Slow Horses

Go.

You lose.

Fine. I lose. Whatever. I'll--

Next one'll go down a lot smoother. I'm just warming up.

You need to relax and open your throat.

Well, I'd be a lot more relaxed

if you hadn't stuck a gun to the back of my head, wouldn't I?

It was a good joke, yes? -Don't worry. I'll get you back.

Don't know how. Maybe I'll just stick a grenade under your pillows. How's that?

This is good. We are bonding.

Same job, different bosses. -Yeah.

So, how long did you know I was following you for then?

Since you got on your bike.

Oh, God. Jesus. That's not embarrassing at all, is it?

Don't feel bad. We do security too.

It's our job to spot people.

Same job, but we are better. -Yeah, yeah.

Hey, by the way, I know now why you didn't want us to,

you know, know you were staying here.

Why do you think that is? -'Cause it's a shithole.

Yes, shithole.

But compared to my place in Moscow, a palace.

Your English is a lot better than it was earlier.

Another toast. -Oh. Okay.

To secret meetings. -Sure. Pravda!

Who's that? -A friend.

Get him to join us.

Not a drinking man.

Then he's not a real man, is he?

What's up?

Nothing. Our friend is tired.

We should bring this night to an end.

One more for good luck.

Pravda.

There it is. It's fine.

I'm fine. I'm fine, thank you. I'm fine. -You sure?

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

That's 'cause you spiked my vodka.

No, we didn't. -Yeah.

Yes, you did. You spiked my vodka with vodka.

See? Right. -Be careful, okay?

Look before you make turns.

Okay, Mum. Thank you very much.

Should I call you a taxi?

No. I'll be-- I'll be fine once I get going.

There you go.

Hi. What can I get you?

Actually, I'm just checking in for the night.

Johnnie Walker?

Yes. Yes, I am.

Sorry, you threw me.

It's-- It's Jonathon, or Jon. It's not Johnnie. Sorry.

Do you get that a lot? -Yeah, mainly in pubs.

Great.

Follow me.

What brings you to Upshott?

I'm a journalist.

I've been writing a piece about village life,

and, Well, Upshott just seemed like the perfect place to start, really.

Who do you write for? Insomniacs Weekly ?

No, The Times .

Yeah. This is lovely.

Well, I can give you the headlines.

Apart from the village pub downstairs and the village shop,

there really is fuck all going on.

Well, where there's people, there's stories.

Boring stories.

No. You ask the right questions, you can normally find something interesting.

You know, everyone has a secret.

Well, don't be asking too many questions.

We tend to sacrifice troublemaking strangers to the Green Man.

I need to get you some towels.

I need to get back downstairs,

but I will leave them outside your door later.

Okay. -Here.

Anything else?

No, no. All good. Thank you.

Okay. I'll see you later, Johnnie Walker.

Just Jon.

How safe do you think River is?

He's gone to the Cotswolds, Standish, not the Helmand Province.

No, I know Dickie's killer isn't in Upshott,

but he must have a contact there.

His Cicada.

Yeah, but that's who I'm hoping to flush out.

The killer's name is likely Chernitsky, by the way.

Doesn't ring any bells.

Well, why would it?

I'm sure you remember what I did before I came here, Jackson.

Yeah, you drank for England.

I was privy to a lot of ops, a lot of high-level intel,

and I'm just saying... I never came across the name Chernitsky.

Well, the Park has a file on him.

So either-- shock, horror-- you're not the big cheese you were making out,

or your mind's starting to go.

It's probably a bit of both.

What's the file say?

Well, it's patchy. There's a-- a few known aliases.

I gave them to Ho.

Shirley's checking Heathrow's CCTV for flights to Estonia.

So, if she spots him,

we'll be able to make a match with whatever passport he used

to see where else he pops up.

Well, if there's a Cicada in Upshott,

he'll yank the alarm cord, and, Chernitsky will pop up there.

River doesn't know he's bait, does he?

Of course he fucking does.

Were you thinkin' I'm a monster?

Lamb.

One of your agents is dead.

Yeah? -Just-- Yeah, just came out of nowhere,

and I just...

All right. You're gonna have to give an official statement.

MI5.

Forensics. They haven't been here yet.

Can you just stand-- -My joe? No, I can't.

Who's going to tell Louisa?

And the only explanation is, he'd been drinking.

God, we had a row. That's why he was drunk.

You can't blame yourself. -Yes, I can.

I know what it's like to lose a colleague that you're close to,

to feel it's your fault--

No, Charles Partner killed himself.

And we weren't just colleagues, Catherine.

There's probably nothing I can-- -No, there isn't.

Do you want me to stay? -No, I don't. Thank you very much.

Can you leave, please?

Hey, Dad.

Just out for a stroll. Thought I'd walk you home.

Who's staying in the guest room?

He's a journalist.

He's writing an article on village life.

Is he a proper journalist, or a pretend one?

Says he works for The Times .

There's no escape.

Hello. -Hi.

So, have you just been here all night then?

No. I come in early to set the bar.

Make a bit of extra cash.

And I--

I lock the door so that the village alcoholics,

by which I mean the villagers, don't, barge in and demand a breakfast lock-in.

Right.

And there you were, telling me that life here is boring, and that--

Well, that just does not sound boring.

What are you up to today?

I don't know.

Thought I might just wander around the village.

Get a feel for the place. -Why don't I come with you?

I can show you around.

Yeah. That would be great. Yeah. -Yeah?

I've got a spare ten minutes.

And then,

would your expenses stretch to a private aircraft?

Yeah. Who's flying?

Me.

So, how long have you lived here?

All my life. -Right.

Well, apart from, three years at uni,

and then I came back here to consider my next move,

which I'm still considering.

And your parents? Did they grow up here too?

No. No, they were incomers.

They moved here from London just before I was born.

And why was that then?

Usual stuff. Swapping the noise and crime for a slower pace of life.

And my dad got into flying.

So... his hobby became his job.

Right. So he's a pilot then?

No, he owns the flying club.

Oh, right, right.

See, that's, That's it.

You fancy an aerial view?

Here.

Hack that.

I wanna know where he went in the last 24 hours.

There's blood on it. Whose is it?

Harper's.

You knew, didn't you?

Yeah.

Shame. He was okay for an average guy.

Fucking hell.

I hope you don't get to write my obit.

Come the fuck in if you're coming.

Sit. -No, I'm fine.

No, you're not.

Okay.

If there's someone you want to talk to...

I'm talking to you.

Well, I think we both know

these kind of conversations are not my forte.

Well, I'm not gonna speak to some shrink at the Park,

if that's what you're suggesting.

Anger already?

Aren't you supposed to go through denial first?

What is it-- Denial, anger, drinking, hmm?

More drinking.

There's something else. I know acceptance comes in somewhere.

I've accepted it. He was an idiot for cycling pissed.

I want you to vouch for me with Webb.