ENTRAPMENT
Ronald Bass
First Draft Screenplay
December 2, 1996
Story by:
Ronald Bass
and Michael Herzberg
EXT. HANCOCK TOWER, CHICAGO - LATE NIGHT
Lake Shore Drive. Four o'clock in the morning. Minimal traffic,
minimal life. As MAIN TITLES BEGIN, we PAN UP the face of...
...Hancock Tower. Up, up, forty floors, sixty, eighty, very dark
up here, street sounds fading fast, and as CREDITS CONTINUE we can
just make out...
...a dark FIGURE. Like a spider. Inching its way up the steel
surface of the 98th floor, and we CLOSE to see...
The THIEF. All in black, nearly invisible, with a sleek visored
helmet that conceals the face. Two long, oblong backpacks, climb-
ing ropes and harness across back and shoulders, tools at the belt.
Moving STRAIGHT UP the face of the skyscraper. How is it possible?
CLOSER still to see...
...the piton-like BOLTS are electromagnetic, CLANKING to the steel
to support weight. A button releases the magnetic charge when the
bolt is pulled up by cords to a higher position. The Thief is
remarkably strong and agile, scaling the wall with fluid precision,
until...
...our summit. A softly-lit, glass-walled PENTHOUSE on the
100th floor. Subtle spots which bathe paintings, sculptures,
in a cavernous coldly-decorated space.
Swiftly, deftly, the Thief rigs a suction-mounted HARNESS to the
steel casing above a massive window. Pulleys, metal caribiner
clips, yellow Kevlar ropes. So superbly practiced, the rigging is
placed in seconds, huge SUCTION CUPS pressed to the surface of the
glass. The Thief reaches to a metal rectangle at the top of the
rigging, touches a button, a motor WHINES, the ropes TIGHTEN and
the window...
...POPS FREE, hangs SUSPENDED by the Kevlar ropes which amazingly
sustain its awesome weight. The huge pane shudders in the wind,
and the Thief slips...
...INTO the Penthouse. Nearby, an ALARM BOX softly BEEPS its
60-second warning to the pulsing of a green light, and the Thief
attaches a small computerized DEVICE which runs a series of
possible CODES at dazzling speed on its display panel, until...
...the right one STOPS. Illuminated in red. The beeping, the
green light, go OFF. The device is removed.
Back to the window, air rushing in, attach a similar suction-
mounted harness from the inside, all exquisitely engineered to rig
in seconds, press new suction cups to the inside of the dangling
window pane. A small remote control clicker...
...RELEASES the outside suction cups. The window's weight now
supported by the interior rigging. The outside equipment pulled
INTO the apartment in a single tug. The WHINE of a motor, and the
pane pulls UP, the Thief expertly POPPING it into place.
No trace of entry.
Rapidly folding the rigging into an astonishingly compact bundle,
the Thief SCANS...
...the profusion of priceless art. The paintings run to Otto Dix,
Franz Marc, Marcel Duchamp. One statue an obvious Rodin. The soft
lighting makes walls seem invisible, everything with an infinity
perspective in mind. An obsidian slab dining table that seems to
end at the horizon.
The Thief has packed the rigging away, taken out a large cylin-
drical TUBE bearing a label we can't read. Knows the way, quickly
through the spectacular apartment, past oils by early German
expressionists, Russian futurists, a Rothko, a Kandinsky, a Francis
Bacon. The Thief has no interest in these, and as CREDITS CONTINUE,
we enter...
...a powder room. A lime-green poured concrete sink, a copper-
plated commode, and across from these...
...a single PAINTING. Unlike the others, clearly an Old Master.
A 17th century city on the water, churches, spires, an ancient
bridge. The Thief wastes no time, unceremoniously...
...CUTS the painting from its frame with sure, perfect strokes.
Rolls it quickly in acid-free paper. Opens the cylindrical tube,
pulling out...
...another CANVAS which we cannot see. Deftly unrolls this,
fitting it carefully into the stolen painting's now-empty frame.
Re-hangs it. Stares for a beat through the opaque helmet visor.
Approves. Slips the rolled-up stolen canvas into the empty tube.
Leaves. Before we follow, we shift angle to see the replacement
canvas...
A cheerful acrylic portrait. Bozo the Clown.
WITH the Thief now, moving fast, into a panelled library. There is
a CHUTE built into the wall, a brass lid with the words U.S. MAIL.
The Thief pops the labeled tube DOWN the chute. Gone. Steps...
...onto a bookshelf, reaches up to punch out an overhead grating,
and...
Disappears into the vent. Reaching back to refit the grating
seamlessly into place.
INT. VENT
Halogen flashlight leading the way, our Thief shimmies down the
narrow space, arriving at...
...an open vertical AIR SHAFT, BLASTING air straight up the 100
floor height of the skyscraper, with frightening FORCE. Calmly,
the Thief clips on a different harness, unzips a nylon cover from
the backpack, and simply...
LEAPS DOWN the air shaft, startling the shit out of us, as, for an
instant...
...the force of the updraft seems to HOLD the Thief in place,
suspended above 100 stories of nothingness. Then suddenly, the
Thief...
...DROPS SHARPLY, an exhilarating moment of absolute FREE FALL,
until a cord is tugged and...
...a nylon PARACHUTE OPENS with a pop. We watch the Thief drifting
lazily down. A ride any kid would pay big money for...
EXT. HANCOCK TOWER - LATE NIGHT
Our original exterior VIEW of the skyscraper's penthouse. REVERSE
ANGLE now to see in far distance...
...the dense forest of silhouetted OFFICE TOWERS of downtown
Chicago against the night sky, and we ZOOM TOWARD them, covering
miles in three seconds, to CLOSE on...
...the highest floor of the SEARS TOWER, and THROUGH an unlit
window to see...
...a TELESCOPE. A silhouetted FIGURE looking through it. SNAP
to...
VIEW through the scope's lens. An amazingly CLOSE detail of the
Hancock Tower Penthouse. The scope now PANS DOWN the length of the
Tower, to...
The street. The Thief climbing onto a battered old Lambretta.
Calm as you please. And as the scooter glides off...
We HEAR our unseen voyeur WALK AWAY from our telescope. A door
OPENS somewhere, and as CREDITS CONCLUDE, it...
Closes. Softly.
INT. WEBBER ASSURANCE - DAY
A basement corridor. Long, bare, dimly lit. Silent. We're in the
bowels of somewhere. A startling CLANK, like a prison cell
unlocking. A FIGURE enters the corridor, coming this way, on the
hurried side of brisk.
HECTOR CRUZ is 42, tanned, fit, graying hair swept back in a Pat
Riley do. He wears Riley's Armani, too. Maybe this guy coaches.
Heels ECHO until he reaches a plain door with discreet lettering...
NO ADMITTANCE FOR ANY REASON. There is a dull silver rectangle
below the words. He holds his hand up to it...
Nothing happens. Shit. Dries his palm on his perfectly-creased
slacks. One more time. CLICK. Enters...
INT. SITUATION ROOM - DAY
An unexpectedly VAST semi-circular room, the entire inner circum-
ference made up of a single continuous WALL SCREEN, separated into
a seamless array of IMAGES...
Three-dimensional rotating GRAPHICS of every room in the Hancock
Tower Penthouse, SCHEMATICS of electrical, plumbing, and ventila-
tion systems. See-through rotating multicolored models of every
piece of security EQUIPMENT imaginable, components FLASHING as
performance simulations are run. Rapid-fire sequences of indiv-
idual human PROFILES, complete with photos and bio blurbs. Screens
flickering with blizzards of DATA, hurtling past at warp speed.
The Pentagon and CNN would kill for this room.
The largest segment of screen, twenty feet square, runs a LIVE FEED
from the crime scene. The living room of the Penthouse, crawling
with slow-moving cops and technicians, doing their slow-moving
thing. Surrounding this image are a dozen smaller screens, showing
this and other rooms from a variety of camera angles. All live.
We see the library, the mail chute. The powder room. Bozo.
Cruz skips down three steps to floor level, nine separate CONTROL
STATIONS, each outfitted with super-tech panels to process the
avalanche of information. But today, all stations are empty.
Except one.
CRUZ
Baker. You got it solved?
And now we see her. From the rear. Slouched at her station.
Looks like a skinny teenager in tousled tawny hair, rumpled
oversized workshirt, vintage jeans.
GIN (O.S., from the rear)
Actually. Yeh.
Not a kid's voice. Throaty. Music and whiskey and sex and
effortless confidence. Even the voice turns us on.
CRUZ (glances at his watch)
What took you so long, Gin? I
called 4:30 this morn...
And stops. Because she turns with a look that would freeze anyone
to stone.
GIN
I was with someone, all right?
Now we really see her. Delicate bones and features, slender body,
radiating the power of a natural heart-stopping beauty. GINGER
BAKER is 32, ethereal and feral at once. Electric green eyes
crackle with an intellect and a will that are not to be fucked
with.
CRUZ
So? This is work.
He is not kidding. Stainless steel beneath the dapper. They are a
matched team.
GIN
Hector, I hardly know the guy.
Why be impolite to strangers?
And he smiles. Maybe she's lying. He likes her.
CRUZ
Look at those assholes...
He means the cops on live feed.
CRUZ
If the Vermeer were lying on that
table, they'd toss their doughnuts
on it.
GIN
Yeh, well, they didn't insure it,
so they don't have to solve this.
To them it's a crime. To us it's 24
mil, less re-insurance, which is...
CRUZ (grim)
Only thirty percent, Gin.
Ouch. Really?
CRUZ
Which is why you're on this.
Soft and straight. You're the best. I need you.
GIN
He came in through the window.
CRUZ
That's not possib...
GIN
What's not possible is entry through
the doors or the vents. That would
have triggered instant alarm.
CRUZ
The windows are wired, too.
GIN
Only for trauma. They used smart
glass, where the sensors respond to
violation of the panel's integrity.
He's listening. He always does with her.
GIN
I think he scaled the wall, popped
the frame. In one piece.
She sounds awfully positive. Then again, she always does.
GIN
Then, he only had to deal with
heat and motion sensors. They
were on 60-second delay, so the
owner wouldn't trigger the alarm
just be walking arou...
CRUZ
The pane weighs 200 pounds, the
building's 1100 feet high.
GIN
This particular guy is the best.
The best there ever was.
Almost as if she knows who. Cruz shakes his head...
CRUZ
Popping the frame would trigger
the alarm.
She smiles. First time. Even at one-tenth power, it is dazzling
light. She touches the panel before her...
GIN (gently)
I wrote a program and ran it, Dumbo.
The live feed is replaced by a red-outlined rotating three-
dimensional DIAGRAM of the living room. The alarm box glows green.
One window pane glows lavender. She touches the panel, and the
window SHATTERS, the alarm instantly emits a PIERCING SCREECH.
Reset. As he watches. This time the window SLIDES AWAY into
thin air. No sound. A stick figure appears, crawls through the
opening, and the alarm begins the slow BEEP we heard last night.
Cruz just stares.
GIN
Here's how I figured it out...
Live feed replaces the diagram. Our camera ZOOMS toward a VASE of
lilies by the window. All the flowers are tilted in one direction.
Over the lip of the vase, away from the window.
GIN
No one arranges flowers like that.
It was the draft from the window.
He turns to her.
CRUZ
You said. This particular guy.
Now she is beaming. Excited. And just above a whisper...
GIN
Andrew MacDougal.
Delighted at his stupefied reaction.
CRUZ
Why not Houdini? Or Pretty Boy
Floyd? Maybe Jesus Christ.
GIN
Because they couldn't do it.
His slow smile. This fucking kid.
CRUZ
He's been out of the business.
For ten years.
GIN
Maybe not. No one ever proved,
hell, even arrested him, for
stealing anything. But we all
know he was numero ichiban for
thirty years. Why not forty?
She's serious.
CRUZ
Why? Because of the Bozo switch?
Guys have been copying his pack-
rat signature for decades. Maybe
the thief wanted it to look like
MacDougal.
She doesn't even answer. Just touches her panel, and one of the
data screens BLOWS UP to huge size. It is...
GIN
A list of his private collection.
Complete to three acquisitions
last Thursday.
Names SCROLLING up endlessly, next to titles, descriptions,
estimated retail and black market values. Turner, Corot, Thomas
Coles, DeKooning, Klimt, Cezannes, Odilon Redon, Braques, Mary
Cassatt...
CRUZ
No Vermeer. Nothing close.
GIN
Don't be a putz. This is his
legitimate collection, which he
buys. Presentable for any search
warrant surprise party.
Names keep rolling, Degas, Paul Klee. Amazing.
GIN
What he rips off, he fences. And
the money feeds his portfolio of
investments, which are daring, savvy,
and obscenely succesf...
CRUZ
Oh, I get it. He has no interest
in Vermeers, so that proves he stole
one. By that logic, he oughta be a
suspect most of the time.
She shakes her head, sadly.
GIN
You love to embarrass yourself.
Touches her panel. The big screen now shows a grainy VIDEOTAPE
of...
GIN
The auction. Where our client
bought the painting...
We see the Great Room of an English Country estate. Perhaps a
hundred attend. Genteel to the max.
GIN (O.S.)
Ashcroft Hall, Buckinghamshire,
four weeks ago.
The tape PANS five PAINTINGS on the block. We recognize our
VERMEER, the city of Delft, the canal, the bridge. The view PULLS
BACK to include the crowd, and...
FREEZES. One tiny section is circled. And BLOWS UP twenty feet.
high, so blurry as to be unrecognizable. Then, SNAPS to amazing
resolution. The image of...
GIN (O.S., murmur)
Anyone we know?
...ANDREW MacDOUGAL, perhaps 60, as charismatic and shamelessly
virile a face as one can recall. Etched with character and worldly
experience, lit by a twinkle behind the razor-keen gaze. Tall,
wide shoulders, massive hands. This guy would be more fun to fuck
than fight. By a lot.
CRUZ
So he was there.
GIN
Staking it out. Why bid, when
you can mark the buyer, and jack
it within the month?
She leans WAY back in the molded chair. Lifts her long legs
up onto the console. They end in slender bare feet. The toes
wriggle.
GIN
At this moment, he is winging on
JAL flight 307 to Narita, ostensibly
to attend a prestigious auction at
the Hotel Akura, which will include
a mixed media collage/oil by Georges
Braques, on which he supposedly has
his eye.
CRUZ
But you know better.
GIN
Bet your ass. At Vegas odds.
Touches the panel. The big screen now holds three faces, three
names.
GIN (O.S.)
Research reveals three known fences,
still at large, who are believed
to have brokered Vermeers to black
market buyers. Sandrine Palmer is
hospitalized in Malta with ovarian
cancer.
One face and name disappears. Two remain. KOICHI NARUHITO.
HIROYUKI YAMAJI.
GIN
The other two. Live in Tokyo.
A tiny, dry, adorable, shrug. Which says, bingo.
CRUZ
And you did all this since 4:30
this morning.
Grinning small at each other. She can't help that hers is hot.
She never can.
CRUZ (murmur)
Plus. You were polite to a
stranger.
One of those moments when his attraction to her is too obvious to
ignore. Best to defuse by pretending it's a joke...
GIN (soft and playful)
Sounds like you're sorry you're
already a friend.
Said as banter between pals. Which doesn't make her wrong.
INT. HOTEL OKURA, TOKYO - NIGHT
Auction in progress in the huge traditional LOBBY, where bonsai
trees, paper lanterns and elaborate painted screens counterpoint
the sleek, international, big-money crowd. Everyone milling,
drinking, schmoozing, networking in a babble of languages, as up
on the raised platform...
...the AUCTIONEER has a new piece on the block, a 6th Century
temple scroll, from the Asuka period. It is exquisite, and bidding
seems to be big time, from the rapidly escalating numbers on the
overhead DIGITAL DISPLAY, which reveals bidding status in thirty
currencies simultaneously. As we PAN the hall, we see...
...all non-Asians either wearing headphones, or acompanied by
personal translators at their elbow, to follow the rapid-fire
auctioneer.
Except one.
ANDREW MacDOUGAL stands alone in black tie. Tall and rugged and
polished and focused, and, well, pretty gorgeous. He is bidding on
the scroll, indicated only by subtle gestures with his program and
the repeated finger-stabs of the auctioneer in our direction.
WOMAN'S VOICE (O.S., subtitled Japanese)
Don't do it.
PULL BACK slightly to reveal Gin, who has stepped to his shoulder.
She is barely recognizable to us in her satiny slip of a pale
golden gown that drapes her frame perfectly. Breathtaking would
be an insult.
MacDougal doesn't turn, doesn't seem to even hear her. Just raises
his program to up the bid.
GIN (softly, subtitled Japanese)
You're already over value. By
15 percent.
And now he turns. Straight to her eyes. This is NOT an admiring
glance at seeing the loveliest woman in the Northern Hemisphere.
It is a look that says, in the most understated terms, shut up or
I'll kill you. She shuts up.
His glance goes to his obvious bidding RIVAL, a rather butch
middle-aged Chinese woman in an embroidered version of a Mao suit.
She indicates her bid by gesturing with a tiny Yorkshire Terrier,
whom she holds in her stubby hands. MacDougal raises back.
GIN (subtitled Japanese)
Will you stop being stubborn
for one sec...
And stops. Because he has turned. With the eyes of a lion. Being
pulled from an antelope carcass.
MAC (quietly, subtitled Japanese)
I have a question.
Rich Scottish voice. Impeccable Japanese intonation.
GIN (brightly, subtitled Japanese)
Who the fuck am I?
MAC (subtitled Japanese)
That is of no interest.
Oh. In spite of herself, she looks a little hurt.
GIN (subtitled Japanese)
What, then?
MAC (subtitled Japanese)
Why. Are we speaking. Japanese?
Her eyes move across his formidable face.
GIN
Uh. I'm showing off.
His eyes scan the length of her gown. Her body.
MAC
Something of a habit?
She is minus a comeback.
MAC
You know the alleged value of this
piece from some fucking computer,
which has no clue of the price I
can turn the scroll around for in
30 minutes.
A beat.
GIN
No, you can't.
He blinks. No?
GIN (really sorry)
It's sold.
His great head WHIPS around to see Madame Mao KISSING her pooch,
flushed with victory. He stares for a long moment, a veneer of
philosophical almost masking his rage. When he turns back...
MAC
Are you a confederate of my
adversaries? Or are you just
stupid.
And walks. Away.
HOLD on her. Feeling like both.
EXT. HOTEL OKURA - NIGHT
Mac among the guests awaiting their cars, standing slightly apart.
From behind him...
...a feminine throat clears. Nervously. He closes his eyes for a
beat. Then, turns.
GIN (softly)
How about. If I try humility.
And presents a business card to him with both hands, Japanese-
style. Mac looks in her eyes. Takes the card with both hands.
Reads...
MAC
Virginia Romay...
GIN
Gin, actually, Gin Romay. I
was named after a card game.
MAC
Or a cheap cocktail.
She blinks. His brows raise...
MAC (softly)
As in. I'll have a Gin Romay,
please. With a twist.
That laser, unsmiling stare. Beyond sexy. She gets lost in it for
a beat.
GIN
You're supposed to be charming.
MAC
I'm supposed to be selective.
Glances back to her card. Reads...
MAC
Art and Antiquities Acquisition
Advisor, how alliterative...
Looks up. Still no smile.
MAC
And am I the antiquity?
GIN
In mint condition.
She sighs. Achingly lovely.
GIN
Look, I've studied you, I know...
pretty much...everything.
Do you.
GIN
Made your first millions selling
scrap metal. Then, gold mining
concessions, gems, art, and lately
strategic metals for new technologies
- platinum, zirconium, titanium...
MAC
You said. Everything.
Huh? Oh.
GIN
The cat burglar stories? Why
would anyone...with so much to
lose...take those kinds of risks?
Guileless smile.
GIN
You'd have to be. Stupid.
A held beat. His glance lifts beyond her shoulder.
MAC
Excuse me.
And walks off toward a sleek custom TOURING CAR just pulling up.
She goes after him.
GIN
I didn't know Porsche made
things like this.
MAC
Well, they don't...
Tipping the valet. Sliding in...
MAC
...as a rule.
Shutting the door. Through the open window, she hands something
from her bag. A plastic rectangle which OPENS into a slide viewer.
She presses the light ON. He looks at the slide.
GIN
Recognize that?
No reaction.
GIN
My seller is in Shinjuku, we can
go there tonight.
She leans closer.
GIN
He wants 4.6 million. I can
get it for three.
He hands it back. Looks in her eyes.
MAC
No, you can't.
And TAKES OFF. Her jaw drops slightly, but in one fluid motion...
She's hailed a cab.
INT. IMPERIAL HOTEL BAR - LATER
Graceful, timeless room, designed by Frank Lloyd Wright in the
'20s. Burnished. Elegant. Way cool. A place to drink, to deal,
to dream. PAN down the polished surface of the bartop, til we
come to...
...a tropical DRINK. Cute little umbrella, tilted back toward the
room. ROTATE ANGLE to see...
...INSIDE the umbrella, something small, something mechanical. A
woman's HAND ADJUSTS the point of the umbrella ever so slightly,
and we PAN UP her arm to see...
...Gin. Still in her gown. She is reading, with half-glasses, and
one of the bows curls around her ear, which we CLOSE on to hear...
...static. Gin adjusts the drink umbrella, which is a directional
mike, and hears...
MAC (O.S.)
...only it's not bloody football!
SNAP to Mac's table, well across the room. Drinking giant beers
with a large, really fat Japanese guy in a costly; if wrinkled,
suit. The hulk listens with stone attention to Mac's rant, as if
he actually gave a shit.
MAC (O.S.)
...it's just that crap Americans
call 'football', like you could
call your ass a butterscotch scone
and have it be one!
The guy nods seriously. Maybe he's a Sumo dude.
MAC
Why you'd want to bring that
foolishness to Japan, you're
just pissing your investment
down a bungee hole.
SUMO GUY (major accent)
You got Cubano this trip?
That he does. Mac pulls out a leather cigar holder, and passes it
over. Flat against one side is an ENVELOPE, which Sumo Guy PALMS
skillfully, slipping it seamlessly INTO his pocket as he withdraws
a small MATCH BOX. Takes out one long cigar, lights up...
MAC
Seriously, put the money into
pharmaceuticals or prostitution,
something stable.
The big guy pushes the cigar holder and match box back toward Mac.
Opening the box, Mac sees one match and a small MICROCHIP fastened
to the cardboard. Lights up. Slides the match box in his pocket.
MAC
Garbage, perhaps. Or industrial
plastics.
ANGLE...Gin still engrossed in her reading. A figure leans down
next to her. She startles, slightly. So surprised to see...
MAC
My favorite thing in life.
Coincidence.
She gives him the great smile.
GIN
I'm staying here, what's your
excuse?
And now he smiles. First time ever. A little chilling, the way he
does it.
MAC
Staying here, as well. You
are in room...?
GIN (half a beat)
One thirty-eight.
In one motion, he flags the bartender...
MAC
Will you send a half-bottle of
Chateau d'Yquem '67 to Room 138,
please? And some berries and
chocolates for the lady to enjoy
it with.
He presses some currency into the barkeep's hand. Turning back...
MAC
Actually, I was just across the
room, dickering with a gentleman
over the purchase of an interesting
Spitzweg. Until I determined the
painting was apparently stolen...
Oh. She's shocked. He agrees...
MAC
Goes against my grain. The
DeKooning in your slide, the 4.6
million you can get for 3. Can
you get it for 2 and a half?
She looks in his eyes.
GIN
Sure.
And as if he believed her...
MAC
My checkbook is in my safe. You
wait here.
His smile evaporates. He is gone before she can say...
GIN
Okay. I'll wait here.
INT. CAR, SHINJUKU DISTRICT - NIGHT
Mac driving in silence. Gin stealing glances at him. Suddenly and
smoothly, he reaches down, and picks up...
GIN
That's my purse.
He opens it. One eye on the road, he begins to rummage...
MAC
Just want to see if I'm with the
person you say you are. Can't be
too caref...
She SNATCHES the bag away from him, he GRABS it back, the car
SWERVES LEFT, and...
...CRASHES VIOLENTLY into a parked pure white Bentley. Metal
BUCKLES and TEARS, both ALARMS go OFF, a cacophony of horrific
NOISE.
MAC (quietly)
Oh, dear.
People come RUNNING, but our focus is drawn to the refined elderly
COUPLE who were just returning to their precious Bentley. Their
WAILS and ANGUISH would be suitable if all their grandchildren had
been crushed beneath Mac's wheels.
Mac and Gin are OUT of the car. As he exits, Mac has palmed a
small BLADE, and in a quick unseen motion, RIPPED a jagged tear
in his left trouser leg. The old couple RUSH to Mac, SHRIEKING
their rage and grief in Japanese, Gin is trying to calm them as
bystanders gather, but Mac cuts through...
MAC (subtitled Japanese)
We'll go in there, and call
the police.
And HOBBLES off toward the nearest building, a block-square
30-story skyscraper bearing the name FUJITSU. The couple, the
crowd, all race after the limping Mac...
GIN
Are you all right?
No answer, he looks dark enough to rain. INTO the public lobby of
the huge industrial complex. Two night GUARDS come hurrying from
their desk, as the small mob POURS in. Mac in the lead, a
commanding presence, tells the guards in a loud, clear voice...
MAC (subtitled Japanese)
I have damaged the car of these
kind people. Please help them
call the police...
One guard leads the hysterical couple toward a phone. Mac pulls up
his trouser leg, and Gin GASPS to see a bloody GASH. Mac drops the
trouser back over the wound. Asks the remaining guard...
MAC (subtitled Japanese)
May I use a washroom, please.
The guard nods absently, disoriented by the chaos. Mac hands his
billfold to Gin...
MAC
These are my papers, passport, car
registration. If the police arri...
GIN
You're going to need stitches,
let me get you to a hospital.
Soft words, genuine concern. And his eyes flicker. As if somehow
seeing her for the first time. A small spark, but she feels it.
Softer still...
GIN
Really, this can all wait.
I'll handle it.
The look holds.
MAC
That's actually. Very sweet.
His first real smile. It was worth waiting for.
MAC (to a guard, subtitled Japanese)
Might you have a First Aid kit,
of some kind?
INT. TOILET STALL
We are inside an empty, closed, Japanese-style toilet stall.
Porcelain foot rests. A hole. The door BURSTS OPEN, and...
...Mac enters FAST with the First Aid kit, locking the door,
hitting the STOPWATCH on his wrist, which begins counting at
ZERO. He pulls UP his trouser leg, revealing the bloody gash,
and simply...
...RIPS the entire wound OFF, the rubbery prosthetic wound DANGLES,
dripping its phony blood. Mac pulls gauze strips from the kit,
SOAKS them in bogus gore, expertly WRAPS his leg, then FLUSHES the
prosthetic DOWN the hole.
He pulls off the FUJITSU VISITOR badge clipped to his lapel, and
from a Ziploc bag slides a small sheet of plastic, which he PRESSES
to the face of the badge, fitting perfectly, turning the badge
into...
...an EMPLOYEE I.D., the name KAWAKUBO, M., the PHOTO of a surly
Japanese male. Quickly, Mac takes out the MATCH BOX from the hotel
bar, and with a fine tweezers gently removes the MICROCHIP, placing
it INSIDE the badge, activating it with a soft BEEP-BEEP. He
reaches now...
...behind his back, up UNDER his tux jacket, and RIPS FREE a
tightly-compressed PACK of what seems white paper or cloth. He
SNAPS it loose, revealing it to be...
...a baggy CLEAN SUIT, not unlike hospital scrubs and falling to
the floor...
...a white HOOD. With opaque tinted VISOR.
INT. SECURITY CORRIDOR
Mac in his clean suit and opaque-visored hood at an elevator marked
CLEARED PERSONNEL ONLY in English and Kanji (Japanese characters).
He holds his badge to the SCANNER, the door PINGS and slides OPEN..
INT. PREP ROOM ENTRANCE, 29TH FLOOR
Mac emerging from his elevator at the entrance to an AIR-LOCK with
sign CLEAN ROOM - CLASS 10. Holds his badge to the SCANNER, the
air-lock door lights FLASH froin red to yellow to green. He
enters...
...the PREP ROOM. Recorded VOICES purr safety instructions in
Japanese, while Mac stands, being bombarded by air shower, chemical
sprayer, blinding UV light. The next air-lock OPENS. He enters...
INT. CLEAN ROOM
...a long ASSEMBLY LINE, where ROBOT ARMS work on a stream of black
SILICON WAFERS, which pass along a clear Lexan CONVEYOR BELT. The
wafers move through various airtight CHAMBERS, exposing them to
multi-colored gasses, cyan, sodium yellow, magenta, etc., as part
of the microchip manufacturing process.
More than a dozen TECHNICIANS in their hooded clean suits watch
over every phase of the work, attached to the walls by grounding
wires and air hoses, which create a deafening NOISE. Mac simply
hooks himself up, and saunters straight THROUGH the area, toward
the place where the conveyor belt with its newly-processed
MICROCHIPS...
...DISAPPEARS through the wall. Nearby, a HATCH is built into the
same wall, and Mac calmly CLANKS it OPEN, squeezing through into...
...a dimly-lit MAINTENANCE BAY. Panels of switches, wires, fuses,
fans, air cleaners. Maximum claustrophobia, as Mac CLANGS the
hatch SHUT behind him, looking instantly to...
...an OVERHEAD HATCH with letters in Kanji and English, DANGER
ARGON GAS. Mac THROWS back his hood, YANKS out his mini oxygen
pouch, fits the slender forked breathing tube into his nostrils,
and slips on thick round infrared GOGGLES that make him look like a
refugee from 12 MONKEYS. No time to lose...
...up THROUGH the overhead hatch, closing it behind him as he
enters...
...the conveyer TUBE, a horizontal Lexan cylinder three feet in
diameter, filled with billowing red gas. Mac stretches out on his
belly, glancing up to where the clear conveyor belt, with its
precious cargo of microchips, runs along just above his head in
eerie red light. He begins to...
...shimmy, crawl, squirm along the length of the tube. Gas too
thick to see the end. He is agile as a commando, hauling ass, when
suddenly...
...the floor beneath his tube FALLS AWAY, and he is crawling in
space 29 stories above Tokyo, as his tube spans the distance
between manufacturing and shipping structures. He goes faster,
HARDER...
INT. MICROCHIP VAULT
A black chamber. We can scarcely make out the endless rows of
shelving, the air purifying equipment, the conveyor belt entering
through its air lock, as machinery folds each priceless microchip
in foil wrappers, stacks them on shelves. Through the gasket...
...Mac TUMBLES into view, swinging himself neatly DOWN to the
floor, and in a single motion, he is already FLASHING a neon-green
pen light along the shelves of microchips. We see now the wrappers
are different colors, with different Kanji characters, and Mac is
definitely looking for something special, until...
...he's found it. A single row, 35 chips, nothing special from
here, but Mac...
...WHIPS out something coiled, SNAPS it to full length, revealing a
strip of shiny black SATIN CLOTH. Three feet long, little more
than an inch wide. Carefully, Mac lays the strip down directly
OVER the row of microchips. And when he lifts it UP again...
...the chips have ADHERED to the underside of the cloth. In one
deft SNAP of his wrist, he COILS the cloth again, like a yo-yo.
Turns to leave, and...
Oh, yeh.
Tosses a small SACK of something where the chips used to be. TIM'S
CASCADE BRAND POTATO CHIPS. SEA SALT AND VINEGAR FLAVOR.
INT. CLEAN ROOM
Mac exiting from the maintenance hatch back into the Clean Room.
No one sees, no one cares. Hooking up once again, he ambles toward
a door clearly marked EXIT ONLY TO EMPLOYEE LOUNGE - RETURN ONLY
THROUGH SECURITY AREA.
By the door is an employee notice tacked to the wall. He pretends
to scan it. A stack of flyers. He takes one. Exiting into...
INT. EMPLOYEE LOUNGE
Past a changing area, vending machines, guys bullshitting. Mac
just strolling along, reading his flyer, as...
A hand. Touches his shoulder
VOICE (subtitled Japanese)
Excuse me.
Mac turns, stares through his opaque VISOR at a well-built SECURITY
OFFICER. Dead straight eyes.
OFFICER (subtitled Japanese)
The company picnic. Saturday or
Sunday?
His eyes cut to the flyer Mac is 'reading'. Mac hands it to him,
and without a trace of Scottish accent...
MAC (subtitled Japanese)
Better eat first.
INT. GUEST LOBBY
Gin is up to her ears in grief. There are no less than five COPS
grilling her, taking notes, while the old couple has their second
wind and are SHRIEKING in top form. The bystander gallery has
grown to maybe three dozen, and they're all getting their word in.
As Gin struggles to cope...
...she keeps looking at the clock. Darting glances toward the
corridor. She is freaking out.
Finally. She can't stand it. Hands Mac's billfold to one of the
cops, pushes her way through the mob, and...
...TAKES OFF down the corridor, a security guard in belated
pursuit, we go...
...WITH her DOWN the hallway, WHEEL around a corner, flat-out
SPRINTING, SKIDS to a stop at the right doorway and BURSTS INTO...
INT. MEN'S ROOM
An empty washroom. She listens. Nothing.
GIN
Mr. MacDougal? Sir?
No sound. Uh-oh.
GIN
Uh. Mr. Ma...
MAC (O.S., from the stall)
Just 'Mac'. And whatever became
of a gentleman's privacy?
The security guard BARGES IN.
MAC (O.S.)
My God, more females?
The guard starts railing at Gin a mile a minute. She calmly takes
a WAD of bills from her purse. Hands them to the guy...
GIN (subtitled Japanese)
Stand outside. That door. Two
minutes...
He does. Alone again.
GIN
I was worried, it's been twenty...
MAC (O.S.)
Eighteen, actually. The leg is
fine, but I got sort of...woozy.
GIN
Woozy.
MAC (O.S.)
Lost my stomach once or twice.
CUT INSIDE the stall. He is just re-taping the folded clean suit
and hood to the small of his back.
MAC
I'm an old man. You probably
noticed.
Awkward silence. He smiles at that, much amused. Slips on his
jacket.
MAC
You should see me without
my teeth.
UNLOCKS the door. Remembers...
MAC
Ah. Mustn't forget to zip up.
That's not what he forgot. He pulls OUT the coiled black satin
cloth strip, SNAPS it free, microchips snug to the underside. And
fits it neatly...
...DOWN his trouser leg. The perfect tuxedo stripe.
OUT the door. To meet her gaze.
MAC
Odd place, this.
He goes to her. Offers his arm.
MAC
What do you suppose they make
here? Video recorders?
She takes it, wrapping both hers through.
GIN
Microchips, I think, for computers.
He opens the door. Ushers her through...
MAC
Bad investment. The best ones
are here today...
Follows her out...
MAC (O.S.)
Gone tomor...
Closed door. Quiet.
INT. CAB, NIHONBASHI DISTRICT - NIGHT
They sit together in the rear of the taxi, as it makes its way
through late night traffic. She is looking around.
GIN
This isn't the way to my sel...
MAC (quietly)
I've changed my mind.
Looking straight ahead. Contemplative. She stares at his
profile...
GIN
Mind telling me why?
MAC
You can't get it for me at 2.5,
can you?
GIN
Well, we can tr...
MAC
You were setting me up. The correct
price is 2.8. You conspire with the
seller to start at 4.6, so I'll be
grateful when you 'bargain' him down
to three. Close enough to fool some
people. unfortunately...
He sighs. Never looks at her.
MAC
I'm old. I know what everything
is worth.
She keeps staring.
GIN
So where are we g...
MAC
I am going to the airport. You
are going on to the rest of your
life. Which...
He thinks. Admits...
MAC
...should be interesting.
Her turn to think.
GIN
You forgot your lugg...
MAC
The hotels deal with that. The
things I need are always waiting
at the next one.
(afterthought)
I don't carry. Baggage.
Little twist on that.
GIN
Sensible. And you're off to...?
MAC
Oh, that's highly personal.
He still stares straight ahead. The taxi pulls onto a freeway.
Toward Narita Airport. Time running out. And in her dearest, most
vulnerable, voice...
GIN
I did so hope to impress you.
She puts the fingertips of her left hand. On his chest. A
silence. No reaction.
GIN (hopeful)
I'm still hoping...
And he smiles. Turns to her eyes.
MAC
Young lady. I am old enough to
be your grandfather.
She shakes her head. Uh-uh.
GIN (soft)
My father.
Leans her mouth in for the kill.
GIN (whisper)
That's part of the rush.
And softly. Fits her mouth to his. The green eyes close, as
she tastes him. Nothing predatory in this kiss. It is tender,
exquisite. A kiss of deep longing. Of true love.
His arms slip around her. And in less than five seconds...
TAXI DRIVER (O.S., racist accent)
Still on fo' airport?
Nobody. Says. Nothin'.
INT. MAC'S SUITE - LATE NIGHT
A small bottle. An ornate label. Chateau d'Yquem '67. Gin lifts
it from the table, studies the label. She wears only a man's
oversized t-shirt. Our rotating ANGLE reveals the empty bed,
tangled sheets. Gin looks pretty rumpled herself.
She lifts the bottle, two glasses, a plateful of chocolates and
strawberries, and goes to the sliding glass door overlooking...
...the TERRACE. Mac sits on a futon at the balcony railing,
overlooking downtown Tokyo. He wears a thin Japanese robe called
a yukata, and is wrapped in half of a huge down COVERLET from the
bed. The other half obviously waiting for...
GIN
Here. A reward.
She curls down into the billowing coverlet, just against his body.
Sets her things beside him.
MAC
A reward for what?
GIN
For not being old. After all.
It is a lovely smile. He studies it for a beat.
MAC
You mean. Not as old as I look.
She traces her finger along his cheek.
GIN (a whisper)
Yeh.
And kisses him. It takes awhile. She seems to enjoy it. With
him, it's harder to tell. When she pulls back...
...he picks up a chocolate. Tears it in half. Offers her the
larger piece.
GIN
Do I deserve a reward?
No answer. He puts the chocolate into her mouth. With great
tenderness, he traces the line of her lower lip. As she swallows.
GIN
It's so hard to find good casual
sex, anymore. I'm probably out
of practice.
But he just looks at her.
MAC
What's hard to find. Is someone
you truly want to be with.
And leans closer. Just above a whisper...
MAC
Even for awhile.
He kisses her. Beautiful and deep, the way he does it. And
when he pulls back, she is staring at him. As if at a loss for
something to say.
GIN
It's lucky we stopped by my room,
for the wine.
She swallows. Because his gaze is unrelenting. As if not
forgetting that she's changed the subject.
GIN
Otherwise, we'd never have found
my bag was stolen. Until tomorrow.
MAC
Would that make it more stolen?
She smiles. His face looks kind now, not formidable at all. Maybe
she's wondering if she actually likes him.
GIN
They even got my prescriptions.
MAC
Something you need? There are
all-night chemists...
He does look concerned. And therefore sweet. She kisses his nose.
GIN
I take Prilosec. For stomach
acid. And an inhaler. For asthma.
She gets her old smile. The soft, wicked tease.
GIN
But since I didn't have to work
all that hard tonight...
He stares at her. Cocks a finger, like a gun, right between her
eyes. Pantomimes pulling the trigger.
GIN (softly)
Ouch. I had that coming.
She pivots, and snuggles her back comfortably into his chest. He
wraps strong arms around her. Pulling her close.
GIN
Why would someone steal my luggage?
Every guest in this place must
have more than a wannabe art dealer.
MAC
Ah. Maybe the thief thought you
had something valuable in there.
Something in the tone.
GIN
Such as...
MAC
Well. Wannabe dealers make
excellent fences.
A flicker. In her eyes. And she cuddles back. As if enjoying the
humor.
GIN
He thought I had a stolen
painting. In my bag.
MAC
I'm joking, of course.
Kisses the top of her head.
MAC
The Vermeer wouldn't fit.
Her eyes widen. Just a little.
GIN
Excuse me?
MAC
Why, did you do something wrong?
She turns all the way around. Their faces are inches apart. Each
reading the other's eyes.
GIN
You said. Vermeer.
MAC
The most famous painting stolen
this week.
His turn. To kiss her nose.
MAC
If you don't keep up on your
craft. You'll miss all the jokes.
And lowers her gently onto her back. Still staring in her eyes, he
winds her legs around him. Her mouth parts, but...
...he fills it with his own.
This conversation. Is over.
INT. MAC'S SUITE - MORNING
VIEW of the empty terrace, the rumpled, twisted coverlet. Maybe
they spent all night. HEAR the shower running full blast in a
distant bathroom. PULL BACK to see...
Gin, hair wet, wrapped in a plush hotel robe, rapidly and expertly
going through dresser, night stand, closet, sofa cushions, every
goddam thing in the room. She comes to...
...Mac's tux. The jacket, rifles the pockets, pats the lining.
The pants now...
...something peculiar. The right leg has no stripe. Touches the
cloth. Slightly sticky where the stripe should be. Odd.
ANGLE...the bathroom. Shower running full BLAST. But there's no
one in it.
ANGLE...a storage closet. Mac crouching in the smallspace. We
see the travel bag. The luggage tag, VIRGINIA ROMAY, a Darien,
Connecticut address. The embossed initials VR. But there is
something else in Mac's hand...
...a prescription bottle. Prilosec. And a name, GINGER BAKER.
Chicago address. Mac puts the pills in the pocket of his robe...
...exits the closet. Locks the door.
ANGLE...Mac ambling into the bedroom, toweling his hair with one
hand. Holding his billfold in the other. Gin is starting a room
service breakfast. Eggs, sausage, Belgian waffles. The girl can
eat.
MAC
I'm so glad I didn't leave Tokyo.
She looks up. Trademark dry grin...
GIN
I love a guy who knows how to
sweet talk.
He stands over her. Smiling. What he meant was...
MAC
There was a call. While you
were sleeping.
A call.
MAC
An art dealer I know. He has a
Monet. Minor, but it is Giverny.
He'll let me have it for 5.3 million.
She stares at him.
GIN (cautiously)
We can maybe beat that.
MAC (pulling plastic from his billfold)
I agree. This is a bank debit card.
It gives the bearer access to an
account containing 4.6 and change.
I dislike round numbers.
And hand. the card to her. As her eyes move over it...
MAC
I'd like you to go down there,
and pick up the painting. If
that's all right.
Without looking up...
GIN
Me.
MAC
If I'm there, he'll haggle. You
just hand him the debit card, with
that...luminous smile. And say,
take it or leave it.
Now her eyes come up. She says nothing. Hesitant.
MAC
Oh, dear. I thought you so
wanted to make a good impression.
GIN
Thought I already did th...
MAC
And along with making an excellent
impression. You will also make 2
percent of the purchase price.
She blinks.
MAC
That's $92,000. And change..
For two hours work.
The look holds. He goes to the desk. Lifts a cellular phone.
TOSSES it to her.
MAC
Any problems. Just give me
a ring.
GIN
Stolen painting is it?
MAC
Of course not.
And on his way out the door...
MAC
If it was. I wouldn't pay more
than three.
EXT. WHARF, YOKOHAMA - DAY
Gin climbing out of a taxi at a scruffy section of Yokohama's Bund.
Sleazy shops, pachinko parlors, hostess bars, sidewalk noodle
counters, all built along a tall rickety PIER nearly thirty feet
above the pounding surf. The harbor is gigantic. Every type and
size of vessel imaginable.
Gin carries a long neoprene-covered tube with watertight seals and
a lightweight bright orange foam cover. She looks at her slip of
paper. Then across at the place...KENDO SOUVENIRS, a schlock
kickback parlor, with a tourist bus parked out front.
This can't be right. Pulls out the cellular phone. Dials.
MAC'S RECORDED VOICE (O.S.)
You have reached the voice-mail
of AMD Investments. And, yes,
you are at the right place.
Fucking great.
GIN (into phone, pissed)
I like men with a sense of humor.
This does not qualify.
SNAPS the phone shut. Checks the slip again. Walks firmly across
the street, through the mobs of tourists, and into...
INT. KENDO SOUVENIRS - DAY
The place is huge, ramshackle, loaded with every piece of tourist
crap imaginable. The only paintings on display are renderings of
big cats on black velvet. She winds her way through, to a counter
at the back. One guy there...
GIN (subtitled Japanese)
May I please speak with Mr. Okati.
OKATI
You doin' it.
The best we can say for the pudgy, balding fellow in the Hawaiian
shirt and spectacularly baggy trousers, is that he does not seem to
be the guy who is selling you a Monet. Even a minor one.
GIN
I think there's some mista...
OKATI
You from Mac?
She stops. Jesus. The guy COUGHS horribly.
GIN
I'm from Mac.
OKATI
Lemme see card.
She hesitates.
OKATI
Four million, six hundred
thirteen thousand, five hundred?
Wow. He slaps his hand on the table. Lay it down, toots.
GIN
You first.
He shrugs. Lifts straight up, from beneath the counter...
...a brown paper-wrapped rectangle. Not much larger than two feet
square. She can't even believe she's here, doing this. Gestures
to him. Open it up!
He obliges, COUGHING grossly all the while. Unwrapped, the
painting does look like a Monet. From here. She stares at it.
GIN
Now bring me the real one.
He doesn't blink.
OKATI
This as real as it gets, lady.
And from within her pocket. The cellular RINGS. She takes it
out. Puts it to her ear.
MAC (O.S.)
You got it?
GIN (into phone)
Is this an audition, a joke, or
a rip-off? I'm staring at an
obvious forgery, here.
MAC (O.S.)
Turn it over.
This gives her pause. Then, cradling the phone against her
shoulder, she does as she's told. To see...
MAC (O.S.)
Is there an envelope? Taped to
the back? In a Ziploc bag?
Sure is.
GIN (into phone)
Uh-huh.
MAC (O.S.)
Detach the bag. Read what's
in it. Aloud.
She does. Carefully unfolding several sheets of paper, maps...
GIN (reading into phone)
Shikoku Naru, a freighter, it
says, Yokohama to Jakarta...dates,
statistics...specs on some kind of
machine, diag...
MAC (O.S.)
Papers back in the envelope,
envelope back in the Ziploc, very
quickly, without seeming to hurry...
Her eyes are flickering questions, but she does as she's told,
cradling the phone with her shoulder.
MAC (O.S.)
Now take the debit card from your
purse, slipping the Ziploc into the
purse as you do it, shielding the move
from everyone in the room but Okati.
And she does. More deftly than we could ever have imagined. Like
a pro.
MAC (O.S., quietly)
Give him the card.
A beat.
GIN (into phone)
Mac, the painting's a forg...
MAC (O.S., even quieter)
This is a test. Of whether you'll
still be alive four minutes from
now. Do you hear me?
Her face freezes. In a pleasant smile.
GIN (into phone)
Yes, Mac, I do.
MAC (0.5.)
Now. Hand him the card, and tell
him in Japanese to pretend he is
checking it by phone. Tell him to
take awhile, as if he's on hold.
She turns the sweet plastic smile to Okati. Hands him the card...
GIN (subtitled Japanese)
Mac says, pretend you're checking
this by phone, and take your ti...
OKATI (subtitled Japanese)
...like I'm on hold, sure.
And suddenly, his eyes are keen and quick, and he is no longer some
schmuck in baggy pants. He takes the card, stares at it comically,
picks up the phone.
MAC (O.S.)
While he's checking, look around
the room casually, as if searching
for the cheesy handbags...
She begins to.
MAC (O.S.)
All the while laughing, as if you
are chatting with someone you
actually like.
GIN (into phone)
I'm not that good.
But she is. And she laughs, as she strolls over to the cheesy
handbags.
MAC (O.S.)
As you're looking around, do you
notice any m...
GIN (into phone)
Three guys, two together, one
alone. Cheap suits, not looking
at me in a cop-casual way.
MAC (O.S.)
Call out cheerily to Okati, in
English, 'Where's the toilet?'
GIN (into phone)
Can I say, 'little girl's room'?
A beat.
MAC (O.S.)
Wing it.
GIN (calls out, cheerily)
WHERE'S THE CRAPPER?
Okati, absorbed by his make-believe phone call, points around the
back.
MAC (O.S.)
Get going. Now.
GIN (into phone, as she saunters)
Mac, the painting isn't...
MAC (O.S.)
You've got what we bought, are
you out of their sight?
She turns the corner. Filthy corridor. Restrooms at opposite
ends.
MAC (O.S.)
Run into the men's toilet.
I know you know how.
A beat of uncertainty. She looks both ways.
MAC (O.S., ominous)
Are you running?
And she DOES. SPRINTING down the garbage-strewn hallway, throws
OPEN the men's room door, BURSTING IN on...
...a wispy OLD GUY taking a leak through a HOLE in the floor.
GIN (subtitled Japanese)
GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!
The panicked little man STARTLES. Bolts OUT the door.
MAC (O.S.)
Jump.
Jump? HEAR now, from the corridor, footfalls POUNDING. She looks
down through the piss hole. The surf ROILS thirty feet below.
GIN (into phone)
It's too small.
MAC (O.S.)
The window, twit!
Oh. She hops OVER the disgusting hole, boosts herself UP to the
small window, footfalls racing CLOSER, HOISTS herself HALFWAY
through, DROPPING the phone a scary 30 feet to the surf below, as
behind her, the door...
...SLAMS OPEN and she FLIES OUT the window...
GIN
SHIIIIIIIIIIT...
WITH her in SLO-MO, kicking and flailing and grasping her shoulder
bag, and she...
HITS the ocean like a ton of bricks. Disappears. Comes up,
sputtering in the swirling water, as from out of the shadows of
the pilings...
...an engine ROARS to life, the BLUR of a custom JETSKI, Mac
reaching to scoop the startled girl OUT of the water, and they...
...BLAST OFF, as bullets RAIN helplessly after them. The AGENTS
shouting into their cellulars, racing in frustration down the pier,
which rapidly vanishes behind us, as...
...Gin hangs onto Mac for dear life. This baby is REALLY hauling.
He wears an orange waterproof slicker with matching trousers.
Shouts back, against the noise...
MAC
ARE YOU PISSED OFF?
She thinks. Admits, shouting in his ear...
GIN
ACTUALLY. IT'S INCREDIBLY COOL!
He is heading into deep water, a major shipping channel, points to
one side, and she sees...
...a huge HARBOR PATROL vessel FIRE UP in near distance. The chase
is ON. They speed toward the WAKE of a luxury liner, and as she
realizes...
GIN
OH NOOOOOO...
They SLAM INTO the wake HEAD ON, and are AIRBORNE for an amazing
distance, JOLTING back to the surface, RACING toward...
...two gigantic FREIGHTERS which approach each other from opposite
directions. The Harbor Patrol in hot pursuit, BLASTING its HORN...
GIN
WE'RE GONNA DIE, AREN'T WE?
MAC
JUST AS SOON AS I'M READY!
As we near the outbound freighter, Mac CUTS his speed. Now the
Harbor Patrol is really gaining.
GIN
FASTER, NOT SLOWER, YOU TWIT!!
MAC
HAVE TO GIVE THEM A SPORTING
CHANCE...
Cruising STRAIGHT TOWARD the part side of the outbound freighter,
as the inbound freighter begins to pass it on the far side...
MAC
...SOMETHING WE SCOTS LEARNED
FROM THE BRITS!
As the Harbor Patrol is nearly ON them, Mac VEERS suddenly AROUND
the stern of the outbound freighter, the Harbor patrol WHEELING
madly to pursue, only to find we are both CAREENING straight AT...
...the starboard side of the inbound freighter, Mac CUTS his wheel
in an adroit nearly right-angle SWERVE, and hears the SCREAMS as
the Harbor patrol...
PLOWS INTO the freighter! Wasting no time, he ACCELERATES into
maximum BURN, STREAKING toward the immensely crowded harbor and its
thousand vessels. Gin can't help but look back at the impressive
crash site, mouthing a silent WOW.
Nearing the harbor, Mac CUTS speed completely, drifting between two
huge ships and...
...vanishing from sight.
EXT. SMALL CHANNEL - DAY
The tiny Jetski cruises in a quiet channel, crowded with vessels of
all sizes, tugs, fishing boats, pleasure craft, junks, sampans, all
larger than we are. Gin clings close to Mac, although it is no
necessary. More like romantic. She is still flushed with
the rush.
GIN
I guess you're gonna explain
all this, huh?
But he says nothing. Pulls out a water-tight duffle. Hands it
back to her, without looking.
MAC
Dry clothes, you'll need them.
In five minutes.
She takes the bag, confused.
GIN
I'm supposed to change? Here??
MAC
I won't look. Gentleman's word
of hon...
GIN
There are a million sailors!
MAC
I've seen you naked. Give the
boys a thrill.
He means it.
MAC
You probably won't be dating
any of them, so what the hell.
Gin looks around as they float through the maze of watercraft. No
one seems to be paying much attention. What the hell. She unzips
the bag, pulling out...
GIN (astonished)
These...these are mine!
He never looks around.
MAC
Found 'em in your room. Perhaps
the thief wasn't your size.
She stares at the back of his head. wondering. He is stripping
off his slickers. A neatly-tailored SUIT beneath.
MAC
We have a business appointment.
In four minutes.
Okay. She pulls her dress off OVER her head.
GIN
Business, huh?
She ignores some nearby WHISTLES and SHOUTS. Begins drying herself
with a fluffy towel from the bag.
MAC (never turns)
Time has come to tell you. What
business. I'm actually in.
Uh-oh. Paydirt.
GIN
Uh. Am I gonna like th...
MAC (quietly)
I'm a thief.
She can scarcely believe he's admitting this.
MAC
And now that I've told you.
I'll have to kill you.
He chuckles a Scottish chuckle. Cold and warm, at once.
MAC
Or...
She slips the dry dress OVER her head.
MAC
...you can spend the most
interesting three weeks of
your life. Training.
GIN
Training for wha...
MAC
...followed by the most exciting
night of your life. After which,
you can walk away with 20 million
untraceable dollars...
She blinks. He means this.
MAC
...which will come in handy.
Things being what they are.
He shrugs.
MAC
From now on. You can valet park.
She begins taking off her wet underwear, underneath the dress. We
suspect unseen hordes crestfallen at her modesty.
GIN
And if I refuse?
MAC (very quietly)
Don't. Please.
GIN
I mean, you won't really kill
me, I'm far too adorable.
He looks around at her. As if deciding on that.
MAC
Last night, at Fujitsu, I did
some business. While you thought
I was in the toilet.
Jesus.
GIN
What could you possibly steal
in 18 min...
MAC
Thirty-five super-microchips.
Each worth one million dollars.
And change.
Staring dead at her eyes.
GIN
You hate round num...
MAC
I stole your suitcase when I
left you at the bar. I have
since sent it on to the States,
with three chips, well hidden.
Are you following?
MAC
Since you aren't there to claim
it, the bag will sit at Customs.
Safe. Unless...
No smile. No smile at all.
MAC
They receive. An anonymous. Tip.
Holy. Fucking. Christ.
GIN
That's entrapment.
MAC
No, entrapment is what cops do
to robbers.
We can feel her heart pounding from here.
MAC
Blackmail. Is what robbers
do to schmucks.
And leans. To kiss her mouth.
MAC (softly)
Even adorable ones.
They have glided up beside the gangway of a gigantic FREIGHTER. It
is at water level, the steps they use for their tender. He points
up to the name...
MAC
Pop quiz.
SHIKOKU MARU. She nods, slowly. Pulls the Ziploc bag from her
purse. Hands it over. He removes the sheets of paper. Begins to
peruse them...
MAC
Admit it's a rush. The best day
of your heretofore drab life.
GIN
Fuck you.
He glances up.
GIN
...accompanied by related foreplay.
And gives him the smile. What a gal.
He offers his hand. She rises, hops lightly to the steps of the
gangway in her bare feet. He pulls dry shoes from the duffle. And
as she slips them on...
...he FLIPS a switch, and the Jetski begins to FILL with water, Mac
stepping to the gangway beside her. They watch...
...the Jetski rapidly SINK out of sight.
No evidence. A thorough guy.
INT. FREIGHTER HOLD - DAY
Mac and Gin stand inside a gigantic CARGO BAY, watching massive
CONTAINERS being loaded by crane from a dock, through the gaping
HATCH. The chamber is a vaulted cathedral of steel, painted
hospital green, and Mac's eye moves over all of it, seeming to
inspect every plate, every pan head rivet.
VOICE (O.S., British cheer)
Hullo, there!
They turn to see a round little man with watering eyes and a very
wide necktie, skipping-down the iron steps. Bursting with a
salesman's bonhomie, he extends a plump hand...
MAN
Nickerson Carlsby, Mr...
MacDuff, yes?
MAC
Banquo MacDuff. This is my
associate-fiancee, Ms. Duncan.
The little man pauses. A tic in the well-oiled smile...
CARLSBY
That is...fiancee and assoc...
GIN (cheery herself)
I'm a hyphenate.
Ah. Like that makes complete sense. Fingers the gardenia in his
lapel...
CARLSBY
Well, it's a pleasure, in this
alien place, to do business with
a countryman.
MAC
I'm a Scot. It's a different
country. Culturally and historically.
I see.
CARLSBY (looking around)
Well. They've brought you to
quite the wrong place, I see.
MAC (looking around)
Thank God.
ANGLE...Carlsby leads the way along a narrow catwalk, which ends at
a steel door. He presses his thumb to the I.D. panel, and speaks
into the voice box...
CARLSBY (confidential code-voice)
In Penny Lane, the barber shaves
another customer...
The door CLANGS open. They go through it, as a gangway leads
toward an open five-foot-thick VAULT DOOR, where two ARMED GUARDS
rise from their seats. Carlsby ignores them as if they were
furniture. THUMPS the door...
CARLSBY
Five feet thick with hidden rein-
forcements, no way to drill through!
GIN (authoritative)
Impressive.
CARLSBY
Only the tip of our security
iceberg. See these two Brinks
locks...?
They do.
CARLSBY
The Captain keeps one key. The
other is continually forwarded:
to the Chief of Security at next
port. There is no way to enter
during voyage.
GIN
I like this.
Carisby glances to Mac. He is stone.
CARLSBY
The best armed guard, rotated every
six hours. A redundancy, of course,
but we would rather be safe three
times over than merely two.
GIN
Sound mathematics.
MAC (very quiet)
What if there's a fire? In the
chamber.
Ah. Carlsby leads them through the open door, into...
...the maximum-security HOLD. Primo. The steel coated with sleek,
matte, black all-grip paint. Tubby points up...
CARLSBY
Sprinklers. New design. Incredible
power. The entire chamber is water-
proof, fireproof, airtight. If the
ship sinks, God forfend, your cargo
is secure for salvage.
No reaction. Mac does not look convinced.
CARLSBY
And your cargo is...?
MAC
Wine.
Wine.
MAC
The bloody Japs bought up half
the premium clarets in the universe.
You may have heard.
Actually. He has.
MAC
I'm in charge of shipping some
14,000 bottles, most quite rare,
to a number of premium hotels in
Hong Kong, Bangkok, Singapore,
Phuket, and Penang.
Carlsby gets the romance of it all.
MAC
All of which are destinations on
your October voyage. Five months
from now. However...
And turns to the man. With laser, disapproving eyes.
MAC
Wine. Doesn't prefer. To be
jostled.
The man beams. Gestures to a series of PLATFORMS, each SWAYING at
different heights, in different directions.
CARLSBY
Our 'delicate treasure' platforms,
suspended on gimbals. Your cargo
remains unruffled by roiling seas.
Then, on arrival, is plucked...
Pointing once more...
CARLSBY
By that forklift, and gently
deposited on dock through the
cargo hatch...
...a huge circular hatch cut into the hull. Mac's eyes stare
blankly at it. A long beat. He pronounces it all...
MAC
Adequate. I suppose.
And then turns once more.
MAC
Did we see...a bathing pool.
On deck?
CARLSBY
Oh, yes, sir. The Shikoku Maru
carries sixteen luxury suite pas-
senger cabins. The finest cuisine.
For valued clients who prefer to
cruise in privacy.
Mac. Thinks this over.
MAC
Mildly. Interesting.
INT. PASSENGER DECK - DAY
Carlsby ushering the couple along a plushly-appointed hallway. A
secret oasis of refinement in the heart of the massive freighter.
He opens a burnished door, into...
...an elegant SUITE. Cherrywood panels, spacious windows with
views of the harbor. The finest furnishings. It is breathtaking.
Even...
MAC
Adequate. I suppose.
GIN
But dearest, in five months,
we'll be in Cape Town.
Mac pulls from his pocket the folded sheets that had once been
taped to the back of Okati's Monet. Peruses them casually.
MAC
Anything sooner? That goes
perhaps from...say, Sri Lanka?
To Jakarta.
And looks up. To a man dumbstruck. By coincidence.
CARLSBY
Why, yes. In three weeks.
INT. CESSNA - DAY
Looking DOWN on California's San Joaquin Valley from 12,000 feet,
as air RUSHES past our open door.
MAC (O.S.)
You seem depressed.
PULL BACK to see them both in jumping suits. He's checking her
gear. She's eyeing the expansive grid of fields below.
GIN
At your insistence, I'm leaping
to my death, and I don't know why!
He clips a tether from his harness to hers.
MAC
Because. You're a greedy girl.
GIN
I'm not jumping until you talk
about this, it's been two days!
She folds her arms across her chest. Rebellious. He smiles at her
tenderly. Nods, okay.
GIN
Why are we going in three weeks,
if the wine is on a different
route months lat...
MAC
There is no wine. That just bought
us a look at their security.
She stares at him.
GIN
I knew that.
MAC
What we want is on the boat in
three weeks. Now can we jump?
GIN
The machine in those diagrams. on
the back of the painting.
Maybe. He's still smiling.
GIN
What does it do, make gold?
MAC
We're nearing the targ...
GIN
Why won't you trust me?
MAC
How do I know who you are, hmmn?
Stares in her eyes.
MAC
For all I know, your name isn't
Virginia Romay. Maybe you're
a cop.
She stares back. Dead straight.
GIN
Why would a cop do all th...
MAC (softly)
Entrapment, remember? What cops
do to robbers.
GIN (just as softly)
Oh. That.
His smile is light, affectionate. Gently, he backs her to the edge
of the doorway...
MAC
One...two...
She THROWS her arms around his neck. Holds him close.
GIN
Mac, I'm afraid.
Vulnerable and touchingly real. His arms slide around her.
GIN
Of you.
MAC (a murmur)
Smart girl.
And JUMPS, Gin SHRIEKING in his arms, as we...
FOLLOW them, TUMBLING in FREE FALL, until he releases her, and bot
EXTEND their arms and legs, as if flying, as if gliding face down,
her shriek CONTINUING. He floats at the end of their tether, a few
feet above her. And at last...
...her SCREAMING STOPS. We see the pure adrenaline rush. Shouts
back...
GIN
NEXT TIME, I'M ON TOP!
EXT. HILLTOP, MARIN COUNTY - DAY
Woods, rolling hills, a dirt path. Mac stands by a sign at a
crossroads, names, arrows, STINSON BEACH, BOLINAS, MT. TAMALPAIS,
MILL VALLEY. There is a phone booth nearby. He holds a stopwatch,
looking down the path, as...
...Gin runs into view, steady stride, breathing hard, sheened with
sweat. Approaching him, she slows to a stop. Hands on her knees,
catching her wind. He CLICKS the watch.
MAC
Consistent. And rather impressive.
She sends a nasty smile, thanks a bunch. But maybe she likes the
compliment, after all.
EXT. MAC'S CABIN, BOLINAS - NIGHT
Rustic cabin in moonlight. Ringed by woods. Middle of nowhere,
which is where Mac likes it. As we approach the lit window, we
hear two oddly-matched sounds. splashing water. And the HISS of a
violent POWER TOOL. We MOVE THROUGH the window, into...
INT. BATHROOM - NIGHT
Two figures stand in the shower, spray SOAKING their shorts and
tank tops. Gin is operating a sleek WELDER, trying to perform
micro-surgery on a DARTBOARD which Mac waves in all directions at
the end of a short pole.
MAC
All right, six and seven...
She blinks the spray from her eyes, and deftly SEARS the wire
dividing those two numbers on the board. As Mac keeps waving it,
she goes off line. Concentrates. Gets it right. The wire PEELS
away...
MAC
Three and four...
EXT. CABIN - DAY
CLOSE on Gin operating a small steamshovel with a loading
attachment on the front. It is mounted with two 2 x 4's, set
close together, protruding from the loader. She maneuvers the
wooden prongs toward a pile of big rocks. But as she positions
to scoop one up, her vehicle SWAYS WILDLY, and we PULL BACK to
see it is...
...dangling from a CRANE, operated by Mac. Gin stays with it,
concentrates, and on the next pass she glides her boards UNDER a
huge rock, LIFTING it awkwardly. Ignoring the bumpy ride, she
pivots, and deposits her prize in place atop what has become...
...a WALL of stones.
GIN
What the hell are we building?
He gives this some reflection.
MAC
A chalet, I think. Or an outhouse.
EXT. OCEAN - NIGHT
Mac and Gin paddle KAYAKS, side by side. A full moon slams off
the rolling surface of the sea. Light chop, enough to bob pretty
strong once they stop paddling. His stopwatch GLOWS. He says
only...
MAC
Forty seconds.
And she FLIPS OVER, submerging her head and torso, and we go...
...WITH her underwater, upside-down in the kayak, she STRUGGLES to
FREE a group of tools which are tethered to her wetsuit. Fumbling
to BREAK the seal on a slender TUBE, which BURSTS, sending a GLOW
of yellow-green LIGHT in all directions. She fits the flexible
tube around her head like a headlamp, pulling out...
...a small ELECTRIC FAN with side HANDGRIPS of black metal.
Buffeted by the current, Gin manages to flip a small switch on the
housing of the fan, and...
...nothing happens. Again. Nothing. And again. SHIT! With a
supreme effort, she tries to ROLL herself upright, but...
...can't quite make it. Blind PANIC now, blowing bubbles, FLAILING
at the kayak, which suddenly...
ROLLS upright, manipulated by Mac. She sputters and tries to
THROW the tethered fan at him, but it snaps back and SLAMS her
across the shoulder. She is furious.
GIN
Get your fucking equipment
together, man, this is a
professional operation!!
EXT. WOODS - DAY
Gin in a clearing, arms at her sides, a determined look. Mac is
somewhere just behind us.
MAC (O.S.)
This time, when you raise your
arm. Don't breathe.
She nods, got it. Focused. suddenly, in the clearing before her,
a HOSTAGE SILHOUETTE TARGET pops up, the outline of a terrorist
shielding himself with a hostage, Gin's arm rising with a BLUR
and...
...BLAMM, BLAMM, BLAMM!!! The paper terrorist is NAILED in the
head. Two out of three. She lets out a thin stream of air. Proud
of herself, but too cool to gloat.
MAC
Very, very nice. Had a tour
with the Mosad, did you?
She turns slowly.
GIN
Where does this fit in the
game plan?
His enigmatic, yet fond, smile.
MAC
Oh, it doesn't. But one
never knows...
A quiet wink.
MAC
You might need it with me.
INT. CABIN - NIGHT
CLOSE on Gin leaning back at a 45 degree angle. She is sweating.
This is hard. HEAR a SLAM-THWOCK! And ANOTHER. PULL BACK to
reveal...
She is climbing UP the inside of the angled A-frame CEILING, using
hand rods with powerful SUCTION cups, and similar suction devices
on the balls of her feet. A human spider, inching up the wall with
everything she's got. She SLAMS the next hand rod down, and it...
...slips.
GIN
Shit.
...as she TUMBLES eighteen feet to...
DISAPPEAR in an ocean of STYROFOAM packing bubbles, which EXPLODE
in all directions like popcorn in a nuclear accelerator.
She has totally VANISHED. Buried alive.
GIN (O.S.)
DID I SAY SHIT?
Mac is wading into the sea of plastic bits, DIGGING her body out
with his bare hands. Once more, she comes up sputtering.
GIN
This one, I will not get!
He's holding her in his arms. Leans close.
MAC
But you will, you'll get it all.
You are actually...
He kisses her.
MAC
Quite remarkable.
Something in the way he looks at her. Her return gaze is naked.
It looks like love.
MAC
Take the rest of the evening off.
And kisses her again. Her eyes close.
EXT. FRONT PORCH - MORNING
Mac sits alone at a table, sipping coffee, reading Barron's. A
short-wave radio is playing BBC World Service. Leaning against an
open laptop, is...
...Mac's stopwatch. He glances up at it. What he sees makes him
reach into a duffle at his feet, withdraw...
...a rectangular gun-metal gray DEVICE. Looks like a cross between
a remote control clicker and a large cell phone. Turns it ON. The
power display GLOWS green.
EXT. HILLTOP - MORNING
Gin running alone. Up the dirt path we've seen before. Ahead, the
crossroads, the sign. The lonely phone booth.
EXT. FRONT PORCH
Mac tuning the device, which is an advance-design SCANNER. We HEAR
overlapping CONVERSATIONS through bursts of STATIC...
OVERLAPPING VOICES (O.S.)
...told you it's not a good time
f...either, personally, I've never
liked h...Giants' pitching, once
ag...late, you want the Chronicle
or don't y...
INT. PHONE BOOTH
Gin at the phone. Inserts her credit card. Catches her breath.
EXT. FRONT PORCH
Mac HEARS a phone RINGING over the scanner. Punches RECORD, PLUGS
the scanner INTO his laptop.
VOICE (O.S.)
Webber Assurance.
GIN (O.S.)
This is oh-four-six-one. Hector
Cruz, please, on a secure line.
VOICE (O.S.)
Please hold.
Mac's laptop screen in printing. WEBBER ASSURANCE...HECTOR CRUZ...
VOICE (O.S.)
Go ahead, please.
GIN (O.S.)
Thank y...
The line goes DEAD.
So do Mac's eyes. Click the scanner OFF.
INT. PHONE BOOTH
Gin in her throaty, playful voice...
GIN
...no way I'm telling you shit.
CRUZ (O.S.)
Baker, this is an extremely
dangerous g...
GIN
...right now, you're more dangerous
than he is.
A pause. Her voice is smiling. Not her eyes.
CRUZ (O.S.)
You want to explain th...
GIN
If I tell you what this is, and
where this is, you'll send back-up,
and those morons will blow my cover,
and I'll be too dead to accept your
apology.
A longer beat.
CRUZ (O.S.)
You're fucking him, aren't you?
GIN
Right to the wall.
Her eyes are stone cold. We've never seen her like this. She
looks like Mac.
CRUZ (O.S.)
You're over your head, Baker.
GIN
Only romantically. I'll write to
him in prison.
She's pulling out a different piece of plastic. A drug store phone
card.
CRUZ (O.S.)
Okay, it's your funeral. Next time
I see you, I owe you a spanking.
GIN
Ooooo. Is that a promise?
Her cold eyes through his chuckle.
CRUZ (O.S.)
While you're on secure, do you want
a transfer?
GIN
Nope. I'm headed back to the hot
tub. I'll call again, if I'm in
the mood.
And hangs up. Collects her thoughts. Inserts the phone card.
Dials from memory. Fifteen digits. She must be calling Mars.
At last...
...a man's VOICE. In a strange sing-song language.
GIN (subtitled Mandarin)
Is it over?
SMASH CUT TO...
EXT. TIENANMEN SQUARE, BEIJING - NIGHT
Late night, mostly youngsters strolling the unfathomable vastness
of the square. At what seems an immeasurable distance, the huge
illuminated portrait of Mao zedong hangs from the Gate of Heavenly
Peace. The scale of this place is unique in all the world. PAN to
a nearby parked...
...Mercedes. COL. QIU of the People's Liberation Army, lounges at
the wheel in full uniform. Talks into his cellular...
QIU (subtitled Mandarin)
...it's not over yet, it hasn't
even begun.
He listens, winces. We can hear Gin's voice yelling at him in
Mandarin, dishing out a major piece of her mind.
QIU (subtitled Mandarin)
...after Midnight, when his meeting
ends. In Zhongnanhai.
He doesn't like her attitude. And there's plenty of it.
QIU (subtitled Mandarin)
The mask will be ready...
A phalanx of TROOPS march past. The Colonel turns his face to
shadow. Drops his voice...
QIU (subtitled Mandarin)
You fucking bring the bones.
EXT. ZHONGNANKAI, BEIJING - LATE NIGHT
The walled compound where the Politburo's elite work and live.
From an open gateway...
...the MINISTER OF FINANCE appears, flanked by bodyguards in the
drab green of PRC police. They step onto the street and turn into
a narrow hutong. Down the alleyway comes a young man walking his
bicycle through shadow. Nearing us, he raises his right hand,
and...
...SHOOTS each bodyguard TWICE through the chest, DROPS the bike,
LURCHES at the Minister with something cylindrical and gleaming,
and...
...SPRAYS the cowering official's FACE with something that makes
him SCREAM in pain, the assassin RUNNING down the hutong for his
life, as a fallen guard...
...SHOOTS him in the back, and he goes SPRAWLING, SKIDDING, face
down. Lifeless.
INT. OPHTHALMOLOGIST'S OFFICE, BEIJING - NIGHT
Col. Qiu walks beside a jaunty ophthalmologist, DR. HONGWEI, who
is turning ON lights in the darkened office as they go. Behind
them, two PLA SOLDIERS half-carry the agonized minister. Into an
examination room...
...the minister gently set into an examining chair. The doctor
tilts the face up, shines a light into the minister's eyes, which
makes him GROAN. Eye drops now, which make the man YELP in pain.
HONGWEI now moves the RETINAL SCANNER into position, resting the
minister's chin on the slot provided. Turns it ON. The machine's
panel FLASHES numbers in red lights. Hongwei looks into the box
from the reverse angle, to view...
...a red LASER SCAN moving across the pupil vertically, then
retracing its path horizontally, left to right, right to left,
up and down, at speed.
Hongwei moves to a computer monitor with a graphic rendering of
the retina, clicks the keypad to section off a slice of the
graphic, and ENLARGES the section 100 times. Looks like pixels.
Back to the scanner. Touch a button, and...
...a COMPACT DISC pops out of the disc drive. He places it in a
box, telling the minister...
HONGWEI (subtitled Mandarin)
We send this to the lab for finer
analysis. One piece of advice,
huh...?
The minister squints up, painfully.
HONGWEI (subtitled Mandarin)
No more red pepper in your eye.
Not for awhile.
The doctor LAUGHS. The minister seethes. But Colonel Qiu...
Has his mind. On business.
EXT. GOLDEN GATE BRIDGE, SAN FRANCISCO - LATE NIGHT
CLOSE on Gin's gloved hand, holding something we can scarcely see,
as MIST floats up between us. It is a carabiner with a nylon rope
attached, and she CLIPS it to a thick wire.
GIN (O.S.)
I'm freezing my tender parts.
PULL BACK to see her in climbing harness, scaling a nearly-vertical
CABLE, three feet in diameter. Enveloped in fog which reveals,
then conceals.
MAC (O.S.)
I'm relieved to hear you have some.
PULL WAY BACK to see him below her. The two of them climbing
the GOLDEN GATE BRIDGE. They are near the top, more than 700
feet above the silvery black BAY. A precarious, dizzying sight.
MAC
What's amazing, is that only eleven
workers died during construction of
this thing...
GIN (grim)
...thanks for sharing...
MAC
Of course, the others were saved by
a safety net.
Gin keeps her focus on the small railed PLATFORM just above her. A
gutsy gal.
MAC (loving it)
Now, as for the suicides, they
always jump facing the city. Avoids
that tall fence about 50 stories down,
see it, there?
She's at the platform.
GIN
I never liked you.
Unclips one last time. This won't be easy. Throws her rope
OVER the railing, and to her surprise, Mac braces himself with
his legs...
...lifts her from the waist with strong hands, boosting her easily
to the platform. Grateful, she hates to confess it.
GIN
One act of fucking human kindness...
MAC
Call it a lapse.
And he swings lightly up beside her. The fog has rolled past.
There are several million stars. Transcendent beauty. She slows
her breath...
GIN
And how does this fit into
the game pl...
MAC
Oh, it doesn't. We came for
the view.
And from his contoured backpack, he pulls a bottle of Cristal.
Flutes, wrapped in velvet. He POPS the cork in one motion, and it
SAILS to its watery doom. She can't help but watch.
One more motion to pour both glasses. Hands one to her. Toasts...
MAC
To Ginger Baker.
He clicks her glass. She stares straight in his eye. Shows no
surprise, no fear...
GIN
I'm partial to drummers. If they
played with Clapton and Winwood.
And takes a sip. Cool as a goose. Licks her lips.
GIN
The prescription bottle. When you
stole my suitcase.
But he's not drinking. Only staring. The wind has picked up.
GIN
Armand Baker was my husband, May 13
to October 27, 1982, he played alto
sax, I was 17 years old.
She takes another sip. Good wine.
GIN
He named me Ginger. He likes
drummers, too.
MAC
And you get sentimental for him.
Every time you order drugs.
GIN
I have I.D. in that name. I use
it for various things I don't want
traced. When credit unions turn
their computers my way.
MAC
I could listen to you lie all night.
She toasts him.
GIN (softly)
Same here, fella.
Slowly, he reaches to an inside pocket, watching to see if she
flinches. Her eyes do flicker. And follow. He withdraws not a
pistol, but a handful of...
MAC
Do you like diamonds?
Nine DIAMONDS, so large, so exquisite, she has to keep her eyes
from bugging. Wow.
MAC
You asked. Does the machine.
Make gold.
Holy. Christ.
MAC
Gold is shit. It's six thousand
dollars a pound. Worth your weight
in gold...?
His eyes travel her body...
MAC
That would put you at seven
hundred thousand.
GIN
Would you pay it?
And he leans. Looks in her eyes.
MAC
When the light hits you just
right. I'd pay more.
She liked that. Maybe a lot.
GIN
The machine. That we are stealing.
Makes diamonds?
No answer.
GIN
Real ones?
MAC
Gem quality. First ever. God
save Japan.
He toasts Blessed Japan to the East. Takes a hit.
MAC
A diamond reactor takes graphite,
runs it through a combination of
lasers, electron beams, and scanning-
tunnel mg microscopes.
He means this. She is transfixed.
MAC
This one uses krypton-fluorine laser,
with a new isotope of krypton.
She looks down at the diamonds in his palm. His fist CLOSES.
MAC
The atoms are rearranged. And
the molecule of graphite becoznes
a molecule of...
He turns his fist UPSIDE-DOWN. And LETS GO! She GASPS as the
brilliant stones FALL toward the sea. Watching, watching, long
after the moonlit glimmer has evaporated. A hush.
GIN
I hate it. When you make
a point.
INT. SHIKOKU MARU - DAY
CLOSE on two open PASSPORTS. The names say BANQUO MACDUFF and
ISADORA DUNCAN. The faces are Mac and Gin.
STEWARD (O.S.)
All right, then. All set.
PULL BACK to see Mac and Gin dressed as tropical tourists. She
hangs on his arm.
STEWARD
We will keep your passports in
our safe until Jakarta.
MAC
Of course.
STEWARD
You are Suite 16...
GIN
...and never been kissed.
The steward doesn't get it. Gin shrugs, sorry.
MAC
We had booked Suite 9.
STEWARD
16 is our Tokugawa Suite, far
superior, trust me.
Mac consents. A little wary.
STEWARD
You luggage is in the room, these
are your keys, the housekeeper
will show you t...
GIN (pouting)
Oh. Can't we stroll around the
port? Just a little?
The steward checks his watch.
STEWARD
I'd be on board in forty minutes.
Just to be safe.
GIN (sweet smile)
Better safe. Than sorry.
EXT. DOCK, COLOMBO, SRI LANKA - DAY
Mac and Gin stroll down the gangway, to the seedy, dangerous-
looking wharf. At the bottom of the gangway...
...a wooden board to mark the whereabouts of guests. Each
stateroom has a peg, which can be moved to ABOARD or ASHORE. Mac
moves the peg for 16...
...to the ABOARD position.
And off they go.
INT. SMALL PLANE - NIGHT
Mac in his jump suit piloting the Dehaviland DHC-53 across the
endless black of the Indian Ocean. For the moment, he seems alone.
Then...
MAC
Down there. Ten o'clock.
He means a tiny grouping of LIGHTS. Way down there, against the
darkness. He switches on the AUTOPILOT. Goes back to...
...Gin, waiting in her jump suit, sitting on a large pack of gear
just beside the window of the jump door. Next to her, a pack that
is even larger. No fear in her eyes tonight. Pure adrenaline.
GIN
Are you dumping fuel?
MAC
Changed my mind. There's nothing
on the instruments downrange. The
longer she flies before she ditches,
the less chance they notice on the
Bridge.
As she stands, he begins to strap the huge pack ONTO her body.
Jesus. With her chute, and the other gear attached, the load makes
us uneasy. Not her.
MAC
You should lose the oxygen tank
at 8000 feet.
GIN
And how do I judge that? Babe's
intuition?
He points to an altimeter device on his wrist. It says 12,000
feet. She cuts him a look.
GIN
So I just ask you on the way down?
Or were you planning to e-mail me.
He pulls out an identical device. Strapping it to her wrist...
MAC
I hate a crybaby.
He straps the even-larger gear pack to himself. Checks the path of
the tiny lights far below. Then, looks in her eyes...
MAC (simply)
You can do this.
Not merely reassurance. Affection. Something connective between
them. You are my partner. Her eyes send back that personal bond,
and she nods. I can do this. Good girl.
He pulls on his oxygen mask, goggles. She does the same. He OPENS
the door, air BLASTING in. One more look down below, and he holds
up ten fingers. Counts them down, nine...eight...
She moves to the edge. Watching him. And on zero, she...
ARCHES out INTO the starry VOID, and we go...
WITH HER, the incomparable RUSH of freefall, straining to see him
FOLLOW, skillfully altering his position to gain on her, coming
close. She is looking between him and her altimeter, as...
...his oxygen tank FALLS AWAY, and she CUTS hers loose, the air
RUSHING past her, she looks DOWN...
...the lights below are beginning to take the shape of the
freighter. Back up to Mac, as he...
PULLS his CHUTE, it is black and square, and JOLTS him to what
seems like a full STOP far above her, and she YANKS her cord,
but...
...nothing. It doesn't open. She is ROCKETING down, looking back
up to see Mac make an exaggerated CUTTING sign across his body, and
she closes her eyes, PULLS her secondary chute, which...
POPS open, JARRING her violently, and she GASPS with the shock. He
is well above her now, she isoff course, frantically trying to
manipulate her trajectory, seeing him swooping closer, the
freighter LOOMS in distance, she looks down and suddenly...
...the sea is RUSHING at her, she FIGHTS her braking mechanism,
SHOUTING at herself...
GIN
FLARE, FLARE...
...and SLAMS INTO the water, PLUNGING down, twisting, disoriented
CUTTING her chute loose, struggling not to get tangled, in a panic
to BREAK her light tube, which...
...GLOWS yellow-green, illuminating the freezing depths, she FITS
it around her head, fights now to pull out the small ELECTRIC FAN
we've seen before, KICKING herself toward the surface, fighting
against the weight of her gear pack, she...
...flips the switch, and the fan becomes a PROPELLER which ROCKETS
her upward, but she loses her hold on one handgrip, tries
desperately to hang on with one hand, but it...
...PULLS FREE, goes SHOOTING off into the blackness without her,
one instant of TERROR in her eyes, and...
Mac is THERE, diving at her with his propeller, she GRASPS his legs
in a death grip, and suddenly, they are...
AT the surface, Gin GASPING for air, and he CUTS his propeller,
CRADLES her body with one strong arm, murmuring in her ear...
MAC
It's over, it's over...
Her eyes are wild.
MAC
Catch your breath, quickly.
Hang on for the wake.
She sees the FREIGHTER now, a black mountain CUTTING the sea, a
huge WAKE pluming from its bow. She grabs his waist with all
she's got.
GIN
DO IT! GO!
And he KICKS the propeller to LIFE, they ZOOM off, straight AT the
towering wake and burst THROUGH it, RACING to the freighter's
looming hull, speeding alongside, Mac looking up to find...
...a series of metal RUNGS, which begin twelve feet above the water
line, climbing the dizzying height to the freighter's deck, far
above. Mac has a Kevlar rope with a GRAPPLING HOOK, and as he
reaches the rungs, he...
...THROWS it high, one of the pronged hooks CATCHING on a rung
twenty feet above them...
MAC
HOLD TIGHT!
GIN
IF YOU FUCKING INSIST!
And he LETS GO of the propeller, PULLING both of them, laden with
gear, OUT of the water with sheer brute strength. PLANTING his
feet against the outward curve of the hull, he CLIMBS with all his
strength, hand over hand, until he finally...
...GRASPS the bottom rung. He PULLS them up, until she can GRAB
ON. They hold tight to their rung for a beat. He attaches them
both with metal carabiner clips.
MAC
If I were you, I'd watch
the desserts.
GIN
Boy, I'll bet you were in
shape before you got old.
MAC
Too long ago to remember.
And pulls himself up to the second rung, so that he is standing an
the first. Offers her his hand...
GIN
I can take it from here, thanks.
Suit yourself. They begin to climb up the rungs, like a tilted
backwards ladder, re-attaching their clips as they go.
GIN
If you'd packed my primary chute
right, I wouldn't ha...
MAC
Yes, you would. You're a girl.
Up, up. And stop. They are nearly halfway to the top. Looking
across the curved hull to...
...a large circular HATCH. Thirty feet away. The goal. Mac
pulls from his pack...
...their SUCTION CUP gear. With practiced speed, they fasten cups
to the balls of their feet, take hold of the hand rods with cups
attached, and Mac takes the lead as they begin to...
...move LATERALLY across the hull's surface toward the hatch. Mac
is amazingly agile at the arduous process, scuttling sideways like
a crab across the precariously tilted-back hull. Gin is deter-
mined, but falls well behind, intent on making every suction seal
solid one. Dark water RACES by beneath her., By the time she looks
up at the hatch...
He is gone.
MAC (O.S.)
Anytime you're ready.
She looks UP sharply. He is ABOVE the hatch, attached to the hull
by the balls of his feet, hanging down like a bat. Noting her
astonishment...
MAC
Better angle.
That it is. He has pulled a thick cylinder from his pack. It's a
battery-operated AIR WRENCH, and with a menacing WHIRR, only
partially masked by the ship's wake, he begins to swiftly POP all
the rivets around the hatch.
Gin has pulled out the slender WELDING TOOL we saw in the shower,
and begins CUTTING through the metal seals around the hatch's rim.
At thecrucial moment...
MAC
You might want to move aside...
Which she BARELY does, as the hatch door PLUMMETS past her to the
sea. BIG splash. Gone. When she turns back, Mac is already
THROUGH the opening and she follows, their yellow-green headlamps
partially revealing...
...the maximum-security HOLD. We've seen this with Carlsby. The
fork lift. The shadowy multitude of PLATFORMS on their gimbals,
all SWAYING, in different directions with the plunging of the ship.
Gin just stands, staring everywhere, like she's broken into Fort
Knox. The ROAR of the engines is louder here, and he moves close
to her to speak beneath it...
MAC
May I trouble you for the torch?
Or would you rather just dance.
Oh. Slightly embarrassed at her lack of split-second efficiency,
she tries to find the thing in her gear. After watching her fumble
for a bit...
GIN
I know I packed it.
...he just reaches in and pulls it out. A small LANTERN which he
FLICKS on, brilliantly ILLUMINATING the entire hold. Scans the
platforms...polnts to a CRATE wrapped in 4-ply heavy duty plastic
membrane.
MAC
Coal into diamonds. A wealth
machine.
GIN
How do you know that's it?
MAC (as if stating the obvious)
It's 12 by 9 by 7 feet. And it's
the only thing worth waterproofing,
in case the ship sinks.
GIN (softly)
...you twit.
MAC
Hmmn?
GIN
I'm just finishing your sentence.
Can't you answer a question with-
out making me feel stupid?
He's heading toward the swaying platforms...
MAC
Why would I bother?
He is climbing onto a lower platform, easily vaulting up to the
magic crate. She follows, but it isn't as easy as he's made it
look. She has to scramble, almost falling. He's already pulled
from his gear...
...six rubber POUCHES. She hands him her welding tool, and he
begins attaching the pouches to the top and sides of the crate.
The plunging ship has the platform really rocking.
GIN (concerned)
They don't look like flotation
bags...
MAC (working fast)
Shit. Well then, let's forget
the whole thing.
She stares at him.
GIN
Okay, it was a dumb ques...
His eyes come UP. So fast that her breath stops. He looks plenty
angry.
MAC
Let's get one thing straight. I
don't work with partners much,
because basically, I find most
people to be idiots.
She swallows. Hard.
MAC
You, in contrast, are first-rate.
He watches the effect of that play across her eyes.
MAC
And if I think so. Maybe you
should start thinking the same.
Now move your ass.
And goes back to work. She pauses a beat. Then pulls out two
lengths of Kevlar rope. Begins securing their platform to the one
above, to minimize the amount of sway. As she struggles with this,
she sees him finish by welding a very small gray BOX to the top of
the crate.
When he glances up, he sees her staring at the box.
MAC
GPS transponder. Sends a scrambled
signal by satellite...
He touches the device. It BEEPS. A light glows RED.
MAC
Precise coordinates. You could
find a golf ball in the Gobi Desert.
He rises. JUMPS down to the floor.
GIN
Where you g...
MAC (walking away)
Fork lift.
GIN
That's my assignm...
MAC (turning back)
Unless you've got the keys,
someone has to hot wire it.
Oh.
MAC
Finish up on the floaters.
And heads off toward the fork lift. Finish up? She looks at
the rubber pouches. They seem finished to her. Tugs at a couple.
On pretty firmly. Across the way, we HEAR the fork lift turn its
engine OVER.
GIN
Won't they hear it?
MAC (O.S.)
Over these engines? Through five
feet of steel?
She hurriedly secures the last of her Kevlar lines.
MAC (O.S.)
Hell, if they do, they don't have
the second key to get in.
He is driving up in the rickety fork lift. Weaving around crates
and equipment.
MAC
Thank God for redundant security.