Enemy of the State Page #15

MAN:

Seat 74.

DEAN:

(pause)

You're Brill.

BRILL:

You knew the deal. No contact.

DEAN:

Who was that other guy?

BRILL:

One of many people who would live a

word with you.

DEAN:

Who are they?

BRILL:

You've heard of the National Security

Agency?

DEAN:

What do they have to do with this?

BRILL:

That's who they are.

DEAN:

The NSA?

BRILL:

Yes.

DEAN:

You're crazy.

BRILL:

(starting to leave)

Okay.

DEAN:

Wait.

BRILL:

You drive a black BMW, license

plate SRK1339?

DEAN:

Yeah.

BRILL:

(reaching in his pocket)

I clipped this from your wheel well

just before they towed your car away.

BRILL pulls out a disk-shaped object the size of a

walk-man.

DEAN:

What is that?

BRILL:

It's a SAT-tracker.

DEAN:

I don't know what that means.

BRILL:

Like a LowJack, but two generations

ahead of what the police use. It

pulses at 230 Giga-Hertz.

DEAN:

I don't know what that means.

BRILL:

230 Giga-Hertz. They use that band

for the Aquacade Spy-SAT uplinks.

DEAN:

I don't know what that means.

BRILL:

It means the NSA can read the time

off your wristwatch.

DEAN:

Why are they after me?

BRILL:

If I knew, they'd be after me.

Which they probably are right now.

'Bye.

DEAN:

Wait. What do I do?

BRILL:

Pal, you're cooked. It's over. What

you did, who you were...that's done.

I'd find a quiet job somewhere

shoveling snow.

A helicopter hovers near the Washington Monument. BRILL

eyes it cautiously.

DEAN:

Why don't they just identify

themselves and tell me what they want?

BRILL:

They're spooks.

DEAN:

I don't know what that--

BRILL:

Exposure. They can't have it. They

wanna learn what you know and then

deal with it.

DEAN:

I don't know anything.

BRILL:

No sh*t.

DEAN:

What am I gonna do?! I mean, like,

for the rest of my life?!

BRILL:

Hey, if you live another week I'll

be impressed.

DEAN:

What if--

BRILL:

Look, you gave me some work over

the last year. We'll call it even.

BRILL turns to leave--

DEAN:

(blocking the exit door)

What if I find out what they're

after. You know these people, I don't.

BRILL:

And you won't. Now move--

DEAN:

I'll pay you.

BRILL:

(taking out his pistol)

They froze your accounts. Get outa

my way.

DEAN continues blocking the door, maintaining calm even

as BRILL's pistol is pressed firmly to his forehead.

DEAN:

I've got a hundred-thousand dollars

in jewelry in a safe-deposit box

under a third party name.

BRILL looks at the ground. Torn.

DEAN (CONT'D)

How many years have you been hiding

from them? How many years have you

been running?

(beat)

What'd they do to you?

BRILL:

(pause)

If you find something, chalk the

Baltimore Sheraton mailbox and go

to Temperanceville. It's South of

Salisbury.

(giving DEAN his pistol)

And take this.

And with that, he's gone.

DEAN eyes the gun. He walks to the ledge, looking at

the city.

DEAN'S POV:
Several vehicles quietly pull up to the

building. MEN storm out an move inside.

DEAN quickly backs away.

INT. BUILDING CORRIDOR - NIGHT

DEAN races for the stairwell two steps at a time. He

hears the SOUND of a DOOR OPENING somewhere below.

VOICE (O.S.)

303 to 301. Floor one secured.

Moving to two.

DEAN retreats upward, then he hears SOMEONE COMING DOWN.

Trapped. He opens the door on '3' and is about to run

when he sees a security camera directly above.

Grabbing a fire extinguisher, he pulls the pin. Spray

coats the lens. Then he yanks a FIRE ALARM. A HORN BLARES.

DEAN runs for the second stairwell when he sees JONES

stepping out. DEAN looks back at the stairwell he left.

That door's opening as well.

Trapped.

Using the extinguisher, DEAN smashes the glass door to

an office and goes inside. JONES starts to enter when a

shot rips into the wall, convincing him otherwise. He

retreats as the BLARING FIRE ALARM STOPS.

DEAN races through the suite of offices trying locked

door after locked door. Finally, one opens and he

rushes in and tries to lock it behind himself.

No lock.

He sees the MEN and they see him. He slides a desk

against the door, then backs away, pistol ready.

JONES (O.S.)

(disturbingly calm)

Open the door, Mr. Dean. There's

nowhere to go. We'd just like to talk.

Seeing a phone, DEAN grabs it.

No tone. Just a RECORDING of Nancy Sinatra's song

"These Boots are Made for Walking".

JONES (O.S.)

It'd be easier for all of us if you

just come out. Nothing'll happen.

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