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422. Four Light Years Farther
Written by Michael Loceff
Executive Consultant: Robert Cockran
Produced by Jamie Paul Rock
Directed by Joseph L. Scanlan
Transcribed by Jean
SECTION
A team returns to Section; limping and covered in blood. The medical personnel scurry around them, performing initial evaluations on the wounded and dead. Voices cry out orders and pleas.
MAN: Move! We’ve got an emergency here!
MAN: Oxygen!
MAN: Somebody help us out, please!
WOMAN: Now! Move back!
MAN: No, keep that one. He’s too far gone.
A male operative, Olivier, supports a female operative; both are dirty, bloody, hurt. A doctor stops and lifts a field dressing, looks at the wound on her neck.
DOCTOR: It's a clean wound. It'll hold for a while. Who else is hurt?
KURTZMAN: (limps in) Everyone!
OLIVIER: Back off, Kurtzman.
KURTZMAN: (disgusted) Go to hell, Olivier. If you would have listened to someone for one second, this could have been avoided.
Olivier violently shoves him against the wall.
KURTZMAN: (sarcastically) Thanks for proving my point, you moron. (Olivier punches him) You're out of control!
OLIVIER: You want some more?
KURTZMAN: You made it worse. You put your girlfriend here in second position to save her ass. Three more died because of that stroke of genius!
Olivier moves like lightning, pulling his gun and holding it to Kurtzman’s neck, his muscles trembling, enraged. A shot rings out and Olivier crumples. Operations lowers his gun: he has just killed Olivier. He and Madeline stand witness over the chaotic room.
OPERATIONS: (calmly holsters his gun) Evaluate the wounded and prioritize. Kurtzman, bring me your report as soon as it's ready. (to Madeline) When does the Alpha Mission break?
MADELINE: It's supposed to go out in three days.
OPERATIONS: (angry) We're not ready.
Operations leaves. Madeline assesses the damage with one last sweeping glance, then follows him down the corridor.
OPERATIONS’ PERCH
Operations paces back and forth. Madeline accesses a wall-port, tapping at the keyboard. They are dressed as usual in dark suits. Madeline’s suit has a skirt and she’s wearing high-heeled shoes.
MADELINE: We've got two Go teams in the Far East. We can bring them in. Supplement them from below with reserves.
OPERATIONS: That won't cut it.
MADELINE: Why not?
OPERATIONS: The Alpha Mission in Brasilia is about to go active.
MADELINE: All right. We've got a group in Chad. In fact, we may have a Level Five there. (she turns and finds the information with a few keystrokes) We do -- Berenger.
OPERATIONS: I don't want to leave that area exposed.
MADELINE: We can only work with what we've got. Attrition has put us in a bad situation.
OPERATIONS: (tightly) This is not an attrition issue. We lack hands-on leadership.
MADELINE: What are you saying?
OPERATIONS: You know what I'm saying.
MADELINE: What do you want to hear? Michael and Nikita are gone. We've pushed all of our sources and we still can't find them.
OPERATIONS: I don't accept that. They're out there.
He turns and walks out, taking his anger with him. Madeline pauses a beat, then returns to her work.
YACHT
The boat is in port; other boats rest around them, their masts nude, their sails furled. The sky is bright with afternoon sun despite clouds rising up from the horizon. Nikita lounges on a bench, contemplating the serene harbor from behind sunglasses. She’s casually dressed in white denim jacket and Capri pants.
A hand emerges from the cabin, a hand carrying a rounded glass of wine followed by the bearer – Michael. He, too, is casually dressed in a light top and jeans and sunglasses. His cheek is still scarred. Both Michael and Nikita look quite different here in the sunshine, dressed in light colors.
NIKITA: (as she takes the wine from Michael) Thanks. (pause) We have to move.
MICHAEL: Did you get us money?
NIKITA: I found a dead drop account that Red Cell uses as a reserve.
MICHAEL: How much?
NIKITA: Twelve thousand. Any more, they'd notice. (smiles) Ever been to Reykjavik?
They touch glasses in a toast.
MICHAEL: A la vie.
SECTION: COMM
Madeline speaks to the young man in Comm: Stokes. He is in his twenties, with very curly brown hair and glasses reminiscent of the seventies, tinted bright yellow. He wears a shiny gray shirt.
STOKES: I narrowed the search space like you said. If Michael and Nikita are funneling terrorist accounts, then the projections show they'll end up at one of these places.
MADELINE: That can't be right.
STOKES: Why not?
MADELINE: We've been running this since they left, and we couldn't narrow it down to under five hundred geographical areas. Suddenly, you add a parameter to the sample space and it goes down to twenty.
STOKES: I know. It's as if they wanted us to find them.
Madeline stares shrewdly into the distance for a moment, then abruptly circles behind Stokes, removes a disk, and leaves.
HIGHWAY
Michael and Nikita are zipping through the countryside in a black car. Michael drives, while Nikita looks in turn from his face to the pastoral beauty rushing past her window. They are still wearing ‘civilian’ clothes; Nikita’s hair is in braids.
NIKITA: I'm surprised.
MICHAEL: About what?
NIKITA: I'm still not getting used to you.
MICHAEL: You will.
NIKITA: I like it. I don't want it to change.
MICHAEL: After two or three more bounces, we should be able to settle in for a while.
NIKITA: How long?
MICHAEL: Three or four months.
Nikita looks out the car’s window.
NIKITA: Four months in one place -- that's a lifetime.
Michael casts an affectionate look at her.
MICHAEL: Where do you want to go?
NIKITA: (smiles) Ummm, an island somewhere.
MICHAEL: How about Rhodes?
NIKITA: Why Rhodes?
MICHAEL: There's a restaurant at the south end of the island. It's run by a family I once helped.
NIKITA: Old life?
MICHAEL: No. Section.
NIKITA: Do they know that you helped them?
MICHAEL: No.
NIKITA: (smug, she leans close to Michael) I just love it when I'm right about you.
Nikita kisses Michael on the mouth; he spares enough attention from the road to return it.
TOWN
Michael sits in his parked car outside the Koniglich Bank. He observes an idyllic city scene as he waits: older children kick a soccer ball about; lovers walk and talk around the square; a mother pushes her baby in a carriage while an older woman compliments her on her child. A woman wearing a uniform looms in his window.
METER MAID: Sie konnen hier nicht parken. (You cannot park here.)
Michael nods in acknowledgement and readies his car for departure as the meter maid leaves. Nikita exits the bank, envelope in hand. She climbs into the car and offers him the money.
MICHAEL: Any problem?
NIKITA: Didn't ask for I.D.
Michael glances around. Where only a moment ago the square had been full with people, it is now empty, barren. No children, no lovers…just empty benches.
NIKITA: What are we waiting for?
MICHAEL: We're surrounded.
Realization dawns on Nikita’s face; she sees it, too, and makes the same leap of logic Michael did.
NIKITA: Removing collateral.
MICHAEL: Yes.
NIKITA: Should we use the car?
MICHAEL: We won't get ten feet.
NIKITA: I've got three grenades. (she opens her purse and cradles three round black grenades) We can carve a path. Highway’s less than a kilometer.
She opens her car door, ready to spring out into action. Michael stops her with a hand on her arm.
MICHAEL: No. There will be another day.
Michael touches the side of her head, reassuringly. They exit the car and walk slowly away, arms held wide. Twelve operatives emerge from seemingly nowhere to surround them, guns drawn and pointed at the two fugitives.
OPERATIONS’ PERCH
Operations watches the playback of Michael and Nikita’s capture. Madeline walks in.
MADELINE: They're here.
OPERATIONS: Where have you put them?
MADELINE: Four west.
OPERATIONS: They're to be treated well.
MADELINE: I agree, but they can't be trusted.
OPERATIONS: They never could. Not from the moment <i>she arrived. There's a bond between them that can only be broken one way.
They look at the monitor; it now shows Michael and Nikita in their containment. They are separated by a wall of glass.
MADELINE: Which one?
OPERATIONS: Nikita.
MADELINE: I disagree.
OPERATIONS: Michael's more valuable -- you know that.
MADELINE: Whichever one we let live will never forgive us. We let them make the choice.
OPERATIONS: What's the difference?
MADELINE: Eventually, the survivor will need to anchor. They will want to believe in us, but they'll need justification.
OPERATIONS: Plausible deniability.
MADELINE: Yes.
FOUR WEST
Michael and Nikita are prisoners. Although they can see and hear each other through the wall of glass, they cannot touch. Nikita moves about restlessly while Michael watches. He approaches the glass.
MICHAEL: Nikita.
She turns to look at him, her eyes glassy with unshed tears.
MICHAEL: It has to be this way.
NIKITA: No. Let them kill us both.
MICHAEL: They won't do that. They need one of us.
She turns her back on him; a denial.
NIKITA: We should both live.
MICHAEL: You know they won't let that happen.
Michael lays his hands on the glass. Nikita turns around to face him, and places one of her hands over his.
NIKITA: If they cancel you, I won't want to live. I'll step in front of the first bullet shot at me.
MICHAEL: No, you won't. I'll need you after I'm gone.
NIKITA: What does that mean?
MICHAEL: Adam.
The screen is filled with the image of Michael, holding his son Adam: a flashback. They both smile, as if being photographed by a loved one.
MICHAEL: You're the only one I can trust.
NIKITA: (the tears are closer) That's something you should do yourself.
MICHAEL: After I'm cancelled, they'll induce…so you're not suicidal. After some time passes, you'll be brought back. It won't be as painful as you think.
NIKITA: (stares at the floor) You can live without me…(looks up at Michael) a lot better than I can live without you.
MICHAEL: No.
THE WHITE ROOM
The door opens. Michael steps out; operatives take him to the White Room. He sits and is restrained. Operations enters the room.
OPERATIONS: Hello, Michael.
An assistant hands Operations a syringe.
MICHAEL: (glances at needle) I'd prefer a bullet.
OPERATIONS: A bullet? Nikita was right. You'll get over her death. She'll never be able to get over yours.
Operations takes Michael’s head in a strong grip and holds the syringe up to his neck.
OPERATIONS: This is just to help you get through this.
Realization is a wave of cold water on his calm; he thrashes wildly.
MICHAEL: No! NO!
His struggles are ineffectual; Operations injects the drug into Michael’s neck, rendering him unconscious. The older man looks up briefly, then closes his eyes.
GAMBIT ROOM
Nikita sits in a chair, curving, metal armrests at her sides. Two operatives attach various wires to her head and body.
NIKITA: And Michael?
MADELINE: You've got your wish. He's going to live.
Nikita’s expression is one of serene satisfaction.
MADELINE: (to tech) Give her a full charge; pain is not the goal here. Not yet.
There is a page; Madeline responds.
MADELINE: Send him in. (to Nikita) Someone would like to say goodbye.
Nikita swivels her eyes to the door. It opens, and Walter steps hesitantly forward.
NIKITA: Hey, sugar....
Walter comes to her side, anguished.
WALTER: I....
NIKITA: It’s okay.
WALTER: I…I… (sobs)
NIKITA: Oh, Walter, no…
Walter turns his face to Madeline.
WALTER: (accusingly) How can you do this?
He approaches the glass separating them from Madeline.
WALTER: You have no right! You have no right!
MADELINE: It's time to leave, Walter.
WALTER: (shakes head) No.
NIKITA: Walter…
WALTER: No.
Tears overcome Walter once more. He returns to Nikita’s side.
NIKITA: It's all right, Walter. I don't mind.
Walter kisses Nikita tenderly on her forehead.
NIKITA: It’s okay.
Walter backs away, looking at Nikita. She remains calm, serene, composed. He blindly turns and leaves. The door swings shut.
MADELINE: (to tech) All right.
The tech adjusts the settings and then presses the button. Monitors beep, but nothing happens to Nikita.
MADELINE: What's wrong?
TECHNICIAN: I don't know.
Flash to Operations’ perch.
OPERATIONS: Stokes, what's going on?
Flash to Comm.
STOKES: Sir I have no idea. (flash back to the perch) All the internal online systems are shut down. All we have is basal power and communications.
OPERATIONS: How could that be?
STOKES: I don't know sir.
A cell phone rings; Operations answers it.
OPERATIONS: Yes.
WOMAN: (via phone) Sir, you have an incoming call from Mr. Jones.
Operations stands.
CENTER JET
A sleek jet flies above the clouds. Inside, a man (goatee twin?) enters a well-appointed cabin. Jason Crawford sits in one of the overstuffed, leather chairs; he glances up at the man, then back to his computer. Next to him, another man (goatee twin #2?) is hard at work on his computer; next to him sits Monique. Across the aisle, Mr. Jones sits in his chair; he wears a mid-gray suit and tee shirt, and rectangle, slightly tinted glasses. A teacup and a PDA lay on the table before him; a cell phone is pressed to his ear.
The conversation flashes back and forth between Mr. Jones in his jet and Operations at Section.
MR. JONES: Paul, this is Jones.
OPERATIONS: Yes…
MR. JONES: I've neutralized Section for a while. I'll explain when I see you.
OPERATIONS: When you see me?
MR. JONES: Yes, I'm en route. I’ll be there shortly.
OPERATIONS: Is this about George?
MR. JONES: Canceling a supervisor without my approval was a mistake…but I’ve reviewed your debrief, and I'm going to overlook the anomaly.
OPERATIONS: Then, if you don't mind, what is this about?
MR. JONES: You'll just have to be patient, Paul.
COMMITTEE
Madeline sits, while Operations stands.
OPERATIONS: This doesn't bode well for the Section One.
MADELINE: Why do you say that?
OPERATIONS: Have you ever met anyone who has seen Mr. Jones?
MADELINE: Just George.
OPERATIONS: And he’s dead.
MADELINE: I see your point.
OPERATIONS: It's how he protects himself and the agencies. Anonymity.
MADELINE: So, if he shows himself now, either he's planning to step down, or he has other plans.
OPERATIONS: It's unlikely he's coming here to announce his retirement.
WOMAN: (via com) Mr. Jones is here to see you, sir.
OPERATIONS: Send him in.
Madeline stands and straightens her suit coat. Operations turns so they both face the door. It opens, and Mr. Jones walks down the ramp. He stops just in front of the surprised couple, and clears his throat.
OPERATIONS: Mick Schtoppel!?
MR. JONES: To a few.
OPERATIONS: But, why?
MR. JONES: Well, I needed to investigate Section One. Call me a hands-on manager. I have to see things with my own eyes, touch them with my own hands. And Mick? Well, he allowed me to do that, didn’t he?
OPERATIONS: You were picked you through Ilya Benko -- you were his gofer.
MR. JONES: Simply building a resume. I knew that Section would never use Mick as an informant if he wasn't established. But it’s hard to believe that old Mick was just fiction. (he momentarily slips into the Mick persona) He was the life of the party. I mean he was...wasn't he?
MADELINE: Mick was not enough. You had to have someone inside.
MR. JONES: Of course I did. And no, it wasn't either of you.
OPERATIONS: Then who?
The door opens again with a metal wail. Nikita walks down the ramp and stands at parade rest in front of Mr. Jones.
NIKITA: Ready when you are, sir.
Operations tilts his head; he seems less surprised than resigned.
OPERATIONS: Nikita.
MR. JONES: She works for me at C.I.I. My cover was thorough -- hers…unprecedented. You're looking at the best of the best.
While Operations studies her carefully, Nikita remains eyes-forward.
OPERATIONS: When did she begin working for you?
MR. JONES: Three years ago. I recruited her during her leave from Section. I knew she was the only one who would cooperate.
MADELINE: Why?
MR. JONES: I chose Nikita for her free will...and her sufficient disdain for…for Section One. Well, I think it's time to get started.
SECTION
Mr. Jones, his two identical male assistants, Monique, and Nikita walk through the bustle of Section’s main hub. Walter spies them, and sets down a device.
WALTER: Hey Nikita!
He trots quickly to catch her.
WALTER: What's going on?
One of Mr. Jones’ male assistants steps forward, gun pointed at Walter’s head.
WALTER: Whoa!
Nikita lowers the man’s hand.
NIKITA: (to assistant) It's okay. (to Walter) We'll talk later.
She moves past Walter with the pack; Walter turns, confused. He retreats to Munitions, and calls out.
WALTER: Hey Jase, what's coming down here?
JASON: It’s evaluation time.
WALTER: Evaluating what?
JASON: Everyone. Everything.
WALTER: Who's doing the evaluating? Operations?
JASON: I don't know too much. You know, you better get your house in order. Make sure that your inventory is checked.
WALTER: Wait a minute. I got something to show you.
JASON: What?
WALTER: It's about your girlfriend Naomi.
He leads the way down the corridor and stops at a small computer station and taps on the keyboard. A file resolves on the screen, bluish but distinct. It’s a picture of Naomi, walking with a team of Section Operatives. She is free, businesslike. Jason looks at the picture squarely.
JASON: She's Section...
He continues to stare at her image while Walter explains.
WALTER: She came off the bench right after you went to Center. Started helping out in Comm. She's been playing you from the get-go. (shakes head) I'm sorry. You gonna be okay?
Jason swivels his head to aim the same expressionless stare at Walter, glances down at Naomi’s picture, then turns and leaves. Walter looks down, regret stamped on his face.
SECTION
Madeline stands in the glass booth where Nikita and Mr. Jones hold judgment.
NIKITA: Please, sit down.
Madeline sits in the chair. The doors slide closed behind her. She is totally calm and poised, but alert. Mr. Jones looks at Madeline steadily, while Nikita stares at her laptop, reading.
NIKITA: I'll just be a moment. Sorry. On January 10 of last year, Operations abdicated control of the Section for twenty-six minutes based on a recommendation by you.
MADELINE: I'm not familiar with the date, but if you say so.
NIKITA: It was an unfortunate decision. If you recall, we ended up sustaining loss of life because of his absence.
MADELINE: Yes, I remember. It was two operatives, both level one. Frankly, I don't know if the two incidents were related.
NIKITA: Maybe not.
Nikita looks up at Madeline; the chief profiler now faces both sets of coolly calculating eyes. Madeline stands up.
MADELINE: (scornfully) How dare you two have the presumption to judge my contribution to this organization on one single event?
NIKITA: It's not the event; it's the relationship between you and Paul that concerns us. You two do not complement each other.
MADELINE: I really don't need to hear what some ad hoc internal affairs bimbo thinks of my work. Get to the punch line.
MR. JONES: If you insist.
NIKITA: No.
As Mr. Jones and Nikita discuss Madeline, their eyes remain on the subject of their contention. She bears it stoically
MR. JONES: We've discussed this, Nikita.
NIKITA: And you know where I stand. This is not the way.
MR. JONES: There's no place for her here.
NIKITA: Maybe not in Section, but she does have assets.
Mr. Jones looks at Nikita. Nikita’s eyes remain glued to Madeline’s face.
MR. JONES: Is this a personal plea?
NIKITA: Yes.
Mr. Jones smoothly swivels his head to once more face Madeline.
MR. JONES: (to Madeline) You understand, this decision is mine and mine alone.
MADELINE: No. You understand. I'll make my own decision regarding my fate.
Madeline reaches behind her head; from low in her hair, she retrieves a pill. With deliberate motions, she sits down, holds it out, then puts in her mouth and slowly chews it. Her eyes seem to stare through everything, as though clamping down on the reaction of her body to the poison. Minimal tremors shake her, and she slumps in her chair. Never once did she let go of her iron clasp on her dignity.
MR. JONES: I shall miss her fortitude. (presses the com button, which beeps) Housekeeping.
Time jumps to several minutes later; two men in gray smocks push a stretcher bearing Madeline’s body out of the room. Operations watches, standing next to the corridor wall. As the first man passes, Operations’ hand clamps hard on his arm, stopping him and Madeline.
Operations bends over Madeline, resting his hand on her hair. He kisses her on her still lips; his expression is somewhat lost, but not undone.
Nikita comes out of the room, adjusting her clothing for the outside. Operations, still bent over Madeline’s body, turns his head toward her.
NIKITA: I want to show you something.
Operations straightens; the gurney rolls away. Nikita disappears down a hallway. Operations follows for a few steps, then turns to watch the gurney retreat from him. At last, he rounds the corner, and follows Nikita.
OUTSIDE: A SCHOOL PLAYGROUND
Operations and Nikita stand side by side outside a chain link fence, watching children play on a large, wooden climber with towers and slides. The noise of shrieking, happy children wafts over to them.
OPERATIONS: Are you going to tell me what we're doing here?
NIKITA: Why don't you tell me?
OPERATIONS: Let me guess: you want to make a point.
NIKITA: Very good. And what's the point?
OPERATIONS: Please! Spare me the clichés. The innocent children, the future, the need to protect them both. I wrote that speech, remember?
NIKITA: Did you mean it?
Operations glances at her sideways and smiles faintly.
OPERATIONS: Of course I meant it.
NIKITA: You're a ruthless man, Paul. (Operations looks back at the children) That's good. You do your job with clarity and I respect that. But children and terrorists --are not the same. You've abstracted them. And killing one to save a hundred is not always right. George learned that. That's why you had a problem with him.
OPERATIONS: It turned out to be his problem.
NIKITA: (swings to face him) Not if you want the post that he left vacant. You do want Oversight, don't you?
OPERATIONS: What do you want me to say? “I'll water my compassion so you can see it grow”?
NIKITA: I'm sorry; you're not ready. You'll stay in Section…where your status will be reviewed in…seven years.
OPERATIONS: Because I lack compassion?
NIKITA: Because you lack the good judgment that comes from having a small dose of it, Paul.
OPERATIONS: What about the compassion I showed you, time after time?
NIKITA: Compassion for me? Madeline once tried to convince me that you were my father. I never knew my father, but I know he would never have sentenced his own daughter to death…more than once.
OPERATIONS: I had a job to do and you more than deserved it.
NIKITA: I don’t disagree with you, Paul, but Oversight requires a different skill set than Section One, and until you master those skills -- those skills -- Section’s where you'll stay.
They stare at one another for a moment, then Nikita turns and leaves. Operations looks after her, then turns to once more watch the children at play.
SECTION
Walter now sits where Madeline sat. He wears black from his bandana down to his boots. His black tee-shirt bares his forearms; he rests his hands on his knees, displaying his tattoos. Nikita is the only one who sits in judgment.
NIKITA: So, what do you feel about all this, Walter?
WALTER: A bit betrayed, how do you think?
NIKITA: That's good.
WALTER: Why “good”?
NIKITA: Because you were betrayed. You have a firm grasp of reality.
WALTER: (irritated) Then what the hell am I doing here?
NIKITA: It's an evaluation.
WALTER: Then why don't we save each other the trouble? We both know that I broke every rule in the book helping you and Michael.
NIKITA: Why did you help us?
WALTER: You don't know?
NIKITA: I'd like you to tell me.
WALTER: (calm) I loved you.
NIKITA: I love you, too. But that has nothing to do with why we're here. You said it yourself -- this place has to change. To do that means to make some difficult choices.
Walter twists in his chair, agitated.
WALTER: What I don't understand is you used to come to me to confide, you used to ask my advice. (accusing) Now if you were doing that just to figure out who I was, why did you keep coming back after you knew?
NIKITA: You kept me grounded. When you go undercover for as long as I did, you have to find a center, a place you can stay anchored so you don't drift. You were my center.
WALTER: Well, isn’t this great. I was just starting to get comfortable disliking you.
He looks away, shaking his head.
NIKITA: Don't get too comfortable -- you haven't heard my recommendation. (Walter looks at her warily) You've committed too many violations against the charter for me to allow you to continue in your present position. I'm transferring you to the Farm.
WALTER: (outraged) The Farm?
NIKITA: You're going to become a teacher.
WALTER: Oh, come on!
Walter stands up and shuffles around, unsettled. Nikita stands as well; the interview is over. Walter stops his pacing and leans one arm against the window frame.
NIKITA: I'm gong to miss you, Walter. Who's gonna call me ‘sugar’?
The doors open.
NIKITA: Goodbye, Walter.
Walter raised one hand; a flippant wave, and heads to the open door.
WALTER: (still angry) So long...(he pauses at the doorway, turns and adds flippantly) “Sugar”.
OPERATIONS PERCH
Jason inserts a disk into the reader, taps a keyboard, removes it and goes on to the next disk. He hears footsteps behind him, turns and sees Naomi at the door.
NAOMI: Jason?
JASON: Come in.
Naomi walks in. She’s wearing a dark suit; her hair is pulled back. Jason turns back to his work.
NAOMI: When did you find out?
JASON: It doesn't matter.
NAOMI: I'm sorry.
JASON: Don't be. I enjoy my work. In fact, I've never had such clarity in my life.
NAOMI: You don't really mean that.
JASON: (sincerely) I do. (he sounds philosophical) You saved me, Naomi, from the corporate world. A world I never did feel comfortable in.
NAOMI: I want you to know something.
Jason turns to face her.
NAOMI: Those times we spent together? They did mean something.
JASON: I'll never forget them.
Jason smiles slightly; his expression seems warm. Naomi smiles in return, and steps forward expectantly, but the sentimentality suddenly vanishes from Jason’s face and voice.
JASON: (coldly) You may return to your post.
SECTION
Michael walks down a long hallway, his footsteps echoing as he approaches the chair of judgment. He wears a dark suit, with a tee shirt under the jacket; sober attire for a sober man.
NIKITA: Come in, Michael.
Michael enters the glassed in booth and stands, his hands clasped in front of him.
NIKITA: (reading from laptop) Michael Samuelle, brought into Section One ten years ago, graduated training nine months early; moved directly to Level Three. Your continual ascent within the organization was due not only to your tactical and strategic abilities; there is something primal about your approach. You have shown otherworldly disregard for your own well-being. More than anyone else, you have been true to the highest principles that define this organization.
MICHAEL: That's not true. I betrayed Section. I've put your well being ahead of everything else.
NIKITA: I have no choice but to recommend your cancellation.
MICHAEL: Is there an abeyance mission pending?
NIKITA: Yes.
MICHAEL: Thank you.
STAIRWELL
Mr. Jones and Operations descend the metal staircase, talking as they go.
MR. JONES: Now you understand how this has to play out?
OPERATIONS: Michael cannot survive.
MR. JONES: That's right. I'm going to give you Jason to assist on Comm.
OPERATIONS: You mean Seymour, don't you?
MR. JONES: No. Seymour’s dead.
They continue to the mouth of a hallway and stop to face one another.
OPERATIONS: You understand why I did it.
MR. JONES: Of course. If you hadn't accommodated, you’d have been cancelled.
Echoing footsteps approach; they turn. It’s Nikita.
NIKITA: My work’s done here, Mr. Jones.
MR. JONES: Good job. I'll see you back at Center.
Nikita leaves without further comment to either man. Operations and Mr. Jones hold a long look, then Operations turns and walks down the hall, disappearing into a doorway on the left. Mr. Jones stands as Operations left him for a few moments.
SYSTEMS
The team prepares for this mission: Michael’s last. As Operations and Jason explain plan, the camera pans slowly across the various faces. All are intent or serious. The entire time, Michael says nothing; his face is a glacier.
OPERATIONS: Teams three and four will fall back for the retreat. Michael, you’ll proceed alone to the engagement area.
JASON: By this point, you will have triggered their security. We've estimated ten to fifteen hostiles with orders to kill anything that moves.
OPERATIONS: You will be wearing a suicide vest with one pound C4 explosive, thermal detonator. Once the engagement has commenced, you will have a window of thirty seconds. You'll take this route all the way to the target.
KURTZMAN: Won't that approach be blocked?
JASON: No, it dead-ends. And there's no retreat.
KURTZMAN: (puzzled) Then how does Michael get out?
OPERATIONS: Check your panels, you'll move in fifteen.
The team disperses, but Michael stands: a pillar of stillness amid the action. Never once does his face change.
MUNITIONS
Operatives throng around the mouth of Walter’s department. He hands them boxes as they pass by, giving a name to indicate to whom the box belongs.
WALTER: Arnold. Wilson. Jason.
Michael walks up.
WALTER: Just wait here a minute.
Walter steps back and grabs something on a shelf out of sight, then returns, holding a small, yellow canvas bag with black handles.
WALTER: Here, take this with you Michael.
MICHAEL: What is it?
WALTER: Solvents and a compressor. You can get through a three-foot wall. Dig yourself out before the detonation.
MICHAEL: Thank you.
Michael takes his black bag that holds supplies for his mission, but leaves the yellow bag when he leaves. Walter looks after the brooding man, the bag in his hand, disturbed.
MISSION
The mission van is parked outside a building at night. Inside, Jason sits in front of a laptop and runs the mission. The POV cuts from the mission to Jason in the van when he speaks.
JASON: Michael’s at first mark. Teams one and two disengage. Michael, seventy-five meters. You have twenty seconds to hit your next mark.
In the building, several enemy troops hustle down a hallway. As they pass a railing, a trapdoor flips open and Michael pops up halfway, holding the door open while shooting them from behind. He emerges completely and goes to the corner of the hall and shoots two more hostiles.
MICHAEL: At second mark.
JASON: Hold. (pause) Okay, go.
More firefight; Michael is a perfect machine.
JASON: Proceed to final mark.
Michael leans against a wall, right by the corner of the final, dead-end hallway. He reaches down and activated the detonator. Red LCD lights count down the time…he has only moments to live.
MICHAEL: I'm at the door.
JASON: He's at his final mark.
Michael stands, his stillness unbroken. The camera cuts to Operations and then Jason; they both look serious. They know this is when Michael dies.
JASON: (calmly) Okay, Michael. We detonate in fifteen seconds.
Michael seems to draw into himself, preparing for his terminal effort.
JASON: Go.
Michael goes to his last mark as the red numbers on his chest count down. However, all the hostiles are dead. Nikita is the only person standing amid the dust; behind her is a hole in the concrete wall.
NIKITA: I thought someone should use Walter's little bag of tricks.
Nikita is dressed in mission gear; she wears sunglasses. Michael stands, a marble statue as he had been all day. Nikita shucks him of the suicide vest, and lets it drop behind him.
NIKITA: Let's go.
She runs, dodging bodies on the floor, and dives through the hole. Michael finally stirs, and follows her. Behind them, no one but the dead wait as the counter reaches zero…and the bomb detonates with a roar.
OUTSIDE
Michael emerges out a steel drainpipe imbedded in a stone wall, still following Nikita. They are outside, in a leafy, green wood. Nikita continues to lead the way, leaping like a deer through the vegetation, Michael loping behind with an automatic rifle in his hand. Finally, they stop in a slight clearing.
NIKITA: We're clear.
Nikita holds out a device in her hand and circles, taking readings of some sort.
MICHAEL: Four minutes, then we'll be in range of Map C-Two.
Nikita stops scanning, evidently satisfied with the readings.
MICHAEL: Why did you break protocol?
NIKITA: I wasn't ready to see you die.
MICHAEL: Are you out?
NIKITA: No, I gotta get back, but you can make it. This’ll jam their frequency long enough to get you out of the hemisphere. Take it.
She pushes it into his hand; he takes it.
MICHAEL: What about you?
NIKITA: I'll be all right. I got a card to play. They owe me this.
MICHAEL: Come with me.
Nikita looks away to some spot over his shoulder.
NIKITA: I can't.
Michael reaches out and lifts her sunglasses, tucking them on top of her head. Nikita still looks away. Michael gazes at her incessantly.
MICHAEL: Is this what you want?
NIKITA: I don't love you.
She transfers her cool gaze to his.
NIKITA: I never did.
Michael’s gaze continues to couple with hers as he reaches up. A knife protrudes from his hand. He lays the tip by the inner corner of his eye and presses it in, cutting an inch-long cut where his tears would fall if he cried. The blood wells; Nikita looks away. Michael pushes the field router into her hands before he walks past her.
Nikita stands as still as Michael, never once turning around to see
him disappear into the foliage.
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