All language subtitles for The Bletchley Circle San Francisco 2018 S01E07 Fog of War 720p (Multi) WEB-DL HEVC x265 BONE

We went and mounted a cylinder
of discs on a spindle,

and on the edge of each disc,
letters of the alphabet all randomized,

but that's not all.
Then we use electrical currents to--

Uh... Gentlemen, we've devised a mechanism
that brings efficient encryption

to business communications,
international communiques,

and a growing number of wealthy men
who want private conveyances.

Now, as long-distance
wire communication grows,

so too does the need for privacy.

-Our unit here--
-Your unit?

Yes, sir. The patent was granted
during the war,

and the U.S. military has made
good use of it.

-We still do, the basics of it.
-Well, that's a high compliment, Major.

But the war is long gone and Mrs. Bearden
here has a right to cash in

-on her hard work and good thinking.
-No one disputes your ingenuity,

but the fact is, we still rely on
certain cryptographic elements

-you developed.
-And you're welcome to them,

but by my thinking, sir...

-so am I.
-Herbert Yardley shared the workings

of our cryptology efforts
during the First World War,

which hurt us in the Second.

Statutes are clear.
Your application is denied.

-Well, thank you for your consideration.
-Well, hang-- hang on, hang on.

We'll get a lawyer and fight this.

Under Section Six
of the Invention Secrecy Act,

sharing information is punishable
under military law.

You speak of this to an attorney,
you go to jail.

Now, if you'll kindly surrender
the machine and all technical documents.

How-- how are we supposed
to get our machine back?

You don't.

This really is a splendid collection,
and the first one

where poor Emily Dickinson
wasn't edited half to death.

To finally hear her true voice,
they're crystalline gems.

Millie! How was the interview?

Well, there won't be much poetry
in my life.

But thanks to a good word
that waitress Cherry put in for me,

-I've a job at the diner.
-Well, they're lucky to have you.

And right now, I could use an escape
from my new, greasy reality.

Come on, Jean! I'll bring it back
by the end of the week, I promise.

We are not a lending library.
Do you want to see me fired?

Uh. No. Come on.

You don't get this kind of money
without cheating the system.

Or inheriting it, which means
Grandpa did the cheating.

Enough.

It's not every day you get invited
to the recital of a world-class cellist.

The Soviets are only over here
looking for friends.

They got Poland rising up against them
as we speak.

Not today, Dennis. Please.

I'm proud you were invited, Mom.
Dad would be too.

Inviting a few military wives
is the least our government could do

after they stole our machine.

Least I got the know-how to build
another prototype.

Well, then you go ahead
and forget it.

You heard the man. That machine puts lives
in danger, and us in jail.

-Fine.
-I'm gonna go look over there.

No. You are gonna--
you are gonna stay right here

and enjoy this damn thing, you hear me?

"Damn thing," indeed.

Mrs. Bearden.

-Oh. Uh, yes. Hello.
-I'm Deborah Mitchell.

Alan?

-This is my husband, Alan.
-My son, Dennis, and our friend, Hailey.

-It's a pleasure!
-Indeed.

Young man, I'm told
your father still serves.

-You must miss him a great deal.
-I'm used to it.

Well, at least this new Vietnam business
is short-term.

-Or so they say.
-Oh, it's true.

They'll be done training
the Southern forces

and back home in a month.

If it's a real live ambassador
telling me so,

-I'll take that to the bank.
-Retired ambassador, but even still.

We're looking forward
to putting down roots,

enjoying our own culture.

Iris, I understand you're a musician?

Oh, it's just a Thursday-night early set
in the Fillmore, hardly worth a listen.

That's a lie. They're swinging!
Treat yourself and tune in.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I heard the call
of a bacon wrap-around. [chuckles]

-Well, it seems you have a fan.
-We met in the war. I'm very fond of her.

Now, from what I've heard,
the Big Bop's an integrated club?

It is.

Well, then... I look forward
to paying a visit.

My wife does her homework, Mrs. Bearden.
How else do you think I got this far?

Mm.

-My wrap-around!
-[Russian accent] It's pretty good.

We do not taste pig like this at home.

Mm.

Mm!

Geez. Figured a guy like you
would know a thing or two about sharing,

coming from a communist country and all.

And I figure the Land of Free
can pour drink.

Sad day for both of us.

What savage Cossack pollute vodka
with ice?

What yahoo turns up his nose
at free drinks?

You are correct.

I am peasant.

If you're interested in good nosh,
you should take a gander at our markets.

We like food the same way
you Reds like cranking out your music.

Guilty, and with you,
we do not even share our best.

Who's your friend? Been eyeing us
since I got here.

Hm. My boil.

On my ass. Watch every move.

-You know who I'm talking about?
-Hand burrowed in pocket,

with piss-yellow tie that haunt my dream.

That's the one.

-Should we ask him over?
-Oh, no.

My boil, he bathes but once a week.

Well, then!

Breathe easy while you can.

[Iris] Then after the war,
it was home teaching piano

till I got work at Berkeley.

I trust today's conversation
is about music, not politics?

You're in luck, Mr. Orlov.

My wife is only interested
in things of beauty.

Alexei Orlov, Soviet Consul General.

Iris is a musician herself.
She plays at a jazz club in the Fillmore.

You should visit.

Oh, well,
jazz isn't everyone's cup of tea.

Fillmore District?
Where capitalists displace

good working men and women.

-You got that right, sir.
-I thought we weren't discussing politics.

I'm just saying, we don't all live
like you do here.

My son is very proud of his home.

To love home is to love mother.

Here we go.

♪ When you tell me to close my eyes ♪

There you go.

♪ I know I'm in for a surprise ♪

-Archie! Fancy seeing you here.
-I was in the area

sourcing new light fixtures.

It's outrageous the police won't pay
for what they went and ruined.

Well, I look at it as a chance
to spruce up the joint.

Besides, it was all worth it,
if it got your attention.

Yes. Well, today's special is a meatloaf
with some sort of vegetable.

Sold on the special.

We may be continents apart,
but our two worlds

are more alike than we imagine,
and so we welcome

Consul General Alexei Orlov

and his talented cadre
on this thrilling cultural exchange

between our two countries.

Despite our political differences,
we all share a love of the beautiful,

and no one proves that
more than our guest cellist...

Ilyia Sokolov.

Thank you.

That jerk's the guest of honor?

Where is that damn fool going?

If this is true,
then I am no longer safe here.

I beg you, help me.

Is first time I ever ask.

I tell you, I need protection.

[man speaking Russian]

Madam. Do you know where is my coat?

-Sir, I wouldn't know--
-I must leave immediately.

Sir, you-- you have a-- a nosebleed.

Such travel wears a body thin.

[groans]

Sir. Sir.

[retching]

Here. Here. Just. Just. You--
You just-- you just wait here, and I'll--

-I'll go get you--
-Look. Look.

[groans]

Vlad! Is Vlad!

-Is him.
-I don't understand!

Vlad? Who's Vlad? Who-- What--

Oh, God.

Sounds to me like poisoning.

Paralysis, rapid congestion of the lungs.

-My thoughts exactly.
-The man, he was...

saying the name Vlad,
and pointing at his tattoo.

It was some... some kind of emblem
with letters. It looked like symbols.

The police took my name
and sent me home.

Not that I had a clue
what any of it meant.

Likely the Cyrillic alphabet.

I picked up some Russian on my travels.

In a way, those were
the poor man's dying words.

I just felt so helpless.

Iris, it sounds like
you did all you could.

I saw a man die, and no one gave a damn.

What an awful thing to have to go through.

I'm gonna take this to Bryce.

[groans]

I'm told the constabulary enjoy pastries.

What do you want?

They're cinnamon sugar.

I ain't born yesterday. Let me have it.

I came to see how you are.
If it's a bad time...

No, no, no. It's always a delight.

-They look serious.
-FBI.

The Soviet Consul General died last night.

-Why else do you think I'm here?
-I'd hoped otherwise.

Millie, the man died of a heart attack.

While bleeding from the nose
and gasping for air?

-That's the medical report.
-Well, the medical report is wrong!

I might be able to help translate
that man's tattoo.

-What tattoo?
-You don't know?

-Well, the FBI took over the case.
-What case?

You just told me the man died
of a heart attack.

The whole thing is politically sensitive.

Yes, and it all rests
on a man's dying words.

Well, what were they?

Come now, Bill.
I'm gonna need a little tit for my tat.

-Like what?
-Like a trip to the morgue?

Such a romantic.

I smell bacon.

-Miss McBrian. Good morning.
-Good morning.

Sleep okay?

I hear it was quite the bunfight
you attended.

Yeah, a Cold War battle,
right in front of our faces.

Bam, one of ours bumped off one of theirs.
We're as bad as they are.

I doubt that.

Dennis has a keen interest in politics.

Sooner or later, folks start fighting.

Doesn't matter what side

of the Iron Curtain
you hang your hat on.

And you think fighting is the way?

[knock at door]

I'm not the only one.

Mom here raised plenty of hell
back in the day.

-Well, the day is different now.
-To you, maybe.

-Mrs. Iris Bearden?
-Yes. Can I help you?

Agent Walker, FBI.
Apologies for the early hour,

but we have a few questions.

-I have guests, and children to get ready.
-You're also the last person

to see the Soviet Consul General alive.

-That's of great interest to us.
-What's going on here?

-You got a search warrant?
-It's fine, Dennis, we're just talking.

I think you'd be more comfortable
down the station.

Won't take long.

-Jean?
-I'll get them to school.

Now, you listen to Miss McBrian here.

Don't you worry.
This is all a bunch of nothing.

And the moment he starts playing
the cello...

-you leave the room.
-I went to find my son.

So, he was also unaccounted for
at the time of the Consul General's death?

No, he was using the toilet.

Ah.

I see he's quite involved
in political activism. Rallies, protests.

No father around to keep him in line.

My husband is currently overseas
protecting this country's interests.

While your boy gets wilder by the day.

Um... Kids today, they--
they question everything.

The Consul General,
what did he say before he died?

-Nothing I could understand.
-Oh.

Maybe I'll bring in your boy.
He can tell me.

-Sir, I'm--
-Either you are cooperating

with your country,
or you are undermining it.

-It was nothing.
-To you, perhaps.

Vlad. That's all he said. Vlad.

Mr. Alan Mitchell.

Where was he at the time
of the Consul General's death?

Well, what does it matter?

If Mr. Orlov was poisoned,
then it was long before he dropped.

Who said anything about poisoning?

Well, I-- I just-- It--
The way that he died,

-I only thought--
-You're not here to think.

What did you bring me here for?
Why threaten my family--

We are staring down
an international crisis.

That means we need a story
that is airtight.

From your file,

it seems you've kept your fair share
of secrets before.

I have never betrayed the trust
my country has placed in me.

And I'm here to make sure
you don't start now.

[reading Russian]

As the Russians say,

"You cannot escape your fate."

[Bryce] Medical report suggests
muscle and organ failure,

likely from ingestion
of a chemical substance.

-Doesn't say what.
-Doesn't have to.

My bet, it's curare.

-Curare?
-Mm. What's in the file fits the bill.

It's the Soviets' chosen venom,

extracted from a deadly
South American plant.

You're suggesting Orlov was murdered
by one of his own?

Or someone made it look like he was.

Either way, they counted on Americans
to cover it up.

Jean McBrian?

Nigel Beamish.

The office told me you were outside.
I could hardly fathom it.

-What brings you to our shores?
-Can you believe, I live here now.

-I can. It suits you.
-I spotted you last week,

when I telexed my resignation
back to London.

You worked at the library,
if I'm not mistaken.

I have to admit, I have kept tabs.

-And you, in the Foreign Service.
-Mostly just toiling over briefings.

-Still, far cry from Bletchley.
-Until I saw you standing here.

I've an American friend, badgered
by federal officers this morning.

-Well, that's outside of my bailiwick.
-It's regarding the death of Alexei Orlov.

Jean, what are you doing here,
wrapping yourself up in this business?

You know me. I was always one
for puzzles, riddles...

International calamities?

I just wanted to let you to know, Nigel,
that I'm...

at your service once again.

Well...

there might be something
you could do for me.

It's top-secret work,
but I could pay your asking price.

Just like old times.

[knock at door]

-How'd you find me?
-I make call, who make more call.

You promise me
you'll take me to market!

-Buddy, I'm no tour guide.
-Please.

Everyone is eye on Orlov death.

Now is one chance for me.

I got a lot of things on the go.

You deny man
who make you weep with cello?

Might've got a bit misty,
but that's the sum extent.

You got dirt on what really killed
your man Orlov?

-He is never my man.
-All right.

Uh...

You show your world...

I show mine.

Iris? What-- What are you doing here?

Let's just say a gentleman
wanted the pleasure of my company, and

-wouldn't take no for an answer.
-You too?

They've been holding my husband
for hours now.

Seems they have a lot of questions.

It's terrible.
We didn't move here to have our names

embroiled in scandal.

The Feds are looking to control the story.

Orlov and my husband
had their differences,

but Alan would never...

Let's just say Alan is a diplomat.
He doesn't believe in violent measures.

Neither do the FBI.

According to them,
the man died of a heart attack.

-That's not true.
-Well, I know that, and you know that.

So long as we all keep quiet about it,
everybody's fine.

They threatened to put my family
on some kind of watchlist,

-and they may implicate my son.
-Well, that's a travesty.

You gave comfort to a man
in his dying breaths.

I will see to it.
You shouldn't have to suffer further.

I'd be much obliged.

This Orlov. What did you know about him?

There's our attorney. Iris, thank you.
I-- I'll be in touch.

I can still see him,
choking out his last words.

If we can't tease out what he was trying
to tell me, then who will?

Clearly not the FBI.
They want this whole thing to go away.

[Iris] And there's a shadow on my family
until we solve this.

Fortunately, we've a toe-hold.
That man's tattoo is Russian

for "the Pearl of the Black Sea."

Now, how on Earth does a body of water,
or a pearl in it, relate to this man?

My take on the autopsy
is he was poisoned,

possibly by a Soviet toxin,
my guess is by our man, Vlad.

And yet the FBI are going
after this diplomat, Alan Mitchell.

Maybe with good reason.
His wife did tell me

that he and Orlov didn't get along.

You think Mitchell's in cahoots
with this Vladimir Nikolaev?

I don't know, but it seems everyone
is gunning to sweep it under the rug.

The FBI were more interested
in threatening me than finding a killer.

[sighs]

Jean. That's quite the do.

It's not a "do," Millie.

-It's just my hair.
-What happened to it?

-Nothing.
-Nothing?

Nothing!

You remember Nigel Beamish
from Bletchley Hut Four.

-Oh, Good Lord! What a stupid clot.
-Well, he wasn't that bad.

Are you around the twist?

The man once passed intelligence
to the Germans

after misreading a coded intercept
I gave him! He almost got me fired!

The whole of Hut Three spent days
crafting false ciphers

to cover for that dolt.

Well, he's in the city,
and I thought he might prove useful.

To you, yes! You solved his every problem
and let him take the credit every time.

It's how we got the job done, Millie.

Why dredge up that old fossil?

Because he works
for the British Consulate.

The same Foreign office
that turned you down?

The point is, Millie, that he has a job
with access to information,

so I sought him out.

I was worried for Iris
when the FBI came calling,

and I think he might know a thing or two
about this Vladimir Nikolaev.

Well, don't say I didn't warn you.

Who knew such riches existed?

Oranges, I can understand.

They were a rare treat till I moved here
to California, but...

-parsnips?
-Like I've never seen!

Such abundance.

I know it.

Some winters on the farm,
all we had were rotten potatoes

-and any critters we could shoot.
-You lucky, you eat critter.

I live in Leningrad during siege.

Nine hundred days we starve.

Yeah, we're not hungry like that.

In America, hunger not of belly...
of soul.

I see American dream...

-only for rich.
-Not for lack of trying.

I built something with a friend,

something special some government
committee burned to the ground.

When a country rob us of dream...

that is greatest crime.

Still, nothing you can you do.

Wrong.

You know Sergei Prokofiev?

-No, Ilyia, I do not.
-He is composer.

Stalin ban his music, call compositions
threat to social fabric.

He write... sonata for cello.

Composer union bury him with delay,

all so world never hear it
but Prokofiev...

he never stop his vision,

or else world lose best music.

The sonata, what happened to it?

I play it for American dreamers yesterday.

You...

you weep your gut out.

We got your boil following us.

Walk easy. We run, he chase.

Aren't bodyguards there to protect?

KGB. He watch every move.

Seeing you was a welcome surprise.

You know, I was always fond of you.

I applied to the Foreign Service, but...

-It was my dream.
-Well, they were fools not to have you.

I'd have to agree.

Though I must admit, serving Queen
and country can be a lonely enterprise.

Well, perhaps the best way for a man
to rise through the ranks is...

with the right woman by his side.

My thoughts exactly.

I have to ask, do the words
"Pearl of the Black Sea"

-mean anything to you?
-Another piece to a puzzle.

Just like old days, you're the man
with all the answers.

"Pearl of the Black Sea"
is the Soviet city of Odessa.

As it happens, the encryption
I need your help with

is also wrapped up with the Soviets.

It's regarding the death of that diplomat?

-That I can't say.
-And yet here you are needing my help.

We've intercepted a seven-digit cipher
from Soviet communications,

-and they're asking me to decrypt it.
-Well, of course they would, Nigel,

-after your stellar success at Bletchley.
-Yes,

but I look at those digits,
and all I can see is a telephone number.

Well, I look at telephone numbers,
and all I see are cryptic ciphers.

This is terribly important to someone
out there,

as important as anything
we did during the war.

The enemy does not want us
to have this information.

Well, then you'd better let me
have a look.

Jean McBrian.

It's time to shine a little light.

[Jean yells and screams]

Come on, Jean, pick up.

[door opens]

We-- we're closed.

-That's why I'm here.
-[Millie sighs]

I got a look at the FBI's intel,

switchboard records of calls
made from the Mitchell house

on the night of Orlov's death.

The call placed was to Mitchell's office
downtown.

But Alan Mitchell was hosting a party
at the time.

Well, someone was there to pick it up.

So there is a connection
between the two men.

If you want to tease the whole thing out,
we could...

talk it through on your walk home.

Well, that was quite
the enterprising route.

Well, when you walk the beat
for eight years,

you learn a few short-cuts.

Mm.

I, um...

Those, um, hills have left me a bit
[clears throat] weak at the knees.

I could come in,
make sure you're safe and sound.

No, no. I've-- I've a formidable watchdog.

Yeah.

Well, um...

-Good night, Bill.
-Good night.

Jean?

Jean, I brought you a slice of apple pie.

Shall I make us some tea, darling?

Jean?

It needs something now, this space.

Perhaps a Grecian sculpture we picked up
during our Athenian sojourn.

Sounds lovely.

How is Mr. Mitchell?

Oh, free and clear.
Our attorney saw to it.

It must've took some doing,
with your husband and Mr. Orlov

having differences.

Just two men passionate about politics.

But Alan's retired now,
and Mr. Orlov...

-Is dead.
-The point is, we need to move on,

which is why I asked you here.

We've much in common, Iris.

-I'm not sure I see it.
-I was studying for my MRS

back at Wellesley when they snapped me up.

I figured marriage could wait, what with
the best and brightest shipping out,

so I got myself shipped out to Hawaii.

-Hawaii. What for?
-Crack Japanese code.

Same as you.

-How do you mean?
-Come, now.

You had a security check
for the party.

Alan is prone to whispering secrets
in my ear.

They used to be of a more romantic nature,
which is likely why I went

and married the man.

-Which gets a girl pregnant, and--
-Out of a job.

And into another...

Decades playing an ambassador's wife.

But...

I have a mess that I can't fix.

There's a reporter from The Chronicle
pressing me for a story,

raising scandalous implications.

No, no. You mustn't. The FBI,
they were adamant

-that we--
-The press are unrelenting.

-I can only imagine.
-Good. So you'll issue a statement?

As the last person to see Mr. Orlov alive,
you can provide some clarity

and stop these papers from running lies.

You want them to talk to me
so they won't talk to you?

Exactly.

Thank you for making this so very easy.
It is a simple statement.

-All you have to do is sign.
-Oh, no. I-- I--

I can't put that kind of spotlight
on my family.

Well, then, perhaps a potted tree.

Fig or a lemon. Something I can...

water and feed and keep alive.

The FBI said to stick to their story,
but Deborah Mitchell's looking to make me

-front-page news.
-So, we get to the truth first.

Bryce told me that Orlov's last call
was to Alan Mitchell's office.

But Alan Mitchell was in his own home.

Jean?

Jean, darling, it's late. Iris is here,
and we could use your help.

Jean?

-What's wrong?
-She's not there.

What? She left early?

Oh. Not without her coat and purse.

She definitely came home last night.

Where is she?

I'm told she left yesterday at closing.

Except when I called home last night,
there was no answer.

Well, did you get
anything from the police?

They say it's too early to report
her missing,

say I've got to wait another day.
It's rubbish.

Six o'clock sign-out.

She's written the word
"Paradise" beside it.

-Paradise?
-Yeah.

It's a book of stories by this new author,
James Michener.

I'd read a glowing review
and asked to borrow a copy.

You think Jean
left a message inside?

Perhaps, or just a place
to hide something.

Millie.

-Seven digits and the word "Odessa."
-Hid in the title page

of a story called "What I Learned."

This symbol.

That's how Jean would mark
enciphered messages back at Bletchley.

It feels familiar somehow, but I can't
put my finger on what cipher it might be.

Come on.

I hope you've rested.

I was far too eager to meet my captor.

Call me Mr. Zuyev.

We are interested in your contact
with Nigel Beamish.

-Who?
-Come, now.

He's your friend.

He works here, at the British Consulate.

We served together in the war.
He's no friend.

-What woman picnics with her enemies?
-It was a trip down memory lane,

-and no concern of yours.
-But it is, Miss McBrian.

We saw him pass you information.

Do let's not waste time prevaricating.

[turns up music]

I have no idea what it meant.
Ask him.

I'm just a simple woman
working in a small bookstore.

If it's reading recommendations
you're after--

There are things you know,
and things you don't know...

but you... you will tell me.

Understand?

Hm. Hm.

Well...

if I'm going to start singing...

can I at least have a glass of water?

[door closes]

[shrieks]

Help me! Help me!

The police told you,
your friend's no missing person

just because she left
some phone number in a book.

It isn't a phone number.
She also wrote the word "Odessa,"

-which is a city on the coast of Ukraine.
-Duly noted.

[Millie] Mr. Walker,
our friend has disappeared.

-I'll share this with my colleagues.
-Oh, will you?

or will you just sweep it
under the carpet,

the way you did when Alexei Orlov died?

-I beg your pardon?
-My best friend was taken from our home.

Now, you may not have enough to get off
your arse and do something about it,

but if it's a swift kick you're after,
I will happily provide it.

Refreshments?

It's true, I do have
a rather formidable broom.

You'd best make sure
you stay out of its path.

Thank you, sir.
Just... please do keep us posted.

-Any word?
-Deafening silence.

What would anyone want with Jean?

She crossed paths with an old acquaintance
from the British Consulate last night.

She must've got the note from him.

Well, then there's the trail
that Orlov left.

-His last call, to Alan Mitchell's office.
-Alan Mitchell must know something.

We need to get to him.

His wife wanted to hear you play.
We could invite them,

-say you've got a gig tonight.
-I could tell her I'll sign her statement.

-I think she'd come for that alone.
-Yes, Iris. Please.

And make sure she brings
that husband of hers.

Right now I'm off to see
that Nigel Beamish.

-Anything to say, Miss McBrian?
-Ouch.

For your sake, I hope your memory
wasn't affected.

Now...

this piece of paper Nigel give you...

We search your coat, your purse...

you hide it somewhere.

Tell us what it read, and you can go.

It was his telephone number.

We'd enjoyed a--
a few sordid wartime gropings

during air-raid blackouts,
and he was hoping to rekindle the flame.

-And?
-And I binned it.

[struggling]

[Jean moans]

[screams]

I swear to God, it's the truth.

The "truth" needs to change,
Miss McBrian.

All right! It was a number.
A seven-digit number.

-I never made any sense of it.
-You are cryptologist.

Who's even to say it was a cipher?

Well, as no doubt you've learned, that...

everything is code for something else.

Excuse me.

Any luck with Mr. Beamish?

I went all over town
trying to track him down.

I finally got him on the telephone.
He insists he has no clue

about Jean's disappearance.

-And you believe him?
-Not for a second!

Tell me you're doing better
with our diplomat over there.

Not yet, but I'm expecting Olivia,
and she may have unearthed a lead.

In the meantime,
you up for some squeezing?

It'll be a pleasure.

-I do hope you're enjoying the evening.
-Oh, yes.

It's a treat to be in a room,
and for once, not have to glad-hand.

-I'm told you knew the Russian who died.
-Yes.

Sadly, it's a complicated situation.

I can imagine.

I heard you weren't on good terms.

There's a lot you don't understand.

For starters, Orlov wasn't Russian.

-Of course. Ukrainian.
-How'd you guess?

-Odessa. On the Black Sea.
-You know your geography.

"The Pearl," in fact.
Isn't that what they call it?

-"The Pearl of the Black Sea."
-They do.

That's what was written
on the man's tattoo.

We weren't close enough
for me to know.

And yet he called your office
moments before he died.

Isn't this wonderful, Alan?

Yes. Wonderful.

Excuse me.

You must wish you were up there.

-The world hears enough of me.
-And it's about to hear more.

Thank you for agreeing to sign
the statement.

I'm hoping for a little help in return.

Our friend is missing, Mrs. Mitchell.
Your husband, he has influence.

-This is important.
-It always is.

-You're-- you've got it wrong.
-Have I?

You're a man who spent his career
making nice.

Only this time, you stood up
to an old enemy.

-This time, you decided might was right.
-My secretary has the keys.

-She may have taken a call from him.
-My friend is missing, Mr. Mitchell.

I am beyond interviewing the help.

Who is Vladimir Nikolaev?

The tattoo...

refers to the Black Sea Fleet.

Orlov was a naval officer in the war,
a hero in the Siege of Odessa.

You don't know it, but there are men
working to repair the relations

between our two countries.

I was one and so was Orlov.

He knew that he could call my office
when the chips were down.

So Orlov was a spy?

I didn't say that.

Change of plans. No more nice guy.

-I see.
-Do you?

My guess, your superiors are tiring
of your abilities.

You're clearly not running things,
Mr. Zuyev.

Someone else holds your leash.

True.

But I hold yours.

I know you killed the Consul General.

A brilliant move, really.
Poisoning him amongst so many suspects.

A traitor has many enemies.

A double agent.

So, those numbers you're so curious about,
he knew what they meant.

[Speaking in Russian]

-What's he saying?
-One of us give up on you.

But, me...

I believe there is blood in this stone.

[vocalizing]

♪ My love must be a kind of blind love ♪

♪ I can't see anyone but you ♪

♪ Are the stars out tonight? ♪

♪ I don't care if it's cloudy or bright ♪

♪ For I only have eyes ♪

♪ For you ♪

♪ Dear ♪

I thought this might prove helpful.

It was obvious you weren't given much aid
from those G-men.

The Feds have an interest in him.

My guess is he was involved
in the poisoning.

His name is Vladimir Nikolaev.

I know this man. He was at the party.

-I must speak with you.
-Where's Ilyia?

-Shouldn't you be busy being a boil?
-What is boil?

-Never mind. Just keep your distance.
-There is danger!

-You must listen.
-Ah, there you are.

-Ilyia, I gotta find my friends.
-But first, music.

I need a quick confab.

[Arguing in Russian]

Holy doodle. That's Ilyia's bodyguard.

And he's right over there.

-You sure that's our man?
-Yes. And he's wanted internationally.

No wonder he gave me the creeps,
telling me I'm in danger.

A threat or a warning?

Let me see if I can find out.

♪ I don't know ♪

♪ If we're in a garden ♪

-Players are good.
-What do you know about your handler?

He watch me, I do not watch him.

His name is Vladimir Nikolaev.
He's wanted by the police

in several different countries.

He was involved
in my friend's disappearance.

I need to talk to him.

To cover stinking track, he will kill you.

-So he's some kind of government agent?
-I do not know. I'm humble cellist!

We need to find best help.

Come, come.

♪ ...Go by ♪

♪ But they all disappear ♪

[Speaking in Russian]

♪ Cause I only have eyes ♪

"Josephine."

♪ For you ♪