04x05 - The Book

[bunniefuu]

This is reckless. Yes. But do-able.

Brilliant operation, Mr Carter.

It's not over.

Sorry, if I float an idea
by definition it is an option.

Feel wonderfully alive, do you?

Like death actually.

Things are bad enough, Juliet.

Short-term chaos
for long-term stability.

Let me deal with this my way.

Clive, are you sure?

Can I say anything
to change your mind?

I could use your
help in fighting them.

Two men against a new world order?

Please.

Bringing down communism was child's
play compared to fighting this. . .
velvet fascism.

No, I know when to fold.

My cottage shall do me just fine.

You've been doing this
longer than any of us.

I can't imagine you, giving it all up

just like that.

What are you going
to do with yourself?

Don't worry about me, Harry.

I'll find better ways
to keep myself amused.

You didn't need to do this.

You didn't need to involve them.

They're my sister's children,
for God's sake.

We need to make sure we
have your full co-operation.

What do you want me to do?

Say goodbye.

It won't even make it to the front
page. Ten grand? Ten grand?

What's she been smoking? She shagged
a footballer, for God's sake, she
didn't find the cure for cancer.

Two grand. Non-negotiable.

End of story.

HORN BLARES

How do you want to do this?

As painlessly as possible.

But before we do that,
I need something from you.

Shall we?

Hello.

Hello?

Clive?

Stop, stop, stop!

Let's get out of here.

Somewhere among these bright young
things is your new field officer,
Mr Carter

and your additional officers,
Miss Evershed.

Courtesy of the Home Secretary's
timely recruitment drive.

Shortlists
by tomorrow morning please.

We're getting first dibs,
ahead of other sections.

Ach! Six languages, a double
first from Bristol, and
hobbies include kite-surfing.

Ooh, cute, too.

Better brush up your CVs, boys.

I thought we had vetting
consultants -

so we didn't go through the
sordid details of each candidate.

I like to know the sordid details of
anyone I'm going to be working with.

Within professional
boundaries, of course.

Of course.

These are the pick of the crop.
They had the best psychometric tests

which our esteemed HR specialist. . .
Debra Langham.

.will be with us tomorrow
to explain.

She can start
with the word psychometric.

She'll be here in the morning.
At 9am, actually.

Which will give you plenty of time
to sift through the dross, to choose

which are the most stellar candidates
to join our illustrious brotherhood.

What? No, I, I was just thinking
of "clique" or, or "circle"
might be more,

inclusive, don't you think?
No, I like "brotherhood".

Anyone else have a problem with
my way of expressing myself today?

Harry, you need to see this.

Well, details are still sketchy
but what we do know is
that Clive McTaggart,

a former high ranking member of the
intelligence services, was found
dead at his home this morning

from an apparent suicide.
Mr McTaggart's sister has confirmed

that he had been fighting cancer
for the past year

and that the pain had become
increasingly difficult to bear.

Are you OK? Yes.

How well did you know him?

As well as anyone, I suppose,
which isn't saying very much.

We worked together several
times over the years.

Although he wasn't exactly the
most gregarious man I ever met.

He wasn't married? No.

Probably considered himself
"married" to the service.

Oh, that's all right then.

I was worried he'd
died alone and lonely.

If you feel like you
want to talk to someone. . .

. I don't have any plans later.

Thank you, Ruth, but I've
got to return a few calls.

Nothing like a sudden death to bring
old friends out of the woodwork.

The Falklands,
it's got to be the Falklands.

No. Moscow, he knew what Brezhnev's
flunkies were up to before they did.

No, no you're both wrong. His finest
hour was in recruiting yours truly.

I knew he had to have
a black mark somewhere.

To have achieved all that
and end up like he did.

That's our lot in life, isn't it?

To toil away in the darkness
and keep our ever-shrinking realm

out of harm's way, before withering
away in some god-forsaken cottage.

I'm talking about his state
of mind, his disappointment.

We let him down.

Times change, Harry.

He fought a different kind of enemy,
one that had a face.

You ever feel the face you're looking
for is staring back at you
from the mirror?

Unless I've come back
from some w*r-torn hellhole
with the mother of all tans.

Were you surprised?

When you heard he'd k*lled himself?

I know bowel cancer can
be extremely painful.

Well, I think once the cancer had
spread to his liver, he knew it
was a matter of months, weeks even.

You knew about that, right?

Of course.

SHE SCREAMS

Ssh.
Gary? GARY! What was that all about?

What are you doing? !
I'm so sorry, Ruthie.

I didn't know who else to turn to.
I'm in trouble.

Why am I not surprised?

If this isn't hugely important,
I hope your passport's up to date.

Harry, it's me. Ruth.

Ruth? Yes.

What time is it? Late.
I'm sorry to be calling you

at this hour, but. . .
Are you all right?

Me? Yes, I'm fine, thanks.

Well, that's a. . .

that's good.

Harry, I was just wondering.

I was just wondering if
perhaps you could come over?

Come over? Now?

Well, yes. . .

To your place?

Yes. No?

I mean, there's, um. . .

What?

There's someone I need you to meet.

Oh.

You're sure they were British?

Put it this way -
they weren't Al-Qaeda.

I don't understand what you
were doing there.

Forgive my scepticism, but
of all the reporters out there,

why would Clive McTaggart
call a reporter

from a tabloid newspaper that has a,
shall we say, less than exemplary
reputation? What, me or the tabloid?

He knew I wouldn't
back off the story.

And exactly how did he know that?

About ten years ago, I got wind
of a story he was involved in.

The government didn't
want it publicised.

That was when we first met.

It took a lot of convincing and, er,
cajoling to get me to k*ll it.

But you did. k*ll the story?
Well, I liked the guy.

Besides, it wasn't
that great a story,

and this way, he owed me one.

Tell me what he told you, exactly.

Zulu Papa Uniform Three Seven One.

Connecting you.

Is it done? No, sir.

He's not alone. He's with a spook.

You need to hear this.

He said he was getting more
despondent about the way

our political system's
degenerated, you know.

The lies, spin, Iraq,
the whole "politics of fear" thing.

Dirty bombs and all the other
fantasies this government keeps

coming up with to justify their
existence and make themselves
look like self-righteous heroes.

He called it. . . Velvet fascism.

I know, although I doubt the people
of Manhattan

would necessarily agree.

It's Harry Pearce.

Oh, please. 9/11 was the best thing
that ever happened to you people.

The line between fear and
complacency is a thin one.

But fear's much better when it
comes to getting votes, isn't it?

Anyway, he decided to
let the cat out the bag.

He told me he'd spent the
last year writing a book.

He said he thought the country could
use an injection of hard truths.

He told me he wasn't
going to leave anything out.

Regardless of the
Official Secrets Act.

That's what he wanted me for.

Anything can come out
if you're willing to take the flak.

It's one of the
marvels of the internet.

Yeah, once something's out there. . .

it is out.

It takes on a life of its own.

Did he give it to you? Don't bother.

I'm sure that little
bestseller's long gone by now.

It's been backed up. Maybe
he emailed it to his lawyer, or. . .

McTaggart was from another age.
He didn't even own a computer.

He was strictly a pen and paper man.

Oh, Christ. Now there was something
on the table, right next to him.

Like a big notebook. . .

black, leather bound.

You can't stay here. Why not?
I'm safe, nobody knows I'm here.

It's out of the question.

Tell me you're not carrying a phone?

Yes, why? Give it to me.

They could have tracked you to
this house. How did you get here?

We're losing our
window of opportunity!

I bussed it to the city,
then I got a tube here. . .

My car is still at his house. Hmm,
so they already know who you are.

Ruth, you can't stay here either.

Adam can take you to a safe house.

What do you want us to do, sir?

What do you mean? Sir?

You gonna. . .you gonna protect me?

Sir? Stand down.

Stand down and get out of there.

Understood.

I never expected something
like this, not from Clive.

Of all the ill-conceived
things to do.

I'll call you from the safe house.
Yeah.

I spoke to Special Branch.

The only car at the house
was McTaggart's.

OK, we need to know who else knew
about this book besides Hicks.

Clive wasn't an idiot.

This isn't something he would
have shared. Hicks might have.

Do you think he might have?

No, I doubt it. If anyone knows the
value of a great scoop, it's Gary.

The real question is whether
this is the work

of some lone black-ops psycho
who doesn't want his skeletons
uncovered,

or something bigger.

Except Clive told him he wasn't
going to leave anything out.

One line about a sexed-up report,
nearly brought the government down.

We're not talking about one line.
This is straight
from the horse's mouth.

This is not about some lone spook
wanting to stay out of the limelight.

This could be a disaster,
especially now.

I want the b*stards who did this,
even if they work
in this building.

Now use extreme caution
and watch your backs.

These people have access
to the same toys we do.

Erm no. . .Well it. . . his face was
different, different size.

No, his mouth was sort of different.

Different how?

I only saw him for a few seconds,
I didn't date him, for God's sake.

Sorry.

McTaggart's phone line is clean.

If they had a bug on it, it's been
pulled. What about his mobile?

I can't tell you if it had anything
planted in it without seeing it.

There are other ways someone could
have been listening in

without tampering with the handset
itself. GCHQ.

I'll see what I can dig up.

We've got a couple
of faces to work with.

Ruth's figuring out a way of running
them through our database
without raising too many flags.

I ran a trace on Hicks's mobile.

All the numbers trying to contact
him today are on his SIM card
except for this one.

They've tried four
times this morning.

You got a name? Joanna Portman.

It's registered to an
address in Camden Town.

Hicks says he's never heard of her.

We took a little uninvited tour
inside her home computer.

Whoever lives there has been
busy "Googling" our Mr Hicks.

Look into it.

Where are you going? I've got
some cages to rattle. Harry!

Are you sure that's a good idea?
What if they tried talking him
out of it?

What if there was no other way?
There's always another way.

Clive McTaggart had more integrity
than any man I've ever known.

I can't let his m*rder go unanswered.
I owe him that.

Clive's death really got to you?

I just hope I don't end up
spending my twilight years
in bitter disappointment.

I didn't realise
you were that close to him.

We were the occasional drink,
a meal now and then at his club.

Hah! Not that dreary place.

He liked it.
He said it was the one place he could
trust not to bend with the wind.

When he left, he told me he'd
finally have time to read.

And to write.

He certainly had enough material
to come up with a cracking novel.

I think an autobiography
was more what he had in mind.

He'd have to leave out
all the juicy bits.

Not necessarily.
If he wanted things to come out.

We both know it's virtually
impossible to suppress
anything in this day and age.

And Clive had nothing to lose.

Well, I suppose if he was
gonna write a k*ll and tell book,

he's done us all a huge favour
by dying before finishing it.

"Roger Thornhill"? Cary Grant
"North by Northwest".

His best role I'd say.
Now use these from now on.

In case your old ones
are compromised.

Are you ready? Let's go.

This is Debra Langham, our
recruitment consultant. Adam Carter.

Fiona. I trust you've drawn up
a shortlist?

I'm afraid we're going
to have to reschedule.

Unless you can deal with it?
Great, thanks.

It's the one with the blue door.

According to the woman next door,
there are two girls sharing it.

Recent grads.

My kind of stakeout.

What?

I love a man in uniform.

I'm here to read the gas meter.

No, no it's no trouble at
all, I'm happy to do it.

OK.

Thank you.

Bye.

What?

Gas. . . meter. . .

This should only take a minute.
OK, come in.

All right, that takes care of the
desk officers. What about the
field officer's prospects?

I wanted to get your input
on the candidates first.

You know, get a clearer
understanding of the test results.

See who you thought would be
the best candidates.

It's just it's, er,

it's far more sophisticated
than we expected. All right.

Let's look at what you've got.

I'll be right back.

Big night? Flatmate just landed
a big job in the city.

Lucky her.
Is that what you do as well?

Me? God, no. I mean, yeah, it
pays really well, but there are
funkier ways to earn a living.

Yeah, tell me about it.

I didn't mean it like that.

At least you're not cooped up
in an office all day, right?

And you get to see how messy people's
houses are. It's a charmed life.

Oh, no. Woh.

What do you do for a living then?
I'm a journalist, well, an aspiring
journalist, I'm job-hunting.

Good luck.

Thanks, I'm going to need it
if they're gonna return my calls.

Everyone's too busy, right?

Yeah, I guess so.

Well, at least this time
they didn't say
"We'll keep your details on file. "

This is pretty serious stuff.

Yeah? I can do gossipy too.

Whatever it takes.
No. Don't sell yourself short.

You think? Yeah, there's plenty of
other people who'll do that for you.

I should get going.
Erm, this is going to sound
really stupid but, erm. . .

Well, I get the feeling that
there's a lot more to you than. . .

Just reading the gas meter?

Yeah.

Sorry, I'm very nosey.

I'd better go. Meter's running?
Yes, something like that.

A waste of time - just a kid,
looking for a job as a journalist.

Let's go and check out McTaggart's.

I brought you some fresh coffee.

Thanks. So, what's the news? Have
they figured out who they are yet?

Erm, we're working on it.

Well, that's it? That's it.

Sorry.

What are you doing?
I'm just keeping busy.

Idle hands and all that.

Can I have a look?
Oh, it's just the usual rubbish.

You're writing about what happened?

Are you insane? Well, what
else am I gonna do?

You can't expect me
to sit on a story like this.

This is the story of a lifetime.
A very short lifetime if you carry
on like this.

I'm safe here, aren't I?
Of course but writing
about it isn't part of the deal.

Well, why not? I can't use my phone.

I'm not even allowed
to call the office.

I have to be escorted
to have a smoke.

I'm going nuts here!

But, if I write it, once it's out
there, they can't hurt me any more.

What story are you talking about
exactly?

You've got no other witnesses.

It's nothing more than hearsay.

Yeah, but you know once you
get to the bottom of it,
we'll have our proof, won't we?

I'll get someone to drive
you back to the safe house.

You'll be more comfortable there.

Gas Stream, could I help you?

Yeah hello, someone was
just here to read the meter,

and it's now making this
really weird ticking noise.

I was hoping he could come back
and take a look.

His name's Roger Thornhill.

I could have an engineer
come tomorrow between 8 and 1.

Wouldn't it be easier to
have him come back now?

He's probably just down the road.

I can't interfere
with Mr Thornhill's rounds.

Will tomorrow be convenient?

Hm, you know what? Forget it.

It's fine, it's fine.

Malcolm?

I just took a call from Jo Portman.

It seems that
Adam made quite an impression.

I'll let him know. What?

It seems you have a secret admirer.

Come on.

Doesn't look like there are
any mics, no hidden cameras.

If they're keeping tabs on him,
they didn't leave any calling cards.

I wouldn't be too sure about that.

They had a fibre optic in there.

That's not something
they picked up at Argos.

Sorry. Erm, I'm going to
have to grab him from you.

You got a smoke? No.

Yeah, can I double check
the number I have for him then?

Every time I try ringing
I get this weird tone.

I see, OK. How about if I come over
and drop my articles off for him?

Oh, this is crazy.

Look, take me to the newsroom.

If I don't write this story,
somebody else is going to.

And that is not going to happen.
So, just take me to the office.

I can't do that. I have my orders.

I'm not interested
in your bloody orders.

Just take me to the office.

Mr Hicks!

Hicks has done a runner.

Call Katie,
tell her I'm on my way up.

What do you think you're doing?
I can't sit on this any more.

I need to write it. It's the
only way to get them off my case.

Is that what you think?
Once it's out there,

there's no point in them trying
to shut me up.

Of course there is.

It'll take them about ten seconds
to wipe out your credibility,

then they'll have you sucking
on the inside of a plastic bag

just like McTaggart because you
couldn't deal with the heartache.

Come on.

Yeah, we've got him.
It's under control.

All right, see you at the safe
house.

Hi, this is going to sound stupid,
but I need you to follow that car,

the blue Peugeot.

Look, my husband's in that car,
and I think he's cheating on me.

I have to know the truth. Please.
I'll pay you extra.

Thanks.

Malcolm. Any news?

We've recovered some CCTV footage
from a house on the road
near McTaggart's.

The camera covers the road
and we got lucky.

We've got Hicks's car heading there,
and 42 minutes later,
his car on the way back.

Can you make out who's driving it?
No, we're enhancing it.

There was another car
following it closely.

Blue Mercedes? Precisely.

Like the one Hicks saw
parked in McTaggart's drive.

Can you make out the plates? Yep.

X492 YCY. But they're fakes.

They've been cloned off some
poor sod's Vauxhall down in Devon.

OK. Let me know if the
enhancements work out, yeah.

I take it we're not talking
about boob jobs? Hey! What a. . .

Surprise? Coincidence, maybe?
I was going to say "small world".

So? Read any good meters lately?

Told you, you were
too good for your job.

What do you mean?
Don't be coy with me.

I want to know why you were
sniffing around my house

and why you whisked Gary Hicks
away from his office.
You've been following me?

I don't know what's going on,

but I'm guessing it has something to
do with some dirt that Hicks

has dug up on someone.

Who are you, really?

All right. . .

I work
for a private security firm,

and Hicks,

you know Hicks, he has a
talent for digging up the muck.

So you're like a bodyguard? Yeah.

Hicks is working on a story,
he's annoyed a few people.

So we're just babysitting him
until the threat passes. Cool!

I still want the story.

You're too late.
Hicks has already written it.

It's in the papers tomorrow.

Sorry.

You still did a great job
sussing it out.

I'll let him know.

I imagine he'll pick up his phone
after that. Look after yourself.

I'm off.
I take it your friend is behaving?

Zaf's babysitting him.
He's got things under control.

How did you ever get mixed
up with someone like Hicks?

He wasn't always like that.

He used to write the most
brilliantly incisive pieces

about just about anything.
He wrote about Kosovo - he cared.

Then he realised people were
more interested in

who Sven-Goran Eriksson
was scrumping that week.

Harry, do you really think
we should be doing this?

What?

These people are willing to do
whatever it takes to suppress it.

Someone's got to draw
the line somewhere.

I. . . I understand that and,

I know Clive was your friend but. . .

It isn't just about Clive's m*rder,

or about the book.

Hicks chose me.

He, he showed up at my doorstep
and there's nothing we can do
about that.

You can't really think
that they're going. . .

You call me when you get
to the safe house. Right.

Do you know who's
taking over from you?

Adam's coming back later.

It's all for a worthy cause,
though, right?

I'm making some tea.

Er no, thanks, darling.

Hi, Katie, it's me.
Listen, I got a story.

I can't tell you what it's about,
but I promise you it's huge.

Just don't run the presses yet.
OK?

Get me someone I can dictate it to.

Call you back as soon as I can.

Call sign?
Zulu Papa Uniform Three Seven One.

Connecting.
Have you found Hicks? Yes, sir.

Well, then, take him out.

There are enough people out
there who'd love to see him dead.

What about the officers?
Do your best to avoid collateral
damage, but make sure you get him.

CAR ALARM SOUNDS

Get him down, now!

MULTIPLE g*nf*re

CAR ALARM CONTINUES

POLICE SIRENS GET LOUDER

I thought you were going home.

It's Friday night.

It's not that I want to
encourage this sort of behaviour,

but you probably saved their lives.

I guess Hicks has
to give me a job now?

Come on, let's get you home.

Wait.

There's more?

There's more.

I put my phone in their car.

Hicks is still alive.
We had to abort.

I'm getting rid of the car now.

Using the signals
from Miss Portman's phone

we were able to plot
the k*ller's route to Bermondsey

where we found the car,
burnt to a crisp,

erasing any forensic clues
as to their identity.

But it wasn't a total loss.

We looked for any other mobiles
following the same trajectory and
crossing the cells at the same time.

Unfortunately, there were several
others following the same routing.

But we had something else
to work with.

We looked for a match
with signals coming from

the area around McTaggart's house
at the time of the faked suicide.

We found one match.

These are the numbers
called from that mobile.

Whoever these guys were,
they weren't big talkers.

Now the last one is the number
called from the car

after the attempted break-in
at the safe house.

A number I believe
we are all too familiar with.

Call sign. As you all know,
without the recipient's call sign,

there's no way of determining
who they were calling.

MACHINE: You have two messages.
Message one.

Zula Papa Uniform Three Seven One.

CAR HORN

Just hang on.
Hicks is still alive.

I must have hit speed dial by mistake
when I was putting my phone
in their car

and when I got home I had a 20-minute
travel-log waiting for me.

Have you always been like this?

So do I have to keep calling
you Roger Thornhill or are you
going to tell me your real name?

It's Nick. Nick Harding.

You don't really work
for a security company, do you?

Not exactly, no.

This is where you say goodbye
and I never get to see you again?

I'm afraid so.

You were great.

Just try not to share what happened
with too many people, will you?

My lips are sealed.

Here's the transcript from
Joanna Portman's answer machine.

We've got the call sign.

'Call sign. '
Zulu Papa Uniform Three Seven One.

'Connecting you. '

Yes?

It's Woodring.

Is he working alone,

or was he just taking orders?

There's only one way to find out.

Zula Papa Uniform Three Seven One.
Just hang on.

Hicks is still alive.

We had to abort,

we took a hit.

You people at "5" really have
this obsession with showing off

how good you are at sneaking
into other people's homes.

Did you try to get
him to change his mind?

Do you know anyone who ever managed
to talk Clive McTaggart
out of anything? Did you try?

Come on, Harry. He had no incentive
to be reasonable. He was dying.

The cancer had spread to his liver.

You didn't even try, did you?

So where does it stop?

Clive? Hicks? My people? My team?

Good God, Roy.

What did Clive have on you that
made you completely lose your mind?

Well, I'm flattered, Harry. Really.

You think this is just about me?

You think this is
about saving my own arse?

That's always been your
problem, Harry, hasn't it?

You've never been a team player.

That's why you could
never be part of the club.

I don't want to be part of any team
that sanctions k*lling off its own.

Our job, Harry, yours and mine,
is to neutralise anything or anyone

that can undermine
our country's security.

Clive McTaggart
was a clear and present danger.

He may have been living in
virtual exile, but he still knew

everything that was going on.

His revelations would
have been devastating.

They would have weakened us at
a time when we need to be strong.

He had to be stopped.

You can still make things right.

All it takes is one phone call.

You want me to give you Hicks?

He's got to go, Harry.

I can do it with you or without you.

I want Hicks, Harry.
Make it happen.

"You're not part of the club. "
He actually said that?

This complicates things.

We don't know who they are,
or how many.

Harry, this is getting out of hand.

You need to tell the JIC.

Opening a can of worms
which would lead straight to the
front pages. We don't need that.

Besides, one of them could be on
the committee. What about Juliet?

Her cage was rattled.
It did the trick.

If only we had the book.

That one, I think.

Well, think carefully. Your life
may depend upon it.

That one.

What about the handwriting?

His suicide note.

Is it enough? Plenty.

Do it.

I'd have preferred to have
given Malcolm more time.

And risk another close
call like the other night?

You're putting your life on the line
based on nothing more than a guess.

I'm going to be late.

I want you to call off the dogs.

What are you talking about?

This.

Where did you find this?

I spoke to Roy Woodring.

You were in on it. You had
Clive k*lled, because of this.

Are you wired?

No. It's just you and me.

Roy found out about the book.

He came to see me about it.
We had to do something.

He said he'd take care of it.
I didn't know he'd go that far.

But you and your little cabal were
happy to see him get away with it.

We've all got a job to do, Harry.

Sometimes it's not a particularly
pleasant one, but it has to be done.

Clive was brilliant at what he did,

but his job, his duty,
to you, to me, to the whole country,

was to take his secrets and any
misgivings he had to the grave.

Instead, he chose to stab us in
the back. We're better than that.

You know what's going on out there.
We're living in dangerous times.
We are better than that.

We should be.

But sometimes we have no choice.

I didn't want him k*lled.

But I have no tolerance
for weaklings

who decide to cleanse their soul
before they meet their maker,

with little regard to the mess
they're going to leave
behind them.

What are you going to do with that?

I'll hang on to it.

You will take care of Roy.

You'll find some dark rock for him
to crawl under.

Oh, come on, Harry.
This is non-negotiable, Juliet.

Fine. You'll make sure nothing
like this ever happens again.

And you'll leave Hicks alone.

Since when did you care
about a maggot like that?

You'll call off the dogs.
This ends here, now.

Unless you want to see
this hit the presses.

You wouldn't do that. Try me.

You can't write this.

I can't not write it.
You can't write it now.

If you do, I won't help you again.

And mark my words,
you will need help.

I thought McTaggart was your friend.
We're talking about losing a battle,
not a w*r.

This isn't over.

And, when the time comes, it just
might be handy to have you around.

Why not? Look at those eyes.

Seven languages, Zaf.
You can't argue with that.

Plus, we'd have one less
harassment suit to deal with.

They all have plusses and minuses,
but we have to make some decisions.

What about you, Adam?

Adam?

As long as the vetting doesn't
flag anything too outrageous,
the job's yours if you want it.

You're kidding? No.

Seriously?

Seriously.

It's not like a lifetime
commitment or anything?

No, you do it for as
long as you want to,

but you've gotta want to.

This is insane.

But can you think of a "funkier"
way to make a living?

"If you're reading this note
I am probably already long gone,

"not I suspect as a result
of this dreadful illness.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to
burden you one last time with this.

"I only ask that you do with it
as you see fit. Yours, Clive. "

Nasim Malik is one of the key terror
suspects we are still holding
without charge.

What do you want me to do?
I want you to release him.

Get out of the way
or I sh**t the boy.

You're playing a
dangerous game, Harry.

You lose Malik
and we go down with you.

It's a risk I'm prepared to take.

We'll be accomplices to m*rder.

No b*ll*ts below four feet.
There's a kid.

Zafar, this is Harry.
I'm ordering you to sh**t
the subject.

sh**t him.