All language subtitles for Triple Agent (2004) EN

This film is a fictional story,

based on a true, unsolved mystery.

The names, characters and motives

and some twists of the plot

are our own invention.

Final Poll

In Paris,

District 10, the votes are counted

and the results announced.

Total votes cast: 13,250.

Total per candidate:

Possoutrot: 6,594.

Communists, in 1932:

797,000.

1936: 1,502,000.

Up 705,000.

In terms of seats: centre-right,

right and far-right:

1932: 204.
1936: 205.

Up one.

Radicals and other centre-left
and left:

1932: 223.

1936: 146.

Down 77.

Socialists, non-SFIO:

1932: 77.

1936: 45.

Arsino�, a pencil!

My pen's empty.

SFIO Socialists, in 1932: 97.

1936: 146.

Up 49.

Communists, in 1932: 10.

1936: 72.

Up 62.

In the House, the Popular Front

will form five groups:

Radical Socialists, 106 members.

Free Left, 26 members.

USR: 25.

Yes, I'll put him on.

Fyodor! It's for you.

Coming.

... totalling 376 members
for the Popular Front

versus 238...

I'm listening to the news.

I'm on my way.

Arsino�, I have to go.

See you tonight.
I may be a little late.

Not too late, I hope.

Good morning.

- Has General Dobrinsky arrived?
- Yes, General.

Morning, Sergei Mikhailovitch.

Morning, Fyodor Alexandrovitch.

You've seen the election results?

Bad news for us.

It depends.

The Communists are refusing

to share power on Stalin's orders.

Remember Dimitrov's speech

to the 6th Congress
of the International?

"The masses in the democracies

aren't ready to rise up."

Not ready to rise up.

Nothing's changed.

- You're sure?
- I'm more than positive.

Believe it or not,

Moscow thinks a revolution
would weaken France

and swing the Right towards Hitler.

They're no fools.

They've got their feet
back on the ground, in any case.

They've put world revolution...

On the back burner.

On the back burner.

In that case, long live Stalin!

No French revolution for him.

So I needn't fear
too much unrest in my factory?

Trust him.

He's very well informed.

He's never made
a false prediction yet.

Strike Action

The strike has spread to many trades

and changed the face of Paris.

We will fight to the last
for our demands

in peace and dignity!

Agreed, comrades?

For our demands!

Coming!

Hello. I live upstairs.

Won't you come in?

The concierge gave me this by mistake.
It's for...

- Mr Voronin?
- Thank you! Yes.

She can see the pictures.

- Very pretty. Which market is it?
- It doesn't exist.

I invented it.

I don't like painting outdoors.

I make sketches and then paint at home.

I'd never dare set up my easel
in the street.

Parisians are nice people
but they stare

and it bothers me.

So, dearie...

What's that lady doing?

She's shopping. And this one?

She's the stallholder.

What's your name?

We call her Dani.

She's feeling shy.

It's natural.
I must say she's adorable.

I hardly dare ask you...

Could I paint her?

She might not feel comfortable here.

There's no school today, Thursday.

Could you come upstairs?

Gladly. I prefer to draw people
in their usual setting.

Can I say that?

We'd probably say
"in their natural habitat."

- Are you Russian?
- Not me.

I'm Greek.

My husband's the Russian.

We met in a sanatorium in Greece.

He was recovering from a war wound.

Now he works for
the Russian Army Veterans Association.

We've been married twelve years

but we have no children,

much to my sorrow.

He has a son in Russia,
living with an uncle

since his mother disappeared.

Fyodor, my husband,
gets letters to him

but he can't visit him

and Sasha can't come here.

So that's my life story.

- Is she being good?
- Good as gold.

I've finished for today.

May I see?

Fernande?

If you see any new carrots,
please buy me a pound.

Yes, ma'am.

Amazing!
You have such a talent for likeness.

My memory is mainly...

Visual.

Come into the parlour.

I'd like to sketch her a few times
in various poses

and do the painting
down at my place.

If you need her there,
we can find a time.

No need.

I'd rather not bother you.

I have plenty of free time.

My husband, Andr�, and I
are both schoolteachers.

He teaches history at Lyc�e Pasteur,
I'm at Victor-Duruy.

Guess what I teach.

Classics.

That means Latin and Greek.

Ancient Greek, though.

It's very far from modern Greek.

Not that far.
Some words are the same.

For example, To vima.

I'm lost.

It means "tribune" or "step".

It's the name
of a prestigious newspaper.

I pronounce it bema.

Now I'm lost!

- Who is she?
- The girl from upstairs.

I met her mother today.
She's very nice.

She let me sketch her daughter.
Do you like it?

Guess what she does.

- She teaches Greek.
- Ancient Greek?

Her French pronunciation baffles me.

I understand Russian better.

Did you meet the husband?

- He was at a meeting.
- A Party meeting, probably.

- He's a Communist.
- Who says?

I saw him in the street
reading L'Humanit�.

It's my job to know everything, anyway.

- Is it awkward?
- That he's Communist? Bear it in mind.

Did she ask you about me?

Come to think of it, yes.

I told her you were in the White Army.
Shouldn't I?

I don't hide it.

He's a teacher too?

History.

Intellectuals!
They're the most dangerous.

Are you scared?
Are you spying on them?

This is for you. Keep it.

How can we thank you?

Let me use the spare sketches
for another painting.

If you like. A painting of what?

I don't know yet.

Have you finished your previous one?

Why not come down and see it?

- Now?
- Why not?

But I doubt it's your kind of painting.

A Russian!

- N. Goncharova.
- You know her?

But I can read Russian.

This etching's by Picasso. Unsigned,

of course, or we couldn't afford it.

Not your taste?

It's not that.
I just don't understand it.

You'll understand mine
but not like them.

It's not quite finished, but still...

It's very lifelike.

This man

is exactly the same

as that man, there.

I always do sketches.

Don't look at that old stuff.

On the other hand...

this one...

is newer.

Interesting composition.

This one's older but...

I like it a lot.

- Delightful.
- Yes.

- And there's this.
- Dani loves it.

Is your art for yourself or to sell?

I've sold some to friends,
but even that is hard.

I'd like to exhibit
but the costs are huge.

There are more next door. Come.

The colours are beautiful.

You feel it's winter.

Your paintings focus on people.

In France, landscapes are the thing.

The French don't care for genre painting.

You're right.

Here's my husband.
Have you met?

Fyodor,

our new neighbours,
Mr and Mme Passard.

My wife tells me you're teachers.

I'm a soldier. I work
for the Russian Veterans Association.

I run their external affairs.

Strangely, the Russians
would like this more than the French.

True. The French don't care
for everyday scenes.

And Russians care even less
for cerebral art.

You mean abstract art?

What about Malevich,
Kandinsky, Pevsner?

Aren't they Russian?

I've heard of them
but they left Russia.

Monsieur likes cubists.

Picasso, Braque, Juan Gris...

Horrible!
I don't know the others.

Cubism, I don't understand
and don't want to.

You sound like Stalin.

I may be a White
but the Reds aren't all bad.

As a Red myself,
I'd say Russia's all good except that.

For an artist or intellectual
living in a bourgeois society,

to shun academic art

is a revolutionary act
which may be superseded

in an already socialist country.

Your Marxist dialectic
doesn't sound very orthodox!

JUNE

It's true.

It's a nice change from Bolshevik art.

All those avant-gardists,
cubists, and other "ists".

The Soviets can't stand them!

For once, they're right.

My husband says many modern artists
in France are Russians,

who even fought in the Revolution.

Our Communist neighbours upstairs
have a Picasso.

How do you know? Did you visit?

Yes. They're very nice.

I'm painting their little girl.
Here she is.

Be careful. They could spy on you.

Spy on what?

Every Red in France and Russia
must have a file on Fyodor.

I presume he's on his guard.

I don't know. He doesn't seem afraid.

Which one shall I take?

I love this one.
You can smell the grass!

- But I prefer this one.
- I painted it by the sea with Fyodor.

Those swimsuits are pass�!

I'll take it

and hang it in my salon
to drum up business for you.

Interesting art is hard to find

since painting went over
to the Bolsheviks...

Pardon me, to Picasso and his ilk!

How much do I owe you?

I don't know...

That's far too much.

CHANGE OF CABINET

Premier Albert Sarraut
and his ministers

present their resignation
to the President.

Soon after, Mr L�on Blum

is invited by President Lebrun

to form a new cabinet.

Within hours,
Mr Blum announces his cabinet,

including, for the first time,
three women.

Amazing.

The Reds have turned tricolour!

"Tricolour Flag Flies Over Republic!"

"Homage to Rouget de Lisle."

See? I was right.

The Revolution's nowhere near.

"We consider impossible

"any policy that, given the Nazi threat,

could jeopardize France's security."

Says who?

L'Humanit�.

Bravo, gentlemen patriots!

And how about this?

"This is no time to take power.

Every strike must have its end."

Bravo, Comrade Thorez!

Uncle Joe taught you well.

How do you know?

Believe me. I'm well informed.

Soviet policy's shifting.
It doesn't bother us Whites, but...

I wonder how our neighbours upstairs
explain this U-turn.

What about the strikes?

What do I think?

My Party has no hand in them.

They're a gut reaction by the workers.

But do you approve?

That's beside the point.

They're a fact.
The Party must take note of it.

An embarrassing fact?

Like any unforeseen event,
but politicians have to adapt.

I quite agree.

But as a citizen yourself,
don't you have a gut reaction?

Of course. I react

with surprise and expectation.

No hostility?

No true Communist opposes
the will of the oppressed.

Still, I was quite alarmed to see

Trotskyists and Pivertists
proclaiming the French Revolution.

Why do you Communists
oppose revolution?

We oppose an abortive revolution

that would surely end in repression,

snuffing out the fresh hope
lit by the Popular Front.

When Trotsky says that to ally

with the Radicals against fascism
is "criminal and idiotic",

I realize his mental faculties
have dimmed.

He's the idiot,

blind to the changes
wrought by fascism and nazism.

We Communists will link arms
not only with Radicals and Socialists

but with all democrats.
Petit-bourgeois, Catholics...

Orthodox?

And Protestants, of course,

Muslims in the colonies...

even White Russians.

Even generals?

Yes, now they've disarmed.

Forgive me,
but did you serve as a general?

In the Civil War. I was 22.

A general at 20? That beats Napoleon.

But my career was shorter than his.

Had I turned Red,

I might be Commander in Chief by now,

like my classmate,
Mikhail Nicolayevitch Tukhachevsky.

But I'm in exile,

a pen-pusher
despite my bombastic title.

I was, and still am,
at war with the Reds.

We disagree
but life often throws us together.

Tukhachevsky,

Commander in Chief of the enemy army,

is a old friend of mine.
My own brother served under him.

And fate has dealt you
a Red neighbour in France.

I won't conceal

that part of my job is to prevent

Soviet agents from infiltrating us.

It's no secret to anyone,
least of all to your Party.

But nothing happens, anyway.

We no longer interest the Soviets.

You know what Dimitrov said last year?

"To us, the White Army is like a flea
jumping 1,000 miles from an elephant."

Our main concern is to prevent

a repeat of 6 years ago,
when the Soviets kidnapped...

General Kutyepov, yes.
But there's no proof that the USSR...

Let's not get into that.
The fact is, Kutyepov disappeared.

He was popular and determined,

therefore dangerous,

which I can't say
of our incumbent chairman,

the innocuous General Dobrinsky.

JULY

THE SPANISH REBELLION

Everywhere, workers, youngsters

and women join forces

to quell the rebellion.

In the Sierra de Guadarrama,
Carlists and Republicans

fight mercilessly.

The rebels try to take Madrid,

attacking from north and south
to strangle it into submission,

but workers' militias foil the enemy

and control the key points
of access to the capital.

Have you spotted Dani?

It's typically her,
pensive among playing children.

I'll show you something.

Magnificent!

I'm not sure it's very like her.

It's her exact expression.

A bit sad...

Not sad, pensive.

She's a very introverted child.
You know that word?

In Greek, esostrephis.

I understand. Eso, inward.

Strepho, turned.

For once I understand modern Greek!

It's yours if you like it.

But I'm not sure it'll fit
among your Picassos...

It will! I'm delighted.

I'll put it in her bedroom.

Come and see.

I thought I'd hang it here.

The colours go well with the room.

- I'll pay you for it.
- Certainly not.

- A price between friends.
- It's a present.

- You had to buy materials.
- You can buy the frame.

Let's have a drink.

...to save the Spanish Republic.

It's now or never.

Shirking it now
means war in two years.

It's sad,
us leftists quarrelling over Spain.

I hope your Russian friends
aren't for intervening... on Franco's side.

I've no idea.

I've been too wrapped up in my painting
to read the papers.

Hasn't your husband said anything?

Him?

He's very discreet.
We seldom talk politics.

Also, he's been away a lot lately.

PEACE RALLY

The Peace Rally unites
hundreds of thousands

in their hatred for war
and faith in peace.

Premier L�on Blum speaks.

To desire peace

is not only, on the brink
of a great international crisis,

to cling stiffly on

in desperation to prevent mankind

from rolling into an abyss!

It is something more.

It is to pose as prerequisites

all the means
and all the conditions of peace.

Goodbye.

Till Thursday.

Send me a postcard?

Love, Fyodor.

JANUARY 1937

Alexei!

- Good to see you!
- You're in Paris?

Yes, I work as a taxi driver.

Arsino�, meet my cousin,
Prince Alexei Trofimovitch Cherepnin.

Pleased to meet you.

You're not getting away
without lunch.

See, I make a decent living

but I'd rather be doing
something more...

prestigious.

Can't you take me
on the White Army staff?

I'm afraid not.

Our Association's very poor.

We live mainly on treasure
we brought out of Russia,

but poor Dobrinsky made some dire
investments and we're almost broke.

Cheer up!
Driving a taxi is as honourable

and less dull than pushing a pencil.

Maybe I should follow
some of my friends

and join Franco's army.

I advise you not to.

He wants to fight for Franco.

Why not?
Have you gone Communist?

I live in a Communist country,
or almost.

I'm responsible for our Association.

Our host government opposes
the Spanish nationalists,

without officially helping the Reds.

I know,

some of our Association
disagree with me.

Dobrinsky wanted me
to second Franco at Salamanca.

I refused. He gave in.

I'm gaining power over him.

They say he'll retire soon
and you'll replace him.

If I do, I'll give our venerable
Association a thorough shake-up.

In what way?

By flushing out nostalgic
and revanchist sentiments.

Must we abandon our motherland
to its fate?

What can we do?

But don't worry,

I still think Communism's a utopia,

bound to collapse from within.

The Bolsheviks won't go until it does.

They seem to be running out of steam,

or else wising up.
World revolution is off their agenda.

Do you swallow what they say?

The thing is,
they don't actually say it.

Did you read last week's
L'Echo de Paris?

Those bogus Party orders
to murder all officers on the big night?

"Big night," my foot!

You fell for it?

It's a fake,
planted by ultra-militarists

and Corvignolles agents.

The Cagoule's military wing,
to be precise. Heard of it?

You seem well informed. Who told you?

I never name my sources.

And how do you know
I'm not a Cagoule member?

If you were, you wouldn't say.

Don't bet on it.

Sometimes it's wiser
to be truthful than lie,

so you won't be believed.
Don't you believe me?

You're right there!

I have to go.

Back to work. Taxi work.

Thank you very much for lunch.

See you soon.

Very soon.

Your cousin seems very curious.

It's normal.
He's briefing himself.

I have an exaggerated reputation
for omniscience.

I like to lay the odd "red herring",
as they say.

But not with him. He's too nice.

I pity him.

- He seems happy enough.
- He has dignity.

He's not cut out for exile.

He's lucky he can drive a car.

It's humiliating work for a prince

but Russians have a yen for humility.

Not me, though.

Thank God, I don't humiliate myself.

Nor do I give orders,
at least not openly. I pull strings.

What strings?

I know what you mean, but how?

That...

is a trade secret.

A state secret, even.

Can't you decide?

What is it?

No, nothing.

I was thinking
about what I said at lunch.

Your cousin wasn't all that curious.

It was you who seemed... talkative.

I could have been shorter with him.

He's no humourist
but he's a good fellow.

It's not about him.

In company, I learn things about you
that you never told me.

What things?

For example, you wouldn't attend
that conference in Spain.

Didn't I tell you?

Perhaps not.

I didn't think you'd care.
I don't tell you everything.

You tell others more.
Even our Communist neighbours.

Naturally.

Whites, Reds, they live for politics.
You have your art.

I care about politics too, you know!

Which is why, when we speak Russian,
I translate for you.

Thank you.

You discuss politics with me
but not your politics.

I don't go in for politics.

So you have no state secrets?

Some. But as for the other...

Non-secrets?
You don't tell me either!

I have to learn about them second-hand.

Such as?

Your refusal to go to Spain.

I didn't think
you'd be especially interested.

I said it before

and I'll say it again.

Excuse me, but it's not up to you
to decide what interests me.

You confide more in strangers
than in your own wife!

Of course.

Would you want me
to tell you everything?

Everything I can?

No, Fedya. I'm exaggerating.

But today I'll tell you something
I've never said before.

It may upset you.

We've never said a word
against each other before.

You know how I love you

the way you are,

with your qualities and foibles,
which everyone has.

The one thing
that bothers me about you

and could slightly put me off you

is the way you try to justify your...

Reticence?

I think that's the word.

They're not lies,
not even of omission, but...

with me,

you treat state secrets
the same as common knowledge.

Maybe,

but only because I don't mind lying
to others. To you, I mind.

You said just now you never lie.

I was joking.

In my job, called euphemistically...

- You know that word?
- Of course. It's Greek.

"To embellish verbally".

In my job, called euphemistically
"intelligence", not to say "espionage",

it's very hard to tell
what's secret and what isn't,

so I can't always be frank
about harmless things,

although I was frank with Alexei today.

You'll say I'm being tortuous again.

I'm listening.

How can I put it more plainly?

I'm sworn to secrecy.

On some specific subjects,
I don't speak so I can't lie.

But on others, where I'm not so tied,

I can't help telling little fibs.

To other people, I don't mind.
But to you,

I always want

and always try
to be completely honest.

APRIL

Why close it?

Let the spring air in!

Not now. I'm cold.

You've got your cardigan.

I think I've picked up a fever.
I'll take my temperature.

I think you've lost weight.

As always, in spring.

More than usual.

You should see the doctor.

I can't see much wrong with you but...

still, that fever worries me.

You should take some precautions.

What precautions?

What did the doctor say?

I'm better, but still fragile
and prone to infection.

We must watch you.
Did he give you a tonic?

He says ideally
we'd live in the country.

Somewhere sunny near Paris would do.

The suburbs?

They're either lower-class and grim
or expensive.

Come to think of it,

Boris has an empty house
in Maisons-Laffitte.

He wants to do it up
but hasn't the time or maybe the money.

- You think it's habitable?
- For us? Maybe, yes.

Hello, darling!

- Good journey?
- Fine.

Nice conservatory!

A bit decrepit.

The glass won't fall out!

Please, come in.

There are some leaks,

hence the basins.

But they're only a few drops.

A place to paint...

Bedrooms are upstairs.

The shutters are closed.
We'll go up later.

Here's the kitchen.

The gas and running water
just need turning on.

So? Do you like it?

It's too beautiful! It's unreal.

A fairy tale.

But I'm not sure we can accept.

Do you like it?

Like it? Of course, but...

No buts. Accept or we'll be upset.

You can stay for two years,
three if you like.

I have plans to turn the place
into a horse stud,

but not right away.

So, we move out of Paris.

The rent we pay now
will go to you, but it's paltry.

So paltry that you needn't bother.

- I'd feel embarrassed otherwise.
- Don't.

You're doing me a favour.

Your being here
is worth more to me than rent.

Never leave a house empty, right?

You're well set up!

I love how you've arranged
the furniture.

Don't you feel cut off and bored?

People will visit us.

Not everyone has a car like me.

The train station is nearby.

Besides, I'm completely
wrapped up in my painting.

Very pretty!

I've found lots of pretty places
in the country around here.

Fyodor! That's him to a T.

You see,

I don't miss other people

except a few good friends like you,

but Fedya's away too much these days.

He was seen in Berlin.

When?

Some time ago. November.

I don't see...
You're sure it was Berlin?

My brother-in-law lgor saw him.
He lives there.

Yes, but did he speak to him?

He saw him through a caf� window.

It wasn't him.

He was talking to someone in the street
and stopped outside the caf�.

Igor recognized him.

Maybe not.

Fedya took a trip in November,
but it was to Brussels.

He even sent me a card!

Brussels is on the way to Berlin.

I'm sorry. I talk too much.

I've upset you.
Look, lgor could have been wrong.

Fedya's entitled to go to Berlin
without telling me.

He's discreet about his work
and that's fine.

He has to keep things quiet.
I'd rather not know.

Well, he was doing nothing unusual.

That pleads in his favour.

In his favour? What do you mean?

I didn't want to say it,

but you should be prepared
for certain rumours.

What rumours?

Some say he's a
Communist sympathizer.

- It's only a rumour.
- Absurd!

He sees Reds to get information.

I know you're right.

But White Russian circles
are so prone to spy fever!

When Fyodor's seen entering
a ministry in Berlin...

What ministry?

Some official building
with an endless German name.

But you know,

it could actually help
to dispel the rumours.

Especially as some officers

were angry that he didn't
go to Salamanca.

I know,

but only to avoid offending
the French Government,

which barely tolerates us.

I understand,

but although Boris is in industry now,
he still sees old comrades

who can't hold their tongues.

They say Dobrinsky's retiring soon

and Fyodor is tipped to succeed him.

There's bound to be jealousy.

JUNE

Arsino�, have you seen my bag?

There it is.

I'm going to Belgium for a few days.

- Like in November?
- Yes, to Brussels.

And then?

Then I'll come home.

Via Berlin?

Who said that?

Maguy, the other day.

What a gossip! Who told her?
Only Dobrinsky and I knew.

Her brother-in-law saw you.

True, he lives in Berlin.
He could've said hello.

You were with someone.
Then you went into a ministry.

- Which one?
- She doesn't know.

Is that all?

- You look upset.
- It was a top secret job!

- Too secret to tell your little wife?
- Let alone others!

- They already know.
- Not the wrong people, I hope.

I'll get Boris to make
his wife pipe down!

If it's not too late.

This time, don't say
I'm not confiding in you.

I'll explain.

No, don't if it's a secret.

I won't tell you everything.

The Association needs money.

Our treasury's half gone.

Some German firms helped us

but now all money movements
are subject to Nazi state approval.

I was seeking it when I was seen,
regrettably.

We mustn't appear
to be close to the Nazis.

That's rich!

Rich? I think not.
The Left's in power here.

Maguy told me something else.

You're a suspected Communist spy.

Now it's my turn to laugh.

Call me a double agent,
even a triple one!

Everything I do
is to support White Army veterans.

It's not easy work.

Having to act friendly with both sides
takes cunning.

I'm a soldier.
I learned cunning in the field.

I play it like a chess game,
where you have to hide your moves.

It's less noble than soldiering
but not subservient.

I'm not a lackey
like a taxi driver, salesman or clerk.

I don't strut on the world stage
but I'm well placed behind the scenes.

I get a better view
into the hearts of governments

than journalists whose job it is.

Like them, or even more so,

I don't just observe.

I act. Indirectly,
but the information I exchange

with people who directly
influence events

can be decisive.

You think I'm delirious? I'm not,

but the thought
of having all this... power

yes, my power,

makes my head spin.

I have much more responsibility
than dear General Dobrinsky imagines.

I have to take decisions
affecting the balance of power

in Europe and even the world!

You think I'm exaggerating? Hardly.

Listen to this.
The other day, while conversing...

politely with a top official
from a nearby country,

I instinctively evaded
a seemingly harmless question,

sensing that my reply
was of vital interest to his government.

What interest, I don't know,

but I felt I was being manoeuvred
and I balked,

at the risk of endangering my mission.

I'll stop.

I've never seen you so elated.

Talk, if it relieves you.

Will you forgive me?
I was only half listening.

I prefer not to know too much.

I know your work is dangerous.

I fear for you, but...
I prefer not to think about it.

You could be in danger too,
if you knew too much.

Who'd know that I knew?

It would get around.

Someone could ask you
an innocent question.

You'd answer in all innocence,
but unwittingly

give away some less innocent detail.

- Who would be asking me?
- Anyone.

- Your Communist friends, for instance.
- They're not spies!

Not as such, but they could
pass the word to less naive listeners.

- I shan't tell them about Berlin.
- I should hope not!

Or that you stayed away from Franco.

You can. Everybody knows.

And I'll carry on seeing them.

I want to ask Jeanine to lunch
on Thursday.

On the train, I read an interview
with Maurice Thorez.

"We love France.

"We staunchly support
peace and concord.

"Given the events in Spain,
we reject

"the prospect of two blocs
implacably opposed to each other.

"The Communist Party
initiated the Popular Front

"to combine the forces
of the proletariat

and the middle classes."

See? It's clear.

It's the Fascists who want
war and strife, not us.

Don't you agree?

Yes, I believe you.

Does your husband?

He thinks...

Well, I don't know.
We don't talk politics much.

He doesn't seem to believe
in the Red Peril.

Because he thinks Stalin no longer wants
to export the Revolution,

and the French Communists
obey his every word.

Nonsense! That's right-wing talk.

In a blindfolded world,
Stalin sees clearly

and so do we.

We believe the Revolution can wait.

The priority now is to combat Fascism

and we need everyone's help.

You look distracted.
Do you really disagree?

Sorry. I was listening, but...

your words reminded me
of something irrelevant.

Go on, I'm listening.
I'm interested.

Andr�'s overjoyed.

Picasso has decorated
the Spanish pavilion at the World's Fair

with a big mural showing
the German bombing of a Spanish village.

He's thrilled to see
a great modern artist

committing himself
to the fight against Fascism.

THE WORLD'S FAIR

Paris Expo '37 gathers speed.

The German pavilion is inaugurated

by Dr Schacht,
the Development Minister.

I hope this exhibition,
with Germany's participation,

will help to strengthen the ties
between our peoples.

The USSR pavilion is inaugurated
by Mr Hirschfeld,

the Soviet charg� d'affaires,

attended by Mr Dormoy,

Interior Minister,

Mr Zay, Education Minister,

and Mr Chautemps, Minister of State.

The Spanish pavilion displays a work
by the cubist artist, Pablo Picasso,

inspired by the bombing of Guernica.

Moscow, June 12th.

Tukhachevsky and Seven Generals
To Be Executed Tonight

You knew Marshal Tukhachevsky well.

We were army cadets together

but the Revolution parted us.
He joined the enemy.

Still, I respect him.

He's very upright,
almost too uncompromising.

You think the charges
were all trumped up?

Of course.

Such a man would never
consort with the Nazis.

Quite the opposite.

He wasn't eliminated
just for personal reasons.

I knew him as a so-called hawk,

eager to attack Hitler
before he rebuilt the German army.

So Stalin's a dove?

Just now, yes.
I doubt he'll start the hostilities.

Are you sure?

Positive.
He doesn't feel strong enough yet.

So why are the French Communists

so violently against pacifists
such as Emery and Bergery?

Because the views
from Paris and Moscow are different.

Stalin doesn't want war
but he'd happily push others into it.

He'll help the West
if the West goes first

but I'll bet my boots
he won't start it himself.

So why's he sending

volunteers and aircraft to Spain?

First, because the Fascists

and Nazis went in first.

But second,
for the Italians, Germans and Soviets,

Spain isn't so much a battlefield

as a training ground
where you size up your opponent

and you don't care who wins.

I'd even say
these interventions are a sham,

designed to hoodwink Western opinion.

Hoodwink? Why?

- To hide what he's up to.
- Which is?

That, I wish I knew!

Bravo! You got me.

- In fact, you know no more than I.
- I do.

I'm telling the naked truth.

You complicate things at will.

- I hope you like this.
- I'm sure you'll love it.

What's it called?

Exactly.

Aren't you hungry?

Not very.

I think I should see the doctor again.

He'll say nothing new.

I think your condition
needs specialist care.

I'll make inquiries.

I don't really trust French doctors.

France is way behind in medicine.

You're not suggesting
we go to America?

No, another country.

Can't you guess?

Not Germany?

No, Russia.

The USSR, if you prefer.

Russian medicine
is even ahead of the USA.

My son told me.
He's studying it there.

Even so, how would I get to Russia?

- Why would they take me?
- I'll go with you.

They'd accept us even less.
What is this wild idea?

Not so wild.

Politics have changed.

Not for you.
Stalin's executing all the generals.

Dead men need replacing.

I don't like your joking,
especially about that.

I'm not joking.
Would you want me to?

I'm deadly serious.

Then you're crazy.

Everybody is,
starting with the Soviets.

That's why they'll accept me.
I've been told about it.

Told what?

Specific things
that will soon be more specific.

But even if they accept you,
you won't accept them.

If there's war,
you won't change sides.

Yes, I will.

If there's war,
I'm bound to be on France's side,

which Russia will join,
as it can't stay neutral.

You don't think I'd fight
for Mr Hitler, do you?

I don't like the Germans.
I've never relied on them.

Unlike Dobrinsky,
who expects them to help us.

They don't give a damn about us.

They like us
as little as the Soviets fear us,

which is not a jot.

At a pinch, they'd have given us
some sorely needed funding

if we'd agreed to do them
some menial favours

in the spying department
at its vilest level,

but we refused,

at least I refused.

You remember I went to Berlin
to see the German spymaster, Heydrich?

What did I refuse to tell him?

Things about
my classmate Tukhachevsky,

whom I'd met secretly in Paris

on his way
to the King of England's funeral.

Of course he wasn't candid

but his guarded remarks
led me to a few conclusions.

The Gestapo must have heard we met,

since Heydrich casually
probed me about it.

I answered evasively,

he bestowed a look of ice on me,

and we left it at that.

We won't be seeing
those funds in a hurry!

But why did Mr Heydrich
want such information?

Presumably, the Germans were keen
to compromise the Red Army chief,

knowing Stalin was down on him.
But I'm only guessing.

I disliked the man's arrogance.
I don't like Nazis.

I don't like their grubby,
grasping vulgarity.

If I have to choose sides,
I won't choose the Huns for anything.

I'm a Russian first.

If I have to fight abroad,
I'll serve only my country.

What is it, Arsinushka?
Are you crying?

I'm not crying.

You've no idea how happy I am.

I was so scared you were a Nazi.

That was my worst fear!

- Have your Red friends converted you?
- I love you!

If I had to choose,
I wouldn't hesitate either.

They haven't converted me.

But I've realized
from living next to them

that they're well-meaning people
who sincerely want peace.

Sincere, I agree, but gullible.

Aren't you?

Aren't you gullible too?

Isn't it all too good to be true?

Maybe I'm gullible too, but...

I'll risk it.

In all modesty,
I think I've always had a flair,

a skill for sniffing out
and separating true from false.

Here's what I've been offered,

and I think it's perfectly plausible.

I've been offered...

and not by some low-ranking operative...

I have every reason to believe
it comes from high authority,

indeed the highest of all.

You're smiling?

You don't have to believe me.
Never mind.

What is this offer?

To be reinstated in the army
with my rank of general, no less!

You see?

My remark about the purges
wasn't a tasteless joke.

The Red Army is short
of experienced officers.

With none left in Russia,
they have to look elsewhere.

They're inviting me
to run an army staff college.

If it's true, it's wonderful.

The only thing
that could stop me accepting is...

Yes?

Yes, it's you.

I'm still dazed.

Let me think.

I'm not against the offer,
if it's genuine.

I hope to have proof of it soon.

But also, life in Russia
will upset your habits.

I haven't got any.

My habits are you.

As long as I'm with you...

Life won't be too bad.

We'll be better off
than we were in Paris.

Wealthier, anyway.

Under the Soviets,
it's shocking but true,

there are privileged people,
which will include us.

I'll have a big salary

and a decent sized house
on the Black Sea,

where the climate's as mild
as the Riviera. Sound good?

I don't know.

Giving ourselves trussed and tied
to the Soviets

is very risky. It scares me.

But can't you see the risks in France?

The real risk to your health

and others, more nebulous
but very possible?

I'm a fly in the ointment.
I'm at risk...

from Soviets, Nazis,
all kinds of Fascists and soon,

I'm afraid above all,
the French Government.

I could be arrested,
kidnapped like Kutyepov,

assassinated at any time.

Quite frankly,
I'd feel rather safer in Russia.

Poor Tukhachevsky, rest his soul,
got what he deserved.

He tried to thwart his boss
and came unstuck. It's natural.

I'll simply be an executive,

serving my motherland
against external threats.

BOMB BLASTS IN PARIS

The Employers Federation building
on Rue de Presbourg

was partially wrecked by a time bomb.

A few hundred metres away,

on Rue Boissiere,

a similar device exploded

almost simultaneously
at the Allied Metal Industries HQ.

Two police officers died in the blasts.

I think I can wear this

on Sunday evening.

It's perfect.

- And for Wednesday's cocktail party?
- I've got nothing.

- Have one made.
- No time.

Yes! Order it on Saturday,
it'll be ready for Wednesday.

We'd have to spend four days in Paris.

Would you mind?

I have shopping to do
and people to see.

Who'd plant those bombs
except the Communists?

Rightist provocation? Too far-fetched.

Maurras says it's the Government,

smearing the Fascists
and its Communist pals in one go.

Too duplicitous!

It's too Machiavellian.

I don't like Blum but I can't see him
doing a thing like that.

What do you think, General?

Nothing.
I'm neither a policeman nor a prophet.

But let me say that journalists

tend to put their own ideas
before the facts,

which often belie them.

- I'm a journalist.
- I know.

With Candide. Jean Rochereau.

Pleased to meet you.

These facts.
Where and how can they be found?

Do you have a hunch?

None.

I'm just curious.
Off the record.

I know, but as I said,

I don't read the stars
or coffee grounds.

My wife and I are delighted
to join the party.

It hurts!

It doesn't look swollen.

Does it hurt when I press?

It's deeper. A shooting pain.

You may have pinched a nerve.

I'll get you an aspirin.
A good night's sleep will do it.

My dress isn't ready?

You said late morning.

Two o'clock, then.

Two o'clock is too late!

I have important phone calls
to make after lunch.

Let's eat now,
then I'll drop you off and you can wait.

I'm sorry we're early, but...
I was in the area.

My wife has a painful foot
and can't walk far alone.

We'll wait.

It will take a good hour.

No matter.

I'll make my phone calls
from the local post office

and be back in an hour,

or rather...

- a good hour.
- See you later.

So, is the dress ready?

I'm still waiting.

It's ready for fitting.

Ravishing.

I'll keep it on, then.

We'll remove the threads.

The hat goes well.
How about some shoes?

- I like these.
- They're getting worn.

My foot still hurts.
I'd rather not change now.

At the hotel,
you'll have time to rest.

The cocktail party's at 5

but I want to be there early,
as I'm representing our Division.

The other generals are all abroad.

Won't Dobrinsky be there?

No, I doubt it.

He's got a very busy day today.

The officers from Brussels are here.

I'm touched.
You came specially from Brussels.

We're honoured.

May we pay our respects
to General Dobrinsky?

I'm afraid he may not be able to come

and even if he does,
it won't be before 8.

That's a pity.
We have to catch the train.

But he lives nearby.
We can call on his wife.

Coming to call on Mme Dobrinsky?

- Will it take long?
- We'll just look in.

The men from Brussels
have a train to catch.

Then I'd rather stay here.

I hope I wasn't gone too long.

- Ready to go home?
- Yes, if you don't mind.

I'll come too.

My aide will see to the remaining guests.

What's up?

I think I've got myself into a mess.

When?

This afternoon.

But we were together.
What could you have done?

I shouldn't be telling you, but...

I'm afraid you might be questioned
unprepared.

Questioned about what?

How we spent the day.

I know very well how we spent it.

It's ages since I had
a whole day out with you.

It was a marvellous day.

I don't want anything to spoil it.

Unfortunately...

What is it?

I'm afraid Dobrinsky's disappeared.

What do you mean?

Plain disappeared.
I don't know where he is.

Wasn't he at home?

No, but he was out late, anyway.

So?

I'm afraid he's been kidnapped.

Who told you? How do you know?

We didn't see him all day.

While I was at the dressmaker...
Did you meet him?

- Where?
- Near here.

Didn't he come?

Did he come?

He was kidnapped from under your eyes?

Like Kutyepov?

Exactly.
He got in a car which sped off.

- You let it go?
- I wasn't going to chase it!

But you let him get in?

You, wary and shrewd as you are?

- Who was in the car?
- Two Germans.

- I thought you fell out with them.
- They were fake Germans.

So they were Russians?

Soviets?

Your new masters!

And poor General Dobrinsky,
who trusted you, fell in the trap.

Me too. I was fooled!

Do you swear?

I swear.

On your son's life?

Leave him out.
I refuse to swear on an innocent person.

Listen!

Why, if you're innocent?

On principle.
And I'm not completely innocent.

I was careless.

I'll explain.

Don't bother.

It's between you and your conscience.
I'm not your confessor.

But I'll tell you this.

You say you broke off with the Nazis

but I'm not accepting any favours
from the Bolsheviks

who mounted such a dirty trick.

I refuse to buy that favour

with the life of the leader
you ignobly betrayed!

I'd rather die here...

and watch my lungs and bones rot...

than be cured there,
at that price, if I could.

I can believe you were fooled,
for all your cleverness.

I can understand but not forgive it,
if you betrayed him for me.

As I said,
that's between you and your conscience.

But I refuse, at any price,
to profit from these crimes.

Don't expect me
to set foot in Russia now, ever!

Our dream's dead, anyway.
I have no illusions.

I'll explain.

Don't bother.

Tell me one thing.

While you waited for your dress,
did anyone enter the room?

No,

from the moment you left
until you returned.

Except the seamstress,

who came through
to fetch something or other.

But she didn't look.

I won't say you went out.
Is that the idea?

But what?

I don't fully understand.

You left, saying you'd be back at once.

Not at once.

You had an hour to wait.

- An hour's not long.
- It's ample.

I'll explain.

Dobrinsky had to meet a man covertly
to pick up an envelope.

He wanted me to accompany him.

As you'd be at the dressmaker's,

I suggested Ranelagh Gardens,

halfway between there
and the Dobrinskys'.

You didn't have to come with me.

I'd promised.
The rendezvous was set yesterday.

For such important business,
I'd have understood...

It wasn't meant to be important.
I didn't mind.

No, it suited you.
It gave you a good alibi.

Why should I have needed one?
Believe me!

Let me explain!

Explain. I won't say another word.

I took the m�tro.
We met at La Muette station.

We walked to the Gardens
in barely five minutes.

On Rue d'Andign�,
we found our contact

waiting in a comfortable
chauffeur-driven Panhard.

The German said
the man with the envelope

had moved the rendezvous
to the Bois de Boulogne,

three minutes' drive away.

I couldn't show any suspicion
or the deal would be off.

Besides, Dobrinsky had no hesitation

in trusting this polite German
with his aristocratic elegance,

and got into the front seat.

I reached for the back door handle.
It was locked.

The German said
"Wait, I'll open it from inside."

By now, the driver
had the engine running,

but that was normal.

The German walks round the car

and gets in at the back,
slamming the far door shut.

As he pretends to lean over
to open the near door,

the car roars off down the empty street.

Who had the envelope?

Didn't I tell you?

The agent of a right-wing
anti-Nazi German industrialist

was to leave it on a bench.

We'd arrive, he'd stand up,
we'd take it and go.

All done in what, five minutes?
Ten at the most.

Add it up.
The m�tro there and back, 30-40 minutes.

The walk to the Gardens, say 12 minutes

plus 10 to collect the envelope, makes...

40 plus 12, 52, plus 10, 62.
Just over an hour at the most.

And the fake German?

Where did he come from?

Strictly speaking, he wasn't a fake.
He was...

Col. Werner von Nussdorf,

a former military attach�
at the embassy, disgraced

for political reasons.

He can't possibly
be working for the Nazis.

And what would they gain from it?

What would the Russians gain?

I can't see that either.

That's why I wasn't suspicious.

Do another Kutyepov?

Too idiotic!

It's like chess. The stupidest moves
are the hardest to beat.

Anyone can lose to a beginner.

Like me, remember?

But they're not beginners.

What threat could poor Dobrinsky pose?

Then maybe it wasn't a kidnapping.

Dobrinsky wanted you out of his way
and gave you the slip.

It's not his style.

It was the Soviets.

But why, for God's sake?
It makes no sense.

Parade him in Russia, saying
he retired to the Soviet paradise?

He'd never say it,
even under torture.

Replace him with a lookalike?

Create a fake general,
photograph and film him?

Easy! We Russians have good actors.

Summon the press, hey presto!

And you laugh.

Because it's grotesque!
As grotesque as the kidnapping itself.

Do you think I'd lend myself
to such a farrago?

It's so gross,
I never imagined it possible.

Any faint doubts
I may have had on the way,

I quickly dismissed.

I wasn't particularly wary.

No more wary than usual.
Well, a tiny bit more.

I admit I made an unforgivable mistake.

I thought "Whatever will be, will be."

I should never say that.

Dobrinsky's been irritating me

with his pro-German sympathies,
among other things.

I often think to myself,
with shame, but still...

"To hell with him.

"Let him fall sick. Let him die,

so we can finally be rid of him."

They're disgraceful thoughts
but only thoughts.

I suppose everyone has them.

Except you maybe,
saint that you are.

Don't you believe it.

I sometimes have thoughts that...

I had one today,
coming out of the m�tro with Dobrinsky.

Crossing the street,
he was almost run over.

I held him back
but the thought flashed through my mind,

"That was close. Almost good riddance!"

Are you appalled?

I understand you.

- That's not the point.
- But there is no point.

I can't see any point
in kidnapping Dobrinsky.

My megalomania isn't all in the mind.

I was much more dangerous than him.
Is it me they want to compromise?

I know things they wish I didn't.
Who do I mean by "they"?

Call me paranoid, but it's no underling.
It's someone very high up.

The more I consider it,

the more I think this lunatic stunt

must be the work of the cleverest,

most highly placed, far-sighted people.

It's no minor affair.

It's part of Soviet global strategy
and probably Nazi, too.

We can't see the wood for the trees.

You mean Hitler and Stalin...

It's insane! Why? What for?

Your mind's been twisted
by consorting with spies and plotters.

Europe's two strongest leaders
are old hands at plots

and very twisted ones!

- Who is it?
- Tchernov.

One moment.

Piotr Pavlovitch, what's going on?

Sorry to bother you.
Gen. Dobrinsky's disappeared.

Disappeared? What do you mean?

He didn't come home.

His wife called Galinin,
who's waiting for you at the office.

No need for your car.
I have a taxi.

Very well.

I'll get dressed.

Wait for me in the taxi.

- Are they suspicious?
- No, but...

I'm his deputy.
They'd naturally tell me first.

We're sorry to get you up
in the dead of night,

but do you know
where General Dobrinsky is?

I've no idea.

I gather his wife is looking for him.

He told me he'd be very busy today.

When did he tell you that?

Yesterday.

You haven't seen him today?

Not today.
I haven't been to the office.

Nevertheless,

didn't you arrange to meet him outside?

At one o'clock?

At one, I was with my wife
at her dressmaker's.

I repeat,

did you arrange to meet him at 1:00
at La Muette m�tro station?

What makes you think that?

This!

Dobrinsky left this note on his desk.

"Today at one p.m.

"I have an appointment with Voronin

"at La Muette station.

"We are to meet
a German officer named Werner,

"attached to the German Embassy.

"This meeting

"was Voronin's idea.

"It may conceivably be a trap.

I am leaving this note, just in case."

Do you recognize his handwriting?

I think it's a forgery.

And there's a spelling mistake here.

See?

It can't be Dobrinsky.
It's clearly a forgery.

Forgery or not,

it will have to be shown
to the police.

I agree. I'll come with you.

Vladimir Petrovitch, please.

What is it?

You saw how he flinched
when you said one o'clock?

Keep a close eye on him.

He may be less cocky towards the police.

We'll see.

Where's Voronin?

He just left.
Waiting downstairs, presumably.

Presumably? Idiot!

Why is there no light?

Strange. It was working just now.

Let's use our lighters.

I'll go first.

He's not anywhere on the street.

He could be as far as
the Champs-Elys�es!

See? I was suspicious for good reason!

If you hadn't kept me back
we'd have caught him!

Perhaps he's gone back to the hotel.

I'll get a taxi.

- Fedya? Is that you?
- Captain Tchernov.

One moment, please.

Fyodor Alexandrovitch?

Is he back?
We're looking for him.

- He went with you.
- Yes, to the office,

but then he disappeared.

He wasn't on the stairs
or the street.

So you suspect him.
Otherwise he wouldn't have fled.

Be careful. He could shoot himself!

But he's done nothing!

We were together all day.

Even at 1 p. m?

I was at my dressmaker's.

We'll check.

It's the truth!

The seamstress said
Fyodor didn't stay in the waiting room.

...but he wasn't there.

He went out and came back
a full hour later.

...a full hour later.

I even heard him come in.
I can testify to it.

No trace of Voronin or Dobrinsky
was ever found.

Arsino� muddled up her alibis.

A Czech passport in the couple's name
was found in their house.

Defendant, rise.

Charged with complicity

despite flimsy evidence,
she received a heavy prison sentence.

...guilty of complicity
in the kidnapping of General Dobrinsky.

In prison,
her bone tuberculosis grew worse.

On September 9th 1940
her left foot was amputated

and she died a month later.

The startling news
of a pact between Nazi Germany

and Soviet Russia
leaves the democracies stunned

and appalled
at the signatories' duplicity.

WAR

DEFEAT

EVACUATION

Come in, please.

Good morning, General.

We have arrested
Mr Semenov, your landlord,

for black marketeering.

In our search, we also discovered

that he was spying for the Soviets.

We found these two plans,

of your offices
and his apartment below.

See these marks?

They show the location of...

the microphones.

Leutnant, stop working for a moment.

Will you follow me downstairs?

You too, Commissaire.

- Leutnant!. Can you hear me?
- Yes.

Say a few words to your men.

Yes sir!

Can you hear?

Semenov confessed.

Every word spoken upstairs
was reported to the Soviet Embassy

at least until the war,

when our man switched
to black marketeering.

His big mistake!

That explains it all.
Remember the Voronin case?

The spy who kidnapped Gen. Dobrinsky?
You think he hid here?

Most probably.

Semenov was listening in
and let him in to hide.

Or Voronin knocked on his door.

Possibly.

Let's check something.
Come here.

See? It cuts off
the electricity in the stairs.

I see. The lights were out
when we came down

to hinder our pursuit.

I'd never have suspected Mr Semenov.
He was very discreet.

In his business, they usually are.

When we went to report to the police,

he must have run
to the Soviet Embassy for refuge.

And from then on...

From then on, it's a big mystery

but I have my pet theory.

I took seriously, unlike many,

a story printed
in Gringoire magazine in October '37,

just three weeks after the kidnapping:

The Soviets took him to Marseilles

and shipped him with a group
of International Brigades to Barcelona.

There, he was held
in the OGPU detention centre

where Andr�as Nin,
the anti-Stalin Communist, was murdered.

Voronin must have met the same fate.
Liquidated.

A blown agent,
he was no more use to anyone.

Unless he was taken
to Moscow and killed there.

Or simply in the embassy cellars.
Whatever, it's a sad story.

Such a brilliant man.

Dead or alive, I feel sorry for him

and sorrier still for his charming wife,
Arsino�.

She was jailed
in all innocence, I believe.

Is she still in prison?

No, she died.

Subtitles by Nigel Palmer

Processed by B.B. COM - Paris