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Ah. Ooh.

Oh, bollocks.

Uh, we've got a problem.

- A cyberattack?
- Yes, Prime Minister.

Took me two bottles of wine

and half a packet of sleeping
pills to finally nod off.

- Ah, oh...
- And you wake me

because
some fat-fingered hacker's

- pinched your PIN number.
- Well, it's

a little more serious
than that, Prime Minister.

- Mm!
- The identities of every one

of our serving agents
have been exposed.

What?!

- Who's doing this?
- We're not sure, ma'am.

So one week before I host
my first G12 summit,

Britain's entire security
apparatus has been taken down,

and you know
absolutely nothing?

That does pretty much sum up
the situation,

- ma'am, yes.
- Well, you'd better get someone

on it and find me some answers.

Yes, but that's the problem.

We don't have any agents left.

They've all been outed.

So bring back an old one!

All units, this is Juliet Echo.

Stand by
for target coordinates.

Target acquired.
Repeat:

target acquired.

Oh!

Now, then, what have we here?

Sorry, sir.

Never mind, Baggaley.

Your concealment and camouflage
work is definitely improving.

- Thank you, sir.
- Come on!

- You, too, Ibadulla.
- We got him!

Excellent. That is
a first-class mantrap.

Six house points.

Yes!

Right. Let's get back to school
before matron notices

- you're missing.
- Aw.

And don't worry, there aren't

any more booby traps.

- Aah!
- Ooh.

Apart from this one, of course.

Excellent work.
Okay, well done.

Come on, Frazer, keep up.

Mr. English?

We haven't seen him, sir.

Ah.

And that's camouflage.

- High five!
- Hmm.

And go.

And go. And go.

The welfare of your children
is our paramount concern.

They're never exposed to any
unnecessary risk, I assure you.

I think that's an "F"

for your bomb disposal
coursework, Hattersley.

You're looking
particularly beautiful tonight.

You're looking
particularly beautiful tonight.

Ching!

Ching!

- Have a good half-term, sir.
- Thank you.

Thank you, sir.

Whew.

You're seriously telling me
this is all we've got?

Uh, most of them are either
dead, having hip operations,

or recovering
from prostate surgery.

Okay.

Before your briefing,

we'll need you to re-sign

- the Official Secrets Act.
- Thank you.

- Thank you.
- Thank you.

Thank you very much.

Any of you gentlemen
remember this?

- Ooh, the Montblanc Blaster.
- Mm-hmm.

Haven't seen one of those
for years.

Take the cap off,
and, if memory serves,

you've 20 seconds

to replace it, or it detonates

with the force
of a stun grenade.

Oh...

Ooh.

Mm, thank you.

Teas on the left, gentlemen,

and coffees on the right.

- Excellent.
- Oh, damn it.

I forgot my pills.

Here, have some of mine.

Scotch whiskey single malt?

Thank you very much.

Coffee.

Ooh. Here,
let me help you with that.

Tea?

Ooh, this one just needs

a little top-up of hot water.

I'll be right back.

Man's a divot
of the first order.

- Someone should put him out of his misery.
- Oh. Oh. Ah.

Along with whoever furnished

this room.
- Ooh.

Ah, good morning.

Sorry to keep you.

Are the others here?

Um...

Oh.

Mm, they, um...

they nodded off.

Right.

And who are you, exactly?

English.

- Johnny English.
- Well.

English.

You'll leave immediately.

My people will give you
the full briefing en route.

Oh, is there anything you need?

Yes. Nerve gas nasal spray,

a type four exoskeleton... you
should probably start a list...

and a garroting watch,

with a rubber strap,
not the steel bracelet,

'cause the links get caught in
the little hairs on my wrist.

Oh, and I'll also need a Bough.

What's a Bough?

Sir!

Wonderful to see you!

Yes, all right, Bough.

We're going on a mission,
not a honeymoon.

Yes, of course, sir.

Ah. I think it's the pin of
your buckle, sir, it's caught

- on my jumper.
- Yes, I can see what's wrong, Bough.

- Yeah.
- If you go to your left,

and I'll go to my right...

I'm sorry, no.
If you go to your right,

and I'll go to my left.

No. If I go clockwise,

and you go anticlockwise.

- Uh, no, I think that's making it worse, sir.
- Hmm.

I'm surprised that didn't work.

Good morning, sir.

I have your
Agent Activation pack here.

Department issue smartphone.

580-megapixel camera,
4.7-inch retina HD display.

Ingenious.

And what does it shoot?

Poison darts?

It... doesn't shoot anything.

It's a phone.

There's a Twitter handle,
Instagram feed,

and secure login for
the department Uber account.

What's he on about, Bough?

I need a weapon,
not a box of gobbledygook.

I think, uh, wh-what Agent
English is getting at, sir,

is all this is
highly trackable.

But since we're dealing
with a very sophisticated

digital target,
we might be less visible

if we took a more analog,
low-tech approach.

Exactly.

- I see.
- Ah.

Is there anything else
I can get you?

A gun?

We...

don't really do guns anymore.

Just...

get him a gun.

- Mm-hmm.
- Right, a gun.

Right. Haven't actually...

done one of these before.

It is my obligation
under section 14

of the Health and Safety
Directive to inform you

that the equipment with which
you are about to be issued

can cause injury
and bodily harm.

Furthermore,
any agents with nut allergies

- should be aware that traces of cashew oil...
- Thank you.

Right, transport.

So, take any hybrid you want.

- I'll take this one.
- Oh, don't be ridiculous, English.

This car's a relic.

Drinks petrol, leaks oil, has
no passive, let alone active,

- safety features.
- Do you know what else it doesn't have, sir?

Satellite navigation
or a single computer chip.

Making it completely invisible
to a digital enemy.

The equipment
Agent English requested, sir.

Thank you.

- Phone, Bough?
- Yeah.

That high-tech villain of yours
will never see us coming.

Let's see
what they've given us.

Exoskeleton.

Exploding cotton buds.

The old shoebox inflatable.

Hmm.

Ooh. What are these?

Instant Release
Super High Energy Pills.

Like sticking your fingers
in an electric socket.

- Highly recommended.
- Right.

So the red ones must be the
Total Knockout Sleeping Pills.

- Correct.
- Oh.

Probably worth
labeling these. Um...

Ooh.

Look, sir.

Sweeties.

Ooh.

Hang on a minute.

I always did love a Jelly Baby.

I wouldn't if I was you, Bough.

"Jelly" is short for gelignite.
One bite, and it'll take

the top of your head off
along with the roof of the car.

What does this do?

It's a mixtape, Bough.

So, destination?

South of France, sir.
That cyberattack seems

to have been launched
from the Wi-Fi signal

of a hotel in Antibes.

Sir? Sir, I've just had
a fax through from HQ.

Background checks
on all the guests

that accessed
the Wi-Fi network.

You see? Who needs e-mail?

Un peu de champagne,
monsieurs?

Oh.

Danke schön.

Um... one name has raised
a red flag, sir.

Sebastian Lynch, ex-Army
and Military Intelligence.

Now selling his services
to the highest bidder.

Where do we find him?

Directly ahead, sir.

He's got an 8:00 reservation

at the Côte de Roc restaurant.

- Your usual, Monsieur Lynch?
- Champagne is great.

The problem is
gonna be getting close enough

for a full surveillance, sir.

Not necessarily.

Viola, darling,
I've just got to get this.

Two seconds.

Simple plan, two parts.

You provide the distraction,
I'll get the phone.

- Yes, sir.
- And from now on...

perhaps we should zound

like French waiters.

French waiters?

Yees.

Go on.

And... done.

Are you finished now?

Bread roll?

Yes, thank you.

Excellent choice, madame.

Good evening. How are you?

- Bread roll, sir?
- Yes. Thank you.

One second.

Excuse me. Uh, would you mind?

Oh. Yees.

Evening.

Evening.

Yees.

Zank you.

Mm.

Where's my phone?

That is your phone.

Whew. Whew.

Thank you.

Monsieur.
Uh, the, uh,

the shell on my wife's lobster,
could you remove it, please?

Mm, yees.

Uh, um...

Hmm.

Uh...

Let me crack it for you.

- - Oh!
- Ooh!

Ow.

- Oh.
- Qu'est-ce que tu fais?

Qu'est-ce que tu fais?
Les crevettes...

Flambez. Flambez les crevettes.

- Ooh!
- Ooh!

Oh, not again.

Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry.

Give me two seconds. Hello?

- Oh, God!
- Steve, I'll have to call you back.

I'll call you back.

Give me a sec.

Sebastian, don't get involved.

Mm, mm.

What is he doing?

There we are.

Voilà.

Mm. Bon appétit.

I will talk to the manager.

Textbook, Bough.

Just holiday snaps, sir.

Wait a minute. This photo.

It was taken the same day
our villain accessed the Wi-Fi.

And look.

Scarcely 50 feet from shore.

Whoever was on that yacht

could easily have used
the hotel's Wi-Fi,

sent that signal,
and then just sailed away.

I think it's time

we paid the Dot Calm a visit.

Algorithms.

We are surrounded by them.

Algorithms run our lives,

choose our TV shows,
stream our music,

even find us a date.

Yeah, man!

I know this chap, don't I?

Yes, he's that
Silicon Valley billionaire

who dated a Kardashian.

Two Kardashians.

And a Black Eyed Pea.
Keep watching.

But supposing
there was an algorithm

for an entire country.

A single algorithm
that could be applied

to every one of its problems.

A single algorithm that
could take a second-rate nation

and make it...

world-class.

Every nation
is awash with data,

so now, more than ever,

we need to put
that data to work

for the people.

These few lines of code
will deliver the kind of change

they have been dreaming of
their entire lives.

I am Xander. I love data.

He's so clever.

He's young, he's sexy,
he's insanely successful.

Just the qualities we need
people to associate with me.

- Yes, Prime Minister.
- And they will do

when he starts working with us.

But why would a Silicon Valley
billionaire work with us?

Just... get him into Number 10
and let me work on him.

- Yes, ma'am.
- Go on.

Oh, God, now what?

There's been another attack,
Prime Minister.

- Oh...
- Air Traffic Control.

Someone's rerouted every flight
in Europe to Luton.

For God's sake, tell me the
agent you've got in the field

is making some progress.

So, how are we gonna find

the location
of that yacht, sir?

Very easily, Bough.

We ring MI7.

Hello? Hello?
Uh, yes, I need the location

of a boat called...

Hello?

Hello. Yes.
Uh, a boat called the Dot Calm.

Yes, it's a play on words.

Yeah. Where?

Looks about
half a mile out, sir.

Do we want to try
and swim it, or...?

No, Bough.

This is a job
for the shoebox inflatable.

No! Don't open it
in the car, sir!

Can you reach your door handle?

Uh, no, sir.

I'll try my side.

Right, Bough,
our aim is to get on board

without anyone noticing.

And how we're gonna do it:

- magnetic boots.
- Brilliant, sir.

Simple mechanism.

Left switch activates
left boot.

Right switch activates right.

Okay.

Let's go.

Remember, the absolutely
vital element of this mission

is surprise.

Now, you have to get up
pretty early in the morning

to outwit British Intelligence.

Quick.

Good evening, gentlemen.

Shall we start with your names?

Clearly you have no idea
who you're dealing with.

That's why I'm starting
with your names.

Actually, would you mind
coming down here?

It's really hard to have
a conversation like this.

I have a better idea.

It's no good.
It won't move, sir.

We'll see about that.

Low-intensity
exploding cotton bud.

That's quite a powerful charge

for such a small space, sir.

Oh, nonsense.

There'll just be a slight pop.

Shall we locate the hold

and look for the source
of that signal?

I think
we should locate the hold

and look for the source
of that signal!

Shh, shh, shh.

- Come on!
- Shh, shh, shh, shh.

I'd say we have
our villain, Bough!

Shh, shh, shh. You need
to keep your voice down, sir.

Ah. And
we're not going to lose him.

Hand me the sherbet fountain.

Three sucks, and the location
transmitter is activated.

This gin palace'll show up
as a hostile from 30,000 feet.

Hmm.

This is now an enemy target.

Aniseed balls.

If you'd wanted to kill me,
you would have already done so.

Till we meet again.

Ow...

Ooh...

Ooh. Ooh.

Well, that was sooner
than I expected.

Ooh.

Ow. Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow.

Oh...

Who do you think she is, sir?

Well, if she's not
the owner of that yacht,

then she knows who is.

Either way,
she's the key to this case.

Is it true
you were teaching, sir?

Before all this blew up?

If by "teaching,"
you mean scouting

for potential intelligence
operatives, then...

- yes, I was.
- Hmm.

I actually got married, sir.

I... well,
I don't know if you heard.

No.

Hmm.

Yeah, Lydia.

Lovely girl.

You never think about
getting hitched yourself, sir?

This is no life

for a married man, Bough.
The danger,

- the constant travel...
- Here you go, sir.

- Oh.
- Thank you.

More Lydia's life
than mine, sir.

She's in the Navy, you see.

What, as a cook?
Or some kind of...

- seagoing secretary or...?
- Oh, no, sir.

She's the captain
of a nuclear submarine.

- Oh, right.
- Mm.

D-Do you think we should get
some petrol for the Aston, sir?

Nah. An Aston Martin is
surprisingly economical, Bough.

Besides, it looks
like we're in business.

Come on.

- Looks like an electric car, sir.
- Yes,

and sounds like
a nose hair trimmer.

A bunch of triple-A batteries

is no match for old-fashioned
British horsepower.

Look at her cornering.

Seems so effortless,
doesn't it, sir?

Arm the missile.

The wh-what?

The missile, Bough, the one
with the tear gas warhead.

But they're just cyclists, sir.

I mean, w-we'll get past
in a minute.

They're French cyclists, Bough,
and they're obstructing

Her Majesty's Secret Service.

Wiper stalk is armed, sir.

Sorry. Terribly sorry.

- We do apologize.
- Stop it, Bough.

You'll only encourage them.

- What are we gonna do now, sir?
- Patience, Bough.

Driving like that, her battery
will be dead any moment,

and she'll roll
to a humiliating stop.

Bough, it is your job to keep
an eye on the fuel gauge.

Very impressive driving,
Mr....?

Golightly.

Basil Golightly.

And you're rather useful
yourself, Miss...?

Bhuletova.

Ophelia Bhuletova.

Hmm.

And this is...?

Colin.

I thought we were using
fake names.

That is a fake name.

Oh, right.

Yes, this is Colin.

And I'm...

Dasil.

Dasil.

Mm, Basil.

Well...

Basil...

maybe there's
a simpler way of doing this.

Over a drink perhaps?

Well, that'd be lovely.

Shall we say...

- the bar at the Hotel de Paris
in Cagnes-sur-Mer? - 8:00?

Hmm. It's a date.

Well... I think
my "running out of fuel" ruse

worked pretty well.

Mm.

What?

Junior doctors...
they've confirmed

they are going on strike,

and the tube drivers
are coming out in support.

Oh, God.
Leader of the Opposition,

has he come round
from his heart surgery?

- Yes, Prime Minister.
- Oh, Jesus Christ,

when will something go right
for me? What do you want?

They've, uh, hit us again,
Prime Minister.

- Huh?
- Hacked into the Central Traffic Control System.

Yes, they've turned every
traffic light in London to red.

Where's my bloody drink?

You've got to be joking.
Vodka tonic, no ice, no tonic.

- Yes, ma'am.
- Oh, and Mr. Volta's arrived, ma'am.

Mr. Volta.

Welcome to Downing Street.

I have read so much
about this wonderful building.

Is this the stone
triple staircase

- designed by William Kent?
- Um...

yes, it probably... is.
I can't swear to it.

- I mean, I'm not very good...
- Can we do a quick...?

Needs Photoshop.

Oh, that's very...

- Uh, th-this way.
- I am horribly late.

I do apologize.
It's the traffic.

It's the one thing
I don't love about London.

Yes, um, well, I must admit
we are having a slight problem

with the lights at the moment,

- but nothing major.
- If you wanted,

I could take a look;
it is kind of what I do.

I think it, well, it's actually
a little bit more complex

- than...
- Xander, get a Web address

for London's
traffic control center.

Here's the login page, Jason.

Do you have a password?

W... Um...

Uh, I-I...

I won't tell if you won't.

Right you are.

Bypassing security.

Security bypassed.

Oh, that's terrific.

Someone is hacking you.

Oh, I don't think so, no.

Denied service attack. Yeah.

Primitive but effective.

You know what we could try?

Rerouting all service requests
to our server farm in Nevada.

Um...

I...

Rerouting, Jason.

Rerouting complete.

Oh, crikey.

So, what was it you wanted
to talk to me about?

You, Jason.

I want to talk about you.

Excellent, Bough.

Nearly there.

Nearly there.

This is actually
a really nice hotel, Bough.

I'm turning to the right...

Should one of us
keep Miss Bhuletova busy

while the other one
searches her room, sir?

Good idea, Bough.

Alert me if you find anything.

Mr. Golightly.

Oh.

Indeed.

I thought perhaps
you weren't coming.

On the contrary.

Wild horses
couldn't keep me away.

Madame? Monsieur?

Evening.
What would you like?

I'm feeling
a little homesick tonight.

I'll have a Moscow Mule.

And I'll have a London...

Lemming, please.

I'm not sure. What...?

It's, uh, gin...

vodka...

Armagnac...

sherry...

with just a little bit
of Parmesan.

So...

what brings you
to the South of France,

Miss Bhilli... Bholly...

- Bhuletova.
- Bhuletova.

I'm just visiting
a friend of mine.

Mm.

And would this friend be
the owner of the Dot Calm?

Yes, he would.

And what about you...

- Basil?
- Oh, I'm just here on business.

Although it's rapidly
turning into pleasure.

Hmm.

Ooh. I love these.

Mmm.

They're really hot.

Mmm. Ooh. Ooh.

Oh. Oh.

Oh... oh...

- oh... oh...
- Are you all right?

Yes, fine.

Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay,

ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, ay...

Merci.

Merci beaucou-pah.

Cheers.

I'm not sure
I've ever met a man

quite like you, Basil.

Let me clear up
the uncertainty for you.

You haven't.

I'm sorry, Basil,

I have to get up really early

- tomorrow morning.
- Oh, that's a shame.

A demain, Basil.

How did you get on, sir?

Oh, gosh, what a wonderful
woman, Bough. Wonderful!

- Right.
- Charming, intelligent,

lovely sense of humor.

And obviously
entirely innocent.

Although I broke into her room,

and she does have
three passports, sir:

Romanian, Bulgarian, Russian,

different name in each.

So she's been married
to three different people.

Not unusual
in this day and age, Bough.

Oh, and I also found
some garroting wire

- and two boxes of ammunition.
- Well...

single woman traveling alone.

You can't be too careful.

You don't think...

she might be a spy, sir?

A spy?

I think I know what
a spy looks like, Bough.

Ah.

Uh-huh.

Uh...

Yeah.

Oh!

Mmm... oh.

Ah.

Sir?

Sir!

I just got off the phone
to P in London.

He's found out who the owner
of that yacht is. Jason Volta!

The world's most powerful
Internet billionaire, sir.

And he's in London right now.

The prime minister is

personally negotiating
a trade deal with him.

Well, what are we waiting for?

Hey!

D-D-Do you think we might
slow down a little, sir?

What?!

Never mind!

With what appears
to be another cyberattack,

pressure is mounting
on the prime minister.

- Every train in England?
- Yes, sir. They're all trying

to terminate
at Bristol Temple Meads.

Morning, sir.

You see this, English?

- Yes.
- Right.

Please.

Whew!

Tell me you've got something

I can take
to the prime minister.

Would the name of the man
responsible do, sir?

Excellent, English, yes.

It's Jas...

Volta, sir.

- Uh, J-Jason Volta.
- What?!

You're accusing the PM's
knight in shining armor?

I'd need hard evidence.

Plap.

Uh, blap, plap, plap.

Which...

Is why Agent English
is proposing a penetration

of Volta's country estate
in Surrey.

Yes... yes...

yes, yes...

Well, do what you have
to do, English.

But for God's sake,
be discreet about it.

Oh!

Oh, good.

Oh. Oof.

Virtual reality?

That's right, sir.
P's built a computer model

of the inside
of Volta's mansion.

When you put on this headset,
it will look and feel

as if you are inside the house.
You'll be able

to open and close doors,
walk up and down staircases,

completely familiarize yourself
with its layout.

This floor moves
in any direction.

Uh, so you can walk...

You can walk as far as you want

in the virtual world...

without ever actually
leaving this room.

One thing, though, sir.

The experience

can be very disorientating.

It's completely immersive,
and some people

lose all track
of their actual surroundings.

I think
we can pretty much guarantee

that's not gonna happen.

So I'll just need you to sign
the health and safety releases.

Would you excuse me
while I find an iPad.

Oh, go with him, Bough.
If we don't chivy him along,

we'll be here all day.

Hmm.

Aha.

Watch out!

What the...?

Doors closing.

Going down.

- What on earth are you doing?
- Hey.

- Hey!
- Oh!

Sorry, sir, but you're going
to have to leave.

Ow! Wha...?

Ow!

Don't...

Aah!

Ah...

So, we'll shortly be arriving

at Admiralty House,
and that actually used to be

Oliver Cromwell's
own house. Um...

Uh...

and then we'll be...

going to Horse Guards Parade.

Ah...

Perhaps you'd like
to sit down, sir.

Aah! Ooh!

Ooh! Aah!

- Ooh! Aah!
- Hey! Whoa!

Aah!

Ooh!

Ooh! Aah!

However, the agent we have
on this mission

is confident he's making
major progress, and, uh,

yes, we have a potential
suspect who's been identified,

and... further covert
investigations are now ongoing.

Yes, quite.

So I expect to have more
to announce on this front...

shortly.

Oh.

Sir?

Hmm?

Uh, is everything
all right, sir?

Yes, I've done it, Bough.

Child's play. Don't know
what all the fuss was about.

Pleasure to see you again,
Prime Minister.

Uh, it's a hologram.

Apparently, you just
speak to it normally.

The pleasure's all mine.

Hate to rush you,

but was there something
in particular

- you needed?
- Actually, I was just calling,

really, to see if you had had
a chance to think things over.

I have.

But the thing is, Fiona,

I just don't really do
other people's security.

Not that I don't want to.

But your infrastructure is old.

Plus, the only way I could
keep you secure in the meantime

would be by storing all
your data on my own servers.

- Obviously, that would be...
- Yes. Jason,

what I really want to do

is announce this tie-up
at the G12 meeting.

Do we have a deal?

Good luck, sir.

Hey.

- Sir?
- I said to get the chopper ready.

Right there.

Sir, right away, sir.

Thank you.

- Tyler, come in.
- Copy.

Tyler, can you prepare
the chopper now?

I'll have everything ready

- in a couple of minutes.
- All right.

We can't keep meeting
like this, Mr. Golightly.

- Oh, yes.
- Or do you want to end this charade

and tell me your real name?

Uh...

Go.

Yeah, it's all good here.

There's so much
you don't understand

about this world
you've got caught up in.

Spare me the idiot act.

You're British Secret Service.

Impressive work in France,
by the way.

When did you realize
I was a spy, too?

Oh, pretty much straightaway.

- Mm.
- Hmm.

I've spent two years
undercover.

Simple operation
until you showed up.

And I like
to keep things simple.

Simple is my middle name.

Yeah, I hear you.
Well, I'm gonna need about

- five minutes...
- It would seem you've got a choice to make.

A temporary suspension
of hostilities?

A short-term partnership?

Agreed.

Mm.

Hmm.

Politicians
are even more gullible

- than venture capitalists.
- That is correct.

Get me a copy
of the target list.

We'll hit 'em once more
just to be on the safe side.

Give me your phone.

You don't have a phone?

A phone will give anyone
your precise location.

And yet they're so useful
for making phone calls.

- Excellent.
- I'm not phoning anyone.

I'm gathering evidence.

The target list, Jason.

Four iconic
Central London landmarks.

- Make your selection.
- Number three.

The London Eye?

This cyberattack
could potentially impact

16,000 visitors.

I found him

snooping around upstairs.

And who are you, exactly?

- I'm not telling you anything.
- Hmm.

Face recognition
software launched.

Johnny English is
a geography teacher

from Lincolnshire.

Rather heavily armed
for a lesson

on European capitals,
Mr. English.

Any thoughts, sweetheart?

He's British Intelligence.

And there you have it:

two words that have no right

being in the same sentence
together.

Do you really think
I came here alone?

I have a team of crack
operatives out there right now

just waiting to strike.

Uh-huh.

Aah!

What has happened
to this country?

How is it possible
that less than a century ago

the British Empire ruled
a quarter of the globe,

and now it's relying

on someone...

like you?

Hey, stop!

Stop him?

Go.

- Close the gates.
- Yes, sir.

Help! Stop!

Obstacle directly ahead,
Mrs. Trattner.

Check your mirrors
and bring the car to a stop.

Uh, excuse me?

Hey, oh, what did you...
what have you...?

- Ooh.
- Thank you.

Drive.

- Excuse me.
- What? What do you think you're doing?

Excuse me! You are not
a qualified instructor.

- But what about my instructor?
- Turn left.

Oh!

Turn right.

For future reference,

I'm on your left.

Please, stop.
I can't do this anymore!

Ah, I can't see anything now.

Good.

- When I say go, turn sharp right.
- Uh-huh.

Three, two, one.

Go!

And straighten up.

Straighten up, straighten up.

And go!

Let's go, let's go.

Huh.

Oh, now just bear left
a little. Good.

Straighten up, straighten up.

Good.

Well, that was very good,
Mrs. Trattner.

I think you made
some real progress today.

You're not hearing me, English.

Given the prime minister's
new friendship with Volta,

the situation has changed.

But the facts haven't, sir.

That attack is Volta's
responsibility.

According to you but not
according to anyone else.

Is he here yet?

Good afternoon, Prime Minister.

- So, this is, uh...
- English, Prime Minister.

Johnny English.

What exactly do you have
to say for yourself?

Rather a lot, actually.

Ah.

However, men like me don't deal

in prevarication,
Prime Minister.

So let me get
straight to the point.

Jason Volta is the man
behind these attacks,

and I have the evidence
to prove it.

I managed to record this
inside Volta's country lair.

But I should warn you,
Prime Minister,

that what you're about to see
is evil incarnate.

Mm.

Here we are at Fifi's
third birthday,

and it's a very exciting day!

Hip hip hooray!
Hip hip hooray!

Hooray!

Thank you.

Can I just ask,
what is wrong with you?

The country is in a state
of complete chaos,

the press is wetting itself,
and the only person

capable of saving us
is the man you're accusing

of high treason.

I was in the room myself
when he gave the order,

Prime Minister,
but-but there was a,

- there's a, you know...
- Do you know what I was

in the room with, English?

Your file, which I've read
in its entirety.

And I have a few questions.
Did you or did you not

burn the Côte de Roc restaurant
in Antibes to the ground?

- Um...
- And did you or did you not fire a guided missile

at a peloton
of French cyclists?

- W-Well...
- Before commandeering

an open-top bus and tossing
the tour guide off the top deck

and then assaulting
an 82-year-old grandmother

in a sandwich shop
before battering

the employee
of said sandwich shop

with two organic
sourdough baguette?

Uh, I don't remember...

Do you have any idea
how hard it is to be me?

- Uh...
- Hmm?

Do you have
even the foggiest notion

of how virtually
impossible it is

to get anything done
in the face of events

and facts and voters

and that tsunami of tosspots
we call the national press?

Finally I get the chance to do
something good for my country,

and what happens?

The universe sends me you.

Well, do you know what I say?

I say "up the universe's arse!"

And do you know
what else I say?

You're fired
with immediate effect.

Now get out!

And make sure I never clap eyes

on that imbecile ever again!

What are you doing, sir?

What do you think
I'm doing, Bough?

I'm going home.

But the prime minister is
finalizing her deal with Volta.

She's taking him
to the G12 summit

in Scotland
as her special guest.

It's over, Bough.

And there's absolutely nothing
we can do about it.

But, sir, I have a plan.

Remember my wife?

Clear your baffles.

What?

- Mind your head, sir.
- Ow! Ow.

- Ooh.
- Oh.

This says we're sinking.

She's old
and a little rusty, but...

she can put on a hell
of a fireworks display.

Excellent work, Commander.

Jeremy has always spoken very
highly of you, Agent English.

Who?

Oh. Oh, yes. Yes. Hmm.

I'm no fan
of the pen pushers myself,

so when orders came through
stationing us here

for the summit, well,

I thought a lift
was the least I could do.

Right, let's get a move on,
Bough.

Oh, if you wouldn't mind
keeping your mobiles off

until you're well clear,
gentlemen.

The launch systems on the
missiles are a bit 1980s.

Gets a tad twitchy
around microwave radiation.

No problem there, Commander.

We're doing this mission
old-school.

This spot's perfect.

Come on.

Sorry, sir.

Come on, come on,
come on, come on.

Right, Bough.
Our mission here is simple.

Gain access to Volta's bedroom
and take him out.

How are you going
to get up there, though, sir?

A walk in the park
for the exoskeleton.

Remotely operated neoprene
bodysuit.

Increases the wearer's strength
a hundred times.

- Huh.
- Right.

Power it up.

Stick in the floppy disk
and let's go.

Just, um...

Crikey, sir.

When will the weapon be ready?

As soon as the prime minister

signs the agreement, tonight.

- How do I fire it?
- Press once

and the attack is launched.

After which, the data
of every G12 country

will be transferred to the
servers on board the Dot Calm.

Perfect.

Ah.

Cheers.

You're working
for Russian Intelligence

and you have been
from the start.

Which is why I've taken
an antidote to the poison

you keep in your ring and which
you've poured into this drink.

And removed the firing pin
from that pistol.

Everyone has to make a life
for themselves.

It's just sad that yours is...

- over.
- Hmm.

Fresh from my 3-D printer.
100% plastic.

And 100% deadly.

Killing me won't save you.

Don't bet on it.

Dobryy vecher, Ms. Bhuletova.

Seriously,
this cannot be happening.

Oh, but it is.

Drop the gun.

Get your hands in the air.

And you.

There's no time
for this, Johnny.

Oh, it isn't possible.

You cannot be working
with this English idiot.

Save the pillow talk
for your prison cell, Volta.

Are you inside, sir?

Yes, yes, Bough,
you can power down.

Everything's under control.

Shut down.

An historic venue
for an historic meeting.

The delegates
from each G12 member nation

will have
their own priorities...

How do we get in now, sir?

Wh-What's the plan?

Hey, you! Hey!

Thank you very much.

I hope you have
everything you need.

Ow.

On behalf
of the United Kingdom,

may I welcome you here today
to this ancient meeting chamber

where the great Scottish clans
once settled their differences

and forged new alliances.

A place
I have specifically chosen

in order to make
a very special announcement.

- Oh.
- Sir?

Ow. Ooh.

- A-Are you all right, sir?
- No, I'm not all right.

Get me up, Bough.

It's very heavy, sir.

I know how heavy it is, Bough.

We've got to get
to the conference...

...to the conference room
before Volta tr...

before Volta triggers his weapon.

And so, with my signature
on this agreement...

it gives me great pleasure...

oh... to welcome to you
my guest, my friend,

Jason Volta.

Standing by
to launch attack, Jason.

Damn it,
get me out of this stuff.

- Johnny?
- I can't see the join, sir.

It's the clasp.
Release the clasp,

and the top and the bottom
separate.

It must have jammed
when you fell over, sir.

- For goodness' sake.
- Wait.

Try this.

That is...

quite a lot of oil, sir.

Oh, come on.

Come on, come on, c...

Can you imagine
what the world would look like

if it was run by Apple?

Or Google.

Or...

me.

Shh.

Do you think you'd have
failing schools?

Do you think you'd have endless
waiting in your hospitals?

No.

Think you'd have
such long lines

in your airports?

- No.
- No.

No, because all of these

are simple
data management problems.

And people like me,

we love data.

We live for data.

- Ha!
- My...

You know
what I live for, Volta?

Oh, God.

Eliminating the threat
that lying villains like you

pose to this country.

Oh, for God's sake.

Who is he?

- Arrest this wack job.
- The only person ordering

an arrest around here
will be me.

There's no cause for concern,
ladies and gentlemen.

You are now
in the capable hands

of Her Majesty's
Secret Service.

And, you, my friend,

are in
for an uncomfortable ride.

Aah!

Where was I?

Living for data.

Exactly.

My algorithms can solve

every one of your problems,
as long as I have one thing:

control.

And that is what you
are about to give me now.

Jason, I wonder if you

- could just clarify...
- Shut up.

Now, hold on!

Castle now locked down...

and under your control, Jason.

The agreement this ignoramus

just signed didn't just give me
access to all the U.K.'s data,

it also gave me access
to a junction box

in North Ayrshire that connects
the entire World Wide Web.

Disable the fiber-optic cables
in that box,

and the Internet...

will cease to exist.

Johnny? Are you okay?

Have you got a phone?

We need to call for backup.

There's no time for backup.

I'm going after Volta.

And don't lose that one!

Do you understand

what it means
if I turn the Internet off?

Cities will go dark.

Planes will fall
out of the sky.

Trains will collide.

Law and order will break down,

and the world as you know it
will be over.

Show...

don't tell, right?

Initiating attack, Jason.

Taking control of junction box.

Suspending Internet
and electricity supply

across Britain and Europe.

Stage one of attack complete.

Ladies and gentlemen...

I can stop the attack,
as long as each of you signs

the same agreement
as the prime minister,

giving me complete control.

Your call.

Where's security?

Welcome
to British Intelligence.

- Get me Pegasus.
- For MI5, press one.

For MI6, press two.

For MI7, press three.

Eight G12 signatures
now acquired.

Signal the chopper.

We're almost done here.

For accounts, press five.

- For childcare services, press six.
- Oh, come on.

For more options, press seven.

What?

Only two
further signatures required

to achieve control
of G12 nations' data.

All U.K. data
now successfully transferred

to the Dot Calm.

For Aphrodite, press one.

For Pegasus, press two.

Oh, my God.

Dive the submarine. Repeat:

Dive the submarine.

Director's office.

This is Johnny English.

I need to speak to Pegasus
immediately.

It's a national emergency.

Uh, one moment, please, sir.

This is HMS Vengeance.

We have a full launch code.

Repeat: Launch code is locked.

Do I have
your permission to fire?

Oh, my God. Would you
hold on one moment, please?

Sir? Sir!

Hello? Hello?

Sir. HMS Vengeance here.

Do I have your permission
to launch?

What? Listen,
we have to call in an attack.

- Did you say attack, sir?
- Yes, an attack. Attack.

General quarters.
We are go for launch.

Target coordinates locked,
Commander.

Hello?

Hello?

Whoa!

Commander,
the missile's being redirected.

It seems to be locking on
to a new hostile target.

What's a "Sherbet F"?

What was that?

Dot Calm appears
to be off-line, Jason.

The cyberattack
has been halted.

Did you...

make a call quite close
to the submarine, sir?

Um...

Because, well...

you did it, sir.

Mission accomplished!

Well, exactly.

I am reevaluating
our options, Jason.

Johnny! Johnny!

Volta is getting away! He's
heading for his helicopter!

No, Bough.

This one's mine.

This way, sir. Sir?

Last two steps, sir.

Not so fast, Volta.

Is this supposed to scare me,
Sir Lancelot?

- Take cover, Bough.
- Ooh.

Don't worry, he's only got
six bullets in that thing.

And, of course,
the thing itself.

You've run out
of options, Volta.

Oh, you think you've won?

Mm.

Rerouting the attack

to our Nevada servers, Jason.

The world's going down,
English,

and I'll be
the last man standing.

Good-bye, English.

Good-bye, Internet.

I've got it!

That's a Gazelle 341
light attack helicopter.

If we can hack
into its operating system,

we can disable
the drive function.

Here.

Look at you!

You couldn't use that thing
if your life depended on it!

Let's get out of here.
Let's get this bird

in the...

Rerouting complete.

Attack data now installed
at our Nevada servers.

Should I initiate?

Jason?

Should I initiate
the new attack?

Initiate...

this.

Ja-Ja-Ja-Ja-Ja-Ja-Jason.

Well, uh, ladies and gentlemen,

I think we can all agree
that wasn't quite the evening

we were expecting.

I had hoped to present
to you tonight a vision...

Thank you.
- of what Britain

might be, but as it happens,

the man who saved us all
this evening, the man who,

I might add, I personally
assigned to this case,

has presented us with
a different kind of vision,

a living embodiment,
if you like,

of those fundamental
British qualities

that have ensured that our
beloved island nation endures:

courage under fire,
endless ingenuity,

and, above all, a quiet...

unassailable dignity.

Oh.

Thank you.

Welcome back, Mr. English.

- Thank you, Headmaster.
- Thank you for agreeing

to be our guest speaker.
Now, the governors and staff

are all waiting for us
in the rose garden.

Yes, if you could
just excuse me

for a few minutes, Headmaster.

- What?
- Sir?

Oh.

- Morning, sir!
- Hello, sir!

- Welcome back, sir!
- Welcome back, sir!

- Sir!
- Hi, sir!

- Hello, sir!
- Welcome back, sir!

Hi, sir!

Surprise.

Thank you.

Where's Straker?

Here, sir.

Good. And, of course...

Baggaley.

- Oh.
- That was very good, very good.

All right, gather round,
everyone, gather round.

- Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah.
- What is it?

- What is it?
- I've got some toys

- to show you.
- Yes! - Cool!

Yes.

- There we are. There we are.
- Ooh! - Jelly Babies!

Breadstick blowpipe, anyone?

- Me! Me!
- There you go.

- Granny Smith hand grenade?
- Mine! - Mine!

And what about
a garroting watch?

- Here, sir.
- There you go.

Aah!

- Ooh.
- Here, let me take that.

Don't worry,
it's only a mild sedative.

- Oh...
- What? -

Oh. That's just
a five-second fuse.

Y-Yes, all right, we all know

what garroting looks like.

Whenever you're ready,
Mr. English.

Oh, I'm sorry, Headmaster.

I'll just be one moment.

Just stick those
back in place...

- Ooh.
- Put that away, shall we?

Yeah? Um...

I always did love a Jelly Baby.

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Resync by GoldenBeard