Entrapment Page #18

MAC:

Smart girl.

He examines some men's work overalls and a tuxedo.

MAC:

(continuing)

Hmmm, 44 long.

GIN:

That is your size, isn't it?

She puts the Mask into the safe, then closes it back up.

MAC:

So we're here. What's the job?

She goes to the windows, throws open the shutters. Framed in

the windows is a matched pair of ivory towers that seem to

rise into the heavens. Connecting them is an airy sky bridge

of glass and metal. It's a truly incredible sight.

GIN:

The Petronas Towers. World's tallest

building.

MAC:

We're going to steal it? Interesting.

She holds out her hand.

GIN:

I need the Rembrandt.

Mac produces the tube with the painting.

MAC:

What for?

She hands him a stack of photographs, notebooks, maps.

GIN:

Some homework for you. There's food in

the fridge. Briefing at six. Don't be

late.

She leaves. We stay on Mac's face. Okay, I'll play along for

a while.

EXT. KUALA LUMPUR - DAY

In long shot we see Gin arrive at the headquarters of CONRAD

GREENE, ex-CIA Asia hand, now the expatriate head of a

business of questionable legality.

INT. GREENE'S OFFICE - MOMENTS LATER

A POCKMARKED YOUTH escorts Gin into Greene's office. Greene

is mopping his face with a scarf.

GREENE:

The damn heat. Rots the flesh. Rots the

soul. It's a shame colder countries do

such good police work.

He holds out his hand to Gin, who takes it.

GIN:

We all live with injustice.

CLICK. CLICK. We hear the sound of a camera shutter.

EXT. GREENE'S OFFICE - SAME

Thibadeaux takes Gin's picture through the window as she

shakes hands with Greene.

INT. GREENE'S OFFICE - SAME

She hands him the mailing tube.

GIN:

I wanted to deliver it personally.

He takes it out, stares at it.

GREENE:

A true masterpiece.

He hands her an identical mailing tube.

GIN:

(re:
the painting)

So who's getting that?

GREENE:

I'm thinking my old CIA friends will

peddle it to Russia for a little

plutonium. The plutonium to an

unmentionable Middle Eastern Country--in

return for embargoed oil on tankers for

delivery to me. Elegant, no?

GIN:

You are the scum of the earth.

GREENE:

Gin, Gin, you flatter me.

GIN:

I need the rest tomorrow. It has to be

tomorrow. Or forget the Mask.

GREENE:

Always in a rush.

She stands up, her business over. But there's a reptilian

evil behind Greene's oily demeanor.

GREEN:

Oh Gin, if you don't come through. We'll

be making a--shall we say--more up-to-

date death mask. Do I make myself clear?

His unctuous smile.

INT. GIN'S PLACE - MAGIC HOUR

Gin returns, carrying the metal canister. The place has that

empty feel.

GIN:

Mac?

No Mac. She paces for a moment, doesn't want to think what

she's thinking, can't avoid it.

She walks to the closet. The safe's slightly open.

GIN:

(continuing)

Please Jesus no.

She opens the safe. EMPTY. Except for a note: IOU 1 MASK.

She stabs at her message machine. No messages. She bangs the

machine! Damn!

She dials Mac's number.

MAC:

(message)

I'm not in. You can leave a message but I

won't call back.

She throws the phone down!

She rips through the clothes, throwing them onto the floor!

She throws out everything in the cabinets! Empties the

drawers!

No Mask. Nowhere.

Devastated, she slumps to the floor. This is as bad as it

gets.

EXT. MALAKA MARKET - SAME

On piers by the brown water we see locals gobbling their

meals. At a narrow table we find Mac, chopsticks in hand,

mouth full. On his plate is a whole fish. Thibadeaux sits

down beside him, looks at the bowling ball bag.

THIBADEAUX:

This your bowling night?

MAC:

Check out my ball.

Thibadeaux does not lift out the Mask.

THIBADEAUX:

I didn't think I would see this baby

again. Talk about plug ugly.

Thibadeaux is not one to appreciate art.

THIBADEAUX:

(continuing)

Who'd pay 50 million for this?

MAC:

People of taste and judgement.

THIBADEAUX:

People with more money than sense.

MAC:

It's not just art. Dear boy. It's

history. Something you Americans don't

care about--because you haven't got any.

THIBADEAUX:

That's because we live in the future.

Dear boy. Which is what's on my mind.

He spreads out the photographs of Gin and Greene.

THIBADEAUX (cont'd)

Your girlfriend.

Mac picks up the photographs, looks at Gin's image.

MAC:

She's not my girlfriend.

Thibadeaux studies his face, not quite buying it.

THIBADEAUX:

Uh huh. What's she doing with our old

friend Conrad Greene?

MAC:

Her job?

THIBADEAUX:

What is her job?

MAC:

It's a bank job that's all I know.

You've got to have faith Thibs.

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