Flawless Page #3

question a thousand times.

I told you, I'm...

I'm not courageous.

But my hesitating

will be your gain.

Will it?

And what will

that require?

Here, proof of conviction.

You are on the, uh,

guest list, are you?

It's business.

I'm expected.

We're entertaining

the Russians.

You suspect he keeps

the codes at home?

On Saturday, go to his study

and look under the center

drawer in his desk.

This is ridiculous.

Say I did find the codes

and you were able to slip in

and out of the vault undetected.

How would you get the

diamonds out of the building?

How much will it hold?

How much would

you like it to hold?

What's the price of revenge?

Difficult, eh?

Would a million pound do?

Each?

I should think so.

They wouldn't even

notice that much.

Well, by then...

I'll be retired and

you'll have been let go.

Why should I trust you?

The same reason

I have to trust you.

We have the same objective.

Oh, you make it all

sound so easy.

Is that a yes?

No, it isn't.

Be sure to wear

something nice.

Good evening, sir.

Come on in.

The Russians here?

To pressurized carbon.

Here here!

Now that's

a sight worth seeing.

Sir Clifton Sinclair, our

very own insurance man,

making a rare trip down from

his ivory tower at King's Row.

No doubt losing sleep over our

somewhat top heavy inventory.

Oh, I don't think Sinclair's

the type to lose sleep.

It's rather unnerving

to consider a man

with that history as London

diamond's greatest guarantor.

Ooh, you didn't know.

He was mixed up in all

those insurance scandals

before the national

health service.

Of course, he's

completely innocent,

or he was never prosecuted.

Otherwise, we wouldn't

do business together.

Allow me to present

Vladimir Dmitriev,

head of the Soviet

Diamond Authority.

Mr. Chanson,

my second in command.

How do you do?

And miss

Laura Quinn,

one of our

brightest gems.

Ballet, vodka, diamonds,

the three things closest

to the Russian soul.

And which do you prefer?

Diamonds, of course.

I'll drink to that.

My lord!

And what would you have

done had I said ballet?

I would ask you to dance.

Of course, I have

ulterior motives.

And, um, what makes

you think I don't?

I shall miss her.

How's the old man

bearing up?

Oh, I expect

he'll outlive us all.

Well, I only ask because

I should think hoarding

basically a worthless commodity

would be very bad for his heart.

What am I doing?

I ask myself that

repeatedly.

Sorry.

I didn't see you.

Purely by design.

You've stumbled into my lair,

my sanctuary of sorts.

Yes, I think I know

what you mean.

At least the evening

is a success.

Your father's spared

no expense.

Never does,

always first class,

so long as it's discreet

and doesn't attract attention.

Yes, he's famous

for his discretion.

Is it true he paid 100

pounds to the families

of the miners

who died in protest?

Anonymously.

Pulled the bullets

from the caskets.

Should be a discount

for that.

What sort of man

does such a thing?

A man of conscience.

Miss Quinn:
Mr. Hobbs.

I'm having trouble with

the heat in my office.

Uh, Miss Quinn,

do you want...

more or less heat

in your office?

If we do this, I want

to know every last detail.

Understand?

Ok.

Man:
Now, if you just

lock it off under there.

We have to call it off.

They've installed

security cameras.

Closed Circuit Television

monitoring everything.

I've been with them all

morning showing interest.

Cameras in the building?

Yes, inside, outside,

halls, lobby.

In the vault?

No, but

the vault corridor.

They don't want

security guards staring

at mounds

of diamonds all day.

Can you blame them?

Oh, security cameras,

goodness gracious.

What'll they

think up next?

Is there any way

around them?

No, absolutely not.

No?

There are eight

separate cameras

covering the entire

sub basement,

including one dedicated

to the vault corridor.

The cameras link

to the guard station,

and Eaton has a man on watch 24

hours a day, seven days a week.

Basement's here.

We've got reception,

boardroom, the corridor.

So you'll just have to

reconsider that pension of yours.

All right.

So, fool proof, eh?

And you came all the way

over to the wrong side

of town to tell me...

when you could've

told me tonight.

You've seen a way,

haven't you?

I have not, Mr. Hobbs.

Your tenacity reminds

me of my wife.

Why are you being

so persistent?

Because I hate

English winters.

Now, tell me how

it can be done.

All right. There's

one possibility,

but I'm telling you,

it won't work.

Although there are eight

cameras in the sub basement,

only four images are on

screen at any one time.

Four on, four off,

and since the images cycle

in 15-second intervals,

they reappear

in the order they leave.

So each image

is off-screen for...

Yeah, 60 seconds,

but that's not enough time.

Enough time?

I'll be in that vault

in 10 seconds flat.

You can't be standing

outside the vault

when the image goes

off screen

and be nowhere in sight

when it reappears.

You have to start

at the end of the corridor,

and that's 40 yards long.

Well, I don't have

a problem with that.

With all due respect,

Mr. Hobbs,

you can hardly walk,

let alone run.

I'm telling you,

I can do it.

This has gone too far.

I'm sorry.

You're involved now,

whether you like it or not.

I beg your pardon.

You gave me the code, Miss

Quinn, so you're involved.

Make no mistake.

I'm going through

with this.

And don't you pretend

to me that you don't want it,

because you want

it more than I do.

You want a life that means

something that adds up.

And you know that this is the

only way you're going to get it.

Miss Quinn,

you said it yourself.

They're never going

to notice it.

This is how it'll work.

Tomorrow we'll

synchronize our watches,

but it has

to be tomorrow

before they realize

the flaw in the system.

At the exact moment you're

at the vault corridor,

I'll call

the guard station.

That should buy you at

least 30 more seconds.

When this is over, I think

best we not speak again.

Evening, Miss Quinn.

Evening, Henry.

Evening, Henry.

Albert.

Evening, Miss Quinn.

May I?

What's the word,

Henry?

Ask me again on Friday.

Good night, sir.

Good night.

Ah!

Ah!

Damn it.

Willis.

Hello?

Man:
Halt!

I'm afraid

there's a problem.

If you won't mind,

come along with me.

Uh...

Mr. Lewis, I'm afraid.

God knows what

that man ingests.

Would you mind?

I'll, uh,

leave you to it.

Mr. Hobbs.

Morning, Miss Quinn.

How are things

this morning, Henry?

In a word, dull.

Isn't there

a sight next week?

Fifth Monday.

That's very odd.

The sorties have gone home.

Man:
Is he here yet?

MKA, is he here yet?

No, sir.

Mr. Jameson, what happened?

What is so important?

Man:
Miss Quinn?

Miss Quinn, you in there?

I need not remind you

we're all bound to the

strictest confidentiality.

Under no circumstances

are we to discuss the incident.

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