Telephone for you, sir. Such a rough voice. He says it's someone from your garage.
Right.
Your rude mechanic has bad news for you.
Personally, I find mechanics are bad news, by and large.
- Which phone, Alwyn? - The one on the left.
Get on to the head office and find out when they can supply the damn thing!
Hang on. I think I've got the number. Alwyn, sling that bag across for me, please.
I will, sir.
There you go.
- Open it for you? - No, thanks.
Right, are you ready?
The number you want is 4376299.
- Seems to be going according to plan. - Thank you.
He does sound jumpy. He might have overdone it a bit there.
He was very loud.
I've seen it happen before. Tough ones who crack at 40.
They lock it away, then suddenly you find 'em at their desks, the tears pouring on the blotter.
- I thought I ought to say what's on my mind. - Peter will manage.
- You heard about his assignment in North Africa? - Something, whispers.
Peter was overmatched and he lost.
His agents were hanged. No one recovers entirely from that sort of thing.
That is, I wouldn't trust a man ...who did.
Bag, please.
Peter, sorry to disturb you, but we have a tiny crisis.
Percy Alleline would like a word with you. Can you come now?
Of course, Toby. Have you been waiting? Didn't you tell Mr Esterhase where I was?
We've only just got here, Peter. Your office told us you were doing a spot of devilling.
Only...Percy's anxious to speak to you now, you see.
Is there a shuttle to Brixton?
- Yes. - Ask Transport to take that thing over.
Will do, sir. Will do.
Percy wants to consult you.
How are the martial arts, Paul? Any new tricks you could show me?
Paul and I were paired on a tough-guy course. Damn near killed each other.
Peter.
Please.
Wotcha, Pete.
Well, now, young Peter Guillam,
welcome to my house, about which you've been making calls, I hear.
Are you lonely in the Brixton outposts?
Tired of chasing the local virgins? If there are any in Brixton, which I would doubt!
Excuse my freedom, Mo. You DO know that Mo Delaware is our new Head of Research?
Man with message in cleft stick does reach Brixton, does he?
Barring the monsoon.
I hear you have been hobnobbing with the late, lamented Ricki Tarr,
formerly of your section, dispatched by you to Lisbon
and, since then, listed by this service as a defector.
- How is he? - We have tea at Fortnum's every afternoon.
Jasmine.
Peter Guillam, you may not be aware of this,
but I am possessed of an extremely forgiving nature.
I positively seethe with goodwill.
All I require from you is the matter of your discussion with Tarr.
I do not ask for his head or any other part of his offensive anatomy,
and I will restrain my impulse personally to strangle him...or you.
I would even consider bringing you back into the palace from hateful Brixton,
where presently you linger in well-earned obscurity.
I can't wait for him to turn up!
And there's a free pardon for Ricki until I get my hands on him.
I'll tell him that, word for word. He'll be thrilled.
I'm very disappointed in you, young Peter.
I pay you honest money and you stab me in the back.
I consider that extremely poor reward for keeping you alive,
against the entreaties of my advisers, I may tell you.
Let us begin again.
If you won't give me a straight answer, perhaps you'll unburden to somebody more persuasive.
Roy.
Tarr's got a daughter, hasn't he?
Yes. Calls her Danny.
- Talk about her a lot? - He told me he was fond of her.
- That's all I know. - What are you shrugging like that for?!
I'm accusing you of playing hooky behind my back with a damn defector,
of playing damn-fool parlor games, and all you do is shrug at me?!
There's a law against consorting with enemy agents! Want me to throw the book at you?!
I haven't seen him!
Who's playing games? Not me. You are. So get off my back!
- Who's Danny's mother? - Eurasian girl.
Tarr likes to think she passes for European. And the child.
12 years old, long blonde hair, brown eyes, slim. Is that Danny?
Could be.
So if I told you Danny and her mother were due in London three days ago
on a direct flight from Tunis, I take it you would share our perplexity?
- Yes, I would. - Then you'd keep your mouth shut
when we let you out of here?
It isn't ordinary flight information, Peter. The source is very private.
Ultra, ultra sensitive, in fact.
In that case, Toby, I'll try and keep my mouth ultra, ultra shut.
So...what do you make of it, young Peter?
You're his boss, guide, philosopher, friend.
Tell me why Ricki Tarr's in London.
- You said his girl and his kid were expected. - Don't be obtuse, man!
Where Danny goes, there goes Tarr.
Except he'd move first and have his impedimenta follow, yes?
That would be favorite. Tarr was supposed to be sitting in Moscow.
Now he's back here on the Russian payroll. Why's it all so hot?
What kind of plant is he when we know everything about him?
Down to his attack of swine fever, from which he's only partially recovered!
Excuse my freedom, Mo!
What kind of plant is that?
Never mind what sort. Muddying pools, poisoning wells. That damn sort.
Pulling the rug out.
Now, listen. Just remember this.
At the first peep, the first whisper
of Tarr or his lady or his wee bairn, young Peter Guillam,
you come to one of us grown-ups.
Anyone you see at this table.
But not another damn soul.
The name on the passport is Poole.
P, double O, L, E. All three of them.
Tarr told his woman, so we understand, in case of difficulties, she should come to you.
Sign that, Peter, would you?
Stupid bloody cabaret.
- Percy gets more insufferable every day. - I wouldn't know, Bill, would I?
"I certify that I have today been advised of Witchcraft Report No.308, Source Merlin."
"I undertake not to divulge any part of this report nor to divulge the existence of Source Merlin."
Get over, you sodding snail!
- Peter... - That bastard Tarr!
Peter, slow down. Slow down.
The file on Testify seemed a bit thin. I hope it was worth the sweat.
Ricki Tarr's not lied to us, not in any material way.
He's simply done what agents the world over do. Failed to tell us the whole story.
- On the other hand, he has been rather clever. - Are you actually pleased with him?
Well, yes. We now know that Source Merlin works to Moscow Center,
because that's where Merlin's information on Ricki Tarr must have come from.
From Karla.
Ricki's been a lot better today, sir. Not nearly so...nervy.
He did his football pools this morning, then we planted some trees in the garden,
and this evening we had a game of cards.
- Has he been out alone? - No.
- Used the telephone? - Wouldn't dare, sir.
Has he talked about his daughter Danny or her mother?
He did over the weekend, but he's cooled off about them since
in view of the emotional side.
Did he mention any arrangements for meeting them, anything about passports?
- No, sir. - What has he talked about, for God's sake?
Mostly the Russian lady, Irina. He mentions her name a lot. He likes to read her diary.
He says he's gonna make Moscow Center swap the mole for Irina when the mole's been caught.
Then he'll buy her a place in Scotland. He says he'll see me right.
Get me a big job in the Circus. I just listen, of course.
Right.
You don't post those football coupons, Fawn?
- No, Mr Smiley. - Let's hope he doesn't win.
That would be expensive for us.
- Thank you for your help. Sorry to impose. - He's gone to bed.
I must ask you once more.
What did you do with the two Swiss escape passports you took with you to Lisbon?
I told you. Burned them.
When you bought your fake British passport in Istanbul,
a passport for yourself in the name of Poole, did you buy any others from the same source?
Why? Why should I?
To protect your child and her mother. That seems reasonable.
It wouldn't be very gallant to leave them to the mercy of the Moscow hood on your tail
while you escaped to all this ...VIP protection.
It's horrible to think of.
Truly horrible
to contemplate the lengths Karla might go to in order to obtain your silence...
or your services.
But perhaps what you actually did and forgot to tell us about
was to burn the British passports you obtained for Mrs Poole and Miss Danny Poole,
but kept your own to convince Karla's footpads you thought it was still safe.
Then, probably,
you made travel bookings in the name of the Poole family for the same reason.
You doctored the Swiss passports for Danny and her mother
and made other arrangements for them...
like staying in Marseilles, perhaps...
I don't know where they are, but I'm sure no harm has come to them.
Watch your own damn woman! Leave mine alone!
No, Peter.
It's just as well I shouldn't know where they are
so long as you don't try to communicate.
Unless, of course, you want me to help in some way. Money or whatever.
No need. Let's trust each other, shall we?
Are we friends again, Mr Guillam?
It won't be long now.
- Got all you need? - Can I have my gun back?
Yes.
Well, why not, Peter?
- Do we buy that? - Oh, yes.
I told you he'd been clever.
A little bit of the truth is indispensable in the games agents play. You know that.
Ricki put his family in safekeeping and found his own way home. He fooled the Russians.
If Karla had a deal with him, would you and I be alive and living in hope?
Not by now, I think.
Let it breathe a little.
Just leave it. We'll pour it when we're ready.
Does anyone know Karla's real name? How old is he?
Another mystery. Decades of his life unaccounted for.
So many of the people he's worked with have a way of...dying off.
He was in England in 1936 and '41. That's documented.
We can assume it was some time during that period he recruited our mole Gerald.
I met him once.
In Delhi.
Long before we came to know him as the legendary Karla.
In the mid-fifties, Moscow Center was in pieces on the floor. Wholesale purgings and shootings.
As a result, defection everywhere.
I became a kind of commercial traveller.
The whole world was my territory.
Inspecting the goods, fixing the terms.
Disposing as seemed best. On London's instructions, of course.
Well, I found myself off to India,
where the authorities had arrested, at our request,
on some trumped-up immigration nonsense,
a Mr Gerstmann...Karla's name at that time.
He was on his way back to Moscow from San Francisco,
except that he didn't know that he was Moscow-bound.
He'd been told to rendezvous with a Tass correspondent in Delhi.
The message from the Tass man was an airplane ticket
and... "Don't ask me any questions, comrade."
Karla was in disgrace.
Summoned...
and doomed.
There were two things he didn't know... first, we'd intercepted the radio signal
directing him to Delhi.
Secondly, the San Francisco network he'd organized
had been rolled up, hide and hair, the day he left.
Could we take those things off his hands?
I only have to shout for you, don't I?
Mr Gerstmann...
you are the Cold War orphan.
If you go home to Moscow, you'll be shot or sent to die in a camp.
Wouldn't you prefer to ask us for protection? We have no powers of permanent arrest.
Our arrangement with the Americans was that they hit your agents
and we make you this invitation.
I can't see an alternative for you.
If you cooperate,
we can give you a new start, a new identity.
Seclusion, a modest amount of money.
Why don't you start by telling me your true name?
Would you like a cigarette? I know you're a chain-smoker.
Please. I know this is what you smoke.
Look...I'm not offering you wealth ...or smart women
or your choice of fast cars...things you haven't any use for.
And I won't make any claims about the moral superiority of the West.
I'm sure you can see through our values, as I can see through yours in the East.
You and I spend our lives looking for the weaknesses in each other's systems.
I'm sure each of us has experienced innumerable technical satisfactions
in our wretched Cold War.
But now your own side is going to shoot you...for nothing.
For misdemeanors you have not committed.
Because of a power struggle within your own hierarchy.
Because, probably, of someone's treachery...
or sheer incompetence.
I'm sure both of us, when we were young, subscribed to great visions.
Not any more.
After all you've seen...
you can't still be committed to that old grand design.
It's achieved nothing...except new forms of the old misery.
Don't destroy yourself.
They're not worth it.
Do you know where your wife is? I mean, at this moment.
You have to think about her. She'll have to make a new life.
She'll have a friend...one really good friend
who could look after her.
Perhaps we could get in touch with her secretly.
If you stay with us, we might be able to arrange something.
An exchange for someone your people want returned.
But if you go back,
it can do her nothing but harm.
She'll be cold-shouldered ...suspected.
The best she can hope for is to be allowed to see you before you're shot.
Another meaningless firing squad.
Guard.
- What did Control say when you got back? - "I hope to God they do shoot him."
But they didn't. His boss was the one who faced the firing squad, as it turned out.
Mr Gerstmann survived...and thrived.
How he thrived. He went on to build his legend and become the Karla we know.
Who, all the time he sat looking at me, was thinking of Gerald the mole.
Have you noticed, Peter...
that whenever I really trouble one of our acquaintances with my questions,
he'll raise the matter of my failure as a husband...to confound me.
- Instructive. - Ricki Tarr tried it twice.
Unimportant, in his case. Spite.
Well...that was sumptuous!
That boy Fawn...good at his judo, isn't he?
Karate.
Judo is what Fawn would call "Just your little cuddle, Mr Smiley."
I don't think even Toby Esterhase's people would follow us here.
The food's well below the standard they've come to expect.
So Karla's fireproof. He can't be bought or beaten.
Not fireproof, because he's a fanatic.
I may have behaved like the archetype of a flabby Western liberal,
but I'd rather be MY kind of fool than his.
One day, that lack of moderation will be Karla's downfall.
He's never touched radio since the debacle in San Francisco.
Cut it right out of his handwriting. His agents aren't allowed near it.
That's something else you and Karla have in common.
Yes, I am prejudiced against radio men. Tiresome breed. Overstrung, unreliable.
- What's the other thing? - The cigarette lighter.
- I assume he still has it. - As far as I know.
- Sorry, George. - Not at all.
- How do you feel, Peter? - I'm alright.
After Delhi, you know, Control gave me three months' leave without any option.
When this is over, I hope you'll take it easy for a while.
We're not quite there, but nearly.
Peter, have you got the handbrake on?
Operation Witchcraft. Alleline to Minister.
"Extremely secret and personal."
"We spoke. Merlin, as you may have known for some time, is not one source but several."
"It'll do the Treasury no harm to learn..." Percy was enjoying himself!
"...to learn that Merlin's 10,000 Swiss francs a month in salary"
"and a similar figure for expenses are scarcely excessive"
"when the cloth has to be cut so many ways."
"Nevertheless, I regard it as paramount"
"that knowledge of the London house and its purpose"
"remain absolutely at a minimum."
In a sense, Alleline's quite right about Merlin. Of course Merlin represents several sources.
Various departments of Moscow Center,
with Karla cuing them in on the basis of the most timely material of the moment.
Sometimes he likes to direct Circus attention to a topical subject, sometimes to deflect it.
For example, after Ricki Tarr's encounter with Irina in Lisbon,
Merlin delivered some vivid insights on the "ideological penetration"
"of the United States."
But Karla doesn't know what Tarr's done with Irina's information.
Which brings us to your interrogation by Alleline
and his reference to Tarr's probable role over here in "muddying pools" et cetera.
Merlin's message on Tarr, I suggest,
was that Ricki would be trying to sell to someone in London, on Karla's behalf,
fictitious material about a traitor in the Circus.
Nothing muddier than that, is there? Remember, Merlin is totally believed.
We have a connection between Merlin and the mole.
And at the heart of this beautifully symmetrical plot
Plus another 10 for making it more to Merlin's liking. Or Gerald's.
Fascinating, George.
Thank you.
How do I explain to my Minister, least painfully,
that Merlin's a fraud and he'll have to tell the Americans so?
He's devoted to Merlin.
Impress upon him that whatever he's buying from the Americans with Merlin's discredited currency
is going to Moscow via Gerald the mole.
That should do the trick.
This document is not one you've asked me to bring.
It arrived only today. Source unknown.
"According to a recently released prisoner from Lubianka,"
"Moscow Center held a secret execution in March."
"The victims, three of its functionaries, were shot in the back of the neck."
- One was a woman. - Ricki Tarr mustn't know.
It's vital he gets no wind of this. God knows what he'd do if he found out Irina was dead.
- We may need to use him. - Do you believe Tarr's in love with her?
A Highlands homestead, the avenging lover? The honorable Ricki Tarr?
He may feel compelled, Peter. Everybody has a loyalty somewhere.
- He mustn't know. - I agree.
- I've brought all I could find on Jim Prideaux. - Thank you.
Prideaux and Bill Haydon were really ...very close, you know.
- I hadn't realised. - Yes.
Thank you. Operation Testify.
We need to understand what happened or, rather, why it happened.
The file you borrowed gives us a nudge in the right direction.
I think I know who to talk to next. Your day was hardly wasted.
I am glad of that.
We traced Prideaux. He's now a teacher. Thursgood Preparatory School for Boys.
It's in the West Country.
Right.
Lord, now lettest thou thy servant
Depart in peace
According to
Thy word
For mine eyes have seen
Thy salvation
Which thou hast prepared before the face
Of all people
To be a light
To lighten
The gentiles
And to be the glory
Of thy people
Israel
Glory be to the Father
And to the Son
And to the Holy Ghost
As it was in the beginning
Is now and ever shall be
World without end
Amen