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Ãëàâíàÿ>Êèíîñöåíàðèè>Èäåíòèôèêàöèÿ Áîðíà/ The Bourne Identity Ñöåíàðèé ôèëüìà Èäåíòèôèêàöèÿ Áîðíà/ The Bourne Identity íà àíãëèéñêîì ÿçûêå áåñïëàòíî
Çäåñü âû ìîæåòå íàéòè ñöåíàðèé ê ôèëüìó: Èäåíòèôèêàöèÿ Áîðíà/ The Bourne Identity. Èäåíòèôèêàöèÿ Áîðíà/ The Bourne Identity DARKNESS. THE SOUND OF WIND AND SPRAY. MUSIC. TITLES. EXT. OCEAN -- NIGHT The darkness is actually water. A SEARCHLIGHT arcs across heavy ocean swells. Half-a-dozen flashlights -- weaker beams -- racing along what we can see is the deck of an aging FISHING TRAWLER. FISHERMEN struggling with a gaff -- something in the water -- A HUMAN CORPSE. EXT. FISHING BOAT DECK -- NIGHT THE BODY sprawled there. The Sailors all talking at once -- three languages going -- brave chatter to mask the presence of death -- SAILOR #1 -- Jesus, look at him -- SAILOR #2 -- what? -- you never saw a dead man before? -- SAILOR #3 -- look, look he was shot -- (nudging the body--) SAILOR #1 -- don't, don't do that -- SAILOR #2 -- he's dead, you think he cares? -- SAILOR #1 -- so have some respect -- it's a -- (stopping as--) THE BODY MOVES! -- convulsing -- coughing up sea water -- the Sailors -- freaked -- jumping back -- standing there, as -- THE MAN begins to breathe. INT. FISHING BOAT BUNK ROOM -- NIGHT A wreck. Too small for all the people in here right now -- SAILORS sweeping off the table -- rough hands laying THE MAN down -- THE CAPTAIN -- brutal and impatient -- watching from the door as -- GIANCARLO tears through the clutter -- searching for a medical kit buried in the shambles. GIANCARLO is sixty. A bloodshot soul. GIANCARLO -- it's here -- hang on -- it's here somewhere -- give me a minute -- get some blankets -- get some blankets on him -- (finding the kit--) -- here we go -- here it is -- GIANCARLO with an old trunk -- just getting it open, as -- THE CAPTAIN Giancarlo. (Giancarlo turns back--) We pick him up? Okay, we have to pick him up. But that's as far as it goes. GIANCARLO He needs a doctor. CAPTAIN Fuck that. He lives? He dies? I don't care. We've wasted two hours on this shit already. You do what you can, but we're not going back. (pure steel now) You understand me? GIANCARLO Yes, sir. CAPTAIN (to the rest of them) Let's get back to work! GIANCARLO watching them run out. Snagging a quick pull on a pint of rum he's got stashed and -- INT. FISHING BOAT BUNK ROOM -- DAWN -- TIME CUTS Transformed into a makeshift operating room. A light swings overhead. THE MAN layed out across the table. Sounds -- groans -- words -- snatches of them -- all in different languages. GIANCARLO playing doctor in a greasy kitchen apron. Cutting away the clothes. Turning THE MAN on his side. Two bullet wounds in the back. Probing them, judging them. Now -- GIANCARLO with a flashlight in his teeth -- TINK -- TINK -- TINK -- bullet fragments falling into a washed-out olive jar. Now -- something catching GIANCARLO'S EYE -- A SCAR ON THE MAN'S HIP -- another fragment -- exacto knife cutting in -- tweezers extracting A SMALL PLASTIC TUBE, not a bullet at all, and as it comes free -- THE MAN'S HAND SLAMS down onto GIANCARLO'S and we SMASH CUT INTO A -- FIRST PERSON POV -- we are staring up at -- GIANCARLO You're awake. Can you hear me? (we're blinking--) You've been shot. I'm trying to help you. (we're trying to find our voice--) You were in the water. You've been shot. It's okay now. THE MAN Where am I? GIANCARLO (switching to English) You're American. I thought so. From your teeth -- the dental work -- THE MAN Where am I? GIANCARLO You're on a boat. A fishing boat. Italian flag. We're out of Vietri. (he smiles) It's the cold that saved you. The water. The wounds are clean. I'm not a doctor, but the wounds, it looks okay. It's clean. THE MAN How did I get here? GIANCARLO You we're lost at sea. They pulled you out. (we say nothing) Who are you? (still nothing) You were shot -- two bullets -- in the back. You understand me? (we try to nod) Who are you? Long dead pause. THE MAN I don't know. EXT. OCEAN -- DAY The Trawler plows through heavy seas. INT. FISHING BOAT BUNK ROOM -- DAY GIANCARLO is hunched over a desk -- tweezers and flashlight -- busy working at that strange plastic tube that came out of THE MAN's hip. THE MAN is bandaged. He's sitting up, and it must hurt like hell, but physical pain is not the thing troubling him right now. He's staring around the room -- at his body -- at the walls -- haunted -- THE MAN What if it doesn't come back? GIANCARLO (still working that tube) I told you. You need to rest. Silence. THE MAN can't rest. Too busy trying to make sense of all this. THE MAN I can read. I can read that sign on the door. I can count. I can talk... (focusing now--) What are you doing? GIANCARLO rummaging around -- finding a magnifying glass -- THE MAN What is that? INSERT -- MAGNIFIED POV -- a slip of plastic from the tube -- written there -- 000-7-17-12-0-14-26. GEMEINSCHAFT BANK, ZURICH. GIANCARLO It came from your hip. Under the skin. (turning back--) You have a bank in Zurich. (waiting) You remember Zurich? THE MAN No. GIANCARLO staring at him now. Different suddenly. Suspicious. GIANCARLO Look, I'm just on this boat, okay? I'm an engineer. Whatever this is, it's not for me to be involved, okay? THE MAN I don't remember Zurich. GIANCARLO pulls his pint. Takes a hit. GIANCARLO (offering the bottle--) You drink rum? THE MAN I don't know. EXT. FISHING BOAT DECK -- NIGHT THE MAN stands at the rail, staring out to sea. So lost. He turns to head inside -- there, a surfcasting rod propped against a locker. THE MAN picks up the rod -- flips the bail -- traps the line -- now he's casting far out into the darkness. And for the first time, he smiles. INT. FISHING BOAT GALLEY -- NIGHT A ratty old espresso machine. THE MAN standing there, staring at the thing like it's a test. Then his hands begin to move -- trying to pack a grind -- trying to fit it in -- turning on the steam and -- The whole thing explodes. EXT. FISHING BOAT DECK -- DAY THE MAN alone doing chin-ups on the deck rail. He's still bandaged and the wounds must hurt like hell, but he's pushing himself. Using the pain -- bathing in it -- maybe even hoping that it will hold some answer for him. INT. FISHING BOAT GALLEY -- NIGHT A chess board. Wooden pieces jumbled in a box. THE MAN hesitates -- takes a black knight from the box -- lingers for a moment -- and then places it on the board. He's off and running. He knows this. Placing pieces faster and faster -- still setting it up, as we -- INT. FISHING BOAT HEAD -- NIGHT One of the ugliest bathrooms on the planet. THE MAN standing before a pitted, tarnished, cataract of a mirror. Staring at himself. And then he speaks. THE MAN (in perfect French) (I don't know who I am. Do you know who I am? Do have any idea who I am?) And then he stops. Blinks. Wipes away the perspiration just beading on his forehead. THE MAN (in perfect Dutch) (Tell me who I am. If you know who I am, please stop fucking around and tell me.) No answer. Just that face. His face. Who am I? And what else is inside there? EXT. FISHING BOAT -- DAY SAILORS hauling in the nets. THE MAN -- still bandaged, but healing -- working beside them. Earning his keep. Getting healthy. EXT. ITALIAN COASTLINE -- DAWN A small, colorful fishing village. The trawler motoring in. INT. THE FISHING BOAT BUNK ROOM -- SAME TIME THE MAN buttoning up borrowed clothes. GIANCARLO pulling some cash from his pocket -- GIANCARLO (offering the money) It's not much, but it should get you to Switzerland. THE MAN I won't forget this. GIANCARLO gives him a look. Shakes his head, and -- INT. POKEY ITALIAN TRAIN STATION -- DAY The ticket window. THE MAN and a TICKET AGENT. TICKET AGENT Una sola via? THE MAN Si. One way. Una sola via. EXT. TGV -- DAY A HELICOPTER SHOT -- a bullet train speeds through snow- capped Alps. We move in on a window -- and staring out is... INT. TGV TRAIN -- DAY ...THE MAN. People all around him -- families -- businessmen -- normal people going about their lives. THE MAN turns back to the window, but he's not watching the scenery -- he's looking at his reflection. So lost. His face suddenly plunged into darkness as the train bombs into a tunnel... EXT. TRAIN -- NIGHT ...and out of the darkness into night and the HELICOPTER SHOT, as the train races toward ZURICH. INT. CIA HEADQUARTERS CONFERENCE ROOM -- DAY A VIDEO MONITOR -- FULL FRAME -- meet WOMBOSI. He's an African ex-dictator, think Idi Amin crossed with Mobutu. He's in some sort of throne room. And he's angry. Bodyguards and a translator hovering nervously around him. What this is, is NEWS FOOTAGE -- an interview conducted by a German TV station. WOMBOSI (he speaks english) ...no, no, no -- the time is not right, my enemies are too strong. I'm telling you to wait for this, you understand? I'm telling you this, and I'm making a warning to all those peoples out there that think that my powers have become so weak that they can play with me as they wish. You will see -- I will tell you when the evidence is clear. Then you will have a story. My old friends will hear about themselves. (stopping, freezing on that image, and--) MARSHALL, a CIA bigwig has the remote control. And the floor. MARSHALL That's Nykwana Wombosi speaking in Paris the day before yesterday. I'm sure most of you have a passing knowledge of Mr. Wombosi. Some of you on the African desks have worked with him over the years. Some of you very closely... TWELVE CIA MANDARINS sitting around the table like kids in detention. We will tour the faces as MARSHALL continues, but the guy we're interested in is named WARD ABBOTT. Picture a sawier, slicker John Poindexter. MARSHALL ...He was an irritation before he took power. He was a problem when he was in power. And he's been a disaster for us in exile. (the tape--) Wombosi likes to send us messages through the European media. This is an interview we pulled down from a local German television station in Dresden. We've been getting these little broadsides every couple of months. He knows this -- he knows that -- he's writing a book about the Agency's history in Africa -- he's going to name names. It's basically a shakedown... ABBOTT'S FACE says this is news to him. HIS HANDS suggest otherwise. MARSHALL This interview -- and I'll make the tape available for anyone who wants it -- he goes on to claim that he has just survived an assassination attempt. He says it's us. He says he's got proof. (beat) The overwhelming negative ramifications of this should be obvious. (hard and dry) The Director wants to know if there is any possible shred of truth in this accusation. Long pause. No hands go up. INT. ZURICH TRAIN STATION -- NIGHT THE MAN wandering through the terminal. Passing A PIZZA PLACE closing up for the night. THE MAN checks his funds. Just enough for one cold slice. EXT. ZURICH STREETS -- NIGHT THE MAN walking aimlessly. EXT. ZURICH PARK -- NIGHT THE MAN trying to get comfortable on a bench. It's chilly but this will have to do until morning. Just settling in, when -- ZURICH COP #1 (OS) (authority German) (Can't you read the signs?) THE MAN turns. TWO ZURICH COPS coming toward him. ZURICH COP #2 (On your feet. Let's go. Right now.) THE MAN makes his feet. They're on top of him now. ZURICH COP #1 (The park is closed. There's no sleeping in the park.) ZURICH COP #2 (Let's see some identification.) THE MAN not sure what to do. Eyes moving. Mouth shut. ZURICH COP #1 (Come on. Your papers. Let's go.) THE MAN I've lost them. I've. (German now) (My papers. They are lost.) ZURICH COP #1 (not sympathetic) (Okay. Let's go. Put your hands up.) ZURICH COP #2 (pulling his nightstick) (-- come on -- hands up -- up --) THE MAN raising his hand slowly -- ZURICH COP #1 reaching up to pat him down -- THE MAN -- look, I'm just trying to sleep okay? -- (German again) (-- I just need to sleep --) ZURICH COP #2 has heard enough -- giving a sharp poke with the nightstick -- into THE MAN's back -- and that's the last thing he'll remember because -- THE MAN is in motion. A single turn -- spinning -- catching COP #2 completely off guard -- the heel of his hand driving up into the guy's throat and -- COP #1 -- behind him -- trying to reach for his pistol, but THE MAN -- still turning -- all his weight moving in a single fluid attack -- a sweeping kick and -- COP #1 -- he's falling -- catching the bench -- trying to fight back but -- THE MAN -- like a machine -- just unbelievably fast -- three jackhammer punches -- down-down- down and -- COP #1 -- head slammed into the bench -- blood spraying from his nose -- he's out cold and -- COP #2 -- writhing on the ground -- gasping for air -- struggling with his holster -- THE MAN -- his foot -- down -- like a vise -- onto COP #2's arm -- shattering the bone -- COP #2 starting to scream, and then silenced because -- THE MAN -- he's got the pistol -- so fucking fast -- he's got it right up against COP #2's forehead -- right on the edge of pulling the trigger -- he is, he's gonna shoot him -- ZURICH COP #2 (gasping, pleading) (-- no -- please God no -- please don't -- please no -- my Go--) (stopping as--) THE MAN slams the gun against his temple and -- This fight is over. THE MAN standing there. In the silence. Two unconscious cops at his feet. Blood on his pants. What just happened? How did he do this? And there's THE GUN in his hand. And God, it just feels so natural -- checking it -- stripping it down -- holding it -- aiming it -- like this is something he's done a million times before... This is something he definitely knows how to do. And then he stops cold. Throwing down the gun. Running off into the darkness -- INT. TREADSTONE -- DAY A deep, inner office. An ops office. Operations. Unlabeled and anonymous. A backwater project center hidden deep within the Langley facility. Utilitarian. Several rooms linked like a suite. Small staff. SEVERAL TECHNICIANS. One or two for communications. A couple for research. People are at their posts. And it's all quiet. But they are busy. Quietly urgent. This is a place under siege. ZORN is the number two here. Brilliant bloodless lapdog. He's coming through the suite. Coming through quickly. Heading toward the boss's little office at the back -- TED CONKLIN. Ivy League Ollie North. Buttoned down. Square jaw. Everything tucked away. But there's tension in the air. Work on the desk. Cot in the corner. CONKLIN (looking up) What? ZORN Abbott wants to talk. CONKLIN Tell him we're busy. ZORN I tried. INT. CIA COMMISSARY -- NIGHT ABBOTT with coffee. CONKLIN not lingering. ABBOTT Storm clouds are gathering, Ted. It looks like rain and I don't have a thing to wear. CONKLIN I don't know what we're talking about. ABBOTT We're talking about Marseille. We're talking about Nykwana Wombosi. And I'm asking you if this abortion in Marseille has anything to do with Treadstone. (silence) Was this Treadstone? CONKLIN You're asking me a direct question? ABBOTT Yes. CONKLIN I thought you were never going to do that. Silence. Pressure drop. ABBOTT They're putting together an agency oversight committee. They're going to look through everyone's budgets. Treadstone is a rather sizable line item in my ledger. (beat) What am I going to do about that? CONKLIN You'd want to make that go away. You'd want to remind them that Treadstone is a training organization. That it's all theoretical. You'd want to sign off on that. ABBOTT And what if I couldn't do that? CONKLIN Then I'd have to explain Treadstone. And you'd have to explain how you let me get this far. (silence) Doesn't sound like much of a Plan-B, does it? (Abbott staring) We'll clean up the field. You clean up your budgets. EXT. ZURICH -- DAY Morning in the financial district. Upscale. Uptight. GEMEINSCHAFT BANK just one of many elegant fortresses on this street. Everything just now opening for business. TWO GUARDS unlocking the front door and -- THE MAN across the street. Tucked in the shadows. Checking for cops and trouble. Looks clear. He's walking and -- INT. BANK RECEPTION AREA -- DAY Ornate, formidable and tech at the same time. RECEPTIONIST (Can I help you?) THE MAN standing before her. Looking very out of place. THE MAN I'm here about a numbered account. THE RECEPTIONIST nods. Pulls a pen and bank card. RECEPTIONIST (instant English) If you'll just enter your account number here I'll direct you to the appropriate officer. THE MAN takes the pen, as we -- INT. BANK SECURITY CHECKPOINT -- DAY A BIO-METRIC SCANNER. A piece of ultra-tech amidst the Baroque. TWO SERIOUS BANK GUARDS manning the equipment. THE MAN standing there, staring down at this machine. Something ominously decisive about this. What if it's him? What if it's not? BANK GUARD #1 (they've been waiting) (Your hand, sir...) THE MAN focuses. Here we go -- BANK GUARD #2 guiding his open palm onto the mirrored scanning surface. THE MAN catching his reflection for a moment before a wave of white light passes beneath his hand and now -- INT. BANK HALLWAY -- DAY THE MAN being led by A THIRD GUARD to a special elevator. INT. DEEPER INSIDE THE BANK -- DAY Elevator doors open. THE MAN steps out. MR. APFEL -- anal Zurich banker -- waiting there. APFEL Good morning, sir. I assume you're here about your box. THE MAN ...yes... (what now?) The box. APFEL nods. Gestures down the corridor -- INT. BANK SAFETY DEPOSIT VIEWING ROOM -- DAY Sterile and kind of odd. But total privacy. THE MAN sitting there, as A DEPOSIT GUARD places a large SAFETY DEPOSIT BOX before him. THE GUARD leaves the room. Closing the door behind him. THE MAN is alone. And there it is, right in front of him. This is it. Here are the answers. He lifts the lid. THE BOX. There's a shallow tray on top. In this tray: a beat-up passport in the name of Jason Bourne. A French driver's license with a Parisian address. Credit cards for Jason Bourne. THE MAN. Holding these objects close -- as if by holding them he might absorb their essence. Forcing himself to believe. This is him. His picture. There it is. He's Jason Bourne. BOURNE My name is Jason Bourne. (sounds good) Hi, I'm Jason. Jason Bourne. Jason Bourne, nice to meet you. BACK TO -- THE BOX -- the shallow tray on top. There's Kleenex. Several sets of contact lenses. A knife. A comb. Three sticks of gum. A ring. A pair of sunglasses. A Rolex. BOURNE setting these things aside. Lifting the top tray. Staring into THE DEEP BOTTOM TRAY and -- First of all... MONEY. Lots of it. Ten thousand dollar stacks of hundreds. Lots of them. Close to a million dollars. There's A GUN. A very good gun. Several clips of ammo. And... FIVE MORE PASSPORTS. All clean. Crisp. Brand new. All with his photo inside. Five different names. Three different Countries. Each one of these pristine passports clipped to a piece of card stock that says: NAME: NATIONALITY: PLACE OF ISSUE: SIGNATURE SAMPLE: And a bar code. Two Dutch passports. A French. A South African. A Belgian. And... There's one piece of card stock still with the paper clip in place. And no passport. This card reads: NAME: John Michael Kane NATIONALITY: U.S.A. PLACE OF ISSUE: Paris, France There's a signature sample. And a bar code. But no passport. This one is missing. BOURNE sitting there. Trying to push his confusion away. BOURNE Bourne. My name is Jason Bourne. I live at 121, Rue de la Jardin, Paris. But there's something hollow about this. He came looking for one identity and now he's faced with six. The money... The gun... Suddenly, it's all fucked up. BOURNE into gear. Looking around the room -- there -- there's a pile of red canvas burn bags in the corner. BOURNE grabbing one -- stuffing everything into it -- everything except... The gun. He doesn't want the gun. No guns. INT. BANK SAFETY DEPOSIT OUTER AREA -- DAY BOURNE is done. Handing the box back to THE DEPOSIT GUARD -- BOURNE (I'm trying to think how long it's been since I was here.) DEPOSIT GUARD (I'm not sure. Must be three weeks.) EXT. STREETS OF ZURICH -- DAY -- VARIOUS SHOTS BOURNE exits the bank. The red bag full to its limit. He's walking briskly now. Looking for a taxi. Nothing in sight. BOURNE crossing the street. Shit, there's A COP on the corner -- turn -- change pace -- make it look natural -- BOURNE around a corner. And it's looking good for a moment -- but only a moment -- TWO MORE COPS walking a beat -- walking this way -- turn -- cut -- cross the street -- BOURNE heading down a boulevard. Trying to look small. Pulse starting to race. Fighting the paranoia. Where the hell is a cab? Turning back fast as A SIREN starts bleeding in from behind him -- It's just an ambulance. BOURNE turning back. Forcing himself to focus. And fuck -- there's A METER MAID, and she's stopped writing up a ticket -- she's staring at him and -- BOURNE trying not to panic -- don't run -- smile -- stay small -- get to the corner -- scan the options -- but -- THE METER MAID -- she's watching him go and she's pulling her radio and -- BOURNE hitting this next corner -- banging a right -- forcing himself not to run -- glancing back and -- THERE'S ANOTHER COP -- but this one is jogging -- searching -- he's got his radio out and -- FINALLY TO -- BOURNE bailing on the street -- disappearing into -- EXT. U.S. EMBASSY COMPOUND -- DAY Big gates. Speed barricades. SEVERAL U.S. MARINES standing guard near a gate house. An American flag. Lots of people coming and going. BOURNE playing it as normal as possible as he heads for the entrance. INT. U.S. CONSULATE ZURICH -- VISA ROOM -- DAY The passport and visa office. Big room. No windows. Unpleasant on purpose. Two lines: A short one for U.S. Citizens, a marathon for everyone else. CONSULATE CLERKS stationed in open cubicles along the back wall. And it's a zoo. American tourists who've lost their passports. Foreigners looking for visas. Asylum seekers. Everyone here has a problem. BOURNE on the U.S. line. Standing there trying to think. What's he gonna say? What can he say? With the cops outside, and the incident in the park, then the bank... MARIE (O.S.) -- no, this is not my current address. It was my current address two days ago when I started standing in line outside -- A NEARBY CUBICLE. Meet MARIE KREUTZ. German. Big energy. Real beauty hidden beneath the armor. And armor it is, because this is a warrior in full, crisis battlemode. MARIE -- and so now I lost my apartment, I have no address, and I have no visa, and you keep telling me how much help you cannot give me! A CONSULATE CLERK caught in her headlights. CLERK Miss Kreutz, please... I'm gonna have to ask you to keep your voice down. MARIE All the papers -- all the papers they asked for -- I brought all the papers -- CLERK Miss Kreutz, excuse me, but you entered into a fraudulent marriage in an effort to circumvent the immigration laws of the United States -- MARIE You only know that because I told you! (she's incredulous) Ask the case officer -- find his name -- it's on the papers -- I told him all this myself! -- (tearing through the papers now--) CLERK -- it's not the source of the information that's important here -- MARIE -- I paid this fucking guy -- I paid him four thousand dollars -- my last four thousand dollars to marry me, okay? -- I told this to the case officer last week... (she's found it--) ...here -- Mr. Thomas. I told Mr. Thomas I didn't know this guy was already married -- I admitted this! CLERK -- Miss Kreutz, please -- MARIE -- I'm the one that got ripped off! -- not you -- not the United States government -- me -- I'm the one being ripped off! CLERK So now you're asking for a student visa? That shuts her up. Yes. Today she's a student. INT. CIA OFFICE COMPLEX -- NIGHT (BUT SAME TIME) Motion -- CONKLIN racing down a staircase -- ZORN chasing after -- CONKLIN -- and they're sure it's him? -- ZORN -- he accessed the account -- CONKLIN -- but it was him -- ZORN -- yes, sir, it's confirmed -- INT. U.S. CONSULATE -- VISA ROOM -- DAY BOURNE on line. Fear meter rising by the minute. BOURNE'S POV Scanning the room -- the perimeter -- the people -- A TURKISH MAN almost in tears as he tries to explain his case to a DESK CLERK -- TWO AMERICAN BACKPACKERS that have lost their passports -- MARIE still in the midst of her madness -- A SECURITY CAMERA high on the wall capturing everything -- lots of data -- too much going on and -- MAN ON LINE (OS) (from behind him) You're up. BOURNE comes to. Shit. It's his turn. A WOMAN CLERK waving him forward. BOURNE trying to think -- what the fuck is he doing? -- what's he gonna say? -- now he's at the window, and if he was looking for a friendly face, he came to the wrong place -- WOMAN CLERK (cold shit) You're a U.S. Citizen? BOURNE Yes. (pause) I mean, I think so. Yes. Yes... WOMAN CLERK Well, either you are, or you aren't. BOURNE Right. WOMAN CLERK You have your passport? BOURNE I have a passport. I've got... (the bag there, but...) Actually, it's a little complicated. WOMAN CLERK Do you have your passport, sir? BOURNE Look, maybe I should just... WOMAN CLERK Sir, you waited on line. BOURNE Yeah, I know... But he's already bailing, walking away from the woman, the window, the room -- he's out of here -- INT. U.S. CONSULATE LOBBY -- DAY BOURNE on the move -- hustling back toward the lobby -- trying to snag a view out to the street -- there's a window just ahead and -- BOURNE'S WINDOW POV -- ZURICH COPS -- outside -- on the street -- half-a-dozen of them lingering around the entry gate and -- BOURNE stalled for a moment -- options dwindling -- he can't go back to the passport office -- he can't go out the front and -- The lobby looks tough -- there are two other points of entry into the main building, but they're both guarded by MARINES and METAL DETECTORS -- As he gets closer -- it gets worse -- A ZURICH POLICE INSPECTOR near the door, in deep conversation with TWO MARINES and THE EMBASSY SECURITY OFFICER and -- BOURNE trying to burrow through the human traffic -- trying to get to THE LARGER OF THE TWO ENTRY GATES -- this one the farthest from the front door and the passport office corridor, and it's the most crowded -- A COUPLE PEOPLE lined up here -- waiting for one of THE THREE MARINES STAFFING THIS POST to check their bags and pass them through a metal detector and -- SECURITY CHIEF (OS) -- stop! -- stop right there! -- BOURNE turns back -- as does everyone else in the lobby -- SECURITY CHIEF (from across the lobby) -- YOU -- red bag -- the red bag -- stop right there! -- hands up! -- BOURNE glancing back -- ONE OF THE GATE MARINES BEHIND HIM -- the guy's raising his M-16 -- GUN MARINE -- you heard him -- let's move it! -- down -- let's go! -- BOURNE nodding -- total compliance -- starting to drop -- but only starting, because now -- He's swinging the backpack and -- THE GUN MARINE -- nailed -- blind-sided -- no chance and -- BOURNE -- all motion -- all forward -- all perfect -- vaulting the metal detector even as he pulls ONE OF THE PEOPLE ON LINE around to shield his back and -- ANOTHER GATE MARINE -- right there -- trying to grab him -- making his move -- BOURNE -- almost an afterthought -- his boot -- like a knife -- out of nowhere -- SNAP! -- the guy's arm just shattered and -- THE SECURITY CHIEF -- freaking out -- TWO MARINES WITH HIM -- they're raising their weapons and there's people in the lobby and -- SECURITY CHIEF -- no -- no -- hold your fire! -- BOURNE -- landing hard on THE GUN MARINE -- rolling away from the gate -- into the building now -- coming up with the backpack and -- SOMEONE SCREAMING -- he's got a gun! -- he's got a gun! -- And he does -- BOURNE with the M-16! -- coming up with it -- coming up on the move -- swinging it around as he searches for an escape route and THE GUN -- it's like a magic wand of hysteria -- PEOPLE IN THE LOBBY -- SCREAMING -- diving away -- everyone dropping for cover and -- BOURNE -- bailing -- on the run -- sprinting down a hallway -- tossing away the M-16 as he sprints into the building -- THE SECURITY CHIEF (frantic on his radio now--) -- red! -- red! -- red! -- code red! -- South side entrance! -- male -- five-ten, brown hair -- black jacket -- red bag -- INT. U.S. CONSULATE OFFICE HALLWAY -- DAY Quiet for a second -- offices on either side of a carpeted hallway -- BUREAUCRAT-TYPES doing their thing, when suddenly -- BUREAUCRAT #1 Excuse me? Can I help you? (but backing up as he says it, because--) Here comes BOURNE -- coming fast -- and he definitely does not belong back here -- INT. U.S. CONSULATE LOBBY/SECURITY GATE -- DAY Panic -- people fleeing the lobby -- MORE MARINES hustling in from outside and -- INT. U.S. CONSULATE FIRE STAIRWELL -- DAY Door flies open -- BOURNE bombing in -- shit! -- it's a dead end -- no way out but up the stairs -- INT. U.S. CONSULATE GROUND FLOOR CORRIDOR -- DAY SECURITY CHIEF -- THREE MARINES -- sidearms drawn -- jogging past the INNER OFFICES -- running beside them, a frantic guy in a suit -- DEPUTY DCM -- what're you talking about? -- SECURITY CHIEF -- we're evacuating the building -- DEPUTY DCM -- we're in the middle of a trade meeting! -- SECURITY CHIEF -- call the code! -- I want everyone out! -- DEPUTY DCM -- you gotta give me more to go on -- SECURITY CHIEF -- he's running from the cops, he's got a bag filled with God knows what, he's in the building and I don't know where! -- INT. U.S. CONSULATE BACK STAIRWAY -- DAY BOURNE climbing fast -- two -- three -- stairs at a time -- racing up as a SECURITY ALARM STARTS SCREAMING -- bleet -- bleet -- bleet -- INT. U.S. CONSULATE FIFTH-FLOOR GRAND HALLWAY -- DAY THE ALARM ringing everywhere -- TRADE CONFERENCEES -- sixty confused and frightened people -- spilling out into the corridor -- INT. U.S. CONSULATE FIFTH FLOOR KITCHENETTE -- DAY A NEW DOOR flying open -- it's BOURNE -- ready for anything, but there's nothing -- he's in a butler's prep area off the main conference room -- momentum stalled for a moment -- nothing in here but tableclothes and silverware and coffee cups and -- INT. U.S. CONSULATE BACK STAIRWAY -- DAY THREE MARINES -- armed and stoked -- staring up the stairs -- leapfrogging -- point-to-point assault procedure -- INT. U.S. CONSULATE MAIN STAIRS -- DAY Carpeted and grand -- SECURITY CHIEF with FIVE MARINES NOW -- charging up -- pushing past THE PEOPLE trying to come down and -- INT. U.S. CONSULATE FIFTH FLOOR GRAND HALLWAY -- DAY Completely clogged now -- PANICKED TRADE PEOPLE all over -- EMBASSY TYPES -- trying to herd them toward the main stairs -- everyone talking at once -- THAT ALARM STILL BLARING and -- VOICE (OS) -- no! -- the other way! -- take the backstairs! -- the backstairs! -- he's on the other side -- there's a bomb! -- And as the crowd reacts -- as they mob back away from the main stairway -- we see -- holy shit, the guy yelling was BOURNE -- INT. U.S. CONSULATE BACK STAIRWELL -- DAY THE ASSAULT MARINES -- still climbing -- weapons out -- clean and fast -- one more flight to go -- ready for anything -- completely freaking out as the door above them on the fifth floor flies open and -- LEAD MARINE -- HALT! -- STOP WHERE YOU ARE! -- MARINE GUNS swinging up -- trigger fingers tense and -- IT'S TRADE PEOPLE! and now THEY'RE SCREAMING and this combined with THE ALARM and THE MARINES YELLING FOR THEM TO GET DOWN and ALL OF IT ECHOING THROUGH THE STAIRWELL and -- INT. U.S. CONSULATE MAIN CONFERENCE ROOM -- DAY BOURNE -- he's CLOSING A DOOR behind him -- he's jamming A CHAIR -- wedging it in tight so the door won't open and -- INT. U.S. CONSULATE FIFTH FLOOR GRAND HALLWAY -- DAY THE SECURITY CHIEF -- HIS MARINES -- coming from the main stairs -- weapons drawn -- fighting their way through the pandemonium and -- INT. U.S. CONSULATE MAIN CONFERENCE ROOM -- DAY BOURNE scanning for options -- the room is huge -- empty now -- the massive conference table covered with the meeting papers left behind -- windows along one wall and -- BOURNE rushes to the window staring down and -- BOURNE'S WINDOW POV Fifty feet below there's a courtyard -- it's a sheer drop -- completely fucked and -- INT. U.S. CONSULATE FIFTH FLOOR GRAND HALLWAY -- DAY SECURITY CHIEF -- TWO MARINES -- just outside THE CONFERENCE ROOM DOOR -- trying it -- it won't budge and -- SECURITY CHIEF -- blow it -- shoot it open! -- INT. U.S. CONSULATE MAIN CONFERENCE ROOM -- DAY THE DOOR -- shattering -- eaten up by GUNFIRE! -- TAT-TAT- TAT-TATTAT-TAT-TAT-TAT! and -- WHAM! HERE THEY COME -- through the door -- guns -- eyes -- adrenaline -- everything ready and -- THE ROOM IS EMPTY! EXT. U.S. CONSULATE BUILDING WALL -- DAY BOURNE -- dangling fifty-feet above the stone courtyard! -- he's gone out the window! -- hanging there -- hanging with one hand -- one hand clutching the corner of a ledge and -- INT. U.S. CONSULATE MAIN CONFERENCE ROOM -- DAY Utter confusion -- SECURITY CHIEF -- FIVE -- SIX -- SEVEN ARMED MARINES all piling in -- ready to rock but there's no one to shoot -- no target -- SECURITY CHIEF -- check the closets! -- get those back doors covered -- there's a kitchen back there -- go! -- go! -- go! TWO MARINES -- scanning the windows -- looking down and -- MARINE POV -- all clear -- no way he went down there and -- EXT. U.S. CONSULATE BUILDING WALL -- DAY BOURNE still hanging there -- looking down -- up -- there's no choice -- he has to go down -- BOURNE finding a toehold below him -- reaching -- touching down -- it gives way -- crumbling and -- BOURNE hesitates. Does he know how to do this or not? Stalled for a moment, then... BOURNE starts climbing down. And this is all one shot. No cutaway. No cheating. We are watching a master at work... Handhold to a drain pipe. Swinging to a better ledge. Dropping to an air-conditioner. Grabbing a window frame just before the air-conditioner gives way. Teetering there. Now he's on the fourth floor. Below, there's an open window on the third floor. Struggling to keep his balance, he reaches behind him to shift the weight of the bag, and as he does -- THE RED BAG falls. Thump. Into the courtyard. Forget the open window. Now he's got to go all the way. Timing his next move and -- He's pushing off -- reaching -- there's another drainpipe and he's snagged it -- he's got a dragline now -- starting to fall -- straining to hold the pipe -- slowing his descent -- the drainpipe pulling away from it's housing and -- BOURNE letting go -- just before he falls backward -- one last grab -- catching a gutter -- holding it just long enough to slow his fall and -- Letting go for the last fifteen feet and -- EXT. U.S. CONSULATE FIFTH FLOOR GRAND HALLWAY -- DAY A DOZEN MARINES -- pumped-up and listening to -- SECURITY -- we're gonna go room by room until we find him -- so let's get teamed up -- EXT. AN ALLEYWAY NEAR THE U.S. CONSULATE -- DAY MARIE storming away. Pissed-off -- broke -- illegal -- ruined and -- MARIE (German) (Motherfucking sonsofbitches!) (a new problem--) A LITTLE RED CAR. A beat-to-shit Euro car. A shitty little red car angled in beside a dumpster with a big red Zurich parking ticket on the windshield. MARIE grabbing the ticket -- tearing it up -- tearing the shit out of it -- blind with misfortune -- throwing the pieces on the ground and stomping on them and then -- MARIE (looking up--) (What are you looking at?) BOURNE standing across the car -- on the passenger side -- BOURNE I need a ride. MARIE (What?) BOURNE I need a ride out of here. MARIE Oh, Jesus... (backing away and--) BOURNE Please. I don't want to scare you. MARIE It's a little late for that. BOURNE I've got a situation here and -- MARIE Get the fuck away from my car. BOURNE I'll give you ten thousand dollars to drive me to Paris. MARIE Great. You know what? I'll give you ten gazillion dollars to get the fuck away from me before I start screaming my head off. BOURNE You don't want the police any more than I do. BOURNE tosses cash -- a stack of hundreds -- across the car into her hands -- she catches it. Looks at it. MARIE Jesus... BOURNE Get me out of here. Please. MARIE looking at him. At the money. Back at him, and -- INT. TREADSTONE COMMUNICATIONS DESK -- NIGHT VIDEO PLAYBACK -- FULL FRAME -- fast forward -- a speeding blur of images from a surveillance camera outside the Zurich bank -- it's two days worth of footage -- they're scanning for Bourne's arrival and -- CONKLIN go -- keep going -- go...wait -- stop -- you went past it -- COM TECH #1 working the console. Freezing the image. Punching it up. There it is -- BOURNE leaving the bank with the red bag. CONKLIN (staring at the monitor) It's him. My God, it's really him... ZORN the phones across the room. COM TECH #2 at his console -- COM TECH #2 -- we got a cross-ref ready to go here, sir, we're running hotel, airline, train, and medical variables, anything else you'd like? CONKLIN No... (still staring at Bourne) Go ahead. Run it. (coming to--) Let's get a map, let's get a grid map on Zurich. ZORN (holding the phone) Sir... CONKLIN up from the console. ZORN waiting for him -- CONKLIN What? ZORN Zurich police are looking for an American with a red bag. Apparently he put two cops in the hospital last night. Silence. Like the floor just fell away. So heavy. CONKLIN What the fuck is he doing? ZORN Maybe it's a game. Maybe he's trying to send us a message. CONKLIN It doesn't matter now. We've just got to be the first ones there. (decision time) Get everybody up. I want them all activated. ZORN All of them? A moment between them. CONKLIN all steel here now. CONKLIN You heard me. COM TECH #2 (from the console--) Sir, the cross-ref is coming up cold... CONKLIN breaks away -- back to the console and -- EXT. BARCELONA RESIDENTIAL BOULEVARD -- DAY Establishing shot. A grand house. PIANO MUSIC over this -- someone butchering a piece by Haydn and -- INT. BARCELONA GRAND HOUSE MUSIC ROOM -- DAY Meet THE PROFESSOR. He's a piano teacher. Late fifties. Deceptively fit. He's sitting here, listening to a NINE- YEAR-OLD STUDENT struggle through the music. And then, HIS E-PHONE PAGER starts pulsing -- hum -- hum -- INT. HAMBURG CONFERENCE ROOM -- DAY A boring, marathon business meeting. FIFTEEN MIDDLE MANAGERS are trapped around a German sales presentation. Meet MANHEIM. Bald. Fifty. He looks dumb and piggy. Anything but. Sitting here -- And then, HIS E-PHONE PAGER starts pulsing -- hum -- hum -- EXT. A ROMAN CAF+ -- DAY Meet CASTEL. He's thirty-five. Slender. Clean-cut. Easy to miss. He's here alone. Reading the paper. Sipping espresso. And then, HIS E-PHONE PAGER starts pulsing -- hum -- hum -- EXT. A ROAD ON THE OUTSKIRTS OF ZURICH -- DAY The little red car parked. MARIE pacing around. BOURNE poring over a map spread out opver the hood. MARIE So what's in Paris? BOURNE I want to go home. MARIE For twenty thousand dollars. BOURNE looks back from the map. BOURNE I said ten thousand. MARIE You have blood on your pants. BOURNE Okay. (beat) Twenty thousand. Ten now. Ten there. MARIE No. No, that was too easy -- (pacing away--) BOURNE Wait up -- (after her now--) -- just wait up -- MARIE -- get the fuck out of here -- all this money, this crazy offer, I mean give me a fucking break with this, this is -- (stopping because--) BOURNE just grabbed her. Both of them shocked that he's done this. He immediately pulls back. BOURNE Look, I want a ride to Paris. (wide open now) That's all I want. I swear. MARIE You swear? (cold here) That's great. I feel so much better now. BOURNE I don't want anything but a ride. All I want to do is go home. Silence now. She looks back. Measuring him. MARIE You could buy a car for twenty grand. You could buy this car. BOURNE I don't want to go alone. I want you to drive me to Paris. Like we're a couple. Like we're a couple and we're travelling together. That's all we're doing. MARIE And I don't get hurt. I get twenty thousand dollars and I don't get hurt. BOURNE I won't hurt you. MARIE What if I say no? BOURNE Then I'll find another ride. EXT. ROME STREET -- DAY CASTEL through the streets on a motorcycle. Whipping to a stop -- stepping off the bike in front of -- U-STORE-IT STORAGE WAREHOUSE. INT. STORAGE WAREHOUSE ELEVATOR -- DAY CASTEL and THE ELEVATOR OPERATOR -- rising slowly through the dark warehouse and -- INT. CASTEL'S STORAGE UNIT -- DAY Darkness -- a key turning -- door opening -- light goes on to reveal CASTEL standing there and we're in -- CASTEL'S STORAGE UNIT. What's in here? Like nothing. Like a stack of old newspapers in the corner. Some mildewed books piled along one wall. Some shitty plastic chairs. QUICK TIME CUTS CASTEL working fast. Closing the door. Moving to the pile of books. Taking the top book off. Opening it. INSIDE THE BOX -- a timer. A small bomb. A booby-trap. An LED light stops flashing as CASTEL'S HANDS code in his password and -- CASTEL moving to the newspapers stacked in the corner. Pulling away the top pile and -- A METAL LOCK BOX. Hidden here. CASTEL pulling it out. Opening it. An empty tray on top and -- CASTEL taking off his watch. Taking off his rings. Taking out his wallet. His Spanish passport. Emptying his pockets. All of this goes into the empty tray and -- CASTEL lifting away this top tray -- setting it aside and -- THE METAL LOCK BOX -- there's more -- a much larger bottom compartment -- and it's deja-vu all over again -- we're looking at the identical contents we saw Bourne find in the Zurich safe-deposit box. First of all... MONEY. Lots of it. Ten thousand dollar stacks of hundreds. Lots of them. A GUN. A very good gun. A dozen clips of ammo. And FIVE MORE PASSPORTS. All clean. Brand new. All with his photo. Five different names. Four different countries. Each one of these pristine clipped to a piece of card stock that says: NAME: NATIONALITY: PLACE OF ISSUE: SIGNATURE SAMPLE: A BAR CODE: Two Italian. Two Spanish. A Portuguese. CASTEL going for the Portuguese passport and -- EXT. ALPS HELICOPTER SHOT -- DAY The little red car driving through The Alps. INT. THE RED CAR -- DUSK BOURNE staring out the window. MARIE driving. Long silence until -- MARIE Just so you know, if you're gonna burn me on the money, you might as well kill me. (Bourne looks over) I was supposed to have this car back three days ago. It's not my car. BOURNE I know that. MARIE staring at him -- glancing back to the road -- just in time -- almost rear-ending a slow moving truck -- MARIE Shit -- (trying to settle) Can I tell you how much you're freaking me out? Okay? Because you are -- you're completely freaking me out. BOURNE I'm sorry. Really. What do you want me to do? MARIE I don't know. Smile. Sneeze. Something. You've got a bag full of money and a ride to Paris. Fuck it, I don't know... (the radio) What kind of music do you like? BOURNE I don't know. MARIE What does that mean? BOURNE Listen to what you want. MARIE (out of nowhere) Who pays twenty thousand dollars for a ride to Paris? There it is. And she wants an answer -- BOURNE I don't know. I don't know who I am. MARIE Yeah, well, welcome to the club. BOURNE No. No, I mean, I really don't know who I am. I can't remember anything earlier than two weeks ago. (it's not flying) I'm serious. MARIE What? Like amnesia? BOURNE Look, go ahead...put the radio on... MARIE Amnesia? (total incredulity) You're saying you don't remember anything that happened before two weeks ago? BOURNE That's what I'm saying. MARIE (German) (Give me a fucking break.) BOURNE staring at her. She's furious. She's downshifting -- she's accelerating -- pulling out to pass the truck on a blind turn, as we -- EXT. ZURICH BANK -- DAY/DUSK APFEL emerges from the bank. Leaving work. Turns the corner into a quiet side street and -- Up ahead, here comes another guy in a suit. It's MANHEIM walking toward us, deep into a cell phone conversation. Barely noticing Apfel as they get closer and -- As they pass -- MANHEIM -- it's completely out of the blue -- he's jabbing the cellphone down into Apfel's shoulder and -- APFEL -- no clue -- already clutching at the coronary exploding in his chest -- dead before his body hits the street and -- MANHEIM -- still walking -- he's never broken stride -- and as he goes he's fiddling with the cellphone and -- INSERT -- THE CELLPHONE -- MANHEIM'S HANDS working to retract a syringe into the device and -- MANHEIM striding away. Disappearing into Zurich... INT. PARIS MORGUE -- NIGHT Not the best morgue in town. Cold tile. A wall of freezers. Death lighting. Now add some color. Meet NYKWANA WOMBOSI in the flesh. Meet HIS ENTOURAGE -- eight or ten of his thirty children -- two of his wives -- three of his bodyguards -- the whole crew spread out in this horrible basement room. THE WIVES are chatting. THE KIDS are playing, fighting and eating candy. THE BODYGUARDS -- three of them here -- are white. These guys are French/Corsican mercs. Not quite the A-Team. The guy in charge of this ugly little unit is named DEAUVAGE. Into it. Too into it. TWO MORGUE ATTENDANTS hanging back. THE MORGUE BOSS -- who's clearly suffering this for a bribe -- moves to one of the freezer lockers... MORGUE BOSS (French) (Okay, Monsieur Kane...number 121...) And he pulls open FREEZER #121. And thank God we can't see it, because whatever's inside there is clearly horrible. THE MORGUE BOSS barely takes a glance, standing back as quickly as possible. DEAUVAGE -- lead bodyguard -- moves to clear a zone for his boss -- WOMBOSI Get the fuck out of my way -- (pushing Deauvage aside--) WOMBOSI moves to the freezer box. Stares down. As if it were nothing. He's seen -- he's made -- much, much worse. And now he reaches down into the box -- hands on -- literally feeling around this dead, awful corpse with his bare hands -- feeling around for something -- feeling and feeling and not finding -- WOMBOSI (turning to Deauvage--) It's not him. DEAUVAGE looking pale as WOMBOSI slams shut the freezer. WOMBOSI (quiet hard fury) So who's crazy now? EXT. PARIS STREET -- NIGHT A MINI-MOTORCADE driving towards Neuilly. Two security cars. A van full of kids and mothers. And one big Mercedes stretch. INT. THE MERCEDES STRETCH LIMO -- NIGHT WOMBOSI alone in the back. Looking haunted. INT. TRUCKSTOP CAF+ -- NIGHT It's a weird spot. Open all night. But Euro-style. Quiet tonight. A few Alpen-truckers chowing down. A local or two at the bar and -- BOURNE AND MARIE at a back table. Drinking coffee. He's got the red bag open. All the passports -- the personal junk -- the money -- all the shit from the Zurich bank box -- he's been showing it to her -- And he's got her attention now. MARIE And you have no idea -- not a clue -- what came before that? BOURNE No. MARIE When you think of it, before the ship -- before you wake up on the ship, what do you see? BOURNE Nothing. It's just not there. MARIE Well, this is great. (she sits back) I'm sick of myself and you have no idea who you are. BOURNE I kept trying things, I thought if I could find all the things I could do, I could -- MARIE -- you could put it together -- BOURNE -- which was okay for a while, I was okay with it... (hesitating now) But then -- there's all these other things -- all these other things I know how to do -- and this -- this stuff from the bank and... (suddenly flat out--) I think something bad happened. MARIE What are you talking about? BOURNE I don't know. MARIE Sounds like you were in an accident or something. BOURNE I was shot twice in the back. MARIE Okay, so you're a victim. BOURNE There was a gun. Who has a safe deposit box with a gun and all this money and all these passports? MARIE Lots of people have guns. You're American. Americans love guns. BOURNE I fought my way out of an embassy. I climbed down a fifty-foot wall -- I went out the window and I was doing it -- I just did it. I knew how to do it. MARIE People do amazing things when they're scared. BOURNE Why do I? -- I come in here -- instinctively -- first thing I do -- I'm looking for the exit -- I'm catching the sightlines -- I know I can't sit with my back to the door -- MARIE You're paranoid. You were shot. It's natural. She's not listening. He leans in. Flat out now. BOURNE I can tell you the license plate numbers of all three cars out front. I can tell you that the waitress is left-handed and the guy at the counter weighs two-hundred and fifteen pounds and knows how to handle himself. I know that the best, first place to look for a gun is the cab of that grey truck outside. I know that at this altitude I can run flat out for half a mile before I lose my edge. I knew that you were my first, best option out of Zurich? How do I know all that? How can I know all that and not know who I am? How is that possible? Long dead pause. MARIE God, you're not kidding, are you? INT. TREADSTONE RESEARCH DESK -- DAY BOURNE'S FACE -- a video image frozen on A COMPUTER SCREEN -- it's Bourne looking at the camera -- Bourne looking up at the camera in the consulate passport office and -- PULL BACK TO REVEAL HALF A DOZEN COMPUTER MONITORS -- and lots of shots of Bourne -- twenty angles -- twenty different locations -- twenty candid perspectives of Bourne and his mad scramble through the consulate -- CONKLIN and RESEARCH TECH #1 poring over these surveillance tapes downloaded from Zurich -- CONKLIN And that's the best angle of the courtyard? RESEARCH TECH #1 That's the only angle. CONKLIN What do they have on the streets? The area. They must have something. RESEARCH TECH #1 Hang on... (typing away--) CONKLIN rubbing at the tension in his temples as ZORN enters -- CONKLIN What? ZORN Abbott. He knows about the embassy. He's coming down for a show and tell. CONKLIN That'll solve all our problems. RESEARCH TECH #1 (he's hit paydirt) Sir... CONKLIN (turning back--) What's that? RESEARCH TECH #1 It's an angle of the street -- some sort of alleyway -- you can just... CONKLIN Enhance it. INSERT -- THE MONITOR -- as the image enlarges to fill the screen. And there's Bourne. And the little red car. And Marie. CONKLIN (OS) Who the hell is that? EXT. ZURICH AIRPORT HOTEL -- NIGHT A drone barn. Practically on the runway. INT. ZURICH AIRPORT HOTEL ROOM -- NIGHT One of those rooms. Just a plain functional box. MANHEIM laying on the bed. Fully dressed. Suit and tie. Just laying there, staring at the ceiling. Who knows how long he's been like this. Just waiting. ON THE NIGHTSTAND -- A gun. A knife. His e-phone pager. His fresh credentials. And a photo of Jason Bourne. INT. WOMBOSI'S PARIS COMPOUND -- NIGHT Quick orientation: Picture a heavily-walled palace just off the Bois Du Boulogne. But once inside you could be back in Brazzaville. It's just a buffet of oddness. Home to fifty children and nine wives. The decor blends money and nouveau riche materialism with a hard, back-home tribal esthetic. It's a visual treat. Not condescending or stupid, but flat-out strange and menacing. It's late. And the palace is dark and sleepy now, but carry all that through this next series of quick shots -- WOMBOSI HOUSE SECURITY STATION Just inside the door. BODYGUARD #1 slouched before a bank of SECURITY MONITORS. WOMBOSI MAIN HALLWAY Littered with toys. Children's crap everywhere. BODYGUARD #3. Snoozing on a Louis Quatorze chair draped with African cloth. WOMBOSI THRONE ROOM DOORS DEAUVAGE -- head bodyguard -- posted outside this imposing set of doors. He's trying to stay awake. Reading a spy thriller. FINALLY TO WOMBOSI'S THRONE ROOM And there he is -- the emperor himself -- WOMBOSI on his throne. Except the room is dark and empty. And he's sitting there by himself. A king without a country. Sitting there. With a gun in his lap. Drinking hard from a bottle of Jack Daniels. Stewing. EXT. FRENCH ROADSIDE -- DAWN Beautiful morning. The red car parked along the road. BOURNE alone in the passenger seat. Deep asleep. Nestled there. And then, he wakes suddenly. Starts. Freaked for a moment. Instantly feeling for the red bag. There it is in his lap. He looks around and -- MARIE sitting away from the car. She's got a loaf of bread. A soda. Smoking a butt. Same clothes, but her make-up's been washed away. Clean. Simple. Gorgeous. BOURNE steps out. Morning legs. MARIE I needed a break. BOURNE Where are we? MARIE We're about an hour away. BOURNE I can't believe I slept. MARIE You were tired. Here... (bread and soda--) For twenty-thousand I like to throw in breakfast. (he takes it) So what do you dream about? BOURNE I dream I'm asleep. I dream that I'm asleep and I can't wake up. (he takes a hit from her smoke and coughs--) I don't think I smoke. Another silence. She's watching him. MARIE You ever think maybe you have a family? BOURNE I thought about it. I don't know. She looks away. Was she hoping for another answer? MARIE I guess it's like Christmas every day for you, huh? INT. TREADSTONE CONKLIN'S OFFICE -- DAY MARIE'S FACE -- A PASSPORT PHOTO -- she's eighteen -- she's smiling -- really alive and fresh and -- CONKLIN behind his desk. ABBOTT staring grimly at the picture -- ABBOTT Who is she? ZORN Marie Helene Kreutz. She's twenty- six. Born outside Munich. Father was a welder. He died in '91. We don't have the mother. There might be a step-sister, we're trying to track that down. (apologetic) It's tough. She's a wanderer. She pops up on the grid here and there but...I mean, the last time she paid an electric bill in Europe was '94. No taxes. No steady employer. She's got three arrests. Two shoplifting cases, one in Spain, one in Germany. And she actually did three months in an Italian detention center for credit card fraud. ABBOTT No political affiliations? CONKLIN She's a gypsy. If it's a cover, it's a great one. ABBOTT I'm assuming we're exploring that possibility. CONKLIN We're exploring every possibility. (tighter by the moment) We are in pursuit. How much more do you want me to tell you? ABBOTT Pursuit would indicate that you know exactly where he is. CONKLIN No. Pursuit ends when we know exactly where he is. ABBOTT Yes, well, I think we need some fresh eyes on this problem. I'm bringing in some people from upstairs. CONKLIN hesitates. Inside he's screaming. CONKLIN We've been down here for two weeks banging our heads against the wall. We've been sleeping down here. We just got our first lead fourteen hours ago, and now? -- now that we finally have something to work with -- you want to bring planning personnel down here? (real steam) I'd rethink that. ABBOTT I want a second opinion. CONKLIN This is an operations desk. ABBOTT I'm not asking. EXT. PARIS STREET NEAR BOURNE'S APARTMENT -- DAY THE LITTLE RED CAR cruising through town. INT. THE LITTLE RED CAR -- DAY MARIE driving. BOURNE checking building numbers as they pass -- BOURNE Slow down. No, don't stop. Just... MARIE (looking over) That's it? Is that it? AN APARTMENT BUILDING. Big building. Elegant but cold. BOURNE Four-fifty. That's the address... MARIE Looks familiar? BOURNE No. (staring back as they pass--) No. Go around. Keep going... MARIE pulling up -- turning a corner -- watching him as she does. But he's pre-occupied -- eyes scanning -- taking it all in -- MARIE Where? BOURNE Yeah. Pull in here. Park it. MARIE angles into an alleyway. Cuts the engine. MARIE So this is it, right? BOURNE I guess. Dead pause. She's waiting. He's still scanning the street. MARIE I should go. BOURNE I don't remember any of this. MARIE Jason... He turns back. She's staring at him. BOURNE Sorry. The money, right? Before she can say anything, he's digging in the backpack. He pulls out another stack of hundreds. Hands it over. She takes it. It's not what she wanted, but she's used to being disappointed. Fighting it. MARIE Okay, so... BOURNE Thanks for the ride. MARIE Anytime. Silence. That moment. He focuses. Getting it. BOURNE Look, I don't know what's up there. MARIE You got me pretty fucking curious. BOURNE Look, you could come up. Or you could wait if you want. I could go check it out. You could wait. MARIE Nah... (hide the pain) With you, I mean, you'd probably just forget about me, right? BOURNE How could I forget about you? (he smiles) You're the only person I know. MARIE smiles. We've never seen it before. Worth waiting for. INT. PARIS APARTMENT BUILDING FOYER -- NIGHT BOURNE and MARIE standing at the directory. Five apartments. One per floor. Five names. A buzzer. An intercom. There it is. J. Bourne. BOURNE presses the buzzer. After a moment, he presses again. Nothing. MARIE I guess you're not home. BOURNE checking the door. How to pop it open? Just about to get into it, when -- CONCIERGE (OS) (from the shadows inside--) (Monsieur Bourne...I'm coming...) THE CONCIERGE is sixty. Plump and proper. CONCIERGE (opening the door--) (Mr. Bourne, there you are -- I was wondering -- I haven't seen you --) BOURNE (Here I am.) THE CONCIERGE looking at BOURNE like maybe she's never seen him look like this before. And she's looking at MARIE like here's the reason her tenant looks like such shit. BOURNE (he tries a smile) (I seem to have lost my key.) THE CONCIERGE nods. Instant chilly disapproval. CONCIERGE (I've been ringing your bell. It's good you were away. We had some trouble with the hot water. It's been repaired.) BOURNE (Great. We could use a shower.) (they look like shit--) (It was a long drive.) THE CONCIERGE steps aside and -- INT. PARIS APARTMENT FIFTH FLOOR LANDING -- DAY BOURNE and MARIE at the apartment threshold. He has a key now. Turning it. And the door opens... Nothing... No bombs. No wife and kids. No one. INT. PARIS APARTMENT -- DAY A huge, rambling flat. Large entry hallway. Large rooms beyond that. It's obviously expensive. But cold. Completely impersonal. No photographs. No mementoes. No human history. WE'RE MOVING NOW THE LIVING ROOM BOURNE and MARIE exploring. MARIE It's big. BOURNE silent. Struggling to get a feel for the place. MARIE (CONT'D) This is like a real apartment. (she likes it) This is really yours? BOURNE I guess so. MARIE taking it in fast. BOURNE seems paralyzed. Trying to soak it all in. Willing himself home. Touching things as he passes. As if a texture, a smell -- something will become familiar. He's deep into this as we go to -- THE BEDROOM MARIE in the doorway. Checking it out. It's so clean and simple. But it's not the decor she's most interested in... MARIE opening an armoire... Nothing but men's clothes. No competition. She's feeling better by the moment as we go to -- THE KITCHEN Like a stage set. Lots of props and no sign of food. BOURNE picking up a frying pan. BOURNE This is my frying pan. (and then--) This is my spoon. (trying harder) I'm Jason Bourne and this is my kitchen. THE MASTER BATHROOM MARIE still on the prowl. Mirror city. Big tub. One toothbrush. AN OFFICE STUDY There's a desk. Chair. Phone. Basic. BOURNE with a folder in his hand. Staring at the bookshelves. Binders, reference materials and hardbound volumes -- all of it about maritime law. Ship schedules. Registry catalogs. All about boats. MARIE This is your office? (from the doorway) God, you live like a monk... BOURNE All this stuff -- it's all about boats. (looking up) I think I'm in the shipping business. MARIE See. It's starting to come back, yeah? (he sort of nods) You mind if I take a bath? BOURNE Go ahead. MARIE backs out. BOURNE alone again. Standing there for a moment. Dealing with it. And then he sits down in a chair.
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