Original subtitles

( people conversing in Russian in background )

( bell ringing )

MAN: Kuda vy edete?

Konechno, Bahama.

Bonjour.

Comment ça va, bien?

Comme d'habitude.

( sighs )

Your name

is Maria Andreyevna Ostrakova.

You were born in Leningrad

on May 8, 1927.

Ostrakova, I bring you greetings

from your daughter, Alexandra, in Moscow.

Also from certain official quarters.

C'est trop chaud pour faire l'amour!

I wish to speak to you concerning your daughter.

Do not board this car.

Alexandra has serious problems

that require the assistance

of a mother.

DRIVER: Et merde.

( people conversing in French in background )

In 1948, age 21,

you married the traitor Ostrakov Igor.

In 1950 they said Ostrakov traitorously defected to France

with the assistance of reactionary émigrés,

leaving you behind in Moscow.

Despite the improbability your request would be granted,

you applied for a foreign travel passport

to join your husband in France, correct?

He had cancer.

If I had not made the application,

I would have been failing in my duty as a wife.

Monsieur, I would prefer the citron.

Meanwhile...

Meanwhile...

Despite your pretended concern

for your husband, the traitor Ostrakov,

you nevertheless formed an adulterous relationship

with Glikman Joseph,

a Jew with four convictions

for antisocial behavior.

In consequence of this adulterous union,

you bore a daughter,

Alexandra.

Correct or false?

Where is she?

Where is Glikman?

What have you done with them?

In January 1956 as an act clemency,

you were granted a passport

on condition that the child Alexandra

remained behind in Moscow.

You exceeded the permitted time,

remained in France, abandoning your child.

You have received no communication from her.

I was advised only that she had entered a state orphanage

and had acquired another name.

Unless the ways of the authorities

have changed considerably, for all she knows, I am dead.

But you're not.

It is your lover--

the Jew, Glikman-- who is dead.

Concerning your criminal daughter, Alexandra...

Criminal?

On November 20, 1966,

for escaping from the state orphanage,

six months corrective detention

extended to one year

at corrective detention by reason

of bad behavior, it has been decided.

What is your decision?

I didn't hear.

I'm sorry.

Kindly, will you repeat

what you just said?

Assuming it has been decided

to rid the Soviet Union of the disruptive and unsocial element,

how would you like your daughter, Alexandra,

to join you here in France?

Alexandra?

Here?

To me?

Do you wish formally to apply for her?

Oh, yes.

Yes.

Tomorrow morning you will go to the Soviet embassy

and you will ask for Attaché Kuznetsov.

Attaché Kuznetsov is authorized

to make certain reunions of a compassionate nature.

You will not mention this meeting.

You will give no indication of special treatment.

Attaché Kuznetsov will require you to fill in certain forms.

He will also supply you

with a photograph of your daughter, Alexandra.

You will take these forms with you

to the French Ministry of the Interior,

where you will pledge yourself to certain undertakings.

Comrade Ostrakova.

Madame.

Oh, Madame-- please come this way.

Could you put here, please,

your date and place of birth,

here the names of both your parents

and here the date of your marriage

to your late husband?

And these are photographs of your daughter.

This is my daughter?

Mm-hmm.

There have been times

when I have been less than polite to you.

I apologize.

There have been times also when I doubted your existence.

But don't let me doubt the existence of my daughter.

( car horn honking in background )

( men conversing in Russian in background )

There was a general whom my husband used to know, Sergei.

Formerly of the Red Army.

He came to Paris and started an émigré organization here.

Vladimir.

What happened to him?

He tried to start a third world war.

The French didn't like it.

They banned his outfit.

He went to London.

My husband said he was strong-- a man to trust.

Not with your wife, he wasn't.

Find him for me.

I want his address urgently.

Ask for yourself, not for me.

Sure.

( door opens )

Good morning, Mikhel.

Good morning, my general.

WOMAN: Bobchik.

There you are.

There you are.

Madam, I wish to call Hamburg

and afterwards to be advised of the costs of this call.

Sit, Bobchik.

( inaudible )

( women conversing in Russian in background )

Letters delivered by hand to your place of work.

And at your age.

C'est charmant.

( doorbell ringing )

You received my letter safely, madame?

You are very small for a general.

I am not the General, madame.

I am his lieutenant.

Yes, that is him.

Who is he?

What does he want with my daughter?

How do you know him so well?

You know what we used to say in the camps?

Questions are never dangerous, only the answers.

OSTRAKOVA: That was not her photograph.

That was never Glikman's child.

I saw Glikman's child-- I bore her.

She looked like three Jews at once.

He said to me,

"Be discreet.

Any indiscretion, your daughter will not be released."

I've not been discreet.

I've written to the General!

I am talking to you!

I am not used to conspiracy-- I hate it!

Listen...

Can't you tell me your name?

I want my child.

That swine reminded me that I am a mother.

There's a part of this old sinner

that longs to believe his lies.

Tell me what to do.

I told you too much already.

All that matters is that you have identified him.

Listen, if there is a crisis,

you are to write the General at this address in London.

Call him Miller, Mr. Miller.

On no account use the telephone.

You understand?

Never.

Don't deceive yourself:

The danger is not over; it's just begun.

Don't open your door to strangers.

Be alert.

Have courage.

Who else is in danger?

All of us--

all who have knowledge of this affair.

And my daughter?

No, Alexandra has no part in this.

She knows nothing.

OSTRAKOVA: I shall think of you as the magician

and pray that your tricks succeed.

Madame Ostrakova!

A gentleman was inquiring for you.

There were two, very similar, official.

They are still there.

( church bell ringing in distance )

( boat horn blows )

( horn blows )

( couple laughing, conversing in German )

( phone ringing in distance )

Hello?

This is Gregory calling for Max.

Please, I have something very important for him

Where are you calling from?

GREGORY: It doesn't matter.

I have plenty of change.

I must speak to Max, urgently.

Please hold on.

Um, Max can't speak to you at the moment--

I'm sorry.

If you could call back...

at, uh, 2:30, yes, possibly then.

GREGORY: Tell Max!

Yes, 2:30.

( phone ringing in distance )

GREGORY: Get me Max immediately!

Look, Max isn't here.

I'm sorry...

GREGORY: There must be a meeting.

Tonight! A meeting or nothing.

I insist on Moscow Rules.

Tell Max I've been in touch with certain friends,

yes, and through friends with neighbors!

Tell this to Max.

MAN: A meeting...

yes, yeah, a... a meeting can be arranged, yes.

Could you call back in an hour, please?

STRICKLAND: Hello?

Mr. Strickland, sir?

Mm-hmm.

This is Mostyn of Oddbins here, sir.

I hear you.

I have a requisition for the safe flat in Hampstead tonight.

Who's the lady?

Could he not come here?

No, sir, I'm afraid he's insisting on Moscow Rules.

( radio announcer speaking Russian )

( loud classical music begins playing over radio )

( stick snaps )

( gravel crunching )

( bird chirping )

MAN: George?

It's Oliver Lacon.

George, are you awake?

It's an emergency, George.

( claps once )

Shh!

You remember the old general, used to live in Paris?

( speaking softly )

We need someone from his past,

someone who knew his little ways-- could speak for him.

We need you, George.

( police radio transmissions )

DETECTIVE: Knew him personally at all, sir?

Or shouldn't I inquire?

He was somebody I worked with.

So I was given to understand.

Well, most likely they started to search him

and then they were probably disturbed.

If I might take a look at his face, Superintendent.

Are you sure about that, sir?

Yes.

Yes, I am sure.

Hall!

Sergeant Pike, come down here.

Turn him over.

( officer grunts )

SUPERINTENDENT: You'll have to try

harder than that, lad.

OFFICER: Come on, lad,

put some muscle into it.

OFFICER: Oh, Christ!

Oh, bloody hell!

OFFICER: Get it away.

Take it away fast, now!

( retching )

OFFICER: Sorry about that, sir.

He's young.

SUPERINTENDENT: Most people expect to be shot in the chest.

Your neat round bullet that drills a tasteful hole.

It's the television that does it, I suppose.

Whereas your modern bullet can tear off an arm or a leg.

You don't happen to know what did this, do you?

I haven't seen a wound like that in a long time.

I'm afraid ballistics is not my province.

No, of course, it wouldn't be, would it?

You, uh, seen enough, sir?

Did he have a mustache?

My sergeant fancied

a trace of white whisker on the upper jaw.

A military mustache.

Well, most likely you'd like to know

how the old gentleman got down here.

As far as we can tell.

Thank you, Superintendent, yes.

SUPERINTENDENT: Sergeant Pike.

PIKE: Sir!

Cover him up.

And tell young Constable Hall

I may not be able to stop him sicking up,

but I will not tolerate irreverent language.

Will do, sir.

SUPERINTENDENT: Right, I shall now give you the authorized version.

Are you ready, Mr. Smiley?

Here he comes, down the hill.

Easy pace, nice and easy toe-and-heel movement.

Everything above board, see, Mr. Smiley?

The stick marks in his left hand,

whereas it was in his right hand when he was shot.

You saw that, too, I noticed.

Have you any idea, um, which leg was the bad one?

The left.

So he probably would have carried

his stick in his left.

And how old did you say he was, sir?

I didn't, but he owned to 70.

Plus a recent heart attack, I gather.

Then suddenly, he stops.

Now, my guess is that he heard something behind him.

I mean, notice how the pace shortens,

notice the distance between his feet

as he makes a sort of half turn,

probably looking over his shoulder.

Then he decides to make a dash for it.

An entirely new print.

He's going for all he's worth.

Unfortunately, whatever killed him

was in front of him, wasn't it?

Not behind at all.

Now, how do you explain this?

Stops again--

not a total stop, just a sort of stutter.

Then off he goes.

With the stick in his right hand.

Exactly.

Now, why, when you're running for your life,

why pause, do a sort of duck shuffle, change hands,

and then run straight into the arms of whoever shot him?

SUPERINTENDENT: Any explanation

from your side of the street, Mr. Smiley?

If I might see the content

of his pockets, Superintendent.

Certainly, sir.

Uh, one receipt for £17.85 from the Straight and Steady

Minicab Service of Islington North.

May I see that?

SUPERINTENDENT: One stick of school chalk, yellow,

overcoat left.

One handkerchief with chalk powder.

MAN: There were some chalk powder marks

on his left hand, too.

We did wonder whether he might be

in the teaching line, actually.

SUPERINTENDENT: Oh, and a couple of dog biscuits.

No maker's name.

I did notice bite marks on his walking stick.

Funny, I never thought of foreigners liking dogs.

Did you, sir?

Uh, no, I don't suppose I did.

Crime and Ops on the air, sir.

Oh, right.

Excuse me.

You're a specialist

of some sort, sir?

No, I'm afraid not.

Home Office, sir?

Alas, not the Home Office either.

( police radio transmissions )

( plastic bags rustling )

My superiors are a little worried

about the press, Mr. Smiley.

Apparently they're heading this way.

Thank you.

You've been very kind.

Privilege.

Sergeant!

PIKE: Sir?

Get this lot wrapped up.

Yes, sir.

Uh, no, Chief, not yet, no.

Perhaps he's lost his way.

( chuckles briefly )

No, Chief, no, not like old George.

( doorbell rings )

Any compromising materials on the body, George?

Anything to link him with us?

My God, you've been a time.

Oh, you'd like to refresh yourself, I imagine.

The bathroom's...

Thank you, Oliver, I remember.

Yes, Chief, yes, he is with us at this moment, Chief.

I shall tell him that, Chief.

LACON: George, you look worried.

Don't be-- we're all in the clear on this.

How did the police behave?

Impeccably, thank you.

STRICKLAND: Indeed...

Sir, I shall convey to him that message, sir.

Uh-huh.

MOSTYN: Will you have tea, Mr. Smiley?

Or something stronger?

He'll have tea only, thank you, Mostyn.

After shock, tea is a deal safer.

With sugar, eh, George?

Sugar replaces lost energy.

I've hardly said hello.

George, old friend.

My goodness.

Hello, Oliver.

STRICKLAND: George!

Sir Saul sends

his warmest personal salutations, George.

At a quieter moment,

he'll express his gratitude

to you more fittingly.

It is still Enderby in charge, is it?

LACON: Yes, yes, it is still Sir Saul Enderby.

He's doing marvels.

Well, not quite your style, of course.

He's an Atlantic man.

Mostyn, where's tea?

We seem to have been waiting forever!

STRICKLAND: The point about the press is

not to play him down too far, hmm?

How's Ann?

With you and so forth, I trust?

Not, uh, roaming, is she?

Fine, thank you.

God, how I hate autumn.

How's, um...?

Abandoned me, damn it.

Run off with her pesky riding instructor, blast her.

Left me with the children.

Well, the girls are farmed out to boarding schools, thank God.

I'm sorry.

Why should you be?

Not your wife.

STRICKLAND: Could you close that window, please?

It's bloody arctic over here.

What section are you in?

Oddbins, sir.

Since your day.

It's a sort of operational pool.

I see.

I heard you lecture at Sarratt, sir.

At the new entrants' training course, sir.

It was the best thing of the whole two years.

Thank you.

You-- Mostyn.

Young Nigel.

Commit nothing to paper whatever.

Do you hear me?

That's an order from on high.

There was no encounter, so there's no call

to fill in an encounter sheet

or any of that stuff.

Mostyn was Vladimir's case officer?

Only for this evening.

Two sugars.

You mean to say you farmed out the old man to Mostyn?

Oliver, I wonder if you'd mind telling me what I'm doing here.

LACON: Three years ago, George-- let's start there.

Soon after you left the Circus,

Saul Enderby, your worthy successor,

under pressure from a concerned Cabinet,

decided on certain far-reaching changes

of intelligence practice.

Mostyn, you close your ears to this.

I'm talking high, high policy.

Now, one of the far-reaching changes, George,

was the decision to form

an interministerial steering committee,

placed between the intelligence fraternity and Cabinet,

known as the "Wise Men."

STRICKLAND: Wise, my Aunt Fanny.

Bunch of flannel merchants.

Tell us how to run the shop.

Smack our wrists

when we don't do our sums right.

You don't like it, George.

I can tell by your face.

I'm out of it; I'm not qualified to judge.

LACON: Now, as a result of this,

certain categories of clandestine operation

were ruled ipso facto out of bounds.

Verboten, right?

STRICKLAND: No coat trailing,

no honey traps, no stimulated defections,

no émigrés-- no bugger-all.

What's that?

LACON: Let's not be simplistic,

please, Lauder.

The Wise Men composed a catalogue

of proscribed practices, right?

STRICKLAND: The exile groups have been dustbinned, George,

the lot of them-- orders from on high.

No contact, not even at arm's length.

Special two-key archive for them on the fifth floor.

No officer access without consent

in writing from the Chief.

Utter nonsense.

George, now steady.

SMILEY: What utter nonsense.

Vladimir wasn't expensive.

He wasn't an indulgence either.

You know as well as I do

what he was worth.

George, I admired the man.

Never his group, certainly never his obsessions.

Now, there is an absolute distinction here.

The man, yes, not the company he kept,

the fantasists, the down-at-heel princelings, never.

The Wise Men have a point, George, and you can't deny it.

Vladimir was one of the best agents we ever had.

Because he was yours, you mean?

Because he was good!

He was potty.

He was loyal and honorable.

In a shifting world, he held fast,

so, yes, maybe he was potty.

George... In the Red Army

he fought the Germans like a lion.

We used to admire that.

He dreamed of the great Russian liberalization.

He got Stalin instead.

He wanted Estonia set free.

It never happened.

One night, in despair, he offered us his services.

Us, the British,

in Moscow.

For five years after that,

he spied for us

from the very heart of the capital.

He refused all payment.

Risked everything for us every day.

George, this is history.

This is not today.

Until he was blown and fled to Paris,

Vladimir was the best source we had

on Soviet capabilities and intentions.

He was close

to their intelligence community

and reported on that, too.

Damn it, George, that whole era's dead.

And so is Vladimir!

And I wish to God we'd got half his courage

and one-tenth of his integrity.

George, we are pragmatists, we adapt.

We are not the keepers of some sacred flame.

I ask you, I commend you

to remember this.

Oliver, tell me what I am doing here.

All right, Mostyn, tell him.

MOSTYN: He was furious.

Shouting at me down the phone:

"A meeting or nothing.

"Tonight or nothing.

"Moscow Rules.

"I insist on Moscow Rules.

Tell this to Max."

Tell what to Max?

MOSTYN: He meant...

"Tell Max I insist it's Moscow Rules."

Whoever heard of Moscow Rules

in the middle of bloody Hampstead anyway?

"Bloody" Hampstead's right.

What, um... what are Moscow Rules?

MOSTYN: Procedures to be observed

in territories of extreme risk, sir.

Going by the book all the way.

STRICKLAND: Oh, Mostyn,

wrap the story up.

MOSTYN: The encounter was fixed for 10:20.

There's a tin pavilion on Hampstead Heath

five minutes' walk from East Heath Road.

The safety signal was one new drawing pin

shoved high in the first support

on the right as you entered.

SMILEY: And the countersignal?

A bloody hunting horn.

( chuckling )

MOSTYN: A yellow chalk mark.

I gather yellow was the sort of group trademark

from the old days.

I put up the pin

and came back here and waited.

I never met him.

He was my first agent,

we used classic trade craft,

and he's dead.

It's incredible.

I feel like a complete Jonah.

Well, what's it to be, George?

You choose.

On the one hand,

Vladimir asked for a chat with you.

Retired buddies, chin wag about old times, why not?

And in order to raise a bit of a wind,

as any of us might, he pretended he had

something for you.

He wouldn't do that.

On this basis

my minister would back us.

He'll help us to bury the case.

He may even decide there's no point

in troubling the Wise Men with it

at all.

Amen.

If, on the other hand,

things were to come unstuck

and the minister got it into his head

that we were engaging his good offices

in order to clear up traces of some unlicensed venture,

which had aborted and there was a scandal...

well, it would be just one scandal too many.

The Circus is a weak child still, George.

At this stage of its rebirth,

it could die of the common cold.

If it does,

your generation will not be least to blame.

You have a duty, as we all do,

a loyalty.

And the weapon?

How do you account for that?

What weapon?

There was no weapon.

He was shot, by one of his own buddies most likely.

SMILEY: Yes, he was shot...

in the face... at extremely close range

and cursorily searched-- that's the police diagnosis.

But our diagnosis would be somewhat different,

wouldn't it, Lauder?

No way.

Well, mine would.

LACON: Let's hear it, George.

For one thing, he was on his way here to be your guest.

Self-invited.

SMILEY: For another, the weapon used to kill him

was a standard Moscow Center assassination device--

a soft-nosed bullet fired at point-blank range

to obliterate, to punish and to discourage others.

But, George, these people, these émigrés--

don't they come from Russia?

Haven't half of them been in touch with Moscow Center

with or without our knowledge?

A weapon like that...

I'm not saying you're right, of course,

but a weapon like that, in their world,

could be standard equipment.

Lauder, there's the question

of the D-notice to the press outstanding.

Perhaps you should have another shot at them,

see how far it's got?

( dialing phone )

( grunts )

( cries out )

( tires screech )

LACON: Uh, Mostyn, perhaps you should take

these things out into the kitchen.

We don't want to leave needless traces, do we?

So... you were his vicar.

Very well, I'm asking you

to go and read the offices.

He wanted you, George, not us.

In that sense, I suppose

it could even be argued

that you were responsible for...

Forgive me, that was unfair.

What do you want me to do?

I want you to bury him-- in both senses.

I want you to pour oil on the waters,

not muddy them.

Tell me what you want me to do, Oliver.

It's what I don't want you to do.

He was a man with an obsession.

So were you once.

You know who his buddies are,

who he hunted with.

Speak to them.

If there's any milk been spilt,

I trust you to get it back into the bottle.

You're his executor, George.

Tidy him up, keep us out of it

and don't wander.

( Strickland and Lacon talking quietly in background )

What else did Vladimir say to you on the telephone?

He said, "Tell Max it concerns the Sandman."

"Tell him I have two proofs

and can bring them with me."

It was on the tape, but Strickland erased it.

"Two proofs."

Do you know what Vladimir meant by that?

Keep your voice down.

No, sir.

Do they know what he meant?

Strickland may, I'm not sure.

Did Vladimir really not ask for Hector?

No, sir, just Max.

LACON: George!

Good man!

Fare you well.

Uh, listen, I want to talk to you

about marriage sometime,

a seminar with no holds barred.

I'm counting on you to teach me the art of it.

We'll get together sometime... later.

I can always get you at home?

Yes, Oliver, always.

Captioned by Media Access Group at WGBH access.wgbh.org