The Manchurian Candidate Page #18

AIDE:

I called the Pentagon. They told me he’s

on medical leave.

The calling card is Marco’s, from Army Intelligence. Jordan

flips it over. Marco has scrawled "DO YOU STILL WANT TO BE

VICE PRESIDENT?"

AIDE:

Secret Service, they’ve got him on a

couple of their watch and observe lists.

Through a gap in the doorway, Jordan can SEE Marco sitting

in his outer office, bag of evidence at his feet, hunched

forward, staring at the floor.

8/18/03 89.

AIDE:

I guess there’s been some trouble with

this guy, involving Congressman Shaw.

At the mention of the Shaw name, Jordan looks up --

150 INT. SMALL CONFERENCE ROOM - DUSK 150

Jordan sits behind the table, all of Marco’s documents and

evidence arranged tidily in front of him in meager piles,

Marco pacing, watching as Jordan finishes examining a thick

Atticus Noyle computer print out.

JORDAN:

Nobody will believe this.

MARCO:

Nobody believed Watergate.

He sits down, opposite Jordan.

MARCO:

Or Oklahoma City, or the World Trade

Center. You wouldn’t have believed

Oswald before Kennedy got shot.

JORDAN:

On the advisory board of Manchurian-

Global, should they ever publish a list --

which they won’t -- you would find former

Presidents, deposed Kings, retired Prime

Ministers, Ayatollahs, African War-Lords,

fallen Communist Dictators and an

assortment of the F***ing Rich, who are

distinguished from the merely Filthy Rich

by factors of billions.

He puts the Noyle file down, pushes everything away.

JORDAN:

You bring me rumors and conjecture.

MARCO:

I started with nightmares, sir. Rumors

and conjecture are a giant leap forward.

JORDAN:

Nightmares you’ve interpreted, using as

primary resources a) your spotty memory,

b) the internet -- sacred sanctuary of

idiots and nutters -- and c) random faces

and coincidences, and evidence you chewed

out of a man’s back -- all neatly

stitched together with the common thread

of a powerful, well-connected private

equity fund -- who will plead ignorance,

and be shocked, shocked, to learn what

(MORE)

8/18/03 90.

JORDAN (CONT’D)

some of their subsidiary partners are

engaged in.

MARCO:

Sir, I don’t give a rat’s ass about

Manchurian Global! That’s not why I’m

here!

(beat)

I can’t touch them, I get that, I’m not

stupid, sir.

A cold silence. Marco stares at Jordan.

MARCO:

I just want to try and stop this one

thing -- this Raymond Shaw bomb -- from

going off.

Jordan nods again, slightly. Lost in thought.

MARCO:

And I’d be lying if I told you I hadn’t

factored in huge that you’ve got a vested

personal, political, and patriotic

interest in how this shakes out.

CRASH:

151 OMITTED 151

A152 OMITTED A152

152 EXT. ELEANOR’S VIRGINIA MANSION - NIGHT 152

A limousine pulls up in front, followed by a car full of

Secret Service. Anderson floats out and opens the door for

Raymond ...

153 INT. PRENTISS MANSION - NIGHT 153

An argument in progress as Raymond shrugs off his overcoat

into the hands of a SERVANT.

The low murmur of Jordan’s voice, then INCREDULOUS LAUGHTER:

ELLIE (O.S.)

Lies. Fabrications. Fiction. You’ve

been waiting to do this to me for, what,

twenty years? Get out.

JORDAN (O.S.)

No, I’ll wait until Raymond gets here and

we can all --

ELLIE (O.S.)

Get out of my house.

Raymond proceeds down the hallway to --

8/18/03 91.

154 INT. STUDY - CONTINUOUS 154

Raymond entering, closing the door behind him as Ellie

throws documents across the room at Jordan:

ELLIE:

The man is insane, Tom -- full-blown

schizophrenia -- he’s been stalking

Raymond -- if you dare to use this --

Now they see Raymond, under the imposing Andrew Wyeth

painting of Tyler Prentiss that dominates one whole wall of

the study, and Ellie stops.

ELLIE:

(to Raymond)

Your bipolar buddy has been sharing his

dreams with Senator Jordan.

JORDAN:

Hello Raymond.

Raymond smiles -- it’s terrifying -- the fragile, forced,

frigid smile of a man in pain.

RAYMOND:

Hello Senator. How’s Jocie?

Jordan picks up a picture of Noyle and smoothes it onto the

desk for Raymond to see, as:

ELLIE:

Can we please not go down that road?

JORDAN:

Do you recognize this man?

RAYMOND:

No.

JORDAN:

His name is Atticus Noyle. He is a South

African physician, neuropsychiatric

scientist and mercenary -- someone our

CIA trained for covert mind warfare

against the Soviets in Aghanistan --

someone who has sold technology to and

done research for terrorist groups, and

rogue states. Major Marco claims that

this man --

ELLIE JORDAN:

-- In his dreams. -- brainwashed you --

RAYMOND:

Sir, Ben Marco is sick. Delusional.

8/18/03 92.

JORDAN:

Nevertheless he’s pulled from his mad hat

some remarkably lucid connections between

his dreams of your exploits in Kuwait,

and this Dr. Noyle, and the private

equity fund Manchurian Global --

Raymond frowns, looks from Jordan to Ellie.

JORDAN:

-- your mother’s primary political

benefactor for the past fifteen years.

ELLIE:

Christ, Tom. They contribute to half the

Senate, for God’s sake.

Silence.

RAYMOND:

I don’t understand.

JORDAN:

At the time of Desert Storm, Dr. Atticus

Noyle was working under a research grant

from Manchurian Global. Your mother’s

friend.

The color suddenly drains out of Ellie’s face.

RAYMOND:

What?

JORDAN:

Rogue scientists. Mind control.

Manchurian Global. Your mother. You.

Connect the dots, Raymond. Possibly,

your mother’s blind to them, because they

pay their way --

ELLIE:

Possibly the Senator’s motives are

colored by his desperation to get himself

back on the presidential ticket now that

the heavy lifting is done --

RAYMOND:

(unraveling)

I don’t -- I don’t --

JORDAN:

It’s not about me. As far as I’m

concerned, this should never come out --

it would shred what little remains of the

fabric of our public trust -- think of

the nation --

8/18/03 93.

RAYMOND:

I don’t have the dreams.

ELLIE:

He can’t prove anything.

JORDAN:

Everything you stand for is upside down!

If this were to come out, true or no, it

would be catastrophic for the campaign.

(beat, a threat?)

And it will come out.

RAYMOND:

What are you saying?

Silence. The question hangs there.

RAYMOND:

What do I do?

JORDAN:

You withdraw. You bow out gracefully.

Personal reasons. An obscure illness.

Yield your spot on the ticket, go into

seclusion ...

He glances coolly at Ellie -

JORDAN:

... and then surrender yourself to

federal authorities who can help you

address the damage that may have been

inflicted on you.

-- and walks out. Raymond and Eleanor have hardly moved.

Sound of the front door opening, closing.

RAYMOND:

I feel sick. Christ. What have you done

to me?

ELLIE:

Raymond, remember when --

RAYMOND:

NO, never mind -- don’t bother. Don’t

lie. Don’t say anything. No more lies.

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