Entrapment Page #3

CRUZ:

In case it slipped your mind--this guy's

the best thief in the world. And he's

never, ever been caught.

GIN:

I've never tried.

She crosses her very long legs. Cruz thinks. Hmm. Maybe she

does have something extra. Cruz puts the phone down.

GIN:

I'd need an introduction. From someone he

trusts.

CRUZ:

And you have in mind--

GIN:

Romy Goriot.

CRUZ:

Who we've got a hook into.

(beat)

And you'd need the file on a piece of art

Mac couldn't resist.

Of course.

GIN:

Come on, it's almost a new century. Give

a girl a shot.

CRUZ:

Okay...okay.

(beat)

Check in every day. I want to know

everything. God is in the details. Hello?

She's trying to listen, but the fact that he's going to let

her do this fills her with unquenchable enthusiasm.

CRUZ:

This guy can charm the chrome off a

trailer hitch. But get in his way--you'll

end up a grease spot on the highway.

(softens a little)

So be careful. I'd never find anyone as

good as you for your salary.

He walks away. She stands up in her carrel, looks around at

the narrow confines of her life, at the identical cookie-

cutter work stations surrounding her. She slides the keyboard

into the drawer with a soft thwatch of finality. She whoops

with joy, which plays over--

EXT. LONDON - BOAT - DAY

SMASH CUT to Gin, finishing her yell in the bow of a large

speed boat in the middle of the Thames. The wind is in her

face, London before her in all its glory. She's out of the

office. On the case. On her own!

EXT. SOTHEBY'S - DAY

A black London cab stops in front of the famous auction

house. Nervous, Gin gets out, fumbles with her change, drops

some on the street.

She approaches the sliding glass doors, takes a deep shaky

breath, pulls herself together. She enters the building. The

glass doors close behind them. On the doors is etched the

Sotheby name.

INT. SOTHEBY'S - DAY

Beneath a banner announcing "The Summerfield Collection--

Treasures of Ancient China", an AUCTIONEER takes bids from an

international big-money crowd, including a formidable Chinese

WOMAN with a dog, and Robert MacDougal. He's bidding on a 6th

Century temple scroll.

GIN:

(from behind; subtitled

Chinese)

Don't do it. You're already over value.

By fifteen percent.

Not even turning around, he subtly ups the bid.

GIN:

(continuing; subtitled Chinese)

Twenty percent. You know what they say

about a fool and his money.

Mac turns very slowly, sees Gin, acknowledges nothing. He

turns back and raises his Chinese rival again.

MAC:

(subtitled Chinese)

I have a question...

GIN:

(subtitled Chinese)

Who am I?

MAC:

(subtitled Chinese)

That is of no interest.

And now he turns and looks straight into her eyes.

MAC:

(continuing; subtitled Chinese)

Why are we speaking Chinese?

GIN:

(English now)

Uh. I'm showing off.

MAC:

More than a billion people speak Chinese.

So don't be too impressed with yourself.

As for that scroll, I can resell it for

double. In 30 minutes.

GIN:

No--you can't.

MAC:

I can't?

GIN:

It's sold.

Mac turns to see the Chinese woman flushed with victory. He

stares for a long moment, a philosophical veneer almost

masking his anger. Then he stands up.

MAC:

Are you a confederate of my adversaries?

Or are you merely stupid?

Gin's smile fades.

GIN:

How about if I try humility?

MAC:

How about if you try disappearing.

Mac is gone.

GIN:

(to herself)

Catch you later.

INT. RITZ HOTEL TEA ROOM - LONDON - LATER THAT DAY

A STRING TRIO of middle-aged women plays Christmas carols. We

see trays of triangle sandwiches and scones with clotted

cream. Very civilized. Mac is having tea with ROMY GORIOT, an

elegant, cynical European woman in her mid-forties.

Mac puts away some photographs we can't quite see.

ROMY:

My darling, they guard them like the

Crown Jewels. It's all techno-security--

frighteningly efficient things I cannot

even pronounce. I can get you in, but

only God can get you out.

Mac smiles at her, holds out his hand to take hers, as if

they were talking about something entirely different.

MAC:

Speaking of getting in--

Romy smiles flirtatiously, holds out her hand for a sensual

touch. When they remove their hands something is in Mac's. A

high-tech card. He glances at it. The card is his photo with

horned-rim glasses.

MAC:

(continuing)

Not the glasses again.

She sets a glasses case on the table.

ROMY:

They make you look very scientifique.

MAC:

They make me look like Clark Kent.

He glances at the clock, stands up, casually picks up the

glasses case.

ROMY:

Don't be in such a rush. I told you there

was someone I want you to meet.

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