Jesus, you rich people.
Kenny starts up the engine. Bobby smiles a twisted smile.
As the car pulls away, the two men sit in silence, neither
willing to admit how glad the other is there.
EXT. PENNSYLVANIA AVE. - NIGHT
The limo wheels out into the street, carrying the two friends
into the darkness.
INT. BOBBY'S LIMO - NIGHT
Bobby stares out the window at the passing city, the lights
the lives behind those windows. As the car drives on and on,
the tension returns. Bobby feels the weight of all those
lives. On him. A long beat. He gazes at Kenny, the only
man he could ever admit this to:
BOBBY
I don't know if I can do this.
Kenny glances over at him. Bobby stares back.
KENNY
There's nobody else I'd rather have
going in there.
Bobby looks at him.
KENNY (CONT'D)
Nobody else I'd trust Helen and the
kids' lives to.
Kenny means it. He looks away. Bobby shifts, awkward.
BOBBY
Take a left.
Kenny looks him. This isn't the way to the Justice
Department. But he complies.
BOBBY (CONT'D)
We gave so much to get here. I don't
know. Sometimes I think what the hell
did we do it for?
KENNY
Because we knew we could do a better job
than everyone else.
And Bobby, in the silence and closeness of the car, turns on
Kenny - anguished, knowing his life is at its climax.
BOBBY
You know... I hate being called the
brilliant one. The ruthless one. They
guy who does the dirty work. The one
everybody's afraid of.
Kenny looks to him, moved, not knowing what to say.
BOBBY (CONT'D)
I hate it. I'm not smart, you know.
And I'm not so ruthless.
He looks to Kenny, searching his face, then away,
embarrassed.
KENNY
You're right about the smart part, but
ruthless, well...
That breaks the tension as they arrive at the scene:
THROUGH THE WINDOW
Appears the grim, square lines of the SOVIET EMBASSY. Police
cars line the streets outside it. All the windows are dark.
A cordon of KGB GUARDS in plainclothes stand by the gated
entrance. On the opposite side of the street lounge two
dozen WASHINGTON D.C. POLICE.
RESUME
Kenny gives Bobby a look. Bobby rolls down his window.
BOBBY
Slow down. Smell that?
KENNY
Smoke.
BOBBY
Just wanted to see for myself.
(beat)
They're burning their documents.
The final duty of an embassy before war...
BOBBY (CONT'D)
They think we're going to war. G-d help
us, Ken.
EXT. SOVIET EMBASSY - NIGHT
THE CAMERA lifts away from the limo, turning toward the
Embassy, past the Guards, past the brass plate which reads
EMBASSY OF THE UNITED SOVIET SOCIALIST REPUBLICS, up and up
to the roof where black, reeking SMOKE billows from all of
the Embassy's several chimneys.
The CAMERA races into it. It engulfs us all.
EXT. JUSTICE DEPARTMENT - NIGHT
Kenny squeals the limo up to the curb in front of the Justice
Department. The doors fly open, and Kenny and Bobby jump
out, head up the steps to the building.
INT. HALL OUTSIDE BOBBY'S OFFICE - NIGHT
Bobby's STAFFERS greet them as they stride down the hall,
Staffer #1 taking Bobby's coat.
STAFFER #1
Sir, Ambassador Dobrynin is already
here. We have him waiting in your
office.
They reach the double oak doors to Bobby's suite and stop.
Bobby faces Kenny.
KENNY
I'll whistle up some luck for you.
And before Kenny's eyes, all of Bobby's doubt vanishes. In
its place, a severe confidence. A grandeur Kenny has never
seen.
It makes Kenny pause. He beholds his best friend become a
man of the ages. And then Bobby SMOOTHLY opens the door.
INT. BOBBY'S WAITING ROOM - NIGHT
And a DOOR SHUTS OC like a threshold of history. HOLD ON
Bobby's waiting room. Silent. Cavernous. Dim. Plush
carpet. Heavy drapes framing dark windows. And abandoned
secretary's desk. A row of sofas and chairs on either side
of the room. Two doorways, one at either end of the room.
A WOMAN sits in one of the chairs for visitors. Dressed in
gray. Prim. But beautiful. A secretary of some sort.
One of the double doors to the hall swings silently open.
Kenny glides in. He sees the other door shut at the far end
of the room. Kenny crashes in one of the chairs to wait.
HOLD ON THE SCENE, motionless, silent.
Kenny WHISTLES two notes. Stops. And then he begins to
WHISTLE the Irish tune, O'Donnell Aboo. He gets a bar into
it -- and there's a polite, soft COUGH.
Kenny stops. Then notices the Woman in gray across the room.
He didn't see her. It's dim over there. She looks at him,
expressionless.
The CAMERA FINDS: a pin on her lapel. A RED HAMMER AND
SICKLE.
Kenny reacts. Dobrynin's assistant? His opposite number? A
friend? Or more than a friend?
Here is the face of the enemy. Not a smile between them.
Kenny resumes his ease. And begins to WHISTLE again.
The haunting Irish song echoes in the vaulted ceiling,
filling the dim room. Strange, sad, beautiful. The woman
listens. And her face begins to soften.
Kenny stares at the dark, lonely windows, his SONG striving
to fill the empty room.
Kenny sinks deeper in the chair, his tune all-consuming...
and the Woman's voice breaks in. Kenny stops, looks over.
Her voice is tremulous and beautiful. Just a snatch of some
song in Russian. She stops, awkward.
Kenny stares. The Woman stares back. No smiles. But in
their eyes, they each see the other's fear, the other's
beauty, the other's humanity.
So this is the enemy.
THE WOMAN
Who are you?
Kenny glances to the door. He considers for a long moment.
KENNY
The friend.
Kenny breaks the gaze. He begins to whistle again. The
CAMERA drifts away, finding the far DOOR to the inner office,
Kenny's tune stronger, carrying with it hope...
INT. BOBBY'S OFFICE - NIGHT
... to the other side of that DOOR. Dobrynin sits in a chair
opposite Bobby behind his desk. The room is equally dim.
And far more tense.
Silence. And then the FAINTEST STRAIN of O'Donnell Aboo.
Dobrynin glances briefly over his shoulder at the door.
But Bobby, unseen by Dobrynin, can't help the flicker of a
private smile. It's Kenny's presence, and Bobby is the
stronger for it. And then the tune is gone.
Bobby leans forward, cool, controlled, masterful.
BOBBY
Ambassador Dobrynin, we are aware that
at this moment your missiles in Cuba are
at the brink of operational readiness...
SMASH CUT TO:
EXT. MISSILE SITE - CUBA - CONTINUOUS
Floodlights illuminate MISSILES, vertical on their erectors,
support VEHICLES, clustered across the man-made clearing.
Mask-wearing Technicians wave a FUEL TRUCK back to the
nearest missile. Clouds of toxic VAPOR rise from the others.
They've already been fueled.