All language subtitles for The.Inner.Circle.S01E06_English

So I contacted one of the hackers.

He answered right away
asking what my problem was, so I said.

That she had to be silenced or stopped,
at any cost.

Darkweb?! For fuck's sake, Lena!

-What were you thinking?
-I did it for you!

THE INNER CIRCLE

Miss Ståhl...

If you came to get scandalous
information on David, you came in vain.

Please tell the PM that she
couldn't find a better successor.

Please, Martin. This is enough for me.

If you start involving feelings,
it gets all messy.

Maybe just a goodnight kiss?

Freely adapted from
"In the Eye of Power" by Per Schlingmann

It feels hard to have to say this...
It's not working any longer.

-What isn't working?
-Rasmus. He can't work here anymore.

-Okay.
-What did you think I meant?

Oh, nothing.

Six pages on David Ehrling
and one and a half about you.

Hey, don't worry about all this.
He'll be gone soon.

-Do you think so?
-I'm sure of it.

This is Victoria Ståhl.

-Hello.
-We've just discussed the situation.

You might want to keep off the radar
for media reasons.

-Particularly during Elvira's speech.
-Hang on a minute.

Does this mean I needn't go
or that I can't go?

We have concluded that
your presence is potentially awkward.

We're going to Visby,
kind of a study visit

to the stagnant backwaters
your dad bobs around in.

All right. How do we get there?

Shit! What the fuck are you doing?

-Where are you going?
-Time to leg it!

Joel!

-What if this girl who popped up...
-Vanja.

-Imagine for a second that she...
-A honey trap?

I know it sounds weird,
but how could she get into the hotel?

The security is really tight.
She must have had help.

Who from?

Who paid you?

Look! That's the one.

BERLIN, TWO YEARS EARLIER

One Panama Red, please.

It's her.

So?

Let's walk.

The American security company Shield Inc.
was active in Iraq during the war.

Then, they moved operations to Africa,

where they're doing the dirty work
for some huge multinational companies.

They "buy" the land from the locals.

Basically taking control of
the natural resources underground.

-Landgrabbers?
-Exactly.

And "dirty" is not really strong enough
to describe what they are doing.

It's just horrible.

The money goes into the deep pockets of
a small group of American billionaires.

People connected to
the arms industry, NRA, KKK...

I know exactly who these fuckers are.
Okay, let me see If I got this right.

You and your friends
want me to hack into their system?

-And give the money back to the people?
-Yes, something like that.

Do you realise this is dangerous?
For real.

Of course, but this wouldn't
keep you awake at night.

-Would it?
-I sleep just fine at night.

But for once, I wasn't talking about me.

Some things you have to do
to be able to face yourself.

True, that.

-I'm hungry.
-Okay.

There's a vegan burger joint nearby.
You can buy me lunch.

We can have a seat and a chat.

-Does that work?
-Sure.

Okay, come on.

FRIDAY JULY 6, 7.48 P.M.

Well, did anyone see him?

-Not as far as I know.
-So how do you know it was him?

Google has him pegged as a party animal.

Don't you know you can't trust
everything you read online?

Anyhow, he must have been pretty wasted
and very keen not to be found out.

Yes. Maybe.

I'll try to get hold of him.

Come on, Louie.

You were right, David. It was Victoria.

She paid that girl
and helped her into the hotel.

I don't get it. I really don't.

If Elvira doesn't want me,
why phone me at all?

It's not that strange
when you think about it.

If you're prime minister
and favour a certain candidate

but you can't name them
because you'd appear biased,

you praise another poor bugger to
the skies - and then shoot him down.

Then, everyone will agree that
there's only one viable candidate left.

And that's...?

-Ann-Louise Hegel?
-I can't think of anyone else.

Of course they know one another,
but would they be that close?

Wait a sec.

-At that DJ palaver the other day...
-Yes?

Wasn't Ann-Louise
wearing a leopard-print scarf?

-I'm pretty sure.
-I don't know.

-So what?
-I think I saw it in Elvira's room.

This one?

Yes, that's the one!
I saw that in Elvira's hotel room.

And that was at 10.30 in the morning,
if not earlier.

Are you saying Ann-Louise
was there in the night?

That's exactly what I'm saying.

-That would explain a lot.
-It would indeed.

My God!

So what do we do now?

What do you think?

-It's not illegal.
-Of course not.

-If they're having an affair...
-So what.

-So legally...
-...and morally...

But conspiring to make Ann-Louise
party leader is not okay at all.

-Let's tell the press.
-Hang on...

So far, this is only
speculation on our part.

To point the artillery the other way,
we need some real ammo first.

-Leave that to me.
-How?

In some relationships you're better off

not knowing everything
your partner's doing.

Oh?

Rumour has it you're about
to announce your resignation today.

-Oh? That's news to me.
-Who'd you like to replace you?

Since it's not relevant,
I won't comment.

Any comments on the recent
press coverage of the Trade Minister?

-What's all that?
-Nothing at all.

There have been speculations that David
Ehrling was a favourite. Any comments?

I have no comments at all.

Traditionally, the whole party leadership
turns up for this speech.

Today, I didn't see David Ehrling.
What does that signify?

Well... I actually don't know.

I would ask him that.

Hi! Could you help me?

I'm Victoria Ståhl,
the Prime Minister's Press Officer.

I forgot my phone in her suite.

Could you maybe...? Please?

Thank you.

Shit!

I found it. Thanks!

Just don't tell the boss.

Damn thing!

Oh no...

Please, no...

Fucking hell!

Lena...

-Hello.
-You could try not to look so guilty.

-Isn't that the first thing you learn?
-Er...

-What do you want?
-A little chat.

-Does that work?
-Sure.

Can I come in,
or do we chat here in public?

Oops. Sorry.
And I'm sorry about the mess, too.

This place is a bit...
Okay, there we go.

I thought you'd be in Almedalen
with the rest of the party big shots.

-Oh? Well, no.
-And why not, if I may ask.

-Well, I was busy elsewhere. With...
-I see. With what?

-Why do you ask?
-Has something happened?

-What do you mean?
-I don't know. That's why I'm asking.

-No, nothing at all.
-Sure?

Absolutely.

-You seem a bit...
-A bit...?

-A bit edgy.
-Oh?

-Distraught. You look a little sad.
-Sad?!

Yes. What's wrong with that?
Everyone's sad from time to time.

And politicians are human, too.

-Word has it.
-Yes, that's true.

But no, I'm not sad.
Only a bit tired.

That I can understand.
I'm darned if I know how you do it.

So...you haven't been dropped?

No, I don't...

-Have they?
-I was just asking.

-But have you heard anything?
-No, I haven't.

I hazarded a guess.

You see, one has to wonder

when an otherwise fully functional,
intelligent person

gets plastered in the middle of the day,

drives through town like a maniac
and abandons their car in the park.

You don't do that
unless you have a really good reason.

Do you?

Well, no.

-Let's go home.
-Come on, we're here now.

Let's do this! Hi, lads! Nice to see you.

-He's with me.
-How old are you?

-You know... He's 20, more or less.
-Have you got some ID?

-20?
-I lied. Check his surname, though.

Yeah, dig that. The son of
our next prime minister, no less.

Who incidentally is on his way here
with his crowd of... How many?

Like 15-20 people.
Sweden's political bigwigs.

-And who are you?
-His uncle.

-And his protector. You want my ID?
-No, no need.

Oh, I understand.
You're just doing your job.

No probs. I'll just phone my bro and say
that his son isn't welcome at this place.

Could you tell the owner
that we have to cancel?

Including the 6 magnum Moëts
booked under a false name

to avoid alerting the press.

-Wait a sec.
-Okay.

-You are welcome. But don't let him...
-Never!

He'll be on the soda. That's his thing.
Let's go in. Thanks, lads.

-Enjoy.
-We sure will.

-No, no answer.
-Could anyone else have taken it?

-I guess it was stolen.
-With the key in the ignition?

-I really don't know what has happened.
-Okay, okay.

I still have to ask where you were
when this happened.

I was...out walking.

-Where?
-Just out. Walking around.

-And before that?
-I was here.

-Can anyone vouch for that?
-Lena.

-No one else?
-No.

Too bad.

Sorry! First I was over at Erik's.

-Hansen?
-Exactly.

-Why didn't you say so?
-I'm sorry, I'm a bit... I forgot.

-What were you doing there?
-At his place?

-Well, we were talking...
-Talking?

About what?

Do you honestly believe we had anything
to do with Josephine Sparre's death?

-Seriously?
-I don't do believing.

And if I'm honest,
I don't give a shit about that now.

Right now, my only task
is to maintain law and order in Visby.

That means I want to prosecute the one
who drove like a madman through town

spreading panic and creating mayhem.

That's all I care about.

I don't give a shit about the rest.
I'm leaving that to the city boys.

But you might want to shift it
before the papers find it.

Good idea.

You're welcome.

-They were all asking about David.
-Yes.

Maybe it wasn't such a good idea
asking him to stay away.

It only provoked
a lot of unnecessary questions.

I asked Victoria to phone his PO to
ask if they want to come to the dinner.

-Damnation!
-What's wrong now?

-I'm trying to find my phone.
-It's in your hand.

Not this one. My private one.

-I haven't seen it.
-I know I put it in this drawer.

Sure?

-Hi, this is Lena.
-This is Victoria.

I see. What do you want?

There seems to be some misunderstanding.

We would love for David to come
to the dinner with the board tonight.

I'm not sure where David is
or if he wants to attend.

-I'll find out and get back to you.
-That would be lovely.

Bitch.

-I left it in the bedside table drawer.
-Let me find one of the cleaners.

Please do, and tell them that if I don't
have it back...

We might have to involve
the Security Service.

And should they
be lacking the relevant permits...

-A guest has lost her mobile phone.
-My private one.

-How did it go?
-She'll talk to him.

-But I think he might be a bit peeved.
-Peeved?

Whose idea was this?
It was a really crappy one.

Well?

-Isn't it a bit too...?
-It's a personal column.

-A personal reflection.
-Sure, but still. Listen to this:

"Is it impossible to imagine that the
current PM along with a small loyal group

"could be conspiring behind the scenes
to influence the choice of successor?

"A scheme which reduces the media
to uncritical spectators

of a well-directed performance
with a given outcome.

"This kind of media dramaturgy is
normally associated with countries like

"the US, Hungary, Turkey," etc, etc.

-I stand by every word.
-I don't doubt that.

-I'm trying to see if I do, too.
-I'm not claiming to be correct.

-Only that...
-Well, could we get a bit more certain?

-Or find someone with the same idea?
-But who?

What about talking to the shipowner?
Erik Hansen?

Maybe he knows something?

I'd be grateful if we could
lie low with this, if you get my drift.

Well, that depends.

Any more where that came from?

-Never mind!
-All right, where shall I leave it?

Outside the town wall, not too far away.

And here's my card.

-Text me the address.
-Sure thing.

Hey!

I got it, but I don't know
why you contacted me.

It's a long story and a little late now.

-Seriously?
-Yes.

-I hope you didn't come...
-You'd better be kidding.

-I came to warn you.
-To warn me? Why?

The day after you sent me this note
was normal until I looked out.

And I see this white van parked outside.
An unmarked van.

-Might as well have said Shield Inc.
-No way...

Yes, but I thought maybe I was just
being paranoid, so I went about my day.

I went to yoga class and took a walk,
but when I came home...

-The place was turned upside down.
-Are you serious?

Yes, I'm dead serious. So I freaked.

You know, I went to the bar.
I borrowed some cash and I split.

-I left in the clothes I'm wearing.
-My God.

I'm not sure how they found me.

But I'm pretty sure it had to do
with you trying to contact me.

-I am so sorry, I didn't mean to...
-I know. I get it, okay.

But the fact remains that whoever
they are, they're smart motherfuckers.

And I'd say they're
pretty fucking pissed off as well.

But hey! You know,
unfortunately for them...

...I'm a pretty smart
motherfucker myself.

So, you know:
Here I am. Alive and kicking.

And in fairly desperate need of a shower.

-Yes?
-Where are you?

-At Lolo's. The bakery, you know?
-Oh yes...

-Was there something on your mind?
-No. Only that our car has been stolen.

-Sorry?
-How, I don't know.

The police said they'd found it in town.

And they seem to have had the key,
which means

that someone broke in and stole it.

-I don't think our car's been stolen.
-No?

I think your son
and your brother took it.

Another one, please.

How's the love life?

-What love life?
-Eh?

Does that mean
there's no girlfriend at the moment?

Oh, I see.
But you normally have one, right?

I imagine the girls go crazy
about those eyes of yours.

-I never had a girlfriend.
-What? Never?!

No way!

What? But you're into girls?

Right, then. So then...

But surely you've... Eh...
You know what I mean. Have you?

-For fuck's sake, man! How old are you?
-Seventeen and a half.

Seventeen? Okay? Know how old I was?

Fourteen.
And I beat your dad by two weeks.

At Midsummer, 1988.
Kneippbyn Caravan Site.

Maybe it wasn't a huge step for mankind,
but I mean... Yeah!

Shit, seventeen and a half!
This isn't good enough!

We need to do something about that.
You're an Ehrling with a proud tradition.

Aren't you? So...

You can stop worrying. We'll...

We'll get this sorted.
Uncle Jo-jo's coming to the rescue.

Hi. I'm escaping the Security Service.

She had a little too much information
about my candidate, so...

-You wanted me to shut her up?
-Well... Sort of, yes.

Not like that.

-But then, you know...
-What? What then?

-You don't know?
-I've been hitch-hiking for two days.

-I don't know shit!
-She's dead.

-What do you mean? Like murdered dead?
-Yes, shortly after my first message.

When you didn't reply,
I thought you might have...

-Okay. I get it.
-That's why I tried to reach you.

-That turned out to be pretty clever.
-I know. I panicked.

Listen, I'll tell you something again.
I'm a hacker. Not a killer, okay?

If you want to hack into a phone,
a computer or something, I'm your guy.

But if you want to murder someone,
call Shield Inc.

In your case, find somebody else.

Can you open up a phone?

Does Dolly Parton sleep on her back?

Is this seat free?

Mineral water, please. With ice.

-Lots of work?
-Yes, round the clock. And you?

-No.
-Oh, you're not here for Almedalen?

No way. I hate all this shit.

The entire political establishment
is nothing but a bunch of hypocrites.

The saying "power corrupts"
is actually very true.

I have many old friends.

They used to be good, honest people
you imagined you could trust.

And suddenly one day,
they're engulfed by politics.

They climb the ladder
to the very top.

And equally suddenly,
they let go of their ideals.

Everything that made them human
goes out of the window. It's sad.

I'm Astrid Pahlawi from Kvällspressen .

I know. Erik Hansen.

-Nice to meet you.
-Okay. So, what do you want?

You didn't choose this seat by accident,
did you?

Okay, I admit that
I have a few questions.

Do you mind if I...

By all means ask,
but don't expect answers.

Okay.

"Kompromat",
what does that mean to you?

Everything that's been revealed
lately about David Ehrling.

The affairs with women. The rumours
that he's involved in the Sparre murder.

And this candid camera footage
from Moscow,

when two prostitutes
supposedly visited him in his hotel room.

This timing...

Is it pure coincidence
that all these things pop up now,

shortly after he was on stage
with a PM who's rumoured to be resigning?

Or do you think
it could actually be the case...

...that someone is actively organising
this media witch hunt

to make us journalists look one way
when we ought to be looking the other?

-Sorry if I...
-Don't worry.

But, you see...

I've never before met a journalist
who sees what's really happening.

Astrid, in reply to your question...

I'd happily talk to you,
but not here and now.

There are people close by who don't
want me to say what I'm going to say.

Maybe we could go somewhere else?

Hi. He's with me.

-What? Has he got ID?
-No, he doesn't, but I...

Please?

What the fuck was that?

I said I have a thing for homeless guys
and was in desperate need of a fuck.

Whoa, wait a minute! Is that true?

Yes. But don't get your hopes up.

Fair enough.

Hm, okay. Hold on.

-Voilà.
-Thanks.

No worries.

Maybe it's time for this homeless guy
to take a shower? And then...

Who knows what happens after that.

Maybe you could round up
some clothes for the friendly fucker

who came all this way to save your ass.

I guess I could borrow your panties.

-Only they might be a little too tight.
-Okay, sure.

What? I'm not kidding.

Imagine the prestige involved.
It can almost go in your CV.

Don't you agree? Okay...

Listen, have you ladies
heard of Harry Martinsson?

-No.
-The famous Swedish author.

No? So effing what.

As a boy, he was a pauper.
Do you know "pauper"?

-No.
-Well, let me tell you about paupers.

Their children were placed with farmers,
and it was tables turned.

The farmer who wanted
the least compensation got them.

Why not do the same thing here.
Just for fun.

-No.
-Yes? Go on!

Come on. Look at him!
He's to die for. Give me a bid.

Hey, girls, which one of you wants to be
the first to mount this fine stallion?

-I don't think he was in on it.
-Er, well...

I guess he's nervous.

Oh well, then.

All righty.

Mine?

This is David Ehrling.
Leave a message and I'll phone back.

Hi, it's me. Phone me.
We need to talk. Like straight away!

I think I know what to do.

Social media is not my thing.

Not at all. I vote for talking live.

Or writing letters. Imagine receiving
a letter from someone you like.

Someone who's been perfecting it
for an hour to make it nice and eloquent.

-Wouldn't you be happy?
-Maybe.

-Yes.
-So what do you do?

There he is. We'd almost given up.

-Excuse me?
-Are the others coming, too?

-What others?
-Your brother said 15-20 people.

-He's waiting in there with your son.
-My brother? In here?

I've written one,
but publishing houses are such cowards.

-What's it about?
-Well, you see...

Well... It's... Imagine a family...

-Joel!
-Oh, hello there.

-Hey, where's Rasmus?
-Well, he was here a minute ago.

-Come.
-What the...

-Come! We need to talk.
-Do you realise...

-Are you hellbent on sabotaging things?
-What?

Or are you too stupid
to see that's what you're doing?

-I'm not trying to sabotage anything.
-You know how important this is to me.

-Yes, I think we all know that.
-But you still act like this?

What do you mean?
I'm the good guy here!

-You're the good guy?
-Trying to cheer up your poor son.

He's a wreck after reading about you
on social media.

So you nick my car and drive to town?
Without a licence!

To cheer him up. Right - was he happy?

-Maybe it wasn't the best of ideas.
-No, it was a fucking crap idea.

He doesn't need cheering up.
He needs to work and feel useful.

That's what my son needs.

That's so bloody wrong. He needs you.
Don't you get it? He needs you!

-I'm here for him.
-You aren't. Not even close.

He's sad. And lonely.

He doesn't want to work.
For good reasons.

-He's lazy.
-No.

He doesn't want to work for someone
who's shagging his dad's wife.

That's why he won't to go there.
I fucking get that.

Nor does he want me to tell you,
but now you know.

I'm not sure I can take this in.

Of course not.

-Any idea of where Rasmus is?
-Well...

-No, I don't. He just left.
-No?

Subtitle translation by: Katarina Lyckow
www.plint.com