3بخش

Stay back.

I was almost taken out by a very

unusual type of ammunition in Ukraine.

I want to know who supplied it.

My name is Sanjay.

And you are?

No chitchat?

There’s no one at the other end.

No one who’s gonna help you, anyway.

Don’t let it get cold.

Why should I know who supplied it?

Combination of metals is unique to India.

If it’s from India,

it’s from you.

Fine assumption.

Deduction.

Deduction, then.

Look, my friend.

guns are never conducive to a productive negotiation.

I’m not the man they send to negotiate Or the man they send to make deals.

I can’t.

I can’t tell you.

You’re an arms dealer, friend.

This may be the easiest trigger

I’ve ever had to pull.

To say anything about a client

would violate the tenets he lives by.

If tenets are important to you,

then you can tell me everything.

Not while you have a gun to my husband’s head.

Sanjay, make a drink

for our guest, please.

Cheers.

Priya.

This is your operation?

A masculine front in a man’s world has its uses.

The dealer you’re looking for

is Andrei Sator.

The Russian oligarch.

You know him?

Not personally.

Made his billions in gas.

Moved to London.

Said to be on the outs with Moscow.

Very good.

Except the gas he made his billions

from was actually plutonium.

None of which explains how or why

you sold him inverted munitions.

When I sold him the rounds,

they were perfectly ordinary.

So how did he get them inverted?

We believe he’s functioning as some sort of a broker.

Between our time and the future.

He can communicate with the future?

We all do, don’t we?

E-mails, credit cards, texts.

Anything that goes into the record

speaks directly to the future.

The question is,

can the future speak back?

And I’m supposed to find out?

To get anywhere near Sator would

take a fresh-faced protagonist.

And you are fresh as a daisy.

Get close.

Find out what he’s receiving

and how.

Is it safe to involve

British Intelligence?

I have a contact who’s out of Sator’s reach.

You must’ve had a plan for getting out.

Not one I love.

May I help you, sir?

I’m Mr. Crosby’s lunch.

I presume you mean

Sir Michael Crosby’s lunch.

Presume away.

If you’ll follow me.

Started without you.

Hope you don’t mind.

I’ll catch up.

Same for me, please.

I’ll send the waiter.

No, just pass on the order.

I gather you have an interest in a certain Russian national.

Anglo-Russian.

So I have to watch my step.

Indeed.

He’s tapped into

the intelligence services.

I’ve warned them

he’s feeding them rubbish.

but they don’t seem to care.

Tell me about him.

I assume you’re familiar with the Soviet-era secret cities.

Closed cities, not shown on maps.

Built around sensitive industries.

Most of them have been opened

up and renamed as regular towns.

Not the one Sator grew up in.

Stalsk-12.

In the ’70s, it had a population of about 200,000.

Thought to be abandoned.

Abandoned?

Some kind of accident after which it was used for underground tests.

Two weeks ago, same day as the

Kiev opera siege,

we spotted a detonation in northern Siberia,

just where Stalsk-12 was.

Sator emerged from this blank spot on the map

with ambition.

and enough money to buy his way

into the British establishment.

Through his wife?

Katherine Barton.

Oldest niece of Sir Frederick Barton.

She works at Shipley’s.

Met Sator at an auction.

A happy marriage?

Practically estranged.

Well, how do I get to Sator?

Well, through her, of course.

You may have an inflated idea of my powers of seduction.

Hardly.

We have an ace in the hole.

You’re carrying a Goya in a Harrods bag.

It’s a fake by a Spaniard named Arepo.

One of two we’ve confiscated from an embezzler in Bern.

What happened to the other one?

It turned up at Shipley’s.

Authenticated by Katherine Barton.

Put on auction.

And who do you think bought it?

Her husband?

Mmm-hmm.

Does she know it’s a forgery?

Oh, it’s hard to say.

Rumor has it that she and Arepo were close.

Look, no offense,

but in this world, when someone is claiming to be a billionaire.

Brooks Brothers won’t cut it.

I’m assuming I’m on a budget.

Save the world,

then we’ll balance the books.

Can I recommend a tailor?

I’ll manage.

You British don’t have a monopoly on snobbery, you know.

Well, not a monopoly.

More of a controlling interest.

Could you box that up for me?

Goodbye, Sir Michael.

How can I help, sir?

Sorry, I wasn’t notified of any appointments, Mr..

Goya.

Mr. Goya.

No.

I’m told you’re the person to see about Goya.

That’s extraordinary.

What’s it worth?

Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

Lots of work to do

before any kind of valuation.

Provenance, microscopic

examination, X-rays.

But what does your heart tell you?

Sir, where did you say you acquired this drawing?

Tomas Arepo.

I bought my Goya for cents on a dollar from an irate Swiss banker.

Traced it back to Arepo, then realized I scored a bargain

when he told me who paid top dollar for another one of his pictures.

Your husband.

Where’s your bargain?

Your drawing’s an obvious fake.

My drawing’s a very good fake.

You know that better than anyone.

The information’s the bargain.

The information that I helped

defraud my own husband?

He and I are in related businesses,

but he’s a very hard man to meet.

If you and I were to make an arrangement.

Arrangement?

You mean blackmail.

Don’t be afraid of the word.

My husband isn’t.

I’m sorry to tell you he got there first.

He knows?

And he’s never done anything about it?

Why would he?

He paid $9 million for it.

Barely cover the cost of the holiday he just forced us on.

Where’d you go, Mars?

Vietnam, on our yacht.

His yacht.

You’ve got the suit.

The shoes, the watch.

Think you’re a little out of your depth.

People who’ve amassed fortunes, like your husband’s,generally aren’t okay with being cheated out of any of it.

The drawing is his hold over me.

He threatened me with police.

Prison.

The works.

He controls me.

My contact with my son.

Everything.

Leaving would never have been easy but now it’s impossible.

You can’t fight.

Just beg.

In Vietnam,

I tried to love him again.

Thought if there was love there, he might give me my son back.

We sat on that bloody boat

watching the sunsets,

imitating some earlier time in our lives.

He seemed happy,

so I asked him.

And he made me an offer.

He’d let me go if I agreed

never to see my son again.

I expressed myself.

I took Max ashore.

He called us, contrite.

And when we got back,

I glimpsed some other woman diving off the boat,

and he’d vanished.

I never felt such envy.

You don’t seem the jealous type.

Of her freedom.

You know how I dream

of just diving off that boat?

But you share a son.

That’s my life now.

Did you know the drawing was a fake?

No.

Tomas and I became close,

maybe too close.

I failed.

Andrei can’t conceive of failure, only betrayal.

But I didn’t betray my husband.

Retrospect, maybe I missed my chance.

And he let Arepo walk free.

If you’d actually met Arepo as you claimed,

you’d understand he no longer walks anywhere.

We spoke on the phone.

He can’t do that either.

Where’s the drawing?

Why?

Get me an introduction.

I’ll take the drawing out of the equation.

No picture, no prosecution,

no more hold over you.

I might just be your second chance.

No, I don’t need redemption.

At betrayal.