128
pages
English
Documents
1998
Le téléchargement nécessite un accès à la bibliothèque YouScribe Tout savoir sur nos offres
128
pages
English
Ebook
1998
Le téléchargement nécessite un accès à la bibliothèque YouScribe Tout savoir sur nos offres
Publié par
Publié le
01 janvier 1998
Nombre de lectures
3
Licence :
Langue
English
Publié par
Publié le
01 janvier 1998
Nombre de lectures
3
Licence :
Langue
English
EXT. TYRE, LEBANON - DAY
A coast road. Date palms. Burnt-out hulks that once were Russian T-54 TANKS have long ago been left to rust in the sun. A 4-door MERCEDES hurtles down the ancient road.
We're online for exactly two minutes.
A SATELLITE VIEW
Of the same scene. A grainy IMAGE of the car, and some distance away, a moving cluster of animals. They are:
HERD OF SHEEP
As seen at ground level. Two SHEPHERDS goad them forward. In the distance, the MERCEDES approaches.
FLASH CUT -- NEWS FOOTAGE (STOCK)
U.S. Army medics and rescue workers frantically sift through the rubble of a collapsed barracks.
"...the single worst casualty in the history of American military --"
BACK TO -- THE COAST ROAD
The Mercedes barrels down the road, doing at least 80 mph.
THE SATELLITE VIEW
Shows that the car is fast approaching the point where the herd of sheep are about to cross the road.
FLASH CUT -- NEWS FOOTAGE (STOCK)
Amidst the rubble, the dead are zipped into body bags.
"-- the truck, carrying high explosives is believed to have hit the barracks --
BACK TO -- THE COAST ROAD
The driver of the Mercedes hits his horn but doesn't slow down. In addition to the driver and a bodyguard, an OLD MAN WITH A HENNAED BEARD, a turban, and sunglasses sits in back.
THE SATELLITE VIEW
As the Mercedes closes with the sheep:
Slow down.
BACK TO -- THE COAST ROAD
As if on command, the Mercedes finally slows as the sheep move lazily across the road.
FLASH CUT -- NEWS FOOTAGE (STOCK)
President Clinton addresses reporters in the White House.
"To any lengths, anywhere in the world, to bring these people to justice."
BACK TO -- THE COAST ROAD
Inside the Mercedes, they watch as the Shepherd urinates and the sheep mill about in the middle of the road. The driver rolls down his window to scream in Arabic at:
THE POOR SHEPHERD
Who hurries to button his fly. It is only as we look closer that we see the silenced muzzle of:
COLT COMMANDO RIFLE
Protruding from the sleeve of his jhallabah. And then:
THE HERD OF SHEEP
Fill the frame, blocking our view of the Mercedes, and for a moment, all we can HEAR is their gentle bleating. But as they clear frame, we can see that:
THE MERCEDES
Has been turned into an abattoir, its windshield shattered and bloody. The driver slumps over the steering wheel, the bodyguard is half out of the window. And in the distance:
WITH A MAGICIAN'S ALACRITY
One Shepherd pulls a BLACK HOOD over the Sheik's head while the other injects him with a HYPODERMIC. The first Shepherd activates a SATCHEL CHARGE and swings it into the Mercedes while the second straps the Sheik into a HARNESS... A BALLOON self-inflates and hurtles aloft, pulling a cable attached to the Sheik's harness.
AN MC-130 COMBAT TALON AIRCRAFT
Its "Whiskers" in the nose of the aircraft snag the cable without slowing and roars off, the Sheik dangling unconscious beneath -- just as the satchel charges EXPLODE the Mercedes.
THE SATELLITE VIEW
Records impassively for a moment, then breaks up into static.
Gotcha.
IN A SAFE HOUSE -- SOMETIME LATER
A pale, diminished Sheik sits at a steelcase table. A STEEL COT and a STEEL TOILET. Closed-circuit cameras in the corner.
Opposite him: the man, whose voice we have only heard: GENERAL WILLIAM DEVEREAUX -- and though he wears a civilian suit, his bearing betrays his pedigree. His considerable charm and habitual skepticism are as much a product of self-discipline as his close-order drill.
Nobody knows you're here. Not your people. Not even my President. You'll die here alone and be buried unknown -- barring some miracle.
The SHEIK speaks a few words in Arabic.
-- God? GOD? (looks at him) What you eat. Whether you eat. Sleep. Pain. Absence of pain. I decide. I make the day and the night. Even the way you got here -- a hand that reached down from the sky? (looks at him) God? I am your new God.
DISSOLVE TO:
INT. MOSQUE - DAWN
A MUEZZIN climbs a spiral staircase, enters a turret-like room, CLICKS ON a microphone and CHANTS the call to prayer.
Allahuh Akbar...
HUNDREDS OF BELIEVERS prostrate themselves on prayer rugs. At the door, hundreds of SHOES are lined up, work boots, expensive loafers, a range of social classes represented.
ON THE STREET
Shopkeepers pause to kneel and pray. In Arab homes, parents and children do the same. And as we PULL BACK from:
THE MINARET
Of the Mosque, we DISCOVER not an Arab city, but instead the unmistakable skyline of:
DOWNTOWN MANHATTAN
The World Trade Ctr, Wall Street, The Federal building.
IN THE FBI SITUATION ROOM
Two AGENTS hurry through the bullpen. TINA OSU, 32, sharp, and FRANK HADDAD, Lebanese with an insouciant grin.
Brooklyn South issued a code blue less than two minutes ago. They think hostages are involved.
Black-and-whites on the scene?
Setting up a perimeter now.
Residence or business?
A bus.
Sequence omitted from original script.
THE 99 BUS -- SEEN FROM ABOVE
Surrounded by a phalanx of Black-and-Whites.
BACK TO -- THE SITUATION ROOM
They have been joined by Anthony Hubbard, the ASAC.
SWAT?
On the way.
Negotiator?
Rolling.
Bomb squad?
THE 99 BUS
The BOMB SQUAD approaches. We SEE terrified PASSENGERS inside.
BACK TO -- HUB AND FRANK, EXITING THE FEDERAL BUILDING
How soon can we get there --?
In this traffic, maybe tomorrow.
BACK TO -- THE 99 BUS
As a police TECHIE inserts a dentist's mirror through a drilled hole in the bus's door, the L.E.D. begins to BLINK and the passengers SCREAM and dive for cover. An EXPLOSION.
BACK TO -- HUB AND FRANK, IN THE CAR
Frank is listening to a cell phone.
Oh, fuck. It just blew.
BACK TO -- THE 99 BUS
The doors hang off their hinges. As the PASSENGERS tumble off, we SEE they are covered in BLUE PAINT.
BACK TO -- HUB AND FRANK, IN THE CAR
-- What?!
-- That's what they're telling me.
-- And nobody's hurt?
Frank nods. Hubs closes his eyes in gratitude.
Thank God.
CUT TO:
THE JOINT FBI/NYPD TERRORISM TASK FORCE - FEDERAL BLDG
They're listening to a tape-recording, altered by a VO-CORDER:
-- our first and last warning.
As the MESSAGE continues, we PAN the faces: MIKE JOHANNSON, squad supervisor, and DANNY SUSSMAN, representing NYPD.
We expect our demand to be met. There will be no negotiation. That is all.
Demand for what? You hear any demand?
You sure this is all they got?
That's it.
Maybe it's performance art.
Sussman shoots him a look. Clearly Haddad enjoys pushing his buttons. Finally, Hub stands up.
-- Okay. Blue paint. Voice-altering technology --
-- available from The Sharper Image catalogue.
Last I looked they weren't offering exploding paint bombs.
Still, the rhetoric sounds political. Militia?
Not their style.
Frank --?
Jihad isn't known for their sense of humor, and Hamas is raising so much money here, why queer their deal?
Anyway, isn't Green the color of Islam, not blue?
-- And, excuse me, but why do we immediately assume they're Arabs?
I want a composite of the suspects in circulation by the end of business today. Tina, you cross-check it against the mainframe. Mike, have you got the lab analysis on the paint?
Not yet...
-- See if any was sold in quantity the last month. Danny --
Tina's phone buzzes. She picks it up as Hub keeps going:
-- find out what stop these guys got on the bus, maybe there's a witness.
Hub... I think we're all eager to give up our weekends on this. It just occurs to me, has anybody even committed a crime here? I mean, assault with a deadly color?
Hub deals with Haddad's irreverence by ignoring it.
Here's what I don't like. They know explosives. They know our response time. They put in a call and walk.
A young agent, FRED DARIUS, hands Hub a piece of paper:
Excuse me, sir. I think you should see this. Came in on the Fax.
Only two words are written: "RELEASE HIM."
Release him? Him who? Who are we holding?
Marv Albert?
McVeigh? Sheik what's-his-name from the Trade Center.
-- Omar Abdel Rahman... asshole.
The Hamas guy got released in April.
Under protest.
(looks at the fax)
Why be coy about it?
You think it's phony?
(covering the phone)
Hub, somebody's flashing a government badge over at the warehouse where they're working on the bus. Our tech guys want to know if we're cooperating with any other agencies on this thing.
Off Hub's look, we:
CUT TO:
AN OLD WAREHOUSE IN BROOKLYN - DUSK
Hub and Haddad join AGENT FLOYD ROSE, a tall Black man.
-- She's looking for wiring signatures on the device and asking for copies of any latent prints we've managed to lift.
-- Agency?
Smells like it. Turns out she's also been talking to some of the passengers.
THEY OPEN THE DOOR
In the klieg lights -- THE BUS. Men in white coats dust every inch and generally behave as if investigating a crashed UFO. In their midst, a young WOMAN, midwestern pretty in a serious suit. She looks up as Hub enters.
Hi.
Hi, there.
Special Agent Anthony Hubbard. FBI.
Oh, shit, I've been trying to liaise with you all day. My name is Elise Kraft, National Security Council.
She offers her hand. Hub doesn't take it yet.
-- And you've been trying to "liaise" with me all day? Did you think of trying the phone book, Elise? We have fourteen lines, that's not counting the unlisted ones.
(still holds out hand)
Hi, I'm Elise Kraft, National Security Council.
Finally, he takes her hand. And doesn't let go.
And I'm Colin Powell. What exactly do you people want with my bus.
She tries to take her hand away, but he tightens his grip.
We're all on the same team here, Agent Hubbard.
Who exactly is "we" on this particular team, Elise?
It's never the question that's indiscreet, only the answer.
He smiles. She smiles back. Convinced she's charmed him.
Tell you what, you send me an official inter-agency request for cooperation on this and I'll give you copies of everything we come up with. Otherwise, get your ass on out of here before you contaminate my crime scene any more than you already have.
There's no reason to be nasty.
You think this is nasty? (smiles) In case you haven't heard. The CIA has no charter to operate domestically. Which puts you in violation of federal law.
Not according to the Cooperation Agreement, Special Order 12333 -- I suggest you reread the paragraph on sharing information. I happen to be well within my authority.
Special Order 12333 refers to domestic terrorism. You got something you want to "share" with me? (he waits... but no answer is forthcoming) Us being teammates and all?