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Und was ist das da?

If you do confess and confess in full,

every secret you ever passed,
every death you caused...

If you do that, then you'll
be allowed to return home

to live out your days
in peace and anonymity.

Nice country cottage, village
cricket team, friendly local pub...

... where no-one, not even your family,

and especially not your children,
will ever have the slightest idea

of the things you've done.

However, anything less
than a full confession

and you will be tried for treason,

where they will scream for
your blood until they get it

because, as I am sure you are aware,

by far your biggest sin was
to make a mockery of them.

We're having some friends
for dinner tomorrow night.

You remember Dick
Beeston from The Times,

and Miles Copeland from the CIA?

This isn't a fucking game, Kim.

Now that you've come all this way,

Eleanor would be most
upset not to see you.

To say that patience in
London is wearing thin

would be a huge understatement.

Put it this way:

if you don't come,

eyebrows will be raised

and questions will be asked.

Unless of course London's already
briefed Washington about all this.

For the last time, the
Americans know nothing.

Well, then.

And no-one even knows I'm here.

Don't be absurd, this is Beirut.

You've got 24 more hours.

After that, my hands are tied.

That's settled, then.

Seven-thirty for eight.
Bring that appetite of yours.

Arise, shine, for thy light has come.

And the glory of the
Lord is risen upon thee.

It appears the Americans
are now involved.

Yesterday afternoon in Ohio, this man,

Michael Whitney Straight,

date of birth, 09/01/16,

he appeared of his own free will at
the FBI field office in Cincinnati

to confess that he was recruited
by the Russian Intelligence Service

some time in the '30s,
whilst at Cambridge with...

Subject claims all contact with
RIS terminated November 1945.

As far as we know, he's yet to
give them any further information.

Maybe he has something to trade.

Moments after he turned himself in,

this Telex, alerting
the US Embassy in London,

was delivered to a basement
flat in Westminster,

which happens to be just
around the corner from...

From Nicholas Elliott's house.

Very good.

Interesting that this man decides
to turn himself in to the FBI

right now, of all times.

He obviously got wind
of Philby's defection.

Most likely from the very same people

he claims to have terminated
all contact with in '45.

Either way, the Americans
are on to Elliott.

They know Philby gave
him something in Beirut

and we have to find out
what that is before they do.

Mark my words, Nicholas
Elliott is up to something.

Are you going to buy us a drink?

Where are you taking us?

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Everything all right, Erich?

We need to go - now!

Erich!

Hello.

Anyone home?

Where were you, Beirut again?

Istanbul.

During the war.

Back in the days

when I was considered rather
good at this kind of thing.

Go! Go.

Let's go.

Elizabeth. Darling?
Careful, don't flood it.

- Wait!
- Start the car! Drive!

They will kill everyone. The
Gestapo will round everyone up...

What are you doing? Start the car.

As far as they know,
you've been kidnapped.

- We don't have time for this.
- We've been over this, Erich,

there is no chance...

I'm risking the lives of everyone
I know, my family, my friends...

The only way they'll find
out that you've defected

is if one of us here in this
car gets caught and talks.

We have to go. Come on!

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That horse-faced woman
you play bridge with

who works at Buckingham Palace?

- Suzie?
- Hm.

She doesn't have a horse face.

You're the one who said...

Never mind.

Do you think she might be able
to get us on the guest list

for a private view at the
Queen's Gallery this afternoon?

- This afternoon?
- Hm.

Cutting it a bit close, aren't you?

A private view?

You detest that kind of thing.

Art? I think I take umbrage at that.

What's going on?

What are you up to?

Any more toast?

A gift from Mother Russia.

Try it.

I'm not very hungry.

The coat.

Ah.

Lovely. Thank you.

Today you become a real Russian.

Speaking of Americans,
what have they been told?

Nothing. Yet. Which is why the
sooner you tell me everything,

the sooner we can take care of them,

and any others that might be out there.

Your septic. In the basement.

Do you think it would be possible
to rustle up some marmalade?

You don't like kasha?

I imagine it could be sent from London

in the diplomatic pouch.

Or is it Comrade Galina you don't like?

And some decent tobacco and The
Times crosswords wouldn't go amiss.

It's the little things.

For what it's worth, I don't
think you could cope with a trial,

much less with everything
the press will throw at you.

Frankly, I would never
want it to come to that

because all I care about now,

and you know me well
enough to know this is true,

is salvaging something
useful out of this mess.

First the stick and then the
carrot. I taught you that.

You may well have managed
to convince yourself

that you betrayed your country,
your friends, your family,

in the service of a principle -

a core belief in a greater good,

or some such rubbish,
but deep down, Kim,

deep down, I know you know you're wrong.

I can see it, as I look
at you now, wrong, immoral,

politically naive, delusional.

Don't turn your back on me!

As a matter of interest, have
you ever given a moment's thought

to all the people that have
been killed because of you?

Comrade Philby.

"A Master of Men was the Goodly Fere,

"a mate of the wind and sea."

Come again?

"If they think they ha'
slain our Goodly Fere,

they are fools eternally."

It's about Jesus on the cross.

You're drunk.

Yes, indeed.

Do you even believe in God?

Do you mean to tell me...

Are you...

Are you seriously suggesting there's
a similarity between you and...

Well...

Oh, that takes the fucking
biscuit. It really does!

Ah. It's moments like this
I joined the service for.

The belly laughs! Oh, the belly laughs.

Bloody marvellous, Kim. You and Jesus!

- "... wind and sea... "
- Come again?

"If they think they ha'
slain our Goodly Fere,

they are fools eternally."

You understand, Mr
Straight, that we need

a whole lot more than
just a simple mea culpa.

We need the names of your... comrades.

This one, you don't get points
for. We already know about Philby.

And Burgess.

And Maclean.

Take your time, sir.

Didn't know you were
an art lover, Elliott.

Aren't we all?

No Elizabeth?

Fashionably late, as usual.

Sausage on a stick?

It's a frightful cock-up,
this Philby business.

Do you know, I had no idea until
somebody told me the other day

that you two were so close.

Nick, my dear fellow,
how good of you to come.

Hello, Tony.

Don't be a cunt, Jack,
there's a good chap.

Little bird tells me we may
all be having a jolly good laugh

at your expense in the
not too distant future.

Everything all right?

Well, you know. Profumo being Profumo.

Oh!

I just wanted to let you know

how dreadfully sorry
I am about everything.

Life goes on.

What do you think?

I was rather hoping you'd tell me.

Ah, they're my cue.

Kim had us all fooled, you know.

Not just you.

Thanks, Tony. Very
kind of you to say so.

And I hope you don't mind me
pulling strings to come to this.

No, not a bit, not a
bit. Delighted to see you.

Your Majesty, allow me to
introduce you to Sir Roger Hollis,

Director General of MI5.

Povernityes' nalevo.

"Turn to your left."

Vash pasport, pozhaluysta.

For use in Soviet Union and the
German Democratic Republic only.

"He cried no cry when
they drove the nails

and the blood gushed hot and free."

_

"He cried no cry...

... when they drove the nails.

And the blood gushed hot and free."

Good kip?

This is your house?

My parents'.

A romantic notion of my father's.

It's just that little
bit too far from London

and the ballet for my mother.

Oh, that's odd, where's the key?

Ah. Dr Watson, not a moment too soon.

What are you doing here?

Hello.

Kim Philby.

You must be Herr
Vermehren. Well done, you.

It's all right. He's one of us.

C's orders. There's a war on, you
know. Walls have ears and all that.

Kettle's on. Hope you
like squashed flies.

Squashed flies?

An English biscuit that might make
you wish you were still a Nazi.

I was never a Nazi.

Wish I could paint.

How did you get in here?

Tradesman's entrance.

Why are you here?

Is that the Secretary of
War with Prince Philip?

Act like we're talking about him.

Why?

For fun.

Blah de blah de blah...

That's very good.

I have a question about
James Jesus Angleton.

I think he dropped the Jesus.

He a friend of yours?

He was always much more a
friend of Kim's than mine.

Gonna need it in writing, gentlemen.

We don't do that.

My client's told you he's
prepared to name names...

Name. Singular.

I have only one name.

Total immunity, in writing. Call
J Edgar himself if you have to.

And so we're clear,

the name I have isn't in any of
the photographs you've shown me.

Darling?

- This is Mrs Thomas I was telling you about.
- Right.

- Yes, of course.
- Hello.

And may I introduce Sir Anthony Blunt,

Purveyor of the Queen's Pictures?

Surveyor.

- What?
- Surveyor of the Queen's Pictures.

- What did I say?
- Purveyor.

Mrs Thomas is from Newcastle.

- Durham.
- She's one of your old mob.

- MI5?
- Mm-hm.

Counter-intelligence, no less.

How do you do, Sir Anthony?

We're a dying breed, old boy.

We were hoping you
might have a few moments

to tell us about the new Vermehren.

What?

The Vermeer.

You said... Vermehren.

Vermeer.

I meant Vermeer.

Well, er, Vermeer... as
I'm sure I don't need to...

is such an important artist

and this particular painting
that in actual fact belongs to...

I... I'm so sorry, will
you please forgive me?

Heavens, don't worry about us.

Duty calls.

Who's Vermehren?

He meant Vermeer.

Well, I think that's quite enough
culture for one day, don't you?

Lovely to finally meet you.

You, too.

Lovely.

Are you all right?

Come on.

For you.

Order of The Red Banner... for
services to the Soviet people.

Lovely, thank you.

Thank you.

It's a step up from that frightful
diesel they serve at the palace.

What does Erich Vermehren
have to do with Tony Blunt?

- What lovely weather we're having!
- Don't be an arse, darling.

It was a slip of the
tongue. Nothing more.

You wanted to go to that thing tonight

just so you could drop
Vermehren's name to Tony.

- All right.
- Don't you dare try to deny it, not to me.

- Look...
- And don't do that, either.

I'm not some fucking secretary
chasing office gossip.

And all I wanted was a nice
quiet supper with my wife.

Bit on the elaborate
side, don't you think?

What?

Mistaking Vermehren for Vermeer.

Shall we talk about something else?

Kim told you something,
didn't he? In Beirut.

- Darling...
- Something about Tony Blunt.

- Which one is penne?
- And you wanted to test if it was...

You almost gave Tony a heart attack.

It's true, isn't it,
whatever Kim told you?

If it isn't, I'm a goner.

Penne's the little tubey ones.

Everything hangs on
what Blunt does next.

Yes, that was the whole
purpose of the exercise today.

Elaborate but effective.

So thank you, darling, as always,

for your help, but could we
now please change the subject?

This Mrs Thomas person...

... friend or foe?

Not sure yet. Definitely
some promise there, though.

You used to say that about me.

I know. But that was just
to get in your knickers.

You beast!
- I dare you!

Silly arse!

Ogon' yest'? Ogon'.

Ogon', ogon' yest'?

I sigaret?

Huh?

Spasibo.

So, he says to her...

... "My name is Dr Brown

and the other day I went
on the train to Exeter

where I had scones and
strawberry jam for tea.

And on the way, the train
stopped just outside Taunton

where I saw a lovely rainbow over
a field of black and white cows."

And then he checks her eyes
and ears and reflexes and so on,

and after he had finished
with all that he asked her,

"Where did I travel to on
the train?" And Mother says...

- Exeter.
- ... Exeter.

Very good. "And what
did I have for tea?"

And Mother says...

Scones and strawberry jam.

"Excellent! Excellent!" says the doctor,

and then he asks her,
"What's my name again?"

And Mother thinks to
herself and she says,

"Er, Johnson, Dr Johnson."

And the doctor pauses and he tells her,

"No. No, Brown, Dr Brown."

To which Mother replies,
"Oh, yes, that's right.

That's right, I knew it
was something common."

You silly arse!

What's funny?

Nothing.

I was just thinking about my mother.

Vashe zdorov'ye.

Bottoms up.

Tell me about your mother.

She's dead now.

Did she know about... your work?

No.

You were close?

Very.

Evening, sir.

- Ooh.
- What?

Damp.

Mould.

Erm... Before you start,

you should know that,
officially, I'm not here.

Start what?

OK.

Oh, do you mean the CIA don't
officially know you're here,

or your mission here hasn't
been officially rubber stamped?

Mission?

When the man from your embassy
dropped off an envelope...

... this morning, was that official?

And while you're unofficially here,

are you by chance working on
anything of an intelligence...

... or counter-intelligence nature

that under normal circumstances
you'd tell us about?

- Who sent you?
- No-one.

Young lady...

This is just between us.

Then I am sorry to say...
you've wasted your time.

It's definitely mould.

I'd ask for my money back if I were you.

Ah, there you are, Nanny.

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What?

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_

- Mrs Thomas?
- Who's Vermehren?

This really isn't the time or place.

Do you know, er...

My husband, he's a man
who works incredibly hard,

day in and day out...

No, this'll only take a minute.

... doing everything he can
to make people's lives better,

while I stand here, trying to
nail down what on earth it is

that you chaps have been
playing at for 20 years.

And when I get home tonight,

because he knows that I'm not
allowed to talk about my work,

he'll pretend to be asleep
to make my life easier.

So do you know what?

I couldn't care less about
the time and the place.

- She's in there...
- Ssh!

Come on, then.

What does he do, your husband?

A doctor. GP.

Drinks are in there. Hands off the
silver, I'll be back in a jiffy.

Message received.

And so, old friend, one day
it'll just be you and me...

You and I? You and me?

Finish the sentence first.

... against the Soviets.

You and me.

We sweat and strain.

What's this?

Open it.

For the day when you and I can
only afford to trust each other

and the West depends on us.

"The hounds of the
crimson sky gave tongue,

but never a cry cried he."

Where's this taken?

Istanbul.

During the war?

Hm. '43.

Our wedding day.

You got married in Istanbul?

We were both posted there.

Your wife's SIS?

She was my secretary.

Oh!

Do you drink whisky?

Oh, if I must.

You have that.

After you.

What?

My wife wants to know
whether you're friend or foe.

It's funny, MI5 have a
similar question about you.

Mud in your eye.

Erich Vermehren...

... is a devout Catholic
who hated the Nazis...

... and thought the best way
to fight them was from within.

Until I came along.

And Philby.

The truth is, had it not
been for Kim's innate ability

to be able to befriend almost
anyone under any circumstances,

all my efforts to get
Vermehren to defect to England

may have come to nought,

and he may never have
given us the identities

of the hundreds of Abwehr officers
and their sources all across Europe,

which, it's no exaggeration to say,
changed the course of the war...

all the way to D-Day.

To us.

And getting away with it.

Thank you.

- Yeah.
- Thank you.

All he ever asked in return was...

... we do what we could for his
friends in the German resistance,

and we did, we did with intelligence,

and weapons drops and radio equipment.

It's about to rain.

Oh!

Come on.

What?

What?

Hindsight.

Just as Vermehren and his
friends in the Catholic resistance

were anti-Nazi, they were
also fiercely anti-Bolshevik

and determined that after the war,

no part of Germany would ever fall
into the hands of the Russians.

So... when Churchill and
Roosevelt and Stalin...

... agreed how to carve up Germany...

... Vermehren's friends who
were faced with being marooned

in the Russian sector...

... tried to make a break
for it to the British sector.

Philby betrayed them to the Russians?

That's who Vermehren is.

No. Only I, and now you,

know anything about
what I've just told you.

And the Russians.

And the Russians.

And Sir Anthony Blunt.

That's what that was about.

He knows about Vermehren because
he works for the Russians.

Which is what Philby told you in Beirut.

So...

what do I tell my wife?

Friend or foe?

Who else knows about Blunt?

No-one.

Just us.

Sorry for the late hour.

- Is this it?
- Yes, sir.

Good night.

Jesus fucking...

... Christ.

Ey, prosnis'.

Hey, wake up!

"The hounds...

... of the...

... crimson...

... sky...

... gave...

... tongue.

But...

... never...

... a cry...

... cried he."

We're in business.

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