All language subtitles for Slow.Horses.S01E01.1080p.WEB.H264-GGEZ

This is
the pre-boarding announcement

for Lusit Airways flight LLT154
to Marrakech.

We are now inviting
those classified as small children…

Come on. Where are you?

Please have your boarding pass
and identification ready. Thank you.

Less than a minute.

- Has there been a handover?
- Negative.

Eyes on Dogs.

Why is he airside?
Intel said target was inbound.

He made visual contact, ma'am.

Reconfirm.

Second Desk requests we reconfirm visual.

You're looking for an Asian male,
20s, backpack, blue shirt, white tee.

Yes, confirmed,
and I have Dogs on standing by.

Shit.

Lost visual. Possible handover.

What does he mean "possible handover"?

- Cartwright, clarify.
- Did you catch anything on CCTV?

Negative, that's what you're there for.
Repeat, clarify.

He has a visual.
Did he see a handover or not?

Lost visual momentarily.

Repeat, possible handover.

- Come on. Get out of the way.
- Blocked by the cleaner.

Lusit Airways
are pleased to announce boarding

for flight LLT154 to Marrakech.

We would like to invite families
and those requiring assistance

- to come forward first.
- Move, move, move.

Please have your passports
and boarding card ready.

Okay, have full visual on target again,

but something has definitely gone
in or out of that backpack.

Tell him to hold.

Cartwright, hold your position.
Do not intercept.

- Target is on the move.
- We have eyes on target. Hold.

Ma'am?

Hold your position, Cartwright.
Hold your position. We are assessing.

Target is joining the queue to board.
Standing by.

Keep the channel clear, please.

Come on.

Second Desk says,
"Do not intercept."

Come on, come on,
come on, come on.

- Push the button.
- Dogs are standing by, ma'am.

At least he's heading downstairs.
There's 300 bodies up there.

Yes, but he's headed to
a plane loaded with fuel.

First passengers are
on the tarmac, ma'am.

- Authorize.
- Apprehend suspect.

Dogs, go.

Move!

- Out of the way!
- Move!

- Down, down, down!
- What the fuck?

Get the fuck off me!

Disperse if you can. Keep calm.

- Get back!
- Get off me!

- What the fuck?
- Relax!

- What are you doing?
- No trigger.

- This is fucking harassment!
- No wires here.

- Clear.
- Bag.

- Get off! Get off me.
- Over.

Somebody film this! Fuck!

- Get off me! Nothing on me!
- Stop moving!

He's clean.

Repeat. Repeat!

He's clean.
There's no device, no weapon. Nothing.

- Ma'am?
- He has the wrong suspect,

or we have the wrong intel,
and we don't have the wrong intel.

- Ma'am, he reconfirmed visual.
- Reconfirm again.

Cartwright, confirm suspect description.

Asian male, 20s, backpack,
blue shirt, white tee.

I said, "white shirt, blue tee."

You...

No, no, no, no, you said...
You said, "blue shirt, white tee."

Webb.

Shit. Put it on the main screen.

White shirt, blue tee. Suspect is inbound.

Inbound, headed to immigration,
main terminal.

Stand Cartwright down. He's done.

Second Desk says
stand down, Cartwright.

Oh, shit.

- Stand him down.
- Cartwright, where are you going?

You tailed the wrong suspect.
You're stood down.

Get me CCTV on that escalator now.

- Should we have immigration hold him up?
- Not with a bomb on his back.

- Get SO15 on standby.
- Ma'am.

SO15, standby.

- He'll be through in two minutes.
- Duffy, where are your Dogs?

Still airside with Cartwright's suspect.

Jesus Christ!
If you can't get your guys there,

get SO15 on the ground now.

We got something
behind immigration?

Excuse me.

Hey! Hey!

- How long?
- Three minutes.

He's through.

There.
He's headed to baggage reclaim.

Stay on him. I need eyes
at the end of that concourse.

- Yep. Coming up now.
- Head to the carousel.

He's Headed to baggage reclaim.

Give me cameras
at the end of baggage reclaim.

I want eyes there.

Not a Dog in sight.

Duffy, those are your guys?

No. No, ma'am. They're en route.

Duffy, surely we've got
transport police on that concourse.

Waiting. Inbound, two minutes.

Thank you!

He's not waiting for luggage.

What? He's walking straight out.

Get out of the way! Move!

Move, move, move, move!

Sorry.

- Whoa, whoa!
- I'm service, I'm service.

I'm service! Move now!

- I need an image. Why is it dark in there?
- There's no cameras, ma'am.

- I want eyes now!
- Confirm with Stansted.

Dogs, intercept!
Suspect's now landside. Where are you?

- There.
- He swapped backpacks.

That's the handover.

Smash the glass.

This is an emergency.
Please evacuate.

Ladies and gentlemen,
please evacuation the terminal!

Evacuate the terminal all the way…

- …this exit. This exit.
- Work out the safe areas.

Keep them safe. Don't let anyone pass.

This way please. Ladies and gentlemen,
this way. Quick as you can.

Move, move, move, move!

Move!

Move! Aside!

Move! Out of the way! Now!

He's headed for the Stansted Express.

Get out of the way!

Move! Get to the side.

Come on!

Get it cleared. Full evacuation.

Evacuate the entire train station.

I want any trains
coming into Stansted halted.

Any trains that are in-bound,
I need to know about it.

Move, move, move!

Move, move, move!

Move, move, move!

- Move, move, move, move, move!
- This way!

Keep moving, guys. Come on.

Place is closed! Stop! Stop!

What are you doing?

Stop! No! Step away now!
Step away! Don't do it!

No?

Yeah? Great!

Standish.

- Are you all in?
- All except River and Sid.

Yeah, well,
the last one in can clean my lav.

I thought spooks were
supposed to be stealthy.

Another day dawns on MI-Fucking Useless.

Morning, Max.

The usual, Mr. Hobden?

Yes, Max. The usual.

His name isn't Max.

Well, it says "Max"
on the front of the shop.

Yeah, but I heard the staff
call him Theo, short for Theodosios.

I'll stick with "Max." Shorter.

There you go.

Thank you, Max.

What are you looking for?

A reason not to blow my brains out.

He hasn't told me yet
what I'm looking for.

Dumping the rubbish this side of the room.

Do you think Sid will find this
as amusing as you do?

- Hello, Catherine.
- Morning.

Morning.

Bradford driving license applications,

addresses, council tax records.
Cross-check.

Well, these are from 2005.

The lending list
from Luton libraries in the last year.

At least yours is topical.

Flag any borrowing
that suggests money laundering.

Really?
Someone looking that up in the library

probably doesn't have
that much money to launder.

Parking tickets from the Euston area.

From the '90s?

No stone unturned, eh?

Oh, Catherine!

Catherine, before you go,
these two stick-in-the-muds

are giving my idea of a pub quiz team
a big thumbs down.

Actually, I gave it a fat middle finger.

Come on, guys! What about team spirit?
Catherine?

No.

- "No," as in "Ask me later," or-or no...
- As in, "no."

Tough nut to crack, that Catherine,
but I'll get there.

- Forget it. She never lightens up.
- Would you?

If I was Lamb's lackey, no.

No, I meant what happened before.
Before she came here.

Yeah, well, I... I wish Lamb
would go that way.

Is today the day you finally give me
something remotely challenging?

Flight inquiries to Syria
from the previous decade.

No, it isn't.

Well, I'll set up an algorithm for that

and treat the remaining nine hours
of the day as my own time.

Jed? Transport police are asking

if you can stop scaring people away
from that bus stop.

- They could be watching us.
- Or they could be waiting for a bus.

Also, Lamb says there's a new hire

- at the Chinese down...
- Oh, fuck me!

- And he'd like...
- I know, I know.

Interview and background.

And if he happens to be undocumented, it's
five free meals to look the other way.

Man.

No, I've been keeping me eyes
on the water.

I'm just waiting for a fin to surface,

but I need you to guarantee me
2,000 words once it breaks.

It's like your Watergate.

You know what?
I can't tell you now because it...

Sorry, um, the reason I interrupted before

is because I spent a year studying
in Greece and the name caught my ear.

Was a great country
a couple of thousand years ago.

Yeah.

And I'm interrupting now because
I was hoping I could borrow your Times.

Fine.

Thank you.

Oh, what...

- Oh, my God. I am so...
- Oh, shit.

- I am so sorry. I'm so sorry. Sorry.
- Oh, shit.

Can I please have some towels? Okay.
Can I just have some serviettes?

No, I need more serviettes.

- God, I'm so, um, um...
- Here. Here.

Yeah, napkins. Can we get some more?

- Oh!
- Thank you.

Max, this is not enough. Have you...
Have you got any more serviettes?

- Max, pass me that.
- Take this. Take this.

- Just leave it. Excuse me.
- I'm so, so clumsy.

- Would you leave it?
- No, I feel so bad. Is your laptop okay?

It's okay. Let me clean it up now.

Fuck!

Fucking…

You thumped?

Did you find anything?

I don't know what I'm looking for.

Yeah, uh, the remnants
of a once-promising career.

Are we actually acting on any intel,
or are we just fishing?

Yeah, but now,
you don't get to ask questions.

That's for spies who haven't shat the bed.

So, what did you find? Any old notebooks?

Uh, the cardboard backing of one,
but no pages.

Evidence of drug use?

Empty box of paracetamol, yeah.

Empty booze bottles?

In his recycling bin, I imagine.

Oh, Christ.

Is it me, or did all the fun
go out of everything around 1979?

Are we looking for something,

or are we just wanting him to know
that we are looking at him?

What's all this "we"? There is no "we."

There's just me telling you what to do.

Okay. Do you want to tell me
to put him under surveillance?

Who?

Hobden.

Wha... Wha...
You would be doing the surveillance?

Yeah.

- You?
- Yeah.

Well...

That's a... Well,
that's an interesting proposition,

considering the last time
you were given any sort of responsibility,

a load of innocent people
got blown to bits.

And there it is.

Well, I'm sorry you find it so tiresome,
Cartwright,

but it's not the social faux pas
you seem to think it was.

You... You didn't break wind
during someone's wedding vows.

What was it? Uh, 149 dead, 212 injured,

uh, three million in damages,
half a billion in lost revenue...

It was a training exercise.

If a pilot crashes a simulator,
he doesn't then brush it off and go,

"Well, I'm sorry.
It was a fucking exercise,"

and then expect to be
put behind the wheel of a 747.

- It's not the same thing.
- No, it's worse, you tit.

- You're gonna do this every day then?
- If I didn't hate the sight of you,

I'd come to your home
and do it at the weekends too.

I am surrounded by fuckups
in this building,

but you are the gold standard of fuckups.

By all rights, you shouldn't even be here.

You should've skipped this purgatory
and gone straight to hell.

Melted you down for glue.

But you avoided that
because your name is Cartwright.

So when you wonder why I have you
going through the rubbish

of a disgraced right-wing journo,
wonder no more.

It's because I don't like you.

And I want you to quit.

I'll just get back to, uh,
retching then, shall I?

Ah, nice one, Sid.

Standish! Flashbox.

- Is this Hobden's?
- It's mine.

He has a USB stick on his key ring.

I distracted him
and copied the contents onto here.

Well, he notice?

Never looked at his keys,
never looked at my laptop.

You see, Cartwright. She is a good agent.

And this is why I put Sid on surveillance
and not you.

You still want me to itemize his rubbish,
though, do you?

That? Oh, yeah, yeah.
And, uh, when you're done,

save me the bother
and chuck it all in the bin.

What was on the stick?

I don't know. It's not my remit.

What do you mean not your...
Just tell me what was on the stick.

Hey, I've got a call to make,

so if the pair of you wouldn't mind,
you know, fucking off.

Uh, get me Lady Di.

- Why did he have us both on Hobden?
- Well, you weren't really on him.

No, but two agents
on a has-been journalist.

That just... It just feels like overkill.

Especially when we don't run ops
from Slough House.

Apparently, we do, River. Or I do.

- You never call me River.
- I never call anyone River.

Yeah, well, thank my mother.
It was her hippie phase.

I got what you wanted.

All of it?

There was nothing in the rubbish,
but we got his laptop files.

You sending a courier?

I'm not gonna waste
one of my grown-up spies.

Send one of your donkeys.

Okay, but I, uh...
I can't guarantee it'll get there.

Send Sid Baker. She's the most capable.

Oh, you mean the least shit?

Uh, and just to be clear, Diana,
you owe me.

Whatever you say, Jackson.

Who's it going to?

Are you gonna clean this rubbish up?

No, no, I...
I thought I'd just leave it there.

Yes. Of course I'm gonna clean it up.

When?

When you give me a chance.
I've literally just sat down.

Okay, well, here's your chance.
I'm going for a coffee.

You've already had a coffee.

I'm allowed more than one. I'm a big girl.

The gloves really suit you, by the way.

- Taking the piss, is it?
- I wouldn't know where to start.

Bye.

Oh.

I was thumping for Sid.

Sid's gone for coffee.

No, she's already had coffee.
She was getting away from you.

Failure's contagious.

Deliver this.

Where?

Regent's Park.

Oh, so this Hobden thing is Regent's Park?

Yeah, of course it bloody is.
We don't run ops from Slough House.

Why would they get us to do it?

And why do they want me to deliver it?

They don't. They want Sid,
but she's not here, so I'm sending you.

Who's the contact?

Webb.

Isn't he an old mate of yours?

Don't leave it on the bus.

Fuck! Ow.

Go straight. On the right.

Hi. Uh, River Cartwright delivering
for James Webb.

You are with…

Wi... MI5. Same as you.

You're not showing up.

I'm over at Aldersgate.

Aldersgate?

Slough House.

You'll need a visitor's pass.
Look into here.

Thank you.

Uh, sorry. Uh, can you sit over there?
You have to wait for an escort.

This way.

Come.

River. Didn't know it'd be you.

Let's not make this awkward.

Has someone thrown up on your tie?

Okay, awkward it is.
It's Karl Unger, peasant.

Cut yourself shaving as well.
That's annoying.

Yeah. Well, technically it wasn't me.

I get a wet shave most mornings
at Truefitt & Hill.

- Truefitt & Hill. Oh.
- Mmm.

Keep a lot of hard copy in here,
don't you?

Bit above your pay grade, mate.

- Oh, my God. You're in HR.
- It's not HR. It's vetting.

Call it what you like. It's still not
really being an agent, is it?

Laptop.

What's this? No flashbox?

Uh, no. I've heard of those but,
I mean, it's Slough House.

Frankly,
I'm amazed we've still got Jiffy bags.

You want this back?

Are you ever gonna admit that
you made a mistake?

- Still on that.
- Yeah.

"Blue shirt, white tee."
That's what you said.

You fucked up. Yes, you did. Not me, you.

And you let me take the fall.

Own your mistakes, River.
Stansted was your fiasco.

Well, I mean, I get it.
I was clearly Taverner's favorite.

- Really?
- Uh, yeah, and that really annoyed you,

really got under your skin, didn't it?

So you not only covered for your fiasco,
you got me out of the way.

It's always about you, isn't it?

What about the people who lost
their lives and limbs?

- It wasn't real.
- What is this then?

Other than a new training module entitled,
"How to avoid a fucking fiasco."

It did... Fuck off. It wasn't a...

He's dead. She's dead. Injured. Dead.

- Maimed, that one.
- No. Actor.

- Mortally injured. Maimed. He's dying.
- Actor.

It was a training exercise.

Yeah. It was. It was an exercise,
but if it had been real, they'd have died.

You fucked up. Massively.
Un-fucking-forgivably.

And you did genuinely
injure some of them. Wait, where is it?

I... I love this bit. It's my favorite.

Here he comes. Here he comes.
Painful.

He won't dance again.

Yeah, well, there's no lives in your hands
here in HR, is there?

Yeah, and what have you got in your hands
at Slough House apart from your dick?

Escort.

You know why they call it Slough House?

Yes. But I imagine you're gonna tell me
what it is. Yeah, why not?

It's because, while it may only be
three miles from where I sit,

it is so far from the beating heart
of the service

it might as well be in Slough.

Yeah, if you have to explain a joke,
it's 'cause it's not working.

I heard your grandfather…

He had to pull whatever strings
he still had access to

to stop you being kicked out altogether.

That must've hurt him.
Having to beg for his grandson like that.

Fuck you, Spider.

- This is a professional work environment.
- Right.

I don't go by that anymore.

Ah, okay. Thanks, Spider.

- He's all done here. Show him out.
- Thanks, Spider.

He loves being called that,
by the way. Spider.

Never call me that.

Excuse me! Your pass.

Oh. This is everything from today.

What did your last servant die of?

What did your last boss die of?

- Good night.
- Yep.

Fucking hell.

Anybody fancy a swift half, hey?
Or better still, a slow pint?

Um, I've got a friend coming over.
I can't tonight.

Oh, I better get back to the family.

So? Text them
that you're busy saving the nation.

I like to be there for the kids' bedtime,
but, you know, another evening.

But you always say that.

- Well, maybe tomorrow.
- Tomorrow then.

- Louisa, tomorrow?
- Yeah. Maybe tomorrow.

It's a date. Laters.

We hang our heads
when they should be held up high.

We stuck two fingers up at the Luftwaffe,

yet we can't stop these people
crossing the Channel, the English Channel,

in their rubber dinghies.

Get out the Navy, I say. The Royal Navy.

Whatever it takes to keep Britain British.

- Fuck.
- How long have you been here?

- What?
- You look like a mole.

A mole?

Are you a closet nationalist now?

- Oh, no. I found it in Hobden's rubbish.
- River.

Yes, yes, yes. Yes, I know.
I still need to clean up.

Just, um, ended up down
a pretty dark rabbit hole.

All rabbit holes are dark.
They're underground.

- Thanks.
- What's this?

Greg Simmonds. You know him?

Yeah. Sleazy businessman
who can't get over the fact

Britain won a war 70 years ago.

A war that he seems to think was actually
fought against ethnic minorities

and political correctness
rather than the Nazis. Yeah.

Yeah.

You ever listen
to one of his speeches? Uh…

These immigrants
say they don't like our religion.

They don't like our way of life.

And yet it's us that get arrested
by our own police force

for saying the wrong things.
For telling jokes.

I tell you, this is a war...

Yeah.
I can't take any more of that.

MI5 reckon that he has been funding
a lot of these new hate groups.

Spends his time rubbing shoulders
with politicians

while immigrants have
their homes burned down.

I'm not sure this is a great way to be
spending your spare time.

You've seen my work on the floor.

Oh, cry me a river, River.
No, seriously, as a friend...

As a friend? Are we friends?

I don't think I'm ready to make that kind
of commitment, to be honest with you.

Look, what I'm seeing right now
is just not good for your dating profile.

What are you? My dating coach?

Absolutely not. That'd be a full-time job.

All right. You're here after hours.
What's your excuse?

I left my phone charger.

A phone charger. You came all the way back
for a phone charger?

- I was having drinks nearby.
- Well, thanks for the invite.

I've invited you before
and you turned me down.

- What? No...
- Once bitten…

- No, you haven't.
- Yes, I have.

No. It...

Fucking hell.

If people are happy to spend time
in this building after 5:00 p.m.,

then I'm not really doing my job.

Uh, I left my phone charger.

I was gonna clean up the rubbish. Sorry.

Fuck off.

"Fuck off" as in go home,
or "fuck off" as in you don't believe us?

At the end of the working day,
your pitiful, miserable time is your own.

But if I find out you are indulging
in extracurricular activities

that could upset the equilibrium
of this blessed sanctuary,

then I will make it so that
you wish you were in a Siberian gulag.

Mmm. Twice in one day.

That girl earlier.
The one who spilled my coffee.

Did she leave soon after me?

I can't remember. I think so.

Well, has she been in here before?

A few times recently.

Oh, yeah. Well, if she comes in again…

Give me a call.

- Yeah?
- Sure.

Dirty old man.

Yeah, looking back I probably
already had a drinking problem.

But, um, when my dad died,
I just got really, really lost.

He was 56. Aneurysm. Gone.

Yeah, it totally upended me.

I, uh...
I started suffering from blackouts.

Charles.

Morning, Charles.

…couldn't be with me
unless I got sober. So I did.

But I did it more
for my dad's memory.

Charles?

Charles?

Charles.

Charles.

Charles.

Catherine.

Catherine. You haven't spoken.

Um, my name's Catherine. I'm an alcoholic.

Hi, Catherine.

I'll just listen tonight.

You know
you left the front door open?

I saw you driving up.

Are you sure you didn't leave it
open by mistake?

I prepared a second piece.

You can cook.

Have you heard
from your mother recently?

Oh.

Yeah.
A postcard from Istanbul of all places.

She's opening a guesthouse
with her current boyfriend.

And you're out of lemons.

Yeah, well, that plan will have changed
by the time the card arrived.

Yeah. Boyfriend too, knowing her.

You know,
I always expected her to turn up here

with a KGB spook on her arm.

That would have been
the ultimate rebellion.

No. This is...
It's as hard as an egg, this.

You know they keep better in the fridge.

I always understood a lemon
could last as long

as an 18th century naval voyage.

Yes. Well, this is the 21st century,

so we can take full advantage of modern
food-preservation techniques.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Oh, the chicken's burning.

Shit.

No, it's not bu... It's searing.
It's exactly the way I wanted it.

Did you ever come across Robert Hobden?

Ah. So you didn't visit me
just to lecture me

on home safety and food hygiene.

- No, no. I wanted to see you too. I did.
- Not wanted to see me that much lately.

Yeah. Well, not really been that much
to report, has there? From Slough House.

They won't keep you there forever.

I was given the impression
that they probably will.

Well, that's the point.

If you knew it was for only six months,
it wouldn't hurt.

Yeah. It's been eight months.

Well, you do your time. Whatever
grunt work Jackson Lamb throws your way.

Then you head back to Regent's Park.
Your sins forgiven.

Lamb's been there years,
so they've obviously never forgiven him.

The man practically lives there.

Was he ever actually good?
I just... I can't imagine it.

I'll lay the table.

You are not listening to me, Jack.
There is gonna be an attack.

People are going to get hurt.

I can't tell you any more
because I'll put myself at risk.

No, no.
Forget about any fucking loyalty to me.

Do this for your country.

Fine. But know this.
There will be blood on your hands.

You are coming tonight, aren't you?

Of course I am.

Good. 'Cause genuinely,
I might need backup.

Have they started on you again?

People are messaging the club
saying that they shouldn't book me.

What?

It's like you can't even say
the word "religion" now

without somebody taking offense.

- Yeah.
- My stuff isn't even that controversial.

And the stuff that is was written by you.

Yeah.

Are you sure you just
don't wanna get up there?

Look, I will sit in the audience
and confuse everybody

by laughing loudly each time
you mention Muslims.

Here you go.

Thank you.

So, what happened to your hand?

Oh. Nothing. I burned it on a grill.

Was there a flashbox in the grill?

All right. Yes, I tried to open
a flashbox without the code.

Stupid thing to do.
Have you had it seen to?

No, no. It's fine.
It's nothing to worry about.

What was in the box?

A laptop.
With files taken from Robert Hobden.

Anyone know you pulled this stunt?

- No. No.
- Good. Good. Keep it that way.

Yes.

It's just strange. It's just...

It's not the usual crap
they get you to do there in Slough House.

It's... I mean the Park are on it.
They're on Hobden.

- Why?
- I don't know.

- That's what I was trying to find out.
- Hmm.

And I was hoping that you could
just tell me.

Yeah, well, um…

Hobden had had a run-in with MI5 before.

He was a communist in his youth.

Then he changed sides.
One-nation Tory, star columnist.

Then the loathsome drift to the far right.

His career ended when his name appeared

on a leaked list of donors
to the British Patriotic Party.

Hobden always claimed that it was MI5
that leaked the list.

I can't comment, but if we didn't do it,
we should've done.

Can't have fascists hiding in plain sight.

But, I mean, he's no one.
He's... The man's a has-been.

I just don't understand
why they even bother looking at him.

I've told you all I know,
and you should stay out of it.

And if the Park are looking at him,
there'll be a good reason.

And if they're using
Slough House to do it,

it means they don't want blowback.

Which puts you at risk.

You understand?

And remember… hmm?

Moscow rules, watch your back.
London rules, cover your arse.

- Yeah.
- Very good.

How come every picture of Jesus

has him looking like
a millennial gap year student?

He... He's got everything, right?

He's got the likes of hipster,
long hair, the beard, the sandals.

He looks like a sort of 35-year-old man

who still thinks the band
is gonna make it big.

So…
Jesus, Buddha and Allah walk into a pub.

Oh, no.

And the mood goes like that.

Like this actually.

And they... they go to the bar.
They order drinks.

Tap water for Jesus 'cause, you know,
he can turn that into wine for free.

Diet Coke for Buddha because he's,
uh... he's watching his weight.

And, uh, alcohol-free beer for Allah.

- Nah, I'm done with this.
- And, uh, I'll... Really?

Don't worry about them, guys. Don't worry.
Just, uh... Just treat them like an STD.

If you ignore them,
they'll probably go away.

And let me tell you,
they had a lovely time.

They really did.
Honestly, they stayed out all night.

Jesus got crucified
and wasn't seen for three days.

I don't know why you guys
were worr... Why were you worried?

Absolutely killed it tonight.
That was the best I've ever seen you.

Hey, you were great.

Oh, thank you.

Hey, you were great.

And you were so relaxed as well.

Strongest material, though, is your
"Jesus, Buddha and Allah walk into a pub."

You need to get up there.

So you, uh, head-in
for the nine o'clock tomorrow?

You gonna be in?

Nine o'clock. Nope. No.

- No way.
- All right, mate.

I'll see you in the week, yeah?

Okay. Take care, bro. Thank you so much.

- You killed it.
- Killer work.

Wait! Oi! Hey!

No! No! No, no, no! No!

Help! Help me!

Roddy, can you… check something for me?

Not on the clock yet.
You'll need to pay my private rate.

Yep.

Just tell what it is
I'm looking at on there.

- Don't touch that!
- All right.

It's pi.

- Is that a code?
- No. It's pi.

Running to an infinite number of places.

Is there anything else behind it?
Any other files on the stick? Anything?

No. Where'd you get it?

Hobden.

You copied the files.

You'd only know that if you'd looked
at it yourself.

Well, at least I didn't need Ho
to tell me it was pi.

Everybody needs me.
They just don't know it.

Seems like he used it as a decoy.

He was expecting a snatch. Cool cat.

Thanks, Roddy. Very helpful.

Why would he be expecting a snatch?

I don't know.

What do you think the Park will do
if they find out you opened a flashbox?

Yeah, well, they're not gonna find out,
are they?

Did it hurt?

No. Well, a bit.

Fuck! Jesus Christ, Sid.

Look, I know you landed here with a bump…

- Yeah. I've still got whiplash.
- If you want to do something useful,

you can get rid of the stinking rubbish
that's still in our office.

Yeah, but I wanna actually be
properly useful, Sid. Don't you?

Do something. I mean, it...
I could not be more bored if I tried, Sid.

And I have actually tried.

And if the Park are looking at Hobden,

then that means there is something
finally happening here.

Exactly. It's the Park's business,
not ours.

Cartwright, come see this!

- Following a breaking story…
- Hostage.

Is it live?

Popped up on a Middle East chat feed
a few hours ago.

Media have just picked up on it.

He's holding today's Express.

Shit. He's being held here.

What appears to be here
in the heart of Britain.

…recording first surfaced
this morning on social media…

What we really need now is leadership.

Who's collating lists
on recently active groups?

I am, ma'am.

I wanted a breakdown of that
a half an hour ago.

- Yes, ma'am.
- Home Office, ma'am.

…and obsession with multiculturalism.

We don't stand up for our values,

which leads to this
horrific situation where

Muslim fundamentalists
are bringing terror to our streets

and threatening to murder our citizens.

I don't think we should be watching this.

What? The rest of the country is.

Has anyone claimed responsibility yet?

- No, no one.
- It would be ISIS, wouldn't it?

Or one of their tribute groups.

Well,
what the fuck's it got to do with you?

Whatever's going on will be a job
for the real agents, not you fuckups.

Yo, what's this?

- Looks like a walking stick.
- Yeah, maybe he's been snatched

by the Ramblers Association.

No, it's an ax.

- He's not white.
- That's why he was wearing gloves.

- Fuck.
- Who's got him then?

It could still be Islamists.
He could be a non-believer.

- Maybe he's a squaddie.
- He doesn't look like a squaddie.

Nah, he looks Pakistani,
which to them means Muslim.

- To who?
- Oh, you people are slow.

Bringing you up to speed
is like trying to explain Norway to a dog.

It'll be right-wing nationalists.
That's who's got him.

It's the Sons of Albion
who are taking credit.

- Christ, I hate being right.
- All right, so what do we do then?

What we always do here.
Absolutely nothing.

Come on. Back to your desks.
Come on, all of you. Out!

- Hobden.
- What?

His old crew
was the British Patriotic Party.

Yeah, but they splintered into factions.

Yeah, but one of them might have
something to do with this. Him too.

- Just leave it.
- News flash!

You're gonna wanna check this out.

We are following a breaking news story.

Sunrise tomorrow,
they say they're gonna cut his head off.

They're gonna strike a blow for Britain.

This changes nothing. Come on. Out!

You've all got papers to shuffle,
so why are you still in this room?

Now, wait, all apologies.
Answer me one simple question.

Where the fuck is River Cartwright?