The only way we'll know when and at what targets a nuclear button will be pressed
is by electronic espionage-
That’s what makes it so appalling that Dodgson,
a self-confessed and convicted Soviet agent,
was able to hold a position of trust here for ten years.
It must not happen again.
Each of you, not only section heads, but each and every one of you,
has simply got to report oddities of behaviour among your colleagues,
strange events or anything else that strikes you as out of the ordinary.
It’s not only your jobs that are at risk, it’s the survival of the free world.
Did you spy for the Russians for ten years?
Yes.
Did you watch kiddy-porn videos with Stephen Kedge?
Yes.
Does the photograph that I’ve just shown you contain Allen Goodburn?
Yes.
Did you sometimes see him socially with his wife Cynthia?
Get this thing off me!
Mr Dodgson,
you’ve already told me this machine is no better than a fortune-teller at a fair.
I mean, if it’s junk, what’s your problem?
Are you anti-Black or just anti-American?
A lot of people detest your country and all it stands for.
In England, that’s not yet a crime.
I think we have a problem.
Utah was painful to us, Dodgson. We don’t forgive you for making us look foolish
and for putting another wedge between us and our good friends.
You’re here to answer yes or no to our friend’s questions. Yes or no.
And get on with it.
I'm gonna have to start all over again.
Sit real still.
Keep your eyes on the board.
Your friend Kedge fell under a train.
Looks as though they’ve taken the bait.
As soon as we’re sure they’ve bitten on Goodburn, I'll let you know.
Take the pills that evening.
Check.
And mate.
Tickets, please.
- Thanks. Cheltenham next stop, sir. - Thank you.
Any more tickets now, please?
The train on platform two is the 12:10 from London Paddington -
This is Cheltenham Spa, Cheltenham Spa -
The train will be leaving in five minutes, 12:15,
for Gloucester, Stroud, Kemble, and London Paddington -
- Dad? - Bob. You shouldn’t have bothered to come.
- Well, you’ve braved British Rail to get here. - I’ve got a present for you.
The bloke in the Russian book shop said it was a fair translation.
It’s beautiful. Thanks.
- How’s business? - Struggling.
Yeah?
Over here. By the way, there’s someone coming I particularly want you to meet.
A girl, eh? It’s about time.
- Two of them, actually. - Two?
PV.
PV?
- It’s to do with security. Positive vetting. - Yeah, PV.
- PV? It sounds rude. - It’s all in your mind.
No, no, she’s quite right. It is rude.
And I speak as one who’s being PV'd at the moment.
- It’s routine. - Known as the quinquennial review.
Yeah, we are PV'd by IOs, Tiffany.
An IO is not, as you may think, an intelligence officer,
still less an intelligent officer, he is an investigating officer.
If something dodgy happens, like someone with the same name turns up at a peace rally,
then our case is referred to an HEOPVA,
who is, in his glory, a Higher Executive Officer Positive Vetting...
- You’re drunk! ...Assessor. How dare you say I'm drunk?
Should you be talking like this? I mean, the Official Secrets Act and all that.
No, no. You’re quite right, Dad.
We shouldn’t. It is, after all, a method devised to let people like Dodgson get away with it.
- That’s not fair. Dodgson was clever. - This isn’t the Soviet Union.
A timely reminder.
- Right. - Oh, look. Isn’t Tiger beautiful?
- Tiger? - Beautiful?
You know that cat? He’s abnormal.
He gets himself right down there and he can’t get back up again.
Then he howls, and who do you think has to get up at four in the morning to let him in?
Me.
Come on. Come here, you little monster.
Yes. Look at you.
I sometimes think if I could assemble a cat-like ladder
then he could make his own way back.
It’s nearly 30 feet.
I’m going to phone for a taxi to take me to the station.
- We ought to wash up lunch. - OK.
- You, too, Mark. - Bossy cow.
- Bob? - Mm?
I told Allen.
- How did he take it? - Terrible.
Bob, hold me.
Make it in about an hour, could you?
Fine. Thank you.
... second thoughts? - No, of course not.
I just wish we didn’t have to hurt anyone else.
Bob.
- Do you fancy a walk? - Um, yeah, sure.
And then again, no.
No, I... I want to have a word with you, so let’s go.
Oh...
I’m so clumsy. It’s bloody ridiculous.
You intend to chuck the job. That’s it, isn’t it?
- Yeah. - Why?
- Well, it’s a bit complicated. - Yes, I thought it would be.
Don’t be so aggressive, Dad. It’s not very helpful.
In an odd way, this Dodgson business focused how I feel.
I wondered if you knew him when I read about the trial.
There are 7,000 of us working at GCHQ.
It’s an industry. Ordinary.
Accepted. I didn’t even know Dodgson by sight.
The net result is the business of informing on one another has now become respectable.
All of us are encouraged to report anything that strikes us odd about colleagues.
Can you imagine what it’s like to be at the mercy of a secret report
from someone you’re living with or working with?
Is that what’s happening, Bob? Someone informed on you?
- You’re being asked to resign? - No way.
I’m not being judged. It’s the other way round.
The security people had egg all over their faces-
Ten years he got away with it-
And then there are the lies- They start the very first day-
Nobody's what they seem- Nothing is what it's made out to be-
And you never realise till later, years later in my case,
that from the very first day, the truth recedes.
- Don’t forget, what they do is necessary. - That’s a fatal argument, Dad.
It’s common sense. You need a posting or a holiday.
Take one, but don’t throw away six years of seniority.
- God, there’s more to life... - Listen to me.
When I came out after 12 years, it was no joke making a living
and it’s taken me over 20 years since then to find my way, and it’s still very dodgy.
Cleverer men than me go bankrupt every day. Times are bad and getting worse.
Let’s face it, you’re not a computer man or an engineer or a doctor.
You’re a linguist. Who needs them?
- Are we going to have an argument? - I shouldn’t be surprised.
- Tea? - All right.
- Go ahead. Knock on the door. - OK.
- Ta-da! Surprise. - Oh!
- Ta-da! Happy birthday! - That’s really kind.
We couldn’t do the honours with the cake without you.
Right. Look at that.
- Shall I blow them out? - Mm-hm.
One, two, three.
- Don’t forget to wish. - No, I won’t.
- Is everything all right? - Yes.
Your room, Bob, is even more of a tip than mine.
- Would you like us to tidy it? - No. Not at any price.
I'd never find anything, would I? Hm?
- It may look a bit chaotic, but... - It surely does.
- Basically, it’s very clean. - And it is his room.
I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...
Well, I’m going to watch television with Mark and Rose.
All right. Will that be OK?
Yeah. Here, look, um...
- Bribe them. - Yes. See you later.
- Bye. - Bye.
Sit down, Dad.
- Is it all right? - Very nice.
Here we are. A cup of tea.
Thank you.
Listen, it seems to me that underneath ordinary life...
God, it’s so hard to put this clearly.
Underneath the commonplace -
buses in the street, newspapers, cricket scores, paying the bloody mortgage -
underneath all of that, there is another, an entirely secret world.
Now, the people who run it, thousands of them,
appear to live in the light, but they don’t.
And I don’t.
You see, every day, or nearly every day, I go to this place to translate surprising,
sometimes terrifying, and occasionally appalling things.
Look, you know how much I love the Russian language.
And their literature.
Yes, I do.
Pushkin, for example, killed in a duel provoked by his unfaithful wife.
Tolstoy, stinking rich and all that guilt.
Dostoevsky missing the firing squad,
gambling like a maniac.
Chekhov, Stanislavsky. You know?
You see, I have a... a world inside my head,
a perspective of Russian life to set against interminable telephone conversations from...
party officials.
You listen to telephone conversations with Russian party officials?
Yeah. Out of the Kremlin, even.
I don't care whether professional sceptics, the hard-boiled boys who run the world,
talk casually of the Bolshoi Ballet being a cultural weapon, which it is,
and feel nothing as they say it-
I feel something. It hurts me personally.
If the Bolshoi comes, if I watch and listen to Romeo and Juliet,
I mean, the joy of it is poisoned by the certainty
that the KGB man is sitting in the bloody prompt corner.
Their secret world has put out the light of the ordinary world.
All the more reason to stick at what you’re doing.
No.
I believe, with all my heart,
that our secret world is on exactly the same tack as theirs.
Enough. Self-righteous little prick.
Our best advice is that he’s not a serious risk.
But naturally, we'll keep him covered.
Bother, he’s not back yet.
You go in, darling, and I’ll put the car away.
God! God, Allen! No!
It’s Dodgson, sir. The duty officer didn’t like the look of him.
He says there’s hardly any pulse.
Call Hammersmith Hospital.
- Ambulance? - No, car. Quick, we could lose the bugger.
- Fool!
- It’s all right. Shh. It'll be all right.
Shh. Listen to me. L"II deal with the police. You go and look after Tiffany.
It’ll be all right. Go on.
Now, either I’m mad,
or somebody killed Allen and faked it to look like suicide.
- Why on earth should they do that? - Well, he knew Dodgson, right?
Just suppose Allen was mixed up in what he was doing.
Hm? The last thing security want is another scandal.
You don’t seriously think they’d go to those lengths?
I don’t know. I don’t even know who to ask.
I thought you might have a bright idea.
Not off the top of my head. I mean...
- Let me think about it. - Fancy a beer?
Thanks. There’s a panic on to calculate the track of this new Russian spacemongery.
- Well, some other time, then. - Sure.
Good morning, good morning.
You have slept like a hero.
The woman will make you the bacon and eggs now.
Is it morning, Alex? It is Alex, isn’t it?
Correct. Ah, you remember my name.
Yes, it is morning. To tell you the truth, it is afternoon.
There’s something... familiar about this place.
It was here that you met your controller when he came over in "83.
- That’s right. - Do you remember?
We smuggled you in in the bottom of the school bus.
Russian territory in England. That appeals to me.
It is amusing, yes?
But you must, on no account, touch the curtains.
Outside, the British are like crazy men
trying to find you before the press learn of your escape.
When they do, there will be the most enormous outcry.
We do not believe that the British security services know you came here before,
but we must assume they will have all our properties under surveillance with cameras.
You must stay low.
This chap tried to recruit me. I couldn’t tell you before.
He used to be a tearaway - ripping up telephone directories,
taking the tops off bottles with his teeth.
I can’t imagine what made him think I could get into all that. Anyway, he'll see you.
I’ve got his address in the car.
- Morning. Is my guest here? - Ah, Mr Greig. Ah, yes, Mr Jones.
Yes, he’s just through here.
Frank!
Charlie Greig, as I live and breathe. I couldn’t believe it when you called.
- What’s your poison? - No, no. This is my treat. Pinkers?
- What else, Commander? - Same for me and make them large ones.
Let’s sit down over there.
- This is a turn-up for the book. - It’s been a few years.
Mm-hm.
The only pilot who enjoyed the rocket takeoff when the catapult failed.
We said we did, but you meant it, you mad sod.
Well, we were younger in those days.
I remember you blowing your commission, taking a swing at that chief petty officer
cos you thought he was a bully.
Well, he was, too. CPO Pratt. Pratt by name and prat by nature.
I know, I know. All the same, I couldn’t have spent my life savings on that kind of gesture.
Well, I wasn’t into promotion like you were.
HMS Hawke - white band round your cap.
Thank you. No dipping your biscuits in your tea.
It was the only way a pilot could crash the class barrier.
Yeah, well, as you said, in those days we were younger.
Thank you.
Just when we thought we got civvy street squared away, Kathy developed this lump.
It wasn’t much to speak of. Turned out to be cancer.
- Dear old boy. - At least she went quickly.
There didn’t seem to be much point in going on,
especially as my son wasn’t interested in the business.
That’s right. Of course, you had a boy.
Yeah, Bob. Apple of his mother’s eye.
Mine, too, but you wouldn’t want to share a cabin with him.
- What? Untidy? - Shambolic.
What’s he doing now?
He’s a Russian-language specialist at GCHQ.
Bright boy, then.
A bit too bright for his own good. More brains than sense, you know what I mean?
No, that’s not quite fair, but I went down there the other day for his birthday
and, number one, he’s got himself mixed up with a married woman with a kid.
On top of that, he’s talking about leaving the job.
He’s got it in his head that what the Russians do in that line of country
is not a lot different from what we do.
- Student talk. - He’s 28.
Well, it’s just the time for pulling the old man’s beard.
I was surprised. I mean, he shouted the odds from time to time, we all did,
but he went for the quiet life at the end of the day.
He’d run a mile rather than risk trouble.
- Not like you, then? - No. Takes after his mother, thank God.
Well, that’s nice.
What about you? Don’t tell me none of those Wrens managed to drag you to the altar?
You know what they say - safety in numbers.
The last time I heard of you, you’d joined the cloak-and-dagger brigade.
Still at it, are you?
Retired. In so far as they ever let you retire.
They’ve set me up with a nice little sideline - vetting firms to make sure they’re kosher,
which, not to beat about the bush, is why I’m here.
A little bird told me you’ve been supplying some fair-sized outlets lately.
Satisfied customers, one and all.
Now, there’s a government department - no names, no pack drill -
on the brink of elbowing their quill pens in favour of word processors.
It’s not a contemptible contract, so, um...
always provided your beamish boy isn’t seriously intent on upsetting the apple cart...
Thank you.
...it’s yours.
I’m sorry.
What?
This just feels all wrong.
Well, you wouldn’t let me come to your place.
Would you, Bob?
If I’m not under surveillance, I bloody well should be.
- It’s not funny. - I’m not laughing at you.
No?
It’s just the thought of some SAS type trying to recruit Mark.
Yes, it’s a pretty bizarre idea, isn’t it?
- Rose, well... - Yes, Rose.
I can just see her laying someone out with her handbag.
Do you really have to go and see that man Mark put you on to?
Yes, I do.
It’s not just going to go away, you know.
- Hello, Mahroof. - Hello, sir.
- Hello. - Is it wise to smoke on top of that brandy?
- You think I’ve been on the town, right? - Dead right.
In fact, thanks to my service connections and a willingness to risk liver and lungs,
we are in the running for a government contract.
That’s fantastic, Frank.
Yes, and if we get it right this time, there’s plenty more.
- Any messages? - The bank.
Oh, on the strength of this, I can face even them.
And Bob called. Could you phone him? Something about meeting him in Gloucester.
Gloucester?
Sorry to drag you all this way, Dad, but I think I’m close to something
that makes my original misgivings about GCHQ seem like pleasant dreams.
To understand, you’ve got to remember what the American secret world has done for years.
I don't just mean in the way of secret ways and secret codes,
but in perjury, bribery, blackmail,
drug trafficking all over the world,
and, yeah, plain old-fashioned murder.
I mean, Watergate proved the extent these people can work against their own people.
- That was the end of it. - No. That just pushed it further underground.
We could never have a Watergate in this country.
Our secret world is beyond the norm, which brings me back to what I was saying-
GCHQ Cheltenham is hugely funded by, and totally integrated with,
the Americans.
Now, you don’t believe we don’t do anything they do, hm?
All right.
I don’t know what you know and I don’t read what you read,
but I do know that no one in his right mind risks a secure job these days.
You do have the right to give it up, so for God’s sake leave it at that.
Resign and walk away.
It would be conniving of me to... to do nothing, knowing what I know now.
- Don’t you see? - No, I don’t. I bloody well don’t.
I’m sorry, I didn’t want to get you going. I just wanted you to know, that’s all.
- Well... - Yes?
- Mind how you go. - And you.
Dad, you know all my movie heroes were American?
Do you remember when we used to be glued to the telly when I was a kid?
We used to watch them go to the moon and walk on it. Christ, wasn’t that marvelous?
Yeah, well, the world’s changed, that’s all.
I still believe the man in the white hat always wins in the end, and I intend to prove it.
You do, do you?
Yes, sirree.
Bye.
So...
now we see. Please stand up.
It’s wonderful. I can hardly recognise myself.
This calls for a toast.
And see, I brought the comrade colonel something else.
Now, isn’t that something?
Alex.
- Thank you. - No, no, please. It’s for you to keep.
- To Russia. - To Russia.
I wish the comrade colonel a pleasant journey.
- Thank you for all your help. - L"II see our friend safely off the premises.
Don’t drink all the vodka before I get back.
Trust me.
Let’s look before we leap.
All clear.
- You see, you can’t fault our security. - Safe journey.
- 0331 - - May I speak to Sir Adrian Chapple, please?
Speaking-
Château Direct here. Sorry for being so long in getting back to you.
It appears your order was detained in bond, but I’m assured it'll be released very shortly.
Thank you for letting me know.
This way, please, sir.
One of my better productions.
- They made a wonderful job of the furniture. - They did indeed, Flecker. Well, well.
Incidentally, what’s happening to Dodgson’s prison contact?
The one who passed him the pills and so on?
He’s having ten years off his sentence
and then we’re sending him to Northern Ireland.
You do take away with one hand what you give with the other.
Coming from you?
I don’t think you should find that displeasing.
Good God. Chapple?
We'll never hear the end of it if the Americans find that out. Well done. Excellent.
He was a very good subject. It helped he’d been to the flat to see his controller before.
- Is it all on video? - Of course.
- How good of you to come. - How good of you to ask me down.
First thing first, you like this, I believe?
- Quite right. - Water? Ice?
- Just as it comes. - Spoken like a Scotsman.
- There we are. - Your good health.
My dear fellow. Well, rather different from the last time you were down here.
Very.
It’s as well the Irish are besotted by racing.
Bomb here and the country would grind to a halt.
- A sobering thought. - Come and mingle.
Sorry.
I agree with your solution, by the way.
It avoids the courts on the one hand and on the other...
Quite. It used to be thought, and I was inclined to agree,
that such mistakes were forgivable
because, unlike the enemy, we err on the side of decency and trust.
When we pry, we do so blunderingly
and even our most hardened snoopers are given to thoughts of fair play.
However, that’s in the past.
With regard to Chapple, there have been talks with the attorney general and he has agreed.
But since Blunt, those sort of people, senior people, have been very, very cagey.
They don’t want old age ruined by a journalist writing a book
or some prime minister making a statement so they’re publicly blown,
lose their cane, all that.
- Of course. - I mean, one can understand it.
When it comes to Chapple, we are not dealing with a grocer.
Immunity should mean immunity, wouldn’t you say?
- Oh, absolutely. - Let’s go down and see the parade.
My view is that we let him get on with it until we find out how much damage he has done
and have him dead to rights, which we do not at the moment, legally.
Then we turf out his Soviet contacts and give him the choice.
Now, as for the other fellow, he’s in the grocer class.
I propose we leave him to Flecker.
Flecker has a very creative bent.
It really is useful having the two of them in our sights at the same time.
I think we have a knack for this sort of thing.
In the matter of Jones...
Yes, I understand your man failed to read him right.
It would seem so. Although had the good friends been less precipitative or more deaf...
Speculation.
The matter is, if that young man blows the whistle on it,
this entire operation will have been much worse than pointless.
I hear you.
I’m looking to you to preserve the special relationship.
Or what’s left of it.
Sir Adrian Chapple will be presenting the owner and trainer
of Sea Captain with a trophy,
and a special trophy will be presented to the winning jockey in the winners' enclosure-
- Mr Jones? - Yes?
Can I have a word with you a moment, sir?
- Yes. Who are you? - I’m a police officer.
I’ve got a bit of bad news.
- What? - It’s about your son, sir.
It seems he fell off a roof.
It’s very bad news, I’m afraid, sir.
- Are you all right? - Yes, thank you.
Is he your son?
You formally identify him as Robert Arthur Jones?
- Yes. - Thank you.
This has all your son’s gear in it.
- It’s very light. - It’s all he had on him. It’s been examined.
He was dressed. The bed wasn’t slept in.
Did you see him often?
Sir?
- His bed wasn’t slept in, you say? - Correct.
- How do you know? - Well, from the scene-of-crime officer.
Who let him in? The first thing I was told by your Inspector Brown...
- Bourne. - Inspector Bourne.
...on the phone this morning
was that Bob was alone in house over the weekend. The other two were away.
My colleagues borrowed a ladder, went onto the roof and into the house that way.
I suppose these are cheaper than a cardboard box or something decent?
It’s all there, sir. If you’d just sign for it.
Where do I sign?
- Mr Jones? - Yes?
Bill Pickett.
I had an appointment to talk to your son. I’m very sorry to hear what happened.
- Who are you? - A journalist.
I don’t want to talk. Which paper?
A weekly. The Senator. Bob may have mentioned me.
No.
- Who did you say you are? - Bill Pickett.
- The Senator?. - That’s right.
Prove it.
Well, what did he want to talk to you about?
- Bob? - Yeah, Bob.
- I don’t really know. - Don’t fuck about with me! He’s dead!
- You’re a lefty, aren't you? - What else?
You want to stir up the Dodgson business. That’s it, isn’t it?
Now Bob’s dead, you want to use him.
I don’t need to use him to do that, I assure you.
- How did he get in touch with you? - He telephoned me.
I checked up on him and called him back.
What?
You don’t take it on trust when someone you’ve never heard of phones
and says they work at GCHQ and they want to talk.
I mean, there are laws, and things have been very jumpy since brother Dodgson.
- When was this? - Last week.
So why the delay? I mean, in you two getting together?
Bob said what he wanted to discuss involved someone else.
The other person didn’t want to talk to me. He hoped to persuade him.
- That’s the lot. - No, it isn’t. Why the appointment today?
He said he’d be in touch with the other person this weekend.
- In touch? - Yeah.
I brought this to discuss with him.
Look...
I’ll give you my telephone number. You might want to call me.
Not on your life.
- Who told you he was dead? - That one.
- Hello. - Hello, Bob?
- No, this is his father. - Oh, yes, Mr Jones- We've met-
This is Cynthia Goodburn- Is Bob there?
- Uh, no. - OK, I'll call back- When do you think... - ?
Uh... He’s dead.
What?
- It was an accident. - Oh, my God!
Oh, my God! Poor Bob! Oh, God-
- Mrs Goodburn. - Oh, my God! Not Bob!
- Cynthia. - Oh, God-
- Mr Jones? I saw you arrive.
I thought you might like some tea.
- I’d like to thank you, Rose. - Why?
- For clearing the place up. - I didn’t. What makes you think...?
Someone did.
- Mr Jones. Mr Jones. - Perhaps Mark?
- You were in the navy. - Yes.
- So you'll understand about orders. - Oh, yes.
I’m a section leader, and I have to say this now and then we’ll all know where we stand.
Oh.
You must be very shocked. Believe me, it hasn’t been easy at my end, either.
- In what way? - I can’t discuss that.
So...
what I have to say is this.
We have orders, Mark and I,
not to discuss Bob’s...
What happened.
- Orders? - Yes.
Particularly with relation to the press, but with everyone, really.
So if we can just observe that, Mr Jones.
Even relatives?
You can’t talk to a father about his dead son?
You can’t say anything, even though it might be comforting?
Do you know what I find difficult, Rose?
Is why it is against the national interest
for the press to print that you and Mark liked him,
and that, although he tended to have two left feet and fall over the cat,
he was a decent person with a good heart.
That’s not absolutely fair.
You’re perfectly aware of the way the press twist things and make them up.
- We have our jobs and our futures, too. - Yes. Yes, I know.
I can see you’re really going to miss him.
How dare you say that?
I’m sleeping here tonight. This is Bob’s room.
You can put a notice on his food cupboard and a label on his towel in the bathroom.
Dozy bugger. You nearly had me over.
Is that what happened? You got under his feet?
No. You were down there.
- Apparently, he fell off the roof in the dark. - I don’t understand.
What was he doing out there?
Rescuing the cat. At least that’s what everybody seems to want me to believe.
Either that or he committed suicide.
Bob, too?
You must feel pretty bruised, one way and another.
I thought you didn’t like me.
I just thought you were bad news for Bob. I mean, married with a kid and everything.
None of that seems to matter much now.
We’ve both lost him.
Not that I’m not prejudiced, you understand.
It’s just that my prejudices don’t always seem to stand up to actuality.
- That’s what Bob said. - He did?
Actually, what he said was
that you weren’t really the old stick in the mud you made yourself out to be.
That sounds like Bob.
Is there something wrong with your telephone?
No, I don’t think so.
"They have put out the lights in the ordinary world."
What?
It was something Bob said.
- Mr Jones? - Yes, very good of you to see me.
What’s the trouble that the coroner couldn’t deal with?
Just to clear my mind, I'd be very grateful if you would tell me...
I’d be grateful if you could tell me whether your officer took away anything as evidence?
Is something missing? Is that it?
- Yes, I think so. - You think so.
I think my son’s diaries for this year and last year,
some letters written to him and some books are missing.
Presumably, because you knew they were in the room on Sunday last? You’re definite?
No, Inspector. Was anything taken away?
Nothing was removed from the premises to my knowledge.
I find it a bit difficult to sink in.
Your men went through the house?
Yes.
None of the beds had been slept in and there was no evidence of anyone having broken in?
- Correct. - Which leaves the security people.
- What security people? - GCHQ, of course.
You must’ve been in contact with them.
- What we do is our business, Mr Jones. - L"II remember that for the interview.
- What interview? - The BBC phoned me.
Right.
We informed your son’s place of work.
A sergeant interviewed some of his colleagues.
We received full cooperation and there was nothing unusual to report.
I hope that puts your mind at rest.
- How did he die? - Well, that’s for the coroner to decide, sir.
How do you think he died based on reports you received?
It was almost certainly an accident.
But it could have been a suicide.
There’s no evidence either way. No witnesses.
There’s me. Bob was the last person in the world to commit suicide.
- Oh, people do it every day. - Your men took away nothing?
So there was no note and no letter?
If my son had committed suicide, he would have said why.
- And there was the state of his room. - What do you mean?
Tidy, really squared away.
Someone else did that. Not Bob - never.
With respect, sir, you’ve been watching too much television.
I’m sorry I’m late.
What do you think of this wine, eh?
- Thanks for coming. - How was it?
Infuriating. The inspector was too condescending by half.
And there was another bloke there - plain clothes. Never opened his mouth.
I’ve asked Bill Pickett to join us.
You could see I was trying to get in there.
Oh, tough titty.
All I know is that since Dodgson,
there have been three sudden deaths at GCHQ Cheltenham in as many months.
The last thing I want to find out is that our security services had a hand in them.
Why should they?
Do you know what was the most surprising thing about the CIA revelations?
Their paranoia.
People who spy and tell lies are like mental patients.
It’s a form of flight from reality. They’re not answerable and they know it.
There’s no reason for them not to overreact.
And it won’t do.
They’re completely incapable of distinguishing between dissent and treason.
As far as they’re concerned, anyone who rocks the boat is a threat. To what?
Their idea of good order.
All right. The point is, what are we going to do?
Bob didn’t tell you the name of the man Mark put him onto?
He said, uh, what I didn’t know wouldn’t hurt me or Tiffany.
Yeah, but he went down to see this Mr X at East Grinstead
the weekend before he called me.
And came back absolutely certain
that our side wouldn’t have thought twice about murdering Allen if it had suited them.
Presumably that’s what he hoped to persuade this character to confirm to me,
at which point... Bob falls off a roof.
When he was conveniently alone in the house.
Well, I’d better get on and find this Mr X.
There can’t be that many dirty-tricks men living in retirement in East Grinstead.
Although on second thoughts... I’ll be in touch.
- Pickett, I want the truth. - Don’t we all?
I am not interested in making political capital out of the death of my son.
If this story holds up, you might not be able to avoid it.
In fact, with a bit of luck, it might bring down the government.
See you.
I’m not out to change the system.
No, but we need someone with that kind of commitment.
If we’re right, what happened to Bob and Allen and us
doesn't affect 98% of the population,
but it could hit any one of them like a car crash.
The least we can do is tell them the odds.
Let’s just stay with the facts.
The people who live there, the police, the security services, all agree
that there was no suspicion of anything except an accident or suicide.
- Not suicide. - OK.
You say that’s out of character. You should know.
In which case, pace the coroner,
the verdict has got to be a tragic accident.
But one -just one -
not very distinguished politically motivated journalist is in there
trying to whoop it up into another GCHQ scandal.
And what do you do? You cry murder.
There was his room.
For God’s sake, couldn’t your son have decided to clean up his own room
just once in 28 years?
You may be right.
There’s no "maybe" about it.
Look, I’m going to be based in your friendly neighbourhood Sheraton Hotel for a bit,
so if you feel like drowning your sorrows, give me a bell.
Right.
Take it easy.
If you tell the majority of people that a bloke was about to breach our security service,
but he fell off a roof and was killed, they’d say, ‘serves him right. What do you expect?"
And so would I, because up until now I was part of that majority.
I would have said you don’t sign on for that and then break your word.
- And now? - I don’t know.
I don’t have any powerful friends. I can’t go to my lawyer or my MP. The verdict’s already in.
The only way of telling ordinary people is to go over the heads of that lot.
And that, God help me, puts me in bed with a bastard like Bill Pickett.
- Hello? - It's Bill Pickett- Is Frank there?
- Yes. - We've found our man-
Frank, it’s Bill for you.
He’s found Mr X.
He wouldn't give me the name over the phone,
but we were to meet him at the junction of the A4 and the A217-
Shit!
No!
You might as well take your time, lads.
Move along, please, sir.
For as much as it has pleased Almighty God of his great mercy
to take unto himself the soul of our dear brother, Robert Jones...
We therefore commit his body to the ground.
Earth to earth,
ashes to ashes,
dust to dust.
In sure and certain hope of resurrection to eternal life through Our Lord, Jesus Christ,
who shall change our vile body that it may be like unto his glorious body,
according to the mighty working
whereby he is able to subdue all things to himself.
I never understood about revolutionaries.
I do now.
But I don’t have the stomach for it.
I don’t know what else I can do, Bob.
And that’s the truth.
- I was relieved about the verdict, Mr Jones. - Oh?
I, um...
Sorry to be conspiratorial. There’s nothing to be conspiratorial about, but since Dodgson...
Look, we were all told to do it after him. They said it helped keep people on the rails.
And in my position... When they PV’d me, I kept something back, so when Bob...
I told them he’d been asking questions about Goodburn’s suicide.
Well, you can’t blame yourself for telling the truth.
No. No, of course not. I just...
Look, there’s been a terrible atmosphere at work and every kind of rumour.
I can’t imagine how bad it must be for you.
I just wanted to get it off my chest that I’m very sorry.
Don’t worry about it. I know you were Bob’s friend and wouldn’t let him down.
I wouldn’t let them bring in a verdict of suicide, anyway.
- I can’t tell you what a relief it is. - You see, I think he was murdered.
Oh, Christ.
No, that’s impossible. I didn’t mean to...
- Look, I’d better go. - Yes, go and tell them what I think.
No, I’d never do that, but I don’t believe Bob was murdered.
Oh, yes, you do. You believed it when I said it.
You felt it like I did.
Why do you feel like that, Mark?
Bob was...
like Dostoevsky’s idiot -
no help to anybody.
All the same, I loved him. I’m not gay, but I loved him because he had this quality.
I don’t know why I betrayed him. The quality he had was to show you what you are.
I don’t know. If it was, I’m a sort of natural Judas.
I did it in a dream, almost.
I never meant to, right up to the moment I knocked on the HEO’s door.
The same as now - I never meant to betray them to you.
You sent him to see someone, we know that. Who was it?
- I can’t say it. I can’t say it to you. - You fucking fruitcake!
Who did you send him to? Eh?
Greig.
Greig?
They told you to send him to Charlie Greig?
They said he was a friend of the family.
Come in, come in.
Get an eyeful, huh?
Thank God for the old expense account. Where would we be without it?
- Where indeed. - Take your coat off.
Sit down. What'll it be?
Vodka with anything, really. Tonic.
Right.
Well, it’s not the real thing,
so, um...
we don’t have to be too frugal, do we?
- Are you all right? - I’m fine.
Remember that time the old man went bananas?
He came onto the main deck, he said to the marine corporal...
I was there. He said to the marine corporal, "Get that horse out of my cabin."
Marvellous. He was a two-bottle-a-day man, he was.
- Well, cheers. - Cheers.
Nobody remembers any of that, do they? Korea.
By God. If we’d had the same publicity they gave the Falklands, eh?
All those smartarses saying it wouldn’t work,
then when it did, saying it shouldn’t have happened.
I mean, there we were in Korea flying piston-engined aircraft against MiGs.
How many pilots did we lose in those two years, eh?
And that was just us.
- We did it, though. - Yes, we did, didn’t we?
You were the best Carmen Miranda I ever saw.
And you were the best pilot I ever met.
No.
"Fixed wing", as they say now, but definitely a natural.
So, cheers, old boy.
Cheers.
It’s bite-on-a-bullet time.
I’m finally beginning to get myself sorted out about old Bob.
I’ve been a bit of a bore about it, I know, but...
I really miss the silly bugger.
Of course you do.
Oh.
Time to pump ship.
The old bladder’s beginning to shrink.
You want to watch that - that’s the first sign.
Hold hard!
I can’t get over you doing the old James Bond.
I should be so lucky. No birds,
nothing stirred and not much shaken.
Ooh, God. It’s... it’s my turn now.
Oh! Oh!
Oh, God! Oh!
Oh!
Oh! Oh-ho!
Oh, the relief!
Did you... did you hear the one about the blind man out for a walk?
The guide dog cocks its leg all over him
and the blind man stops and fishes out a dog biscuit.
He’s just about to offer it to the faithless hound
when this Barbara Woodhouse character dashes across...
"Look here," she says, "you can’t reward the animal for doing that!"
"Reward it?" the man says. "Reward it?!"
"I may be blind but I’m not daft."
"I’m just trying to find out which end his head is
so as I can kick his arse in!"
- Christ, it’s warm in there. - Here we are. Double-O Charlie.
- Double-O Charlie. - Bottoms up.
- Up spirits. - Stand...
stand fast the Holy Ghost.
Jesus.
- You want some tonic? - Tonic, yes.
Here we are. Here we are. Here’s some tonic.
- Ice. - You want ice with that?
- Yeah. - Here we are.
There’s some ice, Charlie. Cheers. Cheers.
- Oh, lovely. - Oh!
- I keep thinking about that weekend. - Eh?
Bob alone in the house.
He was my son.
My son.
Old pal. Old pal.
That’s why I didn’t want to get involved. I told them. I said, "I don’t want any part of it."
But...
once you’re in, you’re in for life.
They’ve got you by the short and curlies. You know how it is.
Yeah, I know.
And you... you weren’t any help.
Making out Bob was a timid sort of bloke.
- So you tried to scare him off, eh? - I knew I bloody could.
"Oh, all right", I said. "Leave it to me", I said.
But because of what happened to Cynthia’s husband,
Bob was so shocked, he became even more suspicious.
You can imagine where that left me.
"You got us into this, Commander, you get us out of it."
Bastards.
"Oh, yes, sir. No, sir. Three bags full."
I still don’t see why you had to kill him.
Kill your son? Me? Come on, Frank. I know you.
I flew with you.
Besides, we don’t do that sort of thing to our people. Don’t look at me like that.
Don’t you realise what happened? Can’t you... put it together?
There was no sign of a struggle, there was no break-in that Sunday.
- Bob was expecting you. - Nice, but...
Now, if you didn’t kill him,
I don’t know many ways to fix an accident, but I’ve read about three,
and one of them is where you jab a certain point
and the bloke blacks out without leaving any mark. Eh?
Was that your job?
When I’d done it, I went out, left the door unlocked.
But I swear to God, Frank, he was only unconscious!
I didn’t know those bastards...
Fr... Frank.
Forgive me.
I forgive you.
My job was...
to make sure the other lot could get in without any aggro.
I thought they were just going to, you know, lean on him a little bit. I mean, I didn’t know...
Which other lot?
- You what, old dear? - Which others, Charlie?
Oh, well,
whoever the Yanks sent in to do their dirty work for them.
Yanks?
Uh...
The whole setup was...
was so that the Yanks wouldn’t rumble who the real villains were.
- Do you know who they are? - Oh. Some cipher clerk at GCHQ and...
Who else, Charlie?
No. I’ve talked enough already.
That’s cos I’m feeling rotten about Bob.
Anyway, knowing won’t do you any good. They'll just lock you up,
or worse, and me if I tell you.
You’re still going to.
Oh!
Chapple!
For God’s sake, Frank!
Sir Adrian bleeding Chapple.
Now do you see? Bob got too close.
That’s why they threw him to the wolves.
There’s not a blind thing that you and me... We can’t do anything about it. No.
Because they’re establishment, they’re the closed ranks!
So, for God’s sake, Frank...
Oh, Jesus!
I used to be able to drink, you know.
There’s no reason for Mrs Goodburn or the child to come to any harm,
providing you’re sensible.
You must understand that our special relationship with the Americans
is at a low ebb.
Our record in the matter of security has been quite appalling.
40 years of damage inflicted on the alliance by vassals.
Blake, Blunt, Prime, Bettaney,
old uncle Kim Philby and the rest.
We are at the beck and call of the Americans. Our national survival depends upon it.
The so-called "independent British deterrent" is a meaningless indulgence to the past.
The days when nuclear stalemate meant no nuclear war are long gone.
Now, nuclear war is expected and planned for.
All that remains in question are its timing and extent.
Such warning as we get will be from electronic espionage
by GCHQ Cheltenham and its linked stations at home and abroad.
The consequences were the Americans to deny us access to their giant spy machine
are simply too awful to contemplate.
I could justify a great deal in terms of the coming wrath.
It is not, happily, my task to justify the sequence of events
which resulted in your son’s tragic death.
I am merely authorised by Her Majesty’s government to set the matter in its context.
The Americans believed
that Dodgson had two named associates involved with him at GCHQ Cheltenham,
and they suspected there was a third man.
Do you see now why we had to go along with that?
You’re telling me that this whole thing was to prevent the Americans,
our allies, from finding out that the real traitors
were higher placed than Kedge or Goodburn?
One of them, certainly.
It was the only chance we had to uncover him.
- Well, have you? - Yes.
What did you do with him?
Left him until we assess the damage he’s done
and how most effectively to use him to embarrass the Russians.
When you’ll do a deal with him so he can draw a pension and have tea with the queen.
And you expect me to shut up about the fact that my son, among other innocents,
were expendable in this charade?
You don’t have any alternative, Jones.
What will you do? Arrange another accident?
That won’t be necessary.
Any attempt on your part to publish or broadcast, expose, sue, litigate
on the basis of what you know or may surmise will simply never see the light of day.
I have killed people before.
And when my best friend was shot down over Korea,
I also did it with pleasure.
And if I were to kill you, the publicity surrounding my trial...
Cases involving national security are held in camera.
If you’re thinking of other ways of drawing public attention to yourself, don’t bother.
We would merely arrange for you to be taken into psychiatric care.
A breakdown following your son’s tragic accident.
As for Mrs Goodburn, well, you wouldn’t be here
if you didn’t realise that the child makes her much more vulnerable than you are.
I had a phone call.
Anonymous. They were polite but, uh...
I’ve already lost two people that I loved.
I couldn’t bear it if anything were to happen to Tiffany.
Or you, come to that.
I never, ever thought I’d be beaten, not in my ordinary life.
I always knew I’d have to fight, but I always reckoned I’d win.
That’s the worst part of it. I let you down.
You and Bob.
What do you want, Frank?
L"II tell you what I want.
I want to believe in England again.
Ah. Collecting for the British Legion, I imagine?
You’re fortunate. It’s my man’s day off. He lacks charity. Do come in.
Can I offer you a drink? I expect you’d like a beer.
I may not be able to accommodate you there, but gin or whisky?
No, thank you.
Oh, you don’t drink while on duty. Very laudable, I’m sure.
Here.
I don’t get it.
- Who are you? - My son was killed because of you.
You’re clearly deranged.
He got too close to finding out that our security people
were letting the Americans eliminate stooges
so that they could get a line on the real villain - you.
So why haven’t I been arrested?
They wanted you to stay in place until they found out enough
to make you an offer you couldn’t refuse.
If you’re right, there’s nothing you can do.
Not a lot. They made that clear.
Just tell me... I mean, my son was killed because of you.
I don’t understand how someone like you with everything going for you
could become a traitor.
I can’t be expected to explain my thoughts to someone of your intellectual calibre.
Oh, I thought the whole point was that you were on the side of the workers.
Very well.
I had an average, upper-class education. Genuinely of the right. Churchill was my hero.
I went up to Oxford and joined the civil service as a high-flyer
content with Britain’s part in the world.
- So, what happened? - Nothing.
By which I mean there was no blinding flash of revelation.
Just gradually I became aware how insignificant we were.
The world had to choose between the two superpowers.
I chose Russia.
It wasn’t a moral judgment initially, more an aesthetic one.
It took the Suez affair to bring home the total futility of the British position.
We tried and failed humiliatingly to halt the march of progress,
and we had no alternative to offer.
Paradoxically, it was the way in which the Americans, our allies,
sabotaged that desperate venture that confirmed my commitment to the other camp.
Nothing that’s happened since has caused me to change it.
Our own political posturing is neither moral not relevant.
As for America, the standard-bearer of the West, she’s not simply in decline,
she’s dying from a combination of greed, paranoia and social injustice.
And her death throes drive her to ever more dangerous feats of brinkmanship,
both in Europe, Central America and in space.
If you really believe all that, why don’t you go and live in bloody Russia?
I knew I was wasting my time.
L"II tell you why. Because your sort always manages to have its cake and eat it.
I mean, look at this place.
- It makes me sick. - Well, what is it you want?
I want your written confession of what you’ve been giving to the Russians and for how long.
It won’t do you any good.
I know it won’t bring my son back,
but it’ll stop you living off the fat of a country you’ve been betraying for so long
from your secure, pensionable position near the top of the heap.
- You can’t force me... - Just do it.
As you wish.
I imagine you’ll want to vet it.
This will do.
- And now perhaps you’ll return it.
One hates to be melodramatic, but, um...
Argh!
"Any attempt on your part to publish, broadcast, expose, sue or litigate
will simply never see the light of day-"
And to God’s gracious mercy and protection we commit you.
The Lord bless you and keep you,
the Lord make his face to shine upon you and be gracious unto you.
The Lord lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace,
both now and evermore.
Amen.
Quick march!
It would be conniving to do nothing, knowing what I know now, don't you see?
Their secret world has put out the light of the ordinary world-
I still believe that the man in the white hat always wins in the end,
and I intend to prove it-