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Previously onThe Rook.

Dear you, if you're reading these words

but don't remember writing them,

then I'm afraid I've failed.

You've survived several immediate threats,

but you are still in danger.

You work for a government agency called the Checquy.

We're a secret wing of British intelligence

that recruit people with certain abilities.

Linda Farrier is your boss.

You don't know who I am, do you?

I can't tell you who I am, who you are,

or what the fuck is going on.

You need to be in the office or people may wonder.

Conrad Grantchester, number two.

He likes you but he's dangerous.

Are we expecting an American BVA agent,

Monica Reed?

You didn't tell us you were coming.

The person who betrayed you is right here.

Don't trust anyone.

Yeah, okay, I'll get it.

No, it's all right. It's my house.

I'll get it.

They're back!

What have I told you about climbing up there?

It's fine. I do it all the time.

Myfanwy!

You're okay, just...

So, everyone, let's begin.

The events at the Bridge and the bank suggests

that we have an unidentified EVA target on our hands.

And a fucking publicity nightmare.

What do we know so far?

The target remains undefined, but the victims look like

a Vulture grab team.

White latex gloves, CCTV cut off.

At both locations.

Straight out of the Vulture playbook, but...

Strange thing is the manner of...

The killings.

Of all ten, no two are alike.

So the sooner we identify the cause of death...

The closer we get to our target.

And who are these Vultures?

Foreign agents? Common thugs?

We don't know.

It sounds like you don't know anything at all.

Give us time.

Yes, and the investigation's only just begun.

If we could get moving...

Rather than just sitting here.

I know something.

One of the victims was an American agent

named Marcus Kevler.

He disappeared on a mission two years ago.

Some of us thought that maybe he was still alive

but we just didn't know for sure until now.

So,

We not only failed to retain a potential EVA asset

for the agency, we hosted a fucking

cocktail party for rogue agents

at the base of a national landmark.

Home Secretary, rest assured,

the target will be found

and an airtight cover story will be sent viral.

Don't mollify me, Conrad.

I've had quite enough of your silver tongue.

Excuse me while I sugarcoat this shitshow

for the Prime Minister.

Gestalt, see where we are with forensics.

Conrad, please meet with the Lugat.

Latex gloves aside, their fingerprints

are all over this.

Ms. Reed, please report to Ingrid Woodhouse in Support.

Thank you.

Myfanwy. What are you doing?

You tell me.

Because all that I can glean is that

an international incident that left ten people dead...

One of which is an American agent...

Is centered around something called an EVA.

The fuck are you thinking, bringing me here?

Well, had you come at my earlier invitation,

I'd have had a chance to prepare you for all of this.

EVAs. It's an acronym.

Extreme Variant Abilities.

Abilities that are only possible at the farthest reach

of human biology.

A tiny fraction of the population possess them...

Less than one hundredth of one percent.

And the most fortunate are selected

to be employed here.

And I'm one of them?

A Rook?

Yes, a Rook.

It's an important job

with unavoidable responsibility.

Attendance is mandatory.

So, I mean, whatwhat...

What's my...

Transdermal neurotransmission.

It's an electrical force that's transmitted through the skin.

But you've never demonstrated anywhere near the ability

of the magnitude displayed at the bridge.

In fact, quite the opposite.

Usually you're to be found tapping away at your computer

or manically picking lint off your skirt.

Which, fortunately for us, obsessive attention to detail

is a valuable skill.

You mean lucky for me.

'Cause I'm so fortunate to be here.

Yes, you are.

You have the ability to serve your country

while enjoying some degree of political protection.

Like all rare and valuable things,

EVAs are trafficked.

They're stolen, smuggled, traded.

Enslaved for the elicit use of their incredible power.

Myfanwy, I don't expect you to understand now.

But eventually you'll see that this

is an incredible opportunity.

Come with me.

Myfanwy, the following exercise is intended to prompt

your memory going all the way back to childhood.

I'm going to show you a few images of people,

places, and objects, and I'd like you to tell me

if anything's familiar to you.

Okay.

Okay.

Myfanwy, do you remember this house?

I don't know. Is it where I grew up?

Please, don't guess.

Does it look familiar?

Anything?

Carry on.

This was your childhood pet.

Try to remember its name.

- She doesn't know. - It's okay.

It's okay. Let's move on.

This is a photograph of you as a girl.

Myfanwy, do you remember this day?

Now I'm going to show you photos of various people

from your life.

Yes, justjust wait a minute.

I-I need to vet these images.

Yes.

Yes.

No.

My God, no.

No.

Not that one either.

That-that's enough.

You're suffering from what we call dissociative amnesia.

A gap in memory often in response to trauma.

It's more than a gap.

What qualifies as a trauma?

It's difficult to say.

But the good news is your condition

is usually quite short-lived.

How short-lived?

Hours, weeks, months.

I prefer hours. What can I do?

Myfanwy, wait.

I need to go back to the bridge.

That isn't what he said.

He said in order to regain my memory,

I might revisit the sight of the trauma

to spur things along. Finally, a clear directive.

You're oversimplifying the definition of trauma.

Hang on a minute.

Yep.

We've got a Russian, from the bridge.

Female, mid-30s.

A dental filling.

Mixture of acrylic and stainless steel.

Only used in the USSR in the 1980s.

So our dead American was working with a Russian?

Well, it really must be the end of the world.

Maybe they were racing to grab the same target.

I've been warming up a source in the Russian Embassy.

I could give it a go.

No, don't let them see us squirm.

I do not squirm.

Shit.

You can follow every step of the investigation

from this terminal.

A live feed of the entire Operations Hub dataflow.

So I can watch the entire investigation

without affecting it or participating in it

in any way?

Let me ask you something, Ingrid.

A Rook's office is supposed to be mission control.

Am I right?

An office filled with pay stubs and permits and red tape,

I mean, what kind of Rooks office is that?

The kind which can arrange a diplomatic visa

and emergency import license for an American EVA

with less than an hour's notice at 5:00 in the morning

because she jumped on a Eurostar train

without telling anyone.

Are you talking about me?

Nice day for a stroll.

I asked to meet with your employer.

The Lugat is a multifaceted organization.

Lorik Pernaska is a busy man.

What? Am I not good enough for you?

Tell me what you know about the Bridge and Mansel Bank.

It's a tragedy what happened.

That's all I know. Why do you ask?

Because the CCTV was disabled at both locations.

Which implies some sort of espionage.

It's no secret that Mansel Bank is one of yours.

The Lugat invests in Mansel Bank.

The Lugat owns Mansel Bank.

Which means you have direct access to surveillance.

Surely you must know something more.

What are you saying?

The events at the Bridge and Mansel Bank

are all the fault of the Lugat?

You tell me.

Or what? What will happen?

You will turn the air into truth serum

and force a confession out of me?

We both know I could.

But why should it come to that?

The Checquy and the Lugat have a long-standing tradition

of abiding by a diplomatic code.

Now, it's hard to imagine that either of us would do anything

to disrupt it.

I'm sorry your agency faced embarrassment.

As your friend, I truly sympathize.

But we have nothing to do with your misfortune.

Your employer is a shrewd businessman, no?

A lot of very profitable import-export.

Some of it almost legal.

All legal.

Lorik is an entrepreneur.

And a drug lord

and an arms dealer

and a human trafficker profiting in the sale of EVAs.

I'd hardly call that legal.

Now, politicians may take your money to look the other way.

But the Checquy doesn't need money.

We have power.

And you, my friend, have just put that power

to the test.

Miss Thomas.

We weren't expecting you.

Of course not.

It's a spot check. Surprise inspection.

Part of our strategic risk analysis.

Does Gestalt know?

Who else would have cleared it?

Miss Thomas...

Look, I really don't...

Thanks.

You okay, ma'am?

Yes.

What's that you've got there?

It's fulgurite. Left by the marker.

Strong enough evidence to lead us to the EVA?

It's hardly a fingerprint. It's just soil, vitrified.

Turned into glass.

Caused by massive ionization of the air.

Ionization, like lightning?

Exactly.

Whatever happened here could power a small city.

It was explosive.

Myfanwy! A word.

Um, you said you had several. Can I have one?

Thanks.

What you doing here? You should be at the office.

Yeah, I'm on my way.

I just wanted to see it for myself.

Since when?

You haven't made a site visit in years.

Since ten people died and the pavement turned to glass.

An event of this magnitude requires a significant

level of document...

Be honest.

Did you come here to see me?

- No. - If you did...

- I didn't... - If you did,

it would be okay.

Maybe we were too quick to write this off.

Or not.

- Gestalt, I... - No need.

I get it.

You're fine with reaching inside all of me

when you're drunk, but in the sober light of day,

you can't even look at me.

I was quite drunk.

You know, my memory's a little hazy.

Good, that just makes things simpler.

Don't even have to pretend it didn't happen.

As far as you're concerned, it never did.

Miss Reed.

Support is downstairs. I can get you an escort.

Yeah, well, all due respect, I didn't come all this way

just to work in your accounts department.

And with all due respect, nobody asked you

to come at all.

Hey, Ingrid, I know that you and I

started off on the wrong foot, but, you know,

I can really tell that you are the person who gets things done

around here, am I right?

I mean, like, you basically are mission control.

What do you need?

I need to run some names

against your immigration records.

Names of?

Marcus Kevler was in Paris last month.

I found out he used a cobbler... Cobbler meaning forger.

Who cobbled up 19 false identities.

Any one of them could have been the one he used in London.

If you have actionable intel on the Vultures,

you should give it to Gestalt in the Ops Hub.

Marcus wasn't a vulture.

He was a friend and a colleague.

Okay, how about this?

If we get a hit, we take it to Gestalt.

If not, it was a waste of time anyway.

I'm just trying to find out what happened

to someone I care about.

So if you can use your preeminent skills to help me...

I'll run the names.

Thank you.

But only if you stop pretending to respect my vocation.

Done.

Here we are.

Where are you from?

Warsaw, originally.

But I was raised right here.

In the hotel bar.

Are you from Moscow?

Sochi.

And what do you do?

None of your business.

Look at the time. I have to go.

What do you mean?

It's too late now.

Fuck you!

Fucking bitch!

I know you're disappointed, and I understand.

That throb, the tightness, the need in the pit of your gut

for stimulation.

But if she stops, tells you she's

changed her mind, when I find myself

in that situation, I find it helps

to count backwards from 100.

By the time I get to about 85, I've usually stopped thinking

like a fucking animal.

Dear you.

I started off being so organized about writing

to you and now it's all in a rush.

I've no way of knowing when fate will arrive,

but I'm doing my best to prepare for it.

For you.

If you're reading this letter,

you found your car. Congratulations.

I call her Alice.

You should know that Alice has a spare tire

mounted in the boot.

Check the inflation immediately.

Hello?

Myfanwy, I know what you're doing.

And I understand your frustration.

But you're still in danger from all directions,

even from yourself.

All EVAs are in danger.

This is different.

Found my car.

I know.

Leave it and I'll send someone to pick you up.

You people scare me.

Don't be so dramatic.

I'll have Gestalt bring you back to the office.

Can't. Need to keep looking.

You said this address was connected to Marcus.

Flat 3. You sure?

99%.

Okay.

Kevler used an alias for almost everything,

but even he couldn't fake his way to a parking permit.

He gave his real, notarized proof of residence

to the Council.

Well, that was stupid.

Ever apply for a parking space in London,

you'll understand.

Thank you.

Hey.

How'd you find this place?

Alias used by Kevler. You?

Alias for the Russian.

One of the bodies was Russian.

A Russian phone we hacked made a call

to this address.

You think all of them stayed here?

There's another bedroom here.

More mattresses.

Most of the dead vultures were crashing here.

I'll try the toilet cistern.

It's Marcus's favorite stash.

I'll do it.

Nothing in the cisterns.

Yeah, nothing in here, either, as far as I can tell.

Well, they haven't unwrapped the place.

They were coming back.

Maybe bringing the target with them.

Do you ever think about the guys who are gonna go through

your shit one day?

Judging the unwashed dishes of your life?

I have two dishwashers.

Myfanwy, what are you doing here?

Just stopping by. How's your progress?

Come on, not you, too.

Ten corpses in 12 hours, what do you all expect?

I've only got two qualified staff,

and they sometimes need sleep.

Look, I know it's my job,

but we're working as fast as we can.

There are no shortcuts when every single corpse

has a different cause of death.

Punctured lungs, spinal fracture,

collapsed trachea, subarachnoid hemorrhage.

These might as well be

from completely different crime scenes.

Shattered ribcage.

Multiple punctures of both lungs.

Which would normally mean beating or crushing.

But she doesn't have a mark on her.

No bruises, nothing.

Took us ages to figure out it was

her own intercostal muscles.

Contracting to a tenth of their own length so violently

it ripped her ribcage apart.

I'll get to him tomorrow.

That's the only unifying thread between these victims.

Extreme internal muscle spasms.

Fracturing bones, rupturing vital organs.

The lack of external flesh wounds makes me think

it's some kind of neurotransmission.

Definitely not transdermal.

Nothing like you.

Whoever did this tortured ten people to death.

Can't imagine how they live with themselves.

Neither can I.

Thanks.

What's your poison?

No idea.

Hey, what do you...

What do you want?

We have no more business here.

I disagree.

Tell me everything you know about the bridge and the bank.

You've got about 40 seconds until your lungs

start to blister.

You'll kill me.

Probably.

The bridge and the bank.

It was an easy trade gone wrong.

Get past the obvious.

Yes, yes, yes. Yes!

Your girl.

Your Rook.

You know, the national service agencies aren't

without their flaws.

The American BVA is over-regulated

and reliably hypocritical.

Our own Checquy is mired in politics.

But it's people like you...

Cruel, witless dilettantes... Turning millions in profit

from people like me.

That's what I find objectionable.

Tell Lorik if he should pursue Myfanwy Thomas again,

his ragged, bleeding remains will look quite

like the insides of your lungs.

Linda.

You met with the Lugat?

Yes.

And?

Nothing.

It was a complete waste of time.

You know that drinking impairs your memory.

Stop stalking me.

Gin or vodka?

Lost track.

Can I have one?

All day retracing my steps and nothing's come back.

Nothing.

Just a massive black hole where my life should be.

Those bodies...

What kind of monster am I?

Stop it. You are not a monster.

You're a capable young woman committed to saving lives,

not destroying them.

And that core part of you survives,

whatever remains of your memory.

Where are my parents?

They passed away a long time ago.

You were far too young.

I'm sorry.

Your life's been very hard.

In so many ways.

I promise you there are benefits to forgetting.

So I should just revel in the black hole?

Give it a whirl?

Or you could use this as an opportunity

to reinvent yourself.

Now, I have a farmhouse. It's a few hours away.

It's very remote, very secure.

There's a duck pond, personal chef.

Really, it's lovely.

I've arranged your stay, and Gestalt will take you there.

I thought you said if I didn't go to work,

the sky would fall down.

Well, ultimately it's my decision,

and I will handle the fallout.

No.

I'm not going to find myself on a fucking retreat.

I need to know who I am, and the answer isn't

in your duck pond. So thank you for the offer.

I'm going to stay, reckless or not.

Reckless is an understatement.

Those men at the bridge were not our friends.

As far as I can tell, I don't have any friends.

Apparently I can look after myself.

Do you think so?

Then take your pills.

Starting tonight.

20 milligrams, three times a day.

What do you know about my pills?

They help you stay in control.

Trust me, it wasn't my idea.

It was yours.

And I thought you'd had enough of my silver tongue.

Only when it's talking.

God.

I needed that.

Today has been a clusterfuck.

Press are out for blood.

It's all...

Too delicious.

I've identified the target.

In a single afternoon.

Hard to believe that Linda missed it,

especially when it's one of our own.

Who was it?

Myfanwy Thomas.

Are you certain?

How do you know?

Due diligence.

Keys.

- Excuse me? - Your car.

- I need the keys. - I told Farrier that...

I'm driving you home.

You've been drinking.

Yeah.

So we're not talking?

Better we don't.

Because...

Because if we talk I'm gonna ask you what

the fuck is going on.

And you won't like where the conversation goes from there.

Great. So you're pissed at me.

This catastrophe, and you're staging

a fucking wine tasting. It's unbelievable.

Where is this coming from?

Is this about earlier with Alex?

With you? Us?

- Back at the bridge? - No.

This isn't personal. This is about work.

When you hold onto your rank while fulfilling none

of your responsibilities, you put all of us at risk.

You're right. Silence is better.

Fine, I'll drive. You just relax.

I didn't ask you to drive me anywhere.

No, Farrier did.

In the middle of a manhunt.

I don't know why she protects you.

Wraps you in her skirt like it's Bristol all over again.

What's that supposed to mean?

You know what it means.

Get some sleep.

We'll start again tomorrow.

Thanks for the...

Ride.

Dear you.

The physical pain promised by this box

is like any other drug, providing a rush of endorphins

to numb the pain you feel inside.

The effect is only temporary.

If you no longer have a craving for the fresh slice

of your skin, you are one step ahead

of me already.

Now is the time to decide.

Do you take this step forward,

then another and another?

Or do you rewind 10,000 steps behind?

Sentimental fuck.

Fuck.

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