The Insider Page #4

Mike, tipping his glasses down while the hostile Gunmen,

cradling weapons, watch him through the doorway...

MIKE WALLACE (CONT'D)

Americans believe that you, as an Islamic

fundamentalist, that you are a leader who

contributed to the bombing of the U.S.

Embassy.

The ballsiness of Wallace, asking these questions in this

place, is impressive...

EXT. BERKELEY - LATE MORNING

It's still. A MAIL TRUCK is stopped at an odd angle in the

street outside an older brick house with a bold redwood Big

Sur-like fence on a hillside. Beyond the truck is a forever

view of the Bay. A handle turns. Mail truck door opens.

Mailman, carrying a box, going through the gate. Doorstep.

Box is deposited there. It's quiet again. The BOX sitting

nakedly by the front door...

INT. LOWELL'S HOUSE, BEDROOM, BERKELEY - LATE MORNING

Lowell, in sweat pants and an old tee shirt now, is on the

telephone, still in bed... Newspapers, The New York Times,

The Wall Street Journal, San Francisco Chronicle, are spread

all over...home as refuge. A tray with large cups of coffee

is on a side table.

LOWELL:

...everyone thinks Canadian Mounties

ride horses and rescue ladies from

rapids, Mike. They backed locals in Oka

in a fight with Mohawks over building a

golf course on their burial site. They

beat up protesters at Kanasake...

(pause)

Where'd you hear that?

The other phone on a nightstand rings... A Woman in her

forties, SHARON TILLER, enters, in a bathrobe, brushing her

teeth. She answers it...

LOWELL (cont'd)

(droll)

Oh, someone took a poll? "Are all things

Canadian boring...?"

SHARON:

(to Lowell)

It's Stuart...he's in Mexico City...

LOWELL:

Let me call you back...

He takes up the line...listening...

LOWELL (CONT'D)

Yeah, Stuart... What New York bank?

A young Man in his early twenties wanders in...

JAKE:

Hey Dad...Sharon...

Lowell waves at JAKE, his son.

SHARON:

(to Jake)

No classes this morning?

LOWELL:

Will he go on-camera and talk about the

Mexico City branch?

JAKE:

I don't have to be there until ten-

thirty.

Lowell's son sits on the bed looking at part of a newspaper.

And another young Man, in his early twenties, with long hair

comes strolling in, Sharon's son, JOSIAH.

JOSIAH:

Hi Mom, Lowell...

Lowell, still on the phone, waves to him.

SHARON:

Hi, sweetheart...

Josiah sits on the bed too, reading the back of the sports

section Jake is reading... Another line rings, Sharon

getting it. The Boys, used to them, get up, and leave...

LOWELL:

(into phone)

Will independent sources corroborate

that?

SHARON:

Hello? Yeah...

EXT. THE BERKELEY HOUSE - MORNING

The Boys coming out of the house together... And seeing the

BOX by the door...

LOWELL'S SON

(shouts back inside)

Dad, you got a box out here...

And they go out the gate, talking, walking off along the

Berkeley street. The box left waiting by the door.

LOWELL:

(looking at her itinerary)

Let me see this... No, 'cause I gotta

know where you're going at all times.

INT. LOWELL'S HOUSE, BEDROOM, BERKELEY - MORNING

SHARON:

(into phone)

I can't... I've got to fly to Boston

tomorrow.

Lowell comes with the box back to bed. He's already

unwrapped it. Inside are stacks of papers... He looks at

the box cover. No return address. An anonymous sender; not

unusual for him. He casually looks through the papers.

SHARON (CONT'D)

Two p.m. Great. Bye-bye.

(hangs up)

LOWELL:

(reading)

..."ignition propensity?"

(to Sharon)

...you understand any of this...?

He gives her some papers. We see formulas...scientific data

in tables...

SHARON:

...no...this looks like a table of

temperatures... Who's this from?

LOWELL:

(shrugs)

...it's anonymous. References to "P.M."

(motions)

It's got to be Philip Morris, huh?

SHARON:

I have to take a shower.

As he looks at the papers, Sharon goes into the bathroom...

INT. THE FEDERAL DRUG ADMINISTRATION AGENCY, CAFETERIA,

WASHINGTON - DAY

We see a MAN in his forties, eating a late lunch, getting

paged in a crowded cafeteria. An old 1930's WPA mural on the

wall... His pager goes off...

Doug Oliver walks across the cafeteria to a bank of pay

phones and dials.

INT. LOWELL'S HOUSE, DEN - BERKELEY - MORNING

The phone rings. Lowell picks it up...

LOWELL:

Yeah.

DOUG OLIVER:

(into phone)

Hi, this is Doug Oliver...

LOWELL:

Oh, hi, Doug...it's Lowell. I'm doing

this story on fire safety... People

burning up from falling asleep smoking.

I received a shitload of scientific

papers from inside Philip Morris...

Anonymous. You or anybody in FDA know

someone who can translate this stuff into

English for me?

DOUG OLIVER:

(beat)

...uh, yeah...

EXT. A BERKELEY CAFE - CLOSE: PAY PHONE

There's the sound of a phone ringing. PULL BACK to reveal

Lowell outside a cafe with dry cleaning he collected over one

shoulder. A LITTLE GIRL'S VOICE OVER (Deborah's) answers.

"Hello."

LOWELL:

Mr. Wigand, please.

There's a whisper..."Someone's calling for Daddy, Mom."

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