The Night Manager

What's the Haven?

You were in the army, weren't you?

Iraq.

Well, then, you should feel very much at home.

What's this?

That is a coded account summary

of the entire operation.

A complete list of people cash-flowing the deal,

a summary of expenses, names of consultants,

profit margins, the whole shooting match.

And yet somehow

this found its way into the hands

of a British enforcement official called Angela Burr.

Now, here's the problem.

There are only two people in the world who have that list in their possession.

Sandy Langbourne, and me.

So how did Angela Burr get it?

There's, um, Sandy.

He'd never betray you.

Anyone can betray anyone, Jonathan.

You should know that.

Whose handwriting is this?

Apostol.

Our Spanish lawyer friend.

It's why he's no longer with us.

You should call off the sale.

Oh, they would love that.

Whitehall pricks in the foyer.

I'm not gonna give up that easy.

I'll just have to plug the leak.

Is it Langbourne? Corkoran?

Jed.

Or you.

Is it you, Jonathan?

No.

Well, whoever it is,

they are living on borrowed time.

Good trip, sir?

Very good, jasper, thank you, yes.

May I introduce Mr Andrew Birch,

Director of Tradepass.

We will be facilitating Mr Birch's sale.

Pleasure to meet you, Mr Birch.

I assume Mr Birch's merchandise got here safely?

The trucks arrived this morning. You missed a hell of a storm last night, sir.

It is not a fair world.

No, it isn't.

Syrian border's 200 miles to the south.

Refugee camps are all around us here.

They come here with nothing, lives ripped apart, homes destroyed.

Who are the taxis for?

The Western aid workers who can't get to the airport fast enough.

Still, we do our bit, don't we, Jasper?

Yes, sir.

This is our little contribution.

A safe haven for the wretched of the Earth.

Hello, hello. How are you? How are you?

Hello, how are you?

How are you? How are you, young man?

Assalam alaikum. Let's see what we have here.

There we go.

Oh, my goodness! See if we can get a picture.

Let's smile at the camera, shall we? Excellent.

Can you carry a box all on your own? You stay there.

You see if you can carry this all on your own.

There you go.

All right, very nice to see you.

Justifies us being here.

Means no one asks any questions about our other activities.

Right, Tabby, collect all the phones. No calls in or out.

Frisky, see if you can get Mr Birch some suitable gear.

- Site been cleared? - Happening as we speak, sir.

Firework display. You're in charge.

You've got a lot of homework to do. Make sure you know what you're selling.

Sir, this way.

Welcome to the Haven.

Er, you asked to see me.

Rex.

The royal household have been in touch.

Informally, so don't go spreading it around.

The Palace do tend to get rather edgy about that sort of thing.

They're looking for a new private secretary.

Some rookie's made too many mistakes and they want someone with

tact and experience to take over the position.

Tea with the Queen.

Nice work if you can get it.

And I'm... I'm going to get it, am I?

Well, only if you want it.

Of course.

The private jet left Istanbul at 8:20 a.m.,

but we have no satellite information after that.

Why not?

The Turks say they need a higher-level request for all flight intel.

So get me one.

I've tried, ma'am. They said no.

I've lost my boy and I need to know where he is!

Right, so this is what we know.

A British ship called the Leila Jane

docked in Istanbul two days ago.

It's got no right to be anywhere near Istanbul, it should be in the Azores

and it should be full of crop sprayers.

Now it's gone again.

But cargo was taken off in Istanbul and her cargo was this.

British and American arms. Seven new deals in the last month.

Now, they're selling to a no-go customer somewhere in the Middle East

and the middle man is Richard Roper.

He is going to Turkey to meet the buyer at a place called the Haven.

I need more money, I need personnel on the ground.

And I need somebody to tell me where the bloody hell my agent is!

Listen. Listen.

The Permanent Secretary has requested

that I no longer manage enforcement agencies.

As of the end of this week,

I'll be reassigned.

The Permanent Secretary leaked my intelligence to Dromgoole.

- She's part of it. - Her job is to preserve the status quo.

Whatever it takes.

When a continent enters into chaos, that's when opportunities open up.

The British knew it in China, the Yanks in South America.

I'm doing the same here.

We can train armies to fight in deserts,

mountains, we can teach them anti-guerrilla tactics,

how to deal with political insurgency.

And for a small surcharge,

we can even send in teams of our own to deal with specific targets.

Assassinations,

fake terror plots, even the odd coup. Can't we, Jasper?

Yes, sir.

Jasper looks like a teddy bear, but don't let him near your neck on a bad day.

- Good to see you, sir. - How are you, Aiden?

Good. Looking forward to playing with the new toys.

Boys keeping fit?

Not a bad set-up, is it?

It's unbelievable.

- He's got his own country. - Not just a country, old boy.

This is a kingdom.

Look sharp! Mr Roper on deck!

- Morning, sir. - Morning.

All right. All right. All right.

You fellows been busy while I've been gone?

All ready for you, Chief. Spick and span.

Glad to hear it. Andrew, come here.

Cos Mr Birch, here, wants to put on a good show for our guests tonight.

So I want you to give him all the help he needs.

He has worn khaki himself,

so don't feel you need to talk pretty.

Andrew Birch. Which regiment were you in?

First Battalion, Fusiliers.

You lost two men in Basra, 2005. I was there.

Yes, sir. Good friends of mine.

- Why'd you leave? - Same as you, I'd imagine.

I'd done three tours. Time to cash in the chips.

And become a mercenary.

Every soldier fights for money, Andrew, if he's got half a brain.

You were paid in Iraq, weren't you?

These men are selling their skills, same as anyone else.

Yeah!

Actually, no, not the same.

What you're looking at here is the real United Nations.

Yes!

You've got Americans, Russians, Ukrainians, Serbs, Croats, Angolans...

Latvian, come on!

One Latvian, but a very loud one.

All living, working together.

One big happy family.

Aye, but with no mum!

Well, in that case, I will be mother.

Don't be a tit, Sandy.

These men are about to operate some extremely heavy machinery.

Besides, they wouldn't be anything like cold enough.

How have you been, Alexei? Leg all right?

Something's wrong.

He's treating me like I just shot his mother.

He thinks there might be a rotten apple.

What d'you mean?

Don't be ridiculous.

Mr Barghati.

Walaikum assalam, Mr Birch.

Just this way. Please have some tea.

OK, jasper, let's start the show.

Yes, sir.

- Frisky, you're gonna need these. - Cheers, Jas...

- Mr Langbourne, sir. - Thank you.

- Mr Barghati, sir. - Thank you.

- Will it be loud? - I certainly hope so, sir.

This is Guy Fawkes. All players on the flare in 10.

Copy, Guy Fawkes, on the flare in 10.

Mr Barghati. Would you care to do the honours?

Why not. Thank you.

Forty-five degrees straight into the sky.

It has little bit of a kick.

Thank you, sir.

Ah... We appear to have a visitor.

Friend of yours, Mr Barghati?

It's very hard to tell.

Unless biometric software identifies enemy contact.

The FGM Javelin light anti-tank missile.

A fire-and-forget system with an effective range of up to 2,500 metres.

Who was driving that car?

Don't worry, sir. Here he is.