The Ministry
THE STATION CLOCK
SEASON 2 · Episodes 4 · 5 · 6 — "The Ministry"
"Inside"
Government building. Flags. Cameras in every corner.
"To enter there, you need a name."
"Morgan has one."
"Stolen."
Morgan doesn't enter through the front door.
No smart person does.
He enters through the parking garage. Level B2.
Fake credential. Fake name.
Sandra Cole. Auditor from the Department of Finance.
It works.
Third floor. Long hallway. Blue carpet.
Everything smells like paper and power.
Morgan walks slowly.
As if he belongs there.
That's the first thing you learn.
Act like you're home, and no one asks questions.
He reaches a door. Gold plaque.
DEPUTY SECRETARY — OFFICE OF INTERNAL AFFAIRS
Inside is a young assistant.
— How can I help you?
— I have a meeting with the Deputy Secretary.
— Your name?
— Cole. Sandra Cole.
The assistant looks at the screen.
Types. Waits.
Morgan doesn't breathe.
— I don't see you on the agenda.
— It's a last-minute meeting. She called me this morning.
The assistant hesitates.
Picks up the internal phone.
Calls.
PAUSE. FIVE SECONDS.
Hangs up.
— You may go in.
Morgan shows nothing on his face.
Inside, everything is racing.
He opens the door.
The office is large. Floor-to-ceiling windows. City below.
A man with his back turned. Dark suit. Gray hair.
He turns around.
Morgan recognizes him instantly.
Not from Ray's file.
From television. From newspapers.
Deputy Secretary Allen Cole.
— Miss Cole — he says, with a thin smile. — How curious. That's also my last name.
Morgan doesn't speak.
— I knew you would come — Allen continues. — I just didn't know when.
Allen sits down. Calm. Too calm.
— Sit down. We have a lot to talk about.
"Allen knew his real name. He knew who Ray was. And he knew where Elle was. What Morgan still didn't know was why Allen had let him in."
"Allen"
Morgan seated. Allen standing. Huge window behind.
"The architect of it all."
"Face to face."
"And he… smiles."
Allen is not what Morgan expected.
There's no threat. No guards.
Just coffee. Two cups. Already poured.
— I don't poison coffee — Allen says. — That's a cliché.
Morgan doesn't touch the cup.
— Where is Elle?
— Safe.
— That's not an address.
— No. But it's the truth.
Morgan studies him.
— You designed the network. Twelve years. Hart was your man.
— Hart was an instrument — Allen corrects. — Clumsy. Greedy. It was inevitable he would fall.
— Did you sacrifice him?
Allen tilts his head.
— I gave him enough rope.
— Why?
— Because Hart started operating on his own. That wasn't part of the plan.
Morgan processes this.
— So Val discovered too much.
— Val discovered exactly what I wanted him to discover.
PAUSE. Morgan frowns.
— The article Val published… did you write it?
Allen smiles for the first time, for real.
— Let's say I guided him.
— To sink Hart before he could talk.
— Exactly.
— And Nina? And Elle?
The smile vanishes.
— Nina was a mistake. Hart's mistake. One I regret.
— And Elle?
— Elle found something no one was supposed to find.
— What?
Allen stands up. Walks toward the window.
— The real name behind the company that bought the newspaper.
Long pause.
— Your name? — Morgan asks.
— Not mine — Allen says. — Something much worse.
Allen takes out an envelope. Places it on the table.
— Open it.
Morgan opens it.
A photo. A name. A title.
The paper. Slow. Focusing.
Morgan looks up.
— This is…
— The Director of the CIA. Yes.
Absolute silence.
— Why are you showing me this?
Allen sits down again.
— Because I alone can't stop him.
— And you have something I don't.
— What do I have?
Allen looks steadily at her.
— Ray.
"Morgan left the ministry with the envelope. Walked two blocks. Called Ray. No answer. Called Tara. No answer. Called three more times. Nothing. Then her phone vibrated. Message from an unknown number: 'Stop calling. They have them.'"
"Alone"
Morgan's phone. Screen on. Message: "Stop calling. They have them."
"Ray. Tara. Missing."
"Morgan alone."
"Against the CIA."
Morgan doesn't panic.
Panic kills faster than bullets.
Breathe. Think. Move.
She returns to the garage where she saw Ray.
Empty.
But the chair is still there.
And on the table… Ray's file.
Open. As if he ran out in a hurry.
Morgan picks it up.
Looks for something. Anything.
A note. A clue.
On the last page, handwritten in haste:
"If this happens — Hotel Grant. Room 9. Look for COLE."
Morgan stops.
Cole.
Allen's last name.
Coincidence? Coincidences don't exist.
She arrives at Hotel Grant in twenty minutes.
Room 9. Knocks.
Silence.
Knocks again.
The door opens.
It's not Allen.
It's a woman. Thirty years old. Tired eyes. Short hair.
Morgan recognizes her.
Morgan takes out the photo from the envelope. Compares it.
— You're Val — she says.
Val nods.
— I've been here for three weeks — she says. — Ray hid me.
— Do you know where Ray and Tara are?
— They were taken this morning. Two men. No uniforms.
— CIA?
— Private. Hired. Worse.
Morgan enters. Closes the door.
— Do you have the full article? The one you didn't publish?
Val points to a laptop on the bed.
— Everything's there. Names. Accounts. Covert operations. Twelve years.
— Why didn't you publish it before?
Val looks down.
— Because in that article there's a name I didn't want to believe.
— The Director?
Val looks at her, surprised.
— You already know?
— Allen told me.
Val slowly shakes her head.
— Allen told you what he wanted you to know.
PAUSE. Morgan frowns.
— What does that mean?
Val opens the laptop.
Searches for a file.
Opens it.
Points to a line.
Morgan reads.
Takes a step back.
— No.
— Yes — Val says.
The screen. Blurry. Focusing slowly.
A name. A signature. A date.
Allen Cole. Founder. Year 1.
— Allen isn't trying to stop this — Val says.
— Allen is this.
"Morgan had the article. She had Val. But Ray and Tara were missing. And Allen knew exactly where she was. He had always known. From the very first second she walked through that door."
...