| (Author's Note: the next part is taken from the script of the Universal
Studios movie, "Sneakers", characters and story found within copyrighted
1992 by them).
INT. APARTMENT BUILDING. BISHOP: knocks on the door of apartment 4B. INT. LIZ'S APARTMENT. LIZ:, wearing a bathrobe, answers the door. She gasps at BISHOP's condition. BISHOP: I've had a bad night. LIZ: Really. You look terrific. BISHOP: You look awful. LIZ, who is not wearing any makeup and looks like she's just gotten out of bed, nevertheless looks stunning as always. LIZ: Well, I should think so, considering what I've been through. BISHOP: What happened? LIZ: You tell me. They go to her bathroom. BISHOP: Oh, you got hit over the head twice and got thrown out of a speeding car? LIZ: No. Here, let me do this. She cleans up the cut to his head. It stings. BISHOP: I'm sorry. LIZ: It's okay. I understand. BISHOP: looks her in the eye. BISHOP: I'm sorry. They embrace mournfully. LIZ: The paper said that Greg was killed. I called your number and someone else answered. I didn't recognize the voice. BISHOP: I can't do this alone, LIZ. LIZ: I'm here. BISHOPmakes a phone call. BISHOP: (into phone) We have to meet. LIZ'S APARTMENT. LATER. A television news show goes in-depth about Greg's murder. ANCHOR: The FBI says the fingerprints found in the embassy car match those taken from the office of a government researcher found murdered earlier this week in Palo Alto. The connection was made after a Bay Area radio station received an anonymous tip linking the two killings. BISHOP: Yeah, I'll bet it was anonymous. He turns off the TV. BISHOP: Son of a bitch! CREASE: All right, it's time we call the authorities. MOTHER: Oh yeah. Great. Now that we're accessories to espionage and murder. CREASE: All the more reason to turn ourselves in now, while we can still cut a deal! MOTHER: With what? We got bupkus! We turn ourselves in now, they'll give us twenty years in the electric chair! CREASE: You think I like it? Goddamnit, I've got a family! But we have no other choice. BISHOP: Yes, we do. We make the call, but we make it our way. Unload the van. A FEW MINUTES LATER. The sneakers are turning Liz's apartment into an electronic command center. She meekly holds the door. CARL: Thanks. Nice apartment. A FEW MORE MINUTES LATER. A map of the world is displayed on a computer screen. Lines start forming between different points. WHISTLER: I'm going to bounce this call through nine different relay stations throughout the world and off two satellites. It'll be the hardest trace they've ever heard. Inquirer: Bullshit! This is the National Security Agency we're freaking talking about here, Whistler! Go Back |
