Original subtitles

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.

Synced & corrected by -robtor- www.addic7ed.com

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.

Thank you.

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.

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.

_

_

Holy doodle.

That's Iliya's bodyguard.

And he's right over there.

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.

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.

Come, come.

"Josephine."