All language subtitles for Le Bureau Des Legendes s01e04.eng

Shall we continue?

What could the Syrians find out?

At that point, not much.
Our cover provides a barrier.

That barrier was Paul Lefebvre.

Paul really did teach
at the French school in Damascus,

he gave theatre classes
and held night readings at a bar.

A certain intelligentsia
frequented that establishment

until the war hit.

Paul Lefebvre left to teach at
the French school in Amman, Jordan.

I then left Jordan with my real passport
as Guillaume Debailly.

EMBASSY OF THE HASHEMITE KINGDOM
OF JORDAN CONSULAR DEPT

You were well informed.

There was a Paul Lefebvre,

a French teacher in Jordan
from April to June 2014.

That's all the information
we found on him.

Many thanks.

He was there for two months,

then he left for England.

That's all we know.

We can request information
from the British if you like.

But it may take a while.

Our cover stories act
as invisible barriers,

like windshields against flies.

What do you want?

I'll explain.
I think you're wrong about me.

I know you feel uncomfortable

by my questions about
your French friend.

What friend?

Your Paul Lefebvre.

He's not "my" Paul Lefebvre.

Nadia...

I don't enjoy

poking into your private life.

What do you know about him exactly?

He's a French teacher,
I told you already.

Where's he teaching now?

He's not teaching now, he's writing.

A book?

A novel.

He's a writer? Has he been published?

I don't know.

I think it's his first.

What else?

I think he has a daughter.

Her name?

Jeanne, I think.

You think?

Where does he live?

I don't know.

You've never been to his place? No.

Where do you see each other? Out.

At restaurants.

Is the interrogation over?

At a restaurant until 4:00 a. M?

We walk, we drink...

How come you've never been to his place?

I don't know.

He lives at a friend's place, I think.

Who? I don't know.

You know nothing about him.
But he's your friend?

You don't know where or how he lives.

You mention his daughter,
but don't even know if she exists.

Ask him yourself.

Here's his phone number.

Here.

Call him, interrogate him.

Go on! Call!

I will.

Fine. Now, leave me alone.

I don't want you seeing him again.

I'll do what I like.

You won't see him again!

You can't order me. It's not an order!

It's a threat.

If you see him again,
you'll be in deep trouble.

Get out!

What if Cyclone
organised his own disappearance?

Of all the wiretaps,
who would he definitely call

to give news?

His mother.

What would he say? "Hello, it's Farid"?

He knows she's bugged. He'd use a code.

Or have someone else call her.

On the wire,

could our team identify someone
calling on his behalf with a code?

No. Who could?

I'll review all the calls.

Thanks.

Guillaume.

The Algerian delegation is here.

The meeting's started?

What is it? We have an idea.

We tell them we lost an agent,
and that they have him?

The entire Algerian Intelligence
is here, and we do nothing?

We can't risk a diplomatic incident
because you lost your agent.

Say they do have him.
They'll allude to it.

They'll make a sign, open a negotiation,
but it'll all be very discreet.

They'll see if we take the bait.

We may be the only ones
to detect the sign, a private joke...

What do you think?

If they want to talk,
we must be there to read the signs.

But if they don't have him, it's not
for us to inform them we lost him.

Fine, you're cleared to enter.

Only as observers, agreed?

I'll be back.

Don't forget your session with Balm�s.

Come in, I'll introduce you.

Mr Vincent, head of communications,

Mr Leblanc,

from the Intelligence department.

Hello.

Take a seat, please.

It's a joint exercise.
How do you see us collaborating

in terms of operational command?

As observers,

your officers will have access
to the full process.

But it will come under our agreement
to do more.

What more do you want?

An official consultation role
for our liaison officer.

I'll try, but I can't guarantee it.

It's politics.

Different logic, if you see what I mean.

Did you want to say something?

No, I was just listening.

Excuse me, I'll go on.

We've covered
the aerial and terrestrial arrangements.

Let's discuss the terms

for deployment of navy commandos.

We gave special clearance to your navy

to enter a submarine into our waters
during the exercise.

Here's hoping it won't disappear,
like last time.

I'm sorry, I don't follow.

Just hinting to a dark chapter
from our younger days, right, Colonel?

Don't remember our sub
vanishing off the coast in 1972?

No, of course not.

A submarine lost at sea

is not something easily forgotten.

I understand.

Shall I continue?

For the aerial and terrestrial

arrangements, we've covered it.

Now, the deployment of navy commandos...

INSTITUTE OF EARTH PHYSICS

See you later. See ya.

Pakistani or Korean?

Sorry, I have a dentist's appointment.

I'm finishing the measurements.

What measurements?

Can I see?

There...

The tension curve.

It drops down.

Do you know why?

Ocean currents?

Good luck with the dentist.

Thanks.

That's not good.

I'm not sure, it was ambiguous.

His hand on yours is ambiguous?

On the mouse,

with my hand between his and the mouse.

Were you embarrassed? A bit.

Then he's flirting.
If it's nothing, you feel nothing.

Unless you're an erotomaniac?
I don't think so.

So, he's flirting.

We're in shit.

I didn't do anything.

Plus, he's Iranian,
married and on official business.

Exactly. You're young, new, forbidden.

That's three good reasons.

What do I do?

Be careful.

Don't give in, because...
Because I won't.

Right.

If you start something with him,
he'll never take you to Iran.

So I reject him? Yes.

But it's not that simple.
If you make him uncomfortable,

if he thinks you don't care,
or that he disgusts you,

then it's over.

No chance for Iran.
He'll never take you.

End of story.

So what do I do?

If he makes a play, try to avoid him.

But at a certain point, avoiding him

means humiliating him,

at that point, stop avoiding him.

Let him come to you.

And then...

Yes?

You'll see, it depends what he's like.

You must disarm him.

You'll find a way.

Yes?

It's Sandrine.

Hi, darling.

Your cat's at my place.

Are you sure? Yes.

I'm reassured, I hadn't seen him.

He came in the window,
I gave him some milk.

Shall I drop him off?

Would you like to keep
him for a few days?

Of course. Are you leaving?

Yes, I'm going to Algiers to see my son.

I'm worried, I haven't heard from him.

Of course. When do you go?

Tomorrow morning.

My plane is at 11:30.

What part of "don't intervene"
did you not understand?

I had to probe them. Call that probing?

It had an effect. Embarrassment.

No, if they have Cyclone,
the message is clear.

We need to let them to respond.

But through a less official channel,
I have an idea.

Put it in writing

before we reconvene.

What is it? We have a slight problem.

A slight problem?

The shit's hit the fan.

Unknown Caller

Hello?

Mrs Ben Arfa, it's Henri Duflot.
Remember me?

Yes.

You mustn't board the plane.
We need to talk.

I don't want to talk to you.
It's a bad idea.

Look, I'll send a car for you...

What do we do?

Stick a GPS on her?

She must not leave.

We don't know what she'll do.

Alert the embassy, the police,
stir the people...

It'll scramble any leads.

The press will get involved,
politicians too...

If there's any hope for
Cyclone's cover to be intact,

it'll be blown right in front of us.

Due to maintenance,
there will be a delay

for flight AF342 to Algiers.

I repeat: Due to maintenance,

there's a delay for flight AF 342

to Algiers.

Ma'am, follow us please.

Stop! Come with us.

I didn't do anything!

We didn't either. I won't go with you.

I didn't do anything!

Stop!

You have no right.

You know it, then.

It was a strip club turned into a bar.

Apparently it's nice inside.

Secret Square?

Excuse me?

Secret Square, in the 9th Paris
district. I can take you there.

Really? Sure, when are you available?

Tomorrow night. You're on.

Do you understand Arabic?

Yes, I learned at Inalco.

At Inalco? With El Zair?

Driss El Zair? No.

My teacher's name was Chibane.

I know a teacher named El Zair.

He teaches Arabic at Sciences Po.

Maybe. Tomorrow, 10:00 p. M?

At your hotel? Perfect.

Who do I ask for?

I'm sorry, I didn't introduce myself.
Belkacem.

Delighted. You're Mr Vincent?

Yes. Nice to meet you.

See you then. Tomorrow night.

Hello, Guillaume.

Sit down, please.

Have you seen your daughter?

I'd like to,
but I don't have time due to Cyclone.

Of course.

Is that the only reason?

What are you thinking?

I'm wondering if she's part
of the "normal life" you spoke of.

A normal life that's hard to get back.

Look, I want to see more of my daughter,

but I must find the agent or else
we'll have serious consequences.

I understand. That's all.

Prune is a lovely name.

How does she fit into your cover?

Did Paul Lefebvre have a daughter?
What did you do?

We try to stick close
to our real identity to avoid mistakes.

Yes, Paul had a daughter.

And a wife whom he divorced.

So you talked about Prune and Elsa
to your friends in Damascus?

Not in much detail.
And we use other names.

Prune was Jeanne.

Elsa was Sylvie.

You never got them mixed up?

I'm trained for that.

To be in someone else's shoes,
then back to yours,

then again someone else.

The closest thing to
this undercover life is

the experience of adultery.

Many people who experience adultery

realise that what they find exciting

is more the secret

than the relationship.

What they miss
when they return to a normal life

is less the person they lost than

the context, the atmosphere...

The mysterious world where it occurred.

Outside of the ordinary,
everyday real world.

Do you see what I mean?

Yes and no.

You don't think the
comparison is pertinent?

I guess it is for you.

But for you?

It's a nice theory.

You're reacting as if
I was tricking you.

Why? I'm just trying to understand.

You're trying to prove something.

Why out of all the possible motives,

do you always choose the darkest?

I have the file on Nadia El Mansour.

Since April 2014, she taught
at the University of Damascus.

She was elected as the head
of the Heritage Foundation,

it all checks out.

She didn't disappear for a month,

travel, or contact
the Ministry of Internal Affairs

or the security departments?

No.

The only thing is she's
getting a divorce.

But that's nothing special.

Are you sure?

Her lawyer started proceedings.

The war multiplied divorces by 10.

Thanks. No trouble, see you.

You have no right.

You can't go to Algiers.

It's dangerous for you and for him.

You're worried about yourselves.

I want to find my son.

Do you have children?

Do you know what it's like
to wait and not know?

I understand.

I have a son,

and I'd go crazy in your shoes.

But going to Algiers is madness.

You can't stop me.

France is a free country.

I'll be back.

You forgot him.

You let him down. To you, it's nothing.

But he's my son.

I have to do something.
You're wrong, believe me.

For us, it's not nothing.

You sleep at night.

I don't.

He was so proud to work with you.

But he is proud to work with us.

I don't want to talk to you any more.

I want to go home and sleep.

Tomorrow, I go to Algiers.

You can't stop me.

He's my son.

He's my son!

Mrs Ben Arfa...

My eldest son had an infection at birth.

He was in a coma for a week.

I went crazy.

I paced around in the hospital.

I was singing to myself.

I was like you, powerless.

I couldn't listen to the doctors,
or hear them.

I felt like they were lying to me.

They were the enemies, sticking tubes

into the body of my minuscule baby.

He was so tiny.

I felt as though
they were constantly lying to me.

But they saved him.

He's fine, now.

We're the doctors.

I know it's hard, but you can trust us.

It's for your son.

All right.

I'll stay here, at home.

I didn't know you had a son.

I have two daughters.

And the coma?

That's true. My eldest.

See you later.

Come here!

I'll take you. No.

Don't worry, I'll wait.
It'll stop eventually.

That's absurd,
don't stay out in the cold.

Which way are you going?

Wherever you like, I have time.

Come on, hop in!

I'll get lynched!

Do you like the Institute?

Yes, very much.

I'm learning a lot, the people are nice.

That's great.

I've never had a colleague like you.

I think you're very intelligent.

Really.

Does that make you uncomfortable?
No, it's nice.

It's true. For a girl your age, I think

you have an eye,

a way of seeing things...

You're gifted.

Thanks.

Can we see each other
outside of the Institute?

Have you thought about it?

You mean...

That's not possible.

I can't.

Because you don't like me
or because I'm married?

No, I'm sorry, it's...

It's difficult, but...

You look like my father.

It's stupid, I know.

How old is he? He's dead, I was six.

He was 35.

I'm sorry.

No, he had lymphoma,
but it went very fast.

Usually, people make it.
90% chance for the lucky ones.

But not for him.

I hadn't seen him since I was four.

I went to see him at the end.

He let me into his bedroom,

I stayed for 10 minutes,
he said nothing.

I didn't know what to do.

Then...

A nurse came and realised he was dead.

He'd been dead the
whole time I was there.

The nurse hadn't seen it.

Mind if I smoke? No.

I don't really know
what we would've said.

I'm sorry, it's a bit dark.

Maybe it'd be quicker if you walked.

But I'd be soaked.

Mom?

It's me, are you OK? Not bothering you?

No, I'm fine. I was thinking of Dad.

I know.

I know.

I'd like us to have dinner.
Please call me.

I was afraid you wouldn't come.

Why?

Last time, you looked like you hated me.

No. You scared me.

I'm sorry.

Still think I'm lying to you?

Why? You thought about what I said?

How's it going with Marwan?

Why do you ask?

Just curious.

Is it important to you? Yes.

We're separating.

Why didn't you tell me?

I didn't want to scare you.

How so?

We were together.
You left, we just got back together...

I'm not scared.

I am. A bit.

Your turn.

What about me? Tell me more.

Are you interested?

Reasonably so.

How's your daughter?

Where does she live?

In Montreuil, with her mother.

Want to meet her?

Is she pretty?

Very.

Does she have a boyfriend?

I don't know.

You don't know?

She's very discreet.

Yes, like you.

Nadim, a colleague of Nadia.
Paul Lefebvre.

I was passing by, felt like a drink.

And who did I see?

Can I sit down five minutes?

Of course.

More wine, sir?

No, thanks.

You speak Arabic, then?

A little.

Did you like Damascus?

What did you do there?

I taught French.

And you?

Same as Nadia.

Well, not as important.

I accompany her to the lectures

and try my best to assist her,

in my own small way.

So, now,

you're back in Paris.

As you can see.

It's good that the French
are interested in our country

and share our culture.

Right.

I'll leave you to enjoy your dinner.

I don't want to disturb you.

Nice to meet you, Paul.

Goodbye.

See you soon.

What was that about?

That was Nadim. He's not very subtle.

Who is he? A colleague.

What does he teach?
Pre-Mesopotamian Art.

Why say he goes to class with you
when you don't?

He doesn't go either,
for the same reasons.

He's worried it'll get out.

Can we change the subject?

Why?

Why what?

Why change the subject?
He kept grilling me.

Stop, let's order. Order?

Sorry, but he was more like a cop
than a teacher.

Why all those questions?

He's being polite, making conversation.

He asked questions, wanting answers.

A bit like you with me, now.

I'll tell you if you want.

What?

What I'm doing in Paris.

It has nothing to do with you...

I'm not even sure. If Nadim showed up,
maybe it does concern you.

Tell me then.

I will.

But I'm not allowed, it's forbidden.

What do you risk?

I don't know exactly.

But a lot's at stake.

Just for telling me?

Then don't say anything.

But you're not a journalist.

Nadim's very scared you're a journalist.

Why?

We all live in secret.

If what we're doing goes public,
we'll all be killed.

Nadim too, I think.

Don't say another word.
I won't ask any more questions.

OK.

I suspected she was in Paris

because they knew what I did in Syria.

I was wrong.

Nadia wasn't a threat. But I was to her.

Now, can I ask you something?

For an hour or two can we forget Nadim,

my husband, your daughter,

the war...

Can we forget all that, please?

This is what we'll do.

I can see you're furious, worried...

I'll leave you and
reserve a room in my name.

You stay here, think it over,
take your time.

Join me if you want to.

That guy feels like a spy.

Most French people in Syria are agents.

Here's a Frenchman in Syria

and, just like that, he finds her

while she's on a mission here?

Is she sleeping with him?

It wouldn't surprise me.

That's how the French are:
They fuck people to get intelligence.

Nadia wouldn't do something like that.

She's not afraid of her husband?

You don't know these women!

They're not afraid of anything.

Look at how she disobeyed me.

I ordered her not to see this man.

In any case,

tonight, she won't sleep with him.

What do we do?

Go in?

If we go in, he'll see us.

We wait until he comes out.

There's probably another exit.

Then we're fucked.

Hello.

I need the noise report.

This one? No, the purple one.

Marina, I'll see you in my office.

I had an awful night.

I barely slept.

It's been a long time
since I've felt so humiliated.

Worse than humiliated, ashamed.

What you said about your father
left me frozen.

I felt pathetic

to have tried to...

It doesn't matter.

No, I don't know what got into me.

I hope you'll forgive me. Of course.

It's fine. You're forgiven.

Thanks, Marina. No problem.

No one has this number.

Only your contact can call you.

After the meeting,

return the device, and we'll watch it.

Thanks.

Are there dancers here?

There were. Now it's part of the decor.

What a pity.

It's become very trendy here.

But the neighbourhood's still risky.

A week ago, my scooter got stolen.

There's lots of theft?

In Paris, one every five minutes.

It's funny, my colleague

mentioned a submarine that vanished in
'72.

Yes, that was odd.

I would've mentioned a scooter.

Why?

You get attached to a scooter.
Especially a vintage one.

Lots of people would buy it back
rather than get a new one.

Me, for instance.

If the thieves suggested I buy it back,

I'd say yes.

Depending on the price.

You're sentimental. Probably.

Are they part of the decor?

About your scooter,

in Algiers too, they get stolen.

But by asking the right people,

exchanging a few favours,
you can get them back.

We all hope for nothing lost!

Always.

If you return to Paris,

for a good time,

or just to talk about scooters,
here's my number.

Thank you, Vincent,
for this wonderful evening.

It was a pleasure.

The line is open.

It'll take time for a
decision to be made,

they'll use this to negotiate.

If they have Cyclone.
We'll follow every lead.

Bedtime!

Thanks, Guillaume.

Malotru. Well played.

Yes, we know him.

Who is it? Hashem El Katim.

A businessman, close to Bashar al-Assad.

He conducts business in Europe.

Where'd you take the photo?

Sorry.

Also, that mansion isn't ours.

Not Iran's, not Qatar's,
or even China's.

I asked the Russian office.

Thanks.

16 Rue de la Faisanderie belongs

to Alexandre Maniakin.

He owns several management firms,
including three here in Paris.

Apparently, it's all clean.

Their business is legit.

Got anything on the guy?

We don't, but his properties are
recorded in Internal Affairs.

Shall I call them?

I'll do it, thanks.

Mrs Ben Arfa is off to Marseille.

We checked,
she has a ferry ticket for Algiers.

She didn't take her phone.

We bugged her suitcase.

I'm on it.

My bag! My bag!

Stop, thief!

Stop!

What are you saying, Nadim?

I have to call Bashar
to tell him the talks are off

because Nadia El Mansour
is fucking a French agent?

No, boss.

I'm not asking you to call him.

I'm saying I think
she's sleeping with a French agent.

You "think"?

Guess what? You'll call Bashar yourself

and tell him he chose a woman
who's fucking an agent.

Asshole!

We can't say just anything.

Watch your step!

You can't "think", you have to be sure.

Are you sure this is how it's done?

Is this a bachelor pad?

Why not? It's great.

I thought you were a serious guy.

I'm not.

I just prefer not ending up
with a friend's dick in my hand.

No, that's all behind us.

That's when we were 12.

Before AIDS.

Alexandre Maniakin.

A Russian oligarch.

He made a fortune in paper and fuel.

He owns a lovely mansion,
Rue de la Faisanderie.

Is that it? No.

He's also close to Putin.

What's he doing here? Business.

And politics.

He has Syrian business associates
and knows exiled opposition members.

Putin uses him to pass messages to them.

What messages?

If President al-Assad negotiates
with the opposition,

then the pressure's from Putin,
via Maniakin.

Why?

Why? It has to remain secret, of course.

Are you mad?

Remember the negotiations
on Iranian nuclear power?

Everyone knew it was with the US.
But with al-Assad, nothing's leaked.

Anyone who leaks that al-Assad's leaving

will be killed.

Russia forced Bashar al-Assad
to negotiate his departure.

But he went to war to stay in power.

Anyone who'd reveal this contradiction,

who'd embarrass the dictator,
would immediately be executed.

That'd be Nadia's fate

if they learned she was
seeing a DGSE agent.

I couldn't take any more risks.

I had to be twice as vigilant,
not let anyone know who I was.

To protect her,

I had to put up a barrier
between myself and the DGSE.

That barrier was Paul Lefebvre.

Number Withheld

Second-hand scooter.
Very used but still in good shape.

Up for grabs.

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