I'm back, Miss D. Any callers while I was out?
Only the gasman to read the meter.
The usual or someone new?
New, of course. Always are.
Pour yourself a vodka, dear.
And that's the first you ever heard of Poppy, in this novel he's writing?
Mmm.
"Poppy. My destiny.
"Dearest Poppy."
- Say it again. - It's on your tape.
Say it!
"Poppy, best of best friends, get your bloody dogs off my doorstep."
You didn't ask him about it? You didn't say, "Magnus, who the hell is this Poppy?"
It's a novel, for God's sake.
What else do you remember?
Bits. Only bits.
What bits?!
Sit up, Mary.
What bits, dear?
Mary...
Come on.
Piss off, Jack!
Mary...
Why do I let you do this to me?
It's my job.
He'd have been all right
if he'd never met people like you.
There was a chapter headed "Overdue bills".
Written fast, in anger. No crossings-out.
And this one word again and again, like an obsession.
Over and over. The same thing. On and on.
"Betrayal."
"A lifetime's betrayal.
"Betrayal as hope. Betrayal as compensation.
"Betrayal as the making of a better land.
"Betrayal as love. Betrayal as worship.
"Betrayal as the statement of ideals.
"Betrayal as escape.
"Betrayal, betrayal,
"betrayal, betrayal!"
Wait!
- I said wait!
This book he won't ever let you touch.
This ancient copy of "Simplicissimus".
You called it his mascot.
Where is it now?
With Magnus.
- Sorry, sir. Crash message from the embassy.
They phoned it through in word code. I've just unbuttoned it. The Station burnbox is missing.
- Since when? - Not known, sir. At least, not for certain.
What's a burnbox?
I'm talking!
- What's a burnbox? - All right, Fergus. Be right with you.
Of course. It's since your time.
A burnbox is what it says.
It burns whatever's inside it as soon as you turn the key the right way.
What's in it?
Not much. Agents in place.
All our Czechs. A few Poles. Hungarians.
Just about everything we have that's run from Vienna...
or used to be.
You knew about him.
You bloody knew for years and years.
Didn't you?
Never mind, E Weber love you always. Poppy.
You cheeky sod.
Oh, Poppy.
Axel... Axel...
Listen, Mary, I'm going to tell you the truth, and I think it's time you heard some.
The new committee that he derided so much
was a very a high-powered outfit, maybe the best potential working relationship at field level
we've had with the Americans for years.
Are you listening?
Now, then, the Americans objected to your husband's presence on that committee
and asked me to replace him.
I said no, and I ordered Magnus to take himself off on leave and stay clear of Vienna
till I told him to come back.
I had him cleared.
Committee-cleared, American-cleared,
London-cleared.
That's what I did for Magnus.
You defended your best boy.
You were loyal.
I was a bloody fool as well.
Will they put this house back together again?
As soon as they're ready. Fergus and Georgie will stay with you for the duration -
take you shopping, embassy wives' club -
whatever you do, just keep doing it.
Keep it straight, Mary.
Jack...
What else is in the burnbox?
Nothing.
There's something wrong here, Jack.
If you're right about him,
why should he steal what he's already handed over anyway?
There IS something else, isn't there?
The Station gun.
Pym! Pym, help me!
Pym, you bastard! Where are you?
Pym, help me!
I held it against you, Jack, I confess.
I argued with you in my head for years.
Why had you done it to him?
What possible danger was Axel to anyone?
He wasn't a communist. He wasn't a war criminal.
He was nothing to do with you.
His only crimes were his poverty, his illegal presence in Switzerland...
..and his lameness...
..plus a certain freedom in his way of thinking,
which, in the eyes of some, is what we are there to protect.
I know now, of course, that you hardly gave it a thought.
Axel was just a bit of barter material.
You lit your pipe and you thought,
"Hello, I bet the old Swissies will like a smell of this one.
"I'll pop it down to them and earn myself a Brownie point."
Served me right for having a friend outside the Service.
He could have a knighthood by now for all we know, Toby.
He could be Prime Minister.
We'd only ever hear it from the television.
Bo Brammel's putting together what he terms "the alternative view".
Oh, yes?
He's called in some top shrink -
somebody who specialises in harmless nervous breakdowns.
They've thrown Pym's dossier at him.
He has to assemble a profile of a loyal Englishman under severe stress
who is arousing anxiety in other people, particularly Americans.
Will they find him?
Maybe.
Maybe's not enough. I'm asking you, Jack. Will you find him?
You're drinking well.
Something you want to tell me?
- Hold me, Jack. - Like hell I will!
Please, Jack. You've got to get me out of it.
Tell me.
What did you do for him?
- Steal a few secrets, did you?
Something juicy?
Come on, Kate! He fooled me, too.
What did you do for him?
I'm dead but I'm not going to throw you to the wolves.
There was an entry in his personal file. He wanted it taken out.
And you did it for him - raided his file?
What was it?
Trivial, really.
Seemed to be.
He was still a boy. He'd been running some low-grade Joe in Czechoslovakia. Small stuff.
There was this girl called Sabina...
..who'd got in on the act and then defected.
He said if anybody picked through his file and came on this,
he'd never make it to the Fifth Floor.
- I didn't listen too clearly. Oh, Christ, Jack! - Come on.
It's not the end of the world.
What did you do with this stuff?
Kept it.
I didn't give it to him. He knew I wouldn't do that.
Where is it now?
It's in your bathroom, actually.
I tried to tell you before, but I couldn't.
It was when they brought Magnus back from Washington.
You weren't listening to anything. It was the night you shot your dog.
"Exceptional young officer who is popular and courteous.
"A close personal relationship established with an important source of top-secret intelligence.
"Source's insistence on operating through Pym only.
"Insistence on operating through Pym only."
Of course.
I'll bet
One last thing, Jack.
Important, this.
It's about Tom.
Hold his hand for me.
He's the best thing I had.
I can help you find him.
I will send a message to the house.
Mr Canterbury! Where are you going?
It's for you. A huge thing.
- I was somewhere else for a moment, Miss D. - They've been waiting.
If you'd wanted a cabinet, why didn't you say?
You could have had the cupboard from number two. Much better than a huge thing like that.
It'll spoil your room.
Don't nag, Miss D. Just look at those brochures. "Discover Tunisia. Seniors a speciality."
I'm not discovering anywhere. Really!
8.20 local time,
Prague Station has its chief cut-out dial the Watchman household from a callbox, Bo.
Number engaged.
He makes five calls in two hours round town.
Still engaged.
He tries Conger.
Number out of order.
Everybody vanished. Out of touch.
700 local time, Gdansk Station puts two boys to mend the telegraph pole
in the street where Merryman lives.
It's a cul-de-sac. Got no other way out.
Every day...
..he goes to work by car - leaves his house 7.20.
Not today.
And no car outside his house.
Front door stays closed. Nobody leaves or enters.
Downstairs is curtain, no lights.
You want me go on?
Please go on, Frankel.
We tried radio direct. It looked good.
Conger's operator came to us like he should, ready to send.
restationing of Soviet missile bases north of Pilsen.
The message was very short, but OK, so what?
We decode it straight away. Message reads,
"Subsource Talleyrand confirms..."
Message ends in mid-sentence.
Then we send them,
"Your signal garbled. Rerun immediate."
Nothing came back.
Stone-dead, Bo.
Oh, dear.
Bo...
You want a roll-call of all members of the network?
Don't, Jack.
Stop crying!
No one's hurt.
It doesn't matter what you tell 'em.
Tell 'em to jump in the Vistula. It won't make a dime of difference.
Poor Jack.
They're his Joes, you see. It's the strain.
They're not my Joes...
and they never were.
Frankel, for Christ's sake.
When this service catches someone else's Joe, if it ever does these days, what does it do?
You're not wowing the kiddies at the training school now, Jack.
If he's willing, we play him back.
If he's not, he goes to the Tower, right?
Jack!
If we play him back, we do it as naturally and as fast as we can. Why?
Because we want to show the opposition that nothing has changed.
We want it seamless. We don't hide his car,
close his house, magic him away into thin air.
We don't sandbag radio operators in full flow.
That is the last, the very last thing we do, right?
I don't read you, Jack. I don't think anybody else does, to be truthful.
- Unless... - I think you're naturally upset
and you're getting a bit metaphysical.
Unless you want the opposition to know you're rolling up their network.
Explain to us, please.
We never had a bloody network.
Those aren't the Crown jewels that Pym is carrying around in the burnbox.
He took it just to keep us guessing.
They owned those Joes from day one.
They paid the actors, wrote the script.
They owned Pym.
They near enough owned me.
They owned all of you, too.
You just haven't woken up to it.
But, Jack...
Why would they bother to tell us anything at all?
Why fake the signal?
Why pretend they've picked up the Joes?
Because they want us to think they've got Pym,
and they haven't.
It's the only lie they've got left to sell us.
They want us to call off the hunt and go home to our smoked salmon sandwiches.
They want to find him for themselves.
That's the good news for the day.
Pym is still on the run...
and they want him as much as we do.
Don't stop there, Jack.
Now tell us HOW we find him.
Get the police in.
It's the only way.
Pure bobby work.
Please yourselves.
I nearly forgot...
remember that American signals man Artelli?
Reckoned he could crack the code that Pym and his Czecho chum were using.
Thought it might be a bit of Shakespeare or something equally out of date.
If, Bo, you're still talking to the Americans,
suggest Artelli tries "Simplicissimus".
Why did Pym do it, Tom?
In the beginning was the deed. Not the motive, least of all the word.
It was his own choice.
It was his own life.
No one forced him. Anywhere along the line or right at the start of it,
he could have yelled "No!" and surprised himself.
He never did.
It took him 35 years before he threw in the sponge,
and by then, the lines were drawn for good.
All the lines.
The point is, Pym quite frequently loved the Firm almost as much as he loved Axel.
He adored its rough, uncomprehending trust in him,
its misuse of him,
its tweedy bear hugs, flawed romanticism
and cock-eyed integrity.
The Firm was home and school and court to him...
..even when he was betraying it.
He really felt he had a lot to give it,
just as he had a lot to give Axel.
In his imagination, he saw himself with cellars full of nylons and black market chocolate.
Enough to see everybody right in every shortage.
And now, of course,
Pym himself was the hero of the fable.
I have information that could lead us both to Magnus.
I just had to come and see how you do it, Mary.
It's such a clever hobby.
It was, therefore, unanimously agreed
that the Foreign Office Inspectors' report on the local cost of living was distorted and unfair,
and that a Finance sub-committee would be formed,
headed, I'm pleased to say, by Mrs McCormick.
The sub-committee will itemise all our points for submission through the proper channels
to the Head of the Inspectorate himself.
Now, I'm sure everybody would like me to say - you said you didn't mind if I mentioned it -
how sorry we are about the death of your father-in-law.
We know that Magnus has been hit very hard,
and we hope that he will get over it soon
and be back amongst us with his usual high spirits which we all find so refreshing.
Thank you.
Honestly, I don't want to lie down.
I'd rather just take a walk.
Could you get my scarf, please?
I'd rather be alone.
Stupid.
I have information that could lead us both to Magnus.
Please do the following.
Any afternoon between two and six, you will take coffee at the Café Mozart.
Mr König will collect you.
Frau Pym?
From Herr König.
Thank you.
- You are a courageous woman. - Where is he?
And that's how it was, Tom.
Betrayal is a repetitious trade,
and I will not bother you with any more of it.
We've reached the end,
though it seems from here to look quite like the beginning.
There was no saving Pym.
The truth is, Tom, that he preferred to sit here in Miss Dubber's upper room
and wait for God to come...
.. while he looked towards the beach
where the best pals ever had kicked a football from one end of the world to the other...
and rode their bicycles across the sea.
His last message to me was that he didn't want to see me any more.
He said he was free, and goodbye.
I felt a genuine pang of jealousy.
His father dies and immediately Sir Magnus is free.
What is all that about, do you think?
I don't know.
I never met his father.
So, what is he? Is he a communist?
He can't be. It's too ridiculous.
He's a searcher.
Isn't that enough?
In our profession, I am sure we should not ask for more.
Can you imagine being married to an armchair ideologist?
I had an uncle once who was a Lutheran pastor.
He bored us all to death.
Mary...
Quite frankly, we cannot afford to lose him.
He doesn't want you any more, though. That's why he's hiding.
What happened to the people he betrayed?
Oh, Sir Magnus hates bloodshed. He always made that clear.
That never stopped anyone from shedding blood.
Why did you ask me here?
Mary, listen.
Do you not have the consoling feeling that there is someone looking after him?
I am sure there is.
He hates to be alone because then his world is empty. So who's looking after him?
I'll take a cab.
There's a stand on the corner. I saw it as I came in.
Why not his mother?
Not long ago, he talked to me about his mother for the first time.
He said he had unearthed her somewhere and put her in a house by the sea.
He was proud of this. He spoke about the wonderful walks they had together on the beach.
Do you know where this house is?
Maybe he's there fixing her garden for her. Something as innocent as that.
Her house was the first place they looked.
They frightened her out of her skin.
How do I get in touch with you if I need you? Throw a newspaper over the wall
I don't think you will need me,
and perhaps you are right that Sir Magnus doesn't want me any more either.
Just as long as he wants someone. That's all we must worry about if we love him.
He'll find an answer. He always does.
That's what I'm afraid of.
Magnus hasn't got a bloody mother.
He'd given this Poppy part of the same fantasy that he'd given me.
Happy families by the seaside
He'd say, "Let's go to Devon for a holiday, Mabs. When I was in Devon..."
It was Farleigh Abbott, always.
"When Rick used to pick me up from school..."
It was his ideal place.
Safe.
Innocent.
Before...
People like me came along.
Anyway, that's where he is. I'm certain of it.
What I made him do, he's made me pay for.
All my successes... Christ!
Nothing.
Nothing at all.
Do you hate him now?
No.
I don't know why, though.
As quickly as you can, please.
Thank you for your cooperation.
There's hot drinks and sandwiches in the church hall.
There's one favour I'd like from you, Mary, please.
They'll find an old green filing cabinet in my room here.
It's just a lot of old nonsense that got between my father and me for a time.
No interest to anybody else.
Get them to make a bonfire of it all.
And then...there's my letter to Tom.
Let him read it as soon as you think the time is right,
or as right as it will ever be.
Don't wait too long, Mary.
He'll have it rough, I know...
..but I think he may actually understand better while he's still very young.
As for us, Mary...
..not much I can say except...
sorry I married you for cover...
..but I'm glad we managed a bit of love along the way.
Thank you for that.
He's well liked in the community, sir, or so we're told.
He's always well liked.
Are you sure you wouldn't rather come into the church hall, madam? It's warmer.
She's best here.
Only it could be all night, you see, madam, if our friend decides to stick it out, kind of thing.
To be truthful, if we have to go in, she'll have to withdraw,
same as you, sir, along with the other non-combatants.
We'll play it as it comes.
You're fussing me too much!
What's the matter with you?
And all that writing.
We've hardly seen you, have we, Toby?
The writing's finished, Miss D.
All done. All ship-shape.
You're not yourself, Mr Canterbury. I'm worried about you.
I'm just a bit tired, that's all.
An early night for me, Miss D.
- Come on. - Well...
Goodnight, dear. God bless.
A message from the roof, sir.
Do you know the precise type and calibre of the weapon
our friend is alleged to have in his possession?
A standard Browning 9 millimetre automatic.
- Type of ammunition, sir? - Soft nose, I should think.
- Not a stopper or a dumdum? - Why the hell would he want a dumdum?
I don't know, sir. Information's like gold dust on this one, I must say.
- How many rounds has our friend got? - He's not a maniac!
He's not going to start a bloody great...
- Assume one magazine and one spare. - Hmm. And how's his marksmanship?
- He's been trained and topped up all his life. - He's good.
Shoots targets with Tom.
Thank you.
How do you know all about the gun?
Poppy told me.
Who else?
Oh, yes, of course.
Poppy.
Knew everything.
Poppy
Sir Magnus
Sod them!