain schedule.

Copy that.

The Stick is making good progress.

We have to stay on our toes.

The Stick has to be put to
bed by 6:00 PM tomorrow night.

Sam, you can get off.

What's happening, why am I here?

Shut up, asshole!

I don't
understand, what's going on?

Shut up!

Just an exercise,
Corporal, stay calm.

I said, shut up!

Him, out!

You, in!

Get rid of that.

Right!

Name.

Getty, David.

- Name.
- Getty, David.

Name!

Your real name.

Getty, David.

You've forgotten it, haven't you?

You've forgotten your real name.

Who are you?

Getty, David.

How do I spell Getty with a Y, or IE?

Cannot answer that question.

It's hardly a trick question.

Rank.

Lieutenant.

What's your Regiment?

Cannot answer that question.

Are you stupid, mate?

You must know your Regiment.

I cannot answer that question.

You are in the shit, son!

I need to know your Regiment
to get you out of here.

Number.

541232.

Regiment.

Cannot answer that question.

Look, asshole!

Name rank number means nothing to me.

Any bastard can make those up.

Until you tell me your Regiment,

you are not getting out of here.

Well played, Lieutenant.

Now get some sleep.

Is this an exercise?

What do you want to know?

I can help you, you know.

If it's not an exercise.

What do you mean, Corporal?

How long now?

12 minutes.

I'm telling Harry.

Harry, Tom's missed a scheduled call in.

- How late?
- 12 minutes.

Run the contingency plan.

Reassuring that the
backup plans actually work.

My mobile's damaged in
a training exercise,

everything's fine.

You brought the transfer orders with you?

Got 'em here.

Lieutenant David Getty's
been sent back to Belfast.

Good.

MOD were hoping I'd find
something dirty around Curtis.

I'm afraid they're gonna be disappointed.

He's a first class soldier.

I didn't get into this
job to spy on my own side.

I regard Curtis as a colleague.

We're all doing the same
job protecting this country.

He's something of a loose
cannon, who's lonely.

He's rather pleased with himself,

and he's off about a whole
bunch of army issues,

none of which constitute treason.

Well, paperwork will
clear by the end of the day

and no one will ever know
that you weren't for real.

The story of my life.

Second opinion please.

Curtis' voice box.

He deletes messages after playback,

and took me till now to recover

it from the storage computer.

Strike One reporting in.

Confirm RV 0830 hours.

Well that could mean anything.

Have you tried voice printing?

Bring him over here.

Morning, David.

Sleep well?

What I got of it, yes.

Lucky you.

We were up all night,

had a whole platoon to interrogate.

You enjoyed your posting here?

I've had considerably worse.

Hmm.

Makes a change from
sleeping with Russian spies

or eavesdropping on
Libyan trade delegations,

or whatever it is you people do

to justify your existence these days.

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

Corporal Woods finally
decided where his loyalties lie.

You people screwed up your
chance to defend the west.

That's down to us, the
armies, to sort it out.

So you'll forgive me if I'm
off that MI5 investigated

a distinguished army officer,

at the time when espionage efforts

could be better concentrated elsewhere.

I was only following orders,
sure you can understand that.

Apology accepted.

What did you think I was up to, anyway?

We received information
that you were gonna

lead your men into industrial action.

- Industrial action?
- Yeah.

Do I look like a socialist to you?

Sitting around refusing to
do what I'm trained to do,

isn't exactly my style.

On the truck, please.

Move it!

Load up!

There were no database
matches for the voice print.

I spoke to Curtis's
mobile service provider.

The footprint for the call
he received came from there.

Stick's starting point.

Someone in that convoy
made a phone call to Curtis

just before they set off last night.

Where's Danny, any word?

Red flash him, I want
him on the phone now.

Hanson told Danny that Curtis

offered had been driving job.

Who's driving the Stick?

Personnel records from
the nuclear authority.

Snap.

William Scobey, our missing
presumed dead team member.

He's driving the Stick.

Danny's phone is dead.

The nuclear authority
routine recruits ex-military

as drivers and escorts.

Scobey's a plant.

Polestar.

Polestar, you have a situation.

Don't worry.

No one will get hurt.

What is that over
there, what are they doing?

Go, go, go, go!

Let's go!

Shit, what's happening?

In position!

Move, move!

Move it, come on!

Get out of the car!

Get out of the car,
now, get out of the car!

Hands where I can see 'em!

Go!

What's happening, Polestar?

What's going on?

Move!

A friend of yours, I believe.

This is for you, sir.

Nice to be working with you again.

And you, sir.

Secure the perimeter, gentlemen.

Take your positions!

I know you're not a bad man, David,

or whatever your name is, but you see.

Neither am I.

What are you planning to do?

I just want to make a point.

Close up on Stick's location please.

That's only 10 miles
from the center of London.

Christ.

Clear all other radio transmissions.

I want to hear what they're saying.

Ready when you are, Major.

This is Major Sam Curtis.

I have control of the
nuclear transportation

known to you as "Stick One."

You'll see from your GPS
tracker our exact location

and you might want to
start evacuating the area.

Almost 500 British soldiers have died

since the first Gulf War.

Cause of death, Gulf War Syndrome.

45,000 service personnel
recently went into a second Gulf

conflict and were left with an army

that can't fight for at least 18 months.

The authorities expect men
to take the same risks again

and again with inferior weapons,

minimal life insurance
and laughable salaries.

The full list of the issues I demand,

the British government address,

has been faxed to the
Chief of Defense staff.

Compensation and treatment for victims

of Gulf War syndrome, ditto PTSD.

A 50% pay hike across the
board, you can guess the rest.

I've been campaigning in
every legitimate way possible

for years, but Whitehall
refuses to take me seriously.

So now it's come to this.

If my terms are not agreed
in the next 30 minutes,

I'll be transmitting a
videotape from my location

via sat-phone to every
major western broadcaster.

I don't think I flatter myself
that it'll be headline news,

the second they realize who I am,

especially when they see
I've surrounded a truckload

of irradiated uranium with 50
pounds of plastic explosive.

If my terms are still not
met within 60 minutes...

Then Southeast England will
be twinned with Chernobyl.

Somebody better get back to me quick.

The clock's started ticking.

And they thought I was a
pain in the ass before.

You won't do it.

You think?

What choice do I have?

Your presence here pretty
much makes my case for me.

It seems that third world
and Eastern block dictators

are not the only powers who monitor

and infiltrate their military.

We're establishing a 20 mile

cordon sanitaire around the Stick.

All air road and rail
transportation's been stopped

and the police through
evacuation civilians

from the immediate area
claiming there's a fractured

gas pipe under the storage plant.

A counter-terrorist team is choppering in,

ETA five minutes.

Curtis has just created the
world's biggest dirty bomb.

What about Tom and Danny?

Yes, I know.

He can't explode the Stick.

I'd like to believe that.

I mean, he physically can't.

The container's made of titanium steel,

it's several feet thick.

He could run an express train into it,

the train would end up in the scrapyard.

It requires specialized tools to open.

You can't just pop the lid
off with a screwdriver.

Those are oil vats.

He's not gonna bomb the
truck, he's gonna bomb those.

It's a massive oil fire.

What would that do to uranium?

It would make it very angry.

Counter-terrorist
team in position, Major.

I don't think we need
trouble ourselves about that.

CT team are in place, they're
setting up a video feed now.

We should have a picture
in a couple of minutes.

Tom and Danny must be in there.

Sierra One,
unloading VT link now.

Thank you Sierra One,
can you zoom in any closer?

We have visuals!

No one's talking to me yet.

MOD.

Sam, patch me into the
Stick communications.

I'll talk to this bastard.

Harry Pearce.

Grid request a talk-thru
on this line, immediate.

Let's hope it doesn't come to that.

Keep this line open.

You people in MI5.

I know you're listening, I've
got two of your men here.

They'll each be receiving
their very own closeup

on international news channels.

Major Curtis.

Identify yourself.

Are my officers okay?

Of course they are,
I'm not Genghis Khan.

Let me speak to them.

Negative, Mr. MI5.

Work with him, let
us get you out of this.

We know everything, Major.

We even know about William Scobey.

So what makes you think
we'd put him at the wheel

of a genuine consignment of nuclear waste?

You're bluffing.

No, he's not.

We've be running this operation for weeks.

Do you want to open
Pandora's box and find out?

If you blow that site,

all you're doing is killing your own men.

Listen to him.

My assignment was to prove your innocence.

There is still a way back from this.

It appears no one's taking me seriously.

Well, if someone doesn't make me an offer

in the next five minutes,
I'm going to execute a spy!

Like me, you get paid to take the risk.

- He's losing it.
- Can we call his bluff?

Lemme talk to the MOD.

I hate it when people
don't listen to me.

I know what I'm talking about!

They want you to do this.

Then I'm happy to oblige.

- Sam.
- Shut up!

This is Sierra
One, I have a shot on primary.

Advise, over.

You are being manipulated.

They want you to self-destruct.

Now your arguments are valid.

This is the only way they can stop you.

Don't be remembered for the wrong reasons.

Don't lead your men into
the valley of death.

Don't, they will take the kill shot.

Of course, thank you, Sierra One line.

Now you've made your point,
you can't be ignored now.

Drop your weapon, Major.

Your men will be
massacred, stand them down.

Sierra One, green light.

There isn't a British soldier alive

who'd take a shot at me.

T-1 neutralized.

Tom.

Hey, Malcolm.

- Welcome back.
- Thanks.

How you doing?

Following his death
in car accident today-

Harry renewed my secondment.

Good for you.

I thought you'd want to know,

Curtis videotape, it's gone away.

Hey, stranger.

Hey.

You look tired.

You look great.

My place later?

Happy birthday.

Welcome back.

- Chat?
- Absolutely.

How long has that been going on?

Not long.

What happened to you?

Who ordered Curtis's death?

That doesn't matter.

Did you?

Or were you taking
instruction from someone else?

Curtis was out of control.

I could have talked him down!

He was about to surrender.

We neutralized a threat
to national security.

That's our job.

What part did Corporal Woods play?

Hmm?

Did he get a deal, immunity, promotion?

He was a setup, wasn't
he, plant from the MOD?

What if Curtis had been
an international terrorist

rather than a British army officer?

You wouldn't have questioned how

we resolved the situation then.

I misjudged him, but
much worse than that,

I allowed myself to be
used by the government

of the day for their own ends.

They wanted Curtis silenced
and I was the blunt instrument.

This country's army is never
gonna mutiny for God's sake.

It does everything asked of it and more.

Curtis was only trying
to give them a voice.

You've got too close to the subject.

Don't let personal feelings-

Personal feelings?

Yeah, I have personal feelings.

- Well, bury them, because-
- Fuck you.

If the new world order
means we're in the business

of destroying anyone who questions

the political agenda,
then I'm in the wrong job!

Take a long weekend.

And put this operation behind you.

Shame on you, Harry, shame on you,

for allowing us to be manipulated.

It's over.

I will take your
debriefing at a later stage

and as regards Mata Hari out there,

no fraternizing with foreign operatives.

even if they are friends,
you and I both know

there's no such thing in our world.

- I will not be dictated-
- Never question my decisions!

End it, I don't care how.

I do care when.

The next time I see you,
you're a single man.