All language subtitles for Bergerac S09E09 - The Assassin

Services between London
and the Sussex coast are being delayed...

Hello. I'm going camping.
I'd like to buy some kit.

Yes. Of course, sir.

What do other people buy?

Camping equipment?

- A tent, perhaps?
- Yes.

- I'm off now, Charlie.
- Where you going?

- France.
- Jolly good. Danielle?

No... Well, not at first.
Hold the fort for me?

Oh, right.

Monsieur?

Je m'appelle Bergerac et j'ai un
rendez-vous avec M Hapgood.

Ah, oui.

Edward!

Il est arrivé.

Oui. Je sais.

Mr Bergerac! Welcome.
I'm Edward Hapgood.

How do you do?

You've met my housekeeper,
Madame Roussat.

- Yes. Bonjour.
- Bonjour.

- Tea, coffee, an apéritif?
- Coffee would be great.

Nicole, un café, s'il vous plait.

Sit down.

Now...

the reason I've asked you here.

As this arrived completely
out of the blue,

unexpectedly, it disturbed me.

"Hapgood, we know who you are.
By next Thursday this'll be you."

That's delightful, isn't it
When did you get it?

Three days ago.

It's from Paris. Why haven't you
shown this to the police?

I haven't chosen to. I want to employ you
to find out who sent it to me.

Had any more?

I'm prepared to pay you well
Over the odds.

- You had any more?
- No.

Then, why do you you think this is more
than a crank? Have you made many enemies?

What is your job, Mr Hapgood?

WAS my job, Mr Bergerac.
I'm retired.

Bit young, aren't you?

I worked in the City,
on the foreign exchanges.

Made my Killing early,

bailed out while the air
was still breathable.

Got a clever Jersey broker to juggle
my spondulicks and retired to France.

What's the matter with your leg?

A motoring accident.

I also want to employ you, Mr Bergerac,
to offer me personal protection.

Ah, well..um...

I don't usually offer
personal protection.

Why do you think this character
is threatening you?

And, I'm sorry, again, why haven't you
gone to the police?

I'm prepared to offer you
3,000 francs a day,

or its equivalent in any currency.

You would, of course, live here with us,
in conditions of considerable luxury,

although under the rather strict regime
of Madame Roussat here.

Comfortable bed. Clean sheets.
Cordon bleu cooking.

We live off the land here.

Al right.

I only want your protection,
just to be on the safe side.

I haven't the foggiest
who'd want to hurt me.

It's an incredible machine,
the peregrine falcon.

It has wings that can pull out of
a 200-mile-an-hour dive.

You try that on a plane,
they'd be ripped off.

You seem to have an affinity
with falcons.

There's not an ounce of
unnecessary fat on them.

They nest here each summer.

Something like you were
on the foreign exchanges.

Pigeon pie every night.

Look, I've got some business in the town.
Then I want to do some painting.

I'd like to have a look round first.
Is that all right?

Around?

Well, I AM your security agent.

- Bonjour.
- Monsieur.

Ready?

Yes.

Endless tourists.

Still, you'll get used to them.

Six pommes.

Six pommes.

Et un kilo de péches.

Un kilo de péches.

Et deux baguettes, s'il vous plait.

- Baguettes.
- Des allumettes.

- C'est tout?
- Oui, c'est tout.

You missed the dancing girls.

Like Van Gogh, I see the crows
before I see the cornfields.

Go for cover!

The shell cases.

Here.

Fellow left us a brace of quail.
That's a sporting gesture.

At least we know he's a gentleman.

How do you know those aren't poisoned?

Poisoned?

Any ordinary member of the public,
having just been shot at by a gunman,

might just suspect whatever the gunman
gave him may be contaminated or poisoned.

But you KNOW those are not,
don't you?

- Would you like some local cider?
- No, I don't drink.

Then try the unfermented juice.
Just as good.

- You set me up, didn't you?
- What do you mean?

You show me a threatening letter,
you ask for my protection.

- And suddenly, a man shoots at you.
- How does that set you up?

Because you KNOW that man.

- Know him?
- Well, you understand him.

He's a "gentleman”.

He doesn't poison quails.
He leaves them out ready for you.

Only one threatening letter in
a thousand actually leads to violence.

But you knew this one would.
You know what's going on, I don't!

I don't know anything about you,
your business...

- Does she speak English?!
- No, Jim. SHE does not speak English.

Why haven't the police
been called in?

- It's a private matter.
- WHAT private matter?

I paid you well

Look, I am an ex-detective.

I specialise in detective work -
finding out who does what.

I do NOT specialise
in heavyweight protection.

I'm not some kind of...
personalised flak jacket,

roaming round the countryside,
absorbing other people's bullets.

If you want that kind of thing,

you can phone
a security firm in London or Paris.

They'll send down ex-SAS or Paras.
But that is NOT my game.

Jim, I didn't choose people like that,
because I deliberately chose you.

What do you mean "deliberately chose"?

You walked through my front door,

I looked you up and down,
I thought you were OK.

Now, please, can we continue?
I don't want you to get an upset stomach.

Monsieur... ou est le téléphone,
s'il vous plait?

- De l'autre coté du bar.
- Merci.

So, you, er... you sold them?

No!

I ate them.

Did I ever tell you about
the time I lived in Bahrain?

Excuse me. The telephone.

I once owned the fastest stallion in
Arabia. Bought from the Sultan of Oman.

- Anyhow, it raced like...
- Hello.

- Hello, Charlie!
- Oh, Jim!

- Hope I'm not interrupting you.
- Nothing important.

I was wondering if you knew anything about
a Jersey stockbroker

by the name of -
George Micheldever?

Micheldever?

Ta.

Lads!

- Kids!
- Eh?

- Kids.
- Oh, yeah.

You look like you had a rough day!

Yeah, well, it could've been better.

That's the trouble,
living in a foreign land.

Nowhere to go
of an evening and relax

Here's me, selling fertiliser.
Different town each night.

Nowhere I can call me own.

Nice tune, that.

Yeah, it is, innit?
..Oh, ta.

Know what happened to me today?

- No.
- It happens every year.

I'm dosing a big order.
A big order.

The customer's sweet.
I've worked him and worked him.

He wants MY fertiliser, no-one else's.

My brand's better for his soil,
his crops than anyone's.

- You know what happens?
- No.

The wife, his missus,
gets in on the deal

She's not been listening to my talk

about crop yield increases per hectare
and nitrogen replacement in the soil

She's been watching me like a hawk -

every move of my body,
every gesture of my hand.

SHE decides she doesn't like me

because I've got a cross patten
on my socks instead of straight lines.

No!

I swear it - I've lost thousands
of pounds of orders

because me socks weren't patterned
the right way.

You? What's your troubles, then?

The most difficult part of my job
is trusting people.

- Finding out where you stand.
- Same in all jobs.

But my job is especially difficult.

What IS your line of work?

Someone comes in off the street,

they flash a plastic credit card
and you've got to trust them.

You don't know.
You just don't know.

- Look, it's time I was going.
- I'll give you a lift.

- It's a bit of a way.
- No trouble.

Thanks very much.

'Souse the mess. Got two big orders
today. And last week's lunch!

That's all right.

I thought it was this way.

What about that turning back there?

Oh, maybe.

I'll tum round.

I came back.

Um... chap outside.

- I met him down the village.
- Chap?

He's from Manchester.

He's a nice chap.
He sells cattle feed...

Mr Hapgood, while I was down the village,
I did some thinking, you know...

Don't shut the door!
He's coming in for a drink.

WAS coming in for a drink.

As I was saying, Mr Hapgood...

What was he like, this... Englishman?

Well ..

He wasn't the man who tried to shoot us.
He had short, curly hair.

How's your investigation going,
Mr Bergerac?

Well, I sent the letter
to a lab in Paris for fingerprints.

But without your co-operation,
it's gonna be difficult to get anywhere.

- Well, thank you for warning me.
- OK.

Well, goodnight to you.

Madame's left you
some cold meat and mustard

- if you want it.
- Um... No. No, thanks. Goodnight.

It's, um... It's true, is it,
what they say about him?

True?

All that Colombian drugs money.

It came into St Helier then straight out
to Switzerland.

That was Micheldever's doing.
A touch of the old laundrettes.

Micheldever's?!

You were on the States Committee
that investigated it, weren't you?

His repute and standing
as a stockbroker.

- He was right up in front of you.
- Can't tell you about that, old man.

- Why not?
- Top secret.

Hush-hush.
In the very middle of our deliberations,

these two gentlemen walked in.

- Two gentlemen?
- Mm-hm. The Brotherhood.

- What, the Masons?
- No, no, no, no!

The agency across the water.

Our American cousins.

Oh, them!

Told us we could deliberate
upon these matters no further.

Colombian drugs money laundering?

A case of national security.

Micheldever doesn't sound
very nice to me.

- Look who he's with.
- Eh?

- Oh... One of THEM, eh?
- Mm-hm.

I'd better phone Jim.

All I've heard from you,
from beginning to end, is lies.

- I've paid you well
- Hah!

What do you want me to say?

I got a report back
from the lab today.

The only prints on the letter
are yours.

The person who sent it
was a professional

You bet he is!

He types the letter, he buys a train
ticket to Paris, he posts the letter

and he comes back and
hires a private detective

- to find out who posted the letter.
- What a good detective you are.

Your broker in Jersey -
George Micheldever -

- he's got a bad reputation.
- Like all the best brokers.

He does business with
South American drugs dealers

and some unpleasant people from
the US Intelligence community.

Now, if one drugs dealer or some
washed-up ex-Intelligence operative

decides to wipe out another,
I honestly could not care less!

I think it's actually time
I explained a few things to you.

Oh, thank YOU!

What you're looking for, I believe,
Mr Bergerac,

to excite your moral outrage is contained
in these drawers.

The tools of my trade.

What are you?

A few of my reviews.

All sides. I wasn't picky.

Jews, Arabs, Christians.

I was never prejudiced.

I too am horrified
at what I've done.

Beirut.

A job for the Americans.

The assassination of a local politician

who dared to suggest that Lebanon
should be run by the Lebanese.

Began with a car bomb.

Devastation of an entire street

to make it appear he'd been killed
accidentally in the general massacre.

Two weeks, I was up in that eyrie.

An overview.

Timing when he came, when he left.

I got to know that street.

Each person. Beggar, businessman.

Street-cleaner, street trader,
pimp, whore...

Fat housewives, thin housewives,

old men, school-children
with their books...

Who was having an affair with who,

who had fleas,

who'd just been to the dentist.

All spread out there, beneath me...

like...

my own family.

The politician comes out,
gets into his car.

There are what we call
"optimum moments" in these situations.

My optimum moment.

Finger on the button.

Touch.

I look around,

and suddenly, in one frozen moment...

] see everything.

Everyone breathing,
sweating, arguing.

My finger moves off the button.

My optimum moment has passed.

The politician...
drives off about his business.

Someone else shot him a week Later.

But the street carries on.

What did your "employers”
think of your behaviour?

Oh, I resigned.

They didn't like it.

No-one leaves the Agency
of his own free will.

Are they the people
trying to kill you?

I believe they've sent
my successor after me.

Well... at least you've got your weapons.

Weapons...

These weapons
have all been decommissioned.

Why?

They're my mementos.

Memento mori.

I made an oath in Beirut
never to kill another human.

But your successor.
You're defenceless.

Mr Bergerac, I engaged you
at 3,000 francs a day.

I think 10,000 francs
should cover it.

And shall we say another 10,000 for
a very professional job? Thank you.

I'm dispensing with
your services forthwith.

What do you mean - now?

You've served the purpose
I engaged you for most effectively.

From here on in,
things start to get very serious.

What WAS your purpose in hiring me?

That's none of your business.

Well, I think it is.

I know the psychology
of an assassin. None better.

He probably went
to the same training school as me.

Taught all those things
I was taught.

Time-keeping. Strict scheduling.

I'm trying to see this whole thing
through his eyes. He's good.

Very sensitive to the mood.

But he could come as anything.

He could come
as a fertiliser salesman.

And there may be someone behind him.
That's why I chose you.

The perfect decoy.

Never bothered you I might get killed?

You were never in the slightest danger.

I understand him.

They'll have picked him
from some Guards' regiment.

He has a strong sense of the right,
the honourable thing to do.

- Killing you is not right.
- Well, thank God for traditional values.

I chose you to send out
the right signals to him.

I could've brought in
the heavy SAS security types.

He'd have come in with flame-throwers.
But with you...

Yeah?

Well, you're hardly the heavyweight

in the world of personal protection,
are you?

He'll have come close, sniffed around,
drawn his own conclusions.

That my protection
was pretty incompetent?

Now he'll feel safe to come in
pin-point blank to do his job.

That will give me my opportunity.

WHAT opportunity?

Of talking to him. Man to man.

Eh?

How else am I going to change him...
persuade him?

You're gonna talk to a hired killer?

When you renounce violence,
all you have left is reason.

I'm fully aware of
the risks I'm running, Jim.

But I paid you off,
50 you wouldn't be involved.

I think you're mad.

We live in a mad world.

A world changing so fast
that what was mad yesterday

is common sense today,
and will be forgotten tomorrow.

We adapt or we die.

It won't be long.

I'm not worried what you pay me,
but I'm staying.

Before the Romans came,

before the Celts even,

this is what they used to call
"a sacred grove".

A circle of trees
where they kept him.

- Him?
- The tribe's sacred king.

For a year he lived in this grove -

a prisoner.

Fed on every luxury,

wore exotic clothes, had his pick of
the most beautiful maidens and matrons.

Nice work if you can get it, innit?

That was one side of the arrangement.

At the end of the year,
his successor entered the grove.

Killed him.

Took his place for a year

until HIS successor turned up.

They reckon it kept the crops
green and fertile.

What do you believe
to that system then?

It looks as though MY successor
has been ahead of me.

He's very generous. Specially picked
and all ready for the pot.

Amanita phalloides. The death-cap.

The most deadly fungus
known to man.

Sure you know the difference?

Quite sure.

Merci, monsieur.

1 suppose they might keep the burglars out
if we lived in Catford!

They won't keep him out,

but he'll have to make a noise
when he tries to get in.

Depends how he arrives.
Might come in a police car.

Now...

Try one of these.

Ta.

I keep asking myself,
"Why am I here?”

- And what answer do you get?
- Curiosity.

What happens if the man out there
is some kind of maniac?

You can't reason with a psychopath.

They wouldn't have chosen
a psychopath for a job like this.

Yeah, but just say they did?

That's a risk we have to take.

He's a peculiar old gentleman, Death.

Twist and tum all you will,

you still end up staring into
those hard, cold eyes,

as you shake him by the hand.

- I'm not looking at Death.
- Neither am I.

He's here. I can feel it.

Well, where can he get in?

We're in here.

The three of us.

In the bear pit.

The machine does not falter.

Come on, you can do better than this!

Drop it!

Belt off!

Move!

You thought you really had it, didn't you?
The two of us. Easy targets.

Now you really hate yourself
for screwing up. Down!

It's probably the first time
you've ever had real feelings.

Enjoy them while they last.

You can't kill him!

You had your chance to leave.

You didn't take it.

All that stuff about talking to him,
persuading him?

Now you know what it's like
to be the victim.

Let him go.

Now you know...
what it's like to be about to die.

And not to be able to do
a blind thing about it.

Welcome to the human race!

Take it.

Take it.

You're out of your mind.
That man hates you!

Precisely. That man actually hates me.

Sees me as a real person.

Not some dot
at the end of telescopic sights,

but a real, living person.
Flesh and blood.

Now he must take aim,
brace himself...

pull the trigger.

Suddenly, life's very complex for him.

Go on!

Go on!

You're right. I was out of my mind.

Look out!

- What about the police?
- Police?

There's no reason why they should
know about your past, is there?

Will you stop thinking about him?

I failed!

You tried.

And there may be someone
behind him.

Depends how he arrives.
Might even come in a police car.