Black On White Not Red All Over: An Original Screenplay

BLACK ON WHITE NOT RED ALL OVER a screenplay by S. A. Scoggin

Registered WGA and ©2009

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EXTERIOR. WASHINGTON D.C: THE MALL. DAY. It is a cold spring day. A small but growing crowd is gathering about a roped off area, a semicircle about fifty yards in diameter which borders the street. Police are everywhere, on foot and on horseback. Within the semicircle is a platform with a podium. On one side of the platform stands the red white and blue of the Stars and Stripes and on the other the white, blue and red Russian flag. A color guard is preening on the lawn next to a small brass band which is warming up with several bars of an unfamiliar martial air. A man in a dark suit and sunglasses passes in front of them. His head is on a swivel as he sees everything, yet no one seems to take notice of him. A thin twisted wire leads from his lapel to a plug fitted into his ear. The man pauses a second to watch a television news crew. He eyes the talent, a stunning blonde roughing out her commentary. REPORTER As you can see behind me, security is tight… She turns and checks behind her, then she scribbles on her clipboard. REPORTER …heavy security…in evidence here on the Mall at the departure ceremony for Russian Premier Marat Kuptsov, who is heavily favored in the upcoming Russian presidential election. Premier Kuptsov is a strong supporter of the Administration’s antiterrorist efforts in the Middle East. White House sources have told me that Premier Kuptsov expects American approval in return for stronger Russian action against the Chechnyan forces who are using some of the same terrorist tactics in the long and bloody conflict raging there…Phil, too long? What? She puts a hand to her ear, listening.

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INTERIOR. WASHINGTON, D.C.: HOTEL LOBBY. DAY. Elevator doors open and MARAT KUPTSOV exits. KUPTSOV is tall and ruddy, with a thick bush of snow-white hair. He walks like one who is used to seizing command of the people and events around him. People stop what they are doing to watch him pass. The lobby is full of police. As he marches through, he accumulates a convoy before and aft. Near the door, he stops and motions to two black men in plainclothes. RODNEY QUINTAL is a sleek, powerful man in his late thirties. Though a boxer in his youth, his face is unmarked. He carries himself with the balance and confidence of a champion fighter. MICHAEL JACKSON is in his early forties but looks older and worn, as if it were he that had been the fighter. KUPTSOV Officer Quintal! You have my back again today? QUINTAL Yes, sir. KUPTSOV That is my good fortune. Agent Jackson, I am remembering one or two quite unreported factors that were underneath our strategic goals in 1979. I will tell you more about the Afghan unpleasantries… but this is not the place for that. Later. Come and see me in Moscow. JACKSON You are too kind, Mr. Premier. KUPTSOV Kindness is not in it. You must write the book of our war. If a Russian were to, who would believe him? Ah – they grow impatient. Ciao, my friends. He moves toward the door and is quickly engulfed by security. JACKSON and QUINTAL follow, speaking quietly.

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JACKSON You’d never know his troops called him “the massacre that walks like a man”. Hard to believe he’ll be the next Russian President. QUINTAL I buy it. That smooth talking SOB could get elected here.

EXTERIOR. WASHINGTON, D.C.: THE MALL. DAY. A train of limousines pulls up to the site of the departure ceremony. Security teams pour out. The band begins to play a march. KUPTSOV emerges from his limo and starts for the speaker's stand, where the President waits. JACKSON and QUINTAL are checked by a short balding agent whose eyes move over the scene left and right as he talks. AGENT FBI decided our lives weren’t hard enough. Baltimore cop got shot on a routine traffic stop yesterday. Ballistics just made the slug. Nine mil pistol called a Gyurza. Guess who uses them? QUINTAL Spetsnaz. Russian Army special forces. AGENT Too fucking right. You two take the southern perimeter. I’ll round up cover for the rest. He moves off, motioning to other agents. JACKSON and QUINTAL stand back to back, sizing up the surroundings. JACKSON I’m guessing the Gyurza is the favorite trophy weapon of Chechnyan tourists. QUINTAL How would you do it?

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JACKSON From a window, there, or that roof. But a pistol gourmet would do it from the crowd. QUINTAL Why don’t they wait until he’s home? Why the hell come all this way? Jet lag does your aim no good. JACKSON Media savvy. Look at all this free pub. You want to sing the man the blues, you do it on Broadway, not in the outhouse. They head in opposite directions.

EXTERIOR. WASHINGTON D.C: THE MALL. DAY. The crowd from the agents’ viewpoints: a collage of faces. Their eyes linger on the hostile ones, noting bulges under coats, packages in hands.

EXTERIOR. WASHINGTON D.C: THE MALL. DAY. JACKSON and QUINTAL meet again. In the background, speeches are booming out over loudspeakers. QUINTAL Nothing? JACKSON Nothing. They lift up the police barrier and plunge into the crowd. Separately, they work their way to the back, where they find more police than crowd. As QUINTAL steps around a mounted patrol, his eye is caught by a young boy about one hundred yards away. The boy is pounding on the window of a parked ice cream truck, shouting something unintelligible. The boy pauses to listen, then walks slowly away, looking back once or twice.

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QUINTAL Ice cream? Today? JACKSON follows QUINTAL'S eyes and sees the truck. They begin to walk toward it. When they get a little closer, they see “Baltimore’s Finest Ice Cream Novelties” written in script on the door. They hear the mighty whine of the Marine helicopter begin to build behind them, over the brass band. They begin to sprint.

EXTERIOR. WASHINGTON D.C: THE MALL. DAY. The REPORTER is sitting in a director’s chair near the open back of the news van. She spots QUINTAL and JACKSON racing across the grass and leaps up, waving frantically to her cameraman to follow her.

EXTERIOR. WASHINGTON D.C: THE MALL. DAY. QUINTAL and JACKSON close in on the truck from the rear. The window on the far side of the truck is being raised. The helicopter sounds like it is right on top of them.

EXTERIOR. WASHINGTON D.C: THE MALL. DAY. The cameraman, running, sees them draw their guns. He lifts up his camera and starts to film without breaking stride.

EXTERIOR. WASHINGTON D.C: THE MALL. DAY. JACKSON and QUINTAL indicate to each other with their hands which side of the truck they will take. The helicopter passes overhead. JACKSON looks inside the truck and sees a man sighting a rocket launcher out over the Potomac. JACKSON Stinger! He fires, and the man drops below the countertop. A string of shells burst through the skin of the truck. JACKSON

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dives behind a car. He empties his clip into the truck. As he reloads, he sees QUINTAL, flattened against the truck, reaching up to test the passenger’s side door handle. JACKSON glances back at a stampede of weapon-toting law enforcement might raging across the grass. JACKSON (Into his cuff.) We have one male in an ice cream truck with automatic weapon and a ground-toair… The man jumps up with the launcher in his left hand and an Uzi in his right. His shirt is soaked with blood. He fires with the automatic, and JACKSON has to roll away. As the man lifts the Stinger up to sight it, QUINTAL shoots him six times in the side and head. The man falls back. After a second of deathly silence, the rocket shoots up to the truck’s ceiling, and the truck explodes. JACKSON picks himself up off the ground. He looks anxiously to where he last saw QUINTAL and is relieved to see his partner getting up and holstering his gun, brushing off soot and dirt from his suit. All around are sirens, men yelling, radios buzzing.

INTERIOR. A HOTEL ROOM. DAY. Early morning light floods through the window. A radio clicks on. A soft Southern voice reads the weather report for the greater Atlanta area. Big band music follows. On a table by the window lie a pair of scissors, and several newspapers and magazines from which articles have been cut.

INTERIOR. VIRGINIA: QUINTAL’S HOUSE. DAY. In a large, well-appointed room, QUINTAL, JACKSON, and two other men are playing pool. Children run in and out, stopping to look at a cartoon on the television. In an adjoining room the wives are having coffee and beers. One is nursing a baby. The door bell rings, and a minute later another man, TOMMY SANDERS comes into the room, carrying a supermarket bag. SANDERS is older than the other four men, about fifty. He is a large, pug-nosed Irishman who was

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obviously born to be a cop. QUINTAL Sanders! Glad you could make it. He hands SANDERS a beer. SANDERS Twenty-six years in the Service and I've drawn my piece once. And that was to scare off a bear taking a crap near Reagan's cabin in Montana. On the other hand, the bear didn't have a rocket launcher. He lifts a box of ice cream bars out of the bag. QUINTAL takes the box from SANDERS and motions him to a small chest freezer near the bar. QUINTAL opens it to show the several boxes of similar novelties already there. SANDERS By the way, you two pyromaniac fuckups have been recommended for the Medal of Valor. QUINTAL'S wife ELIZABETH, comes into the room. ELIZABETH QUINTAL is a stunning woman who bristles with energy. ELIZABETH Rodney, the kids are demanding food. Can you start the coals? FIRST AGENT Whoa, Liz. He’s seen enough fire. Let me handle it. SECOND AGENT Oh no. You never use enough charcoal. FIRST AGENT You’ve just got to stack them properly. The two of them leave, arguing about barbecues past.

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SANDERS Lizzie, I just told Rod and Mike. They are going to be getting the Medal of Valor. ELIZABETH Oh my God! Mary Lou! The Medal! JACKSON'S wife MARY LOU, rushes in. MARY LOU JACKSON is a decade older the Quintals, but she looks in better physical shape than anyone in the room. JACKSON We were lucky. If we had gotten there a minute later SANDERS Belay the ifs. I worked with guys who had been on the backup car in Dallas. They beat themselves up because they didn’t outrun the second round and take it themselves. You can’t make the risk zero. You do the best you can and then you barbeque. One of the wives comes into the room and asks about the location of the ribs. MARY LOU and ELIZABETH leave with her. SANDERS Don’t get to attached to the family. I just had a meeting with the Director about assignments for the primaries. The Secretary has decided to extend protection to Lucas Boyd, and he wants you two to head up the team. JACKSON Boyd? Boyd’s not a serious candidate. The man is a white supremacist. He celebrates Hitler’s birthday, for Christ’s sake. SANDERS Tell it to the Iowa caucuses. Fortyfive percent of the vote makes him as legit as your grandmother.

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QUINTAL This is our reward? SANDERS Right now you two can have what ever you want. You want out of it, just pick up that phone and call the White House. JACKSON This stinks, Tommy. What’s going on? SANDERS All I know officially is what I get told officially. And that is the Service would like Agents Quintal and Jackson to keep Lucas Boyd from becoming the white trash martyr.

INTERIOR. COMMERCIAL AIRLINER EN ROUTE TO ATLANTA. DAY. The pilot announces that the temperature in Atlanta is 75 degrees. QUINTAL is reading a file. JACKSON is drinking coffee and typing into a laptop. QUINTAL He’s got full organizations in Iowa and New Hampshire. How the hell does a oneterm state senator manage the cash to run a national campaign? JACKSON Fear. Angry people screaming with their checkbooks. Speaking of problems, I can’t say that I am looking forward to working with the band of homeboys he’s got handling his security. QUINTAL Most are Klan, or ex-Klan. If you believe that sheet ever gets put back on the bed. JACKSON Oh, they are going to love us.

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INTERIOR. A HOTEL ROOM. DAY. Same music as before in the background. The clippings on the table are all about Boyd.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA AIRPORT. DAY. JACKSON and QUINTAL are waiting by the baggage carousel with their bags. They are approached by Agent KEVIN WALTON. WALTON is a tall muscular man with thin blonde hair and a baby face. WALTON Jackson? Quintal? Kevin Walton. QUINTAL Thanks for coming out to get us, Kevin. WALTON No problem. Almost everyone is here now. Two more will be here tomorrow. I’ve set up a meeting with Mr. Boyd’s security people for one o’clock. C’mon, I’ll fill you in on the way to the hotel.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA: CAR. DAY. WALTON is driving. WALTON We’re lucky that Boyd has his headquarters here. He lives in this tiny little burg in Tennessee, you know. I’ve been there. It’s too quiet. QUINTAL It’d be easier to control access in a small town. WALTON An assassin could walk down Main Street in a cow suit. You can’t get away with

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that shit in Atlanta. JACKSON nods. He is studying a clipboard. JACKSON Kevin, I don’t recognize many of these names. WALTON I know most of them from the Academy. JACKSON and QUINTAL exchange a concerned glance.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA HILTON:LOBBY. DAY. QUINTAL, JACKSON, and WALTON come through the doors into the large, busy lobby. WALTON leads them over to a group talking quietly in a small circle. WALTON Vicki Esposito. Lewis Leonard. Paul Steinbrecher. Roger Taber VICKI ESPOSITO is a handsome fortyish blonde. LEWIS LEONARD is thin and intense. PAUL STEINBRECHER has a great bush of curly black hair and the face of a fifteen year old. ROGER TABER is about 50 but looks older, a ringer for Patrick Moynihan. WALTON Frank Hollingsworth is upstairs with Mr. Boyd. QUINTAL And the two to come? ESPOSITO Forget them. We just got a call from their supervisor. There's a big offshore sting in the works. They won't be coming. LEONARD We is it.

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JACKSON Eight agents? QUINTAL I don't even want to think about it until I talk to Sanders. Okay, gang, Agent Jackson and I have to meet with Boyd's staff. Walton, you go up and keep Hollingsworth company. Secure the floor. Key out the elevators. Any complaints from the hotel, call me. Taber and Leonard, check out the lobby and find all the first floor entrances. Steinbrecher, get up to the roof and rattle the locks. STEINBRECHER (He puts on a pair of sunglasses.) Right on. QUINTAL Esposito. Find the personnel manager and review the records of all current employees as well as anyone who was terminated or quit since the last master key change. The agents take off in different directions, leaving QUINTAL and JACKSON in a quiet clearing amid the bustle of the lobby

INTERIOR. ATLANTA HILTON: CONFERENCE ROOM. DAY. QUINTAL and JACKSON are sitting alone. QUINTAL Look at this roster. No protective experience. If this is such a priority assignment, how come we get such a green bunch? JACKSON There are a dozen candidates this year. That and the President and the Vice President stumping all over. Just

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aren’t enough agents to go around. QUINTAL And maybe somebody wants us to fuck up grandly. JACKSON Byrne? QUINTAL He's on the list. We’ll have to teach these guys on the fly. Two men come into the room. HENRY LYNFIELD is a young black man, dressed in a thousand-dollar three-piece suit. JIMMY SUTTON is late fortyish, very tough face, wearing chinos and a cotton sweater. He looks like a redneck Land’s End model. LYNFIELD Gentlemen, I’m Henry Lynfield, Lucas’s campaign chairman. This is Sheriff Sutton, our head of security. JACKSON Michael Jackson. Rodney Quintal. QUINTAL Mr. Lynfield, Sheriff Sutton. Mr. Boyd has accepted the Secretary of the Treasury’s offer of protection by the United States Secret Service. LYNFIELD I think what Sheriff Sutton wants to know first of all is if you are going to disband his security team QUINTAL If you wish to have a private force as part of your campaign, that is your privilege. We only insist that in any situation where we believe there is potential for harm to be done to Mr. Boyd, everyone follow the directions of the agents on the scene. Sheriff, is that acceptable to you?

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SUTTON Yeah. I can live with that. JACKSON We need a two-week itinerary for Mr. Boyd. We’ll have agents doing advance intelligence at each stop. As of this morning, we have begun personal protection of Mr. Boyd. Three agents will accompany him twenty-four hours a day. Agents assigned to perimeter support will secure the building or area where ever Lucas happens to be, in coordination with local police. QUINTAL Agent Jackson and myself will be meeting daily to plan coverage. Any questions? LYNFIELD I have the travel plan in my office. They all get up and leave. JACKSON follows LYNFIELD into the corridor, then into a large room full of people working on phones, huddled in meetings, stuffing envelopes. Several small offices have been formed by partitions. They go into one marked Campaign Manager. LYNFIELD Aren’t you going to ask me what a brother is doing working for Luke Boyd? I was surprised to see by the look on your face that you didn’t know about me. JACKSON I’ve been busy. LYNFIELD The media all want to know how I could bring myself to work to elect to the highest office a man who has worn the white robe. JACKSON That did pass through my mind.

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LYNFIELD Two reasons. First is that the black community will be excluded from power and true economic equality as long as we are addicted to the random kindness of government. That’s something the whitehairs in the NAACP don’t want to hear. It’s a dangerous threat to the bureaucracy of inferiority which has clung to power for forty years. Sadly, you have to be a pariah like Lucas to even bring it to debate. The second reason is that this is my bully pulpit. By the time the primaries are over, everyone in the Unites States will have heard me out. Maybe by then I will have converted you. JACKSON No thanks. We can talk sports, history, religion, women, or arts. No politics.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA HILTON: CORRIDOR. NIGHT. QUINTAL, WALTON, and ESPOSITO are walking together. They stop in front of double doors and present their IDs to a policeman. He nods and knocks on the door.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA HILTON: BOYD’S SUITE. NIGHT. They enter into the anteroom of a spacious suite. JACKSON is waiting for them. In a sitting room beyond, LUCAS BOYD is talking with ANNAMARIE SANCHEZ. BOYD is youthful and gangly. He has sandy hair and a toothy smile: a WASP Aryan through-and-through. SANCHEZ is an olive-skinned beauty with long black hair and intelligent eyes. BENJAMIN MACK hovers just within earshot, swirling a drink. He is plump but not squishy, with quick nervous feet which give his movements a sort of grace. JACKSON That’s Annamarie Sanchez from the Boston Globe. The guy with the bottomless Jack Daniels is Benjamin

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Mack, Boyd’s press secretary. And this is Frank Hollingsworth. FRANCIS HOLLINGSWORTH is another agent who looks too young to be carrying a gun. JACKSON Are we still on for breakfast? HOLLINGSWORTH We roll from the front door at 9:00. QUINTAL Let's meet in my room at 7:30 and go over the play. JACKSON, HOLLINGSWORTH and TABER leave. QUINTAL Who wants the door? WALTON That’s me. QUINTAL nods. He and ESPOSITO go into the sitting room. BOYD and SANCHEZ have resumed the interview. QUINTAL sizes up the room, moving to the windows and looking carefully through the closed curtains.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA: A BAR. DAY. Sutton's security team is hanging out in the back of a dark, smoky dive. A couple are playing pinball. Others are studiously drinking. SUTTON comes in, orders at the bar and sits down in a booth with BOBBY OTTO and LARRY MEHAN. OTTO is an emaciated little whippet of a man. MEHAN is plump all over. He has a swollen red face and eyes which are mean slits. OTTO What's the good word, Sheriff?

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SUTTON Boys, it appears that the United States government is willing to let you continue on in your proud tradition. MEHAN No shit. SUTTON Of course, from now on, they want you to take their orders. OTTO Yeah? Well, people in hell want ice water.

INTERIOR. AIRLINER EN ROUTE FROM ATLANTA TO NEW HAMPSHIRE. DAY. Inside a small commercial jet already airborne, BOYD and LYNFIELD are huddled with MACK in the front, going over a speech. JACKSON and QUINTAL are sitting together several rows back. JACKSON The motorcade arrives at the University at 5:30. How many Campus Police can we count on? QUINTAL Few. Unfortunately, Senator Wilson is also speaking on campus tonight. And the Vice President is in town. JACKSON Coffee? QUINTAL Tea, please. Lemon, no sugar. JACKSON gets up and goes forward. QUINTAL slides a disk in his laptop and begins to type. SANCHEZ comes up from behind and sits down in JACKSON’s seat. SANCHEZ Hey, Quintal. Sorry I didn’t get the

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chance to introduce myself last night. Deadline, you know. Would you like to tell me how a black man reacts to protecting Lucas T. Boyd? It would make a great lead for our Focus section. Or I could sell it to the Sunday Magazine editor. QUINTAL Miss Sanchez, we cannot commentSANCHEZ Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know all that. But come on, this is different. QUINTAL shakes his head. SANCHEZ OK, no names. You can be anonymous. The unnamed source. JACKSON comes back with two cups and sits down on the arm of the seat across the aisle. QUINTAL Mike, you know Miss Sanchez. SANCHEZ If you’re worried about me, don’t be. I spent two weeks in the Charles Street Jail for protecting a source. You can look it up. QUINTAL We have to be concerned with our careers, Ms. Sanchez. We see something embarrassing, we look the other way. SANCHEZ Hey, it’s my career, too. I know how much access I can expect if I get on the Service’s shit list. I’ll be back writing for the Food section. I’m not shutting up until you say yes. QUINTAL What about you? Your friend Mr. Boyd has said unkind things about both

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Hispanics and females. SANCHEZ Is that a yes? QUINTAL The first time I see an agent's name.... SANCHEZ Done. I got the rest of your crew already, thanks. Now Quintal. BA in economics from University of Nevada, Reno. Boxing scholarship. He doesn’t look like a fighter. JACKSON He’s hard to hit. SANCHEZ Michael Jackson. No relation. JACKSON I have the other glove. SANCHEZ Sure. BA in psychology from Yale. Ph.D. in history from Tulane. Thesis on communal farming in the Egyptian middle Kingdom. Associate Professor at Case Western, resigned to join the Service. Unusual training for an agent. JACKSON I’m recommending it to the Treasury Department. Tenure boards’ll rip your intestines out with their grimy little claws just for fun. At least here I get to carry a piece. SANCHEZ Okay, that’ll do me for now. JACKSON Mack was pretty nervous last night. Like you might have an agenda?

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SANCHEZ Nah. Matter of fact, they’re wicked glad to have me around. Boyd makes a point of talking seriously to me every time he sees a camera. I get front row seats. Well, I may look innocent, but I know Boyd needs to be seen in the company of someone other than white males. That’s why he loves Henry Lynfield. That’s why he lit up when he met you two. Which remind me. How in God’s name did you get stuck with this gig? QUINTAL We were asked. SANCHEZ Oh, please. You two are hot shit on a silver platter these days. QUINTAL We just answered the bell. SANCHEZ Yeah? The two of you? Heading Boyd’s protection? Tell me it’s just the luck of the draw. C’mon. JACKSON You looking for an ulterior motive? SANCHEZ Always. She goes back to her seat. JACKSON sits down. JACKSON Well, Rod, I think you just found the ghost writer for your autobiography.

EXTERIOR. DURHAM, N.H.: A FUNCTION HALL. EVENING. Two raucous crowds are separated only by one patrolmen and several blue sawhorses. One side displays crude anti-Boyd signs, the other waves printed Boyd campaign posters.

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Derisive calls are tossed back and forth. SANCHEZ is wandering around, observing. She bumps into a fellow reporter. SANCHEZ Don’t tell me the Herald yanked you off the Wilson bus. REPORTER No way, Sanchez. I came over here hoping a riot would break out. Good crowd. SANCHEZ They get bigger and louder every day. Every time the trade deficit figures or unemployment numbers come out it’s like a needle full of adrenaline. REPORTER Isn’t it scary, seeing all these goobers who would actually vote for that nutcase? SANCHEZ I can deal with it. Here comes the nutcase now. Two limos pull up. Agents and staff get out. BOYD emerges from the second car into a hail of insults from the one side and cheers from the other. BOYD waves as the agents hustle him into the hall.

INTERIOR. DURHAM, N.H.: A FUNCTION HALL. EVENING. It is standing room only inside the hall and in the balcony. A couple of minicams from local network affiliates pan the crown and zero in on BOYD as he enters. The noise builds. On the rostrum LYNFIELD and MACK are already waiting, along with a local political figure who has the microphone and was apparently interrupted midsentence in his remarks. BOYD steps up on the stage, and the pol takes his hand and raises it in triumph. POL Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the

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one hope of all true patriots. The man who will give America back to us, by the grace of God. The next President of these United States of America, Lucas T. Boyd! BOYD Thank you. It is always a great pleasure for me to visit beautiful New Hampshire, where Americans have long sought refuge from the liberal tyranny of less enlightened states. My first act as President will be to add to the national seal those four most stirring words: Live Free or Die! The crowd goes wild. JACKSON, QUINTAL, and LEONARD are standing at audience level in front of the stage, facing the crowd. One of the minicams finds them, lingers on the image it captures: BOYD at the pulpit, JACKSON and QUINTAL below. BOYD My mother passed on when I was very young. My father raised five small children by himself. He didn’t have much of an education. He was only a day laborer, but his love and caring made up for all the material things we did not have. I look back now and I can see how much better our life could have been if we had access to the kind of government assistance which is taken for granted today. I’m talking about Welfare. Ask any of my opponents who were born into wealth. They know all about it. It's an obscenity. Theft from the productive handed to the shiftless and the corrupt. Half truths, ladies and gentlemen. The welfare monster does not care about the grasshopper or the ant. It is a living organism interested only in its own survival. Buildings full of sixtythousand-dollar-a-year government workers. That is what welfare serves. They have created a permanent

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underclass in this land of plenty. And God forbid you should criticize the system, or ask it to prove its effectiveness. How horrible! How cruel! We've got to bust up that system. It has destroyed our cities, and it has spawned the gangs which terrorize them. It has crushed two generations of black Americans and driven them into our prisons. I want to tear it up. Under my administration, the sick would be nursed. The aged would be comforted. And the healthy would work. And it doesn’t matter who has been in power. My Democratic opponents need the system so they can rub up next to it at election time. The Republicans need it so they can run against it. The system serves them all well. It just doesn’t serve anyone else. It didn’t serve the fifty three machinists who got laid off in Littleton last August. They got crushed by Japanese companies selling below cost. And our government doesn’t have the guts to apply the same antitrust, antimonopoly laws that we all have to abide by to the Japs. These men were earning a good wage, paying their fair share of taxes. But when they needed help, did the government defend their market to keep them in their jobs? Smattering of a reply from the crowd: NO! Did the government help them find new jobs at equivalent pay? Louder, as they get the rhythm: NO! And when they couldn’t find a job on their own because the government had let the economy go into the sewer, when their modest unemployment benefits had run out, did the government turn any of

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the hundreds of thousands of dollars these men and women had paid into the system back to them to feed their families? The crowd roars: NO! One row of spectators stands and begins to unfurl a banner which states: DEATH TO THE KLAN. They start to chant the same. Others in the crowd boo and hiss them and attempt to snatch the banner down. Scuffles break out. BOYD Let them be. They don’t know what they are doing. They don’t understand who the real enemy is. Several of the Sheriff’s boys plunge into the crowd and grapple with the protesters. Most of the protesters sit and cover as the boys reach them. A few strike back awkwardly, so the battle is fairly even, though the protesters outnumber the boys. BOYD I’m sorry about this, ladies and gentlemen. It appears that not all of us agree with the First Amendment to the Constitution.

EXTERIOR. DURHAM, N.H.: A FUNCTION HALL. NIGHT. WALTON is standing by the limo. He puts his hand to his ear, then scrambles into the limo and picks up a radio mike. WALTON This is Walton. Please say again. RADIO Hello, Walton. This Atkinson. I thought you might like to know that the Wilson rally just broke up. A concerned citizen with a megaphone jumped up as they were leaving and invited them all to join him for a little visit to see your friend Lucas Boyd.

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WALTON Anybody take him up on it? RADIO Oh yeah. They liked the idea a lot. I’d say you should put out cookies and punch for, oh, about three hundred. WALTON Do they have any cover? RADIO We sent two very old campus cops tagging along with them. WALTON Thanks, Atkinson. He rolls down his window and can hear the not-so-distant chants of an angry mob. He leaps out of the car and runs into the hall.

INTERIOR. DURHAM, N.H.: A FUNCTION HALL. NIGHT. WALTON proceeds in haste, trying to look calm. The Sheriff’s boys are dragging people out into the aisle. BOYD has turned the volume up a notch. WALTON comes to the front of the hall to huddle with JACKSON and QUINTAL. QUINTAL climbs onto the stage and kneels down next to LYNFIELD. QUINTAL There is a large and hostile group on its way. Have Mr. Boyd wrap it up so we can get him out. LYNFIELD Are you kidding? With all this security? Surely you can go reason with them. QUINTAL Do you want these cameras showing Mr. Boyd being driven from the stage by opponents or leaving the stage to cheers?

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LYNFIELD nods and stands. He goes to the podium and has a discreet word with BOYD. BOYD Ladies and gentlemen, I hate to have to leave you all, but I have to say goodnight. The poll that counts will be taken next Tuesday. I ask all of you here tonight to go forth and spread the news. The time has come to take America back! Cheering, some renewed jeers from the remaining dissidents, some of the crowd begins to shout “Take America back!” BOYD waves to all as the agents hustle him out through the rear of the stage.

INTERIOR. NEW HAMPSHIRE: HOTEL: BOYD'S SUITE. NIGHT. BOYD is sitting on a couch, bare feet up on a coffee table, sipping a drink and watching TV. JACKSON, STEINBRECHER and Hollingsworth are in the room. SUTTON bursts in, in a lather. SUTTON What the hell kind of protection do you call that? First you let the man get interrupted by a bunch of loud-mouthed jackasses and you don’t do a damn thing to stop it. Then we have to cut and run like a bunch of... I don’t know what. Why didn’t you get those assholes out of there when they started waving their goddamned signs? JACKSON We work for the Treasury Department and for all the citizens of the United States, including those demonstrators peaceably exercising their right to free speech. SUTTON Bullshit! What about Luke’s right to speak? What about that right?

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JACKSON The demonstrators were not a threat to Mr. Boyd. We had no authority to remove them. SUTTON For the love of God, Luke, with friends like these we don’t need no frigging enemies. BOYD waves for quiet. On the TV is a shot of the front of the function hall. The picture is unsteady as from one of the minicams. There is a lot of movement: white shirts moving around, police lights flashing. TV .. a violent confrontation at Whitley Hall, where Lucas Boyd had appeared earlier. A large group marched there from the University hoping to confront Boyd. He was gone when they arrived, but a few his supporters remained in front of the hall. The two groups exchanged words, and then fighting broke out. Five people were injured, none seriously. Eleven people were arrested. SUTTON And two of those were Larry Mehan and Bobby Otto. I just got back from bailing them out. My boys stayed around to stomp the shit out of those idiots. They didn’t take off in a limo. BOYD Jimmy, they just saved our ass. If I had been there when that crowd arrived, CNN would be playing the tape every ten minutes. Jackson, you guys have some savvy. I hadn’t counted on that bonus when I agreed to have you come on board.

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INTERIOR. NEW HAMPSHIRE: HOTEL COFFEE SHOP. EARLY MORNING. HOLLINGSWORTH, TABER, JACKSON, and QUINTAL are having a working breakfast, with papers spread out on the table around their plates. QUINTAL I talked to one of the city cops who busted the thing up. He said that two of Jimmy Sutton’s goons were wading through those college kids, cracking heads. JACKSON That must have been Larry the twins. They’re just a excitable boys. Jimmy was they didn’t run away like

and Bobby, pair of proud that we did.

HOLLINGSWORTH Did we run these guys through the FBI to make sure they’re clean? JACKSON and QUINTAL look at each other. Obviously they had overlooked this. QUINTAL OK, please do. You sure you haven’t done this before? SANCHEZ comes into the coffee shop. She clears a space for the notebooks she is carrying and sits down. HOLLINGSWORTH raises his eyebrows. WALTON enters the coffee shop soon after and joins them. JACKSON Frank, Roger, you remember Ms. Sanchez. She has pledged to rot in prison rather than reveal anything which we might say in her presence. Does that about sum it up? SANCHEZ Vividly. You all look like hell. Agent Walton, you look like the only one here who got any sleep last night.

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QUINTAL You know any young reporters who would like to stay mentally alert for twelve hours at a stretch and meet deadline? SANCHEZ Why the long shifts? JACKSON Twelve is more efficient when we aren’t on the move, and it makes up somewhat for being shorthanded. TABER Maybe we’ll get some dropouts after the primary. SANCHEZ You might have to wait until Super Tuesday or even later before they start to fold. HOLLINGSWORTH Another four weeks at this pace and I’ll be ready to retire. I don’t see how you guys can do this all the time. QUINTAL It only gets hectic every four years, and this time it’s especially bad with all the candidates. SANCHEZ So what’s new? JACKSON We were regretting that we didn’t get in the thick of the excitement last night. SANCHEZ Oh, that. (She tosses him a newspaper.) Page one, bottom left. JACKSON (Reading.) Clash at anti-Boyd rally injures five.

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Annamarie Sanchez. Globe staff. Durham, New Hampshire. Supporters of right-wing Presidential candidate Lucas Boyd broke up a vocal anti-Boyd march with their fists late last night in front of the hall where Boyd spoke earlier. The student protesters had reportedly organized their march spontaneously after a speech by Senator Wilson on the University campus. Secret Service agents were alerted to the danger and removed Boyd before the crowd arrived. Frustrated in their goal of confronting Boyd, the marchers exchanged insults and then blows with the remaining Boyd supporters. One man was hit with a....continued on page seventeen. HOLLINGSWORTH I suppose you know that two of Sheriff Sutton’s red rangers were busted. SANCHEZ I missed that. Oh well. That story’s cold now. Damn, I might have gotten the headline with that angle. Those bozos are trouble. Why don’t you can them? QUINTAL Boyd wants them. He’s entitled to them. It’s his baggage. We have no say in the campaign personnel. SANCHEZ Then you’re stuck with them. Boyd and Sutton go way back. No way Boyd would sack his bud, no matter how much heat he takes for it. Really, we’re talking about a man who wants to be the leader of what he used to call with a straight face the “Zionist Occupation Government”. He has yet to retract his position that the Holocaust was just good Jewish PR. Boyd won’t be crying over his friend’s goons putting people in the hospital.

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JACKSON You’ve been around Boyd as much as anybody. What do you think of him? SANCHEZ Frankly, he would be just a curiosity in any other election, but this year the planets are aligned for him. The economy is in the toilet, and the voters have no confidence in either party. Boyd is the message a lot of them would like to send. HOLLINGSWORTH But how can anyone but fruitcakes be taking him seriously? Have you seen the videos of him in a white robe, leading his Aryan Americans? SANCHEZ He says he saw the light TABER It’s amazing to think that we are risking our necks for some media creation. SANCHEZ Why, Roger. Did I just hear a Secret Service agent express a political opinion? QUINTAL Sanchez, do you know what the spread is? SANCHEZ The point spread? QUINTAL No, the cover spread. In Protective you drill it until it’s automatic. If you hear a shot when you are on duty and near the talent, you get in between the gun and your man and you spread your arms and legs to make as wide a human shield as possible. You take the round instead of your man. We’re not supposed

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to care, but deep down inside, if I have to take a slug for somebody, I want them to be worth my life. SANCHEZ But you have to act as if everyone entrusted to you is worth it. QUINTAL That’s right. And when I can’t make that commitment anymore, I’ll get out of Protective. SANCHEZ Yet here you are. I suppose that means that you would throw yourself in between a bullet and Boyd. QUINTAL That would give you the headline for sure, wouldn't it?

INTERIOR. NEW HAMPSHIRE: HOTEL: BOYD'S SUITE. NIGHT. LEONARD and STEINBRECHER are standing near the door, talking quietly. BOYD is pacing, reading and making corrections to a speech. BOYD I understand that the Secret Service uses code names for its charges. LEONARD That's right, sir. You never know who could be listening. BOYD So what's mine? LEONARD It's 'Wonder", sir. BOYD Ah. Like Robin, the boy wonder. He leaves into a adjoining room, still reading.

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STEINBRECHER Robin, the boy wonder? LEONARD Nah. Wonder bread.

EXTERIOR. NEW HAMPSHIRE: THE GATES OF A LARGE MANUFACTURING PLANT. DAY. A van pulls up. A small sign in the window reads PRESS. Hollingsworth meets the reporters as they disembark and offers them each a small pin. SANCHEZ steps off. SANCHEZ Hi, Frank. The entourage has grown so big we’re using the pins? HOLLINGSWORTH That’s right. Press is yellow today. Campaign staff is red. Service is a black diamond resplendent on a field of antique white. There’s the ABC crew now. SANCHEZ What’s the action this morning? HOLLINGSWORTH Boyd solicits votes from blue collar working joes. SANCHEZ Boring. HOLLINGSWORTH Nothing’s boring when Boyd’s involved. Half the people in this country want to take a poke at him. SANCHEZ And the other half might vote for him. HOLLINGSWORTH It’s that first half that scares me. We don’t have the manpower to deal with

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it. All we can get to is the most highly crazed. SANCHEZ Many of those? HOLLINGSWORTH Many. Unfortunately, the ones who are most likely to pull a trigger are quiet. Loners with marital problems, unhappy at work, delusions of grandeur. SANCHEZ This place looks safe. HOLLINGSWORTH Crazy people have jobs, too. We’ve gone over malcontents with plant security, we’ve secured all the other entrances. Now we just keep our eyes open.

EXTERIOR. NEW HAMPSHIRE:THE GATES OF A LARGE MANUFACTURING PLANT. DAY. Workers are coming and going through the gate, which is beside a small guard shack. Boyd is outside the gate, speaking to a small crowd of workers. Others pass him by. TV cameras are angling for shots. Reporters are holding out recorders and mikes. Surrounding Boyd are agents. Some of Sutton’s men are standing in the parking lot, not looking very happy. BOYD When I was young, I thought the problem was black against white. Well, it’s not. The fight is between rich and poor, and the rich folk don’t want us to know it. They want us to keep pissing and moaning about affirmative action and racial quotas. I just want fair play on a level field. WORKER How’s that going to happen? Congressmen are millionaires. Hell, they probably don't even know what it's like to carry

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a mortgage. BOYD We got to run all them bastards out. They get into office for life, taking care of their friends. When’s the last time you saw your Congressman when it wasn’t election? Six years in the Senate or four years in the House, and then you’re done, I say. That’d give the government back to ordinary people who had to have a real job, maybe even wearing a hard hat. The way it was supposed to be. That’s one reason why I need your help tomorrow. WALTON is inside the fence, watching over a line of workers on their way out who have formed a ragged line to file through the congested gate. A uniformed plant security guard runs out of the nearest building. GUARD I just got a call from the second shift foreman. A locker was broken into last night. WALTON What was in the locker? GUARD Spare hardhat and ID badge. WALTON What’s the man’s name? GUARD Scanlon. Peter Scanlon. L - O - N. WALTON Go up there and watch out for that badge. The guard takes off. WALTON speaks into his lapel mike.

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WALTON This is Walton. We have a possible with a stolen plant badge. Peter Scanlon. SC-A-N-L-O-N. He eyes the long and growing line of workers, then barks out: WALTON SCANLON! Workers look at him, but no one moves. He takes off at a sprint, paralleling the line, one hand inside his jacket on his gun. As he nears the head of the line, one of the men looks back, then breaks out of line and runs. WALTON cuts back through the gap and with a burst of speed, tackles the man at the knees. WALTON jumps on top of him and pins his arms back. JACKSON and QUINTAL arrive on the run as WALTON is patting the man down. MAN Hey, I didn’t do nothing. I work here! WALTON Yeah, right. He pulls an ice pick from the man's pocket and hands it to JACKSON. He wrestles the man to his feet and passes him to two policemen, who handcuff him. QUINTAL Nice tackle.

INTERIOR. NEW HAMPSHIRE: HOTEL. NIGHT. SUTTON, raps on a door. MACK, tumbler in hand, lets him in. SUTTON I imagine you heard about our day. MACK Yes, I did. It sounded quite exciting. SUTTON Well, it’ll be on the news later, sure as shit. We had the goddamn networks

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there. One loony and he goes to the top of the news. MACK You see what I’ve been living with. We bust our guts to get a message out. And then any tiny cluster of lefties with illegible signs gets reported on like a legitimate opposition. SUTTON What burns me is that idiot will be out on bail tomorrow and giving interviews. I tell you, Ben, if my boys had been in charge there today, that joker wouldn’t be giving no interviews anytime soon. MACK That appeals to me, I admit. But this isn’t our backyard. Those Service agents know their business. SUTTON Don’t talk to me about those guys. I’ve been telling you ever since they put two shines in charge. Somebody’s trying to screw us. MACK I thought the exact same thing, Jimmy. The powers that be figured pictures of Luke being ushered by those boys would corrupt his words even as they tumbled from his lips. But they miscalculated. The first time I saw Luke and those two agents together I heard sweet music and hallelujahs. I said thank you, Uncle Sam. You and I know those guys aren’t going to be voting for Luke, but nobody who sees them on TV knows that. Hell, it’s practically an endorsement from the black community. SUTTON You still expect to get any of that vote? It’ll never happen.

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MACK I dream. Anyway, I missed all the fun. I was in Florida, priming the mayor of Miami. I called him a sorry Communist leader of a corrupt administration. A bribe-taking, wife-beating, childabusing son of a bitch. Oh yes, I also said that the Chief of Police was a drug dealer and a pimp. SUTTON You’re not shitting me? We have to go down there in a few days. MACK It’s like this, Jimmy. We’re going to kick hell out of the political pundits on Tuesday. Luke’s not going to win, but he’s going to do more than expected. That’s better than winning, because then you get the media following you around. Momentum draws them like moths to a floodlight. Florida’s hell, got so many damn voting blocks: retirees on fixed incomes, yuppie Cubans, angry blacks. All of them fear and hate the others. How are we going to appeal to any of them? SUTTON You’re drunk. What’s going to happen in Miami? MACK Luke is going to speak at the most filthy, Godforsaken public housing project in central Miami. SUTTON What kind of asinine plan is that? We’ll need the whole damn Miami police to drag him out of there in one piece. And you went and pissed them off? MACK Don’t worry, Jimmy. We have the United States Secret Service to protect him.

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SUTTON Oh.

INTERIOR. A HOTEL ROOM. NIGHT. The TV is on. Commercials end, and the intro to the local Atlanta news begins. There is someone in the bed. The lights are off. A suitcoat, Boyd pin on the lapel, is slung over the back of a chair. On the seat of the chair lies an empty plastic bag from Fulton County Gun and Ammo. ANCHOR Our top story tonight is the New Hampshire presidential primary. On the crowded Democratic side, as expected, there was no clear winner. With about fifty percent of the votes counted, Governor Belmont has 31% of the vote, followed by John Pershing with 28% and Representative MacLauren with 20%. Senators Post and Gatchell split most of the rest of the vote. The big surprise of the day was in the Republican primary. Ex-Klansman Lucas Boyd finished a surprisingly strong second, with 34%. Senator Wilson of Virginia won the primary as expected, but his 42% of the vote was smaller than had been predicted. Mitchell, Douris, and Fitzgerald lagged behind tonight. Our political commentator Hugh Campbell has been following the results from New Hampshire. Hugh, where did all those votes for Boyd come from, and what does this do to the Republican field? CAMPBELL The Democratic results were pretty much as the polls had predicted. No surprises there. Belmont and Pershing were expected to do well in the Northeast. Post had already conceded and folded his camp. He is hoping that the Super Tuesday states will put him back into the hunt. The shocker of the

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day is Boyd’s support. Our polls showed him getting single digits. Evidently, the public seems reluctant to voice their support for Boyd. When that happens, it throws a monkey wrench into the forecasting. ANCHOR Thank you, Hugh. In Washington today, more bad economic news-

INTERIOR. NEW HAMPSHIRE: HOTEL HALLWAY. LATE NIGHT. JACKSON and QUINTAL are walking slowly down the corridor. They look exhausted. JACKSON The advance team threat evaluation came in by fax while you were at the victory party. Did you get fed there? QUINTAL Never had a chance. The place was packed. I am going to call me up a steak and hit the rack. Where’s that threat list? JACKSON Twenty-two Priority One names. QUINTAL Jesus God, don’t people have lives of their own to live without threatening to kill someone they don’t even know? JACKSON Good night, Rod. QUINTAL Have a safe shift. He goes into his room. JACKSON continues down the hall. He stops and knocks on a door which WALTON opens. He is wearing a bathrobe.

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JACKSON You want to get some coffee? Around a corner behind WALTON steps SANCHEZ. Her hair is wild, and she is naked underneath one of Walton’s shirts. SANCHEZ C’mon, let’s get some ribs. I’m famished. She goes into the bathroom and shuts the door. WALTON and JACKSON eye each other. JACKSON I am the soul of discretion.

EXTERIOR. NEW HAMPSHIRE: HOTEL. EARLY MORNING. The Boyd entourage is leaving as the sun rises. The street is empty, but three cameramen and four technicians wait on the sidewalk. BOYD comes out with MACK, WALTON, TABER, and JACKSON. He waves to the cameras, which follow him as he gets into his limo next to MACK. JACKSON gets into the front. WALTON driving, the limo pulls away from the curb, past the TV trucks. BOYD A month ago we had to pay for air time. Now they’re waiting for us on the front stoop. JACKSON They call that the body watch. BOYD What’s that? JACKSON The television newspeople run tape when we come and go. In case you get shot at. BOYD I guess I can take that as a compliment.

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INTERIOR. AN UNDERGROUND PARKING LOT. NIGHT. A few of the posse are loading bags into a beaten van. BOBBY and OTTO are watching. FIRST POSSE MEMBER Plenty more space. BOBBY No thanks. SECOND POSSE MEMBER (He holds up a sixpack of beer.) Only four hours to Tennessee. BOBBY Still got things to do here. SECOND POSSE MEMBER Here? We're tits on a boar here. BOBBY God put tits on boars for a reason.

INTERIOR. BOSTON: THE OFFICES OF THE BOSTON GLOBE. DAY. SANCHEZ, shouldering a bulky bag, walks through a spacious room buzzing with activity. Reporters are typing into word processors, reading, talking on phones. She arrives at her desk and shakes her head at the pile of mail and memos.

INTERIOR. BOSTON: THE OFFICES OF THE BOSTON GLOBE. DAY. SANCHEZ walks into a conference room. There is a much older man, DANIEL HIGGINS, sitting at the far end of a dark oval table. He is maybe in his 60's, thin as a rail, frail and wiry-tough at the same time. She goes to him and gives him a big hug.

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SANCHEZ Danno! I thought you were in Moscow! Sanford Crocker enters the room. Crocker dresses like a tax attorney: red suspenders, charcoal grey suit. CROCKER I begged Daniel from the international desk. It’s not an insult to you, believe me. You’ve done a great job. You’ll be getting just as many inches as before. I’ve been given an expanded allocation through the New York primary. HIGGINS When do we leave? SANCHEZ Boyd will stump South Carolina and southern Florida the rest of the week. But I’ll be in DC for a few days. CROCKER When is he going to be in DC? SANCHEZ Sandy, there’s a related story that I want to pursue. It has to do with the Secret Service coverage assigned to Boyd. CROCKER I’m listening. SANCHEZ The two senior agents, Rodney Quintal and Michael Jackson, are black. That alone makes a story, but it gets deeper. I think the assignment was made on political grounds. CROCKER But the Secret Service is under the Secretary of the Treasury, who is a political appointee.

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SANCHEZ Danno can tell you what would happen if the Service played favorites. He was in the parking lot with Wallace when he was shot. What do you think his supporters would have done if the Service was perceived to be biased? What happens if Al Sharpton runs and gets shot while the Service was playing buttboy for the white man’s Administration? HIGGINS There would be hell to pay. CROCKER Is it relevant? HIGGINS Relevant? Sandy, it has nothing to do with Lucas Boyd. He has come, and he will go. This could be the elected government meddling in the nominating process. If Anna can find any substantiation of that, she will have the story of the year. HIGGINS Anna, what’s your plan? SANCHEZ I’ll go with Daniel to Atlanta, introduce him to my contacts in the Boyd camp, then run up to DC while Boyd is in South Carolina. CROCKER Agreed. Keep me posted. He rushes out. SANCHEZ That was easy. I was prepared to sing and dance for it.

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HIGGINS Anna, the man’s not stupid just because he’s an editor.

EXTERIOR. ATLANTA: PARKING LOT NEXT TO A VFW HALL. DAY. The lot is filled with VFW members and their wives enjoying a barbecue. Grills are smoking, people are sitting at long tables eating. A TV crew is filming as BOYD sits at one of the tables visiting. BOYD is wearing an old Army jacket over his shirt and tie. His name is stenciled on the breast. WOMAN I never realized that you were a veteran. BOYD Yep. My friends told me I was crazy to join the Army. They told me to get a college deferment, wait in school until the war was over. But I had to go and see for myself. I’ve been doing the unpopular things all my life. On the edge of the parking lot bounces a young man dressed in jeans, cowboy boots, and a Rage Against the Machine Tshirt. HOLLINGSWORTH, STEINBRECHER and two Atlanta cops are standing between him and the lot. YOUNG MAN (Shouting.) BOYD IS A NAZI, MAN. YOU ALL ARE SUPPOSED TO FIGHT THE NAZIS, NOT HAVE A FREAKING BARBECUE WITH THEM. HEY, BOYD, WHERE’S YOUR SHEET, MAN? MAYBE YOU CAN FOOL THE BUBBAS, MAN , BUT YOU ARE A NAZI SKINHEAD, BOYD, YOU SUCK. SIEG HEIL, MAN. COP You sure you don’t want us to move this guy along?

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HOLLINGSWORTH The dangerous ones don’t make noise. MEHAN and OTTO are leaning on a car nearby. MEHAN C’mon, Bobby, let’s go shut that punk up. OTTO Yeah, right. The Sacred Service there would have us arrested. MEHAN Jesus, we should have pulled out, too. We're just baggage.

EXTERIOR. ATLANTA: SIDE STREET IN A QUIET NEIGHBORHOOD. DAY. The youth who was heckling Boyd is walking down the sidewalk. OTTO and MEHAN get out of their car. OTTO flashes an ID card at him. OTTO Hey, kid! United States Secret Service. You got a minute? MEHAN backs the young man into an alley which is shielded by high fences. MEHAN We want to talk to you about your precious Constitutional rights. MEHAN punches the young man in the stomach. He doubles over and collapses. OTTO Like your right to remain silent. OTTO kicks the kid in the head.

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MEHAN You have the right to be kicked in the head. OTTO If you cannot afford a lawyer to kick you in the head, we will kick you in the head ourselves. He takes off his Boyd button and pins it on the young man’s shirt. OTTO and MEHAN walk away, leaving the young man motionless and bleeding in the dirt.

EXTERIOR. ALEXANDRIA, VA.:A MODESTLY AFFLUENT NEIGHBORHOOD. EVENING. SANCHEZ parks in the driveway of a large brick house. She goes up to the door and rings the bell. The mat reads ‘The Kanes’. JUDY KANE, a tall, very pregnant redhead comes out and wraps SANCHEZ in a hug. SANCHEZ Oh, Judy, you are so round! JUDY Can you believe how huge I am? It’s so good to see you, Anna. Alex is upstairs.

INTERIOR. ALEXANDRIA, VA.:THE KANE’S HOUSE. EVENING. ALEX KANE is balding, slightly shorter than his wife. He bounds down the stairs and gives SANCHEZ a kiss. ALEX Scoop Sanchez! Long time no see! SANCHEZ You’ve been busy. ALEX You bet. We’re due next week, and the store delivered the crib this morning! What if we’re early? The poor kid will

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have to sleep in the cardboard box.

INTERIOR. ALEXANDRIA, VA.:IN THE KANE’S KITCHEN. NIGHT. JUDY is seated at a table cutting vegetables. ALEX is cooking at the stove. SANCHEZ is curled up on a counter drinking a beer. ALEX You pound the pork very thin and put the pruscittio on top. Then the minced pinenuts, capers, on top of that. That’s rolled and tied with string. Then the whole batch is simmered in tomato sauce. SANCHEZ Please hurry. ALEX You did say you needed a favor. SANCHEZ Yes. You are my only trustworthy contact in Treasury. ALEX What do you need? SANCHEZ You don’t mind? Baby on the way and all, you still want to help me? ALEX Don’t worry. Everybody in government talks. You know that better than me. Shoot. SANCHEZ The Secret Service assigned two of its top agents to the Boyd campaign. These two just happen to be black. JUDY That’s ironic.

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SANCHEZ I have a solid hunch that the assignment was made deliberately. ALEX Is it a story? JUDY Manipulating security? It’s a time-bomb of a story. ALEX They’re just Service. They protect anybody. SANCHEZ These two are in charge. Every time Boyd is on camera, they’re in the picture. JUDY That can’t make his supporters happy. SANCHEZ I think that was the intent. ALEX You want intent? SANCHEZ If you can get me some without getting into trouble. ALEX Didn’t Judy tell you? SANCHEZ What? ALEX We’re out of here. I have an offer from Merrill Lynch in New York, and Judy has the bottom-feeders at Gold, Foreman, and Hodges wrapped around her litigious little finger.

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SANCHEZ Why are you bailing? ALEX Oh, stability, prestige, and a crapload of money. SANCHEZ Good reasons.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA HILTON:MACK'S ROOM. NIGHT. MACK is slumped in an easy chair, drink in hand, watching the evening news. Deeply relaxed, he seems to be drifting off. ANCHOR More bad news today for the U.S. economy. MACK sits up straight. ANCHOR The Commerce Department released figures for February, and they are not promising. Unemployment was up again, this time a full half of a percent. The leading economic indicators were all down as well for the third month in a row. MACK leaps to his feet. ANCHOR All this combined to send the Dow Jones reeling, down fifty-seven points in heavy trading. MACK dances around the room, a spinning plump top.

EXTERIOR. A SMALL TOWN IN GEORGIA. EARLY MORNING. BOYD is walking along the sidewalk, shaking hands with a polite citizenry. Well ahead of him are BOBBY and OTTO, who

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are sizing up pedestrians before allowing them by. TABER and ESPOSITO are in front of Boyd, who is followed by SUTTON and LYNFIELD. JACKSON and QUINTAL bring up the rear. JACKSON He is wearing his vest, isn't he? QUINTAL Do I dress him? JACKSON Are you wearing yours? Ahead, ESPOSITO is intently eyeing every car which goes past. ESPOSITO Why don't we just mail out fucking invitations? 'Drive by and shoot me.' OTTO and BOBBY have spotted a man approaching. They do not like the looks of him. OTTO gets right into the surprised fellow's face. OTTO Federal agents! Clear the sidewalk! MAN What the hell? BOBBY You heard the officer, mister! LYNFIELD catches up with BOYD, who has stopped and taken the hand of an elderly woman. BOYD Yes, ma'am. I am not about to let foreign peanuts come onto the market. It would be downright unsafe. Thank you, ma'am. LYNFIELD Time to go. BOYD The DAR luncheon?

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LYNFIELD Yeah. We'll have time to go over the questions they'll be asking. BOYD Press? LYNFIELD Local CBS affiliate. If you're good, Rather might just give us a couple of minutes tonight.

INTERIOR. GEORGIA: A MEETING ROOM IN A RESTAURANT. DAY. The room is filled with round tables at which sit very formally dressed, mostly older women. At the head table, a matron is speaking. On the wall behind her is a large DAR banner. To the side are two camera crews, positioning for a shot. BOYD sits at the head table. WOMAN Ladies, it is our great privilege today to have with us a candidate for the President of the United States of America, Mr. Lucas Boyd, whose mother, Mrs. Thaddeus Boyd, is one of our Sisters in the great State of Tennessee. Mr. Boyd? BOYD stands. BOYD Thank you. It is an honor to be here. My mother is proud of her heritage and her membership. I spoke to her just last night, and she asked me to pass along two things to you all. First, God bless and keep Georgia. And second, please vote for her son. I have been tramping across our nation with little rest. I feel sometimes like a modern-day Paul Revere who has seen the flickering light in the Old North Church and must ride to warn honest citizens of modern Redcoats: unfettered Third-World immigration, soaring taxes,

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God-hating secularism. I thought we might just visit a spell this afternoon and talk. If anyone has questions, speak up. A woman in the front raises her hand and stands up as BOYD nods at her. WOMAN Mr. Boyd, what do you intend to do about the trade deficit withYOUNGER WOMAN C’mon! What we really want to know is how you can deny the existence of the Holocaust. BOYD I...ah... have simply said that there are some who have a different point of view, and there should be an open debate allowed. In the best traditions of AmericanYOUNGER WOMAN You can't debate away facts! You are an accessory to a lie and a comfort to liars. How can you expect to be President when you can turn your back on the destruction of six million human beings? BOBBY and OTTO are in the far back of the room where they have obtained a couple of beers. They are listening with alarm to the unpleasant turn of the conversation. Looking around, OTTO spots a fire pull box through the windows of some swinging doors. OTTO Lunch is over. He pushes through the doors, and a second later the fire alarm goes off. Agents hustle Boyd out an exit.

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EXTERIOR. GEORGIA: RESTAURANT PARKING LOT. DAY. BOBBY and OTTO are cruising through the milling crowd of DAR members, press, restaurant workers and curiosityseekers. They spot and approach the young woman who was haranging Boyd. As they come near, they find her surrounded by a ring of older women. FIRST OLDER WOMAN Loretta! That was extremely rude! SECOND OLDER WOMAN He was our guest. This is all very embarrassing, and in front of the TV, too. YOUNG WOMAN I don't believe this. Your husband lost his leg fighting Hitler, and you want me to be polite to this neo-Nazi apologist? FIRST OLDER WOMAN He's a fine man. He could be our PresidentBOBBY and OTTO move away. BOBBY She's got enough punishment coming.

EXTERIOR. ATLANTA: A PARK. DAY. It is a clear, bright afternoon. The park is full of joggers, strollers, Frisbee-tossers, and lunching office workers. JACKSON jogs by in a threadbare running outfit. A few meters behind comes HIGGINS, in state-of-the-art gear. HIGGINS Do you mind if I run with you a while? JACKSON Not at all. Glad to have the company. They run together for a few minutes. They pass a hot dog stand, and HIGGINS stops. JACKSON keeps on going.

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HIGGINS Professor! Can I buy you lunch? Best franks in Atlanta. JACKSON makes a U-turn. HIGGINS orders two with everything and lemonades. They sit on the grass. HIGGINS Anna tells me that you plan to return to teaching after you retire from the Service. JACKSON I’ll be young enough. I’ll have a good pension and maybe enough exotic experience to land a full professorship. In the meantime, I feel like I’m doing some good. HIGGINS Even here? JACKSON The guy you guard today is the most important person in the world. But being that close to someone you don’t care for personally wears you out. That’s why I run. How about you, Higgins? HIGGINS Well, if I were a clever journalist, I would have come out just to get you alone for your perspective. And to ingratiate myself with you, I would have bribed you with food. But the truth is I am preparing for the Boston Marathon. Haven’t missed it in twentythree years. JACKSON I’m impressed. I only train for the mile and a half run in our fitness checks. HIGGINS When you have a coronary at forty-five

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from smoking and eating grease and neglecting yourself, you see exercise as preventative maintenance. I quit the cigarettes, and I took up running so I wouldn’t have to give up the wonderful things in life, like these franks. JACKSON I’ve got to get back. Boyd is driving over to Athens to address the Chamber of Commerce. Are you going to finish your run? HIGGINS With one of these things in my gut? I’ll walk back to the hotel with you, if you don’t mind.

EXTERIOR. ATLANTA HILTON: THE BACK PARKING LOT. DAY. A motorcade is lined up, waiting for Boyd to arrive so it can depart. Agents are making last-minute checks. HOLLINGWORTH has his head in the trunk of one of the cars, intently examining something in a case when a boy in a Cub Scout uniform tiptoes up behind him. SCOUT Hi! HOLLINGWORTH jerks back and bangs his head. HOLLINGWORTH SON OF A-. Hey, kid. How’d you get back here? SCOUT My dad works in the hotel. What’s all that stuff in the trunk? HOLLINGSWORTH (Still rubbing his head.) Shotguns. Tear gas grenades. Uzis. Bullet-proof vests. Medical kit. Oxygen tank. Hydraulic metal cutters. WALTON comes up behind them.

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WALTON In my car I have the hydrogen and the neutron bomb. A man appears at the rear door and calls to the boy, who runs to him and then stops to yell back to the agents. SCOUT Thanks! HOLLINGSWORTH (To Walton.) Be clean in word and deed.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA: THE LEAD CAR IN THE MOTORCADE. DAY. QUINTAL and ESPOSITO are in the front; ESPOSITO is driving. LEONARD is in the back. QUINTAL is talking into a radio while reading from a clipboard. QUINTAL Three point five to the intersection with Route Thirty-Six. Local cops have that one blocked. Right turn there and three even to the on-ramp. Staties have the Interstate greased for us.

EXTERIOR. NEAR ATLANTA: AN INTERSECTION OF TWO BROAD BOULEVARDS. DAY. Police cars are idling in the parking lanes. Inside one car, an officer looks at his watch. He picks up his microphone when he hears the radio. RADIO (QUINTAL'S voice.) Route Thirty-six? OFFICER Ready for you.

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RADIO (QUINTAL'S voice.) We’ll pass in ten minutes. OFFICER Roger. He turns on his lights and pulls out into the traffic. The other police cars do the same, blocking off the crossing road. The officers get out and start explaining the situation to annoyed and curious drivers.

INTERIOR. NEAR ATLANTA: INSIDE BOYD’S CAR. DAY. WALTON is driving, JACKSON is riding in front. BOYD is reading. LYNFIELD is writing a memo.

EXTERIOR. NEAR ATLANTA: DOWN THE STREET FROM THE ROADBLOCK. DAY. Cars have accumulated. A late-model Buick comes up much too fast and skids to a halt, just short of the car in front. The driver honks his horn, leans out of the window, screaming obscenities. He is visibly drunk. He swerves in between the rows of cars and accelerates, scraping the sides of a couple of other cars as he roars by. Three cars from the front of the line, one of the policemen leans down to speak to the driver. He hears the speeding car and looks up. It is coming right at him. The driver of the Buick sees the police lights flashing ahead, and the policeman in his path. He curses in fear and stands on his brakes. The policeman leaps onto the hood of a car, but the speeding car sideswipes it and knocks it out from under him. He is pinned between the two cars. Screaming starts from several directions. Police and civilians come running.

INTERIOR. NEAR ATLANTA: INSIDE QUINTAL’S CAR. DAY. The radio explodes with activity. Several people talk at

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once, cutting each other off. A call for an ambulance goes out. QUINTAL'S car eases into the intersection. Their motorcycle escort has slowed to look at the accident. QUINTAL grabs up a microphone. QUINTAL Nobody stops! Nobody stops! RADIO There’s an officer down! QUINTAL They can handle it! We don’t stop! Move it! The motorcycles speed up, and the motorcade moves on, out of the intersection.

INTERIOR. INSIDE BOYD’S CAR. DAY. The radio is turned down. WALTON and JACKSON see the activity in the intersection. In the back, Boyd and LYNFIELD are so engrossed that they do not notice the commotion outside.

EXTERIOR. ATHENS, GA.: SIDE DOOR OF A LARGE BUILDING. DUSK. A group of press is standing behind a rope line, waiting for Boyd.

INTERIOR. ATHENS, GA.: A HALLWAY. DUSK. BOYD and MACK are walking together. JACKSON and WALTON are ahead and behind them. MACK They sat on their hands tonight.

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BOYD Chamber of commerce types don’t like challenges, Ben. They like to be stroked.

EXTERIOR. ATHENS, GA.. DUSK. BOYD and MACK come out the door, and the press begins to clamor. REPORTER Can you give us a comment about the death of the officer this afternoon? BOYD What are you talking about? REPORTER The cop who was run over while stopping traffic for your motorcade. MACK steps in front of him. MACK We are shocked and saddened, of course. We’ll have a more complete response in the morning. Excuse us. He herds BOYD into the car.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA HILTON: BOYD’S ROOM. NIGHT. BOYD is relaxing in a robe, having a drink. LYNFIELD and MACK are talking quietly. The television is on; the sound off. MACK By the time we got back to the scene, of course, after the Almighty Secret Service had gone back and determined that yes, visiting the scene of a traffic accident, even a fatal one, even five hours after it had happened, was safe, then we were allowed to go

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offer our sympathies. By then the man was being embalmed, for Christ’s sake, and everyone had already wondered where the hell we had gone. BOYD turns up the television. ANCHORWOMAN Tragedy struck on the Presidential campaign trail today. A Fulton County Sheriff’s Deputy was struck and killed by a speeding car this afternoon. Deputy Robert Prescott, a seven-year veteran of the department, was stopping traffic on Route 36 so that the motorcade carrying Presidential hopeful Lucas Boyd could pass through an intersection. The driver of the car which struck Deputy Prescott was arrested and charged with operating under the influence and vehicular homicide. Deputy Prescott was apparently killed instantly. Boyd was in Athens, where he had just delivered a speech before the Chamber of Commerce when he was told about the accident. A spokesman said Boyd was stunned and saddened by the accident and that he sent his prayers to the family. Deputy Prescott leaves a wife and three children. When we return, it looks like the heat isBOYD cuts the television off. BOYD I would have stopped the car. LYNFIELD I already had this out with Quintal. They knew the man was hit when we went through the intersection. The Secret Service does not allow stops at accidents. They assume it’s a diversion. MACK Great. Why wasn’t that in the story

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somewhere? LYNFIELD I should have known that. BOYD We’re all learning. SUTTON bursts into the room. SUTTON What the hell happened today? I was halfway to Tennessee when I heard on the radio that your car ran over a cop. Then they said you saw the cop get killed and didn’t stop? MACK A deputy was hit by a drunken driver. We didn’t even see it. SUTTON Goddamn radio news made it sound like our fault. MACK Imagine the six o’clock news leading with Lucas kneeling by a fallen officer, comforting him, thanking him. LYNFIELD That’s morbid even from you. MACK Well, hell, by not doing that, Luke ends up looking like he walked on by. SUTTON Why didn't you stop? LYNFIELD Quintal said that it could have been a deception. SUTTON That’s great. The world’s greatest bodyguards, and they can’t stop for two minutes at an accident with cops

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everywhere? That’s horseshit. BOYD They’re the pros, Jimmy. We agreed to take their advice. SUTTON Well, I say that it stinks. Every decision they make seems to be based on how bad they can make you look. He stalks out.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA HILTON. NIGHT. MACK catches up with SUTTON by the elevator. MACK Rotten luck today. SUTTON We've had nothing but bad luck since we let these boys butt in. MACK Luck is often there for the taking, Sheriff.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA HILTON: QUINTAL'S ROOM. AFTERNOON. QUINTAL and JACKSON are working quietly, papers in piles everywhere. QUINTAL is typing into his laptop. JACKSON is reading a report, highlighting passages. WALTON and HOLLINGSWORTH come in without knocking. WALTON holds out a piece of paper and rips it in two. WALTON The duty roster. HOLLINGSWORTH We want it changed. QUINTAL, alarmed, jumps up.

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QUINTAL What’s wrong? WALTON It’s mutiny, captain. There are giggles from the hall, through the open door. ELIZABETH and MARY LOU tiptoe in. HOLLINGSWORTH Happy Anniversary, Mr. and Mrs. Quintal. WALTON By virtue of superior intelligencegathering. And a Coast Guard jet on an maintenance turnaround from Washington. You’ve got until nine-thirty tomorrow morning to get reacquainted. QUINTAL You told me not to call because you’d be at your sister’s. ELIZABETH I lied. HOLLINGSWORTH Hey, no time for that now! The four of you have reservations at the Pleasant Peasant for eight P.M. Compliments of your detail.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA HILTON: BOYD CAMPAIGN HEADQUARTERS. NIGHT. HIGGINS is wandering among paper-strewn desks and tables. The room is empty except for three people eating take-out Chinese. ABBY PICKERING is about twenty-one, a too-thin pale blonde. BUD is a tough-looking teenager with greasy hair. He is dressed all in black. EDDIE WEST is a grandfatherly 70ish, a small white-haired man with kind eyes. HIGGINS Hello. My name is Daniel Higgins. I'm a

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reporter with the Boston Globe. May I join you? ABBY Sure. I'm Abby Pickering. This is Eddie West. And this is Bud. HIGGINS Just Bud? BUD With a small b. ABBY Is this an interview? HIGGINS Should it be? ABBY That would be exciting. I see reporters around every day, but nobody cares about us lowly volunteers. HIGGINS takes out his notebook and pen with deliberate formality. HIGGINS Then an interview it is. Now, Ms. Pickering. How did you get your start in politics? ABBY Retirement. One day my father was talking about his retirement. I flashed on like: Oh, My God! When I'm 65, there won’t be any Social Security. I'll have spent my life in McJobs. I won't be able to retire with a cush pension. The national debt will be soaking up all capital, and our manufacturing jobs will be overseas. On top of that, most of the country will speak Spanish. Basically, unless we get change now, the American Dream is over. HIGGINS Eddie? Is that what brought you here,

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too? EDDIE I don't have an agenda. I am retired with a not-so-cush pension. Politics is my inexpensive hobby. ABBY Eddie is the promotional arts coordinator. He’s our banners and signs honcho. HIGGINS So why Boyd, then? EDDIE Why not? He's a fascinating man. Don't you think? BUD And he's going to kick ass! And you can quote me on that! HIGGINS (Writing.) "Kick ass...Bud." Got it.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA: A SMALL RESTAURANT. DUSK. QUINTAL, JACKSON, MARY LOU and ELIZABETH come in the door. The hostess shows them to a small table in the front, where large windows give them a bright view of the quiet street and the sunset. MARY LOU Tell us about the new guys. How are they working out on the road? JACKSON Considering that they were draftees, I’d say pretty darn well. Of course, we haven’t had the drastic problems that we feared at first.

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ELIZABETH Please knock on the table. QUINTAL What? ELIZABETH You have to knock on wood after a statement like that. Please. JACKSON Our troubles are not related to hitting this table with my fist. QUINTAL Well, then, I will. It couldn’t hurt. JACKSON I feel better already.

EXTERIOR. ATLANTA: A SMALL RESTAURANT. NIGHT. As the two couples stroll into the parking lot, they see two loudly drunken men embroiled in a disagreement. A distraught woman grabs at one of the men’s arms, and he has to keep shaking loose. The other man takes advantage of the distraction and launches a wild swing which does not connect. QUINTAL Poor technique. JACKSON I’m too full for this. QUINTAL Gentlemen! Good evening! I am Agent Rodney Quintal of the United States Department of the Treasury, Secret Service. My colleague: Agent Michael Jackson. The two men stop circling and half turn toward QUINTAL, each still keeping a wary eye on the other.

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WOMAN Please, I can’t stop them. FIRST MAN You cops? QUINTAL I work for you, and I just want to help. SECOND MAN Then get fucking lost. QUINTAL First of all, I noticed that you were trying to strike your friend in his face. I know that’s how it is done on television, but the fact is that the facial bones are much stronger than the bones of the hand. You are likely to shatter a finger, and that is excruciatingly painful. My advice is to concentrate on the body. Few people have the abdominal tone to stand a solid blow there. SECOND MAN Maybe somebody ought to kick your ass, pal. QUINTAL Well, it has been tried. The two men ponder that for a moment, sizing up QUINTAL and JACKSON. The woman pulls the first man away, and he does not resist. The second man looks after them, then glares at QUINTAL and staggers off in the other direction, muttering.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA HILTON: BOYD’S SUITE. MORNING. BOYD is sitting with a cup of coffee, reading the paper. LYNFIELD is sitting across from him, eating.

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LYNFIELD At ten o’clock we will be at the Old Armory Mall in Marietta. HIGGINS and MACK come into the room. BOYD folds his paper, motioning to HIGGINS to sit down. MACK Lucas, Dan Higgins. Boston Globe. BOYD Please have some waffles. There’s melon and coffee. HIGGINS Thank you for seeing me. I know you are pressed for time. BOYD That’s the truth. Still a few minds to change before Tuesday, but we’ve always got time for someone of your stature, Mr. Higgins. What would you like to know? Well. I’ve There is a Let's see. Klux Klan,

HIGGINS been out of the country. lot for me to catch up on. You were once head of the Ku they tell me.

BOYD That’s the thing that jumps off my c.v., isn’t it? Well, I was all of twenty-three when I was elected to that post. Full of fire and totally dedicated to the cause. HIGGINS But you have since renounced them.

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BOYD I have renounced violence as a tool of change. I have given up on hate. In those ways I have broken with my former brothers. But many of their goals are still valid. Morality, order, love of God and country. HIGGINS Cynics say that your body donned a dark suit, but your heart is still in a white robe. BOYD People change. I grew. Intellectually and spiritually. I can never change who I was. But unlike my opponents in both parties, I haven't run from my past. HIGGINS Do you still believe that the races should be kept separate and pure? BOYD That is a moot point, isn’t it? The races can never be unmixed. There are good decent Americans of all colors. HIGGINS But you have spoken against immigration from black and Hispanic countries. BOYD Unfettered immigration, yes. We have too many unfed children here. We should be very careful who we allow in. This America which God has put into our care is a precious thing. We should allow some in, chiefly from countries with democratic traditions, who share our morals and ideals. HIGGINS That sounds like white Northern Europeans. BOYD If that’s how it comes to be, fine.

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Sometimes there’s just nothing to be sorry for. Is a Haitian racially discriminated against in Haiti? Of course not. Immigration laws should be colorblind, as should all of our laws, as is demanded by the Constitution. HIGGINS You would repeal affirmative action laws? BOYD Yes. They are expressly forbidden by the Bill of Rights, for one thing. And think about the tangles they lead us into. To give a job to the grandson of a slave over the grandson of a man who probably didn’t own slaves, who might even have fought and died in the Union cause to abolish slavery? When do you stop giving preferences? When are we equal? Our system was elegantly designed to be simple and fair. When we clutter it up with fixes for every perceived harm, that is a prescription for violent disillusionment. I think we are seeing some of that now. No, the only way to go is to draw the line. When I am elected, all will be treated as equals. No one: rich, poor, black, white, Christian, or Jew, will be given favors they have not earned. HIGGINS Speaking of Christians, you caused a stir in New York last month when you referred to America as a white Christian nation. BOYD I was stating a historical fact. There was some predictable huffing by the liberal press. I wasn’t trying to imply that non-whites or non-Christians are less American, just that this land was built by Christian Caucasians. They left us a legacy of morals and customs which has served us well. We must not

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allow that legacy to be diluted. HIGGINS Mr. Lynfield, how does that make you feel? LYNFIELD Lucas is entirely correct. My people were uprooted from their communities and enslaved. They suffered unimaginably. But I am far better off for their movement, however it came about. Would I rather be starving in Somalia, or fighting a tribal war in Zambia? No, thank you. I would not want to live anywhere in modern Africa. The culture of Europe is my heritage. Skin color alone does not oblige me to sacrifice to the pagan gods of my ancestors.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA HILTON: THE BAR. DAY. HIGGINS is sipping a glass of beer as he writes. SANCHEZ comes into the bar and slips into the seat next to him. SANCHEZ What’d you think? HIGGINS Been there. Done that. SANCHEZ According to yesterday’s NBC-Washington Post poll, fifty-seven percent of probable voters are not going to vote for anyone who’s ever held elected office of any kind. Boyd is the fresh face, the radical change. HIGGINS Anna, those are the same people who ask for a referral to a proctologist to have their temperature taken rectally. They vent their spleen now, but when the curtains close on them in the

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voting booth they will seize up with caution. SANCHEZ And not vote for good ol' Lukie? HIGGINS Boyd has surprised everyone. He’s a legitimate candidate. He could have some strong numbers down here in the Southern primaries. But remember the other campaigns have given him a pass so far, not wasting their energies attacking someone they didn’t take seriously. They have a lot of money and a lot of potential ammunition. After they turn their sights on him, Boyd’s mother will have doubts. SANCHEZ And unfortunately, his mother is not rich. His organization is fighting to stay afloat financially. One bad showing now and it might just collapse. Hey, Jackson! What’cha reading? JACKSON, who had been walking past the bar, reading from a file, sees them and comes in. He sits down. JACKSON Confidential government intelligence. Why? You writing a book? SANCHEZ Yes, I am. I’ve told Danno all about our arrangement. He’s cool. HIGGINS I am indeed cool. SANCHEZ Why are you slinking about with that gloomy mug? JACKSON Our “A” list has swollen to unmanageable size.

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SANCHEZ What’s the “A” list? JACKSON The daily list of the most probable threats. I thought you told us you had friends in the Service. Didn’t they ever tell you about the "A" list? HIGGINS Don’t tell me. She convinced you that she had been doing this for years, right? ‘I’ve been on the campaign trail all my life.’. Am I correct? JACKSON Sanchez? SANCHEZ Shut up, Higgins. Okay, I exaggerated a bit. Don’t tell me you never polished your resume a little to get a job. HIGGINS Don’t feel bad. She did the same damn thing to me. I thought I owned a finely tuned bullshit alarm, but it never twitched. One day I looked up and there she was. Annamarie Sanchez, late of the Food section. She told me that politics was in her blood. SANCHEZ Well, it is. Go on, Jackson. JACKSON The “A” list. We would normally send out advance teams to interview and investigate the most credible. Or incredible, I suppose. But I have one hundred and thirty-two names on the list today and four, maybe five agents. And they have only days, sometimes hours to cover us. We've started to prioritize into a “AA” and a “AAA” list.

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SANCHEZ So if I wanted to kill Boyd, I’d have to take a number? JACKSON Unless you had a history of criminal insanity and a private collection of automatic weapons, we wouldn’t even have the time to worry with you.

INTERIOR. MARIETTA, GA,: A MALL. DAY. BOYD is shaking hands in the middle of the mall, catching people as they come through a funnel of ropes and supporters. On either side of the funnel are HOLLINGSWORTH, QUINTAL, TABER, and ESPOSITO, eyeballing the crowd. QUINTAL spots an unshaven man in coveralls, hands in pockets, with a nervous look about him. QUINTAL catches HOLLINGSWORTH’s eye and directs it toward the man. QUINTAL manuvers in the crowd so that when the man comes by, they bump into each other. QUINTAL apologizes to the man as he holds him, apparently steadying him against a fall, at the same time quickly patting him down. QUINTAL gives HOLLINGSWORTH an OK sign. HOLLINGSWORTH yawns and stretches. He looks very tired. A middle-aged couple stop in front of him. As the man is talking to his companion, his jacket opens slightly and HOLLINGSWORTH sees a flash of metal. HOLLINGSWORTH GUN! He and QUINTAL press the man to the ground, immobilizing his arms and legs. ESPOSITO rushes over. HOLLINGSWORTH Hip holster. ESPOSITO reaches in and takes out the gun. The crowd gasps. The buried man has been protesting the whole time, his speech muffled and unintelligible. He pulls his head free. MAN It’s okay, I’m a cop! I’m a cop!

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HOLLINGSWORTH surrounded by BOYD has been HOLLINGSWORTH photo ID.

finds the man’s wallet. They are now armed officers from several jurisdictions. blocked off and separated from the crowd. opens the wallet and compares the face with a

HOLLINGSWORTH Covington police. He's a cop all right. QUINTAL and HOLLINGSWORTH pull the man up and hustle him off to the side. His wife trails them. MAN Sorry. Forgot I had it on me.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA HILTON: KITCHEN. NIGHT. QUINTAL, LEONARD, and STEINBRECHER are alone in the kitchen, cleaning sidearms. They have taken advantage of the long, stainless steel tables to spread out their weapons, which are in various stages of disassembly. QUINTAL is taking an Uzi apart. LEONARD is reaming out a pistol barrel, and STEINBRECHER is loading bullets into clips. LEONARD What was Jackson talking about in the car? ‘Beware the sweaty doughboy'? QUINTAL An old story. I had been in Protective maybe six months - still in the bull gang, on short jobs. In Chicago, one bitter cold December, Bush Senior was in town to speak at some convention. I did the route preparations. LEONARD Going down manholes and shit? QUINTAL Shit is right. The President got a wild hare up his ass to get out of his limo half a block before the Convention Center and go across the street to shake hands. So we sprinted our asses

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down the street. We got over there and spread out to make the crowd. Standing right in front of me, two back, was this sweating, bald-headed son of a bitch. It's five degrees above zero, and this wild-eyed guy with a shaved head and no jacket is dripping sweat. LEONARD Manic. QUINTAL From the textbook. First time I’d seen a pathological sweat. STEINBRECHER Was he packing? QUINTAL I couldn't see. He was behind two people. I pushed them out of the way and tackled him. The White House detail yanked Bush back like a yoyo. Other agents and cops jumped on top of me. We nearly squashed the guy. STEINBRECHER So was he packing? QUINTAL He was a total nut job. Seems there were aliens under his apartment building, beaming messages into his head. They taught him how to mix up some plastic explosives. He was covered with devices, all wired real professionally. LEONARD Jesus! QUINTAL When I saw under his shirt, I was briefly incontinent. I had had my arms wrapped around him. Then one of the local cops, a guy who had been a Navy Seal in Nam, laughs, snaps off a piece of the plastic explosive and eats it.

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It was baked salt dough like the kids make Christmas ornaments out of. The aliens had given him perfect wiring instructions but the wrong damn explosives recipe.

MONTAGE: VARIOUS LOCATIONS ON THE CAMPAIGN TRAIL. SANCHEZ is sitting in bed in her nightgown, typing into her laptop. The blue light of early dawn fills the room. WALTON lurches bolt upright beside her. WALTON What city is this? SANCHEZ Charleston. South Carolina. WALTON plops back down and immediately begins to snore.

ESPOSITO and LEONARD are sitting together on a darkened bus. He is sleeping, his head on her shoulder. She is staring out the window, her eyes red.

QUINTAL is shuffling around in a nondescript hotel room. He has removed his jacket but not his shoulder holster. He is shadow boxing.

HOLLINGSWORTH is standing in front of a full-length mirror in an airport gate area. He is glaring at his reflection, attempting several variations on his menacing scowl. Behind him, passers-by try not to notice.

BOYD is speaking on a crowded city street, standing up on a flatbed truck. A man breaks from the front of the crowd and charges the truck, bellowing obscenities. With a calmness much like boredom, STEINBRECHER siezes the man's upper arm as he sprints past and spins the screaming man through the

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air. The man lands flat on his face. ESPOSITO pounces onto his back and slaps cuffs on him. She throws up her hands when she is done as a rodeo cowboy would after tieing a steer.

LEONARD is lying on a bed, fully dressed and asleep. All the lights in the room are on.

JACKSON and WALTON are eating breakfast. They are yawning, rubbing their eyes and gulping coffee. With a sudden desperate surge, WALTON whips out a revolver and drops it in his eggs. WALTON I'll shoot him myself. Then maybe I can get some sleep.

QUINTAL is sitting in a hotel hallway. He is attempting to spin playing cards into a plastic icebucket.

A deserted urban intersection, well after midnight. A car screeches to a halt. MEHAN is at the wheel. He and OTTO jump out and look at a cluster of Wilson signs. They take out lighters and set fire to the bottoms of the signs.

LEONARD is on an airplane, reading. He looks across the aisle and sees TABER asleep. TABER has an inflatable pillow about his neck and is wearing an eyemask and headphones.

BOYD is being hustled from a doorway to his limo, through an angry crowd. Agents form a shield around him. Tomatoes and eggs splatter them. As the limo drives off, JACKSON and QUINTAL are momentarily surrounded. They push their way back into the doorway and escape.

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EXTERIOR. MIAMI: BOYD CAMPAIGN OFFICE. DAY. HOLLINGSWORTH is walking down a deserted side street, approaching a rear entrance to the building. He is carrying a large bag from a bagel shop and singing the theme from “Flukey Luke”. Out of the entrance strut three black teens wearing gang colors. The gang members block the sidewalk. HOLLINGSWORTH is forced to stop. He looks at them expectantly. The three take out knives: one switchblade, one long blade, one stiletto. The one with the long blade rotates it slowly, letting the sun catch each polished and sharpened edge. HOLLINGSWORTH opens his coat, takes out an Uzi from a cloth holster beneath his arm. He holds it up, turning it slowly. The gang members sheath their blades. One bows. They turn and walk away.

INTERIOR. MIAMI HOTEL: BOYD’S ROOM. NIGHT. BOYD is pacing the room, practicing a speech. MACK is listening and jotting notes. SUTTON is reading the paper. They all look up as QUINTAL storms into the room, clutching a piece of paper. QUINTAL You’re scheduling a rally in the Abaco Street projects? Are you insane? MACK On the contrary. The tenant’s association invited us. QUINTAL The tenant’s association? Are we going to deputize them? That project is claimed turf of three different gangs. They have as many homicides there as a small city. MACK Exactly. Where better to illustrate the failed policies of the status quo?

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QUINTAL I can’t allow you to do this. SUTTON As I recall, we go where we want to go, whether you choose to come or not. QUINTAL looks around in disbelief, then turns and leaves in a huff. SUTTON rattles his paper in triumph.

EXTERIOR. MIAMI: THE ABACO STREET PROJECTS. DAY. WALTON and STEINBRECHER are waiting on the sidewalk. JACKSON pulls up in a car and gets out. WALTON Want to see the accommodations? They walk into the center of the cluster of buildings. There are a few people setting up chairs around a battered platform. Two police are wandering about warily. WALTON Boyd will speak to the Tenant’s Association over there, take some questions. Figure about forty-five minutes. JACKSON (Looking up.) Too many windows. Too many dark windows. STEINBRECHER How did we let them pick this place, anyway? JACKSON We couldn’t change their minds. Believe me, we tried. Where’s the Miami cops? Jesus, we requested a minimum of twenty officers. Where are they?

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WALTON Quintal said they would be here. JACKSON takes out a cellular phone and dials. JACKSON Rod? I’m at the projects. I see only five uniforms. Okay. (He puts his phone away.) He’s checking. JACKSON motions one of the uniforms over. JACKSON When are you expecting the rest of your detail? OFFICER This is it. JACKSON But we had arranged for more. OFFICER Well, you got us. The city’s got budget problems. All overtime’s been cut out. JACKSON Beautiful. Walton, better post these guys where we want them now. We’ll fill in the gaps as our guys come in. Put two uniforms in the street. Let’s get one cop on top of that building there and one up there. Steinbrecher, set them up with radios. Tell them to watch those windows. WALTON Should we seal the buildings? JACKSON Won’t do much good now, but if we have the men later, yes. WALTON rounds up the uniformed policemen and starts to give them directions.

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INTERIOR. MIAMI: THE ABACO STREET PROJECTS. DAY. The three gang members who stopped Hollingsworth swagger down a dark hall. They push open a scarred door. Inside, a very old man sits watching television. He does not even look up. The three go to the window and look down on the courtyard.

EXTERIOR. MIAMI: THE COURTYARD OF THE ABACO STREET PROJECTS. DAY. JACKSON and WALTON are watching the Boyd people organize. QUINTAL comes running into the courtyard. QUINTAL The bastards pulled our uniforms! JACKSON So we heard. WALTON City budget cuts. QUINTAL Batshit! The Commissioner promised us. Somebody deliberately pulled the plug. WALTON Why? JACKSON Because we’re so damn popular. Is Boyd still on time? QUINTAL Of course. Of all days to be on schedule.

EXTERIOR. MIAMI: A SMALL SIDE STREET. DAY. Young men wearing various gang colors amble towards the Abaco Street project in twos and threes. Cars race up, and more rough-looking youths pour out of them. The different

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colors avoid each other in an uneasy truce

EXTERIOR. MIAMI: THE COURTYARD OF THE ABACO STREET PROJECTS. DAY. The crude stage is plastered with Boyd with posters. Most of the chairs are full. The sitting crowd is mostly older people. Youngsters mill about at the rear and sides. The electronic media has arrived and is rigging microphones and fighting over camera angles. SANCHEZ and HIGGINS are standing with a photographer who is panning the scene through his lens. HIGGINS This is front-page stuff. Make it sing to me. PHOTOGRAPHER Do you want the sequence just before or just after the mob tears him apart? HIGGINS Leave that to the video jockeys. The Boston Globe wants pathos; gritty realism. PHOTOGRAPHER Gritty I can do. BOYD arrives, encircled by agents and staff. He waves to the passive audience. No one reaches out to him as he comes through the fringe. The crowd hums. LYNFIELD goes up to the microphone. LYNFIELD Hello, everyone. My name is Henry Lynfield. I am proud to be Lucas Boyd’s campaign manager. I want to thank the Tenants Association of Abaco Street Park and you all for having us here today. We appreciate the fact that you are willing to listen with an open mind to some fresh ideas. Ladies and gentlemen, Lucas Boyd. BOYD takes the microphone to polite applause, mostly from

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his own workers. BOYD Thanks, Henry. Hello, everyone. I am really happy to be here today. I had been told about the spirit of community and self-reliance which distinguished this community. Now that I am here, I can feel it for myself. I'm guessing now, but I'll bet that it's been awhile since a candidate for any office federal, state, or local- came out to meet you. When I was a little boy, my family lived in a rented house on some land that my daddy worked. The man that owned the land lived in the next county. We saw him once a month when he came for the rent. I know my daddy hurt every day we lived there. Ownership of a house, that's something every American should be able to dream about and be able to make happen. I didn't come here today to promise you something for nothing, and I didn't come here to take up your time with a long speech. I came here to make you one simple promise. My administration will find some money to help the City of Miami sell you the homes you have been living in, some of you for decades, paying that monthly rent to the government, never a hope of having your name on it. My administration will make it possible for you to pay as you can afford it with terms agreeable to both of us, so that you can say what every American longs to say: This is my home. There is a ripple of applause in the crowd and some stirring and shouting at the fringe. BOYD We know that it works, what we needA rock comes arcing in from the rear and lands in the audience. Someone cries in pain.

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VOICE IN CROWD Not yet! JACKSON Yet? BOYD We need to talk about how these things can be accomplished. A window screen pops open above. A beer bottle sails out and explodes on the asphalt. QUINTAL OK! That's it! Let's get him out now! He and JACKSON grab BOYD, who is still trying to speak. WALTON and HOLLINGSWORTH complete a diamond around BOYD. The other agents converge to help. Windows fill with young faces, shouting and throwing debris. The seated residents rise and flee in all directions. MACK tries to stand in the way of the agents. MACK Wait! He's got to stay! He is bowled over on his ass by the flying wedge containing BOYD. Behind them, the gang leader has vaulted onto the stage and taken up the mike. LEADER Hey! You're fucking it up! The man's trying to talk here! We can't be showing him no disrespect. Come on back! Shut up! He throws down the mike and punches another youth who has snuck up behind him. Rocks and bottles continue to rattle the stage. The press circles warily but does not retreat.

EXTERIOR. MIAMI: THE ABACO STREET PROJECTS. DAY. SANCHEZ, HIGGINS, and the photographer run up to SANCHEZ's car. SANCHEZ exchanges a few friendly words in Spanish with a large young man who is sitting on the hood, then hands him some money. SANCHEZ, HIGGINS, and the photographer hop

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into the car.

INTERIOR. MIAMI: THE ABACO STREET PROJECTS: SANCHEZ’S CAR. DAY. The photographer shoots out of the window as police cruisers scream by. People scramble in both directions on the sidewalk. SANCHEZ Got enough? PHOTOGRAPHER Hell, ya. Let's book. I want this on the AP wire. They drive away. HIGGINS Anna, how many riots have you ever been in? SANCHEZ Counting today? One. HIGGINS I've been in too many for my own good. A riot has an anticipation about it. Like a roomful of fumes, building in intensity. Then a spark. Whoosh! What we saw back there had the sound but not the fury. SANCHEZ You think it was a dog and pony show? HIGGINS Let's go on down to City Hall. I'll write the plain take on today's skirmish on the way, and we'll fax it in from there. Then we'll nose around and see if a followup develops. Then we'll do lunch.

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EXTERIOR. MIAMI: THE ABACO STREET PROJECTS. DAY. OTTO and MEHAN are standing across the street in a field behind some junked cars. They have a good view of the melee. OTTO Well, that sure didn't go according to the big plan, did it? MEHAN I knew they'd fuck it up.

INTERIOR. MIAMI RADIO STATION: THE BROADCAST ROOM . DAY. Top of the hour on a talk station. Behind the glass, the newsman is finishing the news. In the main room, the talkmaster is greeting his guest and helping him get settled in. NEWSMAN Democratic Representative Charles MacLauren will be holding a press conference today at his Miami headquarters. He is expected to respond to allegations that he was engaged in influence-peddling while he was chairman of the House Judiciary Committee. Now back to the Joe Shanahan Show. SHANAHAN Thank you, David. Traffic and weather coming up on the quarter hour. We have with us today Jack Byrnes, the Director of the United States Secret Service. Mr. Byrnes, welcome to Miami. BYRNES Thanks, Joe. It's great to be back. SHANAHAN Some of our listeners may not be aware of all the responsibilities of the Secret Service. Perhaps you could give us a little of the history of the

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Service? BYRNES Sure. The Secret Service is a unit of the Treasury Department. We were organized in 1865, two months after President Lincoln was assassinated. Our original mission was to stop the counterfeiting which was widespread at that time. It wasn't until after President McKinley was shot in 1901 that we were assigned to protect the President. Of course, we now do the same for the Vice-President and all family members. We also provide security for presidential candidates. SHANAHAN This must be a busy season for you then. BYRNES That's right. We have a large number of candidates this year. Our Protective Division has their hands full. SHANAHAN And what brings you to town today? BYRNES I'll be meeting with my agents to make sure that they are getting all the resources that they need to accomplish their mission. SHANAHAN Any problems so far? BYRNES Nothing major, thank goodness. We had a little excitement yesterday at one of Mr. Boyd's appearances. SHANAHAN I was going to ask you about that. According to the Herald, he went to the Abaco Street Projects. Whatever possessed him to think he would be able

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to walk in there without inciting a riot? And why did his agents let him? BYRNES Well, Joe, if it had been up to the agents, you can be sure that he wouldn't have gone, but the candidates decide for themselves where and when they want to campaign. We just try to do what we can in sometimes unpleasant situations. Luckily for Mr. Boyd, he has some fine agents assigned to him. Rodney Quintal, who is one of the senior agents on that detail, has done some outstanding work. SHANAHAN More on that after we update traffic, and then we'll take some calls, right after this.

EXTERIOR. MIAMI: A PARK. DAY. QUINTAL is sitting inside a car which is pulled onto the grass. JACKSON is lying on the grass, in his sweat-drenched running outfit. SANCHEZ is draped on the hood, absorbing the spring sun. They are listening to the talk show. JACKSON That rotten son of a bitch! HIGGINS trots up with an armful of drinks. He gives one to JACKSON, then looks in on QUINTAL’s scowl. HIGGINS Did I miss something? SANCHEZ You and me both. JACKSON It’s the Director. He's trying to make Rod a name.

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SANCHEZ So? JACKSON So the Service does not want its agents to become celebrities. We blend. SANCHEZ I would think it'd be better if the bad guys knew that you were there. JACKSON The real problem is we will be up for a White House rotation soon. You think the President wants to be on camera all the time with a world-famous agent in the picture? It doesn't happen very often, but the President can pick his agents. SANCHEZ Or not pick them. JACKSON Exactly. It's no secret that Rod wants to be Director some day. He’s got a shot, but publicity could screw it. And it sounds like Byrnes is beating the drum. HIGGINS You don't mean Jocko Byrnes? When did he become Director? JACKSON Two years ago. He was out of the Service, in a security consulting business with some close friends of the Secretary's, when he was brought back. You know him? HIGGINS I've had the pleasure. I was with the Hubert Humphrey's entourage in 1968. Byrnes was on the Vice-Presidential detail. It was June. Bobby Kennedy had just been assassinated. King had been shot. The news was all flames and

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corpses. The world was going to hell. One night in the Pacifico Hotel bar, Byrnes and some other agents were hammered. I don't think they knew I was there. Jocko was going on about the...sorry, the darkies. They were naturally lawless. Who the hell put him in charge of anyone’s life? QUINTAL He's trashed my last three reviews. I thought it was that Pope thing. SANCHEZ What Pope thing? QUINTAL I only worked with Byrnes one time, in Puerto Rico. A papal visit: crowd control and route planning. Byrnes had already made the plan. When I went on my own drivethrough, I saw that one of the bridges looked about ninety years old. Missing bolts, rusted supports. I reworked the route around it. Two weeks after, the bridge collapsed under two overloaded semis. It probably wouldn't have held the crowds that tagged along beside the Popemobile. Byrne never said a word to me about saving his ass.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA HILTON: BOYD'S CAMPAIGN OFFICES. DAY. A mailman lugs a big canvas bag through the front door, through a room crammed full of people working and talking, into a smaller room where a woman is sitting at a long table covered with many piles of paper. He greets the woman and leaves the bag. She opens it, scoops some of the contents out and begins to sort. She opens envelopes, logging in checks. Letters she quickly screens and sorts into a letter tray with levels labeled: For LB, Obscene, Threats, Unknown. The middle two are by far the largest. She picks up a large manila envelope marked: Hand deliver to Lucas Boyd only! Do not open! Personal and confidential!. It contains something flat and rectangular. She puts it aside and reaches for more envelopes.

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INTERIOR. A COMMERCIAL AIRLINER. DAY. JACKSON and WALTON are sitting together, aisle and middle. In the window seat is an older woman, napping. WALTON The magical mystery tour should be in Winter Haven right about now. Then on to Tampa at two o'clock. Barring flats, detours, and indigestion. Man, I'm glad I'm here and not there. JACKSON You got that right. Bus campaigns are the worst.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA HOTEL: BOYD'S CAMPAIGN OFFICES. DAY. The woman who was sorting mail returns from lunch, still sipping her drink. The small envelopes have all been sorted. A pile of larger envelopes and small packages remains. She picks one up and slices it open. Campaign buttons cascade out. She gathers them back into the envelope. She cuts one end off the large manila envelope marked: Hand deliver to Lucas Boyd only! Do not open! Personal and confidential!. A woman calls to her from another room. VOICE Oprah’s starting! The woman stands, tossing the envelope back on top of the pile. It slides slowly off as she hurries toward the door. Something shiny black and dull grey slips from the envelope. It vaporises into crimson flame with a deafening report.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA: A CAR. DAY. Walton is driving. Jackson is fiddling with the radio.

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RADIO (Male voice.) Suzanne Vega, from her first album. Now for our traffic eye in the sky, Kathy Laprete in the WATL jetcopter. (Female voice.) Traffic downtown is at a standstill due to what we have been told is an explosion and fire at the Atlanta Hilton. Fire and rescue apparatus from around the city are still converging on the scene. No word yet on any casualties. In the meantime, avoid all routes anywhere near that area. JACKSON Floor it! No! Wait! There! WALTON pulls into an intersection against the light, cutting off a police car. The officer leaps out and storms up to WALTON's window. WALTON Officer, we are agents of the United States Secret Service. We need you to get us to the Hilton, fast. Seething, the officer stalks back to his car. He shouts as he gets in. OFFICER Next time get a siren! He flicks on his lights and U-turns in front of them, tires shrieking.

EXTERIOR. ATLANTA HILTON. DAY. Sirens and flashing lights are everywhere. Emergency personnel rush about. Wisps of smoke still drift through the air. JACKSON is leaning on his car, speaking into a cell phone.

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INTERIOR. FLORIDA: BOYD'S CAMPAIGN BUS. DAY. QUINTAL is just finishing his end of a conversation. He puts his phone away. BOYD, MACK, LYNFIELD, TABER and HOLLINGSWORTH are listening. QUINTAL One woman was injured. It appears to have been a bomb delivered with the mail. BOYD Who was hurt? QUINTAL I didn't get any names yet. LYNFIELD We've got to get back there as soon as we can! We've got to show them that we are not intimidated. MACK He's right, Luke. You've got to get up there and wade through the goddamn smoking rubble. What a picture! LYNFIELD We'll be in Lakeland soon. I'll call ahead and charter a plane. He gets up and goes forward. MACK Let's get to work on a statement. We can get the network affiliates in Tampa out to the airport before we take off. We might make the lead on the evening, near the top, anyway. He and BOYD drift off back. HOLLINGSWORTH At least we'll get off this fucking bus.

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EXTERIOR. ATLANTA: A SIDEWALK. NIGHT. QUINTAL and JACKSON are walking along slowly. QUINTAL There's no way around it. I screwed it up. Not having the mail screened. Even the rookies would have known better. JACKSON Hey, I missed it too. QUINTAL I can't believe we both passed it. Some heroes we are. Now Byrnes will drop the other shoe on me for sure. He's built me up big. He'll just love pushing me over. SANCHEZ comes running up from behind them. SANCHEZ Where have you been? I've been looking everywhere for you! JACKSON We were feeling sorry for ourselves. SANCHEZ Well, wipe that morose look off your face. I've got some pictures for you.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA HILTON: A MEETING ROOM. NIGHT. BOYD and MACK are sitting at a table. LYNFIELD is pushing a tape into a TV-VCR in the corner of the room. LYNFIELD Here's the CBS feed. The screen shows BOYD examining the damaged building. TV (Male voice.) Presidential candidate Lucas Boyd's campaign received a chilling reminder

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today that his background is neither forgotten nor forgiven. What authorities believe was a letter bomb exploded inside his campaign offices here at the Atlanta Hilton this morning. Boyd himself was in Florida on a bus tour but returned to Atlanta after hearing of the blast. Several campaign workers were injured, one seriously. This afternoon, a local television station received a call from an organization calling itself the Freedom Riders, claiming credit for the attack. The caller promised more violence unless Boyd withdraws from the Presidential race. This is Carl Baskins, CBS News, Atlanta. MACK Where's our statement? What the hell do we have to been blown to bits before they let us respond? LYNFIELD We get more air on ABC. QUINTAL and JACKSON burst into the room, obviously mad as hell. QUINTAL holds up a hand. JACKSON tosses a stack of pictures on the table. QUINTAL No, wait. Don't get up. We just came by to share these marvelous photographs with you. Splendid resolution. A few candid shots of the projects. Interesting one of the young man on the stage. And his friend behind him. Agent Hollingsworth swears that he bumped into these very same fellows before the disturbance as they were coming out of your Miami offices. Now, luckily, I am not a suspicious person. I have to believe that these youths were part of the Tenant's Association, meeting with you to plan a really crackerjack rally. I don't want to believe that anyone would conspire to create a riot. That would be a felony, so I will not even

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entertain the thought. I'm going to put these photos back in my file of unsolved mysteries. They'll probably end up staying there for quite a long time, don't you think, gentlemen? I apologize for the delay. Good evening.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA HILTON: QUINTAL'S ROOM. NIGHT. There is a knock. QUINTAL, in his robe, turns on a light and opens the door. LYNFIELD is swaying there, disheveled and drunk. LYNFIELD I didn't wake you up, did I? I'm really sorry. He staggers into the room. QUINTAL What is it, man? LYNFIELD I just wanted you to know that I had nothing to do that fiasco down there, in Miami. QUINTAL Yeah? LYNFIELD Just because I'm the goddamn campaign manager, in charge of the whole show, doesn't always mean that I get told everything. QUINTAL I know. It was Mack and Sutton. LYNFIELD How did you find out? QUINTAL It wasn't hard. Mack hired punks from the project to create some kind of a scene to make Boyd look good. It was

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stupid to begin with. LYNFIELD I wish Ben didn't feel obliged to resort to stunts like that. We have a powerful message. It speaks for itself. I know it is particularly hard for you to understand, but I believe in what Lucas is trying to do. QUINTAL Which is? LYNFIELD Solving the only problems which matter: racism and poverty. From which all troubles flow. QUINTAL I wish it was that simple.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA HILTON: A DARK ROOM. NIGHT. Muffled laughter. Rustle of sheets. Voices in the dark. SANCHEZ You know, I have an explosive device. Want to search me? WALTON Assume the position.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA HILTON: BOYD'S CAMPAIGN OFFICES. DAY Workers are cleaning, sorting materials damaged by smoke and water. ABBY and EDDIE dump out boxes of signs and bumper stickers. EDDIE hums a merry tune. ABBY Why are you so cheerful? That bomb could easily have come to you. What if it'd looked like a bunch of signs, huh?

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EDDIE Every day of life is a day to celebrate! ABBY I refuse to celebrate not being blown up.

EXTERIOR. ATLANTA: A POLLING PLACE. DAY. People line the sidewalk by the front doors of an elementary school. Some hold placards for candidates. Some are just looking on curiously at BOYD, who is shaking hands and asking for support. Hollingsworth, WALTON, LEONARD, and JACKSON are posted around BOYD.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA HILTON: A FUNCTION ROOM. NIGHT. The room is decorated with bunting and Boyd posters. The campaign staff and workers are wondering around with drinks and eating hors d'oeurves. Some are gathered around two large televisions tuned to a local station. The same anchor and analyst as before are discussing the election. The mood is sombre. ANCHOR On the Republican side, Senator Wilson has got to be very happy tonight. CAMPBELL I imagine there are sighs of relief in the Republican National Committee this evening. Our projections show that Senator Wilson will win the Republican primary in Georgia, beating back a strong challenge from Lucas Boyd, who had really played up his southern roots and conservative credentials. It didn't work quite as well as he had planned. He has managed only 32% of the vote in our projection to Wilson's 44%. Wilson's margin of victory here is even larger than it was in the New Hampshire primary. Wilson's campaign is going to

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get a big injection of momentum from these results. ANCHOR Do you think that Boyd will drop out? CAMPBELL Wilson's negative numbers remain high, with many voters saying that they would never vote for him because he is an incumbent Congressman and is seen as part of the crowd which got us into the current economic mess. Boyd will probably stay in the race. Remember that Louisiana and Mississippi go to the polls on Super Tuesday next week. Boyd expects to do very well in those states. He really needs to win at least one of those states outright. ANCHOR Does he have the money to continue? CAMPBELL My sources have told me that contributions to Boyd have slowed to a trickle. I learned today that Boyd will purchase a half-hour of prime time television next Monday in several of the Super Tuesday states. Boyd needs to give the performance of his political life in those thirty minutes. ANCHOR Will voters tune in to such a long advertisement? CAMPBELL That's part of the risk, Darlene. Eddie wanders by, drink in hand, looking wobbly. He runs into Abby. ABBY Eddie! Where've you been?

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EDDIE Getting a drink. Want one? MACK and LYNFIELD come by. MACK Channel Five is late. LYNFIELD CNN and Channel Two are set up. MACK Lucas comes out at 11:08 and speaks for sixty seconds. Two should bite and do it live. CNN will tape delay, no doubt. WALTON and HOLLINGSWORTH walk by. HOLLINGSWORTH I told them we'd take over a little early so they could do some planning for the big show next week. WALTON It's okay. HOLLINGWORTH I feel bad, dragging you out of the rack. WALTON She had to do some work anyway. BOYD emerges onto the small stage to a rousing ovation. BOYD Thank you. For those of you who haven't heard, we are still gathering over 30% of the vote. The experts said that we would falter, but they were wrong. Our message is getting through. Our support is strong.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA HILTON. NIGHT. JACKSON and QUINTAL are walking down a hallway.

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QUINTAL Bar or room? JACKSON Bar. I won't fall asleep.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA HILTON. NIGHT. BOYD is still speaking. BOYD So give yourselves a big round of applause, because it is by your energies and dedication that our crusade is sustained. MACK is in the front row of the audience where BOYD can see him. He is discreetly timing the remarks. He holds up five fingers. BOYD Now it's on to Super Tuesday! Goodnight and God bless you!

INTERIOR. ATLANTA HILTON: THE BAR. NIGHT. QUINTAL and JACKSON have a table covered with papers, a laptop, sodas and spring water. QUINTAL I think we'd better alarm these doors here and here. Put the metal detectors here. Then we’ll have control of all access. JACKSON The FBI will have their bomb dog there Sunday. We seal the building Saturday. Only staff we know by sight and escorted techs will be allowed after that until ninety minutes before airtime.

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They sit silently for a moment. QUINTAL So what have we missed?

INTERIOR. WASHINGTON, D.C.: A HOSPITAL. NIGHT SANCHEZ whirls out of a revolving door into a hospital lobby. She spies a sign for the maternity ward and sprints in the direction of its arrow.

INTERIOR. WASHINGTON, D.C.: A HOSPITAL. NIGHT In a birthing room, JUDY KANE is lying on her side on a bed. ALEX is rubbing her back, a cup of ice in his other hand. SANCHEZ comes in, out of breath. SANCHEZ Not yet? ALEX Ten minutes apart. SANCHEZ What can I do? JUDY Make it stop. ALEX Thanks for coming. SANCHEZ I would be here even if you had nothing for me. You know that. A nurse comes in, surveys the scene, and leaves. ALEX I have nothing for you. Nothing of substance.

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SANCHEZ But you said the secretary-? ALEX She hates Byrnes, but all she has is his phone log and appointment book. No tapes, no photos, no memos. JUDY But tell her. Ow! ALEX Eight minutes. JUDY Here we go. Tell her about the logs. ALEX What she does have supports your hypothesis. Senator Wilson calls Byrnes. The Secretary of the Treasury calls Byrnes. Byrnes meets with Tommy Sanders. And according to your time table, Sanders goes to your friends Quintal and Jackson to tell them they are Boyd’s front men. The nurse comes in and takes JUDY’S pulse. SANCHEZ But no hard support. ALEX I have copies of the books. Just times and names. JUDY Anna! You are right. I know it in my lawyer’s heart. Trust me. Ow! ALEX Six minutes. JUDY Those bastards are using your friends! You can’t let them get away with it. Damn it, you have to blast them!

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ALEX This is not proofSANCHEZ Don’t worry about it, I’llJUDY What more do you want toNURSE Please! Everybody! We’re having our baby soon. Let’s not shout at each other.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA MALL: A CONVENIENCE STORE. DAY. LYNFIELD is waiting in line to buy a paper. MACK comes up beside him. LYNFIELD Wilson has a full page ad. Page three. MACK So he looks good on paper. I'll take Lucas Boyd live any day. LYNFIELD We're deep in the hole after buying this airtime. MACK You know Lucas. He'll give the speech of his life, and the money will come calling. LYNFIELD I just hope somebody is watching.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA MALL. DAY. Walking near the convenience store, MACK pauses in front of an appliance store, then enters. He seeks out the electronics department and sits down at a computer. He begins to type.

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INTERIOR. ATLANTA HILTON: BOYD HEADQUARTERS. DAY. The damage has been hastily repaired. QUINTAL is speaking into a cellular phone. QUINTAL Yes, I got your beautiful picture, honey, thank you so much. I loved it...I miss you too, but I'll see you real soon, OK? Can I have Mommy back now? Bye-bye....Hello-yeah, waiting for a meeting...still in the Hilton, believe it or not. No, not much of a fire.....because they can't afford to go somewhere else, I think...yes, I will...yes...I love you too. JACKSON, who has come in midconversation, makes a kissyface. LYNFIELD and SUTTON come in. QUINTAL hands them each a sheet of paper. QUINTAL We received a disturbing letter. The author mentions details of our security arrangements at Stuart's Theatre. SUTTON Who the hell knows these things except us and you? JACKSON We can't keep everything secret. QUINTAL We are taking this threat seriously. LYNFIELD Lucas will absolutely not cancel or postpone the address. You'll just have to catch this fellow before then. JACKSON The letter was printed on a laser printer. Almost impossible to match to a particular one. It was mailed from

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one of Atlanta's busiest Post Offices. SUTTON So Monday night this creep could come waltzing in. QUINTAL We will make changes in the building security right up until airtime, many of which will remain known only to our agents. SUTTON And what if it's one of your agents that's the leak? Hell, one of them's shacked up with a reporter, isn't he? That's where I'd start to look if I were you. QUINTAL Thank you for the suggestion.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA HILTON: BAR. NIGHT. JACKSON, HOLLINGSWORTH and SANCHEZ are eating at the bar. SANCHEZ is watching the television. She signals to the bartender, who turns up the volume. On the television, MACK is at a microphone-studded podium. REPORTER Is it true that the person who sent this letter has access to your security details? MACK That is correct. REPORTER Any connection between this letter and the bombing of your offices? MACK We are concerned about that possibility.

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REPORTER Any chance that Boyd will put off his speech? MACK No! We will not be intimidated, damn the consequences. Lucas Boyd will be there, threat or no threat. Bomb or no bomb, Monday night at seven-thirty, we will be there. JACKSON holds up a thumb. JACKSON The script was strong, but it was the masterful acting which drew me in. SANCHEZ What? QUINTAL We knew he'd take that letter and tap dance with it. SANCHEZ Then why'd you give it to him in the first place? QUINTAL We can't hold out information like that. It's Boyd's life. He should be aware of the risks. JACKSON Besides, Mack may be doing us a favor by blowing his horn. Any potential perp will think twice, knowing we are at full alert. SANCHEZ Hope you've got some better tricks in your bag. Whoever wrote that letter wasn't fooled by the first batch.

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QUINTAL I still can't figure it. If someone were serious about getting Boyd and knew those things, why give them away? JACKSON Someone once told me never to waste my time trying to use logic to figure out crazy. QUINTAL That was me. By the way, Sanchez, Sheriff Sutton has it all scoped out. SANCHEZ Yeah? QUINTAL He figures that Agent Walton screams out secrets at the height of his passion, and any members of the liberal commie press that just happened to be around would use same to derail America's one true hope. SANCHEZ That fatass bastard! You didn't punch him out for me? QUINTAL You have honor to protect? SANCHEZ Well fuck you, too. If he weren't an insignificant turd that nobody'd ever heard of, I'd libel his butt from the front page clear over to the goddamn comics.

INTERIOR. STUART'S THEATRE. NIGHT. Stuart’s Theatre is a spacious old playhouse with a curving balcony set low and close to the stage. A camera crew from a local TV station, Channel 26, is up in the balcony, setting up a shot so the reporter will be seen with the stage behind him.

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REPORTER This is Dan Manta at Stuart's Theatre, where tonight Lucas Boyd will be delivering an election eve appeal for support, despite the threats made against him and the bombing of his campaign offices. Security is extremely tight here tonight. Secret Service agents are putting everyone through metal detectors. They also have an explosives-sniffing dog patrolling around down there on the floor. Uniformed and plainclothed police outnumber the audience right now. We will be bringing you updates throughout the evening and reactions to Boyd's speech as soon as it is over.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA: STUART'S THEATRE: SMALL BACKSTAGE ROOM. NIGHT. BOYD is in an armchair, reading his speech. MACK is pacing around.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA: STUART'S THEATRE: ONSTAGE. NIGHT. LYNFIELD is checking the layout. WALTON is standing at the podium, watching the audience slowly assemble. LYNFIELD Damn it! Where's the red banner?

INTERIOR. ATLANTA: STUART'S THEATRE. NIGHT. MEHAN and OTTO walk down the aisle, wearing suits and looking surprisingly respectable. They glare at everyone with dark suspicion but light up when they spy several members of the posse who have returned for the speech.

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EXTERIOR. STUART'S THEATRE. NIGHT. JACKSON and TABER are near the front door. Behind them is a long line of people waiting to pass through a metal detector.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA: STUART'S THEATRE: BASEMENT. NIGHT. LYNFIELD comes down the hall and pushes open the door of room B5. He turns on the light and rummages around in some boxes, then sees what he is looking for: a package labeled "BOYD BANNER - RED". He picks it up. Something heavy slides out and clangs on the floor. He curses and picks up a pistol. As he is looking at it, he is whacked from behind.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA: STUART'S THEATRE: A MEN'S ROOM. NIGHT. A man is emerging from a stall. He looks up and is startled by a big, mean-looking cop, brandishing a nightstick. The man mumbles something and hastily departs the room, still zipping. The cop goes into the stall and pokes around behind the water mechanism and under the seat.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA: STUART'S THEATRE: BASEMENT. NIGHT. LYNFIELD slowly returns to consciousness. He is propped up in a corner of the room, tied up and gagged with duct tape. His eyes fix on the gun in EDDIE’s hand. EDDIE I'm sorry. I'm not going to hurt you. I just need their attention. It’s not loaded – I don’t even know how it works. EDDIE pulls up his sleeve and wipes away flesh-toned makup to reveal a number tatooed on his inner forearm. EDDIE Can you understand how it would feel to be fifteen years old and hoeing in a

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beet field when the wind shifts and the ashes of your mother and your two baby sisters start to fall on you? And you know that if you stop hoeing, maybe even if you begin to cry as you keep hoeing as hard as you can, you will be shot. (Beat.) My wife is dead. I have protected my own children too well. They would be just like the ones who carried the babies to the station, saying: ‘Get in the boxcars. Don't make trouble. Everything will be all right.’ (Beat.) When people suffer, Mr. Lynfield, they must hate. They need to blame. Maybe this time not the Jews. Maybe wetbacks, maybe young black men. But it will be somebody. And I won't just watch. He stuffs the gun back into the box and opens the door. EDDIE Don't be afraid.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA: STUART'S THEATRE: BACKSTAGE. NIGHT. The broadcast has begun. BOYD is speaking. A uniformed officer is peeking through the curtains. EDDIE comes up carrying the banner package. OFFICER Looks like you're too late. EDDIE Oh well. By the way, I heard some strange noises downstairs in B5. OFFICER Thanks. I'll go let someone know. Watch this spot for me, OK?

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INTERIOR. ATLANTA: STUART'S THEATRE: ONSTAGE. NIGHT. EDDIE appears offstage right, approaching the podium. He is still carrying the banner package. Agents see him but are slow to react. EDDIE comes up behind BOYD, drops the package, and puts the gun to BOYD's head. BOYD can see the gun out of the corner of his eye and freezes in midsentence. There is a long silent pause.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA: STUART'S THEATRE: AUDIENCE. NIGHT. QUINTAL runs up to where JACKSON has been watching in disbelief. They have both drawn their weapons. JACKSON What the hell? QUINTAL holsters his gun. QUINTAL This just doesn't make sense, Mike. (Speaking softly into his radio.) This is Quintal. Everyone holster your weapons. I repeat: holster your weapons. QUINTAL vaults softly onto the stage after first making sure that EDDIE cannot see him.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA: CONTROL ROOM AT CHANNEL 11. NIGHT. A technician is running a commercial tape. She glances over at the screen showing the feed from Stuart's Theatre and grabs up a phone. TECH Stella! Get the hell in here!

INTERIOR. ATLANTA: STUART'S THEATRE: AUDIENCE. NIGHT. MEHAN and OTTO leave their seats and make for the side of

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the stage. They are stopped by a uniformed cop. MEHAN flashes the cop a badge. MEHAN Secret Service.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA: CONTROL ROOM AT CHANNEL 11. NIGHT. Several people are in the room now, arguing heatedly. MAN This show is number two in last week's book. Sales'll go apeshit if we cut inWOMAN Lucas Boyd is about to be killed, and Channel 26 is carrying it live! I'm breaking in. We'll go right on with the picture. Put together a voiceover with background. The technician flickes some switches, and the feed from Stuart's Theater appears on all the screens in the room.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA: STUART'S THEATRE: ONSTAGE. NIGHT. QUINTAL is standing several feet from the podium, where EDDIE still has his gun to BOYD's temple. QUINTAL is holding his hands away from his body. QUINTAL I've had everyone put their weapons away so we can talk. Below, JACKSON searches the crowd and spots ABBY. He goes to her. JACKSON I've forgotten his name. AMY Eddie White.

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JACKSON (Into radio.) His name is Eddie. Eddie White. Above, QUINTAL nods slightly. QUINTAL Eddie, you know me. I’m Rodney Quintal. EDDIE My name is Leokada Witkowski. QUINTAL Okay. Tell me what's on your mind. EDDIE Are these microphones still on? Don't turn them off, please. I have something to say. QUINTAL Okay, they're still on. Everyone wants to hear you. Go ahead. Just put down the gun so we don’t have an accident.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA: STUART'S THEATRE: ONSTAGE. NIGHT. MEHAN and OTTO are on the side of the stage where HOLLINGSWORTH has stopped them. OTTO (Gesturing angrily toward the stage.) What is this shit? MEHAN Why don't you just shoot the son of a bitch? HOLLINGSWORTH Shut up and go sit back down and let him do his job. OTTO He's got a fucking gun to his head.

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HOLLINGSWORTH I saidMEHAN Yeah. You're giving the bastard what he wants! HOLLINGSWORTH motions to two uniformed cops for assistance. Before they can move, MEHAN pins his arms. OTTO reaches into HOLLINGSWORTH's holster and takes out his pistol. OTTO fires once, hitting EDDIE in the back. HOLLINGSWORTH breaks free and grabs OTTO. The next shot goes wildly into the audience, hitting a woman in the upper arm. The audience screams and rises, running in all directions, over seats and each other. As EDDIE falls, QUINTAL leaps and snatches the gun. EDDIE goes down on his back, crimson bubbling on his lips. QUINTAL grabs BOYD. QUINTAL Are you OK? BOYD smiles feebly. He puts his hand inside his suitcoat and brings it out dripping red. QUINTAL eases him down. QUINTAL Get the EMTs! He looks around for help. The audience is stampeding, clogging the aisles. A first aid kit is taped under the podium. QUINTAL rips it out and tears it open. He looks up and sees SANCHEZ kneeling beside BOYD. MEHAN and OTTO have been reinforced by several of the posse. They have ganged up on HOLLINGSWORTH. WALTON and ESPOSITO push through the crowd to his defense. Other agents and posse members are hand-to-hand around the stage. QUINTAL puts a gauze sponge into SANCHEZ’s hand and guides it to BOYD's chest. He runs over and shoves one of the posse. QUINTAL Stop this! Get the EMTHit in the back of the head, he turns and punches OTTO in the gut. JACKSON is shoving his way through the mob below, leading the EMTs to the stage. He jumps up onto a seatback and runs to the stage along them, diving onto two of the posse. There is a brief, furious brawl which ends with every member of the posse pressed down on the stage by an agent. QUINTAL screams at a couple of uniformed cops who

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have just reached the scene. QUINTAL Cuff these assholes! QUINTAL goes back over to where BOYD and EDDIE are laid out. EMTs are working on them. ABBY is holding EDDIE's hand. A TV camera is focused down on EDDIE. HIGGINS is talking to him. Behind HIGGINS, SANCHEZ is scribbling in a notebook. Her sleeves are red with Boyd's blood. HIGGINS What were you going to say? EDDIE gurgles, the sound muffled by the oxygen mask. HIGGINS Would you have shot him? EDDIE shakes his head: No. An EMT cuts EDDIE's sleeve to start an IV, and HIGGINS sees the tattooed number. HIGGINS Anna! Look at that. SANCHEZ He must have been a child. EDDIE clutches his arm. HIGGINS looks up to find a camera in his face. HIGGINS GIVE US SOME ROOM HERE! The EMTs roll EDDIE onto a gurney and hustle him away. SANCHEZ puts her arm around HIGGINS. QUINTAL Walton! You and Leonard ride with the perp. Get a statement as soon as he can talk. HIGGINS Come on, let's get to the hospital. They follow after EDDIE.

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SANCHEZ Do you want the lead or sidebar? HIGGINS We'll do one together. But I get top billing. SANCHEZ Done.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA: AN AMBULANCE. NIGHT. The sirens scream. BOYD is awake and alert. Two EMTs attend him. JACKSON is up front in the passenger's seat. QUINTAL is jammed in back. QUINTAL Mike! Get security at County Hospital. Have them clear the emergency room. They can reroute everybody to St. Ben's. JACKSON nods and picks up the ambulance radio microphone. QUINTAL (Into his radio.) Kevin? Are you home? RADIO (WALTON’s voice.) I'm here, chief. QUINTAL Take the perp to St. Ben's. We can't have them in the same ER. RADIO (WALTON’s voice.) No hurry. He's deceased. How is Wonder? QUINTAL leans back, suddenly tired. He sees BOYD’s eyes on him. QUINTAL He's OK.

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JACKSON (Into the radio, furiously.) On my authority, God damn it! Do it or I'll have federal marshals there in ten minutes!

INTERIOR. ATLANTA: STUART'S THEATER: BASEMENT. NIGHT. Cops are in the hallway, weapons drawn. They are opening every door, first calling out "Police!", then flinging open the door, guns leveled. They come to Room B5 and hear muffled cries within. Without warning, they burst into the room. LYNFIELD is rolling on the floor, still taped up. He sees all the guns trained on him and freezes.

EXTERIOR. ATLANTA: COUNTY HOSPITAL. NIGHT. QUINTAL is standing in front of the main doors, looking up into the clear sky. HOLLINGSWORTH walks up. He has a bloody gash over one eye. QUINTAL My career should be streaking by anytime now. HOLLINGSWORTH Look, I'm sorry! I let my weapon get out of my control. QUINTAL Frank, you got jumped. You saved Boyd's ass, and mine too, probably. That fucking redneck would have emptied the clip at us. That's the way it's going in my report, so don't toss your badge in the dirt just yet, OK? Anyway, the ultimate responsibility was mine, and I blew that. I didn't background Boyd's volunteer help. HOLLINGSWORTH But I did! When I ran the check on Sutton's thugs, I did all of Boyd's staff too. None of them had more than

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misdemeanors. There were no outstanding warrants. Edward White came out cleaner than me or you. Not even a parking ticket. QUINTAL That doesn't make any sense. HOLLINGSWORTH Fuck sense! We kept Boyd intact for two months with lunatics everywhere around us. So somebody with no criminal record puts a gun to his head and then he gets popped by one of his own private goons? It's not our fault! QUINTAL Maybe not. But it's not his fault either. We took responsibility for protecting him, and we didn’t get it done. HOLLINGSWORTH It sucks. QUINTAL It does. Where's Walton? HOLLINGSWORTH At the morgue. Signing over the perp. How is Boyd? QUINTAL He's in ICU. It was worse than we thought, but he'll live. C'mon, I found the resident's cot room. You need a nap before your shift. HOLLINGSWORTH Yeah? And how long since you got any sleep?

INTERIOR. ATLANTA: COUNTY HOSPITAL. NIGHT. JACKSON is pacing up and down in the ICU. Several uniformed policemen stand along the walls. QUINTAL and HOLLINGSWORTH

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come in just as MACK steps out of Boyd's cubicle. MACK You do know that I had nothing to do with that. QUINTAL We know. MACK (To HOLLINGSWORTH.) They told me that we have you to thank for saving Lucas' life. Thank you. HOLLINGSWORTH You’re welcome How is he? MACK He's sleeping. Out of danger but still in a lot of pain. Excuse me, I need to make some calls. He leaves. JACKSON Byrnes called again. QUINTAL Well, at least we were able to make him happy. JACKSON No shit. Boyd popped by one of his own bodyguards while the brothers stand by helplessly? QUINTAL Not even in his wildest dreams. JACKSON I told him we would have a preliminary report by tomorrow morning. QUINTAL So we have jobs until then. JACKSON Maybe. I told Mack we would be at his

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press conference in the morning to answer questions. QUINTAL Beautiful. Here? JACKSON Nine o'clock sharp.

INTERIOR. ATLANTA: COUNTY HOSPITAL. DAY. It is very early in the morning in a private room. Most of the agents are there, sitting on the made bed, in the chairs, drinking coffee. QUINTAL is passing out pads of paper. QUINTAL Each of you will write down where you were last night during the shoot. What you saw, who you saw, what you did. As much as you can recall. HIGGINS opens the door. QUINTAL Sorry, Higgins. This is Service business. HIGGINS Yes, the postmortem. Oops, poor choice of words. Anyway, I can't stay, but I have something for you. HIGGINS tosses a large envelope to WALTON. HIGGINS Front page of this morning's Globe and out over the Associated Press. He closes the door. WALTON opens the envelope. WALTON It's from Ann- Sanchez: "Dear Kevin and all. Sorry I can't be there with you today, but I had to

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catch a flight. My editor and I agree that Boyd is toast. Half the country just watched his own employees try to kill him. I'm off to L.A. to hop on Senator Gatchell's bandwagon. Enclosed is something to lift your spirits. My love to all. Annamarie. P.S.- “ He turns red. WALTON “Atlanta. Daniel Higgins and Annamarie Sanchez, Globe Staff. Presidential contender Lucas Boyd was shot last night in a bizarre confrontation which played out in front of millions of television viewers. Boyd was addressing a regional TV audience from Stuart's Theatre in downtown Atlanta when one of his own campaign volunteers, a man identified as Leokada Witkowski, appeared on the stage with a gun and took Boyd hostage. Moments later, as Secret Service agents were attempting to talk Witkowski into giving up his weapon, a member of Boyd's own private bodyguard opened fire. Boyd was wounded in the shoulder, and White was hit in the chest. A brawl then erupted as other members of the bodyguard group attacked Secret Service agents. Refusing to return fire in the crowded theatre, the agents subdued their attackers with bare hands while at the same time rushing EMTs to Boyd. Boyd was taken to County Hospital, where he is in guarded condition after undergoing surgery. Witkowski was dead on arrival at St. Benjamin's Hospital. Those onstage said that White was apparently a survivor of a German concentration camp-”

INTERIOR. ATLANTA: COUNTY HOSPITAL. DAY. A large room has been hastily turned into a media center,

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set up for a press conference. The room is packed with press. QUINTAL and JACKSON come in. No one from Boyd's staff is there yet. The reporters see the two agents and begin to call out all at once. REPORTERS Rodney! Any motive on the shooter? Where's the surgeon? There were other shots? QUINTAL holds up his hands for silence as he and JACKSON go to the front. QUINTAL Our investigation of the incident is ongoing. Questions about Mr. Boyd's condition should be directed to his campaign staff. REPORTERS And where are they? What's to investigate? When do we see your report? MACK and LYNFIELD enter. They look stricken. The reporters are howling. MACK goes to the front of the room and unfolds a piece of paper. MACK I have a short statement from Mr. Boyd. Then I will take questions. “Ladies and gentlemen. I regret that I am unable to address you directly this morning. Although according to my doctor, I am out of danger, it appears that my wound was more serious than first thought. She has made it clear to me that I would be putting my future health in jeopardy if I were to continue this campaign. Therefore, until such time as I am physically capable to resume, I am suspending my campaign for the Presidency of the United States- “ Reporters are standing, screeching, and waving their hands to be recognized. QUINTAL and JACKSON slip out the door.

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INTERIOR. ATLANTA: COUNTY HOSPITAL. DAY. In the hall, QUINTAL and JACKSON meet WALTON and ESPOSITO. WALTON What’s the screaming? JACKSON Boyd is suspending his campaign. ESPOSITO He's out? QUINTAL Morally, but not legally. If he had withdrawn outright, he'd lose federal matching funds. By suspending his campaign, he still gets the money. And he gets to lead his delegates to the convention. JACKSON He'll want to give a speech in prime time. The Party will refuse. He'll strike a deal with one of the other candidates and give up his delegates in return for writing a couple of the platform planks. WALTON And us? QUINTAL We won’t need a full team to secure the hospital. WALTON Oh. QUINTAL What? Disappointed? WALTON Well, securities fraud seems pretty tame after this.

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JACKSON Cheer up, Kevin. ATF says there are 50 million handguns in circulation. Put in for a transfer and stay on. WALTON I'll think on it.

EXTERIOR. ATLANTA: COUNTY HOSPITAL. DAY. QUINTAL and JACKSON are getting into their car. HIGGINS comes up, an envelope in his hand. HIGGINS It's true, then. You're still employed. QUINTAL Employed, hell. We're fucking heroes once more. Don't you read the papers? HIGGINS I hear you are off for the Wilson campaign. QUINTAL That's right. Taber and Leonard are staying to oversee things. Byrnes doesn't have the stones to keep us here now. The other teams are screaming for reinforcements. HIGGINS All in all, I'd say you did well. QUINTAL The man still got a slug in him. HIGGINS Jack Byrnes set you up to fail. JACKSON Is that your story? HIGGINS gives QUINTAL the envelope.

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HIGGINS Here’s what we’ve got. Enough to run up the flagpole. QUINTAL Are you going to write it? HIGGINS And what happens to you if I do? QUINTAL shrugs. JACKSON There'd be a big stink for a few days. Byrnes would bite the dust. Maybe even the Secretary. We'd carry on. But Rod would never make Director. HIGGINS I'm going to take a pass on it for now. But don't think I won't want payback when I'm working on my book. QUINTAL And Sanchez? HIGGINS She would rather go back to editing gazpacho recipes than let you know how much breaking this story would mean to her. But she's walking away from it. If I were her, fighting every day for credibility, I don't know that I would let anyone stand in my way. QUINTAL Tell her I won't forget it. He and JACKSON shake hands with HIGGINS and get into their car. QUINTAL Until next time. They drive off.

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THE END

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