All language subtitles for The Bletchley Circle - San Francisco - S01E07 - VOEN STEN

We went and mounted a cylinder
of discs on a spindle,

and on the edge
of each disc,

letters of the alphabet
all randomized,

but that's not all.

Then we use
electrical currents to--

Uh, g-gentlemen,

we've devised
a mechanism

that brings
efficient encryption

to business communications,
international communiqués,

and a growing number
of wealthy men

who want private conveyances.

Now, as long-distance
wire communication grows,

so too does the need
for privacy.

Our unit here--

Your unit?

Yes, sir.

The patent was granted
during the war,

and the U.S. military
has made good use of it.

We still do,
the basics of it.

Well, that's
a high compliment, Major.

But the war
is long-gone,

and Mrs. Bearden here
has a right to cash in

on her hard work
and good thinking.

No one disputes
your ingenuity,

but the fact is,
we still rely on

certain cryptographic
elements you developed.

And you're
welcome to them,

but by my thinking,
sir...

so am I.

Herbert Yardley
shared the workings

of our cryptology efforts
in the First World War,

which hurt us
in the Second.

Statutes are clear.

Your application
is denied.

Well, thank you for
your consideration.

Well, hang on, hang on.

We'll get a lawyer
and fight this.

Under Section Six of
the Invention Secrecy Act,

sharing information

is punishable
under military law.

You speak of this
to an attorney,

you go to jail.

Now, if you'll kindly
surrender the machine

and all technical
documents...

How are we supposed
to get our machine back?

You don't.

This really is
a splendid collection,

and the first one
where poor Emily Dickinson

wasn't edited
half to death.

To finally hear her true voice,
they're crystalline gems.

Millie!

How was the interview?

Well, there won't be
much poetry in my life.

But thanks to a good word

that waitress Cherry
put in for me,

I've a job at the diner.

Well, they're lucky
to have you.

And right now,

I could use an escape
from my new, greasy reality.

-Oh, uh!
-Come on, Jean!

I'll bring it back by the end
of the week, I promise.

We are not a lending library. Do
you want to see me fired?

Uh! No. Come on.

: You don't
get this kind of money

without cheating the system.

Or inheriting it,

which means Grandpa
did the cheating.

-Enough.

It's not every day

you get invited to the recital
of a world-class cellist.

The Soviets
are only over here

looking
for friends.

They got Poland rising
up against them

as we speak.

Not today, Dennis. Please.

I'm proud you were
invited, Mom.

Dad would be too.

Inviting
a few military wives

is the least
our government could do

after they stole
our machine.

Least I got
the know-how

to build
another prototype.

Well, then you go
right ahead and forget it.

You heard the man.

That machine
puts lives in danger,

and us in jail.

Fine.

I'm gonna go
look over there.

No. You are gonna--

you are gonna
stay right here

and enjoy this damn
thing, you hear me?

A "damn thing,"
indeed.

Mrs. Bearden.

Oh. Uh, yes. Hello.

I'm Deborah Mitchell.

: Alan?

This is
my husband, Alan.

My son, Dennis,
and our friend, Hailey.

It's a pleasure!

Indeed.

Young man, I'm told
your father still serves.

You must miss him
a great deal.

I'm used to it.

Well, at least this
new Vietnam business

is short-term.

-Or so they say.
-Oh, it's true.

They'll be done training
the Southern forces

and back home
in a month.

If it's a real live
ambassador telling me so,

I'll take that
to the bank.

Retired ambassador,
but even still.

We're looking forward
to putting down roots,

enjoying
our own culture.

Iris, I understand
you're a musician?

Oh, it's just
a Thursday-night early set

in the Fillmore--
hardly worth a listen.

: That's a lie--
they're swinging!

Treat yourself
and tune in.

Now, if
you'll excuse me,

I heard the call
of a bacon wrap-around.

Well, it seems
you have a fan.

We met in the war.
I'm very fond of her.

Now, from
what I've heard,

the Big Bop's
an integrated club?

It is.

Well, then...

I look forward
to paying a visit.

: My wife does
her homework, Mrs. Bearden.

How else do you think
I got this far?

Mm!

My wrap-around!

...is very good.

We do not taste pig
like this at home.

Mm!

Mm!

Geez.

Figured a guy like you

would know a thing
or two about sharing,

coming from a communist
country and all.

And I figure
the Land of Free

can pour drink.

Sad day
for both of us.

What savage Cossack
pollute vodka with ice?

What yahoo turns up his nose
at free drinks?

You are correct.

I am peasant.

If you're interested
in good nosh,

you should take a gander
at our markets.

We like food the same way

you Reds like
cranking out your music.

Guilty.
And with you,

we do not even
share our best.

Who's your friend?

Been eyeing us
since I got here.

Ah. My boil.

On my ass.

Watch every move.

You know who
I'm talking about?

Hand burrowed in pocket,

with piss-yellow tie
that haunt my dreams.

That's the one.

Should we ask him over?

Oh, no.

My boil, he bathes
but once a week.

Well, then!

Breathe easy
while you can.

: Then, after the war,

it was home teaching piano
till I got work at Berkeley.

I trust
today's conversation

is about music,
not politics?

You're in luck,
Mr. Orlov.

My wife is only interested
in things of beauty.

Alexei Orlov,
Soviet Consul General.

Mm.

Iris is
a musician herself.

She plays at a jazz club
in the Fillmore.

You should visit.

Oh, well, jazz isn't
everyone's cup of tea.

Fillmore District?

Where capitalists displace
good working men and women.

You got that
right, sir.

I thought we weren't
discussing politics.

I'm just saying,

we don't all live
like you do here.

My son is very
proud of his home.

To love home
is to love mother.

Here we go.

♪ When you tell me
to close my eyes ♪

Thank you.

♪ I know I'm in
for a surprise ♪

Archie!

Fancy seeing you here.

I was in the area

sourcing
new light fixtures.

It's outrageous
the police won't pay

for what they
went and ruined.

Well, I look at it as a chance
to spruce up the joint.

Besides, it was all worth it,
if it got your attention.

Yes. Well, today's special
is a meatloaf

with some sort of vegetable.

Sold on the special.

We may be
continents apart,

but our two worlds

are more alike
than we imagine,

and so we welcome

Consul General
Alexei Orlov

and his talented cadre

on this thrilling
cultural exchange

between
our two countries.

Despite our political
differences,

we all share
a love of the beautiful,

and no one proves that

more than our guest cellist,
Iliya Sokolov.

: That jerk's
the guest of honor?

: Where is
that damn fool going?

If this is true, then
I am no longer safe here.

I beg you, help me.

Is first time
I ever ask.

I tell you,
I need protection.

Sho za zrada?

Madam.

Do you know
where is my coat?

Sir, I wouldn't--

I must leave immediately.

Sir, you, um...
you have a-a nosebleed.

Ohh, such travel...

wears a body thin.

Sir. Sir--

Here. Here. Just...

You just wait here,
and I'll...

I'll go get you--
-Look. Look.

Vlad!

Is Vlad!

Is him.

I don't understand! Vlad?

Who's Vlad?
Who-- What--

Oh, God.

Sounds to me
like poisoning.

Paralysis,

rapid congestion
of the lungs...

My thoughts
exactly.

The man, he was
saying the name "Vlad,"

and pointing
at his tattoo.

It was some-- some kind
of emblem with letters.

It looked like symbols.

The police took my name
and sent me home.

Not that I had a clue
what any of it meant.

Likely
the Cyrillic alphabet.

I picked up some Russian
on my travels.

In a way...

those were the poor
man's dying words.

I just felt
so helpless.

Oh, Iris, it seems like
you did all you could.

: I saw a man die,
and no one gave a damn.

What an awful thing
to have to go through.

I'm gonna take this
to Bryce.

Oh.

I'm told the constabulary
enjoy pastries.

What do you want?

They're cinnamon sugar.

Nah, I ain't born yesterday.
Let me have it.

I came to see how you are.

If it's a bad time...

No, no, no, no.

It's always a delight.

They look serious.

FBI.

The Soviet Consul General
died last night.

Why else do you think
I'm here?

I'd hoped otherwise.

Millie, the man died
of a heart attack.

While bleeding from the nose
and gasping for air?

That's the medical report.

Well, the medical
report is wrong!

I might be able to help
translate that man's tattoo.

What tattoo?

You don't know?

Well, the FBI
took over the case.

What case? You just told me
the man died of a heart attack.

The whole thing
is politically sensitive.

Yes, and it all rests
on a man's dying words.

Well, what were they?

Come now, Bill.

I'm gonna need a little tit
for my tat.

Like what?

Like a trip to the morgue?

Such a romantic.

Mm.

I smell bacon.

Miss McBrian.
Good morning.

Good morning.

Sleep okay?

I hear it was quite
the bunfight you attended.

Yeah, a Cold War battle,
right in front of our faces.

Bam, one of ours
bumped off one of theirs.

We're as bad
as they are.

I doubt that.

Dennis has a keen interest
in politics.

Sooner or later,
folks start fighting.

Doesn't matter what
side of the Iron Curtain

you hang your hat on.

And you think
fighting is the way?

I'm not
the only one.

Mom here raised plenty
of hell back in the day.

Well, the day
is different now.

Mm. To you, maybe.

Mrs. Iris Bearden?

Yes. Can I help you?

Agent Walker, FBI.

Apologies for the early hour,
but we have a few questions.

I have guests,
and children to get ready.

You're also
the last person

to see the Soviet
Consul General alive.

That's of great
interest to us.

What's going on here?
You got a search warrant?

It's fine, Dennis,
we're just talking.

I think you'd be
more comfortable

down at the station.

Won't take long.

Jean?

I'll get them
to school.

Now, you listen
to Miss McBrian here.

Don't you worry.

This is all
a bunch of nothing.

And the moment
he starts playing the cello...

you leave the room.

I went to find my son.

So he was also
unaccounted for

at the time of the Consul
General's death?

No, he was using the toilet.

Oh.

I see he's quite involved
in political activism--

rallies, protests--

no father around
to keep him in line.

My husband
is currently overseas

protecting
this country's interests.

While your boy
gets wilder by the day.

Kids today, they--
they question everything.

The Consul General,
what did he say before he died?

Nothing I could understand.

Maybe I'll bring in your boy.

-He can tell me.
-Sir, I'm--

Either you are cooperating
with your country,

or you are undermining it.

It was nothing.

To you, perhaps.

"Vlad."
That's all he said.

"Vlad."

Mr. Alan Mitchell.

Where was he

at the time of the
Consul General's death?

Well, what does it matter?

If Mr. Orlov was poisoned,

then it was long
before he dropped.

Who said anything
about poisoning?

Well, I... I just--
It...

The way that he died,
I only thought--

You're not here to think.

What did you
bring me here for?

Why threaten my family--

We are staring down
an international crisis.

That means we need
a story that is airtight.

From your file,

it seems you've...

kept your fair share
of secrets before.

I have never betrayed

the trust my country
has placed in me.

And I'm here to make sure
you don't start now.

Vy ne mozhete izbezhat' sud'by.

As the Russians say...

"you cannot
escape your fate."

: Medical report suggests
muscle and organ failure,

likely from ingestion
of a chemical substance.

Doesn't say what.

Doesn't have to.

My bet,
it's curare.

Curare?

Mm. What's in the file
fits the bill.

It's the Soviets' chosen venom,

extracted from a deadly
South American plant.

You're suggesting

Orlov was murdered
by one of his own?

Or someone
made it look like he was.

Either way,

they counted on Americans
to cover it up.

Jean McBrian?

Oh, Nigel Beemisch.

Well, the office told me
you were outside.

I could hardly
fathom it.

What brings you
to our shores?

Can you believe
I live here now?

I can. It suits you.

I spotted
you last week,

when I telexed
my resignation

back to London.

You worked at the library,
if I'm not mistaken.

I have to admit,
I have kept tabs.

And you,
in the Foreign Service.

Mostly just toiling
over briefings.

Still, far cry
from Bletchley.

Until I saw you standing here.

I've an American friend,

badgered by federal officers
this morning.

Well, that's outside
of my bailiwick.

It's regarding the death
of Alexei Orlov.

Jean, what are you doing here,

wrapping yourself up
in this business?

Oh, you know me.

I was always one
for puzzles, riddles...

International calamities?

I just wanted
to let you to know, Nigel,

that I'm at your service
once again.

Well, there might be something
you could do for me.

It's top-secret work,

but I could pay
your asking price.

Just like old times.

How'd you find me?

I make call,
who make more call.

You promise me
you'll take me to market!

Buddy, I'm no tour guide.

Please. Everyone
is eye on Orlov death.

Now is one chance for me.

I got a lot of things
on the go.

You deny man
who make you weep with cello?

Whoa...

Might've got a bit misty,
but that's the sum extent.

You got dirt on what
really killed your man Orlov?

He is never "my man."

All right.

Uh...

You show your world...
I show mine.

Iris?

What-- What
are you doing here?

Let's just say
a gentleman

wanted the pleasure
of my company,

and wouldn't take
"no" for an answer.

You too?

They've been holding
my husband for hours now.

: Seems they have
a lot of questions.

It's terrible.

We didn't move here

to see our names
embroiled in scandal.

The Feds are looking
to control the story.

Orlov and my husband
had their differences,

but Alan would never...

Let's just say
Alan is a diplomat.

He doesn't believe
in violent measures.

Neither do the FBI.

According to them,

the man died
of a heart attack.

That's not true.

Well, I know that,
and you know that.

So long as we all
keep quiet about it,

everybody's fine.

They threatened
to put my family

on some kind of watchlist,

and they may
implicate my son.

Well, that's a travesty.

You gave comfort to a man
in his dying breaths.

I will see to it.

You shouldn't
have to suffer further.

I'd be much obliged.

Mm-hmm.

This Orlov...

what do you
know about him?

There's our attorney.

Iris, thank you.
I-I'll be in touch.

I can still see him,
choking out his last words.

If we can't tease out
what he was trying to tell me,

then who will?

Clearly
not the FBI.

They want this whole thing
to go away.

: And there's
a shadow on my family

until we solve this.

Fortunately, we've a toe-hold.

That man's tattoo
is Russian

for
"the Pearl of the Black Sea."

: Now, how on Earth
does a body of water,

or a pearl in it,
relate to this man?

My take on the autopsy
is he was poisoned,

possibly by
a Soviet toxin,

my guess is
by our man, Vlad.

And yet the FBI are going
after this diplomat,

Alan Mitchell.

Maybe with good reason.

His wife did tell me

that he and Orlov
didn't get along.

You think Mitchell's in cahoots
with this Vladimir Nikolaev?

I don't know,
but it seems everyone

is gunning to sweep it
under the rug.

The FBI were more interested
in threatening me

than finding a killer.

Jean...

That's quite the 'do.

It's not a "do," Millie.

It's just my hair.

What happened to it?

Nothing.

Nothing?

Nothing!

You remember Nigel Beemisch
from Bletchley Hut Four.

Oh, good Lord!
What a stupid clot.

Well, he wasn't that bad.

Are you around the twist?

The man once passed
intelligence to the Germans

after misreading
a coded intercept I gave him!

He almost
got me fired!

The whole of Hut Three

spent days
crafting false ciphers

to cover for that dolt.

Well, he's
in the city,

and I thought
he might prove useful.

To you, yes!

You solved
his every problem

and let him take
the credit every time.

It's how we got
the job done, Millie.

Why dredge up
that old fossil?

Because he works for
the British Consulate.

The same Foreign Service
that turned you down?

The point is,

Millie, that he has a job
with access to information,

so I sought him out.

I was worried for Iris

when the FBI
came calling,

and I think he might
know a thing or two

about this
Vladimir Nikolaev.

Well, don't say
I didn't warn you.

Who knew
such riches existed?

Oranges,
I can understand--

they were a rare treat
till I moved here to California,

but... parsnips?

Like I've never seen!

Such abundance.

I know it.

Some winters on the farm,

all we had
were rotten potatoes

and any critters
we could shoot.

You lucky,
you eat critter.

I live in Leningrad
during siege.

900 days we starve.

Yeah, we're not
hungry like that.

In America,
hunger not of belly...

soul.

I see American Dream
only for rich.

Not for lack of trying.

I built something
with a friend,

something special

some government committee
burned to the ground.

When a country
rob us of dream,

that is
greatest crime.

Still, nothing
you can you do.

Wrong.

You know
Sergei Prokofiev?

No, Iliya, I do not.

He is composer.

Stalin ban his music,

call compositions
"threat to social fabric."

He write, uh,
sonata for cello.

Composer union
bury him with delay,

all so world never hear it,

but Prokofiev,
he never stop his vision,

or else world
lose best music.

The sonata,
what happened to it?

I play it for American dreamers
yesterday,

and you...

you weep your gut out.

We got your boil
following us.

Walk easy.

We run, he chase.

Aren't bodyguards
there to protect?

He KGB.

He watch every move.

Seeing you
was a welcome surprise.

You know,
I was always fond of you.

I applied
to the Foreign Service,

but, um... hmm.

It was my dream.

Well, they were fools
not to have you.

I'd have to agree.

Though I must admit,

serving Queen and country
can be a lonely enterprise.

Well, perhaps
the best way for a man

to rise
through the ranks

is with the right woman
by his side.

My thoughts exactly.

I have to ask,

do the words
"Pearl of the Black Sea"

mean anything
to you?

Another piece
to a puzzle.

Just like old days,

you're the man
with all the answers.

"Pearl of the Black Sea"
is the Soviet city of Odessa.

As it happens, the encryption
I need your help with

is also wrapped up
with the Soviets.

It's regarding the death
of that diplomat?

That I can't say.

And yet here you are
needing my help.

We've intercepted
a seven-digit cipher

from Soviet communications,

and they're asking me
to decrypt it.

Well, of course
they would, Nigel,

after your stellar success
at Bletchley.

Yes...

but I look at those digits,

and all I can see
is a telephone number.

Well, I look
at telephone numbers,

and all I see
are cryptic ciphers.

This is terribly important
to someone out there,

as important as anything
we did during the war.

The enemy does not want us
to have this information.

Well, then you'd better
let me have a look.

Jean McBrian.

It's time...

to shine a little light.

Come on, Jean, pick up.

W-We're closed.

That's why I'm here.

I got a look
at the FBI's intel,

switchboard records of calls
made from the Mitchell house

on the night of Orlov's death.

The call placed

was to Mitchell's
office downtown.

But Alan Mitchell was hosting
a party at the time.

Well, someone was there
to pick it up.

So there is a connection
between the two men.

If you want to tease
the whole thing out,

we could talk it through
on your walk home.

Well, that was quite
the enterprising route.

Well, when you walk the beat
for eight years,

you learn a few short-cuts.

Mm!

I, um...

Hoo!

Those, um, hills

have left me a bit--
ahem-- weak at the knees.

I could, uh,

come in, make sure
you're safe and sound.

No, no. I've... I've
a formidable watchdog.

Yeah.

Well, um...

Good night, Bill.

Good night.

Jean?

Jean, I brought you
a slice of apple pie.

Shall I make us some tea,
darling?

Jean?

It needs something now,

this space.

Perhaps a Grecian
sculpture

we picked up during
our Athenian sojourn.

It sounds lovely.

How is Mr. Mitchell?

Free and clear.
Our attorney saw to it.

Oh, it must've
took some doing,

with your husband
and Mr. Orlov

having differences.

Just two men
passionate about politics.

But Alan's retired now,
and Mr. Orlov...

...Is dead.

The point is,

we need to move on,

which is why I asked you here.

We've much in common, Iris.

Oh, I'm not sure
I see it.

I was studying

for my M.R.S.
back at Wellesley

when they snapped me up.

I figured marriage could wait,

what with the best
and brightest shipping out,

so I got myself
shipped out to Hawaii.

Oh, Hawaii. What for?

Crack Japanese code.

Same as you.

How do you mean?

Come, now.

You had a security check
for the party.

Alan is prone
to whispering secrets in my ear.

They used to be
of a more romantic nature,

which is likely why I went
and married the man.

Which gets a girl pregnant,
and--

Out of a job.

And into another...

...decades
playing an ambassador's wife.

But...

I have a mess
that I can't fix.

There's a reporter
from The Chronicle

pressing me for a story,

raising scandalous
implications.

Oh, no, no.
You mustn't.

The FBI, they were
adamant that we--

The press
are unrelenting.

I can only imagine.

Good. So you'll
issue a statement?

As the last person
to see Mr. Orlov alive,

you can provide
some clarity

and stop these papers
from running lies.

Y-You want them
to talk to me

so they won't
talk to you?

Exactly.

Thank you for making
this so very easy.

It is a simple statement.

All you have
to do is sign.

Oh, no. I-I--

I can't put that kind of
spotlight on my family.

Well, then,
perhaps a potted tree.

Fig, or a lemon.

Something I can water
and feed and keep alive.

The FBI said
to stick to their story,

but Deborah Mitchell's looking
to make me front-page news.

So we get
to the truth first.

Bryce told me

that Orlov's last call
was to Alan Mitchell's office.

But Alan Mitchell
was in his own home.

Jean?

Jean, darling,
it's late.

Iris is here,

and we could
use your help.

Jean?

What's wrong?

She's not there.

What?
She left early?

Oh, not without
her coat and purse.

She definitely
came home last night.

Where is she?

I'm told she left
yesterday at closing.

Except when I called
home last night,

there was no answer.

Oh... did you get
anything from the police?

They say it's too early
to report her missing,

say I've got to wait
another day.

That's rubbish.

6:00 sign-out.

She's written the word
"Paradise" beside it.

Paradise?

Yeah.

It's a book of stories
by this new author,

James Michener.

I'd read a glowing review
and asked to borrow a copy.

You think Jean
left a message inside?

Perhaps...

or just a place
to hide something.

: Millie.

Seven digits
and the word "Odessa."

Hid in
the title page

of a story called
"What I Learned."

This symbol--

that's how Jean would
mark enciphered messages

back at Bletchley.

It feels
familiar, somehow,

but I can't put
my finger on

what cipher
it might be.

Come on.

Oh.

I hope
you've rested.

I was far too eager
to meet my captor.

Call me "Mr. Zuyev."

We are interested

in your contact
with Nigel Beemisch.

Who?

Come, now.

He's your friend.

He works here,

at the British
Consulate.

We served together
in the war.

He's no friend.

What woman picnics
with her enemies?

It was a trip
down memory lane,

and no concern of yours.

But it is,
Miss McBrian.

We saw him
pass you information.

Do let's not waste time
prevaricating.

I have no idea what it meant.
Ask him.

I'm just a simple woman
working in a small bookstore.

If it's reading recommendations
you'd after--

: There
are things you know,

and things
you don't know...

but you will tell me.

Understand?

Mm. mm.

Well...

If I'm going
to start singing...

can I at least have
a glass of water?

Help me! Help me!

The police told you,

your friend's
no missing person

just because she left
some phone number in a book.

It isn't
a phone number.

She also wrote
the word "Odessa,"

which is a city
on the coast of Ukraine.

Duly noted.

: Mr. Walker,
our friend has disappeared.

I'll share this
with my colleagues.

Oh, will you, or will you just
sweep it under the carpet,

the way you did
when Alexei Orlov died?

I beg your pardon?

My best friend

was taken from our home.

Now, you may not have enough
to get off your arse

and do something about it,

but if it's a swift kick
you're after,

I will happily
provide it.

Refreshments?

It's true, I do have
a rather formidable broom.

You'd best make sure
you stay out of its path.

Thank you...

sir.

Just... please do
keep us posted.

Any word?

Deafening silence.

What would anyone
want with Jean?

She crossed paths
with an old acquaintance

from the British
Consulate last night.

She must've got
the note from him.

Well, then there's
the trail that Orlov left--

his last call,
to Alan Mitchell's office.

Alan Mitchell must
know something.

We need
to get to him.

His wife wanted
to hear you play.

We could invite them,

say you've got
a gig tonight.

I could tell her
I'll sign her statement.

I think she'd come
for that alone.

Yes, Iris. Please.

And make sure she brings
that husband of hers.

Right now I'm off to see
that Nigel Beemisch.

Uh.

Ow.

Anything to say,
Miss McBrian?

Ouch.

For your sake,

I hope your memory
wasn't affected.

Now...

this piece of paper
Nigel gave you...

We search your coat,
your purse...

you hide it
somewhere.

Tell us what it read,
and you can go.

It was a telephone number.

We'd enjoyed
a few sordid wartime gropings

during air-raid blackouts,
and...

he was hoping
to rekindle the flame.

And?

And I binned it.

I swear to God,
it's the truth.

The "truth" needs to change,
Miss McBrian.

All right!

It was a number.

A seven-digit number.

I never made any sense of it.

You are cryptologist.

Who's even to say
it was a cipher?

Well, as no doubt
you've learned,

that, uh, everything is code
for something else.

Excuse me.

Any luck
with Mr. Beemisch?

I went all over town
trying to track him down.

I finally got him
on the telephone.

He insists
he has no clue

about Jean's
disappearance.

And you believe him?

Oh, not
for a second!

Tell me you're doing better
with our diplomat over there.

Not yet,
but I'm expecting Olivia,

and she may have
unearthed a lead.

In the meantime,
you up for some squeezing?

It'll be a pleasure.

I do hope you're
enjoying the evening.

Oh, yes.

It's a treat
to be in a room,

and for once,
not have to glad-hand.

I'm told you knew
the Russian who died.

Yes.

Sadly, it's
a complicated situation.

Mm. I can imagine.

I heard you weren't
on good terms.

There's a lot
you don't understand.

For starters,
Orlov wasn't Russian.

Of course.

Ukrainian?

How'd you guess?

Odessa.
On the Black Sea.

You know
your geography.

"The Pearl," in fact.
Isn't that what they call it?

"The Pearl
of the Black Sea."

They do.

That's what was written
on the man's tattoo.

We weren't close enough
for me to know.

And yet he called
your office

moments before he died.

Isn't this
wonderful, Alan?

Yes. Wonderful.

Excuse me.

You must wish
you were up there.

Oh, the world
hears enough of me.

And it's about
to hear more.

Thank you for agreeing
to sign the statement.

I'm hoping for
a little help in return.

Our friend is missing,
Mrs. Mitchell.

Your husband,
he has influence.

This is important.

It always is.

You're--
You've got it wrong.

Have I?

You're a man

who spent his career
making nice.

Only this time,

you stood up
to an old enemy.

This time, you decided
might was right.

My secretary
has the keys.

She may have taken
a call from him.

My friend is missing,
Mr. Mitchell.

I am beyond
interviewing the help.

Who is Vladimir Nikolaev?

The tattoo refers
to the Black Sea Fleet.

Orlov was a naval
officer in the war,

a hero in
the Siege of Odessa.

You don't know it,

but there are men
working to repair relations

between
our two countries.

I was one,
and so was Orlov.

He knew that he could
call my office

when the chips
were down.

So Orlov was a spy?

I didn't say that.

Change of plans.

No more nice guy.

I see.

Do you?

My guess--
your superiors

are tiring
of your abilities.

You're clearly not
running things, Mr. Zuyev.

Someone else
holds your leash.

True.

But I hold yours.

I know you killed
the Consul General.

A brilliant move,
really--

Poisoning him amongst
so many suspects.

A traitor
has many enemies.

A double agent.

So, those numbers
you're so curious about,

he knew what they meant.

What's he saying?

One of us
give up on you.

But, me...

I believe there is
blood in this stone.

♪ Boo, boo, boo ♪

♪ Way-ooh ♪

♪ Boo ♪

♪ My love must be
a kind of blind love ♪

♪ I can't see anyone
But you ♪

♪ Sha-bop, doo-wop ♪

♪ Are the stars
out tonight? ♪

♪ I don't care if it's cloudy
Or bright ♪

♪ For I only have eyes ♪

♪ For you ♪

♪ Dear ♪

I thought this
might prove helpful.

It was obvious
you weren't given much aid

from those G-men.

The Feds have
an interest in him.

My guess is he was
involved in the poisoning.

His name is
Vladimir Nikolaev.

I know this man.
He was at the party.

I must speak with you.

Where's Iliya?

Shouldn't you be
busy being a boil?

What is boil?

Never mind.
Just keep your distance.

There is danger!

You must listen.

Ah. There you are!

Iliya, I gotta
find my friends.

But first, music.

I need a quick confab.

♪ Sha-bop, doo-wop ♪

♪ I can't see a thing ♪

Holy doodle.

That's Iliya's bodyguard.

And he's right over there.

♪ I only have eyes ♪

♪ For you ♪

You sure
that's our man?

Yes. And he's wanted
internationally.

No wonder
he gave me the creeps,

telling me
I'm in danger.

A threat, or a warning?

Let me see
if I can find out.

♪ I don't know ♪

♪ If we're in a garden ♪

Players are good.

What do you know
about your handler?

He watch me,
I do not watch him.

His name
is Vladimir Nikolaev.

He's wanted by the police

in several
different countries.

He was involved in
my friend's disappearance.

I need to talk to him.

To cover stinking track,
he will kill you.

So he's some kind
of government agent?

I do not know.
I'm humble cellist!

We need
to find best help.

♪ Maybe millions
of people ♪

: Come, come.

♪ Go by ♪

♪ But they all disappear ♪

♪ From view ♪

♪ 'Cause I only have eyes ♪

"Josephine."

♪ For... ♪
♪ Sha-bop, doo-wop ♪

♪ You... ♪

♪ Sha-bop, doo-wop ♪

♪ Sha-bop, doo-wop ♪

♪ Sha-bop, doo-wop ♪

♪ Sha-bop, doo-wop ♪

♪ Sha-bop, doo-wop ♪

♪ Sha-bop, doo-wop ♪

♪ Sha-bop, doo-wop ♪