Original subtitles

Come on, girls, put it together. Come on. Now, that's good. Now, big smile.

Yeah, that's right. Now, get more in together. That's right. That's right.

That's lovely. Now, come on, Sylvia.

Let's have a big...

Big, big smile.

Hello, Geyser. Sir Kenneth.

Birthday?

I thought it was the British public schools that segregated the sexes.

The boys come later with the barbecue and the dreaded disco.

You said it was urgent.

The men speaking are fitters, mechanics of

the Royal Air Force, stationed in Germany.

Metal dust all the engine now. You can move it around with your fist.

Look, see? That's right. Was that loose?

We took off the access panels. Guess what?

More cracks.

Scores of them.

This is the flange. Right, flange on the half-bulkhead.

It's all right, it's one of ours. Rivets broken, fastener sheared?

To see that much damage, man, I tell you, it gave me a sick feeling.

Honest truth is, it's not airworthy.

You agree? Right. It's been developed over dead bodies, pilots' dead bodies.

Time to call a halt.

Who's asking the questions? A man named who?

The writer.

He's correspondent on a London newspaper.

No doubt it's genuine?

No doubt at all. The fond fighter goes down and heads will roll.

Lots of heads, some very distinguished ones.

There's no need to sound quite so jubilant. You know as well as Isaac and us.

Money for this plane was scattered around Europe like confetti. Buy him off.

You think we haven't tried? Try harder.

Why not? One million Swiss francs.

You can't try harder than that. One million francs?

What are we dealing with, a madman? His book is published, nails the plane,

jeopardizes Western defenses, puts America back

in the boxer seat, and bankrupts you all.

There is one other way.

Shut him up.

You'd condone that?

If necessary.

I'll issue the contract.

Pete van Niekerk.

Address, not known.

Formerly District 6, Cape Town, South Africa.

Age, approximately 28.

Date of birth, not known.

Worked four years for BOSS, African State Security.

Believed Fort Angola. Mercenary. Imagine so.

Since then, freelance hitman,

believed involved assassination German industrialist

Herr Martin Cliff, Duisburg, 78. You're on business.

He isn't coming to look at the tower on Carnaby Street.

Ladies and gentlemen, would you please stay in your seats?

There'll just be a slight delay. Thank you.

What is this? It's a welcome party.

Welcome to England, Pete.

What are you doing here?

Business. What sort? Travel. The trouble with your travel is no one ever comes back.

Let's go and talk about it, shall we?

25 to the choir, used to be 26.

God bless metrication.

So, how's your diary?

Um, Farnborough air show, then it's all clear.

How long will it take you? Well, the complete book.

Ten weeks?

Not long. Well, the material's all there.

Tapes, transcripts, all ready to go.

You have a room for me? Name, sir? Pete van Niekerk.

That's right, sir.

If you'd care to fill this in.

You any idea yet how long you'll be with us? Not yet, no.

You have any messages for me?

No, sir.

Not yet.

Let the good word get around, eh?

Room 281, if you'd care to show Mr. Van Leeuwenkerk out.

I hope you enjoy your stay with us, sir.

A complete rundown on all potential victims.

Political, big business, diplomatic.

Oil sheiks visiting Israeli firemen.

Well, that check was due at number 10.

Well, get a copy of Special Branch's list.

Tell them I do.

Anything else we can dig up on Van Niekerk.

Yeah.

Yeah.

I'm looking at him now.

Anything I can get you?

What had you in mind?

Anything.

I'll let you know.

Thank you, sir.

4-5, I'm in my hotel room now. It's room number 1281.

Get a tap on the phone. I'll stall all the calls as long as I can. 4-5-8.

Business.

Your business is shooting people, Pete.

Twipping them.

Twip?

T.W.E.P.

Terminated with Extreme Prejudice.

Good old CIA talk.

Yeah, never call a spade a spade. Call him a bloody

kiffer. Travel, sunshine, holidays, trips.

Into black townships? Game reserves, Kruger National Park.

Tea with the beakers?

You're not looking well, Steve. Ah, so you don't want to play cricket with us?

Tell me about Martin Cliff.

Cliff?

Yeah, you set his car on fire. Do you remember?

You forgot to let him out first. You know, that's the

trouble with you people. You've got no manners.

You've got the wrong man.

Burger.

That's what you were called that weekend. Pick Burger. 930-44-88.

What's that, your hat size? It's South African Embassy. I'd like to talk to them.

What's wrong, man?

No phone.

Thank you.

You're right.

Get this wrong, we'll be sued from... Something they ate?

Something they wrote. It fills up during the day.

Which is your neck of the woods? Any of them.

I do most of mine from home.

The thing that would really make them jump, Martin, is the bribery angle. Oh,

I don't see why. I mean, it is an accepted

form of modern business. Accepted by whom?

Backsheesh.

Trinkgeld. You know, there are many words for it.

For the last 20 years, the two American aerospace giants are

estimated to have shelled out over a hundred million in,

quote, questionable payments.

Fact?

Acknowledged and verified.

You do the writing, I'll do the worrying.

So I don't shop in Savile Row.

Lovely scan.

What is it, eh?

You short on numbers this month?

Dry up today? Drop off if you don't book so many? Yeah, that's it.

Long as we know.

Where do you learn Afrikaans, mate?

Angola.

Get a taste for the dark meat, did you?

Little ravers, some of them, aren't they?

You know what's going to happen, don't you?

You tell me, Soti. You're going to push me too far.

Mm-hm.

What happens then?

I hear you.

And I think you'll regret it afterwards.

Maybe.

Kefir-loving salt bar, nay?

Nice enough!

Get some coffee.

First the bull at the gate, then comes the china shop.

Oh, one of these days, that temper of bullies.

Save it, Dad.

I've had it from experts, man.

Why don't you sit down?

No.

You like some coffee? No.

Shave?

Wash?

No!

What was the drill?

Check in, wait round the hotel till contacted? Why don't you tell me?

Half the money already in a Swiss bank. That's right, I took over Hitler's account.

Tell me what I want to know.

And I'll have you on the next flight out of Heathrow.

You know, I'd really like to believe you, man.

Funny, Kirk.

Yeah, sorry about that. I was taking a shower. Hang on.

I'm hanging up.

Yeah, back with you. Sorry. Did you receive the package?

Yeah, got it.

I'll contact you. Yeah, and how much longer am

I going to have to hang about to do this thing?

Contact you?

No chance of a trace.

He said 15 words. 15, and they write this much.

What accent?

Uh, educated Swiss Zurich type could possibly be German. Oh, that narrows it down.

Short sentences consistent with giving instructions.

I think I might have worked that out.

Ambition of effect. What the hell is that?

These things get more highfalutin.

Gap between the first and... Oh, just listen.

About time.

You hear that? Yeah, sounded like a burp.

I'm hanging up.

Let's go back.

Just said that. Oh, now listen. This is no time to be facetious.

I'll turn up the volume a bit.

Now listen.

I'm hanging up.

Yeah, beg with you, sorry.

Did you receive the package?

Is that it?

Well, what do they say?

That's it.

Well, according to acoustics or phonetics or whoever,

it's a hooter on a Thames pleasure boat.

Oh, used to work on the South End, run myself.

Sick for a quid, drunk and sick for two.

Oh, that's when you were filling in time between Eton and Trinity.

Oh, yeah, yeah, that's right.

Well, it's called The Star. It goes from Tarpeer to Westminster and back.

What would you do without science, eh? So, we concentrate on that area.

Well, so long as he wears leather shorts with braces,

hat with a feather in it and yodels, we've got a chance, haven't we?

It's one of my virtues.

You have others?

Thrift, temperance, moderation.

Bye.

And I'm a profligate with abnormal sexual appetites.

Oh, now, that's better.

You have a name?

Yes, John McEnroe, Bjorn Borg. I answer to either. Pardon?

You're not a tennis player?

No, sorry.

They have banned, they both were.

Oh, yes, yes. I thought maybe Pocahontas or Minnehaha.

Well, that's good. At least you spotted my son, Tom.

Would you like another drink?

No, I just like the sound of the ice cubes.

Hey!

How will you do it?

With a gun or knife?

Shall we talk somewhere quieter?

Oh, this is nice.

Make yourself comfortable.

Oh, I will.

Drink?

Yes, please.

No ice.

I'm not very good at picking up men.

Well, you're not really built for it, are you?

That isn't very nice.

No, it's a joke.

No muscles.

Oh, do warn me. I'm not very good at getting jokes like that.

That's funny, ha-ha. Do we have to talk?

Yes, yes, I'm a compulsive listener. Who do I have to kill?

My boyfriend.

Well, ex-boyfriend.

Why?

Well, why not?

Because women these days are supposed to be logical, haven't they told you?

Look, don't you like me?

I haven't given it much thought.

That isn't very nice.

Look, what do you want?

From you?

Yes.

Well, I'm lonely. A bit scared.

I think you should move closer to me, and if you

feel like kissing me, that'd be even better.

4-5.

With you, 4-5?

Yeah, I'm outside the target's house now.

You need to send him, mate?

Yeah, his man mowing his lawn, all nine square inches of it.

Hello, good to see you. George, Janet. Get off the pavement.

Yeah, it's him.

Yeah, I'm looking at the photo they sent round.

Describe the house.

What's to describe? It's your, uh, typically average suburban box.

It's, uh... What's happened, 4-5?

4-5, come in, 4-5.

Yeah, I saw a kid got interested in me, thought

he was looking at a nutcase, talking to himself.

You were describing the house?

Yeah, well, it's, I don't know, it's like 82 million others. It's suburban,

roasting two veg on Sundays, pink loo paper. Oh, that's nice, here comes Mrs Hope.

Oh, lovely, a cup of Thai food for the garden.

How do you know it's his wife?

Well, they look married.

Steve.

Now they're discussing the garden.

Didn't the Lupins do well, Geoff?

Martin, Martin, who should have his biography within one hour?

Yeah, can I ask a question?

Ask.

What happened?

Kid came back.

Your question?

Ah, yeah, look, see, um...

Man lives an averagely dreary existence in suburbia with a nice mousy wife.

Well, no, it's not quite fair.

She's, um... nice.

How nice.

Well, you know, pleasant, and he's got 2.4 kids,

and he's never done anything more violent in his life than prune his pyracantha.

What's so special about him?

Nothing, except a professional hitman's been contracted to kill him.

Don't waste your film.

Yeah? Who is he?

A man selling manure, hop and horse, in the local brewery.

That sounds potent.

It is.

Damned expensive, though.

Yeah, she thinks so too. She's not having any.

Ah, the clean easy man. Where would we be without him?

I'm afraid it's been one of those days, all end-to-end stuff.

Who's Hope?

Martin Hope. Journalist.

Worked at one time or another for most of the Fleet Street literates.

Yeah?

What, sub-editor or something? Yeah, correspondent.

What exactly did they do? Fly around the world, criticising the chicken salad.

Oh, and he's also published a couple of books.

What bestsellers? History of the Halifax Bomber.

Not even your friend Hal Robbins could make that sale. He'd have a good go, though,

wouldn't he? No known political affiliations. Well, student red.

Student blue. Cambridge. Athletics.

No criminal record. No money problems. Stays in the black.

Just...

He's got £2,200 in the local building society in his wife's name.

Very trusting.

As of the moment, our Mr Hope is one big disappointment.

Yeah, and his wife's not bought any manure. That's another disappointment.

You put a tap on his phone?

Well, let's say the GPO are being very cooperative.

You should have a word about my post. Maybe she doesn't love you anymore.

Cruel.

What is this? Bouillon.

Soup?

With vodka.

Yes?

Anything wrong?

Then why the delay?

Listen, I do things my way. You don't like it,

you get yourself another boy. I'm sorry.

I was not trying to tell you your business. Sounded like it. No, no.

Not at all.

Trouble?

I don't know what the word means.

Morning.

Oh, dear, I haven't got it.

It's black trousers and a white shirt. I'm sorry, I cannot give it to you.

I have to go home and get this. It's fine, fine, never mind.

I can explain. I saw you go out to the shops, I thought, and, well, you know,

a couple of fibres in a dresser, why not?

What are you doing up there, then? Well, a filing

cabinet, you know, jewellery and deed box.

Never know what you look like.

Can't you think of anything better to do?

Yeah, well, it wasn't always like this. No?

No, I...

I used to have a duplicating shop, you know, 10p a photostat, that kind of thing.

And, you know, I used to make copies of your Uncle Charlie's will, you know.

I just couldn't compete. 15% VAT. Terrible.

This isn't the sort of house that has fivers in the dresser.

Yeah, I know, but I mean, by the time you've

found that out, it's too late, isn't it?

I despise people like you. Yeah.

What's wrong with National Assistance?

Well, I was self-employed, wasn't I?

Any reason why I don't telephone the police?

No, I suppose not.

You got children?

Yeah.

Two.

Boys or girls?

Little girls.

Oh, Jane and Kelly.

Great little kids.

I've got a photograph here.

No!

Get out.

Find something better to do.

So thanks for your break.

I've seen Hope's editor. He played a couple of games of golf with them once.

He knows of nothing that Hope's done or is doing that

would make him a target for this sort of thing.

Good journalist, copy always in time, amenable.

Doesn't hit the fan if his stuff has to be cut or altered.

Hope was in Europe for a spell earlier this year.

Extended leave of absence.

Oh, it's you.

It's me.

Come and see all the other half-graffs.

What's this?

Oh, my mum always told me to bring a prezzie.

Oh.

Oh, very much.

Yeah, well, that's the thought that counts, you know.

Yeah.

Yeah.

You're missing something.

Let's have a look.

Whatever she's selling, we need it.

She'd stiffen up your chewing gum for you, wouldn't she?

Pound of a penny, she's selling double glazing.

Yeah, she's a 24-hour plumber, mate.

They're the rage round here, you know.

Hey, where's Cowley?

He's gone to a funeral. Oh, another one?

Yeah, that's what I said.

We were not amused.

Oh, Jonathan.

What about a CI5 special? What sort?

I think it's cheese and onion. On white?

Well, sort of off grey.

No, thanks.

Hey, remember the fun fighter?

Widowmaker?

Yeah, well, Hope's brother was killed in one of those a couple of years ago.

So that's it.

So how did you find out?

And what's that supposed to mean? I did a bit of the old B&E, you know. Oh, fuck,

dude. What, the amateur cracksman?

Poor man's raffles? Only he was never licked.

You... How did that happen?

She came back, didn't she?

God, George's gonna love that, ain't he?

He's gonna be really thrilled when the local bobbies get him on the phone,

ain't he? Oh, no, they weren't involved.

Why not?

Well, I did my down-on-my-luck bit, didn't I? You know, wife, two kids,

an aged mother. And she bought it? Yeah, soft down.

It's not her heart that's soft, mate.

Economy of the industry demands that you settle

on a publication date. Then you let it happen.

Somebody reviews it, that's a bonus. If they

review it favourably, that's even better.

But an interest from CI5, pre-publication, I'm not sure that's healthy.

When's it due out? I expect a completed manuscript in about two months.

Yeah.

What's it about?

If I tell you. If you don't, your author's list is likely to be one name short.

Well, you exaggerate, surely. Damned if I do. A professional killer.

That's how we got into this thing.

Well...

Strictly between the two of us?

For the moment, that's all I guarantee.

It's an account, an expose, to use that overworked word,

of an aeroplane used throughout the NATO defence system.

Which one?

The Fon Fighter. That's the one built by a consortium. That's him.

Fuselage and tail from Germany, nose and final assembly France,

wings and flaps the UK, etc. Sir Peter! Sir Peter! Wake up!

What's wrong with it? It knocks him out till about four o'clock. It's deadly.

How destructive a document is this?

Lethal. Justified? Yes.

Then I'm biased. And obviously Hope believes it.

Implicitly.

What does he say is wrong with the plane?

Basically, it was a rushed job. Politically expedient, not to buy American.

Europe flexing its newfound muscle.

Shortcuts, insufficient testing, flaws in design.

You want me to get technical? Later, later.

Wholesale bribes. Governments, royal families, ministries.

Muddy footprints in the corridors of power.

Clearer by the minute. He has hours of material, tapes, interviews.

No one likes the damn thing. Over 40 of them have crashed.

They're the ones we know about.

Surely hope can't be the only one to voice these doubts. Far from it.

He's articulating what dozens of others feel.

A top German draftsman, he worked on the engine mountings,

said much the same thing. And? He was drowned last August.

Oh, lots of people drown every August.

True.

But not many of them are ex-Olympic swimmers.

Hello, could you give me the number of Mr. Van Niekerk's room, please?

Thank you.

Yes, hello, hello.

Dozy bastard.

The best you can say?

Typical, useless, absolute... He acts a killer, ruthless, efficient.

Yeah, well, we knew that, didn't we?

Now we've blown it like a bunch of bloody amateurs.

Do you think he wanted it this way? I don't give a toss what he wanted.

Like Churchill said, if you can't stand the heat, stay out the kitchen.

The kitchen, yeah, and it wasn't Churchill who was harried.

So what? Who cares? The point is we've left Doyle

hanging by his thumbs in the middle of all this. So we warn him.

If it's not too late.

Another foul-up, another piece of incompetence. Another piece? Yeah,

that's what I said, yeah.

When was the last?

Well, who remembers? It's all the same, isn't it? Sending

boys to do a man's job. And look at this one.

He hasn't even begun to shave yet. You never fouled up. Your records will be made.

Look, if you want my resignation, just ask for it, all right?

I'll tell you what I want.

I want you to get on that phone, warm the oil, and stop behaving like a prima donna.

I mean what I say.

Now, is that clear?

Remember, the world is full of Monday morning footballers. On your bike, boy!

Oh, I'm sorry.

They said downstairs that Mr. Neekirk was still here.

People get everything wrong these days.

That's true.

You South African?

Right.

So is Mr. Van Neekirk.

Well, contrary to reports, there's a lot of us.

Two, consecutively in the same London hotel room.

Small world.

That's his jigsaw puzzle.

It belongs to the hotel.

The Bible's by Gideon, jigsaws by Insomniacs Anonymous.

That's his jumper, and that's his bottle of scotch.

You're a fool. You're a damn fool. Questions, ma'am.

Who are you? Hey, Mel!

Put it down.

Whether or not you tell your wife, I leave that to you.

I'm not usually so slow on the uptake. I'm sure.

Hired? To kill me? That's right.

And there's no chance that... None at all.

Carl Heller?

The draftsman from Cologne? A drow.

Could be a coincidence.

As it could with Bonnard, the mechanic committed to lose. Yes,

I've got tapes of him upstairs. A critical of the plague? No, savagely.

Now, this is your world, Mr Cowley.

Assassinations, intrigue, violence. But to me,

you're stepping on a very important toll.

Yeah, I must be naive.

I thought they'd be grateful.

Grateful?

For telling them their brainchild is defective, that they'll be bankrupted,

litigated against, perhaps imprisoned, all that, and you expect gratitude?

Excuse me, sir, you can't leave your car there.

I couldn't borrow your key, please, for 1281. Left mine downstairs.

Well, I shouldn't, really.

¶¶

It's all right. Nearly finished.

What are you working on?

This Airbus story. Someone's running a rumour that Lufthansa are pulling out.

Any truth in it? Not a word.

They're an $800 million deal. Always good for a few rumours.

Do you ever meet that Swiss?

Yes.

Where do you ask?

Curious. He called you last time I was doing this.

He offered me some money.

Two.

The Farn book.

Didn't he know you had a publisher?

His money was to not publish, to not write it, in fact.

How much?

A million francs.

It's only money.

How much is that in sterling?

A lot.

It proved something.

That was never in doubt.

Well, who wants a million francs anyway?

Pass it! I want the drink. Will you pass it? Soap, please.

Thank you. Do you mind passing the drink, please?

Oh, yes.

4-7-8-9? Could I speak to Mr Hope, please? No,

he's not at the moment. Can I take a message?

No, it's a business matter. Could you tell me when you expect him back?

More or less any time. Can I say who's called?

No, it's all right. Don't bother. You can catch him later, you know, at the paper.

Oh, yes, of course.

The minister said you'd be in touch.

My usual channels.

Protects both of us, doesn't it?

Mm-hmm.

Assuming we need protection.

What's it about?

The Pawnfighter.

It's too brutal.

Every crackpot in the business has a go at it.

I am not in the business, and I hope you don't

think... Sounded offensive, wasn't meant.

Looks clear enough.

Kids parted the other weekend.

Wonder we haven't found one of them floating about in it.

What's your estimate of the plague?

Pure gold.

24 carat.

High time we stopped knocking our own product.

As chairman of one of our biggers.

Bologna, I'm a realist.

Realism is the start of all progress. 53 fatal

crashes in 36 months, is that realistic?

What percentage was pilot error?

Their criticisms are there, though, aren't they?

All counted and paid for. What currency? Dollars, rubles.

You produce something, you expect criticism.

You ever wondered what reaction Leonardo got when he painted the Mona Lisa?

Very nice, Mr. da Vinci, up to a point, but that smile.

I suppose we'll have to empty it and start again.

Did you know there was a book due out soon about the phone?

Isn't it?

You're sure you didn't know?

You're beginning to sound like a policeman.

The next thing we know, you'll be cautioning me.

Should I have to?

There are heavy issues at stake here, you know. I realize that.

Realized it when we picked up a professional gun coming in to fulfill a contract.

A contract on the man writing this book.

That's quite enough.

You want to reconvene this?

We'll do it with solicitors and secretaries.

If you think that's necessary.

Hope? Mr. Hope? Yes.

I'm a mechanic with the South African Air Force, so I'd like to talk to you.

What about? The farm fighter.

These South Africans don't have the farm. Don't they?

That's what I want to talk about. When?

Well, that's a problem. I have to fly down to Joburg tonight.

What about lunchtime? I'll be waiting here for you.

I'm hanging up.

Yeah, thank you with you, sorry. Did you receive the package?

Yeah, got it.

I'll contact you. Yeah, and how much longer am

I going to have to hang about to do this thing?

Contact you.

How did you find me? There mustn't be grudge, our little secrets.

We followed your every step.

Dropping the gun at the hotel, then the photo,

the cash offer to hope your chat with Sir Kenneth.

You were there.

There, or thereabouts.

You ever done the river trip up to Westminster?

Never. You should.

Liquid history.

Fascinating.

Do you want a lift?

How the hell did you get out of here?

It's a long story.

Oh, you banged your head.

I'll bang yours in a minute. Oh, don't be like that.

All right, where are we in it this week?

Taped under the seat.

Get that for me, will you?

Thank you.

Message for you.

Go ahead.

Van Dijkhoek has fixed our fee with hope at newspaper premises.

Your instructions are to get there as fast as possible.

Understood.

Fast as possible.

You think we could go somewhere quieter?

Yes, why not?

Any comments, Mr. Cowie?

Tragedy. Incalculable loss.

A man at the very height of his heart.

I'm just going to let you off.

Freeze!

Where's that crab of yours?

Take it off.

Eh? I said take it off.

Right.

That banged on the head, mate.

Are you all right?

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