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I know.

I shouldn't be lying
on the floor like this.

In fact, it's the last thing
I should be doing right now.

The thing is...

I suddenly felt sick.

It'll pass.

I just need a minute.

Or two.

But now that I'm here
on the floor

in this fine, big house...

it's dredging up
a number of memories.

The first: it's 1951.

I'm ten.

I'm with my parents outside our
family home in Devon, England.

I've just killed my first fox.

I should be happy.

But I'm not.

As I'm blooded,

I have this feeling
that something is wrong.

But what?

Poor fox.

It's 1957. I'm 16.

I'm with my mother
at a gallery.

We find ourselves
in front of a painting.

What d'you think about the maid
in the painting?

I'm... drawn to the jug
she's holding.

I like her positioning
in the frame.

I think that's what makes
this painting so...

I don't know.

Moving.

You find it moving?

- In what way, my love?
- I don't know.

The truth is,
I'm not sure exactly.

I don't have the words.

It's just a feeling I have

to do with the young
Black girl, the maid.

There's something about her

being the subject
of the painting.

Not Jesus and his disciple,
but her.

For some reason,
I find that moving.

It's a year later. I'm 17.

Just had an argument
with my parents.

They want me to go
to Buckingham Palace

to be presented to the Queen
as a debutant

so I can be married off.

To my mind,
it's a pornographic affair.

My parents disagree. Strongly.

They suggest that I better
accept the invitation or else.

You've talked about your desire
to go to university.

If we support you
to go to university,

it's not unreasonable
for you to reciprocate.

I see.

So, this is what they call
"horse trading".

This hostility, this anger...

where does it come from?

A good question.

Where does all this anger
come from?

I wish I knew.

Anyway,
is it really such a bad thing,

to be angry?

I don't think so.

I actually find it...
What's the word?

Exciting.

Guns.

If I'm lucky, I should make it
to the safe house by three.

I'll call when we have news.

Take care, comrade.

I've got to wee.

Here's the key.

Shh. Quiet.

Hello. Can I help you?

Sorry to disturb you,

but my car broke down
and I saw some lights on.

I wondered if I could use
your phone

to call a local garage.

- One moment.
- Thank you.

Right, let's go.

Ah.

Hmm. Okay.

It was a coup d'etat.

How long?

Ah, Okay.

-No.

You! You deal with him.

You, you cover the boy.
Comrade, you come with me.

Who are you?
What are you doing here?

Shut up!

-You heard what she said!
- Okay, up. Move.

Let's go. Keep moving.

Give me an excuse and you're
a dead fucking man, all right?

- Move. Move! On your knees.
- No screaming, no running away.

- Get on your knees down there.
- There.

- You can't just come in here
- I said shut up!

Get the fuck over there!

- Please, calm down.
- Tell us what you want,

but please, please
don't harm anyone.

Get on the fucking ground,
you capitalist pigs! Now!

Get down! Now!

Hands in the air,
yous capitalist pigs! Now!

Don't fuck around with me,
I'm warning ya!

Do exactly what I tell ya...

Take this, this, this and that.

And then you round up everyone
in the house. You tie him up.

You. You come with me.

In what is now being seen
as the biggest art theft
in the world,

international sources have
intensified Gardai efforts

who have mounted
the largest manhunt

in the history of the state.

They have not ruled out
terrorist involvement.

Gardai are looking
for four people.

Three men and a woman.

The woman has red hair

and a distinctive
French accent.

Members of the public

are asked not to approach
these individuals.

Gardai have stressed
they are extremely violent.

If you see anything suspicious
or know something

please get in touch
with your local Garda station.

Padraig O Cinneide,
Russborough House.

Red hair. French accent.

Distinctive French accent.

"Distinctive" might just be
another word for "bad".

But d'you know
what I'm thinking?

Given the scale
of what we've just done,

you throw in phrases
like "terrorist involvement"

and "extremely violent",

kinda raises the stake,
so it does.

Put your arms down.

What's this one?

It's by a painter called Rubens.

Painting's called
Venus Supplicating Jupiter.

That's Jupiter.
The Roman king of the gods.

And that's Venus.

And she's pleading with Jupiter

to let Rome rule over the world.

It's like watching
the birth of imperialism.

What d'you think of that,
Martin?

Fuckers.

Is that your blood?

It's either mine or the chef's.

Either way,
we should look at that.

It's still bleeding.

Yeah.

You're new.

- I am.
- What's your name?

Bridget.

Actually, it's Rose.

Well, which do you prefer?

Rose. Bridget's my first name.

I haven't used it
in a long time.

I don't know why I said that.

Rose. Rose Dugdale.

So what have you made
of our discussion so far?

I agree
with what was said.

I think that the policies that
lead to sexual discrimination

need to be addressed
and changed.

And how would we do that?
The change part, I mean.

Writing. Lobbying.

And what if that doesn't work?

What if words
don't bring about this change?

Well, then, I don't know.

-Izzy?
- What about direct action?

Disruption. Protest. Agitation.

Violence, even.

Do you think you would ever be
prepared for militant action?

I think if I had
a bit more courage.

Courage comes out of anger, no?

Tell me, what makes you angry?

Being barred
from the Oxford Union.

Yep.

Knowing that
because I'm a woman,

I can't drink there, eat there,
let alone debate there.

- And it really pisses me off!

So, Rose Dugdale,

what are you
going to do about it?

Down with the patriarchy!

Down with the patriarchy!
Down with the patriarchy!

Down with the patriarchy!

You sure you know
what you're doing?

Yeah. I've done it before.

-How many times?
- Loads of times.

Where?

Martin. Where?

In my dad's butcher shop.

Well, it's up to you, but
honestly, that gets infected,

you won't have a hand
left to stitch.

Do not fuck this up.

I won't.

I'm truly sorry we have to do
this, but it can't be avoided.

We're not here to hurt you.

As a matter of fact,
we stand with you.

Don't we, comrade?

- We do.
- The working class.

Tell that to the press
when they interview you.

They'll ask you questions like,
"What did they say?"

You can tell them
we were very polite

and that we talked mainly
about the class struggle

and British colonial rule.

In particular what Britain
is doing in Northern Ireland.

Internment, for example.

You won't forget to say that,
will you?

Have we mentioned everything, comrade?

Pretty much.

You got that? Yeah?
Good man, yourself.

Now, I'm gonna ask you
a question

and I want you
to really, really think

about your
answer here now, okay?

Is there anyone else in this
house we need to know about?

I ask because
we really hate surprises.

Especially him.

Answer me.

Okay. Let's move them upstairs.

Move. Upstairs. Go.

Hello in there.
How are you doing?

I'm sorry about all
of the carry-on this morning.

You must think
it's all a bit mad.

I'm hoping
things'll get quieter now.

I really hope so.

You know, one of his lovers
was the actor Paulo Carlini,

from that film, Roman Holiday.

It's quite something, isn't it?

The way they denounce
homosexuality

while at the same time
fucking each other.

It's probably nothing.

You stay here. I'll go check.

Okay.

Now, I want you to listen.

Listen carefully.

What's the quickest way
to the drawing room?

- Which way?
- That way!

Go!

Having them here's
quite something, isn't it?

It really is.

Mind if I have a look?

No.

Maybe put, "Don't respond."

"Don't talk, just listen."

"Listen carefully."

"Write down exactly what I say."

- Hmm, it's better.
- Hmm?

Hmm.

Thanks, Martin.

Oh, Martin. Turn that up.

Don't move.

Who is he?
Speak or he's a dead man!

He's my daddy!

I'm gonna go out now, have a
poke around. See what's what.

Martin,
it's not a "poke around".

You're on
night maneuvers, okay?

You survey the immediate area,

check out for
anything suspicious.

Then after four hours,
you come back here, wake me,

and then it'll be my turn, okay?

Good man.

How do you think today went?

Well, I mean,
these things can be messy.

Sometimes real messy.

So, all things considered,
it went okay. Why do you ask?

It's just, I want the whole
thing to go well, you know?

Are you ambitious, Martin?

I guess I am.

Well, there's nothing wrong
with that.

Surround yourself with winners.
That's the key.

Is Rose a winner?

We'll know soon enough.

Move. Go. Keep walking.

Your job
was to round up everyone!

- I know, we fucked up.
- Sorry.

Sorry's no fucking good to me!
I want no more surprises.

Do a quick sweep,
check everywhere. Go!

Hurry up! Hurry up!

Clear.

Where would this one be
on the list?

In terms of value?

Yeah.

Pretty close to the top.

She looks...

not sad, exactly, but...

I don't know. Interesting.

She's an actress.

And those are clothes borrowed
from the local theatre troupe.

So, she isn't what she seems.

Maybe that's what's
so interesting about her.

You can leave your gun behind.

What if I come across something?

Whatever you come across out
there, you won't need a gun.

Your bare hands
will do just fine.

You don't trust me, do you?

I'm worried that
if you take that gun with you,

you might use it.

Goodnight, Rose.

Oiche mhaith.

These are our demands.

The four hunger strikers,
including the Price sisters,

to be returned immediately

to serve the rest
of the prison terms

in Ireland.

If this request is granted,
the paintings...

the paintings will be
returned on the payment

of £500,000.

If you do not comply
with our conditions,

the paintings will be destroyed.

Okay.

- Do I look okay?
- You look gorgeous.

That's not exactly what I meant,
Martin.

You look the part.

Be careful, okay?

I will.

Comrade Rose,
you wanted to make a statement?

Thank you, Comrade Alice.

Today, on the march,

we witnessed the state apparatus
in action.

How it uses violence
and brutality on its citizens.

We can't sit back
and do nothing. We must act.

This government has sanctioned
internment in our names.

It's arrested peaceful
political activists

and held them without charge,
without trial.

This is happening
in our own back yard.

I am angry.

I am so angry with this country

and with its disgusting
behavior in Northern Ireland.

And I am willing
to do whatever it takes

to put an end to British
imperialism in Ireland.

And you, are you with me?
Are you willing to fight?

- Yes!
- To fight and to keep fighting?

- Yes!
- Fight! Fight!

Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!

Fight! Fight! Fight!
Fight! Fight!

National Gallery of Ireland.

Put me through to the director,
Mr. White.

Mr. White?

Don't talk. Just listen.

Listen carefully and write down
exactly what I say.

Ready?

I represent the people

who liberated the paintings
from the capitalist pigs.

These are...

These are our demands.

Can you... can you please point
that gun somewhere else?

I'll say this once.

You and Your Lordship here
better shut the fuck up!

- Sir.
- What's that?

He's not a "lord". He's a "sir".

- Oh, really?

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

- What the fuck was that?
- Martin. Who else?

I fucking told you!
You deal with this!

Fuck!

So, ladies and gentlemen, what
seems to be the problem here?

Nothing.

With respect, comrade,
it doesn't look like nothing.

These fuckers
aren't cooperating!

Could I have a quick word, comrade?

Your capacity
for violence, Martin,

can be both an asset
and a liability.

Right now it's the latter, okay.
You need to look at that.

In the meantime, I'll see
to Lord Beit and Her Ladyship,

and you go and help Eddie, okay?

Comrade. Calm the fuck down.

He's a sir, not a lord.

Fuck!

You fucking idiot! Fuck!

Pack of 20, please.

So, uh, 29 and five is 34.

Not so nice today.

No.

Are you on holiday?

Yes. No, I'm working.

Oh, really?

What kind of work would that be?

- I'm a writer.
- Oh, a novel, is it?

Yes.

My husband,
he's not so keen on the books,

but I quite like them.

And if you don't mind me asking,
what's the story about?

Well, it's...

I don't really like to talk
about the story.

Oh, it's a secret, then?

Yes. Well,
I've just started it, so...

You don't wanna jinx it.

Yes.

Understood.

Sorry about
all the small change.

But it might come in handy

if you're making
another phone call.

I've been thinking about
that conversation we had.

Remind me. There've been
quite a few, Martin.

About the time
you spent at the seminary.

Oh, aye, that one.

- Heaven.
- Yeah, what about it?

Did it come up much?

It did, actually. Quite a lot.

What did you conclude?

You mean is it a thing?
A real thing?

Well, is it?

Well, the jury is still very
much out on that one,

but, personally,
I came to the conclusion

that it is not a real thing.

It's merely a thing.

So, this is it, then?

Aye. This is all there is.

Are you disappointed?

Go on, we should get inside.
She'll be back soon.

Can we just stay
a little longer?

There, you'll survive.

Are you okay?

No. I am not.

May I ask you a question?

Go on.

Do you really think you'll get
away with this, comrade?

What we're doing here
is justified.

I don't expect you
to understand that,

- but it's a fact.

And to answer
your question,

I do think we'll get away
with it, comrade.

Good morning!

Is it Mrs. Merrimee?

Oui. Uh, that's correct.

It's my daughter's house
you're staying at.

Oh, okay.

- Donal.
- Nice to meet you, Donal.

I understand you're a writer.

I am. I'm trying to be.

You've come to the right spot.

I left some eggs
at the door for you.

- That's very kind of you.
- Ah, not at all.

I thought I saw you out the back
with a friend, so...

that's why I called over.

That's odd. It's just me here.

I'm on my own.

And I was at the village.

I must've been mistaken, so.

Well...

I'd better carry on.
No rest for the wicked.

Uh, if you want
or need anything at all,

just call by and ask.

Thank you. I will.

Right, so.

Slan.

Slan abhaile.

Fuck.

You can put those down,
he's gone.

He's a local farmer.
He's called Donal.

He left us some eggs.

Do you think
he suspects anything?

I don't think so.

- Are you sure?
- I'm pretty sure.

He said he saw two people
out the back.

- Is that true?
- No.

Aye, it's true, we were.

It says the Johannes Vermeer's

Woman Writing a Letter,
with her Maid

is one of the most valuable
paintings in the world.

There's two... It says there's
two in private ownership,

and one's owned by the Queen.

And we have this one.

- Can I?
- Yeah.

You okay?

Thinking about your man?

No, I'm thinking
about the paintings.

What about them?

There's an outside chance that
we might need to destroy them.

Hopefully it won't come to that.

But if it does...

I'm prepared to do it.

Yeah, I don't doubt that
for a second.

That must
have been frightening for you.

But you have nothing
to worry about.

Just do as you are told
and you won't get hurt.

Your father's going to be fine.

It looked worse than it was.

What's your name?

- Patrick.
- Patrick.

I love that name.

Tell me,
where do you go to school?

Saint Joseph's.

Please...

study hard.

Getting good grades
is very important.

It gives you options in life.

Will you do that?

Do you like this painting?

-Yes.
-Me too.

When you look at it,
what do you see?

I... I see a woman...

at a table, writing.

She looks rich.

Behind her,
there's this other woman.

The maid.

That's good.

I think
she might be daydreaming.

I think
she's daydreaming about...

what her life would be like
if she wasn't a maid.

She didn't have to wait
hand and foot on someone else.

Perhaps she's daydreaming
about...

being somewhere else...

living a different life,
a more...

worthwhile one.

Where she's...
she's really valued.

Would you agree with that?

Patrick,

when I spoke
in an English accent just now,

don't mention it to anyone, ever.

Now, tell me...

which way to the music room?

When I was fundraising
for weapons in America,

we used to go to these diners

and you could have your eggs
all different kinds of ways.

Poached. Scrambled.
Sunny-side up.

Over-easy or hard.

What kind are these?

These are just eggs, Martin.

In what is now being
referred to as Bloody Sunday,

British soldiers
shot 26 unarmed civilians

during an anti-internment
protest

in Northern Ireland today.

Thirteen people died,
including seven teenagers.

Over to our reporter.

The first body I saw
was that of a youth

being carried out
by other civilians

with a priest in the lead

waving a bloody handkerchief
as a white flag.

By the side of the flats,

we saw yet more evidence
of a fatal shooting.

While the angry Bogsiders

hurled bitter abuse
in the direction of the Paras,

I spoke
to one of their priests,

Father Edward Daly,

curate of nearby
Saint Eugene's Church.

Can you tell me
what happened

when the paratroopers
came in, Father?

They just came in
firing at the people.

There was no provocation
whatsoever.

A short while ago,
we filmed you

leading the way
with a white handkerchief...

- Yes.
- ...for a party

who were carrying a boy
who was dead or dying.

Now, how was he shot?

That little boy was shot
when he was running away.

He was just a little bit
behind me when he fell.

I heard the shot,
I looked around, I saw him...

- You know him?
- Yes. And he was shot...

A young man?

He was just a young boy, 15.

He was running,
I was running too.

Soon after,
I saw General Ford,

commander of land forces

and asked him for his version
of what had happened.

Paratroopers
did not go in there shooting.

In fact, they did not fire
until they were fired upon.

My information at the moment...

Please. Please, no.

Put him with his father.

Patrick. I'm sorry,
but he'll have to tie you up.

Please. Please, no.

Be gentle.

Please! No, please,
don't. Don't tie me up.

Why is she still here?

Things got out of hand earlier.
Can't she just stay there now?

No, Martin!
You stick to the plan!

Everyone in a different part
of the house.

It buys us more time.
Get on with it!

Let's start getting these
canvases in the car.

Got it, comrade.

GET THE FUCK UP,
YOU FASCIST PIG!

Not you. You! Get the fuck up!

Do as you're told
or else I'll batter you!

Morning sickness?

How do you know?

Thin walls.

Some lousy family planning.

Does Eddie know?

I'll tell him when I'm ready.

How do you feel about bringing
a child into this world?

Well, I feel afraid.

I don't see the good in it.

I speak to the child sometimes
to reassure it, but...

I think, if I'm being honest,

I'm just trying
to reassure myself.

Does that sound mad?

No.

No, it's a good thing.

You want my advice?

Just keep talking.

Okay.

-It's me.
- Everything all right?

Actually, I'm not sure.

- Something happen?
- Nothing specific.

But just to be
on the safe side,

I've made up my mind to tell

Martin and Dominic to leave.

Go to Baltimore.
Join you at the safe house.

Just one of those feelings
of yours?

Yeah.

You're on your own now.

Looks that way.

I know you're gonna hate this,
but I have to ask.

Will you be okay?

I'll be fine.

Stay strong, comrade.

Rose!

Rose?

Mother. Father.

- What are you doing, darling?
- And who is this gentleman?

-This is Walter.
- Pleased to meet you both.

He is my friend. My comrade.

And he's also my lover.

Rose, my love, why are you
stealing from your own home?

- We're fundraising.
-For what?

For the IRA
and the Republican movement.

For the oppressed Nationalist
communities in Northern Ireland.

For the reunification
of Ireland,

and for an end to British rule.

Is that a fact?

Yes. It is.

If you just put everything back,
we won't press charges.

I still love you both.
But the IRA need the money.

I've alerted the staff.
They're on their way.

-Police, please.
- I think it might be time to go.

Get away! Get off him!

- Get off! Get off me!
Fuck off!

All right, relax!

I think the three of us
being here is a mistake.

We make too big of a target.

I think you should take the car
early tomorrow morning

and go and join Eddie
at the safe house in Baltimore.

Was it our uninformed comments

about the aesthetic value
of art?

It'll be safer.

Maybe you're right. Maybe.

Can I ask why?

Woman in the shop.

The way she looked at me.
The way she talked to me.

That man, Donal.

Oh, so you do think he suspects
something?

- Possibly.
- Well?

When I met him, I may have
spoken in a French accent.

In French, even.

- Is that a fact?
- Did he spot it?

I'm not sure.

I'll have to pay him a visit.

That might get messy.

I need you two
to get some shovels.

Dig a grave. Here.

Not too deep.

Understood?

Rose.

This is Michael. My Belfast
contact I was telling you about.

The Marxist training camp
in Cuba,

how did you find it?

Life changing.

After the robbery
at your parents' house,

your accomplice was sentenced
to six years in prison,

yet you walked free.

Why?

The British class system
in action.

A working-class man
gets sent down,

while the rich girl walks away.

You sold a flat
you owned in Chelsea

and gave all the money away.

My parents had given me
the flat. I didn't work for it.

I hadn't earned it in any way.
It was gifted to me.

And as a Marxist,
I believed it was important

to give this money to people
who needed it more than I did.

Oxford. Nice place.

It is.

You did a master's degree
on Wittgenstein.

I did.

So, you'll be familiar
with his Tractatus, then,

and what he wrote
about the world

being the totality of facts
and not things.

I would.

What facts can you tell me about
the British in Northern Ireland?

Nice work.

For a beginner.

M-Mrs. Merrimee.

Mrs. Merrimee, please.

Please don't shoot me,
Mrs. Merrimee.

I'm begging you, please.

I beg you from the bottom
of my heart, don't shoot me.

Oh, Jesus, please, don't.

Don't. Oh, God, no, please.
I want to live.

Oh, Mrs. Merrimee,
don't, don't, don't.

It really is nice around here.

It is.

Be nice to come back one day
for a holiday.

Have some nice walks,
picnics, swims.

- I'd like that.

Be careful.
There'll be roadblocks.

We will.

You take care, comrade.

I think what we've done

and what we're doing
is very important.

And will help bring about
the change we're fighting for.

I just wanted to say that.

- Slan.
- Slan abhaile.

You'll be fluent in no time.

Ah!
I was wondering who it was.

I came to return your basket.

Come in.
Come in and have a cup of tea.

Keep moving.

Sit!

The other day, when we met,

I may have accidentally
spoken in a French accent,

which must have struck you
as odd, considering I'm English.

Did seem a bit odd.

That's why I wanted to see you,
just to clear that up.

Ah, no, that's okay.
There's no need.

I think it needs clearing up.

In the novel that I'm writing...

one of the characters,
she's French.

Ah! I understand.

Good.

And, um...

what is it you're writing about?

I'm writing about
the class system.

Yeah, it's about rich people,
people who have lots of things,

and in contrast to people
who don't have anything at all.

Ah.

Last week,
Paudie Casey got a fridge,

and, er, he asked me to drop in
and look at it.

So, I went round.

He poured me a glass of milk.

"Try that, now," Paudie says.

So, I drank it.
And do you know what?

It was the coldest glass of milk
I ever tasted.

I'd love a fridge.

Can I use your bathroom?

Oh, God, of course you can.
It's just through there.

Come on.

Just for the record,

our hope was to avoid
any unnecessary violence.

But sometimes things
can get a bit out of control.

I want to apologize for that.

Don't bother.

You and your husband have, uh...

an interesting family history,
don't you think?

I look at this house.

The silverware. The antiques.

The lavish decor. The paintings.

From time to time,
you must ask yourself,

"How is it we've accumulated
so much wealth?"

Really?

You're going to lecture me
on morality?

I don't want
to pull this trigger.

Please don't.

But consider Bloody Sunday.

And all the other atrocities
in Northern Ireland.

Morally,
it will be justified, no?

People like you,
you don't listen.

You're arrogant.

Everywhere you've been, you
leave in your wake destruction.

It's disgusting, really.

And the worst thing
is you can't see it.

Speculation is intensifying

that the four Russborough House
suspects,

three men and a woman
with a French accent

who is understood
to be the gang leader,

were also involved in January's
failed bombing attack

on an RUC police station.

In the Strabane attack,
four milk churns,

each packed with a homemade
100-pound bomb

were placed inside
a hijacked helicopter

and the pilot
was forced at gunpoint

to fly the helicopter
to the RUC station.

The bombs were thrown
out of the helicopter

but failed to detonate
on impact

and the gang escaped.

The authorities are in no doubt

as to the risk this violent
armed gang poses

and are again asking members
of the public

not to approach
these individuals

- under any circumstances.
- Mind if we turn that off?

- Not at all.

I hardly ever listen to it.

Have it on
for the bit of company.

Sure, I wasn't even listening
to it now.

Can I ask you a favor?

Fire away.

I was wondering
if I might borrow your car

for a day or two.

Could have it
for as long as you want.

I can't even drive it anymore.

Well, how come?

I have an eye disease.

Yeah, the doctors
say I'll be totally blind

in two to three years' time.

It's, um...

It starts off
like a small black dot

in the middle of your two eyes

and then it, uh...

it just grows,
until it's all black.

I'm sorry to hear that.

Ah.

Have you ever seen this?
It's Braille.

Come here.

Here, give me your hand.

Now try that.

It says, "My brother Jem

got his arm badly broken
at the elbow."

It's To Kill a Mockingbird.

Yeah.

I miss being able
to look at the land.

The sea.

My children.

My grandchildren.

When I go for a walk now...

and I look at things...

they seem extra special.

I wonder

if what you saw
at the back of the house

wasn't two people,

but simply the black dots
in your eyes.

I need you to think very
carefully about your answer.

Yes, it was.

What I saw was the dots.

You're certain of that?

Yes, I am.

I've never been more certain
of anything.

Shit!

Fuck.

Shh.

Poor fox.

Put me through to Mr. White.

Sorry, what did you say?

You need more time?
Are you fucking with me?

No, you listen.

I don't need a lecture,
Monsieur White,

especially from a dilettante
like yourself, understand?

Of course I know
their fucking value.

You want to talk about value?

Can you put a value
on the human cost

of the continued occupation
of Northern Ireland?

What about the innocent lives
lost on Bloody Sunday?

Do they have a value? Well?

Next time, you talk about
something you do know about.

When I call,

you better have a clear response
to our demands.

This is your last chance,

or the paintings
will be destroyed.

Fuck!

- Afternoon.
- There you are, now.

Meanwhile, in other news

earlier today at a press
conference in West Belfast,

Mr. Albert Price,
father of the Price sisters,

who are currently
on hunger strike

in Brixton Prison in London,

read aloud a letter
from his daughters

directed specifically at the
armed gang, pleading with them

to return the stolen
Beit paintings unharmed.

To those comrades

who have taken the paintings
from the Beits,

we thank you
for what you are trying to do

to secure our repatriation
back to Ireland.

Like you, we are all involved
in this struggle.

However, we ourselves
have studied art history

and it would pain us

if anything were to happen
to these paintings.

There are few beautiful things
left in this world.

It would be a great shame
to destroy them.

The world, we believe,
is better for them being in it.

I'm sorry about your suit.

Well, these things happen.

How are you feeling?

Not too good, to be honest.

No.

I guess not.

Where are we?

I'm not sure.

We thought you might know.

"We?"

I'm so sorry about everything
that happened.

Are you?

No, actually. I'm not.

Interesting.

We miss those paintings.

I'm not surprised.

How come?

After living with them
for a few days,

they kind of grow on you.

Oh, fucking hell.

Are you lost?

Hello there.

No, no. I just wanted to ask
a few questions.

Oh?

Have you seen any strangers
around?

Specifically a woman
and three men.

Uh, no.

Not really.

Not really?

I mean, no.

Right, well,
if you do see anyone,

or indeed anything
suspicious,

be sure to let us know.

Grand, so. I will.

Before you go...

my daughter
has a rented cottage.

There's someone staying there
at the moment.

Mrs. Merrimee.

She's writing a novel.

About the class system,
you know?

Rich people. Poor people.

Sorry to disturb you,
Miss Merrimee.

- Missus.
- Apologies, Mrs. Merrimee.

I got your name
from a local farmer.

Donal?

- That's him.
- How can I help?

We're going door to door

asking if anyone has seen
anything suspicious lately.

No.

I've just been writing
and busy...

keeping myself to myself.

And some gardening.

The people we are looking for
are extremely dangerous,

Mrs. Merrimee.

Not to be approached
under any circumstances.

Thank you for letting me know.

Is that it?

Yes. Thanks for your time.

I'll be on my way.

Well, Bridget Rose Dugdale,

what are you gonna do
about that?

Hello there.

Hello.

I was wondering if you ever took
people out on your boat.

Was it a sightseeing thing
you had in mind?

Actually, I was wondering

if you might take me
to Baltimore.

It's me.

I assume you're not calling
for a friendly chat.

I had a visit from the police
earlier.

Think they were suspicious?

- No.
- Good.

For a moment, comrade,
you had me worried.

That said,
I think I should leave.

How? You don't have a car.

- I do have a car.
- From where?

It doesn't matter. But, anyway,
I don't want to drive.

I think it's too dangerous.

Too dangerous? You said
they weren't suspicious.

Oh, Eddie, give me a break.

So... what will you do?

I've arranged
with a local fisherman

to take me on his boat.

A boat?

Well, if you've got
a better idea?

No, I don't.

So, when do you get going?

I plan to leave
at nine in the morning.

Eddie...

Yeah?

Hm...

Nothing.

Hey, in there.

I know what you're thinking.

You're thinking...

"She doesn't know
what she's doing."

Am I right?

Well, you're wrong.

We get away from here.

We get to the safe house
in Baltimore.

And then when all this is over,

I'm thinking
we might settle down.

Just you and me.

Then we can begin again.

Clean slate.

Tabula rasa.

I wonder what the Irish
is for "tabula rasa".

- Come on.