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
.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?
.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,
.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
.POPS FREE, hangs SUSPENDED by the Kevlar ropes which amazingly
sustain its awesome weight. The huge pane shudders in the wind,
.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.
Rapidly folding the rigging into an astonishingly compact bundle,
.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
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,
.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,
.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
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,
Disappears into the vent. Reaching back to refit the grating
Halogen flashlight leading the way, our Thief shimmies down the
.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
LEAPS DOWN the air shaft, startling the shit out of us, as, for an
.the force of the updraft seems to HOLD the Thief in place,
suspended above 100 stories of nothingness. Then suddenly, the
.DROPS SHARPLY, an exhilarating moment of absolute FREE FALL,
.a nylon PARACHUTE OPENS with a pop. We watch the Thief drifting
lazily down. A ride any kid would pay big money for.
Our original exterior VIEW of the skyscraper's penthouse. REVERSE
.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
.a TELESCOPE. A silhouetted FIGURE looking through it. SNAP
VIEW through the scope's lens. An amazingly CLOSE detail of the
Hancock Tower Penthouse. The scope now PANS DOWN the length of the
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.
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
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.
An unexpectedly VAST semi-circular room, the entire inner circum-
ference made up of a single continuous WALL SCREEN, separated into
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.
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.
Not a kid's voice. Throaty. Music and whiskey and sex and
effortless confidence. Even the voice turns us on.
And stops. Because she turns with a look that would freeze anyone
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
He is not kidding. Stainless steel beneath the dapper. They are a
And he smiles. Maybe she's lying. He likes her.
Soft and straight. You're the best. I need you.
violation of the panel's integrity.
He's listening. He always does with her.
She sounds awfully positive. Then again, she always does.
Almost as if she knows who. Cruz shakes his head.
She smiles. First time. Even at one-tenth power, it is dazzling
light. She touches the panel before her.
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.
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.
Now she is beaming. Excited. And just above a whisper.
Delighted at his stupefied reaction.
She doesn't even answer. Just touches her panel, and one of the
data screens BLOWS UP to huge size. It is.
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
Names keep rolling, Degas, Paul Klee. Amazing.
Touches her panel. The big screen now shows a grainy VIDEOTAPE
We see the Great Room of an English Country estate. Perhaps a
hundred attend. Genteel to the max.
The tape PANS five PAINTINGS on the block. We recognize our
VERMEER, the city of Delft, the canal, the bridge. The view PULLS
FREEZES. One tiny section is circled. And BLOWS UP twenty feet.
high, so blurry as to be unrecognizable. Then, SNAPS to amazing
.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
She leans WAY back in the molded chair. Lifts her long legs
up onto the console. They end in slender bare feet. The toes
Touches the panel. The big screen now holds three faces, three
One face and name disappears. Two remain. KOICHI NARUHITO.
A tiny, dry, adorable, shrug. Which says, bingo.
Grinning small at each other. She can't help that hers is hot.
One of those moments when his attraction to her is too obvious to
ignore. Best to defuse by pretending it's a joke.
Said as banter between pals. Which doesn't make her wrong.
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
.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
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)
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
MacDougal doesn't turn, doesn't seem to even hear her. Just raises
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
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.
And stops. Because he has turned. With the eyes of a lion. Being
Rich Scottish voice. Impeccable Japanese intonation.
Oh. In spite of herself, she looks a little hurt.
Her eyes move across his formidable face.
His eyes scan the length of her gown. Her body.
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 among the guests awaiting their cars, standing slightly apart.
.a feminine throat clears. Nervously. He closes his eyes for a
And presents a business card to him with both hands, Japanese-
style. Mac looks in her eyes. Takes the card with both hands.
That laser, unsmiling stare. Beyond sexy. She gets lost in it for
A held beat. His glance lifts beyond her shoulder.
And walks off toward a sleek custom TOURING CAR just pulling up.
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.
He hands it back. Looks in her eyes.
And TAKES OFF. Her jaw drops slightly, but in one fluid motion.
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
.a tropical DRINK. Cute little umbrella, tilted back toward the
.INSIDE the umbrella, something small, something mechanical. A
woman's HAND ADJUSTS the point of the umbrella ever so slightly,
.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
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
The guy nods seriously. Maybe he's a Sumo dude.
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.
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.
ANGLE.Gin still engrossed in her reading. A figure leans down
next to her. She startles, slightly. So surprised to see.
And now he smiles. First time ever. A little chilling, the way he
In one motion, he flags the bartender.
He presses some currency into the barkeep's hand. Turning back.
His smile evaporates. He is gone before she can say.
Mac driving in silence. Gin stealing glances at him. Suddenly and
smoothly, he reaches down, and picks up.
He opens it. One eye on the road, he begins to rummage.
She SNATCHES the bag away from him, he GRABS it back, the car
.CRASHES VIOLENTLY into a parked pure white Bentley. Metal
BUCKLES and TEARS, both ALARMS go OFF, a cacophony of horrific
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
The guard nods absently, disoriented by the chaos. Mac hands his
Soft words, genuine concern. And his eyes flicker. As if somehow
seeing her for the first time. A small spark, but she feels it.
His first real smile. It was worth waiting for.
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,
.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
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
.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
.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
.a white HOOD. With opaque tinted VISOR.
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.
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
.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.
.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
.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
.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
.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
.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,
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
.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.
Tosses a small SACK of something where the chips used to be. TIM'S
CASCADE BRAND POTATO CHIPS. SEA SALT AND VINEGAR FLAVOR.
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
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.
Past a changing area, vending machines, guys bullshitting. Mac
just strolling along, reading his flyer, as.
Mac turns, stares through his opaque VISOR at a well-built SECURITY
His eyes cut to the flyer Mac is 'reading'. Mac hands it to him,
and without a trace of Scottish accent.
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.
.she keeps looking at the clock. Darting glances toward the
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
.WITH her DOWN the hallway, WHEEL around a corner, flat-out
SPRINTING, SKIDS to a stop at the right doorway and BURSTS INTO.
An empty washroom. She listens. Nothing.
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.
CUT INSIDE the stall. He is just re-taping the folded clean suit
Awkward silence. He smiles at that, much amused. Slips on his
That's not what he forgot. He pulls OUT the coiled black satin
cloth strip, SNAPS it free, microchips snug to the underside. And
.DOWN his trouser leg. The perfect tuxedo stripe.
She takes it, wrapping both hers through.
Microchips, I think, for computers.
He opens the door. Ushers her through.
They sit together in the rear of the taxi, as it makes its way
through late night traffic. She is looking around.
Looking straight ahead. Contemplative. She stares at his
He still stares straight ahead. The taxi pulls onto a freeway.
Toward Narita Airport. Time running out. And in her dearest, most
She puts the fingertips of her left hand. On his chest. A
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.
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.
She curls down into the billowing coverlet, just against his body.
It is a lovely smile. He studies it for a beat.
She traces her finger along his cheek.
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
No answer. He puts the chocolate into her mouth. With great
tenderness, he traces the line of her lower lip. As she swallows.
And leans closer. Just above a whisper.
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
She swallows. Because his gaze is unrelenting. As if not
forgetting that she's changed the subject.
She smiles. His face looks kind now, not formidable at all. Maybe
she's wondering if she actually likes him.
He does look concerned. And therefore sweet. She kisses his nose.
She gets her old smile. The soft, wicked tease.
He stares at her. Cocks a finger, like a gun, right between her
eyes. Pantomimes pulling the trigger.
She pivots, and snuggles her back comfortably into his chest. He
wraps strong arms around her. Pulling her close.
have more than a wannabe art dealer.
A flicker. In her eyes. And she cuddles back. As if enjoying the
She turns all the way around. Their faces are inches apart. Each
And lowers her gently onto her back. Still staring in her eyes, he
winds her legs around him. Her mouth parts, but.
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.
.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
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
.a prescription bottle. Prilosec. And a name, GINGER BAKER.
Chicago address. Mac puts the pills in the pocket of his robe.
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
He stands over her. Smiling. What he meant was.
He'll let me have it for 5.3 million.
I agree. This is a bank debit card.
And hand. the card to her. As her eyes move over it.
Now her eyes come up. She says nothing. Hesitant.
The look holds. He goes to the desk. Lifts a cellular phone.
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
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.
SNAPS the phone shut. Checks the slip again. Walks firmly across
the street, through the mobs of tourists, and into.
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
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.
She stops. Jesus. The guy COUGHS horribly.
Wow. He slaps his hand on the table. Lay it down, toots.
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
He obliges, COUGHING grossly all the while. Unwrapped, the
painting does look like a Monet. From here. She stares at it.
And from within her pocket. The cellular RINGS. She takes it
This gives her pause. Then, cradling the phone against her
shoulder, she does as she's told. To see.
She does. Carefully unfolding several sheets of paper, maps.
Her eyes are flickering questions, but she does as she's told,
cradling the phone with her shoulder.
from everyone in the room but Okati.
And she does. More deftly than we could ever have imagined. Like
Her face freezes. In a pleasant smile.
She turns the sweet plastic smile to Okati. Hands him the card.
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,
But she is. And she laughs, as she strolls over to the cheesy
Okati, absorbed by his make-believe phone call, points around the
She turns the corner. Filthy corridor. Restrooms at opposite
A beat of uncertainty. She looks both ways.
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.
The panicked little man STARTLES. Bolts OUT the door.
Jump? HEAR now, from the corridor, footfalls POUNDING. She looks
down through the piss hole. The surf ROILS thirty feet below.
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
.SLAMS OPEN and she FLIES OUT the window.
WITH her in SLO-MO, kicking and flailing and grasping her shoulder
HITS the ocean like a ton of bricks. Disappears. Comes up,
sputtering in the swirling water, as from out of the shadows of
.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.
She thinks. Admits, shouting in his ear.
He is heading into deep water, a major shipping channel, points to
.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
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.
As we near the outbound freighter, Mac CUTS his speed. Now the
Cruising STRAIGHT TOWARD the part side of the outbound freighter,
as the inbound freighter begins to pass it on the far side.
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
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
Nearing the harbor, Mac CUTS speed completely, drifting between two
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
But he says nothing. Pulls out a water-tight duffle. Hands it
Gin looks around as they float through the maze of watercraft. No
one seems to be paying much attention. What the hell. She unzips
She stares at the back of his head. wondering. He is stripping
off his slickers. A neatly-tailored SUIT beneath.
Okay. She pulls her dress off OVER her head.
She ignores some nearby WHISTLES and SHOUTS. Begins drying herself
She can scarcely believe he's admitting this.
He chuckles a Scottish chuckle. Cold and warm, at once.
She slips the dry dress OVER her head.
She begins taking off her wet underwear, underneath the dress. We
suspect unseen hordes crestfallen at her modesty.
He looks around at her. As if deciding on that.
We can feel her heart pounding from here.
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
SHIKOKU MARU. She nods, slowly. Pulls the Ziploc bag from her
purse. Hands it over. He removes the sheets of paper. Begins to
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
.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.
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.
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.
The little man pauses. A tic in the well-oiled smile.
Ah. Like that makes complete sense. Fingers the gardenia in his
country. Culturally and historically.
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
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
Carisby glances to Mac. He is stone.
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.
No reaction. Mac does not look convinced.
the premium clarets in the universe.
Carlsby gets the romance of it all.
And turns to the man. With laser, disapproving eyes.
The man beams. Gestures to a series of PLATFORMS, each SWAYING at
different heights, in different directions.
.a huge circular hatch cut into the hull. Mac's eyes stare
blankly at it. A long beat. He pronounces it all.
Carlsby ushering the couple along a plushly-appointed hallway. A
secret oasis of refinement in the heart of the massive freighter.
.an elegant SUITE. Cherrywood panels, spacious windows with
views of the harbor. The finest furnishings. It is breathtaking.
Mac pulls from his pocket the folded sheets that had once been
taped to the back of Okati's Monet. Peruses them casually.
And looks up. To a man dumbstruck. By coincidence.
Looking DOWN on California's San Joaquin Valley from 12,000 feet,
PULL BACK to see them both in jumping suits. He's checking her
gear. She's eyeing the expansive grid of fields below.
He clips a tether from his harness to hers.
She folds her arms across her chest. Rebellious. He smiles at her
His smile is light, affectionate. Gently, he backs her to the edge
She THROWS her arms around his neck. Holds him close.
Vulnerable and touchingly real. His arms slide around her.
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
.her SCREAMING STOPS. We see the pure adrenaline rush. Shouts
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,
.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.
She sends a nasty smile, thanks a bunch. But maybe she likes the
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.
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
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
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
.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.
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
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
.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
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 in a clearing, arms at her sides, a determined look. Mac is
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
.BLAMM, BLAMM, BLAMM!!! The paper terrorist is NAILED in the
head. Two out of three. She lets out a thin stream of air. Proud
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
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.
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.
Mac is wading into the sea of plastic bits, DIGGING her body out
with his bare hands. Once more, she comes up sputtering.
He's holding her in his arms. Leans close.
Something in the way he looks at her. Her return gaze is naked.
And kisses her again. Her eyes close.
Mac sits alone at a table, sipping coffee, reading Barron's. A
short-wave radio is playing BBC World Service. Leaning against an
.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
Gin running alone. Up the dirt path we've seen before. Ahead, the
crossroads, the sign. The lonely phone booth.
Mac tuning the device, which is an advance-design SCANNER. We HEAR
overlapping CONVERSATIONS through bursts of STATIC.
Gin at the phone. Inserts her credit card. Catches her breath.
Mac HEARS a phone RINGING over the scanner. Punches RECORD, PLUGS
Mac's laptop screen in printing. WEBBER ASSURANCE.HECTOR CRUZ.
So do Mac's eyes. Click the scanner OFF.
A pause. Her voice is smiling. Not her eyes.
Her eyes are stone cold. We've never seen her like this. She
She's pulling out a different piece of plastic. A drug store phone
And hangs up. Collects her thoughts. Inserts the phone card.
Dials from memory. Fifteen digits. She must be calling Mars.
.a man's VOICE. In a strange sing-song language.
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
.Mercedes. COL. QIU of the People's Liberation Army, lounges at
the wheel in full uniform. Talks into his cellular.
He listens, winces. We can hear Gin's voice yelling at him in
Mandarin, dishing out a major piece of her mind.
He doesn't like her attitude. And there's plenty of it.
A phalanx of TROOPS march past. The Colonel turns his face to
The walled compound where the Politburo's elite work and live.
.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,
.SHOOTS each bodyguard TWICE through the chest, DROPS the bike,
LURCHES at the Minister with something cylindrical and gleaming,
.SPRAYS the cowering official's FACE with something that makes
him SCREAM in pain, the assassin RUNNING down the hutong for his
.SHOOTS him in the back, and he goes SPRAWLING, SKIDDING, face
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
.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
.a red LASER SCAN moving across the pupil vertically, then
retracing its path horizontally, left to right, right to left,
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
The minister squints up, painfully.
The doctor LAUGHS. The minister seethes. But Colonel Qiu.
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.
PULL BACK to see her in climbing harness, scaling a nearly-vertical
CABLE, three feet in diameter. Enveloped in fog which reveals,
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.
Gin keeps her focus on the small railed PLATFORM just above her. A
Unclips one last time. This won't be easy. Throws her rope
OVER the railing, and to her surprise, Mac braces himself with
.lifts her from the waist with strong hands, boosting her easily
to the platform. Grateful, she hates to confess it.
And he swings lightly up beside her. The fog has rolled past.
There are several million stars. Transcendent beauty. She slows
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.
He clicks her glass. She stares straight in his eye. Shows no
And takes a sip. Cool as a goose. Licks her lips.
But he's not drinking. Only staring. The wind has picked up.
I could listen to you lie all night.
Slowly, he reaches to an inside pocket, watching to see if she
flinches. Her eyes do flicker. And follow. He withdraws not a
Nine DIAMONDS, so large, so exquisite, she has to keep her eyes
He toasts Blessed Japan to the East. Takes a hit.
She looks down at the diamonds in his palm. His fist CLOSES.
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.
CLOSE on two open PASSPORTS. The names say BANQUO MACDUFF and
ISADORA DUNCAN. The faces are Mac and Gin.
PULL BACK to see Mac and Gin dressed as tropical tourists. She
The steward doesn't get it. Gin shrugs, sorry.
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
Mac in his jump suit piloting the Dehaviland DHC-53 across the
endless black of the Indian Ocean. For the moment, he seems alone.
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.
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
He points to an altimeter device on his wrist. It says 12,000
He pulls out an identical device. Strapping it to her wrist.
He straps the even-larger gear pack to himself. Checks the path of
the tiny lights far below. Then, looks in her eyes.
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
.the lights below are beginning to take the shape of the
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,
.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,
.and SLAMS INTO the water, PLUNGING down, twisting, disoriented
CUTTING her chute loose, struggling not to get tangled, in a panic
.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.
She sees the FREIGHTER now, a black mountain CUTTING the sea, a
huge WAKE pluming from its bow. She grabs his waist with all
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
.THROWS it high, one of the pronged hooks CATCHING on a rung
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
And pulls himself up to the second rung, so that he is standing an
Suit yourself. They begin to climb up the rungs, like a tilted
backwards ladder, re-attaching their clips as they go.
Up, up. And stop. They are nearly halfway to the top. Looking
.a large circular HATCH. Thirty feet away. The goal. Mac
.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
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
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
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.
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
.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
Oh. Slightly embarrassed at her lack of split-second efficiency,
she tries to find the thing in her gear. After watching her fumble
.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
He's heading toward the swaying platforms.
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
.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.
His eyes come UP. So fast that her breath stops. He looks plenty
He watches the effect of that play across her eyes.
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
When he glances up, he sees her staring at the box.
He touches the device. It BEEPS. A light glows RED.
find a golf ball in the Gobi Desert.
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
She hurriedly secures the last of her Kevlar lines.
He is driving up in the rickety fork lift. Weaving around crates
He hops lightly from the fork lift, reaches up, and she jumps down
INTO his arms. Quickly, the switch places, Gin climbing into the
idling fork lift, as Mac clambers up to UNBOLT the crate's pallet
Gin moves the fork lift into position. Mac bracing his legs
against neighboring cargo, using all his strength to hold our
crate steady. He is really straining.
She brings the fork UP. The crate sways slightly. She lines up
her prongs against the pallet's receiving holes.
.and slips them straight IN. First try.
She LIFTS the crate, but the boat LURCHES, and she nearly LOSES it
But she doesn't. SWINGS her load around now. Heading for the open
hatchway, the roiling sea racing by. Picking up SPEED, slightly.
By now she is really ROLLING toward the wide open spaces.
He POUNCES off the platform, FLYING after the lift as it
.TIPPING at the hatchway lip, the crate sliding OFF the prongs,
our forklift TUMBLING OUT the hatch to the sea, just as Mac.
.SNATCHES Gin by her HAIR, pulling her FREE of the falling
forklift, CATCHING the rim of the hatchway with his free hand, Gin
SCREAMING in fright and pain, BLINDLY grabbing his arm to be.
Clutching Mac, she watches the sea behind them. Where the crate
Her life. Flashes before her eyes. As behind the ship.
.the crate BOBS to the surface. We can see the tiny red light on
She WHIPS back, and starts POUNDING at him with her fists. He is
laughing so hard, he takes a few good shots before he can GRASP her
wrists. She SPITS in his face. He strikes back by.
.kissing her hard. She struggles for a beat.
When they finish, he reaches to UNZIP her jumping suit. All the
way. Pulls it down gently, revealing.
.her evening gown. A wrinkle-free material which slips down
across her legs from where it had been bunched across her hips.
He is unzipping his outfit as well, revealing formal wear of his
own. He stuffs the suits into his gear pack, removing only.
.her evening bag and shoes. Then lifting both packs, he.
.FLINGS them into the black ocean. Gone.
So he turns. She looks really stunned. And scared.
She points. To where no suction things are lying.
She tilts her head. Gives him a great smile. Is he enraged? His
Expansive barely-lit deck under a canopy of stars. A silver-haired
couple in immaculate evening attire stroll alone, he is humming to
barely-audible dance music from a distant lounge. She clings to
his arm, it is romantic. Until they reach the railing where he
turns, and says something quietly in German.
She stiffens. Pulls her arm away from his. She sneers coldly,
calls him a name in German, and he UNLOADS on her, a barrage of
German-language INVECTIVE that would melt a tank. She absorbs the
abuse without flinching, turns toward the rail, HAWKS and.
.SPITS over the side. Strides away from him. He watches her go.
.SPITS over the side himself. And follows her.
Mac's head APPEARS above the rail. Just where they spit. Not a
Our old German couple are DANCING wonderfully in each other's arms
Inspiring. PAN a dozen really old couples dancing to the three-
piece Filipino ensemble, until we come to.
Gin and Mac spinning slowly, flawlessly, their eyes telling the
surrounding geezers that they are very much in love. We CLOSE to
She blinks. Hit by a ton of bricks.
He WHIRLS her in a tight spin. The geriatic Germans can only watch
Gin likes the ring of that. Green eyes dance with delight.
They look over. The officious STEWARD from this afternoon. Now in
Mac turns Gin so that she can send the boob a lazy smile.
Mac turns her once more, so that he faces the flummoxed steward
Our couple moving down the softly-lit hallway, past the burnished
doors of luxury suites. Her arms wrapped around one of his, their
Mac leads her along the empty moonlit deck to.
.the BOWSPRIT, a long, narrow platform, ringed by a flimsy rail,
it juts far out above a churning sea. The whipping of the wind
makes it seem all the more precarious.
Gives her the smile. She puts her hand in his, and they hop
UP to the platform. Walk its length to the very end. He turns
now, leans casually against the fragile railing. They are inches
Gin looks down at the plume of wake leaping off the bow.
She looks up. To his eyes. Into them.
And tilts his head. Just to one side.
months, you're quite the rising star.
His head tilts. Just a little farther.
His face absolutely neutral. Unreadable.
No smile at her lips. Strictly business.
And now. She has his interest. She can see that.
She is not impressed. Or afraid. He grins.
This. He likes. So much that he leans to kiss her, with
Her hard stare. And then, she smiles. Just barely. Still in his
This is the most taken with her that he has ever looked. She leans
EXT. STREET, SHIHLIN DISTRICT, TAIPEI - LATE NIGHT
Ugly section of an ugly town. Unmarked warehouses, alleyways
teeming with food stalls. HEAR a motorcycle approach, and see.
.Gin driving, Mac sits behind her. Going real fast, maybe she's
showing off, we FOLLOW them DOWN a blind alley, as she smoothly
.an open FREIGHT ELEVATOR. She climbs off, he doesn't. As Gin
goes to work the controls, Mac sees a cat curled in the corner,
my bud. An evil streak a mile wide.
They CLANG upward. Mac seems utterly relaxed. Gin paces a little,
hugging herself. Her features tense.
She blinks up. He is straddling the bike. Smiling at her.
He seems to mean that. And it seems to melt her a little. She
sags against the wall, closing her eyes, as.
.they JOLT to a stop. She PULLS the heavy LEVER, and the door
.a gigantic LOFT. She flicks on a dim light, but we see only
part of the cavernous space. She strolls, Madame Chiang trotting
along behind. Mac follows, looking around, then down to see.
.a pile of MAIL, cables, packages. The unopened MAILING TUBE we
saw in the Hancock Tower penthouse. He crouches, lifts the tube in
He nods to himself. Guess so. He rises to see her framed against
the gaping starlit opening of a huge LOADING DOOR. The twinkling
island lies below. But here, Gin stares down at.
.an elaborate architectural MODEL. Fifteen feet across, it
features an imposing yellow, pagoda-roofed BUILDING, built into
the side of a model MOUNTAIN. Formal gardens, fountains, tiny
Kuomintang flags. Stretching away from the building, a large
portion of the CITY, with shops and alleyways elaborately detailed.
He bends to lift UP the detachable roof. All the rooms are
detailed within, down to exhibit cases.
She takes him by the hand, and leads him toward the gaping doorway,
They jump THROUGH the opening. And VANISH.
Our ANGLE closes on the doorway, to see OUT now, sitting like a
.the NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, looking exactly like the model. The
town spread out beyond. Just as in the model. And now we TILT
.a loading PLATFORM, suspended above the island, only a few feet
below our opening. Like a balcony without a railing. Mac and Gin
already sinking down onto a waiting futon.
Looks like he's made his pick. Among limited options.
CLOSE on the MODEL MUSEUM in early light. Propped against it, the
unrolled Vermeer. Pinned to the painting, a note we can't read. In
the B.G., HEAR what sounds like the rattling of a SUBWAY TRAIN,
which runs a short distance and STOPS. We TILT ANGLE now, to
.through the sunlit opening of the loading door. Mac's head
LOST in another brief subway rumble. He lightly VAULTS up through
the doorway. Looks around, no Gin. Goes to the model. Lifts the
Stumped. Not in his cultural database. He looks at the model, to
see that the stretch of city between museum and mountain has been
.an underground RAILWAY TUNNEL between the two. Mac examines the
tiny train, the tracks, the winding route. From the side walls,
well above the tracks, huge VENTILATION PIPES open onto the tunnel.
Starting at the museum end, they are labeled VENT #1, and so on.
There are five. The last one shortly before.
.the mountain. Where a cavernous opening is labeled BARRACKS.
Tiny toy soldiers kneel on a landing, rifles in position to shoot
at the oncoming train. And as Mac studies this curiously.
.the nearby SUBWAY RATTLES the walls once more. Sounds like it's
in the room, somehow. Mac rises. Saunters across the loft, and we
see for the first time the enormity of this space. Suddenly, the
floor ends, and we are looking down nearly thirty feet onto.
.a spacious HANGAR, outfitted with 150 feet of RAILWAY TRACK, at
the far end of which sits a full-sited TRAIN CAR, exactly like the
one in the model. And just below us.
.Gin crouches on a concave platform of corrugated metal, eighteen
feet above the track. She holds a remote control device, which she
uses to REV the train's engine, far down the line. She looks
She startles slightly. Shuts OFF the train's engine. As she looks
up to him now, the silence is noticeable. He crouches down, only a
have him fill you in on the culture.
He leans down. Strokes her hair very gently.
She looks up into his eyes. But she can't smile.
The sky is more emotionally rendered.
Staring in his eyes. And just as softly back.
He holds the look. Very strong and very gentle.
No answer. Effortlessly, he hops down to join her. Never losing
Settles next to her. Bodies touching.
Okay? She nods, slowly. Her eyes moving over his face. Maybe
more feelings going through her than she can sort out.
She is unfastening the small pack at her feet.
So Mac looks down the line. At the train car.
She pulls from the pack four thick DISCS, each about eight inches
in diameter, each with a toggle switch and a wrist loop. She
Electromagnets, incredibly powerful.
He gestures at the train, the track, the hangar.
Flicks ON her remote. Down the track the engine REVS. Like crazy.
pull our 8 billion out of Hong Kong.
CLICKS the remote, the train LEAP5 forward, 36 MPH never seemed so
fast! She has a split-second to LEAP down, the train SAILS beneath
her, Gin's feet GRAZE the back end of the platform at the rear of
the car, she SWIPES DESPERATELY with the magnets, can't connect,
and is THROWN into a ROLL along the side of the tracks.
She's UP on her knees, watching the train SLAM into the massive
blue PADS at the end of the track. She is bruised, shaken, but
most of all, really worried and really pissed.
The train ROCKETS backward, straight PAST where she kneels, to
BRAKE at the start of the track once more. She nods up to Mac,
who is strapping on his magnets. He crouches, nods, ready. And
.BLASTS toward him, he counts, JUMPS, and SLAMS ONTO the ROOF of
the train, which PLOWS into the heavy padding, FLINGING him twenty
feet like a rag doll to land in a HEAP.
He lies still. Then blinks, surprised he's alive. HEARS a rich
And as he pulls himself up. She is staring at him, from her
.with what can only be described as love.
EXT. NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, TAIPEI - DAY
AERIAL VIEW down toward the sweeping pagoda roofs of the MUSEUM,
the formal gardens, the fountains, the tree-lined driveway. CLOSE
now, as a cab pulls up, a couple emerges.
She is first. Chanel suit with an extremely short skirt, revealing
endless legs. She helps him from the taxi, a white-haired geezer
who seems well past 90, fumbling with his walking stick, and making
quick, erratic, bird-like glances in every direction.
She takes his arm for support. Murmurs in his ear.
Gives him a full-tongue KISS in the ear, which has bystanders
noticing. Starts to help him up the stairs, still whispering
In answer he GRABS her ass, and she YELPS with delight, attract-
ing attention all around. His turn to whisper, as he massages
He stops. Gives the long legs a dubious twice-over.
Mac leaning on her arm, as they pass case after case. Bronzes,
jades, lacquer work. Every object exquisite, priceless.
She cuddles close to him. They approach a tour group, the female
guide speaking in four European languages. Really loud.
He stops, drowned out by the tour guide, rhapsodizing over an urn.
The woman gets real insulted. Apparently, he's right.
GRABS her bottom once more, altering her voice slightly on.
A separate display room. A single steel pedestal. Under the
smart-glass security case, one single object. It is a fragile,
yellowed fragment of bone. The shoulder blade of an ox. Covered
An Olmec civilization, 3200 years old.
No tourists in the display room. A velvet rope is up. Three
GUARDS mill at the entrance. This exhibit is off-limits.
A sign explains, SORROWFUL TO INFORM ORACAL BONE CLOSE FOR TRAVEL
She is pulling out her coin purse, as they stand by the rope.
As her shaking 'elderly' companion SPASMS, knocking the purse OUT
of her hand, it CLATTERS to the floor, sending a hundred coins
ROLLING in all directions. Some under the rope.
And collapses to the hardwood floor in search of the coins, HOWLING
as he BANGS his knees. Some bystanders hurry to help. And one of
the guards. As Mac tries to crawl under the rope to pursue
.the guard STOPS him with a firm hand, pointing at the pidgen-
English sign. Meanwhile, calmly, very slowly.
.Gin crouches down to retrieve coins, the short skirt riding
recklessly high on her upper thighs. The two remaining guards
hurry to help her. Mac's guard, bystanders, all transfixed by the
marginal preservation of her modesty. Noticing the eye-lines all
around, she confides to the nearest guard.
Unnoticed, Mac is BANGING his wristwatch, which seems to have
broken. CLOSE on him now, manipulating a glide point DEVICE on
the side of the watch, and we RACK FOCUS to see.
As Mac checks to see all eyes are elsewhere, he guides the coin's
.ATTACH itself magnetically. To the steel pedestal. Beneath the
Bone's case. As it does, Mac's watch BEEPS slightly, as we CLOSE
Gin and Mac at a long communal table, ignored, by Taiwanese couples,
families, businessmen, chattering loudly all around them. Gin
looking down at her bowl, she's barely touched her meal.
Glances up. Mac is eating heartily, happily.
Stuffs his mouth full. Talking around it.
She's studying him as he eats. Since he's not looking at her,
Gin's eyes are thoughtful, appraising.
And he looks up. Direct to her eyes. A dead straight, heart-
stopping look. Before the wonderful smile.
She cuts him a hard look. Not funny.
Late afternoon, the place has closed. Four armed GUARDS,
accompanied by a museum OFFICIAL, push a large DOLLY across the
hardwood floor, heels clicking, wheels rumbling softly, into.
.the room we've seen. The dolly stops by the display case of the
priceless oracle Bone. The four guards position themselves around
the triple-paned bulletproof case. It will be a bitch to lift.
The official has a key. He inserts this into the lock of the
titanium frame which holds the case to the steel pedestal. And
Mac's arm rising with noodle-laden chopsticks, the wristwatch
BEEPING softly. He drops the chopsticks, rising in one fluid
motion as Gin does the same, throwing some bills on the table,
.OUT the door, INTO the street, step OFF the curb, turn, DROP
flat on his back, SLIDE DOWN the gutter, Gin following a split-
A train car stands, pulled up to a loading dock. Two SOLDIERS with
assault rifles on the train's rear platform, waiting. Along one
side of the tracks, a gravel roadway. An open air Jeep-type
military vehicle stands empty. One of our soldiers speaks into a
walkie-talkie, watching a huge steel DOOR at the entrance to the
.OPENS now. Through it come the four armed museum guards,
surrounding the dolly which carries the Bone's massive bulletproof
display case. The official is with them, and hands paperwork to
one of the waiting soldiers, as the museum guards LIFT the case,
An empty stretch of dimly-lit track, somewhere down the line.
.the shadows of a huge air vent. Must be vent #1, because two
FIGURES are crouched there, as close as lovers. Even we can barely
make them out, until we CLOSE to hear the hushed.
You're in charge of ego and worrying.
I'm in charge of keeping you alive.
He is holding something dull gray and small. It looks like a trun-
cated nerf football with one end pointed and the other cut blunt.
He has four of these. Gives her three.
The museum guards are back on the landing with the official. Our
two soldiers stand facing them from the rear platform of the train
The train RUMBLES to life. Ready to go.
Two guards arrive with a hand truck to carry off the empty
pedestal, which once supported the Bone's case. One tilts the top
of the pedestal back, supporting its weight, as the other stoops to
.stops. He sees the coin. Oddly flat against the pedestal's
shaft. He kneels, tries to lift the coin, but the magnet HOLDS it
fast. He looks up to his companion. Then.
.PEELS the coin free, the other guard reaches for it, the first
guard YANKS it away, and it FLIES from his hand, INTO the wall, and
drops. As the guards go to look, the coin's back has come away.
An ALARM SHRIEKS at a deafening level. Five museum GUARDS BURST
through the doorway, LEAP from the landing, pile into the Jeep, and
BLAST OFF down the gravel roadway after the departed train.
A much larger landing at the other end of the tunnel, facing back
the opposite way. The ALARM SCREAMS here, too, and massive steel
doors CLANG open, as 25 SOLDIERS with assault rifles SWARM out onto
the landing, taking up sharpshooter positions, weapons pointing
Mac and Gin crouched in the vent, high above the track, gas masks
dangle around their necks, magnet paddles from their wrists,
various objects from their belt loops. The alarm ECHOES,
absolutely EAR-SPLITTING. She leans to shout in his ear.
Above the siren, we can now hear the TRAIN coming.
The train LOUDER, closer, the alarm BLARING.
Quietly. Straight in her eyes. The train ROARS into view, FLASHES
beneath them, as he GRABS her wrist and.
.JUMPS, HURTLING DOWN, both STRIKING the empty rear platform,
Gin slipping off, but he HOLDS her fast, SWIPING with his magnet
.CLANKS hard, LOCKS solid. He PULLS her onto the platform,
she looks dazed, clinging to him, he tugs her gas mask into place,
.FITS a magnetic DEVICE from his belt loop ONTO the door
lock, SPINS a dial on the device, which POPS the lack OPEN,
.THROUGH the door, lobbing a GAS GRENADE at the startled guards,
who try to whirl and FIRE through the fog of red smoke, two wild
SHOTS above the rolling Mac, and they are felled by the gas where
they stand. Gin races in, falling on her butt, as the car ROCKS
along the track. Points OUT the window.
Scrambling to her feet, Mac wheeling toward the Bone.
He THROWS a handful of coins at the glass case, and purple UV BEAMS
ARC from the glass to FRY the coins in midair. Mac pulls a dull
rectangle the size of a cigar box from Gin's backpack, as we
The Jeep BLASTING after the train at crazy speed, the four non-
TROOPS FILL the platform, and have spilled onto the tracks, enough
weapons to dust Butch and Sundance.
Mac operating the cigar box which is actually a customized
OSCILLOSCOPE, with countless KNOBS and a SCREEN which displays
WAVE PATTERNS. The machine is emitting SHRILL whistling TONES
Mac SPINS the dials and two overhead light bulbs BLOW. The glass
case housing a fire ax SHATTERS. The Bone's case is untouched.
WITH the Jeep, BOMBING around a curve to SEE the train at last. WE
OPEN FIRE, accelerating after the train with everything we've got,
gravel FLYING like shrapnel, and up ahead.
.the train's windows BLOW OUT, the tunnel SHOWERED with glass
Mac JUICING the box, the deafening TONE competing with the sirens,
the gunshots, Gin SHRIEKING as she points through a blasted-out
And the Bone's case EXPLODES, Gin WHIRLING away to protect her
The Jeep now ALONGSIDE the rear platform of the train. The driver
.the guards begin to CLAMBER over the side, GRASPING for the
platform's rails, one goes DOWN screaming onto the tracks, but two
Nothing. Two groggy, half-conscious soldiers. Discarded gas
masks, oscilloscope. No Mac. No Gin. And inside the shattered
A chicken bone. The pack-rat strikes again.
Mac and Gin FLATTENED to the side of the train above the window
line, held fast by their magnets. We are on the opposite side from
the gravel path, so the train screens us from the jeep. SHOUTING
Up ahead an AIR VENT looms, we are HURTLING toward it. Mac and Gin
each free one hand, reach into their backpacks for.
.twin GRAPNEL GUNS, which look like big 9mm pistols, but with a
blunt, round end. As we STREAK toward the VENT, Gin lifts her gun,
SHOOTS at it, a cable-attached PROJECTILE EXPLODING toward the
target, OPENING in mid-flight to a three-pronged HOOK, which.
.FALLS just SHORT, the hook tumbling to CLANG on the tracks, as
.FIRES his, the projectile EXPLODING, the hook OPENING and.
.BITES into the wall, only four feet from the vent, its cable
stretching back to the gun in Mac's hand, we're almost there, and
Their eyes meet. He sees her hesitate to abandon him.
They FLASH PAST the vent, Mac RELEASES her magnet, Gin's freed hand
GRASPING to join the other at the pistol, as she.
.ROCKETS up, CATAPULTED back toward the vent by the retractable
cable, as a RIFLE APPEARS from a window beneath us, taking aim at
KICKS it off line, the shot BOOMING, the guard almost dropping
the weapon, then SWINGING it back UP, slamming the muzzle directly
.GRASPS the barrel, YANKING it up, SLIPS the shot SCREAMING past
his head, PULLING the guard half out the window to KICK his face,
sending him DOWN to the tracks, as we CAREEN around a curve, seeing
.the END of the line, the massive BARRACKS LANDING, the phalanx
of TROOPS, the fifth and final AIR VENT midway between us. Mac's
.the lone PLASMA GRENADE he kept for himself, and as we CAREEN
toward the troops, Mac HEAVES the grenade uptrack, and it.
.EXPLODES in a horrifying FIREBALL, which RIPS UP the train
tracks, COLLAPSING a section of tunnel wall ONTO the gravel path, a
choking CLOUD of yellow SMOKE filling the tunnel, obscuring
.TOWARD the flames, nearly AT the metal SUPPORT BEAM which runs
vertically up to the final air vent, and as the train FLASHES PAST
LUNGES out, SLAMMING both magnets ONTO the support beam, the
momentum FLATTENING his body fully horizontal like a flag on a
pole, the train PLUNGING ON without him, as guards shoot blindly
back from the windows, the jeep PLOWING full tilt INTO the rubble
.DERAILING in a terrifying CRUSH of twisted metal, screams,
shouts, the smoke and flame everywhere, and we SNAP TO.
REVERSE ANGLE.the soldiers' POV from the landing, SCATTERING as
the derailed train HURTLES AT them, INTO them, chaos, until at last
.above the clearing smoke, near the tunnel ceiling.
.Mac CLIMBING deftly up the support beam, magnets CLANKING, hand
over hand, nearly at the vent, and the shouting troops.
.OPEN FIRE, bullets CHEWING UP the tunnel wall, as we SMASH CUT
Silence. Cluttered, dimly-lit storage room. Boxes of SHOES reach
to the ceiling, Gucci, Bruno Magli, the good stuff. Footsteps
.a young SALESMAN, tailored, attractive. He goes right to the
shelf he needs. Opens a box. Takes it and two others. As his
.the ceiling. The mesh grating, which soundlessly.
.slides away. Gin DROPS lightly, twelve feet to the floor.
Filthy from her adventure, she quickly unzips her backpack to
.a sleek Halliburton case. Opens it. The Oracle Bone undamaged
in its cushioned setting. Steps returning, she is.
.OUT of her jumpsuit in a heartbeat, revealing a costly slip of a
dress, kicks the jump suit under the bottom shelf, as.
.the young salesman APPEARS to find her peeking into a shoe box.
He is startled. She scowls at him, rubbing the grime from her
Lifts the Halliburton case, slings her pack over her shoulder,
strides to the doorway. See the crowded upscale boutique.
Out she goes. And he follows. Maybe he's on commission.
Mac, very much alive, somewhat the worse for wear, crawling through
a darkened pipe on his belly, toward.
.a grating. Light filters through. Reaching the screen, he
squints through it. Can't see shit. Listens. Nothing that rises
above an ambient wooshing of air in the duct. He grasps the wires,
.FALLS straight THROUGH, tumbling ten feet to CRASH LAND in a
heap. HEAR feminine SCREAMS before we look up to.
.three young WOMEN trying on lingerie, being attended by an older
SALESWOMAN. The girls are half-naked and as Mac rises, one THROWS
a red lace TEDDY in his face. He peels it off, and still holding
the garment, calmly tells the saleswoman.
behind the mirrors are working again.
At which the customers SHRIEK, cover themselves all the more, and
begin screaming at the poor saleswoman. During which.
EXT. LINGERIE SHOP, SHIN KONG MALL - SUNSET
CLOSE on an entrance, just as Mac comes.
.FLYING THROUGH, propelled by two sizeable SECURITY GUARDS, once
again landing in pieces. It's a long day. As Mac clears his head,
they stand at the doorway with folded arms. Hoping he wants some
The bruisers look at each other. No habla Espanol.
A super TUGBOAT, engines RUMBLING, ready to pull out. A woman
paces the deck. Every time we see her, she seems more tightly
.here he comes, stepping briskly from the taxi, striding up the
gangway, pulling from inside his coat.
.the red lace teddy. He drapes it over her face, and she pulls
.her kiss is urgent. Real. HOLD on the look in her eyes. What
He strokes her hair, gently. Then, goes to look into the
Halliburton case, which stands by the rail. As he crouches. As he
She is watching him. An intensity to her gaze. More feeling than
.disappears completely, as he turns to her. And when he mimes
CLOSE on a British Petroleum BILLBOARD with a huge DIGITAL CLOCK,
counting down by seconds.JUNE 29, 1997, 11:32 A.M. - 1 DAY, 12
HOURS, 27 MINUTES, 48 SECONDS TO: REUNION WITH CHINA!
Hong Kong's bustling STATUE SQUARE, the hub of countless feeder
streets and alleyways, as we ROAM to a SERIES OF SHOTS.
.billboards everywhere. Western businesses that announce WE'LL
STILL BE HERE FOR YOU. Others, primarily British, sending
farewells, gratitude for past patronage. China-sponsored
depictions of happy Hong Kong and Chinese citizens, proclaim ONE
.moving vans, people pushing carts of belongings, shop signs
advertising blowout inventory clearance sales. Traffic beyond
.incredibly long queues in front of post offices, American
Express, the imposing glass and steel skyscraper called the HONG
.large groups of uniformed CHINESE SOLDIERS in the streets. More
orderly DEMONSTRATION by anti-China PROTESTERS, their signs say
MORE DEMOCRACY and FREE HONG KONG, their numbers watched by Chinese
soldiers, who in turn are watched by British soldiers.
CLOSE on the square now. A couple at a sidewalk vendor. Mac is
purchasing a t-shirt. Gin dutifully lifts her arms, and Mac slips
the garment over her head. It says CHINA GOT HONG KONG, AND ALL I
He regards her thoughtfully, and she turns, modeling for him as if
wearing a Givenchy original. He approves, lifts the Halliburton
case, and they move on, strolling, chatting until Mac.
.bumps HARD into a Chinese SOLDIER, both men REELING with the
impact. The soldier carries an identical HALLIBURTON CASE, and the
two men set their cases down side by side, as Mac steps forward.
No one notices, no one cares. Gin tugs on Mac's arm, don't get
involved, dear. Mac reluctantly steps back. The soldier glares at
.Mac's case. A parting epithet in Mandarin, and the soldier
starts off. Watching him, Mac unobtrusively fingers a concealed.
.PISTOL, ready for action. But keeps watching, as within a few
.stops. Opens the case. Checks out the Oracle Bone, right there
in the middle of the square. Mac and Gin watching across the
distance, with hair-trigger keenness. At last the soldier CLOSES
Handing it to Mac, he leans forward, and in low, aecented
Picks up his own case. And is gone.
A vintage Aston Martin pulls up to a spectacular gated MANSION.
Sparkling white, it is a blend of Edwardian and Regency. Gin is
driving, speaks into the voice box, and the gate swings open. As
they pull up the crushed rock driveway.
.a BUTLER appears, as British as the architecture. Climbing from
the car, Mac has the Halliburton case.
And leads them around the side of the house. They walk slowly, a
distance behind the butler, taking everything in.
His voice is strong, calm. No hint of a smile.
She looks equally serious. Just more tense.
They come upon the spacious GROUNDS behind the mansion. A
breathtaking view down the slope of Victoria Peak to Hong Kong and
the harbor. Kowloon across the water.
They pass a towering row of perfect ROSEBUSHES. Mac SNAPS OFF a
And hands it to her. Their eyes meet.
At the edge of the garden, above the commanding view, a luncheon
TABLE has been set. Spread with delcacies. Two SERVANTS attend,
Only the host is seated. He does not rise.
Col. Qiu glances up from his meal. Green PLA uniform, absurdly
decorated, wraparound Gautier sunglasses. We recognize him as the
man who took Gin's call in his Mercedes in Tienanmen Square. The
man who accompanied the poor Minister of Finance to the ophthal-
And leans prettily. To fasten it in the buttonhole of his lapel.
Hearing his real name, Mac cuts her a look.
And she sits. Close to Qiu. Mac looks around at the property,
The Colonel smiles. First time. Like an alligator. Mac notices
.a Union Jack. He fingers the flag.
Tho it has required many sacrifices.
And runs the back of his knuckles up the length of Gin's bare arm.
And pulls up the Halliburton case. Handing it across the table.
As Qiu takes the case in his lap, opens it.
Qiu glances across the lawn to the butler, who stands behind the
bar trolley. As the drinks are prepared, the Colonel studies the
And lifts from beneath the table, a leather POUCH.
Drops it into Gin's lap. She opens the pouch to reveal.
.goggles. Like one would wear in a tanning salon. Only these
are flesh-colored with one small hole in the center of each lens.
Slightly larger than the size of a pupil.
INT. SUITE, PENINSULA HOTEL - LATE NIGHT
Glass doors open WIDE to a terrace which overlooks Kowloon, the
harbor, Hong Kong Island beyond. More lights than stars in heaven.
.the SOUNDS of lovemaking are fierce, feral, an urgent rhythm,
part comic, part wondrous, and mostly, arousing enough to make us
.lovemaking in silhouette. This is the lovemaking of tigers,
mesmerizing to watch, ferocious enough to inspire envy, and
.tender enough. To suggest real love.
LATER.Mac and Gin sit before the open terrace. There is wine and
food and abandoned clothing all around them. She has her pack
drawn near. And Qiu's leather pouch. She removes the goggles.
But. She is electric, more alive than he's ever seen her.
From her pack, she pulls a slender black rectangle. Opens it to
holdings invested in foreign banks.
else, til the Mafia couldn't find it.
transferring the 8 billion dollars.
They're recorded in the main computer.
Touch her hair. Her face. She swallows. A raw moment. A
But he's just staring in her eyes. The look pins her. She can't
CLOSE on the British Petroleum billboard, where the countdown CLOCK
says.JUNE 30, 1997, 11:41 P.M., 0 DAYS, 0 HOURS, 18 MINUTES, 51
The square is beyond BEDLAM. Times Square looks deserted New
Year's Eve compared to this carnival CRUSH of humanity, rock and
rolling as if reunion with China was the doorway to Paradise.
Singing, chanting, screaming, dancing, music and booze everywhere,
firecrackers exploding, soldiers and civilians, tycoons and
hookers, tourists and peddlers and Party members and homeless,
Who knows. Could be the last party. Ever.
WHIP PAN to the crowded plaza in front of the towering glass-and-
steel headquarters of the HONG KONG AND SHANGHAI BANK.
ZOOM to focus on our smashing couple in evening wear, Gin with a
large beaded shoulder bag. Mac presents an invitation to a PLA
INT. PUBLIC LOBBY, HONG KONG AND SHANGHAI BANK
.a VIP party going full blast in the lobby of this truly
breathtaking structure. A central ATRIUM rises 47 floors, creating
a soaring clear core, around which the offices and working spaces
are ringed. The view straight up is interrupted only at three
well-spaced levels, where thick CANOPIES of glass, stitched
together with spidery skeletons of steel, SPAN the open core.
.at the balcony railings surrounding the atrium, the revelers
have been granted access to the lower five floors. Above these,
She is guiding him toward one of the multiple hors d'oeuvre
stations. Half the celebrants seem to be armed PLA soldiers, many
with rifles slung boldly across their shoulders.
Mac loads up on six hors d'oeuvres, piling them on a napkin, as
she takes two flutes of champagne. They step away from the mob
toward a potted plant near the wall, and Mac.
.drops his snacks with a SPLAT. Shit. Bending to clean the
mess, he slips from his waistband a flat CIRCUIT BOARD with a
bank logo and a three-pronged plug. In a single motion, he plugs
it INTO a socket concealed by the pot, scoops up his canapes,
Three SECURITY OFFICERS blink, as ALL FIFTY monitor screens go
HAYWIRE at once. The images compressed to a blur of lines between
a series of diagonal SLACK BARS that slash across the screens. The
way your TV acts when the horizontal hold goes out. They can't
Stumped, they start slamming buttons, flipping switches, jabbering
to each other. Now the images begin to ROLL vertically, as if in
response to their attempts at adjustment.
Mac and Gin wait with a party of older Brits, who've had plenty
to drink and are carrying more. Two armed soldiers flank the
elevators. A car arrives. As the Brits enter.
Waiting, calmly. Mac smiles at a soldier.
The guy LAUGHS. An elevator arrives. Gin sipping champagne as
The doors CLOSE. They are alone. The panel has floors 1 through
5 lit. The other numbers, 6-10 and 16-47, are dark. There are NO
Mac pulls from his pocket a small flat DEVICE, not much thicker
than a credit card, with a window and a series of LED lights
on its face. He fits it into a SLOT beside a black glass PLATE
on the elevator panel. Immediately, the LEDs scramble, all RED,
numbers FLASH across the card's window, as the device begins
to lock on the elevator code. In sequence, the LEDs turn GREEN,
.the glass plate LIGHTS, announcing in Kanji and English.ACCES
GRANTED TO FLOORS 11, 12, 14, 15. Mac presses the lit number 14.
The elevator RISES. He looks over at her. She is tight enough
to snap. We can feel her heart racing from here.
She looks irritated. He is smiling, gently.
She looks away. The elevator stops.
Me laughs. The door opens. She is pissed off.
Now they're staring at each other. An open elevator door. An
empty dim hallway. They see only each other.
He holds out the crook of his arm. As a gentleman escorts a lady.
Her eyes flicker on that. So he grins.
She looks in his eyes. Her body seems to relax, just a little.
CLOSE on a KEYPAD. Next to it, a mirrored PLATE with two
APERTURES, set apart the distance of human eyes. Gin's goggled
face DROPS into frame, reflected in the mirrored surface. She
A red scanning light APPEARS. Tracks vertically. BEEPS. Tracks
.a soft CLICK. PULL BACK now, to see.
They stand at what seems the door to a BANK VAULT. Round,
gigantic, heavy steel. Bolts eyerywhere. Mac reaches to GRASP
CLANG. The door swings OPEN. They stare at the inner sanctum.
.a windowless ROOM. Dim, eerie fluorescence. A blast of white
noise from the elaborate air-cooling system. Two large MAINFRAME
COMPUTERS face each other from opposite walls, desks and work
stations with PC monitors filling the space between. As Mac closes
.Gin goes quickly to the smaller mainframe. Pulls the high-
resolution monitor around on its adjustable arm. The screensaver
displays Guernsey cows swimming among tropical fish. She hits a
key. The screen saver replaced by, WELCOME. AUTHORIZATION MODE
PLEASE. Two boxes for PASSWORD and SCAN. She hits SCAN. A
.the mirrored PLATE, the tiny APERTURES. Gin leans to fit her
goggled eyes in place. The red scanning light. Vertical track.
BEEP. Horizontal track. And the monitor announces.WELCOME
MINISTER FEIHONG. Gin takes off the goggles, and.
.THROWS them across the room to Mac at the larger mainframe. As
he repeats the scanning process, Gin is loading the precious CD-ROM
into her mainframe's driver. Watches the screen.
WITH Mac now. Typing the words CONTROL PANEL. The screen now
shows icons for time setting, and he clicks his mouse to create a
CLOCK in the center of the screen, labeled LOCAL TIME, and reading
11:57:19, changing with each second that passes.
INTERCUT.frenzied activity in a large war room filled with
computers, wall screens, every worker functioning at top speed.
CUT BACK to Mac in the vault. He clicks his mouse to create a
clock at the LEFT of the screen, labeled BRITISH TERMINAL TIME.
It is, of course, showing the same time as the local clock.
INTERCUT.an even larger war room, even better staffed and
equipped. Everyone.doing.nothing. Staring at blank monitors
CUT BACK to Mac in the vault. He clicks his mouse to create
another clock at the RIGHT of the screen, labeled CHINA TERMINAL
TIME. Shows the same time as the other clocks. 11:58:22.
CLICKS the mouse, and the BRITISH TERMINAL TIME begins FLASHING.
As the flashing clock reaches 11:58:30, and Mac HITS the key four
times, advancing the British clock to 34 seconds, four seconds
As the local and Chinese clocks reach 40 seconds, Mac HITS the key
four times, regressing the Chinese clock back to 36 seconds.
We watch all three clocks, clicking down the last moments of
British rule. The British clock is 4 seconds FAST, the Chinese
LOCAL TIME.11:59:00. One minute to midnight.
He turns around. Her eyes are waiting. Across the room.
His smile returns. Bittersweet and real.
The look holds. He turns back to his screen. She lingers on him
for an instant. Then, back to the mainframe, finger poised above
INTERCUT.The British Consulate. All screens go DARK. A logo
APPEARS of a POPPING Champagne BOTTLE, whose spray forms a Union
Jack twined with a PRC flag, everyone SHOUTS, cheers or curses, and
BACK to Gin.striking ENTER, the screen flashing TRANSACTIONS XJ6
Hong Kong midnight, happy new year.
Her screen flashes TRANSACTIONS XJ6 COMPLETED, hear her SHRIEK of
INTERCUT.Bank of China where dark screens suddenly LIGHT with the
same stupid PARTY LOGO. Only nobody cheers. They just get to
But across the way, Gin is JAMMING a button. Again. Again.
He crosses the room. She's rummaging on a nearby desk, finds a
She's fitting the letter opener INTO the narrow slot above the lid
WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP! Every SIREN in the skyscraper is
SHRIEKING, lights are FLASHING CRIMSON, Gin's screen says SECURITY
BREACH in a selection of languages.
The sirens are EAR-SPLITTING. We know that elsewhere in this
building, all hell must be breaking loose. Gin is YANKING Mac's
Yeh. She stares at it. Really scared.
He stares at her. In one motion, he SNATCHES a stapler from the
desk and SMASHES the driver with all his strength.
It pops open. Calmly, he plucks her CD from the tray. She mouths
But just as she's about to bolt.he holds up one hand. Slips
another CD from his pocket. We see the words KENNY G.
Pops it IN the drive. SLAMS it shut.
Mac and Gin RUNNING full tilt through the siren BLARE, turning a
.the balcony railing, the building's empty central CORE. Mac
BOLTS straight TOWARD it, Gin sprinting to follow, lungs pounding,
they reach the railing, looking DOWN to see.
Hysteria, unimaginable chaos. Soldiers, black-tie partygoers,
SCRAMBLING in all directions, looking to his left Mac sees.
.the bank of ELEVATORS, soldiers POURING in, some cars already
RISING, fourth floor, fifth. Now he looks directly BELOW, where.
.soldiers are POUNDING up the metal service staircase, the front
rank almost at the third floor. In the lobby, some faces look up
He PLUNGES his hand into her shoulder bag.
Pulls OUT two PLASMA GRENADES, and FLINGS one toward the elevator
.EXPLODES in a horrifying FIREBALL, causing PANDEMONIUM in the
lobby below, the elevator cables BLOWN AWAY, cars PLUNGING, the
yellow smoke momentarily screening us from the soldiers far below,
.STRAIGHT DOWN and the fireball WIPES OUT the staircase, a huge
section of ninth floor landing RAINING down on the lobby.
Grabs her hand and they RACE to the staircase, as smoke BILLOWS
everywhere below. UP they go, two stairs at a time, the lowest
glass-and-spiderweb-steel CANOPY is three floors above us, the
cacophany of SHOUTS below is like an amplified insane asylum.
He is dragging her now, up, up, BULLETS are flying blind through
the smoke, CHEWING up metal and glass all around us, up, up, and
as the smoke at last clears, they have reached.
.the canopy floor. They can see the army down below. Clutching
her hand, Mac leads her OVER the railing, ONTO the canopy itself,
.straight ACROSS the heavy glass toward the far side of the
building, like space-walking above the throng 150 feet below,
BULLETS now TRACING their path from beneath, SLAMMING OFF the
underside of the bulletproof canopy, Gin SHRIEKING with fright
.three EXECUTIVE ELEVATORS beginning to climb the far wall.
These are glass-enclosed tubes, all filled with soldiers, the car
in the lead already at the tenth floor. Mac keeps running straight
They make it to the edge of the canopy, the lead elevator only two
floors below them. We can see the soldiers through the glass. Mac
GRASPS her hand, and as the car nears our level.
They LEAP across five feet of open air to.
.LAND squarely on the car's metal roof, Mac WRAPPING his free arm
AROUND the cable, and UP we go. The ant colony below us receding
Gin is hanging onto the cable, petrified. Mac is looking up toward
He looks at her. Just now, she seems more miserable than afraid.
He doesn't smile. Passing the third canopy.
Looks back up. Forty-first floor. Six to go.
She blinks. Huh? So he reaches into her bag, pulls out the
.STRAIGHT up. The roof above them EXPLODES in a FIREBALL, and
SHIELDS her body against the wall of their shaft, as a huge SECTION
of roof comes RAINING down. We watch as it.
.CRASHES through the upper canopy, TONS of roof and glass
.BLAST through the middle canopy, everyone below SCRAMBLING for
.EXPLODES through the lowest canopy. Gin can only GAPE at the
incredible display. Mouthing a silent WOW.
They've passed the second canopy, thirty-sixth floor. Still
climbing. The other two elevators maybe five floors below us.
The elevator car has STOPPED. We are at the roof. The soldiers
are in the car beneath our feet, nowhere to get out. Above our
.the last few feet of elevator cable. And starry sky, where our
He begins to shimmy up the few feet of cable. At the top, he
reaches out with one hand toward the lip of the remaining roof,
GRABS it, LUNGES with his free hand, and.
.DANGLING 47 floors, he pulls himself UP, swings ONTO the roof.
Reaches back down. She is only twelve feet below him. Frozen with
She stares up at his eyes. He smiles.
And starts to climb the cable. Not so easy in a ball gown, but the
adrenaline is pumping. Gets to the top. Here's the hard part.
.GRABS his. She lets GO. And she is DANGLING in space.
And with all his strength, hauls her up onto.
.the roof. Two-thirds of it remain. At the far edge, a gigantic
MAINTENANCE CRANE, itself two stories high. But between here and
.a HELICOPTER. Big and beautifUl and empty. She looks like
she's seen God. Mac starts to jog toward it, she runs to follow
She points to the copter. It's over here.
And keeps walking. Toward the monster CRANE.
Moving fast, he points off to his right. Her eyes follow a
long CABLE, leading from the arm of the crane, across the roof,
attaching by a huge HOOK to a massive WRECKING BALL.
He reaches the crane's cab. Turns back to see she hasn't moved.
Got it? She takes off running. He hops IN the cab. PUSHES the
start button. It rumbles to life. Tests some levers.
He turns to see that he's tightened the cable, pulling her ball six
feet in the AIR. She clings to the hook with a true death grip.
He lowers her ball to the roof. Getting the hang of it.
He THROWS a lever and the crane's arm begins to SWING in a circle,
finally taking the ball WITH it, and as she SCREAMS, Mac.
.POUNCES out of the cab, RACING along the edge of the roof, NOT
NECESSARIO UN ATTEGGIAMENTO TERAPEUTICO PIÙ AGGRESSIVO Le ultime acquisizioni P otezione r otezione r cliniche suggeriscono di ricorrere sempre più precocemente si gioca sul tempo all’Ace-inibitore nei pazienti diabetici ipertesi, anche quando non mostrano ancora la salvaguardia la salvaguar segni di sofferenza renale. Questo anche nell’ottica della
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