- Stay where you are! - Get down!
A specialist escort agency for the very rich.
Alex didn't use escorts.
I have to buy a battery for my laptop.
I stole something from the attic.
It's a locked cylinder.
- It needs a code. - Which you don't know.
No.
I've gone over every conversation, every word.
You've got to figure it out. You're the only one who can.
Did you know that I suffer from depression?
Did you know that in the past I drank?
I didn't know Alex well personally.
There aren't many students who start their degree at 15.
He was murdered.
So, I take it you want to speak to his professor.
Marcus Shaw.
Why did they murder him?
I don't know.
Whatever Alex discovered, whatever it was, whatever it is,
no one wants in the open.
We're not up against one intelligence agency.
We're up against them all.
I need information.
What does it mean? It means we are quite alone.
Get in the car.
It's for you.
Not here!
You're looking for answers.
But are you ready for them?
Get in the hotel.
Room 116.
Ripped By mstoll
The bathroom.
Get in.
Clothes on.
Now, you're clean, we can talk a little freer.
Get changed.
Outside.
Where are we going?
Do you want to know who Alex was or not?
The doors are locked, Danny. No way out.
No way back.
I want to take you on a journey into Alex's past.
Remember this place?
Are you sure you know what really happened in there?
Walk.
A reservation for two.
Here I am.
Alex's past.
Well... this is weird.
Never done anything like this before.
Like this?
What is this?
Being paid to tell someone how I...
their boyfriend.
They said you wouldn't believe me.
- Who are they? - Who are they?
They are the people pulling my strings.
I have no control over what I'm about to do.
Like this.
No control.
Alex ate breakfast here... almost every morning.
You can even tell me what he liked to order.
What? Oh, to be convincing, you mean.
- You watched him? - Serving.
- The waiter? - Me? No.
Please. I was pretending.
The service... it's very expensive because the people we...
don't know that we are escorts.
How is that possible?
We pretend. We pretend to meet them by chance.
We pretend to be won over by their charms.
We pretend to...
for pleasure, which takes some serious pretending.
Who pays you?
Our clients aren't the people we...
We report back.
"So-and-so... likes it like this."
"So-and-so likes a little of this."
Blackmail?
- But that's not my business. - You just do the fucking.
I just do the fucking.
They told me to meet him in the way you met him.
I'm sorry.
An accident.
They told me to be like you.
They told me to act like you.
In the end, Alex wasn't so tricky.
He just needed to believe...
he was being good.
All the way up until he was being...
a little bit bad.
How do you seduce a good man?
My approach was simple.
I told him a sad story.
I tell him
it's the will and last testament of my mother,
and my mother, she never loved me. Bitch.
In her will, the bitch leaves just three things to me.
Just three paintings, that's all.
And Alex, listening like a puppy dog,
and I tell him, heartbroken,
"They are the three paintings I painted for her."
"I'm an artist," I say.
"No, not yet an artist. Aspiring to be."
Pretending to be.
That's a true story.
I am an artist. What?
What do you think? I grew up wanting to be an escort?
Enough, Danny.
Enough with not believing.
What do you need? I'll give it to you. Hmm?
You need those little details?
A birthmark on the inside of his thigh?
Something whispered, something moaned?
He had a thirst, I can tell you that.
Like a man crawling out of the desert.
Yeah?
Throat dry, lips dry.
Gulping up all those missed years.
Where?
My place.
- Your place? - My fake place.
Why'd he come around?
To see my paintings, of course.
What did you do?
You hate yourself for asking, but you had to know.
I'll be right back, OK? Give me a second.
You had to ask, "What did we do?"
We played a game.
How long can we talk without mentioning
the only thing we were both thinking about?
The first game lasted an hour.
The second game...
... lasted a little longer.
I rang him afterwards,
but he didn't answer.
The client wanted more, but Alex wasn't interested.
Why won't you tell me that he kept coming back?
Because I can see you are good at sniffing a lie.
So, I told you the truth.
Why'd they hire you?
I don't know. I don't care. It's just a job.
He's dead.
Your job... he was murdered.
You think you're not involved? Because you seem like a loose end to me.
I was told to pay for our dinner.
Hey!
How else are you going to let them know what a great job you did?
I can see strings on you, too.
What are you thinking?
Say it again.
What are you thinking?
Nothing.
You were Alex's first experience of love.
If he enjoyed a second, would you seem less important?
Could the thrill of the new replace the comfort of the old?
Watergate wasn't just about bugging the opposition.
They used prostitutes to collect information on rival candidates
to shame them, manipulate them, destroy them.
Sex has always been a means of control.
In the end, your relationship became a threat to their relationship with him.
He changed you. You changed him. Priorities altered. Loyalties altered.
I noticed it in our friendship.
The two of you were besotted.
The rest of the world ceased to exist,
but Alex was one of their most important minds.
Did you imagine they'd just allow him to drift away?
I didn't think about it.
It's all they would have thought about.
"What binds this brilliant young man to us?"
"The Queen, our history, his parents?"
I accept that I didn't know anything about his work, his job.
The truth is, I didn't really know him as a person either.
I didn't know him.
Of all the attacks they've used, including your health,
the one that has proved most effective is smut.
For you, of all people.
He made a mistake. That's not it.
Why didn't he tell me?
Some of it. Any of it.
Because you wanted him to be perfect. He saw that more clearly than you.
It was his funeral last week.
Do you know how I found out?
I heard about it on the news.
He was buried at a private ceremony for close friends and family.
I can't count how many men I've comforted
when their partners were dying
and the family wouldn't allow them into the hospital...
or the church where they're buried.
I'm tired of it.
I'm tired of hearing about it.
He wasn't close to his parents. He was close to you.
Hold your own funeral. Say your own goodbye.
That's what I should be doing.
Saying goodbye.
What am I doing all this other stuff for?
Because Alex discovered some government secret? So what?
Because they lied about a war?
They spy on us? What's it got to do with me?
And, you know, I don't know any code.
I don't.
So, I don't know.
Maybe whatever those secrets are, maybe they weren't meant for me.
Then that's that.
Do you believe in soul mates?
No.
Not only do I not believe in them,
it's not even a nice idea.
Not a nice idea?
That there's only just one other person out there for you.
What are the odds this person would be in the same country?
Or the same city? That their paths would even cross?
It would mean almost everyone in the world is with the wrong person.
If it's a way of saying we're good together,
why not just say, "We're good together"?
But if you mean it literally...
You think there are better people out there for you?
There might be.
For both of us.
But since we don't know them, it's just a theoretical.
Yes, it's... a sentimental idea.
The maths doesn't add up.
But...
We're by the fire, we're under a night sky.
Couldn't you just have said "yes"?
Is that what your soul mate would have done?
Can it be opened?
If you know the code.
This is us.
I've done a lot of things with a lot of different people, and...
that's part of the reason I'm sure that we're something special.
But, for you, it...
I don't want you to stay with me just because I'm the first.
So, you should see other people. You should.
I don't want to.
- I only meant... - I don't need to.
That there's only just one other person out there for you.
Scottie?
Scottie!
Scottie?
Scottie!
Scottie.
I was just remembering...
Huh?
A place...
I was remembering a place...
We need to get you to the hospital.
Will you just listen to me for once, Danny?
You were remembering a place.
A place where no one cares.
Pathetic.
Thank you.
My parents used to chide me. "You were such a happy child."
How long?
Like this?
Three weeks.
Worse and worse each day.
Now, as bad as it's ever been.
It can't be coincidence, can it?
Thirty years I've been OK, and now, like this.
Why might someone who has managed depression for 30 years,
suddenly suffer a relapse for no reason?
This is what we're going to do.
We'll get new pills,
real pills from a different doctor.
You can keep them on you at all...
Unless they switch them before they give them to you.
I'll get them illegally.
I know someone. He can get anything.
On your shell...
until they find a crack.
A frailty.
A vulnerability.
No matter how small.
And then they pick away.
How do you kill an alcoholic?
With alcohol.
How do you kill a drug addict? With drugs.
How do you kill a depressive?
Where did you get them?
People tell the doctor whatever story, collect a prescription, sell it to me.
They're good. It's all good. Always good for me.
- Do you want something else? - No, nothing else.
Thank you.
Have you examined the contents?
We're going to need help.
With help comes risk.
The more people you involve...
Look what they've done to us.
That was before they knew we had this.
I can do this alone.
There are rumors...
about how the Kremlin guarantees
the loyalty of its most important citizens.
Under the pretext of celebrating an election to the State Duma,
the individual is treated to the finest meal Moscow has to offer.
At some point during that night,
this prized individual blacks out,
waking in a hotel suite, on a bed, beside a terrified naked child.
Before he can say anything, the FSB storm the room, arrest him,
and take him to an interrogation cell in Moscow's Butyrka prison,
where the individual swears he is not a pedophile.
"My drink must have been spiked! I've been framed by my enemies!"
He doesn't know. He can't explain. "But it is a mistake!"
And, to his surprise, the FSB officer agrees that it is a mistake,
but it is a mistake they will hold on record forever,
a mistake no one will ever see,
unless the individual makes a mistake of a political kind.
With that, the man's choice is clear: Privilege or disgrace.
Destruction or survival.
The FSB officer believes he's won.
The individual believes he's lost.
But those systems of oppression,
as ruthless as they appear, as unbeatable as they seem,
never hold, never last, never survive,
for we will not live in fear!
I would like to finish this particular adventure with you, Daniel Edward Holt,
if you'll have me.
We're being watched.
We will be followed.
So, we separate, shake them off,
and meet up at a place where no one can follow us without revealing themselves.
The place where no one cares?
I've always taken comfort from the idea that people don't care,
that they have better things to think about,
that there are more important matters to worry about.
I like it when people walk past me and couldn't care less what I'm wearing
or whose hand I'm holding.
The place where no one cares.
When I was young, I spent a lot of time searching for it,
and I promised myself, if I ever found it, if it ever existed,
that's where I'd make my home.
What do you think?
Ambition. No conviction.
You skip from short stories to lyrics,
from poems to sketches,
hoping the world will tell you who you are.
You must tell the world.
- Ah. - There you are.
- Well done. You weren't followed? - I hope not.
- So, will Marcus help us? - He didn't say.
"Kickback", and then that gives you your "B" for "baritone".
- Oh, I see. Four, of course. - Yes.
- And that's got... - Where did you two meet?
Cambridge.
We shared a flat.
I was the first person he shared the secret of his sexuality with.
At that time, it was illegal.
And there were rumors.
So, then I agreed to play the part of his lover.
And we walked around arm in arm,
and we had picnics in the Scholars' Garden, and...
It was supposed to last about two months or so.
It lasted two years.
Are you gay?
No.
Did you see other people?
No.
I tried to become the man I was pretending to be.
You know, I prayed for the right kind of desire?
A sham romance, you might say.
No!
No, no.
We're friends. We have been ever since.
We can't be sad about that. I refuse to be sad about that.
It's all very touching.
Marcus, this is Danny, Alex's partner, and Scottie.
Where is it?
Cheers.
You didn't know, did you? How smart he was.
- I knew. - But not really.
Not in the way you did, no.
His partner...
without any appreciation of his intellect,
beyond some generalized idea that he was good with numbers.
Love without knowledge.
Popular culture might depict that as a romantic notion, I suppose.
He never spoke about his work.
- What did you talk about? - Everything else.
I see.
No, I don't. I don't see at all.
Well, what did you two talk about, outside of work?
We didn't.
Look, try to understand.
I was sure, absolutely certain,
that he was going to change the world in some way. Not my world, the world.
Can you imagine the enormity of that feeling?
Being in the company of someone like that?
- We knew different people. - Hmm.
The man I knew was exceptional.
The man you knew was not.
Unless you're going to tell me how many sugars he took in his tea
or how he liked to be fucked.
Are these the details that define us?
I think that... being admired is lonely.
You're right, I'm sure, but that was the price he had to pay.
The ordinary world wasn't for him,
and his flirtation with it... was always going to end badly.
Professor.
I miss him, too.
He did it.
The 9/11 attackers sent emails using pre-arranged code words.
The Faculty of Urban Planning was the World Trade Center.
The Pentagon was the Faculty of Fine Arts.
Mohammed Atta's final message to the other terrorists
referred to their semesters beginning in three weeks
at the faculties of urban planning and fine arts.
Two emails.
In this one, "zoo" means zoo.
In this one, it means airport.
How do you tell them apart?
When... people who go to the zoo...
also visit museums.
They watch animated movies,
buy children's clothes, uh, and donate to animal charities.
Convert our entire online history into numbers,
and a visit to the zoo looks like this.
A coded message looks...
like this.
The 9/11 terrorists used innocent words,
but they didn't use them like the rest of us.
We like to think of ourselves as individuals.
But we're not.
We're a pattern.
We are... married, gay, straight,
professional, rich, poor.
Our online DNA revealing our true nature,
even when we lie.
I told him he would change the world.
I just didn't tell him how dangerous it would be.
Alex decided to apply his concept to speech.
Words don't occur in isolation. They're part of a series of actions.
Your intake of breath, facial gestures,
pupil dilation, hand movements.
Alex theorized they formed patterns,
and these patterns would be different if we were telling the truth
or telling a lie.
A lie detector?
Important lies are told by important people.
They'd never consent to a test of any kind.
Alex didn't need their consent.
They've already provided all of the information.
The most important people in the world are also the most documented.
Study every word they've ever spoken... mundane, profound, it doesn't matter,
analyze every variable possible,
translate that information into numbers, and identify the patterns.
A fingerprint... for our truths and our lies.
You'd be able to analyze every statement.
Every political claim,
uh, every case for war, every court case verdict.
The end of lies.
If the four of us survive a week, I'd be very surprised.
You're a thoroughly nice guy, aren't you, Danny?
So was Alex.
For all of his intellect, an innocent, really.
When he told me he was going to work for GCHQ, I knew it was a mistake.
He didn't belong in that world,
and I could feel him wanting me to tell him so.
Why didn't you say something?
We didn't have that kind of a relationship.
I take it you have some kind of plan?
We must prove it works.
- You don't have a plan, do you? - No.
He needed to believe I did and we need him.
You see? Proof.
The orderly functioning of society depends on our ability to lie.
Given the choice of no lies or lies,
every organization, every person of power, without exception,
will choose lies.
Maybe Alex imagined a better way of doing things.
I wonder when he began work on this project.
Why does that matter?
Maybe he was ashamed of the lies he'd told you,
ashamed that your relationship was built on lies.
Maybe, on some level, he thought he was making amends.
- To who? - To you.
Danny...
- I'm to blame? - I'm sorry.
- I'm to blame? - I never said to blame.
He did it for me?
It's possible.
I never asked for it.
He knew you'd find out that he'd lied about much of his life.
He must have worried that you'd end up hating him.
He must have worried about that moment every day.
Would you still love him if you knew? Could you still love him if you knew?
Would you re-examine your love story, Alex's only love story,
and decide, in the end, it was nothing but a lie?
He was never sure?
How could he be?
I wish I could have told him...
that none of it mattered.
The lies, the mistakes...
That I loved him, just the same.
That I... I love him still, now, knowing it all.
I wish he could have heard me say it.
Yes.
He'll never know.
No.
This is going to sound a bit...
But it occurred to me I'd never said it out loud before.
I love you...
very much.
You're not going to be charged.
Is that it?
You're free to go.
You brought me here like this to tell me that?
Will anyone be charged?
Danny...
For you...
this is over.
This isn't over.
- Scottie? - Danny...
- Scottie?
There will be a note.
Ripped By mstoll