The Saint Page #10

Templar types:
LION CONTACTING BEAR. IS BEAR HOME?

-- This comes back: AFFIRMATIVE.

-- Templar types: LION HAS NOT BEEN PAID. EXPLAIN.

-- This comes back: LION'S DATA IS DEFECTIVE.

-- Templar types: DEFINE "DEFECTIVE."

-- This comes back: LIONS EMPLOYMENT TERMINATED.

Templar stares at the screen, his mind racing... THE ACCOUNTANT WOMAN comes back to the table with Templar's coffee. Sets it before him. Smiles.

TEMPLAR:

Thanks.

INTERCOM (v.o.)

British Air flight 74 to London now boarding from gate fifteen. I repeat, British Air Flight 74...

The Woman Accountant rises, picks up her bag.

WOMAN ACCOUNTANT

Well, that's me. So long.

She smiles. Templar sort of smiles back. She walks off to catch her flight. THE BUSINESSMAN next to Templar, hidden behind his newspaper, sets his coffee cup down next to Templar's. The Businessman flips a page, engrossed in an article. He reaches back for his coffee, but takes Templar's cup.

He drinks from the cup.

TEMPLAR:

Excuse me, that's my. . . .

The Businessman's newspaper is shaking. Violently. It falls to the table. The Businessman's face is flushed. He twitches. He pitches over. His head THUDS on the table.

Templar feels the Businessman's carotid artery. He's dead. Templar picks up his coffee and smells it. Templar's eyes dart to the lounge. The Lady Accountant is gone. Nobody in the lounge has noticed what's happened. Templar hurriedly collects his things.

CUT TO:

EXT. WESTCHESTER - JILLIAN'S NEIGHBORHOOD - DAY

AN AIRPORT TAXI stops at the curb. Templar gets out, paying the cabbie. The taxi pulls away. Templar approaches the house, eyes darting. He moves toward the door, unpocketing his 9mm pistol. He checks the doorknob, turning it. It's open. ...

INT. JILLIAN'S HOUSE - DAY

Templar enters. No one is here. He moves through the living room into the back corridor, glancing into the kitchen, where we see that --

INT. JILLIAN'S HOUSE - KITCHEN - DAY

-- SOMEONE is behind the refrigerator, holding a SILENCED GUN in a blackgloved hand.

INT. JILLIAN'S HOUSE - BACK CORRIDOR - DAY

Templar moves through the hall, looking in each door. He comes to the lab staircase. The door is open. Templar heads down the stairs.

INT. JILLIAN'S HOUSE - LABORATORY - DAY

Templar comes down; he walks to the computer. He looks at the document on the screen. He begins scrolling, going to the end this time. We see the graphs, tables, plans, specs., etc. Then the critical page appears:

THE CHEMICAL ENVIRONMENT FOR COLD FUSION And under that. . . .. A NINTENDO GAME. Little spaceships are flying around chasing other little spaceships! TEMPLAR stares at it, stunned: what he sent the Russians is essentially worthless. Templar shuts off the monitor. The screen blackens. The black screen reflects light. It reflects A PERSON coming down the stairs. A person with a gun...

Templar dives away as THREE BULLETS blow the computer monitor to shards. THE WOMAN FROM THE J.F.K. LOUNGE, not an accountant but an assassin, draws a bead on --

TEMPLAR, who scrambles across the room ducking under lab tables as BULLETS shatter bottles, beakers, test tubes; glass fills the air. TEMPLAR stands up, his 9mm leveled at the woman. The woman's gun is leveled at Templar. -

TEMPLAR:

That's a Reuger nine shot. I counted nine.

FEMALE ASSASSIN:

What if you're wrong.

The tension boils. Templar was right: her hand flashes to the gun, ejecting the spent clip. She tries to ram in a fresh clip but she's not fast enough...

TEMPLAR'S across the room in half a second. He presses his gun to her forehead.

TEMPLAR:

When were you hired and for what?

I'm not in a very good mood...

Templar c*cks the hammer. This gets her attention.

FEMALE ASSASSIN:

Okay. Take it easy. I was hired a week ago to take you and the woman out, and detonate the house. It was empty when I got here.

TEMPLAR:

Who's your employer?

FEMALE ASSASSIN:

I don't ask names.

TEMPLAR:

Did they have accents? Russian?

(she nods; he lowers his gun)

I'm paying you out of your contract. Don't ask questions. What's your price?

FEMALE ASSASSIN:

Fifty thousand for you, fifty for her, fifty for the house.

Templar pulls out his wallet, from which he unfolds three pieces of negotiable paper. Hands them to her. She examines them.

TEMPLAR:

U.S. bearer bonds. Good as cash.

FEMALE ASSASSIN:

About the airport - no offense you understand.

TEMPLAR:

None taken. Go and don't come back.

And she turns and walks off.

INT. JILLIAN'S HOUSE - BEDROOM

Templar enters, looking around, thinking. He looks in the bathroom. He looks in the closet. On the floor are Jillian's footwear: sneakers, pumps, cowboy boots, etc.

Right, Templar, the shoes...

TEMPLAR pulls out his HOMING DEVICE and clicks it on.

INSERT - HOMING DEVICE SCREEN

Like before, an electronic rendering of WESTCHESTER COUNTY. But no pulsing light. Templar enters commands, adjusting the screen, widening it to GREATER NEW YORK. Somewhere in Queens, fairly close to the Atlantic Ocean, we see a PULSING LIGHT. But it's fixed, inert. The pulsing light begins to move east, quickly.

Templar watches it. The pulse is moving too quickly for an automobile. And it's heading for the ocean. And it goes in the ocean!

TEMPLAR:

(dawning on him)

A. . . .plane. Indeed, Simon Templar, a plane.

CUT TO:

INT. PRIVATE JET - IN FLIGHT OVER ATLANTIC

A mid-sized gulfstream. JILLIAN sits in a wheelchair, covered with a blanket. She stirs. Mumbles something. Slowly opens her eyes. Yuri approaches. Yuri lifts away the blanket. Jillian's wrists are tied to the wheelchair armrests, her ankles to the footrests. Yuri produces a SYRINGE. He grabs Jillian's forearm and pushes in the needle. Jillian's head bobs forward.

CUT TO:

INT. J. F. K. INTERNATIONAL - CONCOURSE

Templar hurries through the concourse with his carry-on bags, taking a left, moving past sign:

AIR FRANCE CONCORDE - - - - >

INT. J.F.K. - "AIR FRANCE" - CONCORDE TERMINAL

The passengers are in a line, going through security. Templar walks up next to A GUY IN A BROOKS BROTHERS SUIT. Stares at him. After a few seconds of this...

BROOKS BROTHERS MAN

Can I help you with something?

TEMPLAR:

Your ticket. What'd you pay for it?

BROOKS BROTHERS MAN

What?

TEMPLAR:

I'll give you twenty grand for it. Cash. Right now.

(they stop)

I need to get on that plane.

BROOKS BROTHERS MAN

Very badly obviously.

(studies Templar)

Fifty thousand and it's yours.

Templar rolls his eyes but the guy is unmoved. Templar scowls and pulls out his bearer bonds...

CUT TO:

INT. MARSEILLES - AIRPLANE HANGAR - CONTINUOUS

A hangar at Marseilles' Marignane Airport. A MAN is sprawled inside the engine cowling of a WWI classic BIWING FIGHTER. We only see his legs.

VOICE:

Remy! Telephone.

REMY:

(IN ENGINE COWLING)

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