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Transmissão .::. Transcripts .::. Primeira Temporada .::. #1.15 Page 47

DIXON: Sydney!
(More shooting. Sydney cuts the wire with her knife and flies backwards, hanging on to the rope, and crashes through the adjacent building's window. The guard from down below runs over to the building and starts to climb up the stairs. Sydney runs through the building, trying to leave. She opens the door and sees the guard running up the stairs. She runs back inside, passing by several mannequins. The guard runs up the stairs and runs to the elevator. He sees the tip of her hat going down. He runs back down to catch her, loading his gun. He points it at the elevator as it comes down. He sees a woman's body and begins shooting. The elevator stops and the "woman's body" is on the floor of the elevator. He comes closer and sees that it's a mannequin wearing Sydney's hat. He turns. Sydney punches him and roundhouse kicks him. He falls into the elevator. She runs and meets another guard.)
SYDNEY: Wait!
(The guard cocks the hammer and is shot from behind. Dixon drives up in the van, a gun in his hand. Sydney climbs in.)
SYDNEY: Thanks.
DIXON: Anytime.
(They drive off.)

(Jenny's place. Will is sitting up in her bed, shirtless. Jenny walks in with a cup of coffee.)
JENNY: Hey, do you want some?
WILL: No, thanks. I got to go interview David McNeil today.
JENNY: Mmmm...
(She leans over and kisses him.)
WILL: Mm. I better go. Oooh, I better go. Just... I'm going to be late.
(He gets out of bed and starts dressing.)
JENNY: Hey, so what are you going to wear?
WILL: I'm just going to wear this, I think. You know. I'm just going to a prison, who cares?
JENNY: No, next week.
WILL: What am I going to wear next week?
JENNY: To the dinner.
WILL: What dinner?
JENNY: You didn't get my letter?
WILL: (smiles) What letter?
JENNY: The one I left on your desk.
WILL: What are you talking about?
JENNY: Okay, you know what? You really have to start reading the things I give to you, Will.
(She gets a copy of the letter out of her bag and gives it to him.)
WILL: What's this?
JENNY: You're getting the Kaplan Award for the Luis Maroma article.
WILL: What?
JENNY: Yes. The readers voted it one of the most ten most inspirational stories of the year.
WILL: I can't believe anyone read that article.
JENNY: It says "black tie" which means tux. Do you have one?
WILL: Well, I have an old one. I can't believe I won a Kaplan Award.
JENNY: Do you want to go celebrate, maybe Friday?
WILL: Um... I can't. I can't. I'm sup--I got to go do something on Friday. I'm sorry.
JENNY: Oh. Okay.
(Later, Jenny's in the shower and Will's on the phone.)
WILL: Yeah, well, thanks. Yeah. I just wanted to-I just wanted to tell you.
(Sydney's sitting in the van in Moscow, talking on her cell with a big smile on her face.)
SYDNEY: Will, that is so amazing!
WILL: Oh, uh, "North by Northwest" is playing at the Fairfax Friday night. I thought maybe we could, I don't know, get some dinner and celebrate it?
SYDNEY: Definitely. I'm so proud of you.
WILL: Oh, well, it's not that big of a deal.
SYDNEY: Okay, so Friday night. It's a date.
WILL: It's a date.

(Sloane's office. Sloane and Jack watch footage of Will talking to David McNeil at the prison.)
SLOANE: Lompoc prison, about two hours ago. The man talking to Tippin is David McNeil, software designer. About eight years ago, he created an encryption system that we wanted to acquire but he wouldn't sell. We don't have audio, but we got hold of the prison log. This is Tippin's third visit to McNeil in the last two weeks. You and I talked about Tippin some time ago. You convinced me that he was just a harmless metro reporter, far from a credible threat.
(He takes a pill from his pillbox and pours some water.)
SLOANE: But now he's found McNeil.
JACK: What are you suggesting?
SLOANE: You know what I'm suggesting.
JACK: The decision to eliminate Tippin is premature. He's a friend of Sydney's who, as far as we know, knows nothing.
SLOANE: I told you this first as a courtesy. Look Jack, I understand your reluctance - what this would mean to Sydney - but McNeil is not a benign element. He knows about SD-6. The division's name was mentioned in Koenig's testimony.
JACK: Just the name. Nothing else.
SLOANE: A name is all Tippin needs. What concerns me is this doesn't seem to concern you.
JACK: There's a difference between concern and assassination.
SLOANE: What are you suggesting?
JACK: That we get audio. That we find out what those conversations are.
SLOANE: Jack... we should take care of this immediately. I'm sure you agree there are some truths that Sydney must never learn.

(At Sydney and Francie's, Francie is sitting on the sofa staring at some gifts and crying quietly. Sydney comes in.)
SYDNEY: How's it going?
FRANCIE: Fine. I went to the stationary store today. Same place I got the wedding invitation. I had to buy some thank-you cards for these engagement gifts to send back to people. The woman in the store asked if I wanted the card stock to match the invitations. I burst into tears in the middle of the store.
SYDNEY: Francie?
FRANCIE: I don't know how to do this. I haven't even been able to take this off.
(She shows her ring. Sydney holds up her hand to show that she's still wearing her ring from Danny.)
FRANCIE: I'm sorry.
SYDNEY: Nah, don't be. The truth is, I should have taken it off a long time ago. Here's an idea.
FRANCIE: What?
(She shows her hand again and raises her eyebrow. Francie takes off her ring and so does Sydney. They put them on the coffee table and stare at them.)

(Will's newspaper. He's walking to his desk and talking to another guy.)
WILL: So, Wilshire court, 7:30. And I got my ball in my car so... oh, oh, call Mitch!
GUY: You got it.
(The guy walks away. Will walks up to his desk just as Abby walks up with a small cake and a lit candle on it.)
ABBY: Well, well, look who it is!
WILL: Abby, what is this?
ABBY: Oh, false modesty. Hideous. It doesn't suit you.
WILL: This isn't for the most inspirational article thing, is it?
ABBY: Pretty dense for the man who wrote the most inspirational article. You don't deserve to win any awards.
WILL: I know.
ABBY: Congratulations.
WILL: Thank you.
ABBY: You make me sick, FYI.
WILL: I know. I make myself sick.
ABBY: Ten years I've been at this, and what do I win?
WILL: I know...
ABBY: Tickets to "The Lion King" on the radio.
WILL: You never invited me to that.
ABBY: Oh, imagine that!
WILL: Thank you for the cake. I'm going to go get us some plates.
ABBY: I expect a piece, yes. It's chocolate. Maybe you can write an article about this cake and win something else.
(She blows out the candle.)

(Will walks in their kitchen and starts to look for paper plates. A delivery guy walks up.)
DELIVERY GUY: Excuse me. June Litvack's office?
WILL: Yeah, that's the next floor up. Huge office.
DELIVERY GUY: Thanks.
(He pats him on the back and leaves.)

(Outside, the delivery guy gets in a van. He puts some earphones on and turns some dials on a machine. When he patted Will's back, he put a bug on him. Delivery guy starts listening in.)
WILL: Okay, seriously, if I didn't have to go, I'd eat the whole cake.
ABBY: Where are you going?
WILL: Lompoc. I got an interview.

(SD-6 conference room with Sloane, Dixon, Sydney and Marshall.)
SLOANE: Your surveillance footage of Moscow is remarkable. Of course, we won't know for quite some time the full implication of Ivankov's murder. But here is what we do know. Ivankov's body was delivered last night to K-Directorate headquarters in St. Petersburg.
DIXON: Delivered how?
SLOANE: Commercial freight carrier, packed inside a crate of frozen Atlantic cod fish. Lavro Kessar - K-Directorate second in command. He hasn't been seen since that night. We believe he's being held by Mr. Sark as a captive unless K-Directorate delivers Rambaldi's manuscript to Sark's employer, The Man. They should be expecting more fish in St. Petersburg.
DIXON: Have we learned anything more about The Man?
SYDNEY: We have got to get a name for this guy already.
SLOANE: Well, we don't know anything concrete, at least not yet. We have learned something about Sark. Marshall?
MARSHALL: Yes. Um, actually, I'm sure we have all seen the classic movie "My Fair Lady." You remember... (in cockney accent) Professah 'enry 'iggins, educatin' Eliza Dolittle. "You talk propah!" Of course, my favorite Rex Harrison film is "Dr. Dolittle," which always kind of threw me because Eliza Dolittle, Dr. Dolittle. Dolittle, Dolittle. Was that on purpose, conspiracy--
SLOANE: Marshall.
MARSHALL: Right. Uh, well we've analyzed Sark's speech pattern, lilt, stress rhythm, what have you. And he is very clever. His grammar and syntax, they give away nothing. But his lengthened vowels indicate that he spends considerable time in Ireland, most likely Galway.
SLOANE: Our assets in Tunis spotted a K-Directorate boat passing through into port. It's now moored off Es-Sekhira. Tomorrow at ten a.m. local time a plane is scheduled to leave nearby Hafsa airport to fly to Gawly, Ireland.
SYDNEY: So they're handing over Rambaldi's manuscript in Tunisia?
SLOANE: The mission is to intercept the book and bring it back home. Review the mission details, go over op tech with Marshall. You leave tonight.

(Self-storage with Vaughn and Sydney.)
VAUGHN: This look familiar?
SYDNEY: The same kind of camera I left behind in Argentina.
VAUGHN: It is that camera. The C.I.A. sent a team and retreived it last week. You only took a few shots of the Rambaldi book.
SYDNEY: I know.
VAUGHN: But we did learn a lot from those pictures.
SYDNEY: Like what?
VAUGHN: I've... I've got this aunt. Um, Aunt Trish. She's the insane one in the family. She, uh, speaks to the dead, she does the readings, she's a crop circle worshipper.
SYDNEY: (big goofy smile) Aunt Trish.
VAUGHN: Yeah. This whole story reminds me of something she'd tell me about. Anyway, we know that Rambaldi was a 16th century inventor who seemed to have an almost psychic vision of technology. This book, based on the images you took, seems to be some sort of instruction manual. Now, to what, we don't know. This was written in Italian on the second page. There, at the bottom. Refers to the 100 segments.
SYDNEY: Meaning what?
VAUGHN: Well, it continues on a page we don't have yet. So, your countermission is the same as in Argentina. When you get the Rambaldi book, photograph the pages and deliver the original to SD-6 and the photographs to us.
SYDNEY: Just don't screw it up this time. Got it. (smile)
VAUGHN: Your father's been reporting that Sloane has been spending a lot of time at home.
SYDNEY: Yeah, his wife Emily. She's sick.
VAUGHN: You two used to be close, right?
SYDNEY: We still are. Less so since she's been diagnosed. She's been a little reclusive. Actually, I haven't seen her since before I learned the truth about her husband.
VAUGHN: I think this is a real opportunity. We'd like you to call Emily. Tell her you'd like to see her again and get invited to their house.
SYDNEY: You want me to plant a bug. Vaughn, she's dying of cancer!
VAUGHN: Yes. I know.
SYDNEY: So you're asking me to use this woman.
VAUGHN: She'll never know.
SYDNEY: But I will!
VAUGHN: We've been trying to plant a listening device in SD-6. It's pointless. That office uses every possible countersurveilance technique. Sloane's house might be more vulnerable.
SYDNEY: This isn't a logistical question. This is a moral one.
VAUGHN: A moral one? Sydney, you're a spy. This is hardly the darkest decision you've had to make!
SYDNEY: But what you're not hearing is Emily is my friend. Despite her husband, she is my friend who is dying. I mean, does this not seem at all wrong to you?
VAUGHN: Why does this seem wrong to you?
SYDNEY: Because she's innocent! Because she is a good person!
VAUGHN: Then what she doesn't know, what she will never know, is that this is one of the last opportunities she has to do something good.

(Sydney's bedroom. She dials the phone.)
SYDNEY: Emily, hi. It's Sydney... Bristow. Hi. I know, I know. It has. Are you busy, or sleeping? Good. Okay. Yeah, yeah, I'm doing fine. How are you? That's why I called. I just-I miss you.

(Prison. McNeil and Will.)
WILL: Have you heard from your daughter?
DAVID: No, no, my lawyer says she's safe. That's all I wanted to know. All right, so what do you got?
WILL: Okay, based on the file at O.T. Technologies, forty-two companies currently use your encryption software.
DAVID: Forty-two.
WILL: Yeah, so far I've had time to look into about eighteen of these companies. Listen to this. Six of them have a common board member: A guy by the name of Alain Christophe. This is the best part. Twelve years ago Alain decides to retire... from the C.I.A. Before that, from '82 to '89 he ran counterintelligence at Langley.
(David nods and smiles.)
WILL: Why are you smiling?
DAVID: Because for the first time in eight years, SD-6 should be afraid of me.

(Will is driving in his car at night, talking into his tape recorder.)
WILL: Do a lexis/nexis for everything on Alain Christophe. And call the IRS, see if the Freedom of Information Act covers access to his private holdings. Oh, uh, "North by Northwest" tickets, Friday night. Call Mercantile, see if you can get a reservation.
(A van driving behind him comes ahead, tires screeching. They block Will off, coming to a halt.)
WILL: Son of a bitch.
(A masked man comes out of the van and runs up to Will's car, shining a flashlight in his eyes. They open the car door and haul Will out.)
MAN: (distorted voice) Resist and you die! Get out!
(They throw Will against the hood and cover his head. They throw him in the back of the van and the van drives off, tires screeching in the night.)

(Tunisia. Harbor. Boat is in the middle of the water. One of the goons spots a boat drive up. Sydney, wearing a short blonde wig, is driving. He watches her with binoculars and speaks via transmitter to another large goon up above. They speak in Russian.)
LARGE GOON: Sark?
GOON: No. Definitely not Sark.
(Sydney is driving the boat and talks to Dixon who is back on land.)
SYDNEY: Okay, so tell me the truth. Who do you like better - Mary Ann or Ginger?
DIXON: Listen, while you're grabbing Rambaldi's manuscript, if you happen to see a sandwich...
SYDNEY: You got it.
DIXON: Okay. I'll radio if Sark arrives. Good luck.
(Sydney stands up in the boat and waves to the goon on K-Directorate's boat. The guy smiles. She drives up and motions to a gas can, laughing. Dixon watches. She stops and speaks Russian.)
GOON: Gasoline?
SYDNEY: Gasoline!
(She thanks him, comes aboard, and sprays him in the face with something. He goes down. Sydney walks on the boat, looking around. A man comes around. She sprays him, he goes down. She climbs the stairs and goes up on the dock and sees the large goon drinking. She comes behind him and tries to spray him, but he swats her hand away. She punches him. He swipes at her. She kicks him. He hits her with the briefcase attached to his arm. She jumps up and kicks him in the chest. He falls flat on his back.)
SYDNEY: Okay, Dixon. The boat's secure. I'm opening the case here, the guy's handcuffed to it. Picking the lock. Looks like it's electromagnetic.
DIXON: Okay. Still no sign of Sark.
(She opens it and takes out the journal. She starts quickly taking pictures of all the pages with the C.I.A. camera. A man walks around the boat down below, and calls out for the large goon.)
GUY: Yuri?
(He comes up and sees Sydney pretending to kiss and make out with the big guy. She opens her eyes and motions for the guy to join them. He comes closer. She drops the still unconscious large goon and sprays the guy. She grabs the journal and goes down below.)
SYDNEY: Okay, I've got the book.
DIXON: Sydney, Sark's here.
(Sure enough, Sark and two goons walk down the dock.)
SYDNEY: I'm taking the boat.
DIXON: Okay. I'll meet you at the airport dock. We'll be there in thirty minutes.
(Sark watches as the boat drives away with the manuscript.)

(Two men in black push Will in a large and dark room. Will's hands are handcuffed and his head is still covered. They sit him down and take the cover off his head.)
WILL: Okay, look guys, I--
(They kick him. He falls to the ground, groaning and coughing in pain. They sit him up again. A masked man in front of him clicks on a tape recorder.)
WILL: Six of them have a common board member: A guy by the name of Alain Christophe. This is the best part. Twelve years ago Alain decides to retire... from the C.I.A.
(He clicks it off. When the masked man speaks, it's a distorted voice.)
MAN: Do you value your life, Mr. Tippin?
WILL: Of course I value my life.
MAN: Do you? Your actions would indicate otherwise. I'm going to tell you what it is you are apparently dying to know. Your friend Daniel Hecht, David McNeil's wife Susan, Eloise Kurtz... they were all innocent victims. Their deaths were unfortunate. A matter of circumstance. Now, the only remaining question is whether the story ends there or whether it includes other innocent victims.
(He takes out three pictures to show Will. The first is of Amy.)
MAN: Amy Tippin. 3723 East Conestoga Way.
(He takes out another picture of Will's parents, smiling for the camera.)
MAN: Robert and Patsy Tippin. 63064 Shulman Way.
(Will lowers his head. The man takes out one final picture. This one is of Sydney.)
MAN: Sydney Bristow. 4260 Cochran Street.
(Will, his head still lowered, apparently can't take it anymore.)
WILL: Stop. Stop, stop, stop. I understand.
MAN: This will be your only warning.
(They hit him across the face. Will falls to the floor. He's knocked out. They unlock his handcuffs and walk away. The masked man is walking briskly and rips off his mask. It's Jack.)

(Los Angeles. An operative enters Sloane's office.)
OPERATIVE: Mr. Sloane.
SLOANE: Yes?
OPERATIVE: I've questioned everyone from the boat. The captain is a civilian. He doesn't know anything.
SLOANE: Kill him.
OPERATIVE: Yes, sir.

(Sydney's. Phone rings. She answers.)
SYDNEY: Hello?
EMILY: Sydney, it's Emily.
SYDNEY: Hi.
EMILY: Listen, I wanted to thank you for calling. You have no idea how much that meant.
SYDNEY: You don't have to thank me.
EMILY: I do. I woke up this morning feeling strong. I was curious if you were free for dinner. Bring a friend, please.

(Self-storage.)
VAUGHN: And you accepted?
SYDNEY: Not at first, but Emily's sick. I couldn't say no. I knew you wanted me to anyway.
VAUGHN: Here.
(He gives her a small box. She opens it to reveal a paperclip.)
SYDNEY: This is a bug?
VAUGHN: It's good, huh? You should see the guys who make it, it's like they've never seen sunlight.
SYDNEY: You should meet Marshall. Where do you want this?
VAUGHN: Sloane's got an office in his home.
SYDNEY: Mm-hmm.
VAUGHN: That's where we want it. Especially now that SD-6 has the Rambaldi book. The C.I.A.'s been studying those photos you took.
SYDNEY: Then they turned out all right?
VAUGHN: There's one blank page. Well, C.I.A. sci-tech says that of the few Rambaldi documents they've recovered, the forty-seventh page is always particularly significant. This blank page was number forty-seven. Your father's strategizing on how to get it out of SD-6 and replace it with a counterfeit. But in the meantime, we're just hoping we learn something with that bug.
SYDNEY: Okay.
VAUGHN: You said Emily invited you and a friend.
SYDNEY: Mm-hmm.
VAUGHN: You taking anyone?

(Will's cell phone rings. Sunlight streams in. He grunts and wakes up, rolling over to find his cell phone.)
WILL: Hello?
(Sydney is at SD-6 on her cell.)
SYDNEY: What are you doing?
WILL: Syd?
(His voice is rough and tired.)
SYDNEY: Are you sleeping?
WILL: No, no, I'm... uh... I'm working.
SYDNEY: Are you all right? 'Cause you sound like hell.
WILL: Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm fine.
(He touches his face where a large bruise can be found under his eye. He looks around the room, trying to figure out where he is.)
WILL: How you doing?
SYDNEY: You're going to kill me.
WILL: Why?
SYDNEY: I know we talked about going to "North by Northwest," but there's this dinner at my boss's house. I can't get out of it.
(Will looks around, inspecting the place.)
SYDNEY: You're mad.
WILL: Uh, no, no. I got to, uh, go to a meeting, though.
SYDNEY: Will you come with me? They said I could bring a guest. Will you be my guest?

(Will walks around outside, looking around. A horn honks and Jenny pulls up. Later, they're driving along the road. Will stares out the windshield.)
JENNY: WIll you please tell me what happened?
WILL: Listen, I told you. I don't want to talk about it.
JENNY: Your bruise looks pretty bad. Well, you know what? You're just going to have to come over to my place and I'll make you a big bowl of ashishta. It's a noodle soup that my grandmother used to make. You know what, you have to meet her! You're going to love her.
WILL: Jenny, listen. I think you're great. You're smart and you're beautiful and I think we've had a lot of fun. But you and I... I just don't think that we...
(As Will struggles with the words, Jenny stomps on the brake. The car screeches to a halt in the middle of the road.)
JENNY: Are you breaking up with me?? I drive ALL the way out here--
WILL: Jenny...
JENNY: With a BROKEN RADIO, by the way--
WILL: I know, I know--
JENNY: And you're going to break up with me!
WILL: That's not really fair.
JENNY: Why don't you call SYDNEY?
WILL: Sydney's not my assistant. You work for me.
JENNY: Not anymore! GET OUT!
WILL: (chuckles) "Get out"?
JENNY: I am NOT kidding!
WILL: Where the hell are we? We're nowhere!
JENNY: No, no, no! YOU'RE nowhere. Get out!
WILL: Fine.
(He gets out. She drives away, leaving him in the middle of nowhere.)

(Sydney's bedroom. Sydney gets dressed for dinner at the Sloane's, her hair all done. Francie sits on the bed, reading a note to Sydney.)
FRANCIE: "Dear Aunt Stephanie. Unfortunately, as my mother has informed you, the wedding is off so I am returning your kind gift of a coffee maker because, as it turns out, the man to whom I was engaged is a deceitful, two-faced, sex-crazed jackass. All my love, Francie."
SYDNEY: It's not too harsh.
FRANCIE: I want to read you one more. This is the restrained one.
(The phone rings.)
FRANCIE: Hello?
VOICE: Joey's Pizza?
FRANCIE: You know, this is Joey's Pizza. You want to hear our specials?
(They hang up.)
FRANCIE: Hello? Seriously, we need to think about changing our number.
SYDNEY: I know!
FRANCIE: Thank you.
SYDNEY: I'm going to go get a bottle of wine for tonight. Do you need anything while I'm out.
FRANCIE: No thanks.

(Self-storage. Sydney walks in, dressed up and looking fantastic. She finds Jack and Vaughn talking.)
SYDNEY: Hey.
VAUGHN: Sloane brought the Rambaldi book home.
JACK: I met with him earlier. He showed me the book. He was so taken by what he had seen, he wanted to show you the book himself.
SYDNEY: So he brought it to his house?
(Vaughn discreetly checks out Sydney, his eyes going up and down.)
JACK: Yes, it'll be there tonight.
SYDNEY: Why didn't he just wait until I was at SD-6 on Monday?
JACK: An Alliance courier is en route to Los Angeles. They're taking the book to Germany. They have a cluster of labs in Munich, advanced analysis they can't perform here.
SYDNEY: Wait a minute. The blank page. You want me to make a switch.
VAUGHN: Yeah, if we don't do it tonight the courier will arrive in the morning and we'll lose our shot at getting that page anytime soon.
SYDNEY: Doesn't this seem a little risky to you? Making a move like this, at Sloane's house while he's there without back-up?
VAUGHN: Oh, you will have back-up. Your father's going, too.
JACK: I can help you tonight. Emily believes her husband is C.O.O. at the bank. If he wants to show you the book, he'll have to do it in private, most likely in his office.
SYDNEY: Where you want me to plant the bug.
VAUGHN: That's right.
JACK: If we assume that's where the book is being kept, it could be an ideal scenario. During dinner, Vaughn will call your cell phone, posing as a friend in need. You'll excuse yourself, go to Sloane's office, get into his safe and make the switch.
VAUGHN: Now, Sloane's vault is an advanced cushion model. The guys who made the paperclip bug came up with this. It overrides the circuitry, tricks the safe into believing you entered the correct combination. Now, they say it's bitchin', so I'm assuming it's bitchin'.
SYDNEY: I don't know about this plan. I mean, not only does it put me in danger and you, but I'm taking Will tonight.
JACK: You're doing what?
SYDNEY: Yeah. Emily told me to bring someone. Why?
JACK: Nothing. I should leave. I'll see you there.
(Jack walks out. Vaughn looks at Sydney.)
VAUGHN: Look, if you feel you can make the switch, do it. Just use your discretion.
(Pause.)
VAUGHN: So, you're taking Will.
SYDNEY: Yeah.
(Vaughn nods and looks down. He finally meets Sydney's gaze.)
VAUGHN: (softly) You look really pretty.
SYDNEY: (smiles) Thank you.
(Big, big smile. She leaves.)

(Sloane's house. Doorbell rings. Emily opens the door.)
EMILY: Oh, Sydney.
SYDNEY: Hi!
EMILY: I'm so glad you're here.
SYDNEY: Hey. These are for you.
(She gives Emily a bouquet of flowers.)
EMILY: Oh, good, good.
SYDNEY: You look beautiful.
EMILY: Oh, thank you. You look fantastic.
SYDNEY: I want you to meet my friend Will Tippin. And this is Emily.
EMILY: How do you do? Pleased to meet you. Please come in.
(Will smiles at Emily and walks in with Sydney. The mansion is beautiful.)
WILL: Wow...
(Jack comes out, holding a glass of wine.)
EMILY: I believe you two know each other.
JACK: Sure. We met.
WILL: Hey! How you doing? Good to see you.
(Will shakes Jack's hand, smiles at him.)
JACK: You, too.
WILL: Sydney tells me you're doing analysis for the bank.
JACK: Strategy. Investment strategy. Arvin made me an offer I couldn't refuse.
EMILY: Oh, that sounds like my husband!
(Sloane comes down the stairs.)
SLOANE: Sydney. So glad you came.
SYDNEY: Me, too. This is my friend Will Tippin. Arvin Sloane.
(Sloane's eyes get even smaller when he realizes who, in fact, Will is. Will, oblivious, smiles and shakes Sloane's hand.)
WILL: Hey.
SLOANE: Hey, nice to meet you.
WILL: Yeah. Nice to meet you, too.
SLOANE: Sydney, I want to show you something. And Emily, this is the only business we'll do this evening.
(He kisses her cheek lovingly. Emily is pratically beaming. Sloane and Sydney leave the room.)
EMILY: Can I get you anything to drink?
WILL: Yes, yes. Anything would be great.
EMILY: Okay, good. Come in.

(Sloane's personal office. Sydney looks around as Sloane enters the combination of his safe.)
SLOANE: I didn't get a chance to tell you how proud I am of the work you did in Tunisia.
SYDNEY: I was just doing my job.
SLOANE: Well, you will find, as you get older, how difficult it is to find people who just do their job.
(Sydney drops the paper clip bug into a pencil holder on his desk. Sloane gets out the journal. They move over to the sofa.)
SLOANE: A courier is picking this up tomorrow mornig for analysis.
SYDNEY: Taking it where?
SLOANE: England.
(Sydney stares at him for a moment, knowing he just lied to her with ease.)
SLOANE: I just wanted you to see it. I don't know if you had a chance to look at it, to really examine it.
SYDNEY: No, I didn't open it.
SLOANE: Some of the text is Italian, but most of it is in code. Code we haven't been able to break. Who was this man, Sydney? What did he see? What did Rambaldi see?
(Sloane goes through the pages. They come to page forty-seven, the blank one.)
SLOANE: Those who know about him - various agencies, a few in the private sector - they're spending millions to answer these questions. Millions. Men would die for this book. Men have died. You know, Sydney, the work we're doing here, trying to figure out who Rambaldi was, what he was working on, is becoming an obsession for me.
SYDNEY: I am still not sure I am a believer.
SLOANE: Neither was I. Neither was I.

(Later, everyone is sitting around the dinner table.)
EMILY: Wait a minute. You wrote the article about the fruit picker from La Venta?
WILL: Yeah, yeah, I did.
(He looks at Sydney, embarrassed. She smiles, very proud of him.)
WILL: I can't believe you read that.
EMILY: This is so funny! (to Sloane) I told you about this. There was a poll, in the newspaper. I voted for you.
WILL: You're kidding me. I just won that.
EMILY: You did? You deserved it. That story made me cry. It just... stayed with me.
WILL: Yeah, well, that guy was amazing.
EMILY: The story was about this man... Luis Maroma?
WILL: Mm-hmm.
EMILY: He was a fruit picker from Mexico. An immigrant. Illegal immigrant living in Los Angeles and he worked for a man who was... basically a slave driver.
WILL: No, he was a slave driver.
EMILY: The conditions these po