The Bourne Supremacy Page #5

PAMELA:

That's where we came out.

MARSHALL:

It's a lot of money, Pam.

PAMELA:

We're talking raw, unprocessed KGB

files. It's not something we can go

out and comparison shop.

MARSHALL:

Still...

PAMELA:

For a thief. A mole. I vetted the

source, Marty. He's real. If it does

nothing more than narrow the list of

suspects, it's a bargain at ten times

the price.

MANDARIN #1

Pamela, Jack Weller here. It's the

quality that's at issue...

PAMELA:

Yes, sir. I'm in total agreement. If

they're fakes, they're expensive.

(furious, impatient)

Gentlemen, I've got the seller on

site and in play. Quite honestly,

there's not much more to talk about.

MARSHALL looks to his MANDARIANS. Not convinced, but doesn't

want to lose the opportunity. Time to wash his hands.

MARSHALL:

All right Pam, your game, your call...

DELETED:

INT. BERLIN HQ/COMMAND POST -- NIGHT

All eyes on PAMELA as she puts down the phone to Langley.

Nodding to CRONIN. Yes.

CRONIN/RADIO

"Final Green. You are go. are go for

Final Green." Repeat, you

INT. GLASS OFFICE BUILDING LOBBY -- NIGHT

VIC has just passed muster with The Security Guard, he's

standing alone at AN ELEVATOR BANK.

VIC/RADIO

(sleeve mike, earpiece)

"On my way up."

VIC pulling his earpiece. Going dark. Waits for an elevator.

INT. GLASS OFFICE BUILDING ELECTRICAL CLOSET -- NIGHT

Dark. A small room full of wiring and infrastructure, lit by

the glare of someone's MAG-LIGHT.

GLOVED HANDS quickly pass over racks of gear and wiring and

then stopping at -- the main electrical risers.

They carefully place an EXPLOSIVE DEVICE -- no bigger than a

pack of cigarettes -- onto the main riser...

Done with that, here comes A SECOND SMALL EXPLOSIVE DEVICE --

but this one's special, it's being taken from A PLASTIC BAG

and mounted down by the floor on a sub-panel --

Done, the hands hold up what looks like a piece of tape. It

bears a FINGERPRINT. As the tape is pressed down, transferring

it onto the charge --

INT. GLASS OFFICE BUILDING ELEVATOR -- NIGHT

VIC alone with THE SAMPLES CASE. Pressing the button for #9,

the top floor. The doors close. The car

rises...2...3...4...5...6... And then, it stops. VIC bracing

himself, as the door opens and --

IVAN -- Russian -- the guy we saw outside with the briefcase --

standing in an empty, darkened hallway.

IVAN:

Show me.

VIC:

Here?

IVAN:

(holding open the

door)

Now. Show now.

VIC flips open the case. CASH. Three million dollars.

INT. GLASS OFFICE BUILDING CORRIDOR -- NIGHT

A GLASS DOOR. A suite of offices beyond. Clean. Anonymous.

One light on deep inside...

CASPIEX-PETROLEUM

Cherbourg -- Moscow -- Rome -- Tehran

INT. CASPIEX OFFICE -- NIGHT

Curtains drawn. Lights low. IVAN sitting with THE SAMPLES

CASE, counting the cash. VIC poring over --

RUSSIAN DOCUMENT FILES. Dozens of KGB files. Old and new.

Spread sheets, financial data. Incomprehensibly Cyrillic.

Marked up. But judging by the seals and clearance sign offs,

all top-secret.

VIC:

This is everything? Is there.

IVAN:

Is there. Is all there.

Suddenly -- MUSIC -- a radio -- some tinny pop tune just

started playing from somewhere down the hall --

VIC:

-- what the hell is that? -- alone --

you said alone --

Both of them sure they're being double-crossed --

VIC:

(reaching for his

ankle)

-- who? -- who else is here? --

IVAN:

-- no! -- not me! -- no other people! --

VIC:

(coming up with a

pistol)

-- shut up! -- just shut the --

Freaked by the gun, IVAN to his feet -- VIC pushing him back

as he rushes past -- THE SAMPLE CASE spilling cash and --

Wrong.

SNAPPH! -- SNAPPH! -- SNAPPH! -- SNAPPH! -- SNAPPH! -- five

fast, suppressed small caliber shots -- VIC falls first --

IVAN crashing back across a desk as the bullets tear into

him -- both of them dead before they hit the floor and --

REVERSE TO FIND:

The GLOVED HANDS unscrewing a SILENCER, tucking away the

weapon. Already in motion before we know what's happened --

pulling a climbing duffel out from his back pack -- stuffing

in THE SAMPLES CASE and IVAN'S BRIEFCASE -- all the files --

all the money...

Except, wait... He's left out ONE old KGB FILE COVER -- and

now he pulls A PLASTIC BAG from his backpack -- GLOVED HANDS

carefully remove A SINGLE SHEET OF PAPER from inside the

bag. And this paper looks exactly like all the stuff he's

just tucked away; another page full of Cyrillic blur.

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