"You must be," said the Cat,

"or you wouldn't have come here."

SORCERER: I think we may have overstayed our welcome here.

JACK: 20 minutes late.

I don't think our prospective Joe is gonna show up, sport.

We should go.

What are we doing here, Harvey?

What are we doing here?

Well, we're not in this dry rot and rain wash of a city because I like it,

or because it brightens my life any.

We're here because the Goths are at the damn gate.

Plain and simple, and somebody's gotta man the damn gate.

And you're that somebody, Harv?

Yeah, sure. Why not?

Sweet Jesus doesn't see anyone down there.

Should he keep looking?

SORCERER: Oh, my back!

(SWEET JESUS ON RADIO)

SORCERER: What's Sweet Jesus saying?

FALLEN ANGEL: He says it's cold down there.

They say there are 7,000 spies in Berlin,

all ready to put down cold cash for secrets.

Well, maybe we gotta outbid.

FALLEN ANGEL: Be quiet!

He's here!

(KNOCKING AT THE DOOR)

I am Constantine Vishnevsky.

SORCERER: Getting you, your wife and your child

out of East Germany is very complicated.

A lot of people will be asked to jeopardize their lives for you.

A lot of money will be spent to set

you and your family up in the United States.

And what I'm getting tonight, buddy,

just doesn't warrant that expense.

But I... What I gave you...

I could get it for a lot less Sturm und Drang, buddy.

What if I am able to reveal

the identity of a Soviet agent

in Britain's intelligence service, the Ml6?

You got a name?

No.

I know precise date he was debriefed in Stockholm last summer.

And date of debrief in Zurich the previous winter.

I'm gonna need more than that.

With that information, even a child could identify him.

Wait! Wait.

I give you the recording of this Soviet mole's last debrief.

I give you the man's voice.

Surely you can identify the mole from his voice.

Comrade Vishnevsky,

let's talk turkey.

ANGLETON: Since last night, I have been meticulously cross-referencing

Vishnevsky's information from the Sorcerer's.

His bona fides match my information.

ALLEN: Okay, Jim, let's not let this one wriggle off the hook.

I'm already taking care of matters, Allen.

Good. Keep me informed.

Will do.

Have this enciphered poly-alphabetically

and sent to Berlin Station immediately.

Burn the original. Speak to no one.

Yes, sir.

Any spies in the house?

Adrian, take a load off.

Tell me what worlds you've conquered this morning.

You and your damn cards.

How do you keep track of them all?

Well...

Certain cards simply cry out for me.

I am their mother.

A Soviet mole in Ml6. It can't be.

Everything in the Sorcerer's report checked out.

The Sorcerer plans on smuggling

Vishnevsky and his family into West Berlin tomorrow night.

KGB won't even know he's missing

till we have the tape in hand.

Give us the mole's name and we'll draw and quarter the bastard.

You'll have to keep this under wraps for a bit, Adrian.

I can hardly believe this,

but Vishnevsky seems bloody legitimate to me, James.

The more valuable the real information,

the bigger the potential deception.

True genius, as Churchill taught us,

resides in the capacity to evaluate conflicting information.

You, Jimbo, have true genius.

No, it's true. You have that unique skill to find patterns

within what seems like conflicting trivia

and useless pieces of information.

And patterns, as every spy worth his salt grasps,

are the shells of conspiracy.

Deceptions within deceptions,

moves behind moves.

But don't get lost in the wilderness of mirrors, Mother.

I forget to whom I speak.

Never too lost to enjoy a few martinis.

The magic words.

JACK: Vishnevsky.

He hemmed and hawed his way through his biography

and you put the screws to him.

God, Harvey, what...

What do you have in that cooler?

Slivovitz.

I drink what my health report

describes as a toxic level of alcohol.

(CLASSICAL MUSIC PLAYING)

Okay, let's play this one out.

Let's say Vishnevsky is a disinformation agent.

He'd be programed to give us his history, chapter and verse,

without sounding like he made it up.

Does that have to be on?

Prying ears, sport.

Bugs have been found.

How do we know the KGB isn't one step ahead,

that they programed Vishnevsky

to hem and haw his way through the legend?

My nose didn't twitch.

My nose always twitches when I sniff a phony.

And if Vishnevsky is a black agent?

Even if we know the defector is a double agent,

we play the game as if we don't know.

We use the false information the Russians are giving us against them.

Plus we use some disinformation of our own.

It's a delicate game, isn't it?

More than you know.

But in order to be a player you gotta

cross over into the "wilderness of mirrors."

Angleton's words, not mine.

What if I don't want to?

You already have.

(COXSWAIN SHOUTING)

(CROWD CHEERING)

(BELL CLANGING)

(ALL CHEERING)

YEVGENY: Leo, Jack, you did it!

GIRL: Congratulations!

LEO: Hello. Hi. Hi.

Who the devil was that?

Yevgeny Tsipin, thief of raccoon coat as well as girlfriends.

She's slipping away.

LEO: You, me, Yevgeny,

we're gonna be going our separate ways in a few weeks.

Well, all good things must come to an end.

Right now, let's relish the moment.

Can an ex-coach buy you a drink?

I think so.

I'd like to discuss a very promising

proposition for two champions.

So, are you a Stalinist or a Marxist, Yevgeny?

I'm neither. I'm a Tolstoyist.

And who knows what that means?

Well, Tolstoy spent most of his life

searching for a unifying theory,

a single key that would unlock every door.

Booze?

(LAUGHING)

A universal explanation

for our poverty, our politics, our passions, economics.

My parents were chased out of Russia by the Bolsheviks,

and here I am rooming with one.

You know, that is very insulting, Leo.

It's very insulting.

I am not a Bolshevist... Bolshevik.

What I am is... I'm drunk.

One final toast.

To all the good talks we've had along this river

when we probably should've been studying for exams.

This is probably the last of our talks, gents,

and Stella.

YEVGENY: The troika!

Troika.

Troika.

WISNER: The Truman Doctrine of 1947