All language subtitles for The Professionals - 4x09 - Slush Fund

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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