University lecture room. Karl Strasser switches to a new slide on the slide projector.

Strasser: Rembrandt died on the 4th of October 1669. And in his last self-portraits...

The slide shows a Rembrandt self-portrait.

Strasser: I think you see a sense of calm and of resignation. He had known so much turmoil and personal unhappiness.

He walks through his group of students to the front of the class.

Strasser: But at the end he found an acceptance. It was, perhaps, a triumph of art over life. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. We will be visiting Kenwood House on Tuesday. There are still places left. So please let me know if you wish to come. 

University library. Strasser is walking along the central aisle. One of the students chases after him.

Student: Professor Van Haaren. My dissertation. I was wondering if-

Strasser: The portrait of Jan Six? 

Student: Yes. 

Strasser: I'm halfway. Some interesting insights. We'll talk next week. 

Student: Thank you. 

He walks on.

Street. Thomas Nelson is carrying a bag of shopping past the university campus. He climbs a set of steps, limping heavily.

Gateway. Strasser emerges from the university grounds. Across the street, Nelson spots him. He stops and stares.

Flashback. Sunlight in a field of sunflowers. A distant scream. Nelson hurries through the sunflowers.

Present. Nelson stares at Strasser. He drops his shopping.

Nelson: No. No, no, no, no, no. 

He crosses the street, following Strasser. As Strasser walks out into the road, Nelson single-mindedly follows him out, and is knocked down by a car as it screeches to a halt. Strasser walks on as the driver and a few other bystanders check on Nelson, lying in the road.

Man: You all right? 

Nelson groans as the man helps him up.

Man: Come on. 

Driver: You all right? 

Man: How are you? 

Nelson rubs the back of his head.

Nelson: I'm fine. No bones broken. 

Man: Are you sure, really? 

Nelson: Thank you. 

Man: All right. Take it easy. 

Nelson: Thank you. Sorry. 

He hurries on after Strasser.

Flashback. Nelson stumbling through the sunflowers. A glimpse of an SS cap.

OPENING CREDITS

MI5 building. There's the sound of a knock.

Sir Alec (voiceover): Come in, Foyle. 

Foyle walks in to Sir Alec's office, where he sits behind the desk.

Sir Alec: I'm in a quandary. I don't much like it and I doubt you will either, but I inherited it and there's not much I can do about it. It needs tact. Pieter Van Haaren. 

He gestures towards a file folder lying on the table.

Sir Alec: Dutch, educated at the University of Leiden. Expert in Dutch art, particularly Rubens and Rembrandt, now a lecturer in London. That's the cover. 

Foyle: And the reality? 

Sir Alec: Karl Strasser. n*zi. 

Foyle opens the file and sees Strasser's picture.

Sir Alec: SS Brigadefuhrer Karl Strasser was a desk soldier in SS Foreign Intelligence.

He comes over and sits at the table opposite Foyle.

Sir Alec: Arrested in Denmark at the end of the w*r. Since then, he's been an extremely valuable intelligence asset with an almost unrivalled knowledge of Soviet spy networks. It's in the file. 

Foyle: Mm-hmm. 

He sits down.

Sir Alec: He believes that he's in danger. Says someone is planning to k*ll him. 

Foyle: Well, as a n*zi officer in post-w*r Britain, is he surprised? 

Sir Alec: Oh, up to now, his cover's held. He lives in a boarding house, privately owned but controlled by us. In fact, his entire life is carefully regulated. But he keeps his head down, and as far as we can tell, no one even suspects that he's German. 

Foyle: So? 

Sir Alec: Read the file. Meet him. Assess the situation, let me know what you think. It would be annoying to have to move him and change his name, but if there really is any danger, we can't afford to lose him. 

Foyle: I see. 

They stand up and Foyle takes the file.

Sir Alec: And don't let your personal feelings get in the way. He was, after all, a senior German officer. You may not like him. 

Foyle: You may be right. 

Sir Alec: Indeed. Unfortunately, we need him. 

Foyle goes to leave.

Mrs Jones (voiceover): They're smoking f*g. They're rude. 

Adam is meeting with constituents at a table in his office, while Glenvil Harris stands behind him and a secretary works at a smaller desk.

Mrs Jones: Half of them don't even go to school and nobody's doing anything about it. 

Adam: Well, that's, that's not quite true, Mrs Jones. Er, we've looked into this and the report by Dame Myra Curtis will be published very soon. 

Mrs Jones: It's all very well you having reports. But I don't feel safe going out of the house. 

Adam: Well, I'll talk to the police and we'll see if we can get some more officers on the b*at. 

He stands up.

Mrs Jones: Ah.

She stands up too.

Mrs Jones: The trouble is, nobody has any respect anymore. 

Adam: Well, I'll, I'll see what I can do. 

The secretary gets up to escort Jones out.

Secretary: This way, Mrs Jones. 

Mrs Jones: Thank you, dear. 

The two women leave.

Adam: Can we talk to the superintendent? 

Glenvil: I'll make a note, but, er, she was complaining about the police last week, so, er... 

Adam: Is there anyone else? 

Glenvil: One more. He's not a constituent, though, so you don't have to see him. Geoffrey Helliwell. He's come up from Devizes. 

Adam: Wiltshire? 

Glenvil: I know. Bit of a hike. 

Adam: Well, show him in. 

Glenvil goes over to open the door. Geoffrey Helliwell comes in with a file folder.

Adam: Mr Helliwell, has somebody offered you some tea? 

Helliwell: I don't want tea, thank you all the same. 

Adam: Then how can I help you? 

Helliwell: I want back what is mine. 

He starts taking documents out of the folder.

Later. Helliwell is sitting across from Adam at the table.

Helliwell: There was a compulsory purchase order in 1938. The farmhouse, the land, the whole works. The RAF needed it, a thousand acres for b*mb practice. 

Adam: Well, it was the w*r. 

Helliwell: I didn't argue. I was glad to do my bit. But I made it very clear. It was only for the duration, then I'd buy it back. That's what we agreed. 

Adam: I wrote to you, Mr Helliwell. As I understand it, the land had risen in value. 

Helliwell: Doubled in value. In eight years? That's not possible. 

Adam: There must have been an independent valuation. 

Helliwell: Well, just how independent was it? That's what I want to know. Your a minister, Mr Roper, won't tell me. Why is he hiding behind you? 

Glenvil: You need to understand, this is a local surgery for issues relating to West Peckham. 

Helliwell: That's what they all say. "Not my business!"

He stands up and starts packing his papers away.

Adam: Mr Helliwell. Where are you staying? 

Helliwell: Kensington. Maythorpe Hotel. 

Adam: I'll talk to Mr Roper. I'm sure it's more straightforward than you think. 

Helliwell: You lot think you can get away with this, but let me tell you, I know there's something dirty going on. I can smell it. 

He leaves.

Doctor Phillips' office.

Phillips (offscreen): Well, thank you very much, Mrs Wainwright, and I'll see you next Wednesday. 

Sam leaves the office and Phillips follows her out into the waiting room.

Phillips: We'll have the results of your tests by then. And in the meantime, you look after yourself. 

Sam: Thank you, doctor. 

She walks away.

Phillips: Miss Browne? 

Browne (offscreen): Hello, Doctor. 

MI5 building. Sam is waiting in the corridor. Foyle comes up behind her.

Foyle: Hello. How was it? 

Sam: I'm sorry? 

Foyle: The dentist. 

Sam: Yes. Absolutely fine, sir. All in order. 

Foyle: Good. 

Outside. Sam and Foyle emerge from the building.

Foyle: How's Adam? 

Sam: Busy. 

Foyle: Enjoying it? 

Sam: Well, he is. Truth is, I hardly see him now that he's become a private secretary. I always used to tell him about my work. These days, I feel if I open my mouth I'll get carted off and arrested. 

Foyle: Well, he'd understand that, wouldn't he? 

Sam: He doesn't even notice. He's got the minister, his party manager, his constituents. He hardly has any time left for me. 

Brecon Street. Sam and Foyle drive up to Strasser's boarding house and get out of the car.

Sam: So what is this place? A nest of spies? 

Foyle: Yep. But they're our spies. 

He knocks on the door.

Sam: Ah. Well, that's all right, then. 

Brenda Stevens opens the door.

Stevens: Yes? 

Foyle: Good morning. I'm looking for a Professor Van Haaren. 

Stevens: He's not here. If you want to see the professor, you should come back when the library's closed. 

Foyle: I see. 

Stevens: Yes. He likes his books, the professor. Old paintings and painters. Can't see the fascination myself. Who shall I say called? 

Foyle: The name's Foyle. He can reach me any time on this number.

He hands her a card.

Stevens: And what's this about? It's just that he doesn't get that many visitors, Herr Van Haaren. Likes to keep himself to himself, know what I mean? 

Sam, peering through the doorway, notices an older man, Mr Parry-Jones, watching them.

Foyle: You'll find he's expecting me. 

Foyle: Right. 

Sam: How many people live here? 

Stevens: Three tenants. Three rooms. If you're looking for somewhere, I'm afraid you're out of luck. 

Sam: No. No, just wondering. 

Stevens: Just nosy. I don't mean to be rude. We're not very sociable here. Just the way we are. 

Foyle: Do tell him I called. 

Stevens: If I see him, I'll let him know. 

She closes the door.

Sam: Professor Van Haaren? Bet that's not his real name. 

Foyle: Why d'you say that? 

Sam: I don't know. Suppose I don't trust anyone anymore. 

Foyle: Does that include me? 

Sam: You and Adam, about the only people I do trust. 

They both get into the car.

Sam: Did you notice there was someone watching you? 

Inside. Stevens reads the card Foyle gave her and sets it down. Parry-Jones stands watching from the other end of the hallway.

Parry-Jones: What was all that? 

Stevens: Said his name was Foyle. 

Parry-Jones: I know, I heard. 

He walks over to pick up the card.

Parry-Jones: What does he want? 

He looks at the card.

Parry-Jones: This phone number's Leconfield House. I wonder if they know. 

Stevens: Know what? 

Parry-Jones: About you and the professor. 

Stevens: How would they know about that? Unless you told them. 

Parry-Jones: I'm on your side, Brenda. Let's face it, we both want the same thing. 

Stevens: And what's that? 

Parry-Jones: We want him d*ad. 

She turns and heads up the stairs.

Westminster. Adam is talking with another man in Charles Roper's office, while a secretary types at a side desk.

Man: Mmm.

Roper walks into the room.

Roper: Mutinies? They're not mutinies, they're strikes! You can't go sh**ting members of the Royal Air Force. The grievance is real! Thank you, Adam. Anything else? I've got a briefing. 

Adam brings a file over to his desk.

Adam: Actually, minister, there is one thing. I, er, I had a visitor at my surgery, from Geoffrey Helliwell. 

Roper: Helliwell? Helliwell. 

Adam: From Devizes. 

Roper: The man with the land. Without the land. He wants it back. What's this? 

He opens the file Adam put on his desk.

Adam: To sign. 

Roper: Yes, I had a look at the original contract. The agreement to buy back was at the current market value. 

He signs the document and Adam takes it back.

Roper: It's what was agreed, and it was assessed by the local district valuer.

Adam: George Gibson. 

Roper: You been into the files? 

Adam: I thought I should take a look. You don't mind? 

Roper: No, not at all. You can go round to his hotel and buy him a drink if you like. You'll be wasting your time. The land isn't even with this department anymore. It was transferred to Ag and Fish. 

Adam: Could we do that? 

Roper: Absolutely. Right now, maximising food production is this country's number one priority. Practically an emergency. I don't, don't need to tell you that. 

Adam: Yes, sir. Sorry. 

Roper takes his coat to leave the office.

Roper: Do you want me to write to him? 

Adam: No, minister. I'm sorry. There's really no need. 

Roper: Right, in that case, concentrate on these strikes. See, the fact is, I'm inclined to sympathise. We really should be bringing back these pilots and aircrew from Karachi and Delhi now before the whole thing blows up in our faces. I'm a lone voice, of course. 

He leaves. The man Adam was talking with approaches him with another folder.

Man: Adam. Problems? 

Maythorpe Hotel, Kensington. Helliwell is just leaving the building. As he sticks a cigarette in his mouth, two men approach him.

Man: Got a light, mate? 

The second man shoves Helliwell down a set of basement stairs, and they follow him down, the second man holding a hammer in his hand.

MI5 building, Foyle's office. As Foyle hangs his coat up, Valentine chuckles from the doorway.

Valentine: So, you pulled Strasser. Bad luck. 

Foyle: D'you know him? 

Valentine: Not really, no. You should talk to Miss Pierce. He was one of hers. 

Foyle: Well, doesn't surprise me. 

Valentine: He helped break up Red Five. 

Foyle: And what's that? 

Valentine: Oh, it's, erm, it's a Soviet network operating mainly out of Sweden, but it had its supporters here. I can pull out some files for you if you like. 

Foyle: Thank you. Did you ever meet him? 

Valentine: I was in the same room but we didn't speak. He was a big noise in the counterintelligence service of the Sicherheitsdienst. Formidable knowledge of Soviet spy technique. I didn't like him. I found him arrogant. Well, they all are. 

Foyle: And no active service? 

Valentine: Apparently not. Spent the w*r behind a desk. Saw which way the wind was bl*wing, then hotfooted it up to Copenhagen just before Jerry packed it in. Have you met him yet? 

Foyle: I've met his landlady. 

Valentine: Oh. Brenda Stevens. She used to work here on the switchboard. She inherited the house from her mother. She keeps an eye on some of the waifs and strays from SOE. She's useful. There's such a shortage of rooms in London. 

Foyle: Does she know who he really is? 

Valentine: Well, none of them do. 

He leaves, closing the door behind him.

Hospital. Adam follows a nurse into a ward where Helliwell is a patient, his right leg in plaster. He sits up, groaning in pain. Adam approaches him.

Adam: May I? 

He takes a seat beside the bed.

Helliwell: How'd you find me? 

Adam: I telephoned the hotel and they told me what had happened. Then I spoke to the police. 

Helliwell: They say it was straightforward robbery with v*olence. They took my wallet with £10, and my watch. 

Adam: You think differently? 

Helliwell: Well, it's quite a coincidence, wouldn't you say? I come down complaining to you and the next thing I know, I'm in here. 

Adam: Mr Helliwell, if I may say so, that is a ridiculous assertion. 

Helliwell: Is it? 

Adam: Apart from anything else, I didn't tell anyone where you were staying. 

Helliwell: That's what you say. 

Adam takes a card out of his pocket.

Adam: Here's my telephone number. 

He offers it, then sets it down on the nightstand when Helliwell fails to take it.

Adam: If there's anything I can do for you...

Helliwell: You'll be the first person I'll call. 

Adam stands up to leave.

Sam (voiceover): How is he? 

Adam (voiceover): Well, he's a bit shaken up. 

Sam (voiceover): I'm sure. 

The two of them walk down the hospital staircase together.

Sam: It's terrible. Did he have anything to say? 

Adam: He wasn't too pleased to see me. 

Sam: You don't think there's anything dodgy going on, do you? 

Adam: I don't know, Sam. Charles Roper's a good man. I've never met anyone more dedicated to his work. He's been very kind to me. 

Sam: But? 

Adam: Well, he can't have had anything to do with this, but the land doubling in value? It just- it just doesn't make any sense. 

Sam: Well, farmland, food. That could be worth quite a bit, couldn't it? 

Adam: I suppose so. 

Sam: You said there was a local land valuer. 

Adam: George Gibson, but he's left Devizes. I wouldn't know where to start. 

Sam: I could help you find him. It goes with the job. I can find out anything about anybody. I could even find out about you. 

Adam: And what secrets do you think I'm keeping from you, Mrs Wainwright? 

Sam laughs a little as a nurse passes them in the stairwell, then steps closer.

Sam: Seriously. Adam, if you're thinking it wasn't just a robbery... 

She turns and heads on down the stairs and he follows.

Hillstead School. Teacher Miss Watkins ushers a group of schoolboys up the steps into the building.

Watkins: Quick, quick. 

Thomas Nelson is just coming round the corner of the building. She stops at the top of the steps as she sees him. A group of boys run past Nelson laughing, and he swings round, startled by the noise.

Watkins: Boys, no running! 

As the boys move away, Nelson smiles and takes his hat off.

Nelson: Miss Watkins. 

Watkins: Mr Nelson. So good to see you. 

They shake hands.

Inside. He follows her through the corridors.

Watkins: Mr Wilson is back. And Mr Hennessey. You remember him? 

Nelson: Of course. 

Watkins: His production of Julius Caesar with 2A, very ambitious. 

A group of boys approaches them, giggling, and she raises her voice, startling Nelson again.

Watkins: Is that a sweet in your mouth, Simmonds? 

The boys hurriedly take their caps off.

Simmons: Yes, Miss Watkins. 

Watkins: Spit it out, please, and put it in a handkerchief. You know the rules. 

Simmons: Yes, Miss Watkins. 

Watkins: Here we are. 

She knocks on a door and opens it for him.

Headmaster (voiceover): It's good to have you back again, Nelson. 

The two of them sit down at the desk. There's a painting of sunflowers on the wall behind the headmaster.

Headmaster: 1C hasn't been the same without you. 

Nelson: Er, thank you, Headmaster. 

Headmaster: When did you get back? 

Nelson: Er, it's, erm... it's been a year now, sir. 

He notices the painting.

Nelson: Er, fifteen months. But I, erm... I wasn't well. 

Headmaster: Wounded? 

Nelson: Yes. Yes, quite... 

He clears his throat.

Nelson: Quite badly. Er, er, September of '44. In, er, in France. 

He focuses on the painting of sunflowers.

Flashback. A spider spinning a web on a sunflower.

Present.

Headmaster (offscreen): You're looking very fit. 

Nelson: Oh, they, er managed to patch me up. But it's, erm... it's still been, erm, slow. 

Headmaster: Yes, well, I can understand. And you're, er... 

Flashback to the sunflowers.

Present.

Headmaster: You're still living with your sister? 

Nelson: Yes. She's, er, she's putting me up. She, she was the one who, who, who, who told me to write. 

Headmaster: We'd be very happy to welcome you back to Hillstead. As it happens...

Flashback. An SS officer moving through the sunflowers, searching.

Headmaster (voiceover): ...there might be a position for a junior French master. 

Present.

Headmaster: And music, of course. You still playing? 

Nelson: Erm, sometimes. 

He can't stop his eyes from repeatedly flicking up to the painting.

Headmaster: Quite a number of the staff delayed their retirement for the duration of the w*r. 

The sun shines through a gap in the curtains, and Nelson begins to pant for breath.

Flashback. The silhouette of the SS officer looms through the sunflowers.

Present. Nelson clutches at his face.

Flashback. The swastika on the officer's uniform looms closer.

Present.

Headmaster: Are you all right? 

Nelson pants for several more moments before he gets control over himself.

Nelson: Yeah, I just, er, get, erm... er, headaches now, now and then. 

Headmaster: Maybe it would be better if you had a little more rest before you return to the fray, hmm? Shall we, er... shall we leave it at that? 

Nelson: Yes, Headmaster. 

MI5 building. There's the sound of a knock.

Charlotte (voiceover): Mr Foyle?

She enters Foyle's office, where he's sitting at the desk.

Charlotte: I've just had a call from Professor Van Haaren. He asked if you might meet him this evening at the university library after his lecture. 

Foyle: What did you say? 

Charlotte: I said you'd be there. I would have asked Mrs Wainwright, but she seems to have left early. 

Foyle: What time this evening? 

Charlotte: Seven o'clock. 

Foyle: All right. 

She leaves.

University library. Strasser sits at a table, working. He looks up at the sound of the doors as Foyle walks in. He waits as Foyle approaches his table.

Strasser: Mr Foyle? 

Foyle: Yes. 

Strasser stands up.

Strasser: I am so glad to meet you.

Foyle tips his head, but doesn't otherwise respond.

Strasser: Please. 

He gestures Foyle towards his table.

Strasser: Jan Six. The son of a merchant. A magistrate. 

He looks at a reproduction of the painting.

Strasser: The mayor of Amsterdam. And yet immortalised by this portrait painted in 1654. You are familiar with the works of Rembrandt? 

Foyle: Not part of my brief. 

Strasser sits down.

Strasser: I am sure this is not easy for you. It is not easy for me either to ask you for help, for protection. 

Foyle: I understand that's what you want. 

Strasser: I'm aware that I have few friends here, but given that I have been of service to you, surely it is not too much to ask that you should consider whether I am safe. 

Foyle: Well, apparently, that's why I'm here. 

He sits down.

Strasser: You have read my file? 

Foyle: Yes. 

Strasser: I studied art history in Hamburg. 

Foyle: And law. 

Strasser: Very good. 

Foyle: And joined the SS in '33. 

Strasser: Yes. I saw the way the wind was bl*wing, Mr Foyle. Perhaps that has been true of my whole life. The book burning, the persecution, the Volksgericht... people's court. I make no apology. I had to survive. First counterintelligence, later in the Reich's main security office. You would have been too old to fight, I imagine. But perhaps you had a son. 

Foyle: Have you been thr*at? 

Strasser: Not thr*at. Not yet. 

Foyle: Protection from what, then? 

Strasser: I have become aware of a man who has been following me. I cannot describe him to you for he has always been too far away and he disappears the moment I turn around. But I have seen him four or five times. 

Foyle: How d'you know it's the same man? 

Strasser: There is something about his gait, the way he stands. 

Foyle: Is he in uniform? 

Strasser: No. A suit. Mufti, I believe, is the correct word. 

Foyle: And he's not approached you? 

Strasser: No. But in the last week, there have been telephone calls at the hostel and here at the library. When I answer, there's silence at the other end. And then, two days ago... 

He takes an envelope out of his pocket and tips out a b*llet, which he places in front of Foyle.

Strasser: Delivered to the hostel. It is live. 

Foyle picks it up.

Foyle: Well, this is standard issue, which is perhaps not a surprise. Obviously someone has recognised you. 

Strasser: He makes his point very clear. 

Foyle: Presumably there's a g*n to go with the b*llet. I wonder why he hasn't used it. It would seem to, erm, have saved a lot of trouble. 

Strasser: Perhaps I have not given him the opportunity. 

Foyle: How d'you get from here to the hostel? 

Strasser: Sometimes I walk. Sometimes I drive. So, what will you do? 

Foyle: Well, there doesn't appear to be very much I can do. 

He stands up.

Foyle: I mean, it might be best if you were to move or change your name, maybe? 

Strasser: That would be inconvenient. That would be impossible. 

Foyle: What do you suggest? 

Strasser stands up.

Strasser: Find this man. Arrest him if you must. Find out what it is that he has against me. 

Foyle: I'll see what I can do. 

He turns to leave.

Strasser: Is that all? 

Foyle: Er, for the moment, yes. 

MI5 building, night. A car drives up to the entrance and two Americans get out, Lieutenant General Hoyt Jackson and Ray Donovan. They head into the building.

Sir Alec's office. He's at his desk with Pierce, and stands up as the two men are escorted in.

Donovan: Sir Alec. 

Jackson: Lieutenant General Hoyt Jackson, Army-Navy Communications Intelligence Board. I, er, think you know Ray Donovan from the embassy. 

Pierce: Yes, we have met.

She shakes hands with Donovan.

Donovan: Good to see you again, Miss Pierce. 

Sir Alec: How can we help you gentlemen? 

Jackson: I'll get straight to the point, Sir Alec. Karl Strasser. 

Donovan: SS Brigadefuhrer Karl Strasser. 

Jackson: Our Department of Justice wants him. 

Sir Alec: Miss Pierce? 

Pierce: I can't say I'm familiar with the name. 

Jackson: Then let me refresh your memory. You picked him up in Roskilde in June last year and spirited him back to England. You spent a year interrogating him and since then you've been using him for intelligence. He may be in London, I don't know, but you do. And I'd be very grateful if you could expedite an interview with him at the earliest opportunity. 

Sir Alec: As I am sure both you gentlemen are aware, I was not part of this organisation last June. 

Jackson: With respect, sir, you are now. 

He eyes Pierce.

Jackson: And I'm sure you were given a full assessment of the situation. 

Donovan: Of course, it's always possible he could be using another name. 

Jackson: But if that were the case, one of you would have given him that name. 

Sir Alec: I'll look into it. 

Donovan: Sir Alec, you haven't even asked why we want Strasser. 

Sir Alec: Do I need to know? 

Donovan: Well, sir- 

Sir Alec: No, I did not think so. 

He sits down at his desk to go back to his work. The two Americans leave.

Hallway. The two of them walk back out of the building.

Jackson: He's in charge. She pulls the strings. 

Donovan: Hard as nails. 

Jackson: The bitch. 

Sir Alec's office.

Sir Alec: I have to say that I am very unhappy with this situation, Miss Pierce. I dislike having to lie. 

Pierce: To them? 

Sir Alec: To anyone. You say my predecessor went along with this arrangement? 

Pierce: Professor Van Haaren is very useful to us, Sir Alec. 

Sir Alec: He'd better be. 

Brecon Street, night. Strasser is sitting in his car. He lights a cigarette and gets out and heads into the boarding house.

Entrance hall. Strasser closes the front door and heads towards the staircase. Parry-Jones is just on his way down.

Parry-Jones: Oh. It's you. 

Strasser: You're up late, Mr Parry-Jones. 

They pass each other on the stairs.

Parry-Jones: I can't sleep. I can never bloody sleep. I wonder why. 

Strasser's room. He lets himself in and takes his coat off before turning the lamp on. A dried sunflower has been left on the bed.

Flashback to the field of sunflowers. Strasser pushes one aside with his gloved hand.

Cut back to the present. He lifts the dried sunflower to look at it, then tosses it back down on the bed.

Downstairs, next day. Strasser stands in the lounge as Foyle goes to look at the dried sunflower left on the dining room table.

Strasser: Somebody broke into my room while I was in the library with you. It was on my bed. 

Foyle: Any significance to this? 

Strasser: The significance is that the door was locked and only I have the key. 

Foyle: What significance might there be to this? 

Strasser: Sunflower - it was the name of an operation in Northern France. Near Mortain. Sonnenblume. An attempt to hold back the American advance. 

Foyle: And you were there? 

Strasser: It had nothing to do with the SS. It was planned by the OKW, the Oberkommando der Wehrmacht. It was in August, 1944. There were a great many casualties. American, English... and German. 

Foyle: Who else was here last night? 

Strasser: Mr Parry-Jones. He came downstairs as I arrived. Mr Tchorek. He's Polish, speaks no English. He was asleep, I believe. And Mrs Stevens, she was also in the house. 

Foyle: Do you have a window in your room? 

Strasser leads Foyle up the stairs and unlocks the room for him to look around. Foyle goes over to look at the window.

Foyle: Well, this, erm... doesn't lock. 

Strasser: I'm aware of that. 

Foyle: Easy enough to get in here. 

Strasser: They'd still need to know the location of my room, and for that, they would have been told by someone inside. 

Foyle: You mean someone here? 

Strasser: Or someone inside your organisation, Mr Foyle. 

Foyle: How well do you get on with the other residents? 

Strasser: I keep myself to myself. 

Foyle: Yeah, probably wise. 

Strasser: Why do you ask me these foolish questions, Mr Foyle? This is what I warned you would happen. First the phone calls, then the b*llet and now... that. 

Foyle: Well, a flower on the bed hardly constitutes a death thr*at. 

Strasser: A sunflower, Mr Foyle! It is a provocation. Let me assure you, this man knows where I am. He's telling me he can reach me. Next time, maybe soon, he will make his move. 

Foyle: Mm-hmm. 

Outside. Sam is waiting by the car as Parry-Jones and Edward Tchorek leave the building together. They pass Sam, and Parry-Jones turns back.

Parry-Jones: You waiting for someone? 

Sam: Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. 

Parry-Jones: And who would that be? 

Sam: Do you live here? 

Parry-Jones: I board here. Wouldn't quite call it living. I recognise the car. Are you with Mr Foyle? 

Sam: I'm his driver, yes. 

Parry-Jones: Leconfield House. Don't worry, we're on the same side. I don't suppose you're interested in dinner tonight? 

Sam: Yes, I am, very interested, but not with you, I'm afraid. 

Parry-Jones: Shame. 

He walks on. Tchorek says something in Polish and Parry-Jones responds in the same language. Sam shakes her head to herself.

Boarding house dining room. Foyle is standing with Brenda Stevens as she lays the table.

Stevens: You should have told me who you were, Mr Foyle. I'd have been more helpful. 

Foyle: Yes, I'm sure. So, erm... heard nothing? Erm, any visitors last night? 

Stevens: I was in bed by nine. Jewel and Warriss on the wireless and a cup of cocoa. That was it for me. 

Foyle: You'd have a key to his room, wouldn't you? 

Stevens: Of course. I hardly know Professor Van Haaren. I don't know anything about him. I make it my business not to know, and nobody at the service tells me anything. 

Foyle: And the other tenants? 

Stevens: Mr Tchorek and Mr Parry-Jones? Same. If you want to talk to them, they'll be down at the Coach and Horses on Evening Street, playing chess. 

Foyle: Have you ever been to Holland? 

Stevens: What's that got to do with anything? 

Foyle: Have you? 

Stevens: My husband's Dutch. We met in Amsterdam. I had a job at the Metropole Hotel, then we came back here. He was k*lled in the w*r. Run over in the blackout, silly sod. Never saw active service. 

Foyle: The tenants, er, have no idea of your connection with us? 

Stevens: Of course not. I'm just the landlady, that's all. If anything strange happens, anything unusual, I report back. 

Foyle: Like this, for example? 

He gestures to the sunflower on the table.

Stevens: That was very strange, definitely. 

Foyle: Anything else? 

Stevens: The nurse. 

Foyle: The nurse? 

Stevens: I put in a report two weeks ago. A young woman came calling. In her twenties. Blonde. Quite a pretty girl. She said she was looking for a room and I do get a quite few people knocking at the door, but we got nattering and it seemed to me she was more interested in the professor. Asked about him, just like you. 

Foyle: A nurse where? 

Stevens: Uniform of St Mary's, Paddington. 

Street outside. Foyle stands talking with Sam.

Foyle: Go to the hospital, see what you can find out. 

Sam: Yes, sir. 

Stevens is standing in the doorway, and Sam turns to her.

Sam: Erm, you're sure it was St Mary's? 

Stevens: I lived round the corner once. I'd know it anywhere. 

Sam: And you'd recognise her again? 

Stevens: Yes. 

Sam: Would you be able to point her out to me? 

Stevens: Yes. 

Sam: Right. 

She and Foyle turn to leave.

Adam (voiceover): Sir, these are the notes for the broadcast later tonight. 

Roper (voiceover): Thank you. 

He and Adam walk through into his office.

Roper: You see, the problem is one of perception. Our RAF boys are out there in India and we tell them we can't bring them all home just now, they're preserving our regional interests. 

Adam: Quite. 

Roper: But what they see is ships reserved for GI brides and ships supplying the East Indies.

A man hands Roper a note.

Man: Sir. 

Roper: While they're stuck there with malaria and dysentery and all the rest of it. No wonder they're angry. 

He looks at the note and sighs.

Adam: You all right, sir? 

Roper: Yes, I'm all right, I'm just... I never thought government, at least if you want to change anything, would be so bloody complicated. No wonder the Tories prefer the status quo. It's more relaxing. You can send this. Well done. 

He picks up a file and hands it to Adam.

Adam: Thank you. 

Roper: Did you hear anymore from that chap Helliwell? 

Adam: Er, no, sir. 

He leaves.

Typing pool. Charlotte walks through the room. Sam looks up from her desk as she passes.

Sam: Charlotte, I wonder if you could help me? 

Charlotte: Typewriter jammed again? 

Sam: No. I'm, I'm trying to find someone. It's, it's for Mr Foyle. He's trying to find their whereabouts. 

Charlotte: Who is it? 

Sam: His name is George Gibson. He was a land valuer in Devizes, but he's moved. That's all we know. 

Charlotte: Well, it should be simple enough. You can look at the electoral rolls, tax records, ID cards. And if he's moved, then he'll have left a change of address with the Post Office. 

She walks back to her desk, then looks back at Sam.

Charlotte: I'll check it out for you. 

Coach and Horses pub. Foyle walks through to the back room where Parry-Jones and Tchorek are playing chess.

Later. Foyle is seated at their table with them.

Parry-Jones: Foyle. Christopher Foyle. I feel I know the name. Hill House. It was a training centre. You were there briefly. 

Foyle: And you were SOE? 

Parry-Jones: That's right. Baker Street with Gubbins till the bitter end. You were a policeman, I recall. 

Foyle: Well, that's right. 

Parry-Jones: Never forget a name or a face. Goes with the training. But I can't help you, Mr Foyle. And he certainly can't. 

He says something in Polish, and Tchorek makes a move on the chessboard. Parry-Jones makes a move of his own and says something else to him.

Parry-Jones: He doesn't speak a word of English. Shall I tell you something rather rum? He was fluent once. When I first met him - that was at Hill House - he could've passed as a country squire. But now it's all gone. Not a word. What do you make of that? 

Foyle: That's very strange. 

Parry-Jones: Yes. It does strange things to you, being captured and tortured by the n*zi. 

He speaks to Tchorek again.

Foyle: As ex-SOE, would an operation called Sunflower mean anything to you? 

Parry-Jones: Sunflower? 

Foyle: Mmm. Well, actually, erm, Sonnenblume. It was a German operation in Northern France a couple of years ago. 

Parry-Jones: No. Never heard of it. What's the connection? I thought you were investigating a break-in. 

Foyle: Well, whoever broke in left behind a sunflower in the professor's room. 

Parry-Jones: Strange gift for a man studying Rembrandt, don't you think? More appropriate for someone researching Van Gogh. 

MI5 building. Pierce is just leaving the building when the Americans' car drives up and the two of them get out.

Pierce: Colonel Jackson. 

Jackson: Miss Pierce. I was wondering if you had time to reflect on our last night's conversation? 

Pierce: I think you should talk to Sir Alec. 

Donovan: Sir Alec will do what you tell him to do. I think we all know that. 

Pierce: I can't help you. 

Jackson: I want Strasser. I want him Stateside. I want you to know I'm not gonna let you stand in the way. 

Pierce: I understand. 

Donovan: I'm not sure you do. 

Jackson: Any lack of cooperation on your part would be out of keeping with the communication intelligence agreement, BRUSA, we signed with you last March. We could terminate that agreement. 

Pierce: I see. 

Jackson: I'll go further. It might also seriously compromise the various loans being discussed by my government with yours. 

He and Donovan walk back towards the car, then he turns back.

Jackson: I know Strasser's useful to you, but we're not gonna let you protect him. 

Pierce walks on as they get in and drive away.

Cherry House, a high block of flats with external walkways and staircases. Children playing outside squeal.

Woman (offscreen): Billy! Billy! Billy! Get up here now. Come right upstairs!

A dog barks.

Mary Nelson's flat. Her brother sits at the table.

Woman (offscreen): What are you doing?

Mary walks in to the room in her nurse's uniform.

Mary: I'm off, then. 

She collects her plate and cup from the table and carries them back out.

Mary: What are you going to do today? Maybe you'll hear from Mr Leonard. You said the interview went well. 

He's silent as she tidies the bed behind him.

Mary: Tommy... 

She goes over and sits by him. His breakfast is still sitting untouched in front of him.

Mary: You know I hate leaving you like this, but I have to go to work, for the both of us. It's all the fault of this beastly w*r. I wish you'd never gone. 

He suddenly slams his hand on the table, making her jump.

Mary: Oh! Maybe... Maybe you should think about going back to Norton. You were happier there. We could write to Doctor Trevelyan. 

He covers her hand with his.

Nelson: I'm all right. 

Mary: Of course you are.

She stands up to go.

Mary: Come looking for lunch if you fancy it, twelve o'clock. Otherwise, I won't be late. 

She leaves.

Outside. A girl and two boys are outside the door of the next flat as Mary comes out of hers.

Girl: Come on! 

Boy: Come on! Keep doing it. Come on!

The other boy knocks on the door of the flat, and then all three of them run away past Mary.

Lobby. Mary leaves the block of flats and walks down the front steps.

Mary's flat. Nelson stands up from the table.

Nelson: Ow.

He limps over to sit down on the bed. Then he reaches under the mattress and pulls out a wrapped revolver. He picks it up and contemplates it for a few moments.

Later. Nelson peers out through the net curtains. Then he takes the g*n from the bed.

Outside. Nelson leaves the flat and hurries down the outside stairs.

Cranston (voiceover): How many RAF personnel do we now have in the Muar Camp in Kuala Lumpur...

Roper sits in front of a BBC microphone, being interviewed by Cranston live on air.

Cranston (offscreen): ...and the Tel el-Kebir Camp in Egypt? 

Roper: I believe the figure is about 30,000 in total. 

Cranston: And you would deplore the reports that have been coming in. No washing facilities. Water in the tents. 

Roper: Yes. 

Cranston: Mud everywhere. 

Roper: Yes, of course, Mr Cranston, the conditions are deplorable. And my ministry's efforts are-

Cranston: Would you use the word 'mutiny' to describe the men's action? 

Roper: Absolutely not. I would say they have a grievance and should be listened to. 

Outside. Roper is leaving the building with Adam.

Roper: What do you think? 

Adam: I thought it went very well. You sounded concerned. 

Roper: I am concerned. 

Adam: I meant you managed to handle the issue of the strikes perfectly. 

Roper: Yeah, an impertinent question. What does he think we're trying to do? 

As they head towards their car, Helliwell lurches out from behind a pillar on crutches.

Helliwell: Roper! 

Adam: Mr Helliwell. 

Roper: It's all right, Adam. 

Helliwell: Yeah, it's all right. What d'you think I'm going to do? h*t him with my crutches? 

Roper: Mr Helliwell, what can I do for you? 

Helliwell: I just want you to know that this isn't over. You can lie to me, you can set your thugs on me, but one day I'll get to the truth about my land. I promise you. 

He turns to go, and Adam holds the car door open for Roper.

Roper: Thugs? 

He gets into the car. Adam closes the door and watches Helliwell for a moment before heading round to get in the front.

University library. Foyle meets with Strasser as he's leaving the building.

Strasser: Thank you for coming. 

Foyle: Well, you asked to see me. 

Strasser: I cannot concentrate on my work while all this is happening. I have to know what you have done, what you have found out. 

Foyle: Well, very little. I spoke to the other residents, er, and to the landlady. 

Strasser: Mrs Stevens. 

Foyle: Yes. 

They walk out through the gate into the street.

Strasser: I wonder... what do you think about her? She's an attractive woman. 

Foyle: Well, she couldn't tell me much. Neither could the others. The truth is, there's little more I can do. 

Strasser: So what do you suggest? 

Foyle: Well, the same as I suggested the last time. Erm, your best advice is to move. 

Strasser: I told you, I do not wish to do that. I fly to France, to Holland, to Denmark. I hide for a month, a year. This has already been offered to me. How does it help? 

They stop by Strasser's car.

Foyle: Well, the further away you are the better, I'd say. 

Strasser: You have not helped. You have done nothing! 

Foyle: That's a fair assessment. 

Strasser moves to open the car door when a sh*t shatters the opposite window. He and Foyle both duck down behind the car. Strasser yells in pain. There are five more sh*ts, and then Foyle rises up a little to peer through the car windows. He sees the g*n just being withdrawn from over the wall opposite. Strasser pulls his left glove off to push the sleeve back from his opposite wrist. He has a flesh wound close to where he's tattooed with an ID number on his inner arm.

Strasser: Gottverdamt, this is your fault! You do nothing! Now you see! 

Foyle: How bad is it? 

Strasser: Just a scratch. Now, Mr Foyle, will you do something?

St Mary's hospital. Mary Nelson is just leaving by the service entrance together with another nurse.

Mary: But I have to hurry now. My brother's expecting me.

Nurse: Okay. I'll see you later, then?

Sam and Brenda Stevens are watching from across the street.

Stevens: That's her there with blonde hair. 

Mary parts from her friend and walks off down the street.

Sam: Thank you, Mrs Stevens. 

She starts to follow Mary. Stevens watches her for a moment, then turns to go.

Street. Mary walks out through an archway. A few moments later Sam emerges too, following her at a safe distance

Cherry House. Mary walks up the front steps and into the building. Sam follows her up and looks through the glass doors, then turns and goes back down.

MI5 building. Foyle is walking through the corridors and passes Valentine.

Valentine: Where have you been? How's Strasser? 

Foyle: He'll survive. 

Valentine: Not for much longer, the way things are going on. 

Foyle: What do you know about him? 

Valentine: I told you. 

Foyle: No, I mean really know? 

Valentine: Listen, I'm not gonna pretend I like having you here. I never thought it was a good idea to recruit a policeman. You don't fit in, but between you and me, I'm not always proud of what we get up to here either and, quite frankly, I despise the idea of protecting a bloody n*zi. Hmm. That's not why I joined intelligence. 

Foyle: You haven't answered the question. 

He goes to walk on. Valentine chuckles.

Valentine: Sir Alec wants to see you. The building's in uproar. 

Sir Alec's office. Valentine is just closing the door behind him and Foyle.

Sir Alec: This situation is out of control. A sh**t in London. It's not Chicago. This is intolerable. 

Foyle: I agree. 

Sir Alec: And no arrest? Well, you must have some idea of what's going on. 

Pierce is also in the room, sitting listening from a chair at the side.

Foyle: Well, it all seems to be connected with a German operation in Northern France in '44 called Sunflower. Would that, er, mean anything to you?

He looks at Sir Alec and then Pierce. Neither reacts.

Foyle: I mean, it's not impossible that, er, Strasser's being targeted by one of the residents at the hostel but I don't think that's likely. 

Sir Alec: Why not? 

Foyle: Well, the b*llet, the sunflower. I mean, why b*at about the bush? Just sh**t him in the bath. Wouldn't you? 

Pierce: Make absolutely sure he's safe. That's our number one priority. 

Sir Alec: Where is he now? 

Valentine: He's back at the hostel. 

Pierce: Right, men on guard, round the clock. 

Sir Alec: We'll do as Miss Pierce says. 24-hour protection, but I want him moved at the first opportunity. That's all. 

Valentine moves to leave and Foyle follows.

Sir Alec: One last thing, Foyle. 

Foyle turns back and Valentine closes the door he was holding for him

Sir Alec: Who is George Gibson? 

Foyle just blinks and waits expectantly to hear more.

Pierce: You had him traced to a house in Croydon. You authorised a tap on his phone. 

Sir Alec: What's this all about? 

Foyle: Red Five. 

Pierce: It's a network that Strasser helped us break up. 

Foyle: Could be a link. 

Sir Alec: And this man Gibson? 

Foyle: Could be part of it. 

Sir Alec: Right. Well, keep at it. 

Foyle: Thank you. 

He leaves. Sir Alec looks at Pierce.

Sir Alec: Red Five? 

Pierce: I thought it was dormant. 

Sir Alec: This is getting out of hand. 

Typing pool. Sam is at her desk, making an inked correction to a half-typed document. Foyle opens the door. She looks up at him. He jerks his head for her to step outside.

Sam (voiceover): It was wrong of me, sir. I should have asked you first. 

The two of them are driving along in the car.

Foyle: Absolutely right. 

Sam: I wanted to help Adam. 

Foyle: Well, commendable, but nothing like a good enough excuse. They could prosecute you for this. You must be careful. How many times do you need to be told? 

They drive in silence for a short while. Sam looks sideways at Foyle.

Foyle: What's this land used for? 

Sam: Food production. Ministry of Agriculture. But there must be something wrong, because the land value has doubled in just eight years. 

Foyle: And Gibson was the valuer? 

Sam: Yes, sir. And if Mr Roper's up to no good, then where does that leave Adam? Thank you for helping me, sir. 

Foyle: Well, I'm trying to save my own skin as well. Gotta get myself out of the lie I've just told for you. 

They drive on.

Gibson's house. Foyle is at the front door. Sam gets out of the car as he turns away from it.

Sam: Nothing? 

Foyle: Uh-uh. Let's try round the back. 

Back garden. Sam and Foyle walk up to George Gibson where he's at work in the garden.

Foyle: Mr Gibson? 

Gibson: Yes. 

Foyle: I'm sorry, we did ring. 

Gibson: Oh, that's all right. What can I do for you? Erm, broad beans and peas. I'm afraid you're about three months early. 

Foyle: Oh. No, no, no, no. Er, we understand you used to live in Devizes? 

Gibson: Oh. Twenty years. This is my wife's mum's place. When she died, we decided to move back to London. I don't know you, do I? 

Foyle: No, no, no. Er, the name's Foyle. This is, erm... 

Sam: Samantha Wainwright. Hello. 

Gibson: Oh, what can I do for you? 

Foyle: I wonder how much you'd be able to tell us about the, er, valuation on a piece of land that used to belong to a family called Helliwell in Devizes. 

Gibson: Uh-uh. I don't know anything about it. 

Sam: It was you who made the valuation, Mr Gibson. 

Gibson: No. Er, well, it might have been. I can't remember. 

Foyle: Well, this was a piece of farmland about a thousand acres, er, subject to a compulsory purchase order. 

Gibson: No. Don't know anything about it. Who are you, anyway? 

Foyle: We're with the, er, security service. 

Sam: My ID.

She shows it to him.

Gibson: What? But, look, I can't help you. I did loads of valuations. I can't remember all of them. I have nothing more to say to you. 

He heads back round to the front of the house and lets himself inside. He gets a book out of the drawer beneath the hall phone and starts to dial a number from the book.

MI5 wiretap office. An agent listening on headphones looks up.

Agent: There's a call. 

Gibson house. Gibson listens to the dial tone, waiting for someone to pick up. Sam and Foyle look in through the window as they pass. Someone picks up the phone on the other end.

Gibson: Hello? 

Wiretap office. Two agents listen on headphones, one of them taking notes in shorthand.

Boarding house. Brenda Stevens lets herself in as Strasser is coming down the stairs with a suitcase.

Stevens: Leaving us, Professor? 

Strasser: For a short while, Mrs Stevens. Just a week or two. 

Stevens: Going somewhere nice? 

Strasser: I think I will drive down to Brighton. 

Stevens: Get some sea air. Why don't you go for a nice swim? 

She heads on up the stairs.

Stevens: Drown yourself while you're at it. 

Strasser smirks after her, pauses to sniff the flowers in a nearby vase, then leaves. Parry-Jones comes out into the hall as he leads.

Agent (voiceover): Good morning. You're off, then? 

Two MI5 agents are waiting outside as Strasser leaves the boarding house.

Strasser: Yes. 

He walks away and they start to follow him.

Strasser: It's all right, gentlemen. The car's just here. 

Agent: We'll be here when you get back. 

Strasser: I hope so. 

He heads over to his parked car. The two agents head back around the corner.

Agent: We don't need to waste anymore time hanging around here. 

Agent 2: Let's get back to HQ. 

There's an expl*si*n from round the corner. They turn and run back. Strasser's car is in flames.

Wainwright house. Sam is making tea in the kitchen as Adam reads a pierce of paper in the main room.

Adam: I can't believe you did this. 

Sam: Well, you'd have done the same for me. 

Adam: Sam... 

Sam: What? 

Adam: No, seriously. You shouldn't have. 

Sam: Why not? 

Adam: Because... you can't just eavesdrop on someone because you think they're up to no good. 

Sam: But I was right, wasn't I? 

Adam: It doesn't make any difference. 

Sam: I was doing this for you! 

Adam: What about you? Does Foyle know about this? 

Sam: Yes. 

Adam: Did he approve? 

Sam: Not exactly. 

Adam: I'm not surprised. I mean, what's gonna happen if someone finds out? You could lose your job. 

Sam: I could lose my job? I was trying to help you, Adam. You started this. You said there was something wrong, and there's the proof in your hand. I can't believe you're not more grateful!

Adam: Of course I'm grateful. Thank you. But this isn't just illegal, it's unthinkable. 

Brecon Street. Foyle is standing with the two agents at the scene of the expl*si*n.

Foyle: Well, you still haven't explained why you weren't with him.

Valentine is inspecting the b*rned-out car. Foyle comes over to join him.

Valentine: They took him away in two pieces. Grenade attached to the steering column - fairly simple booby-trap. Strasser pulled the pin out when he opened the door. It's an old SOE trick. 

Foyle: Is it now? 

Valentine: What happened to the two men that were meant to be looking after him? 

Foyle: Well, dereliction of duty springs to mind. 

Valentine: And no one thought to, you know, check the car before he got in? 

Foyle: Precisely. 

A car drives up beside them, and Pierce opens the door to speak to them.

Pierce: We were supposed to be looking after him. 

Valentine: Why didn't you move him after the sh**ting? 

Pierce: Sir Alec wants to see you immediately. We're gonna have to talk to the Americans. We were about to hand him over! 

American embassy.

Jackson (voiceover): I think you have some explaining to do, Mr Foyle. 

Foyle (voiceover): There's little to explain. Er, you know he was here under a Dutch pseudonym. 

Inside. Valentine, Foyle and Pierce sit at a table across from Donovan. Jackson.

Foyle: He was in touch because he believed his life was at risk as a result of anonymous letters and phone calls. 

Pierce: That was before you approached us. 

Foyle: And I was asked to look into it. 

Jackson: Seems like you didn't look hard enough. 

Valentine: I take equal responsibility with Mr Foyle. 

Donovan: I think you're being unfair, Colonel. I'm sure these gentlemen did everything they could. 

Foyle: Well, we didn't have a lot of time. I only met him a few days ago and things moved rather rapidly. Someone broke into his room, there was an attempt to sh**t him and now, of course, this. 

Donovan: Someone had blown his cover? 

Foyle: So he believed. A sunflower was left in his room, which seemed to have significance for him. 

Jackson: You're right there, Mr Foyle. It relates to an operation in which, er, Strasser was involved. 

Donovan: Sonnenblume. 

Jackson: That's Kraut for Sunflower. Northern France, 1944.

Foyle: And what happened there? 

Donovan: All you need to know is that 26 American soldiers died in what we believe was a w*r crime. 

Valentine: Strasser was behind a desk in Berlin, yes? 

Donovan: That's what he says. 

Pierce: May I make an observation, Colonel Jackson? 

Donovan: Please, go ahead, Miss Pierce. 

Pierce: Well, no matter what the truth is about Strasser, there can be no doubt that the information he gave us saved lives, both British and American. A great deal of what we know about Russian intelligence is down to him. 

Donovan: The point being? 

Pierce: I make no apology for using him. The stakes are too high. But he's d*ad. That's the end of it. The matter is closed. 

Outside. Foyle is waiting outside the building as Pierce emerges.

Foyle: Closed? 

Valentine follows her out.

Pierce: We have been made to look fools, so that's enough on the matter. 

She gets into her car.

Brecon Street. Two boys are playing football in the road.

Boy: Go on, kick it!

The ball rebounds over to where Sam is waiting by the car. She tosses it back to them.

Boy: Thanks, missus. 

Boy 2: Come on. Your turn.

Sam goes back to waiting.

Inside. Brenda Stevens leads Foyle through into the lounge.

Stevens: He never got to Brighton. 

She sits down in one of the armchairs.

Foyle: He told you where he was going? 

Stevens: Last time we spoke, he said he was off. And then I heard it, an almighty bang. 

Foyle: So you're not exactly grief stricken? 

Stevens: Well, he just boarded here. I hardly knew him. 

Foyle: Well, I think you knew exactly who he was. 

Stevens: Oh yes? 

Foyle: Well, you knew he was German. 

He sits down opposite her.

Stevens: German? 

Foyle: I think you knew. 

Stevens: What makes you think that? 

Foyle: Well, the first time we met, you called him Herr Van Haaren. "Herr Van Haaren", not "Professor Van Haaren", not "Mijnheer Van Haaren". You were married to a Dutchman. If you believed Van Haaren was Dutch, you'd have said "Mijnheer". You knew he was German. 

Stevens: All right. I knew exactly who he was. And what he was. 

Foyle: Yet you had a relationship with him? 

Stevens: Who told you that? 

Foyle: He did. In as many words. 

She sighs.

Stevens: My husband's d*ad. I'm alone. I did briefly know Herr Strasser. I gave myself to him, Mr Foyle. To a German. A n*zi. Have you any idea how that makes me feel? And when I found out, when I confronted him, d'you know what he did? He laughed. It just goes to show, they're all the same under the skin. The master race. He thought it was funny that he'd had his way with some poor, stupid Englishwoman, and I couldn't be more pleased the bastard's d*ad. 

Foyle: How did you find out who he was? 

Coach and Horses pub. Parry-Jones stands by his and Tchorek's chessboard.

Parry-Jones: I knew he wasn't Dutch. I knew it from the moment I met him. 

Foyle: How did you know? 

Parry-Jones: Took a shufti in his room. Don't ask about the lock. Easy enough to pick, and easier still as Mrs Stevens keeps her spare keys in the kitchen. 

Foyle: And then what? 

Parry-Jones: Would you believe he'd kept his Wehrpass? It's his military record book. So it seems he wasn't so ashamed of his past after all.

Foyle: And you told her who he was? 

Parry-Jones: Had an idea the two of them were having the oh-be-joyfuls. I thought she ought to know. 

Foyle: A hand grenade device in a car would be fairly familiar to you. 

Parry-Jones: Basic SOE training. I can see where you're going with that, Mr Foyle. But I didn't k*ll him and I'll tell you why. I hate the n*zi for what they did to Europe, to the Jews, to the agents I knew personally, to poor Edward here. Strasser was undoubtedly a n*zi, whatever Hilda Pierce may have told you. Did you know what the life expectancy of an SOE agent was during the w*r, Mr Foyle? 

Tchorek says something in Polish, and Parry-Jones replies, then turns back to Foyle.

Parry-Jones: Six weeks. But they still volunteered. Young men and women like Edward here. When it was all over, what did they do? They gave up on us. Right now they're disbanding us. Well, they're picking a few of us for MI5 and MI6. And the rest? Not wanted. Not needed. Thank you and goodbye. 

Foyle: A new world. 

Parry-Jones: Exactly. A new world where we protect and look after n*zi because they're useful to us. What does that make us, do you think? Makes you wonder what it was all for. 

He makes a move on the chessboard. Foyle turns to leave.

Roper's office. Adam stands reading a file.

Man (offscreen): See you later. 

Adam: All right. 

The man passes Roper, who's reading in one of the chairs, on his way out.

Man: I'll be back in an hour, sir. 

Roper: Right-o. Something else, Adam? 

Adam: Yes, I'm afraid there is, sir. It's about this business with the land near Devizes. 

Roper: I thought we'd agreed to let that lie. 

Adam: I tried to but I couldn't. Not after Geoffrey Helliwell was att*cked. 

Roper: You told me he was the victim of a robbery. 

Adam: Or an attempt to intimidate him. 

Roper: Is that what you think? 

Adam: The Helliwell property was revalued on the 28th of July last year. The valuer, George Gibson, lied when he made that valuation. He actually doubled the land value to prevent the owners from buying it back. 

Roper: Did he tell you this? 

Adam: No, sir. 

Roper: Well, even supposing it's true, why are you bringing it here? 

Adam: Because Mr Gibson was acting on instructions given by you. He was interviewed yesterday and immediately afterwards, he telephoned you, here, in your private office. This is a transcript of that telephone call. 

He takes the transcript out of his pocket and gives it to Roper. 

Roper: May I ask how you acquired this? 

Adam: I'm afraid I can't tell you. 

Roper: Well. Seems pointless for me to deny it since you have it here in black and white. I suppose I should congratulate you on a... job well done. Aren't you curious as to why I wanted the land? 

Adam: Was it for money? 

Roper: Money? Yes, it was the money. Geoffrey Helliwell is a developer. He wants the land to build on and squeeze for as much money as he can get. And yet, Adam, what is the single greatest challenge facing this country at the moment? Food production. If I could keep a thousand acres of prime farming land out of the hands of a grasping profiteer and under the plough I consider I'd be doing my duty. You don't agree? 

Adam: It's, it's still a fraud. 

Roper: To put my country first? You learn something about politics, Adam. If you really want to help your country, sometimes you have to make uncomfortable decisions. 

Adam: Lying? Breaking the law? 

Roper: Who's seen this?

Adam: No one. 

Roper: Who's going to? 

Adam is silent.

Roper: I see. Get out. 

Adam turns to go.

Roper: It sickens me, Adam. Sickens me... that you should think I was in it for the money. 

Adam leaves.

Cherry House. Sam and Foyle walk up the front steps.

Sam: I cross-checked the flats with the hospital records. Her name's Mary Nelson. She lives on the fourth floor. 

Fourth floor. They pass the window of Mary's flat and see that she's in the kitchen. At the sound of the knock she turns to come to the door.

Inside. Sam questions Mary in the hallway while Foyle stands listening.

Sam: You see, we need to know why you were at the hostel at Brecon Street. 

Mary: Is this about Tommy? 

Sam: Who is Tommy? 

Mary: He's my brother. He sent me there. He wanted to know about a Dutchman who had a room there, a professor. 

Sam: Professor Van Haaren. 

Mary: Yes. 

Sam: Why did he want to know? 

Mary: Well, he didn't tell me. He saw him at the university library. It was quite by chance. Tommy saw him and, well, after that it was like an obsession. 

Sam: What did you tell him? 

Mary: Oh, not very much. Only what the lady told me. Erm, he'd been there for three months. He had a room on the top floor. Has something happened? Has Tommy done something? 

Sam: Do you know where he is? 

Mary: I've got no idea. I've been so worried about him. Tommy was very badly injured after D-Day. He was in Normandy. He was sh*t in the head. He never talked to me about it, but the truth is, he never recovered. Not, not really. Er, it took him a year to recover physically, and then he went to a hospital in Reading, a wonderful place called Norton Park. They tried to put him back together again. You know, ment*lly. 

Sam: Do you think he, he could have gone back there? 

Mary: Oh, I don't know. I suppose so. I, I don't know why I didn't think of it first. 

Foyle: D'you remember the name of his doctor? 

Norton hospital. Foyle drives up to the building. Doctor John Trevelyan comes over to shake his hand as he gets out of the car.

Trevelyan: How do you do, Mr Foyle? John Trevelyan. 

Foyle: How do you do? 

Trevelyan: Welcome to Norton. 

Foyle: Thomas Nelson's a patient of yours? 

Trevelyan: Yes. He came back to us yesterday. But I'm a bit concerned about him speaking to you. 

Foyle: Why would that be? 

Inside. Nelson sits smoking with shaky hands.

Trevelyan (voiceover): Mr Nelson has been severely traumatised by what happened to him in Normandy. It's still very difficult for him to talk about it.

Outside. The two of them are walking towards the building.

Foyle: He talks to you. 

Trevelyan: Well, he talks within a group. That's what we do here. In that environment, Tom can face up to what happened to him. But alone it is much more difficult. 

Foyle: Well, I understand the need to protect the patient, but the truth is, er, he could be in an awful lot of trouble and at some point he'll need to speak. 

Trevelyan: If you talk to him, you talk to him under my supervision. 

Foyle: Fair enough. 

They head into the building.

Inside.

Nelson: I, er... I was with the Royal a*tillery in, erm, in France. Captain. Captain Thomas Nelson, reporting for duty. 

Foyle is sitting opposite Nelson in a circle of chairs. Trevelyan steps in as Nelson appears to be getting upset.

Trevelyan: It's all right, Tom. You don't have to do this. 

Nelson holds up a hand to forestall him. Trevelyan sits down in one of the chairs, and Nelson takes a moment before going on.

Nelson: I was... I was attached to a, a, a US Army field a*tillery unit. Observe. Report back. w*apon, tactics. It was, erm... was a good, good, good bunch. All, er, very, very young and far from home, and... and, er, I was with them when it, erm... when it... 

Flashback. Machine-g*n f*re through the window of a farmhouse kitchen.

Cut back to the present.

Nelson: When it all went wrong. 

Flashback. A GI returning f*re through another window.

GI: Get your heads down!

Present.

Nelson: We'd, er, we'd got separated. We were... trapped behind e-e-enemy lines.

Flashback to ongoing exchange of f*re and the GIs shouting.

Present.

Nelson: A farmhouse in a place called M-

Flashback. GIs returning f*re from behind a table.

Present.

Nelson: M- M-Mortain. 

Flashback. One of the GIs is sh*t in the head.

Present.

Nelson: It was... hopeless. 

Flashback. A d*ad GI slumps to the ground. An American major comes through a door, crouched low, his arm in a bloody sling.

Major: Sergeant! We're surrendering! Prepare a white flag! 

Present.

Nelson: Destroy all documents... 

Flashback to the firefight.

Major: Destroy all documents, equipment-

Present.

Nelson: Signalling gear. 

Major (voiceover): And signalling gear.

Flashback to the firefight.

Major: Move it! 

Present.

Nelson: And then... we, er, we went out. 

Flashback. The major and his men are escorted by a group of German soldiers.

Nelson (voiceover) Honourable surrender. Conventions of w*r. Not this time.

Present.

Nelson: Not this time. 

Flashback. Strasser is there in his SS uniform, watching as the prisoners are escorted into an enclosed yard. They turn to face their captors where g*n are set up in the entrance trained on them.

Strasser: f*re! 

The group of unarmed prisoners are g*n down where they stand.

Present. Nelson clutches his head and twitches, hearing phantom echoes of machine-g*n f*re. Foyle sits silently waiting until Nelson collects himself and goes on.

Nelson: I somehow, er, managed to get away. And all I can remember... 

Flashback. Nelson staggers into field of sunflowers.

Present. Nelson is beginning to cry.

Nelson: Are the sunflowers. The farm was... 

Flashback to the field of sunflowers.

Nelson (voiceover): Was surrounded by sunflowers, and, erm...

Present.

Nelson: And I, I thought I could... 

Flashback to Strasser searching among the sunflowers, his p*stol drawn.

Present.

Nelson: Hide in the field. 

He begins to break down again.

Flashback. Strasser draws closer to Nelson's hiding place. He smirks and raises his p*stol.

Present. Nelson hears the phantom echo of a g*n. Foyle waits as he gradually calms down.

Nelson: The, er... the b*llet... didn't, didn't k*ll me. I don't know why not. A French woman found me. And I was...  I was the only one left. She, er... She, she, she looked, looked after me. 

Foyle: The name of the German officer? 

Nelson: Er, it was the, erm, er, the 12th SS Panzer Division. I, erm, I, I never found out his name. 

Foyle: But you saw him again. 

Nelson: Yes. A few weeks ago, in London. He was c-coming out of a library. 

There's a silence. Trevelyan exchanges a look with Foyle.

Foyle: Did you k*ll him? 

Nelson: Yes. 

Westminster, night.

Roper (voiceover): It's been a great privilege to serve in your government...

Roper is pacing in his office, dictating to secretary Lottie.

Roper: ...and to have taken part in the huge reforms that this country so badly needs. So it is with deep regret that I tender my resignation. It's also not my intention to stand at the next general election and I'll make this clear in due course. Yours sincerely, Charles Roper. 

Lottie looks up at him for a moment, then stands up.

Roper: Thank you, Lottie. 

Lottie: Good luck, sir. 

Hallway. Glenvil and Adam are walking through the building together.

Glenvil: What have you done? What exactly have you done? 

Adam: I didn't know he'd resign. 

Glenvil: What choice did he have? 

They enter Adam's office.

Glenvil: I don't know what to say to you, Adam. You lost your position as a PPS, and after this, no one in the party's gonna touch you. The government has lost an effective and committed minister. And maybe the country has lost a thousand acres of agricultural land. So what exactly have we gained here? 

Adam: You told him, didn't you? 

Glenvil: What? Told him what? 

Adam: Roper knew Helliwell hadn't left London, he was staying in a hotel. I didn't tell him. Someone else must have. 

Glenvil: I kept him informed. He's my friend. 

Adam: And did you also tell him the name of the hotel? 

Glenvil: Sorry, what are you- what are you saying? Are you suggesting one of us arranged to have him beaten up? Well, maybe you should have a look at this. 

He gets a file from a drawer and slams it down on the table.

Glenvil: That's a police report. They found the men responsible for the as*ault on Helliwell. Part of a well-known g*ng. Nothing to do with Roper. 

Adam looks through the papers in the file and sits down.

Glenvil: There's a bunch of constituents outside. Mrs Jones is back. Better have them in. 

Wainwright house, night.

Sam (voiceover): It's all my fault. 

Adam (voiceover): No, it wasn't. 

Sam brings two glasses of wine in and joins Adam on the sofa.

Adam: You were right. I started it. You know, I still can't believe you did that for me. 

Sam: Yes. And look what it got you. 

Adam: Well, I'm still an MP. Glenvil'll come round... eventually. I do wonder, though. 

Sam: What? 

Adam: Well, he asked me what I'd actually achieved and I wasn't sure I had an answer for him. 

Sam: Well, I have. 

Adam: Go on. 

Sam: What you've achieved was everything I married you for. You stayed true to your beliefs. You didn't let anyone bully you into turning a blind eye. I know we were wrong about the att*ck at the hotel, but you were right about everything else, and that's what matters. Mr Roper was a crook. I know it's not as simple as that, but if we've gonna have politicians lying and breaking the rules just because it suits them...

Adam: Well, that's exactly what I did. 

Sam: Then what was the point of winning the w*r we've just been through? That's what we should really be thinking about. What sort of world are we trying to create? 

Adam: Sam- 

Sam: Yeah, but there's something else. It rather matters to me just now because I've just been to the hospital and the doctor has said that, contrary to medical opinion, I'm about to introduce somebody else into that world. Six months from now. I've been dying to tell you all day. So much has been happening, I didn't get a chance. 

Adam: A baby? You are amazing.

Sam starts to tear up.

Adam: You are amazing. Come here.

They embrace.

MI5 morgue. Valentine and Foyle stand waiting.

Valentine: Can't think why you'd want to see it. 

Foyle: Just a feeling. 

Valentine: Miss Pierce won't like it. In fact, she'd have my guts for garters if she knew I'd authorised this. 

Foyle: Why have you? 

Valentine: You did me a great kindness, Foyle. You could have caused me a lot of trouble and you chose not to. And another thing. I'm wondering what you're up to. 

An attendant wheels a body in on a trolley and uncovers the body. Valentine gives him a nod and he steps out. Foyle studies the body, which is badly b*rned. Valentine goes over and raises the corpse's right arm, less b*rned than the rest.

Valentine: Is this what you're looking for? His SS tattoo? Lot of SS officers had these. Partly medical, partly for identification. That way you can check his records, find out everything you need. 

He sets the corpse's arm back down and wipes his hands.

Valentine: Anything else? 

Foyle: No. 

Sir Alec's office. Foyle and Valentine stand before his desk.

Sir Alec: I understand that you've been investigating the death of Strasser, the two of them. 

Valentine: We've been making enquiries. 

Sir Alec: Enquiries? You're not a policeman, Valentine. Why are you talking like one? You saw the body. Who authorised that? 

Pierce looks up from where she's sitting in a chair in the corner with an open file.

Valentine: There were unanswered questions. 

Sir Alec: The only unanswered question is why you chose to undermine my authority. 

Foyle: It's the case then, is it, that your authority has been behind all decisions relating to Strasser? 

Sir Alec: What are you talking about? 

Foyle: Oh, I think you know very well. 

Sir Alec: Enlighten me. 

Foyle: I'm talking about the m*ssacre of American troops at the village of Mortain two years ago and the extent to which you know about this and of Strasser's involvement. 

Sir Alec: What I knew or didn't know is irrelevant. 

Foyle: Well, I'll take that as a yes. Strasser was recognised by a survivor of that m*ssacre, a British soldier, Thomas Nelson. 

Valentine: He sent the b*llet, he placed the sunflower in Strasser's room. 

Foyle: Strasser personally tried to k*ll Nelson and as a result, unsurprisingly, Nelson is now a very sick man and made an attempt to sh**t and k*ll Strasser. He believes he succeeded. He's wrong, he missed. 

Sir Alec: He didn't miss with the grenade. 

Foyle: Well, he had nothing to do with the grenade. You did. Or rather, the grenade was placed in the car by this department with your authority. 

Sir Alec: Why would we do that? 

Foyle: Well, to avoid, er, having to deliver him to the Americans who justifiably want him for w*r crimes. Er, you used the coincidence of Nelson's vendetta to arrange the m*rder in the belief that Nelson would take the blame. 

Pierce: Absurd idea. We were about to hand him over. 

Sir Alec: From our point of view, it's regrettable that he's d*ad. 

Pierce: And a pointless exercise k*lling your asset. 

Foyle: I agree. 

Sir Alec: Then why are you suggesting we did? 

Foyle: I'm not, because you haven't. He's alive. Isn't he? 

Sir Alec: And what led you to that conclusion? 

Foyle: Well, odd, to start with, that a man attempting to avoid justice and escape with his life should tell his landlady precisely where he's going. 

Pierce: You saw the body, Foyle. 

Foyle: I saw a corpse. I saw a headless corpse that had been given Strasser's tattooed military ID. 

Flashback to Valentine showing him the tattoo.

Cut back to the present.

Foyle: With absolutely no sign whatsoever of the wound that he got when Nelson took a sh*t at him. 

Flashback to Strasser cradling his injured arm.

Strasser: Gottverdamt, this is your fault! 

Cut back to the present. Sir Alec and Pierce keep their silence.

Valentine: Where is he? 

Flashback to Strasser heading towards his car as the two escorting agents turn away and head back round the corner. A man gets out of a car parked opposite and takes Strasser's suitcase as Strasser gets into that car instead of his own and it begins to drive away.

Around the corner, the two MI5 agents jump at the sound of the expl*si*n.

Cut back to the present.

Valentine: Where is he? 

He turns to look at Pierce, shaking his head.

Valentine: You... 

Pierce: In a safe place. 

Foyle: And what are you gonna do with him? 

Pierce: He's leaving first thing tomorrow. It's better for all concerned that he's not seen for a while. 

Valentine: We can't do this. 

Sir Alec: Oh, for heaven's sake, grow up, Valentine. Karl Strasser is an invaluable source of information to us. I have no more fondness for these labyrinthine schemes than you do, but if they work, I am not going to argue. 

Foyle: The greater good? 

Sir Alec: Exactly, Foyle. That's all? 

Foyle and Valentine turn to leave.

Airfield. Strasser stands smoking on the balcony of a building overlooking the airfield while Pierce paces behind him. A man enters to speak to another standing by.

Man: The plane's approaching, sir. 

Balcony. Strasser watches as the plane comes in to land.

Flashback. Strasser brushes a sunflower aside with his gloved hand and sees Nelson lying on the ground, his face bloodied.

Cut back to the present. Strasser leaves the building and gets into a car.

Flashback. Nelson lies among the sunflowers, leg badly wounded.

Present. The car drives round to the airfield. Strasser looks back over his shoulder.

Flashback. Strasser aims his p*stol at the helpless Nelson.

Nelson: Bitte! Bitte-

Present. The car drives towards the waiting plane. Pierce gets out of the back.

Flashback. Nelson struggles to sit up.

Present. Strasser hears the phantom sound of the g*n. He gets out of the car. As Pierce walks towards the plane, another car drives up beside her and Foyle gets out.

Pierce: How did you know? How did you know we were here? 

Foyle: You said he was leaving this morning. How else would he leave the country? 

Pierce walks on past him.

Strasser: So you saw through our little stratagem. 

Foyle: Yes. 

Strasser: And you've come to say goodbye? 

Foyle: I have nothing to say. 

Strasser: Then why have you come? Doubtless I disgust you. It was w*r, Mr Foyle. Towards the end, it is my belief Himmler knew the w*r was lost and he wanted to incriminate us, to dirty our hands, so that we could not claim that we were merely Schreibtischtater, desk criminals. That was how I came to find myself in Northern France in 1944. 

Foyle: What you did wasn't w*r. 

Strasser: It was chaos. We were already retreating. 26 American soldiers. I couldn't have taken them prisoner even if I'd wanted to. It was not possible. I make no apology, Mr Foyle. You can go to hell as far as I'm concerned. Your people need me now. Your role was to help me and this is exactly what we did. 

As Pierce walks back to join them, an American military Jeep drives onto the airfield.

Strasser: We will not meet again. 

Foyle: I believe you're absolutely right. 

Another car follows the Jeep.

Pierce: You told them? The Americans? Foyle, you're a traitor to the service. 

Valentine steps out from behind Foyle's car.

Valentine: It wasn't Foyle. It was me. 

Pierce: Arthur.

Valentine: I take full responsibility. It was a step too far. That man - we end up by working with him, we're no better than he is. 

He turns and walks way as Jackson gets out of the car behind him.

Jackson: Miss Pierce. I think you have some explaining to do. 

Foyle nods to Jackson and gets back into the rear seat of his own car.

Jackson: Karl Strasser, Lieutenant Colonel Hoyt Jackson. I'm taking you into the custody of the United States Department of Justice. 

Pierce watches as Foyle's car, driven by Sam, leaves the airfield. Sam looks back at Foyle in the rear-view mirror.

Sam: Where to, sir? 

Foyle: Good question.
{"type": "series", "show": "Foyle's War", "episode": "08x03 - Sunflower"}