Circle of Treason

---

BLACK:

We hear the clink of cutlery, convivial noise, then...

FADE IN:

INT. MAYFLOWER HOTEL - DAY

...on ALDRICH HAZEN AMES, watchful eyes behind thick glasses.

He’s at the bar, smoking and nursing a vodka, several empties

in front of him. The busy restaurant is reflected in a wall-

length mirror.

At forty-four, Ames is a contradiction: a sloppy dresser with

a meticulous intellect; cold, arrogant, introverted - yet a

beguiling talker, a loyal and generous friend... a student of

secrets who is his own greatest mystery.

He studies his reflection under the hum of lunchtime

conversation. Then, checking his watch, he makes a decision:

he drains his glass, picks up his briefcase, and walks out.

EXT. MAYFLOWER HOTEL - WASHINGTON D.C. - DAY

Emerging into the din of traffic and heat of the day, Rick

hesitates, as if unsure of his direction. Then heads north

up Connecticut Ave., vanishing among the anonymous crowds...

TITLES BEGIN -

INT. SAFE HOUSE - MOSCOW - NIGHT

PAUL STOMBAUGH, a CIA case officer in his late 30s, fits

decks of Russian currency into a gym bag. Subminiature

cameras and operational materials are already packed inside.

He checks a miniature tape recorder and slips it in his

pocket, glancing at a cheap Russian-made TV set. On screen,

Gorbachev reviews the troops and ICBMs in Red Square during a

recent victory parade. It’s June 1985.

EXT. RESTON - VIRGINIA - DAWN

CLOSE ON SANDY GRIMES

...as she runs through a Virginia suburb at first light.

Sandy is thirty-nine. Trim, striking, feminine. An

expressive face, a cool and steely intelligence in the eyes.

2.

She arrives, breathing hard, outside her own modest home and

checks her time. Not bad. Better than yesterday.

EXT/INT. VOLKSWAGEN - MOSCOW STREETS - NIGHT

A V.W. van drives through light Moscow traffic. Stombaugh is

at the wheel, checking the road behind him. He drives

carefully, letting cars pass. Makes a turn at random.

INT. GRIMES KITCHEN - EARLY MORNING

Reagan on TV. Addressing Soviet aggression in Afghanistan.

GARY (O.S.)

Girls, let’s hustle. I’m late.

GARY GRIMES, 40s, is drinking coffee and packing a briefcase

at the kitchen table. His daughters, KELLY, 13, and TRACY,

9, are eating breakfast. Sandy comes through, showered and

dressed for work.

TRACY:

I thought mom was taking us?

GARY:

Mom’s got a big meeting today.

SANDY:

(checks her watch)

I can take ‘em.

GARY:

You sure?

SANDY:

Yeah, I got it.

They kiss in passing. Sandy steals a piece of toast off

Kelly’s plate. Kelly lifts chunky Walkman headphones to

complain:

KELLY:

I was eating that.

SANDY:

(grins)

You snooze you lose, kiddo.

3.

INT/EXT. VOLKSWAGEN - MOSCOW ALLEY - NIGHT

The volkswagen pulls up in a deserted side street. Stombaugh

hops out of the van with the gym bag.

EXT. JUNIOR HIGH SCHOOL - MORNING

Sandy calls Tracy back to hand her the bag she’d forgotten

and sends her inside. She then hurries back to her car.

EXT. MOSCOW SUBURBS - NIGHT

Stombaugh carries his bag along a wooded path toward a row of

Stalinist apartment blocks. Passing a WOMAN on a payphone,

he barely glances at her - but clocks her as suspicious.

Ahead, a YELLLOW ZHIGULI, a Soviet Fiat clone, is parked on

the street. A MAN sits in the car, silhouetted against the

streetlight outside.

As Stombaugh approaches the car, he glances back to see the

woman hang up the phone and walk away. Relieved, he

continues towards the car... when the night suddenly comes

alive around him.

FLOODLIGHTS CRANK ON, SHOUTS IN RUSSIAN, the door of a

trailer rattles up and a KGB ALPHA SECURITY TEAM spring down.

Stombaugh is surrounded, his bag seized. The Zhiguli fires

up and tears away down the street. The KGB men force his

arms over his head, immobilizing him.

STOMBAUGH:

(rote)

My name is Paul Stombaugh, I am a

diplomatic attach. to the United

States Embassy

He is dragged to a waiting van, a KGB CAMERA CREW recording

the arrest on video.

EXT. LANGLEY - MORNING

Sandy pulls up to the security checkpoint off Dolley Madison

Blvd. She shows ID to the marine on duty. As she drives

through, a shift of perspective reveals the sprawling CIA

campus glimpsed through trees.

TITLES END.

4.

INT. CIA - COMMUNICATIONS ROOM - MORNING

A TELEX prints out a restricted-handling cable... ‘IMMEDIATE

DIRECTOR / WNINTEL / CASE OFFICER STOMBAUGH ARRESTED 2130

HOURS EVENING OF 13 JUNE WHILE ON OPERATIONAL RUN TO MEET

GTVANQUISH...’

INT. CIA - 5TH FLOOR - BULLPEN - MORNING

Sandy comes through the open pen that serves the Soviet and

East European Division. It’s like a newsroom: busy with

intelligence officers and support staff, phones ringing,

typewriters and telexes rattling. She arrives at her

cubicle, where a crowd surrounds a counterintelligence

officer who’s entertaining them with a joke - Aldrich Ames.

RICK:

...and the Commissar says, of

course Adam and Eve are Communists!

They’re bare-ass naked with an

apple to share between them, and

they still think they’re living in

Paradise!

Laughter from the men, the room is mostly men. Rick catches

her eye and grins. Sandy smiles back, checking her morning

cable traffic - she likes this man. Across the room, PAUL

REDMOND, 44, bow-tie and shirtsleeves, steps from one of the

offices lining the pen.

REDMOND:

Rick, Sandy... upstairs in five.

INT. CIA - 6TH FLOOR - STAIRS / HALLWAY - MORNING

They climb stairs to the sixth floor. Redmond is a smart,

scrappy Boston-Irish Harvard grad who can curse in six

languages, head of the division’s counterintelligence group.

RICK:

How’d it go last night?

REDMOND:

You didn’t hear? They rolled

Stombaugh up.

RICK:

(looks at him)

You’re kidding.

REDMOND:

State’s negotiating release.

5.

They move down a HALLWAY lined with executive offices.

SANDY:

Have we heard from his asset?

REDMOND:

Not yet. But the KGB had time to

set it up for the cameras. There’s

a chance they already got to him.

Sandy reacts with a flicker of concern.

RICK:

Well, what the hell happened?

Reaching the door to a CONFERENCE ROOM, Redmond holds it for

Sandy to pass through.

REDMOND:

If we knew sh*t, we wouldn’t need

an Intelligence Agency.

He smiles drily, follows them inside...

INT. CIA - 6TH FLOOR - CONFERENCE ROOM - MORNING

They enter a conference room with a view of the Potomac,

several senior intelligence officers already assembled,

including MILT BEARDEN, 45, Deputy Chief of Soviet Division.

Oklahoma-born but Texan by temperament, Bearden has his

cowboy boots up on the table.

BEARDEN:

Ricardo. How’s life being free and

single?

RICK:

What’s free about it? Nan’s got my

tit in the wringer over the

alimony.

Sandy takes her seat with her file, trying to shake off her

concern and focus on the meeting.

BEARDEN:

Word to the wise. When a woman

tells you she’s going to suck you

dry, she never means it the way you

want.

Laughter. Turning from the window, BURTON GERBER, 51, Chief

of the Soviet Division - quiet, meditative, with the face and

manner of a Jesuit priest - kicks things off:

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes