英文片名: rush hour

中文片名: 尖锋时刻

上映: 1998

rush hour

original screenplay

by

ross lamanna

fade in:

ext. los angeles - day

the whole dysfunctional megalopolis, beige and blurry in the

summer smog. if this is the american dream, do me a favor and

wake me up.

ext. lax - day

the traffic loop outside the terminals is gridlocked -- mostly

with stretch limousines.

int. lax - (include news report montage) - day

inside, the airport is done up with festive posters, streamers

and banners: welcome - pacific partners summit

a planeload of cheerful chinese delegates come into the

crowded terminal. some sport red t-shirts with a picture of

mao wearing mickey mouse ears.

they get onto the people mover, passing by a tv reporter:

reporter

(to tv camera)

eager to mend its tarnished image,

los angeles has really put out the

welcome mat for tomorrow's summit.

the city promises quite a party as

leaders from japan, china, south

korea, australia, the u.s. and

others begin talks for the largest

free-trade treaty in history.

the scene changes to tape of delegates from other countries

arriving.

then, we see massive security preparations all around the city.

reporter (vo)

(continuing)

the one sour note is north korea,

the only pacific rim country not

participating. there are rumors of

secret meetings with north korean

representatives, but u.s. officials

insist the north must first hold

democratic elections, and halt its

nuclear weapons program -- as they

claimed to have done back in 1995.

we cut to a heated debate in the un security council.

then artillery fire over the korean dmz.

the scene returns to lax.

reporter (vo)

(continuing)

tensions remain high since last

year's skirmishes between north korea

and the u.s. so any chance of the

communist north joining the pacific

partners seems highly unlikely.

dissolve to:

ext. fremont place - day

an exclusive, walled-off section of hancock park. there's only

one route in and out, past a manned guardhouse on wilshire.

ext. north korean consulate - day

a colonial-style mansion, surrounded by an imposing, wrought-

iron fence. there is a bronze plaque, in english and korean,

next to the entranceway:

consulate

of the

democratic people's republic of korea

the driveway gate opens and a long, black mercedes with tinted

windows and diplomatic license plates glides out.

int. north korean consulate - surveillance room - day

an alert north korean corporal watches the perimeter monitors.

he pushes a switch to close the gate behind the mercedes.

ext. utility pole - olympic blvd - day

from atop a pole outside the south wall, a man with binoculars

overlooks the private streets of fremont place.

his pov - through binoculars

as the mercedes cruises through the quiet neighborhood.

back to scene

the man, paul javal, is thirtyish, nervous; with short, sandy

hair. he takes the binoculars away from his face and we see

his eyes -- they're a strange, unnaturally light gray.

javal takes an orange pill from an unlabeled prescription

bottle and pops it into his mouth. he climbs down the pole to

a van with a phone company logo on it.

ext. wilshire blvd - day

the mercedes comes out of the fremont place gate, and turns

into the heavy morning traffic.

int. mercedes - (moving shot) - day

it is extremely quiet, due to inch-thick glass on the windows

and 4,000 pounds of armor plating on the car's chassis.

the driver is a north korean army major. on the seat beside

him is an amd-74, a 5.45x39mm-caliber machine gun.

a hand from the back seat darts between the front seats and

turns on the radio to a rock station. the driver turns it off.

new angle

the hand belongs to 10-year-old sam ke han. sam sits back and

sighs to his sister, joy

(1

5). between them sits a middle-aged

scandinavian governess.

sam

i can't stand it -- half an hour to

get to the stupid school every

morning... with no music...

(korean; subtitled)

[just our damn nanny...]

ext. crenshaw blvd - day

javal's van, also with tinted windows, turns onto crenshaw. it

follows the mercedes, several cars behind it.

int. javal's van - (moving shot) - day

javal, wired, drums on the steering wheel while driving. he

glances at some expertly constructed, radio-control remote

units sitting on the seat next to him.

ext. santa monica freeway - day

traffic is moving at about 35 mph. the mercedes merges onto

the freeway, heading west. javal's van follows.

the thumping of a rap song rattles the other drivers' fillings

as a lowrider with its stereo turned up to '11' cruises by.

int. mercedes - (moving shot) - day

even 500 watts of bass cannot penetrate the armored silence.

the driver scans the road, wary but sensing no danger. he puts

on his blinker to take the 405 south exit.

ext. santa monica freeway - day

the van follows, now directly behind the mercedes, in a

procession of vehicles going up the long, curved overpass

arcing 100 feet above the 10, toward the 405.

int. javal's van - (moving shot) - day

as they approach the crest of the overpass, javal flips a

switch on his radio-control unit...

close - road surface of overpass

six small semicircles, exact replicas of the stay-alert bumps

on the white lines of the overpass, explode. they spew hundreds

of sharp, triangular nails across the roadway. immediately,

scores of tires on passing cars blow out...

wider

causing, 50 yards ahead of the mercedes and van, the most

hellacious, gut-wrenching, piss-your-pants, chain-reaction

pile-up you can imagine.

dozens of drivers lose control of their vehicles... sideswipe

their neighbors... grind against the guard rails. some

fishtail into 180's, smashing headlong into the traffic still

coming onto the overpass.

brakes squeal, people scream, metal crumples, airbags deploy,

glass shatters.

and then it gets really nasty...

a honda gets jammed under a truck hauling cinder blocks. the

truck jackknifes, tipping over like a drunken giant.

it smashes through the concrete wall and guard rail...

along with several cars and their screaming occupants, swept

over the edge by the truck like discarded soda cans.

they plummet through space, crashing onto the freeway below.

int. mercedes - (moving shot) - day

sam, joy, and the governess brace themselves as the driver

slams on the brakes. he barely avoids hitting anything.

driver

(korean)

[stay in the car.]

ext. freeway overpass - day

a nightmare scene of smoke, twisted wrecks, dazed victims. the

mercedes and van sit motionless in the backed-up traffic.

int./ext. javal's van & roadway - day

javal slides open a trap door on the floor of the van. he

slips a wheeled, mechanic's repair platform through it.

angle with javal

as, unnoticed amid the chaos, he lies on the platform and

rolls under the mercedes.

the undercarriage of the mercedes is armored with steel. javal

stops at a patch of perforations -- an air exchange vent. he

attaches a slim device over the vent, flips a switch on it,

then rolls back toward the van.

int. mercedes - day

oblivious to javal's actions below them, everyone watches as

police and news helicopters circle above. then, some chp

motorcycles straddle the lanes and zoom by.

int. javal's van - day

sweating, javal sits back in the driver's seat and checks

another radio unit. working.

ext. freeway overpass - day

the chp has cleared a path through the devastation, and

traffic trickles through. as the mercedes and the van pass by,

javal looks proudly at the misery he's wrought. he follows the

mercedes onto the 405 south.

int. javal's van - (moving shot) - day

javal drives behind the mercedes, with one hand on the radio

unit. the mercedes signals to take the venice exit.

javal fingers the radio unit, itching to use it...

but he passes by the mercedes as it gets off the freeway.

insert angle - under the mercedes

javal's device is armed, and waiting...

fade to:

ext. sierra bonita avenue - carson's house - night

a pretty street in the miracle mile, lined with neat, single-

family homes. timed sprinkler systems water some of the yards.

every house on the block except the one we're in front of has

a 'for sale' sign on the lawn. from the weathered looks of the

signs, they've been there for quite a while.

int. carson's house - bedroom - night

it's a hot night. the ceiling fan above the bed spins slowly.

pete carson tosses restlessly in bed, the sheets half-covering

him. next to him his wife, miranda knoll, snores contentedly.

carson is in his late thirties, outdoorsy, with a tight,

muscular build. emotionally he's tightly-wound as well.

miranda is 35, raven-haired, sensible, pretty. she believes

above all else that one should never raise one's voice.

carson groans... he's dreaming...

cut to:

ext. beverly drive - (carson's dream) - day

quick, silent images: a street cordoned off with police tape.

cops, swat teams, fbi surround beverly thrift, a bank.

carson, younger, hair shorter, sits in an fbi command truck

across from the bank. covering the mouthpiece of the phone in

his hand, he's arguing with the other agents in the truck.

suddenly, a huge, fiery explosion blows out the front of the

bank building. horrified, carson runs toward it...

cut to:

int. carson's house - bedroom and hallway - night

carson is snapped awake by a car alarm going off outside.

carson

son of a bitch!

he bolts out of bed, wearing nothing but a pair of striped

bikini briefs. miranda rolls over, sleepy, unconcerned...

miranda

pete... please... we have to be up

early tomorrow. call the police.

carson

yeah, right.

he races down the hall -- right past the house alarm keypad,

its lcd reading 'armed.'

he grabs an aluminum baseball bat from the umbrella stand.

forgetting to disarm the house alarm, he yanks the front door

open. the house alarm begins shrieking.

carson

(continuing)

shit!

miranda

pulls the pillows over her head and sighs.

miranda

not again...

ext. carson's house - night

carson comes around to the driveway, which is illuminated by

the streetlight --

where two 20-ish assholes are sitting in his 1965 mustang

convertible, their presence courtesy of a huge cut they've

made in the otherwise-perfect ragtop.

car-theft tools in a leather case between them, they're prying

the ignition switch out of the dashboard.

asshole #1 spots carson. he gets out of the car, wielding a

crowbar. his partner keeps working.

new angle

asshole #1 lunges viciously, swiping at carson with the

crowbar, taking a piece out of his side. carson starts

bleeding profusely, but he's too pissed to notice.

carson uses his bat to take the offensive. they go at each

other like combatants in a swordfight, the clanking of metal

echoing through the neighborhood along with the screaming

house and car alarms, and frantic neighborhood dogs.

surprised at carson's fury and strength, asshole #1 backs onto

the lawn, oblivious to the running sprinklers.

as he backs away, his shoe catches on one of the sprinkler

heads. it breaks off, and a huge geyser of water sprays out.

carson holds his bat in both hands and jams the front of it

into asshole #1's breadbasket. he doubles over.

carson grabs asshole #1's arm, and pulls it quickly against

his raised knee. there is a snap and a loud howl as the arm

breaks, and carson tosses him aside.

seeing this, asshole #2 gives up on the car. he takes off

toward the street. carson runs to head him off, but he's a lot

faster in his air jordans than carson is in his bare feet.

wider

carson grabs the metal lid from a garbage can at the curb and

flings it like a huge frisbee. it sails across the street --

and nails asshole #2's head. he kisses the pavement, stunned.

carson runs up and grabs him, but he pulls out a long, sharp

screwdriver and jabs at carson with it.

then, blue flashing lights appear from around the corner: a

westec chevy blazer. two uniformed guards get out, and fumble

with their sidearms.

westec guard

everybody... chill! bikini boy! on

the ground!

asshole #2 is still trying to gouge carson with the

screwdriver. carson glares at the dopey guards.

carson

asshole was trying to boost my car!

angle across street

carson's fiftyish, black, next-door neighbor, wearing pajamas

and a robe, comes out of his house. carson sees him.

carson

mike -- call 911!

neighbor

been trying...

(has a cordless phone)

it's busy.

(to guards; re carson)

he's the good guy, you schumcks.

the guards seem to get it. without warning, one takes out a

taser and zaps asshole #2. carson lets go just in time.

closer

holding his bleeding side, carson walks back to his house. he

notices the 'neighborhood watch' sign has graffiti spray-

painted on it. he touches it -- the paint is still wet. his

neighbor shrugs -- whatta ya gonna do?

the paper guy drives by... and tosses carson's newspaper right

under the gushing sprinkler.

carson

i hate this fuckin' town.

ext. north korean consulate - establishing - day

int. north korean consulate - upstairs bathroom - day

joy is standing on the toilet, blowing cigarette smoke into

the exhaust fan. someone knocks on the door. she flicks the

cigarette into the toilet, puts a zippo lighter in her pocket.

int. north korean consulate - hallway - day

joy opens the bathroom door. sam is standing there, grinning.

joy

there are six bathrooms in this

house, sam.

sam

(fanning the air)

but only one with a smoking section.

she quickly closes the door behind her. sam laughs.

int. north korean consulate - dining room - day

sam and joy sit at the table. ambassador han and mrs. han are

having breakfast: radish soup, kimchi and grilled fish.

ambassador han reads through the morning's faxed communiqu萻.

he's 43, rarely smiles, and hates living in the u.s. he's

dressed in an impeccably-tailored, valentino two-piece suit.

mrs. han is slender, soft-spoken, but as iron-willed as her

husband. she, however, is quick to smile. she's wearing a

summery dress with a white sweater over her shoulders.

ambassador han pulls the front of sam's shirt to reveal the

'nirvana' logo on his t-shirt.

ambassador han

(korean)

[go change.]

ambassador han's x-ray stare turns to joy.

ambassador han

(continuing)

[you smell like a fireplace.]

a butler appears with a phone. he whispers to mrs. han.

mrs. han

it's the governess...

(into phone)

hello, hilda...

cutaway - close on governess

as she speaks into a cellular phone. she's extremely nervous.

we cannot see her surroundings.

governess

(thru phone)

mrs. han... i am very sick today...

int. north korean consulate - dining room - day

mrs. han

(into phone)

we will see you next week...

(hangs up; smiles to kids)

it appears i'll be taking you to

school.

int. javal's van - day

in the back of his van, javal pats the governess' hand.

javal

very good. you may go now...

he speaks with a slight accent, french, perhaps. he pops an

orange pill, then unlatches the rear doors of the van. with a

quick glance back at him, she goes to open the doors.

javal grabs a plastic tarp and throws it over the governess'

upper body. he puts his arm across her neck, flicks open a

gravity knife and plunges it through the tarp, into her chest.

he drops her on the floor of the van and fastidiously wipes a

small smudge of blood from his hand with a handkerchief.

int. carson's house - bathroom and bedroom - day

carson steps out of the shower. he looks exhausted. toweling

off, he goes into the bedroom, where miranda is riding an

exercise bike, listening to music on headphones and reading

the sprinkler-soaked newspaper, all while watching the tv.

angle on tv

a perky blonde traffic reporter, bobbi marchfelder, talks to

us from a local news copter.

bobbi

(on tv)

...good morning, summit day! it's

gonna be the super bowl, the 4th of

july, the olympics and woodstock all

rolled into one! all over town

there'll be parades, concerts,

rallies, festivals... so get out

there everyone, but plan your drive-

time accordingly! this is bobbi

marchfelder, your eye in the sky...

we cut to the white house lawn, where the president is about

to board a helicopter.

morning anchor (vo)

(on tv)

the president is on his way...

president

(on tv)

...it's an honor hosting my fellow

leaders in los angeles, the capitol

city of the pacific rim...

we cut back to the studio and the morning anchor.

morning anchor

(on tv)

we'll see the menu for mayor

simpson's brentwood barbecue, right

after this...

we cut to a musical montage of preparations for the events

around town.

back to scene

as the music swells, carson turns the tv off.

miranda

i was watching that.

carson

if i hear one more beach boys song,

i'll shoot myself.

miranda points at the headphones -- she can't hear him.

carson

(continuing; while smiling)

i said, if we were having sex once in

a while, you wouldn't need to ride

that fucking bike every morning.

miranda

(hasn't heard a thing)

be right with you...

as carson dresses, we get a look at their bedroom -- miranda's

nightstand has two neat stacks of periodicals on it, with los

angeles magazine and psychology today on the top of them.

carson's nightstand is overflowing with books and magazines

about other cities and states: wonderland washington;

magnificent oregon; welcome to north carolina.'

int./ext. carson's house - patio & kitchen - day

miranda, dressed in a conservative skirt, jacket, black shoes,

is out on the patio. her breakfast -- a bowl of fruit and

wheat germ -- sits on the patio table while she waters some

sickly-looking rose bushes in a planter.

carson, dressed in shirt and tie, looking beat, fries a steak

and three eggs in butter. he comes outside with his breakfast

and a magazine article: 'american expatriates in new zealand.'

miranda

(looks him over)

have you gotten any sleep lately?

carson

(ignores the question)

shop's gonna tow the car in --

goddamn ignition's trashed.

miranda

take mine. i'll ride in with diane.

carson watches as she carefully picks the dead leaves off the

rose bushes.

carson

you ask me, those suckers are a lost

cause.

she continues, then glances at the article carson is reading.

miranda

it's not for you.

carson

you mean it's not for you.

miranda

i don't chase car thieves in my

underwear. c'mon, you'd die of

boredom if we ever sold this house

and moved.

carson

i'd die of shock, from finding

anyone dumb enough to buy the place.

even for what it's worth now.

miranda

lots of people bought at the top of

the market...

carson

that sure cheers me right up.

miranda

i don't know why we even talk about

it. the city's not the problem. so

we move. it wouldn't matter. what's

that saying: 'wherever you go, there

you are.'

carson just looks at her. reaching for the salt, he winces

from the cut in his side.

miranda

(continuing)

i hope you're current on your

tetanus booster. was it worth it?

carson

one cut... two assholes in the

hospital... yep.

carson glances at his watch and gets up.

carson

(continuing)

well, another day of baby-sitting my

favorite bunch of people...

he grabs a bianchi shoulder holster with a sig-sauer p-229,

9mm pistol, straps it on, then pulls on a blue windbreaker.

emblazoned on the back are large yellow letters: fbi.

miranda

ask for a transfer.

carson

they're not gonna transfer me. you

know damn well why i was bumped down

to guard duty...

(as he's leaving)

my outstanding people skills.

miranda tries to return to tending her roses. but instead, she

sadly watches him go.

ext. carson's house - day

a look of sorrow crosses carson's face as he watches some

young kids laugh and shove, getting onto a school bus.

he then glances at his wounded mustang, parked in the street.

he spots something on the windshield: a pink parking ticket.

the parking sign above the graffiti-stained neighborhood watch

sign reads: street cleaning - friday 8-10 am.

carson

i hate this fuckin' town.

carson chirps open miranda's car: a red volvo 960.

as he pulls away, we see a bumper sticker on the car: a circle

and slash through cartoon weapons on one side, cartoon teddy

bears on the other, and 'arms are for hugging' in between.

ext. north korean consulate - day

the driver backs the mercedes out of the garage behind the

consulate. we notice there is another mercedes parked inside.

mrs. han, sam and joy come outside. they hear some heartfelt

swearing:

angry voice (os)

goddamn limey overpriced piece a

shit...

their pov

in the driveway across the street, a man in a business suit

has his head under the hood of a brand-new jaguar convertible.

the jag owner's 15-year-old, blonde daughter, lisa, sits in

the car with her schoolbooks in her lap.

joy

turns to mrs. han:

joy

can we give lisa a ride?

int./ext. mercedes - day

it pulls into the driveway across the street. the jag owner is

still swearing mightily. lisa climbs into the mercedes.

lisa

hey, joy... sam...

joy rolls the window up and the sound of cursing disappears.

lisa

(continuing)

excellent -- i can't hear him!

sam

(raps on window)

the glass is an inch thick.

(points to doors, roof)

armor-plated. bulletproof. bomb-

proof.

lisa

perfect car for l.a.

(looks back at her dad)

starts, too.

ext. crenshaw blvd - day

as the mercedes travels its usual route down crenshaw, javal's

van begins following it.

insert angle - under the mercedes

where javal's device is attached, still waiting...

ext. north korean consulate - day

a dark-green government dodge pulls up and parks behind one

just like it on a paved area near the consulate gate.

dave juarez, (chubby, 40, mexican-american, a desk jockey) gets

out of the dodge and hangs an fbi shield over his top pocket.

he glances over at north korean security chief colonel lee,

(4

5), who has paused inside the gate to regard dave, and the

outside world, with profound contempt.

dave, attach?case in one hand and notebook computer in the

other, walks to a 10-by-15 detached guardhouse on the far

corner of the property, just outside the high fence.

int. fbi guardhouse - north korean consulate - day

inside are two desks and four chairs, a console of

communication equipment, a microwave and a mr. coffee.

dave enters. two fbi agents, finishing their shift, gather

their belongings: robbins (late 20's; male; thinning hair) and

sabatini, (early 30's; cute; dark, bobbed hair; female).

they wear blue fbi blazers and have standard-fbi-issue 10mm

heckler & koch mp-5 machine pistols in oversized shoulder

rigs. dave is in civilian clothes, and is not armed.

robbins

yo, dave the computer man! actually

escaped the office!

dave

i'm doin' field upgrades. gives 'em

a chance to hose out my cage.

he glances through the window at colonel lee.

dave

(continuing)

who's the fuckin' gargoyle?

robbins

their chief of security, colonel lee.

sabatini makes the jerk-off sign with her hand.

sabatini

'chuckles,' as we're inclined to

call him.

(yawns; flops in a chair)

friggin' graveyard shift...

robbins

love to know what dope made it the

bureau's job to give full-time

protection to foreign consulates.

(offers coffee to dave)

cup a mud?

dave

not if you made it. why don't you

get sabatini to brew the java? she's

the alleged chick.

sabatini

blow me.

dave

where's carson?

sabatini

on his way. some creeps tried to rip

off his mustang last night.

(beat; solemnly)

they cut the ragtop.

dave

motherfuckers...

dave takes three pcmcia computer cards from his attach?case.

dave

(continuing)

latest and greatest. wireless

network link-ups.

sabatini

whoa, slow down, i'm gonna pee.

robbins

me, too.

dave

ingrates.

ext. crenshaw blvd - day

the van drives in the lane alongside the mercedes.

int. javal's van - (moving shot) - day

humming, javal drives with one hand, while tapping with his

other on the top of the radio-controlled remote box.

ext. crenshaw blvd - day

as they approach the light at washington blvd, just turning

yellow, javal's van gets in front of the mercedes.

their lanes stop for the red light. a fruit vendor holding a

bag of oranges walks from car to car.

javal slips the van into neutral and lets it roll back until

his rear bumper taps gently against the mercedes' front bumper.

int. mercedes - include pov through rear view mirror - day

the driver hits the horn. the van doesn't move. the driver

glances in the rear-view:

there's a jeep cherokee tight on his tail, and the black lady

in it is busy dealing with a carpool full of 8-year-old kids.

the driver looks at mrs. han, who's peering out the side

window, fascinated by the african-american-themed storefronts.

they're all festooned with summit-related banners, and shop

owners are preparing for a community sidewalk bazaar.

sam, bored, stuffs several pieces of gum into his mouth.

int. javal's van - same

javal flips the switch on his radio-controlled remote.

insert

under the mercedes, the device javal planted there begins to

emit thick, white cs tear gas.

int. mercedes - day

the gas pours in through the ventilation system. everyone

inside starts coughing and choking uncontrollably. the driver

grabs his amd-74 machine gun and pops the door locks.

ext. crenshaw blvd - day

the driver, mrs. han, joy, sam and lisa pile out of the car.

jittering with excitement, fear and speed, javal hops out of

his van, holding a benelli m-1, a semi-automatic shotgun.

he shoots the driver in the chest. the blast from the shotgun

muzzle, however, is unlike anything we've ever seen before: it

is blindingly bright, even in broad daylight, belching a huge

cluster of glowing, white-hot magnesium.

the driver flies back against the mercedes, emptying his

machine gun into the air. the wound in his chest is full of

burning magnesium shrapnel.

wider

the other drivers in the intersection see this and go

completely nuts. some duck for cover under their dashboards.

others peel away. a few collide with oncoming traffic.

the carpool lady in the cherokee pushes the kids down on the

floor. the fruit vendor hides by rolling under a car.

sam and joy are incapacitated by tear-gas coughing fits. mrs.

han stumbles toward them, trying to get them to run away.

javal punches her, knocking her down.

he turns to lisa, surprised to see her. sweating, he points

the shotgun at her... almost pulls the trigger... then notices

mrs. han's expression of horror and thinks the better of it.

he spots a motorist in a ford escort, peering cautiously over

his dashboard to get a look at the action.

javal shoots the motorist through the windshield with another

bright, searing blast of magnesium. the motorist and the

entire front of his car burst into flames.

mrs. han is on her knees, sobbing. javal grabs her by the arm

and pulls her to the back of the van. he opens the doors.

javal

you see that i'm serious in my

intention, yes?

(she nods)

if you cooperate, you and your

children will be home for dinner

tonight.

he tightens his grip on her. she nods again, then looks at the

kids. javal shoves her, sam, joy and lisa into the van.

int. javal's van - day

he grabs three pairs of handcuffs off a c-shaped bar welded on

both ends to the inside of the van. he handcuffs one of mrs.

han's arms, passes the chain through the bar, then handcuffs

the other. he does the same with sam; then handcuffs one of

joy's arms, passes the chain through and attaches the other

handcuff to lisa.

javal hops in his seat and drives away on washington.

ext. crenshaw blvd - day

several people, including the carpool lady, rush over to the

driver, who lies dead and smoldering on the ground.

his hand is halfway inside his bloody pants pocket, holding a

small plastic card with the consulate's phone number on it.

ext. north korean consulate - day

colonel lee and a north korean army officer come running out.

another officer starts up a car in the back of the house.

int. fbi guardhouse - north korean consulate - day

robbins and sabatini see the commotion and go to investigate.

dave follows.

ext. north korean consulate - day

ambassador han runs out. he has a stricken look on his face.

colonel lee

(korean; to ambassador han)

[you must stay here.]

ambassador han nods. the fbi agents run up. to them:

ambassador han

someone took my family!

the agents look at each other -- holy shit! colonel lee's car

screeches to a stop. sabatini stands in front of it.

sabatini

you got no jurisdiction outside

this property!

colonel lee shoves a big, ugly tokorev 7.62x25mm-caliber

pistol in her face as he's opening the car door.

sabatini

(continuing)

shit!

(to ambassador han)

yank his fuckin' leash!

ambassador han

my men are going!

colonel lee jumps into the car and it screeches away, almost

running sabatini over.

ambassador han

(continuing; to sabatini)

it's a white telephone van, driving

west on washington boulevard.

the agents rush back to their guardhouse. dave's government

dodge is blocking theirs.

robbins

keys!

dave tosses them to robbins. sabatini shoves dave into the

back seat. he looks at her, dumbfounded.

sabatini

you're ridin' shotgun.

int. dave's dodge - (moving shot) - day

dave is thrown against the back of the seat by the acceleration.

robbins

cherry?

dave

under the seat.

sabatini grabs the red flashing light, puts it on the dashboard.

robbins

siren?

dave

i don't know! i'm never in a fuckin'

hurry..!

ext. fremont place - day

just as they race out of fremont place past the guard gate,

carson, in miranda's volvo, comes in on the other side.

int. carson's volvo - (moving shot) - day

carson sees the agents in the dodge and floors the volvo. he

fishtails, making a u-turn.

he straddles the lanes on wilshire to pull up next to them.

all the cars in front of them swerve to clear out of the way.

he rolls down his window. sabatini shouts over to him:

sabatini

someone snatched han's family! white

phone van, westbound on washington!

carson looks like he's been punched in the stomach.

carson

give me a secure radio!

sabatini takes a small two-way motorola radio out of her

pocket and throws it through her window to carson. dropping it

in his lap, he punches the gas. robbins floors dave's piece-of-

shit dodge, trying to keep up.

ext. federal building, westwood - establishing - day

int. federal building - state department offices - day

diplomatic liaison earl walther is using the reflection in his

office window to adjust his necktie. walther is 30, good-

looking, black; a gs lifer working his way up the ranks by

virtue of his quiet competence.

a co-worker sticks his head into the office, then shields his

eyes from the sight of walther's sharp new suit.

co-worker

someone's been to nordstroms, big

time.

walther

clothes make the man.

co-worker

but does the man make enough for the

clothes?

walther

(smiles)

the man makes payments on his visa.

walther's secretary rushes in.

secretary

mr. walther... priority line!

walther

(into phone)

this is diplomatic liaison earl

walther... what's the nature of your

emer --

(grimaces)

aw, jesus... not today...

(beat)

i'll inform channels and get a copter

in the air. for god's sake, keep it

quiet. do what you can, but don't

endanger civilians or the family!

int. carson's volvo - (moving shot) - day

carson drives with one hand, while holding the radio.

carson

(into radio)

you bet -- nice and easy.

real easy, until he narrowly misses a bunch of cars when

screeching around a corner.

int. federal building - state department offices - day

walther presses the intercom button on the phone.

walther

(into phone)

get the secretary of state on the

horn.

(listens)

i know he left already. i'm familiar

with the concept of time zones. find

his ass.

int. carson's volvo - (moving shot) - day

carson turns the frequency on his two-way.

carson

(into radio)

robbins, sabatini... chopper's on

its way.

ext. washington blvd - day

driving skillfully, carson edges past the north koreans.

int. carson's volvo - (moving shot) - day

and then, carson can't believe it: he spots javal's van, a

couple blocks ahead, driving at normal speed.

carson

(into radio)

check it out! ahead, on the right!

sabatini (vo)

(thru radio)

think it's them?

carson

(into radio)

yeah... but it seems too easy... i'll

move up; he won't suspect a civilian

car. stay back, then get on his ass

when i signal. we'll box him in.

he looks over at colonel lee, whose car is pacing his.

carson

(continuing; into radio)

if the mod squad gets in your way,

don't be shy about getting 'em out.

sabatini (vo)

(thru radio)

copy that one.

int. colonel lee's car - (moving shot) - day

glaring, colonel lee looks over at the fbi cars as they pass.

int. dave's dodge - (moving shot) - day

sabatini pulls out her machine pistol, and tosses the two-way

to dave. he looks scared, and carsick.

sabatini

don't puke... i hate when guys puke!

ext. washington blvd - day

carson tries to approach javal without drawing his attention.

int. javal's van - (moving shot) - day

he still drives at the same speed as the surrounding traffic.

his pov

as carson nonchalantly passes, javal notices the government-

issue two-way radio sitting on the seat of carson's volvo.

javal

grins... it's show-time. he stomps on the gas.

int. carson's volvo - (moving shot) - day

pissed that he's been made, carson speeds up.

int. javal's van - (moving shot) - day

driving fast, javal makes a hard right. as the van leans with

the turn, something rolls out from under a sheet of canvas on

the floor -- the governess' body, bloodied and grotesque under

the plastic tarp it's wrapped in.

joy starts screaming, as does everyone else when they see it.

javal pulls out a beretta centurion 9mm pistol and fires a

deafening round through the roof of the van.

javal

i need to concentrate!

ext. washington blvd - day

during a lull in traffic, a well-dressed woman jaywalks across

the street. an lapd black-and-white changes lanes and puts on

its flashing lights. as two cops write her a ticket...

around the corner two men make a quick exchange of money and a

vial of crack.

new angle

the cops do notice javal speeding by, with carson's volvo, the

fbi dodge and colonel lee's car in hot pursuit. they shove the

ticket in the well-dressed woman's hand and hop in their car.

ext. la cienega blvd / side streets - day

javal turns onto the side streets -- rows of run-down

apartment buildings. he takes a circuitous route, gaining a

one-block lead on carson and the others.

then, he makes a sudden turn into a one-way alley.

int. javal's van - (moving shot) - day

javal hits a remote garage door opener. ahead, rickety doors

on one of a line of detached garages facing the alley open up.

across from the garage, parked parallel against the back of an

empty building, we notice a duplicate van. it's facing the

same direction as javal is driving.

javal slams on the brakes, stopping just past the garage, and

then quickly backs up into the garage.

int. alleyway garage / javal's van - day

as he pulls in, we catch glimpses of the van slipping backwards

into a fiberglass superstructure that fits tightly around the

rear two-thirds of it. as the van comes to a stop, several snap-

buckles on the edge of the superstructure spring closed.

javal reaches out the van window and pulls on a rope hanging

from the ceiling of the garage. the rope releases the door

from the opening mechanism, so it immediately falls closed.

then, javal turns several switches on another of his neatly-

constructed remotes:

int. duplicate van - series of shots - day

steel straps are holding the steering wheel rigid.

a set of relays, triggered remotely, start the engine;

engage the transmission;

and supply fuel to the carburetor.

ext. alleyways

the duplicate van takes off down the alley. just as it gets up

to speed, carson and the others round the corner into the alley

behind it. as far as they know, they're still chasing javal.

the alley is several blocks long, running parallel to the main

road, separated at each block by perpendicular streets. the

duplicate van races along, scraping against parked cars and

the rear walls of buildings...

int. carson's volvo - (moving shot) - day

carson

(into radio)

he's gonna wrap it around something!

ext. alleyways - day

indeed, as the duplicate van crosses a street, cars swerve to

avoid hitting it. it continues into the next alley.

up ahead, a garbage truck lumbers into the far end of the

alley, its metal lift-rods extended to pick up a dumpster.

carson (os)

oh, shit...

the duplicate van crashes into the garbage truck and explodes.

new angle

carson, horrified, jumps out of his car. robbins and sabatini

run up. they have to hold carson away from the burning van.

dave hurries to the back of a building and gets sick.

colonel lee, wide-eyed with anger, gets in carson's face.

colonel lee

you should not have interfered!

carson shoves colonel lee out of his way, hard.

carson

i'm in no mood...

colonel lee comes back, ready for a fight. carson is happy to

oblige, but robbins grabs carson's arm.

robbins

forget about him!

by now, onlookers have begun to gather, as lapd black-and

whites and helicopters converge on the area.

ext. alleyway garage - day

a block away, the garage door opens, and we hear something

eerie and unexpected: a scratchy, music-box kids' song, coming

from a loudspeaker.

javal's van pulls out and we see its transformation: the

superstructure surrounding the body of the van makes it look

like a graffiti-covered, unlicensed ice cream vendor.

ext. alleyways - day

the entrance of the alley is blocked by a black-and-white. so,

accompanied by the song, javal drives along the one-way alley

in his camouflaged van, passing unnoticed by the authorities.

anguished, carson is staring at the burning duplicate van...

cut to:

ext. beverly drive - (flashback) - day

beverly thrift explodes and burns...

cut to:

ext. alleyways - day

carson tries to shake the memory away. he looks around, sensing

that something isn't right, then turns to the other agents.

carson

let's get back to the consulate.

off their perplexed looks, we

dissolve to:

int. bachelor apartment - day

one room, bathroom and kitchenette. a laptop computer and

peripherals are on a table, along with some cell phones, a

toolbox, and some jumbles of electronic circuitry.

in the main room, there are three large lazy-boy easy chairs,

side by side, facing a 27-inch tv on a stand. a cloth covers

two objects sitting atop the tv.

the door opens. mrs. han, joy, sam, and lisa walk in, rigid

with fear. javal, beretta 9mm in hand, comes in behind them

and closes the door. javal strips off his sweat-soaked shirt

and wipes his face with it. mrs. han realizes he's wired to

the moon... and it terrifies her.

javal

does anyone need to use the rest

room? this will be your last

opportunity for a few hours.

(no takers)

very well. mrs. han, sam, joy,

please sit here.

(indicates the lazy boys;

then turns to lisa)

and you... what is your name?

lisa

(after a beat)

lisa...

still holding the beretta, he grabs a polo shirt from the

closet and pulls it on. as the family sits in the chairs:

javal

no, mrs. han, this one. thank you.

he takes a pair of handcuffs out of his pants pocket. he tries

to handcuff lisa, hands behind her back, but she resists.

javal

(continuing; sotto)

you afford me some additional

bargaining power. but not much.

she wilts. javal cuffs her to the handles of the refrigerator.

he puts a strip of duct tape from his tool box across her mouth.

he uncovers one of the items atop the tv: an electronic box with

three pairs of oversized, led vu meters on the front of it.

we notice neat lines of wires running from each of the chairs

up into it. javal flips one of a row of switches on it; a

green light and the meters come to life.

javal

(continuing)

there. no taping your mouths, no

restraints. please remain still

while i explain. the meters on the

left indicate sound pressure --

decibels. there are microphones on

your chair backs. if you raise your

voices above certain level, putting

your meter in the red zone for more

than one sustained second, the

circuit will be closed.

(beat)

the right meters indicate motion.

there are pressure sensors inside the

armrests and seats. the sensors don't

like to get wet, so i hope you were

honest about not needing to use the

loo. if you make any excess

movements, or try to leave your

chair, the circuit will be closed.

mrs. han

i don't understand...

she looks at her sound meter, which jumped close to the red.

mrs. han

(continuing; softly)

what happens if the circuit closes?

javal

kaboom...

he uncovers the other item atop the tv -- a one-pound brick of

c-4 high explosive with the detonation mechanism jammed into

it. mrs. han gasps and begins to panic.

javal

(continuing)

easy... deep breath...

(to the kids)

do each of you understand?

they nod. tears roll down joy's face.

javal

(continuing)

keep your wits, and all will be fine.

he flips another switch and the green light turns yellow. he

then turns on the tv. coverage of the summit is everywhere.

commentator #1

(on tv)

...not since the '84 olympics has the

whole city had an such an opportunity --

javal turns the channel to a soap, and mutes it. he starts

pacing, and glances at his watch. it's 9:15 am.

int. government helicopter - (aerial shot) - day

earl walther looks through the window as his copter lands on

the lawn behind the north korean consulate.

ext. north korean consulate - day

as the copter lands, carson comes out to meet walther.

walther

carson?

(carson nods)

walther. who told the ambassador?

carson

his security chief.

(beat)

there was a civilian with them --

fifteen-year-old girl from across

the street. we're trying to reach

the parents.