Monsieur Spade

His partner didn't escape. I let him go.

I didn't see much point in hanging onto him.

The same way there wasn't much point

when I saw you this morning

and telling me that two men had tried to kidnap Teresa?

Did someone get lost?

Apparently so.

Mmm.

Huh?

Psst!

Anybody needs me, I'll be in the pool.

No, you won't. Basam drained all the water out.

What?He's out there right now

scrubbing the plaster with some smelly chemical.

What the hell for?

Something about dead bodies and bad juju.

Hi.

Good morning, Henri.

Can I fix you some breakfast?

No, no, no, thank you. I'm just retracing my steps.

I lost my notebook.You mean the little black book

with the names of all your girlfriends?

It's brown.

Do you remember the last time you had it?

The other day when the body was, you know --

Fucking up my pool.

-Have you seen it? -No.

Teresa: Did you write your name inside?

Henri: No.Next time you really should.

Yes, good idea. I will.

You know, I can write your name in for you...

since your handwriting is a bit slipshod.

Really? You'd do that?

Of course.

How about later we go into town,

and I'll help you pick out a new one?

-That sounds lovely. -Okay, how about the two of you

get the fuck out of here before I chuck my breakfast?

Someone's in a mood because they can't swim in their piscine.

Bye-bye. Au revoir. A bientôt.

Let me just go up and change.

I certainly can't go in my pajamas, can I?

Teresa: Just wait here. I'll be two minutes.

Henri: Great.

Yeah. I already know what I'm gonna wear.

I can't wait.

It's not her I'm worried about.

If only that were enough.

Mademoiselle.

-Merci. -Merci.

Oui.

Patrice. It's Spade.

I found the kid.

Don't ask me how.

You got a pen? Write this down.

Just past the abandoned train station,

there's that dirt track that goes into the woods.

Take the car as far as you can

and then walk to the lake.

I'll meet you at the boat ramp.

Oh, and, uh, Patrice, bring a gun.

Philippe could be somewhere hiding.

Oh, dear.

Well, this is indeed embarrassing.

I saw two of you in the car.

You thought you did.

We only pretend to be idiots.

You do a great job.

Still, you had your suspicions.

I had my somethings.

So, what are you -- MI5, MI6?

Tomato, to-mah-to.

So...

You mind putting that down?

Hmm. Sorry.

So...

just to clarify,

you move in next door, you bug my house.

I'm guessing you're not trying to steal the secrets

to my superb wine.

Mildly superb, I'm afraid.Philippe?

He's not all that superb either.

The kid? Getting warmer.

Why would I know anything about him?

Colder.Teresa?

Ding, ding, ding.

Why would she know anything about him?

Our work relies less on knowledge than proximity.

Sister Angelique?

Imagine our surprise.

We follow one of the kidnappers to a convent.

She doesn't have the child in question.

Isn't actually a nun. So what is she doing there?

Communing with Jesus?

Taking a well-earned break from fornicating?

Waiting. Watching.

Doing what we would do in her situation.

But, again, why there?

So we look at who's in residence.

We start with the good sisters.

But outside the Mother Superior,

whom, I must admit, has a rather colorful background for a nun...

You haven't met some of the nuns I have.

Alas, none of them revealed any connection

to our Algerian wayfarer.

So next we look at the children.

And we discover one young lass who's a bit different

from the others.That's an understatement.

One young lass whose mother was an American,

a convicted murderer and antiquities thief,

and whose father is an officer

in the French Army intelligence service

and just so happens to be --Fucking sociopath.

The other kidnapper.

Oh, sure. That, too.

Naturally, we became very interested in her.

You wanna recruit her,

I'm sure she'd jump at the chance.

As well as the shadowy man

we observed delivering envelopes full of cash

to the convent each week.

Nothing shadowy about it.

I was just doing what I was paid to do,

which is to make sure that young lass was taken care of.

A little above and beyond, don't you think?

Or is your karmic debt really that substantial?

You'rethe spy.

Let's just say your time in San Francisco

made for its own colorful reading.

Then you'll know that I don't want any part of this.

A little late for that, don't you think?

In my experience, a little late usually refers to a lot dead.

So no, I'm happy to step aside.

Well, as they say in Hackney,

in for a penny, in for a pound of flesh.

The flesh in this case being the boy.

You've seen his work, I presume?

The numbers.

Is that all you think they are?

I don't care what they are,

not after I come home and find a dead soldier

clogging my pool filter.

And somehow the problem found you.

And now I want it to lose me.

I want you and Mummy to stop popping up in the vineyard.

And I want Teresa left alone

before she gets shot by someone's bad aim.

Understood?

You are being exceptionally clear.

Good. Very good.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going for a swim.

I gathered from all that "okay, good, very good"

that you grasped your current situation.

That is the second time in two days

that some fucking asshole

got the drop on me.

"The drop." So bloody colorful.

That was tae kwon do.

I spent some time in Korea, the North.

Okay, well done... I guess.

Hm!

What's your rush, dear fellow?

Join us for tea, won't you?

Mr. Spade?

The nanny snuck off with the boy three years ago.

She worked for an Egyptian family

whenever they'd visit Algeria.

Mind you, this is a very large, very wealthy family,

with business interests around the world,

and yet there has been not a noise, nor a sound,

nor hint from them about one of their children being abducted.

-Maybe he wasn't one of theirs. -He wasn't.

From what we can glean, the boy had been passed around

from one high-ranking family to another,

since the day he was born.

Two years ago, we received word out of Tunisia

that an Algerian woman was attempting

to sell a child of great import. Digestive?

An adoption was arranged in Britain with a Saudi national,

but something went amiss.

The woman never showed up, and the child disappeared again.

A full year would pass before there was

another sighting of him -- this time in Algeria.

No better place to hide than in the middle of a war.

Which meant the stakes had risen

to an entirely new level of intensity.

I know her.

You knew her sister --

the nanny, Angelique, the woman pretending to be a nun.

This woman goes by Gazala.

The uniform?FLN.

She's fairly high up the chain in the rebel army.

We think the kidnapping was her idea.

We're not exactly certain why.

Perhaps to raise money for her comrades,

or in exchange for some POWs.

Why would the French agree to that?

Because they want the boy as badly as everyone else.

Because of the numbers thing?

Well, we have come to