Smiley's People (1982): Season 1, Episode 5 - Episode #1.5 - full transcript

All set, sir.

ENDERBY:
Blue movies,
Molly.

Think you can
stand it?

Probably seen more
than we have, hmm?

Right.

I'm going to show you
two bits of your collateral,

without which I wouldn't believe
a word of it.

All right, Strickland,
act one, scene one.

Close your eyes,
Molly.

ENDERBY:
Now here they are,
the four of them...

rollicking about.



These girls put on quite a turn,
I think, for hookers.

Here's the burn-- somebody's
turned the lights up,

probably
Kretzschmar.

And Leipzig's
saying "gotcha."

All right, wind it on,
Strickland.

We can watch the rest
some other time.

But what's there is enough
to have Kirov scalped in Moscow,

right, Molly?

It certainly would

on Karla's side
of the house.

ENDERBY:
And... all right.

Now, this is about,
what, an hour later?

They're back into
their city suits.

Uh, 41 minutes, 20 seconds.



At a gal.

I like that bit.

So...

Now, Kirov sings--

the story of his life.

All right, switch it off,
Strickland.

Get us a drink.

Scotch, everyone?

George?

I'll pass,
thank you.

All right.

Four, then.

Ice and water.

Oh, where the hell
are they?

Ah.

( sighs loudly )

Bloody things.

Okay.

Common ground.

It's not a fake, right, Molly?

Not unless Kirov
was collaborating

on a piece
of fabrication.

ENDERBY:
You mean Kirov and
Leipzig stinging us,

cooking up a tale together,
earning a few bob on the side?

I say...

you have got
a dirty mind.

I don't think it's
a serious possibility.

All right,
here we go.

The nub of it.

Brother Kirov's... lament,

followed by...

Here we are.

Brother Kirov's
confession.

Now...

All comfortable?

Snug as a bug, Chief.

ENDERBY:
Ears pinned back,
George?

Page 69.

Sorry about that.

( chuckles quietly alone )

Didn't hear me.

Never mind.

I'm Kirov.

"The Thirteenth Directorate is

a secret service
within Moscow Center."

Thanks, we all knew that.

"Its task is the placing
and servicing of illegal agents

"under deep cover
in fascist countries,

known also as 'moles.'"

Shades of bloody
Bill Haydon, hmm?

Sorry, George.

You'd think a man making
his deathbed confession

would have the grace
to keep it brief,
wouldn't you?

But oh, no,
not our Kirov.

So, over to page
100-and-something... two!

Off we go again.

"In the course of
my general investigations

"into financial irregularities
in Moscow Center,

"two officers of Karla's
directorate came into question.

"As a result of my activities,
both were summarily executed

and I thus came personally to
the attention of Karla himself."

That tallies,

does it, Molly?

Grade four reports of
that period confirm, Chief.

What does that mean,
darling?

It means "maybe," Chief.

All right over there,
George?

You look a bit bilious.

Me?

Oh, yes.

Thank you, quite all right.

We're not too rich
for your blood, eh?

Good.

Right.

Chapter two.

Karla summons Kirov
to his lair in the forest.

Heart in mouth,
Kirov comes running.

T?te-?-t?te.

No witnesses.

Small wooden hut, monastic
atmosphere, no trimmings...

Karla goes to the nub.

How would Kirov like
a posting to Europe?

Kirov would like it very much,
creep, crawl, creep.

Mmm.

Strickland, check
people's glasses,

will you?

Interesting...

Kirov thought Karla
looked twitchy:

"under stress,"
"smoking like a chimney."

SMILEY:
He always
did that.

Did what?

He was always
an excessive smoker.

Was he, by God,
was he?

Didn't think
he had any vices.

Blah, blah, blah.

"For my night work,
I would be responsible

"for the conduct and control
of financial accounts

"in all the outstations
of the Thirteenth Directorate

in the following cities."

And then he goes on...

Thanks.

Goes on to name them.

Bonn, Hamburg, et al.

Peter?

Yes?

Not losing you in
the labyrinth, are we?

No, sir.

Because I shall want you

to hold on to George's
coattails in this.

You know that,
do you?

No, sir.

( sighs )

Well... you know now.

Okay?

Here's the
$64 one.

"Karla also warned me

"I would be required to find
cover backgrounds, or legends,

for future agents."

Now we're at the bone.

Oh, he adds a note for cretins.

"A 'legend' is Moscow Center
jargon for a spy's biography."

Thank you, Oleg.

George?

Saul?

ENDERBY:
Let yourself go.

Have a scotch.

If you insist.

Good.

Away we go again.

"I had not been
in Paris long

"when a personal signal
from Karla advised me

"a legend was
required urgently

"for a female agent,
age about 26 years.

"Karla's signal
referred me

"to several
?migr? families

who might be persuaded
by pressure..."

( chuckles )

"to adopt such an agent
as their own child,

"since blackmail is considered
preferable technique

to bribery."

Damn right it is.

Cheers.

At the current
rate of inflation,

blackmail's about
the only thing

that holds
its value.

( chuckles )

Interregnum.

Kirov dutifully trawls
the ?migr?s, without result.

Karla exhorts Kirov
to greater efforts.

Kirov strives still harder...

and goofs again.

Kirov was no good,
was he, George?

No.

Karla didn't dare
trust his own chaps--

that's your point--

and so he had to go out
into the sticks

and recruit an ape like Kirov.

Yes.

A clod.

Sort of bloke who'd
never make Sarratt.

Oh, that reminds me, George.

Did you twist
that fellow Mostyn's tail

by any chance?

What do you mean?

Yes, I thought so.

That's why
I sacked him.

Tried to sell him to the BBC,

but they wouldn't have him.

What's he up to now, Strickland?

He's in retreat, sir.

Joined an order of Franciscan
monks near Ipswich.

ENDERBY:
Ipswich?

A cold bloody spot to pray.

The point is, I suppose...

having set up his apparatus,

trained it to accept
his iron rule,

Karla didn't dare use it
for this deal.

That's
your point?

That's my point.

Ergo, we're dealing
with a bunch of ninnies,

not red-toothed hoods.

Not ninnies,
just ordinary people.

You mean hoods aren't?

Karla was under stress.

He had to take risks.

Like bumping chaps off?

That was more recent.

You're bloody forgiving
these days, aren't you, George?

Am I?

If you say so.

And bloody
meek, too.

Molly?

Yes, Chief?

You checked this
last lot as well,
did you?

Yes, and it fits, Chief.

Bravo.

"After I had been unsuccessful
for some time

to find a legend..."

Oh, my Lord alive, this prose.

"...to find a legend,

"Karla again summoned me
to his presence

"and drew my attention to
the case of the woman Ostrakova,

"whose unacknowledged daughter

"was a citizen
of the Soviet Union.

"Following my approach
to Ostrakova,

"and the formal issuing
of a French permit

"to her daughter, Alexandra,

"I was instructed
to set aside immediately

"10,000 American dollars a month
from the Paris imprest.

"The monthly payment was
not expended by myself

"but transferred
to a bank in Thun

"in the Swiss canton of Bern.

"The transfer is made
by standing orders

"to the credit
of Dr. Adolf Glaser.

"'Glaser' is the work name
of the commercial counselor

"at the Soviet Embassy in Bern.

"His real name is Grigoriev.

"I know this
because Karla told me

"in case there were
complications.

This is all I know."

Except there is
a nice little P.S.:

"Otto, my friend, I beg you
to preserve these confidences.

They could kill me."

( chuckles )

He's right-- they did.

That's Kirov's last will
and testament, you might say.

Well, that's it,
George.

Yes.

Molly...

watch my every move, will you?

Why, I'm still going to spell
it out, because I'm thick.

One, Ostrakova writes
to Vladimir.

Her message rings old bells.

Two, Vladimir sends a copy
of her letter to Otto Leipzig.

Three, Leipzig
roars off to Paris,

gets confirmation
from Ostrakova:

Yes, it is Oleg Kirov
on the warpath again.

Four, Leipzig gooses Kirov
in Hamburg.

Burns him rotten.

All right so far, everyone?

Peter?

Still stumbling
after me, are you?

I think so, sir.

How's marriage?

Blissful, thank you, sir.

Give it three years.

Onward and upward.

Leipzig burns
Kirov rotten

and gets word
back to Vladimir.

Meanwhile, back
at the ranch,

Karla smells a rat.

He sends for Kirov

back to Moscow under
the pretext of promotion

but swings him by the ears.

Kirov sings-- as I would-- fast.

Now Karla tries to get the
toothpaste back into the tube.

He kills Vladimir while he's
on his way to our rendezvous.

Kills Leipzig.

Tries to flatten
the old lady,
only wings her.

What's his
mood now?

Impatient.

Well, why doesn't he
dig up his treasure,

put it somewhere else
and cover his traces?

The shit's in the fan,
he knows that.

Kirov's confessed.

Perhaps the treasure
refuses to be moved.

Perhaps Karla's options
have run out.

It's daylight madness

to keep that Swiss
bank account intact.

It was daylight
madness

to use a fool
like Kirov.

It was madness
to approach Ostrakova,

and madness to believe that
by killing three people

he could stop the leak.

And Karla does believe it,

or Grigoriev would not
still be in Bern,

which Strickland
says he is.

As of today, Counselor Grigoriev
of the Soviet Embassy in Bern

is alive and well and en poste.

Then moving the bank account
would be totally unnecessary.

So, what is Karla up to?

Giving himself a pension?

I mean...

We all want a bit
to retire on, but jeepers.

Has he got a bird somewhere?

Who's worth ten grand a month

and his whole
damn career?

It's simply a question

of whether your service
wants the product.

Personally, I can't see

that anything else
is of any importance.

( chortling ):
Can't you?

Can't you, by God?

Oh, I want him,
all right.

I want the Mona Lisa

and the chairman of
the Chinese People's Republic.

I want Karla sitting
in the hot seat at Sarratt,

coughing out his life story
to the inquisitors.

I want the American cousins

eating out of my hand
for years to come.

I want the whole ball game,
of course, I...

It isn't... some wicked
Bolshie plot, is it, George,

to lure us
to our ultimate destruction?

I'm afraid we're no longer
worth the candle, Saul.

( chuckles )

All right, Maud,

leave these people
to their privacy.

Let's go
into the garden.

( doorbell ringing )

Wait here.

For me, she lets me
have the whole top floor,

5,000 francs a month,
special price.

I'll say
it's special.

WOMAN:
Is there
anything to go?

No, not till
next week.

How many people
will you need to man it?

Uh, for a lace-curtain job,
24 hours a day, George,

I need 12 people.

Less, I cut my throat.

Four teams of three,
minimum.

Do they get
a special price, too?

For George they
do it for nothing.

You've got no western prospect.

How do you get over that?

Ah, George,
leave it to me.

You hire Toby Esterhase,

you get
a Toby Esterhase service.

Now, cars, Toby,

I don't think
we can just rely

on stealing
Swiss postal vans,

economic though
it may be.

George.

It's the one that used
to hang in your room.

Saul must
have dumped it there.

ESTERHASE:
You want a picture
of Karla, George?

I get you one more
up to date than that.

Authentic provenance,
no question.

Shut up.

Thank you, Toby.

I'm only interested
in the original.

Waiter.

Now, George, do you think we set
our women up too high, hmm?

Is that where

we English middle-class
chaps go wrong?

Oh, it may be, Oliver, yes.

Well, if
it isn't,

why does Val always
fall for shits?

We were always taught

that women had
to be cherished.

If you didn't make them feel
loved every moment of the day,

they'd go off the rails.

But this chap Val's with,

well, if she annoys him
or speaks out of turn,

he'll like as not
give her a black eye.

You and I never
do that... do we?

I'm sure we don't.

WAITER:
Grazie, signori.

Look here,

do you think if
I went and saw her,

bearded her
in his house,

took a really tough line,

threatened legal action
and so forth,

that might tip the scales?

I mean, I'm bigger
than he is,
God knows.

I'm not without clout,
whichever way you read me.

Well, have a good
holiday anyway.

You deserve it.

Going
somewhere warm?

Oh, I thought I'd just
take off and wander.

Oh, lucky you.

My God, I envy you
your freedom.

Well, you've
been jolly useful.

I shall follow your
advice to the letter.

But, Oliver, I didn't
give you any advice.

And that other business
is all squared away,

I hear from Saul.

No loose ends,
no messiness?

Chelsea.

George, bless you.

You've been
a brick.

We're birds of a feather,
George:

both patriots...

givers, not takers.

Trained to our services,

country.

We must pay the price.

You know, if Ann had been
your agent instead of your wife,

you'd probably have
run her pretty well.

( bangs roof )

( announcements over loudspeaker
in background )

Oh, sir, oh, dear.

Hello,
Mrs. Tremedda.

( clock chiming )

Breakfast?

No.

Walk.

A short walk
would be nice.

Just nice?

I'd like a walk
very much.

Can you wear
Harry's boots?

I always used
to be able to.

You can take his coat
as well.

It's those logs,
Mrs. Tremedda,

they must be damp
or something.

Elm never did burn,
dead or alive.

Saul Enderby
still run the ship?

If you can
call it running.

You used to say

they were the people
who ruined England.

Did I?

Who were "they"
in those days?

I forget.

Most of my family,

including Uncle Harry.

What did they do wrong?

Stayed the same,
I suppose.

Missed the changes,
wouldn't face them,

left the future
up for grabs.

I don't know.

I don't know what I thought.

It was a hundred years ago.

I'm going away for a bit.

I didn't want to say anything
on the telephone.

Abroad?

Just a job
I have to do.

I don't want you going
to Bywater Street

in my absence.

Is that why
you came down?

To tell me that
Bywater Street
is out of bounds?

In a way.

Let me try it
differently:

If Bywater Street
had been in bounds,

would you have suggested
that I went there?

Or... are you
telling me

that Bywater Street is
out of bounds for good?

Practicalities.

It's a practical
question.

How long will you be away?

Weeks.

Longer, perhaps.

Where will you stay?

In a hotel.

Then... back
to Bywater Street?

If it hasn't been
blown up.

Is it
your Black Grail?

"Black Grail."

Bill Haydon's phrase.

Is it?

Why won't you tell me
anything anymore?

Do you really think

I told Bill Haydon
anything about you?

Wasn't much
he didn't know.

I'm all you've got, George.

I'm all there is;
there isn't anything else.

I want
to stop looking.

I want you to do the same.

Oh, for God's sake,
let's pull down the shutters

and be a boring
married couple.

I came to tell you
that while I'm away...

Well, it's widely known, within
the intelligence fraternity--

on all sides--
that you used to be dear to me.

So you and I
are both at risk

while I'm away.

I don't want
anyone taking
hostages or revenge.

What are you trying to say?

I want you to stay here and
lie low and not go to London.

I'm sending
a couple of chaps

to watch over you.

I have to leave now.

The big one's Arthur

and the other's called...
something else.

They'll be here
this afternoon.

I'm afraid they'll
haunt the place

and drive your
Uncle Harry mad.

And afterwards, George?

Good-bye.

Thank Harry

for his things.

Is this your first
visit to Bern, sir?

Yes, yes.

I'm afraid it is.

Please sign here,
Mr. Barraclough.

( corrects pronunciation ):
Barraclough.

Oh, excuse me.

Mr. Barraclough,
of course.

Thank you.

( child speaking Swiss German )

ESTERHASE:
Number 18,

half a mile
on the right.

The Grigorievs have
got the ground floor.

Who's above them?

Two old women--
university teachers.

Most of the Iron Curtain
crowd live in Muri,

not here in Elfenau.

It's a commune--
they do everything

in groups.

They go for walks
in groups.

Most likely they screw
in groups as well.

But the Grigorievs
are different.

Three months ago,
they moved out of Muri

and rented this apartment
on a personal basis.

3,500 a month,
George.

He pays it personal
to the landlord.

Cash?

Monthly,
in 100 notes.

( talking quietly )

The police boys are worried
about bombs.

They think the Palestinians

are going to blow
the place sky high.

That's been good and bad
for us, George.

If we get clumsy,

Grigoriev can
tell himself we're
local angels.

That don't go
for the police.

You know
what I mean?

The Swiss police,
George--

You need all the protection
you can get.

They're expensive,

but worth it.

One hundred meters
on the right, George.

Look for
a black Mercedes
in the forecourt.

Other staff use
the embassy carpool,

but not Grigoriev.

Grigoriev drives
his own Mercedes.

When did he get it?

Three months ago,
secondhand.

Same time
as he moved
out of Muri.

They're at home!
Did you see them?

Bottom window right?

We go past
again, okay?

Once more
for luck.

No, Toby.

George!

No!

Was that their car?

Sure...
the very one.

( chuckles )

They love it.

They polish it
day and night.

Grigorieva
got herself

a driving license
two months ago.

And she's
terrible!

But terrible
like lousy!

You know what
Pauli Skordeno
says to me?

He says, "Toby,
I need danger money

just to follow that woman."

Now, you ready,
George?

Change here

for all stations east.

George, listen, okay?

Watchers imagine things.

Well, they got to,
it's their job.

There's a girl

works in the Soviet
Embassy visa section.

The boys call her
Little Natasha.

Saturdays she comes
to the embassy...

to work.

Couple of times,
Grigoriev drives her home.

We took some pictures...
not bad.

Well, maybe the boys
want it that way

just because
of Grigorieva.

Well, they like
the guy, George.

Well, you know
how watchers are.

It's love or hate
all the time.

They like him.

What do you make
of Grigoriev?

What is he?

A trained hood
Grigoriev isn't,
George.

No trade craft.

He's actually
a complete catastrophe.

But he's not straight either.

He's half-breed.

So which way

will he jump when we hit him?

Burning, George.

That's always a hazard,
you know what I mean?

I mean, some guys
get heroic

and want to die
for their countries
suddenly.

Other guys roll over
and lie still

the moment you put
an arm on them.

Burning...

that touches
the stubbornness
in certain people.

So, how conscious
is he?

Of us?

George, he's
Russian, okay?

A Russian thinks
the butterflies
are spying on him.

But he doesn't
know we're here.

Definitely.

I want it
lace curtains
all the way.

If you're following him,
ring the changes nonstop.

Better to lose him
than have him flush you.

Yes, I understand,
George.

Got enough transport?

Any more,
I get embarrassed.

How did the rehearsal go?

Smooth as silk.

What time do you
want me there?

11:00, earliest.

11:00 is already
too early, George.

Grigoriev won't
arrive until 12:00.

I'll be there
at 11:00.

Good night.

Good night,
George.

Good luck.

( phone rings quietly )

Hello.

I'm waiting for Mr. Jacobi.

I'll have a caf? cr?me,
in a glass, please.

If it comes
in a glass,

you must have
schnapps with it.

A cup will do
just as well.

Herr Jacobi!

Hans,
how goes it, huh?

Schnapps?

Perfect.

The Grigorievs
left the house

five minutes ago.

She's driving.

Most likely they die
before they get here.

Did she drive last week?

Also the
week before.

She insists.

George, that woman
is a monster.

Why does he go to the bank now,
when there's no one

to distract attention
from him?

He has completely mistaken
quiet for security.

Grigoriev likes the lunch hour,
because nobody in Thun

wastes his lunch hour
going to the bank.

Empty places,
empty times.

He's so conspicuous,
he's embarrassing.

( phone ringing )

Listen, it's going
to be a nice day.

Believe me.

All you've got to do is sit back
and enjoy the show.

You wrote the script, George.

It's your show.

WAITRESS:
Herr Jacobi.

Ja?

Make that two,
Hans, hmm?

( kisses quickly )

( waitress giggles )

Ciao.

Everyone in position.

Everyone happy.

( tires squeaking )

GRIGORIEVA:
O, Grigoriev!

Bozhe moy!

Idiot!

( Grigorieva continues
scolding loudly )

CASHIER:
Good morning.

GRIGORIEV:
Good morning-- 10,000
as usual, please.

( banking machine
beeps, clatters )

( machine keeps clattering )

( camera whirs quietly )

( camera whirs again )

( speaking
Swiss German )

Nicht verboten!
Diplomat!

Wir haben
Immunitaet!

Kapitalist!

Faschist!

ESTERHASE:
Grigoriev drew
his normal 10,000,

the same
as last week,

the same
as the week before.

We got it, George,
the whole scene.

The boys are very happy,
the girls, too.

I mean, George, they are
fantastic, completely the best.

I never had so good.

( chuckles )

What do you think

of him?

You see Litzi
Meinertzhagen

tell her off
for parking,

photographing her all the time?

George, I love that girl.

( chuckling )

Where do the Grigorievs go
from here?

Lunch at the
station buffet,
first class.

Grigoriev has a salad.

She has steak and chips, glass
of beer and a slice of cake.

George, the guy will fold,
believe me.

You never had
a wife like that.

No, I don't think I ever did.

You think he wants to be locked
up in a two-room flat in Moscow

with that bitch
for the rest
of his life?

( chuckles )

Don't worry.

( grunts softly )

( grunts softly )

( bike wheels crunching
on gravel )

( grunts )

Ooh!

GRIGORIEV:
Greetings, Alexandra Borisovna.

Greetings, Uncle Anton.

Behave yourself!

You should buy yourself
brown bicycle clips.

Repeat to me,
please,

your full name
with patronymic.

My name is Tatiana,
and I come from the moon.

Uh, two weeks ago,
you requested

a copy of "Torrents of Spring"
by Soviet writer Turgenev.

Have you read this work or not?

Mother Felicity
was reading it to me,

but she has a sore throat.

And you have reached
what page of this work, please?

I lied to you.

She stopped reading it to me
as a punishment

for throwing my food
on the floor.

Page...?

Four thousand and eight.

Where do you
come from,

Uncle Anton,
please?

( louder ):
Pay attention to me
while I make a statement.

Until you tell me...

my real uncle...

I refuse
to answer

any more
of your questions.

Who... gives you the money
to pay for my detention here?

To whom do you
pass my answers,

which you so
meticulously
write down?

Repeat to me, please,
your full name with patronymic.

Alexandra Borisovna Ostrakova.

How do you feel
this week, Sasha?

Thank you, Uncle Anton,

I have been feeling
much better this week.

The doctor says my crisis
is already far behind me.

Have you received

by any means of post
or telephone, word of mouth

any communication
from outside persons?

Why do you never make
love to me, Uncle Anton?

You can,
you know.

( bell rings outside )

( door opens )

Uncle Anton and I are engaged
to be married, Mother Felicity.

Well, good-bye, Sasha.

Until next week, eh?

Page 4,008, eh?

You think
you're crazy?

( screams )

( screams again )

( screaming )

( gasps )

Mr. Barraclough.

Sir, the telephone,
I'm sorry.

A Mr. Anslem.

Please, sir.

Barraclough.

The Geneva bureau
has just informed us

that the managing director
is on his way to Bern

at this very moment.

With his wife?

Unfortunately,
Madame is obliged

to make an excursion
with the children.

If you could meet me
in the office, Mr. Barraclough?

I'll be with you in a minute.

I'm a good Swiss,
Franz.

Business comes first.

I'll put it
with your key, sir.

Shall I call a taxi?

No, thank you,
I'll walk.

Yes, sir.

( bells tolling in distance )

Grigoriev left
the embassy

five minutes ago
on his own,

wearing his hat
and coat.

He's heading
for the town on foot.

What do you say?

Where's his wife?

Picking mushrooms
with the kids

in the Elfenau woods.

Who's on him?

Skordeno and
De Silsky on foot,

back-up car behind,
two more ahead.

Do we go, George,
or don't we?

Where's
he making for?

Town!
What do I know?

Maybe he goes
to see Natasha.

We got him
alone, George.

It's now
or never!

Who's on the house?

Two girls,
plus Karli Matt
on a bicycle.

( eagerly ):
The green light,
George?

George, we're speaking
of seconds here!

And on the wife?

Pete Eggli
with two reliefs.

( bells continue tolling )

( stamps foot )

The green light.

Let's go.