I've just learned that President Rayburn,
who had pledged his support in a rather complex mission
rescuing our men and women at sea,
saw fit to revoke that promise.
We are talking to every intelligence service on the map.
We're not talking to Iranian intelligence.
You need to officially summon the Iranian ambassador.
- They have intel for us. - Us?
When you asked for help, you did realize that I would then help?
- Ambassador Hajjar, this is... - I know who it is.
- Nobody knows the ambassador's here. - I was instructed to give you a name.
An individual who appears to have directed the attack.
Ambassador, are you okay?
Call his guy.
You can't be here.
It's the fucking Russians.
The United Kingdom got attacked by Russia.
- Why is that funny? - Pour me another.
- Oh. I'm a bloody idiot. - No, it's fine.
If we go to war with Russia, we should get a dog.
For protection?
No.
U.S. and the UK go to war with Russia?
That's the kind of thing where people have babies.
'Cause it's apocalyptic.
Babies are life-affirming.
- Are you asking me to have a...? - No.
No.
That's the whole point.
We're a new thing. We are not having a baby.
But a dog?
Are you asking me to move in with you?
No.
The dog can live half-time here, half-time my place.
I'm getting a fish.
The president wants to come to Chevening.
- What? - It was Russia.
They don't wanna leave the planning to Ganon.
No, no, no.
The White House sees this as an indirect hit on the U.S.
If Rayburn comes, Trowbridge comes.
The whole point is that we hash out the Russia policy,
secretary to secretary,
and then we send it up the ladder, fully baked.
Hi, Lindsay.
Can you put Karen on?
Thanks.
You're gonna be a nervous parent. Even to a fish.
Karen, hi.
Listen, the president should not be getting on a plane right now.
We have Ganon and the foreign secretary,
that's enough Level 1 targets in one place at one time.
It's not safe, right?
We can make it safe.
Will you fucking help me out?
Guess who just popped in the office. Hold on.
Karen?
Hi, it's Eidra Park.
I know, I never see you anymore. How are you?
Seriously?
Kar, this stays in the vault,
but you know the Iranian ambassador who died here yesterday?
Tox screen isn't back yet.
Which means we can't rule out poisoning.
No, the foreign secretary didn't poison him,
but the Russians could have before he even got to the office.
Wait, really?
I'm just saying that until we know what's going on,
I think I'd feel better if the president was in D.C.
Yes.
Hmm.
Did you tell them to do this?
What?
- They packed me. - Yeah, of course they did.
They...
They packed me tampons.
They think ahead.
Eight supers, four lights, and Advil.
They know where I am on my fucking moon cycle.
Russia doesn't wanna go to war with us and the Brits, right?
I have no idea what they want.
They framed Iran.
Did they want us to go to war with Iran?
They're tricky.
I don't love people touching my stuff,
but they do a very nice job.
And so it begins.
What?
You're gonna get used to this.
No, I am not.
Well...
They should pack you while we're gone. Then you'll just be ready to go.
Look at that. You think ahead too.
What?
Nothing.
Is there a talk we're supposed to have?
No.
- Shit. - No.
Thank you for fucking me.
No, I don't think it changes
the fundamental non-viability of our marriage.
At no point did I think it did, okay?
It was selfish.
Well, if that's what selfish looks like...
- You don't have to come to this thing. - Get over yourself.
We're done.
I'm arm candy for the first tranche of photo ops,
then I drift off as planned.
Doesn't mean you can't come back to the trough every now and then.
I just...
I don't want things to be unclear.
Katherine...
only you can ruin a perfectly good, wordless roll
in the ashes of a dead union.
Okay.
Good.
It's the foreign secretary's fucking country bunker.
We don't need another sweep of the property,
we need to get the ambassador there on time.
Mr. McNabb says we can't ignore the possibility
of a threat from inside the house.
Is he worried about Dennison?
You tell him if he is worried about the foreign secretary,
he is way over the fucking line.
We don't frisk our allies.
He says the foreign secretary is our ally.
That is not what I said.
Mr. McNabb reiterates the ambassador's safety is his area of expertise.
I know that.
He also wishes to remind you the last time the foreign secretary met with a diplomat,
- that diplomat wound up in a body bag. - Just tell...
Until we get the chemical tests back, we'll proceed with every caution.
Give me the phone.
Bert, this is utter bullshit.
Bert?
- I'm calling State. - Outside.
Dennison was there.
Officially, I was too, at the very end.
So until they find out if it was Novichok or high blood pressure,
they have every right to be concerned.
Okay. I'm just...
Anxious.
Not at all.
I'm okay at this part.
I suck at a garden party.
But real negotiations?
I know. I am completely confident in your ability...
Really?
Yes.
I don't think you are.
Did you read the agenda?
Of course I did.
It's really long.
I would never give an ambassador a briefing book
without a one-pager in the front.
It doesn't get read.
- Short enough? - Better.
- This is tomorrow's agenda. - Okay.
- The day will consist of three parts. - Mm-hm.
Today you will strategize with the British delegation
how to maximize those three parts
so we can make the most of the foreign secretary's time
with the secretary of state
and walk out with a Russia strategy.
Why don't you just give me the card?
- Can we talk through it? - Let me see what it says.
It's notes from me to me. It won't help.
Let me see.
Okay.
- "Hug, Pivot, Bear." - Mm-hm.
You're right.
Number one.
A public demonstration of the strong U.S.-UK relationship.
So that Russia knows we are still a united front,
same as we were when they first invaded Ukraine.
Is that the hug?
- It is. - It's cute.
- Number two... - Hey.
What's the holdup?
Security sweep.
They think Dennison's gonna kill you the way he killed the Iranian ambassador?
I think, even in jest, that we should avoid suggesting
that the Iranian ambassador's death had anything to do with our closest ally.
- Or the Russians. - Don't do that.
- He's already wound up. - I'm really not.
Wouldn't be the first time the Russians poisoned someone on British soil.
- I'd love to keep going. - Please do.
- Wouldn't even be the second time. - Number two on the agenda.
- Yes. - What's number one?
Hugging.
- A pivot away from Iran. - Pivot.
Yes.
- Now that we know it was Russia... - Ah. The poison?
They treating you as a suspect? They should.
- Get back in the car. - Gotta piss.
Are they?
Treating me like a suspect?
No. A witness.
Eidra may need to talk to you later today.
And Met Police.
- Okay. Number two. Pivot. - Yes.
Now that we know it was Russia, we need to pivot from Iran.
You mean apologize.
I don't.
State was particular about that.
We can't say sorry to a regime that chants "Death to America."
Ma'am?
Clear.
Get in the other car.
You want Hal and I arriving in the same vehicle.
But I'd love to finish the agenda.
- Three is "Bear." - Yeah.
- Which is Russia. - Yes.
It was a gimme.
Hal!
It takes as long as it takes.
Thank you.
Welcome.
Honored to have you here. Hoope. I cover Iran.
Nice to meet you.
Russia. Kemper-Waithe.
- Nice to meet you. - I understand we owe you our thanks.
I'm so sorry to keep you waiting. I thought you would've started.
Nonsense. You're right on time.
Nice bit of country you got.
A thrill to meet you as well, sir. How proud you must be.
Of my wife? I am.
Kemper-Waithe. Russia.
Hayford. The whole world.
- Shall we? - Yes.
What the fuck is going on?
I missed those dulcet tones.
Your Iran guy keeps smiling at me.
You're the woman of the hour. You put out the conflagration in the Gulf.
They know what happened?
They have no idea what happened. They know you had something to do with it.
You said it wasn't Iran from the get-go. Turns out you were right.
You don't get any credit?
We're a formidable team.
But the consensus is you're the dogcatcher.
What does that mean?
That means you leashed the dogs of war.
I like it.
I think it suits you.
I kind of think it does.
Welcome. Welcome to our modest monstrosity.
The indispensable Cecilia Dennison.
Of course. Of course. It's very nice to meet you.
Ambassador Katherine Wyler.
Was he terribly upset?
Was...? Excuse me?
Austin. Was he a prig about it?
About...?
Well, you were tardy.
He makes a fuss when I'm late.
It's double standards.
Can we not do that?
I agree. Let's not stand here.
- Come in. - Yes.
It's not home but it's much.
Thank you. I mean, it's very nice to meet you.
You must be the wife.
What gave it away?
Come on. I'll give you the grand tour.
- Okay. - So sorry to interrupt.
You're needed on the secure line.
I'll be there in a minute.
It's the prime minister.
Excuse me.
Yeah. Mm-hm.
- Hello. - Hello.
Apologies.
Anu.
After the secretary of state arrives,
we'll start with a mutual acknowledgment about the sharp words
regarding President Rayburn from Prime Minister Trowbridge
were simply a spirited debate among friends.
Then we'll move onto item two, Iran...
Ambassador. Thank you.
Ah, comments with the placement of Iran on the agenda?
No. It's not Iran. I was just...
I'm fine.
- Three. - She's not fine.
- Three. - This is exactly
what we were told by Mrs. Wells.
A woman, slender, like yourself...
- I think we should move on. - We shouldn't.
It's structural inequity in the plainest sense.
Chairs designed for a man's build.
If we want women at the table,
it is incumbent upon us to pull up a suitable chair.
Can we get Ambassador Wyler a suitable chair?
- Can I get you a chair? - I love my chair.
I'm really curious about agenda item three.
Perhaps a cushion?
Perfect. Thank you.
Okay...
Thank you.
So to review,
one, a demonstration of the strong, healthy U.S.-UK relationship,
two, Iran, and three, Russia.
Thank you, Anu.
If we could move one to three, and if there are no other changes,
then I think we can continue.
Of course.
Why?
Why are we moving one to three?
Between your late arrival
and the structural inequity of the furniture,
we're running behind schedule.
Item one might warrant a longer discussion.
- Anu. - Our new item one: Iran.
Uh, if we can all turn to page four. Thank you.
Page number four.
I can do the tour. Got it memorized.
Especially your bit about Lord Earlsby.
Wellsby.
Mm. Not in my version.
It's no problem, madam.
He doesn't trust me.
She seems competent.
Perhaps the list?
You're right, it's wise.
They keep a list of activities I can do.
It's terribly dull,
but I find if I do two at once, they spring to life.
Tour of the grounds is thing one. You get to pick thing two.
Hmm. Forehead Detective.
Excellent.
We need to exonerate Iran,
publicly, vocally, and as soon as possible.
So when we are ready to accuse Russia,
we've laid the groundwork for a new narrative...
State's position on an apology is no.
He didn't say "apology."
Is an Iranian acquittal wise, do we think?
They're hardly nuns.
If Russia's aim was to ensnare us in a war in the Gulf,
then anything other than an acquittal would be a gift to the Kremlin.
Until we make it clear that Iran is not the culprit,
the rest of the world will believe Ambassador Hajjar's demise...
In your office.
An apology. To Iran.
- Nope. - A shell game.
Russia for Iran.
Either way, we can't acquit Iran till we're ready to name Russia.
Meanwhile, what exactly do we tell Iran?
We can offer other concessions.
Just don't offer tea.
She's right, you know.
I was kidding.
Or coffee, I'd say.
Oh, my God.
Sorry?
You're indulging hardline Iranian conspiracy theories
and acting like we snuck Hajjar's body out in a suitcase.
The CIA didn't kill Kennedy,
Q is not the Internet messiah,
and the tea was not poisoned.
I was told the chemical testing is not yet complete.
If he was poisoned, it wasn't the tea.
He didn't even drink it until after his symptoms began.
Austin?
Water.
I think we're due for a break.
Okay. Break.
Do you know what you just said?
Did I say you were kind of snippy? 'Cause you are.
You said his symptoms began before he drank the tea.
Yeah.
The CIA may not have killed Kennedy but they did sneak you into my office,
shortly after which the Iranian ambassador left on a gurney.
- Shit. - You're not supposed to know
when the symptoms began because you shouldn't have been in the room.
I'm sorry.
It's bad enough
- half the world thinks I killed Hajjar. - I know.
It's best to have not done it in concert with the great Satan.
What?
Your...
Your shirt. I think you missed a button.
Damn it.
No.
Thank you.
We can say you told me about the tea. If anyone asks.
Which I doubt they will.
What's the longer discussion?
Item three, formerly known as item one. We call it the Hug.
Oh, they'll notice that we're gone.
I think a statement will do the trick.
You love us,
Trowbridge won't call the president a douchebag again.
As a token of your contrition,
you're declaring it "tomato," not "tomahto."
He will not hug.
He wants to end it.
End what?
The entanglement of our two nations.
The assumption that American might makes right.
That the British military cannot act without American assistance or approval.
That we suffer the whims of your elected officials
and are bludgeoned by your unflagging self-interest.
It might be dangerous to be America's enemy,
but to be its friend is fatal.
Are you out of your fucking mind?
Please keep your voice...
You're breaking up with us?
- The prime minister... - You ditched the EU.
Scotland and Northern Ireland want out.
Russia just spent a year murdering Ukrainians,
now they're turning their attention to you.
This is when you wanna rethink the alliance?
You're right, it's a longer discussion.
Let's gin up a non-apology apology
to a nearly nuclear anti-Western theocracy.
Turns out it's less loaded than the Hug.
Not an apology.
It's beyond the realm of the possible.
- Alistair. - Beyond the realm.
All right.
I can also think of a few things they would prefer to an apology.
Such as?
Striking their Revolutionary Guard
from the Foreign Terrorist Organizations list.
That's not the point.
I think Iran would consider it directly to the point.
Ambassador Wyler, we are no longer an empire.
We're not even part of a continent.
We're a small island nation with a great democracy.
We called Iran the enemy and they were not,
so now we say something. We apologize.
Even if America prefer we not,
because when the rest of the world stop believing our word,
our might goes with it.
What exactly's going on?
Some happy tidings.
The prime minister has found himself in the neighborhood
and is dropping by to say hello.
Prime Minister, what an honor.
The road opened up before me
and I'm afraid it was as if the whole county of Kent was lying back
and opening her well-bred legs to be ravished by this beast of an engine.
So I find myself here.
It's quite the car.
It's a loan from a friend.
He's got one of those names you can't pronounce,
so I thought I'd take it for a spin
before the ethics Nazis spoil the whole thing.
Good God.
Sniff.
Go on. Everyone.
Tell me, what do you smell?
Julian.
- Nothing in particular? - Nothing in particular. Yeah.
Whereas Chequers, which is my grace-and-favor retreat,
has a certain pong.
Lydia won't shut up about it.
It's your office all over again.
I'm the one they elected. Why do you get all the good toys?
- Good to see you, sir. - Good to be seen.
I hear the Great Ganon's a drunk,
so cocktails should come early and often tomorrow.
You're discussing Russia, so vodka, clearly, to set the tone.
That's my two cents' worth.
What have you come up with?
Well, we've just begun.
You might prefer a full briefing after the meeting.
No, I don't prefer. I want it now.
Well, we've finalized the agenda for tomorrow.
First, Iran.
- Some sort of... - Pivot.
No. First, Russia.
Big country. Butchered Ukraine.
Blasted our aircraft carrier to bits.
We've not broached the Russia question just yet.
It's interesting.
I'm being wallpapered by the press for a certain lack of action.
The Times is calling for a snap election.
Ganon is coming tomorrow to stand shoulder to shoulder with us,
presumably while we say something to the world about what happened,
and meanwhile, you haven't broached the Russia question yet.
Ambassador Wyler, you're clever. Does that scan for you?
No one's forgotten about Russia.
I'm just merely wondering if there's an agenda to my foreign secretary's agenda.
Of course not.
I asked the ambassador.
Madam Ambassador, did Iran hit our ship?
No.
So why are we talking about them?
With respect, if Russia framed Iran...
It's always "if."
...you can turn Iran from one of Russia's only friends to a sworn enemy.
He's setting you up to be a great statesman.
"To be." Someday.
Meanwhile, I've got 41 widows
wishing that they had your Second Amendment rights today,
not someday.
The Russians blew up our fucking warship.
Perhaps we should stop wetting the bed and seize tomorrow, if not today,
to say who's done it.
- Sir, if you would just give us a chance... - Perhaps you're right.
Well, look at that.
Thank you, Austin.
No, thank you. This has been really helpful.
Oh, I'm not leaving.
Sleeves up.
Let's muck in.
Am I a man?
Mm... Partly, at best.
Let's say it's subjective.
Trees. Pond.
Am I alive?
From the waist down, maybe.
Do I know me?
Oh, well, I hope not.
Although you'll say you do if you ever run for higher office.
Will you?
Say I know me?
No. Run for something.
Escape the purgatory.
I'm enjoying the break.
Well, that's bollocks.
- Why, do I know me? - No.
Maybe. No.
Careful.
I know everyone.
He'd love you.
He. That's interesting.
Ah, the Great Temple. There's another one around the corner
called something like the Slightly Less Great Temple.
Temple.
I'm not...
Am I God?
What a thing to say.
Not no.
Am I Jesus?
Ah! Ding, ding, ding.
- And I'm... - Absolutely not.
Austin!
Hey! You're a conniving little cheat.
No, I'm not. I'm Henry fucking Kissinger.
"Perhaps you're right"?
Do you understand what we're talking about here?
Accusing Russia of attacking a British warship.
Tomorrow, with the U.S. secretary of state.
We're talking about it, that is all.
The meeting will now become a Russia briefing.
After which, if there is a God, the prime minister will leave.
I really think we need to tell him we're not ready for a Russia accusation.
I need you to follow my lead. Is there any way you might do that?
You're asking for my help?
- I am. - Because I have a lot going on.
I have to tell Ganon he's about to be ambushed
with a request that our two nations start seeing other people.
At times, I have to serve as the prime minister's voice box.
But I, as me, am asking you, as you,
for your help.
How can I be of service?
He needs a brisk, chatty briefing on Russia strategy.
Something that makes him feel...
Smart and in control?
- I suppose, yeah. - He's not a unicorn.
In an unexpected change to today's schedule,
our agenda now reads thus:
One, Russia.
Two,
Russia.
Three... Julian?
Russia?
Fast learner.
But it isn't, officially.
Isn't what?
Russia.
Not officially.
I can't fucking believe this.
I thought that the Indians had tracked the guy
who blew up the boat and shot the shot.
They did.
And after which, Romanian intelligence,
in one of the great triumphs of mice over men,
- espied him fleeing to Russia... - Sir, the complicating...
...where he was paid by... What's it?
- Lenkov. - Who is Russian!
Why is this hard?
You're foreign policy advisors, armed with the entire Cold War playbook.
You're not flat-earthers looking for the edge.
Sir, we can't blithely lob accusations at Russia.
They're a nuclear power run by an individual
who will happily level sovereign nations even without provocation.
We call it genocide. Russia calls it a job well done.
- Okay. Then accuse Lenin. - Lenkov.
Whoever the fuck he is, charge him with the slaughter of 41 men!
And women.
Lenkov is a fig leaf for the Kremlin.
The moment we accuse either Russia or Lenkov
of a direct attack on the United Kingdom, a NATO ally,
they will preempt our response.
Unable to match us in conventional warfare,
they may break the seal of the last remaining taboo:
nuclear weapons.
Tactical warheads, to start,
as if they're somehow less significant, which they aren't.
He's driving off a cliff here.
And if we follow your bluster through to its natural end...
- Sorry. My fucking what? - Sir, I think you're missing the point.
Am I?
The prime minister is well aware we can't accuse Russia
until we know how we're going to respond.
It would be insane.
But he's looking further down the road while we're still worried about evidence.
The secretary of state is on his way.
And while we may not need the prime minister's help
crafting an accusation,
we clearly need his help in crafting a response.
Ah. Out of the mouths of babes.
I'll make some calls. When I get back,
you're gonna provide me with some options for a response.
You have 20 minutes.
Who is the Russia guy from the NDI you worked with in Tallinn?
Schulman?
My morning was delightful, thank you for asking.
I have 20 minutes to generate
a British-led, bilateral response to Russia.
- Who was the guy? - I got a tour of the grounds.
- Turns out she's the sister, not the wife. - What?
Cecilia Dennison.
Is his sister?
Curveball.
Who brings their sister?
She got dumped by some vaguely royal asshole.
And Dennison took her lame suicide attempt way too seriously.
- Oh, shit. - Now he won't let her out of his sight.
She loves her brother.
Says he can be a bit of a prig but he has a good heart.
That his wife died a couple of years ago,
and he desperately needs to get laid.
- Jesus. - Look...
If I'm leaving, you'll need a little something on the side,
or you'll get surly, which is bad for America.
Hal.
He is the platonic ideal of all those fucking handsome, repressed nerds
you dated before you met me.
Don't pretend you didn't notice.
The Russia guy? With the frozen toilets in Tallinn?
Shellman?
I mean it. You should tap that.
He had an idea about how to sanction the cobalt oligarch
without tanking the world's cobalt supply.
Yeah.
What's his fucking name?
I don't remember.
Gellman. Gellman!
Ben Gellman.
- Can I help you, ma'am? - No.
- You all right? - Yeah.
- You were shouting. - Ben Gellman, from the NDI,
I need to call him, and I need to get financials,
vice chairman of Gazprom, and I'm gonna... figure that out.
Hi. You know I work for you, right?
- Yeah. - As does Ronnie.
Thrilled.
You were a DCM, but you're not anymore.
So if you need to figure stuff out, I am a resource.
As is Ronnie, as are the 800 other folks that work for you.
- By the time I explain it... - Ma'am, I think you should try.
I think that we are doing the part of the job you like,
you're great at it, but it is a big job.
So is mine.
You can't handle both.
I've got Ben Gellman.
You can come in.
You, I need 17 plausible diplomatic retaliations to Russia.
I have two in place. Spitballing for more.
Is that... writing?
The prime minister gives a speech to Parliament.
The speech doesn't even mention Russia or Lenkov.
But you invite the widow of the guy that the Russians poisoned in London in '06,
making it clear that he's talking about Russia.
- He loves a speech. - He does.
But like with the cobalt sanctions and the travel ban, it is insufficient.
Which is why you pitch all of them.
On their own, they feel like nothingburgers.
But add them all up,
- it'll feel like a fire hose of... - Nothingburgers.
- It'll feel like a multi-pronged assault. - I think it won't.
Well, sadly, "no" is not a pitch.
Blow through them all fast, make him feel like it's a...
- Fire hose. - Exactly.
- There you are. - Were you looking for me?
I was.
I got this from one of the fine gentlemen in the stables.
Mm, a naughty stable boy?
I thought he was nice.
You are delicious.
Can you be trusted to nick a decent bottle from the cellar?
- That's what I was born to do. - Okay.
You find us some food.
Oh, and take these.
If anyone asks, you're going to watch the purple martins.
They're small birds. They're not purple,
but, well, somehow everyone thinks they're worth a trek.
Purple martins. Okay.
A travel ban.
On all Russian citizens.
They kill 41 British sailors, I spoil their mini-break in Kensington?
If you coordinate the action with the United States...
I get to spoil their mini-break in Palm Beach as well?
India.
We may be able to entice India to join our Russia sanctions.
I'm gonna kill myself.
Well, the cumulative force of a fire hose of diplomatic...
Bullshit. A fire hose of diplomatic bullshit.
- What the foreign secretary is trying to... - Yes, I know. But I cry bullshit!
A month into the Ukraine war,
we'd already crawled all the way up the diplomatic ladder.
We sanctioned Russian debt, we embargoed their oil,
and banned them from SWIFT, yes?
We spanked, and we bluffed.
And we smashed the rungs as we climbed.
There are no moves left.
Meanwhile, they've bombed maternity wards in Mariupol,
and shelled Chernobyl,
and gone in Iranian fancy dress to blow open our prized vessel.
So why can't we follow suit?
If we do what they do, if we obliterate the rules-based order...
What, that makes me a hypocrite?
So what? I can think of worse words.
How does "war criminal" suit?
- Might be a good time to break for lunch. - No, I will break for lunch.
You will stay here, hungry and focused,
until you can find an in-kind response to Russia
that does not make me look like a wobbling pussy.
After you, ma'am.
Secretary Dennison, could we borrow you for a moment?
Of course.
Excuse me?
- Are they eating? - It wouldn't be right.
Hal Wyler.
- Prime Minister, good to see you again. - Come and help me make a dent.
Ah. Where's the crew?
I'm taking a leaf from the book of St. Bonaventure.
It's 1268, the cardinals can't agree on a new pope,
so, what does Bonnie do?
Makes them a spread?
He locks them up without any food until they make up their fucking minds.
- Ah. - Three died, but it worked.
- Jesus Christ. - That's what the cardinals said.
You've dealt with the Russians.
Uh, yeah, a few times.
Why has this lot gone limp at the idea of a confrontation?
What would you have me do?
You'd have to ask the ambassador.
I am off to find the purple martins.
Purple what?
The tox screen's still not back,
but the Met Police would like to talk to you no matter what it says.
- Sir, you've already met with them? - More than once.
It would be helpful if we could, uh...
- Get our stories straight. - Exactly.
You should sit.
- Sorry to pull you out. - Not at all.
Just wanted to make sure everyone's got the same timeline.
Happy to review. It's been an issue already.
It hasn't been an issue. No one noticed.
Who wants to bring me up to speed?
I vaguely suggested I knew when the ambassador's symptoms began,
which was before I arrived.
Nobody noticed.
You noticed.
- No. - He noticed.
I wouldn't have put it together if you hadn't brought it up.
But you noticed, which means any of them may have.
Well, the coughing fit largely covered.
- Largely? - It sounded like you swallowed a cat.
Let's move on.
What time did she reach the inside of the foreign secretary's office?
You don't know?
I do. You don't...
is the issue. I've already been questioned.
So it doesn't matter when I got there,
what matters is when you said I got there.
- Stuart? - We haven't had lunch.
The medics arrived in the office at 16:26,
so let's agree on 16:30.
Where exactly did Ambassador Hajjar fall?
He dropped the teacup by the table, he fell to the floor.
No.
I think I remember the sight of the man dying in my office.
He toppled to the ground, you went to his side,
said something encouraging, I summoned help.
No. He fell to the couch. I helped him to the floor.
- Oh, she's very helpful. - She's not.
Because she didn't.
She arrived after he was on the floor.
She has no idea how he fell.
- Fuck. - Yeah, she shouldn't talk to the police.
Can we just kill this?
- What's Trowbridge's deal? - Hmm?
Is it an act, all that...?
Some but not all.
I remember the first time I saw him rush up to the podium
to read his remarks from scribbles on the back of his hand,
and check the logo behind him to see
exactly what he was supposed to be remarking on.
I thought he was like a very bright 13-year-old boy with ADHD.
I mean, erudite as fuck.
Clever enough not to have to do the work
but not quite slick enough to hide it.
Mm.
Swap.
Second time I saw him rush to the stage and check the backdrop,
I realized I'd underestimated him.
Faux casual.
- That's a good trick. - Mm-hm.
Do you think it'll rain?
- Uh, no. - I wish it would.
Why?
A bit of rain each day makes it easier that my entire directive
is to leave as little impression on the skin of this world as is possible.
Are you a moper?
Am I...? A moper?
A brooder.
You know, a sad girl,
a wistful, drifty,
malnourished little fucking waif.
Okay, well, I'm sitting here, eating your cheese.
- Yeah. - Nibbling your parmesan.
I'm a magnet for mopey women.
I mean, come on.
This may be one of the epic days in the life of a man.
I mean, the water's dancing,
the air carries a whiff of freshly cut hay,
and we're here...
commanded by crown and country to devour the plunder of kings
and the plenty of the land.
And here I am with yet another woman
who could find that one piece of cloud
in every silver lining.
Yeah.
Your mopey wife is not my remit.
In any case, I've earned a touch of malaise.
Objectively speaking, I'm here to tell you,
you fell in a tub of butter.
You should have the good grace to shut your mouth and rub it all over yourself.
Right?
I thought you were kind.
Do you wind up with men who are unkind?
Were they unkind at the start?
My women weren't mopey at the start.
I think I bring it out in them.
- What are you doing? - Getting away from you.
I'm eating the world.
I don't wanna waste this epic day with an anhedonic.
Whoo!
Woo-hoo-hoo!
It's glorious.
Fuck yeah!
Get in the fucking water.
- Get in. - Yeah.
- Oh, come on. - It looks cold.
It's not. Get in the fucking water.
Ugh. You are quite cruel, it turns out.
Get in. Immediately.
- It's murky. - It's murky.
Look, no, I'm not being mopey.
There are fucking things growing out.
Jesus.
Come on, dive. Dive.
Jesus fucking Christ, it's cold!
- No, it's not. - Oh!
Oh, fuck.
Christ.
Get over here and warm me up.
Now, that, my wifty little waif, I can do.
It's fucking cold.
- Oh, shit. - Oh...
Stay close.
I think you ought to fuck me for my troubles.
Everything but.
What does that mean?
I'm... tragically devoted to my wife.
Oh?
Is this what tragic devotion looks like?
Um, yeah.
The machinery doesn't really function with anyone else.
- I don't believe you. - No?
Okay, feel for yourself.
Ah.
- Well, you know there are drugs for this. - Mm-hm.
There are. There are also wives for this.
Ah.
You are a bit of a downer, it turns out.
- No wonder we all mope. - Am I?
Am I a downer?
How's it going?
Slouching toward Bethlehem.
And what kind of therapy are we trying today?
Yeah, you caught me.
I'm kind of fucked up.
- Great. - This is what the wives do, right?
Drink a little wine, smoke a little pot.
Take the air.
Playing the part like a pro.
I'm fucking killing myself trying to prove to you
that I can sit in the back seat and just stay there.
And it requires actual sedation.
Jesus, Hal.
You know, the PM asked me how he should handle Russia,
and I talked about purple fucking bluebirds.
I didn't give him any advice. I didn't call anyone.
I didn't rally support for you behind your back. I...
I went for a nice walk.
I took a swim.
I got my dick handled by a nubile thing,
and it behaved the way it always does when it's not you.
And then I came here.
Yes?
Trowbridge wants to reenact the Siege of Leningrad.
Thoughts?
It sounds bad.
That's your only thought? How stoned are you?
I don't wanna get baited into saying something
that's gonna make you hate me.
That's not what's happening here.
All right, you want my help, you don't want my help.
I'm the smartest man you've ever met, I'm the biggest idiot in the world.
Can't we just admit that I am not the only problem, Kate?
What the fuck is this?
Is this your latest stab at saving our marriage?
You're the wife? You do everything I ask?
You're so goddamn docile I'd be psychotic to let you go?
Yeah.
Mario, it's Kate Wyler.
Once more unto the morass. Shall we?
Stuart.
- Right, back to our agenda. - Hold on. One second.
One, Russia. Two, Russia.
- Three... Julian? - Russia.
Russia!
Did you get the tox screen results yet?
Yeah, but that's not why I'm calling.
Why don't we start there anyhow?
It wasn't poison. It was a heart attack.
- But that's not... - Yes!
Oh, I feel like a weight just...
- I feel like I just shat a brick. - Good for you.
Why is the ambassador calling DoD
for a list of targets they'd like to paint?
Can you, in English?
She called the Department of Defense and asked for a list of things
they'd feel comfortable bombing in Russia.
I assume the answer is there's nothing they'd be comfortable bombing...
If you ask the military for a list of things they'd like to blow up,
they have answers.
The European Union?
Yes.
And in your vision of this,
do I fellate them before they ask or during?
I realize this...
The Germans have cocks small enough to suck while speaking,
but the Belgians, surprisingly, do not.
- Sir... - We are Great Britain.
We are Global Britain.
We are not begging the EU for some petty bureaucratic vengeance.
As much as we might wish to shove back,
we cannot poke the bear with the world's second largest nuclear arsenal.
We do what keeps all of us away from the nuclear ceiling.
- Sir, I'd like to jump in for a second. - Ma'am?
I think he'd like a word.
- She's busy. - If I could I finish my thought?
- I don't think he liked it. - If I could get a quick word?
So, what, this is where you propose a strongly-worded condemnation from the UN?
- I don't think you'd like that either. - I wouldn't.
Forty-one British servicemen are dead.
It is my responsibility to honor their sacrifice,
give solace to their families, and demonstrate to this nation
that they will be protected by their fucking government.
It sounds like you wanna bomb something.
Why don't we do that?
I have a list of Russian targets provided by the Department of Defense.
Why don't you pick one, and we'll blow something up?