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   "Entrapment", early, by Ronald Bass



                                                   Ronald Bass
                                                   First Draft Screenplay
                                                   December 2, 1996

                                                   Story by:
                                                   Ronald Bass
                                                   and Michael Herzberg


     Lake Shore Drive.  Four o'clock in the morning.  Minimal traffic,
     minimal life.  As MAIN TITLES BEGIN, we PAN UP the face of...

     ...Hancock Tower.  Up, up, forty floors, sixty, eighty, very dark
     up here, street sounds fading fast, and as CREDITS CONTINUE we can
     just make out...

     ...a dark FIGURE.  Like a spider.  Inching its way up the steel
     surface of the 98th floor, and we CLOSE to see...

     The THIEF.  All in black, nearly invisible, with a sleek visored
     helmet that conceals the face.  Two long, oblong backpacks, climb-
     ing ropes and harness across back and shoulders, tools at the belt.
     Moving STRAIGHT UP the face of the skyscraper.  How is it possible?
     CLOSER still to see...

     ...the piton-like BOLTS are electromagnetic, CLANKING to the steel
     to support weight.  A button releases the magnetic charge when the
     bolt is pulled up by cords to a higher position.  The Thief is
     remarkably strong and agile, scaling the wall with fluid precision,

     ...our summit.  A softly-lit, glass-walled PENTHOUSE on the
     100th floor.  Subtle spots which bathe paintings, sculptures,
     in a cavernous coldly-decorated space.

     Swiftly, deftly, the Thief rigs a suction-mounted HARNESS to the
     steel casing above a massive window.  Pulleys, metal caribiner
     clips, yellow Kevlar ropes.  So superbly practiced, the rigging is
     placed in seconds, huge SUCTION CUPS pressed to the surface of the
     glass.  The Thief reaches to a metal rectangle at the top of the
     rigging, touches a button, a motor WHINES, the ropes TIGHTEN and
     the window...

     ...POPS FREE, hangs SUSPENDED by the Kevlar ropes which amazingly
     sustain its awesome weight.  The huge pane shudders in the wind,
     and the Thief slips...

     ...INTO the Penthouse.  Nearby, an ALARM BOX softly BEEPS its
     60-second warning to the pulsing of a green light, and the Thief
     attaches a small computerized DEVICE which runs a series of
     possible CODES at dazzling speed on its display panel, until...

     ...the right one STOPS.  Illuminated in red.  The beeping, the
     green light, go OFF.  The device is removed.

     Back to the window, air rushing in, attach a similar suction-
     mounted harness from the inside, all exquisitely engineered to rig
     in seconds, press new suction cups to the inside of the dangling
     window pane.  A small remote control clicker...

     ...RELEASES the outside suction cups.  The window's weight now
     supported by the interior rigging.  The outside equipment pulled
     INTO the apartment in a single tug.  The WHINE of a motor, and the
     pane pulls UP, the Thief expertly POPPING it into place.

     No trace of entry.

     Rapidly folding the rigging into an astonishingly compact bundle,
     the Thief SCANS...

     ...the profusion of priceless art.  The paintings run to Otto Dix,
     Franz Marc, Marcel Duchamp.  One statue an obvious Rodin.  The soft
     lighting makes walls seem invisible, everything with an infinity
     perspective in mind.  An obsidian slab dining table that seems to
     end at the horizon.

     The Thief has packed the rigging away, taken out a large cylin-
     drical TUBE bearing a label we can't read.  Knows the way, quickly
     through the spectacular apartment, past oils by early German
     expressionists, Russian futurists, a Rothko, a Kandinsky, a Francis
     Bacon.  The Thief has no interest in these, and as CREDITS CONTINUE,
     we enter...

     ...a powder room.  A lime-green poured concrete sink, a copper-
     plated commode, and across from these...

     ...a single PAINTING.  Unlike the others, clearly an Old Master.
     A 17th century city on the water, churches, spires, an ancient
     bridge.  The Thief wastes no time, unceremoniously...

     ...CUTS the painting from its frame with sure, perfect strokes.
     Rolls it quickly in acid-free paper.  Opens the cylindrical tube,
     pulling out...

     ...another CANVAS which we cannot see.  Deftly unrolls this,
     fitting it carefully into the stolen painting's now-empty frame.
     Re-hangs it.  Stares for a beat through the opaque helmet visor.
     Approves.  Slips the rolled-up stolen canvas into the empty tube.
     Leaves.  Before we follow, we shift angle to see the replacement

     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
     seamlessly into place.

     INT. VENT

     Halogen flashlight leading the way, our Thief shimmies down the
     narrow space, arriving at... open vertical AIR SHAFT, BLASTING air straight up the 100
     floor height of the skyscraper, with frightening FORCE.  Calmly,
     the Thief clips on a different harness, unzips a nylon cover from
     the backpack, and simply...

     LEAPS DOWN the air shaft, startling the shit out of us, as, for an

     ...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,
     until a cord is tugged and...

     ...a nylon PARACHUTE OPENS with a pop.  We watch the Thief drifting
     lazily down.  A ride any kid would pay big money for...


     Our original exterior VIEW of the skyscraper's penthouse.  REVERSE
     ANGLE now to see in far distance...

     ...the dense forest of silhouetted OFFICE TOWERS of downtown
     Chicago against the night sky, and we ZOOM TOWARD them, covering
     miles in three seconds, to CLOSE on...

     ...the highest floor of the SEARS TOWER, and THROUGH an unlit
     window to see...

     ...a TELESCOPE.  A silhouetted FIGURE looking through it.  SNAP

     VIEW through the scope's lens.  An amazingly CLOSE detail of the
     Hancock Tower Penthouse.  The scope now PANS DOWN the length of the
     Tower, to...

     The street.  The Thief climbing onto a battered old Lambretta.
     Calm as you please.  And as the scooter glides off...

     We HEAR our unseen voyeur WALK AWAY from our telescope.  A door
     OPENS somewhere, and as CREDITS CONCLUDE, it...

     Closes.  Softly.


     A basement corridor.  Long, bare, dimly lit.  Silent.  We're in the
     bowels of somewhere.  A startling CLANK, like a prison cell
     unlocking.  A FIGURE enters the corridor, coming this way, on the
     hurried side of brisk.

     HECTOR CRUZ is 42, tanned, fit, graying hair swept back in a Pat
     Riley do.  He wears Riley's Armani, too.  Maybe this guy coaches.
     Heels ECHO until he reaches a plain door with discreet lettering...

     NO ADMITTANCE FOR ANY REASON.  There is a dull silver rectangle
     below the words.  He holds his hand up to it...

     Nothing happens.  Shit.  Dries his palm on his perfectly-creased
     slacks.  One more time.  CLICK.  Enters...


     An unexpectedly VAST semi-circular room, the entire inner circum-
     ference made up of a single continuous WALL SCREEN, separated into
     a seamless array of IMAGES...

     Three-dimensional rotating GRAPHICS of every room in the Hancock
     Tower Penthouse, SCHEMATICS of electrical, plumbing, and ventila-
     tion systems.  See-through rotating multicolored models of every
     piece of security EQUIPMENT imaginable, components FLASHING as
     performance simulations are run.  Rapid-fire sequences of indiv-
     idual human PROFILES, complete with photos and bio blurbs.  Screens
     flickering with blizzards of DATA, hurtling past at warp speed.

     The Pentagon and CNN would kill for this room.

     The largest segment of screen, twenty feet square, runs a LIVE FEED
     from the crime scene.  The living room of the Penthouse, crawling
     with slow-moving cops and technicians, doing their slow-moving
     thing.  Surrounding this image are a dozen smaller screens, showing
     this and other rooms from a variety of camera angles.  All live.
     We see the library, the mail chute.  The powder room.  Bozo.

     Cruz skips down three steps to floor level, nine separate CONTROL
     STATIONS, each outfitted with super-tech panels to process the
     avalanche of information.  But today, all stations are empty.

     Except one.

                     Baker.  You got it solved?

     And now we see her.  From the rear.  Slouched at her station.
     Looks like a skinny teenager in tousled tawny hair, rumpled
     oversized workshirt, vintage jeans.

                               GIN (O.S., from the rear)
                     Actually.  Yeh.

     Not a kid's voice.  Throaty.  Music and whiskey and sex and
     effortless confidence.  Even the voice turns us on.

                               CRUZ (glances at his watch)
                     What took you so long, Gin?  I
                     called 4:30 this morn...

     And stops.  Because she turns with a look that would freeze anyone
     to stone.

                     I was with someone, all right?

     Now we really see her.  Delicate bones and features, slender body,
     radiating the power of a natural heart-stopping beauty.  GINGER
     BAKER is 32, ethereal and feral at once.  Electric green eyes
     crackle with an intellect and a will that are not to be fucked

                     So?  This is work.

     He is not kidding.  Stainless steel beneath the dapper.  They are a
     matched team.

                     Hector, I hardly know the guy.
                     Why be impolite to strangers?

     And he smiles.  Maybe she's lying.  He likes her.

                     Look at those assholes...

     He means the cops on live feed.

                     If the Vermeer were lying on that
                     table, they'd toss their doughnuts
                     on it.

                     Yeh, well, they didn't insure it,
                     so they don't have to solve this.
                     To them it's a crime.  To us it's 24
                     mil, less re-insurance, which is...

                               CRUZ (grim)
                     Only thirty percent, Gin.

     Ouch.  Really?

                     Which is why you're on this.

     Soft and straight.  You're the best.  I need you.

                     He came in through the window.

                     That's not possib...

                     What's not possible is entry through
                     the doors or the vents.  That would
                     have triggered instant alarm.

                     The windows are wired, too.

                     Only for trauma.  They used smart
                     glass, where the sensors respond to
                     violation of the panel's integrity.

     He's listening.  He always does with her.

                     I think he scaled the wall, popped
                     the frame.  In one piece.

     She sounds awfully positive.  Then again, she always does.

                     Then, he only had to deal with
                     heat and motion sensors.  They
                     were on 60-second delay, so the
                     owner wouldn't trigger the alarm
                     just be walking arou...

                     The pane weighs 200 pounds, the
                     building's 1100 feet high.

                     This particular guy is the best.
                     The best there ever was.

     Almost as if she knows who.  Cruz shakes his head...

                     Popping the frame would trigger
                     the alarm.

     She smiles.  First time.  Even at one-tenth power, it is dazzling
     light.  She touches the panel before her...

                               GIN (gently)
                     I wrote a program and ran it, Dumbo.

     The live feed is replaced by a red-outlined rotating three-
     dimensional DIAGRAM of the living room.  The alarm box glows green.
     One window pane glows lavender.  She touches the panel, and the
     window SHATTERS, the alarm instantly emits a PIERCING SCREECH.

     Reset.  As he watches.  This time the window SLIDES AWAY into
     thin air.  No sound.  A stick figure appears, crawls through the
     opening, and the alarm begins the slow BEEP we heard last night.
     Cruz just stares.

                     Here's how I figured it out...

     Live feed replaces the diagram.  Our camera ZOOMS toward a VASE of
     lilies by the window.  All the flowers are tilted in one direction.
     Over the lip of the vase, away from the window.

                     No one arranges flowers like that.
                     It was the draft from the window.

     He turns to her.

                     You said.  This particular guy.

     Now she is beaming.  Excited.  And just above a whisper...

                     Andrew MacDougal.

     Delighted at his stupefied reaction.

                     Why not Houdini?  Or Pretty Boy
                     Floyd?  Maybe Jesus Christ.

                     Because they couldn't do it.

     His slow smile.  This fucking kid.

                     He's been out of the business.
                     For ten years.

                     Maybe not.  No one ever proved,
                     hell, even arrested him, for
                     stealing anything.  But we all
                     know he was numero ichiban for
                     thirty years.  Why not forty?

     She's serious.

                     Why?  Because of the Bozo switch?
                     Guys have been copying his pack-
                     rat signature for decades.  Maybe
                     the thief wanted it to look like

     She doesn't even answer.  Just touches her panel, and one of the
     data screens BLOWS UP to huge size.  It is...

                     A list of his private collection.
                     Complete to three acquisitions
                     last Thursday.

     Names SCROLLING up endlessly, next to titles, descriptions,
     estimated retail and black market values.  Turner, Corot, Thomas
     Coles, DeKooning, Klimt, Cezannes, Odilon Redon, Braques, Mary

                     No Vermeer.  Nothing close.

                     Don't be a putz.  This is his
                     legitimate collection, which he
                     buys.  Presentable for any search
                     warrant surprise party.

     Names keep rolling, Degas, Paul Klee.  Amazing.

                     What he rips off, he fences.  And
                     the money feeds his portfolio of
                     investments, which are daring, savvy,
                     and obscenely succesf...

                     Oh, I get it.  He has no interest
                     in Vermeers, so that proves he stole
                     one.  By that logic, he oughta be a
                     suspect most of the time.

     She shakes her head, sadly.

                     You love to embarrass yourself.

     Touches her panel.  The big screen now shows a grainy VIDEOTAPE

                     The auction.  Where our client
                     bought the painting...

     We see the Great Room of an English Country estate.  Perhaps a
     hundred attend.  Genteel to the max.

                               GIN (O.S.)
                     Ashcroft Hall, Buckinghamshire,
                     four weeks ago.

     The tape PANS five PAINTINGS on the block.  We recognize our
     VERMEER, the city of Delft, the canal, the bridge.  The view PULLS
     BACK to include the crowd, and...

     FREEZES.  One tiny section is circled.  And BLOWS UP twenty feet.
     high, so blurry as to be unrecognizable.  Then, SNAPS to amazing
     resolution.  The image of...

                               GIN (O.S., murmur)
                     Anyone we know?

     ...ANDREW MacDOUGAL, perhaps 60, as charismatic and shamelessly
     virile a face as one can recall.  Etched with character and worldly
     experience, lit by a twinkle behind the razor-keen gaze.  Tall,
     wide shoulders, massive hands.  This guy would be more fun to fuck
     than fight.  By a lot.

                     So he was there.

                     Staking it out.  Why bid, when
                     you can mark the buyer, and jack
                     it within the month?

     She leans WAY back in the molded chair.  Lifts her long legs
     up onto the console.  They end in slender bare feet.  The toes

                     At this moment, he is winging on
                     JAL flight 307 to Narita, ostensibly
                     to attend a prestigious auction at
                     the Hotel Akura, which will include
                     a mixed media collage/oil by Georges
                     Braques, on which he supposedly has
                     his eye.

                     But you know better.

                     Bet your ass.  At Vegas odds.

     Touches the panel.  The big screen now holds three faces, three

                               GIN (O.S.)
                     Research reveals three known fences,
                     still at large, who are believed
                     to have brokered Vermeers to black
                     market buyers.  Sandrine Palmer is
                     hospitalized in Malta with ovarian

     One face and name disappears.  Two remain.  KOICHI NARUHITO.

                     The other two.  Live in Tokyo.

     A tiny, dry, adorable, shrug.  Which says, bingo.

                     And you did all this since 4:30
                     this morning.

     Grinning small at each other.  She can't help that hers is hot.
     She never can.

                               CRUZ (murmur)
                     Plus.  You were polite to a

     One of those moments when his attraction to her is too obvious to
     ignore.  Best to defuse by pretending it's a joke...

                               GIN (soft and playful)
                     Sounds like you're sorry you're
                     already a friend.

     Said as banter between pals.  Which doesn't make her wrong.


     Auction in progress in the huge traditional LOBBY, where bonsai
     trees, paper lanterns and elaborate painted screens counterpoint
     the sleek, international, big-money crowd.  Everyone milling,
     drinking, schmoozing, networking in a babble of languages, as up
     on the raised platform...

     ...the AUCTIONEER has a new piece on the block, a 6th Century
     temple scroll, from the Asuka period.  It is exquisite, and bidding
     seems to be big time, from the rapidly escalating numbers on the
     overhead DIGITAL DISPLAY, which reveals bidding status in thirty
     currencies simultaneously. As we PAN the hall, we see...

     ...all non-Asians either wearing headphones, or acompanied by
     personal translators at their elbow, to follow the rapid-fire

     Except one.

     ANDREW MacDOUGAL stands alone in black tie.  Tall and rugged and
     polished and focused, and, well, pretty gorgeous.  He is bidding on
     the scroll, indicated only by subtle gestures with his program and
     the repeated finger-stabs of the auctioneer in our direction.

                               WOMAN'S VOICE (O.S., subtitled Japanese)
                     Don't do it.

     PULL BACK slightly to reveal Gin, who has stepped to his shoulder.
     She is barely recognizable to us in her satiny slip of a pale
     golden gown that drapes her frame perfectly.  Breathtaking would
     be an insult.

     MacDougal doesn't turn, doesn't seem to even hear her.  Just raises
     his program to up the bid.

                               GIN (softly, subtitled Japanese)
                     You're already over value.  By
                     15 percent.

     And now he turns.  Straight to her eyes.  This is NOT an admiring
     glance at seeing the loveliest woman in the Northern Hemisphere.
     It is a look that says, in the most understated terms, shut up or
     I'll kill you.  She shuts up.

     His glance goes to his obvious bidding RIVAL, a rather butch
     middle-aged Chinese woman in an embroidered version of a Mao suit.
     She indicates her bid by gesturing with a tiny Yorkshire Terrier,
     whom she holds in her stubby hands.  MacDougal raises back.

                               GIN (subtitled Japanese)
                     Will you stop being stubborn
                     for one sec...

     And stops.  Because he has turned.  With the eyes of a lion.  Being
     pulled from an antelope carcass.

                               MAC (quietly, subtitled Japanese)
                     I have a question.

     Rich Scottish voice.  Impeccable Japanese intonation.

                               GIN (brightly, subtitled Japanese)
                     Who the fuck am I?

                               MAC (subtitled Japanese)
                     That is of no interest.

     Oh.  In spite of herself, she looks a little hurt.

                               GIN (subtitled Japanese)
                     What, then?

                               MAC (subtitled Japanese)
                     Why.  Are we speaking.  Japanese?

     Her eyes move across his formidable face.

                     Uh.  I'm showing off.

     His eyes scan the length of her gown.  Her body.

                     Something of a habit?

     She is minus a comeback.

                     You know the alleged value of this
                     piece from some fucking computer,
                     which has no clue of the price I
                     can turn the scroll around for in
                     30 minutes.

     A beat.

                     No, you can't.

     He blinks.  No?

                               GIN (really sorry)
                     It's sold.

     His great head WHIPS around to see Madame Mao KISSING her pooch,
     flushed with victory.  He stares for a long moment, a veneer of
     philosophical almost masking his rage.  When he turns back...

                     Are you a confederate of my
                     adversaries?  Or are you just

     And walks.  Away.

     HOLD on her.  Feeling like both.


     Mac among the guests awaiting their cars, standing slightly apart.
     From behind him...

     ...a feminine throat clears.  Nervously.  He closes his eyes for a
     beat.  Then, turns.

                               GIN (softly)
                     How about.  If I try humility.

     And presents a business card to him with both hands, Japanese-
     style.  Mac looks in her eyes.  Takes the card with both hands.

                     Virginia Romay...

                     Gin, actually, Gin Romay.  I
                     was named after a card game.

                     Or a cheap cocktail.

     She blinks.  His brows raise...

                               MAC (softly)
                     As in.  I'll have a Gin Romay,
                     please.  With a twist.

     That laser, unsmiling stare.  Beyond sexy.  She gets lost in it for
     a beat.

                     You're supposed to be charming.

                     I'm supposed to be selective.

     Glances back to her card.  Reads...

                     Art and Antiquities Acquisition
                     Advisor, how alliterative...

     Looks up.  Still no smile.

                     And am I the antiquity?

                     In mint condition.

     She sighs.  Achingly lovely.

                     Look, I've studied you, I know...
                     pretty much...everything.

     Do you.

                     Made your first millions selling
                     scrap metal.  Then, gold mining
                     concessions, gems, art, and lately
                     strategic metals for new technologies
                     - platinum, zirconium, titanium...

                     You said.  Everything.

     Huh?  Oh.

                     The cat burglar stories?  Why
                     would anyone...with so much to
                     lose...take those kinds of risks?

     Guileless smile.

                     You'd have to be.  Stupid.

     A held beat.  His glance lifts beyond her shoulder.

                     Excuse me.

     And walks off toward a sleek custom TOURING CAR just pulling up.
     She goes after him.

                     I didn't know Porsche made
                     things like this.

                     Well, they don't...

     Tipping the valet.  Sliding in...

            a rule.

     Shutting the door.  Through the open window, she hands something
     from her bag.  A plastic rectangle which OPENS into a slide viewer.
     She presses the light ON.  He looks at the slide.

                     Recognize that?

     No reaction.

                     My seller is in Shinjuku, we can
                     go there tonight.

     She leans closer.

                     He wants 4.6 million.  I can
                     get it for three.

     He hands it back.  Looks in her eyes.

                     No, you can't.

     And TAKES OFF.  Her jaw drops slightly, but in one fluid motion...

     She's hailed a cab.


     Graceful, timeless room, designed by Frank Lloyd Wright in the
     '20s.  Burnished.  Elegant.  Way cool.  A place to drink, to deal,
     to dream.  PAN down the polished surface of the bartop, til we
     come to...

     ...a tropical DRINK.  Cute little umbrella, tilted back toward the
     room.  ROTATE ANGLE to see...

     ...INSIDE the umbrella, something small, something mechanical.  A
     woman's HAND ADJUSTS the point of the umbrella ever so slightly,
     and we PAN UP her arm to see...

     ...Gin.  Still in her gown.  She is reading, with half-glasses, and
     one of the bows curls around her ear, which we CLOSE on to hear...

     ...static.  Gin adjusts the drink umbrella, which is a directional
     mike, and hears...

                               MAC (O.S.)
                     ...only it's not bloody football!

     SNAP to Mac's table, well across the room.  Drinking giant beers
     with a large, really fat Japanese guy in a costly; if wrinkled,
     suit.  The hulk listens with stone attention to Mac's rant, as if
     he actually gave a shit.

                               MAC (O.S.)
           's just that crap Americans
                     call 'football', like you could
                     call your ass a butterscotch scone
                     and have it be one!

     The guy nods seriously.  Maybe he's a Sumo dude.

                     Why you'd want to bring that
                     foolishness to Japan, you're
                     just pissing your investment
                     down a bungee hole.

                               SUMO GUY (major accent)
                     You got Cubano this trip?

     That he does.  Mac pulls out a leather cigar holder, and passes it
     over.  Flat against one side is an ENVELOPE, which Sumo Guy PALMS
     skillfully, slipping it seamlessly INTO his pocket as he withdraws
     a small MATCH BOX.  Takes out one long cigar, lights up...

                     Seriously, put the money into
                     pharmaceuticals or prostitution,
                     something stable.

     The big guy pushes the cigar holder and match box back toward Mac.
     Opening the box, Mac sees one match and a small MICROCHIP fastened
     to the cardboard.  Lights up.  Slides the match box in his pocket.

                     Garbage, perhaps.  Or industrial

     ANGLE...Gin still engrossed in her reading.  A figure leans down
     next to her.  She startles, slightly.  So surprised to see...

                     My favorite thing in life.

     She gives him the great smile.

                     I'm staying here, what's your

     And now he smiles.  First time ever.  A little chilling, the way he
     does it.

                     Staying here, as well.  You
                     are in room...?

                               GIN (half a beat)
                     One thirty-eight.

     In one motion, he flags the bartender...

                     Will you send a half-bottle of
                     Chateau d'Yquem '67 to Room 138,
                     please?  And some berries and
                     chocolates for the lady to enjoy
                     it with.

     He presses some currency into the barkeep's hand.  Turning back...

                     Actually, I was just across the
                     room, dickering with a gentleman
                     over the purchase of an interesting
                     Spitzweg.  Until I determined the
                     painting was apparently stolen...

     Oh.   She's shocked.  He agrees...

                     Goes against my grain.  The
                     DeKooning in your slide, the 4.6
                     million you can get for 3.  Can
                     you get it for 2 and a half?

     She looks in his eyes.


     And as if he believed her...

                     My checkbook is in my safe.  You
                     wait here.

     His smile evaporates.  He is gone before she can say...

                     Okay.  I'll wait here.


     Mac driving in silence.  Gin stealing glances at him.  Suddenly and
     smoothly, he reaches down, and picks up...

                     That's my purse.

     He opens it.  One eye on the road, he begins to rummage...

                     Just want to see if I'm with the
                     person you say you are.  Can't be
                     too caref...

     She SNATCHES the bag away from him, he GRABS it back, the car
     SWERVES LEFT, and...

     ...CRASHES VIOLENTLY into a parked pure white Bentley.  Metal
     BUCKLES and TEARS, both ALARMS go OFF, a cacophony of horrific

                               MAC (quietly)
                     Oh, dear.

     People come RUNNING, but our focus is drawn to the refined elderly
     COUPLE who were just returning to their precious Bentley.  Their
     WAILS and ANGUISH would be suitable if all their grandchildren had
     been crushed beneath Mac's wheels.

     Mac and Gin are OUT of the car.  As he exits, Mac has palmed a
     small BLADE, and in a quick unseen motion, RIPPED a jagged tear
     in his left trouser leg.  The old couple RUSH to Mac, SHRIEKING
     their rage and grief in Japanese, Gin is trying to calm them as
     bystanders gather, but Mac cuts through...

                               MAC (subtitled Japanese)
                     We'll go in there, and call
                     the police.

     And HOBBLES off toward the nearest building, a block-square
     30-story skyscraper bearing the name FUJITSU.  The couple, the
     crowd, all race after the limping Mac...

                     Are you all right?

     No answer, he looks dark enough to rain.  INTO the public lobby of
     the huge industrial complex.  Two night GUARDS come hurrying from
     their desk, as the small mob POURS in.  Mac in the lead, a
     commanding presence, tells the guards in a loud, clear voice...

                               MAC (subtitled Japanese)
                     I have damaged the car of these
                     kind people.  Please help them
                     call the police...

     One guard leads the hysterical couple toward a phone.  Mac pulls up
     his trouser leg, and Gin GASPS to see a bloody GASH.  Mac drops the
     trouser back over the wound.  Asks the remaining guard...

                               MAC (subtitled Japanese)
                     May I use a washroom, please.

     The guard nods absently, disoriented by the chaos.  Mac hands his
     billfold to Gin...

                     These are my papers, passport, car
                     registration.  If the police arri...

                     You're going to need stitches,
                     let me get you to a hospital.

     Soft words, genuine concern.  And his eyes flicker.  As if somehow
     seeing her for the first time.  A small spark, but she feels it.
     Softer still...

                     Really, this can all wait.
                     I'll handle it.

     The look holds.

                     That's actually.  Very sweet.

     His first real smile.  It was worth waiting for.

                               MAC (to a guard, subtitled Japanese)
                     Might you have a First Aid kit,
                     of some kind?


     We are inside an empty, closed, Japanese-style toilet stall.
     Porcelain foot rests.  A hole.  The door BURSTS OPEN, and...

     ...Mac enters FAST with the First Aid kit, locking the door,
     hitting the STOPWATCH on his wrist, which begins counting at
     ZERO.  He pulls UP his trouser leg, revealing the bloody gash,
     and simply...

     ...RIPS the entire wound OFF, the rubbery prosthetic wound DANGLES,
     dripping its phony blood.  Mac pulls gauze strips from the kit,
     SOAKS them in bogus gore, expertly WRAPS his leg, then FLUSHES the
     prosthetic DOWN the hole.

     He pulls off the FUJITSU VISITOR badge clipped to his lapel, and
     from a Ziploc bag slides a small sheet of plastic, which he PRESSES
     to the face of the badge, fitting perfectly, turning the badge
     into... EMPLOYEE I.D., the name KAWAKUBO, M., the PHOTO of a surly
     Japanese male.  Quickly, Mac takes out the MATCH BOX from the hotel
     bar, and with a fine tweezers gently removes the MICROCHIP, placing
     it INSIDE the badge, activating it with a soft BEEP-BEEP.  He
     reaches now...

     ...behind his back, up UNDER his tux jacket, and RIPS FREE a
     tightly-compressed PACK of what seems white paper or cloth.  He
     SNAPS it loose, revealing it to be...

     ...a baggy CLEAN SUIT, not unlike hospital scrubs and falling to
     the floor...

     ...a white HOOD.  With opaque tinted VISOR.


     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... 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
     eerie red light.  He begins to...

     ...shimmy, crawl, squirm along the length of the tube.  Gas too
     thick to see the end.  He is agile as a commando, hauling ass, when

     ...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
     here, but Mac...

     ...WHIPS out something coiled, SNAPS it to full length, revealing a
     strip of shiny black SATIN CLOTH.  Three feet long, little more
     than an inch wide.  Carefully, Mac lays the strip down directly
     OVER the row of microchips.  And when he lifts it UP again...

     ...the chips have ADHERED to the underside of the cloth.  In one
     deft SNAP of his wrist, he COILS the cloth again, like a yo-yo.
     Turns to leave, and...

     Oh, yeh.

     Tosses a small SACK of something where the chips used to be.  TIM'S


     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...

     A hand.  Touches his shoulder

                               VOICE (subtitled Japanese)
                     Excuse me.

     Mac turns, stares through his opaque VISOR at a well-built SECURITY
     OFFICER.  Dead straight eyes.

                               OFFICER (subtitled Japanese)
                     The company picnic.  Saturday or

     His eyes cut to the flyer Mac is 'reading'.  Mac hands it to him,
     and without a trace of Scottish accent...

                               MAC (subtitled Japanese)
                     Better eat first.


     Gin is up to her ears in grief.  There are no less than five COPS
     grilling her, taking notes, while the old couple has their second
     wind and are SHRIEKING in top form.  The bystander gallery has
     grown to maybe three dozen, and they're all getting their word in.
     As Gin struggles to cope...

     ...she keeps looking at the clock.  Darting glances toward the
     corridor.  She is freaking out.

     Finally.  She can't stand it.  Hands Mac's billfold to one of the
     cops, pushes her way through the mob, and...

     ...TAKES OFF down the corridor, a security guard in belated
     pursuit, we go...

     ...WITH her DOWN the hallway, WHEEL around a corner, flat-out
     SPRINTING, SKIDS to a stop at the right doorway and BURSTS INTO...


     An empty washroom.  She listens.  Nothing.

                     Mr. MacDougal?  Sir?

     No sound.  Uh-oh.

                     Uh.  Mr. Ma...

                               MAC (O.S., from the stall)
                     Just 'Mac'.  And whatever became
                     of a gentleman's privacy?

     The security guard BARGES IN.

                               MAC (O.S.)
                     My God, more females?

     The guard starts railing at Gin a mile a minute.  She calmly takes
     a WAD of bills from her purse.  Hands them to the guy...

                               GIN (subtitled Japanese)
                     Stand outside.  That door.  Two

     He does.  Alone again.

                     I was worried, it's been twenty...

                               MAC (O.S.)
                     Eighteen, actually.  The leg is
                     fine, but I got sort of...woozy.


                               MAC (O.S.)
                     Lost my stomach once or twice.

     CUT INSIDE the stall.  He is just re-taping the folded clean suit
     and hood to the small of his back.

                     I'm an old man.  You probably

     Awkward silence.  He smiles at that, much amused.  Slips on his

                     You should see me without
                     my teeth.

     UNLOCKS the door.  Remembers...

                     Ah.  Mustn't forget to zip up.

     That's not what he forgot.  He pulls OUT the coiled black satin
     cloth strip, SNAPS it free, microchips snug to the underside.  And
     fits it neatly...

     ...DOWN his trouser leg.  The perfect tuxedo stripe.

     OUT the door.  To meet her gaze.

                     Odd place, this.

     He goes to her.  Offers his arm.

                     What do you suppose they make
                     here?  Video recorders?

     She takes it, wrapping both hers through.

                     Microchips, I think, for computers.

     He opens the door.  Ushers her through...

                     Bad investment.  The best ones
                     are here today...

     Follows her out...

                               MAC (O.S.)
                     Gone tomor...

     Closed door.  Quiet.


     They sit together in the rear of the taxi, as it makes its way
     through late night traffic.  She is looking around.

                     This isn't the way to my sel...

                               MAC (quietly)
                     I've changed my mind.

     Looking straight ahead.  Contemplative.  She stares at his

                     Mind telling me why?

                     You can't get it for me at 2.5,
                     can you?

                     Well, we can tr...

                     You were setting me up.  The correct
                     price is 2.8.  You conspire with the
                     seller to start at 4.6, so I'll be
                     grateful when you 'bargain' him down
                     to three.  Close enough to fool some
                     people.  unfortunately...

     He sighs.  Never looks at her.

                     I'm old.  I know what everything
                     is worth.

     She keeps staring.

                     So where are we g...

                     I am going to the airport.  You
                     are going on to the rest of your
                     life.  Which...

     He thinks.  Admits...

                     ...should be interesting.

     Her turn to think.

                     You forgot your lugg...

                     The hotels deal with that.  The
                     things I need are always waiting
                     at the next one.
                     I don't carry.  Baggage.

     Little twist on that.

                     Sensible.  And you're off to...?

                     Oh, that's highly personal.

     He still stares straight ahead.  The taxi pulls onto a freeway.
     Toward Narita Airport.  Time running out.  And in her dearest, most
     vulnerable, voice...

                     I did so hope to impress you.

     She puts the fingertips of her left hand.  On his chest.  A
     silence.  No reaction.

                               GIN (hopeful)
                     I'm still hoping...

     And he smiles.  Turns to her eyes.

                     Young lady.  I am old enough to
                     be your grandfather.

     She shakes her head.  Uh-uh.

                               GIN (soft)
                     My father.

     Leans her mouth in for the kill.

                               GIN (whisper)
                     That's part of the rush.

     And softly.  Fits her mouth to his.  The green eyes close, as
     she tastes him.  Nothing predatory in this kiss.  It is tender,
     exquisite.  A kiss of deep longing.  Of true love.

     His arms slip around her.  And in less than five seconds...

                               TAXI DRIVER (O.S., racist accent)
                     Still on fo' airport?

     Nobody.  Says.  Nothin'.


     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...

                     Here.  A reward.

     She curls down into the billowing coverlet, just against his body.
     Sets her things beside him.

                     A reward for what?

                     For not being old.  After all.

     It is a lovely smile.  He studies it for a beat.

                     You mean.  Not as old as I look.

     She traces her finger along his cheek.

                               GIN (a whisper)

     And kisses him.  It takes awhile.  She seems to enjoy it.  With
     him, it's harder to tell.  When she pulls back...

     ...he picks up a chocolate.  Tears it in half.  Offers her the
     larger piece.

                     Do I deserve a reward?

     No answer.  He puts the chocolate into her mouth.  With great
     tenderness, he traces the line of her lower lip.  As she swallows.

                     It's so hard to find good casual
                     sex, anymore.  I'm probably out
                     of practice.

     But he just looks at her.

                     What's hard to find.  Is someone
                     you truly want to be with.

     And leans closer.  Just above a whisper...

                     Even for awhile.

     He kisses her.  Beautiful and deep, the way he does it.  And
     when he pulls back, she is staring at him.  As if at a loss for
     something to say.

                     It's lucky we stopped by my room,
                     for the wine.

     She swallows.  Because his gaze is unrelenting. As if not
     forgetting that she's changed the subject.

                     Otherwise, we'd never have found
                     my bag was stolen.  Until tomorrow.

                     Would that make it more stolen?

     She smiles.  His face looks kind now, not formidable at all.  Maybe
     she's wondering if she actually likes him.

                     They even got my prescriptions.

                     Something you need? There are
                     all-night chemists...

     He does look concerned.  And therefore sweet.  She kisses his nose.

                     I take Prilosec.  For stomach
                     acid.  And an inhaler.  For asthma.

     She gets her old smile.  The soft, wicked tease.

                     But since I didn't have to work
                     all that hard tonight...

     He stares at her.  Cocks a finger, like a gun, right between her
     eyes.  Pantomimes pulling the trigger.

                               GIN (softly)
                     Ouch.  I had that coming.

     She pivots, and snuggles her back comfortably into his chest.  He
     wraps strong arms around her.  Pulling her close.

                     Why would someone steal my luggage?
                     Every guest in this place must
                     have more than a wannabe art dealer.

                     Ah.  Maybe the thief thought you
                     had something valuable in there.

     Something in the tone.

                     Such as...

                     Well.  Wannabe dealers make
                     excellent fences.

     A flicker.  In her eyes.  And she cuddles back.  As if enjoying the

                     He thought I had a stolen
                     painting.  In my bag.

                     I'm joking, of course.

     Kisses the top of her head.

                     The Vermeer wouldn't fit.

     Her eyes widen.  Just a little.

                     Excuse me?

                     Why, did you do something wrong?

     She turns all the way around.  Their faces are inches apart.  Each
     reading the other's eyes.

                     You said.  Vermeer.

                     The most famous painting stolen
                     this week.

     His turn.  To kiss her nose.

                     If you don't keep up on your
                     craft.  You'll miss all the jokes.

     And lowers her gently onto her back.  Still staring in her eyes, he
     winds her legs around him.  Her mouth parts, but...

     ...he fills it with his own.

     This conversation.  Is over.


     VIEW of the empty terrace, the rumpled, twisted coverlet.  Maybe
     they spent all night.  HEAR the shower running full blast in a
     distant bathroom.  PULL BACK to see...

     Gin, hair wet, wrapped in a plush hotel robe, rapidly and expertly
     going through dresser, night stand, closet, sofa cushions, every
     goddam thing in the room.  She comes to...

     ...Mac's tux.  The jacket, rifles the pockets, pats the lining.
     The pants now...

     ...something peculiar. The right leg has no stripe. Touches the
     cloth.  Slightly sticky where the stripe should be.  Odd.

     ANGLE...the bathroom.  Shower running full BLAST.  But there's no
     one in it.

     ANGLE...a storage closet.  Mac crouching in the smallspace.  We
     see the travel bag.  The luggage tag, VIRGINIA ROMAY, a Darien,
     Connecticut address.  The embossed initials VR.  But there is
     something else in Mac's hand...

     ...a prescription bottle.  Prilosec.  And a name, GINGER BAKER.
     Chicago address.  Mac puts the pills in the pocket of his robe...

     ...exits the closet.  Locks the door.

     ANGLE...Mac ambling into the bedroom, toweling his hair with one
     hand.  Holding his billfold in the other.  Gin is starting a room
     service breakfast.  Eggs, sausage, Belgian waffles.  The girl can

                     I'm so glad I didn't leave Tokyo.

     She looks up.  Trademark dry grin...

                     I love a guy who knows how to
                     sweet talk.

     He stands over her.  Smiling.  What he meant was...

                     There was a call.  While you
                     were sleeping.

     A call.

                     An art dealer I know.  He has a
                     Monet.  Minor, but it is Giverny.
                     He'll let me have it for 5.3 million.

     She stares at him.

                               GIN (cautiously)
                     We can maybe beat that.

                               MAC (pulling plastic from his billfold)
                     I agree.  This is a bank debit card.
                     It gives the bearer access to an
                     account containing 4.6 and change.
                     I dislike round numbers.

     And hand. the card to her.  As her eyes move over it...

                     I'd like you to go down there,
                     and pick up the painting.  If
                     that's all right.

     Without looking up...


                     If I'm there, he'll haggle.  You
                     just hand him the debit card, with
                     that...luminous smile.  And say,
                     take it or leave it.

     Now her eyes come up.  She says nothing.  Hesitant.

                     Oh, dear.  I thought you so
                     wanted to make a good impression.

                     Thought I already did th...

                     And along with making an excellent
                     impression.  You will also make 2
                     percent of the purchase price.

     She blinks.

                     That's $92,000.  And change..
                     For two hours work.

     The look holds.  He goes to the desk.  Lifts a cellular phone.
     TOSSES it to her.

                     Any problems.  Just give me
                     a ring.

                     Stolen painting is it?

                     Of course not.

     And on his way out the door...

                     If it was.  I wouldn't pay more
                     than three.


     Gin climbing out of a taxi at a scruffy section of Yokohama's Bund.
     Sleazy shops, pachinko parlors, hostess bars, sidewalk noodle
     counters, all built along a tall rickety PIER nearly thirty feet
     above the pounding surf.  The harbor is gigantic.  Every type and
     size of vessel imaginable.

     Gin carries a long neoprene-covered tube with watertight seals and
     a lightweight bright orange foam cover.  She looks at her slip of
     paper.  Then across at the place...KENDO SOUVENIRS, a schlock
     kickback parlor, with a tourist bus parked out front.

     This can't be right.  Pulls out the cellular phone.  Dials.

                               MAC'S RECORDED VOICE (O.S.)
                     You have reached the voice-mail
                     of AMD Investments.  And, yes,
                     you are at the right place.

     Fucking great.

                               GIN (into phone, pissed)
                     I like men with a sense of humor.
                     This does not qualify.

     SNAPS the phone shut.  Checks the slip again.  Walks firmly across
     the street, through the mobs of tourists, and into...


     The place is huge, ramshackle, loaded with every piece of tourist
     crap imaginable.  The only paintings on display are renderings of
     big cats on black velvet.  She winds her way through, to a counter
     at the back.  One guy there...

                               GIN (subtitled Japanese)
                     May I please speak with Mr. Okati.

                     You doin' it.

     The best we can say for the pudgy, balding fellow in the Hawaiian
     shirt and spectacularly baggy trousers, is that he does not seem to
     be the guy who is selling you a Monet.  Even a minor one.

                     I think there's some mista...

                     You from Mac?

     She stops.  Jesus.  The guy COUGHS horribly.

                     I'm from Mac.

                     Lemme see card.

     She hesitates.

                     Four million, six hundred
                     thirteen thousand, five hundred?

     Wow.  He slaps his hand on the table.  Lay it down, toots.

                     You first.

     He shrugs.  Lifts straight up, from beneath the counter...

     ...a brown paper-wrapped rectangle.  Not much larger than two feet
     square.  She can't even believe she's here, doing this.  Gestures
     to him.  Open it up!

     He obliges, COUGHING grossly all the while.  Unwrapped, the
     painting does look like a Monet.  From here.  She stares at it.

                     Now bring me the real one.

     He doesn't blink.

                     This as real as it gets, lady.

     And from within her pocket.  The cellular RINGS.  She takes it
     out.  Puts it to her ear.

                               MAC (O.S.)
                     You got it?

                               GIN (into phone)
                     Is this an audition, a joke, or
                     a rip-off?  I'm staring at an
                     obvious forgery, here.

                               MAC (O.S.)
                     Turn it over.

     This gives her pause.  Then, cradling the phone against her
     shoulder, she does as she's told.  To see...

                               MAC (O.S.)
                     Is there an envelope?  Taped to
                     the back?  In a Ziploc bag?

     Sure is.

                               GIN (into phone)

                               MAC (O.S.)
                     Detach the bag.  Read what's
                     in it.  Aloud.

     She does.  Carefully unfolding several sheets of paper, maps...

                               GIN (reading into phone)
                     Shikoku Naru, a freighter, it
                     says, Yokohama to Jakarta...dates,
                     statistics...specs on some kind of
                     machine, diag...

                               MAC (O.S.)
                     Papers back in the envelope,
                     envelope back in the Ziploc, very
                     quickly, without seeming to hurry...

     Her eyes are flickering questions, but she does as she's told,
     cradling the phone with her shoulder.

                               MAC (O.S.)
                     Now take the debit card from your
                     purse, slipping the Ziploc into the
                     purse as you do it, shielding the move
                     from everyone in the room but Okati.

     And she does.  More deftly than we could ever have imagined.  Like
     a pro.

                               MAC (O.S., quietly)
                     Give him the card.

     A beat.

                               GIN (into phone)
                     Mac, the painting's a forg...

                               MAC (O.S., even quieter)
                     This is a test.  Of whether you'll
                     still be alive four minutes from
                     now.  Do you hear me?

     Her face freezes.  In a pleasant smile.

                               GIN (into phone)
                     Yes, Mac, I do.

                               MAC (0.5.)
                     Now.  Hand him the card, and tell
                     him in Japanese to pretend he is
                     checking it by phone.  Tell him to
                     take awhile, as if he's on hold.

     She turns the sweet plastic smile to Okati.  Hands him the card...

                               GIN (subtitled Japanese)
                     Mac says, pretend you're checking
                     this by phone, and take your ti...

                               OKATI (subtitled Japanese)
            I'm on hold, sure.

     And suddenly, his eyes are keen and quick, and he is no longer some
     schmuck in baggy pants.  He takes the card, stares at it comically,
     picks up the phone.

                               MAC (O.S.)
                     While he's checking, look around
                     the room casually, as if searching
                     for the cheesy handbags...

     She begins to.

                               MAC (O.S.)
                     All the while laughing, as if you
                     are chatting with someone you
                     actually like.

                               GIN (into phone)
                     I'm not that good.

     But she is.  And she laughs, as she strolls over to the cheesy

                               MAC (O.S.)
                     As you're looking around, do you
                     notice any m...

                               GIN (into phone)
                     Three guys, two together, one
                     alone.  Cheap suits, not looking
                     at me in a cop-casual way.

                               MAC (O.S.)
                     Call out cheerily to Okati, in
                     English, 'Where's the toilet?'

                               GIN (into phone)
                     Can I say, 'little girl's room'?

     A beat.

                               MAC (O.S.)
                     Wing it.

                               GIN (calls out, cheerily)
                     WHERE'S THE CRAPPER?

     Okati, absorbed by his make-believe phone call, points around the

                               MAC (O.S.)
                     Get going.  Now.

                               GIN (into phone, as she saunters)
                     Mac, the painting isn't...

                               MAC (O.S.)
                     You've got what we bought, are
                     you out of their sight?

     She turns the corner.  Filthy corridor.  Restrooms at opposite

                               MAC (O.S.)
                     Run into the men's toilet.
                     I know you know how.

     A beat of uncertainty.  She looks both ways.

                               MAC (O.S., ominous)
                     Are you running?

     And she DOES.  SPRINTING down the garbage-strewn hallway, throws
     OPEN the men's room door, BURSTING IN on...

     ...a wispy OLD GUY taking a leak through a HOLE in the floor.

                               GIN (subtitled Japanese)
                     GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!

     The panicked little man STARTLES.  Bolts OUT the door.

                               MAC (O.S.)

     Jump?  HEAR now, from the corridor, footfalls POUNDING.  She looks
     down through the piss hole.  The surf ROILS thirty feet below.

                               GIN (into phone)
                     It's too small.

                               MAC (O.S.)
                     The window, twit!

     Oh.  She hops OVER the disgusting hole, boosts herself UP to the
     small window, footfalls racing CLOSER, HOISTS herself HALFWAY
     through, DROPPING the phone a scary 30 feet to the surf below, as
     behind her, the door...

     ...SLAMS OPEN and she FLIES OUT the window...


     WITH her in SLO-MO, kicking and flailing and grasping her shoulder
     bag, and she...

     HITS the ocean like a ton of bricks.  Disappears.  Comes up,
     sputtering in the swirling water, as from out of the shadows of
     the pilings... engine ROARS to life, the BLUR of a custom JETSKI, Mac
     reaching to scoop the startled girl OUT of the water, and they...

     ...BLAST OFF, as bullets RAIN helplessly after them.  The AGENTS
     shouting into their cellulars, racing in frustration down the pier,
     which rapidly vanishes behind us, as...

     ...Gin hangs onto Mac for dear life.  This baby is REALLY hauling.
     He wears an orange waterproof slicker with matching trousers.
     Shouts back, against the noise...

                     ARE YOU PISSED OFF?

     She thinks.  Admits, shouting in his ear...

                     ACTUALLY.  IT'S INCREDIBLY COOL!

     He is heading into deep water, a major shipping channel, points to
     one side, and she sees...

     ...a huge HARBOR PATROL vessel FIRE UP in near distance.  The chase
     is ON.  They speed toward the WAKE of a luxury liner, and as she

                     OH NOOOOOO...

     They SLAM INTO the wake HEAD ON, and are AIRBORNE for an amazing
     distance, JOLTING back to the surface, RACING toward...

     ...two gigantic FREIGHTERS which approach each other from opposite
     directions.  The Harbor Patrol in hot pursuit, BLASTING its HORN...

                     WE'RE GONNA DIE, AREN'T WE?

                     JUST AS SOON AS I'M READY!

     As we near the outbound freighter, Mac CUTS his speed.  Now the
     Harbor Patrol is really gaining.

                     FASTER, NOT SLOWER, YOU TWIT!!

                     HAVE TO GIVE THEM A SPORTING

     Cruising STRAIGHT TOWARD the part side of the outbound freighter,
     as the inbound freighter begins to pass it on the far side...

                     ...SOMETHING WE SCOTS LEARNED
                     FROM THE BRITS!

     As the Harbor Patrol is nearly ON them, Mac VEERS suddenly AROUND
     the stern of the outbound freighter, the Harbor patrol WHEELING
     madly to pursue, only to find we are both CAREENING straight AT...

     ...the starboard side of the inbound freighter, Mac CUTS his wheel
     in an adroit nearly right-angle SWERVE, and hears the SCREAMS as
     the Harbor patrol...

     PLOWS INTO the freighter!  Wasting no time, he ACCELERATES into
     maximum BURN, STREAKING toward the immensely crowded harbor and its
     thousand vessels.  Gin can't help but look back at the impressive
     crash site, mouthing a silent WOW.

     Nearing the harbor, Mac CUTS speed completely, drifting between two
     huge ships and...

     ...vanishing from sight.


     The tiny Jetski cruises in a quiet channel, crowded with vessels of
     all sizes, tugs, fishing boats, pleasure craft, junks, sampans, all
     larger than we are.  Gin clings close to Mac, although it is no
     necessary.  More like romantic.  She is still flushed with
     the rush.

                     I guess you're gonna explain
                     all this, huh?

     But he says nothing.  Pulls out a water-tight duffle.  Hands it
     back to her, without looking.

                     Dry clothes, you'll need them.
                     In five minutes.

     She takes the bag, confused.

                     I'm supposed to change?  Here??

                     I won't look.  Gentleman's word
                     of hon...

                     There are a million sailors!

                     I've seen you naked.  Give the
                     boys a thrill.

     He means it.

                     You probably won't be dating
                     any of them, so what the hell.

     Gin looks around as they float through the maze of watercraft.  No
     one seems to be paying much attention.  What the hell.  She unzips
     the bag, pulling out...

                               GIN (astonished)
                     These...these are mine!

     He never looks around.

                     Found 'em in your room.  Perhaps
                     the thief wasn't your size.

     She stares at the back of his head.  wondering.  He is stripping
     off his slickers.  A neatly-tailored SUIT beneath.

                     We have a business appointment.
                     In four minutes.

     Okay.  She pulls her dress off OVER her head.

                     Business, huh?

     She ignores some nearby WHISTLES and SHOUTS.  Begins drying herself
     with a fluffy towel from the bag.

                               MAC (never turns)
                     Time has come to tell you.  What
                     business.  I'm actually in.

     Uh-oh.  Paydirt.

                     Uh.  Am I gonna like th...

                               MAC (quietly)
                     I'm a thief.

     She can scarcely believe he's admitting this.

                     And now that I've told you.
                     I'll have to kill you.

     He chuckles a Scottish chuckle.  Cold and warm, at once.


     She slips the dry dress OVER her head.

            can spend the most
                     interesting three weeks of
                     your life.  Training.

                     Training for wha...

                     ...followed by the most exciting
                     night of your life.  After which,
                     you can walk away with 20 million
                     untraceable dollars...

     She blinks.  He means this.

                     ...which will come in handy.
                     Things being what they are.

     He shrugs.

                     From now on.  You can valet park.

     She begins taking off her wet underwear, underneath the dress.  We
     suspect unseen hordes crestfallen at her modesty.

                     And if I refuse?

                               MAC (very quietly)
                     Don't.  Please.

                     I mean, you won't really kill
                     me, I'm far too adorable.

     He looks around at her.  As if deciding on that.

                     Last night, at Fujitsu, I did
                     some business.  While you thought
                     I was in the toilet.


                     What could you possibly steal
                     in 18 min...

                     Thirty-five super-microchips.
                     Each worth one million dollars.
                     And change.

     Staring dead at her eyes.

                     You hate round num...

                     I stole your suitcase when I
                     left you at the bar.  I have
                     since sent it on to the States,
                     with three chips, well hidden.

     Are you following?

                     Since you aren't there to claim
                     it, the bag will sit at Customs.
                     Safe.  Unless...

     No smile.  No smile at all.

                     They receive.  An anonymous.  Tip.

     Holy.  Fucking.  Christ.

                     That's entrapment.

                     No, entrapment is what cops do
                     to robbers.

     We can feel her heart pounding from here.

                     Blackmail.  Is what robbers
                     do to schmucks.

     And leans.  To kiss her mouth.

                               MAC (softly)
                     Even adorable ones.

     They have glided up beside the gangway of a gigantic FREIGHTER.  It
     is at water level, the steps they use for their tender.  He points
     up to the name...

                     Pop quiz.

     SHIKOKU MARU.  She nods, slowly.  Pulls the Ziploc bag from her
     purse.  Hands it over.  He removes the sheets of paper.  Begins to
     peruse them...

                     Admit it's a rush.  The best day
                     of your heretofore drab life.

                     Fuck you.

     He glances up.

                     ...accompanied by related foreplay.

     And gives him the smile. What a gal.

     He offers his hand.  She rises, hops lightly to the steps of the
     gangway in her bare feet.  He pulls dry shoes from the duffle.  And
     as she slips them on...

     ...he FLIPS a switch, and the Jetski begins to FILL with water, Mac
     stepping to the gangway beside her.  They watch...

     ...the Jetski rapidly SINK out of sight.

     No evidence.  A thorough guy.


     Mac and Gin stand inside a gigantic CARGO BAY, watching massive
     CONTAINERS being loaded by crane from a dock, through the gaping
     HATCH.  The chamber is a vaulted cathedral of steel, painted
     hospital green, and Mac's eye moves over all of it, seeming to
     inspect every plate, every pan head rivet.

                               VOICE (O.S., British cheer)
                     Hullo, there!

     They turn to see a round little man with watering eyes and a very
     wide necktie, skipping-down the iron steps.  Bursting with a
     salesman's bonhomie, he extends a plump hand...

                     Nickerson Carlsby, Mr...
                     MacDuff, yes?

                     Banquo MacDuff.  This is my
                     associate-fiancee, Ms. Duncan.

     The little man pauses.  A tic in the well-oiled smile...

                     That is...fiancee and assoc...

                               GIN (cheery herself)
                     I'm a hyphenate.

     Ah.  Like that makes complete sense.  Fingers the gardenia in his

                     Well, it's a pleasure, in this
                     alien place, to do business with
                     a countryman.

                     I'm a Scot.  It's a different
                     country.  Culturally and historically.

     I see.

                               CARLSBY (looking around)
                     Well.  They've brought you to
                     quite the wrong place, I see.

                               MAC (looking around)
                     Thank God.

     ANGLE...Carlsby leads the way along a narrow catwalk, which ends at
     a steel door.  He presses his thumb to the I.D. panel, and speaks
     into the voice box...

                               CARLSBY (confidential code-voice)
                     In Penny Lane, the barber shaves
                     another customer...

     The door CLANGS open.  They go through it, as a gangway leads
     toward an open five-foot-thick VAULT DOOR, where two ARMED GUARDS
     rise from their seats.  Carlsby ignores them as if they were
     furniture.  THUMPS the door...

                     Five feet thick with hidden rein-
                     forcements, no way to drill through!

                               GIN (authoritative)

                     Only the tip of our security
                     iceberg.  See these two Brinks

     They do.

                     The Captain keeps one key.  The
                     other is continually forwarded:
                     to the Chief of Security at next
                     port.  There is no way to enter
                     during voyage.

                     I like this.

     Carisby glances to Mac.  He is stone.

                     The best armed guard, rotated every
                     six hours.  A redundancy, of course,
                     but we would rather be safe three
                     times over than merely two.

                     Sound mathematics.

                               MAC (very quiet)
                     What if there's a fire?  In the

     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...

                     Sprinklers.  New design.  Incredible
                     power.  The entire chamber is water-
                     proof, fireproof, airtight.  If the
                     ship sinks, God forfend, your cargo
                     is secure for salvage.

     No reaction.  Mac does not look convinced.

                     And your cargo is...?



                     The bloody Japs bought up half
                     the premium clarets in the universe.
                     You may have heard.

     Actually.  He has.

                     I'm in charge of shipping some
                     14,000 bottles, most quite rare,
                     to a number of premium hotels in
                     Hong Kong, Bangkok, Singapore,
                     Phuket, and Penang.

     Carlsby gets the romance of it all.

                     All of which are destinations on
                     your October voyage.  Five months
                     from now.  However...

     And turns to the man.  With laser, disapproving eyes.

                     Wine.  Doesn't prefer.  To be

     The man beams.  Gestures to a series of PLATFORMS, each SWAYING at
     different heights, in different directions.

                     Our 'delicate treasure' platforms,
                     suspended on gimbals.  Your cargo
                     remains unruffled by roiling seas.
                     Then, on arrival, is plucked...

     Pointing once more...

                     By that forklift, and gently
                     deposited on dock through the
                     cargo hatch...

     ...a huge circular hatch cut into the hull.  Mac's eyes stare
     blankly at it.  A long beat.  He pronounces it all...

                     Adequate.  I suppose.

     And then turns once more.

                     Did we see...a bathing pool.
                     On deck?

                     Oh, yes, sir.  The Shikoku Maru
                     carries sixteen luxury suite pas-
                     senger cabins.  The finest cuisine.
                     For valued clients who prefer to
                     cruise in privacy.

     Mac.  Thinks this over.

                     Mildly.  Interesting.


     Carlsby ushering the couple along a plushly-appointed hallway.  A
     secret oasis of refinement in the heart of the massive freighter.
     He opens a burnished door, into... elegant SUITE.  Cherrywood panels, spacious windows with
     views of the harbor.  The finest furnishings.  It is breathtaking.

                     Adequate.  I suppose.

                     But dearest, in five months,
                     we'll be in Cape Town.

     Mac pulls from his pocket the folded sheets that had once been
     taped to the back of Okati's Monet.  Peruses them casually.

                     Anything sooner?  That goes
                     perhaps from...say, Sri Lanka?
                     To Jakarta.

     And looks up.  To a man dumbstruck.  By coincidence.

                     Why, yes.  In three weeks.


     Looking DOWN on California's San Joaquin Valley from 12,000 feet,
     as air RUSHES past our open door.

                               MAC (O.S.)
                     You seem depressed.

     PULL BACK to see them both in jumping suits.  He's checking her
     gear.  She's eyeing the expansive grid of fields below.

                     At your insistence, I'm leaping
                     to my death, and I don't know why!

     He clips a tether from his harness to hers.

                     Because.  You're a greedy girl.

                     I'm not jumping until you talk
                     about this, it's been two days!

     She folds her arms across her chest.  Rebellious.  He smiles at her
     tenderly.  Nods, okay.

                     Why are we going in three weeks,
                     if the wine is on a different
                     route months lat...

                     There is no wine.  That just bought
                     us a look at their security.

     She stares at him.

                     I knew that.

                     What we want is on the boat in
                     three weeks.  Now can we jump?

                     The machine in those diagrams.  on
                     the back of the painting.

     Maybe.  He's still smiling.

                     What does it do, make gold?

                     We're nearing the targ...

                     Why won't you trust me?

                     How do I know who you are, hmmn?

     Stares in her eyes.

                     For all I know, your name isn't
                     Virginia Romay.  Maybe you're
                     a cop.

     She stares back.  Dead straight.

                     Why would a cop do all th...

                               MAC (softly)
                     Entrapment, remember? What cops
                     do to robbers.

                               GIN (just as softly)
                     Oh.  That.

     His smile is light, affectionate.  Gently, he backs her to the edge
     of the doorway...


     She THROWS her arms around his neck.  Holds him close.

                     Mac, I'm afraid.

     Vulnerable and touchingly real.  His arms slide around her.

                     Of you.

                               MAC (a murmur)
                     Smart girl.

     And JUMPS, Gin SHRIEKING in his arms, as we...

     FOLLOW them, TUMBLING in FREE FALL, until he releases her, and bot
     EXTEND their arms and legs, as if flying, as if gliding face down,
     her shriek CONTINUING.  He floats at the end of their tether, a few
     feet above her.  And at last...

     ...her SCREAMING STOPS.  We see the pure adrenaline rush.  Shouts

                     NEXT TIME, I'M ON TOP!


     Woods, rolling hills, a dirt path.  Mac stands by a sign at a
     crossroads, names, arrows, STINSON BEACH, BOLINAS, MT. TAMALPAIS,
     MILL VALLEY.  There is a phone booth nearby.  He holds a stopwatch,
     looking down the path, as...

     ...Gin runs into view, steady stride, breathing hard, sheened with
     sweat.  Approaching him, she slows to a stop.  Hands on her knees,
     catching her wind. He CLICKS the watch.

                     Consistent.  And rather impressive.

     She sends a nasty smile, thanks a bunch.  But maybe she likes the
     compliment, after all.


     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
     the end of a short pole.

                     All right, six and seven...

     She blinks the spray from her eyes, and deftly SEARS the wire
     dividing those two numbers on the board.  As Mac keeps waving it,
     she goes off line.  Concentrates.  Gets it right.  The wire PEELS

                     Three and four...


     CLOSE on Gin operating a small steamshovel with a loading
     attachment on the front.  It is mounted with two 2 x 4's, set
     close together, protruding from the loader.  She maneuvers the
     wooden prongs toward a pile of big rocks.  But as she positions
     to scoop one up, her vehicle SWAYS WILDLY, and we PULL BACK to
     see it is...

     ...dangling from a CRANE, operated by Mac.  Gin stays with it,
     concentrates, and on the next pass she glides her boards UNDER a
     huge rock, LIFTING it awkwardly.  Ignoring the bumpy ride, she
     pivots, and deposits her prize in place atop what has become...

     ...a WALL of stones.

                     What the hell are we building?

     He gives this some reflection.

                     A chalet, I think.  Or an outhouse.


     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

                     Forty seconds.

     And she FLIPS OVER, submerging her head and torso, and we go...
     ...WITH her underwater, upside-down in the kayak, she STRUGGLES to
     FREE a group of tools which are tethered to her wetsuit.  Fumbling
     to BREAK the seal on a slender TUBE, which BURSTS, sending a GLOW
     of yellow-green LIGHT in all directions.  She fits the flexible
     tube around her head like a headlamp, pulling out...

     ...a small ELECTRIC FAN with side HANDGRIPS of black metal.
     Buffeted by the current, Gin manages to flip a small switch on the
     housing of the fan, and...

     ...nothing happens.  Again.  Nothing.  And again.  SHIT!  With a
     supreme effort, she tries to ROLL herself upright, but...

     ...can't quite make it.  Blind PANIC now, blowing bubbles, FLAILING
     at the kayak, which suddenly...

     ROLLS upright, manipulated by Mac.  She sputters and tries to
     THROW the tethered fan at him, but it snaps back and SLAMS her
     across the shoulder.  She is furious.

                     Get your fucking equipment
                     together, man, this is a
                     professional operation!!


     Gin in a clearing, arms at her sides, a determined look.  Mac is
     somewhere just behind us.

                               MAC (O.S.)
                     This time, when you raise your
                     arm.  Don't breathe.

     She nods, got it.  Focused.  suddenly, in the clearing before her,
     a HOSTAGE SILHOUETTE TARGET pops up, the outline of a terrorist
     shielding himself with a hostage, Gin's arm rising with a BLUR

     ...BLAMM, BLAMM, BLAMM!!!  The paper terrorist is NAILED in the
     head.  Two out of three.  She lets out a thin stream of air.  Proud
     of herself, but too cool to gloat.

                     Very, very nice.  Had a tour
                     with the Mosad, did you?

     She turns slowly.

                     Where does this fit in the
                     game plan?

     His enigmatic, yet fond, smile.

                     Oh, it doesn't.  But one
                     never knows...

     A quiet wink.

                     You might need it with me.


     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...


                     Shit. she TUMBLES eighteen feet to...

     DISAPPEAR in an ocean of STYROFOAM packing bubbles, which EXPLODE
     in all directions like popcorn in a nuclear accelerator.

     She has totally VANISHED.  Buried alive.

                               GIN (O.S.)
                     DID I SAY SHIT?

     Mac is wading into the sea of plastic bits, DIGGING her body out
     with his bare hands.  Once more, she comes up sputtering.

                     This one, I will not get!

     He's holding her in his arms.  Leans close.

                     But you will, you'll get it all.
                     You are actually...

     He kisses her.

                     Quite remarkable.

     Something in the way he looks at her.  Her return gaze is naked.
     It looks like love.

                     Take the rest of the evening off.

     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
     open laptop, is...

     ...Mac's stopwatch.  He glances up at it.  What he sees makes him
     reach into a duffle at his feet, withdraw...

     ...a rectangular gun-metal gray DEVICE.  Looks like a cross between
     a remote control clicker and a large cell phone.  Turns it ON.  The
     power display GLOWS green.


     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...

                               OVERLAPPING VOICES (O.S.)
                     ...told you it's not a good time
                     f...either, personally, I've never
                     liked h...Giants' pitching, once
                     ag...late, you want the Chronicle
                     or don't y...


     Gin at the phone.  Inserts her credit card.  Catches her breath.


     Mac HEARS a phone RINGING over the scanner.  Punches RECORD, PLUGS
     the scanner INTO his laptop.

                               VOICE (O.S.)
                     Webber Assurance.

                               GIN (O.S.)
                     This is oh-four-six-one.  Hector
                     Cruz, please, on a secure line.

                               VOICE (O.S.)
                     Please hold.

     Mac's laptop screen in printing.  WEBBER ASSURANCE...HECTOR CRUZ...

                               VOICE (O.S.)
                     Go ahead, please.

                               GIN (O.S.)
                     Thank y...

     The line goes DEAD.

     So do Mac's eyes.  Click the scanner OFF.


     Gin in her throaty, playful voice...

            way I'm telling you shit.

                               CRUZ (O.S.)
                     Baker, this is an extremely
                     dangerous g...

                    ...right now, you're more dangerous
                    than he is.

     A pause.  Her voice is smiling.  Not her eyes.

                               CRUZ (O.S.)
                    You want to explain th...

                    If I tell you what this is, and
                    where this is, you'll send back-up,
                    and those morons will blow my cover,
                    and I'll be too dead to accept your

     A longer beat.

                               CRUZ (O.S.)
                     You're fucking him, aren't you?

                     Right to the wall.

     Her eyes are stone cold.  We've never seen her like this.  She
     looks like Mac.

                               CRUZ (O.S.)
                     You're over your head, Baker.

                     Only romantically.  I'll write to
                     him in prison.

     She's pulling out a different piece of plastic.  A drug store phone

                               CRUZ (O.S.)
                     Okay, it's your funeral.  Next time
                     I see you, I owe you a spanking.

                     Ooooo.  Is that a promise?

     Her cold eyes through his chuckle.

                               CRUZ (O.S.)
                     While you're on secure, do you want
                     a transfer?

                     Nope.  I'm headed back to the hot
                     tub.  I'll call again, if I'm in
                     the mood.

     And hangs up.  Collects her thoughts.  Inserts the phone card.
     Dials from memory.  Fifteen digits.  She must be calling Mars.
     At last...

     ...a man's VOICE.  In a strange sing-song language.

                               GIN (subtitled Mandarin)
                     Is it over?

     SMASH CUT TO...


     Late night, mostly youngsters strolling the unfathomable vastness
     of the square.  At what seems an immeasurable distance, the huge
     illuminated portrait of Mao zedong hangs from the Gate of Heavenly
     Peace.  The scale of this place is unique in all the world.  PAN to
     a nearby parked...

     ...Mercedes.  COL. QIU of the People's Liberation Army, lounges at
     the wheel in full uniform.  Talks into his cellular...

                               QIU (subtitled Mandarin)
           's not over yet, it hasn't
                     even begun.

     He listens, winces.  We can hear Gin's voice yelling at him in
     Mandarin, dishing out a major piece of her mind.

                               QIU (subtitled Mandarin)
                     ...after Midnight, when his meeting
                     ends.  In Zhongnanhai.

     He doesn't like her attitude.  And there's plenty of it.

                               QIU (subtitled Mandarin)
                     The mask will be ready...

     A phalanx of TROOPS march past.  The Colonel turns his face to
     shadow.  Drops his voice...

                               QIU (subtitled Mandarin)
                     You fucking bring the bones.


     The walled compound where the Politburo's elite work and live.
     From an open gateway...

     ...the MINISTER OF FINANCE appears, flanked by bodyguards in the
     drab green of PRC police.  They step onto the street and turn into
     a narrow hutong.  Down the alleyway comes a young man walking his
     bicycle through shadow.  Nearing us, he raises his right hand,

     ...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
     life, as a fallen guard...

     ...SHOOTS him in the back, and he goes SPRAWLING, SKIDDING, face
     down.  Lifeless.


     Col. Qiu walks beside a jaunty ophthalmologist, DR. HONGWEI, who
     is turning ON lights in the darkened office as they go.  Behind
     them, two PLA SOLDIERS half-carry the agonized minister.  Into an
     examination room...

     ...the minister gently set into an examining chair.  The doctor
     tilts the face up, shines a light into the minister's eyes, which
     makes him GROAN.  Eye drops now, which make the man YELP in pain.
     HONGWEI now moves the RETINAL SCANNER into position, resting the
     minister's chin on the slot provided.  Turns it ON.  The machine's
     panel FLASHES numbers in red lights.  Hongwei looks into the box
     from the reverse angle, to view...

     ...a red LASER SCAN moving across the pupil vertically, then
     retracing its path horizontally, left to right, right to left,
     up and down, at speed.

     Hongwei moves to a computer monitor with a graphic rendering of
     the retina, clicks the keypad to section off a slice of the
     graphic, and ENLARGES the section 100 times.  Looks like pixels.

     Back to the scanner.  Touch a button, and...

     ...a COMPACT DISC pops out of the disc drive.  He places it in a
     box, telling the minister...

                               HONGWEI (subtitled Mandarin)
                     We send this to the lab for finer
                     analysis.  One piece of advice,

     The minister squints up, painfully.

                               HONGWEI (subtitled Mandarin)
                     No more red pepper in your eye.
                     Not for awhile.

     The doctor LAUGHS.  The minister seethes.  But Colonel Qiu...

     Has his mind.  On business.


     CLOSE on Gin's gloved hand, holding something we can scarcely see,
     as MIST floats up between us.  It is a carabiner with a nylon rope
     attached, and she CLIPS it to a thick wire.

                               GIN (O.S.)
                     I'm freezing my tender parts.

     PULL BACK to see her in climbing harness, scaling a nearly-vertical
     CABLE, three feet in diameter.  Enveloped in fog which reveals,
     then conceals.

                               MAC (O.S.)
                     I'm relieved to hear you have some.

     PULL WAY BACK to see him below her.  The two of them climbing
     the GOLDEN GATE BRIDGE.  They are near the top, more than 700
     feet above the silvery black BAY.  A precarious, dizzying sight.

                     What's amazing, is that only eleven
                     workers died during construction of
                     this thing...

                               GIN (grim)
                     ...thanks for sharing...

                     Of course, the others were saved by
                     a safety net.

     Gin keeps her focus on the small railed PLATFORM just above her.  A
     gutsy gal.

                               MAC (loving it)
                     Now, as for the suicides, they
                     always jump facing the city.  Avoids
                     that tall fence about 50 stories down,
                     see it, there?

     She's at the platform.

                     I never liked you.

     Unclips one last time.  This won't be easy.  Throws her rope
     OVER the railing, and to her surprise, Mac braces himself with
     his legs...

     ...lifts her from the waist with strong hands, boosting her easily
     to the platform.  Grateful, she hates to confess it.

                     One act of fucking human kindness...

                     Call it a lapse.

     And he swings lightly up beside her.  The fog has rolled past.
     There are several million stars.  Transcendent beauty.  She slows
     her breath...

                     And how does this fit into
                     the game pl...

                     Oh, it doesn't.  We came for
                     the view.

     And from his contoured backpack, he pulls a bottle of Cristal.
     Flutes, wrapped in velvet.  He POPS the cork in one motion, and it
     SAILS to its watery doom.  She can't help but watch.

     One more motion to pour both glasses.  Hands one to her.  Toasts...

                     To Ginger Baker.

     He clicks her glass.  She stares straight in his eye.  Shows no
     surprise, no fear...

                     I'm partial to drummers.  If they
                     played with Clapton and Winwood.

     And takes a sip.  Cool as a goose.  Licks her lips.

                     The prescription bottle.  When you
                     stole my suitcase.

     But he's not drinking.  Only staring.  The wind has picked up.

                     Armand Baker was my husband, May 13
                     to October 27, 1982, he played alto
                     sax, I was 17 years old.

     She takes another sip.  Good wine.

                     He named me Ginger.  He likes
                     drummers, too.

                     And you get sentimental for him.
                     Every time you order drugs.

                     I have I.D. in that name.  I use
                     it for various things I don't want
                     traced.  When credit unions turn
                     their computers my way.

                     I could listen to you lie all night.

     She toasts him.

                               GIN (softly)
                     Same here, fella.

     Slowly, he reaches to an inside pocket, watching to see if she
     flinches.  Her eyes do flicker.  And follow.  He withdraws not a
     pistol, but a handful of...

                     Do you like diamonds?

     Nine DIAMONDS, so large, so exquisite, she has to keep her eyes
     from bugging.  Wow.

                     You asked.  Does the machine.
                     Make gold.

     Holy.  Christ.

                     Gold is shit.  It's six thousand
                     dollars a pound.  Worth your weight
                     in gold...?

     His eyes travel her body...

                     That would put you at seven
                     hundred thousand.

                     Would you pay it?

     And he leans.  Looks in her eyes.

                     When the light hits you just
                     right.  I'd pay more.

     She liked that.  Maybe a lot.

                     The machine.  That we are stealing.
                     Makes diamonds?

     No answer.

                     Real ones?

                     Gem quality.  First ever.  God
                     save Japan.

     He toasts Blessed Japan to the East.  Takes a hit.

                     A diamond reactor takes graphite,
                     runs it through a combination of
                     lasers, electron beams, and scanning-
                     tunnel mg microscopes.

     He means this.  She is transfixed.

                     This one uses krypton-fluorine laser,
                     with a new isotope of krypton.

     She looks down at the diamonds in his palm.  His fist CLOSES.

                     The atoms are rearranged.  And
                     the molecule of graphite becoznes
                     a molecule of...

     He turns his fist UPSIDE-DOWN.  And LETS GO!  She GASPS as the
     brilliant stones FALL toward the sea.  Watching, watching, long
     after the moonlit glimmer has evaporated.  A hush.

                     I hate it.  When you make
                     a point.


     CLOSE on two open PASSPORTS.  The names say BANQUO MACDUFF and
     ISADORA DUNCAN.  The faces are Mac and Gin.

                               STEWARD (O.S.)
                     All right, then.  All set.

     PULL BACK to see Mac and Gin dressed as tropical tourists.  She
     hangs on his arm.

                     We will keep your passports in
                     our safe until Jakarta.

                     Of course.

                     You are Suite 16...

                     ...and never been kissed.

     The steward doesn't get it.  Gin shrugs, sorry.

                     We had booked Suite 9.

                     16 is our Tokugawa Suite, far
                     superior, trust me.

     Mac consents.  A little wary.

                     You luggage is in the room, these
                     are your keys, the housekeeper
                     will show you t...

                               GIN (pouting)
                     Oh.  Can't we stroll around the
                     port?  Just a little?

     The steward checks his watch.

                     I'd be on board in forty minutes.
                     Just to be safe.

                               GIN (sweet smile)
                     Better safe.  Than 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
     moves the peg for 16... the ABOARD position.

     And off they go.


     Mac in his jump suit piloting the Dehaviland DHC-53 across the
     endless black of the Indian Ocean.  For the moment, he seems alone.

                     Down there.  Ten o'clock.

     He means a tiny grouping of LIGHTS.  Way down there, against the
     darkness.  He switches on the AUTOPILOT.  Goes back to...

     ...Gin, waiting in her jump suit, sitting on a large pack of gear
     just beside the window of the jump door.  Next to her, a pack that
     is even larger.  No fear in her eyes tonight.  Pure adrenaline.

                     Are you dumping fuel?

                     Changed my mind.  There's nothing
                     on the instruments downrange.  The
                     longer she flies before she ditches,
                     the less chance they notice on the

     As she stands, he begins to strap the huge pack ONTO her body.
     Jesus.  With her chute, and the other gear attached, the load makes
     us uneasy.  Not her.

                     You should lose the oxygen tank
                     at 8000 feet.

                     And how do I judge that?  Babe's

     He points to an altimeter device on his wrist.  It says 12,000
     feet.  She cuts him a look.

                     So I just ask you on the way down?
                     Or were you planning to e-mail me.

     He pulls out an identical device.  Strapping it to her wrist...

                     I hate a crybaby.

     He straps the even-larger gear pack to himself.  Checks the path of
     the tiny lights far below.  Then, looks in her eyes...

                               MAC (simply)
                     You can do this.

     Not merely reassurance.  Affection.  Something connective between
     them.  You are my partner.  Her eyes send back that personal bond,
     and she nods.  I can do this.  Good girl.

     He pulls on his oxygen mask, goggles.  She does the same.  He OPENS
     the door, air BLASTING in.  One more look down below, and he holds
     up ten fingers.  Counts them down, nine...eight...

     She moves to the edge.  Watching him.  And on zero, she...
     ARCHES out INTO the starry VOID, and we go...

     WITH HER, the incomparable RUSH of freefall, straining to see him
     FOLLOW, skillfully altering his position to gain on her, coming
     close.  She is looking between him and her altimeter, as...

     ...his oxygen tank FALLS AWAY, and she CUTS hers loose, the air
     RUSHING past her, she looks DOWN...

     ...the lights below are beginning to take the shape of the
     freighter.  Back up to Mac, as he...

     PULLS his CHUTE, it is black and square, and JOLTS him to what
     seems like a full STOP far above her, and she YANKS her cord,

     ...nothing.  It doesn't open.  She is ROCKETING down, looking back
     up to see Mac make an exaggerated CUTTING sign across his body, and
     she closes her eyes, PULLS her secondary chute, which...

     POPS open, JARRING her violently, and she GASPS with the shock.  He
     is well above her now, she isoff course, frantically trying to
     manipulate her trajectory, seeing him swooping closer, the
     freighter LOOMS in distance, she looks down and suddenly...

     ...the sea is RUSHING at her, she FIGHTS her braking mechanism,
     SHOUTING at herself...

                     FLARE, FLARE...

     ...and SLAMS INTO the water, PLUNGING down, twisting, disoriented
     CUTTING her chute loose, struggling not to get tangled, in a panic
     to BREAK her light tube, which...

     ...GLOWS yellow-green, illuminating the freezing depths, she FITS
     it around her head, fights now to pull out the small ELECTRIC FAN
     we've seen before, KICKING herself toward the surface, fighting
     against the weight of her gear pack, she...

     ...flips the switch, and the fan becomes a PROPELLER which ROCKETS
     her upward, but she loses her hold on one handgrip, tries
     desperately to hang on with one hand, but it...

     ...PULLS FREE, goes SHOOTING off into the blackness without her,
     one instant of TERROR in her eyes, and...

     Mac is THERE, diving at her with his propeller, she GRASPS his legs
     in a death grip, and suddenly, they are...

     AT the surface, Gin GASPING for air, and he CUTS his propeller,
     CRADLES her body with one strong arm, murmuring in her ear...

                     It's over, it's over...

     Her eyes are wild.

                     Catch your breath, quickly.
                     Hang on for the wake.

     She sees the FREIGHTER now, a black mountain CUTTING the sea, a
     huge WAKE pluming from its bow.  She grabs his waist with all
     she's got.

                     DO IT! GO!

     And he KICKS the propeller to LIFE, they ZOOM off, straight AT the
     towering wake and burst THROUGH it, RACING to the freighter's
     looming hull, speeding alongside, Mac looking up to find...

     ...a series of metal RUNGS, which begin twelve feet above the water
     line, climbing the dizzying height to the freighter's deck, far
     above.  Mac has a Kevlar rope with a GRAPPLING HOOK, and as he
     reaches the rungs, he...

     ...THROWS it high, one of the pronged hooks CATCHING on a rung
     twenty feet above them...

                     HOLD TIGHT!

                     IF YOU FUCKING INSIST!

     And he LETS GO of the propeller, PULLING both of them, laden with
     gear, OUT of the water with sheer brute strength.  PLANTING his
     feet against the outward curve of the hull, he CLIMBS with all his
     strength, hand over hand, until he finally...

     ...GRASPS the bottom rung.  He PULLS them up, until she can GRAB
     ON.  They hold tight to their rung for a beat.  He attaches them
     both with metal carabiner clips.

                     If I were you, I'd watch
                     the desserts.

                     Boy, I'll bet you were in
                     shape before you got old.

                     Too long ago to remember.

     And pulls himself up to the second rung, so that he is standing an
     the first.  Offers her his hand...

                     I can take it from here, thanks.

     Suit yourself.  They begin to climb up the rungs, like a tilted
     backwards ladder, re-attaching their clips as they go.

                     If you'd packed my primary chute
                     right, I wouldn't ha...

                     Yes, you would.  You're a girl.

     Up, up.  And stop.  They are nearly halfway to the top.  Looking
     across the curved hull to...

     ...a large circular HATCH.  Thirty feet away.  The goal.  Mac
     pulls from his pack...

     ...their SUCTION CUP gear.  With practiced speed, they fasten cups
     to the balls of their feet, take hold of the hand rods with cups
     attached, and Mac takes the lead as they begin to...

     ...move LATERALLY across the hull's surface toward the hatch.  Mac
     is amazingly agile at the arduous process, scuttling sideways like
     a crab across the precariously tilted-back hull.  Gin is deter-
     mined, but falls well behind, intent on making every suction seal
     solid one.  Dark water RACES by beneath her.,  By the time she looks
     up at the hatch...

     He is gone.

                               MAC (O.S.)
                     Anytime you're ready.

     She looks UP sharply.  He is ABOVE the hatch, attached to the hull
     by the balls of his feet, hanging down like a bat.  Noting her

                     Better angle.

     That it is.  He has pulled a thick cylinder from his pack.  It's a
     battery-operated AIR WRENCH, and with a menacing WHIRR, only
     partially masked by the ship's wake, he begins to swiftly POP all
     the rivets around the hatch.

     Gin has pulled out the slender WELDING TOOL we saw in the shower,
     and begins CUTTING through the metal seals around the hatch's rim.

     At thecrucial moment...

                     You might want to move aside...

     Which she BARELY does, as the hatch door PLUMMETS past her to the
     sea.  BIG splash.  Gone.  When she turns back, Mac is already
     THROUGH the opening and she follows, their yellow-green headlamps
     partially revealing...

     ...the maximum-security HOLD.  We've seen this with Carlsby.  The
     fork lift.  The shadowy multitude of PLATFORMS on their gimbals,
     all SWAYING, in different directions with the plunging of the ship.
     Gin just stands, staring everywhere, like she's broken into Fort
     Knox.  The ROAR of the engines is louder here, and he moves close
     to her to speak beneath it...

                     May I trouble you for the torch?
                     Or would you rather just dance.

     Oh.  Slightly embarrassed at her lack of split-second efficiency,
     she tries to find the thing in her gear.  After watching her fumble
     for a bit...

                     I know I packed it.

     ...he just reaches in and pulls it out.  A small LANTERN which he
     FLICKS on, brilliantly ILLUMINATING the entire hold.  Scans the
     platforms...polnts to a CRATE wrapped in 4-ply heavy duty plastic

                     Coal into diamonds.  A wealth

                     How do you know that's it?

                               MAC (as if stating the obvious)
                     It's 12 by 9 by 7 feet.  And it's
                     the only thing worth waterproofing,
                     in case the ship sinks.

                               GIN (softly)


                     I'm just finishing your sentence.
                     Can't you answer a question with-
                     out making me feel stupid?

     He's heading toward the swaying platforms...

                     Why would I bother?

     He is climbing onto a lower platform, easily vaulting up to the
     magic crate.  She follows, but it isn't as easy as he's made it
     look.  She has to scramble, almost falling.  He's already pulled
     from his gear...

     ...six rubber POUCHES.  She hands him her welding tool, and he
     begins attaching the pouches to the top and sides of the crate.

     The plunging ship has the platform really rocking.

                               GIN (concerned)
                     They don't look like flotation

                               MAC (working fast)
                     Shit.  Well then, let's forget
                     the whole thing.

     She stares at him.

                     Okay, it was a dumb ques...

     His eyes come UP.  So fast that her breath stops.  He looks plenty

                     Let's get one thing straight.  I
                     don't work with partners much,
                     because basically, I find most
                     people to be idiots.

     She swallows.  Hard.

                     You, in contrast, are first-rate.

     He watches the effect of that play across her eyes.

                     And if I think so.  Maybe you
                     should start thinking the same.
                     Now move your ass.

     And goes back to work.  She pauses a beat.  Then pulls out two
     lengths of Kevlar rope.  Begins securing their platform to the one
     above, to minimize the amount of sway.  As she struggles with this,
     she sees him finish by welding a very small gray BOX to the top of
     the crate.

     When he glances up, he sees her staring at the box.

                     GPS transponder.  Sends a scrambled
                     signal by satellite...

     He touches the device.  It BEEPS.  A light glows RED.

                     Precise coordinates.  You could
                     find a golf ball in the Gobi Desert.

     He rises.  JUMPS down to the floor.

                     Where you g...

                               MAC (walking away)
                     Fork lift.

                     That's my assignm...

                               MAC (turning back)
                     Unless you've got the keys,
                     someone has to hot wire it.


                     Finish up on the floaters.

     And heads off toward the fork lift.  Finish up?  She looks at
     the rubber pouches.  They seem finished to her.  Tugs at a couple.
     On pretty firmly.  Across the way, we HEAR the fork lift turn its
     engine OVER.

                     Won't they hear it?

                               MAC (O.S.)
                     Over these engines?  Through five
                     feet of steel?

     She hurriedly secures the last of her Kevlar lines.

                               MAC (O.S.)
                     Hell, if they do, they don't have
                     the second key to get in.

     He is driving up in the rickety fork lift.  Weaving around crates
     and equipment.

                     Thank God for redundant security.

     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
     with his air wrench...

     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.

                     How many tries do I get?

                               MAC (with effort)
                     One, before I beat you senseless,
                     dump you over the side, and donate
                     your share to charity.

     She brings the fork UP.  The crate sways slightly.  She lines up
     her prongs against the pallet's receiving holes...

                     You gotta work on that impatient

     ...and slips them straight IN.  First try.

                               GIN (amazed)
                     How professional.

     She LIFTS the crate, but the boat LURCHES, and she nearly LOSES it
     off the fork.

     But she doesn't.  SWINGS her load around now.  Heading for the open
     hatchway, the roiling sea racing by.  Picking up SPEED, slightly...

                     Uh.  Thing on the left is
                     the brakes?

                               MAC (laconic)
                     Or the thing on the right.

     By now she is really ROLLING toward the wide open spaces...

                     MAC, IT'S JAMMED!

     He POUNCES off the platform, FLYING after the lift as it
     ACCELERATES THROUGH the opening...

                     JUMP, for God's sa...

     ...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...

     ...jerked BACK to safety.

     Clutching Mac, she watches the sea behind them.  Where the crate
     and the forklift disappeared.

                     You did activate the floaters.

     Her head WHIPS around.  Aghast.


                     I did say, 'Finish up on the
                     floaters'.  Surely, you heard me.

     Her life.  Flashes before her eyes.  As behind the ship...

     ...the crate BOBS to the surface.  We can see the tiny red light on
     the transponder from here.

                               MAC (softly)
                     Oh.  Guess I did it m'self.

     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.

     And then she lets him.

     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.

                     ...I wouldn't do that.

     So he turns.  She looks really stunned.  And scared.

                     Excuse me?

                     Well...I saw our suction things.

     She points.  To where no suction things are lying.

                               GIN (a mouse)
            I put 'em in my pack?

     His eyes WIDEN.

                     Or maybe.  I put 'em there.

     And points.  To where they are.

     She tilts her head.  Gives him a great smile.  Is he enraged?  His
     dry grin says, not hardly.

                     I like a quick study.

     Then again.  You can never tell.


     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.

     Half a beat.

     Mac's head APPEARS above the rail.  Just where they spit.  Not a
     mark on him.


     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
     hear their sweet murmurings...

            matter how many stones we
                     make, the diamonds are just an

                               GIN (dreamily)
                     And the meal...?

                     My contract.  With DeBeers.

     She blinks.  Hit by a ton of bricks.

                     Oh my G...

                     Sensible folks, DeBeers.  A world
                     monopoly in diamonds based on one
                     simple principle...something's only
                     priceless if it's scarce.

     He WHIRLS her in a tight spin.  The geriatic Germans can only watch
     and envy.

                     These guys dig up all the diamonds
                     on the planet, just to keep them out
                     of circulation.  Otherwise, you could
                     buy 'em at the Five and Dime...

                     Watch the old guy stuff, they don't
                     have dimestores anym...

                     Imagine the chaos we could cause.

     She is imagining.

                     You said 'contract'...

                     We're sort of bounty hunters.

     Gin likes the ring of that.  Green eyes dance with delight.

                     Our machine is worth far more
                     dead.  Than alive.

                               VOICE (O.S.)
                     Glad to see you're both alive.

     They look over.  The officious STEWARD from this afternoon.  Now in
     black tie.

                     When you missed cocktails.  And
                     supper.  I thought of knocking
                     on your door...

     Mac turns Gin so that she can send the boob a lazy smile...

                     Oh, I wish you had.  We love having
                     strangers join us!  Maybe later...?

     Mac turns her once more, so that he faces the flummoxed steward
     across her bare shoulder...

                     Promise you an interesting time...

     Trademark smile.

                     Or my name's not Banquo MacDuff.

     You twit.


     Our couple moving down the softly-lit hallway, past the burnished
     doors of luxury suites.  Her arms wrapped around one of his, their
     bodies close together.

                     ...well, I would ask what you're
                     doing with the rest of your life.
                     But that's your own bloody affair,
                     isn't it?

     She sighs.

                     Yeh.  Anyway, before you get too
                     choked up on the farewell.  I feel
                     I owe you a confession.

     He glances down.  Really?  Really.

                     Time has come to tell you.  What
                     business.  I'm actually in.

     He thinks about this.  And then...

                     Not here.


     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.

                     It only looks dangerous...

     Holds out his hand.  She hesitates.

                     You couldn't fall off.  Unless
                     someone threw you over.

     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

                     More intimate.  For a confession.

     Gin looks down at the plume of wake leaping off the bow.

                     What business.  You are actually.

     She looks up.  To his eyes.  Into them.

                     Yeh.  I'm not an art dealer.

                     Of course not.  You're a cop.

     And tilts his head.  Just to one side.

                     An insurance investigator for
                     Webber Assurance, your boss is
                     an idiot named Hector Cruz, you've
                     been there four years and ten
                     months, you're quite the rising star.

                               GIN (evenly)

     His head tilts.  Just a little farther.

                               MAC (very softly)

                     I'm a thief, Mac.

     Holds the look.

                     For five years, I've used the
                     database of every client Webber
                     has to plan my jobs.  Museums,
                     banks, jewelers, rich people, I
                     have floor plans, alarm codes,
                     passwords, the works.

     His face absolutely neutral.  Unreadable.

                     I've made a fortune.  It's not

                     Why n...

                     Why wasn't it enough for you?

     He falls silent.

                     The Vermeer that was stolen from
                     Hancock Tower?  That was my job.
                     I scaled the building with
                     electromagnets, and parachuted
                     down an air vent...

     No smile at her lips.  Strictly business.

                     ...after mailing the painting.  To
                     where we're going next, actua...

                               MAC (quietly)

     She looks him up and down.

                     Yeh, we.  You passed the audition.

     Now he smiles.  First time.

                               MAC (a murmur)
                     Imagine my relief.

                     I need a partner.  For the biggest,
                     smartest, job.  Ever.  The one you
                     retire off of, because nothing else
                     could ever compare with the rush.

                     Ever.  Is such a long time.

                     This is a job that can only be done
                     in one place, in one split-second
                     in human history.  If we miss that
                     instant.  We lose.

                     And it's worth...?

                     Eight billion dollars.  That's
                     eight thousand million.

                     How much in shillings?

                     You're not a real trusting guy.

                     And I tried so hard to hide that.

                     It's two jobs.  The first steals
                     something priceless from the National
                     Palace Museum in Taipei.  We don't
                     keep that.  We trade it in for our
                     ticket to the show.

                     One moment in time, you s...

                     Midnight, July 1, 1997.  Eight
                     days from now.  The moment that
                     Hong Kong is annexed by china.

     And now.  She has his interest.  She can see that.

                     80-20 split.

                     Don't be so hard on yourself.  It's
                     your plan, you should take at least
                     thirty perc...

                     My 80, your 20.  Asshole.

     He thinks this over.

                     50-50.  Or you can swim to Taipei.

     She is not impressed.  Or afraid.  He grins...

                     What are you gonna do with six
                     billion dollars that you can't do
                     with four?

                     Hold the record.  Alone.

     This.  He likes.  So much that he leans to kiss her, with
     surprising tenderness.

                     Your share is 50%.  And one dollar.

     Her hard stare.  And then, she smiles.  Just barely.  Still in his

                     I like what you left.  In the hold.

                     You didn't even see wha...

                     A lump of coal.  A pair of pliers.
                     A note that said, 'Squeeze hard'.

     This is the most taken with her that he has ever looked.  She leans
     up and kisses him.  Whispers...

                     Squeeze hard.


     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
     WHEELS them into... open FREIGHT ELEVATOR.  She climbs off, he doesn't.  As Gin
     goes to work the controls, Mac sees a cat curled in the corner,
     mewing softly.

                     That's Madame Chiang Kaishek, she's
                     my bud.  An evil streak a mile wide.

     The elevator JOLTS to life.

                     No surprise.

     They CLANG upward.  Mac seems utterly relaxed.  Gin paces a little,
     hugging herself.  Her features tense.

                               MAC (gently)

     She blinks up.  He is straddling the bike.  Smiling at her.

                     I have a lot on my mind.

     Ah.  Well...

                     You look beautiful doing it.

     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
     SLIDES noisily open, to reveal...

     ...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
     his hands...

                                    GIN (O.S.)
                     You wanna buy a Vermeer?

                     Rather steal it.

                                    GIN (O.S.)
                     Been there, done that.

     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... 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.
     As Mac joins her...

                     National Palace Museum, Taipei,
                     Taiwan.  Repository of four
                     thousand years of Chinese culture...

     He bends to lift UP the detachable roof.  All the rooms are
     detailed within, down to exhibit cases.

                     Works of gold, bronze, jade, onyx,
                     pots and scrolls, paintings and
                     porcelains and lacquer work.  Every
                     treasure the Kuomintang could loot
                     before the Reds took over.
                     Ever rob the place?

                     No.  If memory serves.

     She takes him by the hand, and leads him toward the gaping doorway,
     walking straight toward it...

                     You need to eat something, or
                     are you ready for sex?

     And just at the edge of it...

                               MAC (torn)
                     The options seem so limited.

     They jump THROUGH the opening.  And VANISH.

     Our ANGLE closes on the doorway, to see OUT now, sitting like a
     jewel against the hillside...

     ...the NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, looking exactly like the model.  The
     town spread out beyond.  Just as in the model.  And now we TILT
     sharply DOWN to see...

     ...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
     APPEARS, peeking up over the lip.


     LOST in another brief subway rumble.  He lightly VAULTS up through
     the doorway.  Looks around, no Gin.  Goes to the model.  Lifts the
     note pinned to the Vermeer...

                               MAC (reads)
                     This lovely parting gift can be
                     yours.  If the price is right.

     Stumped.  Not in his cultural database.  He looks at the model, to
     see that the stretch of city between museum and mountain has been
     lifted away, revealing... 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
     really tense.

                     Good morning.

     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
     foot or so above her...

                     Quite a parting gift.  I would
                     have settled for roses.

                     It's a joke.  You know, a joke?
                     People who have a sense of humor
                     make them?

     He's clueless.  But smiling.

                     You're rich, go buy an American,
                     have him fill you in on the culture.

                     Ah.  American culture.  Well,
                     that is a joke.

     He leans down.  Strokes her hair very gently.

                               MAC (murmurs)
                     Relax.  It's only eight billion

     She looks up into his eyes.  But she can't smile.

                               MAC (softly)
                     Your Vermeer?  I like this View Of
                     Delft better than the larger one.
                     The sky is more emotionally rendered.

     Staring in his eyes.  And just as softly back...

                     Nice.  When a sky is that.

     He holds the look.  Very strong and very gentle...

                     Is it easier now? Not pretending.

     Is it?

                     Not pretending you're an innocent.
                     Not pretending me.

     No answer.  Effortlessly, he hops down to join her.  Never losing
     eye contact.

                     Here's a tip from an old-timer.
                     Never forget who you are...

     Settles next to her.  Bodies touching.

                     It gives you someone to be.  When
                     you stop pretending.

     Okay?  She nods, slowly.  Her eyes moving over his face.  Maybe
     more feelings going through her than she can sort out.

                               MAC (still soft)
                     So.  Our train runs from the museum,
                     through an underground tunnel.  To
                     a mountain.

                     Because the museum displays 10,000
                     relics at any given moment.  But
                     there are 60 times that many, stored
                     in the mountain.

     This overwhelms.  Even Mac.

                     Which is why it's guarded.  By an

     She is unfastening the small pack at her feet...

                     The train shuttles relics to and
                     from storage.  It looks exactly
                     like that.

     So Mac looks down the line.  At the train car.

                     I've been down the air ducts four
                     times.  The train always has two
                     armed guards.  Always travels between
                     32 and 36 miles per hour.  Relics
                     don't like to be jostled too much.

                               MAC (all business now)
                     Your model has five vents.

                     We go down the first.  Back up the
                     third, if you're lucky.  If not, we
                     have to get out by the fourth.

                               MAC (simply)
                     Then we will.

     She pulls from the pack four thick DISCS, each about eight inches
     in diameter, each with a toggle switch and a wrist loop.  She
     starts to put two of them on...

                     Electromagnets, incredibly powerful.
                     This switch is on-off.

     He gestures at the train, the track, the hangar...

                     Seems like overkill.  For one
                     simple jump.

                     Well, it's an eight billion
                     dollar jump.  You miss the
           've missed the train.

     Flicks ON her remote.  Down the track the engine REVS.  Like crazy.

                     We've got five days to grab the
                     Bones, trade them for the Scan, and
                     pull our 8 billion out of Hong Kong.
                     Once midnight passes on July 1st...

                     ...we've missed the train, yeh.
                     The Bones?  The Scan?

                     Oh.  Have I neglected to fill
                     in the details?

                     An oversight.

                     Which I learned from the master.
                     Hey.  Wish me luck...

     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.

                               MAC (quietly)
                     Jump sooner.

     She pulls out the remote...

                     Be my fucking guest.

     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
     the train...

     ...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
     whiskey LAUGHTER down the track.

                     I'm too old for this shit!

     And as he pulls himself up.  She is staring at him, from her

                     Know a dude named Wiley Coyote?

     ...with what can only be described as love.

                               GIN (softly)
                     Forget it.


     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...

                     Isn't it easier now?  Not pretending?

     Gives him a full-tongue KISS in the ear, which has bystanders
     noticing.  Starts to help him up the stairs, still whispering

                     Five years, you won't need

     In answer he GRABS her ass, and she YELPS with delight, attract-
     ing attention all around.  His turn to whisper, as he massages
     her backside...

                     We agreed.  No underwear.

                     Overkill.  I can do it with legs.

     He stops.  Gives the long legs a dubious twice-over.

                     I'd lose the underwear.


     Mac leaning on her arm, as they pass case after case.  Bronzes,
     jades, lacquer work.  Every object exquisite, priceless.

                     The Oracle Bones date back to the
                     Shang Dynasty, 3500 years ago.
                     They are writings...carved into
                     ox bones, tortoise shells...

     She cuddles close to him.  They approach a tour group, the female
     guide speaking in four European languages.  Really loud.

                     The oldest Chinese writing any-
                     where, the first proof of Chinese

                     What makes this one so valuable?

     He stops, drowned out by the tour guide, rhapsodizing over an urn.
     Butts into her rap...

                               MAC (subtitled Italian)
                     Except it's Chien-lung, mimicking
                     Sung Period.  The color is far too

     The woman gets real insulted.  Apparently, he's right.

                               MAC (subtitled German)
                     It's all right, you have a nice

     And walks on.  Confides to Gin...

                     When you're old, you can do

     GRABS her bottom once more, altering her voice slightly on...

                     There we are.

     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
     with tiny script.

                     Last year, ancient artifacts were
                     discovered in the Gulf of Mexico.
                     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.

                     Amazingly, markings on these
                     Olmec figures were identified
                     as Shang Dynasty writing...


                     This particular Bone is price-
                     less, because it is the one that
                     establishes the link.  Proves that
                     American civilizations descend from
                     Chinese ancestors.

     She is pulling out her coin purse, as they stand by the rope.
     Unzipping it slowly...

                     Exactly the kind of propaganda
                     shit they eat up in Beijing.  The
                     mainland would pay anything to get
                     its paws on th...

     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.

                               MAC (old guy voice)
                     SHIT!  BLOODY HELL!!!

     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...

                               GIN (in Mandarin, helpful)
                     Those are the coins.  These
                     are my legs.

     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... coin.  Inside the rope.  Move.

     As Mac checks to see all eyes are elsewhere, he guides the coin's
     slide slowly, inexorably, to...

     ...ATTACH itself magnetically.  To the steel pedestal.  Beneath the
     Bone's case.  As it does, Mac's watch BEEPS slightly, as we CLOSE
     on it to see...

     ...DATA flickering across its face.

                               MAC (old guy voice)
                     Amanda!  Time for my pills!


     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...

           , I don't think that way.

     Glances up.  Mac is eating heartily, happily.

                     ...and I suppose you do?

                     Get lonely?  Sure, all the time.
                     It's healthy.

     Stuffs his mouth full.  Talking around it...

                     What's unhealthy.  Is denial.

     She's studying him as he eats.  Since he's not looking at her,
     Gin's eyes are thoughtful, appraising.

                     Be real.  you could never see
            know, quitting the
                     game.  Settling...down.

     And he looks up.  Direct to her eyes.  A dead straight, heart-
     stopping look.  Before the wonderful smile.

                     Why, Ginger.  This is so sudden.

     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
     as it CLICKS, we...

     SMASH CUT TO...


     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,
     he leads her...

     ...OUT the door, INTO the street, step OFF the curb, turn, DROP
     flat on his back, SLIDE DOWN the gutter, Gin following a split-
     second behind...


     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
     loading dock, which...

     ...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,
     and carry it onto the train.


     An empty stretch of dimly-lit track, somewhere down the line.
     Silent.  PAN up, way up, to...

     ...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...

                               GIN (strapping on a backpack)
                     ...way we can use those in here.
                     I thought I was in charge of
                     this operat...

                     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.

                     These are plasma jet.  All the
                     force is directed forward, instead
                     of dissipating in a sphere like a

     He has four of these.  Gives her three.

                     I don't need th...

                               MAC (whispers)
                     Shut up.

     He reaches out, gently...

                     You don't trust me, you won't get
                     through this.

     Touches her face.

                     Try to adjust to that for three
                     more days.  After July 1...

     Stares in her eyes.

           'll never have to trust again.

     And smiles.  One more whisper...

                     Something.  To look forward to.


     The museum guards are back on the landing with the official.  Our
     two soldiers stand facing them from the rear platform of the train
     car, as...

     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
     lift the base, and...

     ...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
     back up the track.

     INT. AIR VENT #1

     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...

                     WE HAVE TO ABORT!

     Above the siren, we can now hear the TRAIN coming...

                     HOW DO YOU EXPECT TO MAKE A CAREER
                     OF THIS, IF YOU CAN'T TAKE A LITTLE

     The train LOUDER, closer, the alarm BLARING...

                     THEY'VE GOT AN ARMY DOWN TH...

                     I can do this.

     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,
     slips on his own, and...

     ...FITS a magnetic DEVICE from his belt loop ONTO the door
     lock, SPINS a dial on the device, which POPS the lack OPEN,
     Mac BURSTING...

     ...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...

                               GIN (through mask)
                     THERE'S THE NUMBER TWO VENT, ONLY
                     45 SECONDS TO THE THIRD!

     Scrambling to her feet, Mac wheeling toward the Bone.

                               GIN (through mask)
                     TEST THE CASE!

     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
     SMASH CUT to...


     The Jeep BLASTING after the train at crazy speed, the four non-
     drivers with weapons at the ready...


     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
     that cut through even the siren.

                               GIN (through mask)
                     TAKE IT TO 30 AND CLIMB!

     Mac SPINS the dials and two overhead light bulbs BLOW.  The glass
     case housing a fire ax SHATTERS.  The Bone's case is untouched.

     SMASH CUT to...


     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
     fragments.  SMASH CUT...


     Mac JUICING the box, the deafening TONE competing with the sirens,
     the gunshots, Gin SHRIEKING as she points through a blasted-out

                               GIN (through mask)
                     THIRD VENT GONE!

     And the Bone's case EXPLODES, Gin WHIRLING away to protect her
     face, as we SMASH CUT to...


     The Jeep now ALONGSIDE the rear platform of the train.  The driver
     fighting to hold it steady, as...

     ...the guards begin to CLAMBER over the side, GRASPING for the
     platform's rails, one goes DOWN screaming onto the tracks, but two
     MAKE IT, then a third, they BURST...

     ...INTO the train to see...

     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
     above the din...

                     THERE'S THE FOURTH!

     Up ahead an AIR VENT looms, we are HURTLING toward it.  Mac and Gin
     each free one hand, reach into their backpacks for...

                     OUR LAST CHANCE, THE FIFTH IS
                     AT THE BARRACKS!

     ...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
     Mac slips the pistol...

     ...INTO Gin's free hand.

                     WHAT ABOUT YOU?

                     ALLOW US A MOMENT OF CHIVALRY.

     Their eyes meet.  He sees her hesitate to abandon him.

                     FIRST RULE.  SAVE NUMBER ONE.

     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
     Gin, and Mac...

     KICKS it off line, the shot BOOMING, the guard almost dropping
     the weapon, then SWINGING it back UP, slamming the muzzle directly
     INTO Mac's GROIN, as Mac...

     ...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
     in distance now...

     ...the END of the line, the massive BARRACKS LANDING, the phalanx
     of TROOPS, the fifth and final AIR VENT midway between us.  Mac's
     free hand pulls out...

     ...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
     everything, our train ROCKETING...

     ...TOWARD the flames, nearly AT the metal SUPPORT BEAM which runs
     vertically up to the final air vent, and as the train FLASHES PAST
     it, Mac...

     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
     of tunnel wall, the train...

     ...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
     they see...

     ...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
     steps recede, we PAN UP to...

     ...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

                               GIN (subtitled Mandarin)
                     There you are!  Do you know how
                     filthy this place is?

     Shows her dirty fingers as proof.

                               SALESMAN (subtitled Mandarin)
                     Madam, no one is supp...

                               GIN (subtitled Mandarin)
                     I'm looking for dress pumps, I'll
                     need eight pairs.


                               GIN (subtitled Mandarin)
                     Unless you're too busy to help me.

                               SALESMAN (subtitled Mandarin)
                     Well, no, I...

                               GIN (subtitled Mandarin)
                     Come to think of it, I need some
                     dresses for evening...

     Lifts the Halliburton case, slings her pack over her shoulder,
     strides to the doorway.  See the crowded upscale boutique...

                               GIN (subtitled Mandarin)
                     Are you coming?

     Out she goes.  And he follows.  Maybe he's on commission.

     INT. VENT - DAY

     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,
     pushes, and...

     ...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...

                               MAC (subtitled Mandarin)
                     It's all right, the security cameras
                     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...

                               MAC (subtitled Mandarin)
                     Well.  If everything is in order...

     All four women.  Look at him.


     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

                     WHAT KIND OF A COUNTRY IS THIS?  IN
                     BRITAIN, A MAN CAN TRY ON LINGERIE

     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
     wrapped.  At last... 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
     it away, steps into his arms...

     ...her kiss is urgent.  Real.  HOLD on the look in her eyes.  What
     is she thinking?

     He strokes her hair, gently.  Then, goes to look into the
     Halliburton case, which stands by the rail.  As he crouches.  As he
     looks at the Bone...

     She is watching him.  An intensity to her gaze.  More feeling than
     she is comfortable with, which...

     ...disappears completely, as he turns to her.  And when he mimes
     FLINGING the case into the sea...

     She laughs.


     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

     PAN to an AERIAL VIEW of...

     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
     gridlock.  The human ant colony.

     ...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...

                               MAC (subtitled Mandarin)
                     FUCKING HELL!  WATCH WHERE
                     YOU'RE GOING, MAN!

     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
     him.  Then, bends and picks up...

     ...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
     yards, the soldier...

     ...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
     the case...

     ...walks back to us.

                               SOLDIER (subtitled Mandarin)
                     I believe I took your case.

     Handing it to Mac, he leans forward, and in low, aecented

                     21 Old Peak Road.  In 45 minutes.

     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.

                     Will you please come this way?

     And leads them around the side of the house.  They walk slowly, a
     distance behind the butler, taking everything in.

                     I like this.

     His voice is strong, calm.  No hint of a smile.

                     You like wha...

                     Not being told what the fuck
                     we're doing.

     She looks equally serious.  Just more tense.

                     You're on a 'need to know' basis.
                     You'll get each step in time to
                     execute, I thought you agreed to
                     those condit...

                               MAC (quietly)
                     I like your not trusting me.
                     Because it frees me to do
                     the same.

     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.

                     I trust you.  I only need to...

                     ...remain in control.

     They pass a towering row of perfect ROSEBUSHES.  Mac SNAPS OFF a
     giant blossom.

                     Which is a sign of weakness.

     And hands it to her.  Their eyes meet.

                     I like that, too.

     At the edge of the garden, above the commanding view, a luncheon
     TABLE has been set.  Spread with delcacies.  Two SERVANTS attend,
     also British.

     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-

                     You look lovely, Ginger.  Is
                     the rose for me?

                     Of course.

     And leans prettily.  To fasten it in the buttonhole of his lapel.

                     Col. Qiu Lai Chuen, this is
                     Andrew MacDougal.

     Hearing his real name, Mac cuts her a look.

                     Real names here, darling.  The
                     Colonel and I have every incentive
                     to keep each other's secrets.

     And she sits.  Close to Qiu.  Mac looks around at the property,
     the view.

                     Like the place, Andy?

                     Please.  Mr. MacDougal will do.

     The Colonel smiles.  First time.  Like an alligator.  Mac notices
     that the tablecloth is actually...

     ...a Union Jack.  He fingers the flag.

                     This way.  Doesn't matter if we

                     My sentiments exactly.

     He sits.

                     This place was a gift.  From
                     its former owner.  A Brit whose
                     business will now happily continue
                     to function.  Perhaps...even expand.

                               MAC (spreading his napkin)
                     Planning to spend much time here?

                     Tho it has required many sacrifices.

                     The Colonel has divorced his
                     wife.  To facilitate the necessary
                     entertaining of Western women.

                     Tho some are more entertaining
                     than others.

     And runs the back of his knuckles up the length of Gin's bare arm.

                     Colonel.  You are touching the woman
                     I love...

     Which brings Qiu's eyes over.  Really?

                     From time to time.

     And pulls up the Halliburton case.  Handing it across the table.
     As Qiu takes the case in his lap, opens it...

                     You're a Scot.  Would you like
                     some 25-year-old Macallan?

                     Sure, I'll take a case.

     Qiu glances across the lawn to the butler, who stands behind the
     bar trolley.  As the drinks are prepared, the Colonel studies the

                     The Colonel told his Minister
                     of Culture that he could mount
                     a surgical raid to liberate this
                     treasure from Taiwan.

                     Ah.  How much was the Minister
                     told the raid would cost?

                               QIU (not looking up)
                     Counting equipment, personnel,
                     bribes, an even fifty million
                     American.  All in.

                     Which you can now keep.

     The drinks arrive.

                     He would have paid twice that.
                     But my needs are modest.

     And lifts from beneath the table, a leather POUCH.

                     Unlike.  The woman you love.
                     From time to time.

     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.

     She slips them on.  A bright smile.

                     How do I look, honey?

     And Mac smiles.  In return.

                     Like a woman.  Of mystery.


     Glass doors open WIDE to a terrace which overlooks Kowloon, the
     harbor, Hong Kong Island beyond.  More lights than stars in heaven.
     And speaking of heaven...

     ...the SOUNDS of lovemaking are fierce, feral, an urgent rhythm,
     part comic, part wondrous, and mostly, arousing enough to make us
     PAN TO...

     ...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...

     This is the moment.

                     In the Hong Kong and Shanghai
                     Bank Building.  Is a room with
                     two computers.  One for you.
                     And one for me.

                     Glad I have a function, here.

                     The room is a vault on the 14th
                     floor.  Access codes to that room
                     are changed daily, computer pass-
                     words on the hour, but...

     But.  She is electric, more alive than he's ever seen her.

                     Four men in the world.  Don't need
                     codes.  Their retinas will scan to
                     unlock everything.  One of these is
                     China's Minister of Finance.

     She lifts the goggles...

                     And his retinal plate is in there.


                     Our trade for the great train
                     robbery.  All right, let's say
                     we're in the door.  Now what?

     From her pack, she pulls a slender black rectangle.  Opens it to
     reveal a shiny metallic DISC.

                     Hong Kong has a huge portion of its
                     holdings invested in foreign banks.
                     In hundreds of separate accounts...

     Holds up the metallic disc.

                     This CD ROM is programmed to send,
                     instantaneously, thousands of instruc-
                     tions, with all necessary confirmation
                     codes, to transfer reasonably modest
                     sums out of those accounts....


                     Two or three million at a crack,
                     in odd numbers.  Total, eight
                     billion.  And change.

                     And you've set up a laundry.

                     Every wire transfer gets rocketed
                     through a series of multiple switches,
                     Austria, Uruguay, Antigua, The Channel
                     Islands, the Caymans...

                               MAC (quietly)

                               GIN (beat)
                     I left that out.

                     You're forgiven.

                     Thank you.  As soon as each deposit
                     lands somewhere, it's shot somewhere
                     else, til the Mafia couldn't find it.

                     But those first instructions,
                     transferring the 8 billion dollars.
                     They're recorded in the main computer.

     She waggles the disc.

                     Nope.  The CD instructs the computer
                     to erase the real transactions.
                     And replace them in its memory
                     with an innocuous loan coded XJ6.
                     Little homage to Limeyland, there.

                     Dearest.  The accounts won't

     She waggles the disc.  Again.

                     Wrong.  The CD instructs the computer
                     to over-report all account totals
                     forever, in the exact amounts we've
                     lifted.  So the Chinese think the
                     money's still there.

     On this one.  He has to smile.

                     The money.  Is still.  Missing.

                     Sure, the foreign banks know
                     they sent out some money.  But
                     they think Hong Kong knows it,
                     too.  And since we're leaving
                     plenty in every account...

                     The shit doesn't splatter.  Until
                     the first account runs dry.


                     And then.  Comes the really
                     brilliant part of the whole

                     I was hoping there'd be one.

     He settles back.  Looks at her.

                     Admit it, so far you're
                     blown away.


                     It does sound like the beginning
                     of a beautiful friendship.

     And his fingers reach out...

                     Pity it will be over.  In
                     21 hours.

     Touch her hair.  Her face.  She swallows.  A raw moment.  A

                     Bet you say that.  To all the

     But he's just staring in her eyes.  The look pins her.  She can't
     wriggle off.  A murmured...

                     No, ma'am...

     He leans to her...

                     Only the best of them.

     They kiss.


     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,
     going absolutely nuts.

     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
     soldier, who admits them into...


     ...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.
     Mac looks up... the balcony railings surrounding the atrium, the revelers
     have been granted access to the lower five floors.  Above these,
     all is empty.

                     Nice of the Colonel to provide an

     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.

                     Well, I promised him a bonus.
                     Five million.  Comes out of
                     your share.

                     ...long as I don't have to have
                     sex with him.

     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,
     and we CUT TO...


     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
     believe it.

     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.

     Welcome to the world of high tech.


     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...

                               MAC (politely)
                     We'll take the next one.

     Waiting, calmly.  Mac smiles at a soldier.

                               MAC (subtitled Mandarin)
                     What time tomorrow do the tanks
                     roll in?

     The guy LAUGHS.  An elevator arrives.  Gin sipping champagne as
     they enter.

     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
     numbers 11-15.

     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.

                     So all that time, sitting at your
                     computers.  All the research, the
                     access codes your job allowed you
                     to steal, floor plans, schematics...
                     setting up all your bank accounts...

     She looks irritated.  He is smiling, gently.

                     Years of work, comes down to....
                               (checks his watch)
                     ...six minutes.  Don't be
                     nervous.  Easy come, easy go.

     She looks away.  The elevator stops.

                     Your share prob'ly works out
                     to, what?  Dollar and a quarter
                     an hour?

     Me laughs.  The door opens.  She is pissed off.

                     What's your point?

                               MAC (very real)
                     That I like you, Ginger.

     Now they're staring at each other.  An open elevator door.  An
     empty dim hallway.  They see only each other.

                     The dedication, the skill,
                     the guts...

     He holds out the crook of his arm.  As a gentleman escorts a lady.

                     I'm going to see you get
                     everything you deserve.

     Her eyes flicker on that.  So he grins...

                     Woman.  If you can't have
                     fun, right now.  You're in
                     the wrong business.

     She looks in his eyes.  Her body seems to relax, just a little.
     She takes his arm.

     INT. 14TH FLOOR

     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
     fits her eyes to the apertures...

                               GIN (whispers)
                     Open.  Sesame.

     A red scanning light APPEARS.  Tracks vertically.  BEEPS.  Tracks
     horizontally.  And from somewhere...

     ...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
     the handle, and...

     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
     the vault door behind them...

     ...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
     plastic shield RISES, revealing...

     ...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...

                     Uploading.  And you've got...
                     two minutes, fifty seconds.

     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...

                     So let's see.  Across town at
                     the British Consulate...

     INTERCUT...frenzied activity in a large war room filled with
     computers, wall screens, every worker functioning at top speed...
     CONTINUE to hear Mac over this...

                               MAC (V.O.)
                     ...everyone is working frantically
                     to complete transactions before
                     they go off-line at midnight.

     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.

                     ...then, deep in the high-tech
                     bowels of the Bank of China
                     Building, just across the square... even larger war room, even better staffed and
     equipped.  Everyone...doing...nothing.  Staring at blank monitors
     and wall screens.

                               MAC (V.O.)
                     ...the Chinese are sitting on
                     their thumbs, waiting to come
                     on-line at midnight.

     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.

                     I feel for these boys.  Let's
                     give them a breather, hmmn?

     CLICKS the mouse, and the BRITISH TERMINAL TIME begins FLASHING.

                     We'll let the Brits go off-line
                     4 seconds early.

     As the flashing clock reaches 11:58:30, and Mac HITS the key four
     times, advancing the British clock to 34 seconds, four seconds
     later than the others.

                     And we'll give our new Chinese
                     overlords 4 extra seconds of rest
                     before they have to go on-line.

     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
     clock 4 seconds SLOW.

                     Playing God here, Ginger.  We've
                     created 8 seconds that do not
                     exist, anywhere but in this room.

     LOCAL TIME...11:59:00.  One minute to midnight.

                     8 seconds, where no one is on-line
                     but your little CD-Rom.

     He turns around.  Her eyes are waiting.  Across the room.

                     And when, eventually, everyone
                     discovers what transaction XJ6
                     was really about...

                     China will think it happened
                     before midnight.  Britain will
                     swear it happened after midnight...

                     They'll each be positive.  The
                     other guy.  Did it.

     Mac sighs.  This is a sad thing.

                     Liable to be an ugly international

     She squints across at his clock.

                     Britain off-line in 18 seconds.
                     We're bulletproof.

     His smile returns.  Bittersweet and real...

                     Baby girl.  Nothing.  Is
                     bulletproof.  Ever.

     The look holds.  He turns back to his screen.  She lingers on him
     for an instant.  Then, back to the mainframe, finger poised above
     her ENTER key...

                     Britain goes bye-bye in 6...

     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
     we SMASH CUT...

     BACK to Gin...striking ENTER, the screen flashing TRANSACTIONS XJ6

                               GIN (softly)
                     Jesus God, it's going through.

                               MAC (watching his clocks)
                     Hong Kong midnight, happy new year.
                     Except at China Bank.

                               GIN (to her screen)
                     C'mon, c'mon...

     Her screen flashes TRANSACTIONS XJ6 COMPLETED, hear her SHRIEK of
     ecstasy, as we...

     INTERCUT...Bank of China where dark screens suddenly LIGHT with the
     same stupid PARTY LOGO.  Only nobody cheers.  They just get to

     BACK TO the vault...

                     Feel like a nightcap?

     But across the way, Gin is JAMMING a button.  Again.  Again.

                     The CD won't come out of
                     the driver.

     Houston.  We have a problem.

                     Relax, don't jam it...

                               GIN (jamming it)
                     FUCKING THING!!

     He crosses the room.  She's rummaging on a nearby desk, finds a

                     Don't panic, now, there's no rush...

                     We can't leave it IN THERE, it's
                     got all our accounts, everything
                     that can NAIL us to a goddam CROSS!!

     She's fitting the letter opener INTO the narrow slot above the lid
     of the driver.

                     Easy with that, there's no ru...

     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.

     Gin just staring at it.

                     There's a rush.

     The sirens are EAR-SPLITTING.  We know that elsewhere in this
     building, all hell must be breaking loose.  Gin is YANKING Mac's
     arm out of the socket...

                     LET'S MOVE IT, WHAT ARE YOU
                     WAITING F...

                     The disc.  Is still in there.

     Yeh.  She stares at it.  Really scared.

                     We can't help it, we...we've

     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
     a barely audible...

                     What a guy.

     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.

                     Was wondering where to leave

     Pops it IN the drive.  SLAMS it shut.

                               MAC (quietly)
                     Time to go.


     Mac and Gin RUNNING full tilt through the siren BLARE, turning a
     corner to see ahead...

     ...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
     to see us, but no one is shooting.

                     They don't know we're the
                     bad guys.

     He PLUNGES his hand into her shoulder bag...

                     Time they find out.

     Pulls OUT two PLASMA GRENADES, and FLINGS one toward the elevator
     cables three floors down and it...

     ...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,
     and Mac HURLS the second grenade...

     ...STRAIGHT DOWN and the fireball WIPES OUT the staircase, a huge
     section of ninth floor landing RAINING down on the lobby.

                     Okay.  How do we get down?

                     Down?  I never liked down.

     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,
     and together they RUN...

     ...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
     as they go.  We see ahead...

     ...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
     TOWARD them.

                               GIN (out of breath)
                     WE'VE GOT ONE MORE GRENADE!

                               MAC (not)
                     SAVE IT FOR A RAINY DAY!

     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...

                     You can do this.

     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
     the roof.

                     Okay, now what?

                               MAC (absently)
                     Shut up.  You're on a 'need-to-
                     know' basis.

                     Mac, I'm sorry.

     He looks at her.  Just now, she seems more miserable than afraid.

                     Turns out, I'm a screw-up.

     He doesn't smile.  Passing the third canopy.

                     Well.  Something to be said for
                     being self-aware.

     Looks back up.  Forty-first floor.  Six to go.

                     May I have the last grenade, dear.
                     It's about to rain.

     She blinks.  Huh?  So he reaches into her bag, pulls out the
     grenade, and THROWS it...

     ...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
     PLUNGING to...

     ...BLAST through the middle canopy, everyone below SCRAMBLING for
     shelter, as the whole shebang...

     ...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.

                     You see, banking will be more
                     democratic under China.

     She looks to him.

                     Well.  No more glass ceiling.

     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
     patch of roof used to be.

                     How refreshing.  The night air.

     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

                     I can't do this.

                     You can.  If I say so.

     She stares up at his eyes.  He smiles.

                     If you stay.  You'll have to pay
                     for the damage...

     She looks down at the mess below.

     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.
     One hand reaches out...

     ...GRABS his.  She lets GO.  And she is DANGLING in space.

                     Now that split.  Did we say

     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
     the crane...

     ...a HELICOPTER.  Big and beautifUl and empty.  She looks like
     she's seen God.  Mac starts to jog toward it, she runs to follow
     but sees him go...

     ...straight PAST the chopper.


     He turns back.

     She points to the copter.  It's over here.

                     Got the keys?


                     I thought you

     Guess not.

                     They fix those things so you
                     can't steal them...

     And keeps walking.  Toward the monster CRANE.

                     These, they're not so worried.

     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.

                     Go grab that hook.

     He reaches the crane's cab.  Turns back to see she hasn't moved.

                     Let me rephrase that.  Run
                     and grab that hook.  Or die...

     Got it?  She takes off running.  He hops IN the cab.  PUSHES the
     start button.  It rumbles to life.  Tests some levers...

                               GIN (O.S.)
                     SHIT!  DON'T DO THAT!

     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.

                     This only works if you shut
                     your eyes.

     Which makes her eyes BUG OUT.

                     You're not gonna lower me over
                     the side.

                     Of course not.  Now close baby
                               (she won't)
                     Suit yourself.

     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
     toward the ball which is sweeping the hysterical Gin in a widening
     ARC, but toward the point where he thinks the ball will clear the
     edge, and JUST as it does, he...

     ...LEAPS aboard, throwing one arm around the hook, the other around
     her, and they go...

     ...OVER the side, WHOOSHING DOWN in a gigantic, every-increasing
     LOOP, as the endless steel cable UNWINDS from its huge drum like a
     fishing reel hooked onto a killer whale.

                     OH NOOOOOOOOOO....

     The ride no theme park could insure, SWOOPING out ACROSS the
     skyline, DROPPING like an anvil, as the cable UNSPOOLS hundreds of
     feet, nothing but NOTHING for miles below them, Gin grabbing a
     breath to SHRIEK her guts out, as the monstrous pendulum reaches
     its max, begins to slow toward that one nauseating motionless

                     Let go NOW!!

     He YANKS her loose, and they drop...

     ...four feet.  The ball SWINGS OFF lnto space to some unknown
     mayhem.  Clutching Mac, Gin looks WAY down to the street, and
     realizes they are standing on...

     ...a rooftop.  Quiet, safe.  Alone.


     She WHIPS around, GLARING death at his eyes.

                     And dumb luck.

     She COLLAPSES in his arms, every muscle trembling in spasm,

                     God, I hate you.

     He holds her tenderly.  Kisses the top of her head.

                               MAC (softly)
                     Good.  I hate you, too.


     WITH Gin in a soft brunette wig, walking briskly, light carry-all
     across her shoulder.  Very early, even the busiest street in the
     world is less than that at this hour.  Up ahead...

     ...Tsimshatsui Station, a tall man with a tourist shopping bag,
     leaning casually against a pole.  Talking into a cellular.

     As she approaches, Mac doesn't seem to notice, but she can now hear
     his conversation...

                               MAC (into phone)
                     ...if I can't have my usual
                     suite, I'll take my business
                     to the Bristol, simple as that.

     He sees her now.  Smiles small.

                               MAC (into phone)
                     ...why indeed should I be more
                     loyal to you than you've been to
                     me?  Think it over.

     SNAPS the phone shut.

                     You ran your calls.

     She did.  She is frankly exhilarated.

                     All the transactions, all the
                     transfers.  It's a miracle.

                     Why?  The CD erased the trans-
                     actions, all accounts seem in
                     order.  It looks like the thieves
                     were stopped in time.

     She sighs.  It is a miracle.

                     The Colonel says police have
                     nothing.  A man in black-tie, a
                     blonde in a gown.  The elevator
                     guards saw faces, but no mug shots
                     to ID.  I think it's over.

     Mac's smile.  Bittersweet affection.

                     Except it never is, really.
                     Quite.  Over.

     She smiles.  It is easy, but dazzling.  Atypically soft.

                     Well, one hopes not.  The Bristol,
                     huh?  In...Paris?


                     You're not going back to Mr. Cruz,
                     and the nine-to-five?

                     Not hardly.  I've arranged to be
                     killed in a car crash.  On Taipei.
                     Amazing how little it costs.

                     Well.  You want to watch those

     She takes a breath.  Scared, in an excited way...

                     I could arrange for two.  In that

     His smile back.

     He looks at his watch.  Takes her hand.  Leads her to the subway

                     You know, for a bitch.  You can
                     be awfully sweet.

                     Woman of mystery.  What do you say?
                     I like the Bristol, just fine.
                     mean, it's not the Ritz...

                     You know, all night I've been
                     wrestling with something...

                     Not the most flattering way to
                     put it.

     He takes his big tourist shopping bag.  Puts it in her hand.

                     I've changed your travel plans.

     They are descending now.  Into the vast underground train station.


                     Instead of taking the subway to
                     the airport, you change at Jordan
                     Station for Kowloon Tong.  Got that?

     Got that?

                     Jordan is only 90 seconds up the
                     line.  Like a wire transfer, you're
                     gone.  Vanished.

     He holds up a silencing finger.  Listen to me.

                     In this bag are passports,
                     tickets, papers.  An amber wig, a
                     good one.  A dress you can slip on
                     in five seconds.

     Her eyes moving over his face.  What is this?

                     You're on a tight connection to
                     the Trans-Siberian Express, be in
                     Europe in a week.

                     Mac, wh...

                     Shhh.  You always talk too much.

     They're at the booth.  He pays their fare.  Through the turnstiles,

                     Time has come to return the favor.
                     One last time.

     Smiles at her.  As they enter a tunnel.

                     Tell you.  What business.  I'm
                     actually in.

     And in an instant of blind panicked clarity.  She gets the whole

                               GIN (hushed)
                     My God.  You're a cop.

                               MAC (very softly)
                     That's my girl.

     Keep walking.  People are everywhere.  But they are alone in the

                     See, my profession was cover,
                     too.  A notorious thief has access
                     to colleagues, their plans...

     He sighs.

                     I've turned in...well, couple
                     hundred.  over forty years.
                     Scotland Yard, Interpol, FBI...

     Looking around the tunnel.

                     Thought I might retire.  After you.

                     And all the...microchips, the
                     diamond machine...

                     Well, the chips were returned.
                     The machine was just a box, did
                     you actually think it was real?

     Glances at her.

                     I thought...everything was real.
                     Stupid girl.

     End of the tunnel in sight now.  It leads to a massive, endless
     quai.  Trains in transit.

                     Those were your jobs, so I could
                     have claimed entrapment.  You had
                     to wait.  For mine.

     Nearly there.  He says nothing.  Looks pretty grim.

                     The Oracle Bone...

                     Well, the State Department liked
                     that one.  They have more fish to
                     fry with Beijing than Taiwan.

     He sighs.

                     So they're taking credit for
                     letting it go through.  Tho I'm
                     afraid your Colonel may be in for
                     a career disappointment.

     She stops walking.  She has to know...

                     And the 5 billion.

     Ah.  That.

                     I haven't told them.

     Gently, takes her arm.  Leads her onto the endless train platform.
     Walking slower now.

                     I said you hadn't revealed the
                     job.  That it wouldn't take place
                     until after the changeover.

     Down the platform they stroll.  As her eyes wander...

                     Don't look, they're there.

     Her breath catches.  Her eyes go down.

                     And my tickets.  In the shopping bag?

                     Well.  Kept my options open.  If
                     I give you up, they don't matter,
                     do they?

     Her heart pounding through her chest.


                     Had lots of crazy thoughts.  One
                     was retirement.  With four billion
                     dollars.  After all, I know some
                     places where life could be private...

                     But you couldn't do that, huh?

     They've stopped.  Just two travellers in a strange land.  waiting
     for a train.

                     Otherwise.  They wouldn't be here.

     He nods.  Smiling pleasantly.

                     Creature of habit.  I suppose.

     We feel her adrenaline racing.

                     Lots.  Of thoughts, you s...

                     Keep smiling.  They won't move,
                     until I raise my left arm.

     And so she smiles.  As prettily as she can manage.

                     I thought.  Well, I've got the CD.
                     I could contact the banks, reverse
                     all the transactions...

     A train is COMING.  We HEAR it.

                     ...except maybe.  Leave you with...
                     oh, a hundred million, say.  To
                     tide you over.

     SEE the train.  Slowing.  Pulling in.

                     Then, I thought, nah.  Not my style.

     With a SHRIEK of metal.  The train PULLS toward us.

                     I figured.  What the hell?

     What the hell?

                     Let her keep the lot.

     The train STOPS.  The doors OPEN.  People come out, people go in.
     Pouring around them.  They are alone again.  The subway doors stand
     open.  Two feet away.  She looks at them...

                     No rush.  The doors won't close for
                     60 seconds.

     Sixty seconds.  And still smiling...

                     There's a pistol in the bag.  Reach
                     in slowly.  Take it out fast.  Point
                     it at my temple.

     She freezes to stone.

                     You can do it.  If I say you can.

     And she...DOES IT.  A blinding MOVE, the gun straight at his head,
     Mac miming fear, raising his hands to chill the agents we...

     WHIP PAN to see.  Half a dozen, everywhere, but none too close.
     They REACT, pull their weapons, but it's a stand-off.  BACK TO...
     Two people. Alone in the universe.

                     Step onto the car, keep the
                     pistol trained on my face.

     She hesitates.  Does as he says.  Passengers are screaming,
     cringing, bolting for other cars.  Our world is FROZEN.  His hands

                     Seems I was wrong.

     Gentle smile.

                     Entrapment.  Is what robbers.
                     Do to cops, huh?

     Her eyes are flooding.  The gun is trembling.

                     Twenty seconds.  Shoot me in the
                     shoulder, it'll slow them down.

     Her pistol is shaking like she has palsy.  Tears are on her cheeks.

                     Oughta shoot you in the face.

                     Come on, you can do it, if I sa...

                     No way.  Not anymore.

     She sobs.  She can't stand this.

                     Ten seconds, hold on.

                     When do I see you?

     There is no answer.  There are no words.

     The doors HISS SHUT.  She stares, training her pistol on him
     through the glass, his hands reaching back to hold off the agents,
     and the train...

     PULLS away.  An instant to pick up speed, and it ROARS into a
     tunnel.  Gone.

     Mac stands motionless as ALL HELL breaks loose around him, AGENTS
     rushing to his side, Mac shaking his head, calmly...
     Still staring after the train.

                     Airport.  Changing at Mongkok
                     Station, we can cut her off.

     Walkie-talkies WHIP out.  These guys are the same the world over.
     We begin to CRANE UP...

                     She might lose the wig, be looking
                     brunette or blonde, navy pants suit...

                     I think Yaumatei changes for the
                     airport, and it's closer.

     Keep PULLING UP, an AERIAL VIEW now, too high to see their faces...

                               MAC (O.S.)
                     I think you're wrong, but cover it.
                     You got maybe four minutes.

     HIGHER still, the mob below an ant colony...

                               MAC (O.S., calmly)
                     No problem.  She's trapped.

     But as the crowd parts.  We can make out one lone man...

     Staring after.  What has gone.




Writers :   Ronald Bass  Michael Herzberg
Genres :   Action  Comedy  Crime  Thriller

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