The Truth About Charlie Page #3

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Reggie?

How'd you know | about those people today?

What? | Those three.

And the missing money.

Where did you find out | about all that?

Uh, shoot.

Uh...

Look...

I'm afraid I can't tell you.

I promised.

Promised? Who?

I'm sorry.

I want you to hear this. | Huh?

It's Aznavour. | You know him?

"- Shoot the Piano Player," right?

Exactly.

- Hello? | - Hello, Mrs. Lambert.

Don't hang up on me. | Look, I'm sorry | about the elevator.

- I have nothing to say to you. | - We've gotta talk.

Who is it? | The guy from the elevator.

- What? Give me the phone. | - Wait. Who... | Is that Dyle there?

Who? | Mr. Dyle.

Has he laid his little | Charles Aznavour routine | on you yet?

What's he saying?

Yeah. That's right. | Reggie.

Okay. | Nobody wants to hurt you.

- Reggie, what did he say? | - All we want is what's ours. | We know that you have it.

Dyle's not to be trusted.

He wants your money. | He'll do any...

What did he say?

That if I don't | give him the money, | he'll kill me.

Why would he kill you? | He's just saying that to scare | you, Reggie. That's all.

As long as they think | you have that money... | Then why is Charles dead?

He obviously knew | where that money is. | Reggie, listen.

I'm on your side, | and I wish you'd tell me | everything you know...

promises or no promises... | so I could be of some help.

I think you'd better go, | Joshua.

I'm afraid | I've lost my appetite.

Oh.

I'm very tired.

I understand. It's... | It's been a long day.

Please, | I really need to think.

Well, just remember, | I'm on your side.

Yeah.

Hey!

You people | want to get rich or not?

Don't go getting | all rhetorical on us now, Dyle. | Hey.

Answer my question. | Rich or not rich?

Does she have the money | or not, Dyle?

I think she does.

Here's my problem. | You say there was nothing | with Charlie in the train,

in his bags, | in his clothes... whatever.

But size up, Dyle, it's all smoke. | You got zero credibility | around here.

You're right, Lola. | I already got what I want.

Yet I choose to subject myself | to this bullshit anyway.

You just want to | get in her pants... anyway.

Zadapec, I'm not even touching | your psychodrama in the elevator | and your crazed phone call.

You know what, Dyle?

One more | little crazed phone call...

this time to | the Paris police department... | and they have Charlie Lake's killer.

Isn't that right?

Right?

Now don't forget that | the next time you come | waltzing in here.

Don't forget that for a minute.

All high and mighty | like you're God's gift to us.

Zad?

He's right, buddy.

No more | loose cannon stuff, okay?

We're stuck with him | for the time being,

and he is stuck with us.

Cool, Zad?

Okay, maniac?

The only way this works | is if she trusts me.

Lose that, end of story.

Hey, Zadapec.

Your phone call really | spooked her. I want you to | tell me exactly what you said.

Well, you're not gonna like it.

Mr. Bartholomew?

Are you there, | Mr. Bartholomew?

- Shh, Mrs. Lambert.

Shh, shh, shh, shh. | What's going on, | Mrs. Lambert?

Mr. Bartholomew. | Yes.

Who is Dyle? | What about Dyle?

The man in the elevator... | Zadapec... | Zadapec. Yes?

He called | Joshua Peters "Dyle." | Zadapec called Peters "Dyle"?

Tell me about him. | Dyle.

Now. | Okay. All right. | Um, okay. Uh...

Carson J. Dyle. | Major, Special Forces.

Highly decorated | in the Gulf War. | Mogadishu.

Then he drops out. | Head honchos Global Options,

the top-drawer service outfit | of the '90s, till | his untimely demise.

Demise? | Death, Mrs. Lambert.

I know what demise means, | Mr. Bartholomew.

Carson Dyle | was terminated in 1998...

by Eastern European | militia near the former | Yugoslavian border,

40 kilometers east of Sarajevo.

Now, wait. | Dyle worked with Charles? | He knew Charles?

Unfortunately for Dyle, yes.

In '98,

Dyle mounted a special ops unit | for a high-level covert | hostage extraction...

on behalf of the O.D.C.

In those days, the O.D.C. | Couldn't deal directly | with outside contractors.

That's where | your Charlie Lakes came in.

He was | an independent facilitator.

The O.D.C. would put him | on the research payroll | for a limited time.

He would book the professionals, | negotiate with the adversaries...

wrangle all the slimy details.

Your husband brokered the deal | to go in, transfer the assets | and get our man out.

Keep going. I'm with you.

The unit choppered in, | accompanied by Charlie,

transporting $6 million | in internally flawless, | Eppler-cut diamonds as ransom.

They were ambushed | shortly after landing.

Carson Dyle and most | of the Global Options team | were totally decimated.

Cut to ribbons. | Never had a chance.

Your husband and the three | from the photograph...

were the only ones | to make it out alive.

We believe those four | stashed the diamonds...

with plans to return | and claim them for themselves.

But how did Charles manage to...

The four of them lied | during the inquiry and waited.

We believe Charlie Lake | broke from his agreement | with the other three,

recovered | the diamonds on his own | and completely vanished.

And maybe Carson Dyle lived. | Trust me, Mrs. Lambert.

Carson Dyle is dead.

You've gotta find out | everything you can...

about your enthusiastic | new friend Peters...

or Dyle, | or whatever his name is.

We need to know | how he fits into the equation.

Oh, Mr. Bartholomew, | I already told you.

My great goal is for | far less involvement | in this sordid mess. Not more.

I was wrong about you, | Mrs. Lambert.

Meeting the widow | of a man like Lake...

Well, I was expecting...

a siren, a harpy, a shrew.

But you... | You have decency, dignity...

what my father | used to call gumption.

I'm very touched.

You are actually quite sweet | for a stars-and-bars | company man, aren't you?

You've discovered | my secret side, Mrs. Lambert.

Keep it under your hat.

Boo!

Excusez-moi, mademoiselle.

Merci, mademoiselle.

Ah. She left this | for you, Mr. Peters.

Aznavour!

Merci, monsieur.

Hello? | Bonjour, monsieur.

Uh, is he an American? | Yes, he is.

One moment, please. | I'll try to find out. | Merci, monsieur.

Oh, my God. | You "are" Dyle!

- Reggie? | - It's the only name "I've" got.

Reggie, we need to talk.

I've never been so betrayed | and humiliated in all my life.

- I had to make sure | that you weren't involved. | - You had to make sure...

I wasn't involved! | No, no. | That's not what I meant. I...

Merci, mademoiselle. | Merci beaucoup, monsieur.

You're meant to be dead, | monsieur.

I do owe you an explanation.

Reggie, my name | is Alexander Dyle. | Carson was my brother.

Shake hands? | "How do you do?"

You have got to be joking.

Reggie.

Reggie. | It's Regina!

I can explain everything. | Monsieur Philippe.

Reggie, wait!

Please, Reggie, | you gotta listen to me.

Reggie, Charles and | the three people following you...

they betrayed Carson.

They stole the money | he was entrusted with.

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