All language subtitles for The.Ninth.Gate.1999.1080p.BluRay.x264-[YTS.AM]

It's an impressive collection.

You have some very rare editions here.

Are you sure you want to sell them all?

They're no use to father, not anymore.

Not since he's been this way.

His library was his whole world,
now it's just a painful memory.

Unbearably painful.

I understand.

Well, at a rough
preliminary estimate, you

have a collection here
worth around $600,000.

600,000?

Yes, or thereabouts.

I've picked out one or two volumes that
merit special attention.

This Prusilis, for example, is important.

I'd hang on to that.

It will never depreciate.

It's a good investment.

Valuable?

Very valuable.

As for this, Hypnerato Macchia di Polifilo
by Colonna, Venice, 1545.

I'm sure I could find you a
buyer, but I wouldn't let the

rest go for less than $500,000
under any circumstances.

It may take a month
or so to place them, so

in the meantime, I
advise you to be patient.

A month?

Yes, a month or two.

It depends on how much of a hurry you're
in.

You see, more hurry, less money.

Of course.

Well, that's my advice anyway.

I'm sure you wouldn't
want to rush things, but

please feel free to
consult another expert.

If you have any questions, you know where
to reach me.

Incidentally, this
four-volume edition of Don

Quixote is quite nice, but
not particularly valuable.

Now, I could take it off your hands right
away.

How much were you thinking of?

Oh, I couldn't go more than 4,000,
4,200 tops.

Are you here?

Hello, Witkin.

You didn't waste much time.

Listen, there's a small fortune in there.

Help yourself.

You're a vulture, Corso.

A vulture.

Who isn't in our business?

You'd stoop to anything.

For a Quixote by Ybarra?

You bet I would.

Unscrupulous.

Thoroughly unscrupulous.

Happy hunting.

He just got off the phone with Witkin.

He's spitting blood.

Really?

What's this problem?

He said you're a double-dealing,
money-grubbing bastard.

I thought he had that deal sewed up.

He said you queered his pitch.

Well, he should have been quicker off than
Mark.

May I?

Sure.

And he said your evaluation was way over
the top.

Got those people coming out in a rash.

Now they're asking twice what those books
are worth.

Let's face it, you screwed him.

That's what it's called.

That's what it's called.

Quixote 1780.

All four volumes.

Son of a bitch.

Fantastic.

Fantastic.

You are the best.

Um, that client of yours,
the Swiss, you think

he'd still be interested
in this edition?

I'll have Witkin on my ass.

I already told him I had no part of this
operation.

Except 10%.

20%.

The Swiss was my client.

No deal.

15 for my children's sake.

You don't have any children?

I'm still young, give me time.

Ten.

Not today.

Not today.

Earlier in 1580, in Déla des Monamignes de
Saucier by the French name Jean Baudin,

Baudin was probably first to attempt to
establish a system, if the term system may

be applied to the Middle Ages, for classifying
the contemporary perceptions of evil.

In Baudin, we find one of the first
definitions of the word witch.

I quote, a witch is a person who,
though cognizant of the laws of God,

endeavors to act through the medium of a
pact with the devil.

To assist them in their work, many witches
kept familiars.

That is to say, creatures
such as cats or toads, in which

supernatural spirits or
demons were thought to reside.

For those of you, ladies and gentlemen,
who wish to delve more deeply into the

controversial subject of
witchcraft, a great deal of

relevant information may be
found in the following works.

Nicolas Remi's Diminolatria
Libri, and Compendium

Maleficar by Francesco
Maria Guadarini.

I see you were stimulated by my little
talk, Mr. Corso.

Did I snore?

Well, it's nice of you to ask.

No, not that I noticed.

Shall we go?

Don't you sleep nights?

Like a baby.

Strange.

I'd have bet a brace
of Gutenberg Bibles you

spent half the night
with your eyes peeled.

You're one of those lean, hungry, restless
types that put the wind of Julius Caesar.

Men who stab their friends in the back.

Not, I suspect, that you have many
friends, do you, Mr. Corso?

Your kind seldom does.

That makes two of us.

You're right, of course.

Your friendships don't concern me in the
least.

Our relations have always been strictly
commercial, and that's the way I like it.

The professional and the personal should
be mutually exclusive.

Listen, I came here to do some business,
not shoot the breeze.

If you want to expound your personal
philosophies, write another book.

You don't like me, do you?

I don't have to like you.

You're a client, and you pay well.

You're privileged, Mr. Corso.

Very few people ever set foot in here.

This is my private collection.

Some bibliophiles specialize in Gothic
novels, others in books of ours.

All my own re-raditions have the same
protagonist, the devil.

May I take a look?

Yes, that's why I brought you here.

Beautiful, aren't they?

A soft sheen, a superb gilding.

Not to mention the centuries of wisdom
they contain.

I know people who would kill for a
collection like this.

Bias diaboli.

You'll never see as many books on the
subject anywhere else in the world.

They're the rarest, the choicest additions
in existence.

It's taken me a lifetime to assemble them.

Only the supreme masterpiece was missing.

The nine gates in the kingdom of shadows.

You're familiar with it?

Yes.

Venice, 1666.

The author and printer Aristida Torchi was
burned by the Holy Inquisition.

Together with all his works.

Only three copies survived.

One.

The catalog lists three copies surviving
in private ownership.

The Fargus, the Kessler, and the Delfer.

It's true.

You know your business, but you're
mistaken nonetheless.

According to my own research, only one is
authentic.

Well, three are known.

That's the trouble.

Where'd you get it?

I bought it from Telfer.

Telfer?

Yes, he finally sold it to me the day
before he killed himself.

That's good timing.

Cilentium estal real.

Silence is golden.

Precisely.

Ever heard of the Della Melanica?

I've heard of it, yes.

It's a myth, isn't it?

A book reputed to have been written by
Satan himself.

No myth.

That book existed.

Torchi actually acquired it.

The engravings you are now admiring were
adapted by Torchi from the Della Melanica.

They form a kind of satanic riddle.

Correctly interpreted with the aid of the
original text and sufficient inside

information, they're reputed to conjure up
the Prince of Darkness in person.

You don't say?

Are you a religious man, Mr. Corso?

I mean, do you believe in the
supernatural?

I believe in my percentage.

Don't you get dizzy standing there?

What is it that you want from me,
Balkin?

I want you to go to Europe and
investigate.

The other two copies are in Portugal and
France.

I want you to find some way of comparing
them with mine.

Every page, every engraving, the binding,
everything.

I'm convinced only one is authentic.

I want to know which.

That could be an expensive trip.

That's to get you started.

Spend what you need.

What if I find that your copies are
forgery?

That's quite possible.

Really?

It doesn't appear to be.

Even the paper sounds kosher.

Even so, there's something wrong.

You mean the devil won't show up?

If all three copies turn out to be bogus
or incomplete, your work will be done.

If, on the other hand, one of them turns
out to be genuine, I'll finance you further.

I want you to get it for me.

At all costs.

Never mind how.

Never mind how.

Sounds illegal.

Wouldn't be the first time you've done
something illegal.

Not that illegal.

Hence the size of the check.

Do a good job.

I'll double it.

There's got to be something wrong with it
if you're letting it out of your hands.

I have the utmost faith in you,
Mr. Corso.

There's nothing more reliable than a man
whose loyalty can be bought for hard cash.

Good morning, Dean Corso.

I'm terribly sorry to disturb you at a
time like this.

It would be very helpful, ma'am, if you
could tell me what you know about this book.

Isn't this one of my husband's books?

Right.

It was in his collection until very
recently.

He sold it to a client of mine.

I'm trying to authenticate it.

He sold it, you say?

How strange.

This was one of his most treasured
possessions.

He never mentioned the sale?

No.

It's news to me.

Who bought it?

A private collector.

May I know his name?

I'm afraid that's confidential.

I suppose he has a bill of sale.

No problem there.

Is this your job?

Authenticating rare books?

I'm tracking them down, yes.

You're a book detective?

Kind of.

Do you recall when and where your husband
acquired this book?

In Spain.

We were vacationing at Toledo.

Andrew got very excited.

He paid a great deal of money for it.

He was a fanatical collector.

So I gather.

I'll show you.

Impressive.

Andrew used to spend many hours in here.

Two men.

Did he ever try it out?

I don't understand.

The book?

Did he ever use it to
perform some kind of

ritual intended to produce
a supernatural effect?

Are you serious?

Yes, absolutely.

Andrew was a trifle eccentric,
Mr. Corso.

But he wasn't insane.

It's true we'd been acting.

Strangely, those last
few days, he shut himself

up in here, he seldom
emerged except for meals.

That morning I was awoken by the screams
of the maid.

He'd hanged himself.

Whatever he was up to,
I certainly can't see him

chanting mambo jumbo
or trying to raise the dead.

The devil.

Mrs. Telfer.

This book is designed to raise the devil.

Sick look yet.

Looks.

Son of a bitch.

Where did you get this?

Balkan.

He wants me to research it.

Balkan owns the Nine Gates?

Recently acquired from the late,
lamented Andrew Telfer.

Trust Balkan.

What does he need you for?

I don't suppose he plans to sell it.

He wants me to compare
it with the other two

surviving copies which
are in Portugal and France.

So, uh, I'm off to Europe.

Compare it?

Yeah.

Only one of the three is authentic,
he says.

Well, this looks genuine enough.

Christ, it's got to be worth a million.

Take care of it.

That's why I'm here.

I need you to stash it for me.

Because I'm starting to see things.

Like what?

Uninvited visitors, unfamiliar faces.

I don't trust anyone.

Not even Balkan.

Come to think of it, I'm not even sure I
trust you.

You know I wouldn't screw you unless there
was a good reason.

Money, women, business.

Other than that, you could relax.

I'll pick it up on my way to the airport,
sure.

These engravings are terrific.

Or horrific, whichever.

Sensational.

Absolutely sensational.

May I come in?

I've come to talk business.

Mm-hmm.

Yesterday, when you came
to see me about that book,

I was too surprised to
react as I should have done.

I mean, it really was one of Andrew's
favourites.

So you said.

I'd like to get it back.

That could be a problem.

Not necessarily.

It all depends.

On what?

On you.

I don't understand, Mrs. Telfer.

The book is not mine to dispose of.

You work for money, I take it.

What else?

I have a great deal of money.

I'm very happy for you.

You could stage a theft.

I imagine your client is well insured.

I'm a professional, ma'am.

You're a professional mercenary.

Mercenaries work for the highest bidder.

I make a living.

I could throw in a bonus.

This has happened before someplace.

I know.

In the movies.

She had an automatic in her stocking.

No automatic.

Take a drink.

Why not?

Okay.

Where is it?

Where's what?

Don't fuck with me!

I thought I already did.

Ow!

No, no, wait, wait, wait!

You stinking... Wait!

Bernie, you there?

Pick up.

Bernie?

Give me a minute.

I won't be long.

You can take me on to Kennedy.

No problem, sir.

Bernie?

Bernie!

Oh, Jesus!

No problem.

Stop.

Stop with that phone booth.

Pull over.

No problem, sir.

Callie?

Dean Corso.

Would you like to leave a message?

No, I have to talk with him at once.

Oh, I'm afraid he's in transit.

If you try to give me your number, I'll
have him return when he checks with us.

No, I'm in a phone booth.

It's an emergency.

I'll just be with him right now.

Right now, do you hear me?

Right now.

Are you there, Mr. Corso?

Yes.

Mr.

Corso, what have you got for me?

More than I bargained for.

What do you mean?

I mean I quit.

I want to return the book.

Where are you?

I'm disappointed in you, Mr. Corso.

Never let me down before.

Well, this is different.

Do you remember Bernie Ornstein?

Ornstein?

Yeah.

The dealer?

I gave him your book to stash for me.

And now he's dead.

Murdered.

Because of the book?

What else?

Look, I never said it would be easy if
it's a question of money.

It isn't the money.

I want out.

This matter means a great deal to me,
Mr. Corso.

I'm not an ungenerous man, you know that.

Proceed is arranged, and tack another zero
onto your fee.

Hey, where are you?

Balkan.

Balkan!

Buenos tardes.

Buenos tardes.

You speak English?

Yes, I do.

I would like to get your opinion on this.

When they're coming for a bookbinder.

The nine gates.

Superb edition.

Very rare.

A different copy.

Yes.

You used to own it, right?

We sold it when the opportunity presented
itself.

It was too good to...
An excellent sale.

An excellent buy.

Impeccable condition.

Are you the present owner?

No, a client of mine.

I would never have believed she would
partner with it.

Never.

She?

Mrs. Telfer.

I understood that it was Mr. Telfer.

He paid for it.

It was Mrs. Telfer who made him buy it.

He didn't seem
particularly... Interested.

An exceptionalist specimen.

Do you think it could be a forgery?

A forgery?

Hear that, Pablo?

I took you for a professional.

You speak too lightly of forgeries.

Far too lightly.

Forging a book is very expensive.

Paper of the period.

Write inks.

Too expensive to be profitable.

Still, it can be done.

Of course.

Requires a great skill, but yes,
it can be done.

Do you think that could be the case here?

What makes you ask?

My client wishes to satisfy himself on the
book's authenticity.

His name is Balkan.

Boris Balkan of New York.

All books have a destiny of their own.

Even a life of their own.

Mr. Balkan is a celebrated collector.

He is no fool.

He must know this book is authentic.

We know it.

So must he.

We've had this book for years.

Many years.

An ample opportunity to study totally.

Painting, the binding, a magnificent example
of 17th century Venetian craftsmanship.

Finest red paper.

Resistant to the passage of time.

Manage a modern wood pulp.

Watermarks, ink, tight faces.

If this is a forgery or a copy with missing
pages restored, it's a work of a master.

Master.

Yes.

Have you studied the engravings?

They seem to have some underlying
significance.

But of course.

Here, for example.

This one could be interpreted as a
warning.

Venture too far, it seems to say,
and danger will descend on you from above.

This type of book often contains little
puzzles.

Especially in the case of such an
illustrious collaborator.

Collaborator?

You could have not proceeded very far in
your research, señor.

Here, look closer.

You see?

Only six of the nine engravings were
signed by Aristide Torquia.

And the other three?

This is one of them.

LCF.

Who's LCF?

Think.

Lucifer?

Very perceptive of you, señor.

Torquia was burnt
alive because she wrote

this book in collaboration
with someone else.

Come on, you can't honestly believe the
man who wrote this book he saw an alliance

with the devil and went to the stake for
it.

Even hell has its heroes, señor.

I've seen you before.

Have you?

Yes.

Are you traveling in this car?

The next one.

The sleeper.

I travel on the cheap.

You're a student?

Something like that.

I like trains.

Trains I'm on?

Just trains.

What's your name?

Yes.

Green eyes?

That'll do.

What's yours?

Corso.

Strange name.

Italian.

It means run.

You don't look like a runner to me.

Mother quiet type.

Well, give my regards to Balkan.

Tell him I'm doing my best.

Balkan?

Never mind.

See you around?

Maybe?

I wouldn't be surprised.

That's Dean Corso, Mr. Fardis.

Corso.

Oh, yes.

Come in.

Home sweet home.

You, uh, won't say no to Obraglia,
I take it.

Thank you very much.

What handsome glasses.

They're the only ones I have left.

Must have been a beautiful place.

It was.

But all families are like ancient
civilizations.

They wither and die.

There they are.

Eight hundred and thirty-four of them.

A pity you didn't see them in better
times.

I used to have five thousand.

But these are the survivors.

So this is the Fargas collection.

Not quite as I imagined it.

I'm not sure.

C'est la vie, my friend.

But I keep them in perfect condition, safe
from damp light, through the heat, ruts.

I dust and air them every day.

These are the occult.

What do you think?

Branca?

Not bad indeed.

At least I know them are extremely rare.

First edition.

Eight hundred forty-four.

Leonardo Fioravanti's Compendium Secreti.

Fifteen hundred seventy-one.

And there it is.

In perfect condition.

It has traveled the world for three and a
half centuries.

Yet it might have been printed yesterday.

Is it in order?

I mean, you haven't detected anything
unusual.

Unusual?

No.

The text is complete.

The engraving's too.

Nine plus the title page.

Just as the catalog states.

Just like a Kessler in Paris and a Telfer
in New York.

Yes.

It isn't a Telfer anymore.

Telfer killed himself.

But he sold his copy to Boris Balkan
first.

Ah, Balkan.

If he sets his heart on a book,
no price is too high.

Not that I would ever sell this one.

Not at any price.

It's, uh...

It's strange that he should have sent you
here if he already had You have it here?

May I see it?

Identical.

Two of the only three to
escape the flames reunited

for the first time in
over three centuries.

Ah, yes.

Look at this slight imperfection here.

The damaged S.

The same type, the same impression.

Ah, incredible.

And you see, if it weren't for this slight
discoloration on the back of your copy,

no one could tell him apart.

If you don't mind, I'd like to stay for a
while and examine them in detail.

What are you looking for, Mr. Corso?

Uh, I'm not quite sure.

Some books are dangerous not to be opened
with impunity.

Very true.

I'll be damned.

Uh-uh.

Hello again.

You didn't say you were bound for Central.

Neither did you.

What are you doing here?

Reading.

I can see that.

And bumping into people.

Unexpectedly.

Yes.

Unexpectedly, right.

Are you on a business trip?

Is that why you always carry that thing
around?

Is this part of your course?

My course?

Winning friends and influencing people.

You said you were a student.

Did I?

So I am.

In a way.

I like books.

Do you?

Have you been traveling long?

A while.

Mm-hmm.

I don't suppose you ever traveled by
motorbike?

Excuse me, señor.

I'm going to perform for you, señor.

For me, you sure?

Yes, señor.

Yes, señor.

Yes?

Mr. Koso?

My God.

How did you find me?

Made any progress?

Progress?

Yeah, you can call it that.

Wow.

Look, I can't talk here.

I'm in the lobby.

Let me call you back.

Where are you?

Never mind that.

Get them to transfer it to your room.

I'll wait.

All right.

Señor.

Señor.

Pardon me.

Could you send this up to my room,
please?

Yes.

Thank you very much.

You still there?

Yes.

All right.

I've examined the Fargas copy.

It's authentic enough.

At least it looks that way.

It's like yours, but there are
discrepancies.

Discrepancies.

The engravings, they're not identical.

There's, like, keys in different hands.

Doorways open in one copy and bricked up
in the other.

And there's another thing.

Yes, go on.

The ones that differ aren't signed
Torquia.

They're signed LCF.

You still there?

LCF.

Listen, where are you, anyway?

I must have that copy, Mr. Corso.

Get it for me.

The old man wouldn't sell it to save his
life.

He said as much.

Did he?

No.

Hello.

Just a minute.

Yeah.

What time is it?

Early, but you have to go.

Go?

Go where?

Fargas' place.

I've already seen Fargas.

I think you should see him again.

What, is he some kind of practical joke?

Who are you?

What do you know about Fargas?

Get dressed.

I'll wait for you outside.

Don't bother.

He's in there.

Oh, really?

Then where is he?

Over there.

Want to get inside?

I had thought about it, yes.

You wait here.

Well, did you find it?

You know, it's come to my attention that
you know too goddamn much.

Why do you keep following me around?

Who are you working for?

You're wasting time asking all these
questions.

We'd better get out of here.

There's a flight from Lisbon to Paris at
noon.

We should just make it.

What's with the we?

There are two of us on there.

What happened back there?

The old man caught someone stealing,
I guess.

What do you guess happened to him?

He drowned.

With a little help from who?

He's dead.

Who cares?

I do.

I could easily wind up the same way.

Not with me around to look after you.

Oh, I see.

You're my guardian angel, then.

If you say so.

Someone's playing a game with me.

Of course, you're part of it.

And you're getting to like it.

Hello, Mr. Courser.

Delighted to see you again.

We don't have any vacancies, but...

I'm sure I'll be able to organize
something.

Thank you very much.

Thank you, sir.

Good afternoon.

I'm Dean Courser.

I have an appointment with Baroness
Courser.

This way.

You have 30 minutes.

Yes.

Monsieur Courser.

Oh, yes, Mr. Courser.

Come in.

I've heard a great deal about you.

Oh.

Nothing good, I hope.

You hope right.

Merci, Simon.

Well, I'm reassured, Baroness.

Because in my trade, to be spoken well of
can be professionally disastrous.

My God.

Yes, there it is.

The Kessler collection.

You know, I know your catalogue almost by
heart.

Strange we haven't met before.

Your name is a byword among dealers and
collectors.

But I imagine you know your own reputation
better than I do.

Yes, well, it does keep the wolf from the
door, so to speak.

I'm sorry, Baroness, were you in the
middle of something?

My latest work, The Devil History and
Myth, a kind of biography.

It will be published early next year.

Why the devil?

I saw him one day.

I was 15 years old, and I saw him as plain
as I see you now.

It was love at first sight.

You know, 300 years ago,
you'd have been burned

at the stake for saying
something like that.

300 years ago, I wouldn't have said it.

Nor would I have made a million by writing
about it.

Yeah.

What is it you wish to discuss,
Mr. Corso?

There's a book in your collection I'd like
to examine, if possible.

It's the book of the Nine Gates of the
Kingdom of Shadows.

The Nine Gates.

An interesting work.

Everyone's been asking me about it lately.

Is that so?

Follow me.

Do you truly believe in the devil,
Bernasse?

Enough to devote my life and my library to
him.

Not to mention many years of work.

Don't you?

Almost.

This book demands a certain amount of
faith.

Yes, well, I'm afraid my faith is in short
supply these days.

I know this work extremely well.

I studied it for years.

Do you have any doubts about its
authenticity?

Not whatsoever.

You sure?

My knowledge of this book is profound.

I wrote a biography of its author.

Yes, I've read it.

Aristide de Torquier, The Devil's
Apprentice.

Excellent work.

A courageous man.

He died for the sake of this very book in
1667.

While studying the
black arts in Prague, he

acquired a copy of
that red Dello Melanicon.

This is Torquier's adaptation of that work
which was written by Lucifer himself.

After they burned him at the
stake, a secret society was

founded to perpetuate its
memory and preserve its secrets.

The Order of the Silver Serpent.

A sect?

A kind of witch's coven.

For centuries, they
have meant to read from

this book and worship
the Prince of Darkness.

Today, they've degenerated into a social
club for bored millionaires and

celebrities who use its
meetings as an excuse

to indulge their jaded
sexual appetites.

I, myself, belonged to the Order years
ago.

But time is too precious at my age.

Besides, my orgy days are over.

I told them to go to the devil.

You mean it's all about sex, or...?

Of course not.

They're under the
illusion that they owe their

money and success to
membership in the Order.

Do they still meet?

Every year, on the anniversary of
Torquier's death.

They'll be meeting very soon now.

And you say they read from this book?

Not this one.

I took mine back when Liana Telfer
acquired the one in Toledo.

Victor Fargas is an unbeliever.

He's always refused to participate.

So naturally, they use the Telfer copy.

Not that it has ever worked.

Did Andrew Telfer ever take part?

Telfer?

Oh, no, no.

That creature Liana married him for his
money.

She comes from an old and aristocratic
French family, the Saint-Martin's.

But they were penniless.

So Liana used his dollars to restore her
chateau and buy the nine gates.

If he ever finds out
what his wife gets up to at

these gatherings, he'll
probably kill himself.

Funny you should say that, Baroness.

He hanged himself last week.

Who exactly are you working for,
Mr. Corso?

My client's name is irrelevant,
Baroness.

I'm simply trying to
authenticate his copy, which

is the one that Telfer
sold him before he died.

How stupid of me.

I should have guessed.

You've outstayed your welcome,
Mr. Corso.

I was hoping to examine your copy in
detail.

Certainly not.

Tell your client who can only be Boris
Balkan to come and examine it himself,

if he dares.

Tell him not to send any more wolves in
sheep's clothing.

And now, kindly leave.

I'm sorry if I troubled you.

Thank you very much for your time.

You don't know what you're getting
yourself into, Mr. Corso.

Get out before it's too late.

I'm afraid it already is, Baroness.

Oui, oui.

Oui, oui.

Oui, oui.

They're broken.

You should be more careful.

I need a favor, Gruber.

Certainly, Mr. Corso.

Liana Telfer, laden name
to Saint-Martin, 40-ish,

brunette, dishy, probably
accompanied by...

a black gentleman with closely cropped
platinum blonde hair and a mustache.

I want to know if they're staying at some
hotel here in Paris.

Take a little time.

Yes, of course.

Start with the five stars.

That's your best bet.

Very well, sir.

All right.

Are you feeling all right?

I've felt better, Gruber.

Thanks.

Let me know if you locate them.

Put this against the back of your neck.

You were really great down there by the
river.

I haven't thanked you for that.

I think it's about time you told me what's
going on here.

Someone's after your book.

No kidding.

And you?

Where do you fit into it?

Yeah.

May I take it in reception, please?

All right.

Be right down.

Yes?

Anything new?

Oh, his master's voice again.

No, not much, aside from
the fact that someone's

tried to take my life
a couple of times.

Oh, yes.

Vargas has been murdered.

Oh.

Murdered?

How do you know?

I saw him and his copy, or what was left
of it anyway.

Someone had snatched the engravings and
tried to burn the rest.

What do you make of it?

It's tragic.

It's tragic.

What about Baroness Kesper?

How did you get on today?

Where exactly are you?

What about her copy?

Why do I get the impression that you've
been breathing down my neck the entire time?

You're an investment of mine, Mr. Corso.

I'm merely looking after it.

The old woman swears
her copy's authentic, but

I didn't get a chance
to examine it closely.

She threw me out as soon as she guessed
that you were behind my visit.

You aren't exactly in her good books,
if you know what I mean.

You must see her again.

Are you kidding?

Have you seen her secretary?

Try the lunch break.

Do you have a photocopy machine back
there?

Oh, yes, monsieur.

May I use it?

Of course, monsieur.

Yes.

Yes, hello, Baroness.

It's me, the wolf in sheep's clothing.

Well, I've got something for you,
Baroness.

A kind of peace offering.

Will you allow me to give it to you?

Please?

First, let me apologize.

I should have told you right away that I'm
working for boris ball.

It was foolish of me to think that I could
deceive someone as a student of yourself,

so please forgive me.

Flattery will get you nowhere,
Mr. Corso.

Get on with it.

Right.

These...

are for you.

What is this?

What is this supposed to be?

You said that your knowledge
of the nine gates was extensive,

but did you ever compare
your copy with the other two?

No.

Why?

Well, you should.

These are copies of the engravings in
Balkin's book.

You'll find that some of them differ from
yours.

Differ?

So you question my book's authenticity,
do you?

If that's your peace offering,
you can take it and go.

My nine gates is absolutely genuine.

I don't dispute that, Baroness.

In my opinion, all three copies are
genuine.

But the fact remains, they display
variations.

Variations?

If that were true, it wouldn't be a
revelation.

What makes you so sure?

I've already compared these with the
Vargas engravings.

In his book...

the keys were in the other hand.

Here, the doorway wasn't bricked up.

And in this one, the man was hanging by
the other leg.

Well?

Well, what?

Look closely, Baroness.

The turrets.

Three in yours, four in Balkin's.

Amazing.

I'm convinced there'll be a third one in
here somewhere.

Three variations in three copies makes
nine.

Coincidence or something more?

Maybe Torquay hid the secret of the ninth
gate in three books, not one.

I must admit, I'm impressed.

This puts an entirely different complexion
on the matter.

You have my permission to investigate
further, Mr. Corso.

Take as long as you need.

My permission did not extend to that,
Mr. Corso.

Nobody smokes in my library.

Baroness?

Excuse me.

There's something missing from my room.

Has anyone been up there while I was out?

Only your wife.

My wife?

I don't have a wife.

Excuse me.

Yes?

Yes, he's coming for me.

Take care.

See you soon, Captain.

Yes?

What news?

News?

Let me see.

Well?

Yes, the good news... is that I got
to examine the old woman's book...

and three of her engravings were signed
LCF.

The bad news is that someone strangled
her... and made a bonfire of her collection.

Now, that's tragic, wouldn't you say?

You took the words out of my mouth.

Yes.

It's the Fargus story all over again.

I'm of the mind that they tore out the
engravings before they torched the place.

That makes two sets they've got.

And my copy?

Well, I learned my lesson, fortunately.

I don't carry it around with me anymore.

Otherwise, it might have gone up in smoke.

Excellent.

Good thinking.

I'm staying at the rates you can pick up
your check at the same time.

Shall we say half an hour?

There's more bad news.

I don't have it.

You don't have it?

Someone lifted it from my room.

Listen to me very carefully, Mr. Caruso.

I think you may already
have some idea of the length

to which I'm prepared to
go when I want something.

Unless you recover my
property in double-quick

time, you'll discover
just how far that can be.

Where is it?

Where is what?

The book.

Where is it?

Could I be here if I took it?

You should know better by now.

I must apologize for my young colleague,
Mr. Caruso.

It was unpardonable.

Is that her?

I don't know.

She was tall, dark hair, very chic,
very elegant.

Which reminds me, sir, I have the
information you wanted.

The lady and gentleman you mentioned,
they're staying at the Plaza Atene Hotel,

Suite 209, 211.

Thank you very much, Gruber.

I owe you one.

I need a taxi, quick.

A taxi?

Here, sir.

Send this to Mr. Balkan at the Ritz.

That's B-A-L-K-A-N.

Fax it immediately.

Certainly, sir.

Always a pleasure to be of service.

Are you coming?

What do you plan to do if you see them?

Probably hide behind you.

Oh, that's them.

That's them.

We should grab a taxi before they take
off.

Let's go.

They're going.

Coming?

Couldn't you have picked something a
little less conspicuous?

Don't be so picky.

Some people would give their teeth for
riding this.

Listen, we can't sit on their tail
forever.

They're bound to smell a rat.

How do I look?

You're ridiculous.

Sit tight.

Take your pick.

No, you.

You know everything.

If you say so.

We lost them.

No, not at this speed.

You must have gone the other way.

You mean I don't know everything after
all.

Turn around.

What was her name again?

Telfer, Liana Telfer.

No, her maiden name.

Sam Martin.

Look.

Monsieur?

Monsieur?

I'm sure you're the man of Saint-Martin's.

The chateau?

You're welcome.

The chateau, I know it.

Who is the chateau?

You take the route, take the glaze.

I see.

Keep going.

Keep going.

Do you see them anywhere?

No.

Sorry to intrude on you like this.

What are you doing here?

I just dropped by to pick up the book you
stole from my room.

That book is mine.

We've been through all this before.

My husband gave it to me.

It wasn't his to sell.

We sold it to get back at you.

What happened?

Catch you with that albino?

How dare you?

Keep an eye on her.

Be careful, she bites.

Hi.

Don't move.

Either one of you.

Get the book.

Don't kill them up here, you'll make a
mess.

Take them downstairs.

You go first.

Then you.

Down.

Open the door.

Watch out.

I didn't know you had it in you.

I told you that you were going to kill
them.

You stay here and cover me.

I'm going down.

I'm going down.

Mambo jumbo.

Mambo jumbo.

Mambo jumbo.

Mambo jumbo.

Look around you, all of you.

What do you see?

A bunch of buffoons in fancy dress.

You think the prince of
darkness would actually

deign to manifest himself
before the likes of you?

He never has and he never will.

Never.

You read from his book, but you have no
conception of its true power.

I alone have grasped its secret.

I alone have fathomed the master's grand
design.

I alone am worthy to enjoy the fruits of
that discovery.

Absolute power to determine my own
destiny.

You're insane, Boris.

Give it back to me.

You, Leanna de
Saint-Martin, you're even

guiltier than the rest
of this pathetic rabble.

You have at least some idea of what this
book can do in your right hands,

yet you lend yourself to these
farcical proceedings, these

orgies of aging flesh
conducted in the master's name.

You're a charlatan.

What is it with you?

He just murdered someone in public.

You're off the hook.

For the other killings.

You should be grateful.

I'm ecstatic.

You're out of a job.

It's over.

What more do you want?

You know what?

Not taking me for a ride?

You were working for him all along.

Funny.

I thought you were.

You're the only one left.

Whatever.

The enigma is solved at last.

To travel in silence, by a long and
circuitous route, to brave the arrows of

misfortune and fear neither noose nor
fire, to play the greatest of all games

and win, forgoing no
expense, is to mock the

vicissitudes of fate
and gain at last the key.

The ninth gate.

Corso.

What were you expecting?

An apparition?

You're not wanted here, Mr. Corso.

Leave.

I'm the only apparition you'll see
tonight.

You'll find a check waiting at my New York
office.

Payment in full.

You killed for those.

They're worth more than money.

Infinitely more.

But they happen to be mine.

Not yours.

You know something, Corso?

In spite of our differences, I have a soft
spot for you.

I'm touched.

We have something in common, you and I.

We share the same passion.

You've developed the same obsession,
haven't you?

Unfortunately for you, only one of us is
destined to fulfill it.

You're out of your depth.

Kindly go.

I'm not leaving here empty-handed.

Don't even think about it.

Stand aside.

I credited you with more finesse.

You heard me.

Stand back.

Put that away.

It's not your style.

It seems you

found your proper niche at last.

I like that.

Now... you can watch.

I'm entering uncharted territory.

Taking the road that leads to equality...

with God.

You can't come with me.

I must travel alone.

But you may look on...

and marvel.

It's very kind of you.

Indeed, it is.

There have been men who have been burned
alive.

Or disemboweled for just a glimpse...
of what you are about to witness.

I give you my allegiance, master.

I pledge myself to you, body and soul.

Let me fear neither noose, nor fire,
nor poison.

Erase me from the Book of Life.

Inscribe me in the Black Book of Death.

Admit me to the Ninth Gate.

Let it be so.

Let it be so.

Now!

I feel the power surge through
me... like an electric current...

rendering me capable of any feat of mind
or body.

I'm invulnerable.

I'm invincible.

I could float on air.

I could walk on water.

I

plunge my hands in fire.

I feel no heat.

That's just great.

Give us another one.

It's miraculous.

I feel nothing.

Nothing at all.

Is that it?

Is the game over?

For Balkan, yes.

Not for you.

Why didn't it work for Balkan?

The ninth engraving was a forgery.

Where's the real one?

I want it.

You're running low on gas.

Why can't I forget it?

You're

running low on gas.

Hi.

Hermano Sinisa.

Hermano Sinisa.

Pepe Lopez.

Ricardo Herrera.

Do you speak English?

Hi.

Do you want to stay here?

Do you want to stay here?

I want to stay here.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.