I'd say we have our villain, Bough! Shh, shh, shh. You need to keep your voice down, sir. (WHISPERS): Ah. And we're not going to lose him.
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Mr. Volta. Welcome to Downing Street. I have read so much about this wonderful building. Is this the stone triple staircase - designed by William Kent? - Um... yes, it probably... is. I can't swear to it. - I mean, I'm not very good... - Can we do a quick...? XANDER: Needs Photoshop. (CHUCKLES): Oh, that's very... - Uh, th-this way. - I am horribly late. I do apologize. It's the traffic. It's the one thing I don't love about London. Yes, um, well, I must admit we are having a slight problem with the lights at the moment, - but nothing major. - If you wanted, I could take a look; it is kind of what I do. I think it, well, it's actually a little bit more complex - than... - Xander, get a Web address for London's traffic control center. - (ELECTRONIC CHIME) - XANDER: Here's the login page, Jason. Do you have a password?
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PRIME MINISTER: What? (STAMMERS) Junior doctors... they've confirmed they are going on strike, and the tube drivers are coming out in support. Oh, God. Leader of the Opposition, has he come round from his heart surgery? - Yes, Prime Minister. - Oh, Jesus Christ, when will something go right for me? What do you want? They've, uh, hit us again, Prime Minister. - Huh? - Hacked into the Central Traffic Control System. Yes, they've turned every traffic light in London to red. - (HORNS HONKING IN DISTANCE) - (GROANS) Where's my bloody drink? You've got to be joking. Vodka tonic, no ice, no tonic. - Yes, ma'am. - Oh, and Mr. Volta's arrived, ma'am.
Johnny English Strikes Again
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(QUIETLY): Dasil. Dasil. Mm, Basil. Well... Basil... maybe there's a simpler way of doing this. Over a drink perhaps? Well, that'd be lovely. Shall we say... the bar at the Hotel de Paris in Cagnes-sur-Mer? 8:00? Hmm. It's a date. (HIGH-PITCHED WHIRRING) (ENGLISH CHUCKLES) Well... I think my "running out of fuel" ruse worked pretty well. Mm.
Johnny English Strikes Again
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(TIRES SCREECH) (BOUGH GROANS)
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Till we meet again.
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(CLEARS THROAT)
Johnny English Strikes Again
2s
And I'm...
Johnny English Strikes Again
12.7s
- What are we gonna do now, sir? - Patience, Bough. Driving like that, her battery will be dead any moment, and she'll roll to a humiliating stop. (ENGINE CHUGGING, CLICKING)
Johnny English Strikes Again
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(CHUCKLES) (TIRES SQUEAL) ♪
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(COUGHING, CHATTERING IN FRENCH) BOUGH: Sorry. Terribly sorry. - We do apologize. - Stop it, Bough. You'll only encourage them.
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BOUGH: Wiper stalk is armed, sir. (BEEP)
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14.9s
(HONKING HORN) Arm the missile. The wh-what? The missile, Bough, the one with the tear gas warhead. But they're just cyclists, sir. I mean, w-we'll get past in a minute. They're French cyclists, Bough, and they're obstructing Her Majesty's Secret Service.
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1.2s
(BEEPING)
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(ENGINE STOPS) Bough, it is your job to keep an eye on the fuel gauge.