In any story, ifit's a good story,
there is that which is seen and that which is hidden.
This is especially true in stories of war.
There is the war we see,
a contest of bombs and bullets,
courage, sacrifice and brute force,
as we count the winners, the losers and the dead.
Heave!
But alongside this war,
another war is waged.
A battleground in shades of grey,
played out in deception, seduction and bad faith.
The participants are strange.
They are seldom what they seem,
and fiction and reality blur.
This war is a wilderness of mirrors,
in which the truth is protected by a bodyguard of lies.
For the love of Christ.
We should have heard by now.
This is our war.
Dear God.
Pray.
"As looked up into the darkened sky,
"I made a vow.
“I would give the old country another day to fit me into something;
"and if nothing happened, I would take the next boat for the Cape."
"It was then, as I was fitting my key into the door,
"that I noticed a man at my elbow.
"I'd not seen him approach, and his sudden appearance made me start.
"May I come in for a minute?' the man said,
"steadying his voice with effort.”
And if it were us, Omega, would we let him in?
Depends on whether or not he knew the code, Agent Zed.
"No sooner was he through the door..."
He did let him in.
"...then the odd litle man poured himself a stiff whisky
"and drank it in three gulps.
"Pardon," he said. "I'm a bit rattled tonight.
"You see, I happen at this moment to be dead.”
I think it's best we keep reading.
Tomorrow's a day of high adventure, agent.
I think it's best you sleep.
They're here.
Good night.
This gorgeous delicacy is Afghan cheese,
made from the milk of a long-horned and lovesick sheep.
You must be a smuggler, Ivor.
Exotic cheese. The rest of us on rations.
I could manage your front office, you know.
At the Cheese Eaters' League.
Has my brother left you unemployed, Hester,
-now that he's retiring? -Is that the rumour?
I hope that's not the reason for this party.
Are you not retiring?
I've written a lovely speech saying you are.
Well, then, I suggest you write a lovely speech saying that I am not.
-This is simply a hiatus. -(DINNER BELL RINGING}
Naval supplies. He's off to whip them into shape.
A noble contribution fo this ghastly war.
Maritime hardware. I have a passion for it.
Ivor, Ewen. I'm afraid it's that time.
That it is, darling.
-I have prepared a dazzling toast. Mmm.
Though why we're not cheering you on your [ast night at home...
Oh, don't be silly.
King's Counsel deserves a proper send-off into retirement.
Hester, will you tell my husband his guests await him?
Absurd, isn't it? This "retirement" bit?
When both of us know my brother hasn't tried a case in three years.
And gossip has it he's been knee-deep in intelligence for some time.
Ivor.
A grown man, gossiping like a fishwife.
Has he been bumped over to MI5?
-Special mission? -Oh, my cue. I see.
Surely he's taking you with him, whatever it is?
You really do have an uncanny nose for cheese.
To my distinguished friends and colleagues,
in whose honour we have uncorked a vintage spam.
-A devious cabal
of immediate family has billed this as my retirement.
But you, my cherished guests, are clever enough to know
that I will be buried in my silks before I will ever hang them up for good.
So let us instead consider this a cheers to my now full-time post
-as superintendent of nautical rivets...
...and whatever nuts and bolts may be required
by dear England in her hour of need.
But the real tribute tonight goes to Iris, my brilliant wife,
who in the moming, sails to less troubled shores
with our nestlings in tow.
Iris is wiser than Solomon,
stronger than Samson and more patient than Job.
She has to be. She's married to me.
In the Moroccan city of Casablanca,
Prime Minister Churchill has held meetings with President Roosevelt
to agree plans for the next stage of the war.
As Hitler's Nazis tighten their grip on occupied Europe,
a mighty host of Allied troops...
Excuse me. Thank you.
...and prepare for a battle that will decide the fate of the free world.
In the words of President Franklin Roosevelt,
"The fascists asked for if, and they're going to get it."
We work together, if I'm not mistaken.
You're not mistaken.
Have you seen the main feature, Confessions of a Nazi Spy?
It's, erm, based on a real, erm, FBI agent, Leon G Turrou, T-U-R-R-O-U,
who tracked Nazi spy rings in the United States in 1938
and went on, amazingly, to arrest a number of Germans
for espionage.
Sorry I'm late.
['ll'let you watch.
...every man under his command.
It was very gracious, what you said tonight.
More gracious than it needed to be. -I meant every word.
And I didn't mean for it to hurt you this way. My leaving.
It seems I'm always the last to go.
Stronger than Samson.
We're off first thing in the morning and I haven't finished packing.
Well, up you go, then. Safe journey, my dear.
I will write to you.
We'll write to each other.
They have to go.
Of course they do.
If Hitler reaches London,
a Jewish family will be the first on their list.
I would never expose Iris and the children to that danger.
A separation made all the more painful
if it were to become permanent,
She told you?
I've pleaded my case many times...
for our family... for the marriage.
Iris says marriages change,
that romance and love belong to the young.
I don't believe that, or feel it.
And the thought they may never be coming back...
I know I can be remote...
and lost in my work.
Not as attentive as I might be.
You're an imperfect person. I doubt you're the first,
I want Iris to be happy,
even if it comes at the expense of my own happiness.
['ve never heard her say a word about unhappiness.
That's because she knows you'd jump on a grenade for me.
Only on your good days.
Iris said if I really cared, I'd come to America with them.
Oh, people say all sorts of things.
She knows your duty is to your family and your country.
The nightmare marching this way is only too real.
And Masterman has asked me to serve on the Twenty Committee.
So you must,
Starting tomorrow.
Goodbye, darlings.
All right, now. That's it. That's it.
Godspeed, darling.
Our family manor will be a freezing tomb without you.
Take care of your brother, Ivor, and yourself.
I's cold.
I'l see to a fresh pot immediately.
They will drag me back to the bowels any moment.
Fresh air. Such a luxury now.
Let's walk.
Everyone but a bloody fool will know it's Sicily.
That may be, Prime Minister, but itis the only path forward,
given that we must find a way into Europe
and the most strategic path is Sicily.
It leads to Rome. France wil follow.
A successful assault on Sicily means we would knock Italy out of the war,
shatter Nazi morale and spell the beginning of their inevitable doom.
Inevitable? Our losses mount daily.
You said yourself, sir, Sicily is the soft underbelly.
I know what I said.
I want to know how it will be achieved,
convincing Herr Hitler we're not going to do
what anyone with a bloody atlas can see we'll do.
Hitler will need to believe that our next target is Greece.
Which, yes, will require an elaborate deception.
A deception plan so complex,
I believe it can only be handled by the Twenty Committee.
Which is why I shall focus
the Committee's attention on the Trout Memo,
the document I compiled a few years ago,
to which my assistant, Lieutenant Commander lan Fleming,
made some contribution.
"Intelligence is like trout fishing.
"The trout fisher, in tying his lure, attempts to attract the fish..."
I detest fish.
Fish as metaphor, in this case.
Er, the Trout Memo is our definitive blueprint for spycraft.
Prime Minister, the memo in the hands of the Twenty Committee
may, I believe, hold the key to deceiving Hitler,
and while some of the ideas may appear fantastic...
I applaud the fantastic.
It has many advantages over the mundane.
But the more fantastic, the more foolproof the plan must be.
Our troops are near dead from heat in Africa.
I gave Roosevelt my word Sicily was next.
An invasion date of July is now set in stone,
and right now, thousands of our boys already lie in Europe's soil.
If we do not fool the Nazis
and the enemy is waiting for us on those beaches...
history herself will avert her eyes from the slaughter.
Mother?
Mother, please do not touch the dolomite while I'm at work.
A lobe in one of the cams is missing.
I don't have time to find it now, but haven't we learned
that an overhead camshaft is virtually useless
without its properly functioning mate?
You might worry about finding your own mate.
I hope to return with sugar cubes.
And Robbie?
Have you had success in bringing Robbie home?
I'm doing all that I can.
-Pulling strings, like you promised? -Every string within grasp.
A real-life war hero,
-And where is Chittagong? Bengal.
Good God. What's he doing here?
Montagu? I invited him.
That was a mistake.
The main deception that we'l feed the Nazis
will run as follows.
Our "12th Army", which does not exist,
with its 12 divisions, which also do not exist,
will invade Greece six months from now,
on the 10th of July.
We will develop numerous tactics to reinforce this deception.
Bogus troop movements. Fake radio traffic.
Our agents will recruit Greek interpreters,
buy up a sizable cache of drachma.
All'to take the focus off Sicily,
the real target and the site of the actual invasion that same day.
And the centrepiece of this deception?
As I just said, Commander,
the 12th Army is the centrepiece.
It's not enough, I'm afraid.
The tactics you just outlined would point to Greece,
but if we are to get Hitler to divert actual troops from Sicily,
given her strategic importance,
we would need to provide him with proof of our intention towards Greece.
-Fake proof, of course. -I agree with that.
And to that end, erm,
I've also been working on a deception plan,
which I've dubbed Operation Trojan Horse.
It's a ruse taken from the Trout Memo.
-Idea number 28. -Number 28.
A corpse carrying false papers drops on the coast from a parachute
that supposedly failed.
The Trout Memo is dead.
I believe the Prime Minister has an aversion to fish, Admiral.
He did not kill the entire memo.
A corpse carrying fake documents, hmm?
Of all the ideas in the Trout Memo, that one is by far the most precarious.
Except the Germans will be skittish on account of Spain,
where they recently failed to follow up real papers
on the body of an airman washed up in Cadiz.
So may I suggest the timing is perfect?
For Trojan Horse? Mmm.
A code name a child could decipher.
And the Germans will be expecting us to plant papers precisely because of Cadiz.
Or the Nazis, being linear thinkers,
will not want to make the same mistake twice.
It's simply a version of the Haversack Ruse.
-Of which of course I am well aware. Then you will also be aware
the ruse has a good track record, which is what I believe, my friend...
Er, Flight Lieutenant Cholmondeley,
-C-H-O-L-M-O-N-D-E-L-E-Y. -..was trying to say.
For those of you who don't know
Lieutenant Commander Montagu, he joins us from the Old Bailey,
which means he's had little time to spend in deception.
I've spent my days in court, sir.
Hence, he is blind to the obvious pitfalls
of tossing a letter-laden corpse into the sea.
I'm simply saying that for a deception to reach Hitler,
it must have a channel.
Spain is neutral, the ideal place to launch such a plan
because she is crawling with spies from both sides.
She has a vast coastline...
And since our agents in Madrid have an elaborate network,
we could quite literally float the documents
right into enemy hands.
Montagu and Cholmondeley are clearly convinced
they have a direct line to the Fihrer.
So let's wish them both luck implementing Operation Trojan Horse.
The rest of us will proceed with the operation I have outlined.
I have a vested interest in this plot,
which is why I told M, in no uncertain terms,
you'll need a secure space, command centre, a staff.
But do we think it can work?
I know I just made a case for it.
An eloquent case. It's the Haversack Ruse.
It's tried, tested. Deception needs a channel.
-Those were your words. -They were.
I'm only imagining a dead body hurtling through the air.
The plan is bold, there's no question.
But it's ours now, regardless. M's seen to that.
Although, what if the body does disintegrate on impact?
Let's not bring that up now, shall we?
And definitely not in front of M.
Why do you call Godfrey "M"? Because I called my mother "M".
The most terrifying, most impossible, most demanding creature I've ever known.
What if the plane with the body
is intercepted before he's dropped?
So, Mother has no faith in this?
That's because number 28 wasn't Godfrey's idea. It was mine.
A plot I cribbed from Basil Thomson's novel,
The Milliner's Hat.
-Have you read Thomson? I prefer Buchan.
What if the autopsy reveals that he didn't die of drowning?
Or if the briefcase is returned to us without the Germans seeing its contents?
Charles, why on Earth do you keep poking holes in our plan?
I'm pre-emptively poking.
To ensure all the details are properly thought through.
Because as Godfrey made clear, our feet will be held to the fire soon enough.
The plan will work if we make it work.
He's put you down here.
We'll certainly be removed from prying eyes.
Removed from life in all forms, even air.
Will you be joining us down here, Fleming?
I will likely stay upstairs.
But, "whomever is equally industrious will succeed equally well."
-The Milliner's Hat, no doubt. Oh.
Oh, well, the Twenty Committee
certainly has its advantages, I suppose, if you like spooks.
My friends think I'm working in naval supplies.
My mother believes I'm a clerk.
-And Robert Cholmondeley? My brother.
I did hear the news from Chittagong.
My deepest condolences.
Oh, yes, we've lost a real hero.
Leaving my mother with me, the penguin.
RAF pilot and officer with big feet and bad eyes.
Which means I'm, in effect, grounded.
Flightless bird.
Well, what say we start with the easy part
and find ourselves a corpse?
You can take your pick, to be honest.
That goes right down the corridor.
Right, you can go straight through there.
Two, three. Lift.
You did say drownings?
Room 13.
-Coroner Birtwistle for you. “Montagu.
This is the same Official Secrets Act
you signed for Bletchley,
but this covers your work with the Twenty Committee
and here in Room 13.
Male, of service age, drowned. Now, tell me why you want him.
Where are his legs?
And are there 20 in the Twenty Committee?
No. "Twenty" is a joke. Two X's.
Oh. The Roman numerals.
-As in "double-cross"?
You will use your Bletchley skills to fish for cues in decoded chatter
about Sicily, Greece, enemy troops in those areas.
Is that understood?
The team in 102 are planning fake training exercises.
106 are running double agents.
107 will be dropping leaflets on Cyprus.
I don't know yet what the leaflets will say.
And yet here we are in a huge city in the middle of a world war,
and we can't seem to find ourselves a single suitable corpse.
We need an insider.
We need Bentley Purchase.
And to what purpose would the body be put?
A warlike operation. Its really all we can say.
Although we can also say that the body must be male,
of service age, intact, and could pass for a drowning.
Intriguing. But I'l have to demur.
Public confidence in our office would be irreparably shaken
if something like that got out.
Like the Darby case?
You remember the Darby case, Bentley.
I brought you in to give the evidence a second look.
Your testimony won the case. The case cemented your reputation.
Which led to your position here, if 'm not mistaken.
In a nutshell.
The matter here is urgent.
Itis top secret, and itis approved at the highest level.
It cannot be high enough.
Churchill has approved it.
Fresh as a daisy.
Transferred from St Pancras Hospital yesterday.
What is your name, dear?
This is... was... Glyndwr Michael.
What is it you do for work, Glyndwr?
There is no occupation noted in the man's chart.
It appears he was originally from Aberbargoed.
But in London, he was a vagrant. No fixed address.
Cause of death was chemical toxicity from rat poison left on bread.
I want you to know God forgives you, Glyndwr,
for hating yourself so much you'd take your own life.
Appears the man ended his life while of unsound mind.
Luckily for us, the human body contains a host of chemicals naturally,
0 determining how he died, should he be immersed in water,
would require a highly skilled coroner.
Where would you be landing him?
Most likely a small coastal town.
Where the local coroner, if there's one at all,
won't have the foggiest idea why this chap kicked the bucket.
Do you have any relatives, Glyndwr?
Do you have a next of kin?
The body is unclaimed.
But, I must warn you, our friend will soon start to rot.
I can place him in our coldest box,
which will retard decomposition but not arrest it,
meaning if Glyndwr Michael is to be of any use to you at all,
he must be in service within three months.
In the real war,
there are constant reminders of the brutality at hand.
A quarter of a million lie dead in battle,
an unspeakable horror
with no end in sight.
I'l be at my club.
And I shall be up to no good.
As usual.
While in the other war, the war of shadows,
normal life appears to continue,
itself an act of canny deception.
In this war, real lives are also lost.
And even fictional fives can meet an untimely end.
I believe my guests have preceded me, Teddy.
They have, sir, and ordered their drinks.
Thank you.
And once in a great while,
the laws of nature reverse themselves entirely
and the dead are made alive again.
We were just discussing our chap.
Crucial thing is that he must be real.
As real as you or I.
He must have parents, for example.
Rank, regiment, bank accounts, love of theatre.
Nicotine habit. He attended Oundle.
Flew kites as a boy.
And on a blustery day, you'll still find him kiting in Dulwich Park.
The thing is the Germans will scrutinise every detail of our fallen man,
so the slightest inconsistency...
Ah, Teddy, thank you.
Martini. -Thank you.
-Gin and lemon for the lady. -Thank you.
Even the slightest inconsistency will signal the ruse.
So, to create a real fake man from a real dead man, we start by...
By giving him a real real name.
John would be solid.
James. George. Robert is good.
That's my brother's name.
Of course. Forgive me.
-But William could work. It could.
And William would be a Royal Marine.
An officer in the Royal Marines if he's carrying secret letters.
Exactly right.
An officer in the Royal Marines with a common British name,
so that when the Germans check the navy lists,
it will be harder to track down a...
Major William Martin.
With your identification number. How very clever,
So if the Germans do follow the name...
Ewen will be the first to know.
There itis. As if I were him.
Now all we need is his photograph.
In Royal Marine blues.
No, no, marines travel in battle dress, and our marine will be travelling.
And the uniform cannot appear new.
It must be broken down.
It must have exactly the right patina of wear.
As if I were him.
There must be a love story.
If Major Martin's life is to be believable.
Objection. Creation of a material fact.
Areal life need not be a romantic one.
He would carry a letter from his betrothed
professing her deep love for him.
That's very good.
That's precisely the level of detail we need.
-And he would carry her photograph. “Yes.
We clearly read different novels.
Well, why not ask some of our female colleagues
if they might be willing to submit snapshots?
And perhaps we can find a partner for our Major Martin,
That's not a risk?
Picking a girl working in the Admiralty?
She's an anonymous girl washed up on a distant shore.
She might even be thrilled
to find herself in the middle of a dangerous plot.
Lives at stake. Countries at war.
Her lover torn away by duty and fate.
You want me to help you?
And by extension, help your country.
Yes, you know all the girls in the office,
and, erm, I've seen the way you go about your work.
You're very clever and, er, meticulous and...
-You've been watching me. -No. No, not...
Certainly there's nothing untoward. I simply...
If you could point me to a girl who would give us her photograph.
But what would her photograph be used for?
Well, I'm afraid that's classified.
But, erm, by donating her image,
she'd be involved in and on the ground floor
of a significant operation.
Operation Trojan Horse?
It's been renamed. Something less obvious.
Operation Mincemeat.
Due to the dead body.
You surmised that rather quickly.
-I already knew the plot. -Ah.
Would something like this do?
Taken by my husband a long time ago.
Your husband? I didn't realise.
Erm... Well, it... It's lovely. It's perfect...
It could be my contribution fo the mission.
First of many, perhaps.
My photograph in exchange for a seat at the table.
Very well.
I'm all ears.
Well, we've managed to find a body.
Pretty as a picture.
And the process of transforming him
into Major William Martin is underway.
Bloody hell.
Let's just not attempt to make him smile again, please.
It does none of us any favours.
Because he looks dead, Bentley.
Whatever we do. Just deader and deader.
It's hard to come alive for one's close-up in this state.
If we bungle one tiny detail,
a droopy eyelid, an open mouth instead of a smile,
we might as well telegraph Berlin ourselves it's all a hoax.
Then may I suggest a live face?
That looks just like the dead face?
In a city of nine million,
surely someone resembles our friend?
Do we think he'd be dancing, Major Martin, if he were here?
Well, he is an officer.
Well, not all officers dance.
I doubt our Bill gives two figs for dancing.
No. Too full in the face. Without the moustache?
His brow is too heavy.
Why don't we try something easier, for God's sake,
like looking for tits on a bull.
Forgive me. That was uncalled for.
No. I saw the photographs. It's called for.
As for dancing, I suspect the major's not much for a foxtrot,
but could clear the floor with a tango.
Our progress to date,
Major Bill Martin is an industrious chap,
occasionally forgetful, habitually tardy,
but also clever.
-Amend that to brilliant. -And he's not good with money.
So we should include an overdraft letter in his briefcase.
And is he happy? Is he a happy man?
He wants to be.
He started out with such promise,
a sense of hope about the world, about his future.
But now it all seems dark, uncertain.
He is in the middle of a war.
Exactly right. He signed up for the Royal Marines.
But once commissioned was consigned to a desk,
which he despised.
Because the life he really wanted was one of daring and intrigue,
and so he escaped and he switched to the Commandos,
where he distinguished himself in technical matters...
Specifically the mechanics of landing craft.
Yes, and he predicted that the Dieppe Raid
-would be a catastrophe. And how right he was.
He sounds like a character from Sir John's latest novel.
-Masterman? He's writing a novel? A spy novel.
Apparently he thinks of me as his muse.
Well, then he may be in for a duel,
because you're Major Martin's muse now.
The girl I was at 20 is his muse.
Nevertheless it's your photograph that will be pressed to his heart
when he washes ashore.
Yes, wallet litter is what you are.
Not as in rubbish.
That's just spy parlance
for the bits and pieces that one finds in one's pockets.
-And do I have a name? Pam.
Not five weeks ago, the major looked across a crowded room...
Across a crowded room?
The major sat at a small table in a strange bar
and found himself with a woman
both known and unknown to him all at once.
Within days, something deep and unexpected had blossomed,
culminating in a diamond ring slid onto Pam's slim finger,
as Bill revealed himself to her as a changed man.
Jean?
Jean.
-There you are. -I've had him down as a guest.
Yes, under Lieutenant Commander Montagu's name.
Thank you.
-Please, sit. -Thanks.
Suppose it's very fashionable these days, marrying an American.
Who me? Oh, no, that'd be my lucky day.
Jean and I only just met.
But, uh, well, so far, she tolerates me well enough,
-50 I guess there's hope. -'m a widow.
So, this is my friend, Sergeant Roger Dearborn.
It's nice to meet you all.
Jean said you wanted to talk to me?
Or you didn't wanna talk to me?
No, we did. Because we were discussing something,
a top secret project.
A study.
Profiling American servicemen
and how they might integrate with British troops.
That's top secret?
You should see the havoc the Nazis wreaked
with the radio antenna.
Well, I'm not sure what that has to do...
What... What we're wondering is whether you would care
to participate in the project.
It wouldn't take much of your time. Just answer a few questions.
Allow us to take your photograph.
We could arrange for you to come round to the Admiralty.
Say, tomorrow.
Go on. It'll be fun.
Okay, then. -Very nice to meet you.
So I'l see you tomorrow. See you soon.
What do you think? Will he do?
I know he's not a perfect match, but...
A gift horse. He will do.
A toast.
To Pam, our secret weapon,
who's already managed to see what we could not.
No, I think it was after university that Bill took up the bass.
Actually, I think it was the trumpet.
Which was frowned upon by his mother Antonia,
a devout Catholic who at all times kept a candle lit for St Jude.
Every piece makes a whole. Our man is a mosaic.
Will you wake your family, getting home so late?
My wife is in America with the children.
Hester told me just this morning
she'd taken a job there with British Security Coordination.
Hester told you?
May I just say
I was very sorry to hear of your husband.
I've been alone for many years,
which is why it pleases me to see Bill and Pam so madly in love.
Pam is very lucky to have you cheering her on.
And Bill you.
Thank you for walking with me.
I can see you all the way home.
Actually, I think I'l stay. What, in there? Alone?
I couldn't possibly.
I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself.
Who would argue otherwise?
It's Bill and Pam's favourite song.
Whoo!
It was more like a lethal Lindy Hop.
You flattened every male of fighting age in the place.
I was testing it out.
Ah, secret weapon against the Nazis.
Pam's secret weapon.
Her way of forgetting her woes.
Major Martin will need the stamina of an ox.
She's a surprising woman, though, isn't she, Pam?
Ata crossroads in her life. Still young.
Probably hasn't quite found her stride.
Is she younger than Bill?
I hadn't pictured them that way.
Well, Bill's hardly old.
If you say so.
What I think Pam sees in Bill,
beyond the dashing figure he cuts when he walks into a room,
is something deeper.
And Bill suspects the same in her.
But at first, all he sees is a woman of fierce intelligence,
uncommon grace, a demon on the dance floor.
A woman ready to take wing.
I think she's already on her way.
A happy story.
Except that he's off to war.
Which is tomorrow's work. And I'l need your help.
I'l wait here till you're in.
I'l be fine. Thank you.
Good night.
Writing sample number five.
Standard blue/black, in leather wallet in pocket,
soaked overnight in seawater.
Seawater from...
It does matter, Hester.
Disposal shut down the road in all directions.
Child found an unexploded fire bomb in her garden.
Oh, dear God.
And the word from Bletchley?
Nazi command still expects us to launch
a naval assault on Europe.
But they suspect a massive deception operation is underway.
They still believe Sicily will be the target.
So, two months of work
and we've managed fo deceive the enemy of precisely nothing.
The one bright spot is I found a hydrographer.
I'm meeting him now.
Well, I hope it's not Hespers from Naval Operations.
The man is an incorrigible skirt-chaser.
My skirt can defend itself.
But I could use your expertise, Commander.
Very well.
-Room 13. -That is his rank.
-Lieutenant Commander. Of course.
They were just less formal when I saw them a few weeks ago.
-Dancing at Rainbow Corner.
Lieutenant. Admiral Godfrey.
Admiral.
So where are we with Mincemeat?
We're on a solid footing, sir.
Yes, Major Martin is as real asyouorl.
He has hobbies, debts, a girl. They're to marry.
-We have a ring. -Huh. Touching.
We believe Major Martin should be delivered by submarine,
rather than air dropping and risk dismemberment.
And we are convinced that Spain
is still the best place to float him ashore,
given the fascist network there
and Spain's neutrality.
And we believe the plan is ready to present, sir.
To the prime minister.
I agree.
You...
Well, er, that's excellent news.
I'l present it to Churchill this afternoon.
Il need a brief.
Well, we've prepared one for you, sir. You'll be more than ready.
And your partnership with Montagu. Please.
How has that fared?
Nothing short of first rate, sir.
Montagu and I think with one mind. We, erm...
We've developed a shorthand, become good friends.
Hmm. So you've met his brother, then, Ivor?
No, no. Montagu rarely speaks of him.
Were you aware he's a communist sympathiser?
Montagu's brother? Well, it's absurd.
Our intelligence suggests otherwise.
Why would our intelligence be watching Ivor Montagu?
Whatever Ivor may or may not be,
his brother would be unaware of it
It's always sound policy to keep one's ear to the ground.
Don't you think?
Thank you.
I shall look forward to good news from the prime minister, sir.
I only mention it because Charles asked me out to dinner tonight.
Did you invite him to join us?
I didn't say I was going with you. I sensed he'd be upset somehow.
But that's silly. The man's not a child.
Oh. I almost forgot.
What do you think?
It's beautiful.
Charles and I ducked out at lunch yesterday.
He preferred the round cut, but I prevailed with the marquise.
Let's see it on.
The only place this belongs is in the safe.
-Admiralty property. -Yes, of course.
You think Pam will like it?
I think she might.
This should be in the safe.
Yes. I was about to put it back.
Wanted to show it to Jean.
-You gave it to Jean? -I showed it fo her.
I wanted to see what she thought of it.
If you're so concerned, stow it away yourself.
In matters of protocol, it seems had practice, sloppy even,
for us to be going off as separate pairs.
Like you and Godfrey?
He called you in alone just now, didn't he?
Why was that?
Godfrey is only happy when he's stirring up suspicion and discord,
-as you well know. Room 13.
Bentley Purchase for you.
Yes, Bentley, what is it?
I've had an unexpected visitor.
Miss Michael heard of her brother's passing
from staff at the hospital.
Akindly nurse who cared for him then took it upon herself to find his kin.
God bless her.
Please accept our deepest...
We only had each other. You know?
He needed looking after, Glynnie.
But I let him go to London.
And then...
Stamps. Tickets.
An unwrapped mint.
-It's called wallet litter, sir. -Yes, I know what it is.
But it's the letters in the case that are key to this deception, are they not?
They are.
Military correspondence
indicating that we will invade Greece
while hinting that our cover plan is Sicily.
Yes. The brief contains details of the correspondence.
What happens when the ink washes off as the letter bobs in the sea?
They need to use waterproof ink.
Only someone planning to drown writes in waterproof ink.
Yes, that's true, but, er...
A detail your men clearly understand,
as they state here that further testing of undetectable waterproof inks
remains to be done.
Yes, good boy. Come here.
Given how little you appreciated this plan, Admiral,
Rufus and I wonder why you're endorsing it at all.
I am not endorsing it, Prime Minister.
My advice is that Mincemeat is killed before it sees the light of day.
Our other deception plans are strategies
designed to confuse the enemy, throw him off balance.
Mincemeat, on the other hand, is an outright lie,
a lie that if detected would expose every single other deception as false.
The Germans would know unequivocally we were landing in Sicily.
I think that's too big a risk.
Nonetheless, I would like to keep Mincemeat running a little longer.
It may yield intelligence on Ivor Montagu,
whom we suspect is a Russian spy.
You would put the fate of one Russian spy
over tens of thousands in Sicily?
With respect, Prime Minister,
I'm trying to look at the bigger picture.
Russia may be our ally at the moment,
but she was until recently in a pact with Germany.
I believe she will soon be our enemy again.
If Ivor Montagu is spying for Moscow, he can be turned.
Or, if necessary, eliminated.
This is the problem when one is dealing with spooks.
You do see it?
The corkscrew thinking required to manage spies
sometimes twists one too many turns
until one finds oneself charging forward
while at the same time looking out of one's own arse.
I assume you're referring to me.
Russia is tomorrow's war.
The Nazis are expecting a deception.
Which means that our effort must be unbelievable enough
to make it believable.
The plan is risky. Its also highly implausible.
Meaning that all the reasons it shouldn't work
are the same reasons the Germans might believe it's true.
So when can it be ready?
Er.
- Immediately? -Correct.
Gather your resources.
Put Mincemeat in the works as of now.
Of course, sir.
Do you think we can get him buried soon?
Not that anyone's waiting for me at home,
but a simple service might be nice.
The truth is, Glyndwr is employed now.
Employed?
In the service of his country.
He's not dead?
He is engaged in a top secret mission.
As what?
You do know that Glynnie was never right in the head?
Well, that may be your experience of Glyndwr,
but, erm, people are often one way with family,
a different way entirely out in the world.
One minute Jekyll, the next Hyde.
“Where is he? -We have Churchill's approval.
As you just heard, Miss Michael,
the prime minister has approved the plan to make your brother a hero.
We do understand that this is the most enormous sacrifice.
But his service...
he can save literally thousands, tens of thousands of lives.
What did you do to him?
Did you carve him up for experiments? Or rations?
Maybe you should tell the police about what you did to my brother.
Miss Michael, in acknowledgement of his service,
and empowered by His Majesty's government
and by Glyndwr himself,
itis my honour to offer you this generous remuneration.
-You're bribing me. -Your brother is going to war.
He's trying to do the right thing for his country.
His country is trying to do the right thing by you.
Please.
May Glynnie's poor, suffering soul rest in peace.
No thanks to you.
May God forgive us all.
I miss Spain already.
There's a reason we stay as far from headquarters as possible.
Yes, we envy you. Daily.
I must congratulate you, if I may, Captain Ainsworth,
on The Night Starling.
I grabbed a copy at Hatchards yesterday.
I've not been able to put it down.
You're very kind.
My God. Who isn't writing a novel?
Admiral. Our naval attaché in Madrid,
Captain Ainsworth, is here today.
And this is assistant naval attaché, also from Madrid,
Lieutenant Commander Gomez-Beare.
Captain. Commander.
Good to know we can still reel you gentlemen in
from our far-flung outposts.
Montagu and Cholmondeley will run the briefing today.
The operation is theirs,
and, being theirs, is now theirs to fuck up.
Quite a vote of confidence.
Our story begins in the Spanish fishing port of Huelva,
on the Gulf of Cadiz, where Major William Martin,
a British officer bearing classified letters,
will wash up on shore after his plane has been tragically lost.
The officer is not an officer. The papers are false.
The plane crash will not have occurred.
Instead, we will release our man from a submarine,
in order to exploit the Nazi spy trail
which begins in Huelva, Don Gomez-Beare's territory,
and then moves to Madrid, Captain Ainsworth's turf,
and ends in the heart of German intelligence,
the Abwehr, in Berlin.
We will need to move these fake documents quickly,
with the help of two key German operatives,
Karl Kuhlenthal in Madrid
and his right-hand man in Huelva, Adolf Clauss.
Clauss is an exceptional spy,
and if a body washes up in Huelva with papers,
Adolf Clauss will get his hands on those papers.
Clauss reports to Karl Kuhlenthal,
in Madrid, where Kuhlenthal is seen as a golden boy by the Abwehr.
But MI5 have found Kuhlenthal to be a one-man espionage disaster,
gullible, incompetent, and he happens to be one quarter Jewish,
where, under Hitler's regime, even a drop of Jewish blood means death.
Although, luckily for Kuhlenthal,
he was recently cleared as a "good German,"
and he is now desperate to impress his superiors
before Berlin remembers that he is Jewish after all.
So we need Clauss because he is a good spy and will get the papers,
Kuhlenthal because he is a bad one and will believe them.
Together, they ensure the best chance that our documents will land in Berlin,
Where success depends on another key figure,
Hitler's favoured adviser, Colonel Alexis von Roenne.
Von Roenne controls military intelligence
at Nazi High Command,
and Hitler will not believe anything without von Roenne's blessing,
which is a challenge for us because von Roenne is brilliant.
Areal spy's spy.
Although, there have been rumours...
And at this point, only rumours,
..that von Roenne has turned against the Fiihrer,
and that he and a group of anti-Nazi plotters
are trying to destroy the Nazi war machine from within.
We've heard rumblings of this anti-Hitler faction before.
We judge it to be a ruse to infiltrate our inner circle.
So we will proceed as planned.
The prime minister wants all resources employed
to make Mincemeat so convincing
that von Roenne believes it, Hitler believes it
and even we believe we are landing in Greece.
To that end, we are preparing
the fake documents for the briefcase now...
..the key one being an off-the-record letter
between Generals Nye and Alexander,
and in that letter, the lie about Greece is planted.
Of course we'll get our letter approved tomorrow.
But you simply must sit on Q-Branch
to deliver our canister.
And then on to the submarine.
Dear God, what about the bloody submarine?
How are you getting on with Eisenhower?
Cut and dried. The letter must have a natural tone.
"Hope all is well. The general sends his best."
Hmm. Can't have them cackling like two hens.
Archie Nye and Harold Alexander are old friends.
I've had letters from the bank manager with more zing.
It's a first draft.
We can't allow personal flourishes
to distract from the military misinformation
we need Hitler to swallow.
No. Unless we want to bore him to death first.
And now, Hester has asked me if she can write the love letter
we're putting in Major Martin's pocket.
She should write it and then submit it to your withering gaze.
Do you know where Jean stands with Sergeant Dearborn?
~The American? -Yeah,
I think she's moved on.
Did she tell you that?
You do see Jean outside of work, don't you?
We will occasionally work over dinner
to iron out Bill and Pam details
for verisimilitude's sake.
Verisimilitude.
For instance, tonight, we are placing the ticket stubs,
as agreed, next to the receipt for Pam's ring
in the major's breast pocket.
Trouser pocket.
His breast pocket is where he keeps her photograph.
Sorry, we're late. It's bedlam out there.
It's true. We're all like moles now, scurrying around in the dark.
"When one blind man leadeth another, they both fall in a ditch."
You out again tonight?
My reputation as a slouch must be upheld, even in war.
And you, busy writing away. Writing what?
Supply requisitions mostly.
Uh-huh.
"Do you take the same size hat or a larger size like Monty's?"
Good, isn't it?
Spartan general, big head, bigger ego.
It's a joke.
This is hardly the place for jokes.
Everyone feels it could do with alterations and improvements.
Everyone?
The Twenty Committee, Chiefs of Staff,
Naval Intelligence, Q-Branch,
MIS, Mig.
To retard decomposition, the body must be tightly sealed.
The canister's double skin will be made from 22-gauge steel,
then insulated with asbestos wool and dry ice.
Heat and oxygen. A corpse's deadly enemies.
And the watch? What does it do?
Buzz saw.
Buzz saw? Is that code for...
For buzz saw.
The bezel's edges are filed into razor-sharp teeth.
We'll all be lit up as the Strand was
Only more, much more
And before the party's played out
They will fetch the fire brigade out
To the littest-uppist scene you ever saw!
So what I'm asking, Lieutenant Jewell,
is whether or not your submarine can accommodate a six-foot thermos.
Technically, I suppose.
But my crew on the Seraph are a sharp lot.
What would I tell them?
Tell them it contains top secret meteorological reporting apparatus.
Sounds like the stuff of fiction.
You're not a writer as well, are you?
We're surrounded by them, you know.
Germans? Writers.
"Please ask your ADC fo send me some oranges if possible.”
General Nye can't be made to sound like a scrounger.
Even to the Germans. Especially to the Germans.
But he does need to sound like a human,
which is what I have rather artfully achieved.
Millions of lives are at stake.
The letter will be revised until everyone is satisfied.
Draft... -Fourteen.
With the day still young.
We're out of time.
Jewell can hold the submarine for the next fortnight only.
And the Seraph is in Scotland, docked at the Holy Loch.
Not Siberia?
You know the irony of this preposterous stalemate
is that if Archie Nye were composing this letter himself,
he'd write it any damn way...
he pleased.
It's dull as ditch water.
General Nye is dull as ditch water,
which is why a charmless
and utterly boring letter is perfect.
And the general was only too happy to put pen to paper once I asked.
And far be it from me to point out,
but his version is a near carbon copy of my very first draft.
There is a chain of command, and for you to go directly to Nye...
Whatever punishment you deem fit, sir, 1 will fully accept.
Although, General Nye did ask why we hadn't come to him straightaway.
Admiral, Major Martin is overripe
and must be launched on April the 30th,
the next waning moon, only two weeks away
and the only window where we have access to the Seraph.
And in keeping with the chain of command,
it is you alone who can grant us approval to proceed.
To the most satisfying moment...
Hear, hear!
..of the last two months.
Cheers. Cheers. To us.
And Pam's letter, Hester, how many revisions has that gone through?
Oh, many, but I think I finished a passable version today.
Well, then, we must hear it.
Ladies and gentlemen, we have a love letter.
It's your moment to shine, Hester. A dry run before Fritz has a look.
Oh, I'm not one for the spotlight.
Oh, what spotlight, Hes? It's just us.
No, no, I can't. Yes, you can.
-You can. Please. Please. Please.
Well, if you're all so keen...
Yes, we are. We are.
You read it.
"The Manor House, Marlborough, Wiltshire, Sunday 18th.
"My dearest Bill,
"I think seeing one's beloved off at the railway
"is the poorest form of sport.
"A train going out can leave a howling gap in one's days
"and one has to try madly and quite in vain
"to fill it with the things one used to enjoy."
"Why did we have to meet in the middle of a war?
"For if it weren't for this madness, we might be married by now,
"and I wouldn't be in this dreary office typing minutes all day.
"That last lovely golden day we spent together,
"I never wanted it to end.
"And I know it has been said before,
"but I do wish that time could stand still,
"even for just a minute.
"So don't let them send you off into the blue
"the horrible way they do these days.
"Now that we've found each other out of the whole world,
"I don't think I could bear it.
"All my love.
"Pam."
Wait.
You have an eyelash.
I'l see you tomorrow.
For you. From upstairs.
So you agree, then? Ivor Montagu is spying for the Russians?
His file seemed fo indicate that he is.
He's not yet revealed Mincemeat to the Soviets.
We would have picked it up at Bletchley if he had.
But that's not to say that he won't.
There is nothing to suggest
that Ewen discusses anything with his brother.
And nothing to prove that he doesn't.
Now, we could send Ewen to America to be with his wife and children.
Might make it easier to keep an eye on his brother.
You'd get the credit for Mincemeat, should it succeed.
It was your idea, after all.
Or we could keep him here.
You are asking me
to spy on a man I work beside every day.
I'm asking you to assess the danger to your country.
You also have a brother, don't you?
Had a brother. Fallen in Chittagong.
Hmm.
And your mother's desperate to have his body brought home.
I've knocked on many doors, but so far, nothing.
Until now.
Fold the letter, but each fold only once.
Then we'll photograph the folds.
If the letter is retuned, the wear to the fibres will show
whether or not it's been opened.
Then the eyelash idea, which is a good one.
What eyelash idea?
We place an eyelash in the fold.
If the lash is gone upon return,
it's another sign the letter's been read.
The bigger worry is ensuring that the letter arrives in Berlin.
Ifit lands with the Spanish navy,
there's a good chance they could return it to us,
unopened and unread.
That's if the letter arrives in Spain at all.
It's a big sea.
Many detours await one little briefcase.
Pam's letter.
New love, so handled, worn.
And the photograph.
And the briefcase.
Let's slide him in and seal him up.
He doesn't look like a driver for MIS,
Looks like Errol Flynn.
What drink is he on? His fifth?
Sixth, I think.
Last round, Teddy. And then we really must cut him off.
It'll be an interesting drive to Scotland.
You should give Jock Horsfall a wink.
He may be pickled, but he's also single.
Except you're seeing Roger.
No, I haven't seen much of Roger.
Not now we're so busy.
We were just friends.
Oh, well, his loss.
See you tomorrow.
So, Jock, how many times have you made the trip to Holy Loch?
Oh, I can do it with my eyes closed.
Sometimes have to if my astigmatism's playing up.
But dead of night's a jolly time to drive.
And you'll have my van. Customised V8.
She can run upwards of 125 miles per hour.
I was there, you know,
when you thrashed those six BMWs at Donington Park.
That was my black car.
MIS make me garage her now that I'm an official chauffeur.
Say she's a menace on the road.
But I do miss her.
I'l give you a moment.
So, this tin can of yours, What's in it?
Hmm? Oh, optical equipment.
Bollocks.
You know how high my clearance goes?
It's a dead body.
We're going to play a humiliating trick on Hitler.
-Is he even capable of driving now? -I fear we're about to find out.
Anyway, erm, since it's Major Martin's last night...
It seems strange, doesn't it, sending our dear major off to die?
You do know he's already dead?
In a way, yes, but in another, he's very much alive,
our clever, dashing man.
Which is why I'd like to thank you, Charles.
It's been a grand adventure.
For the two of you.
For all of us.
We gave Bill a life
one Glyndwr Michael never had.
We gave him Pam.
I wanted Pam.
I only mean...
that our imaginings often surpass what is real, don't they?
I come home every night to a bereft mother,
pining for her favoured son.
Hester lives a spinster's life,
working round the clock rather than face an empty bed.
Ewen's real life is off in America,
where he must worry about the safety
of his wife and children until they return.
Or did he not mention that to you?
He said something about America.
It's all a game to him, you know.
You do know that?
All the dinners and dancing...
Not that I blame him.
Who wouldn't want the attentions of a beautiful woman? But, erm...
There's even talk of Ewen joining Iris and the children in America.
Families should be together during wartime.
Don't you think?
I think I stepped on your toe.
Oh. Well, at least it wasn't me for once.
I've got such a busy day tomorrow.
I really must go.
-Jean. Jean, you're not leaving? -I am, obviously.
But why? Jean, what has happened?
I have been overcome with embarrassment at my own stupidity.
This game we've been playing,
Bill and Pam, the young lovers, as if you and I were...
As if this weren't a real war.
Do you not realise people are talking about us?
Is this about gossip?
What does it matter what people say?
We both know there's nothing going on here.
I don't... I don't mean "nothing" as in...
I left behind childish games many years ago, Ewen.
The day I buried the man I loved.
And while my life may not look like much to you,
I have made my way, alone,
with the occasional admirer to pass the time.
It's certainly easier, and safer, so...
You'll be late for your drive,
and I'm going home.
No dallying, ladies.
We've a clock to beat,
and we'll have to feel our way along, thanks to the blackout.
I saw you talking to Jean tonight.
What were you saying?
I was apologising for my dancing.
It's easier to accept death when you can't see it coming.
You stupid egjt!
It's curious.
About your brother.
My brother?
You never speak of him. He does live with you, doesn't he?
He travels mostly.
Although I'm not sure why that's any of your business.
Or why you would say something to upset Jean tonight.
Godfrey thinks Ivor's a communist.
-You've spoken to Godfrey about Ivor? -Godfrey brought him up.
Well, Godfrey despises eccentrics.
Aren't all spies eccentrics?
Ivor is a dilettante, an inveterate ne'er-do-well
who founded the Cheese Eaters' League in Cambridge
and the International Table Tennis Federation in London.
And his trips to Moscow?
My brother joined the British Socialist Party for five minutes.
About as long as his interest in anything lasts.
Down here.
Excellent timing.
Well ahead of schedule.
But, then, I'd expect nothing less from His Majesty's finest.
Finest what?
I think my testicles dislodged somewhere near Dumfries.
And good news, Lieutenant.
I was able to honour your request.
Much appreciated. I know it was last minute. Thank you.
What request?
Jewell was good enough to find me a bunk on the Seraph.
What do you mean, on the Seraph?
Someone should accompany Major Martin to his final resting place.
-That would be Spain. -Yes, where the Seraph is headed.
Are you out of your mind?
We didn't get clearance to go to Spain with him.
We didn't even discuss it.
Don't you think that one of us should show some respect
for a man who gave his life,
and who now serves us and his country so nobly?
If unwittingly.
Don't you think at least one of us ought to do the right thing?
We're going straight through back to London. Now.
-I'm driving.
Do you know what time it is?
I just need a moment.
There's an apology I must make to you.
And then I promise I'l go.
I wasn't being honest with you, or even myself,
when I said there's nothing between us.
In fact, the very opposite is true.
My life is complicated.
It's not an excuse or a defence or anything, really.
Only to say...
that my feelings for you are real.
I should have realised that along time ago.
Perhaps I might have spared you the embarrassment of last night.
-Because if I in any way... -You didn't.
I know you have a wife and family.
I do.
And you and I, we have a war to win.
Major Martin is in dangerous waters now.
He'll need us more than ever.
I hope you're able to sleep.
I left my Bible below decks.
"In the twinkling of an eye,
"at the last call:
"for the trumpet shall sound,
"and the dead shall be raised incorruptible,
"and we shall all be changed."
Have we heard anything?
Not yet.
I thought I might take a moment.
Say a prayer to St Jude.
Shall we pray for Major Martin?
For Major Martin.
For the success of our mission.
For those we love.
Paco. ~
And so the hidden war continues.
Lies are whispered anew.
Shadows still flicker.
Even the ground refuses to steady in this wilderness of illusions.
A man dies.
Another begins his journey...
and waits for his story to be told.
But in the conventional war, the wheels of combat turn,
the forces of men and machine swell,
until suddenly the die is cast.
There is no turning back.
US, Canadian and British forces will strike 26 beaches
over 100 miles of Sicily's southern shore.
We'll be mobilising 100,000 plus men, 3,000 freighters and sweepers
with 1,800 heavy guns, 4,000 aircraft...
Commander, if I may.
Does the build-up continue despite our intelligence?
Intelligence that shows the Germans continue to reinforce Sicily?
The prime minister still hopes fo turn the tide
and convince Germany that our target is Greece.
He is now relying almost entirely on us.
So we have work to do.
Morning, Charles. Morning.
Charles. You don't look any the worse for wear.
I should. There's a reason tall men don't serve on small submarines.
Hitler's still reinforcing Sicily.
That can only mean the other pieces
-of our deception plan... -Have missed the mark.
But Major Martin has washed ashore.
Gomez-Beare has been called by the Spanish police.
Our plan proceeds.
The fate of the free world dependent on a corpse in a donkey cart.
The critical task now is to make the Germans think
we are frantic to reclaim the papers,
while guiding the papers right into their hands.
Si.
On the ground, our assistant naval attaché,
Don Gomez-Beare, is with the body now and will make sure the documents
get to the German police.
Also known as the Spanish police.
Once the autopsy is complete...
-..we will work our end
through David Ainsworth at the British embassy in Madrid.
British Admiralty on the phone, sir.
The Germans have bugged the phones there,
$0 any message we pass to the embassy
is essentially a message to Berlin.
Oh, they asked that you use the unsecured line.
Ainsworth.
Captain, is your line there secure?
Of course.
Good, because we've just received news
that one of our own may have washed up in Huelva.
Carrying top secret documents
General Nye's camp is very anxious to recover.
I'l begin inquiries right away.
But, of course,
the fact that we're looking for papers at all must remain classified.
Understood.
Burial is set for 0800 hours tomorrow?
Only because
the expert pathologist from Madrid
nixed the autopsy, thank Christ, not a moment too soon.
The bad news is the Spanish navy in Huelva
has the case under lock and key.
Then our only hope
is helping Adolf Clauss get his hands on it.
Before the case makes its way to Admiral Moreno's office in Madrid.
The dung beetle will surface soon enough.
No, we need him to surface sooner.
We'll jolt him with an unencrypted cable sent to your office tonight.
"Make casual request to Spanish navy
"to return case and papers. Stop."
"Do not alert German interests
"to the necessity of securing these documents
"back into British hands. Stop."
Unless you expect a thank you from Herr Clauss,
I think our work here tonight is done.
I just saw the name. Montagu.
Ewen's wife, Iris.
She and I correspond.
We've known each other for years, of course.
Jean.
Goodness. Roger.
I'am so sorry. 've been meaning to...
No, no, it's okay.
I'm just disappointed,
since it feels like I barely got to say hello to you
and now I have to say goodbye.
The boys and I are shipping out in the morning.
In the morning? Where?
I'm not at liberty to say, but, er, well,
I don't know when we'll see each other again, so...
Wherever it is, Roger, I do hope you'll be safe.
-May I write to you? -Of course.
Please, write.
Goodbye.
Adolf.
What a pleasant surprise.
Quite the turnout for our man.
So Adolf Clauss turned out to be two steps behind.
Because the briefcase has landed in Madrid.
Dear God.
Which means if will be in Admiral Moreno's office shortly.
Then let's hope that Kuhlenthal can't be far behind.
And since we've bugged every office in naval headquarters...
Not every office. Not Moreno's.
We need to know what Moreno's up fo,
David, so you'll have to improvise.
Time to look up old friends?
I heard the whole conversation.
Moreno denied having the papers
while Kuhlenthal insisted he did have the papers.
Did Kuhlenthal get hold of the case?
Unfortunately not.
Moreno wasn't open for business.
Dear God.
It's hard to see who's more up a free with this, us or the Germans.
I would say Kuhlenthal is desperate enough for us all.
The bug in his office caught him eviscerating Clauss
for not snatching the papers in Huelva.
So he should.
And the Spanish navy can't seem to stop reminding us
how neutral they are.
They won't let the Germans anywhere near our briefcase.
Colonel Cerruti could get hold of the papers.
Cerruti? Spain's secret police are beyond treacherous.
They are, but he's a keen fascist.
He's devoted to Hitler. And we have no other choice.
We have to get the papers to Kuhlenthal.
Colonel Cerruti ran me as a double agent years ago,
without ever realising I was a triple agent for our side,
but I've steered clear of the colonel for some time now.
He's gone dry?
He requires...
careful handling.
We sympathise, David, but Churchill has put his money on us.
We cannot tell the prime minister that we've hit a dead end now.
I need some air.
There's no mention of Cerruti or Kuhlenthal
in any of these transcripts.
We don't know if Cerruti met with Moreno
orif he even took the case or if he read the letter.
We are utterly in the dark.
Is that what Charles and M were discussing?
Charles and Godfrey? When?
Yesterday. I saw them outside talking alone.
And you're telling me this now?
I wasn't aware I was supposed to tell you, or anyone.
He can be like this when he's under pressure.
You mustn't take it personally.
The waiting's driving us all mad.
Why does Ewen's wife write to you
and not to him?
Every marriage has its difficulties and disappointments.
Haven't we all had our hearts broken over the years?
What's hard to understand about Ewen,
hidden beneath all the bluster
is his very deep sense of duty.
I only say this because I'm so very fond of you.
And him.
And her,
Moreno's on his way fo the embassy.
And Kuhlenthal has just left for Berlin.
So, the moment of truth.
The seal hasn't been touched.
Meaning the letter hasn't been read.
Let's not hang ourselves just yet.
One can, with great delicacy,
remove a letter without fully opening the envelope.
If the gum has been dissolved in solvent.
-Or seawater. -Yes, yes, seawater.
Itis possible
to insert here, grab the edge of the letter
and then ever so gently twist.
So itis possible they removed the letter?
Twisting like this causes the pages to curl,
but once back in the envelope, of course, the letter will lie flat.
So how is a curl we cannot see helpful?
Erm... Itisn't. It isn't.
Unless we wet the paper again, dry it and see what happens.
It looks as if the eyelash has gone.
We are not sending 100,000 men into battle on a missing eyelash.
So it has been opened.
This letter has been removed from the envelope
and it has been opened.
Which means it's been read.
Teddy.
What on Earth... Why...
Why am I not at the club? I don't work there any more.
Strange, isn't it,
to find an old photograph of you amongst Major Martin's papers?
I don't recall seeing him at the Gargoyle, Jean.
Ordo I call you Pam?
"Dearest Bill.
"Why did we have to meet in the middle of a war?
"Or if it weren't for this madness, we might have been married by now."
I don't understand what you're doing.
There are Germans, good Germans,
in positions of great influence,
that are allied in their desire to see the Fihrer fall.
But these men have been rebuffed by your superiors,
labelled the anti-Hitler hoax, which is a shame,
since we both are on the same side.
My German friends need to understand what's happened here.
So you will tell me about Major Martin and the letters in his case
or I will pull out my gun and put a bullet in your head.
We've just got this, the latest intercept,
sent by General JodI, Nazi Chief of Operations.
It says, and I quote,
"Enemy landings on a large scale
"are expected in Greece in the very near future."
"In Greece". It came through at the highest level of encryption.
Do we believe this?
General Jodl. We couldn't ask for a more credible source.
And if the Nazis were moving troops from Sicily to Greece,
it would be Jodl that's moving them.
FRASER-SMITH; Q-Branch.
Yes, yes, he is.
Yes, I'l tell him right away.
The man served us drinks every night,
Ewen, it was your club.
You don't think I vetted
every single employee in and out of the Gargoyle?
You don't think I'm aware always of everyone around me
who might be listening?
Well, you know, we can't ask Teddy what happened
because his flat's been searched and he's vanished.
Every Nazi operative within our borders
has either been turned or eliminated long ago.
We monitor everyone who might remotely constitute a fifth column.
We have eyes on every blackshirt...
Well, then, who is this man? Who is he?
Jean, are you sure that he didn't give you a name?
He didn't indicate who might have sent him?
Just... Just the Germans fighting against Hitler.
-I assumed it was a lie. -It most likely was a lie.
Well, he was trying to get you to talk. He would have said anything.
But I did talk.
I said, "Yes, I worked at the Admiralty."
And the officer that died, he was using an alias,
travelling with a fake dossier, he was a spy,
but that he was also transporting real classified material,
real letters.
It was ridiculous, but what could I say? He had the photograph.
-I gave you that photograph. -Jean, this is not your fault.
They know the photograph isn't real.
They'll suspect everything now.
We don't even know who "they" are.
You're not safe here.
I have a guest room.
You can stay there until we all sort this out.
You would bring her to your own house?
Have you no shame?
After you've jeopardised this entire operation?
You're the one who approached Jean.
You're the one who insisted on using her photograph.
You were so busy seducing her
that you took your eye off your own brother.
You think I told Ivor about Mincemeat?
How do we know he's not behind all this?
I tell my brother nothing. I show him nothing!
Because you know he's a spy, in bed with the Russians.
Don't you tell me what I know and don't know.
You don't think I imagine myself at his funeral every day,
my own brother, tried and hanged for reason?
How fucking dare you!
I'am not the one who is running a covert operation
with a spy under my roof,
No.
No, your brother's a war hero.
And I envy you that.
Whatever went wrong, it wasn't Ivor.
You are a careless bastard, Montagu.
You're careless with Jean,
you're careless with your brother, and you're careless with your own wife.
I don't need you to remind me of my sins.
I only wonder how you reconcile yourself with yours.
Did you strike some sort of deal?
Spying on me?
My hide in exchange for...
What?
I need to look after Jean.
Everything depends on finding out who sent that man and why.
What if it was von Roenne?
More than anyone else in German intelligence,
von Roenne would need to know if Mincemeat is true.
So he could decide
if what he's whispering in Hitler's ear is fact or fiction.
Because von Roenne may be the one who is fighting the other war.
The secret war,
The war dedicated to seeing Hitler destroyed.
Either that's true or it's a fiction that we want to be true.
What's fact is that you know I suspected my brother of spying
and refused to turn him in.
So you know enough to see me ruined and my brother hanged.
So the next move is yours, Charles.
What's it to be?
What we know for certain...
is that within our borders our eyes and ears miss nothing.
German spies, Nazi sympathisers,
we know where they are, we know who they are.
Which means that whoever this man is,
it's not something we've encountered before.
That's your excuse
for using a photograph of one of our own operatives?
The photograph was my error, sir.
I was the one who insisted on choosing someone within our ranks.
The woman's beside the point.
I wish I could find even a sliver of satisfaction
in having predicted this fucking disaster months ago.
We're still receiving intelligence
the Germans are preparing for our invasion of Greece.
Intelligence that could be a ruse.
It's obviously a ruse, given the operation's been revealed.
Although, not necessarily, sir.
Montagu and I have been racking our brains,
trying to decode the message behind this contact with us.
Why did this man reveal himself?
If he's an agent for the Abwer,
why would he deliberately signal that he'd discovered our deception?
It doesn't add up,
which is why the troop movements to Greece may not be a ruse after all.
Why would the Nazis continue to act on information they know to be false?
Because von Roenne is telling them to act on it.
There's not a shred of proof of this so-called anti-Hitler plot.
We don't know that it isn't true either.
Christ.
Admiral, this man came out of nowhere.
Perhaps he's the proof of the anti-Hitler plot.
And he contacted us so that we would know the plot is real,
and as German troops continue to move towards Greece,
we would continue to plan for Sicily.
So that von Roenne can reinforce that misinformation with Hitler,
leaving Sicily undefended.
That is our instinct.
That is your instinct?
The fate of the world at stake,
the Nazi killing machine waiting for us on Sicily's shores,
and... you two with your instinct.
Ifit were up to me,
Iwould postpone Sicily and have you drawn and quartered.
No doubt the prime minister has been informed?
What does he want to do?
The prime minister...
does not want to postpone Sicily.
I pray we can all live with the consequences.
Jean?
He's coming home.
Robbie's coming home.
Thank you, my son.
And this is a posting, where?
-They haven't told me yet. They?
Special Operations. I was accepted today.
I suspect because Masterman put itin a good word for me.
Hopefully, I'l find my way overseas as a courier or a radio operator.
I see.
I can never forgive myself for placing our operation in peril.
I won't hear it. What happened is not your fault.
Regardless, itll take the grace of God and nerves of steel
to land Mincemeat safely now.
The kind of fortitude you have demonstrated every single day.
I've played my part in the Bill and Pam story, Ewen.
It's time for me to go where I'm needed.
You're needed here.
With us. -I have to go.
You will have your own story, then.
You will fight your own war.
You will serve bravely.
Our country will be lucky to have you.
And...
You'll be reunited with your wife and children.
A better man.
A man you brought back to life.
I will miss you so terribly.
The invasion fleet is now assembled.
The Seraph will be the lead vessel
in the first wave of the US assault on Licata beach.
Our job will be to set the sonar homing buoy,
to guide the others to shore.
A great many others, we hear, on many beaches.
The largest amphibious assault the war has seen.
Do you believe we have Fritz where we need him?
It seems the enemy has fallen for the deception.
We expect resistance to be limited
to Italian coastal divisions.
Then our fighting men thank you.
I will see you on the other side.
I may vomit.
I may vomit with you.
Every, er, piece of intelligence says
that the Nazis are waiting for us in Greece.
And every piece of intelligence may be the greatest deception
the Nazis have ever played against us.
Why do you think Churchill still believes this can work?
Because he has to.
Jean has gone.
Yes, I heard.
You've had another letter from Iris.
This one's for you.
tis only fitting that the two wars
finally converge in darkness.
The target is no longer hidden.
The points are set.
And the forces gather.
Brave men, their lives hanging in the balance,
their fate unknowable,
their part in history unwritten.
-(ALARM BLARING} -Action stations!
Action stations!
Move yourselves! Move, move, move!
But who in these last hours will bear witness to the hidden war?
Unseen by history.
Locked away in a buried file.
Its tragedies and triumphs unspoken.
Its heroes unsung.
In God's name, Fleming, what are you writing?
Spy story.
it is in this moment,
this suspended moment,
that my story waits for an ending.
As if fate herself...
were a blank page.
Medic!
An ending redeemed in righteousness?
An ending graced with mercy?
"Allied forces have landed."
"Limited casualties."
"Enemy retreating."
"Troops met with minimal resistance."
"Beaches held."
There's another one, from Churchill,
"Mincemeat swallowed...
"rod, line and sinker."
An ending...
filled with light.
We saved some lives today.
Some lives, not all.
It can never be all.
We don't seem to have saved ourselves.
And those that did make it...
-Glory will be theirs. -As it should be.
We fooled the Fiihrer, murderous bastard. There's some glory in that.
My brother has come home.
We'll bury him tomorrow.
It was the deal I'd struck with Godfrey...
in exchange for spying on you.
Then I'd like to be there.
I need to go home and finish a letter to my wife.
But first I need a drink.
Let me buy you a drink.
Eight in the morning.
Surely someone will take us in.