Street outside the MI5 building. Pierce's car is approaching. She sit in the back tapping the handle of her walking stick, Für Elise playing in her mind. The driver stops and comes round to open the door for her. Pierce, sitting humming to herself, starts slightly, then gets out. As she walks towards the building, still humming, a young man, Miles Corrigan, falls into step behind her. Pierce nods to a passing man as he tips his hat to her.

Pierce: Morning. 

She heads up the steps to the building, and the doorman holds the door for her. Miles steps up behind her.

Miles: Excuse me. Miss Pierce? 

Pierce: Yes? 

Miles: I don't suppose you remember me. 

Pierce: No.

Miles: I didn't think you would. This is for Elise. 

He pulls out a revolver, sh**t her twice, and then runs. The doorman rushes over to check on Pierce as she tumbles down the steps.

OPENING CREDITS

A projector shows blurry film footage of Damian White.

Sir Alec (offscreen): Let me introduce you to Damian White, a thoroughly nasty piece of work. 

He, Foyle and Valentine are sitting in a darkened room while a projectionist runs the film from behind them.

Sir Alec: Started life as a spiv - eggs, cigarettes, petrol, all the rest of it. Since then he's branched out and now runs a criminal network that extends the length and breadth of this country. 

Valentine: Can't the police arrest him? 

Sir Alec: Apparently they can't touch him. He hides behind a legitimate business selling luxury goods. 

Valentine: I still wouldn't have thought the black market was our business. 

Sir Alec:  Well, then you'd be wrong. If people like White are allowed to carry on, they're going to end up bankrupting the country. At this moment, there are a million forged petrol coupons in circulation. £13m worth of goods are stolen from delivery trucks in one year alone. We are not talking about a few pairs of silk stockings. This is organised crime and on a massive scale. 

Foyle: Er, the interest in him in particular? 

Sir Alec: Earlier this month, Mr White bought himself a golf club out in Surrey. Which will give you some idea as to his wealth. Here's one of the members. 

The footage shows White meeting with Arkady Kuznetsov.

Valentine (offscreen): Kuznetsov. 

He sits forward.

Valentine: That's Kuznetsov. 

Sir Alec: Exactly. 

Valentine: Er, it couldn't be a coincidence? 

The footage shows White take a golf cap off of a caddy's head and put it on Kuznetsov's.

Sir Alec (offscreen): I don't think so. Special Branch passed this on to us and I believe we should make it a priority. The black market is one thing, but cosying up to Soviet agents is quite another. I mean, they're playing golf together, for heaven's sake! 

The door of the room opens.

Sam (offscreen): Sir! 

Sir Alec: Mrs Wainwright, what on Earth do you think you're doing? 

Sam: I'm sorry, sir. It's Miss Pierce. 

Outside. Foyle at the scene of the sh**ting.

Doorman (offscreen): He was young. I'd say about 26. 

Foyle looks down at the bloodstain on the steps.

Doorman (offscreen): Dark hair. Clean shaven. He asked her if she remembered him, and then he said, "This is for Elise," and he sh*t her. 

The doorman is telling this story to Valentine up on the steps.

Valentine: Why weren't you with her? 

Doorman: I was holding the door. 

Valentine: What about the driver? Where was he while this was going on? 

Doorman: Oh, he dropped her off round the corner. She often did that. She liked to get fresh air. 

Valentine: I want a written report. 

Doorman: Yes, sir. 

Foyle and Valentine walk away from the building.

Foyle: Who's Elise? 

Valentine: No one at the Security Service. Well, no one that I know of. 

Foyle: A codename, perhaps? 

Valentine: It's a thought. 

They get into the car. Sam is in the driver's seat.

Foyle: Hospital, please. 

Hospital. Foyle and Valentine follow Doctor Parsons along the corridor.

Parsons: We've removed the b*ll*ts, but, I'm afraid to say, she still hasn't recovered consciousness. 

They three of them look in on Pierce's hospital bed from the doorway as a nurse adjusts the bedding.

Foyle: Will she? 

Parsons: I can't tell. Truth is, I'm amazed she's hung on this far. That kind of an impact, close range. Excuse me. 

He heads into the room.

Foyle: Better put somebody on the door, just in case he tries again. 

Valentine: I want you to find him, bastard that did this. God knows I've had my differences with her, but that woman is extraordinary. Throughout the w*r, SOE, now. She's given her life to the service. Nothing can stop her. 

Foyle: Not even two b*ll*ts. 

Valentine: Exactly. 

They turn to walk back along the corridor.

Woodhead (offscreen): Are you in charge? 

They turn back. Sir Ian Woodhead walks up from behind them.

Foyle: Sorry. You are? 

Woodhead: Woodhead. How is Miss Pierce? 

He looks in through the doorway.

Valentine: They've operated but they can't tell yet. 

Woodhead: What do you know about this? 

Foyle: I was about to ask you the same question. 

Woodhead: Don't be impertinent with me. You're in the service? 

Valentine: Er, yes, sir. 

He gets his ID from his pocket, but Woodhead doesn't wait to see it.

Woodhead: I understand she was sh*t in the street. How could you have allowed that to happen? And why isn't there a guard on her door? 

He heads into the room. Valentine and Foyle exchange a look, then turn to walk away.

Valentine: You know who that was? Sir Ian Woodhead, MI6. Director of Operations. Not someone to get on the wrong side of. 

Foyle: Well, a bit late for me, I think. SOE? 

Valentine: Very much so. 

Block of flats.

Landlord (voiceover): If you'd like to follow me, Miss Pierce's flat is on the second floor. 

He leads Sam and Foyle up the stairs.

Pierce's flat. The two them step in and look around. Foyle lets out a slight sigh. He sees a framed photograph of Pierce in a WAAF uniform standing beside Woodhead.

Sam: Is this it? Somehow I was expecting more. 

Foyle: Well, single, married to the job - not much of a private life, I wouldn't have thought. 

Sam: What are we looking for? 

Foyle: No idea. 

Sam: We've only got one name - Elise. And a man in his twenties. Not much to be getting on with. 

Foyle: That's why we're here. 

Sam walks through to another room while Foyle takes a look at a diary, bookmarked with a pen. As he picks it up, a stack of photographs fall out. Among them is one of Pierce and Woodhead with Elizabeth Addis in the background. He studies it.

Kitchen. Sam opens a cupboard. There isn't much inside.

Main room. Foyle goes through a stack of letters beside a typewriter.

Sam: Didn't she ever eat anything? 

Foyle: Well, this might be a reasonable place to start. 

Sam walks back over to join him. He reveals a letter confirming Pierce's membership renewal for the Special Forces Club.

Sam: Special Forces Club. 

Foyle: Yeah, it's a club for SOE and, er, intelligence. 

Sam: Will they be able to help, d'you think? 

Foyle: If they'll let us in. 

Special Forces Club. Sam and Foyle drive up outside and get out, approaching the building.

Kenton (voiceover): I'm very sorry, sir. I can't help you. 

Sam and Foyle are standing with staff member Kenton in the entrance hall.

Foyle: Hilda Pierce is a member here. 

Kenton: I'm afraid I can't tell you that. 

Foyle: You don't need to. I'm telling you. She's a member here. 

Kenton: What is your business with Miss Pierce? 

Foyle: I'm trying to find out who sh*t her. 

James Stafford is coming down the stairs behind Kenton.

Stafford: Miss Pierce? She's been sh*t? 

Foyle: That's right. This morning. 

Stafford: For God's sake, Kenton, let them in. I'll sign for them. 

Kenton: As you wish, Mr Stafford. 

Stafford signs the register.

Stafford (voiceover): Miss Pierce. Hilda. 

Lounge. Foyle and Sam sit listening to him as he sits at the bar with a drink in his hand.

Stafford: Course I knew her. Everyone did. She used to pop in now and then. My section - MIR. w*apon. Time-delay fuses. Limpet mines. Sticky b*mb. That's what we did. We made devices that k*ll people and we did it rather well. I can talk to you, can't I? 

Foyle: I... think we're on the same side. 

Stafford: SOE. Special Operations Executive. Who even remembers it? End of the w*r, they threw us to the wolves. Gubbins. Jefferis. The whole lot of us. One minute it's top secret, cloak and dagger, the next you're a bank clerk, or you've opened a shop, or you're lounging about in here. 

Foyle: "Elise". Is that a name that means anything to you? 

Stafford: Not off hand. Was she one of Hilda's girls? 

Foyle: Could be. 

Stafford: Trouble is, all the girls had different names then. In training and in the field. I can ask around for you, if you like. 

Foyle: I'd be grateful. 

Stafford: You know what the life expectancy of an operator was back then? Six bloody weeks. Here's to them, eh? 

He raises his glass in a toast, then takes a drink.

White's golf club. A car approaches the building, parking among several others. Derek Gates gets out of the back.

Inside. White's right-hand man, Neville Smith, leads Derek up a staircase. Neville stops outside the door of White's office.

Office. White is standing talking on the phone.

White: Don't you worry about it, Archie. I'll see you at the Blue Lantern. You look after yourself. Ta-ta. 

He hangs up. There's a knock at the door, and Neville opens it to escort Derek in.

Neville: Mr White? 

White: Derek! Come in. Take a pew. Nice to see you. 

Derek sits down. Neville stays standing behind him. Derek looks up at him for a moment before turning back. At the table, White sets out teacups for them both.

White: It's been a while. You been avoiding me? 

Derek: No. No, not at all. 

White: It's all right, Neville, you can leave us now. Go and get yourself something down in the bar. 

Neville leaves. White stirs the teapot, then sits down opposite Derek.

White: You play golf, Derek? 

Derek: Nah. 

White: You should come and try a round. Bring your lovely wife. Doris, isn't it? 

Derek: No, it's Doreen. 

White: And those kids of yours. Six and nine? 

Derek: That's it. 

White: The thing is, Derek, you and I have a business arrangement. You give me the information and every month I give you remuneration. It couldn't be simpler, really. Except, you seem to be letting the side down. 

Derek: Well, I haven't had any big runs recently, so I haven't been in getting in touch with you. 

White: That's not what I've heard. I've heard you're going out tomorrow from Redhill. Half a million f*g, that's what I've heard. 

Derek: I only found out last night. I didn't have enough time to get it touch with you. 

White stands up and pours the tea.

White: Don't you worry. That's why I invited you over. A nice cup of char together. A chat about old times. And you can tell me. What's the route? 

Wainwright house. Sam is stirring something cooking on the stove.

Adam (offscreen): Hello. 

Sam: Hello. 

He walks over to look over her shoulder

Adam: What's that? 

Sam: Whale. 

Adam: Is it a new craving? 

He gives her a kiss.

Sam: They say it tastes like beef. 

Adam: Mmm. It doesn't smell like beef. 

Sam: Yeah. That's what I thought. 

He sits down at the table. Sam goes over to the kettle, then pauses for a moment, resting against the countertop.

Adam: You okay? 

Sam: Just a twinge. 

She bends down to open the oven door, and groans a little.

Adam: Sam, I think you're gonna have to talk to the... 

She brings a dish of baked potatoes over to the table.

Sam: Yeah, I know. 

Adam: Once they see that you're pregnant, you're not going to be able to... 

Sam: I know. Something happened at work today, Adam. I... I can't really talk about it. I can't leave right now. It just... It wouldn't be fair. 

Adam: You must do what you think's best... but I think you're gonna have to do it soon. 

University College. Elizabeth Addis lets Foyle into a private lounge.

Addis: How are you? 

Foyle: I'm very well. And you? 

Addis: Fine. 

Foyle: Good. 

Addis: How can I help? 

Foyle: I thought you should know that... Hilda's been sh*t. 

Addis: Hilda Pierce? 

Foyle: Well, how many Hildas do you and I know? 

Addis: Is she d*ad? 

Foyle: No, she's very ill, and doing, er, as well as can be expected in the circumstances. 

Addis goes over to sit down on the arm of a sofa.

Foyle: How long have you known Hilda? 

Addis: Six years. 

Foyle: Since the SOE was established? 

Addis: Shortly after, yes. 

Foyle: And in spite of that, in spite of you being aware of my relationship to Hilda within the service, you've never once mentioned her or acknowledged that you even knew her. 

Addis: There's a reason for that. Hilda came to me. She explained that you were unconventional and that worried them. She asked me to keep an eye on you and report back. 

Foyle: And what was in the report? 

Addis: Nothing. 

Foyle: Well, if you'd mentioned all this at the beginning, I could have helped you with that and saved you both a lot of trouble. 

Addis: I didn't want to do that. I met Hilda, and told her I had too high a regard for you. I said I couldn't do the job. 

Foyle: You'd perhaps understand why I wouldn't necessarily believe that. 

MI6 offices. Addis walks through to an office where Woodhead is speaking with an agent. Woodhead gives the man a nod and hands him a file, and he leaves as Addis walks in.

Woodhead: So, you've heard, then? 

Addis: You weren't going to tell me? 

The agent closes the door behind him.

Woodhead: I'll be honest and say it wasn't first on my list of priorities. 

Addis: So you don't think this has something to do with Plato? 

Woodhead: The thought had occurred to me, but I don't see how it's possible. No, the man that sh*t her mentioned an agent, Elise. He seems to have acted out of some sort of personal revenge. 

Addis: You'll find him? 

Woodhead: Of course. They've put a good man on the job. 

Addis: So I understand. 

MI5 building. Valentine walks through the corridor towards Foyle's office. There's the sound of a phone ringing, and he opens the door just as Foyle goes over to pick it up.

Valentine: She survived the night. 

Foyle: Well, that's something. 

He puts the phone to his ear and turns away.

Foyle: Yes? 

Stafford (over phone): Hello, Mr Foyle? 

Valentine closes the door.

Special Forces Club. Stafford stands using the phone in the hallway.

Stafford: Stafford here. I've got something for you. Elise's real name was Sophie Corrigan. You can find her mother at Allenbrook Lodge in Stratfield Witney. 

Allenbrook Lodge. Joyce Corrigan leads Foyle through the front hall.

Joyce: There's not much I can tell you about my daughter's work, Mr Foyle, because she never told me. And I'm not sure there's very much I can tell you about her family life that will help you. 

She leads him into the dining room. Für Elise is playing in the background.

Foyle: Well, I was wondering about the SOE and how she became a part of all that. 

Joyce: Well, because they asked her. A drab little letter from the w*r Office, asking her to go to a building in Baker Street, and that was it. I suppose I should be proud of her, but I'm not going to lie to you. I wish she'd never gone. 

Flashback. Sophie sits at the piano, playing Für Elise. A younger Joyce walks in with a basket of flowers.

Joyce: You shouldn't play that. 

Sophie: What? 

Joyce: German music. You know what Miles says. 

Sophie: Even Miles can't blame Beethoven for the w*r. 

Joyce: I'm not so sure of that. 

Sophie: Where is he? 

Joyce: He's in the garden. You do know what you're doing? 

Sophie: I've told you. 

Joyce: You've told me nothing, and certainly not the truth. Do credit me with a little intelligence, Sophie. I've not interfered. I just want you to be sure... 

She sits down on the piano bench beside Sophie.

Joyce: That you've thought it all through. 

Sophie: Yes. 

Joyce: You're just like your father. You won't be told. Now, come on. Finish it. I like to hear you play. 

Sophie goes back to playing.

Joyce (voiceover): She was k*lled in Paris, in May '44. 

Cut back to the present.

Joyce: It was her first mission. 

Foyle: An... only child? 

Joyce: No. She has an older brother, Miles. 

Foyle: Where is he? 

Joyce: You haven't told me why you're asking all these questions. 

Foyle: Well, someone, er, who knew your daughter very well was hurt rather badly yesterday. 

Joyce: Well, a lot of people knew my daughter rather well, Mr Foyle. She was much loved. 

Foyle: Hilda Pierce. Would that mean anything to you? 

Joyce: Oh, yes. Yes, I've met her. She came here two years ago. She was the one who told us about Sophie's death. 

Foyle: Would Miles have met her? 

Joyce: Yes. 

Foyle: You wouldn't have a... photograph of him, would you? 

Joyce: Why? 

Foyle: Well, no, just curious. 

She leads him through into the next room, where framed family photos cover the top of the piano. Foyle picks up one of Miles in a RAF uniform. Joyce goes over and turns off the radio, still playing Für Elise. Next to it stands a birthday card marked "For Mother".

Joyce: You say someone was hurt, but Miles wouldn't hurt anyone. We've gone through a great deal, Mr Foyle, especially Miles. He's always been very sensitive and... when his father left us, that was bad enough. But Sophie was everything to him, and they were inseparable. 

Foyle: My son was a pilot, too. 

Joyce: Fighters? 

Foyle: Yes. 

Joyce: Then you'll know how hard it was for them when it was all over. 

Foyle: I do. 

Joyce: Miles went for a job in insurance. But he never got used to it. He was always so... sad. He still lives here with me but I haven't seen him since the morning of my birthday. 

Foyle: When was that? 

Joyce: Two days ago. We were supposed to have dinner together that evening, but he... went out and never came back. He was angry about something. 

Outside. Joyce is seeing Foyle out.

Foyle: If, erm, Miles ever does make an appearance, you might ask him to call me on that number. 

He gives her a card.

Joyce: Of course. 

Foyle: Thank you. 

He walks over to where Sam is waiting for him by the car.

Flashback. Pierce, in uniform, stands beside a military vehicle parked in the same place. Elise walks over to join her, carrying a suitcase.

Sophie: Hello, Miss Pierce. 

Pierce: Let me take that. 

Sophie: Thank you. 

Pierce puts the suitcase in the back. Sophie turns back towards the house.

Sophie: I'll write to you. 

Cut back to the present. Joyce starts to tear up as she remembers.

Flashback. Miles steps up beside his mother in his RAF uniform.

Miles: Why does she have to go? 

Joyce: She'll come back. 

Bridge. Derek Gates is driving a lorry towards the bridge. As he reaches it, he sees Neville Smith walking towards him, and comes to a halt. A group of other men run up behind Neville.

Neville: You got 'em? 

Derek: Yeah, they're in the back. 

Neville turns to his men.

Neville: All right. Let's get to work. 

He hauls Derek out of the driver's seat, and Derek groans. Round the back, the men start unloading the creates of cigarettes.

Man: Come on. 

Man: Give me that. 

Derek is sitting on the bridge as Neville ties his hands behind him.

Neville: Let's get the story straight. 

Derek: Yeah. 

Neville: You were driving along, when a man stepped out dressed as a copper. 

Derek: Yeah, and then I slowed down. 

Neville: You stopped. 

Derek: Yeah, I stopped. 

Neville: He dragged you out of the cabin and made you sit down. 

Derek: Yeah. Yeah, and I never seen his face. 

Neville: That's right. He tied you up and he sh*t you. 

Derek: Eh? 

Neville draws a g*n and aims it at Derek.

Neville: Mr White says goodbye. 

He fires and Derek flops to the ground. One of the men leans out of the back of the lorry to look.

Neville: Get on with it! 

Green Lane, West Peckham. Adam is walking along with Glenvil Harris.

Adam: I mean, the idea of building these new estates is fine, but Bevan's right.

They round a corner, passing through a street market.

Adam: Where's the butcher, the baker? Because without them, how are people going to get any sense of community? 

Glenvil: Well, they can move out of London. 

Adam: That's not the answer. 

One of the street traders, Blakey, turns to them as they pass.

Blakey: Morning, gentlemen. What can I do for you? Got a load of socks, just off the lorry. 

Adam comes over to take a look.

Man: All right. 

Blakey: Yeah. Have a look at that. Twelve bob in the shops. Four bob to you, no coupons. Or... nylons for the ladies, or beautiful sheets. All the best quality. 

Adam jerks his head towards Glenvil.

Adam: Socks. 

Blakey: Socks. Pure wool. Keep your feet warm in the winter. Lovely. Now, listen, listen. When was the last time you had your hands on a bottle of scotch? 'Cause I can fix it for you. 

Adam: Where did you get these? 

Blakey: I don't ask where you get your money, you don't ask where I get my socks. 

Adam: How much did you say? 

Glenvil: Don't buy 'em. 

Blakey: What? 

Glenvil: We're not interested. 

Blakey: All right, all right. Keep your hair on. There's plenty who are. 

Adam: Thank you. 

He hands the socks back and moves away.

Man: Here.

Blakey: Socks! 

Man: I'll have a pair of those.

Blakey: Certainly, sir. 

Adam and Glenvil walk on

Glenvil: Stolen goods being sold in the middle of West Peckham. It's wrong. 

Adam: You don't know they were stolen. 

Glenvil: Oh, come on, Adam. Where do you think he got them from? These people are spivs. Half of 'em are deserters. The rest of them got out of serving on medical grounds. 

Adam: Maybe they're giving people what they want. 

Glenvil: What, breaking the law? You support that? 

Adam: No. But I don't see any harm in cheering people up. 

Glenvil: What? 

Adam: There's nothing in the shops. The British loaf's rubbish. Rationing's as bad as ever. Sometimes it doesn't feel like we won the w*r. 

Glenvil scoffs, coming to a halt.

Glenvil: I'm surprised at you. If there was one thing that struck me about you when we first met, it was your honesty, even if it has got you into trouble sometimes. But here you are standing up for criminals. I think you should report him. 

He walks on and Adam follows.

Sir Alec's office. He's looking at the photograph of Miles Corrigan.

Sir Alec: I have to say well done, Mr Foyle.

Foyle and Valentine are both standing before his desk.

Sir Alec: You've acted quickly and very effectively. We'll find Miles Corrigan soon enough. 

Foyle: Well, I'd be happy to continue with it if it's all the same to you. 

Sir Alec: I'm afraid not. You seem to be forgetting the rather more pressing matter of Damian White. 

Foyle: More pressing than Hilda? 

Sir Alec: Half a million cigarettes stolen this morning in transit from a NAAFI warehouse in Redhill, the driver sh*t d*ad. White was almost certainly the man behind it. Not, of course, that he was anywhere near. 

Foyle: Can't see that this is to do with Kuznetsov and the Soviets. 

Valentine: Not unless they've taken up smoking. 

Sir Alec: Yes, I'll thank you not to be flippant, Valentine. When we have a major criminal consorting with the known enemies of our country, I think that is a matter that needs to be investigated. 

Hospital room. Woodhead sits on the foot of Pierce's bed. She gradually sits awake, and he smiles.

Woodhead: Unlike you not to watch your back, Hilda. 

Pierce: Mmm. Losing my grip. 

Woodhead: I wouldn't say that. 

Pierce: Mmm. Not to my face. You know who this was. 

Woodhead: "Elise".

Pierce: Sophie Corrigan. 

Woodhead: Of course. I remember her. 

Pierce: This is Plato. 

Woodhead: I don't think so. Why now, after all this time? 

Pierce: She died. 

Woodhead: A lot of operatives died. Are we going to hold you responsible for all of them? Or any of them? They knew what they were doing. 

Pierce: I'm sorry, Ian. I'm tired. 

Woodhead: Of course. I'll leave you. 

He stands up to go, then turns back.

Woodhead: I was very shocked to hear what had happened, my dear. I'm relieved you're all right. I wanted you to know that. 

He leaves. Pierce closes her eyes. In her memory, she hears the sound of someone knocking on a door.

Pierce (voiceover): Come in. 

Flashback to the SOE offices. Sophie Corrigan walks in and Pierce stands up from her desk.

Pierce: Ah. Bonjour. 

Sophie: Bonjour, madame. 

Pierce: Je m'appelle Hilda Pierce. Asseyez-vous.

Sophie: Merci.

They both sit down.

Pierce: J'espère que vous avez navigué pas de problème trouver le bureau?

Sophie: Non, je l'ai trouvé très facilement, merci.

Pierce: And you've spoken to Mr Caplin? 

Sophie: Yes. We spoke for some time. But I still don't know why I'm here. 

Pierce: You're here because you speak fluent French, you lived in Paris for a while. I understand your father is French. 

Sophie: Yes. 

Pierce: You've got a first-class degree from Oxford in mathematics, and I believe you could be very useful to us. 

Sophie: In what way? 

Pierce: Well, I can't tell you that until you've signed the Official Secrets Act. But what I can tell you is that although this work that I'm offering you is extremely dangerous, it is vital to the w*r effort. It may mean you being away from home for some time. And you cannot tell anyone, not your family, not even your mother, anything about it. Am I making myself clear? 

Sophie: You're making yourself very unclear, Miss Pierce. 

Hospital room. Pierce smiles slightly to herself.

Golf club. Foyle and Valentine drive towards the building and get out of the car.

White (voiceover): It's not often I get a call from the Security Service. 

He sits at a table in the club lounge with the two of them standing in front of him.

White: Would you like a drink? 

Valentine: Not for me, thanks. 

Foyle: Er, no, I won't, thank you. 

White clears his throat, and the bartender leaves the room.

White: So, anything I can do to help? 

Valentine: Ah, perhaps you can start by telling us a bit about your business. 

White: I'm afraid I can't do that. It's against the rules. No business in the club lounge. 

He laughs to himself.

White: But since we're amongst friends, what do you want to know? I run a lot of businesses. There's the used cars, and a couple of clubs, luxury goods. 

Valentine: Cigarettes? 

He has his cigarette case open in front of him.

White: No. No perishables. Toasters, towel rails. That sort of thing. 

Valentine: What did you do during the w*r? 

White: Eyesight. Tragic. Couldn't join up. 

Foyle: Er, d'you know a man called Kuznetsov? 

White: Kuznetsov? 

Foyle: Mm-hmm. 

White: Arkady! My God, you have been busy! What, have you been photographing me with one of your secret cameras or something? I thought the Russkies were meant to be our friends. 

Valentine: You know him. Hmm.

White: Honorary member. We've played a round or two of golf. No crime in that. 

Valentine: Do you do business together? 

White: Against the rules. I just told you. You're not investigating him? 

Valentine: No, we, we don't need to investigate him. We know all about him. The Assistant Military Attaché at the Soviet Embassy. 

White: Well, then let me tell you something you may not know. He's a lousy golfer. You want to know the truth? Truth is, you shouldn't be hounding people like me. It's people like me that are gonna put this country back on its feet. 

Foyle: Is that right? 

White: Six years of misery. All those deaths. And what was it for? Austerity and penny-pinching? Forget it. That's not what people want any more. No. They want to smoke and drink and enjoy themselves. They want to wear new clothes and go on holiday. But that's not what you represent, is it? No. You're still stuck in the w*r, stuck in the past, and you just don't see it. You're not wanted any more. Now, d'you mind? I've got some golf to play. 

He stands up. Someone opens the door behind them.

Foyle: Till the next time. 

He and Valentine leave.

West Peckham constituency office. Chief Superintendent Alan Usborne walks through the corridors. He knocks on the office door and then enters. Adam and Glenvil are at the desk looking at paperwork.

Usborne: Mr Wainwright? I'm Chief Superintendent Usborne. I understand you called my desk sergeant. 

Adam: Well, it's very good of you to look in. 

Usborne: Oh, not at all. I happened to be passing, and if there's anything I can do for my local MP... 

Adam: Please. 

Usborne: Now, what's this about? Spivs? 

Adam: At the Green Lane Market. 

Usborne: I got your note, yes. What exactly is the problem? 

Glenvil: The problem is that we have people quite clearly breaking the law and nobody seems to be doing anything about it. 

Usborne: Let me stop you there. What evidence do you have that they're breaking the law? 

Adam: Well, only this morning we were offered socks off the back of a lorry, er, nylon stockings, whisky. 

Usborne: That's the sales pitch. 

Adam: So, you're saying it isn't true? 

Usborne: What if it is? I'd have said we were stretched enough already. Burglaries, robberies with v*olence. If Nurse Riff-Rafferty wants to pick up a few nylons on the sly, where's the harm in it? 

Glenvil: I don't agree. 

Usborne: Frankly, I wouldn't say it's any of your business, Mr... 

Glenvil: Harris. 

Adam: Chief Superintendent, I'm the one raising the matter. And I think we need to take action. 

Usborne: And I wouldn't have said it's the job of the local MP to dictate police procedure. 

Adam: We're not talking about procedure. We're talking about the law. 

Usborne: Very well. In my view, it's a complete waste of resources, but I'll look into it. Green Lane, you said? 

Adam: That's right. 

Usborne: I'll show myself out. 

He leaves and Glenvil exchanges a look with Adam.

Foyle's office. He's getting ready to leave when the telephone rings. He clears his throat as he goes back to pick it up.

Foyle: Hello? 

He straightens up as he listens.

Waterfront, night. Foyle looks around. There's the click of a g*n and he turns. Miles Corrigan approaches him, the revolver held down by his side.

Miles: You're Foyle. 

Foyle: Yes. 

Miles: You came alone? 

Foyle: You asked me to. 

Miles puts the g*n away.

Foyle: So you've spoken to your mother? 

Miles: She doesn't know anything about this. 

Foyle: She's very worried about you. Why are you doing this? 

Miles: They k*lled Sophie. 

Foyle: The w*r k*lled Sophie. 

Miles: They knew what they were doing, that she would die. 

Foyle: How can you know that? 

Miles: I haven't finished yet. I'm going to get all of them. 

Foyle: Hilda Pierce isn't d*ad. You haven't k*lled her. There's still time to stop this. 

Miles: My sister didn't achieve anything. She was tortured and ex*cuted, and the people who sent her to France, they knew exactly what was going to happen. They wanted it to happen. 

Foyle: Why would they want that? 

Miles: I don't know. You find out and tell me. Then I'll give myself up. 

Foyle: Miles... 

Miles: Hilda Pierce knew and she did nothing. 

He turns to walk away.

Miles: Next time I won't miss. 

Wainwright house, daylight. Sam is lying in bed. Adam comes in with a cup of tea and touches her shoulder.

Adam: Tea? 

Sam: Oh, you are sweet. 

She groans and sits up.

Sam: Oh. 

Adam heads over to the dresser to put his tie on. He picks up a package of stockings.

Adam: These yours? 

Sam: Well, whose else would they be? 

Adam: They're nylon. 

Sam: You mustn't be angry with me, Adam. They were ten bob. I know it's outrageous but you can't get them anywhere. 

Adam: No, I'm not... I'm not angry. I'm just wondering where you got them from. 

He comes back over to sit on the bed.

Sam: A man in the market. He gets them from America. You don't mind, do you? 

Adam: No. No, not at all. No, it's just... 

Sam: What? 

Adam: Oh, it's nothing. No, it doesn't matter. You, er, you're not going to work? 

Sam: No. I got the day off. 

MI5 building. Foyle knocks on the door of Sir Alec's office.

Sir Alec (offscreen): Come. 

Foyle walks in and closes the door behind him.

Inside. Sir Alec is sitting reading from a file in an armchair by the f*re.

Sir Alec: I thought I told you to concentrate on White. 

Foyle: I've done precisely that. 

Sir Alec: Then how do you account for this meeting with Miles Corrigan? 

Foyle: He telephoned me. I left a number with his mother. 

Sir Alec: And you went alone? 

Foyle: It's what he wanted. 

Sir Alec: Well, you might have been k*lled. And more to the point, if you'd shared this information, we might have been able to bring him in. As it is, we now have a young man out there, clearly deranged, who's thr*at to commit all manner mayhem. 

Foyle: No, I don't think that's the case. His intentions would appear to be very specific. 

Sir Alec: Well, who are the others? 

Foyle: Perhaps Hilda could help with that. 

Sir Alec: All right. Talk to her. You know, Foyle, I never very much cared for SOE, if you want the truth. They were a rag-tag sort of an operation, too secretive by half and frequently out of control. But Miss Pierce was different. I've always had the greatest admiration for her. 

Foyle: I know that. 

Sir Alec: Well, do what you have to. Sort this out. Let me know. 

Foyle: I will. 

He leaves.

A knock on a door.

Pierce (voiceover): Come. 

Foyle walks into Pierce's hospital room. She's now dressed and sitting up in bed, but still has her left arm in a sling.

Pierce: Mr Foyle. No flowers? 

Foyle: Ah. 

He snaps his fingers.

Pierce: Maybe at my funeral, hmm? 

Foyle: Well, that won't be happening for a little while, so I'm told. 

Pierce: I see you've given me protection. Whose idea was that? 

Foyle: Well, actually, it was somebody called Woodhead. 

Pierce: Oh, Ian? Was he very unpleasant? 

Foyle: Well, he's to the point. 

Pierce: Mmm. That's his way. He's not really like that. I hear you have a name. 

Foyle: Yes. Miles... Corrigan. 

He sits down beside the bed.

Pierce: Sophie's brother. 

Foyle: Mmm. Spitfire pilot... awarded the DSO. 

Pierce: He holds me responsible for her death. 

Foyle: Was it you who recruited her? 

Pierce: Yes. She was an obvious choice. Bilingual, degree from Oxford, intelligent. Lovely girl. Played the piano. Piano players always made the best radio operators. They had the best touch. 

Für Elise plays in her memory.

Pierce: She was also very pretty. 

Foyle: Was that important? 

Pierce: Well, it helped. 

Foyle: And what happened to her? 

Pierce: Three days after she arrived, she walked into a café in Paris... and the Gestapo were waiting for her. The ninth agent we lost in the space of a few months. 

Foyle: Nine? 

Pierce: There were only two possibilities. Either the circuit in France had been compromised, which was unthinkable, or there was a traitor here in the SOE. That's what Ian thought, so he gave them a name. Plato. 

Foyle: Did you find them? 

Pierce: Well, we couldn't look into it ourselves 'cause we were too close. We had to find someone outside Section F2, but still within the SOE. In the end, I recruited someone I knew from the Cairo Office. A planning officer, assistant to Major General Stawell. 

Foyle: Well, that would have been, er, Elizabeth Addis. 

Pierce: Of course, you know her. 

Foyle: We've met. 

Addis (voiceover): Ian Woodhead came to see me early in '44. 

Foyles sits across from her in her office.

Addis: He asked me to find Plato. Nine agents had died. There had to be someone inside SOE feeding information to the Germans. I interviewed more than 40 people over a three-month period. It wasn't easy. We couldn't let everyone know what we suspected. We had to think of morale. At the end of the day, I was able to bring it down to three suspects. Five, if you included Woodhead and Pierce. They were the only ones who had information on all nine agents. 

Foyle: So, who were they? 

Addis: Eric Caplin, Director of Operations and Training. He's a civil servant now. Senior. 

Foyle: Which department? 

Addis: I don't know. I'm sorry. Peter Hawtrey, Head of Codes and Communications until he resigned. I don't know where he is now. And there was Luc Tellier. "Lucky Luke". He was part of the moon squadrons. 

Foyle: What was that? 

Addis: The transport service landing agents in Northern France, flying out of Tangmere on the Sussex coast. 

Foyle: Did he fly all of them? 

Addis: All nine of them, yes. 

Foyle: Did you speak to him? 

Addis: Several times. To be honest, I didn't particularly like him, but I couldn't prove anything. And finally, it was inconclusive. Tellier struck me as the most likely suspect, but I couldn't be sure that any of them were double agents. 

Wainwright house. A man in overalls approaches the house, carrying a clipboard. He knocks and Sam answers the door.

Workman: Er, Mrs Wainwright? 

Sam: Yes?

Workman: We've had a report of a gas leak. 

Sam: What? From here? 

Workman: That's right, ma'am. I wonder if I could come in and have a butcher's. 

Sam: Erm, I haven't smelt anything. 

Workman: Well, it's, it's probably nothing, but better to be on the safe side. 

Sam: All right. You'd better come in. 

He follows her into the house.

Kitchen. Music is playing on the radio as Sam folds a rack of drying laundry out of the way. The workman sets his bag down on the kitchen table.

Woodhead's office. Foyle sits across from him at his desk.

Woodhead: Mrs Addis did a first-class job. An external investigation. Rigorous, fair, and extremely thorough. 

Foyle: But inconclusive. 

Woodhead: I wouldn't say that. She narrowed the field. 

He picks up three files.

Woodhead: Tellier. Hawtrey. Caplin. It had to be one of them. 

Foyle: But you found nothing. 

Woodhead: Er, you were a policeman during the w*r, tucked away in Hastings. You won't have much idea of what it was like for us. 

Foyle: Well, that would be correct. You and Hilda Pierce were suspected. Isn't that right? 

Woodhead: I was the one who instigated the Plato inquiry, for heaven's sake. As for Hilda, I won't hear a word said against her. She lived for those girls, her operatives. If anything, she was too close to them. 

Foyle: What do you mean by that? 

Woodhead: Only that she felt their loss very keenly. We were playing a dangerous game, Mr Foyle. I always said it was better to keep a distance. 

Foyle: Where can I find these men? 

Woodhead hands over the files to him one by one.

Woodhead: Caplin is with GEN-75 Committee over in Whitehall. I can arrange for you to meet him. 

Foyle: Thank you. 

Woodhead: Tellier is still flying. He's no longer with the service, of course. And Hawtrey has disappeared off the face of the earth. He may not even be in the country. You can keep those if you like. 

Woodhead pushes the files over to him as he stands up.

Foyle: Thank you. 

Woodhead: This man, Miles Corrigan, do you really think he might go after them? 

Foyle stands up.

Foyle: Oh, absolutely. And foolish to assume he won't come after you, too. 

He leaves.

Park. Miles watches from over a hedge as Eric Caplin walks through the park. He sits down on a bench at the base of wall, waiting. Neville Smith approaches and turns to stand beside Caplin without looking at him directly, taking out a cigarette.

Neville: Mr Caplin, how are you? 

Caplin: I'm all right. 

Neville: I'm glad to hear that. Have you got it? 

Caplin: You, You listen to me. You don't understand the risks I'm taking. They're, they're gonna notice. Now, you tell Mr White... 

Neville: Tell him what? 

He comes over and sits down next to Caplin.

Caplin: Nothing. Doesn't matter. But... there's not going to be anything else, not for a while. 

He lifts the corner of a newspaper in his lap. Neville takes an envelope from between the pages and tucks it in his pocket.

Neville: I've got a message for you. From Archie. 

Caplin: What? 

Neville: It's just he's looking forward to seeing you, if you're around next Friday. 

Caplin: Archie said that? 

Neville: Same time. Blue Lantern. You look after yourself. 

He gets up and walks away. Caplin does too.

From some distance away, Miles is still watching.

A busy street. As Caplin walks along, Miles follows him at a distance. Caplin crosses the road. Behind him, Miles draws his revolver. He starts to walk after him, then abruptly pulls back and hides the p*stol down at his side. Across the road, Caplin has just met up with a group of other men.

Caplin: Good lunch?

Man: Mm-hmm.

Caplin: Me too. Well, come on, then. Sorry.

They walk on together. Miles watches Caplin head inside a building, then turns to leave.

Wainwright house. Adam sits in the armchair having a drink while Sam is in the kitchen. There's a knock on the front door.

Adam: Who's that? Bit late. 

Sam: I'll go. 

She answers the door and finds a police car and a group of uniformed officers outside, headed by DI Skinner.

Skinner: Mrs Wainwright? 

Sam: Yes. 

Skinner: My name's Detective Inspector Skinner. I'm from the Metropolitan Police. I have a warrant here to search these premises. 

In the sitting room, Adam gets up from his chair.

Skinner heads past Sam into the house.

Skinner: So, excuse me, please. 

Sam: What are you talking about? 

Woman: What's going on down there?

Woman: Not sure.

Inside. Skinner directs the police officers to different rooms.

Skinner: Over there.

Adam: What is this? 

Skinner: I've explained everything to your wife, sir. My name's DI Skinner. 

Adam: Do you know who I am? I'm the MP for this area. 

Skinner: I know perfectly well who you are, sir. We've received information that you may be in possession of forged ration coupons. 

Adam: Well, that's ridiculous! 

Skinner: Then you won't mind if we take a look. 

Adam: Of course I mind. This is outrageous. 

Sam: Adam. 

Adam: I want to know the name of your superior officer. 

Skinner: Certainly, sir. It's Chief Superintendent Usborne. 

Policeman (offscreen): Sir... 

He comes in with a large stack of cigarette cartons.

Skinner: Are these yours, sir? Do you smoke? 

Outside. Adam is led out to the police car by the police officers. Sam watches them drive away.

Daylight. Sam and Adam are both standing in the kitchen, Sam holding a newspaper.

Sam: This was my fault. 

Adam: No, it wasn't. 

Sam: Yes, it was. As usual. 

She tosses down the newspaper, which has the headline LOCAL MP ARRESTED.

Sam: There was a man who came to the house. He said there was a gas leak, but there was no gas leak. I think that's when they must have done it. 

Adam: When was this? 

Sam: Yesterday. 

Adam: You weren't to know. 

Sam: What did Mr Harris say? 

Adam: Erm, when I got bailed this morning, he told me to come home and stay here. He's trying to sort things out with the Chief Whip. 

Sam: I won't let them do this to you, Adam. It's not fair!

Adam: Come on, now, Sam. There's nothing you can do. 

She laughs.

Sam: I think you're forgetting who I work for. 

Adam: You can't get them involved. 

Sam: Why not? This whole thing stinks. 

Adam: Please, Sam. I'll deal with it. We'll deal with it. You promise me you won't get into any trouble on my account. 

Special Forces Club. Stafford, holding a drink in his hand, is speaking with Kenton in the hallway.

Stafford: You sure? 

Kenton nods. Stafford heads through into the lounge, where Luc Tellier is at the bar.

Stafford: Well, well, well. Monsieur Tellier gracing us with his presence. Haven't seen you in a while. 

Tellier: I've been away. 

Stafford: Still flying? 

Tellier: What else is there? 

Stafford: Based at Tangmere? 

Tellier: Eh.

He shrugs.

Stafford: What'll you have? 

Tellier: Another Pernod. 

Stafford: You, er, hear about Hilda? Someone put a b*llet in her. 

Tellier: Oh, really? How is she? 

Stafford: She'll pull through. 

Tellier: Shame. 

Stafford: You never did much like her, did you? 

Tellier: Well, James, she was always a woman who knew how to make enemies. 

Stafford drains his glass.

Stafford: I'll join you in a minute. Same again. 

Kenton (offscreen): Yes, Mr Stafford. 

GEN-75 Committee offices, Whitehall. Valentine and Foyle walk through the office to where Caplin is standing.

Secretary: Mr Caplin. 

Caplin: Thank you. Mr Valentine, Mr Foyle. You're from the Security Service, is that right? There's nothing wrong, I hope. 

Valentine: We're here about, er, Hilda Pierce. 

Caplin: Hilda? Of course. Yes. I can't imagine why anyone would want to do such a thing. 

Valentine: The man who tried to k*ll her was Miles Corrigan. You know his sister, Sophie Corrigan. 

Caplin: Elise. 

Valentine: Mm-hmm. He believes that your section of SOE was somehow responsible for her death. 

Caplin: Well, that's absurd. It was a dreadful time. We, we lost a great many agents, but, well, it wasn't anyone's fault. 

Valentine: There was an informer. 

Caplin: No, there was an inquiry. Dragged on for months. Even after the w*r, they were still asking questions. But, but nothing was proved. 

Foyle: You were suspected, weren't you? 

Caplin: If there was a leak, if anyone was giving out information, I had nothing to do with it. You should... talk to Hawtrey. 

Valentine: Peter Hawtrey? 

Caplin: That's right. He, he resigned a few weeks before Elise was k*lled. Just upped and went. I always... wondered about that. He was always a, a bit of an outsider. 

Valentine: You suspected him? 

Caplin: Look, I was ops and training. I, I didn't really know what was going on in the field. I wasn't in a position to suspect anybody. All I'm saying is, if anyone stuck out, it was him. 

Valentine: Mm-hmm. Do you know where we can find him? 

Caplin: No idea. Look, I'm sorry. 

Outside. Foyle and Valentine walk out of the building together.

Foyle: Nervy sort of chap, wouldn't you say? 

Valentine: Couldn't agree more. 

He turns to a man standing nearby.

Valentine: Don't let him out of your sight. 

Agent: Yes, sir. 

Newsvendor (offscreen): News! News! 

MI5 offices. Sir Alec walks through the corridors carrying a set of files, and enters the outer office in front of Foyle's. Sam stands up from the desk.

Sam: Sir. 

Sir Alec: Mrs Wainwright, where's Mr Foyle? 

Sam: I was looking for him, too, sir. He asked me to meet him after he got back from Whitehall. 

Sir Alec hands her the files.

Sir Alec: I've got these for him. 

Sam: Are these urgent, sir?

Sir Alec: Telephone intercepts sent over from Special Branch. Black market. Damian White. 

He turns to go, then turns back.

Sir Alec: You all right, Mrs Wainwright? 

Sam: Yes, I'm... I'm very well. Thank you, sir. 

Sir Alec (offscreen): You don't seem quite yourself. 

He looks at her for a moment, then leaves. Sam takes the files through to set on Foyle's desk. She flips the top one open, and sees a transcript of a telephone conversation between Mr D. White and Mr A. Usborne.

Pierce's block of flats. Pierce, arm still in a sling, walks in with Woodhead. There are a pair of agents on guard outside the door behind them.

Pierce: Oh, this is so kind of you. 

Woodhead: Yes, well, you heard what the doctor said. It's too soon. You shouldn't have left. 

Pierce: Oh. You think you could have stopped me? 

Woodhead: No, which is why I gave you a lift. 

He looks up at the flights of stairs above.

Woodhead: Here. Take my arm. 

Pierce: You're not serious? 

He looks back at the agents outside the glass doors.

Woodhead: Well, just as far as the front door of the flat. 

She rather hesitantly takes his arm.

Woodhead (voiceover): Will you be all right here? 

Pierce (voiceover): Well, I've managed for the last twenty years. 

She's sitting on the sofa in her flat while Woodhead stands over her.

Woodhead: You know what I mean. 

Pierce: Yes, I'll be fine. 

Woodhead: Can I get you anything? Cup of tea? 

Pierce: You've never made a cup of tea in your life. 

Woodhead: Oh, I can probably work out the procedure. 

Pierce: Glass of water would be nice. 

He heads through into the kitchen.

Woodhead: So... this is where you live? I've... often wondered. 

Pierce: Have you? 

Woodhead: Occasionally. 

He opens a cupboard.

Pierce: Bottom left. 

Woodhead: Ah. Right. 

Pierce: I don't think I ever really did live here. I think I only came here to sleep. 

Woodhead: Those were the days. 

Pierce: Were they? 

Woodhead: We were part of history. What we achieved - the SOE - will never be forgotten. 

He brings the glass of water out to set on the coffee table.

Pierce: But at what cost? 

Woodhead: Of course it was bloody. We always knew it would be hard. But to take the fight to the enemy behind the lines... 

Pierce: Elise lasted three days. 

Woodhead: Maybe we need to resign ourselves, Hilda. 

He sits down on the arm of the sofa.

Woodhead: We may never know what really happened. 

Pierce: Why did we never find him? 

Woodhead: Plato? It wasn't for want of looking. You knew how hard things were. You knew the risks we were running. 

Pierce: But three days. 

Woodhead: Her life wasn't wasted. We came through in the end. We were there on D-Day. It was our agents, our intelligence, that made the difference. We played our part. 

Pierce: I know. 

Woodhead: I wouldn't change anything for what we achieved, you and me. And Elise, all the others, they would agree. 

Pierce: D'you think so? 

Woodhead: I couldn't live with myself if they didn't. 

She lays a hand on his arm.

Woodhead: Do you want me to stay? 

Pierce: No. Go. I want to lie down. But come back. 

He smiles and then turns to leave. Pierce lies down against the back of the sofa with an oof.

Flashback to an airfield at night. A plane is sitting ready to depart. Pierce walks over to meet Sophie as she comes round the back of a car with her suitcases.

Pierce: How are you feeling? 

Sophie sets the cases down on the ground.

Sophie: I thought I'd be more nervous. 

Pierce: Well, be nervous. Be afraid. Fear will help keep you alive. Here. I have something for you. Just something I'd like you to have. It was given to me by my mother. 

She hands Sophie a brooch.

Sophie: It's beautiful. Thank you. 

Pierce pins it on her jacket for her.

Pierce: I don't think it's very valuable. And, don't worry, it is French. Ha.

She steps back.

Pierce: There. Now I can think of you wearing it. 

Sophie: Thank you, Miss Pierce. Thank you for everything. 

She bends down to pick up her cases again.

Pierce: Just promise me you'll take care. 

Sophie: I promise. 

She walks across the airfield and climbs into the plane. As it taxis away, Pierce heads back to the car. She pauses a moment to watch it go.

Palladium theatre, night. Miles paces back and forth in front of the entrance, then turns to look through the doors. Inside, Caplin is just coming down the stairs. He pauses at the bend in the stairs to light a cigarette. Miles walks into the building to block his way down the stairs.

Miles: Mr Caplin. 

Caplin: What? 

He notices the g*n Miles is holding down by his side.

Caplin: God, I, I never did anything to you. 

He holds up his hands.

Miles: This is for Elise. 

As he raises the g*n, two MI5 agents enter the building.

Agent: Corrigan! Drop your w*apon! 

Miles looks back at them as he fires, and the sh*t hits the wall behind Caplin as he ducks. Miles turns to run.

Agent: Mr Caplin, are you all right? 

Caplin: Yeah. 

He hurries down the stairs to head out of the building. The agents follow Miles through into the darkened theatre, where he runs between the empty seats.

Agent: Corrigan! 

He turns and fires twice at them. They return f*re from the balcony. He sh**t back, then turns to sh**t again, and cries out as a b*llet strikes him in the torso. He staggers on through a door into the backstage area.

Outside. Miles runs through a dark alley, stumbling and panting. He stops to look around, then sees the agents behind him, and fires at them again.

Agent: Come on! 

As they run after him, he heads into an abandoned building.

Agent: After him! 

Inside. Miles staggers up a staircase.

Alleyway. The lead agent directs the other man round the side of the building.

Agent: Go round the front! 

Agent 2: Righto! 

The lead agent heads in after Miles.

Staircase. Miles leans heavily on the stair rail as he staggers up. He stops at the corner of the stairs and slides down to rest.

Alleyway. Foyle and Valentine drive along the narrow alley towards the abandoned building. An agent is waiting outside the door as they park.

Agent: He's inside, sir. We've got all the exits covered. 

Foyle gets out and heads towards him.

Foyle: Caplin? 

Agent: He's all right, sir. 

Valentine follows Foyle over, looking up at the building.

Foyle: And what about him? 

Agent: Er, he took one b*llet, maybe two. 

Valentine: Why did you do that? 

He heads through into the building.

Agent: He fired on us. 

Foyle: I understand. 

He follows Valentine.

Inside. Foyle calls up the stairs.

Foyle: Miles? 

Up above, Miles lurches back upright and continues up the stairs. Valentine and Foyle follow him.

Upper floor. Miles staggers away from the stairs and stops against a wall. He opens his coat to look at himself. His front is coated in blood. As he moves on, he leaves a bloody handprint on the wall. Shortly after, Valentine, armed with a p*stol, and Foyle follow.

Ahead of them, Miles goes through a doorway into a room and leans against an abandoned piece of furniture to steady his aim as he points his g*n. Valentine appears in the doorway, aiming back at him. Foyle stands just behind him.

Valentine: We're not gonna hurt you. 

Miles drops the g*n and gradually slumps to the floor.

Foyle: Miles? 

He approaches Miles.

Foyle: A doctor, I think. 

Valentine turns to leave as Foyle crouches by Miles and takes his hand.

Foyle: We're here to help, don't worry. Someone's coming. Why are you doing this? 

Miles: It's... Roberts... 

Foyle: Roberts? Who's Roberts? 

He mutters something indistinct and stares over Foyle's shoulder, and mumbles the lines that he's hearing in his memory.

Miles (mumbled): I don't understand why it has to be you. 

Sophie (voiceover): I don't know. I didn't choose this. 

Flashback. She and Miles walk through their back garden together.

Miles: You could have said no. 

Sophie: I don't think so. 

Cut back to the present.

Miles (mumbled): I hate this w*r. I hate everything about it. 

Flashback.

Sophie: I'll be all right. The w*r won't go on forever. I promise you. We'll all be together again. 

Cut back to the present. Miles hears children's giggles as he stares into space.

Flashback. Young Miles runs after Sophie in the garden, laughing. He pushes her on the swing hung from a tree.

Cut back to the present. Miles stares dazedly.

Flashback. Young Miles and Sophie are lying on a blanket in the garden. Their father comes out of the house.

Mr Corrigan: Miles! Sophie! Tea's ready! 

They get up and run to him.

Cut back to the present. Miles breathes raggedly.

Flashback. Miles sees young Sophie walk towards him across the garden.

Cut back to the present. Miles breathes out one last time, and dies. Foyle looks down.

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

Sir Alec: I do not appreciate sh**t on the street. Foyle, I thought you had this under control. 

Valentine: If we hadn't had our people there Caplin would have been k*lled. 

Sir Alec: Did I ask you? I'm sorry he died. But surely that's an end to it. There's nothing more for you to do. 

Foyle: Well, a woman has lost both her children for reasons we're apparently unable to explain. If you were her, you'd appreciate some answers from us, wouldn't you? 

Valentine: If there was a traitor in SOE... 

Sir Alec: SOE is finished, disbanded. 

Valentine: The traitor could have moved on. Could be in intelligence. Could be in government. 

Sir Alec: Sir Ian Woodhead is my counterpart at MI6. Eric Caplin is a member of the GEN-75 Committee. It is inconceivable that either of them could have divided loyalties. 

Foyle: GEN-75? 

Sir Alec: It's a cabinet sub-committee reporting directly to the Prime Minister. It's responsible for the shape and direction of our country's atomic programme. So I suggest you leave Caplin alone. Have you anything else? 

Valentine: We've found the pilot. 

Sir Alec: Who? 

Valentine: Luc Tellier. He's one of the main suspects. 

Sir Alec: All right. See him. But I'm losing patience, Foyle, and there are other priorities. Damian White, for one.  Have you seen those telephone intercepts? 

Foyle: Of course. 

Sir Alec: Good. I'm giving you two more days and that's it. 

Golf club. White and Neville Smith walk into a lounge where Kuznetsov is sitting at a table.

White: Arkady Kuznetsov. How are you today? I hope you don't mind my making an observation. 

He sits down opposite Kuznetsov.

White: But I was watching your backswing just now, and I think you need to rotate the body more into the sh*t. You'll get more distance. 

Kuznetsov nods very slightly.

White: You've never got very much to say for yourself, have you? All you bloody Reds. 

Kuznetsov: You should visit my country. Maybe it will surprise you. 

White: Workers' paradise, I'm sure. 

He clicks his fingers, and Neville steps forward to give Kuznetsov a newspaper.

White: You might find today's issue of interest. Page seven. And we're at the usual postbox? 

Kuznetsov nods.

White: Good. 

He and Neville leave, while Kuznetsov opens the paper to find an envelope.

Golf course. White and Neville walk along, dressed for a game of golf. Neville stops by the stump of a tree, and lifts out a chunk of wood to retrieve an envelope hidden beneath. It's full of money. He tucks it into his pocket.

White: Drinks are on me, Neville. 

West Peckham constituency office. Glenvil Harris is working at a typewriter. There's a knock and the door opens.

Glenvil: Sorry, we're closed! 

Then he looks up and sees that it's Sam. She approaches the desk.

Glenvil: Mrs Wainwright. 

Sam: Please. Call me Sam. And I shall call you Glenvil. After all, we've known each other long enough. 

She sits down opposite him.

Glenvil: Why are you here? 

Sam: I want to talk to you. About Adam. You don't believe he's guilty, do you? 

Glenvil: No, of course not. I was just writing to the Chief Whip. 

Sam: These are transcripts from a telephone call made from a man called Damian White. He's a big racketeer. 

She takes the transcript out of her pocket and gives it to Glenvil.

Glenvil: Where'd you get this? 

Sam: It doesn't matter. Look at the name of the man he's talking to. 

Glenvil: Usborne. 

Sam: Chief Superintendent Usborne. The man you and Adam met here. It can't be a coincidence. 

Glenvil: Have you shown this to Adam? 

Sam: Usborne and White have arranged to meet, this evening. If we can photograph them, we can prove that Adam was set up. 

Glenvil: Er, it doesn't say where they're meeting. 

Sam: If we follow Usborne, we can find out. 

Glenvil: No. I'm sorry, M- er, Sam. This man is a racketeer. 

Sam: Please, Glenvil. I'll do anything to help Adam, but I can't do this on my own. 

Glenvil: I know, but... 

Sam: Look, I didn't want to say this, but this was partly your fault. Adam never wanted to go to the police. You persuaded him. 

Glenvil: That's true, and I'm sorry, but I don't think the answer is to go charging in on our own. 

She stands up.

Sam: We're not going to be on our own. I know someone. Thank you. 

Airfield. Foyle and Valentine stand by their car, watching as a plane comes in to land. Luc Tellier is the pilot. They approach the plane as the passengers disembark.

Passenger: Thank you.

Woman: Goodbye, sir. 

Tellier (voiceover): How did you find me? 

He's now out of the plane and standing on the airfield with Foyle and Valentine.

Tellier: Stafford? He telephoned you? Well, anyway, I can't tell you anything about her. I can't tell you anything about any of them. 

Flashback to Tellier in the cockpit of a military plane.

Tellier (voiceover): To me, they all looked the same. At night, with the full moon, pretty girls in their French civvies. 

Pierce stands talking with Sophie across the airfield.

Tellier (voiceover): Always two cases. One with the radio. 

Cut back to the present.

Tellier: I never even knew her real name. 

Valentine: You were investigated. 

Tellier: After Elise died, we were all investigated. They didn't know how it had happened. They were scared. 

Valentine: Wasn't just Elise, you know. They thought you might have been responsible for the death of nine agents. 

Tellier: I was responsible. I flew them to their death. Of course, I knew nothing then, but... how do you think I feel now? 

Foyle: D'you know Peter Hawtrey? 

Tellier: I flew with him. Once. It was a mission over Northern France. 

Flashback to Tellier and Hawtrey in flight.

Tellier (voiceover): It was very dangerous, but there was something he wanted to know. 

Valentine (voiceover): Do you know what? 

Tellier (voiceover): I was at the front. He was at the back. I knew nothing. 

Cut back to the present.

Foyle: And this was when? 

Tellier: February or March, '44, I don't remember but it was just a few weeks before he resigned. Suddenly he was gone and nobody was saying anything. Even his name. It wasn't mentioned any more. 

Foyle: Where is he now? D'you know? 

Tellier: No. No, I don't know. Special Operations was unique. In this country there was nothing else like it. But, in order to exist, it had to protect itself, and what happened to people like me, they didn't care. I risked my life many times for them. Many times! And they treated me like a criminal. 

Later. Foyle and Valentine are walking back towards their car.

Valentine: So Hawtrey flew over Northern France just before Elise died. 

Foyle: Yeah, bit risky for a section head, wouldn't you say? 

Valentine: We need to find him. What about Caplin? He was, er, Head of Operations. He must have known about the flight. 

Foyle: Well, since you mention it, there's something not adding up. The agents following Caplin said he, er, went into the Palladium at seven forty-five and came out just after nine. 

Valentine: Maybe he didn't like the show. 

Foyle: Well, there was no show. That's the point. 

Valentine laughs and stops walking.

Valentine: You know, Foyle, you've put your finger on it. How very pleasant. Just for once, I know something you don't. I know exactly why he went there. 

They both get into the car.

Police station, night. Sam and Glenvil are watching the building from the other side of the street.

Glenvil: How much longer are we gonna wait? 

Sam: He said six o'clock.

Glenvil: He could have gone out a back way. 

Usborne walks out of the building opposite.

Glenvil: I'm just not at all sure about the wisdom of this. 

Sam: Is... Is that him? 

Glenvil: It is. Yeah.

Usborne turns to walk  around the corner.

Sam: Come on. 

They head across the street after Usborne, and another figure follows them.

Pierce's flat, night. A man directs Foyle towards the flat.

Agent: Just through there, sir. 

Foyle: Thank you. 

Pierce is standing by her typewriter, a letter in her hand, her other arm still in the sling.

Pierce: Mr Foyle. How very good to see you. 

Foyle: How are you? 

Pierce: Oh, I'm better. I should be at work. 

Foyle: There's really no hurry. 

Pierce: Well, I appreciate your concern, but I need to know what's going on. Miles Corrigan is d*ad. 

Foyle: Yes. 

Pierce: That saddens me very much. You were with him. Did he say anything? 

Foyle: Well, is this really the time to be... 

Pierce: Oh, please. I need to know. 

She sits down on the sofa and takes a seat opposite.

Foyle: Who's Roberts? 

Pierce: Roberts? 

Foyle: He mentioned somebody called Roberts. 

Pierce: I don't know any Roberts. He didn't say anything else? 

Foyle: Well, it was difficult. Erm... I couldn't follow what he was trying to say. 

Pierce: I imagine, by now, you've spoken to Elizabeth Addis. 

Foyle: Yes. 

Pierce: Well, I'm sorry. That was wrong of me. Has she spoken to you about Plato? 

Foyle: Yes. 

Pierce: Who have you spoken to? 

Foyle: Well, the same people that were interviewed by the inquiry, apart from Peter Hawtrey, because nobody appears to know where he is. 

Pierce: Well, I never saw him after he resigned. 

Foyle: Do you know why he resigned? 

Pierce: No. For Head of Communications, he was an extremely uncommunicative man. I was away at Wanborough Manor when he left. 

Foyle: And you haven't spoken to him since? 

Pierce: No need to. He had his own reasons. 

Foyle: A few weeks before, he took a flight over Northern France. What was that about? 

Pierce is silent for a few moments.

Pierce: Erm... Er, I'm gonna have a drink. I have some whisky. Will you join me? 

Foyle: Yes. 

He gets up to pour the drinks for her.

Pierce: France? I know nothing about this. 

He hands her a glass.

Pierce: And you say you, you don't know where to find him? 

He pours a second drink for himself.

Foyle: That's right. 

Pierce: Then it's high time you did. Find him, and I want to know the moment you do. 

Woodhead (voiceover): How much does he know? 

He stands in his office with Addis.

Addis: If you're talking about Foyle, I have no idea. I know him. 

Woodhead: Hilda told me. 

Addis: She asked me to keep an eye on him. If you want the truth, I wish I hadn't. 

Woodhead: And why is that? 

Addis: He's a decent man. I don't think he quite knows what he's got himself into. What sort of people we are. 

Woodhead: And yet you agreed? 

Addis: Hilda persuaded me it was necessary. She said he was out of control. 

Woodhead: He still is. He's already spoken with Caplin and Tellier. If he finds Hawtrey, that'll be the end of it. 

Addis: You told me this had nothing to do with Plato. 

Woodhead: The law of unintended consequence. 

Addis: Where is Hawtrey? 

Woodhead: Funnily enough, I've no idea. 

Addis: What are you afraid of, Ian? 

Woodhead: Afraid? 

Addis: You're afraid of Hilda, aren't you? She's going to find out. 

Woodhead: You were part of it, Elizabeth. You didn't like it then, you might not like it now, but it's the truth. 

Addis: I'll say good night. 

She leaves.

Industrial area, night. Sam and Glenvil continue to follow Usborne alongside a warehouse.

Sam: Come on. 

Warehouse. Machinery clanks and clatters in the background as Sam and Glenvil make their way through the building.

A butcher, Charlie, is chopping meat from a hanging carcass. There are bottles of alcohol lined up nearby.

White: Charlie. Good to see you, me old china. 

Charlie: Hello, Mr White. 

Man: Mr White. 

Man: Hello, Mr White. 

Sam and Glenvil watch from behind a set of shelves.

Blakey: Hello, Mr White. 

White: Here, Blakey. Come here. 

Sam takes a photo with a miniature camera as White meets with Blakey, the spiv from the market.

White: Very tasty. I'll have one of those if you've got one to spare. 

Blakey: Yeah, go on. 

He hands White a radio.

White: I know just the fella. 

Sam takes more photos as White meets with Usborne.

White: Alan. 

Usborne: Nice to see you, Mr White. 

White: I've got a gift for you. 

He hands Usborne the radio. Sam takes another photo.

White: That little matter taken care of? 

Usborne: That's what I've come to see you about. 

White: Step into the office. 

Glenvil: Seen enough? 

Sam: No. We need to get nearer. 

Neville Smith steps up to the other side of the shelves that they're hiding behind.

Neville: What d'you think you're doing? 

Later. Sam and Glenvil are sitting on the ground with Neville and White standing over them. Usborne is behind them.

Neville: They were spying on us.

Sam: No, we weren't. 

Usborne: I know him. We've met. You're Harris. I know what this is about. It's about that bloody MP. 

Sam: No. 

White: So, what are you, his wife? You took a big risk coming here, darlin'. 

Glenvil: Look, this is ridiculous. Just let us go. 

Usborne: They've seen us together. 

White: Neville?

He and Usborne walk away, leaving Neville standing over the two of them. As he steps closer, there's a sudden small expl*si*n from across the warehouse. There are yells and screams. As Neville moves to take cover, Sam pulls Glenvil up. A machine g*n opens f*re. The sh**t is James Stafford.

Outside. Sam and Glenvil make out of the building, coughing in the smoke.

Sam: Quick! Come on! 

Man (offscreen): Down! Get down! 

The two of them reach the corner where Stafford stands waiting for them.

Stafford: You all right? 

Glenvil: Come on.

Sam: Yes!

Stafford: I thought I might have left it too late. 

Sam: Oh. Glenvil, this is Mr James Stafford. He used to be with the SOE. 

Glenvil: That was you? 

Stafford: Smoke b*mb and blank cartridges, but it seems to have done the trick. Did you get what you want? 

Sam: Absolutely. 

Stafford: Right. Let's make a move. 

They head away from the building.

Glenvil: Never again, Sam. Any more of this, I'm joining the Tories. 

She laughs.

GEN-75 Committee offices, Whitehall. Caplin is standing talking with two men.

Man: Yes, of course. 

Man: Thank you, sir. 

As the two men walk away, Caplin sees Valentine and Foyle approaching.

Caplin: Gentlemen, I've already told you everything I know. 

Valentine: Mr Caplin, we'd like your help putting an end to the activities of a man called Damian White. 

Caplin: Well, I don't know any Damian White. 

Valentine hands him a photo.

Foyle: You certainly know some of his associates. 

The photo shows Caplin meeting with Neville Smith and another man, Archie. Caplin looks up from the photograph.

Caplin: Not here. 

Toilets. Valentine and Caplin stand talking by the sinks while Foyle paces over by the door.

Valentine: This man's Neville Smith. He works for Damian White. 

Caplin: You're wrong. I've told you. I don't know a Damian White. 

Valentine: We haven't identified the young man you're being introduced to. Perhaps you'd prefer it that way. 

Caplin: I don't know what you're talking about. 

Valentine: Oh. Do I have to spell it out? 

Flashback to the alleyway outside the Blue Lantern at night.

Valentine (voiceover): Circle Bar of the Palladium, when there's no show, is frequented by a certain kind of man wishing to meet a similar kind of man. Both men are breaking the law. 

Caplin approaches the entrance to the club.

Valentine (voiceover): These men can also be seen on the first floor of Lyon's Corner House, Coventry Street, Chez Victor's, Wardour Street. 

Neville brings Archie over to Caplin.

Valentine (voiceover): I've been asking around. 

Caplin and Archie shake hands.

Valentine (voiceover): You've been seen in all of them. 

Caplin (voiceover): Please stop. 

From a nearby vantage point above, Valentine takes a photograph of the three men.

Valentine (voiceover): It may help you to know that well, I know this because I've been in those places myself. 

Valentine takes more pictures as the trio head into the club.

Valentine (voiceover): Music Box. Sphinx. Sonia's. 

Caplin (voiceover): You? 

After the three men go in, Valentine sighs a little to himself.

Valentine (voiceover): I'm only surprised we've never met. 

Cut back to the present. Caplin's speech is very shaky as he goes on.

Caplin: I... I... I met a young person. Archie. He's the... the boy in the photograph. Damian White owns the club- the club, I think. I... I think he owns Archie. 

Foyle: And so he was blackmailing you for what? 

Caplin: Information. 

He starts to cry and covers his face.

Caplin: Documents. 

Foyle: I'm sorry to have to tell you, but he's been selling them to the Soviets. 

Caplin: I, I d-

He clears his throat.

Caplin: I didn't know what he was doing with them. I never... I never asked. 

Golf club. Foyle and Valentine drive up to the building and get out. There are already police cars parked outside.

Inside. Valentine and Foyle head up the staircase. Guests mill around, uniformed police speaking with some of them.

Man (offscreen): Does this man know I am? Is this really necessary? I'm confused...

A police officer stands over Neville Smith up on the landing.

Woman (offscreen): Is he down there?

As Valentine reaches the top of the stairs, an agent hands him a stack of papers.

Agent: Sir. 

Man (offscreen): Don't get involved, my dear.

Man (offscreen): Is there a problem?

Valentine shows the documents to Foyle.

Man (offscreen): Excuse me. If you could tell us what's actually happening...

Neville watches as Foyle and Valentine walk through the door.

Man (offscreen): I'm getting my glass.

White's office. He's sitting behind the desk as Valentine and Foyle walk in. A policeman and an agent stand guarding the door.

Valentine: These papers contain highly classified information concerning our atomic programme. Can you explain how they came to be in your office? 

White: I have no idea. 

Valentine: No. We know all about Mr Caplin. We know about the Blue Lantern. We know about your connection with Arkady Kuznetsov. Mr Caplin's made a full confession. 

White: Well. That would seem to be that, then. 

He stands up.

Valentine: Oh, I'd say so. 

He and Foyle turn to go.

White: For what it's worth, Mr Foyle, I'm not a Bolshie. I love my country. This was all just business. 

Foyle: And, for what it's worth, Mr White, whatever you may call it, you're guilty of treason - which still carries a death sentence. 

White leans on his desk. Foyle nods to the policeman as he and Valentine leave. The policeman gets his handcuffs out and goes over to haul White out of his chair.

Foyle's office. Sam stands by the desk as Foyle studies a set of photographs.

Foyle: So you took these? 

He's holding one of White and Usborne together.

Sam: Before you say anything, sir, I know it was wrong, and dangerous, but Adam's whole future was at stake. Our future. I couldn't just stand by and let it all happen. 

Foyle: Mm-hmm. 

Sam: I took great care, sir. Mr Harris and Mr Stafford were with me. Mr Stafford provided me with a camera. Will they be enough to clear Adam's name? 

Foyle: Well, yes. In fact, the lot of them have been arrested. 

Sam: What about this Chief Superintendent Usborne? 

Foyle: Proving corruption, er, bit difficult. 

Sam: What about receiving stolen property? White gave Usborne a Roberts radio. 

Foyle looks at the photo of White handing the radio over for a moment, and then up at Sam.

Foyle: Thank you. 

Later. Sam and Foyle drive towards the Corrigan house and Foyle gets out.

Foyle (voiceover): I'm so very sorry. 

He's sitting in the lounge opposite Joyce Corrigan.

Joyce: To lose a child to the w*r is one thing, but, er... Miles. I've no idea what possessed him. 

Foyle: If it's any consolation, we're doing our very best to find out. D'you remember mentioning to me the last time you saw him? 

Joyce: It was the morning of my birthday. 

Foyle: Do you mind me asking, erm, did he buy you anything? 

Joyce: Oh, not at all. He, he bought me that radio. 

She turns to point at it.

Foyle: Mmm. 

Joyce: The, er, old one wasn't behaving terribly well. 

Foyle: Where would he have bought that, do you think? 

Joyce: I'm afraid I don't know. 

Foyle: Would you mind if I took a look? 

Joyce: No, not at all. 

He goes over and opens the case, turning the radio round.

Foyle: And I remember you saying he was angry about something. Is that right? 

Joyce: Yes. I'd never seen him like that before. 

Foyle finds a label for an electrical and household goods shop in Framley.

Framley. Sam drives Foyle up to the shop. He gets out and heads into the building.

Foyle (offscreen): Peter Hawtrey? 

Hawtrey (offscreen): How can I help you? 

Later. Hawtrey turns away from Foyle, heading into the back of the shop.

Hawtrey: I don't want to talk to you. Why should I talk to you? 

Foyle: Because I'm trying to help. 

Hawtrey: Are you? 

Foyle: And because Miles Corrigan... is d*ad. 

Hawtrey: What? 

Foyle: He was here, wasn't he? Am I right? Fairly recently. 

Hawtrey: Yes. 

Flashback. Miles writes out a cheque for the radio and hands it to Hawtrey.

Hawtrey: Thank you. 

He looks at the cheque.

Hawtrey: Corrigan. I knew a Corrigan once. You remind me of her. 

Miles: Sophie Corrigan? Is that who you mean? 

Hawtrey: Sophie? 

Miles: I'm her brother. 

Hawtrey (voiceover): I shouldn't have said anything. 

Cut back to the present.

Hawtrey: I should have kept my mouth shut. But I had to tell him what they'd done to her, the bastards. It was 1944. Eight agents had died. I, I knew something had to be wrong. So I began to listen in to the actual live transmissions. I knew these agents. I'd met them. I'd helped with their training. And I knew it wasn't them. Every agent had their own fist, and that was what was missing. Their tapping was uncharacteristically clipped, or slow. To begin with, I didn't believe it myself. If I was right, it meant the entire network had been blown apart and F2 section was finished. Over. It was unthinkable, but there it was. I didn't dare tell anyone, not without proof. There was only one thing I could do. 

Flashback. Hawtrey walks out to the plane with Tellier.

Hawtrey (voiceover): There was an agent in France I knew personally. His name was Edward Sykes and he'd helped set up the network. It was dangerous, but I got into a plane equipped with a directional microwave transceiver, and I flew over Northern France. That way, I was actually able to speak to him directly. 

Later. Hawtrey adjusts knobs on the transceiver as they're in flight.

Hawtrey: Sykes, are you receiving me? This is Peter Hawtrey. Over. Sykes. 

Man (over radio): Hello, Peter. How are you? 

Hawtrey: I need to know about you, Ed. How are things with you? Is everything all right? Over. 

Man (over radio): Everything is good. It is good. 

Hawtrey (voiceover): We spoke for ten minutes. I knew at once it wasn't Ed. 

Cut back to the present.

Hawtrey: He had a German accent, for Christ's sake. 

Foyle: And this was when?

Hawtrey: 10th of March, 1944. Eight weeks before Elise was dropped into France. 

Flashback. A café in Paris. Sophie Corrigan walks in. A man at a table watches her pass. She stands at the counter next to another man.

Sophie: Bonjour.

Server: Bonjour.

Sophie: Je cherche Monsieur Gerber.

Server: Oui.

The man abruptly stands up from the table, and he and the man at the counter grab Sophie and force her to the ground. A German officer walks in.

Cut back to the present.

Hawtrey: I went to see Woodhead. I knew he wouldn't like it. The bastard ran F2 like it was his own personal crusade. But he had to know the truth. 

Foyle: Is that what you told him? 

Hawtrey: Yes. He didn't believe it. He refused to believe it. He thought I was mad. I made him promise to talk it over with Hilda Pierce, and a few days later, she contacted me. 

He goes over and opens a drawer.

Hawtrey: This is the letter. Signed by her. 

He hands the letter to Foyle.

Hawtrey: You see? The bitch fired me! 

London. Sam is driving along with Pierce in the back of the car. Pierce gazes out of the window.

Flashback to Sophie leaving her mother's house and walking out to meet Pierce at the car.

Cut back to the present. Sam and Pierce drive along a country lane and arrive outside the shop in Framley. Sam parks and gets out.

Later. Pierce sits in Hawtrey's shop, reading the letter.

Pierce: How did you get this? 

Hawtrey: Internal mail. It was in my pigeonhole. 

He's standing opposite her, while Foyle stands by watching.

Pierce: And what did you do? 

Hawtrey: What could I do? That same day, I packed my things and left. 

Pierce: Well, why did you never approach me directly? Why did you never tell anyone else? 

Hawtrey: You were away. I never got the chance. 

Pierce: Oh, but you told Miles Corrigan. 

Hawtrey: I didn't know he would try to k*ll you. I'm sorry. But the w*r's over now. He had a right to know. 

Pierce: And now he's d*ad! He's d*ad because of you! Have you any idea how much harm you've caused? 

Outside. Pierce sniffs as she gets into the back of the car. She wipes her nose with a handkerchief as Foyle gets in next to her.

Pierce: I didn't write that letter. My signature was forged. Thank you, Mr Foyle. I always knew I could rely on you. 

Sam backs the car away from the shop.

University College. Addis is reading a file in the lounge. She looks up as Foyle enters.

Addis: I was expecting you. 

She closes the file.

Foyle: I thought I should tell you that Hilda knows everything. 

Addis: I'm so very sorry. 

Foyle: Yes, so am I. You knew from the beginning that there was no Plato? 

Addis: Yes. 

Foyle: And yet you went ahead with a three-month inquiry into a double agent that never existed? 

Addis: I was SOE. You didn't ask questions. You did what you were told. 

Foyle: Like you did when you spied on me? 

She stands up.

Addis: You have to understand. It's not you. It's not me. It's the world that we inhabit. 

Foyle says nothing.

MI6 offices. Woodhead walks into his office, and then closes the door behind him as he sees Pierce. She's sitting at the table with her back to the door. He walks round to sit opposite.

Woodhead: Hilda? 

Pierce: I had to see you, Ian. The thing is, I saw Hawtrey. 

Woodhead: Ah. How is he? 

Pierce: He showed me the letter. I didn't f*re him, you did. You couldn't let the truth come out, could you? 

Woodhead: Hawtrey is wrong. It was all supposition. 

Pierce: No, he was right! You knew there was a good chance that Elise would be k*lled the moment she stepped off that plane in France, but you still let her go. You didn't care. And when she died, the ninth agent in less than three months, you realised you had to cover your tracks. 

He scoffs.

Pierce: So you invented Plato. 

Woodhead: No, Plato was not an invention. There was always a possibility-

Pierce: No, there wasn't! There was never a traitor in the SOE, and you know it! You were deliberately sending those girls to their death. They were tortured. They were ex*cuted. Why? 

Woodhead: You know why. You have to remember how it was. They were all against us. b*mb Command, Whitehall, MI5, MI6. Even de Gaulle and the Free French. They would have closed us down in the blink of an eye. 

Pierce: If they'd found out. 

Woodhead: It wasn't just that. We wanted the same thing, you and I. We had to make it to D-Day. If they had known our circuits in France had been compromised, our role in the w*r would have been over. 

Pierce: But you never told me! 

Woodhead: Because you would have stopped me! 

Pierce: Of course I would! I trusted you. All those years we worked together. And those girls. My girls. Did you never think? 

Flashback. A battered Sophie Corrigan is hauled along a passageway by two German soldiers, and out into a yard where an officer stands waiting. They drag her round to kneel on the ground with her back to him. He raises a p*stol and sh**t her through the back of the head. She falls to the ground, d*ad, and the three Germans walk away.

Cut back to the present. Woodhead and Pierce stare at each other in silence for a moment.

Pierce: I can't live with it. I can't. 

Woodhead: No, it's all in the past, Hilda. We did what we had to but it's behind us now. 

Pierce: Not for me. I cannot accept what we did. 

She reaches into her sling and pulls out a grenade. As Woodhead stares at it, she pulls out the f*ring pin. She holds the grenade against the table for a moment, then lets it go. The office explodes.

Wainwright house. Sam, dressed in black, sits in front of the bedroom dresser, studying herself in the mirror. Adam walks into the room.

Adam: We're gonna be late. 

Sam: I hate funerals. 

Adam: So do I. 

Sam: I'm going to tell him, today. Mr Foyle. Everyone's so sad, anyway. Won't make any difference. 

Adam: Don't be sad. You saved my career. Again. And you're gonna be a mother. 

Sam: Do you think I'll be any good? 

Adam: I think you'll be perfect. 

He comes over to take her hand, and she stands up.

Sam: Come. 

Churchyard. A small group of mourners is standing around the grave: the MI5 team, Adam, Stafford and an older couple. Elizabeth Addis watches from a short distance away.

Sir Alec: Hilda Pierce was not a religious woman. She would not want me to talk about God, but she might want me to talk about duty, and courage and fortitude. She was part of a very special breed, she and the agents with whom she worked. And I will miss her all the more because I fear we will not see her like again. 

Addis is the first to walk away, and then the others disperse from around the grave. Sam catches up to Foyle, Adam hanging back to follow the two of them at a distance.

Sam: Sir. 

Foyle: Yes? 

Sam: Erm... 

Foyle: Problem? 

Sam: No, no. I just wanted to tell you something. 

Foyle: What's that? 

Sam: I hate letting you down, but I'm gonna have to hand in my notice. The, the fact is, well, you could say I'm PWP. 

Foyle: Pregnant without permission? 

She laughs a little.

Sam: 'Fraid so. 

Foyle: Well, you choose your moments. 

Sam: I wanted to get it over with. 

Foyle: Good thinking. 

Sam: So it means I'm going to be rather busy for a while. 

Foyle: Well, I do understand. 

Sam: I don't like to leave you on your own. 

Foyle: Well, I might be okay. I don't know about the rest of the country, but... 

She laughs, then turns to face him as she walks.

Sam: I'd really like it if, if you would be the godfather. 

He stops walking and turns to face her.

Foyle: Honoured. 

Sam: Thank you. 

Foyle: Pleasure.

She steps up to give him a kiss on the cheek, then steps away. Foyle turns to look at Adam, who tips his hat. Foyle nods for Sam to go and join him. She goes back to Adam and the two of them kiss.

Foyle walks through a passageway lined with tombstones. As he emerges, he turns and sees Addis watching him from behind a fence a short way away. They look at each other for a moment. Then Foyle turns away and walks on.
{"type": "series", "show": "Foyle's War", "episode": "09x03 - Elise"}