The Bourne Identity Page #2

GIANCARLO rummaging around -- finding a magnifying glass --

THE MAN:

What is that?

INSERT -- MAGNIFIED POV -- a slip of plastic from the

tube -- written there -- 000-7-17-12-0-14-26. GEMEINSCHAFT

BANK, ZURICH.

GIANCARLO:

It came from your hip. Under the

skin.

(turning back--)

You have a bank in Zurich.

(waiting)

You remember Zurich?

THE MAN:

No.

GIANCARLO staring at him now. Different suddenly. Suspicious.

GIANCARLO:

Look, I'm just on this boat, okay?

I'm an engineer. Whatever this is,

it's not for me to be involved, okay?

THE MAN:

I don't remember Zurich.

GIANCARLO pulls his pint. Takes a hit.

GIANCARLO:

(offering the

bottle--)

You drink rum?

THE MAN:

I don't know.

EXT. FISHING BOAT DECK -- NIGHT

THE MAN stands at the rail, staring out to sea. So lost.

He turns to head inside -- there, a surfcasting rod propped

against a locker.

THE MAN picks up the rod -- flips the bail -- traps the

line -- now he's casting far out into the darkness. And for

the first time, he smiles.

INT. FISHING BOAT GALLEY -- NIGHT

A ratty old espresso machine. THE MAN standing there,

staring at the thing like it's a test. Then his hands begin

to move -- trying to pack a grind -- trying to fit it in --

turning on the steam and --

The whole thing explodes.

EXT. FISHING BOAT DECK -- DAY

THE MAN alone doing chin-ups on the deck rail. He's still

bandaged and the wounds must hurt like hell, but he's

pushing himself. Using the pain -- bathing in it -- maybe

even hoping that it will hold some answer for him.

INT. FISHING BOAT GALLEY -- NIGHT

A chess board. Wooden pieces jumbled in a box. THE MAN

hesitates -- takes a black knight from the box -- lingers

for a moment -- and then places it on the board. He's off

and running. He knows this. Placing pieces faster and

faster -- still setting it up, as we --

INT. FISHING BOAT HEAD -- NIGHT

One of the ugliest bathrooms on the planet. THE MAN

standing before a pitted, tarnished, cataract of a mirror.

Staring at himself.

And then he speaks.

THE MAN:

(in perfect French)

(I don't know who I am. Do you

know who I am? Do have any idea

who I am?)

And then he stops. Blinks. Wipes away the perspiration

just beading on his forehead.

THE MAN:

(in perfect Dutch)

(Tell me who I am. If you know who

I am, please stop f***ing around

and tell me.)

No answer. Just that face. His face. Who am I?

And what else is inside there?

EXT. FISHING BOAT -- DAY

SAILORS hauling in the nets. THE MAN -- still bandaged, but

healing -- working beside them. Earning his keep. Getting

healthy.

EXT. ITALIAN COASTLINE -- DAWN

A small, colorful fishing village. The trawler motoring in.

INT. THE FISHING BOAT BUNK ROOM -- SAME TIME

THE MAN buttoning up borrowed clothes. GIANCARLO pulling

some cash from his pocket --

GIANCARLO:

(offering the money)

It's not much, but it should get

you to Switzerland.

THE MAN:

I won't forget this.

GIANCARLO gives him a look. Shakes his head, and --

INT. POKEY ITALIAN TRAIN STATION -- DAY

The ticket window. THE MAN and a TICKET AGENT.

TICKET AGENT:

Una sola via?

THE MAN:

Si. One way. Una sola via.

EXT. TGV -- DAY

A HELICOPTER SHOT -- a bullet train speeds through snow-

capped Alps. We move in on a window -- and staring out is...

INT. TGV TRAIN -- DAY

...THE MAN. People all around him -- families --

businessmen -- normal people going about their lives. THE

MAN turns back to the window, but he's not watching the

scenery -- he's looking at his reflection. So lost. His

face suddenly plunged into darkness as the train bombs into

a tunnel...

EXT. TRAIN -- NIGHT

...and out of the darkness into night and the HELICOPTER

SHOT, as the train races toward ZURICH.

INT. CIA HEADQUARTERS CONFERENCE ROOM -- DAY

A VIDEO MONITOR -- FULL FRAME -- meet WOMBOSI. He's an

African ex-dictator, think Idi Amin crossed with Mobutu.

He's in some sort of throne room. And he's angry.

Bodyguards and a translator hovering nervously around him.

What this is, is NEWS FOOTAGE -- an interview conducted by a

German TV station.

WOMBOSI:

(he speaks english)

...no, no, no -- the time is not

right, my enemies are too strong.

I'm telling you to wait for this,

you understand? I'm telling you

this, and I'm making a warning to

all those peoples out there that

think that my powers have become so

weak that they can play with me as

they wish. You will see -- I will

tell you when the evidence is clear.

Then you will have a story. My old

friends will hear about themselves.

(stopping, freezing

on that image, and--)

MARSHALL, a CIA bigwig has the remote control. And the floor.

MARSHALL:

That's Nykwana Wombosi speaking in

Paris the day before yesterday.

I'm sure most of you have a passing

knowledge of Mr. Wombosi. Some of

you on the African desks have

worked with him over the years.

Some of you very closely...

TWELVE CIA MANDARINS sitting around the table like kids in

detention. We will tour the faces as MARSHALL continues,

but the guy we're interested in is named WARD ABBOTT.

Picture a sawier, slicker John Poindexter.

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