True Lies Page #5

JANICE:

Gentlemen, please idenitify

yourselves to the scanner.

Harry and Gib step up to the combination retinal-thumbprint-

voice scanners. Harry presses his thumb against a black-glass

plate for laser scan, and looks into the eye-piece of the

retinal scanner.

HARRY:

Harry Tasker. One zero zero two

four.

GIB:

Albert Gibson. Three four nine

nine one.

Their clearance appears on a monitor on Janice's desk.

JANICE:

Thank you. You are cleared.

She stands to give them plastic I.D. badges which they hang

around their necks.

GIB:

Janice, how many years have you

been buzzing us in?

JANICE:

Ten, Mr. Gibson.

GIB:

And you still reach for your

piece every time.

JANICE:

Yes sir.

GIB:

God! You have no idea how much

that turns me on. I've never had

the courage to say this before

but... I love you, Janice.

JANICE:

Yes, sir.

He kisses her wetly on the cheek as he goes by. She does not

react is any discernible way.

They pass through a heavy stainless steel door which opens

automatically. Beyond is a kind of airlock... a SALLY PORT.

Behind a lexan shield are TWO GUARDS armed with MP5s. They nod

but do not speak at Harry and Gib pass them.

HARRY:

You better watch it. She might

file on you for sexual

harassment.

GIB:

In her dreams.

48 INT. OMEGA SECTOR INNER SANCTUM - DAY

Gib and Harry pass through the inner door of the sally port

into a large austere atrium.

ANGLE FROM ABOVE as they cross. A huge graphic logo covers the

floor. Across the center is says OMEGA SECTOR. In smaller

print, around the perimeter, is the motto: "THE LAST LINE OF

DEFENSE".

They enter a high-tech office space. It is a maze of glass

partitions surrounding a central floor-space of cubicles.

There is a hushed quality here. People do not joke. They do

not hurry. There are a lot of computer screens displaying

information from around the world. It looks like a combination

of NASA mission control and FBI headquarters.

Fast Faisil greets them, yawning, as they pass his partitioned

cubicle.

HARRY:

Come on, Fize. We're late for

our butt-grinding.

Faisil gulps his coffee and hurries after them.

49 INT. CONFERENCE ROOM - DAY

A dark and severe conference room, with large-screen computer

displays at one end. Glowering at one end of the long,

polished table, is SPENCER TRILBY, the chief of Omega Sector.

Visualize a cross between Colin Powel and J. Edgar Hoover.

TRILBY:

Jesus, Harry! You guys really

screwed the pooch last night.

Please tell me how I can look at

this, that it's not a total pooch-

screw.

HARRY:

Total is a strong word--

GIB:

There are degrees of totality.

FAISIL:

It's a scale really, with

"perfect mission" on one end and

"total pooch-screw" on the other

and we're more about here--

TRILBY:

Faisil. You're new on Harry's

team, aren't you?

FAISIL:

Yes.

TRILBY:

So what makes you think that the

slack I cut him in any way

translates to you?!

FAISIL:

Sorry, sir. Uh... here's what we

got.

He hits a button and a photo of Khaled fills a wall-screen.

FAISIL:

Jamal Khaled. We think he's

dirty so we raid his financial

files... Check it out...

Faisil hits some buttons and a second screen lights up with the

data for their raid.

FAISIL:

One hundred million in wire

transfers from the COMMERCE BANK*

INTERNATIONAL--*

GIB:

Which we all know is a front for

certain nations to fund terrorist*

activities. Something big is*

going down --

FAISIL*

And we know that a week ago four*

MIRV warheads were smuggled out*

of the former Soviet Republic of*

Kazakhstan . . .

HARRY*

We think Khaled's group has*

bought the nukes and is bringing*

them to U.S. soil.*

TRILBY*

So far this is not blowing my

skirt up, gentleman. Do you have*

anything remotely substantial?*

Don't be pumping beets up my ass*

here. Do you have hard data?*

HARRY*

Not what you'd call rock hard.*

GIB*

It's pretty limp, actually.*

TRILBY*

Then perhaps you better get some*

... before somebody parks a car*

in front of the White House with

a nuclear weapon in the trunk!

50 INT. OFFICE BUILDING - DAY

It is the interior of a huge law office. Helen works there as

a paralegal. She is going to the break room for coffee with

her friend, ALLISON, a secretary. Allison is black, younger

then Helen, and still single.

HELEN:

I mean, it's not like he's saving

the world or anything. He's a

sales rep for Chrissakes.

Whenever I can't get to sleep I

ask him to tell me about his day.

Six seconds and I'm out. But he

acts like he's curing cancer or

something.

ALLISON:

So I guess you didn't get away*

for the weekend after all?*

HELEN:

Are you kidding? Harry had to go

out of town.

ALLISON:

I'm shocked.

HELEN:

Yeah. You know Harry.

Helen's nerdy boss BRAD, comes up behind her, scowling.

BRAD:

Helen, have you pulled those

files yet? I need them by lunch.

HELEN:

I won't let you down, Brad.

Brad leaves.

HELEN*

(under her breath)*

You little pencil-neck.*

(to Allison)*

So... yo... sista! D'you do*

anything interesting?

ALLISON*

Oh... Eric and I drove up to this*

little romantic inn, and...*

pretty much lapped champagne out

of each other's navels for two

days.

HELEN:

You b*tch.

ALLISON:

Girlfriend, you got a man. You*

just have to take control . .

. set up the right mood.*

HELEN:

Harry only has two moods: busy...*

and asleep.

ALLISON:

Then you better do something to*

jumpstart that man's motor. You

know... wake up the sleeping

giant of his passion.

They both crack up at that one.

51 INT. OMEGA SECTOR (DATA CENTER) - DAY*

Harry meets up with Gib and Faisil coming from the ANALYSIS*

Department.*

HARRY:

What'ya got?

The following will play as they wind their way through the rows *

of data-analysis workstations.

FAISIL:

(handing Harry a

printout)

Here, check this out--

GIB:

It's a two million dollar

disbursement from Khaled to...

Juno Skinner.

(Harry raises an

eyebrow)

Uh huh. The babe at the party.*

HARRY:

It doesn't mean anything. She

buys antiquities for Khaled.

GIB:

Nope. The art buys are in a

separate ledger.

FAISIL:

And this is a little above market-*

rate for the horizontal bop, even*

for a total biscuit like her.

HARRY:

Alright, I want a complete workup

on her. Do we know where she is?

FAISIL:

Uh huh. Right here in river

city.

HARRY:

You're kidding.

FAISIL:

She lives in Rome, but she does

stuff here the Smithsonian and

has a lot of diplomatic

connections, so she has offices*

here.*

Gib starts tangoing with an imaginary partner.

GIB:

Sounds like a job for a

specialist.

52 INT. TASKER HOUSE/ KITCHEN - NIGHT (10PM)

DING! Harry opens the microwave as his dinner finishes re-

heating. He sits down alone at the kitchen table and pulls the

Saran-wrap off the plate. Another solo supper two hours late.

His motions are so automatic we gather that this is the rule,

not the exception. Helen comes in from the living room,

holding the suspense novel she is reading.

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