The American Page #4

FATHER BENEDETTO pours two large glasses of brandy from a

globulous green bottle of ARMAGNAC and sniffs his drink like

a honey bee hovering over a bloom.

FATHER BENEDETTO

Que siamo! The quality of the

brandy is good, the liquor is

smooth and the glass warmed by the

sun.

He pronounces warmed “war-med”. His English is sophisticated

but quaint, like an out-of-date book.

JACK sniffs his drink before he sips it. Not like a

connoisseur:
like a White House taster checking the safety of

a Presidential beverage.

FATHER BENEDETTO

(in ENGLISH)

The only good thing to come from

the French...

FATHER BENEDETTO grimaces.

"The American" June 21st, 2010 page 17. page 17.

FATHER BENEDETTO looks at JACK.

A beat.

FATHER BENEDETTO

(in ENGLISH)

You study our history?

JACK:

No.

FATHER BENEDETTO looks horrified.

FATHER BENEDETTO

You come to Italy to make a guide

book and you don’t care about

history?

JACK:

I take pictures, father.

A beat.

FATHER BENEDETTO

Of course. You are American. You

think you can escape history. You

live for the present.

A beat.

JACK likes this man. His shrewdness is disconcerting but

humane.

JACK sips his brandy.

JACK:

I try to, father.

32 INT. LOGGIA ABRUZZO, JACK’S ROOM- DAY 32

JACK completes his morning exercises (self made boxing

bag)then showers and dresses. His manner is precise and

methodical. Only a man who has lived alone for many years can

live like this.

33 EXT. L’AQUILA- DAY 33

JACK drives through a sizeable suburban sprawl. There’s a

good deal of traffic and the landscape is peppered with

shopping malls and office complexes.

"The American" June 21st, 2010

page 18.

JACK parks in a tourist car park just outside the mediaeval

walls that surround the old centre of town.

He gets out of the car carrying a copy of the Italian daily

newspaper Il Messaggero.

And folds the front page in half.

34

EXT. OLD TOWN- DAY 34

There’s a MARKET in progress. The central piazza is a hive of

activity. Food, local produce, clothes and cheap CD stalls.

The market has attracted TOURISTS. Standing not far from a

cheese stall is an attractive WOMAN in dark glasses. She’s

rifling through her handbag, searching for something. Under

her right arm is a rolled up copy of Il Messaggero.

The front page has been folded in half.

JACK decides to proceed with caution.

Moving through the busy market, JACK approaches the OLD WOMAN

running a cheese stall.

JACK:

Un po’ di formaggio, per favore.

OLD WOMAN:

Quale? Pecorino, parmigiano?

JACK:

Questo.

He points.

JACK:

E un po’ di pecorino.

JACK glances casually around for the WOMAN.

She’s sitting outside a CAFE about twenty metres away,

chatting on her cellphone.

JACK pays for his cheese and approaches the cafe.

35

EXT. L’AQUILA, CAFE- DAY 35

JACK sits at an empty table next to the WOMAN.

She finishes her call in English. She’s well spoken. As she

replaces the phone in her handbag, she knocks the newspaper

off her table.

JACK picks it up.

"The American" June 21st, 2010 page 19. page 19.

WOMAN:

Grazie.

JACK:

Prego. You’re welcome.

JACK:

“Amidst gathering clouds”.

The WOMAN speaks quickly, purposefully, barely looking at

JACK.

WOMAN:

You’re assuming I’m English or

you’d never have mentioned the

weather. In fact I’m Belgian but I

went to boarding school in England.

And am quite happy to converse on

all subjects meteorological.

WOMAN:

You’re American.

Judging by her stilted choice of words this is code.

A WAITER comes out and flicks a cloth over the table. It’s

nearly midday and the sun is hot. He speaks with a tired

voice:

WAITER:

Buongiorno. Desidera?

He’s addressing the WOMAN.

WOMAN:

Una spremuta di limone. Per favore.

Her Italian accent is perfect.

WAITER:

Signore?

The WOMAN looks at JACK for the first time, studying him,

awaiting his answer as if a great deal depended on it.

JACK:

Un gelato al lampone. Per favore.

The final fail safe.

Now they can introduce themselves:

JACK:

Edward.

WOMAN:

Mathilde.

MATHILDE:

It’s hot. My car has no air

conditioning. I asked for it,

but...

"The American" June 21st, 2010 page 20.

The identification process over, there is nothing more to do

but get down to business- and conversation becomes suddenly

awkward.

She trails off.

JACK:

What car did they give you?

Her HAZEL eyes flick over the crowd in front of the cafe.

She doesn’t answer.

JACK clears his throat.

Then says quietly:

JACK:

Range?

She takes a long time to answer. When she does, she does so

over the rim of her half-empty coffee cup, scanning the crowd

like a cheating wife customarily anxious not to be seen by

her husband.

MATHILDE:

One fifty to one seven five meters.

JACK:

Time?

MATHILDE:

Five seconds. Seven at the most.

JACK:

Targets?

MATHILDE:

One.

JACK:

Fire rate?

MATHILDE:

Rapid.

JACK considers this.

JACK:

Magazine capacity?

MATHILDE:

Large. Preferably 5.56 millimeter.

"The American" June 21st, 2010 page 21. page 21.

The WAITER delivers the Spremuta and the raspberry ice-cream.

The glass of lemon juice twists in MATHILDE’s slender

fingers.

MATHILDE:

The weapon must be fairly light.

And compact. Possible to be broken

down into its constituent parts.

L’AMERICANO

How compact?

MATHILDE:

As compact as possible.

JACK clears his throat.

JACK:

You want a semi automatic rifle to

fit in a lady’s purse?

MATHILDE:

A small vanity case would be

permissible.

JACK:

A small briefcase would be

possible.

A beat.

JACK:

X-rays? Camouflage: lap-top, DVD

player, MP3 or digital camera?

She’s not sure if he’s joking or not. Neither are we.

MATHILDE:

Not necessary.

JACK:

Noise?

MATHILDE:

Silencer.

JACK:

No such thing. You’ll have to make

else. It’ll dampen the decibels,

do with a suppressor like everyone

dislocate the sound source and

reduce muzzle flash. I can’t make

you silent but I can make you

invisible but only as long as

you’re prepared to lose some range.

"The American" June 21st, 2010 page 22. page 22.

JACK scans the crowd.

On the other side of the square he spots a YOUNG MAN in his

mid-thirties with short blonde hair and slight sunburn,

hovering by a stall. Average height, slim, athletic build;

sunglasses, stone-washed designer jeans very neatly pressed

with a sharp crease.

JACK:

Two o’clock.

MATHILDE:

Excuse me?

JACK:

By the clothes stall. Light blue

shirt. Is he with you?

The YOUNG MAN has disappeared into the crowd.

MATHILDE:

I didn’t see him. In any case, I’m

alone.

A pause.

JACK's jaw muscles grind.

MATHILDE:

I can accept a slight loss of

range.

JACK:

You want a weapon with the firing

capacity of a submachine gun and

the range of a rifle.

MATHILDE:

Can you do it?

A beat.

JACK:

Give me a month. To trial. Then a

week for final adjustments.

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