01x06 - Tournament of Shadows

[bunniefuu]

Come on, boys, let's get in there!

Come on, move it, move it, move it!

Get out of the way, everybody.

Ladies and gentlemen.

Relief fund, spare a penny?

Relief fund.

( Quiet chatter )

Joshua! Your piece is magnificent.

The Steward, Daniel.

I need him. Where is he?

At the picket with the pamphleteers.

(In Russian): The State is nothing but organised force.

But the courage of our Dockland brothers is spreading!

Men stand, at last, eye to eye with the cheap doll of the State, stripped of her tinsel trappings!

At last, brothers, yes!

The veil torn asunder for all time!

Emily?

Should I not wait outside, sir?

No, no.

She'll be cheered by the visit, I'm sure. Emily, I'm with Bennet.

Emily?

What on earth is going on?

Mrs Reid.

I'll, er...

I'll wait in the parlour.

I heard a crashing in here.

The poor creature came down the flue.

I made to catch it then found myself sitting.

Looking at her books.

Her toys.

The music box you gave her.

I've barely entered this room in a year, Edmund.

And I've scarcely seen you all week.

This strike.

It's taking up all my time.

I'll be home tonight, I promise.

I brought you these, before even the florists down tools.

I want it cleared, Edmund.

What?

This room. All of it.

I want it cleared.

I believe she went to church, sir.

Oh?

Inspector, I know this must be a difficult time for you.

And for Mrs Reid. I mean, I know a year does not begin to ease the pain of losing her.

Thank you, Bennet.

( Knock at door )

Inspector Reid?

The neighbours had been complaining about the whiff of gas, apparently.

Front was tarted up like a Cremorne grotto.

( He coughs )

Do you take this for a gas blast?

The force didn't come from the pipes.

Then where? I'm working on it.

Poor bugger.

You can forget about gas, Reid.

Here's your detonator.

A b*mb? Yeah.

Found blasting caps behind the shelves.

Our boy was definitely a b*mb-builder.

My guess is his dynamite was unstable.

Take him back to Leman Street.

We need to find out who he was.

Hobbs, to the Yard - full emergency, man, we've a bomber.

Should I tell the ones that was here? What?

Two of them, sir.

Before you three arrived. Who?

Didn't give their names, sir.

Just said they was Yard.

Took one look, they did, then made off in their hansom.

This rag's from Berner Street, that's a rock we need to kick over first.

The Workers' Educational Club.

Come on, lads.

( Door crashes )

The Special Branch, Reid.

Made the scene straightaway then struck directly at the vermin's nest.

Is this the start of a campaign, sir?

What are we facing?

I'm assured the matter is in hand.

I have the bomber's remains here.

We have yet to identify...

Jew, name of Bloom.

Rabid anarchist and revolutionary of the Berner Street slough.

The Special Branch had been watching him for some time.

Perhaps they should have watched closer!

Bloom's death is a Special Branch case.

You stick to the strike.

None of us are safe from the leftist cancer.

Have you read this?

Yes, I am aware of that.

"Should the strikers' action persist in paralysing our docks, the great machine by which five million people are fed and clothed will come to a dead stop - and what is to be the end of it all?"

What indeed!

The strikers are hardly revolutionists, sir.

Working men deserve fair pay.

Last week a dozen dockers who tried to work had their bones cracked - a constable from J-Division went home with a bloodied nose.

All I...

The great machine is breaking down.

With the greatest of respect, sir, the strikers number in their thousands.

A handful of troublemakers does not make them all anarchists.

Firebrands and ruffians, Reid, who must be brought to heel if social order is to prevail!

And the East End is the root of it!

What do you suggest, sir?

Well, I believe you still have a Pinkerton on your ticket?

You don't seem to be hearing me, Reid. Not a chance.

Every other man in my shop is a known face, none with your experience.

Then I envy them.

I told you there was coin in it.

And I told you it was dirty work.

Does every Pinkerton's conscience plague him thus?

Why don't you find a Pinkerton and ask them.

I'm a surgeon, not a strike-breaker.

We are simply trying to keep order.

The last time they told me that, eight policemen wound up dead with half the town on fire.

This is not the Wild West.

Neither was Chicago.

The violent elements need to be picked out.

Now, I wish there were someone else I could ask, but there is not. You will oblige me!

I'm not going to put down working men for g*dd*mn plutocratic high muckety-mucks...

Or Monro has told me to arrest you.

For what?! For whatever I please.

For whore-mongering, for brawling, for p*stol-wielding, for card-fixing.

If there is a decency upheld by law in this land it is a law you will have broken, so do not test me!

Well?

You can get to it after you've dealt with our man Bloom, here.

He's got a name now? So it seems.

Want to see what else he's got?

s*ab wound?

Stabbed once. With skill.

Straight into the heart.

He didn't blow himself up.

He was already dead when the b*mb went off.

Send a full report on your way to the docks.

Inspector, you've a visitor.

May I offer you some water, Miss Goran?

Inspector, I... I need to talk to you about the man who d*ed in the blast.

Bloom?

His name is Joshua. I come on behalf of his brother to request you release his remains.

Swift burial is our custom, Inspector.

May I ask how you knew Mr Bloom?

We fled Kiev together.

Travelled, on to London.

Were you aware of his politics?

I knew his beliefs and his hatred of v*olence.

The man I knew is no b*mb-maker.

Do you understand?

Forgive me, these were secreted amongst his affairs.

Do they mean anything to you?

You recognise these men?

No, but I've seen enough of Russian soldiers to last me a lifetime.

These uniforms are Russian?

This also.

The letters, at least, but I don't understand it. It's gibberish.

I should very much like to show these to Joshua's brother.

Isaac is grieving, Inspector.

I appreciate that, but...

Then you'll appreciate he's unlikely to want visitations from policemen who believe his brother wished to dynamite London.

I should like to speak to him because I believe his brother was m*rder*d.

Will you allow me to show him?

I am sorry for you, Miss Goren.

Thank you.

( Crowd cheers )

The policeman and the blackleg - savage hirelings both!

And faced with their fists, batons, bitter treachery, must we not ask - is protest enough?

Mere protest!

When has vicious power ever heeded mere protest?

And faced with mere protest, vicious power will crush your strike to dust!

Protest will be heard!

You anarchists just want a w*r with all that is.

All we want is fair pay.

w*r has been forced upon us! And the choice is not how we call ourselves.

The choice is sl*very and hunger, or liberty and bread.

And if, with me, you choose the latter, then to arms!

To arms, say I!

A stake through the hearts of those vampires who will rule you!

Today, on this very dock, let us meet force with righteous force!

( Music tinkles )

( Children laugh )

( Music slows then stops )

Sir! Sir! Inspector Reid, sir!

Isaac will be a moment, Inspector.

May I offer you some tea? Thank you.

Please.

Do not touch it.

These are Fibonacci spirals.

Spira mirabilis.

The Inspector knows his logarithmics.

Isn't it something?

Morphogenesis - evolution of pattern.

Galileo said mathematics was the language with which God has written the universe.

I seek the hidden words. You might term it a kind of detective work.

In my detective work I find little evidence of God.

But you seek order in all things, Inspector.

The notion of meaningless chaos is abhorrent to you.

Raw anarchy. I know what the word "anarchy" means to you policemen, but you don't know what it meant to my brother.

Anarkhos - without ruler.

No more nor less.

Joshua believed in altruism, mutuality, peaceful end to man's dominion over man.

He railed against force of all kinds.

What was he doing with dynamite?

Deborah says you are trustworthy, Inspector Reid.

And that you believe Joshua was m*rder*d.

What do you know of the Okhrana?

The Russian secret police.

Agents of hate.

For them, a Jew with radical ideas is a double foe.

Mr Bloom, this is not Russia.

Don't be naive, Inspector.

Since they crushed the revolutionaries at home the Okhrana has widened its jurisdiction.

They're in Berlin, Paris, London.

Berner Street was sanctuary to plenty of exiled radicals and Joshua believed they had a spy there.

He told me he'd obtained evidence.

The box?

This was his evidence.

I'm sure of it.

A cipher, and a complex one.

m*llitary.

Can you decrypt it? In time, but there is no riddle to this.

Soldiers of the Russian Empire.

Joshua identified the Berner Street spy and I think he was k*lled for it.

One of these men is my brother's k*ller.

He m*rder*d Joshua and left a b*mb to smear all radical thinkers.

That is what they do, Inspector.

Why do you imagine so many have fled Russia?

May I walk you somewhere, Miss Goren?

I would not like to keep you from your duties.

No, no, it's quite all right. Relief fund. Give a penny! Relief fund.

Is the basic dignity of the working man too revolutionary for you, Inspector?

No, I have no issue with the strike, I fear its spread.

I hear the biscuit-makers are out in solidarity.

However will H-Division cope?

Well, we intend to riot all the way down Leman Street.

You may not believe this, Inspector, but you and Joshua were not so different.

Oh? He would have loathed everything I stand for! He loathed injustice.

He looked around him, saw what was broken and devoted his life to try and fix it.

By dismantling civilisation?

Inspector, if this is civilisation, you may count me thoroughly curious to witness barbarism.

( Men shout )

Come on, gents - let's give the men some space, please.

Men chant: Scabs! Scabs!

Move along now. Just move it along.

Who wants to turn a blackleg green?

You stand aside!

This stuff's bloody poison!

You're the poison, crusher.

Back off. Now.

Behold! The scab sheep and their herding bitch!

You move along, all of you!

Piss off, copper!

You heard me. I said clear out.

Smash the bastards!

( Cheering )

( Quiet falls, a blade is unsheathed )

Revolution begins with decapitation of the State.

Who wants to carve the pig?

You?

You, then.

Are you warriors or gutless lackeys?

You. Or I'll have your eyes.

I want to do it.

Throat first so he can't scream.

( Single g*nsh*t )

What do they call you, Yankee?

Richards.

Peter Morris.

So, what's an American doing in Whitechapel with a g*n under his coat?

I left the last town under a cloud.

Which town was that?

Chicago.

You were at the Haymarket?

Are you a Pinkerton?

( Morris scoffs )

We heard reports of their treachery.

Factory owners didn't like the workers turning Red, so the bastards hired the Pinks.

Spying scum.

Crawled into us like a screwworm, turning brother on brother.

It's said that a Pinkerton threw the b*mb.

80,000 marching in peace.

Speeches for days with not a man harmed.

Then the police came to move us and the Pinks knew how to bury us.

Yeah, it was a g*dd*mn Pinkerton, all right.

I saw the b*mb leave his hand.

Then I saw bodies blown to pieces in a city at w*r, while the best men of the revolution went to the scaffold for it.

Their murders shall not be in vain for the Pinkertons did us a service.

Yes, a service.

Let us be known for brutal force.

Let terror be our tool!

Freedom is not given, it is taken.

The men they hanged in Chicago were martyrs.

The men that they hanged in Chicago were my brothers and I've come here to see that fight through.

Then we need more soldiers like you.

What we need is escalation.

We shall talk further, American.

Tomorrow the struggle begins anew.

Reid: Who's handling the Bloom case at the Yard?

Man's name is Constantine, golden boy of the Special Branch.

The Okhrana is mixed up in it.

Russian spies in Whitechapel.

It's a new world.

Ed.

Edmund?

Let it go, friend.

This is my division, not Constantine's.

I'm not talking about your damn Russian.

I'm talking about your daughter.

You do not understand.

I understand better than anyone else and you know that.

It's been a year. Let it go.

Emily asked me to clear her room.

Clear it.

Erase her from our home.

A mother's grief.

For a child who lives!

Edmund...

She's out there, Fred. I feel it.

But I... I, er...

The same dream.

Almost a year to the day and every night the same.

Shadows swarming round her and...

She lives.

I've a hansom. I'll take you home.

These are my streets. I'll walk them.

Er, I'm not sure I fully understand, sir.

How can I be clearer, Reid? You pull your American and you do it now.

But the strike?

If I decide to alter the tactics of our policing, I may do so without your consultation, Inspector.

As you wish.

Commissioner, I should like a word with Superintendent Constantine of the Special Branch.

Concerning?

Concerning the part of the Russian Okhrana in the m*rder of Joshua Bloom.

Reid, have you or have you not been told this is not your damned case?!

I would have thought you had enough on your plate bringing some semblance of order to this hellhole of a division.

Or have I missed something?

Did you manage to catch your whore-k*ller who made a bloodbath of your streets?

Or does he remain amok while you skip after fanciful notions of Russian assassins?

I will tolerate no further insubordination!

Do you understand?!

Hobbs, get out of uniform and get down to the dock.

Find Jackson and tell him...

Peter Morris. Berner Street radical.

He would've had the sergeant's head for a football.

I want him in irons.

Where did you follow him? Show me.

I followed him west along the river, to this house here.

This house? Chesham House?

You're certain?

This is the Russian Embassy.

You said Morris was at Berner Street.

Look at that. Do you see him?

That's him.

That's Peter Morris.

This is our k*ller.

Morris is Bloom's Russian spy.

He wants me to meet him later.

Go with. Bring him in. Be careful.

Where are you going?

Going to see some Russians.

Oh, er, Jackson...

I, er...

You're welcome.

I think not.

I'm not presenting it for debate.

He was followed from Whitechapel.

You've a Jew problem there, no?

In Russia we stamp them out, in England you throw your doors wide open.

I'm sorry you find our liberties so distasteful, Mr Volsky.

And I am sorry it has taken you so long to curtail them.

I heard that, er, at last you have raided a den of Jew radicals.

Finish the job, Inspector - crush them.

Or they will m*rder your Queen, no less viciously than they m*rder*d our Tsar.

You sent Peter Morris to London to stir them up and paint them black.

I believe their flag was already black.

Inspector, Russia is not the source of every malady that afflicts Britannia, nor of every dead Hebrew found in Whitechapel.

I'm sorry I can't be of more help.

How do you know he was Jewish?

The man I believe Morris k*lled.

You said, "Dead Hebrew".

I didn't say he was Jewish.

Aren't they all, in your foul warren?

Now, if you will excuse me, Inspector, I have to attend to more pressing matters of State. Good day.

Stand Morris down, or I'll see him hang.

Inspector.

This one says he knows you.

It's polyalphabetic. I was able to use Kasiski's Test.

And? A communique about a soldier -

Commander Yevgeny Zotkin, expert in sabotage and expl*sives, sent here by the Okhrana.

Zotkin. He's going by the name Morris.

He was at the Russian Embassy.

Inspector, the communique describes his mission.

To smear anarchists and radicals.

To b*mb London in their name. Where?

It does not say - only that he is to unleash death and havoc on the city.

I need to know the target!

How can I stop a b*mb if I don't know the target?

Hobbs! All divisions, full alert - we have proof a Russian bomber's at large.

And wire Monro, I'm coming to the Yard.

'Let us battle no more!'

Sirs, I stand here to offer not rancour, but reason!

Has not this w*r exhausted us?

Can we any of us face yet more grim attrition? Enough, I say!

Then give us our tanner!

( Cheering )

Good sirs, good sirs!

Would you allow socialists and communists to bankrupt...?

He wants me to meet him on the corner.

Just watch my back and get the son of a bitch.

We march under no flag, Mr Norwood - neither red nor black!

We wave the banner only of fairness, and ask for a fair sixpence!

( Cheering )

There can be no wage raise!

( Crowd boos )

It is impossible!

Men, are not your pantries empty?

Do not your children hunger more by the day?

Your jobs - good, paying toil - remain for you.

The company is prepared to forgive - yes, to rehire any man who longs for coin in his pocket and bread in his belly.

( Horse's hooves trundle )

Wrong turn!

Driver!

I'm Superintendent Constantine.

You wished to speak to me.

There is a Russian bomber in the city.

Mm, about that.

Stay away from Yevgeny Zotkin.

You think we don't know who he is, Reid?

That you're ahead of the game?

Yes, Zotkin is Peter Morris.

When the Russians sent him here, we were wise to it, arrested him.

Then why is he on the loose?

Because we made him our agent too, you bloody fool.

The Russians are right about the anarchists, communists, socialists - all the revolutionary scum.

And we share an aim - to flush them to the gutter. You share an aim?!

Zotkin was sent to make London burn!

I'm keeping London safer than you know.

Zotkin's been feeding us information from his embassy.

He's on my leash now, not the Russians'.

And who tugged his leash to k*ll Bloom? Bloom was a menace.

He was a pacifist! He had ideas, Reid, and people listened.

Ideas are far more dangerous than any b*mb.

Do you want the Paris Commune rebuilt here, open w*r on the streets of London?

I already have explosions on my streets!

YOU are an accessory to m*rder and Monro shall hear of this.

I can hear perfectly well, Inspector.

Commissioner, you allowed this?

I allowed Zotkin to be deployed among the anarchists.

To provoke them, to break them down, to discredit Bloom, not to detonate him.

Zotkin had no choice.

But then it became apparent that nobody here was able to follow their damn orders.

If he'd merely planted dynamite on Bloom, Bloom could've still exposed him.

You gave Zotkin the dynamite?!

Yes, Reid, and thanks to me, the Berner Street cesspit is no more.

Sir, our best asset remains Zotkin, not Reid's Yankee pox-doctor.

With Zotkin, I can end this bloody strike before our city falls apart.

And that is the only matter in hand - the defence of the realm.

Constantine is right.

These are desperate times.

You have your duties at H-Division, Inspector. Return to them.

You're privy to this only because your pitiful attempts at investigation are a hindrance.

I need not stress the import of discretion.

Go to hell.

You used to like water, didn't you, Reid?

Boats. You and Mathilda.

Yeah, what a terrible loss.

A little girl, so innocent of our world.

How well you did to shield her from all its jagged shadows.

You could never blame yourself, Reid.

And nor could Emily. Why ever should she have reason to blame you?

Well, we know, don't we?

The import of discretion, Inspector.

Oh, and your Yankee.

I may have a use for him after all.

Good day.

Comrade.

You'd better have a bunch of roses for me, cos I don't like being stood up.

It could not be helped.

I was being followed. Police.

You lose them?

Police are idiot dogs.

For a man of wit and purpose, gulling them is child's play.

Let's get a drink.

It's easy to talk of escalation.

But talk achieves nothing, Mr Richards.

We must ask ourselves - how deep is our conviction?

How broad our courage?

I came here to win a w*r.

That blade. Indian, isn't it?

What of it? You been?

There are police spies... among our comrades here.

Did you know that, Mr Richards?

I had heard it.

My lodgings are being watched.

We'll talk further at yours.

You son of a bitch, I'll k*ll both...

( Girls sing )

I know who k*lled Joshua.

And I know why.

But I cannot do anything about it.

He is protected.

By whom?

By the police.

I was wrong.

He was nothing like you.

He was unafraid to pursue the truth.

Please leave.

Deborah... In Russia the police drove us from our homes.

They m*rder*d, tortured with impunity.

Joshua saved my life, Inspector.

We came here because we thought we'd be safe. Get out.

Get out! Out!

I'm sorry.

Are you hurt? No, no.

Let me see.

What happened to you?

At first I... felt its shadow, then I saw the second boat bearing down on us.

The hull split.

We were thrown down the deck.

Mathilda...

Mathilda slid away from me.

Something fell, something molten, crushing.

And I could not reach her.

Watched her vanish over the side.

Then everything went dark.

I'm so sorry. They never found her.

They found bodies, they dredged the water, accounted for every soul...but five.

Five?

Five people did not die that day.

How, I do not know, but, er... it is so, must be so.

And Mathilda is one of them.

She's alive, Miss Goren.

I feel it.

I feel it in my marrow.

Does your wife have... this sense also?

Perhaps it is too hard for her to cling to so frail a...

It is not frail!

I... I...

It was my fault.

How could that be? And they knew.

They knew.

Oh, hello! That's nice.

Thank you, Miss Goren.

Whatever for, Inspector?

( Door opens )

Morris, sir.

I'm afraid he, erm...

We weren't able to, er...

Miss Goren.

Sir, if I may?

I'm going home.

( Door opens )

Edmund? Is something the matter?

I, er...

I needed...

Your weeds?

Your mourning weeds.

I have to.

Excuse me. I'm to the shelter.

Please don't. Please.

Please stay...stay with me here a while. They need me.

I need you!

Could you consider that once, just once before your shelter and your church?

At last you rouse.

I was beginning to fear Mr Morris had damaged what little brains you have.

Where's Susan?

Locked up with her whores.

Be a helpful fellow and I shan't fling them all in the syphilitic asylum.

Who the hell are you?

I am Superintendent Constantine.

Police? Morris is yours?

Get Reid. H-Division. Now.

Edmund Reid can't help you, Homer.

So, what do you want?

No more than your mark.

This is a confession.

Your confession.

That you plotted this very day, with the help of other strike supporters and foul leftist denizens, the bombing of a Dock Company warehouse.

And by the grace of God - or your own stupidity - an empty warehouse.

But a t*rror1st act nonetheless, against a noble champion of commerce.

How could you?

I can imagine the authorities will need to meet such an escalation of strike tactics with decisive force.

You'd let Morris b*mb the city to break a strike?

You're a g*dd*mn maniac.

And you, Homer, were an anarchist in the Haymarket m*ssacre.

I was a Pinkerton. Mm.

Allow me to share with you my intriguing discovery.

In the last ten years, no Captain Homer Jackson has boarded a ship from America nor disembarked one here.

And the Pinkertons seem never to have heard of you.

All of which begs a question.

Is Homer Jackson real?

Is he flesh and blood, the hearty stuff of man?

Or but a ghostly vapour of dim fancy?

( Jackson groans )

We have need of a scapegoat, Captain.

And you are he.

Sign.

Listen to me, Constantine.

I've known men like Morris before.

He ain't your running dog.

I had to stop him from gutting a policeman.

You think you're handling him?

He's handling you.

( Jackson screams )

Sign.

You don't really seem to be hearing me.

Morris does not give a sh*t about your empty warehouse and you're giving him free reign to blow a hole in London!

We need to fix that ugly mouth of yours.

( Jackson grunts )

I'll sign it! I'll sign it!

I'll sign it.

Come and get your cream, Peaches.

Who are you?

My name's Homer Jackson.

And I'm all flesh and blood.

Hello, Ed.

Tea?

Why not?

They knew it all, Fred.

The Special Branch.

How could they know?

I confided once, in but one living soul.

So, how could they know about Mathilda?

I had to.

They gave me no choice, you know how they are now.

They said you'd compromised their operation.

Defence of the realm?

Monro sent me... a last warning.

Unless you rescind, consent to silence, he will concoct a premise for your disgrace and expulsion.

Jackson?

Constantine.

Give me that g*dd*mn chair!

He's sent Morris out with a b*mb.

He thinks the target is an empty warehouse, but Morris is playing him, I know it.

Constantine. Where is he?

Out cold in the whores' boudoir.

Then we finish this.

Get me Drake! Now!

Ugh! Oh!

You've lost your mind, Inspector.

Zotkin's b*mb. Where?

I'll have you thrown out of the police.

Try again.

Perhaps you should ask Superintendent Constantine.

You gulled him, not me.

I had the communique decoded.

Zotkin is not here to vandalise a derelict warehouse.

His plan is to wreak havoc and death. Where?!

The chess game our two empires are playing in -

India, Persia, Afghanistan.

This is the game we play here in London.

Do you know what we call it in Russia? Turniry Teney.

Tournament of Shadows.

And that is what you are chasing, Inspector - a shadow.

The closer you try to shine your little torch, the less you will ever see.

Now, let me out before I declare you an enemy of the Russian Empire.

Your Zotkin was sent to pray on desperate men, foment them, give them the taste of the blood of fatted rulers.

He would have had them slaughter my sergeant.

Imagine what meat they'd make of you.

They will do nothing because there is a cloud of death coming for this city and they will be the first among thousands to taste its bitter rain.

The chemical store, where he jumped me - they was unloading Paris Green.

That's arsenic. He blows that, he's going to poison half the city.

The game's already over, Reid.

And you lost!

Sergeant. Release Mr Volsky.

Argh!

You can't do this!

Reid!

( Crowd jeers )

Open the gates!

( Ticking )

( Ticking grows louder )

sh*t.

He's here. Find it, find the b*mb!

( Ticking continues )

( Jackson screams )

Zotkin!

Can you defuse them?

You help him.

Come on.

Turn the small one so the clockwork faces towards me.

Be careful.

( Faint ticking continues in background )

One down.

Zotkin! It's over!

(Echoing): Edmund Reid.

It's barely begun.

I doubt that imbecile Constantine will forgive me this time.

But you're going to let me walk away.

That's right, Inspector, follow my voice.

Take this.

Clamp the black one.

This one? Yeah, steady.

It's still turning.

Put another one in!

I don't have another one.

You got a match? A match?

Give me a match, goddammit!

( Ticking stops )

( Jackson exhales heavily )

Neither of us wishes to meet death today, Inspector.

But only one of us fears her not.

You will let me walk away.

Or you will burn with me and every tonne of arsenic, mercury, sulphur.

Our cinders in a poison rainbow over London and every drawn breath turned into venom.

Maybe they were right - the anarchists who preach beauty in destruction.

The beauty of your precious city crippled.

The beauty of your Jew radicals bearing all blame.

Dasvidaniya, Inspector.

Turniry Teney. What?

Beware your shadow.

Glass jaw.

Needless to say, the Yard is wholly appreciative of your efforts.

What about Constantine?

The man is a disgrace, his days at the Special Branch are over.

Once he's handed Zotkin back to the Russians.

Once he's what?

Orders have been handed down.

From whom?!

From the Home Secretary, Reid.

You're aware of the Empire's issues with Hindustan.

Some months ago the Russians captured two of our operatives along the border.

Zotkin will be traded for them.

This man intended to b*mb London.

He must stand trial and be sentenced.

I'd like to see that Russian bastard swing no less than you.

But it's over, Reid.

Zotkin returns to his own.

Without his disruption, the strikers have won the day.

Let order resume in our city.

Thanks for your time.

Miss Goren.

Inspector.

(She speaks in Russian): Let's go, Mia.

I am sorry I could not do more.

Joshua was right.

Justice has become a commodity.

Is this the shadow of what is to be, Inspector?

My brother used to say, "The future belongs to men of reason, not of faith."

On that I would agree with him.

Yet there are scholars of the Talmud who tell us the day we throw off the shackles of government and accept no authority but God's, none will hurt or destroy.

They say we shall have then the true order of universal harmony.

And you share his belief?

I'm not a prophet... or a revolutionist.

I'm a mathematician. And mathematics tells us something different.

The entropy of the universe tends to a maximum.

Do you understand?

A little.

Disorder, Inspector.

Everything - from the smallest system to our entire world - moves always, irretrievably, from order into chaos.

And there is nothing to be done about it.

Do you share that belief?

No.

Oh?

Perhaps you are, after all, a man of faith.

The next matter to which we attend.

We find her, there he will be also.

'Any man other than you would have caused me less trouble.'

( Girl screams )

Long day?

The longest.