THE LAST REEL
by
Will Todd
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Copyright 2012 Will Todd
Smashwords Edition
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INTRODUCTION
1. Confidential
The following logline has been classified "reliable" from an inside source:
Two former covert operatives
are forced to recover the mysterious film
that turned them into fugitives... and enemies.
Decryption (Level I):
Once the top field team planted deep in the former Soviet Union, two U.S. agents have been living off the grid for decades, on the lam after a mission gone bad...
...until the C.I.A. rounds them up to recover what they lost...
...reopening personal wounds...
...and national secrets.
-------------------------
2. Secret:
Decryption (Level II):
This document was originally written to be the final movie in the Newman/Redford “trilogy”, which began with "Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid" and continued with "The Sting". Many references, both overt and covert, are hidden within.
-------------------------
3. Top Secret:
Decryption (Level III):
The NCS (National Clandestine Service) suspects this entire story to be a stealth metaphor for the current state of the Hollywood movie industry, code name "The Biz".
Reference: "Goddamn metaphors..."
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FADE IN:
ON IMPERFECT REFLECTION
A FACE wavering on water, shadow-strobed, like film struggling through an obsolete projector.
Specks penetrate the surface, and the face OBLITERATES TO
EXT. THE FLORIDA KEYS - DAY
where the owner of the face wipes sweat from his brow before continuing to SCRAPE paint from the hull of a boat.
GEORGE WILLIAMS might want to reconsider the scraper as a personal grooming device. Driftwood decades have deposited layers of character, edging him close to that high water mark labeled "Life Expectancy".
But his eyes, like the deepest part of the ocean, remain Paul Newman blue.
Unfortunately for George, the two blues may soon meet if he doesn't find a more stable platform. He stands in a rowboat while SCRAPING the port side of the "Merry Christmas", the only fishing boat in Florida that could make George look healthy by comparison.
It's perhaps then fortunate that a bath is in George's future, as two JET SKIS ROAR BY creating a sudden wake that
GEORGE
Hey...!
REUNITES The Old Man and The Sea.
George SPUTTERS to the surface, fighting the pull of a BREAKER that returns him to shore. Face first.
He lies there a moment, not uncomfortable, but eventually peals his cheek from the sand. He looks to where he was scraping by. Then to where he's been washed up. And finally to a rusty old sign pronouncing it all "Rockbottom Bay".
Whereupon George Williams utters his first two words of prophesy:
GEORGE
Goddamn metaphors...
Take your pick. Or stick around for The Big One.
As for George, he drags over to a concrete beach shower and pulls the chain.
Adding a few RIVULETS OF RUST to his seawater-soaked hair.
He just stands there a second contemplating Rockbottom, when his face inexplicably brightens. It's as if a well-worn switch has been thrown. A switch labeled "Charm":
GEORGE
Hey! You kids wanna rent a boat?
He approaches a lump of TEENAGERS gathered around the stern of the "Merry Christmas", who turn their dubious looks from the ancient rental inventory to even more dubious looks at the ancient mariner.
TEEN #1
Uh, actually... we were looking for Jet Skis.
GEORGE
Jet Skis! Nooo, no-no-no-no. Terrible way to see the bay. Just a lot of speed and noise.
TEEN #2
Do you have any Jet Skis?
GEORGE
Sure don't. But a rowboat'll take you around a lot cheaper. And a lot slower. This bay's got a tale to tell if ya--
TEEN #3
Well, thanks anyway, but...
GEORGE
That's the key to the Keys. You gotta slow down, take some time to actually absorb the story.
TEEN #4
(definitively)
Look, Mister, we came for the ride, not the story.
Not much George can say to that. Except under his breath as the teens pass by:
GEORGE
You get what you pay for.
He makes his way to a mini-keg near the pilothouse, taking a hit of beer directly through the surgical tubing. But his quaff is cut off by an unexpected
VOICE (O.S.)
Excuse me, is this boat for rent?
George nearly chokes on his good fortune, lowering the still gushing tube to see
TWO MEN
who, though costumed in tourist trunks and sunblocked noses, now appear less good fortune than "Soldier of Fortune".
Maybe it's the short-cropped hair, the cowboy tans, or the spa-worthy musculature. Or maybe the Ray Bans. Identical.
George observes it all under a MEDITATIVE BELCH, then cranks up the "Charm" to belie a new setting - "Caution":
GEORGE
You guys goin' fishin'?
MAN #1
Yeah. We wanted to try sort of a... classic excursion.
MAN #2
That's right.
GEORGE
Well, boy did you come to the right place. Here, let me help you aboard.
MAN #2
That's okay, we can--
But George has already taken the hand - and gear bag - of Man #2, who steps over the bulwark as the bag drops to the deck with a loud CLANK. METALLIC.
GEORGE
You guys must be after some big fish.
Man #1 follows but declines a similar offer of help, so George recovers the deckbound bag with a good-natured GRUNT:
GEORGE
Course, I can't guarantee you'll reel in The Big One, but I can promise you one thing.
MAN #2
What's that?
GEORGE
A good chase.
And with that, George HEAVES the bag high over their heads--
MAN #2
Hey! What're you...?
--and toward the open sea. It draws just enough of their attention for George to take a RUNNING DIVE over the opposite rail, yanking the keg's tubing and beating the discarded gear bag - SPLASH, SPLASH - to the water by a nose.
Man #2 barely gets off his Ray Bans before creating a third SPLASH. But he doesn't dive for his gear bag.
He goes straight for George.
On deck, Man #1 watches as his partner resurfaces, frustrated, then dives again. Opening his own bag, Man #1 vindicates George's paranoia with a HIGH-TECH WALKIE-TALKIE:
MAN #1
He jumped ship.
Meanwhile
UNDER DA SEA
George swims with the aid of his beer tube snorkel, eventually passing under a shallow keel and POPPING UP
NEXT TO A ROWBOAT
between himself and his pursuers. He thanks the beer tube with a SHARP BELCH, then bellies into the boat, keeping a low profile.
In fact, he rows practically lying down, but soon puts some distance between himself and the beach. There, the two men search hopelessly for a means to follow. George peeks:
GEORGE
Try a half mile down. They rent "Jet Skis".
He continues his low row, but slows at the sound of a DISTANT RUMBLE. Actually, it's more like an ANGRY BUZZ. Or BUZZES. And they're getting LOUDER.
MUCH LOUDER. In fact, it sounds like they're converging just outside the rowboat but by the time George lifts his head to look it's too late and
GEORGE
Ahhhhh...!
AN ARTIFICIAL WAVE
SWAMPS the small craft and WASHES George overboard.
He SPUTTERS yet again to the surface, but this time there will be no escape. This time he's surrounded by
A FLOTILLA OF JET SKIS
operated by more Ray Ban fans.
JET SKI MAN
George Williams?
GEORGE
(ticked)
Well, if I'm not, you've got some explaining to do, don't you?
JET SKI MAN
You're under arrest.
Struggling now to keep his head above water, George ignores the proffered ID, watching instead the last vestiges of his craft sink below the artificial waves.
GEORGE
(muttering)
Goddamn symbolism...
And as he SPITS OUT A STREAM OF SALTWATER
CUT TO:
EXT. AIRPORT TARMAC - DAY
where a LIMO ROLLS UP next to a private jet. It disgorges the Ray Bans. Now in business suits. And George. In cuffs.
The seawater may have dried, but there's still plenty of salt:
GEORGE
Oh, well, now, this figures. First the limo and here's a private jet. Just what kind of budgets do they give you guys nowadays?
He's led toward the jet by SMITH AND JONES - Man #1 and #2 - who will never look completely dressed without miniature earjacks.
GEORGE
And you two. Don't you guys spend any time in the field anymore before you're given a cover to play? You got any experience at all out on the stage?
JET SKI MAN
Let's go.
He motions George toward the plane's steps.
GEORGE
You know, there were a lotta other ways I could've gotten outta there. You went for the obvious instead of the original.
JET SKI MAN
If we hadn't, you might've gotten away.
GEORGE
Seems like a small price to pay for originality...
VOICE (O.S.)
Our orders were to bring you in at any price, Mr. Williams.
George turns to see
AGENT TED HARVEY
standing in the doorway of the private jet. He's cut from the same cloth as his brethren, though the Master Tailor has distinguished this suit. With a tighter inseam.
GEORGE
Then I wanna talk to the guy givin' the orders.
AGENT HARVEY
You are. Agent Ted Harvey.
GEORGE
You gotta be kidding me. You're barely old enough to be in charge of your own spit.
AGENT HARVEY
Mine - and yours.
He motions Smith and Jones to bring George - who sends down a defiant EXPECTORATION before stepping on board the
INT. PRIVATE JET
where he's met by a WALL OF ELECTRONICS.
GEORGE
Ah, jeez, look at this. You guys'd need AWACS to find where t'wipe nowadays.
(re: plush aisle)
Look at this. Who's payin' for all this? I'll tell you who. A lot of people who can't afford it, that's who. This is taxpayer money, you know.
AGENT HARVEY
You haven't paid taxes in 35 years.
GEORGE
Yeah, but if I did, I'd be pissed.
George is settled into his seat while the others file aboard.
GEORGE
I mean, look at just the personnel. All these men to pick up one guy.
(seat belt BUCKLED)
An' where the hell we goin', anyway?
AGENT HARVEY
Utah.
GEORGE
Utah? The hell's in Utah?
AGENT HARVEY
One more pickup.
GEORGE
Oh, then I take it all back. I mean, if you're goin' after the Osmonds...
AGENT HARVEY
Roy David.
At the mention of the name, George does something he hasn't done since the moment of his capture.
He shuts up.
But the external conversation has obviously been replaced by a much more serious internal one.
George stares out the window, speaking mostly to himself:
GEORGE
You're gonna need more men...
And as the jet's ENGINES BEGIN TO WHINE
DISSOLVE TO:
OUTSIDE THE WINDOW
as the WHINE DECLINES - and the sweltering Florida sun gives way to PELTING UTAH SNOW.
George continues to stare ruefully out his window from
INSIDE THE PLANE
where Agent Harvey sits before the Wall of Electronics. He listens to a MEDLEY OF VOICES coming from a SQUAWK BOX:
SQUAWK BOX (V.O.)
Blue Four, report.
All clear.
Blue Five.
Ready.
Blue Leader, this is Blue One. Blue Team in position.
AGENT HARVEY
Proceed, Blue One.
SQUAWK BOX (V.O.)
Blue Two, Three - move in.
Copy. Moving.
GEORGE
He's not gonna like you sneakin' up on him.
AGENT HARVEY
What do you suggest, we knock on the front door?
GEORGE
Yeah. With a cannon.
SQUAWK BOX (V.O.)
This is Blue Four - Two and Three are at the cabin.
Blue Two, Three - Authority One - Go.
A DOOR CREAKS, followed by FOOTSTEPS and a TENSE SILENCE...
Then a HORRENDOUS CRASH.
AGENT HARVEY
Blue One, Blue One, report...!
SQUAWK BOX (V.O.)
Blue Four, do you have visual from--
SQUAWK BOX (V.O.)
Break-break! This is Blue Two. We're okay. Just some old pots and pans - some sort of crude alarm or something. But the place is empty. Have you found anything, Blue Three? Blue Three...?
A warning light goes off behind George's eyes:
GEORGE
Get him outta there. Get him outta there, now. Now...
SQUAWK BOX (V.O.)
Blue Three...? Blue - UGH...!
AGENT HARVEY
Dammit!
SQUAWK BOX (V.O.)
(rush of FOOTSTEPS)
This is Blue Five! Circling around back to--
WHUMP!
SQUAWK BOX (V.O.)
Blue Four, what do you see? Blue Four, this is Blue One, report. Blue Four, this is Blue One! Blue Four! Blue Four! Blue...!
STATIC. Perhaps the most ominous sound yet. Agent Harvey begins PUNCHING SWITCHES at the Wall of Electronics:
AGENT HARVEY
Blue One, are you there? Come in, this is Blue Leader. Blue Team report. Blue Five? Blue Four? Blue Three? Blue Two...?
GEORGE
Blue zero. Roy one...
And as his stare returns to the SNOW-PELTED WINDOW
INT. LIMOUSINE - MINUTES LATER
where Agent Harvey rides shotgun while, in back, Smith and Jones flank an irate George:
GEORGE
Like he's still gonna be there...
AGENT HARVEY
He won't get far. There's only one road in or out, and we're on it.
George takes note of snow-laden branches SCRATCHING both sides of the wide limo.
GEORGE
Yeah, great way to sneak up.
AGENT HARVEY
I thought you were against sneaking.
GEORGE
I said he was. And I also seem to recall mentioning a cannon in there somewhere. Failing that, at least call in some local reinforcements.
AGENT HARVEY
This isn't a local matter.
GEORGE
Well, at least we've got "Green One" and "Green Two"...
And as George settles back between Smith and Jones
EXT. CABIN IN WOODS
where the LIMO CRUNCHES TO A STOP ON SNOW, and Green One and Two pile out the back carrying some heavy hardware, i.e.:
GUNS. Can't do this without `em it seems. But maybe we can still finagle a bullet-free environment. In the meantime
INSIDE THE LIMO
Agent Harvey arms himself as well.
GEORGE
You know, it's still not too late. There's a station right out on the main road. They could get here in less than two minutes. Hey, I'll keep you entertained with my life story. Though you're on your own for the other minute. What d'ya say?
Agent Harvey turns to the LIMO DRIVER:
AGENT HARVEY
If you have to - gag him.
LIMO DRIVER
Bless you, sir.
And as Agent Harvey de-limos
SMITH AND JONES
APPROACH A LARGE SHED near the main cabin. Jones circles around back while Smith positions himself in front, crouches, pivots, and FLINGS THE DOOR WIDE TO LOOK
INSIDE THE SHED
where the mystery of the Blue Team is solved. All five members hang - unharmed - from five hooks, trussed up like Thanksgiving turkeys. Five puffs of breath indicate that each is merely unconscious.
SMITH
Holy...
Smith hurries inside to help the first turkey down. Its eyes slowly open, glazed.
SMITH
It's okay, take it easy, you're okay now.
But at the sound of FOOTSTEPS, the eyes clear and the turkey CACKLES through its duct-taped mouth.
SMITH
Whoa, take it easy, it's just Jones. My partner, Jones...
But by the time Smith looks back over his shoulder
SMITH
Jones...?
he learns just A POP-EYED MOMENT before we do that
JONES
IS STILL OUTSIDE, only now rounding the corner to the front of the shed.
JONES
Smith? Smith...?
He, too, executes A TEXTBOOK PIVOT to cover the door.
He, too, fails the grade as A FLASH OF FUR uppercuts his weapon--
JONES
Ah...!
--while a HAIRY MITT seizes his chest and YANKS him inside the shed.
All before his airborne gun finally CRATERS the snow.
And as the shed door SLAMS SHUT
GEORGE - IN THE LIMO
contemplates his own four-door prison. Aloud, of course:
GEORGE
You guys get some sort of bulk rate on these limos or something? I mean, I assume it's a company car, given the transmitter and all - which, by the way, is common courtesy to let the local authorities monitor, just in case there's an emergency. You know, that's the kind of initiative I bet ol' Agent Harvey would really admire if you - hey... hey...!
The Driver raises the PRIVACY SCREEN between himself and George. Just as the transmitter begins to CRACKLE:
AGENT HARVEY (V.O.)
I'm at the cabin now. Proceeding inside so I can--
And as the screen ABRUPTLY ISOLATES George
THE CABIN
isolates Agent Harvey inside hand-hewn log walls that would make Thoreau feel ostentatious.
Agent Harvey takes note of an open duffle bag on the table, apparently in the process of being packed.
But the one-room enclosure is otherwise empty.
He returns to the door with his high-tech walkie-talkie:
AGENT HARVEY
Cabin negative. I'm heading out to the shed.
But the shed has come to him, for when he opens the door
A FUR SILHOUETTE
fills the frame and quickly blots out both his
AGENT HARVEY
Ah...!
and the winter sun. Meanwhile
INSIDE THE LIMO
George presses his ear against the privacy screen:
GEORGE
What's that? What happened...?
But all he can see is the Driver frantically adjusting the transmitter.
George presses closer, but he needn't have bothered, for the next sound is all too close when
THE FRONT DOOR IS YANKED OPEN
and a FURRY MITT drags the Driver from the limo.
George JERKS back as a muffled SCUFFLE ensues, ending with the door being KICKED SHUT.
The SILENCE that follows is worse than the scuffle.
Worse still is that the cold air has fogged all the windows.
Trapping George in an opaque, silent bubble.
He claws at a small hole on the opposite door muttering
GEORGE
Stupid lock, stupid lock...
but BOLTS BACK when someone RATTLES the outside handle:
GEORGE
Good lock, good lock...
George watches as the hairy mitt tries to clear the window. But only the loose snow falls, leaving a veil of interior condensation.
Emboldened by a moment of quiet, George edges closer to the window, wiping clear a small patch and hunching for a peek...
WHEN A SUDDEN PUFF OF BREATH
sends George JUMPING back and refills the gray.
GEORGE
Goddamn "Jurassic Park"...!
George has had enough. He twists onto his back and begins KICKING at the privacy screen. Hooray for adrenaline, it BUCKLES, and he SCRAMBLES into the front seat.
And as he notes the empty ignition slot, then GRABS the handset from the transmitter
EXT. LIMO
with no sign of anyone or anything around it - until a front door THUMPS OPEN and George emerges.
On a mission.
He TROMPS through the snow toward the cabin, each BREATH visible. He stops a short distance and plants his feet. Out in the open. Still in cuffs. Not cold.
Hot:
GEORGE
All right, Roy, get your goddamn ass out here where I can see it! Come on, I know it's you! Roy? Roy...!
(the capper)
This is George!
Nothing.
Only George's BREATH. Until:
Something.
It emerges from the cabin. Covered in furs and facial hair. About the only feature visible are the eyes. Too clear to be animal. Too focused to be civilized.
ROY DAVID is Robert Redford as Jeremiah Johnson, still seeking the illusion of independence.
ROY
Shoulda known.
GEORGE
What - the - hell happened to you?
ROY
Found a way t'keep livin', George.
GEORGE
Yeah, you an' the lice. Jesus, Roy, what've you done to--
ROY
You lead these guys here?
GEORGE
(holds up cuffs)
Oh, yeah, I'm callin' the shots - we thought you might have a still out here.
His question answered, Roy returns to the cabin.
GEORGE
Hey! Hey...!
George follows
INSIDE THE CABIN
where Roy resumes packing his duffle bag, mostly with books.
GEORGE
Where you goin'?
ROY
I'll know when I get there.
GEORGE
Where? How far you think these guys'll let you an' your pet grizzly get?
ROY
Why're they here? Why now?
GEORGE
Well, maybe we could've found out if you hadn't rendered every potential clue unconscious.
ROY
Could've been worse.
They lock eyes. George softens.
GEORGE
Look, do me a favor an' get these off me before you run.
George holds out his cuffs. Roy consents, bending open A LARGE PAPER CLIP.
ROY
It ain't runnin'.
GEORGE
It ain't livin', either, Roy.
One cuff comes free. But Roy suddenly stiffens, staring out a window.
ROY
Did you call these guys, George?
GEORGE
I already told you--
ROY
Did you call these guys, George?
GEORGE
What guys?
VOICE (O.S.)
FREEZE!
A COP now stands in the doorway, two hands on his weapon as additional POLICE file in to surround the fugitives.
GEORGE
Oh, these guys. Uh... I might've alerted the local authorities at some point, yeah.
One of the officers CLICKS SHUT the loose end of George's cuff - around Roy's wrist.
ROY
Thirty-five years. An' right back where we left off...
And with George and Roy thus reunited
CUT TO:
INT. PRIVATE JET - LATER
where George and Roy sit on opposite aisles, each now with their own personal set of bracelets.
Though calm outside, the flight is not without turbulence:
GEORGE
Hey, don't blame me.
ROY
I would've been long gone if you hadn't been distracting me.
GEORGE
Never would've been an issue. In your youth.
ROY
I'll always be younger than you, George.
GEORGE
Age is a state of mind, Roy.
ROY
I'll have to take your word for it.
GEORGE
You know what your problem is?
ROY
Oh, yeah, I do.
GEORGE
Oh, no, you--
AGENT HARVEY
Will you two sit still??
The physically and egotistically bruised agent has heard enough. George fires back, squirming in his seat:
GEORGE
You know, you cram this thing full of millions of dollars worth of gadgets, but you forget how to keep a person's butt from aching after a couple hours.
AGENT HARVEY
Don't worry.
(enjoys himself)
It'll all be over soon.
In fact, he enjoys himself so much that George and Roy get a little squirmy. They lean closer across the aisle:
ROY
[Any idea what's going on?]
GEORGE
[No. But I'm not as anxious to find out as I was a second ago...]
Note: Brackets will henceforth denote SUBTITLES to appear at the bottom of the screen.
For George and Roy's last exchange takes place in more than just a concerned whisper. It's spoken in a foreign language.
Clear. Fluent.
Russian.
CUT TO:
INT. CIA HEADQUARTERS - WASHINGTON D.C. - DAY
where the still-cuffed George and Roy note their surroundings with Smith on one side and Jones on the other, Agent Harvey in the lead.
Actually, George does most of the noting:
GEORGE
Look at this - can you believe this? - more like a corporation than ever.
ROY
Yeah. Next thing you know, they'll be calling it the "Company".
Agent Harvey opens a door labeled "Accounting".
GEORGE
Don't laugh. Looks like the bean counters run the show now.
They enter
THE CIA ACCOUNTING DEPARTMENT
with cubicles, computers, and short-sleeved shirts.
Filling the size of a soundstage.
GEORGE
(agog)
Forget "run it". The bean counters are the show now.
ROY
Todd Bledsoe.
GEORGE
(chuckles)
Yeah, he'd get a kick outta this, wouldn't he?
ROY
Hey, Todd.
VOICE (O.S.)
Roy.
George spins to see
TODD BLEDSOE
standing before him in the flesh. In fact, a lot more flesh than George remembers.
GEORGE
Todd Bledsoe! Are you a sight for sore eyes. What's goin' on here, Todd? What're we doin' here? What're you doin' here?
BLEDSOE
Counting beans, George.
George tries to laugh this off, but now that Bledsoe mentions it, he has yet to crack a smile. He displays all the spirit of a middle-managing paper-pushing near-retiring cog who is grimly bean-counting the days before he can put The Path Most Taken behind him.
GEORGE
You're kidding.
BLEDSOE
Head of the department.
GEORGE
The same Todd Bledsoe who hid 20 mil in black market bonds down his shorts in Dubrovnik? The guy we bailed out of a busted cash drop in Budapest?
BLEDSOE
(to Agent Harvey)
It's all set up. Let's go.
They return en masse to
THE CORRIDOR
but George has some further accounting to do:
GEORGE
You remember Budapest, don't ya, Todd? Roy and I barely got there in time.
But it's clear Bledsoe has no interest in reminiscing, especially if it involves the Debit Column of his Past.
BLEDSOE
They wanted me to talk to you before you went in. Stress the seriousness of your situation and recommend full cooperation. For your own good.
GEORGE
Well, we appreciate that, Todd. I'm just sorry we never got a chance to say goodbye before. Kept waiting for a Christmas card or something, but it never came.
BLEDSOE
I...
Something much worse than an ulcer is now eating at Todd Bledsoe. Fighting to resurface.
But buried too deep.
BLEDSOE
...couldn't.
He comes to a codelocked door and runs his badge through. The door opens. But Todd Bledsoe doesn't:
BLEDSOE
You're on your own.
George passes close by on his way inside, but Bledsoe won't meet his gaze. George is almost sympathetic:
GEORGE
Well... we're used to it by now, Todd.
The grizzled Roy follows, but he'll not let the accountant off so easy. He stands in the doorway until Bledsoe is forced to lift his eyes. A long, silent exchange. Then:
ROY
"Merry Christmas."
The words cut into Todd Bledsoe with surgical precision.
Agent Harvey sees it. Takes note. Doesn't understand.
Yet.
But he takes a step closer by passing through the codelocked door and into a
INT. HIGH-TECH CIA CONFERENCE ROOM
jammed with more avionics than the private jet, though the BUZZ is less machine than man. A ROOMFUL OF DEPARTMENT HEADS HUSHES as George and Roy are escorted inside.
The hand-cuffed duo passes a long conference table place-matted with folders. Folders set out for a briefing.
Folders sealed with A LARGE PAPER CLIP.
GEORGE
(sotto to Roy)
Any ideas?
ROY
Just one...
(raises voice)
Hey! Can I get a cup of coffee?
AGENT HARVEY
There's no food or drink in here.
ROY
You're kidding. George, I bet you have something to say about that.
His hands cuffed behind him, Roy parks his keester on the table, the fragrance of the wild strong enough to sway those nearby. A MAN IN GLASSES suffers particular proximity.
George smells something as well:
GEORGE
Goddamn right, I do. Uhhh... You mean to tell me... there's all these suits... in one location... and no Starbucks franchise?
AGENT HARVEY
Get `em in their seats.
Unparking Roy, Smith and Jones deposit their charges in chairs at the end of the table. Immediately, A BRIGHT LIGHT blinds them and THEIR IMAGES APPEAR on monitors around the room.
GEORGE
(squinting)
Hey! What is this - some kinda "B" movie?
VOICE (O.S.)
It can't be, Mr. Williams...
George can just make out A MURKY SILHOUETTE by the camera.
VOICE
...we've already spent too much money on it.
The silhouette steps into A POOL OF LIGHT at the head of the table, but the murkiness remains.
Accented by a SHORT PONYTAIL.
GEORGE
An' who in hell are you?
DOYLE
To those assembled as well as those monitoring from remote sites, good afternoon. I'm Robert Doyle, CFO - Chief of Field Operations at...
GEORGE
"Chief"? You gotta be kid--
DOYLE
...at headquarters - any further interruption, Mr. Williams, and I'll authorize countermeasures which will include but not be limited to a sock and the duct tape Mr. David apparently favors - and I'm here to initiate Phase II of the operation summarized in the folders in front of you.
GEORGE
(to Roy)
Jeez, I had to get an AARP card before I could act that cranky.
DOYLE
You are not a member of the American Association of Retired Persons, Mr. Williams, nor are you nor Mr. David members of any association, particularly American. To the Company, the United States government, and the American people, you are, quite simply, traitors.
A FOLDER SPILLS onto the conference table. It belongs to the Man In Glasses, and Roy watches closely as he gathers the contents, unaware that his spill might have been avoided.
Had he still possessed a large paper clip.
Perhaps even more revealing, though, is that George reacts to Doyle's accusation without rebuttal. Only a silent glare.
Doyle CLICKS a remote control, and a series of OLD SURVEILLANCE PHOTOS appears on a screen behind him.
DOYLE
Thirty-five years ago, a Soviet operative in Washington managed to encrypt an old Russian film on loan to the Smithsonian. The operative never made it out of the country...
CLICK! A slide reveals THE DEAD RUSSIAN AGENT.
DOYLE
...the film did. Fortunately, it was recovered in Moscow by two of our own operatives...
ROY
Top - operatives.
CLICK! A slide of YOUNG GEORGE AND ROY appears onscreen.
DOYLE
George Williams and Roy David. But something went wrong...
CLICK! A building in flames.
DOYLE
The Soviets were tipped. Another of our agents was killed. And the film... destroyed by fire.
(beat)
Or so we were told.
GEORGE
You were told the truth.