All language subtitles for MrSWr3E04.One.White.Rose.for.Death.

Tonight on Murder, She Wrote.

And you will do me the courtesy

of opening the bloody gate now, Sir,

because if it is not open by the time we arrive,

my driver will smash it in.

I see, it's perfectly all right

to drag me all over town at gunpoint.

Risk my neck, dodging traffic, being chased by German spies.

- Good Lord! - Mr. Kendall, he's dead.

- Murdered. - By who?

By one of us it is obvious.

And you are keeping me here against my will.

You are a suspect in a murder investigation.

There's a killer loose.

Thinkin 'of spendin' holiday there, are you, boyo?

You'd have to be a mountain goat to love that spot.

The Carpathians, I'd say. Eastern Czechoslovakia.

- What are we looking for? - Missile sites.

The photographs, are they from our, uh,

East German friend "the musician"?

What's the source? Still the Steiner woman?

How do you know that?

I'm taking your place, Jack.

Dennis McKelvie, London Evening Sentinel,

at your service.

And I thought you'd retired.

A foolish and impulsive decision

I had the good sense to reassess.

So they're finally sending you back to Africa then.

Central America.

Too many foreign agents know this face of mine.

Mmh.

So, uh, can I trust you to carry on this operation?

Ho, ho, ho.

Mrs. Fletcher!

Thank heavens. I was afraid I'd missed you.

Dreadful places, airports.

Andrew Wyckham,

King's Lane Publisher's Limited.

How do you do, Mr. Wyckham?

I was looking for Geoffrey Phillips.

Poor fellow got called

to the West Coast late last evening.

Some silly crisis.

I'm afraid you're stuck with me.

But I'll try and make your stay enjoyable.

Well, it won't be much of a stay,

but when Geoffrey told me about

my invitation to the party tonight,

- I couldn't resist. - Party?

My dear lady, it is merely the social event of the year.

Greta Mueller's farewell performance,

followed by a reception

at the estate of Senator Constable,

with none other than the Prime Minister

as the guest of honor.

Geoffrey is devastated, I assure you.

Well, I would be too.

But how I managed to be invited to the party,

I'll never understand.

Greta Mueller, of course.

She is your devoted fan

and absolutely determined

not to leave without meeting you.

Oh, I feel very flattered.

I've arranged for us to travel in style.

I hope you approve.

Well, that looks lovely.

- Mrs. Jessica Fletcher? - Yes.

I'm Gerhardt Brunner, Chief of Security

for Miss Mueller's American concert tour.

Oh, how do you do? This is Mr. Wyckham.

- Mr. Wyckham. - How do you do?

Well, if you are the gentleman

responsible for our invitations for tonight's festivities,

I'm most grateful to you, Mr. Brunner.

It is Miss Mueller whom you should thank.

In fact, if it isn't too inconvenient for you,

she would very much like you

to come by the concert hall now.

She is most anxious to meet you.

Well, I--

And it will be a great personal favor to me.

Of course.

Will you follow us there, please?

Certainly.

I say,

must be a formidable lady

to intimidate an officer

in the East German Volkspolizei.

- The volks what? - Secret police.

I can see, dear lady,

you have a lot to learn about international affairs.

Greta.

Franz, I cannot rehearse under these conditions.

- Fraulein Mueller. - Oh, Mrs. Fletcher!

Mrs. Fletcher, what a delight it makes to meet you at last.

Oh, the pleasure is mine, Miss Mueller, I assure you.

Fraulein Mueller, may I introduce Mr. Andrew Wyckham?

How do you do?

A good part of my English

I have learned from reading every one of your books.

- Oh! - Yes, every one.

And I am so much in admiration for your talent,

but also for your independence and power of character.

Well, I'm very flattered.

You must forgive my sister, Mrs. Fletcher.

She has a garbled gift for hyperbole,

but she's quite sincere.

I hope this sudden request has not inconvenienced you.

- Of course not. - Good.

When Greta wants something,

it is easier for us all to accede to her wishes.

Oh, Franz, don't be such a sourpuss.

I assume that rehearsal is over

for this morning, sister.

If you will excuse me.

As you can see, my older brother

delights in treating me like a child.

Oh, yes, older brothers.

I had a couple of those when I was growing up.

Reminds me of the time some years ago,

I was visiting with this tribal chief

in one of those African countries

with a funny name.

I-I don't know.

And a chap wanted to set up libraries

in all of his villages.

There was only one drawback.

None of his people could read a bloody word.

That's a very attentive watchdog you have,

Miss Mueller.

Uh, afraid you'll defect, is that it?

Greta? Defect?

I'm afraid my sister is as political

as a chocolate bar.

On that point, Franz and I agree.

Miss Mueller?

- Yes? - Dennis McKelvie.

The London Evening Sentinel.

Forgive the intrusion.

I wonder if you could grant me a short interview.

- Thank you, but I-- - Oh, yes, Mr. McKelvie.

I have heard a great deal

of your work from a mutual friend.

My sister and I would be delighted to chat with you.

- Franz. - You are most gracious, Sir.

Perhaps backstage this evening. Would that--

Well, well, well, J.B. Fletcher.

What a delightful and unexpected surprise.

- Dennis McKelvie, ma'am. - Yes.

You are the last person I expected to find here.

Yes, I can see that, Mr. McKelvie.

Yes.

Mr. McKelvie and I have met-- Uh, when was that?

Uh, London. Two years ago, October.

- I interviewed you. - Oh, yes, for the BBC.

The London Evening Sentinel.

Oh, yes. Uh, I remember.

How fortunate that you did.

Will you be, uh, staying in the city, ma'am?

- At the Kensington. - Lovely.

We'll have to get together then.

Yes, we have so much to, uh, talk about.

Who is it?

King George here,

ready to reclaim the colonies from usurpers.

Who do you think it is, woman?

Michael. Or is it Dennis?

Dennis this week.

And I'll thank you to remember it.

I'm not yet ready

to be interred in the family plot.

Then it's a good thing that you opened your mouth

in that restaurant before I put my foot in it.

Yes, I could see you were about to make

a terrible fool out of one of us.

Oh, Jessica, you're as lovely as ever.

And you're as devious as ever.

I'm afraid to even ask you what you're up to now.

Oh, ah, just a minor assignment for the government.

You're back with MI5?

SIS. Same game, different name.

But that's enough chat about work.

As I recall, madam, we have a long-standing date,

which you have been studiously avoiding.

But I haven't seen you for over a year.

An oversight, which we shall rectify

by spending the next several days together.

Oh, Michael, I can't. There's this concert tonight.

Followed by the reception at Senator Constable's,

at which I intend to monopolize your attentions.

Unless, of course, you prefer, um, what's-his-name.

- Oh, Mr. Wyckham. - Wyckham.

- He's business. - Good, good.

Tomorrow evening then,

we'll rekindle the embers over dinner

at a lovely restaurant I found in Alexandria.

After which, I trust,

we will both be on our worst behavior.

Franz, you have got to talk to Colonel Brunner.

He's become impossible.

What is it, Greta?

I wanted to ask Mrs. Fletcher to tour with me

the Smithsonian Institution tomorrow,

and Brunner forbids it.

Forbids!

Oh, Franz, I am not a child.

Greta, we cannot always do what we want in this world.

Colonel Brunner is responsible for our well-being.

Oh, yes, and we mustn't criticize Colonel Brunner,

no matter how stupid he becomes.

What is the matter with you, Franz?

You let that man lead you about holding on your nose.

If you mean I am loyal, yes.

It's the British journalist.

I'll speak to him.

Oh, such a pouty face.

Come, Greta. Hmm, a little smile.

I'll speak to Brunner.

There might be a problem with Ilsa Steiner.

- She's dropped out of sight. - What?

Now easy, man, easy, we're discussin' Chopin.

She hasn't been seen since early this morning.

She wouldn't betray me.

Maybe not.

Kendall.

Repeat that please.

I see.

No. I'll contact him myself immediately.

The girl was wonderful, simply marvelous.

Oh, Andrew,

there's nothing simple about what she does with a violin.

No, I suppose not.

I wish I was more musical. Ah, Mr. McKelvie.

Listen to me. Keep moving. Head for the main door.

What?

I've called for your limousine.

I'll be right behind you.

But, uh-ah, Mr. McKelvie.

Look here, old fellow,

we'd like to catch the second half.

There isn't going to be a second half, Mr. Wyckham.

Now move!

Move!

Quickly, man! Let's go!

- That is not our driver. - So I noticed.

What's the meaning of this? And where is my driver?

Safe, Mr. Wyckham.

- Michael, your hand. - Not now, Jessica.

Michael? Jessica?

Jack, find a cab queue

where we can drop these two off.

- Not a good idea, I'm afraid. - What?

Head for the embassy. Put it to the floor.

Sorry, but I'm afraid you two are along for the ride.

First secretary, Henry Claymore.

May I help you?

This is Dennis McKelvie,

code name, Saint Patrick, Secret Intelligence Service.

We are traveling in a limousine,

five minutes away,

being pursued by armed agents

of the East German Volkspolizei.

Open the west gate and keep it open.

We won't have time to stop.

Uh, one moment, Sir.

Firstly, I do not take orders from the SIS.

Secondly, no one is going to be admitted

without proper authorization.

You bloody fool!

I'm a British subject being chased

by a carload full of armed German agents.

We only have a skeleton staff on duty here.

After that assassination attempt in Australia last week,

most of our security is elsewhere this evening

protecting the Prime Minister.

I'm not suggesting a pitched battle,

I'm demanding sanctuary.

And you will do me the courtesy

of opening the bloody gate now, Sir,

because if it is not open by the time we arrive,

my driver will smash it in.

Is that clear, Mr. Claymore?

Yes, very well. I'll see to it.

You best have a doctor standing by.

Uh, seems a small hole in my arm is,

uh, making a mess of these seats.

Yes, that is correct, Sergeant Major.

Henry, what is it?

Well, first I pull embassy duty

while everyone else is hobnobbing with the PM

and now it's the damned SIS

expecting me to pull their chestnuts out of the fire.

Henry, whatever it is, it will take care of itself.

And what are you doing out of bed?

You're exhausted after your trip, Margo.

I feel very rested, really.

I'm afraid this hasn't been

much of a marriage so far, darling.

Never mind that. You have some people arriving.

What can I do?

It's back to bed for you, my girl.

- I'll handle it. - Nonsense.

It's about time I started learning my duties.

Get those gates open!

- Take Jessica inside, Wyckham. - I'm Dr. Lynch.

I was told we have a wounded man here.

In a moment, doctor.

Hurry. Let's get inside.

What the devil's going on here, McKelvie?

Let's discuss it inside.

No, you will not inform the ambassador

that the Muellers are here,

not until I'm satisfied that it's safe to do so.

May I remind you--

Meanwhile, you can seal off this wing of the embassy.

The fewer people who know what's going on here,

the safer it will be for our guests.

You will notify me, Mr. McKelvie,

when I may once again resume my duties as First Secretary?

I will, Sir.

And thank you for your indulgence.

Well, Mr. McKelvie, you're a lucky man.

The bullet passed clear through.

Now do you see, Jessica? I'm almost indestructible.

Michael, now that you have scared the life out of me.

What is going on?

I'm sorry about the gun, but if things fell apart,

you and Wyckham had to be able to say

that you were forced to cooperate.

In what? A defection?

Doctor, I hope that ugly-looking thing

is not meant for me.

It is.

Unless, of course, you prefer a nasty case of tetanus.

Well, if you must delight

in my discomfort, woman,

do me the courtesy of keepin' it to yourself.

Michael, I'm waiting.

Jessica, don't ask me questions

I'm not free to answer.

I see, it's perfectly all right

to drag me all over town at gunpoint,

risk my neck, dodging traffic, being chased by German spies.

And I'm tellin' you,

the less you know about this, the better.

Now leave it be.

Ow!

The Volpes followed us, but I don't think they realized

we had the Muellers with us.

Look, Sir, I need information on another matter all together.

An operation code-named White Rose.

Yes, White Rose.

Yes. Yes it is. It's extremely urgent.

Hello.

I'm Margo Claymore, wife of the First Secretary.

Oh, Jessica Fletcher. I'm delighted to meet you.

I wish the circumstances were less unnerving.

Henry says I'd better get used to this sort of thing.

My goodness, that's lovely. And good luck too.

What? Oh, this necklace?

Oh, a friend gave it to me. Thank you.

Hmm, it's a lovely one.

Made by one of the Cameroon tribes in Africa.

- I'm from that region. - Oh.

Margo.

I'm not overdressed, am I?

Don't be silly, darling. You look marvelous.

Miss Greta Mueller, her brother Franz.

Mr. Andrew Wyckham, my wife, Margo.

Mr. Claymore, I demand to know

what is going on here,

and since my brother refuses to be confidential with me--

Miss Mueller, I'm terribly sorry.

But I really don't know what--

You don't know?

Two men burst into my dressing room

during intermission, shoot one of my guards,

force I and my brother

at gunpoint into the trunk of a limousine.

Greta, I have told you that this was necessary.

- Why? - So you could defect?

You, Franz, my loyal and patriotic brother.

No, no, no, you don't know what you're talking about.

You're going to have to trust me.

No, I do not trust you.

How can I?

I-I will try to talk to her.

Excuse me.

Well, I -I really would like to make myself useful.

Is anyone hungry?

Yes, that is if it's no trouble.

I'll summon up the servants

and see if we can whip up something.

No servants, I'm afraid, darling.

I've had to section off this part of the embassy.

Then I'll just find my way about the kitchen on my own.

Sorry if it turns into potluck.

But I-I've been here since only this morning

and I don't know my way about.

- Can I help? - Oh, no, I'll be fine. Thanks.

Claymore.

Guns? Spies?

Jessica, what the devil's going on around here?

I wish I knew.

Mr. Claymore, whatever this is about,

neither Mrs. Fletcher nor myself are involved.

May I presume we are free to go immediately?

You may not, Mr. Wyckham.

The situation's too dangerous.

The East Germans are trying to locate the Muellers.

We can't let anyone leave.

Not until the overseas situation has been resolved.

- What overseas situation? - I'm not free to tell you that.

But you do feel free to drag--

Innocent citizens into this sordid business--

Now look here, McKelvie.

I happen to be a close personal friend

with the Labor Minister's cousin,

same hunt club, that sort of thing.

I don't care if you're sleeping with his sister.

You can't leave till it's safe.

Oh.

You'll excuse me.

I suddenly feel a need to, uh, freshen up.

An overseas message has just been received

in the code room for my eyes only, Mr. McKelvie.

If it does concern you, I will let you know.

Oh, Jessica, spare me that look.

No, Michael, I will not. I deeply resent all this.

And it's-- it's not just the danger

you've put us all in,

but Michael, you don't trust me.

All right.

This is not, as you suspected, merely a defection.

Franz Mueller has been working for the SIS

for the past three years.

Now, three years ago, the Volpes murdered his wife.

She was an independent thinker, like yourself.

They probably thought that she was a spy,

so they arranged an automobile accident.

Mueller pretended to believe that that was all that it was.

But for the past two years,

he has been romantically involved

with various women

highly placed in the East German government.

I see.

And from them,

he's secured valuable information for the British.

Earlier today, one of those women,

an intelligence agent,

named Ilsa Steiner, disappeared.

Several hours ago, she was seen

walking into police headquarters

in East Berlin.

That's why Jack Kendall and I liberated Franz and his sister

just before the interval at the concert hall.

Liberated? At gunpoint? With shots fired?

Lucky for us that

the "1812 Overture" was playing.

Nobody heard them.

Look, I am sorry,

but until we're certain that Ilsa Steiner

hasn't betrayed Franz to the Volkspolizei,

we have to stay put, all of us.

Bad news, I'm afraid, Mr. McKelvie.

London just intercepted a coded communiqué from Berlin.

Colonel Brunner has been ordered

to bring Franz Mueller back to Germany

to face charges of espionage.

Well, that's it then.

Mr. Claymore, I suggest that you contact both the ambassador

and the PM to arrange political asylum.

I think I should tell Greta. She should know.

If you see Jack Kendall, our driver,

tell him to meet me in the code room.

Yes.

Greta, you'll catch your death of cold.

- Mrs. Fletcher. - It's very chilly out here.

I hadn't noticed. I couldn't talk to Franz.

I didn't know what to say.

Oh, Mrs. Fletcher, I don't understand.

He was always so patriotic.

Greta, he's going to need your help

and your support now more than ever.

What's happened?

A woman that he's been seeing,

she has betrayed him to the police.

I know it's--

It's a lot for you to deal with all at once,

but at least try to listen to his side.

And even if you think he's wrong,

he is your brother.

Yes, of course. You are right.

Good Lord.

What is that he holds?

It's a white rose.

He was stabbed in the chest.

Death came almost instantaneously.

Yes, but stabbed with what, doctor?

How instantaneous?

The weapon seems to have been a sharp pointed object,

something like an ice pick.

How instantaneous?

I'd say he died in a matter of seconds.

He must have grasped at that flower

by accident when falling.

Henry? What is it?

I just went upstairs to get my wrap.

A man's been hurt, dear. Please go in.

Uh, everyone. Inside.

There's nothing we can do out here.

We can bloody well bring the body inside.

Lend me a hand, doctor.

No, no. Not with your arm, you don't.

Sergeant Major.

Please, if you all will just stay in here

until we sort things out.

What is it? What has happened?

Mr. Kendall, he's dead. Murdered.

Murdered? Here in the embassy?

- By who? - By one of us. It is obvious.

Do you see any person else here, Mr. Wyckham?

You are quite sure that this section of the embassy

was completely sealed off, Sergeant Major,

even from the staff?

Yes, I see. Then search the grounds.

And when you've finished, report back to me.

I want armed sentries posted at every doorway.

And, Sergeant Major, you are to take orders from me.

No one else. Is that quite clear?

I'll join the others.

If the weapon is out there.

I can't find it.

Bloody hell!

Oh, I'm so sorry, Michael.

I-I didn't realize you were so close.

Close?

Yes, that we were.

It was me that got Jack involved in all this.

Twenty years ago, he was studying finance.

From a long line of stuffy bankers, he was.

He couldn't have been more than a boy.

Well, how old do you think I was when I started?

Ah, he was perfect, perfect with his banker's face.

In our trade, Jessica,

you don't wear a badge that says "spy."

Anonymity is what saves your skin,

being able to pass yourself off as a tradesman or...

- whatever. - Michael.

- What is "White Rose"? - What?

He was holding a white rose.

But a few minutes ago,

I heard him on the telephone, very upset.

He was asking someone for information

about an operation called White Rose.

Are you sure about that?

Yes, and I-I don't think it was just coincidence.

I think that he was trying to tell us something

by grasping for that rose,

knowing that he was going to die.

He was trying to identify the killer.

White Rose.

That's the name of one of your operations, isn't it?

It was.

I wasn't involved with it personally,

but I remember it.

Nine years ago, Johannesburg, South Africa.

A small group of agents was assigned

to support an anti-apartheid activist

called Benjamin Kumbasa.

Jack was one of them.

Kumbasa. I remember. He was killed.

Stabbed to death in a public square.

His assassin escaped into the crowd

before anyone knew what had happened.

And he was never apprehended.

Excuse me, Sir.

The First Minister has requested that everyone

remain together in the reception room.

That request does not extend to me, Sergeant Major.

I have my orders, Sir.

When do you suppose the police will arrive?

I very much doubt that the police

have been summoned, Mr. Wyckham.

- What? - This is embassy property.

It's British soil.

They have no jurisdiction here.

Claymore's sticky about that sort of thing.

I thought you might want some tea.

Greta, I'm sorry.

If there had been any way I could have told you--

Were you afraid I would betray you?

No.

No, I just didn't want to endanger you.

But isn't that what you've done?

Oh, maybe it's not the physical danger,

but what will it be like for us now,

not only for me, but Mama and Papa?

Was it all so important to you

that you could not once consider us?

Greta, listen to me.

They will give us both political asylum, I am sure--

No.

And soon we will be able to arrange for Mama and Papa--

Nein! Don't you understand?

I don't want asylum.

I am not political! I am a musician!

And I will not be cooped up

in that oversized parlor, Claymore.

There's a killer loose.

Yes, and we are searching the grounds.

For what?

Your killer's one of us, you bloody fool.

Mr. McKelvie, I am operating

under the direct orders of the ambassador,

who will be here shortly,

as soon as he is certain

the Prime Minister is secure for the evening.

Meanwhile, as a British subject,

- You will conduct yourself-- - Excuse me, Mr. Claymore.

But I am not a British subject,

and you are keeping me here against my will.

Because, madam, you are a suspect

in a murder investigation.

Forgive me, but, uh, if there is

a murder investigation going on here,

I, uh, I'm not aware of it.

Then perhaps, if you'd share with me

what you know or think you know,

Mrs. Fletcher?

Well, that presents a problem,

since you, like me, are also a suspect.

Point taken. Then what do you suggest?

That you give us free movement

within the embassy to investigate,

beginning with access to the code room computer.

Uh, very well.

Sergeant Major.

Give them whatever they may need.

- Yes, Sir. - Carry on.

That, Mrs. Fletcher, is acceptable?

Yes. Thank you.

Oh, by the way, Mr. Claymore,

I understand that your wife comes from Africa.

Uh, from Rhodesia, actually.

Her father is a very successful tobacco planter.

Ah. Is that where you met her?

No, I met her in London, actually,

a couple of months ago.

Surely you don't think my wife's involved in this?

Well, that remains to be seen,

doesn't it?

Well done, Mrs. Fletcher.

And where did you get all that Africa business from?

Oh, we civilians have our ways.

Now, Michael, while you check out White Rose,

I want to take another look in Dr. Lynch's office.

Lynch? What for?

Well, as I remember,

Benjamin Kumbasa was assassinated in 1976.

- Mid-April. - Uh-huh.

Well, the certificate on the doctor's wall says that

he graduated

from the Transvaal Medical School in June of '76.

Now that may just be a coincidence.

Or maybe not.

Yeah, you go ahead.

I'll check out White Rose in the computer file.

Excuse me, the First Minister

would like to see you both in his office.

- Has there been any news? - I wouldn't know, ma'am.

- Sergeant Major. - Sir?

Where are you keeping Mrs. Fletcher?

She's with Mr. McKelvie, Sir.

Doing what?

- She's quite all right, Sir. - Now look here.

I'm fed up with all this.

Sorry, Sir. Just following orders.

Excuse me.

She was asking about Rhodesia.

Why?

Well, I'm not sure.

Something to do with Kendall's death, I think.

Henry, I didn't kill that man.

Of course you didn't, Margo.

This damn poking around. I just don't like it.

Look, just chin up.

Everything will be all right, darling.

Sit down, please.

Oh, you scared the life out of me.

Ignoring the fact that you don't have a warrant--

Found anything?

Yes, Jack Kendall wasn't killed

by just a puncture wound.

Take a look at the moons on his fingernails,

also his eyes.

- Poison. - And fast acting.

A poisoned weapon.

- That sounds premeditated. - Or professional.

Which may mean that your friend was killed

because he recognized the assassin.

Jessica.

Michael, take a look at that photograph

up on the wall there.

Whatever Dr. Lynch may have been up to,

he seemed to have been hobnobbing

with those South African revolutionaries.

He also doesn't keep it much of a secret.

Well, it does fit his SIS file.

Then you found something?

Nothing damning, Jessica.

Lynch was active

with the anti-apartheidists in Transvaal.

He actually got himself thrown into jail several times.

But if he was a supporter of Benjamin Kumbasa,

why would he have killed him?

Margo Claymore?

Oh, yes. The First Secretary's wife.

Interesting. There is no file on her.

But the ambassador has assured me

that every protection of Her Majesty's government

will be extended to you and your sister.

- Provided, of course... - Provided what?

Well, there has been a killing here, Sir,

and it seems clear that one of us is responsible.

Uh, excuse me.

Yes?

One moment. It's Colonel Brunner.

- Hear what he has to say. - Yes, we'd all better listen.

Connect him.

Uh, First Secretary, Henry Claymore.

May I help you?

Mr. Claymore, this is Colonel Gerhardt Brunner.

I'm trying to locate

Fraulein Greta Mueller and her brother.

I have reason to believe

they are being held at your embassy.

Well, not to my knowledge, Colonel.

What a pity.

I have a most urgent message for them.

Yes?

In the unlikely event that you should contact them,

will you please inform them that

their parents have been taken into custody.

Nein! No!

You cannot do that!

- Fraulein Mueller? - They have done nothing.

Greta!

Fraulein Mueller, I am very sorry.

It was necessary precaution to ensure that

both you and your brother return immediately to Berlin.

If not, I'm very much afraid

I cannot guarantee the consequences.

I don't understand. What kind of people are these?

Miss Mueller, are you sure

I can't give you some sort of sedative?

No, no, I'll be all right.

Gang of thugs, simple as that.

Thought that sort of thing had gone out with Hitler.

I'm sorry, Miss Mueller.

Our people tried to reach your parents,

but they were too late.

Our sources have just confirmed that they're being held

in Volkspolizei Headquarters in East Berlin.

Well, then, that is it. We'll have to go back.

Franz, they'll put you in prison.

They may even kill you.

And if I don't?

This is my doing, Greta, my responsibility.

- Mrs. Fletcher. - I know, child.

It's a terrible choice.

I'll phone Brunner and have him pick us up.

I wouldn't do that just yet.

There's some unfinished business here.

A murder, if you'll recall.

My sister and I had nothing to do with that.

Well, someone is bloody well responsible,

and no one's leaving here until I find out who.

Michael? Excuse me.

- Michael. - What is it?

Things are beginning to take shape.

But certain pieces still don't make any sense.

I have to talk to Margo Claymore.

Do me a favor

and double check something for me in the computer file.

But I told you. There is no file on Margo.

Oh, not Margo. Dr. Lynch.

Everything is under control, Sir.

We-we'll expect to see you within the hour.

Bye.

A problem, Henry?

Well, in the interest of security,

they've decided to put the PM on a plane back to London.

They should be taking off momentarily.

Surely not because of what happened here.

No, no, no.

They decided to take no chances.

Oh, Henry, what are we going to do?

Maybe we should tell the truth.

I think that might be

a very good idea, Mrs. Claymore.

Mrs. Fletcher, my wife is not involved

in Mr. Kendall's death.

Well, perhaps not, but obviously,

neither one of you have been telling the truth.

About what? About Rhodesia. About your wife's background.

That is not at issue here.

I'm afraid it is

when a murder has been committed.

Yes, you're right. It's all my fault, the lies.

- Margo. - Henry, a man's dead.

We've got to start telling the truth.

I am from Rhodesia, Mrs. Fletcher, many years ago.

But my father was not a wealthy plantation owner,

at least, we're not sure about that.

My mother worked as a servant. She was very fair-skinned,

but she had native African blood

in her, as I do.

One night, she was raped by one of the Europeans.

The foreman, the master's son, the master himself,

she never said.

When I was three, my mother and I were sent off to London

where she established a flower shop.

I've never wanted for anything,

except for a past, which I... I invented.

I really made it quite believable, didn't I, darling?

Poor Henry.

When he started squiring me about London last year,

he was so proud of me and my excellent pedigree.

Margo told me the truth before the marriage.

I was surprised, naturally,

but, frankly, I didn't care.

I just didn't care.

- But there was your career. - Yes.

We, uh, decided to keep up the pretense.

After all, the truth was no one's business but our own.

Until tonight.

Mrs. Fletcher, what has Rhodesia

to do with Mr. Kendall's death?

Ten years ago,

a black rights leader was killed in Johannesburg.

It's possible that that assassin

is the same person

who committed the murder tonight.

But I was nowhere near Johannesburg ten years ago.

I was working seven days a week in my mother's shop.

I see.

I'm sorry, Mrs. Fletcher.

Ten years ago, I was posted in Hong Kong.

And you can forget about Dr. Lynch as well, Jessica.

As you suggested, I did a little digging into

the good doctor's background,

and he has himself a marvelous alibi.

Following a peace march,

he was in a Pretoria jail the day Kumbasa was stabbed.

I'm afraid your theory about Jack

recognizing the assassin is a bust.

Well, you'll have to admit it was a bit far-fetched.

I mean, what would a professional assassin

be doing here at the embassy?

Unless here is not where he was supposed to be.

Arrogant fellow, that Claymore.

I'm going to have a word with the ambassador about him.

Well, it's after two. Should've returned by now.

He's on his way, Andrew.

They just put the Prime Minister

on a plane back to England.

Did they?

Well, I thought the PM

wasn't supposed to leave until Tuesday.

Just a safety precaution, Mr. Wyckham.

Ah.

Andrew, I got worried about Geoffrey Phillips,

so I called his home office in London

to find out where he'd gone this weekend.

They knew nothing about any emergency assignment

to the West Coast,

so we called the Washington police.

Twenty minutes ago, they broke into his apartment.

They found Geoffrey in bed, strangled to death.

Really, Jessica?

Just move, boyo.

I'd welcome a chance to use this.

I wonder who hired him.

Ah, one bunch of lunatics is the same as any other.

He used me and my invitation to that reception

to get to the Prime Minister.

Well, with all that security, you were his only way in.

If I hadn't needed you to help me with the Muellers,

it would've worked.

Yeah, but how did he expect to escape?

Maybe he didn't.

Now then, tell me, Jessica, how did you know?

I didn't, not at first,

not until the police discovered Geoffrey's body.

But you see, Mr. Wyckham

talked a great deal about his travels,

about how he'd gone everywhere, including Africa.

And I remembered something that you once told me

about how agents are seemingly so faceless,

so ordinary.

Now that is a fanciful leap.

Maybe so, but that wasn't all.

A look passed between Wyckham and your friend Mr. Kendall

just as we were getting into the car at the concert hall.

At the time, I thought it was merely surprise

that our driver had been suddenly replaced.

But, of course, it was much more than that.

Wyckham knew that he'd been recognized,

knew that he was about to be exposed.

The murder wasn't smart, but he had no choice.

Speaking of no choice.

Fraulein Mueller, I personally regret

the actions taken by headquarters in Berlin

in regard to your parents.

Herr Oberst, spare me your insincereness.

As you wish.

The plane is waiting at the airport.

Yes, well, there has been a change in the plans,

Herr Oberst.

I have made a great deal of thought on this,

and my brother will not be coming with us.

Greta?

Franz will remain safely here in the United States,

a misguided defector, if you like to call it,

while I, a loyal citizen,

will return to Berlin to be reunioned with my parents.

My orders are--

I don't care about your orders, Colonel.

I am the one who makes it matter.

I am the one whose defection will not only chagrin Berlin,

but you, personally, for having permit it.

Your brother... is a traitor.

My brother is a defector,

and that is all anyone has to know.

Colonel, don't ask me to choose between

the safeness of my brother or the safeness of my parents.

You may have a surprise by what I decide.

Now take what you are offered before I alter my mind.

You give me little choice.

Go then. Wait for me by the car.

- Greta, I can't let you-- - Shh.

It'll be all right. They won't harm me.

I am too much a celebrity.

We will see each other again, Franz.

Soon.

Thank you.

For what, my child? I haven't done anything.

I think you know that is not true.

Michael, you are going to help her, aren't you?

A sweet young thing like that, Jessica?

We're already working on it.