DETECTIVE: Sir.
SERGEANT: What's this?
DETECTIVE: Alan Turing's classified military file.
SERGEANT: It's bloody empty.
DETECTIVE: Exactly.
SERGEANT: it's an empty manila envelope.
DETECTIVE: Yeah.
SERGEANT: Well, you've cracked the case wide open, then, haven't you?
DETECTIVE: Alan Turing's war records aren't just classified, they're nonexistent. That means someone's got rid of them. Erased them. Burned them.
SERGEANT: And that same person broke into his house and stole nothing?
DETECTIVE: Guy Burgess and Donald Maclean.
SERGEANT: What, the spies from the papers?
DETECTIVE: The Soviet spies.
But first they were professors, weren't they? Radicalized at Cambridge, then they joined the Communist Party, then Foreign Office, then leaked information to Stalin during the war-- now, can you think of anyone else we know who was at Cambridge, then took up something murky and top secret when war broke out?
SERGEANT: You think this Alan Turing might be a Soviet agent?
Alan laughed "this man is truly idiotic"
DETECTIVE: I think...something very serious is happening right here under our noses.
SERGEANT: (sighs)
DETECTIVE: Wouldn't you like to find out what it is?
(Joan gets off a bus sees Alan who waves at her. She smiles back.)
Alan(V.O): Some people thought we were at war with the Germans-- incorrect. We were at war with the clock. Britain was literally starving to death. The Americans sent over 100,000 tons of food every week, and, uh, every week the Germans would send our desperately needed bread to the bottom of the ocean. Our daily failure was announced at the chimes of midnight. And the sound would haunt our unwelcome dreams. Tick...tock...tick.
(Midnight bell sounds)
Hugh(chucking paper at the floor): Damn it!
Jack: What just happened?
John: Midnight--all the work we've done today is useless. Oh, but don't worry, we've a few hours before tomorrow's messages start flooding in...and we start all over again...
Peter: From scratch.
Hugh: I'm so sick of this. Four hours rewiring his plugboard matrix. Three hours yesterday on his rotor positions!
John: Don't go over there.
Hugh: Look, John, no. If this job wasn't already impossible before, it bloody well is now.
John: Hugh, don't.
Hugh: Damn you and your useless machine.
Alan: (sighs) My machine is how we are going to win.
Hugh: Really? This machine? Hmm? Are you talking about this bloody machine?!
Alan: Hugh! Hugh! Hugh, don't! -Hugh! Hugh! Stop!
Hugh: You arrogant bastard.
You could help us. You could make this go faster, but you won't. Get off
Peter: He's right, Alan. There are...actual soldiers out there trying to win an actual war. My brother protects food convoys in the Navy. My cousins fly RAF patrols. All my friends, they're all making a difference, while we just... wile away our days
producing nothing. Because of you.
