"And so it is that we gather here today to say farewell to Guy Hubble." "A man who has served this nation all his life." "Yates, please tell me I'm not dreaming." "I know." "I have to keep pinching myself." "What happened?" "Apparently, Hubble was found dead in bed." "Why didn't anybody phone me?" "We didn't want to bother you on holiday, sir." "Bother me?" "!" "It would have made my holiday!" "I've been waiting for this for years!" "Members of the Hubble family, sir." "Cousins." "And so, as he lies with us, at peace, for one final time, we come together to mark the end of one life and the beginning of another." "Ah, Dennis!" "Come in, come in." "I was just admiring your roses out there." "Absolutely stunning!" "Oh, thank you." "Anyway, I'm pleased to see you looking so cheerful." "Did you have a good holiday?" "No, it rained every day." "But I've come back to the most wonderful news." "Well, I'm sorry to be a "buzzkill" as my grandson would have it, but we've got a serious problem." "Oh?" "Mmm." "Number Ten are convinced they have a mole." "What?" "Mmm." "Leaking highly sensitive secrets to the North Koreans." "Here, look." "This is a copy of a briefing document written in Korean, which exactly replicates the official minutes of a COBRA meeting that was held last month at Downing Street." "Good God." "It's highly classified information, and it could only have come from someone inside Number Ten, so the PM wants someone to go in, undercover, and find the mole." "Isn't this more MI5's game?" "Trouble is, Dennis, there's every possibility that MI5 are up to their necks in all this." "That's why they're looking for help elsewhere." "I'd like to introduce you to someone, Dennis." "Dennis, this is Ms Mellor." "Dennis Whittington." "Please to meet you, Ms Mellor." "How do you do." "Please, call me Sandra." "Cup of tea?" "Thank you." "There you are." "Hello, sir." "It's me!" "TEA CUP CRASHES" "There you go, sir." "There's another cup of tea for you." "It was the shock, I expect." "Bound to be a little bit emotional when you realise that your friend and colleague is still alive." "Hm?" "I'm in the middle of some nightmare." "Hubble has assumed the identity of a Sandra Mellor who was appointed two months ago to the post of Office Services Administrator." "The real Ms Mellor is enjoying a holiday in Australia, courtesy of the department." "I start work in Number Ten tomorrow." "But Hubble isn't trained as a spy." "Or a detective!" "Please, sir, from now on, could you refer to me as Sandra?" "Only I'm trying to stay in character." "His job is to get in there, blend in and unmask the traitor." "It'll never work, sir." "Yes, it will, sir." "I've just spent three weeks on an intensive drama course!" "The PM raised the problem at his weekly meeting with Her Majesty and she volunteered Hubble's services." "Sandra, sir." "Oh, indeed." "They'll see through this disguise!" "No-one at Number Ten knows Hubble." "Surely they've seen a picture of him in the papers?" "Everyone thinks he's dead, Dennis." "Only you, me and the PM know about this operation." "And Sandra, sir." "And Sandra." "Your ID, ma'am." "Thank you." "Sandra?" "Yes, that's me." "Tristram Roberts." "Chief of Staff." "Welcome to Downing Street." "Thank you." "How do you do?" "Do come through." "Thank you." "So, you've been working up in Newcastle with the Home Office?" "Yes." "It was very interesting work on policy implementation." "Some offices are being redesigned to give more space to the Treasury." "Have these workmen been fully vetted?" "Yes." "Only outside contractors need to have a Level 6 security clearance." "It's all been done." "Oh good." "Sorry." "Old habits!" "I was on the committee for security clearance at my last job." "I know what you mean about old habits." "I had the security brief when I worked with the embassy in Bangkok." "Bangkok?" "Yes, the jewel of the Far East." "Do you know it?" "No." "Oh, terrific place." "Wonderful people." "Really?" "Deputy PM's office through there, loos just through there." "Oh well, if you don't mind, I think I'd like to spend a penny." "Of course." "Thank you." "Erm..." "Hm?" "That's the gents." "Oh!" "Silly me." "Loitering outside the ladies again, are we, Tristram?" "I've heard it's the best place to meet pretty women in this building, Mary." "Flattery will get you everywhere." "Actually, I'm waiting for Sandra Mellor, our new Office Services Administrator." "Oh, right." "SANDRA URINATES" "Ah!" "TOILET FLUSHES" "Sandra?" "Yes." "Mary Town-Jones." "Foreign Policy." "Pleased to meet you." "Oh." "You too." "Hello." "Sorry." "Strange place to meet." "Yes." "First day nerves." "I was taken rather short." "Yes, I heard." "Well, er, no doubt I'll see you around." "Toodle-loo." "You're late." "Yes, I know, sir." "I'm sorry, I've had a bit of a morning." "I lost my left breast." "What?" "Well, it must have slipped out when I was in the cloakroom." "Either that, or I lost it in the photocopying room." "This is all loo paper in here." "The trouble with loo paper is you can't get the right shape." "How do they look, sir?" "Hubble, I haven't got all day." "No, of course not, sir." "Well, I called this meeting just to let you know what I've got so far." "Would you like a sandwich?" "No, I'm fine." "Are you sure, sir?" "I brought them for you." "The thing is, I can't eat them all because I've got to watch my weight." "You know, I've got this wonderful skirt back home, but it makes my bum look enormous." "I've got tofu and cress, and Quorn and cucumber." "It's because Sandra's a vegan, sir." "Won't touch meat." "Hubble, can we get back to the mole in Downing Street?" "!" "Of course." "Sorry, sir." "Well, my main suspect is one Tristram Roberts." "Do you know him?" "A little." "Why him?" "Well, I've got two reasons really." "He worked in the Embassy in Bangkok, and I think it's possible he's been turned and he's the one that's leaking the information to the North Koreans." "Bangkok's in Thailand." "Yes, but it's very near to North Korea." "It's about 2,000 miles away." "Exactly." "You said there were two things." "Oh, yes." "Well, I've got his phone records, and he's phoned a Chinese takeaway in Holborn three times alone last month." "I knew this was a bad idea." "No, sir, but don't you see?" "The Chinese takeaway could be a an intelligence gathering organisation where they feed all the secrets back to North Korea." "Or it could just be a Chinese takeaway." "Anyway, I've got a micro camera, and I'm going to break into his room tonight and see if I can photograph some incriminating documents." "Well, get on with it." "You've been there two days." "This is a matter of national importance, and with you looking as you do, it's only a matter of time before your cover is blown." "Well, that's a rather hurtful thing to say, sir." "Aaah!" "VOICES IN CORRIDOR" "Hello?" "What's going on?" "What are you doing?" "Oh dear, I was so scared." "I thought someone was in the office." "Me too." "Did you hear someone in there?" "I thought I did." "No." "No, nothing." "No one was in here." "Except me." "I was in here." "PHONE RINGS" "Hello?" "It's someone called Sandra." "Yes?" "Is this a good time to talk, sir?" "It's 3 o'clock in the morning, Hubble!" "You were right about Tristram." "Yes, so I'm focusing my investigation on Mary Town-Jones." "I don't know this woman." "She's a bit of a battle-axe, sir." "I don't want to be a bitch, but she really ought to do something about her hair." "I think she's using the wrong conditioner." "What's this got to do with the investigation?" "I've been rooting about, and I've found out that her husband has extensive business dealings in Korea." "North or South?" "I'll look into it, sir." "You do that, and let me know when you have something remotely of interest!" "Yes, sir." "Who's Sandra?" "Oh, just someone from the office." "And what does she want at three in the morning?" "Nothing." "Nothing at all." "Just go back to sleep, Muriel." "What the hell do you think you're doing?" "Oh, I'm sorry." "I thought you'd gone home, Mr Finch." "I bet you did." "What do you want with these files?" "They're highly classified!" "I was just filing these documents." "Sorry." "I'm new." "I'm Sandra Mellor." "Hello." "You were the one found in my office last night." "Your office?" "I thought it was Tristram Robert's office." "There you go." "Still trying to find my way about!" "I'm phoning security." "No, no, please don't!" "We have strict security protocols." "Yes, I know." "I realise that, and I'm still trying to learn them all." "Yes, I'm sorry." "I've got no choice." "No, please, Mr Finch." "It's always been my dream to work here at Number Ten." "I know I've been doing things in a rather haphazard way, but you wouldn't want to shatter a girl's dreams would you?" "Well, no but..." "You won't regret it." "I'm a very good worker, and if there's anything you want me to do, anything at all, I will do it." "Oh, is that your wife?" "Yes." "My late wife." "She passed on two years ago." "Oh, I'm sorry." "She was very beautiful." "Yes." "I'm reminded of her every day." "Actually, she used the same perfume as you do." "Well, it's very much for the discerning woman." "There." "Now, look, I really must get back to work." "I've got an awful lot of things to do." "I just want to thank you." "Thank you for being so understanding." "MARY SPEAKS IN RUSSIAN" "Yes, OK, Friday night." "Yes." "Midnight." "DOORBELL RINGS" "Hello, sir, have I come at a bad time?" "I was just getting in the bath." "Oh, really?" "I'm a shower man myself." "Don't like lying in my own dirt." "Interestingly enough, though, as Sandra I've started having baths." "Hubble, this is all very fascinating." "Can you get to the point?" "Yes, of course, sir." "Can I come in?" "Thank you, sir." "I take it you've seen the paper this morning?" "No, sir." "Actually, I picked up a copy of Woman's Weekly." "Very interesting interview with Jamie Oliver." "The North Koreans have got hold of our entire missile defence programme." "You need to find this mole, and sharpish." "Sir, I am making progress." "I've been watching Mary Town-Jones like a hawk." "Look, I've got Number Ten on my back," "I've got Sir Edward running around like a headless chicken." "Yes, sir." "But listen." "I heard her on the phone, and she was speaking foreign." "Foreign?" "Definitely foreign." "There's something fishy about her, sir, I know it." "Look, Hubble, I need something concrete." "All right." "Yes, sir." "You can rely on me." "Sorry, sir." "Sorry." "Thank you, sir." "Oh, hello darling." "You're back early." "I wasn't expecting you." "No." "Clearly not." "Hmmm?" "What the hell's going on, Dennis?" "What?" "I don't understand." "You and that woman." "Don't treat me like a fool!" "Her?" "I've noticed you skulking around." "The secret phone calls, now illicit liaisons." "Who is she?" "I can't tell you that, darling." "And with her!" "We all expect to get passed over for a little young thing with a willing smile and a big cleavage, but that!" "How humiliating for me is that?" "!" "Ah, Sandra!" "I was hoping to bump into you again." "Are you settling in OK?" "Yes, yes, I am, thank you." "Good." "I'm sorry things got off on the wrong foot." "Oh, that's all right." "Don't worry." "Well, I'm having a few people round to my flat tomorrow, just a light bite, and I wondered if you'd care to join us." "Tomorrow?" "That's Friday." "Oh, er, really, I'm not sure." "Oh, no, do come." "It would be a chance to meet the gang here socially." "Terrence from the press office and his wife, Mary Town-Jones..." "Mary?" "Mary's going to be...?" "Oh, well, let me think." "No, no, tomorrow will be fine." "Good." "Shall we say 8pm?" "Eight it is." "Hello, sir." "The office told me that you'd moved in here." "What is it?" "Trouble at home, is it?" "Mrs Whittington thinks I'm having an affair with you." "With me?" "Oh, you mean with Sandra." "Yes." "Sandra." "Well, that's very flattering, sir, but you can tell Mrs Whittington that, actually, you're just not my type." "Of course I'm not your type!" "You're not my type either!" "That's what I keep trying to get into my wife's silly head!" "Sir, would it be a help if I had a word with her and assured her there was nothing going on between us?" "No, it would not." "Well, I just thought, you know, as woman to woman, I could..." "Just stay away, Hubble!" "Yes, sir." "So, where are we with this mole?" "I phoned twice yesterday evening." "Yes, sir." "I'm sorry about that." "It's just that I got home, I was so exhausted," "I just had a soothing foot spa and an early night." "But I did get something from Mary Town-Jones' waste paper bin." "A scratch card?" "Yes, sir." "A scratch card worth £50 worth of shopping vouchers." "I'm not following." "Well, sir, isn't it revealing?" "I mean, how can someone afford to throw away 50 quid's worth of shopping vouchers unless they were being paid by the North Koreans for revealing state secrets?" "And that's it?" "That's where you've got after two weeks under cover?" "A discarded scratch card?" "While every day that goes by, more and more leaks are doubtless taking place, putting this country's strategic safety in jeopardy." "You're a waste of space, Hubble." "A total air-head that makes this whole department a laughing stock!" "With respect, sir, I'm beginning to see how Mrs Whittington must feel." "What?" "I just don't feel appreciated." "Hubble, unless you can find something of significance within the next 24 hours," "Sandra is off the case." "Oh, all right." "I'll show you, sir." "I'll show you what Sandra can do." "Really?" "Yes." "I'm going to a dinner party tonight with Mary Town-Jones and she's making a contact with somebody at midnight where I think she will reveal herself as our mole, and then you, sir, and the country can thank Sandra!" "Sir, do you mind if I borrowed your shower cap?" "Only it's raining outside, and it plays havoc with my hair." "My dear, come on in." "Oh, thank you." "And right on time." "I like a woman who's punctual." "Champagne?" "Oh, thank you." "I have to be careful because bubbly goes straight to my head." "Your other guests haven't arrived yet, then?" "I'm afraid they've all had to cry off." "Oh." "I thought about phoning to cancel, but then I thought," ""No, why should we let others ruin our fun?"" "Thank you." "Bottoms up." "Bottoms..." "Cheers." "You look... breathtaking." "Oh, thank you." "Oh, is that your wife?" "Yes." "You know it's quite uncanny how similar you look." "My wife was a marvellous woman, Sandra." "So kind, so loving, so... passionate." "Do you know, I need to powder my nose." "Could you tell me where it is?" "Just through there." "Thank you." "Hurry back!" "Oooh!" "KNOCK AT DOOR" "Everything all right in there?" "Yes." "Yes, everything's fine." "Oysters?" "What?" "Oysters might get us in the mood." "Mr Finch..." "Roddy." "No, Mr Finch, I really must go." "But my dear, why?" "Because my mother warned me against men like you." "Really?" "Yes." "What sort of man do you have me for?" "Well, you're a very naughty man." "Mmm, yes, you're right." "I am rather naughty." "But then you are, too." "What?" "As you said in my office, you'd do anything for me." "Yes, well..." "Mr Finch, if you let me just slip away, then to all concerned this will be as though nothing has happened." "But nothing has happened... yet." "And it won't." "Oh, come on." "No, no!" "You little sex bomb!" "Stop it!" "Little kiss, little kiss!" "Come on, you know you want to!" "No!" "Get off!" "Get off!" "What's going on?" "Mr Finch, I'm not a woman." "Yes, I can see that!" "Who the hell are you?" "!" "I'm sorry." "I really can't say." "Right." "Well, you'd better say pretty damn quick cos I'm phoning the police!" "No, no, please don't do that." "No, I've been working under cover." "I'm from the Household Division and I'm on a special mission to unearth the mole that's in Number Ten." "What?" "Yes, there's a mole in Number Ten selling secrets to the North Koreans." "They've put me on the case." "Sorry if I deceived you." "Anyway, I'll help you clear up all this mess." "That's an awful lot of money you've got here, sir, and, er..." ""Surveillance of the..."" "Mr Finch." "It's you!" "How could you?" "Oh, don't be so naive, Sandra." "Or whoever you are." "Come on." "On your feet." "Move." "Yes." "Come on!" "Yes." "You're never going to get away with this, you know." "Is that so?" "I'll be on a flight out of here before they even find you." "Move." "No!" "Give up!" "You know you can't win!" "Stop now, because I am a trained killer!" "I told you..." "No, no, glad to have been of assistance, Prime Minister." "Goodbye." "Well, Number Ten are delighted, Hubble." "Although they still can't believe it was Roderick Finch all this time." "Well, appearances can be deceptive, sir." "Now, can I tempt either of you to a little drinkie?" "I feel we've deserved it." "Could you make mine a white wine spritzer, sir?" "Sandra's not much of a drinker." "Hubble, can we drop the Sandra business now?" "She's already caused enough trouble." "Oh, yes, yes, all right, sir." "Bit of a shame, really." "I got quite attached to her." "Hubble!" "Yes, sir." "I'd just like to thank you very much for all the help that you've given me on this case." "I couldn't have done it without you, sir." "Oh sir, could you undo this zip?" "This bra is killing me." "There, look."