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Philby didn't escape.

I let him go.

Why did I let him go?

Because I'm trained in, shall
we say, exigent circumstances,

to consider myself above the law.

You can come in now, Mrs Thomas.

Because all of us at SIS have
been raised since the year dot

to believe we belong to a higher order.

A different set of rules.

Tell Sir Roger that.

A higher order?

The aim is to draw Sir Roger out
and force him to defend himself,

so tell them I let Philby go

to save SIS from a public
trial that would've...

... that would've inflicted more
harm on the country than good.

And then wait for them to
address the elephant in the room.

- It's a nice day.
- Lovely.

And what if they don't?

They will.

Sir Roger will.

We believe Elliott has
found out about Blunt.

You believe or know for certain?

Did you know they had lunch
at Elliott's club yesterday?

No, I did not.

While I'm doing this, what
are you gonna be doing?

The time has now come for us to
use Jim Angleton to our advantage.

How do you know Elliott
found out about Sir Anthony?

- How do you not know?
- SIS must have told him.

SIS have no idea.

The source was Michael
Straight, to the Americans,

who passed it on to us at
MI5, and us alone, not SIS.

- You seem sceptical, Mrs Thomas.
- Of the Americans?

Unless, of course, it was...

... Philby who told Elliott
about Blunt in Beirut.

Possible.

How do you not know that Elliott
and Blunt met for lunch yesterday?

I'm a debriefer, sir, not a watcher.

Wasn't it you who suggested
we let him off the lead,

I think is the phrase you used,
so that we... You could watch him?

Mrs Thomas?

Yes.

He wants to meet in
person. Urgent, he said.

Tozhe ona, tozhe ona.

Chto s ney budete delat'? Ey!

Ciao, Poppi.

Nicholas?

I was told this is urgent.

Bad news, I'm afraid. From Moscow.

Budet sneg.

In English, please.

Sneg.

Snow.

It's going to snow.

Spasibo.

Thank you so much for coming
all this way. Beyond the call.

So sorry for your loss, Kim.
Cicely sends love and condolences.

Keep it.

Let us pray.

What are you doing here?

You didn't answer the bell so we
hopped over the garden railings.

Or more accurately, I hopped.
Jim made a bit of a meal of it.

We figured that you
might like some company.

Jim's heading back to
America in the morning

so we thought we could, you
know, make a night of it.

Between us, I'm off to
Rome for a few days first.

Lovely service today, don't you think?

Very.

Old Reverend Bob's lisp always
did make Mother giggle, though.

"Asheth to asheth, dutht to dutht."

Poor old thing... She
died all alone in here.

- I knew you'd do this.
- Cirrhosis, they said.

You cannot blame yourself, Kim.

The sad truth is...

... both you chaps know me
far better than she ever did.

No, I doubt that.

As a matter of interest...

... who, outside our
small circle of friends,

have you ever revealed
your real self to?

- "Shall I part my hair behind?"
- Oh, God, here we go.

"Do I dare to eat a peach?"

You two and your bloody poetry!

- Heathen.
- We're to lift his spirits, remember?

Rome, eh?

Business or pleasure?

The Bolsheviks have discovered gelato.

Come on. I'm not taking no for
an answer and nor would you.

A higher order?

His words, not mine.

- Late night?
- Early morning.

Do you ever wear make-up?

- Er, not really, no.
- Hm.

Any particular reason?

Er, I just never have.

- Why?
- Hm.

As a matter of interest,
why is it, do you suppose,

that of all the
debriefers in the building

you were the one assigned
to Nicholas Elliott?

I don't know. To get
under his skin, I suppose.

Because you're a woman.

Er, the opposite of posh.

An affront to the
gentlemen spies of SIS.

I told Sir Roger that you
were the right person for this

because you're good at what you do.

Thank you.

And I thought Nick Elliott
might find you intriguing.

Hm. Intriguing.

What are you not telling us, Lily?

Nothing...

... ma'am.

Hm.

It's not that a spot
of rouge and mascara

necessarily make one a better liar,

but... sometimes they
can help hide the truth.

Honestly, I'm not sure what
I know and do not know as yet.

Well...

... Sir Roger is
taking you off the case.

Why?

He says you look tired.

I've not been... It's barely been...

Er, and he couldn't
tell me that to my face?

So that's it?

Nothing more to be done?

Officially, no.

Unofficially?

They call that one Shimmering Rose.

Best bacon and egg roll in the land.

Do you mind?

First, as they say in cowboy
films, I come in peace.

How.

No need to explain the bug in my house.

Kim did a bunk to Moscow, CIA
got wind and suspect I helped him,

so you said you'd come to London
and have a bit of a poke about.

- It's all to be expected.
- That's very sporting of you.

But I'll wager you skipped the
part about why you really came here.

To be in radio frequency range
with your people in Moscow.

I don't run joes in the
field any more, Nick.

I'm management now.

Hm. So I gather.

The KGB raided a flat
in Moscow last night.

The man surrendered but the
woman went down fighting.

Your people?

She's dead, Jim.

Kim is a traitor.

A double agent for the KGB.

Has been for 30 years.

Had me fooled since
we first met in 1940,

and you since right after Pearl Harbor.

As painful as that is...

... it's important that
we finally come to terms

with the cold, hard
fact that one of our own,

whom we loved, respected and admired,

to the point of, dare
I say it, hero worship...

... has done the unthinkable.

Hero worship?

Speak for yourself.

I am. Believe me.

Go back to Washington. Today.

Cover your tracks in
Moscow if you can...

... and destroy all evidence
of your blind faith in Kim.

And then we need never
speak of this again.

What about you, Nick?

What are you doing to redeem yourself?

Fuck!

- Give me a light.
- What happened?

Do you have a fucking light or not?

Do we know the name of the
woman they killed last night?

Well, here's to her, anyway.

And to my mother.

And Aileen, the mother of my children.

God rest her soul.

Who knows, maybe you'll be next.

- Bless you.
- Thank you.

Close the door, please.

I'm sorry, you'll have to
remind me of your name again.

Martin.

That's right, Martin. Martin what?

- Arthur Martin.
- Ah. Martin's your surname.

Mrs Thomas is no longer
assigned to your case.

May I ask why?

Not your concern.

Aren't you a tad senior
to be the messenger?

I've come to talk to you
about Sir Anthony Blunt.

Was it your decision
to replace Mrs Thomas?

Sir Roger's.

- Women, eh?
- Quite.

I wasn't aware I'm a "case."
Pull up a pew. Cup of tea?

No, thank you, I'm fine.

Sit.

I'm sure Mrs Thomas probably warned you,

I like to take a moment
or two to break the ice.

I understand you recently had
lunch with Sir Anthony Blunt.

At my club.

Beef Wellington. Must have
been... Thursday. Yeah.

What was the reason for this lunch?

Although I think he ordered the fish.

Reason? Er, Vermeer.

Beg your pardon?

Artist. Dutch. Dab hand
with perspective, all that.

Mr Elliott,

may I remind you I'm here under
the authority of the minister.

Fine.

Sir Anthony Blunt. Formerly of
MI5, and now, as we know, the KGB.

- Allegedly.
- Are you defending him?

- No. I'm just saying.
- Because he's MI5.

Ex MI5.

Just as when you, at MI5, took it
upon yourselves to investigate us

here at SIS for our
handling of Kim Philby...

As ordered by the Home Secretary.

... whom do you suppose it might fall to

to examine MI5's handling of Blunt?

Let me be very clear,
whatever it is you are hiding,

whatever it is you are up to,

you are under no circumstances to
go anywhere near Sir Anthony again.

Ten years ago, when we shared
source intelligence with you

about a possible Soviet penetration
agent at MI5, you personally -

Of course I remember your sodding name,

how could I fucking well forget it?
- were responsible for the inquiry

that completely overlooked
and missed Blunt.

So I beg to differ that
it's not my concern.

In fact, I'm rather glad you dropped by.

Are you sure I can't
offer you a cup of tea?

Would you get hold of
Mrs Thomas for me, please?

However, to many at the time

Francesco Borromini was
regarded as sacrilegious

in the world of early 17th
century Italian architecture,

and accused of suborning
the laws of the ancients

with chaos and disorder.

Such is art, ladies and gentlemen.

All I can say is thank God for
those few so-called heretics

who insisted that Borromini,
and not, in fact, Bernini,

is the greatest genius
of Baroque architecture.

Bloody Yanks. Look at that.

You've gotta take your hat off to them.

See, that's the difference
between you and me.

That I have genuine admiration
for American ingenuity?

Sometimes I think this is all
just some endless game to you.

You say that...

as though...

you've never been a player
of the game yourself.

That was in the war, when
things were anything but a game.

Belgravia 4367?

I left a message at MI5
over two hours ago now,

and her home number is off the hook.

- All right. Never mind. Go home now.
- Thank you.

- What's wrong?
- Nothing.

I'm worried that in your desperation

to repair all the damage Kim's done,

you're in danger of making things worse.

Desperation?

Only a minute ago you were
saying it was all just a game!

Kiss me.

What's that for?

Does there have to be a reason?

- Did you have a good day?
- Not too bad.

We had to give our vaccines
to King's Hospital, so...

You know.

You win some, you lose some. Hm.

You?

Yeah.

Fine.

All right, keep your radio on.

Answer that and I'll murder you.

Go on, then.

Angleton did exactly
what you hoped.

When he got to the airport,
rather than fly back to America,

he gets in another car that
was waiting for him there,

and drives north for an hour and a half.

North?

Where?

Dear Nick, I've
been a bloody fool.

"I like a Martini" Said Mabel

But I've learned to
take two At the most."

"For with three I'm under the table
And with four I'm under my host."

Now that is poetry.

Dear Nick,

bravo, old bean.

You sold me a rope

which I mistook for a lifeline...

... rather than the
noose that it is.

Only you would have
pulled that one off.

There once was a Yank named Jim...

Who swore by his old friend Kim.

And every time they drank...

- They'd go for a wank.
- Argh!

To the tune of their favourite hymn.

So...

in the grand scheme of things,

I do hope everything
that happened between us

over the course of
our long friendship

hasn't caused too much
discomfort and inconvenience.

It's all quiet.

He's just sat down to
dinner at The Connaught.

- I'm round the
corner. - Save me some tea.

Wait. Something's happening.

He's leaving. I need you here now!

Fuck's sake! Where are you?

Sorry.

You're a good 'un, Dr
Thomas. Too good for me.

Don't I know it!

And you're too good
for this bloody country.

I think someone had a
little too much wine!

My beautiful man.

- What happened?
- Just drive.

Fuck, he'll be halfway to Moscow by now.

Sod it, this is pointless.

Pull over here. Pull over.

Be one of your patients.

Sorry, yeah.

Dr Thomas?

Mrs Thomas, please. It's urgent.

For you. Emergency, he says.

- Hello?
- It's happened...

- Where have you been?
- Who is it?

- They took him at The Connaught hotel.
- Mrs Thomas.

But there was some sort of cock-up

and we've lost them somewhere
near Grosvenor Square.

Give me your number.

Norwood 3478.

I'll call you back.

MI5 have lost Blunt.

I once looked up to you, Kim.
My God, how I despise you now.

I only hope you've got
enough decency left in you

to understand why.

You had to choose between
Marxism and your family,

and you chose Marxism!

What, nothing to say?

Marxism I can almost take, but
cowardice? That I can't stomach.

- Not from you.
- Now you're getting desperate.

Let's talk about Stalin.

You know, believe it or not,

I'm actually beginning
to worry about you.

Of course, I understand

that we're trained to
separate thought from feeling,

but doing it with
Stalin is going too far.

It's like... It's like
rationalising Hitler.

I'm not gonna argue the difference
between Stalin and Hitler.

- No? Why not? I'm fascinated.
- They were both monsters.

Stalin was a monster. Are you happy now?

You've got 24 hours to get back
here with a signed confession

or there's nothing
more I can do for you.

Because you've done so much already!

I'm offering you a lifeline, Kim.

Yeah. Goodbye, Nick.

And you'd be a fool not to take it!

Thanks, Jock.

What makes you so sure
this is where he is?

Because he's an old friend and
therefore somewhat predictable.

You mean like Philby?

Do try not to be a
total pillock, Desmond.

Argh!

Oh, fuck!

Ey!

Kakogo chorta...

sadish'sya na moyu estradu?

Idiot.

Tebe nravitsya?

Oof. Country air.

Fuck off. Fuck off!

Fuck off! Go away!

Sneg...

Do you mind stretching your legs
for a few moments, please, Desmond?

Need a pee anyway.

I was, of course, going
to bring you in on this.

On an illegal CIA abduction.

Of a known communist agent.

This is not the way
to save yourself, Jim.

I'm the only friend
you've got right now,

and I've told you what you need to do...

Go back to Washington
before it's too late...

... and leave Blunt to me.

Thank you, Nicholas.

In case you're wondering,
I didn't tell them a thing.

Wake me up when we get there.

Chudik. Vstavay, tebe govoryat.

Ey, vstavay.

Vstavay, tebe govoryat.

You remember Mrs Thomas. Sir Anthony.

I'll say good night, then.

Sit down, Tony.

I know what you're thinking.

Good. That ought to
save us some time, then.

I'm not the third man.

No. That'd be Kim.

You're the fourth man.

You don't deny it, then?

I've been through all this already.

- When?
- Last night.

- With whom?
- Sir Roger.

Hollis.

When you say you've been
through all of this already...

My conversation with Sir
Roger is confidential.

Have you told the Russians?

Tony?

Nicholas?

Have you told the Russians
your cover's blown?

No.

Oh, she stays.

I'm telling you this because I know
you care about what happens to Kim.

I thought I already told
you I wanted to kill him.

Why didn't you, then?

You're telling me what?

Do you think I might
have a glass of water?

Yep. I'll get it.

If the Russians were ever to find out

that Kim blew my cover
to you in Beirut...

Your head would be the first to
roll, of that you can be certain.

What instructions were you given

in the event of your cover being blown?

I have no instructions. There were none.

I should warn you that in the
greater scheme of things...

... I don't give a damn how much
my exposing you as a Soviet spy

might embarrass the Queen.

I have had no contact with
Russian intelligence since 1945.

- After you helped them defeat...
- No glasses, I'm afraid.

- You'll have to drink out of the tap.
- It's fine.

Is Her Majesty aware of your
work for Russian intelligence?

I don't think I need to dignify that.

No.

You absolutely do.

Or should I toss you
back to the Americans?

Of course she isn't aware.

My instructions were to go to Hollis.

- And do what?
- Inform him that I was blown.

- What's he supposed to do about it?
- That I don't know.

- But you were told he might help?
- So I understood, yes.

- How did he react when you told him?
- Hard to say.

What did he tell you to do?

Nothing. He told me to do
nothing until he got back to me.

- Who is your KGB handler?
- I don't have a handler.

So who told you to go to Hollis?

Philby.

Fuck off, I said!

Come on, Kim. I'm taking you home.

I have no home, thanks to you.

Kim. Come.

Kim!

Kim!

Silly arse.

Mne nuzhno, chtoby ty yego
proveryala kazhdyye desyat' minut.

What are you doing up?

Hello, Nick.

Sir Roger!

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