The Bourne Identity Page #4

ZORN:

Abbott wants to talk.

CONKLIN:

Tell him we're busy.

ZORN:

I tried.

INT. CIA COMMISSARY -- NIGHT

ABBOTT with coffee. CONKLIN not lingering.

ABBOTT:

Storm clouds are gathering, Ted.

It looks like rain and I don't have

a thing to wear.

CONKLIN:

I don't know what we're talking about.

ABBOTT:

We're talking about Marseille.

We're talking about Nykwana Wombosi.

And I'm asking you if this abortion

in Marseille has anything to do

with Treadstone.

(silence)

Was this Treadstone?

CONKLIN:

You're asking me a direct question?

ABBOTT:

Yes.

CONKLIN:

I thought you were never going to

do that.

Silence. Pressure drop.

ABBOTT:

They're putting together an agency

oversight committee. They're going

to look through everyone's budgets.

Treadstone is a rather sizable line

item in my ledger.

(beat)

What am I going to do about that?

CONKLIN:

You'd want to make that go away.

You'd want to remind them that

Treadstone is a training

organization. That it's all

theoretical. You'd want to sign

off on that.

ABBOTT:

And what if I couldn't do that?

CONKLIN:

Then I'd have to explain Treadstone.

And you'd have to explain how you

let me get this far.

(silence)

Doesn't sound like much of a Plan-B,

does it?

(Abbott staring)

We'll clean up the field. You

clean up your budgets.

EXT. ZURICH -- DAY

Morning in the financial district. Upscale. Uptight.

GEMEINSCHAFT BANK just one of many elegant fortresses on

this street. Everything just now opening for business. TWO

GUARDS unlocking the front door and --

THE MAN across the street. Tucked in the shadows. Checking

for cops and trouble. Looks clear. He's walking and --

INT. BANK RECEPTION AREA -- DAY

Ornate, formidable and tech at the same time.

RECEPTIONIST:

(Can I help you?)

THE MAN standing before her. Looking very out of place.

THE MAN:

I'm here about a numbered account.

THE RECEPTIONIST nods. Pulls a pen and bank card.

RECEPTIONIST:

(instant English)

If you'll just enter your account

number here I'll direct you to the

appropriate officer.

THE MAN takes the pen, as we --

INT. BANK SECURITY CHECKPOINT -- DAY

A BIO-METRIC SCANNER. A piece of ultra-tech amidst the

Baroque. TWO SERIOUS BANK GUARDS manning the equipment.

THE MAN standing there, staring down at this machine.

Something ominously decisive about this. What if it's him?

What if it's not?

BANK GUARD #1

(they've been waiting)

(Your hand, sir...)

THE MAN focuses. Here we go -- BANK GUARD #2 guiding his

open palm onto the mirrored scanning surface.

THE MAN catching his reflection for a moment before a wave

of white light passes beneath his hand and now --

INT. BANK HALLWAY -- DAY

THE MAN being led by A THIRD GUARD to a special elevator.

INT. DEEPER INSIDE THE BANK -- DAY

Elevator doors open. THE MAN steps out. MR. APFEL -- anal

Zurich banker -- waiting there.

APFEL:

Good morning, sir. I assume you're

here about your box.

THE MAN:

...yes...

(what now?)

The box.

APFEL nods. Gestures down the corridor --

INT. BANK SAFETY DEPOSIT VIEWING ROOM -- DAY

Sterile and kind of odd. But total privacy. THE MAN

sitting there, as A DEPOSIT GUARD places a large SAFETY

DEPOSIT BOX before him. THE GUARD leaves the room. Closing

the door behind him.

THE MAN is alone. And there it is, right in front of him.

This is it. Here are the answers. He lifts the lid.

THE BOX. There's a shallow tray on top. In this tray: a

beat-up passport in the name of Jason Bourne. A French

driver's license with a Parisian address. Credit cards for

Jason Bourne.

THE MAN. Holding these objects close -- as if by holding

them he might absorb their essence. Forcing himself to

believe. This is him. His picture. There it is. He's

Jason Bourne.

BOURNE:

My name is Jason Bourne.

(sounds good)

Hi, I'm Jason. Jason Bourne.

Jason Bourne, nice to meet you.

BACK TO -- THE BOX -- the shallow tray on top. There's

Kleenex. Several sets of contact lenses. A knife. A comb.

Three sticks of gum. A ring. A pair of sunglasses. A Rolex.

BOURNE setting these things aside. Lifting the top tray.

Staring into THE DEEP BOTTOM TRAY and --

First of all...

MONEY. Lots of it. Ten thousand dollar stacks of hundreds.

Lots of them. Close to a million dollars. There's A GUN.

A very good gun. Several clips of ammo. And...

FIVE MORE PASSPORTS. All clean. Crisp. Brand new. All

with his photo inside. Five different names. Three

different Countries. Each one of these pristine passports

clipped to a piece of card stock that says:

NAME:

NATIONALITY:

PLACE OF ISSUE:

SIGNATURE SAMPLE:

And a bar code.

Two Dutch passports. A French. A South African. A Belgian.

And...

There's one piece of card stock still with the paper clip in

place. And no passport. This card reads:

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