01x03 - Bad Tradecraft

[bunniefuu]

Well, the race is on to save a young,
British Asian man, Hassan Ahmed,

who has been kidnapped by
members of a far right group

calling themselves
the Sons of Albion.

- The kidnappers have made no demands…
- Jesus.

…and it appears the
authorities are no closer…

- sh*t.
- …to discovering his whereabouts.

- So bleak.
- Yeah.

I mean, we're behind the
scenes, and we know nothing.

Well, we know the bastards
are gonna k*ll him.

- Yeah, because they haven't made...
- Made any demands, yeah.

…how and, indeed,
why he was targeted

beyond his ethnic background.

Do you think Lamb
knows what's going on?

Well, I'm sure he could
find out if he wanted to.

I'm not sure he cares.

You know, Lamb's
password is "password."

"Password"?

- How do you know?
- Ho told me.

- And what did that cost you?
- Nothing.

He just wanted to tell someone,
didn't he? To prove how clever he is.

How much do you think the
Park's gonna be telling Lamb?

I mean, we could find out. He's bound
to be copied in on updates for live ops.

But… probably shouldn't.

Do you want another drink?

Yeah, maybe. Or…

I don't know. Maybe
back to the office.

Yeah. Okay. Well, I mean, it's better
than getting pissed here, isn't it?

- Not helping, are we?
- Exactly. No.

- Yeah.
- Last order at the bar, guys.

Okay, thanks. Another drink?

Okay, but something
quick. sh*ts.

- Oh, my God. I don't know...
- Can you hurry up?

- Can I just do it?
- Here.

- 'Cause it's really painful to watch.
- Go on.

- All right. Are you ready?
- Yeah.

- Want to see my technique in action?
- Yeah.

Okay.

Arse.

You have to turn the
handle at the same...

How have you still not learned
how to open the fricking door?

- But that was smooth.
- Uh-huh.

- That was smooth as you like.
- According to who?

What? Me. That was cool. Cool
as a cucumber. All right, shush.

- Try and be quiet.
- No, you sh...

Try, if you can.

I can't see.

Right, turn that w...

Let me get the light.

Sorry. Am I not doing it right?

- I haven't... It's been a while.
- Did you hear that?

Hear what?

I don't know. A noise.

Like a mouse?

Do we have mice?

Yeah. Yeah, we've
got lots of mice.

Or something that does mouse
droppings around the place.

- Shut up.
- Ho.

Okay, I heard that.

I think it was Lamb's office.
Sounded like Lamb's office.

I don't know.
There's no lights on.

Wait. Are you sure
we wanna do this?

What else should we be doing?

Well, I mean, I'd rather be
doing what we were just doing.

- God.
- All right. Of course. Priorities.

No.

Corkboard?

No, there were two noises.

Well, maybe it bounced.

Okay.

f*ck it.

So, what now?

Do you wanna go back to my
place or we go back to yours?

Let's do one more sweep.

Min? Min!

Min.

- Min, you all right?
- Yeah. Yeah.

- Min?
- The g*n, the g*n.

- You okay?
- Fine. I'm fine.

No pulse. I think
you broke his neck.

He broke his own f*cking neck.

Oh, my God.

Oh, my God.

- f*ck.
- What the f*ck?

Dr. Lawrence, come to
surgical three. Non-emergency.

Dr. Lawrence, please.
Dr. Lawrence, please.

Dr. Lawrence, come to
surgical three. Non-emergency.

Can I help you, sir?

Think you must be lost, sir.

They'll help you at reception
with whatever you're after.

A shoe…

In a bag?

I'm embarrassed for you.

Wait, wait, wait. He's
got my phone and my pass.

- Take all the time you need.
- Yeah.

Sorry. Sidonie Baker,
do you where she's...

Lamb.

Lamb, I can't just leave
without knowing how she is.

She's still on the table.

What do you mean? Is
she gonna make it?

Why the f*ck did you
ride in the ambulance?

I thought she was dying. I'm not just
gonna f*cking leave her there, am I?

- Would you?
- Yes.

It was a dumb d*ck move.

Once you called it in, your ID was
flashing lights and sounding whistles

from here to Regent's Park.

That's why that Dog
was waiting for you.

Wait, how did you
know I was here?

'Cause once you went walkabout,

- I got Ho to monitor the Park's alerts.
- Why?

In case you did something
as stupid as you did.

Okay.

They... They say she might live.

Thank Christ.

No thanks to you.

No indication as yet

that the authorities know
where Hassan is being held.

Police are now saying

the thr*at to Leeds University
student Hassan is grave and imminent.

His liaison officers remain
with Hassan's parents,

but it has been some hours
since anyone has been seen

entering or, indeed,
leaving the house.

Well, I believe we can go
to a live press briefing

- being given by West Yorkshire Police.
- Yeah?

Cartwright's gone.
I think it was Lamb.

Find them.

Hassan Ahmed was here after
he left this comedy club,

The Last Laugh, at
approximately 11…

Slough House?

Why have you brought
me back here?

Because you're my agent,

and you were there when
another of my agents was sh*t,

so I'm doing your debrief.

What the hell were you
two doing at Hobden's?

He's got something on his
laptop that the Park want.

I think he's connected
to the kidnappers.

Sid thought this too?

Well, she followed
me following Hobden.

She told me she'd been put
in Slough House to watch me.

Was that before or after
she got sh*t in the head?

Who was it?

Who was what?

Who sh*t her, you pillock?

I don't know. I couldn't see his face.
He had a balaclava on and tactical gear.

So, a pro?

Yeah. But... Well, kind of.

For f*ck's sake, Cartwright.

- I...
- God.

Can you let me think for one
minute? Would that be fine?

I don't know. It was
strange. It was like he...

He wanted me to think that
he was one of the Dogs.

But it just... It
wasn't quite right.

And he didn't speak
the whole time.

Like he was worried I
might recognize his voice.

God.

There's your answer,
Cartwright. Jed f*cking Moody.

If you had issues with him,
I could have spoken to HR.

No, we didn't know it was him.

- He jumped out.
- I'm not sure that counts as a defense.

He had a g*n.

Better. He used it earlier.

- sh*t Sid Baker with it.
- What, he k*lled Sid? Why?

No. She's fine. She's alive.

She was 20 minutes ago.

But wait. Why the f*ck did he
sh**t her? Where were they?

We were at Robert Hobden's. Sid
followed me. I never asked her to.

What was Moody doing there?

I don't know why he was there.
He broke in dressed like this.

- What was he doing here?
- Well, we didn't get a chance to ask.

But he'd been in your office.

Your corkboard was off the wall.

Can you account
for your movements?

- Well, we were over the road. And…
- In the pub.

f*ck me.

If this is nicer than going
back to your place, I pity you.

Where's the g*n?

It's over there.

He looked like using it?

Look, let's get this straight.
This is not a court of law.

Did he look like using it?

He didn't point it exactly, no.

Yeah, well, you might want to
reconsider your position on that.

- I didn't mean to k*ll him.
- Of course you didn't.

If you meant to k*ll
him, he'd still be alive.

What's this?

Dirty bastard.

What, was he gonna
bug your office?

It'd be an odd move after
sh**ting one of my joes.

No, he was cleaning up.

Prior to getting out.

Well…

The prostitutes of Paraguay,

or whichever non-extradition
destination he was headed for,

have had a lucky escape.

Two mobiles.

Jed, Jed, Jed.

I'm surprised you had
enough friends to carry one.

This one's barely used.
Just one incoming call.

You should ring it.

Thank f*ck you're here.

I would never have
thought of that.

Moody?

I'm afraid he can't come
to the phone right now.

Jackson.

We need to talk.

Come on.

- Yes?
- I need to see him.

It's very late, sir.

- I know that. Is he here?
- Who shall I say, sir?

Hobden. It's Robert Hobden.

Just save us all a
lot of back and forth.

Just tell him, if he's
not receiving guests now,

he will need to make himself
available in the morning,

'cause there will be cameras out front
and tabloids trying to get in the back.

Wait here.

Robert Hobden, as I live and
breathe and shag like a lord.

Good to see you, old chum.

Timing's a little off.

But when a friend drops
by, my door is always open,

and my wine is waiting
to be uncorked.

I've got this, Seb. Give
us a moment, would you?

What the f*ck are you doing
here, you stupid f*cking twat?

I have been trying
to contact you.

I've been avoiding your calls. Take
the hint. You're f*cking toxic.

- Did anyone see you arrive?
- I don't know.

- What kind of prick answer is that?
- It's the only prick answer I've got.

What happened?

Someone tried to
k*ll me tonight.

Well, a lot of fanatics about.

- You're not the most popular...
- It wasn't a fanatic. It was a spook.

A spook?

MI5 sent a man, masked man, to my
flat, with a g*n, to get my laptop.

f*cking hell! I don't know where
anything is. I hardly ever come in here.

Why would MI5 want
your computer?

Because I have intel about the
kidnapping. The Muslim boy.

Why should I care
about the kidnapping?

I've already made enough of a tit
of myself, claiming it was !sis.

Because your entire career has
been playing the nationalist card.

And if that boy dies, the closest
you'll get to Downing Street

is looking down on it
from an open-top bus.

You alone?

Don't know why they had
to clean up the canals.

There was a time you
could find an oil drum

or a corpse to use as a target.

What do you think
you're playing at?

Well, that's f*cking choice,
considering I lent you an agent

for what you said was
a run-of-the-mill op,

who now has a
b*llet in her head.

"What do you think you're
playing at?" is my line,

with a few f*cking
fucks thrown in.

I'm sorry, but the brief was not
for her to be on Hobden 24/7.

No, the brief was to
be on Cartwright 24/7.

Which makes me think she
was your agent all along,

and you were just
asking for show.

- Where was she when she was...
- She was sh*t outside Hobden's.

Intentionally or otherwise, by Jed
Moody, another one of your recruits.

So, if I may be so bold,

what the living f*ck do you
think you're playing at?

Check the rule book, Lamb.

You run Slough House, and God knows no
one wants to take that away from you,

but I am Second
Desk, head of ops,

which means directing personnel.

All personnel. Yours
or anybody else's.

Better out than in.

God, you're vile.

Actually, maybe not.

So, say you're right and
this is none of my business,

what do I do about the
body on my staircase?

- Moody?
- Yeah.

He's dead?

It's hard to tell,
given his IQ, but yes.

- Jesus.
- Yeah.

But if you wanted to subcontract, you
could've done better than Jed Moody.

Even when he was good, he wasn't any
good. The guy's a f*cking fridge magnet.

- Who took him down?
- W...

Here's the funny part. He
forgot to tie his shoelaces.

He fell down the stairs.

Yes. When you're in
front of Limitations,

you might want to leave out
the bit about that being funny.

Limitations.

So, do we call in the Dogs?

Hell, it's a death, Diana.

I could call the
police. I should.

I've got a mobile phone on me.

Yeah, I could use that.

Yeah, I found it
on Moody's body.

The odd thing is, the only
number in it is yours.

Yeah, you've made your point.

It's after 02:00, Diana.

And my team is smaller
than it was yesterday.

You've got till I finish this
f*g before I start making calls.

Okay.

I was talking to my brother
at the Frontline Club.

And I mentioned we were developing
operations to neutralize the nationalists.

You are f*cking kidding me.

Sons of Albion have links to groups
all under Simmonds's umbrella.

I can use this to
roll them all up.

So, you set up some
half-arsed scheme

involving a neofascist group
kidnapping a Muslim kid

and threatening to chop
his head off on YouTube?

Except it's not going to happen
'cause one of the group is yours.

- Close?
- Half-arsed?

One dead and one in
intensive care because what?

You think Hobden's got
a piece of the puzzle?

When I went to the bar
at the Frontline Club,

I saw Hobden in the
booth behind us.

Bad tradecraft on my
part, no question.

You thought he might have
overheard you or recorded it?

That's why you needed
to know what he had.

Do you have any proof?

No, but MI5 must think I do. That's
why they tried to k*ll me tonight.

And you come here, leaving a
trail of mad, shitty footprints.

- I don't want to be caught up in this.
- You're already caught up in this.

You have to warn them
and get them out!

And say what?

Tell them that this whole setup,
this supposed execution, is a fake.

That the Sons of Albion, who've never been
more than a bunch of moronic street thugs,

have been set up by the
intelligence services.

By an agent provocateur.

And I'm to, what, announce
this in the House?

Or maybe on the Today program?

Peter, we've known each other for
years. Don't try and fob me off.

We are not friends, Robert.

You've always treated me fairly
in print, and I respect that.

But let's face it, you're
a f*cking has-been,

and it's no longer appropriate
to be associated with you.

So take it somewhere else.

Maybe to your pals in the
British Patriotic Party.

What? They won't believe me.

Well, I can't warn these Sons of
Whatever. I don't know the f*ckers.

But you know people
who know people.

You have to warn them.

You have to get the word
out. A spy's in their midst.

A rescue will be staged,
and they will all be k*lled.

I'm a respected and
much-loved national figure.

I don't have any of the contacts
you're talking about, you mad bastard.

Peter, you're needed!

The second I go upstairs,

you get the f*ck out of here,
or I'll have Seb drag you out.

I have the photo of
you at the rally.

Darling, Nahim and Ursula
are going to go very soon.

Already? And skipping cheese,
are they? I'll see about that.

Let's open some port
and tempt them to stay.

Would your friend
care to join us?

Rob and I have been discussing some
very official secret hush-hush, darling.

No one's supposed
to know he's here.

You wait here, bud.

I'll settle things upstairs
and be back in a jiffy.

I can't help but notice you
seem, you know, pretty relaxed

for someone who set up
a false flag operation

to behead an innocent
kid in what… four hours.

They're not gonna do it.

Their core messaging
suggests they very much are.

Our agent told them they didn't
actually need a beheading.

They just had to show that
they could do it if pushed.

That's a hell of a gamble.
I wouldn't fancy your odds.

You underestimate me.

The boy was chosen with care.

The kid. Who is he?

He's Mahmud Gul's
nephew. Gul is...

I know who Mahmud
f*cking Gul is.

He's number two in Pakistan's
m*llitary intelligence.

And this gets you what?

We will rescue his nephew,

and if that gets us even 10% more
cooperation with the Pakistanis,

it will be worth it.

If this goes tits up... and Christ
knows it hasn't gone right yet...

You've assassinated his nephew!

- Our man is...
- "Your man."

This isn't a sanctioned
service op, Diana.

This is off the books!

This is pirate sh*t! Now
you've got Hobden in the wind!

You gotta roll this up!

- It can still work.
- It...

- This can neutralize the far right.
- It can't.

How the f*ck is he sleepin'?

I know I couldn't sleep with what he
thinks is about to happen. I know that.

He won't have slept
since we grabbed him.

He must be exhausted.

You wanna go down and sing
him a lullaby, do you?

f*ck's sake.

I'll mute it.

Can still see the lights.

- Little fucker!
- Bastard!

Come on then.

Get down there.

Help! Somebody help me!

Somebody help me, please!

- Grab his legs!
- No, no.

- Somebody help me! No!
- Get him down from there!

- Help me! Help me! Help!
- Get the fucker out of here.

Just humor me and
explore the flip side.

If those Sons of Nonsense get
wind of what you're up to,

that kid is as good as
dead, and your man too.

You've gotta call him and
tell him his cover's blown.

Not possible. He wanted
them to go dark. No phones.

Send in the Dogs early.

If we bring it forward,
we need to let him know

so he can secure Hassan
and get out himself.

- Yeah. Well, lots of luck with that one.
- You're gonna help me.

Oh, no, I'm not. And nor
are any of my people.

They brought the boy to London.

They're holding him in a
house this side of the river.

All I'm asking you to do is
literally knock on the door.

Our man will answer, and…

- What's the signal?
- Your face is the signal.

My face?

You're a legend in
the service, Jackson.

He'll recognize your face and
know something's about to go down.

He'll secure Hassan, and Dogs
will be right behind you.

They'll go in and
do the dirty work.

I've got other things I
could do tonight, Diana.

I've got a really
massive sh*t brewin'.

I could sit and read a
book and birth that beauty.

Was Moody alone when he d*ed?

We're all alone in the end,
don't you think, Diana?

In those final moments?

If he did have company,

that company might come
under intense scrutiny.

By all means, call in the Dogs.

And when they're finished
tearing you apart,

maybe they'll have enough strength
to pick at the rest of this.

Either way, I couldn't
give a monkey's.

Even if it was Standish?

You're tossin' darts.

Standish wasn't there.
She's at home asleep.

I'm not talking about tonight.

I'm talking about the
night Charles Partner d*ed.

Catherine Standish came very
close to a treason charge.

That file could be
reopened, reassessed.

Didn't fly then.
It won't fly now.

A lot of other things
might come out.

That is not a can of
worms you want to open.

Do I look keen?

Like it or not, Slough
House is part of this now.

You'll all get turned over.

Standish will find out some things it
would be better for her not to know.

I'll go knock on
the door for you.

But in return, I want
the Standish file.

And you've been using Slough
House as your personal toy box,

which pisses me off.

- Are we clear?
- Crystal.

There's more.

Moody disappears.

Baker, a victim of street crime.

Anyone with me
tonight is fireproof.

And you are in my debt
until you're in a care home.

God, you really care
about them, don't you?

Nah. I think they're a
bunch of f*cking losers.

But they're my losers.

For what it's worth,
I'm sorry about Baker.

I'll have that
marked on her chart.

You know, the one that clips
to the bottom of her bed

that tells you when her
catheter needs changin'.

I apologize for the thr*at, but
I do need you to listen to me.

Don't you see?

They want everyone to forget

about body parts on the tube.

Madmen with swords, hacking
people to bits on bridges.

But instead, we'll have footage

of our brave spooks rescuin'
some brown-skinned boy

and paintin' the right as a
bunch of murdering bastards.

Do you want them to
get away with it?

This will stop you from taking your party
and your country further to the right.

That ground will be poisoned,

and there'll be a swing to
happy-clappy, rainbow Britain.

Where the rights of the minority

drown out the rights of
the true-born majority,

and you'll have to
go along with it.

And that will pain you. And I
know that you're with me on this.

Now I don't want to have to use
that photo to make you do this.

I want you to do this willingly.

Listen to me, fucko.

That photo doesn't exist.

If it did, anyone who was in it

would make sure all copies
and negatives were destroyed.

But say it did exist and
you somehow had a copy.

I can brush it off quicker
than you can cream your piles.

"It's photoshopped."

It's a wave, not a n*zi salute.

It was fancy dress. Poor
taste, but not a crime.

I was young and
drunk and stupid,

and this is not the man
I know myself to be.

"Here's ten grand to
an anti-fascist group."

Now get the f*ck out of my house before
I punch you so hard, I break my fist.

Seb.

You want me to follow him?
Warn him off a return visit?

No, but I'll need you
to make some calls.

f*ck! That was close.

He is a horrible,
slippery little prick.

Yeah. Well, he's not
goin' anywhere now,

so if either of
you wanna doze off.

Nah. I'm pretty wired now.

No. I'm stayin' awake, because I
don't trust this little bastard.

Easy. All in good
time. All in good time.

Where's f*cking laughing boy?

Don't know. Probably upstairs,
havin' a bubble bath.

All right, let's
have some fun then.

Might as well make
some money off you two.

Who's in?

- I'm all for a game of cards.
- Yeah, all right.

Let's get rid of some
of these bottles.

- Don't be falling asleep in there.
- Yeah, go on.

What happened to the g*n?

All right. Come on, pillocks.

Keep an eye on the
place, eh, Jed?

- Has anyone else got a car here?
- I have.

- You in a fit state to drive?
- I can drive.

I hold my drink better than Min.

All right. Cartwright,
you're with me.

You two fuckbirds follow.

Where we going?

Roupell Street.
South of the river.

- Why?
- To assist with the rescue

of Hassan Ahmed.

Speaking this morning,

the Prime Minister described
the kidnappers as pure evil.

Government is doing
plenty of tough talking…

The kidnappers are claiming to be from
a group called the Sons of Albion.

…despicable and ghastly acts.

The fear is that another
British citizen is going to die…

The British government
now finds itself

fighting international
terrorism on its home turf.

…as extremely worrying and added
the investigation continues…

The deadline set by the
men holding Hassan Ahmed

is now less than
four hours away.

Proceed. Lamb will
knock. You clean up.

Go!

- It was money, wasn't it?
- What?

"What?" Come on. In that
envelope you took off Moody.

It's your flight fund, in case
you need to make a run for it.

Flight fund? Why, I haven't
heard that for a long time.

- Where'd you get that? Your grandfather?
- How much?

Fifteen hundred,

a passport and a key to a box.

- Switzerland?
- f*ck you, Switzerland.

Bank in a two-donkey French town
four hours' drive from Paris.

Why am I telling you all this?

Probably so you'd have
an excuse to k*ll me.

That's probably it.

Home Office, ma'am. Barrowby.

Tell him I'm operational.
I'll call him back when I can.

Yes, ma'am.

Do you think he can
breathe in there?

Get a move on.

He hasn't moved in ages.

That's 'cause he's
tied to a chair.

You can breathe, can't you?

Don't piss about. Nod.
I know you can hear me.

See? He's fine.

Fifteen.

Call.

Fifteen.

Where have you been?

Hugging a pillow and crying?

Hey, what were you
doing up there?

Just thinking.

Thought I heard a dull clang.

Want me to deal you in?

Playing for real money though.

You may not have
the stones for that.

I'll raise another 30.

What regiment were you in?

- What?
- In the army.

You know, when you were
out k*lling towelheads.

Marines.

Asked about the regiment...

Marines don't have regiments.

It's battalion units
known as commandos.

Stop makin' a twat of yourself.

Well?

All in.

Bollocks to it.

Looks like you two are
finally growing a d*ck.

One between you.

You haven't used one of
these though, have you?

Put it down.

No.

It feels good in my hand.

All it'd take is
one swing, I reckon.

Cut right through.

Put it down before you
f*ck everything up.

Hold on.

So, k*lling him now
would f*ck everything up?

That's odd.

I mean, what are you
talkin' about, mate?

I thought we were strikin' a
blow for Britain at sunrise.

Look.

At the end of this, I
report to Simmonds, yeah?

Now, I can tell him you're a good
soldier. You get a pat on the back.

Or I can tell him you're a twat liability
and have his boys break your spine.

Up to you.

You little prick.

- Full house, dickheads.
- Bollocks.

- Hey!
- No!

Seems pretty quiet.

What'd you expect?
Balloons tied to the door?

Whoa. Why are you takin' a g*n if
you just have to knock on the door?

Because this whole
op is f*cked up.

Taverner's playin' London rules,
but I'm the one in joe country,

so I'll play Moscow
rules. Thank you.

Hey.

What are you doin'?

Stroking a cat.

sh*t!

Go around the back!

Lamb?

Lamb?

Kitchen.

Oh, f*ck.