Ticker Page #8

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Glass lays out flat on his stomach and searches deep under a

machine, picks up a half-smoked cigarette butt with tweezers,

pulls it out, kneels.

GLASS (cont.)

Hello.

Glass straightens it out, reads the brand name, "Gallois".

GLASS (cont.)

French. Doubt somebody who worked

here smoked it. Only half gone, put it out in

a hurry.

(glances around)

(MORE)

GLASS (cont.)

Figuring the length, assuming it was one of

these guys, odds are... it was lit outside.

Glass takes off. Reilly follows.

EXT. MACHINE SHIP - GARAGE - AFTERNOON

Glass and Reilly search the area. Glass moves on his knees,

aiming the flashlight.

GLASS:

This is where the van was parked.

REILLY:

Yep.

GLASS:

Then, it's gotta be here somewhere ...

REILLY:

Look, it's a longshot...

GLASS:

Bingo!

Glass pinches something with his tweezers, holds it up

triumphantly... a used match.

CLOSE UP - MATCH UNDER MICROSCOPE

A jungle of giant fibers teeming with strange molecules.

T.J. (O.C.)

No question, it was definitely the one used to

l-light the butt. Finger pressure suggests a

male, average build, height... no prints,

trace of nylon fiber... he wore a glove.

INT. THE CAVE - AFTERNOON

T.J. punches keys on a computer, peers through the microscope

as Glass, Reilly, Pooch and Bev stand by.

T.J.

This is strange.

Two computer screens - one displays the magnified match from

different angles, the other spills out a stream of formulae

and chemical breakdowns.

T.J. (cont.)

(reading info)

Three foreign particles ... vulcanized

rubber ... resin ... nitro-cellulose.

REILLY:

Nitro-cellulose. What is that, some

kind of explosive?

GLASS:

Industrial wood oil. Separately, any one of

these things could lead in several directions,

but together ...

POOCH:

Ka-Boooom.

BEV:

They make bowling balls out of vulcanized

rubber ...

POOCH:

Resin...

T.J.

Lane oil...

GLASS:

(beat, proud of his team)

A bowling alley.

At an adjacent computer, Bev runs a scan program on the

match, comparing it against an endless stream of match types

on file. Schnoz howls awake from a nap as T.J. stabs the

screen as a match is made, specifications filling the screen.

T.J.

Got it! Ace Match Company, Flint, Michigan.

REILLY:

(amazed)

You mean you just--? ... You keep a record

of... matches?

GLASS:

Hey, matches are a very big thing in our line

of work.

POOCH:

(smirks at Reilly)

"Punks", huh?

GLASS:

Bev, give `em a call, find out what bowling

alleys they supply in this area.

BEV:

Right!

GLASS:

Pooch, why don't you e-mail your buddies at

Langley and on the other side of the pond,

see if any IRAs been popping up lately?

POOCH:

You got it.

GLASS:

(to Reilly)

We work fast enough for you?

Reilly mouth is opened, duly impressed.

EXT. BOWLING ALLEY - LATE AFTERNOON

The Studebaker and Harley swerve up to a run-down, windowless

bowling alley, park in a red zone.

Reilly and T.J, climb out of the clunker, Glass off his bike.

T.J. checks his hair in the side mirror, sniffs his

underarms.

REILLY:

T.J., what're you doing?

T.J.

My first undercover assignment.

I gotta look good, right?

Reilly and Glass exchange a grin, they drag T.J. inside.

INT. BOWLING ALLEY - LATE AFTERNOON

A busy Saturday afternoon crowd. Rock music blasts,

reverberating with the echo of crashing balls and pins. The

lanes are teeming with sweating bodies. Sexy waitresses in

skimpy outfits deliver drinks.

T.J. ogles women as they wander through.

T.J.

So what're we looking for?

REILLY:

Someone who smokes French cigarettes.

T.J.

In this crowd? It's gonna be Marlboros,

Camels, and maybe a few Kools.

Reilly and Glass nod, knowing it's a longshot.

Reilly directs Glass and T.J. to split up to case the place.

They move through the rowdy crowd, eyes catching every

smoker.

INT. BOWLING ALLEY - POOL ROOM/BAR - LATER

The music is more redneck-rock, the crowd as well.

Glass and T.J. are in the midst of game of pool, nursing

bottles of Root Beer. They continue to play while eyeing

those coming and going.

Reilly enters from the alley, catches Glass' eye and shakes

his head. He goes to the bar and orders a coke.

He takes the drink and moves over next to Glass as T.J. lines

up a shot.

GLASS:

How long are we going to stay?

REILLY:

`Til we get a better lead.

Reilly's attention is drawn to a crowded booth in the corner

where a few bowling alley girls block the view of the entire

booth.

Glass nudges Reilly, they look over to see Pooch entering the

bar. He sees them and moves to the bar. T.J. sinks his shot

and lines up another as Reilly and Glass move to meet Pooch.

Pooch produces a printout from his jacket, opens it up.

POOCH:

Unsolved bombings in the last year... Boston,

New York, Philadelphia... but no real match

REILLY:

Insurance?

GLASS:

Political.

POOCH:

Exactly my thinking. Except, none of the

targets can actually be linked to government,

political or special interest concerns. They

seem to be just unrelated industrial

companies. Some insured, some not.

(MORE)

POOCH (cont.)

But there's traces of C4 and assorted

inflammatory additives found in each case.

The only common denominator is the detonators

all had circuitry consistent with our micro-

chip.

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