by Tor Fleck
The guard, still chewing, nods impatiently. Harvey points to the man’s face.
HARVEY (CONT’D)
You’ve got a bit of …
The guard wipes a large dollop of mayo from his cheek and keeps chewing.
Harvey walks to the lift. He glances back nervously at the guard – still engrossed in his sandwich – before pressing the button. The lift descends slowly.
HARVEY (CONT’D)
(looking up and whispering)
Come on.
PING! The lift doors open. Harvey steps in.
INT. ELEVATOR – NIGHT
The doors close on the starkly-lit lift. Harvey leans against the back wall and EXHALES in relief.
INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT
Harvey exits the lift and heads for the stairwell.
INT. STAIRWELL - NIGHT
Harvey leaps up two or three stairs at a time. He’s in a hurry. After climbing a couple of flights, he stops at a stairwell door, out of breath. Cautiously, he pulls the door open and peers along the corridor.
INT. CORRIDOR – NIGHT
The corridor is empty, apart from two large, impressive Rothko paintings. Harvey walks briskly to the end, where he stops outside a door.
Ballatine’s name and CEO post are announced in bold capitals on a gleaming gold nameplate fixed to the door.
Harvey glances over his shoulder, before pulling an ID card from his wallet.
The card reads:
Duncan Ballatine
Chief Executive Officer
NLightN Industries
Ballatine’s profile pic and the company’s eagle crest logo appear in each corner of the card.
Harvey swipes the lock with the card. BLEEP! A small red light flashes on the lock.
HARVEY
Shit!
Harvey tries again, slower this time. The light turns green and the door CLICKS. Harvey checks the corridor again.
Still empty.
Harvey enters the room, the door closing quietly behind him.
INT. BALLATINE’S OFFICE - NIGHT
Harvey moves quickly to the rear of the office, past Ballatine’s massive desk and outstanding, panoramic views over the city. He stops at a mahogany door, his fingers hovering over a small metal keypad.
Harvey struggles to remember the code. Eventually, he enters the letters A-B-A-C-U-S and then stops. His finger moves slowly to the letter O … then switches to the number zero. As soon as he hits it the door swings open …
… revealing a safe room with wall-to-wall stainless steel drawers and cabinets.
INT. SAFE ROOM – NIGHT
A stand-alone cabinet rests against the back wall. Harvey inserts his card into a slot in the front of the cabinet and the drawer jumps open. From it he removes a silver laptop.
Harvey places the laptop on an island table and opens the lid. He keys in a password and a snatch of the DR ZHIVAGO THEME plays as the hard-drive boots up.
Harvey glances nervously at his watch, then the door.
The desktop appears: a still of Omar Sharif from Dr Zhivago. Harvey pulls a USB stick from his pocket. With shaking hands he inserts it into the laptop’s side.
Columns of files and folders scroll past on the screen and then stop. Harvey moves the cursor to a folder marked ‘O’ and CLICKS on it.
A box with ‘Password protected’ flashes up.
HARVEY
Fucking passwords!
Harvey slowly types in the word ‘LANDFILL’. A folder opens and a list of files cascade down the screen. Harvey pulls the folder across to the USB stick.
The upload bar slowly edges its way across the screen, as images of files and faces flash by.
Harvey TAPS his fingers impatiently on the table.
The transfer is 80% complete. The images now are of political leaders and celebrities.
HARVEY
Come on! Come on!
The transfer is 98% complete.
A NOISE from Ballatine’s office has Harvey shooting a frantic look at the door. It’s slightly ajar.
PING! The transfer is complete.
Harvey snatches the USB stick, shuts down the laptop, and shoves it back in the cabinet. At the door, he stops and peeks through the gap.
INT. BALLATINE’S OFFICE - NIGHT
An out-of-tune CLEANER in headphones runs a VACUUM HOSE over the floor, SINGING as he cleans. He sucks up a small, framed photo and the vacuum SCREAMS in protest. The cleaner dislodges the frame and resumes cleaning. And SINGING.
INT. SAFE ROOM – NIGHT
Harvey continues to stare, frozen to the spot.
INT. BALLATINE’S OFFICE - NIGHT
The cleaner moves closer to the safe room, checking messages on his phone. He glances up at the partially-open door.
INT. SAFE ROOM – NIGHT
A startled Harvey holds his breath.
INT. BALLATINE’S OFFICE – NIGHT
The cleaner tilts his head, curious. He steps towards the door … but then his phone RINGS. He stops, turns off the vacuum, and takes the call.
CLEANER
Hi, baby. You know you shouldn’t call me at work. You’re such a bad girl. How bad are you?
(smiling)
Now that is very, very bad.
The cleaner slowly drags his vacuum back to the office door, turns out the light, and leaves.
INT. SAFE ROOM - NIGHT
Harvey closes his eyes. BREATHES OUT a huge sigh of relief.
INT. BALLATINE’S OFFICE - NIGHT
Harvey moves quickly and quietly to Ballatine’s office door. Once again, he peers out into the corridor.
INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT
The cleaner is at the far end, leaning on the wall, still talking into his phone. The lift door PINGS opens. The cleaner hauls his vacuum inside and disappears.
Harvey steps out into the corridor and closes the door silently behind him. A hand taps him on the shoulder.
DEREK BLAKE (O.S.)
What are you doing?
Harvey spins around in fear.
Vice President DEREK BLAKE leans into Harvey’s face, too close for comfort. He’s dishevelled and slightly inebriated. Stray wisps of his comb-over dangle down over his eyes.
Harvey steps back in shock.
HARVEY
Mr Blake … you surprised me there.
Blake tries to readjust his comb-over to cover his baldness.
BLAKE
What were you doing in there?
HARVEY
Oh no, I wasn’t in there. I was just checking to see if Mr Ballatine was still here. I need to run a work problem past him.
BLAKE
But I saw you come out.
HARVEY
The cleaner … you see … had just left, and must have, you know, left the door open. I was just checking everything was okay and I pulled it shut.
BLAKE
You weren’t snooping around in there, were you? You’re not some kind of industrial spy.
HARVEY
Of course not.
BLAKE
Looking for some dirt to dish.
HARVEY
Mr Blake, I can assure you –
BLAKE
And get one over on me!
Blake lets out a coarse BELLY-LAUGH, which Harvey pretends to join in with.
BLAKE (CONT’D)
I’m pulling your leg. You’re a conscientious young ferret, aren’t you?
HARVEY
Just trying to do my best for the organisation.
BLAKE
That’s the spirit – you fool!
Blake LAUGHS again and THUMPS Harvey hard on the back, before heading off to the lift. He turns and shouts back.
BLAKE (CONT’D)
There’s more to life than impressing the boss, you know!
Blake makes thrusting motions with his hips, LAUGHS a final time, and slopes off into the lift.
Harvey waits a moment, then runs for the stairs.
INT. HEAD OFFICE, LOBBY - NIGHT
Harvey crosses t
he lobby briskly, towards the exit. He walks past reception. The guard is engrossed in his mobile.
BRUCE WILLIS (O.S.)
Yippy-ka-yay, motherfucker!
The guard GUFFAWS. When he glances up and sees Harvey he fumbles with his mobile to try and stop the movie.
GUARD
Sorry, sir, I didn’t see you there.
HARVEY
Goodnight.
GUARD
Goodnight, sir. Oh, did you get it?
Harvey smiles and pats his jacket pocket. As he leaves the building, he smiles, and sets off across the vast futuristic concourse.
FADE OUT
23
By the time Paul finally made it back to Alice’s flat he was completely spent.
‘Oh my God, Paul. Where have you been?’ Alice asked, opening the door. Paul hadn’t expected her back this early and had hoped to sneak in under the wire. ‘I needed to get out for a bit,’ he said, thinking on his exhausted feet.
‘Where did you go? You’ve been out for hours.’
‘How’d you know that?’
‘I came back early to explain what happened,’ said Alice. ‘I saw you’d rung me. I’m so sorry. I was in a meeting and couldn’t get out.’
‘All day?’
‘Pretty much. You look terrible,’ she said. ‘Let’s get you to bed.’ She reached a hand out to him. ‘No,’ said Paul, pushing it away.
‘What is it?’
‘What was going on down there, between you and Richard?’
‘Nothing,’ said Alice. ‘Seriously, it was nothing.’
‘It didn’t look like nothing. You were arguing about something.’
Alice sighed. ‘He’s just been pestering me to let him see you,’ she said. ‘I did as you said and tried to keep him away. Today he just turned up. What could I do?’
‘He shoved you.’
‘I annoyed him. I told him he needed to let you recover. I got angry.’ She frowned. ‘I didn’t like it, you know. Him touching me like that.’
‘How long has he been hassling you?’
‘Forever, it seems. But hey, he’s concerned about you, I suppose.’
‘You should have told me.’
‘I didn’t want to worry you.’ She took his hand and this time Paul let her. He was too tired to think straight. He’d need all his strength to confront her about the red-haired woman. ‘To be honest,’ she said, ‘I don’t think he’s good for you right now. You need to rest.’ She stroked his face with her hand. ‘You look done in.’
‘I’m okay,’ said Paul. ‘I’m just angry with Richard.’
‘I can deal with him,’ said Alice, with a look Paul had never seen before. ‘Come on,’ she said, taking his arm and leading him to the bedroom. She helped him undress and got him into bed, gently pulling the duvet over. ‘Rest now,’ she whispered. ‘You need your beauty sleep.’ She switched off the light and leant in, kissing him lightly on the lips, her fingers smoothing the lines on his brows. As she pulled away, Paul’s tired eyes tried to focus. Something wasn’t right. In the half-light Alice’s features looked distorted. Her face folded in on itself and she slowly morphed into the mystery redhead in the photographs, her long, thick curls brushing softly against his cheeks. What the - ? But his eyes couldn’t stay open, and within seconds he was fast asleep.
24
He woke to Alice’s cat cleaning itself on his chest. Nice. He sat up and the cat slid off, landing at the bottom of the duvet where it resumed its morning bed bath. He checked the clock. 11.23am. Shit! He’d slept in. He climbed gingerly out of bed, wincing as the pain in his side flared up again. In the kitchen he found a note.
Working late tonight.
Dinner out? We can talk.
I’ll book and text you.
X
‘We can talk?’ He read the line out loud. What does that mean? He’d no sooner put the note down when his phone pinged. It was Alice. Did she know he was up?
Morning, sleepyhead. Hope you’re better.
Booked Celini’s Italian, 7pm.
Rest today. See you tonight.
Alice x
He checked his watch. It hadn’t gotten any earlier. Rest my arse.
The script was on a USB stick tucked into the key pocket of Paul’s jeans. He pulled it out and inserted it into one of the library’s free computers. When he’d opened up the document he scrolled down to page 74, the page Alice had had open on her laptop. He closed his eyes and visualised where the red highlights were.
HARVEY
Look at this.
Harvey hands Sarah his phone.
SARAH
What are these?
HARVEY
Copies of files from Ballatine’s safe. Classified stuff.
Sarah scrolls through the files, stopping to read one or two, then carrying on.
SARAH
Where did you get them?
HARVEY
He’s got a filing cabinet full of them. It’s explosive stuff, every single document. They’ve collected incriminating data and filth on just about every political and business leader you can think of: celebs, movie stars, you name it, they’re in there. Reams and reams of blackmail material. A simple click of a button and they’re ruined.
Sarah continues to scroll and scan, her mouth agape, the phone shaking in her hand.
SARAH
This is – But why are we … they doing this?
HARVEY
Their purpose is to create an environment of chaos and fear. To de-stabalise the economic, political, and social order.
SARAH
I don’t understand.
HARVEY
Power and control. Bring the world to its knees, then step in with the silver bullet: a new order and command structure.
SARAH
You mean they’re Nazis?
HARVEY
Too simplistic. They have no party allegiances. They operate way beyond that.
SARAH
So who are they?
HARVEY
Anyone with a vested interest in running the world: deposed presidents, fanatical religious leaders, business rivals, megalomaniac media moguls. Their tentacles slip and slide into every corner of our lives. Their fingerprints are everywhere and every second of every day they spy on us …
Montage of rapid cuts:
TEENAGERS texting on their phones.
A YOUTH searching porn on his bedroom PC.
An open laptop filming a COUPLE watching TV.
A marching PROTESTOR taking a photo of waving banners.
Online shops. Total amounts. PAY NOW!
A YOUNG GIRL crying in her bedroom and typing: HELP ME!
A PASTOR preaching in church … then gambling online.
HARVEY (O.S.)
… through our phones, our search histories, our folders and files, our pictures and home movies. They spy on us in our homes, through our computers and cable TV. They know more about us than we know ourselves. What we buy, what we eat, how much we drink, who we like and love and hate, our political and religious beliefs, our sexual orientation, how much money we have, do we work or are we on welfare. They know our crimes and misdemeanours, our hypocrisies, our fears, anxieties, and weaknesses. They track and record it all.
Montage ends.
Sarah shakes her head.
SARAH
But I still don’t get why?
HARVEY
Because we’re just another cog in their shredding machine, and when finally all the chess pieces are aligned … checkmate. But it gets worse. Look.
Harvey takes the phone from Sarah, fiddles with a few buttons, and hands it back.
SARAH
What the fuck is this?
HARVEY
They have these files on dead presidents and corporate leaders. Assassinations and suicides, some still unexplained. All these documents point the finger right at them.
SARAH
Fuck. Are they killing people?
HARVEY
&nb
sp; That’s what it looks like. Maybe they bump off the ones that don’t play ball or want more of the pie than they’re willing to share.
SARAH
Murdering bastards!
HARVEY
And look.
Harvey takes the phone back, scrolls through it, and hands it over again.
CU - PHONE SCREEN
A group shot of world leaders fills the screen.
HARVEY (O.S.)
That was taken at the G20 meeting in Luxembourg, in March last year.
Sarah glances up.
SARAH
And?
HARVEY
Scroll down past the picture.
Sarah flicks the screen.
CU - PHONE SCREEN
A single, typed line underneath the photo reads: Termination – Approved.
SARAH (O.S.)
What does that mean?
Harvey’s face shows no emotion.
HARVEY
I think they’re planning an attack.
SARAH
On who?
HARVEY
On all of them.
SARAH
Oh no, no, no. This is too much.
HARVEY
I can’t see any other explanation. Can you?
Sarah stares at the phone screen. She can’t look away.
SARAH
When?
HARVEY
The next G20 meeting is in Switzerland next February. Look at the date on the document.
Sarah peers closer at the screen.
CU – PHONE SCREEN
In a box in the top left-hand corner of the document is a date: 12/11/2018.
Sarah stares at Harvey, puzzled.
SARAH
But that was just last week …
Paul saved the section and googled ‘G20 summit’. The date and location of the next meeting popped up on the screen: 18th - – 21st February, Helsinki, Finland.
Fuck. The coincidences were racking up. But this was overstretch, surely? It was too far beyond the realms of reality to make any kind of sense whatsoever. That’s the most ridiculous part of this whole ridiculous script, thought Paul, clearing the search bar and typing in ‘St. George’s Square attack’. He wanted to find out more about who’d shot him. He hit Enter. What the fuck? There was … nothing. He changed key words. Still nothing. What the actual fuck? Somebody had shot him with a crossbow in broad daylight – in front of tourists, for fuck sake! – so where was the coverage? Did Tor cover it up? Did Alice? He typed in ‘Omni Productions’. There, again, was the pixilated area above Alice’s profile pic. He squinted at it. Was that a hint of auburn? It triggered thoughts of the mystery redhead from Alice’s office. I wonder … He glanced around the library. A couple of teenagers sat hunched over a book over at the study area.
