The Siege Page #3

IN THE ROOM:

The official hopes volume breaks the language barrier.

UNIFORMED OFFICIAL

...so, Kahlil, you're saying this is

an INHERITANCE? Somebody DIED and

you're bringing them the MONEY?

The dark-skinned man is trying to keep up:

KAHLIL:

No, no... dhouri.

BEHIND THE MIRROR

FRANK:

...He means, "dowry."

HUB:

Check out his neck.

Small puckered SCARS. The INS guy looks confused.

FRANK:

The tabac.

(mimics putting out a

cigarette on his arm)

Sssssss... The territories.

HUB:

(thinks a moment)

Put him in play.

CUT TO:

THE VAN WYCK EXPRESSWAY

Hub and Frank in a rental CONTOUR, tail Khalil, in a cab:

HUB:

(on the phone)

-- on the Van Wyck... No, not yet.

(to Frank)

-- What are we in?

FRANK:

A '97 Contour. On my Visa.

(watches Khalil)

Back home, the security services'd

be up this guy's ass with a poker,

but what do we do, we let him go.

HUB:

(still on the phone)

...Six teams on the ground, at

least... well, pull 'em off the UN...

(to Haddad)

Stay back...

FRANK:

Not my first date, Hub.

(the TAXI changes

lanes)

He's taking the BQE. Looks like it's

Brooklyn.

HUB:

(still on the phone)

I want husbands and wives, I want

baby carriages, and no Brooks

Brothers.

FRANK:

You're micro-managing.

HUB:

(still on the phone)

-- And find me a judge I can work

with. We want sound on this guy...

damn'... I'm losing you...

(raises his voice)

And bring us a radio.

FRANK:

I get reimbursed for this, right?

CUT TO:

ATLANTIC AVENUE - BROOKLYN

The Third World. Teeming, roiling, Kinshasha meets Beirut

meets Tel Aviv meets Moscow. Hand-written shop signs in Arabic

and Hebrew, boom boxes throbbing out "Oum Khatoum," the latest

neo-Palestinian techno-rock.

KHALIL pays the taxi driver and starts off on foot. Hub's

CONTOUR pulls over a safe distance behind and waits. An AGENT

passes by and slips a WALKIE-TALKIE through the open window.

MAN CARRYING GROCERIES

Falls in behind Khalil, who ducks into a storefront, where

WE CAN SEE him buying a Coca Cola and a Baby Ruth bar.

IN THE CONTOUR:

FRANK:

(notes the purchase)

Twelve bucks in Gaza.

HUB:

America's the place to be if you're

a terrorist.

(on the walkie-talkie)

Fred's hovering. Patsy, take over...

A WOMAN WITH A STROLLER replaces the man carrying groceries.

HUB:

...Tell her to watch out for

reflections.

FRANK:

(hands him the phone)

I got the Judge.

HUB:

(on the phone)

...Good morning, Sir. How're things

in the Second Circuit this morning...?

...I hear you... Listen, Judge, we're

in a kind of situation here...

KHALIL is on the move again.

HUB:

(on the phone)

Hold on, will ya, Judge?

(into walkie-talkie)

Is he talking to somebody, who's he

talking to? Are we getting film?

FROM A GREAT DISTANCE

An AGENT with a TELEPHOTO snaps a picture of Khalil, who has

paused to chat with a PALESTINIAN of patrician good-looks.

HUB:

(covering the phone)

-- Frank?

FRANK:

Don't know him. If we were allowed

to get sound on them, we'd know him.

The walkie-talkie CRACKLES TO LIFE, confirming the photos.

HUB:

(covering the radio)

...What's that? No, Judge, not yet

we're not... but we have reason to

believe he may be involved with --

(covers the phone

again; keys the radio)

Damnit Tommy!

(to Frank)

He's overacting! Tell him --

(back to the phone)

Sorry, Judge... No... I just --

FRANK:

He's making him. Sh*t. F***. He's --

Khalil has a sixth sense from a lifetime on the West Bank.

All of a sudden, he BREAKS INTO A RUN.

HUB:

(keys radio)

Go, go, go!!! All units --

He slams the car into gear and PEELS OUT into traffic.

SIX SURVEILLANCE TEAMS

In various guises, break cover and SPRINT after Khalil, who

shifts into overdrive. Cars SCREECH to avoid flattening him.

Hub's CONTOUR pulls into traffic and finds his way blocked

by a narrow passage between double-parked cars. He goes for

it, SCRAPING his way between them.

FRANK:

Christ!

HUB:

(on the phone)

Judge, I'm gonna have to call you

back...

KHALIL SPRINTS:

Into an open-air MARKET, KNOCKING DOWN veiled WOMEN with

bags of fruit and vegetables. He VAULTS over stalls.

The CONTOUR scrapes PARKED CARS as it swerves into an alley,

desperately trying to cut off Khalil's escape route.

FRANK:

Sh*t --! I didn't take the insurance.

A SOCCER BALL bounces into Hub's peripheral vision, followed

by TWO BOYS.

HUB SLAMS THE CONTOUR INTO THE WALL

To avoid killing the two boys. Hub gets out of the car and

continues the pursuit on foot. He's gaining on Khalil, when:

A VAN:

Bears down on Khalil, its doors sliding open as TWO PAIRS OF

HANDS reach out and ANOTHER MAN appears out of nowhere and

BODYCHECKS Khalil into the van and jumps in after him.

HUB:

What the --?

The van BURNS RUBBER and DISAPPEARS into traffic.

MINUTES LATER --

An impromptu huddle in the alley. AGENTS gather in a circle

as RADIOS SQUELCH and HELICOPTERS circle above.

FRED:

They just found the van. Doesn't

look like they're gonna find any

prints.

The Agent who took the pictures pulls a color xerox-type

PHOTO from a digital printer in his car. Hub looks at the

picture of Khalil and the good-looking Palestinian.

HUB:

Run him down, bring him in.

Fred hands a cell phone to Hub.

FRED:

Floyd Rose.

HUB:

Go, Floyd.

As he listens, the first trace of a smile graces Hub's face.

CUT TO:

AN ORDINARY HOUSE

In an ordinary neighborhood. Hub sits in an UNMARKED CAR.

Agent Rose climbs into the front seat.

AGENT ROSE:

I've got two in the Plymouth, at

least three inside, and see that guy

walking his dog...? He did his

business about an hour ago and they're

still walking.

IN ANOTHER CAR --

DANNY:

I had a dog like that once.

FRANK:

It's not his dog, numbnuts. They're

spies.

DANNY:

The dog works for the CIA?

Their radio CRACKLES to life. It's Hub.

HUB (V.O.)

(over the radio)

All units report in turn.

We HEAR "Unit 1 is good to go," "Unit 2, we're ready to rock."

HUB:

Let's roll.

THE MAN WALKING THE DOG

Is suddenly double-teamed by TWO AGENTS.

AGENT - MIKE

Federal Agents. Hands behind your

back --

A third AGENT throws his jacket over the dog.

TWO UNMARKED CARS

Fishtail across the quiet street, boxing in the Plymouth as

an AGENT from the sidewalk thrusts a 12-gauge Remington Pump

in through the driver's window.

AGENT - FRED

-- Keep 'em where we can see 'em,

thank you very much.

THE DOOR TO THE HOUSE

Is BLOWN-IN by a specially-designed SHOTGUN. Two MEN, eating

take-out are surprised by Frank and Tina, their guns drawn.

FRANK:

Hi, guys, I expect you know the drill.

Hub continues warily from one empty room to the next. A

stairway leads downstairs. As Hub starts cautiously down,

muted VOICES can be heard. Reaching the bottom, he sees:

KHALIL:

Sitting in a chair. Behind him stands one of FREELANCERS

from the warehouse. And opposite him, in a barca-lounger:

ELISE KRAFT -- Somehow amidst the normalcy of the furnished

basement is a palpable feeling of menace.

As Hub shows himself, one of the Freelancers points a Glock

.9 at his head. Hub just stares him down.

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