09c9afb4abbd6064c1f26c3632edbe6d92a34206
movie
http://www.imsdb.com/scripts/American%2C-The.html
THE AMERICAN Written
THE END .
 Jack (George Clooney), a gunsmith and contract killer, and his lover, Ingrid (Irina Björklund), are relaxing in Sweden. Jack becomes alarmed by a trail of footprints in the snow and pulls Ingrid towards shelter. Sniper gunshots ring out. Ingrid sees Jack pull a gun from his pocket and shoot the approaching sniper. Knowing his identity is in jeopardy, and with little hesitation, Jack shoots and kills Ingrid. He flees to Rome and contacts his handler Pavel (Johan Leysen), who insists that Jack cannot stay in Rome. Pavel sends him to Castelvecchio (a small town in the mountains of Abruzzo). Jack becomes nervous, and, disposing of the cell phone Pavel gave him, goes to nearby Castel del Monte, Abruzzo, instead.
While in Abruzzo, Jack contacts Pavel, who sets him up with another job. He meets Mathilde (Thekla Reuten), who wants him to build a custom sniper rifle for an assassination. He also begins patronizing a prostitute, Clara (Violante Placido), and they begin a relationship separate from her business duties. Jack meets with Mathilde to test the weapon. She is impressed by the craftsmanship, but asks him to make a few more adjustments. Later, Jack realizes that he is being followed by an assassin from Sweden, whom he kills.
Jack is tormented by dreams of the events in Sweden and regrets killing Ingrid. His friendship and conversations with a local priest, Father Benedetto (Paolo Bonacelli), encourage him to question his life choices. Both Mathilde and Clara notice Jack's association with butterflies, Mathilde by his expertise in endangered butterflies and Clara by his prominent tattoo. When Father Benedetto tells Jack he senses he lives in a special kind of hell, "a place without love," Jack starts to let himself feel love for Clara, and envisions a life with her.
Jack talks to Pavel one last time—asking how the Swedes have found him. In his growing fear, he even suspects Clara when he discovers a small pistol in her purse. He questions Clara about the gun and is satisfied with her explanation (to defend herself, since there have been newspaper reports of murdered prostitutes).
Jack agrees to deliver the weapon to Mathilde as his last job—but at the last moment he opens the briefcase and sabotages the rifle. At the drop-off, Jack becomes suspicious that Mathilde plans to kill him. Before anything can happen, a busload of school children arrives. Mathilde gives Jack his payment—a thick envelope full of cash—and the two separate. As Mathilde drives away, Pavel contacts her and asks if she has killed Jack. She tells him she has not, but says she is following him and will kill him.
Clara meets Jack at a religious procession in town. Jack asks her to go away with him and she agrees. Mathilde tries to shoot Jack from a nearby rooftop, but the sabotaged rifle explodes in her face. Seeing Mathilde fall from the roof, Jack gives Clara the envelope full of cash and tells her to go to a river where they had picnicked and wait for him. He runs to Mathilde, who is dying on the pavement, and discovers that she also works for Pavel.
As Jack goes to meet Clara, he hears Pavel behind him. They exchange gunfire and Pavel drops dead. As Jack drives to meet Clara at the river, he feels his abdomen and realizes he has been shot. Jack arrives at the picnic spot and as he sees Clara, he collapses. Clara screams and runs to the car. A white butterfly flits skyward from Jack's car.
Jack ( George Clooney ) , a gunsmith and contract killer , and his lover , Ingrid ( Irina Björklund ) , are relaxing in Sweden . Jack becomes alarmed by a trail of footprints in the snow and pulls Ingrid towards shelter . Sniper gunshots ring out . Ingrid sees Jack pull a gun from his pocket and shoot the approaching sniper . Knowing his identity is in jeopardy , and with little hesitation , Jack shoots and kills Ingrid . He flees to Rome and contacts his handler Pavel ( Johan Leysen ) , who insists that Jack can not stay in Rome . Pavel sends him to Castelvecchio ( a small town in the mountains of Abruzzo ) . Jack becomes nervous , and , disposing of the cell phone Pavel gave him , goes to nearby Castel del Monte , Abruzzo , instead . While in Abruzzo , Jack contacts Pavel , who sets him up with another job . He meets Mathilde ( Thekla Reuten ) , who wants him to build a custom sniper rifle for an assassination . He also begins patronizing a prostitute , Clara ( Violante Placido ) , and they begin a relationship separate from her business duties . Jack meets with Mathilde to test the weapon . She is impressed by the craftsmanship , but asks him to make a few more adjustments . Later , Jack realizes that he is being followed by an assassin from Sweden , whom he kills . Jack is tormented by dreams of the events in Sweden and regrets killing Ingrid . His friendship and conversations with a local priest , Father Benedetto ( Paolo Bonacelli ) , encourage him to question his life choices . Both Mathilde and Clara notice Jack s association with butterflies , Mathilde by his expertise in endangered butterflies and Clara by his prominent tattoo . When Father Benedetto tells Jack he senses he lives in a special kind of hell , a place without love , Jack starts to let himself feel love for Clara , and envisions a life with her . Jack talks to Pavel one last time—asking how the Swedes have found him . In his growing fear , he even suspects Clara when he discovers a small pistol in her purse . He questions Clara about the gun and is satisfied with her explanation ( to defend herself , since there have been newspaper reports of murdered prostitutes ) . Jack agrees to deliver the weapon to Mathilde as his last job—but at the last moment he opens the briefcase and sabotages the rifle . At the drop-off , Jack becomes suspicious that Mathilde plans to kill him . Before anything can happen , a busload of school children arrives . Mathilde gives Jack his payment—a thick envelope full of cash—and the two separate . As Mathilde drives away , Pavel contacts her and asks if she has killed Jack . She tells him she has not , but says she is following him and will kill him . Clara meets Jack at a religious procession in town . Jack asks her to go away with him and she agrees . Mathilde tries to shoot Jack from a nearby rooftop , but the sabotaged rifle explodes in her face . Seeing Mathilde fall from the roof , Jack gives Clara the envelope full of cash and tells her to go to a river where they had picnicked and wait for him . He runs to Mathilde , who is dying on the pavement , and discovers that she also works for Pavel . As Jack goes to meet Clara , he hears Pavel behind him . They exchange gunfire and Pavel drops dead . As Jack drives to meet Clara at the river , he feels his abdomen and realizes he has been shot . Jack arrives at the picnic spot and as he sees Clara , he collapses . Clara screams and runs to the car . A white butterfly flits skyward from Jack s car .
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_American_(2010_film)
The American (2010 film)
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<b>                             THE AMERICAN
</b>



                              Written by

                             Rowan Joffe




             Based on the novel A Very Private Gentleman

                                 by

                            Martin Booth




                                                       Draft 2.1
<b>                                                        13.05.09
</b>


<b>    FADE IN:
</b>

<b>1   EXT. DALSLAND, SWEDEN- TWILIGHT                            1
</b>
    A lake.

    A forest.

    A dacha.

    A Saab outside the dacha.

    A light within.


<b>2   INT. DACHA- NIGHT                                          2
</b>
    JACK (dark, fit, mid-forties) is staring at the embers of a
    log fire. He sips from a thick cut crystal glass of whiskey.

    The impressive US Army Special Forces crest tattooed on the
    shoulder of his bare torso is at odds with JACK's quiet
    manner and the distinguished silver that flecks his hair and
    stubble. JACK is no longer young.

    A creak behind him and his eyes flick over his left shoulder.

    INGRID (34) is naked. With an intimate familiarity she kisses
    JACK on the top of his head, sits close behind him and wraps
    her arms around her lover, linking her slender hands across
    his upper chest.

    Her head resting on his shoulder, her face beside his, INGRID
    and JACK watch the fire together in easy silence.


<b>3   EXT. WOODS- MORNING                                        3
</b>
    INGRID leads JACK through the trees. Her coat has a white fur
    collar. They are fresh-faced and warm from bed.

    They head towards a vast and frozen lake.

    JACK senses something in the woods.

    Beneath the Conifers: impenetrable darkness.

    JACK looks around.

    Thick snow blankets the world and muffles any sound. There is
    not the slightest breeze.

<b>                          INGRID
</b>                What are you looking for?

    Her Swedish accent is sing-song.
<b>                                                           2.
</b>

<b>                           JACK
</b>              Nothing.

    His anxiety is evident.

    INGRID laughs out loud.

<b>                        INGRID
</b>              There are no wolves in the woods so
              close to the city.

    JACK smiles.


<b>4   EXT. LAKESIDE- MORNING                                        4
</b>
    They continue through the woods until they reach the
    shoreline of the lake.

    INGRID steps onto the ice.

    Holds out her hand.

    A beat.

    JACK takes INGRID's hand.

    Solid as stone, the frozen lake takes his weight.

    They walk out, INGRID slipping and laughing.

    The landscape is magical.

    JACK begins to relax, slipping and swearing.

    Suddenly, he stops.

    There are footprints in the thin snow going out across the
    lake.

<b>                           INGRID
</b>              Snow-hare.

    Beside the Snow-hare's prints are those of a man.

<b>                           INGRID
</b>              A hunter?

    JACK studies the two sets of tracks.

    Those of the Snow-hare are heading out into the lake. The
    man's prints are heading in the opposite direction, towards
    the shoreline.

    JACK spins around in the direction they've just come from.

    No one.
<b>                                                        3.
</b>

Then, about ten metres inland from the edge of the lake, a
low branch dips and a thick rug of snow falls from the
branch.

JACK grabs INGRID, yanks her towards the cover of the
lakeside trees and pushes her down into the snow.

She grunts, winded. He lies besides her.

We hear the CRACK of a bullet- so quiet it might be a bough
snapping under the weight of winter.

It isn't.

JACK pulls a WALTHER PPK/S semi-automatic handgun from the
pocket of his Parka.

Cocks it.

Waits.

Then bobs up and down once.

There's another CRACK from the trees.

JACK pinpoints the spot from the drift of BLUE SMOKE, almost
invisible in the winter air.

There's someone in the shadows.

He rubs snow into his woollen hat, edges up until he can just
see over the snow and pumps THREE SHOTS into the dusk under
the trees.

We hear a muttering groan and then a sliding sound, as if
JACK has just shot a tobogganist.

More snow slides off the trees.

JACK waits.

INGRID gathers her breath but loses her wits:

<b>                      INGRID
</b>            You have a gun.

JACK keeps his eyes fixed on the trees.

<b>                      INGRID
</b>            You have a gun! How do you have a
            gun? Why should you carry such a
            weapon?

JACK looks at her briefly but makes no reply.

She is busy thinking.

So is he.
<b>                                                         4.
</b>

<b>                       INGRID
</b>          Jack?

He stands up slowly and walks inland towards the corpse that
is just visible now in the shadows beneath the trees.

INGRID follows, frightened.

The MAN is slouched forwards in a drift of snow, his body
cushioned in white softness.

JACK kicks the sole of his boot. He's dead.

<b>                    INGRID
</b>          Jack talk to me!

JACK grabs his collar and turns him over.

He doesn't recognise him.

JACK fumbles at his buttons and rummages in his clothing.

In his breast pocket he finds a MILITARY IDENTITY PASS.

<b>                       INGRID
</b>          Who is he?

<b>                       JACK
</b>          A hunter.

<b>                    INGRID
</b>          He's not dressed like a hunter. Why
          is he alone? Hunters always go in
          pairs. For safety.

Swiftly, JACK removes the bolt from the man's rifle and
throws it far into the trees.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Go for help. Call the police.

INGRID sets off, stumbling up the track they have made
through the snow.

JACK shoots her just once, in the nape of her neck.

She twitches in the snow, her blood staining the white fur of
her coat collar.

From a distance, INGRID looks like a shot Snow-hair.

JACK approaches her.

And steps over her, trying not to look down.

Trying not to look back.
<b>                                                            5.
</b>

<b>5   EXT. DACHA- MORNING                                          5
</b>
    Outside the dacha is another MAN, standing by a black
    Mercedes-Benz sedan.

    The second hunter.

    He is holding an automatic pistol but he's not on alert.

    JACK fells him easily with a bullet in the ear.

    He removes the clip from his WALTHER and reloads it.


<b>6   INT. DACHA- MORNING                                          6
</b>
    JACK packs a few belongings in a holdall.


<b>7   EXT. DACHA- MORNING                                          7
</b>
    JACK smashes the CB radio in the Mercedes and removes the
    distributor cap from the engine, burying it deep in the snow.

    Then he gets into the Saab.

    And drives off.


<b>8   TITLES                                                       8
</b>
    Over images of: JACK on a ferry to Gotland; changing clothes
    and vessels for Ystad; travelling by road to Trelleborg;
    catching the night crossing to Travemunde; driving to Hamburg
    and from Hamburg catching a train to...


<b>9   EXT. ROME- DAY                                               9
</b>
    At a fast food stand not far from the central train station,
    a middle-aged man is squirting ketchup on a hotdog.

    It is Autumn, and without the usual mass of Summer tourists,
    LARRY stands out as an American.

    JACK does not.

<b>                        JACK
</b>              Blending in?

    LARRY is shocked to see JACK but pretends the hot dog is the
    centre of attention.

<b>                        LARRY
</b>              Jack. What brings you to Rome?

<b>                        JACK
</b>              I closed the Stockholm account.
<b>                                                           6.
</b>

     LARRY might be older than JACK but he doesn't seem it. His
     demeanour is sprightly.

<b>                         JACK
</b>               But there were complications.

     Then LARRY turns and walks, eating carefully. He is not a man
     who likes to get his hands dirty.

     JACK walks beside him.

     Both men keep a trained eye on their surroundings.

<b>                         JACK
</b>               Collateral damage. Two shooters.
               Unidentified. [A beat] And a girl.

     LARRY takes a bite of his hot dog and casts a sideways look
     at JACK.

     JACK is tired.

<b>                         LARRY
</b>               There's a bar across the street:
               the L'Aquila. Freshen up. Sit
               tight. Give me two hours.


<b>10   INT. BAR- DAY                                                10
</b>
     JACK washes his face in the cramped bathroom at the back of
     the bar.

     In the background, on the stereo, The White Stripes cover One
     More Cup of Coffee.

     JACK stares at himself in the mirror. He looks exhausted.


<b>11   INT. BAR- DAY                                                11
</b>
     JACK is sitting at the back of the bar. He has a good view of
     the whole establishment: including the entrance and the door
     to the bathrooms.

     He lights a cigarette.

     LARRY comes in and sits opposite him.

<b>                         LARRY
</b>                   (genuinely shocked)
               You started smoking again?

     JACK exhales.

<b>                           JACK
</b>               Guess so.
<b>                                                         7.
</b>

<b>                    LARRY
</b>          Since when?

<b>                       JACK
</b>          Since now.

The WAITER slides over and flicks a cloth at the table.

<b>                       WAITER
</b>          Cafe?

<b>                       LARRY
</b>          Due.

The WAITER disappears.

A beat.

LARRY puts an ENVELOPE on the table.

<b>                    LARRY
</b>          Stockholm account. Final
          installment.

JACK takes the envelope and puts it in an inside pocket.

LARRY is about to speak but stops.

The WAITER reappears and puts down two cups of coffee.

LARRY puts two cubes of sugar in his cup and starts stirring.

Then speaks low and fast:

<b>                    LARRY
</b>          You can't stay here, Jack. You
          won't see `em coming, not in a big
          city. But you can't go far, either.
          If the gentlemen whose accounts you
          closed belonged to Brink, Gallazzo,
          Simenov- any of the first division-
          you have four or five hours at most
          before every airport, train
          station, bus stop, toll booth and
          ski lift from Stockholm to Skopje
          is under surveillance.

JACK smokes.

<b>                       JACK
</b>          So.

Not a question. An acknowledgement that LARRY knows exactly
what he's talking about. And JACK is listening.
<b>                                                           8.
</b>

<b>                         LARRY
</b>               So. You find a hole- somewhere
               nearby- and you crawl into it and
               you stay put until I say it's safe
               to come out.

     JACK's expression is as immoveable as a cliff face.

<b>                         LARRY
</b>               Turn right outside the bar then
               second left. Via Spinetti. You'll
               find a silver Citroen C2 with
               Chieti plates. Check the glove box
               and follow the map. Castelvecchio.
               It's a fucking fortress. Literally.
               And as dead as a graveyard. Anyone
               within a three to five mile radius
               you'll see `em coming.

     He pushes something across the table. A MOBILE PHONE in a
     cellophane bag.

<b>                         LARRY
</b>               Get there. Stay there.

     LARRY finishes his coffee and dabs at the corners of his
     mouth with a napkin.

<b>                         LARRY
</b>               Do nothing `till you get my call.


<b>12   INT. CAR- DAY                                               12
</b>
     JACK gets into a compact Citroen C2: nothing flash.

     He opens the glove compartment and finds a PLAIN MANILLA
<b>     ENVELOPE.
</b>
     Inside the envelope is:

     -a PASSPORT bearing Jack's photo in the name of Edward Clarke

     -a DRIVER'S LICENSE in the same name

     -and a MAP.


<b>13   EXT. AUTOSTRADA- DAY                                        13
</b>
     A long tunnel: one of the longest in Europe.

     JACK at the wheel.

     It seems like night: red stripes, strip lights, shadows.

     Vast fans suspended from the ceiling shift the traffic fumes.
<b>                                                             9.
</b>

     A button of light, expanding...

     ...as we burst into daylight.


<b>14   EXT. ITALIAN LANDSCAPE- DAY                                  14
</b>
     We're in another world.

     JACK'S CAR is winding its way up a twisting mountain road
     towards...

     ...a ramshackle, lonely, desolate Italian HILLTOP TOWN.

     The town sits beneath it's own castle. Medieval towers,
     gables, streets and church bells: framed by the snow-capped
     mountain peaks beyond.

     This is not the Italy of E.M. Forster or of Bella Tuscany.
     This is the Italy where the Crusaders built their fortresses.
     The Italy where Sergio Leone conceived of his great Westerns.

     A CHURCH BELL tolls...


<b>15   EXT. CROSS ROADS- DAY                                        15
</b>
     JACK stops the car.

     At the crossroads is a SIGNPOST pointing to the town.

     The sign reads:

<b>                             CASTELVECCHIO.
</b>

<b>16   INT. CAR- CONTINUOUS                                         16
</b>
     JACK looks at the sign.

     He looks up at the silent town, at the vast stone ramparts.

     An OLD MAN comes out of a crooked medieval doorway, stares at
     JACK and disappears into another building.

     JACK looks at the dead sockets of the windows, random beneath
     the rotting patchwork of rooves.

     A DOG barks. The WIND hisses. The atmosphere is deathly.

     JACK makes a decision.

     And drives away.


<b>17   EXT. ITALIAN LANDSCAPE- DAY                                  17
</b>
     We see JACK'S CAR heading away from CASTELVECCHIO.
<b>                                                          10.
</b>

     The CAR crosses a spectacular VIADUCT that spans a deep
<b>     RAVINE.
</b>
     The driver's window opens.

     A MOBILE PHONE in a cellophane bag is thrown out.

     It drops hundreds of feet down the ravine.

<b>                                                    FADE OUT.
</b>
<b>     FADE IN:
</b>

<b>18   EXT. CASTEL DEL MONTE, MAIN SQUARE- DAY                      18
</b>
     CASTEL DEL MONTE is a well preserved, happy looking little
     mediaeval town with a handful of tourists.

     A chunk of time has passed.

     JACK is sitting on a table outside a small BAR wearing dark
     glasses, sipping a coffee and reading a guide book. He looks
     like a tastefully dressed, well educated American tourist. He
     blends in. And no one pays him much attention as he finishes
     his coffee, pays his bill, gets up and leaves.

     We follow JACK as he passes the parapet of the town ramparts
     and looks across the spectacular valley...

     ...towards the deserted CASTELVECCHIO.


<b>19   EXT. CASTEL DEL MONTE, OLD TOWN CENTRE- DAY                  19
</b>
     At a leisurely pace, JACK passes a row of municipal rubbish
     bins just inside the fortified gates to the old town.

     Hidden well behind the bins we catch sight of JACK's parked
<b>     CAR.
</b>

<b>20   EXT. CASTEL DEL MONTE, TOWN SQUARE- DAY                      20
</b>
     We're right in the heart of the mediaeval old town: like the
     stronghold at the centre of a castle.

     JACK approaches a small family run bed and breakfast just off
     the main square.

     The sign reads: "PENSIONE ABRUZZO".


<b>21   INT. PENSIONE ABRUZZO- DAY                                   21
</b>
     The internal courtyard is refreshingly cool.
<b>                                                          11.
</b>

     In the centre of the courtyard is a FOUNTAIN made of marble
     shot through with black veins.

     In the fountain stands an alabaster STATUE OF A GIRL. She's
     wearing a toga and holding a clam shell from which the water
     falls. The water is delivered by a two and quarter millimetre
     diameter pipe made of bronze.

     As JACK crosses the courtyard he glances at the STATUE.

     He finds it hard to tear his eyes away.


<b>22   INT. PENSIONE ABRUZZO, JACK'S ROOM- DAY                      22
</b>
     A toothbrush in the glass by the sink.

     The guidebook on the bedside table.

     Apart for this, JACK has avoided unpacking: living entirely
     out of his holdall for some time.

     From the holdall, JACK produces a pair of Leica 15x56 Geovid
     BRF Rangefinding BINOCULARS.

     Through his casement window he has good view of
<b>     CASTELVECCHIO.
</b>
     He sweeps the town in grid formation: calm and methodical.
     This is a routine assessment.

     JACK's POV: apart from the occasional appearance of an old
     man, woman or dog, the dead town across the valley is empty.


<b>23   INT. PENSIONE ABRUZZO, JACK'S ROOM- NIGHT                    23
</b>
     JACK is lying on top of his bed, fully clothed and wide
     awake.

     Taped to the inside of the wooden bed frame...

     ...is his WALTHER semi-automatic handgun.


<b>24   EXT. CASTEL DEL MONTE, OLD TOWN CENTRE- DAY                  24
</b>
     Blinding SUN fills frame.

     JACK is ostensibly photographing the sights: the mediaeval
     architecture, the square, the church.


<b>25   EXT. CASTEL DEL MONTE, CHURCH- DAY                           25
</b>
     The CHURCH is at the top of town. A PRIEST, dressed in black,
     surveys the world below him:
<b>                                                            12.
</b>

     Locals are going about their business, a few scattered
     tourists are enjoying their holiday. One `tourist' catches
     the PRIEST's attention.

     Perhaps it's his build. Or the fact that he's the only
     tourist on his own. Or perhaps it's the obsessive grid-like
     methodology with which JACK photographs the little town...


<b>26   EXT. CASTEL DEL MONTE, ALLEYWAY- DAY                         26
</b>
     JACK turns casually down one of the town's many narrow
     alleyways.

     The alleyway way bends left and right in a series of blind
     corners and dark tunnels, the street enclosed by arches,
     criss-crossed by flying stone buttresses and flanked by
     outside stairwells. It's a stalker's heaven- or hell-
     depending on how dangerous the prey.

     JACK proceeds along the alleyway until he gets to a
     crossroads where FOUR NARROW ALLEYWAYS converge. Each
     alleyway leads uphill or downhill with varying degrees of
     steepness. JACK photographs each alleyway.

     From an upstairs window he can hear the soundtrack of a game
     show on television. From another alleyway comes the sound of
     a barking dog.

     No dog is visible.

     Curious, JACK turns around, walking back the way he came.

     The sound of barking gets louder.

     On his right hand side, JACK finds a HIDDEN ARCHWAY.

     The HIDDEN ARCHWAY resembles an archer's slit but is big
     enough for a gown man to slip through. Unlike a window, the
     `slit' is actually just a crack in a triangular convergence
     of two separate and slightly overlapping ancient stone walls.
     The confluence of two stone surfaces makes the narrow gap
     between them very, very difficult to spot.

     JACK slips though the HIDDEN ARCHWAY.

     Inside is a courtyard.


<b>27   INT. COURTYARD- DAY                                          27
</b>
     Rotting doors lead to abandoned cellars and storerooms.

     A MONGREL tied to a post is barking savagely, his leash
     keeping him inches from sinking his bared fangs into JACK.

     JACK stares at the dog: a mysterious creature of fear and
     fury.
<b>                                                          13.
</b>

<b>28   EXT. NARROW ALLEYWAY- DAY                                    28
</b>
     JACK reappears through the HIDDEN ARCHWAY and slips back into
     the narrow alleyway. It's like he's materialised from thin
     air.

     He takes 2 PHOTOGRAPHS:

     -first of the HIDDEN ARCHWAY

     -and then of the street sign: VIA ROMANA.

     Just then a MAN on an original 1970s DUCATI turns down the
     alleyway and drives towards him.

     Casually, JACK continues walking.

     The DUCATI gets nearer. The MAN ON THE DUCATI is wearing a
     black crash helmet with a tinted visor.

     JACK picks up his pace.

     The DUCATI is ten metres away.

     JACK's right hand moves towards his pocket.

     Five metres.

     JACK's hand goes in his pocket.

     Two metres.

<b>     BANG!
</b>
     JACK drops to his knees.

<b>     BANG!
</b>
     The DUCATI backfires for a second time.

     A pause.

     Still on his knees, JACK pretends to tie his right shoe lace.

     The MAN ON THE DUCATI stops outside an apartment further up
     the alleyway, gets off his rickety motorbike and removes his
     helmet. He's a corpulent, ruddy faced Italian man in his late
     sixties.

     He glances at JACK.

     JACK stands.

<b>                          MAN ON DUCATI
</b>                Buon giorno!

<b>                          JACK
</b>                Buon giorno.
<b>                                                            14.
</b>

<b>                            MAN ON DUCATI
</b>                  Da dove provenite?

     For an instant, the directness of the question catches JACK
     out.

<b>                             JACK
</b>                  America.

<b>                            MAN ON DUCATI
</b>                  Ah! L'Americano!

<b>                            JACK
</b>                  Si. Il Americano.

     JACK's pronunciation is good but his grammar is a bit rusty.
     Perhaps he's playing up on this. It suits the role of
     American tourist.

     The MAN laughs enthusiastically emphasizing the correct
     grammar:

<b>                            MAN ON DUCATI
</b>                  L'Americano ! L'Americano!

     A WOMAN'S VOICE comes from within the house- loud and angry-
     distracting the MAN ON THE DUCATI, who screams back
     passionately, enters his front door, and shuts it behind him
     with a hearty slam.

     JACK walks on.


<b>29   EXT. CASTEL DEL MONTE, TOWN SQUARE- DAY                      29
</b>
     JACK puts some coins in a CIGARETTE MACHINE.

     The MACHINE takes his money but won't dispense his
     cigarettes.

     He hits the refund button but nothing happens.

     JACK checks the time.

     And thumps the machine hard.

     Footsteps.

     JACK adjusts his position and checks the time again.

<b>                            VOICE (O.S.)
</b>                  Can I help you?

     The man behind him is reflected in the surface of JACK's
     battered ROLEX.

<b>                            JACK
</b>                  I'm no good with machines.
<b>                                                     15.
</b>

JACK turns, smiling politely.

The PRIEST smiles back.

He is dressed in an ill-fitting, un-stylish black suit, a
black silk stock and a deep Roman collar fraying at the edge.
His name is FATHER BENEDETTO. He is older than JACK.

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          You are American.

This is stated matter-of-factly: like a man practising
English.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Si.

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          You speak Italian?

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Poco.

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          Va bene! You stay at Pensione
          Arbruzzo.

Also a statement: this time with touch of triumph.

JACK is disconcerted but doesn't show it.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Not for much longer.

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          On vacation?

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Working vacation.

This much is true- after a fashion. They speak in English
unless otherwise specified:

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          Lavoro? Che genere de lavoro?

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Photographer.

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          Va bene. Che genere de fotografia?

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Pictures of the region.
          Architecture, landscapes...

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          People?
<b>                                                          16.
</b>

     He stands straight and smiles winningly.

<b>                         JACK
</b>               No people. Sights and landmarks.
               For guidebooks, magazines...

<b>                         FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>               Ah! Magazine! Which magazine?

     JACK shows no discomfort.

<b>                         JACK
</b>               Actually it's a syndicate. Lots of
               different publications. Um... Casa
               editrice.

<b>                         FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>               Va bene. So you must share a glass
               of wine with me. Questa sera. This
               evening.

     A beat.

     JACK is slightly thrown.

<b>                         JACK
</b>               You're very kind, but I...

<b>                         FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>               Certo. You want to know the truth
               about Abruzzo? A priest sees
               everything.


<b>30   EXT. PAY PHONE, CASTEL DEL MONTE- DAY                      30
</b>
     JACK is using the local PAY PHONE.

<b>                         LARRY (V.O.)
</b>               Do you have any idea how long I've
               been trying to reach you? What
               happened to the cell I gave you?

     JACK speaks quietly, keeping an eye on the town square:

<b>                         JACK
</b>               Did I forget to mention my
               electromagnetic hypersensitivity?

<b>                         LARRY (V.O.)
</b>               Don't get jumpy on me, Jack. That
               cell was secure.

     JACK lights a cigarette.
<b>                                                          17.
</b>

<b>                          LARRY (V.O.)
</b>                I've got a job. It's a custom fit.
                You don't even have to pull the
                trigger.

<b>                          JACK
</b>                Who's the client?

<b>                          LARRY (V.O.)
</b>                Relax. She triple checks out. Plus
                she comes to you. You don't have to
                move an inch.

<b>                          JACK
</b>                This is a small town, Larry. I
                don't like small towns. I grew up
                in one. Besides, I'm already
                attracting attention.

<b>                          LARRY (V.O.)
</b>                So will anyone who's trying to kill
                you.

     This is a good point.

     JACK lights a cigarette.

<b>                          JACK
</b>                I'll think about it.

<b>                          LARRY (V.O.)
</b>                Think about this. I cleaned up your
                shit and made you disappear. You
                owe me my usual twenty percent
                commission plus the first
                installment. The rest is yours.
                After this you're free.

     On JACK.

     Turning over the word.


<b>31   INT. FATHER BENEDETTO'S HOUSE- MAGIC HOUR                    31
</b>
     The SUN is sinking behind the high mountains that overlook
     the hilltop town.

     JACK is wearing an immaculate white linen shirt.

     He's sitting in a small walled garden snuggled at the rear of
     a crumbling fifteenth century edifice, overlooked yet
     secluded and trapping the last rays of the sun.

     FATHER BENEDETTO pours two large glasses of brandy from a
     globulous green bottle of ARMAGNAC and sniffs his drink like
     a honey bee hovering over a bloom.
<b>                                                     18.
</b>

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          Que siamo! The quality of the
          brandy is good, the liquor is
          smooth and the glass warmed by the
          sun.

He pronounces warmed "war-med". His English is sophisticated
but quaint, like an out-of-date book.

JACK sniffs his drink before he sips it. Not like a
connoisseur: like a White House taster checking the safety of
a Presidential beverage.

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>              (in ENGLISH)
          The only good thing to come from
          the Francesi, everything else...

FATHER BENEDETTO grimaces.

<b>                     FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          The French are... pezzi di merda.
          This is not an American discovery.
          Italians have known this for
          centuries. [In ITALIAN] When Rome
          called France the province of Gaul,
          they were just the same. Arrogant
          sensualists. Their cuisine is fussy
          and their wine effeminate. Only
          their brandy is worthy of any
          attention.

FATHER BENEDETTO looks at JACK.

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>              (in ENGLISH)
          Forgive me. I speak too fast. You
          study our history?

<b>                    JACK
</b>          No.

FATHER BENEDETTO looks horrified.

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          You come to Italy to make a guide
          book and you don't care about
          history?

<b>                    JACK
</b>          I take pictures, father.

A beat.

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          Of course. You are American. You
          think you can escape history. You
          live for the present.
<b>                                                            19.
</b>

     A beat.

     JACK likes this man. His shrewdness is disconcerting but
     humane.

     JACK sips his brandy.

<b>                         JACK
</b>               I try to, father.


<b>32   EXT. L'AQUILA- EVENING                                       32
</b>
     Suburban sprawl with a mediaeval heart. L'AQUILA is the
     capital of the Abruzzo region and the nearest big town to
     Castel del Monte and Castelveccio.

     Like these two villages L'AQUILA is relatively isolated,
     nestled high up in the Appenine mountains.


<b>33   EXT. L'AQUILA, SHOPPING STREET- EVENING                      33
</b>
     JACK comes out of a SUPERMARKET carrying two bags of
     groceries and turns quickly down a dark side street.


<b>34   EXT. L'AQUILA, VIA LAMPEDUSA- EVENING                        34
</b>
     JACK passes a sign for a MODELLING AGENCY. It's a small,
     inconspicuous sign, but it catches his eye because its
     graphics are subtly lewd and it's attached to the buzzer of
     what is otherwise a purely residential apartment block.

     Entering the apartment block is a beautiful twenty four year-
     old Italian girl.

<b>     CLARA.
</b>
     She catches JACK's eye.

     He walks on.


<b>35   INT. CASTEL DEL MONTE, PENSIONE ABRUZZO, JACK'S ROOM- NIGHT 35
</b>
     The remnants of a simple yet sophisticated meal: apple,
     pecorino cheese, honey and walnuts.

     On his lap top, JACK has organised several weeks worth of
     PHOTOGRAPHS of CASTEL DEL MONTE into three categories:

           1. Street plan

           2. Exit routes/car

           3. Exit routes/foot
<b>                                                           20.
</b>

     Now he is cleaning and oiling his WALTHER PPK/S.


<b>36   INT. PENSIONE ABRUZZO, JACK'S ROOM- DAY                      36
</b>
     JACK completes his morning exercises then showers and
     dresses. His manner is precise and methodical. Only a man who
     has lived alone for many years can live like this.

     When his preparations are complete, he picks up his
     BINOCULARS and studies the nearby town of CASTELVECCHIO
     through his medieval casement window.


<b>37   EXT. CASTELVECCIO, JACK'S POV- CONTINUOUS                    37
</b>
     The dead town has come to life!

     There's a MARKET in progress. The central piazza is a hive of
     activity. Food, local produce, clothes and cheap CD stalls.

     The market has attracted TOURISTS. Standing by a phone box
     not far from a cheese stall is an attractive WOMAN in dark
     glasses. She's rifling through her handbag, searching for
     something. Under her right arm is a rolled up copy of Il
     Messaggero.

     We notice the front page of the Italian daily newspaper has
     been folded in half.


<b>38   INT. PENSIONE ABRUZZO, JACK'S ROOM- CONTINUOUS               38
</b>
     JACK lowers his binoculars.

     Thinks.

     Decides to proceed with caution.


<b>39   EXT. CASTELVECCHIO- DAY                                      39
</b>
     Moving through the busy market, JACK is also carrying a copy
     of Il Messaggero...

     ...with the front page folded in half.

     He approaches the OLD WOMAN running a cheese stall.

<b>                         JACK
</b>               Un po' di formaggio, per favore.

<b>                         OLD WOMAN
</b>               Quale? Pecorino, parmigiano?

<b>                         JACK
</b>               Questo.
<b>                                                            21.
</b>

     He points.

<b>                            JACK
</b>                  E un po' di pecorino.

     JACK glances casually around for the WOMAN.

     She's sitting outside a CAFE about twenty metres away,
     chatting on her cellphone.

     JACK pays for his cheese and approaches the cafe.


<b>40   EXT. CASTELVECCHIO, CAFE- DAY                                40
</b>
     JACK sits at an empty table next to the WOMAN.

     She finishes her call in English. She's well spoken. As she
     replaces the phone in her handbag, she knocks the newspaper
     off her table.

     JACK picks it up.

<b>                            WOMAN
</b>                  Grazie.

<b>                            JACK
</b>                  Prego. You're welcome.

<b>                            WOMAN
</b>                  You're American.

<b>                            JACK
</b>                  "Amidst gathering clouds".

     The WOMAN speaks quickly, purposefully, barely looking at
<b>     JACK.
</b>
<b>                            WOMAN
</b>                  You're assuming I'm English or
                  you'd never have mentioned the
                  weather. In fact I'm Belgian but I
                  went to boarding school in England.
                  And am quite happy to converse on
                  all subjects meteorological.

     Judging by her stilted choice of words this is code.

     A WAITER comes out and flicks a cloth over the table. It's
     nearly midday and the sun is hot. He speaks with a tired
     voice:

<b>                            WAITER
</b>                  Buon giorno. Desidera?

     He's addressing the WOMAN.
<b>                                                     22.
</b>

<b>                    WOMAN
</b>          Una spremute di limone. Per favore.

Her Italian accent is perfect.

<b>                       WAITER
</b>          Signore?

The WOMAN looks at JACK for the first time, studying him,
awaiting his answer as if a great deal depended on it.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Una gelata alla fragola. Per
          favore.

The final fail safe.

Now they can introduce themselves:

<b>                       JACK
</b>          Edward.

<b>                       WOMAN
</b>          Mathilde.

The identification process over, there is nothing more to do
but get down to business- and conversation becomes suddenly
awkward.

<b>                    MATHILDE
</b>          It's hot. My car has no air
          conditioning. I asked for it,
          but...

She trails off.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          What car did they give you?

Her HAZEL eyes flick over the crowd in front of the cafe.

She doesn't answer.

JACK clears his throat.

Then says quietly:

<b>                       JACK
</b>          Range?

She takes a long time to answer. When she does, she does so
over the rim of her half-empty coffee cup, scanning the crowd
like a cheating wife customarily anxious not to be seen by
her husband.

<b>                    MATHILDE
</b>          One fifty to one seven five meters.
<b>                                                        23.
</b>

<b>                       JACK
</b>          Time?

<b>                    MATHILDE
</b>          Five seconds. Seven at the most.

<b>                       JACK
</b>          Targets?

<b>                       MATHILDE
</b>          One.

<b>                       JACK
</b>          Fire rate?

<b>                       MATHILDE
</b>          Rapid.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Magazine capacity?

<b>                    MATHILDE
</b>          Large. Preferably 9mm Parabellum.

The WAITER delivers the Spremuta and the raspberry ice-cream.

The glass of lemon juice twists in MATHILDE's slender
fingers.

<b>                    MATHILDE
</b>          The weapon must be fairly light.
          And compact. Possible to be broken
          down into its constituent parts.

<b>                    L'AMERICANO
</b>          How compact?

<b>                    MATHILDE
</b>          As compact as possible.

JACK clears his throat.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          You want a submachine gun to fit in
          a lady's purse?

<b>                    MATHILDE
</b>          A small vanity case would be
          permissible.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          A small briefcase would be
          possible.

A beat.
<b>                                                        24.
</b>

<b>                     JACK
</b>           X-rays? Camouflage: lap-top, DVD
           player, MP3 or digital camera?

She's not sure if he's joking or not. Neither are we.

<b>                     MATHILDE
</b>           Not necessary.

<b>                        JACK
</b>           Noise?

<b>                        MATHILDE
</b>           Silencer.

<b>                     JACK
</b>           No such thing. You'll have to make
           do with a suppressor like everyone
           else. It'll dampen the decibels,
           dislocate the sound source and
           reduce muzzle flash. I can't make
           you silent but I can make you
           invisible as the Finnish phrase
           goes, but only as long as you're
           prepared to lose some range.

JACK scans the crowd.

On the other side of the square he spots a YOUNG MAN in his
mid-thirties with short blonde hair and slight sunburn,
hovering by a stall. Average height, slim, athletic build;
sunglasses, stone-washed designer jeans very neatly pressed
with a sharp crease.

<b>                     JACK
</b>           Two o'clock.

<b>                        MATHILDE
</b>           Excuse me?

<b>                     JACK
</b>           By the clothes stall. Light blue
           shirt, open at the neck, expensive
           buff suede shoes. Is he with you?

The YOUNG MAN has disappeared into the crowd.

<b>                     MATHILDE
</b>           I didn't see him. In any case, I'm
           alone.

A pause.

JACK's jaw muscles grind.

<b>                     MATHILDE
</b>           I can accept a slight loss of
           range.
<b>                                                             25.
</b>

<b>                          JACK
</b>                You want a weapon with the firing
                capacity of a submachine gun and
                the range of a rifle.

<b>                          MATHILDE
</b>                Can you do it?

     A beat.

<b>                          JACK
</b>                Give me a month. To trial. Then a
                week for final adjustments.


<b>41   EXT. CASTEL DEL MONTE, LANDSCAPE- TWILIGHT                    41
</b>
     The sun is sinking.

     It's hunting hour.

     A FALCON hovers on the wind above the town, looking for prey.


<b>42   INT. CASTEL DEL MONTE, PENSIONE ABRUZZO- NIGHT                42
</b>
     JACK is lying on top of his bed, fully clothed but fast
     asleep.

     His eyes roll left and right beneath his lids.

     He's dreaming.

     In his right hand is a book of MEDIEVAL ITALIAN ART &
<b>     ARCHITECTURE.
</b>
     Twitching in his sleep, JACK's grip on the ART & ARCHITECTURE
     BOOK slowly loosens...

<b>     THUD!
</b>
     As the BOOK hits the floor JACK opens his eyes, sits up and
     rips the taped WALTHER from beneath the bed, pointing it at
     the door.

     Silence.

     JACK's heart is beating.


<b>43   INT. PENSIONE ABRUZZO, JACK'S ROOM- MORNING                   43
</b>
     JACK is looking through his BINOCULARS.

<b>     JACK'S POV:
</b>
     ...of a small yellow and blue Italian POST OFFICE VAN heading
     up the winding alpine road towards CASTELVECCIO.
<b>                                                             26.
</b>

<b>44   EXT. CASTELVECCHIO- DAY                                       44
</b>
     With the market gone, the town is once more dead.

     And provides no cover.

     JACK parks his car not far from the town square, turns off
     the engine and gets out.


<b>45   EXT. CASTELVECCHIO, TOWN SQUARE, CAFE- DAY                    45
</b>
     JACK is sitting in the CAFE where he met Mathilde.

     He is watching the entrance to the local POST OFFICE.

     He studies his WATCH.

     It's been an hour and no one has come or gone from the tiny
     rural branch of the Poste Italiane.

     JACK puts the correct amount of change on the table and gets
     up...


<b>46   INT. CASTELVECCHIO, POST OFFICE- DAY                          46
</b>
     The shop is small and dusty.

     So is the POSTMASTER.

<b>                         JACK
</b>               Buon giorno.

     The POSTMASTER grunts his reply, jutting his chin.

<b>                         JACK
</b>               Il fermo posta?

     The POSTMASTER turns to a rack of pigeonholes behind a sack
     of mail hanging in a metal frame like an old person's walking
     aid. From one pigeonhole he draws a bundle of general
     delivery envelopes held together by an elastic band. Some
     have been there for weeks. Months even.

<b>                         POSTMASTER
</b>               Nome?

     A beat.

<b>                         JACK
</b>               Clarke.

     Deftly, like a teller counting through a thick wad of
     banknotes he flicks through the mail with thin, wasted
     fingers.
<b>                                                            27.
</b>

<b>                               POSTMASTER
</b>                  Clarky?

<b>                            JACK
</b>                  Clarke. Una pacchetto.

<b>                               POSTMASTER
</b>                  Pacchetto!

     This makes all the difference. The POSTMASTER clicks again,
     disappearing behind the rack of pigeon holes...

<b>                            POSTMASTER
</b>                  Clarky, Clarky, Clarky. Ecco.

     ...and reappearing with a PACKAGE.

     The PACKAGE is from an Italian PHOTOGRAPHIC SUPPLIERS.

<b>                               JACK
</b>                  Grazie.

<b>                            POSTMASTER
</b>                  Identificazione.

     JACK flicks his eyes downwards. He has already put his
     PASSPORT on the counter.

     The POSTMASTER scoops it up with bony fingers.

     Looks from the picture to JACK.

     JACK bears the scrutiny with a deadly straight face.


<b>47   INT. CASTEL DEL MONTE, PENSIONE ARBRUZZO- EVENING            47
</b>
     JACK unwraps the PACKAGE.

     He removes:

     -film

     -photographic paper

     -development fluids

     -fixing solutions

     Then:

     -a solid, monolythic rectangular receiver made out of a
     single piece of lightweight alloy.

     -a bolt assembly.

     -a barrel.
<b>                                                          28.
</b>

     Only with this final piece is the puzzle complete.

     Laid out on the floor is a SOCIMI 821 SUB-MACHINE GUN.

     Without touching it, JACK studies the weapon like a
     connoisseur looking at the hue of a wine. In particular he
     notices that the SERIAL NUMBER has been scratched off.

     Then he moves slowly, assembling the weapon with precision
     engineered expertise:

     -inserting the barrel into the front of the receiver and
     securing it with the nut,

     -opening the sidefolding tubular stock and engaging the
     buttpad,

     -snuggling the buttpad to his shoulder,

     -looking down the barrel,

     -and slowly squeezing back the finger-grooved TRIGGER as we

<b>                                                  SMASH CUT TO:
</b>

<b>48   INT. L'AQUILA, VIA LAMPEDUSA, CLARA'S ROOM- NIGHT            48
</b>
     Our beautiful twenty four year-old Italian girl enters.

<b>     CLARA.
</b>
     She sits on the edge of the bed, whose ageing metal springs
     squeak slightly, and puts her smoking cigarette in an ashtray
     on the bedside table.

     She kicks off her slip-on shoes.

     Slips off her panties.

     Lifts her light cotton dress over her head and lies back on
     the bed in one practised motion.

     JACK sits on the bed beside her.

     He doesn't look at her.

<b>                          ITALIAN GIRL
</b>               Amore?

     She reaches up to touch JACK as we cut to:


<b>49   EXT. CASTEL DEL MONTE, PAY PHONE- DAY                        49
</b>
     JACK is scanning the town square with his usual cautiousness.
<b>                                                             29.
</b>

<b>                         JACK
</b>               Your source in Rome.

<b>                         LARRY (V.O.)
</b>               Clean bill of health and no OC.
               This was a straight favour with a
               dollar chaser, Jack. The guy's got
               a second cousin in NOCS on the
               graft who filched him the Socimi.

<b>                         JACK
</b>               I hope you paid below the odds. The
               more you pay them the more cops
               gossip in the locker room.

<b>                         LARRY (V.O.)
</b>               No one's gossiping, Jack.

     JACK watches FATHER BENEDETTO waving at him from the other
     side of the square.

<b>                         JACK
</b>               Yet.


<b>50   EXT. TOWN SQUARE- DAY                                         50
</b>
     FATHER BENEDETTO is sitting in his API three-wheeler.

     This comical and endearing method of rural transportation is
     a cross between a moped and a miniature pick-up truck.

     In the back of the truck are a mass of writhing SNAKES.

     The API is turning over but it won't start.

     The bonnet is open. JACK is fixing the engine.

     He gives a signal and FATHER BENEDETTO turns the ignition key
     again.

     This time the engine starts. FATHER BENEDETTO claps and
     cheers.


<b>51   INT. FATHER BENEDETTO'S KITCHEN- EVENING                      51
</b>
     Sixteenth century. Sombre wood panelling stained dark with
     polish and smoke. Two paraffin lamps stand on a huge antique
     sideboard, their frosted orbs engraved with scenes from the
     life of Our Lord.

     The room is filled with a dining table: a massive black
     edifice of oak, five inches thick with six legs fluted like
     the columns of cathedrals.
<b>                                                             30.
</b>

     Using antique crockery, ancient copper pots and utensils like
     old fashioned instruments of torture FATHER BENEDETTO
     performs culinary alchemy: transforming flesh into meat,
     dough into bread, hard earth nuggets into vegetables.

     He hums as he cooks: Opera arias. And Johnny Cash.

     JACK sips from a glass of wine and watches FATHER BENEDETTO
     potter around the wood fired stove. The priest has his own
     wine which he sips as he works between bouts of humming.


<b>52   INT. FATHER BENEDETTO'S KITCHEN- EVENING                      52
</b>
     JACK eats a bowl of chilled carrot and sorrel soup in
     silence.

     FATHER BENEDETTO watches him, pleased to see his guest so
     absorbed.

     As soon as JACK has finished, FATHER BENEDETTO invites him to
     help himself from the ancient tureen.

     Then he bustles over to the stove, humming again.

     JACK eats, studying a framed photo of FATHER BENEDETTO with
     his arm around a tough, corpulent Italian man in his mid-
     twenties. FABIO.

     FATHER BENEDETTO returns to the table with a large covered
     dish issuing steam into his face.

     He notices JACK's eye-line.

<b>                         FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>               All the sheep in my flock are dear
               to me, but some are dearer than
               most. Especially those that have
               strayed from the fold.

     Off JACK's intrigued look FATHER BENEDETTO clarifies:

<b>                         FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>               Fabio. He is a... [in ITALIAN] 'car
               doctor'. But I suspect his practice
               is not entirely sound. Ecco!

     FATHER BENEDETTO whisks the lid off the covered dish
     revealing a stew of poultry carcasses covered in sauce.

<b>                         FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>               Fagiano. Pheasant. With sauce of
               orange juice, orange peel,
               chestnuts, garlic, Marsala wine
               and... Come si dici in Inglese?
               Brodo di Pollo. Chicken broth.
<b>                                                        31.
</b>

FATHER BENEDETTO serves each of them with a complete bird and
pours white wine into fresh glasses.

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          Also: salsify in garlic butter.
          Mange-tout. Fried wild mushrooms
          with truffle.

JACK helps himself to vegetables.

FATHER BENEDETTO watches him as he savours his first taste.

JACK licks his lips and sips some cold white wine.

The two men regard one another, the priest awaiting a
verdict.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Sinful.

FATHER BENEDETTO shrugs.

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          The Holy Father eats better than
          this.

The flash of a smile crosses the priest's face.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Have you ever wanted to be anything
          other than a priest?

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          Have you ever wanted to be anything
          other than a... come se dice in
          Inglese...?

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Photographer?

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          Photographer.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          I do what I'm good at.

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          I'm sure you have other talents.
          You have the hands of a craftsman,
          not an artist. You are good with
          machines. Yet you told me just the
          opposite when we first met.

JACK hides his unease from the watchful priest.

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          Journalism cannot make you a rich
          man.
<b>                                                          32.
</b>

     FATHER BENEDETTO's eyes flick over the ROLEX.

<b>                         JACK
</b>               No.

<b>                         FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>               Perhaps you are rich already?

<b>                         JACK
</b>               I'm not a young man. I have my
               savings.

<b>                         FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>                   (in ITALIAN)
               My meagre income is subject to the
               vagaries of the stock market and
               with church attendance declining
               there's less and less money in the
               offertory. But if a man has God in
               his vaults...

     He looks searchingly at JACK.

<b>                         JACK
</b>               I don't think God is interested in
               me. Father.

<b>                          FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>                   (in ENGLISH)
               I know better than to try to make a
               convert over pheasant and
               Trebbiano.

     JACK is silent.

     The two men continue eating.

     Then casually:

<b>                         JACK
</b>               What are the snakes for, father?

     FATHER BENEDETTO taps the end of his nose in the universal
     sign for secrecy.

<b>                         FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>               "The grave soul keeps its own
               secrets, and takes its own
               punishment in silence."

     He has a twinkle in his eye. The priest is on a mission to
     extract the truth... and JACK knows it.


<b>53   EXT. OUTSKIRTS OF TOWN- DAY                                  53
</b>
     JACK is driving.
<b>                                                            33.
</b>

     He checks the rear view mirror.

     All clear.

     JACK accelerates the CAR, driving it hard at the sidewalk.

     The vehicle slams into the curb, mounting the pavement with a
     thump of crunching metal.


<b>54   EXT. COUNTRYSIDE- DAY                                        54
</b>
     Just east of the old city walls a dirt track meanders
     downhill through a series of small holdings, allotments and
     scrap metal yards.

     The CAR moves slowly. We can hear the scrape of trailing
     metal.

     JACK pulls up beside a high chain fence.

     The DOGS on the other side start barking. This sets off other
     dogs in other scrap yards.

     JACK gets out of the car and approaches a makeshift hut
     beside the fence. Before he's a metre from the door it opens
     and a tough, well-built, unshaven Italian man in his mid-
     twenties looks him up and down.

<b>     FABIO.
</b>
<b>                            JACK
</b>                  Sono un amico di Padre Benedetto.

     Suspicion gives way suddenly to warmth:

<b>                            FABIO
</b>                  L'Americano?

     JACK smiles politely.

<b>                            JACK
</b>                  Buon giorno.


<b>55   INT. WORKSHOP- DAY                                           55
</b>
     The metal door slides open. FABIO leads JACK inside.

     At the back of the cluttered workshop is a blue ALFA ROMEO
     being resprayed white. Beside it, one half of a LANCIA is
     being welded to another.

     JACK knows better than to stare. He follows FABIO through
     to...
<b>                                                            34.
</b>

<b>56   INT. BACK OFFICE- DAY                                        56
</b>
     Girly calendars, Italian style.

<b>                         JACK
</b>               I'm taking pictures forty minutes
               north of here. Right up in the
               mountains. Father Benedetto said
               you might be able to help.

<b>                         FABIO
</b>                   (in ITALIAN)
               You need models. For your
               photographs? Italian girls?

     He winks at JACK. He's being friendly.

<b>                         JACK
</b>               My publisher wouldn't stretch to a
               four by four and the park trails
               are playing havoc with my chassis.

     The technical English is slightly beyond FABIO's grasp.

     This suits JACK.

<b>                         FABIO
</b>                   (in ITALIAN)
               Want me to take a look?

<b>                         JACK
</b>               Not really. I just need something
               to work on a ruptured driveshaft.

<b>                         FABIO
</b>                   (in ITALIAN)
               You're a mechanic?

<b>                         JACK
</b>               Just a hobby. I tinker.

     JACK looks at the TOOLS hanging on the walls and littering
     the work benches.

     FABIO shrugs.

<b>                         FABIO
</b>                   (in ITALIAN)
               Help yourself. [In ENGLISH] My
               garage is your garage.

<b>                         JACK
</b>               I appreciate that.

     FABIO gets on with work, sliding himself beneath the
     resprayed Alfa Romeo.
<b>                                                            35.
</b>

     JACK picks out various implements, laying them on the work
     surface: drill, hacksaw, lathe, vice, mallet.

     Behind an oil pan with a jagged hole in it he discovers
     several GEAR WHEELS with the teeth sheared off. He holds the
     biggest one up.

<b>                          JACK
</b>               Bene?

     FABIO is engrossed his work.

<b>                         FABIO
</b>               Si! Si! Va bene!

<b>                          JACK
</b>               Quant'e?

     FABIO grins and growls. A gearwheel with no bite is useless
     to him.

<b>                          FABIO
</b>               Niente!

     JACK wraps the gearwheel in a sheet of oily newspaper and
     puts it in the sports bag with the tools.

     At the door, he pauses.

     That's when JACK sees it on the notice board. A PHOTOGRAPH of
     FATHER BENEDETTO and FABIO. FABIO is much younger in this
     photo: fourteen or fifteen years old. He's wearing an AS Roma
     football strip. Again: the priest has his arm around the boy.

<b>                         JACK
</b>               Ciao. Grazie.

<b>                         FABIO
</b>               Ciao, Americano!


<b>57   INT. CASTEL DEL MONTE, CHURCH- DAY                           57
</b>
     FATHER BENEDETTO rings the CHURCH BELLS for Mass.


<b>58   EXT. CASTEL DEL MONTE, CHURCH TOWER- CONTINUOUS              58
</b>
     THREE CHURCH BELLS ringing: large, medium and small.

     As the CLAPPERS hit the SOUNDBOWS we smash cut to:


<b>59   INT. JACK'S ROOM, PENSIONE ABRUZZO- CONTINUOUS               59
</b>
     JACK has laid out his newly acquired tools on the flag stone
     floor of his room.
<b>                                                          36.
</b>

     Beside them is the SOCIMI SUB-MACHINE GUN.

     Using the CHURCH BELLS as sound cover...

     ...JACK puts the GEARWHEEL on a flag stone tile and smashes
     it into five pieces with a four pound MALLET.


<b>60   INT. PENSIONE ABRUZZO- NIGHT                                 60
</b>
     By torchlight, JACK is fashioning CONNECTORS from the smashed
     steel gear.

     It's very, very tricky work and his eyes ache in the poor
     light.


<b>61   EXT. ITALIAN LANDSCAPE- DAY                                  61
</b>
     JACK is wearing a knapsack. He's crossing a MEADOW and making
     his way towards a RUINED HAMLET. His manner is dark,
     purposeful, alert.

     The grass is long and the trees offer deep shade. JACK stops.
     Everywhere there is a profusion of wild flowers.

     His guardedness begins to evaporate. He has never seen
     anything so beautiful or utterly uncorrupted. He looks
     around, transfixed by delicate yellows and mauves, brash
     whites, harsh and brilliant crimsons, exquisite blues. The
     air is humming with insects, bees and butterflies.

     JACK is transfixed.


<b>62   EXT. RUINED HAMLET- DAY                                      62
</b>
     JACK scrambles up towards the abandoned houses, sweating in
     the heat.

     His original cautiousness has returned. Carefully, he checks
     the area for signs of recent disturbance. From the foot of
     the deserted hamlet he surveys the VALLEY with binoculars,
     monitoring every square on an imaginary grid for human
     activity. Satisfied that he's alone, he takes a deep breath
     of mountain air.

     And scrambles back down to the valley.


<b>63   EXT. WOODS- DAY                                              63
</b>
     JACK has parked his CITROEN in the shade of a squat but ample
     WALNUT TREE. In the near distance is a LAKE.

     JACK crunches over half-formed walnuts until he reaches a
     patch of soft grass beside the water.
<b>                                                       37.
</b>

This, he decides, is the perfect spot. He unrolls a blanket,
kneels, and from his KNAPSACK he produces:

-a polystyrene cool box packed with ice and containing a
chilled bottle of Frascati

-a loaf of course bread

-50 gms of pecorino

-100 gms of proscuitto

-a small jar of black olives

-an orange

-and a rolled blanket containing the disassembled parts of
the SOCIMI SUBMACHINE GUN.

JACK sets the stopwatch on his weather beaten ROLEX.

It takes approximately thirty-four seconds to assemble the
bastardised SOCIMI- including TELESCOPIC SIGHTS and SOUND
SUPPRESSOR- and a further six seconds to press TEN ROUNDS
into the magazine, slot it into the base of the hand grip,
snuggle the butt to his shoulder and place his eye beside the
rubber cup on the sight.

He's fast.

Carefully he surveys the lake. Settles on a CLUMP OF REEDS.
And with the focus and dexterity of a surgeon, concentrates
until his grip and aim are perfectly tense and still.

A beat...

...as JACK holds his breath. Then squeezes the trigger.

<b>CHOOP!
</b>
<b>CHOOP!
</b>
<b>CHOOP!
</b>
Not the conventional "phut, phut, phut" of a movie silencer,
but the genuine dampened sonic boom of a TAC 65 sound
suppressor.

Through the sight we see the water churn at four o'clock to
the REED CLUMP and four metres off.

From the knapsack, JACK takes a watchmaker's steel-handled
screwdriver and adjusts the sight, then loads another ten
rounds in the magazine.

<b>CHOOP! CHOOP! CHOOP!
</b><b>                                                          38.
</b>

     The reeds are clipped, the bullets slapping into the bank
     behind, mud spurting.

     JACK adjusts again and reloads.

<b>     CHOOP-CHOOP-CHOOP-CHOOP-CHOOP!
</b>
     The reed clump is shot to shit.


<b>64   INT. PENSIONE ABRUZZO- DAY                                   64
</b>
     The sound of CHURCH BELLS.

     JACK is at work:

     -modifying the SOUND SUPPRESSOR to make it more efficient

     -filing the CONNECTORS until the trigger squeeze is softer

     -adjusting the position of the TELESCOPIC SIGHT mountings

     And finally:

     -checking the balance of the weapon: JACK poises it on the
     edge of a ruler over the pencil mark he has determined to be
     the gun's centre of gravity.

                    The SOCIMI balances perfectly.

     By now the sun is low and the light fading. JACK's eyes are
     sore and his fingers aching.

     He sits on his bed with his hands on his knees, silent in the
     dying light.


<b>65   INT. BROTHEL, VIA LAMPEDUSA- NIGHT                           65
</b>
     We're in the living room of a small apartment. It's simply
     and attractively furnished. There are 2 GIRLS: not obviously
     hookers.

     The FIRST GIRL is on her mobile phone. Every now and again
     she glances at JACK. The SECOND GIRL approaches him for a
     light.

<b>                         JACK
</b>               E Clara qui?
               [Is Clara here?]

<b>                         SECOND GIRL
</b>               Non e stasera qui.
               [She's not here tonight.]

     She loops her arm through JACK's.
<b>                                                             39.
</b>

<b>                          SECOND GIRL
</b>               Volete una bevanda?
               [Would you like a drink?]

     JACK shakes his head.

<b>                         JACK
</b>               Forse un altro tempo.
               [Perhaps another time.]


<b>66   EXT. CASTEL DEL MONTE- NIGHT                                  66
</b>
     JACK parks in his usual hiding spot and heads for his
     pensione.

     A hundred yards ahead of him on the other side of the street
     is the same YOUNG MAN he spotted in Castelveccio.

     Cautiously, so as not to spook him, JACK continues walking,
     passing his pensione and heading for the town square.

     The YOUNG MAN is four parked cars away, leaning against a
     Fiat parked in front of a small pharmacy, his right hand on
     the roof, bending over as if speaking to the car's local
     occupant who appears to be giving him directions.

     Twice he looks up and gazes along the street in both
     directions, casually, as if keeping an eye open for passing
     traffic in the narrow street.

     ...JACK side steps swiftly into the local bar.


<b>67   INT. BAR- DAY                                                 67
</b>
     Crowded with locals. JACK orders a coffee.

     Through the window he tries to keep an surreptitious eye on
     the YOUNG MAN. But the darkness outside throws back
     reflections of the bright neon-lit bar within.

     One reflection catches our attention.

     The Italian girl. CLARA.

     She is drinking and laughing with friends, young Italians
     like her. She catches sight of JACK.

     He turns away.


<b>68   EXT. CASTEL DEL MONTE- NIGHT                                  68
</b>
     JACK comes out of the bar with his hand in his pocket.

     No sign of the YOUNG MAN.
<b>                                                          40.
</b>

     He slips down a side street.


<b>69   EXT. SIDE STREETS- NIGHT                                   69
</b>
     JACK slips from one side street to another taking full
     advantage of short-cuts, alleyways and crumbling walls. His
     route is circuitous. It betrays a perfect knowledge of the
     maze-like back streets of the town.

     Eventually JACK peeps out of a tiny passageway half-way down
     his own street and on the opposite side of the road from his
<b>     PENSIONE.
</b>
     The entrance to the PENSIONE is clear.

     JACK crosses the street and slips inside.


<b>70   INT. PENSIONE ABRUZZO- NIGHT                               70
</b>
     We're in the corridor outside JACK'S ROOM.

     JACK takes his right hand from his pocket.

     He's clutching the WALTHER.

     Slowly, he reaches his left hand upwards, towards the lintel
     above the door where he finds...

     ...a single FEATHER.


<b>71   INT. JACK'S ROOM- NIGHT                                    71
</b>
     From the inside of the room we watch four sturdily fashioned
     deadbolt locks slide open. Each lock is new and home made.

     JACK enters, shuts the door, locks all four bolts. And sits
     on the bed.


<b>72   EXT. ROADSIDE PAY PHONE- MORNING                           72
</b>
     A cluster of houses by the side of a main road: a bar, a
     restaurant, a phone box.

     JACK puts a coin in the slot. Two rings.

<b>                            LARRY (V.O.)
</b>               Jack?

<b>                         JACK
</b>               I've got company.

     JACK scans the area outside.
<b>                                                     41.
</b>

<b>                    JACK
</b>          If he's not baby-sitting the
          Belgian contract then he's either a
          Joe, a cop or a shooter. He's not
          with The Company, they're fast:
          it's been three days and no TA.
          He's not intel: they're deep
          background and he wants to be
          noticed. He might be a cowboy but
          he can't be a cop: they work in
          pairs and he's alone. Strike Guarda
          di Finanza, State Police and NOCS:
          he's not Italian- he doesn't look
          like one, dress like one or behave
          like one. So who the hell is he?

A beat.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Larry?

<b>                    LARRY (V.O.)
</b>          You got a long list of enemies,
          Jack.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          What's he waiting for?

JACK hears the sound of an engine.

His hand moves to his pocket.

<b>                    LARRY (V.O.)
</b>          Jack?

He watches a black VW SHARON pass. There's a family inside.

<b>                    LARRY (V.O.)
</b>          Want me to help take care of this?

<b>                    JACK
</b>          I can handle it.

<b>                    LARRY (V.O.)
</b>          You sound spooked.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          It's a bad line.

<b>                    LARRY (V.O.)
</b>          Jack?

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Yes?
<b>                                                          42.
</b>

<b>                           LARRY (V.O.)
</b>                 I appreciate the value of a pre-
                 emptive strike in circumstances
                 like these, I really do, but if
                 you're going to go Generation Kill
                 then do me a favour, OK, because
                 I'm running out of bribe money. [A
                 BEAT] Make it look like an
                 accident.


<b>73   EXT. TRAIN STATION- DAY                                    73
</b>
     Little more than a halt: one platform, one track, one station
     building- locked and shuttered.

     JACK steps out of his car.

     No one around.

     He checks his watch: it's exactly noon.

     A TRAIN approaches.

     It's a three-carriage local. It rattles round the bend in the
     track up the valley, diesel fumes pluming. There are no more
     than a dozen passengers on board.

     MATHILDE is the only one to alight.

     Her once brown hair is now BLONDE. She's wearing a light
     summer skirt and carrying a navy blue canvas sports bag.

     They shake hands as the train pulls away, belching and
     honking as it rattles over the girders of an iron bridge and
     crosses some alpine rapids.

<b>                           MATHILDE
</b>                 Mr. Clarke. How good to see you
                 again.

     Something quaint, old fashioned in her diction. English with
     the hint of a Belgian accent.

     JACK opens the boot of his car and she places her sports bag
     beside a WICKER PICNIC HAMPER.

<b>                           MATHILDE
</b>                 Refreshments?

<b>                           JACK
</b>                 The Carabinieri around here like
                 roadblocks. It's cover.

     She nods.

     They get into the car.
<b>                                                           43.
</b>

     As the JACK's door slams we smash cut to:


<b>74   INT. CAR- DAY                                                74
</b>
     MATHILDE's sunglasses reflect the alpine landscape.

<b>                            MATHILDE
</b>                  You picked a beautiful spot.

     She takes off her shades.

     Her once hazel eyes are now GREY-BLUE.

     She glances round the hire car's drab plastic interior.

<b>                            MATHILDE
</b>                  You would be hard pressed to make a
                  fast get away in this.

     Perhaps she's nervous. Her attempt at humour isn't working
     and she stumbles slightly on her grammar:

<b>                            MATHILDE
</b>                  I would have thought you to have
                  had at least an Alfa Romeo.

<b>                            JACK
</b>                  This attracts less attention.

<b>                               MATHILDE
</b>                  Is it far?

<b>                            JACK
</b>                  Fifty minutes.

     She looks up through the sun roof at the high mountains over
     head.

<b>                               MATHILDE
</b>                  Up there?

     JACK nods.

     She eases herself back, resigned to a long climb.

<b>                            MATHILDE
</b>                  The train was tiring. One has to
                  keep alert so much in cities.

     Her eyelids are drooping.

<b>                            JACK
</b>                  I'll wake you before the turn-off.

     She smiles gratefully. But does not shut her tired eyes.

     The CLOCK on the dash reads 12:17
<b>                                                           44.
</b>

<b>75   INT. CAR- DAY                                                75
</b>
     JACK negotiates the alpine road, leaning into the steering
     wheel, shifting up or down a gear and glancing from the
     mirror to the road and back again

     MATHILDE is asleep.

     JACK scans her, taking in every detail: her low-heeled shoes
     are expensive but she wears no jewelry except a Seiko wrist-
     watch on a metal strap and a thin gold chain at her throat.
     Her tan is light, her breasts neat and her legs shapely and
     recently waxed.

     But JACK doesn't look at her like an object of desire. He
     looks at her cautiously, with an expression that says: "this
     young woman is ruthless. If she were not, she wouldn't be
     alive."

     That's when he notices the CAR in his rear view mirror.

     It's too far behind to decipher the make or model and it
     weaves in and out of frame as JACK negotiates the alpine
     road.

     MATHILDE wakes with a start. The CLOCK on the dash reads
<b>     13:05.
</b>
<b>                         MATHILDE
</b>               Are we nearly there?

<b>                         JACK
</b>               The turn-off's up ahead.

     His eyes flick to the rear view mirror. Hers to the wing.

     She spots the CAR behind. JACK catches her eye questioningly.

<b>                         MATHILDE
</b>               I told you I work alone.

     JACK slows just before the turn off and pulls over.

     Then stops.

     Now its MATHILDE's turn to look questioning.

<b>                         JACK
</b>               Just a precaution.

     He gets out of the car and pretends to urinate.

     The CAR behind passes at speed.

     A blue Seat. The driver neither slows down nor looks in their
     direction.

     JACK gets back in the car.
<b>                                                           45.
</b>

     And turns off up a dirt track that disappears into the
     meadows.


<b>76   EXT. WOODS- DAY                                              76
</b>
     JACK parks his CITROEN in the shade of the squat but ample
     WALNUT TREE. In the near distance is a large LAKE. This is
     the exact spot where he came to test the weapon.

     MATHILDE gets out of the car and stretches.

<b>                         MATHILDE
</b>               Are those houses occupied?

     JACK looks at the RUINED HAMLET on the hillside.

<b>                         JACK
</b>               Derelict. I checked three days ago.

<b>                         MATHILDE
</b>               We should check again.

<b>                         JACK
</b>               I'll check alone. There are adders
               the mountains. And vipers. Your
               shoes.

<b>                         MATHILDE
</b>               I'll be careful.

     Her voice is curt. The trust she showed him in the car is
     gone now.


<b>77   EXT. ITALIAN LANDSCAPE- DAY                                  77
</b>
     They cross a meadow and make their way towards the RUINED
     HAMLET. The grass is long and the trees offer deep shade.
     JACK walks in front to ward off any snakes.

     Everywhere there is a profusion of wild meadow flowers.
     MATHILDE has never seen anything so beautiful. Overwhelmed,
     she stops.

     JACK stops. And watches her.

     She undergoes the same transformation that he did.

     Then she comes to, remembering herself... and walks on.

     Suddenly... a four foot ASP VIPER slithers across JACK's
     path.

     He claps his hands and the SNAKE writhes for cover.
<b>                                                          46.
</b>

     JACK walks on. MATHILDE follows, pretending not to be
     frightened but walking closer to JACK now, scanning the long
     grass warily.


<b>78   EXT. RUINED HAMLET- DAY                                    78
</b>
     JACK scrambles up towards the houses, checking the area for
     signs of recent disturbance. MATHILDE follows.

     From beside the end building JACK surveys the valley with a
     tiny pair of binoculars, monitoring every square on the
     imaginary grid for human activity.

<b>                         MATHILDE
</b>               You have tested the gun here
               before?

<b>                         JACK
</b>               Yes.

     Satisfied that he's alone, he lowers his binoculars. MATHILDE
     takes a deep breath of mountain air.

<b>                         MATHILDE
</b>               It's beautiful here.

     She is sitting on a loose stone wall at the edge of what was
     once a terraced field. Her dress dips between her legs as she
     leans forward and rests her forearms on her knees, tired from
     the journey and the long, hot climb.

<b>                         MATHILDE
</b>               I wish everywhere could be this
               tranquil.

     JACK looks at her, sensing a kindred spirit.

<b>                         JACK
</b>               You'd be out of a job.

<b>                         MATHILDE
</b>               You don't like the peace?

<b>                         JACK
</b>               It's hard to like something you
               know nothing about.


<b>79   EXT. WOODS- DAY                                            79
</b>
     The WICKER PICNIC HAMPER is sitting on a rug by between the
     parked car and the lake. From the hamper, JACK removes:

     -a polystyrene cool box packed with ice and containing a
     chilled bottle of Aspirinio

     -a loaf of course bread
<b>                                                     47.
</b>

-two clods of mozarella

-150 gms of proscuitto

-100 gms of parma ham

-a large jar of pitted green olives

-a Thermos of sweet black coffee

-and, wrapped in cloth squares, the disassembled parts of the
improved SOCIMI SUBMACHINE GUN.

As MATHILDE starts to assemble the weapon with easy skill,
JACK checks the stopwatch on his ROLEX.

It takes her approximately twenty-eight seconds to assemble
the bastardised gun- including TELESCOPIC SIGHTS and SOUND
SUPPRESSOR- and a further three seconds to slot the empty
magazine into the base of the hand grip, snuggle the butt to
her shoulder and place her eye beside the rubber cup on the
sight.

She's almost ten seconds faster than JACK.

He stares at her: not an alluring young woman with good legs
and nice tits but an extension of the weapon itself and
everything it means.

<b>                    MATHILDE
</b>          Rounds?

<b>                    JACK
</b>          I've made up two sorts.

He reaches into the PICNIC HAMPER.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Thirty lead and thirty jacketed.

<b>                    MATHILDE
</b>          I should like a hundred of each.

It's an order: her voice is emotionless.

<b>                    MATHILDE
</b>          And fifty explosive.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Not a problem.

He hands her the practise ammunition in two small cartridge
boxes: the shells snug in little plastic trays.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Will mercury do?

She smiles almost imperceptibly.
<b>                                                     48.
</b>

<b>                    MATHILDE
</b>          Mercury will do very nicely.

She puts the gun down butt-first, leaning it against the side
of the car.

<b>                    MATHILDE
</b>          I have made my own targets.

She reaches into her BLUE CANVAS SPORTS BAG and removes
several pieces of folded cardboard strengthened with split
bamboo cane.

Without speaking she sets off through the alpine blooms. In
her wake flutter a confetti of butterflies and grass
crickets, honey bees sizzling frantically as her loose summer
skirt sweeps across the flowers.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Watch out for vipers.

He keeps his voice down but she hears him nonetheless, waving
with her right hand: the hand holding the AMMUNITION BOXES.
She's no fool.

Neither is he. He has the gun.

At ninety meters distance she stops beside a pile of smooth
stones- a boundary cairn- overgrown with little purple
trumpet blooms.

She unfolds the cardboard. At this distance all we can make
out is a silver-grey shape against the stones.

Returning to the car she picks up the weapon.

<b>                    MATHILDE
</b>          Muzzle velocity?

<b>                    JACK
</b>          At least three hundred and sixty
          miles per hour. That's including
          twenty off the top for the sound
          suppression.

Impressed, MATHILDE looks at the marks on the metal where the
serial number has been removed with acid.

<b>                    MATHILDE
</b>          Socimi?

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Eight-two-one.

<b>                    MATHILDE
</b>          I've not had one before.
<b>                                                     49.
</b>

<b>                       JACK
</b>             You'll find it easy. I've re-
             balanced it for the longer barrel.
             The fulcrum is two centimetres
             forward of the grip now. Which
             won't matter if you're firing- and
             I'm guessing you are- from a fixed
             position.

No answer.

<b>                       JACK
</b>             No major recoil issues. You should
             be able to hold onto any target.
             Even the smallest.

MATHILDE puts two jacketed rounds into the magazine and
stands with her feet apart, braced. The breeze beneath the
walnut tree ruffles her summer skirt and presses it against
her legs.

<b>CHOOP! CHOOP!
</b>
For a moment longer she holds on the target then lowers the
gun, holding it under her arm like a lady on a shire hunt
would hold a 12 bore.

<b>                       MATHILDE
</b>             You've done a good job, Mr. Clarke.
             Thank you. Thank you very much.

She makes a minute adjustment to the telescopic sight, with
her fingernail. She can't have turned the vertical screw more
than one notch.

Then she fully loads and fires again.

<b>CHOOP-CHOOP-CHOOP!
</b>
JACK lifts his binoculars and looks at the target. It's the
unmistakable outline of a BOEING 747-400, about one and a
half metres long. Painted against the cut-out is the upturn
at the end of the wing. The front doorway is shaded in.
Standing in it is the SILHOUETTE OF A MAN. In the centre of
his head are three small HOLES.

With the magazine containing the remaining 28 jacketed
rounds, MATHILDE takes aim again.

<b>CHOOP-CHOOP-CHOOP-CHOOP!
</b>
Through his binoculars, JACK can see the empty space where
the target's head used to be, the scarred stones behind and
the little scraps of cardboard floating on the warm air.

<b>                          JACK
</b>             Good shot.
<b>                                                     50.
</b>

MATHILDE says nothing. She fills the magazine with lead
rounds, snaps it in place and hands the weapon to JACK.

<b>                    MATHILDE
</b>          Go to the stones and fire near me.

He's taken aback.

<b>                       MATHILDE
</b>          Say...

She looks round for a target.

<b>                    MATHILDE
</b>          ...into the bush with the yellow
          flowers. Two bursts. Five seconds
          apart.

Slowly, JACK walks down to the stones, turns and looks back.
The CITROEN is well hidden in the deep shade of the walnut
tree. So is MATHILDE. In the poor light all he can see is her
dress and her blouse. He wipes the sweat from his eyes and
shuts them tightly.

This is not just a weapon test... it's a test of trust.

He opens his eyes again.

MATHILDE turns to face him as he shoulders the weapon.

He aims the SOCIMI at the YELLOW FLOWERS right beside her.

Holds his breath.

And pulls the trigger.

<b>CHOOP! CHOOP!
</b>
MATHILDE remains untouched.

So do the YELLOW FLOWERS.

Troubled, JACK blinks rapidly and counts to five.

Then he fires again.

<b>CHOOP! CHOOP! CHOOP!
</b>
Through the sight, we see two stems of YELLOW BLOSSOM fall
sideways.

Relieved, JACK walks slowly back to the car.

<b>                    MATHILDE
</b>          The sound suppression is superb. I
          couldn't place the direction of
          fire.
<b>                                                        51.
</b>

From her sports bag she removes a plain brown MANILLA
<b>ENVELOPE.
</b>
<b>                       MATHILDE
</b>             I shall require the rounds and the
             weapon by the first of next month.
             In the meantime would you tighten
             the adjusting screws on the sight,
             they are too loose. And lengthen
             the stock by three centimetres. I
             also want a sixty round magazine.

<b>                       JACK
</b>             You'll upset the balance.

<b>                       MATHILDE
</b>             I'm prepared to accept that.

<b>                       JACK
</b>             Then I'm happy to oblige.

<b>                       MATHILDE
</b>             What about the a case?

<b>                       JACK
</b>             A briefcase. Samsonite. Standard
             pattern in black with combination
             locks. Is there a number you'd
             prefer?

She thinks.

<b>                       MATHILDE
</b>             Eight-two-one.

<b>                       JACK
</b>             Eight-two-one.

MATHILDE hands him the ENVELOPE and disassembles the weapon.

JACK wraps the SOCIMI parts up in their cloth squares and
places them in the bottom of the PICNIC HAMPER.

<b>                       MATHILDE
</b>             What do you want done with these?

She has collected up the spent CARTRIDGE CASES.

<b>                       JACK
</b>             Throw them in the lake.

She walks down to the water and hurls the brass cases in.

FISH rise.

Again, the beauty of the place transfixes her.

By the time she turns back, JACK has laid out the picnic.
<b>                                                        52.
</b>

<b>                    MATHILDE
</b>          How thoughtful.

She picks up a bottle of wine.

<b>                    MATHILDE
</b>          I don't know Italian wine.

<b>                     JACK
</b>          Aspirinio. Like Mosacata but
          frizzante.

Deftly he uncorks a bottle.

And pours it into the grass.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          It wouldn't look right if the
          picnic wasn't touched.

<b>                    MATHILDE
</b>          You chilled the wine. I thought...

<b>                    JACK
</b>          It had to be chilled. They're
          Italian cops.

<b>                    MATHILDE
</b>              (disappointed)
          You think of everything.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          I'm paid to. Don't move.

She freezes.

JACK points slowly.

On her tanned forearm is a BUTTERFLY.

<b>                      MATHILDE
</b>          Wow.

They both stare at the insect, transfixed.

<b>                    MATHILDE
</b>          It's so beautiful.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Parnassius apollo. It's endangered.

She looks up at him. Like it's a revelation she says:

<b>                    MATHILDE
</b>          You like coming here.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          It serves its purpose.
<b>                                                          53.
</b>

<b>                         MATHILDE
</b>               You've never taken a woman here
               before?

     JACK is momentarily taken aback.

<b>                            JACK
</b>               No.

     The BUTTERFLY flits away.

<b>                         MATHILDE
</b>                   (sadly)
               Perhaps you do not have a woman in
               your life. It is not easy for us to
               keep relationships. Not in our
               world.

<b>                         JACK
</b>               I have an acquaintance.

     A beat.

     She waits for him to say more.

     He doesn't.

<b>                         MATHILDE
</b>               Friendships are transitory. It
               is...

     Suddenly, there's movement in the bushes.

     JACK snatches up his BINOCULARS. MATHILDE scans the tree
     cover.

<b>                            JACK
</b>               Wild boar.

     He hands her the binoculars. And hurriedly packs up the
     picnic.


<b>80   INT. CAR- DAY                                              80
</b>
     Her sunglasses back on, MATHILDE watches the meadows slip
     backwards in the nearside wing mirror as the car bumps back
     down the alpine track.

<b>                         MATHILDE
</b>               I wish you hadn't brought me here.

     Again... a real sadness.

     JACK glances at her.
<b>                                                          54.
</b>

<b>                            MATHILDE
</b>                  This is the sort of place I wish
                  I'd discovered by myself. Then
                  maybe one day I could have retired
                  here. But you already know it.

     JACK is touched.

<b>                            JACK
</b>                  I'm much older than you. By the
                  time you've retired I'll be dead.


<b>81   EXT. RURAL TRAIN STATION- DAY                                81
</b>
     The CITROEN pulls up.


<b>82   INT. CITROEN- DAY                                            82
</b>
     The YOUNG WOMAN's manner is once more tense and formal.

<b>                            MATHILDE
</b>                  We will meet as before?

     JACK nods.

     The distant sound of a DIESEL ENGINE. The train is
     approaching.

<b>                            MATHILDE
</b>                  On the first of next month?

     He nods again.

<b>                            MATHILDE
</b>                  Around noon?

     Not even a nod this time: just a slow blink.

     MATHILDE opens the door, runs around to the boot and grabs
     her canvas sports bag. Then returns to the passenger side of
     the car and looks in.

<b>                             MATHILDE
</b>                  Thank you for a lovely day. Mr.
                  Butterfly.

     She leans in..

     ...and kisses him lightly on the cheek, her lips light and
     quick on his stubble.

<b>                            MATHILDE
</b>                  You must take your mistress to the
                  meadow for a picnic.
<b>                                                          55.
</b>

     She closes the car door, walks onto the platform and vanishes
     onto a waiting carriage. The TRAIN honks and belches, moving
     off down the track in the direction from which it came.

     JACK watches it go.

     And drives off.

     Confused.


<b>83   INT. CASTEL DEL MONTE, LOCAL BAR- NIGHT                      83
</b>
     Two OLD MEN drinking beer at the bar. Two more at a table,
     playing Scopa with old fashioned Trentine playing cards.

     Sitting at the back of the room, JACK stares at a shot of
     Grappa.

     Above him, mounted on the wall, is a TELEVISION. On the TV is
     a Western: Charles Bronson and Henry Fonda in ONCE UPON A
<b>     TIME IN THE WEST.
</b>
     JACK downs his shot, gets up and walks over to the bar. Pays.

     The BARMAN nods at the screen.

<b>                           BARMAN
</b>                 Sergio Leone. Italiano.

     JACK turns and looks.

     HENRY FONDA in close-up, is about to shoot a red headed BOY
     of seven in the head.

     JACK stares. Just at the moment that the gun goes off...

     ...JACK turns away.

<b>                           BARMAN
</b>                     (in poor ENGLISH)
                 You like cow boy movie?

     JACK thinks.

     Then shakes his head.

<b>                           JACK
</b>                 Hokey.


<b>84   INT. BROTHEL, VIA LAMPEDUSA- NIGHT                           84
</b>
     CLARA and JACK are naked.

     JACK tries to kiss her on the lips but CLARA turns away: just
     enough to let him know this is against the rules.
<b>                                                          56.
</b>

     JACK kisses her neck. Her breasts. Her stomach.

     As he moves his head between her legs, her fingers (already
     ensnared in his hair) tighten their grip, stopping him from
     going further.

     JACK looks up at CLARA, across her belly, and she looks back
     at him, her expression fixed yet curious.

     Against her rules but not, we sense, against her wishes, JACK
     kisses CLARA softly, tenderly, deeply until she is moving
     against his tongue, using her sex like a mouth to kiss him in
     return.

     They make love, breaking each of Clara's two remaining rules
     in turn. First: JACK puts her in a position she initially
     resists. Then: he kisses her.

     CLARA comes, not wanting to.

     Suddenly, preoccupied, JACK does not.


<b>85   INT. BROTHEL, VIA LAMPEDUSA- NIGHT                         85
</b>
     JACK is in bed with CLARA.

<b>                          CLARA
</b>               Morboso?

     She looks at him.

<b>                         CLARA
</b>                   (with certainty)
               Morboso.

<b>                          JACK
</b>               Morboso?

<b>                         CLARA
</b>               Morboso is like... when you can't
               stop thinking about something.

     He stares back at her: wordless.

<b>                         CLARA
</b>               Or someone.

     A long pause: her eyes searching his. JACK sits up, lights a
     cigarette and stands by the window, looking through the
     blind, down into the street.

<b>                         JACK
</b>               You needn't act.

<b>                          CLARA
</b>               Act?
<b>                                                      57.
</b>

     CLARA watches him, confused but fascinated.

<b>                         JACK
</b>               You might have to act with your
               other clients but you don't have to
               pretend anything at all with me.

     She lights herself a cigarette.

<b>                         JACK
</b>               I want you to be yourself with me.
               Be as indifferent as you like. I
               came here to get pleasure, not to
               give it.

     He hands her CASH.

     She counts it.

<b>                         CLARA
</b>               Maybe I pretend very well. I got
               more tip than the other girls
               usually get.

     He walks to the door.

     Pauses.

<b>                         JACK
</b>               I don't sleep with the other girls.

     And leaves.



<b>86   INT. JACK'S ROOM- NIGHT                                86
</b>
     JACK is asleep.

     He is not alone.

     In the bed beside him:

<b>                               INGRID.
</b>
     Pale as death.

     Eyes rolled back in her sockets.

<b>                               ***
</b>
     JACK wakes up suddenly, gasping.

     The bed is empty, the sheets twisted and damp.
<b>                                                             58.
</b>

<b>87   EXT. CASTEL DEL MONTE- DAWN                                   87
</b>
<b>     SUNRISE...
</b>
     ...over one of the most desolate and beautiful landscapes in
     all Italy.


<b>88   INT. JACK'S ROOM- DAWN                                        88
</b>
     In the gun-metal light of dawn, fiddly work:

       -cartridges taken apart

       -tiny holes drilled in the nose to a depth of precisely 3mm

       -the hole half-filled with mercury

       -and plugged with a drop of liquid lead.

     JACK is converting jacketed ammunition into EXPLOSIVE
<b>     BULLETS.
</b>

<b>89   INT. CHURCH- DAY                                              89
</b>
     Outside, the sun is merciless. Inside, JACK has taken refuge
     in the cool of the church. He is alone. He is not praying.
     Just staring impassively at the gaudy crucifixion: at the
     thorns and the nails and the running blood.

     Footsteps. JACK checks for reflections in his watch.

     It's FATHER BENEDETTO: dressed for Mass.

<b>                            FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>                  I've been looking for you.

     He mops the sweat from his brow with the hem of his Soutane,
     takes JACK by the arm and leads him to one side, away from
     the light of the candles.

<b>                             FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>                  A man was here asking questions
                  about you.

     A beat.

<b>                            JACK
</b>                  Here?

<b>                             FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>                  He came to the church this
                  afternoon.

<b>                            JACK
</b>                  What did he want?
<b>                                                     59.
</b>

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          To know where you live. He said he
          was a friend from Switzerland.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Switzerland?

JACK thinks.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          And you told him?

The priest looks at with complete disdain:

<b>                     FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          Of course I do not tell him. How do
          I know him? He is maybe the police.
          Certainly he is no friend. A friend
          would know your pensione.
          Besides...

FATHER BENEDETTO leans close and whispers:

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          Friends do not carry guns.

FATHER BENEDETTO glances shrewdly at JACK, his eyes searching
into him.

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          If you live in Italy, and you are a
          man of the cloth, you meet many
          people. Besides, I lived once in
          Naples. If you live in Naples you
          know the difference between a fat
          wallet and a... custodia per armi
          di spalla. How you say in English?

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Shoulder holster.

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          Si.

JACK glances up and down the aisle.

OLD LADIES are dribbling into church in twos and threes.

The BELL for mass starts ringing.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          You're a true friend, father.

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          I am a priest.

JACK turns to go.
<b>                                                          60.
</b>

<b>                         FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>               Signor Clarke?

     Again the priest leans close, holding JACK by the elbow in a
     gesture of austere confidence.

<b>                         FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>               I make a mistake. He did not say he
               was from La Svizzera: Switzerland.
               He said- forgive me the names in
               Italian are so similar- La Svezia:
               Sweden.


<b>90   EXT. CHURCH, ROOF- DAY                                      90
</b>
     THREE BELLS are ringing in the tower. Beneath them, a row of
     mediaeval GARGOYLES (dragons, griffins, dogs and devils) look
     down over the little town, their faces frightening or
     frightened.

     JACK is among the gargoyles, leaning over parapet, his eyes
     made huge by a pair of tiny binoculars, surveying the town
     below, checking each square of the grid for a glimpse of the
<b>     YOUNG MAN.
</b>
     Nothing. Then he notices:

     Parked in the shadow of a spreading chestnut tree not far
     from the main square. An AUDI...

     ...with the YOUNG MAN we spotted in Castelveccio market
     sitting at the wheel.


<b>91   EXT. CASTEL DEL MONTE, STREET- NIGHT                        91
</b>
     The YOUNG MAN comes out of a shop.

     This is the first time we've seen him up close. In his early
     thirties, he's wearing a dark brown leather jacket and
     expensive jeans. His blonde hair is cropped short, and
     there's the hint of a botched prison-cell tattoo visible just
     beneath the collar of his shirt.

     The YOUNG MAN opens a small silver tin and a single deft
     movement removes a portion of SNUS (Swedish chewing tobacco)
     and inserts the it between his top lip and gum.

     It is a strangely sinister act.

     Then he blends in with the tourists, milling down the Corso
     and round the square heading towards...
<b>                                                           61.
</b>

<b>92   INT. BAR- NIGHT                                              92
</b>
     JACK is sitting in the window, making himself as visible as
     possible to the world outside.

     He downs a Grappa: then gets up to pay for it. His movements
     are slow and leisurely.

     The BARMAN hands him his change. And a small white ENVELOPE.

     JACK is not expecting this.

<b>                         BARMAN
</b>                   (in ITALIAN)
               Someone left this for
               "L'Americano". This afternoon.

     JACK looks at the ENVELOPE.

<b>                         JACK
</b>               Grazie.

     He turns casually away from the BARMAN's prying eyes and
     opens the envelope with extreme caution.

     Inside is a folded CUTTING. It's from the Swedish Daily
     newspaper ÖSTERSUNDS-POSTEN.

     JACK unfolds the cutting. We catch a glimpse of:

     -Ingrid's dacha.

     -A police line.

     -Three dead bodies in the snow: the two hitmen and the girl.

     Heart racing, JACK slips the cutting in his pocket.

     Grabs three SUGAR CUBES from a silver bowl on the bar.

     And leaves.


<b>93   EXT. CASTEL DEL MONTE, TOWN SQUARE- NIGHT                    93
</b>
     The YOUNG MAN is watching a PUPPET SHOW in the middle of the
     square. The PUPPETEER is using glove puppets and the Punch
     and Judy style performance involves Punch fucking Judy with a
     grotesquely carved, outsize sex organ. There is a large crowd
     gathered.

     JACK leaves the bar, turning left and walking purposefully
     down the street.

     The YOUNG MAN follows.
<b>                                                           62.
</b>

<b>94   EXT. CASTEL DEL MONTE, CORSO FREDERICO- NIGHT                94
</b>
     It's a hot summer night and there are more tourists than
     usual.

     The YOUNG MAN uses them as cover.

     JACK turns down a dark, deserted alleyway.

     The YOUNG MAN hesitates.

     His right hand moves casually to his jacket pocket.

     And he follows.


<b>95   EXT. ALLEYWAY- NIGHT                                         95
</b>
     We're with the YOUNG MAN as he stalks his prey through the
     mediaeval maze of streets...

     We end up in the narrow alleyway that JACK photographed on
     his first day in town.

     Up ahead, disappearing round a distant bend, we catch a
     glimpse of JACK, his heels CLACKING on the cobbles.

     The YOUNG MAN follows swiftly, his trainers silent. He gets
     to a crossroads where FOUR NARROW ALLEYWAYS- all identical-
     converge. The YOUNG MAN is unsure which alleyway to take.

     The streets are empty.

     He listens.

     From an upstairs window he can hear the soundtrack of a late
     night film on television. It's a romantic film, the violins
     muffled and sad with longing.

     From another alleyway comes the sound of SAVAGE BARKING. The
     YOUNG MAN looks around for the source of the barking, but the
     streets are empty.

     Suddenly, the barking stops.

     The YOUNG MAN looks confused.

     From his right hand jacket pocket we hear the unmistakable
     CLICK of a cocking mechanism.


<b>96   EXT. COURTYARD- NIGHT                                        96
</b>
     We're recognise the secret courtyard: the one reached by
     means of the hidden archway.

     With one hand, JACK feeds another SUGAR CUBE to the MONGREL.
<b>                                                             63.
</b>

     With the other hand, he holds his WALTHER behind his back...

     ...and cocks it.


<b>97   EXT. ALLEYWAY- NIGHT                                          97
</b>
     The YOUNG MAN is waiting at the far end of the alleyway,
     hugging the wall, scanning the CROSSROADS ahead, unsure which
     of the four possible alleyways holds his prey.

     JACK emerges from the HIDDEN ARCHWAY and walks quickly up
     behind him.

     JACK has removed his shoes and his bare feet are silent.

     He has thirty metres to cover. The gun hangs heavy in his
     right hand. It's fitted with a TAC 65 SOUND SUPPRESSOR. He
     raises his right hand.

     Twenty metres.

     The gun is pointing at the YOUNG MAN.

     Fifteen metres.

     His finger takes up the slack of the trigger.

     Ten meters.

     Then:

     A DUCATI turns into the alleyway behind JACK, its headlights
     on full beam.

     JACK drops his right hand and thrusts his silenced WALTHER
     deep into his jacket pocket.

     The YOUNG MAN looks his way.

     JACK is outlined by the moped's beam of light.

     The two men are face to face, within spitting distance.

     The DUCATI hurtles towards the YOUNG MAN.

     The MAN ON THE DUCATI is wearing a tinted BLACK CRASH HELMET.

     The YOUNG MAN's eyes widen with fear.

<b>     BANG!
</b>
     The DUCATI misfires.

     Mistaking the sound for gunfire, the YOUNG MAN drops, rolls
     and fires back.

     We hear the sound of a single suppressed shot: CHOOP!
<b>                                                           64.
</b>

      The BULLET grazes the FRONT SUSPENSION of the DUCATI and
      lodges in the REAR COWLING.

      The MAN ON THE DUCATI swerves and crashes, hitting a stone
      staircase.

      JACK looks around.

      The YOUNG MAN has disappeared.

      The MAN ON THE DUCATI is out cold.

      The front wheel of his DUCATI turns slowly, squeaking.

<b>      CHOOP!
</b>
      A bullet hits the road not far from JACK.

<b>      CHOOP!
</b>
      Another bullet hits the wall behind him.

      Swiftly, JACK grabs hold of the battered 1970s DUCATI...


<b>98    EXT. CASTEL DEL MONTE,    MEDIAVEVAL MAZE- NIGHT             98
</b>
      JACK rides the classic DUCATI, turning left and right without
      hesitation, through archways, down steps, dropping level by
      level, cursing in time with his jagged breathing until...


<b>99    EXT. CASTEL DEL MONTE, OUTSKIRTS OF TOWN- NIGHT              99
</b>
      JACK emerges from the bottom of the town and races away on
      the winding road.

      Silence. All we can hear are the crickets.

      Then the sound of a car.

      An AUDI tears past us, following JACK out of town.


<b>100   EXT. ALPINE ROAD- NIGHT                                    100
</b>
      JACK is heading for the mountains. He takes the first corner
      at 70 MPH.

      The AUDI gleams black in the moonlight. Gaining on him.


<b>101   EXT. ANOTHER ANGLE- NIGHT                                  101
</b>
      JACK takes the next bend at top speed, his classic 1970
      1000cc engine howling.

      The AUDI slows, then powers through the bend, accelerating.
<b>                                                           65.
</b>

<b>102   INT. AUDI- NIGHT                                            102
</b>
      The YOUNG MAN puts his foot down.

      The SPEEDOMETER climbs.


<b>103   EXT. ALPINE ROAD- NIGHT                                     103
</b>
      The AUDI comes up swiftly behind Jack's DUCATI and tries to
      ram him.

      JACK dodges the AUDI, swerving from one side of the road to
      another.


<b>104   EXT. VIADUCT- NIGHT                                         104
</b>
      A soaring concrete bridge spans a plunging alpine valley.

      The AUDI overtakes the DUCATI, then swerves left, trying to
      crush JACK against the concrete barrier that masks a three
      hundred and fifty foot fall.

      JACK breaks hard and the AUDI misses him, smashing into the
      concrete barrier amidst a shower of sparks and screeching
      metal.

      The AUDI follows the DUCATI into...


<b>105   EXT. ALPINE TUNNEL- NIGHT                                   105
</b>
      Long, dark, neon-lit... and blind curved.

      The AUDI comes up fast behind the DUCATI.

      Jack swerves the DUCATI onto the other side of the road.

      The AUDI swerves left and tries to crush JACK into the left-
      hand wall of the tunnel.

      Suddenly, a CAR comes round the bend.

      What happens next happens fast:

      JACK swerves left and skids into a SERVICE LAY-BY, narrowly
      avoiding the CAR.

      The lay-by is small and JACK has to slide the DUCATI on it's
      side as he crashes it into the box-like space.

      The lay-by is too small for the AUDI.

      The AUDI and oncoming CAR collide.

      The AUDI's crumple zones buckle as both vehicles' bonnets
      concertina like a road safety test.
<b>                                                           66.
</b>

      The AUDI has air bags. The oncoming CAR does not.

      On impact, its DRIVER goes through the windscreen of his own
      car and onwards, through the windscreen of the AUDI.

      The wreckage is awesome.

      Deep within the mangled metal of the two cars...

      ...the YOUNG MAN groans and twitches.

      JACK appears at the crumpled window of the AUDI.

      He reaches through the broken window, grabs the YOUNG MAN by
      the head...

      ...and breaks his neck.


<b>106   EXT. WOODS- DAWN                                            106
</b>
      JACK washes away the worst of the dirt and the blood in a
<b>      MOUNTAIN STREAM.
</b>

<b>107   EXT. ROAD- DAY                                              107
</b>
      JACK on the DUCATI.

      Turns off at a sign for L'AQUILA.


<b>108   EXT. L'AQUILA- MORNING                                      108
</b>
      L'AQUILA is the nearest and largest town in the region. It's
      also the location of the Via Lampedusa brothel.

      JACK comes out of a pharmacy and quite literally bumps into
<b>      CLARA.
</b>
      He winces with pain.

<b>                          CLARA
</b>                Buon giorno!

<b>                          JACK
</b>                Buon giorno.

<b>                          CLARA
</b>                You are hurt?

<b>                             JACK
</b>                I'm fine.

<b>                          CLARA
</b>                What's wrong with you?
<b>                                                           67.
</b>

<b>                             JACK
</b>                   It's nothing really. Just a broken
                   rib. Un costollo rotta?

<b>                             CLARA
</b>                   Stronzo! Let me help you!

<b>                             JACK
</b>                   I came off my bike.

<b>                             CLARA
</b>                   But you have to go to the hospital!

<b>                             JACK
</b>                   No, no, no. I have pain killers. I
                   just need a strong cup of coffee.

<b>                             CLARA
</b>                   I know a place which make the
                   strongest coffee in L'Aquila.

      Her limpid brown eyes twinkle.


<b>109   INT. CLARA'S APARTMENT- DAY                                109
</b>
      A small, simply furnished bedroom with a bed, a desk and a
      chair.

      As he sips a large cup of strong black coffee, CLARA cleans a
      vicious welt on his right shoulder blade.

      As the dirt and blood come away she reveals an exquisite
      tattoo...

      ...of a BUTTERFLY.

<b>                             CLARA
</b>                   Ve bene. Tutto posto. Signor
                   Farfalla. [Good. Everything's OK.
                   Mr. Butterfly.]

      His eyes open wide and he turns to her quickly.

<b>                             JACK
</b>                   Why d'you call me that?

      A beat.

<b>                             CLARA
</b>                   You have a tattoo. On your back.

      Of course.

      He relaxes.

      But not completely.
<b>                                                              68.
</b>

<b>110   EXT. CASTELVECCHIO- DAY                                       110
</b>
      The situation at the beginning of the movie is perfectly
      reversed.

      From the relative safety of CASTELVECCHIO, JACK watches
      CASTEL DEL MONTE through binoculars:

      -The Phone Box.

      -The Bar.

      -The pensione D'Abruzzo.

      No sign of the police. No sign of any Shadow Dwellers.


<b>111   EXT. CASTEL DEL MONTE, TOWN SQUARE- SUNSET                    111
</b>
      JACK is in his usual phone box. His manner is quietly
      purposeful.

<b>                            JACK
</b>                  How did he know I was here, Larry?

<b>                            LARRY (V.O.)
</b>                  You think I hired him?

      A beat.

<b>                            LARRY (V.O.)
</b>                  Are you out of your fucking mind,
                  Jack?

<b>                            JACK
</b>                  I doubt it.

<b>                            LARRY (V.O.)
</b>                  After everything I've done for you?
                  The car, the cell phone (which you
                  threw away), the safehouse, the
                  fake passport? Someone has to pay
                  for this shit, Jack! I have to pay
                  for this shit. It comes out of my
                  commission. You're my lousy profit
                  margin. Why the fuck would I take a
                  contract out on my own profit
                  margin? You're not thinking
                  straight. I was the one who told
                  you to leave town! I told you to
                  come to Rome! God damn it you've
                  got a job to do! Why the Hell would
<b>                  I...
</b>
<b>      WHAM!
</b>
      Something smacks into the phone box at high speed.
<b>                                                             69.
</b>

      JACK drops to his knees and reaches for his WALTHER.

      Outside the phone box three TEENAGERS are kicking a FOOTBALL
      around.


<b>112   INT. JACK'S ROOM- NIGHT                                      112
</b>
      TINS of fruit drops: three kinds: black cherry, pineapple and
      lemon. Each tin is emptied of its fruit drops.

      Twenty rounds of ammunition- each round packed in silica- fit
      exactly into each tin.

      Lead rounds in the black cherry, jacketed in the pineapple
      and explosive in the lemon.

      JACK re-seals each tin with sellotape.


<b>113   EXT. L'AQUILA, CORSO FREDERICO II - DAY                      113
</b>
      The colonnades of this popular pedestrain street are crowded
      with window shoppers, tourists taking coffee, old men
      discussing politics and office girls walking hand in hand and
      chattering like songbirds.

      JACK is in dark glasses. He's sitting in a coffee shop under
      the colonnade sucking a fruit drop and reading a copy of Il
      Messagiero.

      C.U. we see he's studying a small column concerning the
      murder of two prostitutes in the nearby city of Chieti.

      JACK spots CLARA walking along the corso. She's with a girl
      he has not seen before. ANNA. ANNA is small town girl with a
      keen sense of fashion. She and CLARA are hand in hand.

      CLARA sees JACK and speaks to her friend.

      They cross through the throng of boulevardiers.

<b>                          CLARA
</b>                My friend Anna. This is my friend
                Signor Farfalla.

      CLARA's eyes twinkle mischievously.

      The girls cease to hold hands and ANNA offers hers to JACK.
      JACK half rises like the perfect gentlemen, folding his
      newspaper and accepting ANNA's greeting.

<b>                          JACK
</b>                How do you do?

<b>                          ANNA
</b>                I am very well thank you.
<b>                                                      70.
</b>

Ah. This is to be an impromptu English lesson. JACK
acquiesces gracefully.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Will you take a coffee with me?

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          That would be very good.

He indicates two empty chairs.

<b>                      JACK
</b>          Prego.

CLARA moves her chair to sit closer to JACK. Under the table,
her knee presses against his.

ANNA also moves her chair nearer to JACK: but her motive is
to move it out of the sun. She is not flirting.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          Anna is learning English.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Have you been to England?

ANNA seems momentarily confused.

<b>                    ANNA
</b>          But you are...

She looks at CLARA.

<b>                    ANNA
</b>          Lui Americano?

<b>                      JACK
</b>          I am.

JACK glances at CLARA.

How much has she told her friend?

<b>                    ANNA
</b>          Ah. I have not been to England only
          to France. But I would love to go
          to America.

The WAITER comes over.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Due cappuccini e un cafe corretto.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          Anna is like all Italians. She
          thinks America is like in the
          movies. Little Italy, "West Side
          Story", "Chicago".
<b>                    (MORE)
</b><b>                                                           71.
</b>
                          CLARA (cont'd)
                I tell her in these times America
                is like here, there, anywhere. The
                streets are not... pave-ed with
                gold.

      She beams happily at JACK. He smiles back at her.

<b>                          JACK
</b>                If not with gold, than at least not
                with enough medieval cobbles to
                loosen every-self tapping screw in
                a Fiat.

      JACK beams. Neither girl understands. But everyone smiles
      happily.

      The WAITER brings the coffee and CLARA insists on paying.

<b>                          JACK
</b>                Where do you come from, Anna?

      ANNA frowns. JACK plays teacher.

<b>                          JACK
</b>                Dove abita?

<b>                          ANNA
</b>                Ah, yes! I live in Via dell'
                Argilla. Nearby to Clara.

      JACK briefly wonders what else he could teach her. He scans
      both girls and decides CLARA is the prettier. CLARA seems to
      sense this. She smiles to herself.

      JACK is touched.


<b>114   EXT. CORSO FREDERICO II, L'AQUILA- DAY                      114
</b>
      We cut wide and watch JACK talk inconsequentialities with the
      girls. They stand to go. JACK rises.

<b>                          CLARA
</b>                Perhaps we will have a drink
                together soon? I am free...

      Her words sound rehearsed. She considers a crowded timetable.

<b>                          CLARA
</b>                ...on Monday.

<b>                          JACK
</b>                Great. I'll see you then.

<b>                          CLARA
</b>                But Eduardo... Where would you like
                to meet?
<b>                                                     72.
</b>

Again: rehearsed. JACK is not expecting this. CLARA looks at
him mischievously. ANNA is listening.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          How about our usual place?

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          Our usual place?

She feigns complete perplexity.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          I forgot. Where is our usual place?

<b>                    JACK
</b>          You've forgotten?

<b>                       CLARA
</b>          Remind me.

The twinkle in her eye. She's testing him. JACK is the
perfect gentleman.

<b>                     JACK
</b>          Maybe we should try something
          different.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          Where would you like to try,
          Eduardo?

A beat. JACK spots a restaurant on the opposite side of the
road.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Locanda Grapelli?

There is no warmth in his suggestion. But CLARA doesn't care.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          Locanda Grapelli! Si!

She looks genuinely delighted.

<b>                    ANNA
</b>          This is the best food in the area.

<b>                       JACK
</b>          Good.

<b>                       CLARA
</b>          Seven?

<b>                       JACK
</b>          Seven.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          Locanda Grapelli.
<b>                                                           73.
</b>

<b>                          JACK
</b>                Locanda Grapelli.

<b>                          CLARA
</b>                You'll be there?

<b>                          JACK
</b>                I'll be there.

<b>                          CLARA
</b>                See you then, Eduardo.

<b>                          JACK
</b>                See you then, Clara. It was a
                delight to meet you Anna.
                Arrivederci.

<b>                          ANNA
</b>                Arrivederci, Signor Farfalla.

      There is an unmistakable twinkle in ANNA's eye. How much she
      knows is uncertain. She kisses him swiftly and softly on the
      cheek.

      CLARA does the same on the lips. Behind the mischief in her
      eyes is something doubtful. Has she gone too far?


<b>115   EXT. DOWNTOWN L'AQUILA- DAY                                115
</b>
      JACK visits three stores:

      -In a PHOTOGRAPHIC SHOP he buys half a dozen FILM PROTECTION
<b>      BAGS.
</b>
      -In a HABERDASHERS he purchases several packets of HOOKS and
      EYES like the kind you find on brassieres.

      -In a OFFICE SUPPLY SHOP he buys some custom made headed
      notepaper, invoice books, notepads, envelopes, metal pens, a
      calculator and a mobile phone.


<b>116   INT. JACK'S ROOM- NIGHT                                    116
</b>
      JACK opens a black combination lock SAMSONITE BRIEFCASE and
      lines the bottom and sides with the lead-lined film
      protection bags, cut to fit.

      Into the base of the briefcase he glues pre-shaped pieces of
      firm grey plastic foam. These form the pockets into which he
      slots the constituent parts of the SOCIMI SUBMACHINE GUN.
      They fit perfectly.

      Over this JACK uses the HOOKS and EYES to clip a false
      bottom: a tough card cover onto which are pasted the custom
      made headed notepaper, invoice books, notepads and envelopes.
<b>                                                           74.
</b>

      To the briefcase's central divider he adds the metal pens, a
      calculator and a mobile phone. He sets the combination to
      821. Then shuts and locks the BRIEFCASE.

      This done he sits on the bed and stares at the case. With his
      work complete, he is struck by a terrible sense of emptiness.


<b>117   EXT. PARCO DELLA RESISTENZA - JUST BEFORE DAWN              117
</b>
      A small park not far from Castel Del Monte's town square.

      It is just after dawn. The pine trees and the poplars are
      silent. The sun is not yet up but the day is light. Sparrows
      hop about, searching for crumbs.

      JACK, ravaged by lack of sleep, wonders about like the demon
      of a lost darkness, looking for his hole down to the
      underworld.

<b>                          FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>                Buon giorno!

      He's twenty meters away, his hand raised in half-welcome,
      half-benediction.

      They greet one another and FATHER BENEDETTO falls into slow
      step with JACK. The priest walks with his hands behind his
      back. JACK with his hands in his pockets.

<b>                          FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>                I walk here to meditate. Once a
                week, Wednesday, the farthest one
                can travel in the week from the
                Sabbath. The trees are like the
                Stations of the Cross: by certain
                trees I thank God for certain
                favours he has granted me, or
                certain gifts he has made to me and
                all men. For example, here by this
                pine, I thank him for the many
                friendships I have and ask him to
                look after those of my friends who
                are troubled.

      They reach a Cypress tree and FATHER BENEDETTO bows his head
      in prayer. After a while he says:

<b>                          FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>                Some walk here in the cool of
                evening. Others come at night.

      There is a slight sadness in his voice as he says to himself:

<b>                          FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>                I wonder how many bastards have
                been made here?
<b>                                                75.
</b>

He gives a small sideways glance at JACK.

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          Perhaps you'll stay and settle here
          yourself?

<b>                    JACK
</b>          What makes you think I'm leaving?

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          You told me as much when we first
          met. Besides, those who seek for
          peace seldom find it. They're
          always moving on, looking
          elsewhere. [A BEAT] And they are
          usually sinners.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          All men are sinners.

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          Some are greater sinners than
          others. And those who seek peace
          have much sinning in their history.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          I don't seek peace. I never have.

<b>                       FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          Until now.

<b>                     JACK
</b>          Perhaps. Perhaps I'll stay. The
          valley. The villages. The
          mountains.

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          Forgive me. This is the priest in
          me speaking. And the friend. But
          you have done much sinning, Signor
          Clarke. You still do.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          I see a whore. She's young enough
          to be my daughter.

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          I do not refer to the sins of
          carnality. But to the deadly
          sins...

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Aren't all sins equal?

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          We are not discussing theology, my
          friend, but you. You like this
          town, this valley.
<b>                    (MORE)
</b><b>                                                     76.
</b>
                    FATHER BENEDETTO (cont'd)
          You should like to remain here and
          find your peace at last. Yet you
          cannot. There is something you
          cannot ignore. Some force. Some
          enemy.

JACK is silent.

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          You want to speak but you dare not.
          You know no one sufficiently well
          to share your history with them.
          You know I am trustworthy yet still
          you are cautious.

FATHER BENEDETTO stops, compelling JACK to stop too- and face
him.

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          What job do you do, Signor? Are you
          on the run, as they say?

<b>                      JACK
</b>          Who says?

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          It's an expression, no?

<b>                     JACK
</b>          Everyone's on the run from
          something.

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          Some men watch some of the shadows.
          You watch them all.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          I've done nothing I didn't have
          good cause to do.

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          Do you wish to tell me?

<b>                    JACK
</b>          For what reason?

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          For your own sake. Perhaps I can
          pray for you?

A change of pace.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          I make things. Artifacts.

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          Counterfeit money?
<b>                                                     77.
</b>

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Why do you say that?

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          You work in metal. You are given
          some steel by Fabio, the car
          doctor.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          You know a lot about me.

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          I know only what you do in the
          town. People talk to me. I am their
          priest and they trust me.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          And I should too?

<b>                       FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          Of course.

They stare at one another.

JACK wants to confess. He does not know why.

But he doesn't. He does something we're not expecting:

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Fabio. The `car doctor'. Was he
          conceived here father?

FATHER BENEDETTO is motionless.

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          Why do you ask me that?

<b>                    JACK
</b>          He looks like you. Even more than
          he does in the photos you keep of
          each other. Where was he conceived,
          father? Under one of these trees?
          At night? Like all the other
          bastards?

There is a very, very long pause. FATHER BENEDETTO stares up
at JACK with extraordinary intensity.

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          I do not remember, Signor. It was
          twenty-five years ago.

FATHER BENEDETTO walks. JACK follows. A gust of wind makes
dust swirl from the gravel path. The two men do not speak
again until they reach the next set of Cyprus trees.
<b>                                                           78.
</b>

<b>                           FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>                 In the end it is I who confesses to
                 you.

<b>                           JACK
</b>                 Expecting me to reciprocate?

<b>                           FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>                 Perhaps. For your own good. You
                 cannot doubt the existence of Hell.
                 You live in it. It is a place
                 without love. As for me, I go about
                 my daily duties because the town
                 requires it of me. Some know what
                 you know. Perhaps I have no right
                 to wear these robes. But I do have
                 a heart full of a father's love.
                 Something close to His heart! And
                 for that I am both grateful and
                 happy.

      On JACK.

<b>                           FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>                 What do you have, my friend?

      Another gust of wind. The priest looks up into JACK's face.

      The assassin's eyes are red and stinging. Perhaps its from
      the dust.


<b>118   INT. JACK'S ROOM- EVENING                                  118
</b>
      JACK dresses very carefully for dinner.

      It is clear he wishes to make a favourable impression upon
<b>      CLARA.
</b>

<b>119   EXT. LOCANDA GRAPELLI- NIGHT                               119
</b>
      Stone steps lead up from the street to large paved veranda
      that overlooks the town. Overhead a canopy of vine and
      jasmine. Above that a sky full of stars.

      Of the thirty or so candle-lit tables that dot the veranda,
      more than half are occupied by romantic couples.

      JACK scans the tables and checks his watch. It's shortly
      after seven pm and there's no sign of CLARA.

      He waits. Then turns to leave.

<b>                           CLARA (O.S.)
</b>                 Ciao.
<b>                                                              79.
</b>

      She kisses him once on the lips. She's hot and flustered.
      She's been rushing.

<b>                          CLARA
</b>                I did not think you would come.

<b>                          JACK
</b>                I wasn't sure you meant me to.

      CLARA looks doubtful. It's the same look she gave him at the
      cafe. She is breaking the golden rule of prostitution.
      Getting involved. Her heart is pulling one way and her head
      another.

<b>                             CLARA
</b>                Certo.

      A WAITER approaches.

<b>                             WAITER
</b>                Per due?

      Judging by his disapproving tone, the WAITER seems to know
      what CLARA does for a living. CLARA senses this immediately.

<b>                             CLARA
</b>                Si.


<b>120   EXT. LOCANDA GRAPPELLI- NIGHT                                 120
</b>
      CLARA and JACK sit at a table overlooking the town.

      The WAITER lights their candle and deposits two menus
      peremptorily.

<b>                          CLARA
</b>                Una botiglia di acqua minerale non
                gasata et... una Parasini, per
                favore.

      Completely ignoring her, the WAITER addresses JACK with a
      wink.

<b>                          WAITER
</b>                Menu in Inglese?

      A beat.

<b>                          JACK
</b>                No, grazie.

<b>                          WAITER
</b>                Tedesco? Olandese?

<b>                          CLARA
</b>                    (to the WAITER)
                He speaks Italian. So do I. Listen:
<b>                                                        80.
</b>

She repeats her order, articulating each word emphatically,
like a teacher to a slow school child:

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          Una botiglia di acqua minerale et
          una Parasini, per favore.

She isn't upset. It's just her way of letting both men know
that she's in charge.

The WAITER turns to her, deferring to her strength of
character.

<b>                    WAITER
</b>          Gasata?

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          Non gasata.

He nods with some genuine deference and leaves.

CLARA sighs.

<b>                     CLARA
</b>              (mostly to herself)
          Cittadina.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Small towns.

JACK smiles. CLARA smiles back. They have this contempt in
common.

The WAITER reappears and pours a thumbful of wine. It is pale
red in colour and frizzante. At CLARA's insistence, JACK
tastes it. It is dry and has a tar-like aftertaste.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          Parasini. From Calabria. It is
          good, you will agree?

<b>                    JACK
</b>          It is. Very good.

He looks at her and- for a brief moment- he undergoes what is
a unique experience for him: a positive longing to repeat
this brief moment many times in the future.

CLARA catches the glow of his warmth and blossoms.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          Can I ask you something, Eduardo?

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Sure.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          You are married?
<b>                                                     81.
</b>

<b>                    JACK
</b>          No.

A beat.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          I doubt any of the couples here
          are. With the exception of the
          Germans at table seven. She's
          wearing a wedding ring and they
          haven't spoken a word to each other
          for eight and half minutes.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          I was sure this was your secret.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          What makes you think I have a
          secret? I'm an ordinary man. I
          cough. I fart. I earn a living.

JACK observes a GYPSY selling roses.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          I do not think you are an ordinary
          man. I think you are a good man.
          But you have a secret.

The GYPSY approaches, offering CLARA a ROSE. She refuses
firmly.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          He thinks we are a couple.

JACK signals to the GYPSY and buys CLARA a ROSE.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Why spoil the illusion?

She looks at him and smiles.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>              (in ITALIAN)
          As long as we know it is an
          illusion.

Her smile is only a little bit sad.

Still, JACK doesn't know what to say.

They are saved by the appearance of the WAITER.

<b>                    WAITER
</b>          Buona sera. Desidera?

CLARA orders, full of Italian charm, putting JACK at his
ease. He watches her contentedly: the way she talks and
moves.
<b>                                                             82.
</b>

<b>121   EXT. CORSO FREDERICO- NIGHT                                  121
</b>
      JACK   and CLARA are walking. He has a cigarette in his mouth.
      They   look like film stars. CLARA slips her arm through his.
      They   say nothing. The pedestrian shopping street is thronging
      with   other couples.


<b>122   EXT. COFFEE BAR- NIGHT                                       122
</b>
      The coffee bar has an outside section. CLARA and L'AMERICANO
      are seated in a throng of happy youngsters Clara's age. JACK
      is the oldest person there.

      The WAITRESS brings two glasses of PROSECCO. She puts a small
      silver bowl of raspberry ice cream down in front of JACK. In
      front of CLARA she puts down an extravagant ice cream sundae.
      CLARA grins at her sundae like a little girl. She's a bit
      drunk.

<b>                               CLARA
</b>                  Woooow!

      She eats, savoring the ice cream. JACK watches, savoring her
      pleasure.

<b>                               JACK
</b>                  How is it?

<b>                               CLARA
</b>                  Bitchin'.

<b>                            JACK
</b>                      (amused)
                  Bitchin'?

<b>                            CLARA
</b>                  It's- come se dice- `slang', no?
                  Eco.

      She scoops a spoonful dripping with nuts and chocolate sauce
      and holds it out to JACK.

<b>                               JACK
</b>                  No thanks.

<b>                            CLARA
</b>                  Come on, Eduardo!

      He hesitates. He eats.

<b>                            CLARA
</b>                  It is good, you will agree?

<b>                            JACK
</b>                      (his mouth full)
                  I will agree.
<b>                                                       83.
</b>

<b>                    CLARA
</b>              (sensing his teasing)
          My English is nice!

<b>                    JACK
</b>          It's bitchin'.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>              (defending herself)
          You know how to swear in Italian?

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Sure. Bastardo. Imbecile.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          "Imbecile?" Eduardo! Try: Mangia
          merde e morte: tuo cazzo un
          brufolo.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Eat shit and die, pimple dick?

CLARA hiccups.

<b>                      CLARA
</b>          Perdone!

<b>                    JACK
</b>          I guess I've led a sheltered life.
          Of sorts.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          Shell-tered?

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Too much work.

CLARA's CELL PHONE starts to ring. It's on silent, but the
screen is flashing, just visible where it sticks out of her
handbag. CLARA looks down at the phone.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          Too much work.

She turns the phone to silent. And looks up at JACK.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          I don't apologise, Eduardo.

<b>                      JACK
</b>          For what?

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          For this I do. My job.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Never apologise.
<b>                                                84.
</b>

He means it.

A beat.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          Except this job is full of testa di
          cazzo.

<b>                      JACK
</b>          Mine too.

<b>                      CLARA
</b>          Lei?

<b>                      JACK
</b>          Si.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          But you are too young to...
          pensione?

<b>                      JACK
</b>          Retire.

<b>                      CLARA
</b>          Si.

<b>                      JACK
</b>          Liar.

<b>                      CLARA
</b>          No!

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Would you be flattering me if I
          wasn't a client?

He's put CLARA on the spot.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Am I a client?

CLARA takes a deep breath.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          This say yes.

She points at her head.

<b>                      CLARA
</b>          This...

She points at her heart.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          This cannot be for sale. But I am
          not want to... come se dice?
<b>                                                           85.
</b>

<b>                           JACK
</b>                 Give it away.

      She looks at him.

      JACK studies her, searching for his own feelings.

<b>                           CLARA
</b>                 Stronzo! I buy you a present!

      She fishes about in her handbag...

      ...and produces a SILVER BOX.

      JACK unwraps the shiny paper. Inside is a plastic case like
      the sort you put engagement rings in. Inside the case is a
      BADGE, hand-painted, depicting the symbol of the region: the
      eagle of L'Aquila. JACK sticks the BADGE in his lapel.

<b>                             JACK
</b>                 Grazie.

      An embarrassed beat.

      CLARA kisses him.

<b>                           JACK
</b>                 Grazie, Clara.

<b>                           CLARA
</b>                 Prego. Eduardo.

      A pause.

<b>                           CLARA
</b>                 My apartment is not far from here.


<b>123   INT. CLARA'S APARTMENT- MORNING                            123
</b>
      JACK opens his eyes.

      Sits up.

      He's shocked to have slept so deeply.

      CLARA must be in the shower.

      He looks around at the little room casually, like a curious
      lover.

      Opens the top drawer of the bedside cabinet.

      Finds a VIBRATOR.

      Opens the bottom drawer.

      Finds a RED PURSE.
<b>                                                             86.
</b>

      Inside the RED PURSE...

      Finds a BERETTA DOUBLE-ACTION MODEL 21A BOBCAT.

      Just at that moment CLARA comes out of the bathroom.

      JACK shuts the drawer and pretends to be asleep.


<b>124   EXT.PAY PHONE- DAY                                           124
</b>
      JACK has driven to the remotest phone box he can find: not
      far from the entrance to one of the region's four national
      parks: beside a lake, below a mountain range and approached
      by a long, straight, empty road.

      No one could possibly creep up on him here. Nevertheless, as
      he talks, JACK makes his habitual and continuous 360 scan of
      the area.

<b>                          LARRY (V.O.)
</b>                We're moving the drop.

<b>                           JACK
</b>                Where?

<b>                          LARRY (V.O.)
</b>                We don't know yet. I'll call you
                ten am on the day with a venue.
                Give you enough time to make the
                noon delivery.

<b>                          JACK
</b>                I don't deliver, Larry. I never
                deliver. It's too dangerous. She
                comes to me. I know the town.
                That's what we agreed.

<b>                          LARRY (V.O.)
</b>                I told `em. I told `em if there was
                even the slightest chance security
                had been breached, you'd have dealt
                with it immediately.

      A beat.

<b>                          JACK
</b>                Breach? What breach?

      For the first time in the movie we cut to LARRY at home:


<b>125   INT. LARRY'S APARTMENT, ROME- DAY                            125
</b>
      LARRY is sitting in a high back leather office chair before a
      large, imperial mahogany desk. In front of him are two banks
      of screens.
<b>                                                           87.
</b>

      The first bank displays 3 CCTV views: (1) the entrance to his
      apartment block (2) a staircase and (3) the entrance to his
      apartment itself.

      Another bank of screens shows 3 NEWS CHANNELS: (1) CNN, (2)
      BBC WORLD and (3) AL JAZEERA.

<b>                          LARRY
</b>                Our pretty young Belgian client and
                her associates think someone on
                your long list of enemies might
                have put a tail on you.

<b>                          JACK (V.O.)
</b>                Not possible.

<b>                          LARRY
</b>                Course not, Jack. But if, for the
                sake of argument, it was possible-
                I'm thinking it could be Galazzo.
                Or Simenov. Or Italian undercover.

<b>                           JACK (V.O.)
</b>                Cops?

<b>                          LARRY
</b>                The crooked kind.

<b>                          JACK (V.O.)
</b>                How come I'm still here?

<b>                          LARRY
</b>                The Belgians think they're planning
                to wait for the drop and
                exterminate you and Mathilde in one
                swoop.

      With the help of his DESKTOP computer LARRY is comparing the
      scrolling share prices on CNN with the fluctuating value of
      the US DOLLAR.

<b>                          JACK (V.O.)
</b>                Where the hell's this information
                coming from?

<b>                          LARRY
</b>                I'm fucked if I know, Jack. If you
                want my opinion, they're just being
                jittery. I told `em you were the
                most security conscious
                professional I know. I told `em no
                one gets close to you.


<b>126   EXT.PAY PHONE- DAY                                         126
</b>
<b>                          JACK
</b>                They don't.
<b>                                                             88.
</b>

<b>                           LARRY (V.O.)
</b>                 I told `em if we couldn't trust you
                 to keep a tight lid on operations
                 the who could we trust?

<b>                           JACK
</b>                 They can. They can trust me and so
                 can you.

      JACK is tense. Every word is carefully enunciated:

<b>                           JACK
</b>                 I've never jeopardised an operation
                 in my life.

<b>                           LARRY (V.O.)
</b>                 You don't have to tell me that,
                 Jack. For Christ's sake, you closed
                 your own girlfriend's account...

      ECU on JACK.


<b>127   INT. LARRY'S APARTMENT, ROME- DAY                            127
</b>
      The words are out before he can stop them.

<b>                           LARRY
</b>                 Jack? [A BEAT] Jack? I'm sorry.

      He rubs his eyes, wearied by his own insensitivity.

<b>                           LARRY
</b>                 That was, um.... I'm just saying
                 you can be relied on.

      Silence.

<b>                            LARRY
</b>                 Jack?

<b>      CLICK.
</b>

<b>128   EXT. PAY PHONE- DAY                                          128
</b>
      JACK has hung up.

      He is lost in fearful thought, jaw muscles grinding.


<b>129   EXT. CHURCH, ROOF- NIGHT                                     129
</b>
      Amongst the GARGOYLES...

      ...JACK, looking through his miniature binoculars.

      His POV:
<b>                                                           89.
</b>

      Of CLARA seated in a cafe talking to a slick, tough YOUNG
      ITALIAN MAN in a suit.

      He is showing her photographs. Of what- we cannot see. CLARA
      looks very, very serious.

      The YOUNG ITALIAN MAN leaves. JACK watches him get into a
      smart black ALFA ROMEO containing two other ITALIAN MEN. Rome
      plates.

      When he looks back at the cafe, CLARA has gone.


<b>130   INT. PENSIONE ABRUZZO, JACK'S ROOM- DAY                     130
</b>
      JACK opens his PICNIC HAMPER and in it he puts:

      -a polystyrene cool box packed with ice and containing a
      chilled bottle of Aspirinio

      -a loaf of course bread

      -two clods of mozarella

      -150 gms of proscuitto

      -and his WALTHER PPK/S.


<b>131   EXT. CASTEL DEL MONTE- DAY                                  131
</b>
      CLARA is waiting on the Via Strinella near the entrance to
      the Parco della Resistanza, sheltering in the shade of a
      tree.

      She is holding the RED PURSE. At her feet is blue plastic bag
      rounded out by a watermelon.

      JACK pulls his CAR into the curb.

<b>                            CLARA
</b>                  Ciao, Eduardo!

      She opens the passenger door, leans in and kisses JACK long
      and full on the lips.

<b>                             JACK
</b>                  Put them in the back. We've got a
                  way to go.

      She puts the plastic bag in the trunk.

      Inside the trunk is the PICNIC HAMPER.


<b>132   INT. CAR-   DAY                                             132
</b>
      CLARA climbs in and fastens her seat-belt.
<b>                                                           90.
</b>

      She puts the RED PURSE between her legs. JACK glances at the
<b>      RED PURSE.
</b>
      And drives.

<b>                          CLARA
</b>                Where we go?

<b>                            JACK
</b>                Swimming.

<b>                          CLARA
</b>                How far do we go? To Fanale?

<b>                          JACK
</b>                An hour. And we're not going to the
                sea, we're going to the lakes. In
                the mountains.

<b>                          CLARA
</b>                For a... come se dice... you have
                in the back...

<b>                            JACK
</b>                A picnic.

<b>                          CLARA
</b>                A pick-nick! We are going for a
                pick-nick. Just the two of us.

      She looks at him.

<b>                          CLARA
</b>                I have practise my English,
                Eduardo. I love to have pick-nick.
                It is a beautiful day, isn't it?

<b>                            JACK
</b>                It is.


<b>133   EXT. ALPINE ROAD- DAY                                      133
</b>
      The CAR negotiates a familiar hairpin bend.


<b>134   INT. CAR- DAY                                              134
</b>
      CLARA is station hopping.

      She finds some LOU REED. She loves LOUD REED.

      JACK is concentrating on the road.

<b>                          CLARA
</b>                Is it more far?
<b>                                                           91.
</b>

<b>                          JACK
</b>                Ten kilometres. Another twenty
                minutes.

      She pauses to work out the mathematics. She's smart. And
      puzzled. But she's not frightened. Not yet.

<b>                          CLARA
</b>                Twelve kilometres? In twenty
                minutes?

<b>                          JACK
</b>                We're going off the beaten track.

      She looks confused.

<b>                          JACK
</b>                Lontano. Fuori mano.

      CLARA laughs.

<b>                          CLARA
</b>                You will speak Italian. One day, I
                will teach you.


<b>135   EXT. ALPINE TRACK- DAY                                     135
</b>
      JACK turns off the main road and onto an alpine track.

      This is the same route he took with the Belgian woman.

      The CAR bumps and tilts on the rough terrain.


<b>136   INT. CAR- CONTINUOUS                                       136
</b>
      CLARA is startled by such an insignificant track.

<b>                          CLARA
</b>                Where are we going?

      Now she's anxious. This is not what she expected.

<b>                          JACK
</b>                You shall see.

<b>                          CLARA
</b>                I think it is good we should stay
                close to the road.

<b>                          JACK
</b>                There's no need to worry. I've been
                here before several times. Taking
                photographs.

      He swings the wheel suddenly to avoid a large boulder and the
      Citroen pitches as if struck by a wave.
<b>                                                     92.
</b>

CLARA clings to the door with her right hand, her left hand
dug deep into the fabric of the seat to steady herself.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          You're not afraid of coming into
          the wild with me, are you?

<b>                      CLARA
</b>          No!

She laughs tensely.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          Of course I am not. Not with you.
          But this...

She snaps her fingers.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          ...sentiero!

She waves her hand in the air.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          You should have a jeep. A Toyota.
          It is not good for a... berlina.

It's as if the increased danger of the track diminishes her
English.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          This is a Citroen!

He strikes the steering wheel hard with the palm of his hand.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          This was made by the French for
          taking potatoes to market. Besides,
          I always come here in this car.

<b>                      CLARA
</b>          You sure?

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Of course. I don't want to walk
          back to town any more than you do.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          I think you are crazy. This will go
          to nowhere.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          I assure you it does.

She pouts her reply. The TRACK disappears into a WOOD and
runs out altogether, giving way to grass.
<b>                                                     93.
</b>

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          Now there is no road!

JACK stops the car and turns the engines off.

Sudden silence.

CLARA lets go of the seat.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          Is this where we go?

They are surrounded by trees.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          No. Not quite. We go another
          hundred metres, through the wood.
          But from here we just roll forward.
          No motor. No sound. And you'll see
          a wonder.

She grips the seat again.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          You won't need to hold on. I'll go
          slowly. Just relax and look.

He eases his foot off the brake and the car begins to move
forward, the springs squeaking slightly. After 50 metres JACK
twists the steering wheel slightly and applies the brakes.
They roll gradually down to the outer edge of the woods and
come to a stop beneath a familiarly squat but ample WALNUT
<b>TREE.
</b>
Beyond them is the LAKE, the MEADOWS and the RUINED HAMLET.
The hidden valley is a riot of colour, the blooms and
blossoms more brilliant than we've ever seen them. By the
edge of the lake stands a HERON, still as fence post.

CLARA gets out of the car, dumbstruck. JACK gets out too. He
watches her... then swiftly checks the ruined hamlet through
his miniature binoculars. Deserted. By the time CLARA turns
towards him, the binoculars are hidden.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          No one comes here?

She speaks so quietly JACK can barely hear her.

<b>                      JACK
</b>          No.

<b>                      CLARA
</b>          Just you.

<b>                      JACK
</b>          Yes.
<b>                                                     94.
</b>

CLARA turns away, unbuttons her blouse and drops it on the
grass. She is wearing no bra. On her back dapple the shadows
and patches of sun eking through the branches of the walnut.
She kicks off her shoes, which curve through the air... and
unzips her skirt. It falls to the grass. She bends and steps
daintily from her knickers. Then turns to face JACK.

JACK cannot take his eyes off her. Dizzy, he steps forward
without meaning to.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          Well?

She is coquettish- and tosses her auburn hair to one side.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          I am going to swim in the lake. Are
          you coming?

She doesn't wait for his reply, but turns and runs through
the grass towards the water.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          There are vipers! Vipera! Marasso!

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          Maybe! But I am lucky!

The HERON flies off, rising from the reeds with an ungainly
flapping.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>              (shouting)
          He is an Italian bird! We disturb
          his siesta!

Quickly, JACK glances inside the CITROEN.

The RED PURSE is nowhere to be seen.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          Come, Signor Farfalla!

JACK undresses. As he removes his clothes, he stalls for
time, using the cover of undressing to search for the RED
<b>PURSE.
</b>
We can see it wedged under the passenger seat.

Due to the design of the car, JACK cannot.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          Come!

JACK turns to face the lake. He is naked. Yet with the
caution of years he does not remove his shoes until he
reaches the water's edge.
<b>                                                     95.
</b>

CLARA is standing in the middle.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          Stand by me.

He obeys her order. He walks out to her and she takes his
hand under the water, holding it out in front of them.

JACK spots it resting on the smooth stone of the lake-bed.
Brassy and gleaming. A SPENT SHELL. He covers it with his
foot.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          Keep still. Watch.

As the ripples of his arrival peter out in the reeds, TINY
FISH appear in a shoal to gather about their hands. They
hover like slivers of glass just under the surface then move
in to nibble at the skin on their fingers.

<b>                     JACK
</b>          If we stay here for a year, they'll
          devour us.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          It is said that if these fishes
          bite at two hands holding, then
          love is good for the people.

He looks at her and for a moment he forgets the awful plan in
his head.

She kisses him, pressing herself against him, her skin and
body as pure and warm as the water.

He tries helplessly to pull away.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Maybe we should...

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          Do you make love in the water?

<b>                       JACK
</b>          I haven't.

She places her arms around his neck and raises her feet from
the smooth stones, wrapping her legs around his waist. She
tries to push herself onto him but he resists.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          What's wrong?

He doesn't know what to say. She looks at him: confused,
searching.

<b>                       JACK
</b>          Let's eat.
<b>                                                           96.
</b>

      He walks towards the bank. She follows. The tiny fish dart
      around them for a few moments then flee for the reeds,
      travelling with the waves made by their departure.


<b>137   EXT. LAKESIDE- DAY                                         137
</b>
      CLARA is lying naked on a blanket.

      Beside her is the RED PURSE.

      Through sleepy, half-closed eyes she is watching L'AMERICANO.

      From her POV, JACK is kneeling behind the open PICNIC HAMPER,
      unpacking the food and wine. The LID of the basket obscures
      his hands.

<b>                           CLARA
</b>                Eduardo.

      JACK looks at her.

<b>                          CLARA
</b>                Is this your real name?

      A beat.

<b>                          JACK
</b>                Is Clara yours?

<b>                           CLARA
</b>                Si. Yes.

      She looks at him. Waiting for his reply.

<b>                          JACK
</b>                Edward is my real name.

<b>                           CLARA
</b>                Ed-ward.

      She doesn't believe him.

<b>                          CLARA
</b>                You are sure you are not married,
                Eduardo?

<b>                          JACK
</b>                Quite sure.

      About this he's telling the truth.

      CLARA reaches for the RED PURSE.

      From behind the picnic hamper lid we hear the CLICK of a
      cocking mechanism.

      CLARA hesitates for a moment.
<b>                                                     97.
</b>

JACK watches her intently.

She reaches into her purse.

JACK is expressionless.

When CLARA withdraws her right hand she is holding a tube of
<b>SUNTAN LOTION.
</b>
A beat.

JACK watches as she commences smoothing it into her skin,
rubbing it around her breasts, pushing them aside, pressing
them upwards. Then she caresses the lotion into her belly and
down her thighs, bending at the waist as she works it into
her shins.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          Will you put this on my back?

She proffers him the SUNTAN LOTION.

JACK stares at her baking body, transfixed by its terrible
and perfect beauty.

Hidden behind the LID of the picnic hamper...

...his trembling right hand grips tightly to his WALTHER.

A long pause.

<b>                      CLARA
</b>          Eduardo?

He's frozen.

<b>                      CLARA
</b>          Amore?

Time seems to stop.

ECU on JACK.

Suddenly, CLARA sits up.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          Eduardo, what's wrong?

JACK swallows.

When he speaks his mouth his dry.

<b>                      JACK
</b>          Nothing.

When he moves towards her, he is holding nothing in his
hands.
<b>                                                     98.
</b>

      He takes the tube of SUNTAN lotion.

<b>                          JACK (V.O.)
</b>                Dear Father Benedetto...

      And begins to run it into CLARA's back.

<b>                          JACK (V.O.)
</b>                I promised myself that I would
                write to you- as your friend- to
                say goodbye.


<b>138   EXT. WOODS- DAY                                      138
</b>
<b>      SLAM!
</b>
      JACK shuts the boot of the car.

      He scans the lakeside.

      No sign of the picnic.

      No sign of CLARA.

<b>                          JACK (V.O.)
</b>                Everything I've ever done...

      Then he spots something.

      On the ground, not far from the car.

      He walks over and picks it up.

      It's one of CLARA's shoes.

<b>                          JACK (V.O.)
</b>                I've done for a reason.

      JACK is staring at the SHOE.

<b>                          JACK (V.O.)
</b>                I never thought the day would come
                when I'd run out of reasons.
                Reasons to worry. Reasons to run.
                Reasons to pull the trigger.

      JACK turns and walks over to the car.

      CLARA is in the passenger seat.

<b>                          JACK (V.O.)
</b>                Maybe that day's come.

      JACK gets into the Citroen.
<b>                                                     99.
</b>

<b>                      JACK (V.O.)
</b>           Or maybe I've just found a reason
           to change.

And hands CLARA her shoe.

<b>                     CLARA
</b>           Grazie, Eduardo.

<b>                     JACK
</b>           I still don't understand. What's
           the point of a gun if it's not
           loaded?

<b>                     CLARA
</b>           One of the girls borrow it to me
           after the second hooker in Chieti
           is murdered. With some of the
           clients it make me feel safe. I
           don't tell the police, of course,
           but... Madonna, Eduardo. How they
           do to these two women! A police
           agente from Rome show me
           photographs. They show photographs
           to everyone in Via Lampedusa.

CLARA shivers with disgust.

<b>                     CLARA
</b>           Non capito... how one person hurt
           another in this way.

JACK looks lost, like a man drained of all resolution.

<b>                     JACK
</b>           Does the gun make you feel safer
           with me?

<b>                     CLARA
</b>           You are not a client.

<b>                     JACK
</b>           Then why's it in your purse?

CLARA looks unhappy.

<b>                     CLARA
</b>           I have to work tonight, amore.

Silence.

JACK looks away.

<b>                     JACK (V.O.)
</b>           Maybe this is suicide. Cops often
           put the graft on working girls.
           Perhaps the girl I told you about,
           Clara, has sold me out.
<b>                     (MORE)
</b><b>                                                    100.
</b>
                    JACK (V.O.) (cont'd)
          Maybe she's a cop herself, or maybe
          she's a hired gun. Then again,
          maybe Clara is who she says she is
          and my Belgian clients will take
          the gun, shoot me themselves and
          keep the money. Always a risk in my
          profession. Or perhaps my trusted
          colleague in Rome no longer trusts
          me. Perhaps even you, Father, with
          your connections in Naples...

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          What will you do?

<b>                    JACK
</b>          I guess I'll go to work too.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          And after that? Tomorrow and the
          next day.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          I can't stay here forever.

As the words leave his lips he thinks how much he wishes he
could.

<b>                    JACK (V.O.)
</b>          It's not that I've given up on
          life, Father. Just the way that I
          was living it. If you can call it
          living.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          I want always to stay here.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          It's time to go home.

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          Let me come to your home.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          I can't, Clara. One day...

She's upset but decides not to press her demand.

<b>                    JACK (V.O.)
</b>          If I had one request, Father, it
          would be this. That it's not Clara
          who finally pulls the trigger. But
          whoever it is...

CLARA kisses him and simply says:

<b>                    CLARA
</b>          Stay forever here.
<b>                                                          101.
</b>

<b>                           JACK (V.O.)
</b>                 ...by this time tomorrow I'll be
                 dead.

      Fade to black.




<b>      FADE IN:
</b>

<b>139   EXT/INT. CHURCH- DAY                                        139
</b>
      A POSTMAN hands the mail to FATHER BENEDETTO.

<b>                           FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>                 Ciao Fabio, come stai?

<b>                           IL POSTINO
</b>                 Bene grazie, Padre.

      We follow FATHER BENEDETTO inside as he rifles through a
      bunch of church circulars. One LETTER catches his eye.

      He opens it and starts to read aloud:

<b>                           FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>                 Dear Father Benedetto. I promised
                 myself that I would write to you-
                 as your friend- to say goodbye...


<b>140   INT. JACK'S ROOM- DAWN                                      140
</b>
      JACK stands by the door in a impeccably pressed suit, the
      black SAMSONITE BRIEFCASE in his hand.

      He surveys his room. All evidence of his existence has been
      meticulously tidied away.

<b>                           FATHER BENEDETTO (V.O.)
</b>                 Everything I've ever done...

      JACK leaves.

      Only thing is left behind:

      The book of MEDIEVAL ITALIAN ART & ARCHITECTURE on the
      bedside table.

<b>                           FATHER BENEDETTO (V.O.)
</b>                 I've done for a reason.
<b>                                                          102.
</b>

<b>141   EXT. AUTOSTRADA- DAY                                        141
</b>
      The sun is shining. The mountains young and sharp and
      beautiful. The CAR moves swiftly across the viaduct that
      spans a spectacular gorge and plunges into a long tunnel.


<b>142   INT. CAR- CONTINUOUS                                        142
</b>
      JACK watches the road. On the long straights he looks
      backwards and forwards.


<b>143   EXT. SERVICE STATION- DAY                                   143
</b>
      JACK comes off the autostrada on a slip road and pulls into a
      forecourt consisting of several rows of Agip and Q8 pumps, a
      convenience shop, a repair garage and a cafe.

      The car park is not large. JACK parks the Citroen facing the
      EXIT. There is a single bar across it but this is raised.

      JACK double checks the magazine in his handgun is full and
      slips his WALTHER into his jacket pocket.

      Stepping out of the car he looks around the car park. It's
      only a quarter full and ominously quiet. Somewhere in the
      distance we can hear a sound: creak, creak, creak, creak...

      JACK takes the BRIEFCASE from the rear seat and walks away.
      He makes a show of locking the car but doesn't.

      As he approaches the CAFE he passes the GARAGE. We see the
      source of the creak, creak, creaking sound: a SIGN for engine
      oil, on hinges, revolving slowly in the breeze.


<b>144   INT. AUTOSTRADA CAFE- DAY                                   144
</b>
      Empty.

      JACK sits at a table at the back of the cafe. From here he
      can see both entrances: the public entrance and the service
      entrance and also the door to the bathrooms. Through the
      window, he has a good view of the garage forecourt and the
      slip road to and from the autostrada.

      JACK places the BRIEFCASE on a chair beside him and puts a
      PAPER BAG on the table next to the sugar dispenser. He checks
      his watch. It is two minutes before noon. He orders an
      espresso.

      His nerve-heightened senses take in everything: the sound of
      the cicadas, the buzz of the neon strip-lights and the creak,
      creak, creak of the engine oil sign outside, endlessly
      revolving.

      JACK's eyes flick outside to the forecourt.
<b>                                                    103.
</b>

We hear the cafe door open.

And in an instant, MATHILDE is at his table.

She is dressed in a tight black skirt, a simple blue blouse
and a dark blue jacket. Her hair is neatly styled, her make-
up immaculate and heavier than we've seen her wear before.
She looks exactly like the kind of woman who might carry a
Samsonite briefcase.

<b>                    MATHILDE
</b>          Hello. I see you have brought it in
          from the car with you.

She speaks quietly: her voice low and attractive.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          All there, as agreed.

<b>                    MATHILDE
</b>          What's in the paper bag?

The WAITRESS comes over with Jack's coffee. MATHILDE orders
another for herself.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          Sweets. For your journey.

She opens the bag and takes out one of the TINS.

She can immediately feel that it's heavier than it should be.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          I guessed you'd have a sweet tooth.

<b>                    MATHILDE
</b>          That is most thoughtful of you.

The polite phrase sounds even more polite with her slight
Belgian accent.

The WAITRESS returns with the second espresso and MATHILDE
pays for them both.

JACK watches as she stirs her coffee to cool it. She's
nervous.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          I suppose I'll read about this in
          the Times or the International
          Herald Tribune. Or Il Maessagiero.

For a moment she is pensive.

<b>                    MATHILDE
</b>          Yes, I expect so.
<b>                                                          104.
</b>

      She drinks her coffee, holding her cup in mid-air and looking
      out the window.

      JACK follows her eye-line to check she's not signalling to an
      accomplice.

      The FORECOURT is still empty.

      Creak, creak, creak, creak...

      MATHILDE looks at JACK. Her expression is impossible to read.
      Perhaps it's tinged with sadness. She drinks the rest of her
      coffee.

<b>                          MATHILDE
</b>                I'm just going to the ladies. Wait
                here.

      She picks up the CASE.

      There is nothing JACK can do about this. She has taken him
      off guard and grasped the initiative.

      All he can do is wait.


<b>145   INT. AUTOSTRADA BATHROOM- CONTINUOUS                       145
</b>
      MATHILDE enters a cubicle, opens the CASE, bypasses the
      stationary, lifts the false bottom and checks the SOCIMI
      parts are present and correct.

      Then she loads a magazine.


<b>146   INT. AUTOSTRADA CAFE- DAY                                  146
</b>
      MATHILDE returns from the bathroom.

<b>                          MATHILDE
</b>                Shall we go.

      Not a question, a command.

      JACK is obliged to stand up.


<b>147   EXT. AUTOSTRADA, CAR PARK- DAY                             147
</b>
      MATHILDE walks towards a large FORD.

      She is carrying the BRIEFCASE.

      JACK has his right hand in his jacket pocket.

<b>                          MATHILDE
</b>                You won't need your piece.
<b>                                                    105.
</b>

The slang word belies her. For an instant she has forgotten
her Belgian accent. She sounds American.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          You never know.

She stops beside the FORD.

JACK still has his hands on the Walther.

<b>                       MATHILDE
</b><b>          OK?
</b>
<b>                       JACK
</b>          Sure. You?

<b>                    MATHILDE
</b>          Everything's just fine.

She definitely sounds American now.

Her RIGHT HAND slips into her pocket.

JACK twists his wrist upwards and thumbs the cocking lever.

<b>                    MATHILDE
</b>          Final payment.

She hands JACK an ENVELOPE.

<b>                    MATHILDE
</b>          Buy yourself a retirement clock.

Her American accent shows that she's letting her guard down.
Maybe it's designed to make JACK do the same.

It doesn't.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          How do you know I'm retiring?

She leans forward and kisses him lightly and quickly and on
the lips.

<b>                    MATHILDE
</b>          Have you taken your girl up to the
          meadow yet?

JACK doesn't answer. His whole body is tense for the bullet
that he knows his coming. Perhaps there is a second person in
the car.

Just then...

...a COACH pulls into the car park.

It stops with a hydraulic hiss and dozens of TEENAGE KIDS
descend.
<b>                                                             106.
</b>

      MATHILDE looks both irritated and relieved.

<b>                             MATHILDE
</b>                       (whispers to JACK)
                   Do it.

      She gets into the driver's seat of the FORD and swings the
      BRIEFCASE into the back.

<b>                             MATHILDE
</b>                   Goodbye, Mr. Butterfly.

      JACK tenses as MATHILDE raises her hand in farewell.

      The FORD pulls away and disappears down the slip road onto
      the autostrada.

      JACK watches it go.

      Thumbs back the lever on his Walther.

      Gets into his Citroen.

      And opens the ENVELOPE.

      -No wires.

      -No tricks.

      -Just a HUNDRED THOUSAND US DOLLARS.

      JACK stares at the money. He isn't supposed to be alive. For
      a while he stays put. He shuts his eyes in the sunshine and
      listens to the laughter of the teenage kids. To a girl
      calling: "Amore!" To the cicadas. To the distant rush of
      traffic on the autostrada.

<b>                                                    SMASH CUT TO:
</b>

<b>148   EXT. AUTOSTRADA- DAY                                          148
</b>
      JACK drives fast...

      ...turning off the highway beneath a sign for L'AQUILA.


<b>149   EXT. L'AQUILA- DAY                                            149
</b>
      At the end a small street, JACK parks his car like a true
      Italian: illegally.

      Runs towards CLARA'S APARTMENT.

      And rings the buzzer.

      No answer.
<b>                                                          107.
</b>

      JACK rings again.

      Still nothing.

      Shouts up at her window:

<b>                             JACK
</b><b>                CLARA!
</b>

<b>150   EXT. AUTOSTRADA, CAFE- DAY                                  150
</b>
      We're at another roadside service station.

      LARRY comes out of a Kentucky Fried Chicken.

      He climbs into the passenger seat of the FORD.

      MATHILDE drives off.


<b>151   INT. FORD- DAY                                              151
</b>
      LARRY is dusting bread crumbs off his shirt.

      He's about to get his hands dirty and he doesn't like it.

<b>                          LARRY
</b>                Not only did you not kill him, you
                gave him my fucking money?

<b>                          MATHILDE
</b>                What else could I do? There were
                kids everywhere. Besides he's
                suspicious.

<b>                          LARRY
</b>                He's paranoid. That's why I'm
                paying you the GDP of a small
                country to get close to him. You
                could have got him in the sack. You
                should have got him in the car
                park. Now you're going to have to
                take him out long range!

<b>                          MATHILDE
</b>                I prefer it that way.

      She is a trained assassin. She respects JACK.

<b>                          MATHILDE
</b>                The Socimi is the perfect weapon.

<b>                          LARRY
</b>                Let's hope his workmanship is up to
                scratch.
<b>                                                             108.
</b>

      He slams a full magazine into the butt of a STERLING
<b>      SUBMACHINE GUN.
</b>
<b>                          LARRY
</b>                Sweden turned Jack into a
                liability. Three stiffs: two
                shooters and an innocent civilian.
                I can't afford a mistake like that
                again. Europol are crooked but they
                aren't cheap. Jack's supposed to
                make me money. Not run up cleaning
                bills.

<b>                           MATHILDE
</b>                He made short work of the last guy
                you hired.

<b>                          LARRY
</b>                Never mind Larson. He didn't stand
                a chance, not against someone as
                paranoid as Jack. The Swede was
                only there to take Jack's heat off
                you. So don't fuck this up again.

      He grabs a TIN of fruit sweets.

<b>                          LARRY
</b>                Mind if I help myself?

      LARRY opens the tin to find it full of AMMUNITION.

<b>                             LARRY
</b>                Shit.

      He looks around the Ford.

<b>                          LARRY
</b>                Is there any actual candy in this
                gas guzzler?


<b>152   EXT. AUTOSTRADA- DAY                                          152
</b>
      JACK turns off under the sign for CASTEL DEL MONTE.


<b>153   EXT. CASTEL DEL MONTE, CHURCH STEPS- DAY                      153
</b>
      The town square is jam-packed with cars and coaches.

      Hundreds of tourists and locals have gathered on the church
      steps. There is even a camera crew.

      The church doors open and FATHER BENEDETTO steps out to a
      huge cheer.

      Behind him, LOCAL MEN are carrying a larger than life painted
      wooden STATUE OF SAINT DOMINIC.
<b>                                                            109.
</b>

      Draped over the saint's shoulder and wrapped around his neck
      are around twenty five or thirty live SNAKES- local Viperi-
      each one several feet long and as thick as a skinny forearm.

      A local BAND strikes up as the STATUE is carried down the
      steps, FATHER BENEDETTO leading the strange annual religious
      parade around the town square, followed by a group of ALTAR
<b>      BOYS.
</b>

<b>154   EXT. CASTEL DEL MONTE, STREET- DAY                           154
</b>
      The giant FORD pulls up outside the town's only proper HOTEL.

      MATHILDE gets out carrying the SAMSONITE BRIEFCASE.


<b>155   EXT. CASTEL DEL MONTE, TOWN SQUARE- DAY                      155
</b>
      JACK is looking for someone. The square is so tightly packed
      it's hard to see, let alone move.

      Then he spots her.

<b>      CLARA.
</b>
      She's on the other side of the square, standing on the stone
      steps beneath a STATUE OF AN EAGLE. Her friend ANNA is beside
      her, taking photographs of the parade with a small digital
      camera. JACK moves towards CLARA.

      ANNA, through her viewfinder, is the first to notice him. She
      points JACK out to CLARA. CLARA waves at him. She says
      something to ANNA and descends into the crowd. JACK and CLARA
      squeeze their way through a sea of bodies towards one another
      as we cut to...


<b>156   EXT. HOTEL ROOF- DAY                                         156
</b>
      MATHILDE emerges through the fire escape door and walks to
      the edge of the roof.

      She opens the black SAMSONITE CASE and unpacks the top layer
      of office paraphernalia to reveal the disassembled parts of
      the SOCIMI SUBMACHINE GUN.

      Expertly she assembles the bastardised gun- including
      TELESCOPIC SIGHTS and SOUND SUPPRESSOR- slotting a full
      magazine into the base of the hand grip, snuggling the butt
      to her shoulder and placing her eye beside the rubber cup on
      the sight.


<b>157   EXT. POV FROM TELESCOPIC SIGHTS- DAY                         157
</b>
      In the centre of the CROSS-HAIRS:
<b>                                                          110.
</b>

      JACK and CLARA meet.

      She kisses him. It is a long and loving kiss.

      The CROSS-HAIRS find the centre of JACK's head.


<b>158   INSERT:                                                     158
</b>
      MATHILDE'S FINGER... taking up the trigger slack.


<b>159   EXT. TELESCOPIC SIGHTS- DAY                                 159
</b>
      Other HEADS...

<b>      -TOURISTS
</b>
<b>      -LOCALS
</b>
      -KIDS on their PARENTS' SHOULDERS

      ...keep blocking our view of JACK.


<b>160   INSERT:                                                     160
</b>
      The TRIGGER FINGER, hesitating.


<b>161   EXT. TOWN SQUARE- DAY                                       161
</b>
      We're right in the midst of the crowd.

      JACK and CLARA have to shout at one another above the noise
      of the band.

<b>                            JACK
</b>                  When can I see you?

<b>                            CLARA
</b>                  I have to work tonight.

      Their happiness clouds over. But the clouds pass quickly.

<b>                            CLARA
</b>                  You come to my apartment after.

<b>                            JACK
</b>                  If I asked you would you come away
                  with me?

<b>                            CLARA
</b>                  Come away with you?

<b>                             JACK
</b>                  Why not?
<b>                                                          111.
</b>

<b>                             CLARA
</b>                 Together?

<b>                             JACK
</b>                 Together.

<b>                             CLARA
</b>                 Where?

<b>                           JACK
</b>                 Wherever. Then when we're through,
                 we could come back here. For good.

<b>                             CLARA
</b>                 To live?

<b>                           JACK
</b>                 Where else?

<b>                             CLARA
</b>                 Forever?

<b>                             JACK
</b>                 Forever.

      A pause.

<b>                           JACK
</b>                 Unless you have other plans.

<b>                           CLARA
</b>                 Other plans?

      She swears in Italian. Obscenities. Then throws herself
      around JACK and squeezes him with all her strength. There are
      tears in her eyes.

<b>                           CLARA
</b>                 I love you, Signor Eduardo
                 Farfalla.

      He looks at her.

<b>                             JACK
</b><b>                 I...
</b>

<b>162   INSERT:                                                    162
</b>
      The TRIGGER FINGER squeezes.

      The SOCIMI SUBMACHINE fires.

      An EXPLOSIVE BULLET travels down the chamber at approximately
      360 miles per hour headed straight for JACK's temporal lobe.

      Only it never gets there.
<b>                                                          112.
</b>

      The gun jams.

      A chamber explosion is a nasty thing. Instead of shooting out
      of the barrel, the round explodes in the cannon's chamber.

      Hot shrapnel fragments like a land mine, ripping into
      MATHILDE's hands, forearms and face...


<b>163   EXT. CASTEL DEL MONTE, TOWN SQUARE- DAY                    163
</b>
      A loud BANG pulls JACK and CLARA apart. Amidst the noise of
      the festival, no one else seems to notice.

      JACK looks in the direction of the HOTEL ROOF.

<b>                          CLARA
</b>                What's happening?

<b>                          JACK
</b>                Someone got what was coming to
                them.

      He turns to her:

<b>                          JACK
</b>                Go to your apartment and pack. Wait
                `till I get there. Don't answer the
                door to anyone but me.

<b>                          CLARA
</b>                Eduardo, please?

<b>                            JACK
</b>                Trust me.

      She looks at him.

<b>                          CLARA
</b>                I trust you.

      She wants to, but she doesn't.

<b>                          JACK
</b>                Clara. My name is not Eduardo.

<b>                            CLARA
</b>                No?

<b>                          JACK
</b>                My name is Jack.

<b>                            CLARA
</b>                Jack.

      She looks worried.
<b>                                                           113.
</b>

<b>                          CLARA
</b>                You promise you're not married?

<b>                          JACK
</b>                I promise. Take this.

      He hands her an ENVELOPE. It contains his final instalment.

<b>                          JACK
</b>                Look after it. In case.

<b>                          CLARA
</b>                    (perplexed)
                In case?

      He wants to say it but he can't bring himself to.

      In case this is goodbye.

<b>                             JACK
</b>                Now go.


<b>164   EXT. STREET- DAY                                            164
</b>
      LARRY is waiting on the corner of the town square.

      He is dialling and re-dialling a number in his mobile phone,
      scanning the crowds around him.

      In the two seconds it takes the TAXI to pass by, JACK steps
      free of a row cars on the other side of the street.

      As LARRY comes into view again, JACK sees the STERLING
      SUBMACHINE GUN in his hands.

      And LARRY sees JACK.

      LARRY'S FINGER tightens on the trigger.

      L'AMERICANO throws himself to one side.

      There is a quick burst of popping explosions: ripping along
      the line of parked cars.

      PANIC erupts.

      JACK is about to fire back at LARRY but LARRY takes cover
      behind a TOURIST and fires back another brief burst.

      JACK is hit in the shoulder. He drops his gun...

      ...and retrieves it just as LARRY fires again.

      SCREAMS spread through the holiday crowd like a wave of fire
      moving down the street and spilling into the town square.
<b>                                                          114.
</b>

<b>165   EXT. TOWN SQUARE- DAY                                       165
</b>
      JACK runs into the square.

      LARRY pursues him, firing for a third time.

      The buzz of spent rounds and the crack of muzzle fire echo
      around the square, bouncing off the walls and confusing the
      crowd.

      People start to run in different directions- everyone heading
      for the maze of alleys that surround the main square.

      ALTAR BOYS scatter. So do the LOCAL MEN carrying the STATUE
      OF SAINT DOMINIC. The STATUE tumbles and smashes. Escaping
      SNAKES writhe. FATHER BENEDETTO takes cover.

      The two LOCAL CARABINIERI in their Land Rover get caught up
      in the chaos. Confused, they turn on their SIRENS.

      LARRY spots JACK in the crowd and fires a fourth time.

      One TOURIST is killed outright, another injured

      JACK dives for cover behind the STATUE OF THE EAGLE where he
      spotted Clara.

      Bullets ricochet.

<b>                          LARRY
</b>                You're too old for this life, Jack.

      LARRY struggles for breath as he reloads.

      This is JACK's chance.

<b>                           LARRY
</b>                You get sentimental then you fuck
                things up.

      Rolling along the steps to the statue of the eagle, JACK
      spreads his legs, faces LARRY and fires the customary TWO
      PRECISION-ENGINEERED SHOTS that make up a military-style
      execution:

      The first shot hits LARRY in the heart. LARRY is thrown
      backwards against a parked car, accidentally altering his arc
      of fire as slugs bounce off the steps beside JACK, chips of
      marble stinging against his calves.

      Again, JACK takes aim.

      A beat as his finger tightens on the trigger.

      HEADSHOT. Half LARRY'S FACE is wiped out of existence. What's
      left of him slides down the parked car onto both knees. His
      hand flashes to his mangled throat then drops. He falls
      forwards and his STERLING clatters on the cobble stones.
<b>                                                    115.
</b>

Complete silence.

Not even the sound of a siren.

The town square is empty.

Except for FATHER BENEDETTO hiding in the wreckage of the
broken STATUE.

Jack's WALTHER hangs ominously by his side.

FATHER BENEDETTO stands unsteadily.

Like lightening JACK spins, instinctively raising his WALTHER
and zeroing in on FATHER BENEDETTO. His face is devoid of all
emotion. He is a bloody machine looking at a potential
target.

We hear SIRENS.

Across a slew of dead bodies, JACK keeps the gun pointed at
<b>FATHER BENEDETTO.
</b>
FATHER BENEDETTO stands stock still, facing JACK.

The SIRENS get louder.

<b>                    JACK
</b>          What will you tell them?

A beat.

FATHER BENEDETTO takes something from inside his Soutane.

And holds it up with a trembling hand.

<b>JACK'S LETTER.
</b>
<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          I will them that the man who wrote
          this letter is my friend.

FATHER BENEDETTO smiles sadly.

<b>                    FATHER BENEDETTO
</b>          Jack.

FATHER BENEDETTO shuts his eyes, muttering a quiet prayer.

The SIRENS get closer.

We hear Carabinieri screeching to a halt and clambering out
of their cars, cocking submachine guns.

When FATHER BENEDETTO opens his eyes again...

...JACK has disappeared.
<b>                                                          116.
</b>

<b>166   EXT. CASTEL DEL MONTE- DAY                                 166
</b>
      Using his meticulous knowledge of the alleyways and lanes
      that make up the medieval heart of the town, JACK avoids the
      CARABINIERI and, stealing a bicycle, makes it onto the main
      road before a road block has been set up.


<b>167   EXT. L'AQUILA, COACH STATION, LEFT LUGGAGE- DAY            167
</b>
      JACK collects a sports bag from a LOCKER.


<b>168   EXT. L'AQUILA, COACH STATION, BATHROOM- DAY                168
</b>
      JACK washes the blood from his hands.


<b>169   EXT. L'AQUILA, COACH STATION, MAIN HALL- DAY               169
</b>
      When he emerges from the bathroom JACK is wearing the clothes
      of a fifty year-old American tourist from the mid-West with
      glasses and a baseball cap.

      He checks the time of next bus to Rome.

      Then glances at his watch.

      He has thirty minutes.


<b>170   EXT. L'AQUILA, STREET- DAY                                 170
</b>
      JACK walks towards Clara's APARTMENT BUILDING.

      Two hundred metres up ahead, two OFFICERS of the Guardia di
      Finanza wait in an unmarked car.

      JACK walks past Clara's APARTMENT BUILDING.

      And keeps walking.


<b>171   EXT. L'AQUILA, COACH STATION- DAY                          171
</b>
      The BUS for Rome is barely half-full.

      Blending in perfectly with a group of middle aged American
      tourists, JACK boards the steps, purchases a ticket and takes
      a seat at the rear.


<b>172   EXT. AUTOSTRADA- DAY                                       172
</b>
      A long tunnel: one of the longest in Europe.

      JACK alone at the back of the BUS.
<b>                                                    117.
</b>

It seems like night: red stripes, strip lights, shadows.

Vast fans suspended from the ceiling shift the traffic fumes.

A button of light, expanding...

...as we burst into daylight.



<b>                       THE END.
</b></pre><br>
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	<td><h1>American, The</h1><br><br>
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Where did Clara and Jack meet when Jack's asks her to go away with him?
Where did Clara and Jack meet when Jack s asks her to go away with him ?
At a religious procession in town
At a religious procession in town
To a river.
To a river .