Stay Frosty

STAY FROSTY
Written by
Tyler Marceca
Ava Jamshidi / INDUSTRY ENTERTAINMENT

Boxerbaum, Levine, Davis / VERVE 4.22.2021
EXT. DRIVEWAY - NIGHT
A driving rain falls. We can’t see much.
But we can see HER. A hazy figure turned to her side.
Just standing there in her bathrobe. Face veiled by a wet

mop of hair.
And right as her head begins to turn in our direction --
SMASH CUT TO:
INT. LIVING ROOM - APARTMENT - NIGHT
The place is spacious. Hardwood floors. Granite counters --
-- a DEAD GUY on the couch!
Body pitched forward. Slumped over the glass coffee table

with his head cocked to one side.
BLOOD courses freely from a wound at the base of his skull.

Crisscrossing down his face and collecting in a PUDDLE.
A puddle so thick, we can actually see the poor bastard’s

face reflected in it.
It looks like he was killed by a single shot to the --
ROBOTIC VOICE (O.S.)

My name’s Moobie. Would you like
to hear a funny joke?
The robotic voice belongs to a HUMANOID ROBOT.
An expensive kid’s toy.
It lies overturned on the coffee table next to Dead Guy.

Its glowing, LED screen-face CRACKED. Its voice WARPED.
ROBOT/MOOBIE
Why don’t crabs give each other
gifts on Christmas?
(pause for effect)
Because they’re shell-fish.
Dead Guy just stares back at it with glassy, UNBLINKING

eyes. Tough audience --
-- he BLINKS! A RIPPLE playing across the blood.
But no other movement. Probably some postmortem spasm --

2.
-- when Dead Guy SPRINGS to his feet like he’s just been
JUMPSTARTED back to life with a fucking car battery!
He’s ADRENALIZED. Eyes BUGGED out of his sockets.
And now that he’s alive, we can give him a name. WEBER.
Roughly 40 years old. 20 of which he spent [REDACTED]
He looks down and sees a black and white tabby cat named
TANGO staring up at him from the couch. He’s confused.
Same here, pal.
Weber’s eyes frantically circuit the room;
Christmas tree.
Marble fireplace.
“A Christmas Story” on TV. End credits scrolling up over

the Parkers’ house.
A large roll of ruined gift wrap sits on the blood-soaked

coffee table, along with a bowl of reddened popcorn and a
cup of hot cocoa topped with melted marshmallows.
Weber reaches across and holds his hand over the mug.
No steam.
Weber SCRAMBLES over to the fireplace and shifts the cast

iron grate aside. Pops open a HIDDEN PANEL underneath --
-- retrieving a MOSSBERG 590 SHOTGUN!
With the compact shotty trained ahead, he moves into --
THE KITCHEN
Under the more stark light, we see a torn FLAP of scalp

hanging down off his skull.
BLOOD running down his back in a glistening river.
Weber moves to the front door. Checking it for signs of

forced entry. Then presses his eye to the PEEPHOLE.
PEEPHOLE POV:
The hallway’s empty. Not a creature stirring.
He backs away from the front door and continues to sweep

the apartment for threats. Slipping into --
3.
FIRST BEDROOM
Weber flips the lights. Revealing a boy’s room.
Posters. Lego structures. Mini basketball hoop --
-- but no hostiles.
Weber slaps off the lights. Moves on to --
MASTER BEDROOM
This is where Weber sleeps.
And by virtue of there being only one nightstand, where

he sleeps alone.
Nothing here either.
Weber goes to step back out and STUMBLES over himself.
He rests a hand on the doorframe for support. Waits for

his equilibrium to return.
Instead, his body RIOTS. Face curdling with NAUSEA.
He staggers into --
MASTER BATHROOM
Weber flips the toilet lid and violently PUKES. Keeping

his eyes and shotty on the doorway even as he retches.
Once the sick’s all out of him, Weber flushes.
He quickly rallies. Getting to his feet and returning to --
THE LIVING ROOM
Tango is perched on the coffee table. Nibbling from that

bowl of bloodstained popcorn.
Weber shoos Tango off with a HISS.
Then he notices something that catches in the light.
FLOATING through the air.
A SNOWFLAKE.
Weber tracks it to the floor-to-ceiling windows... which

provide some much needed orientation.
We’re in a high-rise apartment building. In Chicago.

4.
During a mild snowstorm. Mild for Chicago anyway.
And some of that snow is now drifting inside through the

solitary BULLET HOLE in the window.
Weber was shot from long range. Not up close and personal.
He lowers his weapon. Finally takes stock of himself.
He’s a godawful, goddamn bloody mess.
NEXT CUT:
MASTER BATHROOM
Weber’s at the sink. Disinfecting a heavy duty STAPLE GUN

and a sheet of staples with rubbing alcohol and a rag.
NEXT CUT:
Weber sits on his lidded toilet with a white towel swathed

around his neck. His back to the mirrored medicine cabinet.
In the medicine cabinet’s reflection, we get a closer look

at the gaping ENTRY WOUND in Weber’s head --
-- and see a gleaming TITANIUM PLATE.
An IMPLANT from some previous head trauma.
Weber reaches behind. Fingers PROBING the exposed titanium.
He then grabs his phone. Angles it at the back of his head

and snaps a picture.
Weber studies the picture on the phone. Magnifying it with

the touchscreen to reveal an INDENTATION in the titanium.
Where the bullet IMPACTED.
Weber exhales. Gives the titanium an appreciative tap.
He sets his phone aside and grabs the staple gun.
Weber looks up at the full-size mirror he’s positioned in

front of the toilet. It reflects the cabinet’s reflection.
Allowing him a clear view of the back of his head.
He then takes a deep breath and presses those loose folds

of scalp together. Lining their edges like puzzle pieces --
-- and starts STAPLING his head back together!
SQUELCH. SQUELCH. SQUELCH.

5.
Weber’s face WINCES a little each time, but he doesn’t so

much as make a peep.
NEXT CUT:
Weber stands before the mirror. Scalp sealed back up. The
towel wrapped around his neck soaked through with blood.
As he’s studying his reflection, Weber’s eyelids begin to

FLUTTER. Body SAGGING forward --
FLASH CUT: The woman in the driveway turns. Her striking,

cerulean eyes piercing into us.
Weber manages to catch himself before fainting.
He shakes off the dizzy spell. Noting his complexion.
PALE from blood loss.
NEXT CUT:
THE KITCHEN
Weber opens the bottom freezer drawer.
Removes a package of frozen veggie patties tucked all the

way in the back.
He sets the package on the kitchen’s island. Opens it --
-- pulling out a labeled BLOOD BAG.
NEXT CUT:
THE LIVING ROOM
Weber, shirtless, has the blood bag taped to his shoulder.

A short IV snaking down his arm.
Weber’s cell CHIMES with a received text. He grabs it and

reads the message.
NICOLE: “Just hung up with my sister. She couldn’t find a

Moobie for Derek anywhere. We really lucked out!”
Weber frowns. He slips on a sweater and steps over to the

coffee table. Inspecting the blood-spattered Moobie.
The toy is GLITCHING. Its animated face FLICKERING in and

out on the cracked LED screen. Irreparably damaged.
Weber is crestfallen. This is no small matter.

6.
But back to the one at hand...
Weber notices the blood on the coffee table is sprinkled

with snowy bits of PLASTER.
Weber cranes his neck --
-- discovering a fresh NOTCH in the ceiling.
NEXT CUT:
Weber stands on a step ladder. He digs into the cavity in

the ceiling with a penknife --
-- DISLODGING the BULLET that deflected off his titanium.
He studies the flattened round pinched between his fingers.
Then he looks to the windows.
NEXT CUT:
Weber stands before the bullet hole in the window. Steals

a look over his shoulder at the couch --
-- VISUALIZING the bullet’s trajectory.
He raises an INFRARED LASER SIGHT.
Weber then hunches down to align the laser sight with the
bullet hole.
He notices Tango at his side. Staring out the window. The

cat’s feline eyes able to track the infrared laser.
Weber SNORTS at this little moment. Then brings a pair of

NIGHT VISION GOGGLES to his eyes with his free hand.
NIGHT VISION POV:
Through the heat blooms and falling snow, Weber traces the
BEAM to the taller CORPORATE HIGH-RISE across the street.
He notes the floor and the window where the bullet appears
to have originated.
NEXT CUT:
Weber stows the Mossberg in the hidden compartment beneath

his fireplace --
-- revealing a small ARSENAL. Meticulously arranged.
He reaches into the weapons cache for something else.

7.
Comes up with a pair of STEEL TOE BOOTS. Huh?
Backing out of the fireplace, Weber bumps into a mahogany

CHESS TABLE. Toppling a few ivory chessmen.
He rights the fallen pieces. Then stares at the board. At

the match in progress.
Struck with a thought, Weber reaches back into the cache.
Retrieving an unopened PREPAID PHONE.
NEXT CUT:
Weber, now dressed in outerwear, dumps the tainted popcorn

into the garbage and turns to the living room.
He finds Tango under the hole in the window. Catching snow-

flakes on his tongue.
Weber PSSST-PSSSTS and Tango scuttles over.
He squats down. Gives the cat a reassuring pet on the head.
WEBER
I’m gonna be gone for the night,
Tango, but I’ll be back tomorrow.
(standing)
No inviting any strays over.
Weber moves to the bullet hole in the glass.
PLUGS it with a rolled-up TUBE SOCK.
EXT. STREET - CHICAGO - NIGHT
The heavier stuff is starting to fall. And sticking too.
Weber powers on the prepaid phone as he briskly crosses

the quiet street. Punching in a number from memory.
WEBER
(into phone)
I just took fire in my apartment,
Morrow. I’m burnt... and I need to
know who struck the match. If you
get this, stay close to your phone.
Weber hangs up and pops open the phone’s back panel with-
out breaking stride. Removing the phone’s SIM CARD.
On the other side of the street, he DUMPS the phone in a

trash can and CHUCKS the SIM card down a STORM DRAIN --
8.
EXT. OFFICE HIGH-RISE - NIGHT
-- before arriving at the corporate building’s entrance.
Well after business hours, and this close to the holidays,

the place looks dead.
Weber peers through the glass doors and spots the SECURITY
GUARD seated at the sign-in desk. Asleep at his post.
Weber taps on the glass.
Guard doesn’t so much as twitch.
Weber knocks harder. Still nothing from the guard.
Sensing something might be awry, Weber tries the door and

finds it unlocked. He steps inside --
INT. LOBBY - OFFICE HIGH-RISE - NIGHT
-- and crosses the lobby. Approaching the inert guard.
Weber comes around the sign-in desk and discovers that the
guard isn’t merely sleeping in heavenly peace.
He’s DEAD!
Propped in his chair with his arms folded across his chest.
Weber leans in for a closer look. Sees no visible signs of

injury or trauma.
He then checks the surveillance monitors --
-- sees that the screens are all snowing. An error message

flashing.
**SYSTEM DOWN**
Weber’s gaze drifts to a photo on the desk. The guard with

his wife and young daughter.
Weber’s jaw sets.
He moves off and heads for the bank of elevators. Hits the
UP button.
INT. EXECUTIVE OFFICE - OFFICE HIGH-RISE - NIGHT
Inside the darkened executive office, we can hear the lock

being picked.
9.
Then with a CLICK, the door opens.
Weber SLINKS inside and pads over to the windows. Peering

down at his apartment building to check his bearings.
Then he stoops down. Running his hands over the glass --
-- pausing when he feels an unnatural GROOVE.
Weber takes out his penknife and wedges it into the narrow
fault in the glass. Traces its circular course --
-- removing the exactingly cut DISK of glass that had been

reapplied to the window with a clear adhesive.
Wind WHISTLES in through the round hole.
Wide enough to fit the barrel of a long gun.
Weber assumes a kneeling shooting stance.
Aims his phantom sniper rifle down at his apartment.
Squeezing his phantom trigger.
Mouthing the gunshot with a PUFF of breath.
Weber can feel his assassin’s presence here --
-- and SMELL him too for that matter. Nostrils flaring as

he picks up a lingering SCENT in the air.
Weber pulls out his penlight. Searching the floor for any-
thing his assassin might’ve left behind.
Turns up nil.
A contemplative beat.
Then Weber’s struck with a thought. He pulls out his phone

and calls up a pet monitoring app.
He cycles through the recorded footage from earlier in the

night. Clicks on the video.
WEBER’S PHONE:
We see silent video from a wall camera angled to cover the

whole living room.
Weber enters frame and plops onto the couch. Setting his pop-
corn and hot cocoa (capped with unmelted marshmallow cubes)
on the coffee table next to the Moobie and the gift wrap.
10.
He then grabs the TV remote. Fires up “A Christmas Story”.
As the opening credits start, Weber reaches for the robot

toy. Looking it over --
-- when his head is violently SNAPPED forward. The bullet

RICOCHETING off his titanium and PITTING the ceiling.
Weber KEELS forward gripping the robot toy.
BLEEDING out.
Weber pauses the footage. Checks the timestamp.
Then he glances up at the clock on the wall --
-- realizes he was shot just over 2 hours ago.
Off Weber, the gears steadily turning --
INT. WAITING AREA - HOSPITAL - NIGHT
An overtired ADMISSIONS NURSE wearing a chintzy Christmas

bulb necklace stares up at us from behind her window.
Her voice drips with skepticism.
ADMISSIONS NURSE
You were shot... in the head. With
what? A paintball?
Rotate to reveal Weber standing at the window.
WEBER
A three hundred Win Mag round.
Weber removes his wool cap. Totally saturated with blood.
A syrupy glob of it hitting the floor with a SPLAT.
The admissions nurse RECOILS.
ADMISSIONS NURSE
Oh, dear lord.
INT. PATIENT CARE AREA - HOSPITAL - NIGHT
Weber sits up in a curtained-off patient cot as a DOCTOR,

all caffeine and no nonsense, examines his scalp.
DOCTOR
Are these staples in here?
11.
WEBER
Yeah. I made sure to disinfect
them first.
DOCTOR
So you did this yourself?
WEBER
I did.
DOCTOR
Certainly looks like it. Where’d
you even learn to do this?
WEBER
I was a field medic.
DOCTOR
Well, we’re not in the field any-
more. You can’t go treating gun-
shot wounds with office supplies.
I’m gonna need to take these out.
And suture this properly.
WEBER
You have my informed consent.
Through a part in the curtain, Weber spies TWO DETECTIVES.

Speaking with the DESK NURSE at the nurses’ station.
WEBER (CONT’D)
The police are here.
Doctor snaps off his gloves. Comes around to face Weber.
DOCTOR
We’re required by law to report
patients with gunshot wounds.
Weber nods. Understands.
LATER:
The two detectives are standing before Weber’s cot.
One female, 40s, and one male, 50s.
Their body language and eyes betray their shared suspicion

of Weber.
FEMALE DETECTIVE
So that’s your story then?
12.
WEBER
That’s what happened.
FEMALE DETECTIVE
You’re just walking down Western
Ave and then wham, a bullet pegs
you in the back of the head?
WEBER
Yes... but it didn’t feel like a
bullet. It felt like a rock.
FEMALE DETECTIVE
A rock, huh?
WEBER
A small, very sharp rock.
FEMALE DETECTIVE
Right. Okay... then what happened?
WEBER
Then I felt something wet run down
my back. And then I felt dizzy.
FEMALE DETECTIVE
But not so dizzy that you couldn’t
make it back to your apartment and
superglue your head back together.
WEBER
I used staples. Not glue.
FEMALE DETECTIVE
Right. And you never heard a shot?
WEBER
I didn’t hear anything.
FEMALE DETECTIVE
And you can’t think of anyone who
would want to kill you?
With a trace of conviction only we can truly appreciate --
WEBER
No, I have no idea who did this.
Or why.
Female Detective blows out a breath. Trades a coded look

with her partner.
Just then, the doctor from before reappears with a NURSE.

13.
DOCTOR
Sorry to interrupt, but I have to
take care of this crudely dressed
head trauma.
The nurse assists Weber as she brings Weber’s cot to an

upright sitting position.
FEMALE DETECTIVE
Alright, but we’ve got a lot more
questions for you, Mr. Bingham. So
expect to see us in the morning.
The two detectives move to leave --
-- when Male Detective turns. Finally piping up.
MALE DETECTIVE
Was that how it was the first time?
Weber looks at the detective quizzically.
MALE DETECTIVE (CONT’D)

The first time you were shot. Over-
seas. You were just walking... and
same thing.
(popping his lips)
Never saw it coming.
Weber looks Male Detective dead in the eyes.
A slight, but detectable edge in his tone.
WEBER
I wasn’t walking. I was kneeling
in the sand. With a black hood
over my head. But yeah, I didn’t
see it coming that time either.
Male Detective is thrown. Tries to rebound.
MALE DETECTIVE
Even still... you’re pretty damn
lucky to have been shot in the
one place on your body that’s
reinforced with a titanium plate.
WEBER
How many times have you been shot
in the head, Detective?
MALE DETECTIVE
Can’t say I have.
14.
WEBER
Then I’d say you’re the lucky one.
Male Detective swallows that. Bitterly. Finally walks off

with his partner.
Doctor preps a syringe behind Weber.
DOCTOR
I’m going to administer a local
anesthetic before I begin. I’ll
need you to hold still.
(off Weber’s agreeing
nod)
No nodding, please.
With the syringe ready, Doctor places a steadying hand on

the crown of Weber’s head.
DOCTOR (CONT’D)
You might feel some sharp pain at
first.
(reaching in)
Been a long night for you. Hasn’t
it, Mr. Bingham?
Weber grimaces slightly as the needle penetrates.
WEBER
I’m starting to think it will be.
CUT TO:
INT. OBSERVATION ROOM - HOSPITAL - NIGHT
A darkened observation room with two beds.
In the bed closest to the door, an ELDERLY MAN lies in a

medication-induced slumber.
The further bed is occupied by Weber. His scalp bandaged.
He’s not resting, however. He is furiously tapping on his

phone as he searches all of Amazon for a Moobie toy.
But there are none in stock. For the foreseeable future.
Weber’s exercise in futility is interrupted by a call from

Nicole. His ringtone a menacing “ho, ho, ho.”
NOTE: Some will surely recognize the ringtone as the voice

of the surly department store Santa in “A Christmas Story”.
15.
Weber takes a fortifying breath before answering.
WEBER
Hey, Nic. You guys all settled?
INTERCUT WITH:
INT. FINISHED BASEMENT - NICOLE’S SISTER’S HOUSE - NIGHT
Weber’s ex, NICOLE, early 40s, stands beside a couch that’s

been folded out into a queen in the furnished basement.
NICOLE
Yeah, my sister made up the fold-
out for us. Just wish I felt more
settled about tomorrow night.
WEBER
Hey, I get it, Nic. I really do,
but it’s different now. You can
count on me this time.
NICOLE
It’s not me who’s counting on you.
Just then, Nicole and Weber’s 9-year-old son HUNTER, pokes

his head out from the bathroom. Shouting so Weber can hear.
HUNTER
Merry Christmas Eve-Eve, Dad!
Weber CHUCKLES. The kid never ceases to crack him up.
WEBER
Merry Christmas Eve-Eve to you too.
NICOLE
He wishes you a Merry Christmas Eve-
Eve too. Now finish washing up.
With a dramatic groan, Hunter retreats into the bathroom.
NICOLE (CONT’D)
You heard him just now. He’s been
bouncing off the walls about this.
And seeing him this excited...
(exhaling deeply)
... just please, please don’t let
him down. Okay?
Weber’s throat catches.
Emotions welling up inside him.

16.
But Weber tamps it all down when the door swings in and a
tall MALE NURSE enters.
WEBER
(clearing his throat)
Listen, let’s touch base tomorrow.
Tell the animal I said goodnight.
And tell him I’m looking forward
to tomorrow night too. Alright?
NICOLE
Yeah. Sure thing.
We stay with Weber now as he clicks off.
The nurse moves to the room’s dry-erase board and scrawls

his name in the nurse’s box. KURT.
Kurt checks on the elderly patient first.
Then he moves on to Weber.
KURT
And how’re you holding up in here,
Mr. Bingham?
Weber stuffs his phone away with a heavy sigh.
WEBER
Just trying to find one of these
Moobie toys for my kid.
KURT
Yeesh. It sounds like every dad is
after one of those. They say those
things have over two hundred human-
like emotions programmed into ‘em.
WEBER
They also tell jokes.
Kurt moves to check on the IV connected to Weber.
KURT
That’s the thing about this hap-
happiest season of all. For most
of us, it’s anything but, right?
And I’ll say this, whoever it was
that spun up this holiday... they
oughta take him and nail him to a --
In a flash, Kurt is STABBING down at Weber with a syringe --
-- but Weber’s not caught by surprise!

17.
INTERCEPTING Kurt’s wrist and halting the syringe.
In one motion, Weber BOUNDS up on the bed and KICKS out at

Kurt with both feet flying --
-- sending Kurt SLAMMING into the windows!
Weber rolls off the bed and sees Kurt recover. Pulling out
a tactical SWITCHBLADE --
-- and Weber CHARGES at him. BULLING Kurt into the windows.
SPIDERING the glass.
The two LOCK up with the blade caught between them.
INT. HALLWAY - HOSPITAL - NIGHT
Right outside Weber’s room, a NURSE with a candy cane in

her mouth enters information into a medical computer cart.
If only she turned, she’d see Weber and Kurt BRAWLING in-
side the room through the door’s small window.
INT. OBSERVATION ROOM - HOSPITAL - NIGHT
Weber EVADES as Kurt takes another SWIPE at him.
Kurt LUNGES again --
-- and Weber, timing it perfectly, LINEBACKERS Kurt into

the plastic frame of his bed.
The cubicle curtain RIPS free from its ceiling track and
ENSHROUDS the two as they roll to the floor.
It’s hard to make heads or tails of the fracas. Like two

riled badgers in a burlap sack.
Flutters in the cubicle curtain offer flashes of STRIKES

and GRAPPLES.
Then, the knife pops free from the curtain.
Goes SKITTERING across the floor.
After some more blows, the form on the bottom goes SLACK.
The second form straddling him takes a moment to collect

his breath. Finally pitching the curtain aside --
-- revealing Weber to be this round’s winner.

18.
Panting from the effort, Weber looks across the room to

his elderly roommate --
-- sees him turn over in his sleep. Undisturbed.
Weber rises to his feet. Considers the unconscious Kurt.
Then considers the wheelchair folded against the wall.
CUT TO:
INT. IMAGING FLOOR - HOSPITAL - NIGHT
The doctor from before is on his cell as he waits for the

elevator.
DOCTOR
(into phone)
Forty pieces? We couldn’t get one
that came fully assembled?
The elevator arrives. Doors parting with a DING --
-- revealing Weber in Kurt’s blue scrubs.
Weber stands behind a wheelchair with an unconscious Kurt

slouched in it. Bruises concealed by an antiviral mask.
Doctor steps aboard --
INT. ELEVATOR - HOSPITAL - NIGHT
-- and presses the button for his floor.
He hasn’t yet noticed Weber.
DOCTOR
(into phone)
I know it’s the one she wanted, but
I’m not gonna have time to put that
together until tomorrow night.
Kurt MOANS. Head bobbing as he starts to come around.
Weber delivers the swiftest of BLOWS to the back of Kurt’s

head --
-- KNOCKING him out cold again.
Hearing movement, Doctor steals a glance back at Kurt.
Sees only an unconscious patient.

19.
DOCTOR (CONT’D)
(into phone)
I’m just saying I might be the one
who ends up drinking Santa’s milk.
DING. The doors open to Doctor’s floor.
He breezes out. Never once glancing at Weber.
DOCTOR (CONT’D)
(into phone)
With some spiced rum mixed in.
No sigh of relief from Weber. Calmer than a frozen lake.
INT. KURT’S PANEL VAN - NIGHT
Close on Kurt. Still out for the count.
A hand SLAPS Kurt’s face. More than once. Rousing him.
Kurt reorients. Blearily taking stock --
-- sees that he’s RESTRAINED to the wheelchair in the back

of his panel van.
Only his left arm hangs free.
Weber stands over him. Holding up a SR-25 sniper rifle out-

fitted with a scope and a suppressor.
WEBER
Found your hardware.
(tapping on his head)
Fortunately, I’ve got some hard-
ware of my own.
(checking the scope)
Credit where credit’s due, though.
It was a good shot in bad weather.
As he’s checking the scope, Weber notices a slender ACTION

CAMERA mounted onto the barrel of the rifle.
He detaches the camera and tosses the rifle aside.
WEBER (CONT’D)
This to the confirm the kill?
Kurt offers nothing. Weber shrugs and pockets the camera.
WEBER (CONT’D)
It beats having to bring them my
head in an organ cooler, I guess.
20.
Weber pulls out Kurt’s phone. Holds it up for Kurt to see.
WEBER (CONT’D)
So I already know you’re supposed
to fly out to D.C. tonight to meet
your contact.
(tucking the phone away)
But there’s still some information
I need from you.
Weber locks hands with Kurt. Clutching it firmly.
WEBER (CONT’D)
We’ll start with a simple question
to establish a baseline here. The
contract for me... was it more or
less than twenty five thousand?
(measured pause)
More?
(measured pause)
Less?
Kurt doesn’t say a word --
-- but it seems Weber has already gotten his answer from

Kurt’s handgrip.
WEBER (CONT’D)
Less. I’m insulted.
Kurt’s face turns ashen. Weber was dead-on.
WEBER (CONT’D)
Onto more pressing questions. This
contact you’re meeting in D.C., do
they know what you sound like?
KURT
Yes.
But the tactile reading from Kurt’s hand says otherwise.
WEBER
That’s a lie.
Kurt tries ripping his hand away from Weber.
Weber SLUGS Kurt in the stomach. It knocks the wind and

fight right out of him.
WEBER (CONT’D)
Do they know what you look like?
GASPING for breath, Kurt peers up impotently.

21.
He nods “yes”... but even to our unpracticed eyes, it’s

clear this is a desperate lie.
WEBER (CONT’D)
Last question. Who commissioned
you to install a moonroof in my
head? Was it the company?
Nothing from Kurt. Weber tightens his grasp.
After a considerable beat, Weber releases Kurt’s hand.
WEBER (CONT’D)
You don’t know.
Kurt stares up bleakly at the van’s ceiling.
KURT
I’d like a drink.
WEBER
I don’t have time to run down to
the liquor store.
KURT
Middle console.
Weber shuffles to the front of the van. Reaches into the

console and retrieves a small bottle of Dewars.
He sets the bottle in Kurt’s free hand.
Kurt brings the bottle to his lips. Takes a healthy swig.
KURT (CONT’D)
You going to the hospital... that
was a trap, wasn’t it?
WEBER
I figured whoever popped me would
be monitoring the police chatter.
And I know hospitals are mandated
to report victims with GSWs. So I
gave them my former cover. Thomas
Bingham.
KURT
That’s not your real name?
WEBER
Is Kurt yours?
Kurt nods. Point taken.

22.
KURT
But how did you know back in the
hospital? I played it perfectly.
WEBER
It wasn’t your movements. It was
your smell. That deer repellent
you call cologne. Caught a good
whiff of it back at your little
sniper’s nest across the street
from my apartment.
(giving Kurt a sniff)
It really lingers.
KURT
My daughter got it for me.
WEBER
Your daughter, eh?
(beat)
What’s her name? Her birthday? Her
eye color? Her favorite ice cream?
Caught, Kurt tips back more whiskey.
It was worth a shot.
WEBER (CONT’D)
If you really wanna talk about
daughters, we can talk about the
daughter of that security guard
you administered a heart attack
to. You know, that little girl
in the photo on his desk whose
Christmas you just ruined.
Weber snatches the bottle from Kurt’s hand.
Empties it out on the floor.
WEBER (CONT’D)
Killing that man was unnecessary.
And lazy.
Weber drops the bottle. Grabs Kurt’s duffel off the floor.
WEBER (CONT’D)
And you’re gonna have to live with
that for the rest of your life.
Weber opens the van’s sliding door and steps out. Closing
it behind him.
We stay with Kurt.

23.
Sweating it out in the wheelchair.
After a fraught beat or two, a CHUCKLE escapes Kurt.
He’s been spared. It’s a Christmas miracle!
Then the driver’s side door swings open.
Weber leans in. Stuffs Kurt’s duffel into the footwell --
-- WEIGHING down the GAS PEDAL!
Kurt HOLLERS over the parked van’s WHINING engine.
KURT
Go to hell, you mother --
Weber tugs the column shifter out of park and DUCKS out --
EXT. CHICAGO RIVER - NIGHT
-- sending Kurt’s van BARRELING down an embankment toward

a quiet bend in the Chicago River. Just outside the city.
The van SLAMS into the water. Sending up a great SPRAY.
Weber watches as Kurt’s van is swept downriver.
Before long, the van is pulled under.
Weber’s eyes then wander from the river to the night sky
above the Chicago skyline.
To the strobing lights of an ascending aircraft.
INT. LIVING ROOM - WEBER’S APARTMENT - NIGHT
A pet camera/treat dispenser gizmo CHIMES on Weber’s end

table. Doling out a TREAT.
Tango dashes over and gobbles it right up.
INT. GATE - O’HARE INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT - NIGHT
Weber, seated by his departure gate and wearing a Bulls cap

to cover up his bandaged head, closes the app that controls
both the camera and treat dispenser.
He then pockets his phone. Pulls out a new prepaid phone.
Weber dials out and brings the phone to his ear.

24.
WEBER
(into phone)
We need to talk. The man who tried
to retire me tonight was instructed
to meet his client in your backyard.
Now if I find out it was the company
who outsourced this hit on me...
(blowing out a heavy
breath)
... I gotta tell you, my reaction
isn’t gonna be a measured one.
Weber ends the call and extracts the SIM card. Dropping it
in a half-drunk bottle of water.
Stuffs the burner phone in a half-eaten bag of chips.
A moment later, Weber hears a boarding announcement.
GATE AGENT (O.S.)

This is the final boarding call for
passenger Michael Pappas, booked on
flight forty-two A to Washington D.C.
Weber fishes out Kurt’s forged license. Checks the name.
“MICHAEL PAPPAS”
After another beat or two --
GATE AGENT (O.S.) (CONT’D)

We now ask any passengers on stand-
by to report to the gate.
Weber slides the forged license into the bag of chips with
the burner phone.
Discards both the chip bag and the water bottle on his way
up to the gate agent’s desk.
INT. FLIGHT 42A - NIGHT
Just before takeoff. PASSENGERS are still settling in.
Weber’s seated and on his cell. Submitting an extortionate

bid for a Moobie toy on Ebay.
Weber is just about to confirm his bid when he receives an

incoming FaceTime call from a contact listed as “ANIMAL”.
Weber’s pulse quickens.
He BOLTS up from his seat with urgency.

25.
Squeezing past a FLIGHT ATTENDANT stowing someone’s carry-

on as he races up the aisle and slips into a lavatory.
INT. LAVATORY - FLIGHT 42A - NIGHT
Weber closes the door behind him and answers. Holding his
phone an inch from his nose, so only his face is in frame.
Hunter’s cheerful mug fills the screen.
WEBER
What’re you doing up, Animal?
HUNTER
Hey, Dad! Just wanted to know if
I’m still seeing you tomorrow.
WEBER
Of course you are. Why would you
even ask that?
HUNTER
I don’t know. Mom’s like... being
all weird. She told me I’m gonna
have a great Christmas. No matter
what happens with you.
The lavatory is rattled when a flight attendant KNOCKS on

the door. Requesting that Weber return to his seat.
Weber doesn’t let it distract him.
WEBER
Listen, I know...
(realizing the screen is
frozen now)
Animal? You there? Hello?
(muttering to himself)
Fuckin’ FaceTime.
Hunter’s frozen face reanimates. Not missing a beat.
HUNTER
You’re supposed to say “fudge”, Dad!
WEBER
Sorry about that, bud. But listen,
Mom is right. You are gonna have
a great Christmas. No matter what
happens. I’m gonna make sure of it.
Just then, the “FASTEN SEAT BELT” sign above the chemical
toilet DINGS on.
26.
HUNTER
What was that sound?
WEBER
Oh, that’s just the... fridge.
I think I left it open.
HUNTER
Were you eating in your sleep?
WEBER
What are you talking about? No
one eats while they’re asleep.
HUNTER
My friend Petey told me his dad
does. He said one time, his mom
woke up and, no joke, found him
eating a whole stick of butter.
WEBER
Well, I promise I wasn’t eating
any butter. We need that for the
pancakes. Anyway, it’s very late.
You need to get back to sleep.
HUNTER
Alright, fine. Love you, Dad!
WEBER
Love you too, bud.
With that, Hunter ends the call.
And before Weber can catch his breath, the flight attendant
BANGS on the door again. Her tone more assertive this time.
INT. FLIGHT 42A - NIGHT
Weber returns to his seat and wearily secures his seat belt.
Then he lowers his head. Starts kneading his temples.
MAN (O.S.)
Headache?
Weber turns to the FRIENDLY TRAVELER in the adjacent seat.
WEBER
Been dealing with it all night.
FRIENDLY
You’re lucky. I’ve been dealing
with mine since Thanksgiving.
27.
Friendly roots through his coat pockets and comes up with

a bottle of aspirin. Giving it a “huzzah” shake.
FRIENDLY (CONT’D)
It’s not the strong stuff, but
it should help the cause.
Weber, unable to let his guard down for an instant, takes

quick measure of the man.
Realizing he’s not a threat, Weber accepts the bottle and

dry swallows four pills. Hands it back to Friendly.
WEBER
Thanks. I should have picked up
some back in the terminal.
FRIENDLY
Ah, don’t sweat it.
The plane suddenly LURCHES forward. Taxiing for takeoff.
FRIENDLY (CONT’D)
So, is your family down in D.C.?
WEBER
This is actually a work trip.
FRIENDLY
They gotcha working tomorrow? On
Christmas Eve?
WEBER
Yeah, it wasn’t expected. But I’m
catching an afternoon flight back
tomorrow. And I’m not missing it.
FRIENDLY
Well, I hope you’ve at least got
a decent meal waiting for you at
the end of this.
WEBER
We’ll see how it goes. What about
you?
FRIENDLY
Oh, for sure. Better than decent.
My wife’s Italian. She and all of
her sisters put out this obscene
spread. Favorite’s the “mana-gut.”
WEBER
“Mana-gut”?
28.
FRIENDLY
Manicotti for those of us whose
last names don’t end in a vowel.
They’re friggin’ delicious, man.
And the kids go wild for ‘em.
WEBER
Yeah. For my kid, it’s pancakes.
I’m gonna make them for him on
Christmas morning. I’ve already
got this special mix that’s made
by quakers.
FRIENDLY
Quaker Oats?
WEBER
No. Actual Pennsylvania quakers. I
don’t know what their formula is,
but I can tell you these guys have
perfected it. The plan is after my
son finishes opening up his gifts,
I’m gonna break out the griddle and
make us each a stack. Drown those
puppies in syrup. Like real Vermont
maple syrup. And big, fat slabs of
butter. Not just on top either. In
between. You do that when they’re
still nice and steamy. So all that
butter liquifies... and soaks right
in.
FRIENDLY
Okay, so what’re we talking here?
Blueberry? Chocolate chip?
WEBER
Straight up buttermilk. My boy’s
a purist. Like his pops.
FRIENDLY
Tell ya what, pal... that sounds
like a helluva nice tradition you
got going with your kid.
Weber’s smile fades. Washed away by a tide of regret.
WEBER
Not much of a tradition, really.
This’ll be the first time I make
him pancakes. First time I spend
a real Christmas with him. Where
I don’t have to rely on whatever
pictures my ex took.
(MORE)
29.
WEBER (CONT'D)
I can’t tell you how many times
I’ve said to myself, “next year,
I’ll get it right.” Then I get
pulled away on some job overseas.
And what are you left with, huh?
Lost time and lost memories. So
if anything... that’s been our
holiday tradition. Not pancakes,
but disappointment.
Friendly shifts in his seat. Unprepared for this level of

personal disclosure.
FRIENDLY
Well... no one can be the world’s
greatest father everyday. I don’t
care what their coffee mug says.
I mean, I’m certainly not. We all
have our bad days. The days where
we disappoint, or don’t show up.
All you can do is try to make up
for it. Make the next day better.
Especially if that day happens to
land on Christmas.
Weber smiles... thinly. Not exactly reassured --
-- as the plane ACCELERATES for takeoff. Friendly raising

his voice to be heard over the JUDDERING airframe.
FRIENDLY (CONT’D)
Trust me, you’ll make it all work.
Because that’s what us dads do.
(leaning in)
Just don’t miss that return flight.
Off Friendly, giving Weber’s shoulder a goodnatured pat as

the plane lifts off the runway --
INT. ARRIVALS TERMINAL - DULLES AIRPORT - NIGHT
A couple of CHAUFFEURS wait by the garland wrapped baggage

carousels. Holding up signs and iPads with last names.
We settle on one sign that reads, “PAPPAS”.
It’s held by a WOMAN in her 40s. Wearing a crisp suit that

only sharpens her angular frame. Her hair in a ponytail so
tight, it looks like it was pulled back with a winch.
Weber hangs back. Waits until Friendly clears the terminal.
Then he approaches the woman with the sign.

30.
WEBER
I’m Pappas.
She speaks up with a discernible Russian accent.
WOMAN/LANA
My name’s Lana. The car’s waiting
for us out front.
Weber falls in lockstep with Lana as the two head for the
exit. Lana junking the sign as she passes a trash bin.
EXT. ARRIVALS TERMINAL - DULLES AIRPORT - NIGHT
More snow, but this is lighter. More merry than stormy.
Lana threads the bustling sidewalk. Weber matching pace.
WEBER
Snowing here too, huh?
LANA
Supposed to get six inches. They
call that a storm.
(clucks dismissively)
That’s a beach day where I’m from.
Did you bring the kill footage?
Weber pats his breast pocket. Got it right here.
Lana nods. Pointing up ahead.
LANA (CONT’D)
That’s us.
Weber sees a Lincoln STRETCH LIMOUSINE idling at the curb.
WEBER
Whose prom are we going to?
That joke fails to land with Lana, who moves to the rear
passenger door and holds it open for Weber. After you.
Weber hunches down and enters the limo --
INT. LINCOLN STRETCH LIMOUSINE - NIGHT
-- finds THREE PASSENGERS inside.
One guy sitting in the rear seat.
The other two seated along the side.

31.
All hard men with hard stares. Sizing Weber up.
Weber climbs into an open seat along the cabin’s side as

Lana slides in beside the man in the rear section.
She barks an order at the LIMO DRIVER in Russian through

the open partition.
Limo Driver shifts the car out of park and pulls away.
Weber recognizes that he’s boxed in... but remains cool.
LANA
So you had some trouble in Chicago?
WEBER
No trouble.
LANA
Your principal dragged himself in-
to a hospital with evidence of an
assassination attempt in his skull-
cap. What would you call that?
WEBER
A hiccup.
Lana stares at Weber without expression. It’s hard to tell

at this point whether she’s buying what Weber’s selling.
LANA
A hiccup?
WEBER
I still satisfied the contract.
LANA
You should’ve confirmed your kill
the first time.
WEBER
He was lying facedown in a pool of
his brains. I really didn’t think
I needed to walk across the street
and hold a mirror under his nose.
A hush sweeps through the limousine as Lana decides how she

wants to treat that answer.
Then an inscrutable smile breaks across Lana’s face.
LANA
Let that be a lesson for you then.
(tone warming)
(MORE)
32.
LANA (CONT'D)
So me and the guys here, we were
engaged in a very spirited debate
before about what we think is the
best Christmas song. My vote was
for Darlene Love’s “Marshmallow
World.”
(thumbing to Limo Guy 1)
His was, “Holly Jolly Christmas.”
(pointing to Limo Guy 2)
Him, “The Chipmunk Song.”
(pointing to Limo Guy 3)
And this one here, in a disgusting
case of recency bias, “Santa Tell
Me.” By Ariana fucking Grande.
WEBER
I’m kinda shocked Trans-Siberian
Orchestra didn’t net any votes.
Lana CHUCKLES. Her cronies YUCKING it up as well.
LANA
What about you?
WEBER
I’d probably say... “Santa Claus
is Coming to Town.”
LIMO GUY 2
Jackson Five?
WEBER
Springsteen.
Lana nods in agreement.
She issues another order to Limo Driver in Russian.
A moment later, Elton John’s peppy “Step Into Christmas”

comes through over the speakers.
And if that wasn’t festive enough, the red and green net
lights covering the limo’s ceiling blink on as well.
LANA
Now if that doesn’t get you in the
spirit... I don’t know what will.
Weber hears the cushion leather SQUEAK behind him as Limo

Guy 2 shifts his weight.
Instinctively, Weber throws up a hand --
-- keeping a WIRE GARROTE from LOOPING around his throat!

33.
“Welcome to my Christmas song, I’d like to thank you for

the year...”
Weber BUCKS wildly against Limo Guy 2. The wire SLICING in-
to his wedged fingers.
Lana rolls her eyes at the botched ambush.
LANA (CONT’D)
(subtitled Russian)
You had one fucking job, Pavel.
(turning to Limo Guy 1
next to her)
Help that moron out, please.
Limo Guy 1 pulls out an INJECTION GUN. Pushes off the seat.
He stalks toward Weber. Arched under the low ceiling.
“So I’m sending you this Christmas card, to say it’s nice
to have you here...”
Weber watches Limo Guy 1 close in on him. Waits until he’s

in striking range, then CLICKS his heel against the floor --
-- and SNIKT! A spring-loaded BLADE pops out from the toe

of those special boots he had stored with his weapons.
Weber delivers two swift, STABBING kicks to Limo Guy 1 --
-- the blade PUNCTURING the side of his neck and temple.
Limo Guy 1 falls back slackly onto Lana. Pinning her down
as blood SPURTS from his wounds like lava.
“I’d like to sing about all things, Your eyes and mind can
see...”
Limo Guy 3 moves in from the other side of the limo with an
injection gun of his own.
With his free hand, Weber grabs a heavy glass DECANTER from
the bar section --
-- WHACKS it across Limo Guy 3’s head with a hollow THUNK.
Limo Guy 3 falls back in a daze. Dropping his injection gun.
In response, Limo Guy 2 TIGHTENS his stranglehold on Weber --
-- Weber releasing the decanter as the wire CUTS deeper into

his neck and fingers.
Drawing blood!
34.
Weber presses the flat of his boot against the other side of
the limo and pushes off --
-- his weight DRIVING Limo Guy 2 into the window behind him.
Weber then kicks at his own face --
-- the boot’s blade SEVERING the wire garrote.
“Step into Christmas, Let’s join together, We can watch the

snow fall forever and ever...”
Limo Guy 2 topples back with the snapped ends of the garrote.
Weber DRILLS him in the face with his elbow for good measure --
-- and THROWS himself at Limo Guy 3 just as he’s reaching to

retrieve his fallen weapon.
The two WAR over the injection gun.
Their WRESTLING and GRAPPLING carrying them into the cabin’s

frontmost seats --
-- and spilling over into the driver’s compartment.
Limo Driver glances right. Finds Weber’s head POKING through

the open partition.
He sneaks in a few CHEAP SHOTS at Weber while he drives.
Then Limo Driver activates the PARTITION WINDOW --
-- RAISING under Weber’s head as Limo Guy 3 holds him down.
“Eat, drink and be merry, Come along with me...”
Trapped in a closing vise, Weber JABS the boot’s blade into

Limo Guy 3’s shin --
-- Limo Guy 3 loosening his grip just enough to allow Weber

to clear his head.
Weber and Limo Guy 3 ROLL to the front seats still gripping
the injection gun --
-- when the gun’s needle BITES at Limo Guy 3.
Limo Guy 3 FLOPS back.
Clutching his CONSTRICTING throat as he fights for breath.
Weber glances back and sees now Limo Guy 2 ADVANCING on him.
His bent nose GUSHING.
35.
Backed against the partition wall, Weber SWIPES his leg at

Limo Guy 2 --
-- the boot’s blade RAKING across his neck.
Blood JETS from Limo Guy 2’s SLICED carotid. Body BUCKLING --
-- revealing Lana sitting up in the rearmost seats. Having

finally wormed out from under Limo Guy 1.
She draws a bead on Weber with her Ruger LCP pistol.
BAM! The bullet SIZZLES past Weber’s ear. Gouging the back-
rest.
Weber DIVES towards Limo Guy 3, who’s still seized by what

he was injected with. His mouth FOAMING.
“Keep smiling through the days, If we can help to entertain

you...”
Weber pulls Limo Guy 3 close.
Using the WRITHING man like a shield as he pats him down.
Lana squeezes off three more SHOTS. The BARKS of the Ruger
loud as thunderclaps in the confined space.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
The bullets CHEW into Limo Guy 3’s spine. Sparing him any
further suffering.
Weber finally finds a pistol on Limo Guy 3.
He returns fire at Lana as he DARTS back to the other side

of the limo. Lana’s bullets CHASING after him --
-- PERFORATING the tinted partition window!
Right away, the limo starts to VEER off course.
“So merry Christmas one and all, There’s no place I’d rather
be...”
Weber can feel the DRIVERLESS vehicle drifting. BRACES --
-- the cabin JOLTED as the limo COLLIDES into a stationary

obstruction!
Weber loses his grip on the pistol as the limo GLANCES off
what was presumably a concrete median --
-- and goes CAREENING in the other direction!

36.
Weber reaches to retrieve his fallen weapon, but is thrown

by all of the wild BANKING and SWERVING.
On the other side of the ROCKING limo, he sees Lana trying

to steady herself as she takes AIM --
-- when the limo LAUNCHES headlong off the road!
Weber and Lana are both violently JERKED this way and that
as the limo BOUNCES down a steep embankment --
-- before SLAMMING into a tree with neck-misaligning FORCE!
Weber’s THROWN against the cabin’s frontmost seats --
-- as Lana is EJECTED from the rear.
HURTLING across the cabin of the inverted limousine like a

FLYING REINDEER --
-- before gruesomely SMASHING through the partition window

and into the center console!
Which finally kills the damn radio.
For a beat, nothing moves inside the limo.
All is calm. All is bright.
Weber sorely sits up at the front of the cabin.
He chances a peek through the shattered partition window --
-- sees Limo Driver SLUMPED over the wheel. One of Lana’s

stray bullets having made a home in his brainpan.
Weber looks to the passenger side --
-- sees Lana PRETZELED against the limo’s collapsed front-

end. Bloody and broken beyond repair.
All that’s moving is her eyes. Which now settle on Weber.
LANA (CONT’D)
That really... escalated...
WEBER
How’d you know it was me?
HACKING up blood as she speaks --
LANA
What’re you... talking about...
37.
WEBER
So you didn’t know.
(slowly realizing)
Of course. First thing you do after
an assassination is dispose of the
gun. Second thing you do is dispose
of the person who fired it. You were
just following instructions.
Weber notices Lana’s hand haltingly creeping towards her

fallen Ruger like an injured spider.
Weber reaches across without haste. Snatching up the gun

and LEVELING it at Lana.
WEBER (CONT’D)
Who are they? How’d they find me?
Lana’s eyes start to dim. Her breathing, more shallow.
WEBER (CONT’D)
Who issued the kill order? Was it
the company?
(off Lana’s silence)
Does this have to do with Project
Redwing? Or Operation Nightcap?
(beat, graver tone)
Is Novak behind this?
Lana’s eyes refocus on Weber. A fleeting wave of terminal

lucidity washing over her.
LANA
What’s your name?
(off Weber’s confusion)
I wanna know what... your name is.
Weber doesn’t know what to make of Lana’s bizarre request.
And yet, he finds himself saying --
WEBER
Weber.
LANA
(dreamily)
You’re not... lying. I can tell.
WEBER
Who hired you for this?
Lana weakly lifts her head. Ready to confess.
Weber leans in to hear.

38.
LANA
Go fuck yourself, Weber.
With that, Lana falls limp. SUCCUMBING to her injuries.
Weber shakes his head with disappointment. He reaches an

arm through the partition. Roots through Lana’s pockets --
-- discovers her BURNER PHONE. Its screen cracked.
Weber pockets the phone and repositions himself so he can

climb down through the open partition. Lowering one leg --
-- when FLAMES sprout up from the limo’s accordioned front-

end.
SMOKE starting to seep in through the air vents.
Opting for a safer way out, Weber turns.
Notices the snow wafting down through the busted MOONROOF.
Turning to move in that direction, Weber finds his spiked

boot SNAGGED on the seat leather.
He disengages the blade and scrabbles up the canted limo.
Hoisting himself up through the moonroof --
EXT. LINCOLN STRETCH LIMOUSINE - NIGHT
-- to find the stretch resting obliquely against a tree at

the bottom of the embankment.
At the very top of the rise, he can just make out the road.
As Weber’s about to pull his legs out through the moonroof,

his phone CHIRPS.
He reaches for it. Sees a notification on the screen.
End of Auction Update: Item #17103158 was sold to a buyer

with a higher bid than yours.
Weber has to rein in the urge to simply smash his phone.
WEBER
And the hits just keep coming.
Without warning, Limo Guy 1 appears below him!
Eyes wild. Face caked in blood.

39.
He grabs hold of Weber’s legs. YANKING him back down into

the limo with him.
We stay outside the stretch. The vehicle BOBBING as Weber

and Limo Guy 1 have at it within.
Someone CRASHES into one of the windows.
The glass BUBBLING outward without shattering.
As they quarrel, the flames licking up from the collapsed

hood intensify. Fully ENGULFING the front of the limo.
Suddenly, TWO GUNSHOTS ring out inside the limo.
MUZZLE FLASHES briefly illuminating the tinted windows.
The limo ceases bouncing.
The beat stretches on.
Finally, the rear passenger door opens --
-- and out steps Weber.
The stitches in his head have come UNDONE. The folds of his
scalp flopping down like the loosened corners of a poster.
Realizing this, Weber disappears back inside the smoky limo.
He reemerges a moment later with his Bulls hat. Slipping it

over his maimed head.
He moves around the stretch limo to climb up the embankment,

when he stops. Clocking the vehicle’s license plate.
A diplomatic license plate.
INT. SUPERMARKET - NIGHT
The store’s empty.
Not particularly uncommon for a supermarket at 2:30AM.
A yuletide JINGLE plays at an unobtrusive volume.
A young, female CASHIER wearing a reindeer headband dawdles

through her graveyard shift. Absently scrolling on her cell.
She tucks her phone away when a customer appears.
Activates the checkout belt --

40.
-- taken aback by the items conveying toward her.
A bottle of rubbing alcohol.
A staple gun.
A Washington Wizards hat.
A Toblerone bar.
She looks up from the items to the man purchasing them.
WEBER
Some last minute stocking stuffers.
I’m also looking for one of those
Moobie robot toys. Do you know of
any places in the area where they
might still have a few in stock?
Cashier just stares at him blankly.
CASHIER
I’d try online, dude.
Weber can only grin and bear it.
WEBER
I’ll look into that. Meantime, is
there a bathroom here?
The cashier sighs. Doesn’t have the energy for this weirdo.
INT. BATHROOM - SUPERMARKET - NIGHT
SQUELCH. SQUELCH. SQUELCH.
This is becoming old hand for Weber.
Chewing down the last bite of his Toblerone, Weber sets the
staple gun down and assesses his handiwork in the mirror.
Satisfied, he stuffs the squishy Bulls hat in the trash and

replaces it with the Wizards hat.
Weber then leans against the wall. Taking a quick breather.
Exhaustion finally catching with him, Weber’s eyelids start

to lower.
Head drooping as he nods off.
FLASH CUT: And ever so subtly, the woman in driveway shakes

her head at us.
41.
Weber’s snapped out of it when Lana’s burner phone BUZZES

in his pocket.
Weber pulls out the phone. Sees that the number’s blocked.
He accepts the call and brings the phone to his ear.
The man on the other end of the line speaks with a smooth,
Russian purr. Weber’s NEMESIS.
NEMESIS (O.S.)
(subtitled Russian)
You didn’t check in.
(beat)
Lana? Are you there?
Weber says nothing... but his silence is telling.
Nemesis switches to English.
NEMESIS (O.S.) (CONT’D)

Ah, that’s why she never checked
in. So, did you kill all of them?
The entire team?
WEBER
They didn’t leave me much choice.
NEMESIS (O.S.)
There were five of them. How did
you pull that off?
WEBER
They didn’t see me as a threat.
NEMESIS (O.S.)
I won’t make that mistake.
WEBER
But you already have.
NEMESIS (O.S.)
Yes... you’re right, of course.
I should have come up there to
Chicago and saw to you myself.
WEBER
And how do you know I’m not your
shooter?
NEMESIS (O.S.)
Because the shooter wouldn’t have
been expecting anything other than
payment inside that limo.
(MORE)
42.
NEMESIS (O.S.) (CONT'D)

Though I am surprised you gave no
thought to running. To hiding.
WEBER
Whatever this is that’s caught up
to me... it’d just find me later.
I’d rather sort this out tonight.
(beat)
Your voice... it’s not familiar.
NEMESIS (O.S.)
Not every enemy you have in this
life is known to you. I am happy
you survived, however. The sniper
wasn’t how I wanted it. Too quick.
Too clean. But now, I may just get
to kill you myself. And make a big,
wet mess of you while doing it.
(snickering)
I bet this isn’t how you saw your-
self spending the holidays.
WEBER
You’re not listening, comrade. I
plan on being home for Christmas.
Weber DISCONNECTS and dumps the phone. Storming out.
EXT. NEIGHBORHOOD - GEORGETOWN - NIGHT
A quiet street lined with brownstones.
Quiet save for the dog YAPPING at one house.
We push in on the mailbox of one particular Victorian.
See a familiar last name stenciled across its side.
“MORROW”
INT. KITCHEN - BROWNSTONE - NIGHT
Inside the darkened kitchen of this one particular brown-

stone, the yapping is even louder.
Clearly, we’re dealing with the next door neighbor’s dog.
We’re not sure what the dog’s making a fuss about --
-- until the backdoor in the kitchen UNLOCKS.
The door slowly opens in... revealing Weber.

43.
He quietly steals inside. Armed with one of the Rugers he

procured from the limo team.
He gingerly closes the door behind him and sweeps through

the kitchen. Makes his way into --
THE LIVING ROOM
A stout, unlit Christmas tree is nestled against the back

wall. Its ornaments catching the moonlight.
On the coffee table, a makeshift gift wrapping station.
Scissors. Rolls of ribbon. Tubes of wrapping paper.
And two piles of Christmas presents.
One pile of wrapped gifts. One pile of unwrapped gifts.
Video games. AirPods. An electronic chessboard.
Everything grandkids ask for.
Weber gravely notes the unfinished task. Continues into --
THE STUDY
A bookshelf.
A mantle with framed pictures.
A mahogany desk.
And a DEAD MAN slouched back on the office chair.
The dead man’s head is draped with a hood, but he appears

to be somewhere in his early 60s.
Weber surveys the damage inflicted on the man’s body.
His hands have been TIED down to the arms of the chair.
Fingernails crudely REMOVED.
His right shirtsleeve rolled up past his elbow. Revealing

multiple INJECTION SITES.
Shirt ripped open. His bare chest blotched with grotesque

BRANDS from a flat iron.
The man didn’t give in to his torturers easily.
Weber lowers his Ruger. Eyes twinkling with sadness as he

reaches to lift the hood... but he stops himself.
44.
Weber now gravitates to the pictures on the mantle.
The dead man when he was younger. Serving in the military.
Sergeant Major Nathan Morrow.
Pictures when he was older. Serving in the CIA.
CIA Operations Officer Nathan Morrow.
Weber’s gaze lands on one photo of Morrow chummily posing

with Weber and a THIRD MAN.
A fellow protégé of Morrow’s, presumably.
A good ten years ago from the looks of it.
At a bar that gives off distinctly Eastern European vibes.
In better times. And certainly in much better health.
Weber’s gaze then travels to the chessboard that sits atop

a small table in the corner of the study.
The placement of the pieces matching Weber’s board.
He turns back to Morrow’s body.
WEBER
You had me in four moves, old man.
Weber swallows back his emotions and returns to the present.
He delicately pushes Morrow’s chair off to the side. Powers

on the desktop computer.
Leaned over the computer, Weber calls up a database program

with the CIA seal at the top.
A login window pops up. Morrow’s username already filled in.
**IRIS AUTHENTICATION REQUIRED**
Weber exhales sharply. He rolls Morrow back in front of his

computer and gently lifts back the hood --
-- revealing Morrow’s swollen, brutalized face.
From behind, Weber straightens Morrow’s posture and pinches

back the eyelids on one of his eyes.
He then reaches past Morrow and clicks the mouse.
The computer’s built-in camera captures Morrow’s iris.

45.
**ACCESS GRANTED**
Weber lowers the hood back over Morrow’s face.
Wheels him out of the way.
Weber then pecks at the keyboard.
Entering the limo’s plate number into a search field.
It immediately produces a name. One Weber recognizes.
YEVGENY GRICHENKO: COUNSELOR (HEAD OF THE RUSSIAN CULTURAL

SECTION)
WEBER (CONT’D)
You’ve gotten sloppy, Yevgeny.
Weber PRICKS up when he hears the next door neighbor’s dog

at it again.
CUT TO:
THE KITCHEN
The door opens and this time, TWO SLEEK FORMS in athletic
wear slip inside. Each with a drawstring sport pack.
One FEMALE JOGGER. One MALE JOGGER.
Both wearing earpieces.
Both wielding SIG Sauers fitted with silencers.
Female Jogger splits off toward the foyer --
-- as we track with Male Jogger. Padding into --
THE LIVING ROOM
Male Jogger leads with his Sig. His movements stealthy.
Above him, the floorboards CREAK as Female Jogger reaches

the house’s second floor.
Once Male Jogger’s cleared the room, he moves on to --
THE STUDY
Male Jogger’s eyes fix on Morrow’s hooded corpse... which

has been pushed off to the corner of the room.
Speaking into his earpiece --

46.
MALE JOGGER
(subtitled Russian)
Subject’s not where we left him.
It looks like someone moved him
away from his desk.
(listening)
Copy that. Checking now.
Male Jogger boots up the computer. After a bit of hacking,

he accesses the KEYSTROKE LOGGER --
-- sees there was keyboard activity on this very computer

just three minutes ago!
MALE JOGGER (CONT’D)

(subtitled Russian)
He’s still here!
Male Jogger grabs his Sig and swings it around at Morrow.
The body doesn’t appear to have moved at all.
Male Jogger doesn’t chance it --
-- PUMPS two silenced rounds into Morrow. Body TWITCHING

with each ballistic probe... but nothing beyond that.
Male Jogger’s satisfied. About to turn for the door --
-- when a THIRD ARM sprouts from under Morrow’s armpit!
Gripping a Ruger pistol. FIRING twice --
-- BLOWING Male Jogger off his feet!
Weber emerges from cover behind Morrow’s chair.
CUT TO:
SECOND FLOOR LANDING
Having heard the ruckus, Female Jogger holds her position

at the top of the stairs.
She’s crouched low with her SIG. Her vantage giving her a
clear sightline on the door to the study.
Into her earpiece --
FEMALE JOGGER
(subtitled Russian)
Report in, Fox One.
No response.
47.
Female Jogger’s face clouds. Keeping her SIG trained down-

ward with one hand, she sets her sport pack on the floor.
With her free hand, she removes an elegant drop-in WEAPONS

SYSTEM that fits like so over her SIG --
-- seamlessly converting her sidearm into a short-barreled

primary weapon with a spring-loaded stock. Pretty nifty.
A FLASHLIGHT blinks up at Female Jogger from the sidelight

by the front door.
She WINKS back with the flashlight mounted on her weapon.
The front door opens softly --
-- and a THIRD OPERATIVE in a hoodie enters. Armed with his

own retrofitted sidearm.
Female Jogger TIPTOES halfway down the stairs while keeping

her weapon aimed at the door to the study.
She hand-signals down to her ally. Motions to the adjoining

study. Hoodie gesturing back an affirmative.
As Female Jogger sneaks down the stairs, Hoodie edges toward

the corner --
-- when a preemptive SALVO erupts from the other side of the

study and front foyer’s shared wall!
Hoodie catches a BULLET or three. Drops like a sack of flour.
Female Jogger returns FIRE from the staircase --
-- STITCHING holes across the wall!
Weber comes BOMBING out of the study.
Blindly squeezing off some covering fire as he BARRELS into

the living room.
Female Jogger stalks after him.
THE LIVING ROOM
There’s no sign of Weber.
Just his spent Ruger abandoned on the floor.
Female Jogger prowls the room. Eyes alert.
She’s nearing the kitchen entranceway --

48.
-- when an alarm BLEATS behind her. She spins and FIRES --
-- BLASTING the electronic chessboard to pieces.
Female Jogger turns back around --
-- just as Weber comes BLITZING at her from the kitchen!
Female Jogger tries to get a shot off --
-- but just ends up firing wildly into the ceiling as she’s

FORM TACKLED back into the Christmas tree.
A switch is inadvertently hit and the Christmas tree LIGHTS

up. Sections of damaged bulbs BLINKING erratically.
Female Jogger and Weber stumble out of the tree in a flurry

of ornaments and pine needles.
Female Jogger having lost her modified sidearm in the chaos.
So she draws a pair of nasty KARAMBITS.
Curved knives that extend from her hands like TALONS.
Weber TRIGGERS the retractable blade in his boot --
-- finds its tip BENT from its usage in the limo.
WEBER
Shit...
Female Jogger CLAWS and SLASHES at Weber --
-- Weber narrowly DODGING the strikes.
With Weber’s attention on the knives, Female Jogger BOOTS

him square in the stomach.
Weber is knocked back. BOUNCES off the wall --
-- and is met by a karambit.
The blade SLICING his leg. HINDERING his mobility a bit.
Desperate, Weber SCOOPS up some ornament fragments off the

floor with the boot’s crooked blade --
-- KICKING the shattered bits at Female Jogger’s face like

sand.
Weber uses the diversion to deliver a front kick that sends

Female Jogger backpedaling --
49.
-- but not before she CARVES another wound into Weber’s leg!
Weber REELS back. Legs a little shaky.
Smelling blood in the water, Female Jogger RUSHES at Weber.
LEAPING into a flying kick --
-- Weber CATCHING Female Jogger midair!
Using all that momentum to SWING her lithe body towards the
kitchen doorway --
-- her neck SNAPPING against the doorframe with a sickening

CRACK! Dropping to the floor in a lifeless heap.
Jeez, that turned quickly.
The only one not surprised by how fast it happened is Weber.
Weber collects himself. Standing in the middle of the mess.
Wrapped and unwrapped gifts strewn about the floor --
-- and Weber sees it now.
A Moobie toy! Still in the plastic.
Weber crosses to the gift. Reaching down for it --
-- when he pauses. His eyes settling on a fallen sheet of

paper lying near it on the carpet.
A handwritten list of grandchildren. With a list of gifts.
Halfway down the list --
SPENCER -- Moobie (robot thingy)
Weber’s conscience prevails. Leaving the toy where it lies.
Hearing MOANS, Weber crosses the living room --
THE STUDY
-- reenters to find Male Jogger bleeding out on the floor.
His voice hitching as he speaks into his earpiece.
MALE JOGGER
(subtitled Russian)
Do you... read me? Fox Two... is
down. Are you there?
50.
WEBER
(subtitled Russian)
Doesn’t sound like your boss is
taking your calls.
Male Jogger reaches into a pocket.
Comes up with a serious-looking DAGGER. Raises it with a

trembling hand --
-- when Weber SEIZES it from him in a blur.
He holds up the dagger. Scrutinizing it.
WEBER (CONT’D)
Spetsnaz, hmm?
Weber tucks away the dagger. Squats down over Male Jogger.
WEBER (CONT’D)
(subtitled Russian)
That voice in your ear, who does
it belong to? Is he part of the
Vanguard unit?
Male Jogger glares up at Weber. Rasping wetly.
Then Male Jogger’s earpiece CRACKLES to life. The voice on

the other end of the frequency faintly audible.
WEBER (CONT’D)
(subtitled Russian)
Is that him?
Male Jogger clears his throat. GURGLING out the words.
MALE JOGGER
(subtitled Russian)
He wants to know if you were close
with the old man. If he was like a
father to you.
Weber FLUSHES with anger. The answer to that clear enough.
MALE JOGGER (CONT’D)

(subtitled Russian)
He says he asks this because your
handler endured for you like a man
would his own son. That he would’ve
held out indefinitely... if not for
all those precious grandchildren we
threatened to visit.
Weber’s heard enough. HAULING Male Jogger up by his collar --

51.
-- when Male Jogger’s earpiece SPARKS!
His head JERKS to the side in a grisly SPASM. His eyeballs

HEMORRHAGED in an instant.
Then he falls still. Earpiece SMOKING. ZAPPED dead.
Weber takes a moment to reassess.
His gaze wandering to that picture of him and Morrow --
-- locking on the THIRD MAN in the photo.
INT. NURSERY - DOWNTOWN CONDO - EARLY MORNING
SEXTON, the third man in the picture, is sleeping upright

in a chair. SNORING in fact.
We pull back to reveal a NEWBORN cradled in Sexton’s arms.

The infant sucking contentedly from a bottle in his hand.
The bottle tilts, then slips free of Sexton’s limp fingers.

Smacking onto the floor --
-- formula SPLASHING up on Sexton and his baby.
Sexton doesn’t even stir. Out cold.
It’s only when the baby starts to CRY that Sexton comes to.
He plucks the bottle off the floor and pops it back in his
newborn’s mouth without missing a beat.
With peace restored, Sexton begins to nod off again --
-- when his pocket VIBRATES. Sexton digs out his phone and
groggily answers.
SEXTON
Sexton.
WEBER (O.S.)
It’s Weber.
Sexton’s sleepy eyes bug open. Sitting up much straighter.
SEXTON
Bullshit.
WEBER (O.S.)
I got your number from Morrow’s
files. He’s dead.
52.
That knocks Sexton sideways. Takes a beat to level himself.
SEXTON
Dead? How?
WEBER (O.S.)
They tortured him. Put the old man
through hell trying to locate me.
Sexton seems stung by that detail.
SEXTON
Morrow knew where you were?
WEBER (O.S.)
He was the only one.
SEXTON
And now he’s dead because of it.
Weber absorbs the blow. Gives it a moment.
WEBER (O.S.)
Listen, I can’t say anymore over
the phone. I’m at Press Coffee. I
assume you don’t need directions.
Sexton stands with his newborn and crosses to the window.

Bending the blinds --
-- revealing the coffee shop in question directly across

the street. Visible through the light snowfall.
SEXTON
I’ll be right over.
CUT TO:
INT. LIVING ROOM - WEBER’S APARTMENT - EARLY MORNING
Two treats chute out from the pet camera thingamajig.
Tango is on them in a flash. Scarfing up both pellets.
INT. DOWNTOWN COFFEE SHOP - EARLY MORNING
Seated at the back of the mostly empty coffee shop, Weber

closes out the app on his phone.
An unread email notification pops up on the screen.
Check-in for your flight to Chicago.

53.
Then the email notification is bumped down his screen by a

second alert.

Another blow.
Weber tucks his phone away when he sees Sexton entering.
He takes a seat opposite Weber.
On the table are two coffees.
Sexton reaches for the cup in front of him and takes a sip.
He grimaces. Pushing the cup away.
SEXTON
I don’t drink whole milk anymore.
Gives me terrible cramps.
WEBER
Sorry. I would’ve picked up some
Lactaid had I known.
A charged beat as the two just stare at each other.
SEXTON
Been over a year since you went
dark. And this is how you find
your way back, Web?
WEBER
I’m not back.
Another tick of silence.
SEXTON
Old man’s really dead then?
Weber nods pensively.
WEBER
You’ll find him inside his house.
Along with three others.
SEXTON
There were three of them?
WEBER
Three there.... and five more in
a crashed limo off the interstate.
54.
SEXTON
Oh, is that it?
WEBER
Within greater D.C.
SEXTON
Goddamn, Web. You really know how
to shit in everyone’s slippers.
(beat)
So... who the hell are they?
Weber drills him with a look.
Its meaning easy to interpret.
SEXTON (CONT’D)
C’mon, man. If you really thought
it was us, you wouldn’t be sitting
here with me.
Weber studies Sexton a beat longer.
Then, with an almost imperceptible shift, Weber eases.
WEBER
Far as I can tell, the one quarter-
backing the op is Russian.
SEXTON
Ah, Russian. That narrows it down.
WEBER
Yeah, I know. I’m working on it.
SEXTON
You’re gonna have to do a helluva
lot better than that. Because the
list of foreign intel operatives
who’d take a pair of bolt cutters
to your toes for the shit you know
isn’t exactly a short one.
WEBER
They’re not after information.
SEXTON
And how do you know that?
WEBER
Because they put a bullet where I
keep it all stored.
Sexton’s eyes drift to the back of Weber’s hatted head.

55.
SEXTON
Jesus, you got shot in the head?
Again? What’d they put up there,
Web? A magnet?
WEBER
Titanium. Military grade.
SEXTON
Yeah, I would say so after this
last performance test. You’re
lucky your shooter didn’t have
your medical files on hand.
WEBER
If only I was as lucky at cards as
I was with ballistic head trauma.
The two quiet when one of the young baristas walks over.
BARISTA
Your ham and fontina, sir.
WEBER
Thank you.
The barista strides off. Weber chomps into the sandwich.

Speaking as he wolfs it down.
WEBER (CONT’D)
What do you know about Russia’s
Vanguard unit?
Sexton arches an eyebrow. Where’s this going?
SEXTON
I know what you know. That it was a
Moscow-based assassination program
created to locate and retire state
defectors. It didn’t matter if they
had already given up the goods and
were living on an ostrich farm some-
where. Idea was to discourage future
acts of defection through fear of
reprisal. But they scrapped it six
years ago. Why? Do you think there’s
a link?
WEBER
I can’t say any more.
SEXTON
Why not?
56.
WEBER
Because if I do this officially,
it won’t get done. Least not the
way I need it done. I have to do
this off-book.
SEXTON
So what’re you asking me?
WEBER
To forget you’re with the company
for a day. And back me up.
SEXTON
Forget I’m with the company?
Sexton shakes his head. His expression quickly souring.
SEXTON (CONT’D)
Tell me, Web... why’d you go AWOL?
Weber swallows.
It takes him longer than a moment to find the words.
WEBER
You think about what you give to
this job. What it takes from you.
Your marriage. Time with your kid.
You can’t sacrifice those things,
unless what you’re sacrificing it
for matters. It has to matter.
(beat)
You ever seen an unmarked grave,
Sexton?
Sexton shakes his head no.
WEBER (CONT’D)
There ain’t much to see. There’s
no marker. No headstone. Just a
slightly raised mound of earth.
If the plot hadn’t been fresh, I
doubt I would’ve even found it.
SEXTON
Whose grave, Web?
WEBER
A woman who trusted us.
FLASH CUT TO:

57.
EXT. CEMETERY - DAY [FLASHBACK]
A heavy, sheeting rain falls. Soaking the cemetery’s over-

grown grounds and crumbling headstones.
An untended resting place for the unclaimed.
WEBER (O.S.)
Who trusted me.
We find Weber, scruffier, holding vigil at the foot of a

fresh gravesite. Drenched without an umbrella.
WEBER (O.S.) (CONT’D)

But we left her to be killed.
Weber stares down at the hump of soil with haunted eyes.

And to be buried without her name.
Weber notices a slab of rock protruding from the dirt.

And that’s just how it is. Her
side wanted her to be forgotten.
Weber pulls out a knife, a tactical folder, and crouches

beneath frame.

And our side wanted her to be
forgotten too.
Weber stands. Walking off as we push in on the gravesite --

But I wasn’t going to forget.
-- revealing a simple epitaph carved into the rock.
“Her name was Marina.”
FLASH BACK TO:
INT. DOWNTOWN COFFEE SHOP - EARLY MORNING
Weber blinks back to reality.
WEBER
I couldn’t forget.
Sexton nods soberly. Understanding this pain firsthand.

58.
SEXTON
We’ve all lost assets. But that
doesn’t mean it’s for nothing.
WEBER
Yeah? Then what’s it for?
SEXTON
To protect the country. Protect
the people we care about. And I
know I felt much more confident
in accomplishing that when you
were still on the active roster.
Weber seems to consider Sexton’s implied request.
Perhaps a bit longer than he’d care to.
WEBER
My jersey’s in the rafters. And
that’s where it’s staying.
Weber stands. Slipping on his coat.
SEXTON
What’re you doing?
WEBER
I can’t waste anymore time. I’m
gonna settle this before tonight.
He moves to breeze past Sexton, when Sexton catches him

by the arm. Peering up at Weber from his chair.
SEXTON
You know I can’t just let you
walk out like this.
WEBER
I do.
Something then comes over Sexton. Head swimming all of a

sudden. He hazily glances down --
-- sees now there’s a HYPODERMIC SYRINGE in Weber’s hand.

Its needle IMPLANTED in the underside of Sexton’s arm.
WEBER (CONT’D)
You should only be out for an
hour.
Sexton opens his mouth to say something --
-- but all that comes out is DROOL.

59.
As the sedative takes effect, Weber gently repositions his

unconscious friend in the chair.
He then moves for the exit. The barista CHIRPING after him --
BARISTA
Happy holidays!
EXT. BROWNSTONE - MORNING
A gated brownstone on Embassy Row.
Trimmed with blue Christmas lights.
INT. OFFICE - BROWNSTONE - MORNING
An office space on the brownstone’s third floor.
In front of the elevator, a half partition of frosted glass

reads, “Office of Russian Cultural Affairs.”
Of the four assistant desks, only one is occupied.
The desk in front of the door to Yevgeny Grichenko’s office.
SASHA, an overworked assistant in his late 20s, is wrapping

the last of the gifts piled on his desk.
The door opens behind Sasha and out steps YEVGENY GRICHENKO,
a thickset, ruddy-cheeked diplomat in his mid 50s.
Once formidable. Now, just another rumpled functionary.
He approaches Sasha’s desk. Scooping up the pile of wrapped

presents.
SASHA
(subtitled Russian)
Anything else you need from me?
Sasha’s eager to punch out. And trying his best to mask it.
Yevgeny sees right through him, though.
He sets one of the gifts back down on Sasha’s desk.
YEVGENY
(subtitled Russian)
This has a loose fold on its side.
(setting a second gift
down)
This one too.
60.
Without another word, Yevgeny retreats into his office.
As soon as Yevgeny’s door closes, Sasha’s face morphs into

a scowl. Reaching for the gifts that didn’t pass muster --
-- when he notices something on his computer screen.
He reaches for the mouse and clicks on a minimized window

showing the brownstone’s various surveillance feeds --
-- revealing Weber standing in the ascending elevator.
The elevator doors part with a DING.
Sasha stands up and moves to confront the unfamiliar man.

Addressing Weber in accented English.
SASHA
We’re not taking any appointments
today, sir.
Weber pulls out a SIG.
WEBER
I’m afraid Comrade Grichenko is
gonna have to squeeze me in.
INT. YEVGENY GRICHENKO’S OFFICE - BROWNSTONE - MORNING
Yevgeny has his desk phone to his ear.
YEVGENY
(subtitled Russian)
... soon, my dear. I just need to
wrap up a few things here at the
office. Sweetheart? Hello?
Yevgeny looks down at the phone’s base and sees that the
light for his extension is no longer flashing.
Just then, his door opens and Sasha enters.
YEVGENY (CONT’D)
(subtitled Russian)
You dropped my damn call, Sasha...
Yevgeny trails off when he sees Weber following in behind

with his SIG.
His eyes flashing with recognition.
YEVGENY (CONT’D)
Weber...
61.
SASHA
He has a gun!
YEVGENY
(composed)
Yes, Sasha. I’m quite aware.
Weber motions to Sasha with the gun.
WEBER
Away from the door, please. Over
in the corner.
Sasha complies. Moves off to the side.
Weber then turns to Yevgeny.
A beat as the two take quiet measure of one another.
WEBER (CONT’D)
Cultural Affairs, Yevgeny?
YEVGENY
What can I say? They’ve finally
put me out to pasture.
WEBER
I always assumed a man like you
would sooner take a bullet than
a post like this.
YEVGENY
As did I, old friend. As did I.
Speaking of bullets, I’d heard
you took one in your crown some
years back. While out searching
for that vile creature, Novak.
Weber bristles. Not a memory he cares to revisit.
WEBER
Tell me about your Vanguard unit.
YEVGENY
Vanguard? What’re you, the Ghost
of Christmas Past?
PFFT!
A silenced round from Weber’s SIG obliterates a plaster

Santa figurine on Yevgeny’s desk.
The impassive Russian barely flinches.

62.
YEVGENY (CONT’D)
That was a gift from the deputy
cultural attache of Finland.
WEBER
Are you gonna make me blow out
your kneecaps before you start
taking me seriously?
Yevgeny gets a read off Weber. Sees he’s not bluffing.
YEVGENY
It was shut down six years ago.
WEBER
Yes... officially.
YEVGENY
And you’re suggesting what? That
I’m still running it in secret?
WEBER
It wouldn’t be the first time a
crafty, old mandarin like your-
self kept a pet project active
and off the accounting ledgers.
YEVGENY
I was the one who shut it down.
(dropping his guard)
My nephew, Anton. Very promising
boy. Climbing the ladder of the
FSB two rungs at a time. A source
of great pride for me. Until the
day he walked into the Chinese
embassy in Vladivostok. Carrying
with him a flash drive.
(letting out a grim SNORT)
After that, I decided to scrub the
program. I was not about to hunt
down my sister’s son. My godson. I
chose instead to bring my storied
career to this... pitiable end.
Weber’s quiet for a moment. Digesting it all.
WEBER
Say that I’m inclined to believe
you. Then who’ve you been lending
cars from your motor pool to?
YEVGENY
Motor pool? What’re you talking
about?
63.
WEBER
D-D-Y-R-zero-zero-two-six. That’s
the plate number for a limousine
registered to your office. A limo
that I had to kill my way out of.
Yevgeny’s forehead furrows with confusion.
Then something clicks for him. Shifting his gaze to --
-- BANG!
A BULLET whips Yevgeny’s head back --
-- fired from a MAKAREV held by Sasha!
He’s got the drop on Weber.
SASHA
Drop your gun!
Weber seems to consider spinning and drawing on Sasha, but

ultimately complies. Laying his weapon down.
Keeping the gun trained on Weber, Sasha digs out his phone
with his free hand and thumbs out a text.
Weber solemnly stares down at Yevgeny’s body as dark blood

pools around his head.
WEBER
Yevgeny really didn’t know what
was going on under his roof, did
he?
We hear the WHOOSH of Sasha’s text being sent out.
Sasha then tucks his phone away.
Giving Weber his full, undivided attention.
SASHA
Roof? Useless old fuck didn’t know
what was going on under his nose.
Sasha spins and PLUGS another bullet into Yevgeny’s body

with hateful glee. Swings the gun back on Weber.
SASHA (CONT’D)
I’m the one he trusted.
WEBER
And who is he, if you don’t mind
me asking?
64.
Sasha sidesteps around Weber until he’s facing him.
SASHA
It’s not for me to say. You can
ask him when he arrives here.
WEBER
Fair enough.
Weber seems content to wait in silence with Sasha --
-- when his pocket CHIRPS with an incoming call.
WEBER (CONT’D)
You mind if I get that? Probably
my ex. She’s supposed to drop my
kid off tonight and she’s worried
I won’t be there because with me,
something always tends to pop up.
Sasha screws his eyes up at Weber. Request denied.
Weber chuckles halfheartedly to himself.
WEBER (CONT’D)
Suppose she’s right to be worried.
So... got any plans for Christmas?
Sasha knits his brows. What, seriously?
SASHA
My um, girlfriend invited me to
attend mass with her family.
WEBER
Good girl?
SASHA
Good body. Just wish she’d get
her tits done like every other
woman in this country.
WEBER
Well, it sounds like she’s lucky
to have you in her life.
Sasha smiles like the unabashed cretin he is.
WEBER (CONT’D)
Say, maybe you can do me a solid
and hold onto something for me.
Weber starts reaching under the folds of his coat --

65.
-- when Sasha COCKS the hammer on his Makarev.
SASHA
Stop! Take off your coat first.
Weber grudgingly removes his coat to reveal Male Jogger’s

DAGGER tucked into the side of his waistband.
SASHA (CONT’D)
What were you gonna do with that,
huh? Now take it out slowly and
place it on the floor.
Weber slowly removes the dagger by its handle.
WEBER
You handle yourself well, Sasha.
What’re you? Special Forces?
SASHA
Please. I’m no fucking soldier.
Weber bends as he sets the dagger on the floor.
WEBER
Of course not.
In a blur, the dagger FLIPS around in Weber’s hand so its

blade is pointed out.
He thumbs a SWITCH --
-- and the blade EJECTS from the handle like a MISSILE!
STREAKING through the air and LANCING into Sasha’s neck!
Sasha gets off one wild shot before he CRUMPLES.
Weber drops the knife handle. Retrieving his SIG off the
floor as he crosses to Sasha.
WEBER (CONT’D)
A soldier would’ve recognized that
was a ballistic knife.
(squatting down)
Why’re they after me? Tell me.
Sasha peers up at Weber. Frightened now. Mouth trying to

work as blood FROTHS up from his punctured throat.
WEBER (CONT’D)
Is this about one of my assets?
66.
But Sasha can’t even muster one word. CHOKING and GAGGING
until, with one last GARGLE of life, he falls still.
WEBER (CONT’D)
You asshole.
Weber hears Sasha’s pocket VIBRATE.
He fishes out Sasha’s phone and looks at the received text.
UNKNOWN CALLER: “On site. Heading up to you now.”
Weber tucks away the SIG and grabs Sasha’s Makarev. Checks
its mag and races out of Yevgeny’s office.
INT. OFFICE - BROWNSTONE - MORNING
Weber stops at Sasha’s computer. Studying the surveillance

feeds.
A team of FOUR!
Chests bulked with body armor.
Carrying MP5s with attached sights and suppressors.
TWO OPERATIVES entering the elevator on the ground floor.
TWO OPERATIVES taking the stairwell.
Weber looks to the stairwell door. Notes a sign indicating

it leads to the roof.
The only way out!
Weber’s eyes then lock on the FIRE EXTINGUISHER encased in

glass next to the door.
A course of action starting to take form.
INT. STAIRWELL - BROWNSTONE - MORNING
Operatives 1 and 2 are just getting to the second floor --
-- when they hear a door open above them.
Followed by an echoing, metallic BANG.
The two operatives train their MP5s upward --
-- as powdery FIRE RETARDANT rains down like volcanic ash.

CLOUDING the stairwell.
67.
The two operatives climb up the stairs. The vapor getting

denser as they near its source.
Operative 1 reaches the third floor landing and comes upon

the tripped fire extinguisher. SPEWING retardant.
He kicks the gushing fire extinguisher off the landing and

steps out of the swirling haze --
-- when a GUNSHOT rings out from above!
Operative 1’s head violently JERKS to the side. Pitches to

the floor with blood patterned on the wall next to him.
Operative 2 emerges from the haze, FIRING upward!
INT. ELEVATOR - BROWNSTONE - DAY
Operatives 3 and 4 hear the GUNFIRE.
Ready themselves as the elevator reaches the third floor.
INT. STAIRWELL - BROWNSTONE - DAY
Operative 2 ceases fire.
Sees he’s hit nothing but the roof’s access door.
EXT. ROOFTOP - BROWNSTONE - DAY
Weber’s scrambling as light flurries continue to fall.
He focuses on the shorter of the two adjacent brownstones.
Close enough to reach with a running jump.
So Weber takes off! Building speed --
-- just as Operative 2 EXPLODES onto the roof. Coming up

BLASTING as Weber LEAPS across the gulf --
-- and DROPS out of sight.
Operative 2 slings his carbine and gives chase.
Hits his highest gear as he VAULTS off the brownstone.
And it’s not until Operative 2 is sailing midair that he

sees Weber lying on his back on the adjacent roof --
-- with his weapon trained upward!

68.
Weber FIRES --
-- his bullets PUNCHING into Operative 2’s armored chest.

Unable to penetrate --
-- but hitting Operative 2 with enough STOPPING FORCE to

ARREST his trajectory. Causing him to short the distance --
-- and BONK off the side of the adjacent brownstone.
ADJACENT ROOFTOP
Weber looks down. Taking note of the blood SEEPING through

his pants. The jump having opened the wounds on his legs.
He stands. A bit gimpy as he crosses to the rooftop door --
-- and finds it LOCKED.
He raises his gun to blow out the lock --
-- when he notices Operatives 3 and 4.
Just now clocking him from the other rooftop.
The two operatives concentrate fire on Weber --
-- forcing him to DUCK behind the rooftop door.
As bullets STRAFE around him, Weber gauges the next brown-

stone over --
-- sees that its rooftop, unlike the last two, isn’t flat,
but SLANTED. Also, a tad higher.
With no other options, Weber breaks from cover. GRITTING

through the pain in his legs as he SPRINTS full bore.
Taking FLIGHT when he comes to the edge --
GABLED ROOFTOP
-- LANDING hard against the side of the angled rooftop!
Weber’s chest catching the BRUNT of it.
His CLAWING hands secure purchase on the rooftop’s edge --
-- keeping him from PLUMMETING to the ground.
ADJACENT ROOFTOP
Meanwhile, Operatives 3 and 4 alight on the rooftop Weber

just leapt from.
69.
They look across --
-- see Weber DANGLING off the side of the brownstone with

the gabled roof. Straining to lift himself to safety.
GABLED ROOFTOP
Weber hooks a leg onto the rooftop and HOISTS the rest of
himself up --
-- just as Operatives 3 and 4 appear on the other side of

the gap. Unloading SILENCED BURSTS!
Weber ROLLS out of the way of the INCOMING --
-- and more lively and quick than even Saint Nick, BOUNDS
down the slippery roof! SLIDING feet first.
While in a sharp SKID, Weber returns fire with his SIG --
-- TAGGING Operative 3 in the head!
Weber loses his sightline on the other rooftop as he comes

to the bottom of the slope.
Weber DIGS his heels into the icy shingles. Trying to slow
himself to keep from sailing right off the edge.
He braces and PLANTS his feet on the roof’s lip --
-- the momentum standing Weber up. Losing his grip on the

SIG as he’s nearly carried off the roof completely.
Weber TEETERS precariously on that slick and narrow ledge.

Groping at air until he’s able to correct his balance --
-- and shift his weight back. Safely drawing FLUSH to the

slanted roof.
Weber exhales. Allowing us a moment to do the same.
Hugging the roof, he leans out and chances a peek over the
ledge. Can’t help but CHUCKLE.
He nonchalantly drops down from the roof.
Landing onto the brownstone’s street facing --
BALCONY
A mere two feet below the roof’s ledge.
Weber looks back at the balcony’s window. Relieved to find

the curtains drawn.
70.
Weber’s pocket TRILLS again. He fishes out his phone. Sees

it’s Hunter trying him on FaceTime.
Weber hits ACCEPT. Once again holding the phone a fraction

of an inch from his face.
WEBER
Sorry, Animal. We’re gonna have
to make this a quick one.
HUNTER
Para-some-nee-ah.
WEBER
Huh? I think you’re breaking up --
HUNTER
-- parasomnia. That’s what Petey’s
dad has. I looked it up. It’s like
a real, um, condition.
Weber sees his fallen SIG on the balcony’s floor. Moves to

retrieve it --
-- when he hears something SKITTERING down the roof toward

the balcony.
HUNTER (CONT’D)
Some people eat other gross stuff.
Like raw meat. And even sponges.
Weber continues to track the sound --
-- until a loose MP5 skates off the ledge. Falling between

the balcony’s rails and CLATTERING onto the street below.
WEBER
That’s super interesting, but I’m
in the middle of something right
now, bud. Can we talk later?
Hunter grumbles.
HUNTER
Ugh, goodbye...
Hunter clicks off just as the loose carbine is followed by

something weightier falling end over end down the roof.
Something that GRUNTS.
Weber instinctively takes a step back --
-- just as Operative 4 THUDS ungracefully onto the balcony!

71.
He recovers and notices Weber’s fallen SIG within reach.
Then he notices Weber.
Operative 4 makes a play for the gun.
Getting a hand on it. About to draw on Weber --
-- when Weber LUNGES at Operative 4. DRIVING him back --
-- the force carrying them both over the balcony’s railing!
The interlocked pair HURTLE towards the ground --
-- SLAMMING onto the roof of a parked Jeep! Their combined

impact BLOWING out the windows and tripping the CAR ALARM.
Operative 4, pinned underneath Weber, has absorbed most of

the impact. Lying unconscious atop the bowed roof.
Weber rolls off Operative 4 and spills onto the sidewalk.
A little punchy from the fall.
He sees his SIG on the sidewalk. Staggers toward it --
-- when Operative 4 TACKLES him from behind!
Weber EATS pavement. Sprawled flat on the ground.
Operative 4 straddles Weber as Weber reaches for the SIG --
-- his fingertips brushing the handle.
Operative 4 unsheathes a TACTICAL KNIFE and grabs a fistful

of Weber’s hair. Raising the blade like a hammer --
-- when Weber gets his hands around the SIG.
Unable to turn with the pistol, he reverses his grip so its

barrel is aimed backwards at Operative 4 --
-- FIRING suppressed rounds blindly over his head until the

clip runs dry!
Operative 4 flops back lifelessly. His face PULPED.
Weber releases the spent pistol. Steals a breath --
-- and hears a horrified SHRIEK.
He lifts his head --
-- discovers a fluffy Bichon staring at him curiously.

72.
The dog’s festively illuminated leash held by an OLD WOMAN.

Definitely the source of that horrified SHRIEK.
Before Weber can get one word out, the old woman scoops up
her dog and flees.
Weber shakily gets to his feet. Starts HOBBLING across the

street on unsteady legs --
-- when a blacked-out Cadillac Escalade RAMS him!
Sending Weber BOWLING across the pavement.
Weber eventually comes to a rest. Achingly lifts his head --
-- as a MAN, late 40s, steps out of the Escalade’s passenger

seat. Coming into sharper focus as he approaches.
He could pass for a businessman. But look closer and you’ll

see it in his gait. In his eyes. This guy is a STONE KILLER.
And his voice, unmistakably that of the man whom Weber spoke
to on Lana’s cell.
NEMESIS
And that’s why we have designated
crosswalks.
Nemesis crouches over Weber like he’s about to rip open his
stomach and eat his intestines.
NEMESIS (CONT’D)
We’ve been keeping each other very
busy. Haven’t we, Weber?
Weber’s eyes glow with recognition.
WEBER
I remember you.
Nemesis takes out an AEROSOL CAN. Gives it a good shake.
WEBER (CONT’D)
Marina...
NEMESIS
Yes, that’s right.
Nemesis removes a dust mask. Cups it over his mouth/nose.
NEMESIS (CONT’D)
(muffled)
And this time, you don’t get to
just drive away.
73.
Nemesis SPRAYS a burst into Weber’s face. The aerosolized

agent taking quick effect --
-- Weber’s whole world turning BLACK.
And ours too. Floating in its depths.
No image. No sound.
Then comes the cadenced CHATTER of windshield wipers.
The percussive DRUM PATTERN of rain.
And the SNARL of a car engine being REDLINED.
SLAM CUT TO:
INT. LADA SEDAN - NIGHT [FLASHBACK]
Weber, with the same scruff he had in the previous flash-

back, WHITE-KNUCKLES the steering wheel.
Glimmers of red and yellow smear across the rain-streaked

windshield as he RACES past street and traffic lights.
A voice is BARKING at Weber from a cell mounted above the

air vents.
MORROW (O.S.)
You can’t be out on the streets!
You need to come in now!
WEBER
Not without her, Morrow.
MORROW (O.S.)
You’ve been given a directive to
stand down, you stubborn bastard!
WEBER
If I’m blown, so is Marina.
Morrow’s tone softens. Betraying some fatherly concern.
MORROW (O.S.)
It’s a shitty hand to play, but
your asset understood the risks.
Better than anyone.
WEBER
We assured her we’d be able to
get her out.
74.
MORROW (O.S.)
I know, kid... but she’s not my
responsibility.
WEBER
No, old man. She’s mine.
With that, Weber disconnects. Punches in another number.
CUT TO:
INT. MASTER BEDROOM - MARINA’S HOUSE - NIGHT [FLASHBACK]
A phone RINGS on the nightstand.
A WOMAN in a bathrobe emerges from the steamy bathroom.
The very same woman from Weber’s haunting flashbacks.
Her name is MARINA. Mid 30s. Beautiful, but burdened with

worry.
She crosses to the RINGING phone and answers.
MARINA
(subtitled Russian)
Yes?
INTERCUT WITH:
Weber PALMS the horn as he BLOWS through an intersection.
WEBER
They know about you, Marina! You
have to leave right now! Meet me
at the end of your block!
It takes all of a moment for this to register with Marina.
Without another word, Marina hangs up and hustles over to

her closet. Sweeping aside her hanging dresses --
-- revealing a small door to a CRAWL SPACE.
A door that’s been painted shut.
But Marina’s done dozens of practice runs in her mind.
She grabs a nearby shoehorn and starts CHISELING out the

paint caulking the door’s frame.
75.
Once the door is unstuck, Marina YANKS it open --
-- HEFTING out a packed SUITCASE. Her GO-BAG.
INT. FOYER - MARINA’S HOUSE - NIGHT [FLASHBACK]
Marina, still in her robe, slips on her rain boots.
Then, with her suitcase, she throws open the front door --
-- FREEZING in the doorway when she finds Nemesis/Dima on

the front steps!
Flanked by a couple of fellow COUNTER-INTEL GOONS.
Dima stands there, uncovered in the rain.
Holding Marina with his tortured, tearful eyes. Quivering

with rage and sadness.
Marina sets her suitcase down with a fatalistic sigh.
She then slips her wedding ring off her finger. Extending
it to Dima.
MARINA
(subtitled Russian)
I was going to leave it in the
letter box. I would rather not
be buried with it.
Dima considers the proffered ring.
Starting to favor rage over sadness.
EXT. SUBURB - MOSCOW - NIGHT [FLASHBACK]
Weber’s Lada FISHTAILS around a corner.
HYDROPLANING to a stop a block away from Marina’s house.
Weber squints ahead --
-- spies Marina in between swipes of his windshield wipers.

Still in her bathrobe as Dima leads her to an awaiting car.
Weber RIPS free of his seat belt and pops the glovebox --
-- where his agency-issued GLOCK 19 is stowed!

76.
EXT. DRIVEWAY - MARINA’S HOUSE - NIGHT [FLASHBACK]
Marina walks down the driveway to an awaiting car with her

head bowed. Wet locks of hair hanging over her face.
Not screaming. Not crying. Simply resigned to her fate.
Marina steals a look to her right --
-- SPOTTING Weber’s car at the end of the block.
She seems to intuit that Weber’s about to join the fray --
-- and almost imperceptibly shakes her head “no”. An image

that will forever stay with Weber.
Weber, gripping his Glock, is stopped by Marina’s gesture.

Torn over what to do.
EXT. DRIVEWAY - MARINA’S HOUSE - NIGHT [FLASHBACK]
Now Dima notices those headlights at the end of the block.
He steps away from Marina. Eyes locked on the parked Lada.
The car rolls out of park. Heading their way.
Dima stands there like an old West gunslinger. Creeping a

hand into the folds of his jacket for his weapon --
-- when the Lada turns off the street and cruises away.
Disappearing from Dima’s sight.
Weber drives off into the night. Hating himself.
Off Weber, POUNDING his fist into the steering wheel --
SLAM CUT TO:
INT. BALLROOM - VACANT AMBASSADOR’S RESIDENCE - DAY
Weber’s head SNAPS to.
Reactivated by the cracked ampule of SMELLING SALTS Dima’s

waving under his nose.
77.
Dima then takes a step back as Weber slowly orients to his

surroundings.
Finds he’s DUCT-TAPED to a chair.
Sitting in the middle of a large, crumbling ballroom.
What was once grand has succumbed to years of neglect.
DIMA
This was the Iranian Ambassador’s
home. In this very room, he would
host lavish soirées with champagne
and caviar. But now, it’s home to
spiders...
Dima looks down and kicks at an abandoned syringe. Sending

it CLATTERING across the tiled floor.
DIMA (CONT’D)
... and junkies.
Dima settles into a chair opposite Weber.
DIMA (CONT’D)
It saddens me, this place, because
I lost my home too. Or at least,
what made it a home... yes?
Sensing men standing behind him, Weber pulls his eyes away
from Dima. Glancing over his shoulder to find a BALD HEAVY
on his left.
An imposing BRUTE with a boxer’s saddle nose on his right.
Weber can’t help but notice the way Brute’s glaring at him.
WEBER
(to Dima)
What’s with your comrade? He’s
giving off some hostile vibes.
DIMA
You mean Kostya? Oh, he’s quite
angry with you. His cousin was
one of the men in the limousine.
Weber steals another look over his shoulder at Brute/Kostya.
Those murderous eyes boring into him.
WEBER
(subtitled Russian)
Guessing he was a first cousin.
78.
Kostya steps aggressively towards Weber. Wanting blood.
Dima gives Kostya a sharp scolding in Russian.
Kostya grudgingly backs down.
DIMA
He very much wants to kill you.
WEBER
Well, there’s only so much of me to
go around. So what took a seasoned
intel goon like you so long to find
me anyway?
DIMA
Oy, give me a break. I didn’t even
know your cover name. Wasn’t until
I was ordered to compel your late
Comrade Morrow to disclose to us
his entire Belarus network that
an opportunity presented itself.
Weber’s expression flickers. A grim realization dawning.
WEBER
So, she never said anything?
Dima’s eyes darken as storm clouds gather within.
DIMA
My wife? No. She told us nothing.
Did a better job of protecting
you than you did protecting her.
Weber’s throat tightens. A nerve exposed. And pinched.
DIMA (CONT’D)
And once they realized she had no
interest in saving herself, they
brought her into a room that had
no windows. Just this small drain
in the middle of the floor. And in
that room, like so many traitorous
whores and bastards before her, she
was executed. A bullet to the head.
(jutting his chin toward
Weber’s head)
She didn’t fare as well as you.
Weber shakes his head ruefully.
WEBER
She deserved better.
79.
And Dima’s out of his chair in a flash --
-- BACKHANDING Weber so hard, he nearly topples over.
DIMA
(breathing fire)
Of course she deserved fucking
better than to be manipulated
and exploited and left to die!
Weber’s eyes burn up at Dima.
WEBER
I didn’t manipulate Marina. You
know this game. You know no one
turns who wasn’t already looking
in that direction. I was just a
ferryman taking her to the other
shore. She could’ve jumped out at
any time and swam back to you.
Dima delivers another vicious, jaw-rattling BACKHAND.
Weber shakes it off. Spits out the blood that’s welled up

in his mouth.
He throws Dima a look that asks if he’s done lashing out.
His chest heaving, Dima takes a centering breath. Finally

sits back down.
A forlorn beat or two passes before Dima speaks up again.
DIMA
I loved my wife deeply.
WEBER
I know. That’s what terrified her
the most.
Dima bows his head. Eyes glistening with regret.
DIMA
I had my... failings as a husband.
But I was always loyal.
(raising his head, voice
sharpening)
And because of her lack of loyalty,
my superiors questioned mine. So I
had to prove to them all my loyalty
was... beyond question.
Realizing what Dima’s just admitted, Weber smolders.

80.
WEBER
It was you in that room with her,
wasn’t it?!?
Dima numbly stares off into space. Adrift in the memory of

Marina’s grisly fate.
DIMA
I remember wondering how I’d react
to seeing her cry. To hearing her
beg. But when they brought her in,
she didn’t say a word. She didn’t
even look me in the eyes. She just
stood there like a statue. Waiting
for it to happen. But the worst
part wasn’t pulling that trigger.
The worst part came weeks later,
when some doctor left a message
about a missed appointment.
(chin quivering)
She was pregnant. Probably only a
few weeks away from showing.
Dima studies Weber. Expecting that to come as a shock --
-- but it doesn’t. Which leaves Dima REELING. Faced with a

gut-wrenching truth.
DIMA (CONT’D)
She told you...
WEBER
It’s why she came to us. It wasn’t
just herself Marina was seeking a
new life for.
Dima’s blood BOILS. Growling at Weber through gritted teeth.
DIMA
Stop saying that bitch’s name to
me! She’s a fucking traitor! And
traitors don’t have fuckin’ names!
And just when it seems like Dima’s finally going to succumb

to his rage, a phone SOUNDS. Dima reaches into his pocket --
-- and comes up with Weber’s phone!
Weber’s stomach DROPS.
DIMA (CONT’D)
Ah, look at that. Animal wants to
FaceTime with you. Funny nickname
for a son, Weber.
81.
Dima stands and grabs at the bottom trim of Weber’s shirt.

Stretching the fabric as he wipes Weber’s bloodied face.
DIMA (CONT’D)
Now, let’s get you camera-ready
here. We don’t want to alarm the
little tyke.
Dima then answers the FaceTime call. Holding the phone very
close to Weber so the camera’s framed tightly on his face.
Weber steels himself before Hunter’s face appears on screen.
HUNTER
Hey Dad! How’s it going?
WEBER
It’s going, bud. You having fun
with your cousins?
HUNTER
Kinda. They’re... a lot.
Weber’s mouth twitches into a smirk.
WEBER
I’m sure, but you should go play
with them. They love seeing you.
HUNTER
Yeah, fine. What’re you doing?
WEBER
Oh, I’m just, uh... little tied
up right now.
HUNTER
Tied up with what?
Weber glances up. Catching Dima’s eyes.
WEBER
Nothing that’s gonna get in the
way of our plans. I can promise
you that.
HUNTER
Okay. I’ll see you later then?
WEBER
You bet.
One last smile from Hunter before he disconnects.

82.
DIMA
That could’ve been the last time
you ever see him. And you didn’t
even say goodbye. But don’t worry,
Weber. You’ll have another chance.
Weber’s face falls. What?
Speaking as he taps away on Weber’s phone --
DIMA (CONT’D)
Your old handler might’ve given
you up... but he never gave us
your family.
Dima holds up Weber’s phone for Weber to see.
On the screen, a map is pinned with a blue icon.
A blue icon marked “Animal”!
DIMA (CONT’D)
Oh, look at that. You and your boy
have location sharing enabled.
(rotating the phone to
study the screen)
One-two-two Sequoia Avenue. That’s
right here in D.C. How convenient.
Weber’s jaw clenches. His pupils narrow.
His is a look of blind, helpless FURY.
DIMA (CONT’D)
Oh, yes... I know that look.
With that, Dima stands --
-- and Weber goes BALLISTIC!
He tries LUNGING up at Dima, but is held down by both the

chair restraints and the men standing behind him.
DIMA (CONT’D)
There’s no reason to get up. I’m
going to bring your family here.
It looks like you’ll be spending
Christmas with them after all.
SNARLING at Dima with bared teeth --
WEBER
You really think I’m gonna let
this happen?!?
83.
Dima regards Weber dispassionately.
DIMA
I think it would’ve been better
for you if you’d just died when
that bullet entered your skull.
With that, Dima strides off. Trailed by Bald Heavy.
Weber THRASHES madly against the chair. ROARING after Dima.
WEBER
I’M GONNA END YOU, YOU FU --
CUT TO:
EXT. NICOLE’S SISTER’S HOUSE - DAY
Cars are lined in front of the tastefully decorated grey-

stone. A family get-together in full swing.
INT. KITCHEN - NICOLE’S SISTER’S HOUSE - DAY
The house throbs with holiday music and lively chatter.
Nicole’s BUSTLING in the kitchen with her SISTER and a few

other RELATIVES.
Cleaning up. Packaging whatever’s left of the large brunch

spread arranged on the kitchen table.
Through the doorway, Nicole notices a clutch of YOUNG KIDS

in the living room. All huddled around a boy with a Moobie
robot propped in his lap.
Nicole sees her son’s missing from the group.
INT. DINING ROOM - NICOLE’S SISTER’S HOUSE - DAY
Nicole enters the quiet dining room to find Hunter sitting

by himself at the head of the dining table.
She settles into a chair beside Hunter.
NICOLE
Why aren’t you playing with your
cousins, kiddo?
HUNTER
I dunno.
84.
NICOLE
Did something happen?
HUNTER
Tommy... he opened presents with
his dad today. He got a Moobie.
NICOLE
Yeah, I saw. What’s wrong?
Hunter just shrugs. Not giving Nicole much to go off.
NICOLE (CONT’D)
Was he not letting you play with --
HUNTER
Are you gonna get angry at dad if
he misses Christmas again?
That nearly breaks Nicole’s heart. She leans across and

wraps an arm around Hunter.
NICOLE
I know we’ve been disappointed in
the past, but I think it’s gonna
be different this Christmas. In
fact, I have it on good authority
that your dad and Santa have an
awesome surprise waiting for you.
Hunter instantly brightens.
HUNTER
Really?
And whatever doubts Nicole may have, she finds a way to

mask them in this moment.
NICOLE
You bet, kiddo.
Off Nicole, playfully mussing Hunter’s hair --
INT. BALLROOM - VACANT AMBASSADOR’S RESIDENCE - DAY
Weber is hunched resignedly in the chair.
Kostya lurks behind Weber. Keeping an eye on him. But it

seems Weber has given in to the inevitable. Not saying a --
WEBER
(subtitled Russian)
Which one was he?
(MORE)
85.
WEBER (CONT'D)
(beat)
Your cousin. Which one was he in
the limousine?
Weber doesn’t turn, but he can sense he has Kostya’s full

and complete attention.
WEBER (CONT’D)
(subtitled Russian)
He didn’t wear glasses, did he?
No, I’m betting he was the red-
haired one.
Kostya stops his pacing. Taking the bait --
-- as Weber subtly lifts his heels.
Gauging the amount of give from his lower restraints.
WEBER (CONT’D)
(subtitled Russian)
His name was Pavel, right? Yeah,
he was the first one to jump me.
I cut his throat with my spring-
loaded boot knife. Real messy.
Kostya FUMES. Unsheathing a COMBAT KNIFE.
WEBER (CONT’D)
(subtitled Russian)
Only reason your shithead cousin
didn’t die screaming was because
the blade sliced his vocal cords.
And Kostya finally SNAPS. Comes STOMPING up behind Weber

with the combat knife. Seeing every shade of red.
Weber waits until Kostya’s right on top of him --
-- then REARS up!
THRUSTING himself and the chair backwards into Kostya!
The knife falling from Kostya’s hand as he’s DRIVEN back

like a tackling sled --
-- before SLAMMING into the wall.
The legs of the chair STAB into the rotting wall --
-- CAGING in Kostya like a rollercoaster harness.
Weber throws his head back --

86.
-- RAMMING his titanium-plated skull into Kostya’s face.
The repeated blows FLATTEN Kostya’s saddle nose down to a

bloody, little nub.
Kostya SAGS to the floor as the tape binding Weber to the

chair loosens enough for him to disentangle himself.
But all that head-butting has left Weber PUNCH-DRUNK.
He nearly trips over himself as he moves to pat down the

unconscious Kostya. Relieving him of his phone and SIG.
Weber then woozily STAGGERS out of the ballroom --
INT. NATATORIUM - VACANT AMBASSADOR’S RESIDENCE - DAY
-- entering an adjacent room with an empty INDOOR POOL.
Weber clocks an exit at the back of the vaulted room.
He skirts the edge of the pool as he frantically dials

out on Kostya’s phone --
-- when he’s suddenly BLINDSIDED by Kostya!
The hulking Russian leaving his feet as he SPEAR TACKLES

Weber into the drained pool!
Weber drops both the phone and SIG as he and Kostya land
hard against one of the pool’s sloped sides --
-- SLIDING down ass over elbows towards a puddle of scummy,

stagnant water at the base of the DEEP END.
Weber gets to his feet just as Kostya’s picking himself up.
Kostya doesn’t wait for the ringside bell --
-- RUSHING at Weber like he’s holding a red cape.
Weber reverses a few steps and LEAPS up --
-- LATCHING his hands onto either side of the DIVING BOARD

above him. FOLDING his legs up --
-- just as Kostya CHARGES past.
Weber then TWISTS his body and BOOTS Kostya in his face --
-- KNOCKING Kostya back into the rear wall of the deep end.
Kostya’s head BASHES through the domed POOL LIGHT.

87.
But the decrepit diving board gives way under Weber’s weight.
Weber clumsily DROPPING --
-- as Kostya rebounds. One side of his face now STUDDED with

gnarly fragments of tempered glass.
Kostya POUNCES on Weber. OVERPOWERING him to the ground.
He’s got size on Weber.
And before long, top position.
PINNED against the concrete, Weber glances to his right --
-- sees the slimy puddle lily-padded with cigarette butts.
With a surge of energy, Weber COUNTERS Kostya’s hold --
-- ROLLING them both into the puddle.
Only this time, Weber’s got top position!
Weber CINCHING Kostya in a guillotine choke. Holding his

head under the fetid water --
-- until finally, there’s no more BUBBLES.
Weber releases Kostya’s slack body.
Then grabs the fallen phone. Tries powering it back on --
-- but the water’s SHORTED it.
WEBER
SHIT!
Weber drops the phone and scoops up the SIG.
He hustles over to the ladder and climbs up --
-- head peeking over the edge when he sees a BEARDED HEAVY

coming straight for him.
Shouldering a BENELLI M4 SHOTGUN!
Bearded Heavy fires a BLAST at Weber --
-- Weber dropping down from the ladder to avoid catching a

face full of 12 GAUGE!
Weber shakes off the fall. About to push off the ground --
-- when the sound of a shotgun being RACKED freezes him.

88.
Weber peers up to find Bearded Heavy perched above him.
His shotgun trained downward. About to splatter Weber --
-- when he’s stopped by GUNSHOTS from behind him!
Beard Heavy TOPPLES forward. Weber LOG-ROLLING out of the

way to avoid being crushed under the man’s dead weight.
Weber then looks up --
-- and there stands Sexton! His savior.
SEXTON
You okay?!?
Weber hops to his feet. Backside covered in muck.
WEBER
He’s going after my family!
CUT TO:
INT. GUEST BEDROOM - NICOLE’S SISTER’S HOUSE - DAY
Nicole is rummaging through the coats piled on the bed in

the guest bedroom. Giving a shout over her shoulder.
NICOLE
Hunter, we’re gonna get going now!
Start saying your goodbyes!
Nicole’s pocket BUZZES. She pulls out her phone.
Sees it’s a call from an unknown number.
Nicole taps the “ignore” button and resumes searching for

her and Hunter’s coats.
EXT. VACANT AMBASSADOR’S RESIDENCE - DAY
Weber, a phone to his ear, and Sexton furtively exit the

rear of the unoccupied building.
Crossing to the FOUR CIA FIELD AGENTS that have taken up

position near their parked Chevy Suburbans.
Weber listens as his call continues to go unanswered.
Just wanting to hear Nicole’s voice.
Instead, he hears a voicemail greeting.

89.
“The mailbox is full and cannot accept any messages at this

time. Goodbye.”
WEBER
Goddamnit, Nicole!
SEXTON
What is it?
WEBER
Her voicemail box! It’s always fu --
GUNFIRE ERUPTS from the building behind them!
One round WINGS Sexton. SPINNING him around.
CIA FIELD AGENT

CONTACT!
Everyone finds COVER. The field agents RETURNING FIRE on

Dima’s men back at the ambassador’s residence.
Weber keeps low and looks over to Sexton, who’s hunkered

behind one of the Suburbans. Clutching his wounded arm.
WEBER
You alright?!?
SEXTON
Yeah, I’m fine!
Sexton digs out a set of keys. Nodding over his shoulder

to the rearmost Suburban.
SEXTON (CONT’D)
You get to them first!
Sexton tosses Weber the keys --
-- Weber catching them in stride as he BREAKS from cover.
BOOKING it for the Suburban as rounds WHISTLE by his head.
Weber reaches the driver’s side door.
Throwing it open --
-- just as a bullet RUPTURES the door’s window.
Weber DIVES into the Suburban.
SLAMMING the door shut once his legs are clear --
-- and KEYING the ignition.

90.
As the Suburban’s engine KICKS up, we tilt down from the

driver’s side door --
-- revealing the phone Weber had been using lying on the

ground. Dropped in the chaos.
It gets FLATTENED under one of the Suburban’s front tires

as Weber ACCELERATES in reverse.
INT. WEBER’S SUBURBAN - DAY
Weber RIGHTS the Suburban and shifts out of reverse.
STOMPING on the gas and PEELING away.
Weber steers with one hand. Groping around for the phone
he just unknowingly demolished with the other.
Realizing he must’ve dropped it, Weber PUNCHES the wheel

in frustration.
But he perks up when he notices the screen for the SUV’s

in-dash NAVIGATION SYSTEM.
Weber punches in the address for Nicole’s sister’s house

on the screen.
He then glances at the time. Aware of Nicole’s itinerary.
On the in-dash screen, Weber requests a route. One which

leads from his ex sister-in-law’s address to --
INT. PRIUS - DAY
Nicole, sitting in the back of their DRIVER’S Prius with

Hunter, is dictating a message into her phone.
NICOLE
(into phone)
... way - to - airport - now.
Nicole looks at the voice-to-text results on the screen.

Something about a “hair court.”
Nicole groans. Resorts to typing.
INT. DIMA’S CADILLAC ESCALADE - DAY
Dima’s at the wheel. Bald Heavy next to him. Monitoring

a tablet that’s paired with Weber’s phone.
91.
BALD HEAVY
(subtitled Russian)
They’re on the move. Make a left
at this next light.
(clicking his tongue)
This would be easier if we knew
where they were going.
Right then, Weber’s phone CHIRPS with a received text.
NICOLE: “On our way to the airport now.”
Dima’s mouth stretches into a broad smile.
INT. WEBER'S SUBURBAN - DAY
Up ahead, Weber sees there’s been a FENDER-BENDER.
Which has slowed traffic to a maddening CRAWL.
Weber’s on the verge of losing it --
-- when he notices an EMPTY LOT on his right. Enclosed by

a chainlink fence.
Without hesitation, Weber CRANKS the wheel and GASSES it.
JUMPING the curb --
-- and BLASTING through the chainlink fence!
The SUV BOUNCING as it cuts a path across the razed lot --
-- before SPILLING out onto the less congested street one

block over.
Weber steals a glance at his in-dash screen.
At the route he intends to intercept --
-- and TEARS off.
Dima’s driving. Hanging on Bald Heavy’s directions.
BALD HEAVY
(subtitled Russian)
We’re close now. Make this right.
Dima signals and makes the turn.

92.
DIMA
(subtitled Russian)
What about the vehicle?
Bald Heavy’s fingers tap and drag across his tablet.
We see that he’s hacked into the network of whatever ride-

share app Nicole uses.
BALD HEAVY
(subtitled Russian)
A ride request came from One-Two-
Two Sequoia Avenue twelve minutes
ago. Car is a black Prius. Plate
number is F-N-six-one-eight-four.
DIMA
(subtitled Russian)
Six-one-eight-four.
(giving a nod over his
shoulder)
Get the hoods and cable ties out
of the back.
FLASH CUT TO:
EXT. STREET - EMBASSY ROW - DAY [FLASHBACK]
We flash to the moment just after Weber was struck by the

blacked-out Escalade.
Weber achingly lifts his head from the pavement. Watching

Dima step out of vehicle and advance towards him.
But something bizarre happens now.
All color FADES. Desaturating before our very eyes.
Everything from Dima to the sky turning MONOCHROME --
-- except for the Cadillac Escalade.
And it’s front LICENSE PLATE. Practically AGLOW.
The numbers POPPING out at Weber with startling clarity.
FLASH BACK TO:
INT. WEBER'S SUBURBAN - DAY
Weber’s glinting eyes scan the road for Dima’s Escalade as

he weaves between cars.
93.
Weber looks to be in the same general area as Dima, though

it’s hard to say for certain.
INT. PRIUS - DAY
Nicole is on a call. Talking over the sound effects coming

from the puzzle game Hunter’s playing on his phone.
NICOLE
(into phone)
... I haven’t even thought about
what I’m gonna do for New Year’s
to be honest, Jenn. I need to get
through Christmas first.
Bald Heavy’s leaned forward in his seat. Squinting ahead.
BALD HEAVY
(subtitled Russian)
That’s them up there. Coming up
on our right.
Just then, Dima’s phone RINGS. Dima answers through the

car’s hands-free system.
A man’s voice. Shouting over volleys of GUNFIRE.
DIMA’S MAN (O.S.)

(subtitled Russian)
They found us, Dima!
Dima straightens. Only one thought in his head now.
DIMA
(subtitled Russian)
What about the American?
DIMA’S MAN (O.S.)

(subtitled Russian)
I don’t know! Think he got away!
You mustn’t come back here!
DIMA
(subtitled Russian)
And you mustn’t allow yourself to
be taken alive.
Dima ends the call.
Takes a moment to think it through.

94.
DIMA (CONT’D)
(subtitled Russian)
Grab the MP in the back.
A moment’s hesitation from Bald Heavy.
Then he reaches behind and grabs a MP5 from the backseat.

Checks the mag and releases the charging handle.
PRIMED to fire!
INT. PRIUS - DAY
Nicole, still on the phone, lowers her voice slightly as

Hunter continues his puzzle solving next to her.
NICOLE
(into phone)
... no, Jenn, I think he really
understands now that you can’t
just be a presence in your son’s
life. You’ve got to be present.
The Prius decreases speed. Preparing to turn --
-- as Bald Heavy lowers his window with his MP held low.
Dima guiding the Escalade into position for a DRIVE-BY.
DIMA
(subtitled Russian)
Don’t worry about the driver. Just
dump your whole mag into the back-
seat.
Bald Heavy nods.
The Prius is only one car length away now.
Coming up fast on their right.
Bald Heavy raises his weapon. About to lay waste to them --
-- when Weber’s Suburban THUNDERS into view!
Coming up on Dima’s right like a TORPEDO --
-- and PLOWING right into their side!
SHUNTING the Escalade off course!

95.
INT. PRIUS - DAY
The Prius is making its turn.
Through the rear windshield behind Nicole and Hunter, we

catch just a fleeting glimpse of the two jockeying SUVs.
BLURRING through the intersection they just turned off.
But neither Nicole nor Hunter notice.
CUT TO:
EXT. GEORGETOWN STREETS - DAY
Light snow continues to fall. Far from frightful.
A VOLUNTEER in a red scarf and knit hat cheerily rings a

handbell next to a red kettle. Her breath visible.
In the air, there’s a feeling --
-- of VEHICULAR MANSLAUGHTER as Dima SCREAMS through an

intersection in his Escalade!
Weber right on his ass in his Suburban!
Hounding Dima as the two bulky SUVs KNIFE through traffic.
WEBER’S SUBURBAN -- Weber KNUCKLING the wheel as powdery

GUSTS blow in through his shattered window.
DIMA’S ESCALADE -- Dima glances at the rearview.
Sees Weber in tight pursuit.
He turns to Bald Heavy in the passenger seat.
DIMA
(subtitled Russian)
Bastard’s right on our ass! Wait
until I get him to your side!
GEORGETOWN STREETS -- The two vehicles BLOW through a red

light.
A passing car CLIPPING Weber’s backend.
WEBER’S SUBURBAN -- Weber WRENCHES at the wheel.
Correcting his alignment and GUNNING it for Dima.

96.
GEORGETOWN STREETS -- Weber’s Suburban challenges Dima on

the left. Trying to outflank him with a ZIG --
-- but Dima ZAGS. BLOCKING him off.
Weber crosses behind Dima. Coming up fast on the right --
-- where Bald Heavy, leaning out of the passenger window,

is waiting for him!
Shouldering the MP5, he SPRAYS automatic fire at Weber!
PEPPERING the SUV’s grill!
WEBER’S SUBURBAN -- Weber’s forced to ARCH down as rounds

SWARM his vehicle like stirred bees.
Through the hail of gunfire, he notices a DELIVERY VAN up

ahead. Parked in the rightmost lane with its hazards on.
Weber does a quick calculation and lets off the gas.
GEORGETOWN STREETS -- Weber’s decelerating Suburban looks

as though it’s yielding to Dima --
-- when Weber SWERVES. Giving Dima’s bumper a FORCEFUL TAP --
-- ALTERING the attitude of Dima’s Escalade enough that it

SIDESWIPES that parked delivery van.
Dima’s Escalade CAROMS off the van and straightens out --
-- but Bald Heavy, perched in the window frame, is CRUSHED

between the two vehicles! Spinal column snapped in half.
His rubbery body hits the pavement. Never to be seen again.
DIMA’S ESCALADE -- Dima glances over at the empty passenger

seat. Raises the receded window without sentiment.
Up ahead, Dima notices a POLICE CRUISER moving to intercept

from a bisecting street! Its lightbar FLASHING.
Before the cruiser has a chance to join the fray, Dima TUGS
the wheel.
GEORGETOWN STREETS -- BROADSIDING the cruiser!
The smaller cruiser is FLUNG aside like a toy. BASHING into

a wreathed LIGHT POLE, which TOPPLES like a bowling pin.
Dima’s Escalade is barely slowed by the impact.
Weber, riding in Dima’s wake, narrowly avoids the WRECKAGE.

97.
WEBER’S SUBURBAN -- Weber’s eyes search ahead --
-- spying an opportunity to overtake Dima.
But it’s going to be extremely hairy.
GEORGETOWN STREETS -- Dima is forced to reduce speed at a

sharp turn.
But Weber FLOORS it. Maintaining a straightaway heading --
-- SPEEDING into a lane of opposing traffic!
On a collision course with a GARBAGE TRUCK!
Our hearts skip like a Discman as the hulking dump truck

passes within inches of Weber! Briefly blocked from view --
-- before reemerging to catch Dima on the turn!
Weber BEARS down on Dima. STEERS sharply into the back of

his Suburban --
-- causing Dima’s rear tires to lose TRACTION!
Dima SLEWS into the nose of Weber’s Suburban --
-- and is caught SIDEWISE. Weber carrying him forward like

a snowpack in a plow.
DIMA’S ESCALADE -- Dima recovers from the impact.
Produces a compact Skorpion MACHINE PISTOL!
He rolls down his window and CLAMBERS up.
GEORGETOWN STREETS -- Leaning halfway out his window, Dima

steadies his arms atop his vehicle’s roof and takes aim.
Weber DUCKS down --
-- a moment before Dima UNLOADS on his Suburban.
The windshield DISINTEGRATES!
Bullets RIDDLING the seats and headrests!
Weber stays low. Blindly FLOORING it as glass and cushion

stuffing rains down on him.
Finally, Dima’s Skorpion CLICKS empty. As he goes to swap

in a fresh mag --
-- Weber pops his head up like a prairie dog.

98.
He sights something coming up behind Dima... and BRACES.
Dima’s face flickers with dread. He WHIRLS around --
-- just as his Escalade BULLDOZES through a guardrail!
The Skorpion jarred loose by the VIOLENT FORCE.
Dima recovers. Looks up --
-- BLANCHING when he sees he’s being propelled towards a

STEEP RIVERBANK!
Has barely enough time to get out --
DIMA (CONT’D)
(subtitled Russian)
Fuck...
Dima’s Escalade is CATAPULTED off the precipice!
PLUNGING fifty feet down onto the Potomac’s frozen surface.
Generating enough momentum to CRATER the river’s ice layer,

but not enough to break all the way through.
Weber brings his Suburban to a SQUEALING halt --
-- nearly following after Dima.
Weber’s front-end precariously SUSPENDED over the void.
WEBER’S SUBURBAN -- Weber carefully uncouples his seat belt.
He edges toward the backseat.
Aware that any sudden movement might tip the balance in his
disfavor.
Feeling the Suburban SHIFT slightly, Weber STILLS himself.
Waits until the Suburban stabilizes.
Then Weber again attempts to worm into the backseat --
-- when the vehicle TILTS forward.
Hearing something SCRABBLING across the hood, Weber turns --
-- and catches Dima’s boot heel square in the jaw!
Dima, who must have made a LEAPING GRAB for Weber’s grill
before his own vehicle went over, SLITHERS in through the
shattered windshield --
99.
-- and begins PUMMELING Weber with feral intensity!
Weber, shielding his head from the vicious blows, UNCORKS

an uppercut that backs Dima into the passenger seat.
Dima goes to attack Weber again --
-- when the Suburban BOWS forward!
Both men arrest themselves for a moment. Drawing flush to

the driver and passenger side doors --
-- as the Suburban TEETERS.
WEBER
We keep going at it like this,
we’re both gonna go over.
DIMA
I don’t care if I go over. So
long as you go over with me.
Another charged beat passes --
-- when Weber PUSHES off. Climbing into the back.
Dima follows him. Drawing a KNIFE as the two TANGLE up in

the backseat --
-- the weight distribution slightly LEVELING the Suburban.
Weber STRAINS to fend off the knife that has all of Dima’s
weight behind it --
-- when Weber notices a familiar BUTTON on the underside of

the knife’s handle.
Weber MUSCLES the blade away from his face --
-- and DEPRESSES the button.
The blade LAUNCHES up from the handle like a ROCKET --
-- IMPLANTING in the Suburban’s roof.
Caught by surprise, Dima momentarily drops his guard --
-- and Weber DECKS him. KNOCKING Dima back into the front,
who lands hard against the middle console.
Dima’s quick to spring back into the fight --
-- but Weber’s quicker. There to meet Dima --

100.
-- with the BLADE he pried from the roof.
JABBING it into the side of Dima’s neck!
Dima registers the MORTAL BLOW with utter shock.
Gripping the blade as if needing tactile proof it’s there.
Dima tries to plug up the puncture wound with his hand as

blood RIVERS down his neck and shoulder. Lolling back --
-- when the Suburban starts TIPPING over the edge.
Weber claps eyes on the button for the LIFT GATE.
In the next instant, he STABS a hand at the button.
Then Weber LIFTS something from one of Dima’s pockets and

SCRAMBLES over the backseat --
GEORGETOWN WATERFRONT -- as the Suburban SEESAWS forward!
Weber STUMBLING to safety through the opened lift gate as

the Suburban ROLLS off the precipice --
-- when it’s HALTED! Its rear wheels SNAGGING on the edge.

Keeping it from PLUMMETING to the icy river below.
Inside the angled Suburban, Dima can feel the rear wheels
losing their tenuous hold.
Breathing through a punctured windpipe, Dima grabs a head-

rest for support. Feebly lifting himself up --
-- when he’s stopped by Weber.
Coldly peering down at Dima through the opened rear gate.
WEBER
Her name... was Marina.
With that, Weber reaches up and thumbs a button along the

inside of the lift gate.
The door automatically closes on Dima like a clam shell --
-- NUDGING the Suburban off the side of the riverbank!
Dima tries to scream, but only coughs up blood on himself

as the Suburban NOSEDIVES toward the frozen Potomac --
-- DRILLING into the flipped Escalade below!
Sending up a monstrous EXPLOSION of water and metal!

101.
The ice CAVES... and the mangled vehicles both SINK below
the foamy, churning surface.
Back at the top of the riverbank, Weber stands at the lip

of the escarpment. Peering down at Dima’s watery grave.
“Ho, ho, ho... ho, ho ho...”
It’s Weber’s ringtone!
The item Weber snatched from Dima only now revealed to be

his phone.
He breathlessly answers.
WEBER (CONT’D)
Nicole!
INTERCUT WITH:
EXT. DEPARTURES TERMINAL - DULLES AIRPORT - DAY
Nicole exits from the Prius with Hunter. The car parked
along the curb at the departures terminal.
Not catching the alarm in Weber’s tone --
NICOLE
Yeah, we just got to the airport.
It’s a freakin’ madhouse here.
Weber lets out a breath.
Probably the biggest his lungs have ever expelled.
Mustering a casual tone --
WEBER
Good thing you got there early
then.
Nicole accepts her luggage from the driver. Mouthing her

thanks and stepping onto the sidewalk with Hunter.
NICOLE
Fortunately, the traffic coming
here wasn’t too bad. So, how’s
it going by you, huh? You sound
a little out of breath.
Weber reaches into his mouth to extract a loosened molar.
Flicks it away.
102.
WEBER
Yeah... I had to run around to a
few places. It’s crazy out there.
Weber looks up and sees a pair of Suburbans SKIDDING to a

halt in front of him.
Sexton and his team pour out of the vehicles.
NICOLE
Well, we’ll probably get to you
around seven thirty tonight.
WEBER
That’s perfect.
Weber presses the phone’s mute button just as Sexton, his

arm bandaged and in a sling, crosses to him.
SEXTON
I gotta team moving in to scoop
up Nicole and Hunter now.
WEBER
Call ‘em off!
Sexton just stares at Weber uncomprehendingly.
WEBER (CONT’D)
They’re safe! Pull your people
back now!
Sexton turns away to get the word to his men --
-- as Weber unmutes the phone.
WEBER (CONT’D)
(back into phone)
So... is your flight on time?
Nicole is leading Hunter towards the revolving door into

the terminal.
NICOLE
No reports of delays. But let’s
not jinx it, right?
WEBER
No, we wouldn’t wanna jinx that.
Behind Nicole and Hunter, a sedan SCREECHES to a stop at

the curb. Depositing CIA AGENTS in suits and earpieces.
The agents lay eyes on Nicole and Hunter... and close in.
103.
About to converge on the pair --
-- when the order to abort comes in over their earpieces.
NICOLE
Sure you’re okay? I’m picking up
on some stress in your voice.
Hunter’s sixth sense tingles. He instinctively turns --
-- just in time to see the agents scatter like pigeons.
WEBER
It’s the most stressful time of
the year, right?
Hunter’s face screws up. Unsure what he just witnessed.
Then he shrugs it off. Steps through the revolving door

with Nicole.
NICOLE
Well, try to unwind when you can.
I’ll call you when we land.
With that, Nicole hangs up.
HUNTER
How’d Dad sound?
NICOLE
Oh, like he’s finally learned the
true meaning of Christmas.
We stay with Weber now. Pocketing his phone and marching

away from the riverbank. Moving with purpose.
SEXTON
Where are you going?
WEBER
I need you to get me outta here.
Sexton follows in Weber’s slipstream.
SEXTON
What’re you talking about? This is
an international incident. And I’m
the ranking officer on the scene.
WEBER
Yes, and you’re gonna use that rank
to get the company to charter a jet
back to Chicago for me.
104.
SEXTON
(salty)
With or without an onboard chef?
Weber wheels around.
His eyes pleading. His tone desperate.
WEBER
I have to get home, man. I can’t
let my kid down. I just can’t.
Sexton crosses his arms. Mulling Weber’s request.
SEXTON
You really need to get your head
looked at, Web.
WEBER
I know I sound crazy, but I need
to give my son the Christmas he --
SEXTON
No, your head needs to be looked
at because it’s falling apart.
Now we see that Weber’s scalp has come UNDONE once again.
One flap having PEELED back like moldy wallpaper.
SEXTON (CONT’D)
We can take care of it on the way.
CUT TO:
INT. LIVING ROOM - WEBER’S APARTMENT - DAY
Eight treats are spit out like coins from a slot machine.
Tango comes skidding into frame. Hungrily pouncing.
CUT TO:
INT. SEXTON’S SUBURBAN - DAY
Weber, sitting in the bench seat of the moving Suburban,

closes out the app on his phone --
-- when another eBay notification pops up on his screen.

105.
Which is followed by a second and third update on the two

other auctions Weber bid on.
All unfavorable outcomes. All very disheartening.
Behind Weber, a SNIP is heard. He grimaces.
We pull back to reveal a FEMALE FIELD AGENT seated right

behind Weber. Leaning forward as she patches Weber up.
Up front, a second MALE FIELD AGENT is driving at a clip

while Sexton speaks on his phone in the passenger seat.
Sexton hangs up and turns back to Weber.
SEXTON
I bought you an hour. That’s the
best I could do.
Weber nods gratefully. Prompting a familiar chiding from

the agent stitching up Weber’s scalp.
FEMALE FIELD AGENT

No nodding, please.
Sexton addresses the agent performing field surgery.
SEXTON
How’s Humpty Dumpty looking?
FEMALE FIELD AGENT

He’d look better if I didn’t have
to do this inside a moving vehicle.
WEBER
I can always throw on a Santa hat.
Oh, before I forget, I should give
this back to you.
Weber reaches for the underside of his sleeve --
-- PINCHING out a SMALL TRACKER embedded in the fabric.
WEBER (CONT’D)
These new designs are smaller. I
almost didn’t feel you tag me in
the coffee shop.
Weber extends the tiny device to Sexton, who accepts with

a sheepish grin.
SEXTON
Working on a spray now if you can
believe that.
106.
Weber’s pocket CHIRPS. He pulls out his phone. Reads the

received text.
NICOLE: “Hour delay.” <pouting face emoji>
WEBER
Your guy came through.
SEXTON
Always helps to know a guy.
(switching gears)
By the way, we’re still awaiting
confirmation, but it looks like
we got all of Morrow’s assets in
Belarus out. And their families.
It was really shaping up to be a
Christmas massacre. We were lucky
to have you in play. Putting out
a fire we didn’t even know about.
(making his pitch)
There’s gonna be other fires, you
know. Ones that might burn hotter.
And faster.
Weber remains silent... but he’s listening.
SEXTON (CONT’D)
And I know you had your reasons
for walking away, Web. But today,
man... all I saw were reasons for
you to come back. I think you saw
that too.
Weber stares off. Face unreadable.
After an prolonged beat, Weber comes to his decision.
WEBER
If I were to consider coming back,
there’d be conditions.
Sexton instantly perks up.
SEXTON
Talk to me.
WEBER
First off, you take me out of the
field and stick me behind a desk.
With a nice, ergonomic chair. No
more flying off in the middle of
the night in a goddamn cargo hold.
No more time away from my family.
I’m done with all that now.
107.
Sexton looks at Weber like he’s got lobsters crawling out

of his ears.
SEXTON
Wait... you want a desk? Like an
actual desk? With drawers... and
a penholder?
WEBER
I’m not finished. I also want the
holidays off. Indefinitely. And I
don’t just mean an automatically
generated out-of-office reply. I
mean from December twenty-third
to January second, I do not exist
as far as the company’s concerned.
SEXTON
Fine. Done. That all?
WEBER
No, there’s one more thing I’d
need from the company.
SEXTON
Other than the fully fueled jet
I just requisitioned for you?
WEBER
Yeah. This might be a bigger ask.
Sexton turns queasy.
Cue “Santa Clause is Coming to Town.”
Springsteen. Not Jackson Five. Playing over the following --
EXT. PRIVATE TERMINAL - O’HARE AIRPORT - NIGHT
A sleek PRIVATE JET emblazoned with the CIA crest taxis to

a rest on the tarmac.
The jet’s airstairs fold out --
-- and Weber, now dressed in fresh clothes, deplanes with a

slight limp. Greeted by denser snowfall.
And TWO AGENTS in green parka jackets.
They wait for him at the bottom of the airstairs.
Weber descends to meet the pair. One of which holds a RED

COURIER BAG.
108.
AGENT 1
The package you requested.
The agent reaches into his partner’s courier bag --
-- pulling out an unopened Moobie! Batteries included.
Weber accepts the toy like it’s a long lost artifact.
As he trails the agents to an unmarked Suburban parked on

the tarmac --
WEBER
How’d you find one of these?
The agents stop on either side of the Suburban. Trading a

conspiratorial look.
AGENT 1
Frankly, sir, it’s better if you
didn’t know.
With that, they all pile into the vehicle --
-- and away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
INT. LOBBY - WEBER’S APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT
Springsteen’s breathy vocals carry with us as Weber heads

for the elevators.
Scooting past a modest Christmas display in the lobby.
We hold on the illuminated Frosty the Snowman figure. His

glowing mug grinning back at us.
Weber then doubles back. Scooping up Frosty.
INT. APARTMENT - NIGHT
Back where it all began. Twenty four unrelenting hours ago.
Weber enters his apartment with a snowman under one arm. A

robot under the other.
“Santa Claus is coming to town...”
Tango appears. Rubs against Weber’s legs.
Weber reaches down and gives him some loving back.
He then hastens into --

109.
THE LIVING ROOM
Still looks like a crime scene in here.
Weber takes in the mess. Starts rolling up his sleeves.
QUICK SERIES OF SHOTS:
Weber SPONGES at the blood that’s congealed on the glass

coffee table, but it’s far too sticky for that.
Weber is at it again. This time, using the plastic blade

of an ICE SCRAPER to skim off the gummy coagulate.
Weber’s on his knees now. Putting some elbow grease into

it as he SCRUBS out the CRIMSON STAINS in the carpet.
Weber’s phone DINGS. He fishes it out to find a new text

on the screen.
ANIMAL: “Mom said to tell you we landed.”
Weber types back. “Awesome! See ya soon, bud!”
Gotta pick up the pace now.
Weber stands on a step ladder. Using spackle and a joint

knife to cover over the pockmark in the ceiling.
Weber replaces the sopping wet tube sock he stuffed into

the bullet hole in the window with a fresh sock. Then he
steps out of frame.
Returning a moment later with Frosty. Standing him up in

front of the bullet hole.
At last, Weber comes up for air. Reappraising the room.
It looks like it could be photographed for a listing.
END QUICK SERIES OF SHOTS:
Springsteen’s starting to wind down. The song playing on

Weber’s unseen Amazon Echo.
Outside, the moonlit snow falls like blue confetti.
Weber crosses in front of the window. Setting the wrapped

Moobie with the other presents under the Christmas tree.
He frowns at the sports section he used as gift wrap.
WEBER
Almost nailed Christmas this year.
110.
Just then, the doorbell RINGS.
Weber draws a breath and surveys the room one last time --
-- spotting a bloodstained RAG on the counter. He plucks

it up and stuffs it down his pocket.
Weber then crosses to the front door just as Springsteen

starts to fade. Followed by another familiar holiday hit.
“Welcome to my Christmas song...”
WEBER (CONT’D)
Alexa, next song.
Cutting off Sir Elton before he has a chance to get going

again, just as Weber opens the front door --
-- to find Hunter and Nicole waiting on the other side.
The first time we’ve seen the nucleus all together.
NICOLE
Well, we made it.
WEBER
Yeah, you guys sure did.
Weber turns his attention to Hunter now, who’s a bouncing

ball of energy.
HUNTER
Merry Christmas Eve, Dad!
Weber squats down and wraps his arms around Hunter.
WEBER
Merry Christmas Eve, Animal!
Nicole watches on with a twinkle in her eye as father and

son tenderly embrace. Heartened... and relieved.
Hunter, meanwhile, beams up at his father.
HUNTER
You made it!
WEBER
Made it? Where else would I be?
Hunter bats Weber a look. Then leans in closer. Whispers.
HUNTER
Dad... I was tracking you.
111.
Weber’s eyes widen with surprise.
He steals a glance up at Nicole to make sure she hasn’t

heard. Then whispers back.
WEBER
Why didn’t you say anything?
HUNTER
Mom would’ve totally killed you.
Weber has to stifle a laugh. Kid’s got a point.
WEBER
Thanks for not blowing my cover.
Weber squeezes Hunter tighter to him. Showing no sign of

letting go. Because this is what it was all for.
And it was all worth it.
Their troubles, for one night anyway, out of sight as we

leave them there. Drifting away from the front door --
-- until we’re back in Weber’s kitchen.
Nat King Cole’s “Christmas Song” is playing now.
Perfectly suited to the mood.
“And so I’m offering this simple phrase... To kids from

one to ninety-two...”
We settle on the kitchen counter --
-- where Weber’s sack of pancake mix rests. Made by real

Pennsylvania Quakers.
“Although it's been said, Many times, many ways... Merry

Christmas, To you...”
Yes, indeed. Merry Christmas to all.
And to all, a good --
NICOLE (O.S.)
What the fuck did you do to your
head, Stephen?!?
HUNTER (O.S.)
Mom, you’re supposed to say “fudge”!
CUT TO BLACK.

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STAY FROSTY

Ava Jamshidi / INDUSTRY ENTERTAINMENT

A driving rain falls. We can’t see much.

But we can see HER. A hazy figure turned to her side.

Just standing there in her bathrobe. Face veiled by a wet

And right as her head begins to turn in our direction --

SMASH CUT TO:

INT. LIVING ROOM - APARTMENT - NIGHT

The place is spacious. Hardwood floors. Granite counters --

-- a DEAD GUY on the couch!

Body pitched forward. Slumped over the glass coffee table

BLOOD courses freely from a wound at the base of his skull.

A puddle so thick, we can actually see the poor bastard’s

It looks like he was killed by a single shot to the --

ROBOTIC VOICE (O.S.)

The robotic voice belongs to a HUMANOID ROBOT.

An expensive kid’s toy.

It lies overturned on the coffee table next to Dead Guy.

Dead Guy just stares back at it with glassy, UNBLINKING

-- he BLINKS! A RIPPLE playing across the blood.

But no other movement. Probably some postmortem spasm --

He’s ADRENALIZED. Eyes BUGGED out of his sockets.

Roughly 40 years old. 20 of which he spent [REDACTED]

Same here, pal.

Weber’s eyes frantically circuit the room;

“A Christmas Story” on TV. End credits scrolling up over

A large roll of ruined gift wrap sits on the blood-soaked

Weber SCRAMBLES over to the fireplace and shifts the cast

-- retrieving a MOSSBERG 590 SHOTGUN!

With the compact shotty trained ahead, he moves into --

Under the more stark light, we see a torn FLAP of scalp

BLOOD running down his back in a glistening river.

Weber moves to the front door. Checking it for signs of

The hallway’s empty. Not a creature stirring.

He backs away from the front door and continues to sweep

Weber flips the lights. Revealing a boy’s room.

Posters. Lego structures. Mini basketball hoop --

Weber slaps off the lights. Moves on to --

This is where Weber sleeps.

And by virtue of there being only one nightstand, where

Nothing here either.

Weber goes to step back out and STUMBLES over himself.

He rests a hand on the doorframe for support. Waits for

Instead, his body RIOTS. Face curdling with NAUSEA.

Weber flips the toilet lid and violently PUKES. Keeping

Once the sick’s all out of him, Weber flushes.

He quickly rallies. Getting to his feet and returning to --

THE LIVING ROOM

Tango is perched on the coffee table. Nibbling from that

Weber shoos Tango off with a HISS.

Then he notices something that catches in the light.

FLOATING through the air.

Weber tracks it to the floor-to-ceiling windows... which

We’re in a high-rise apartment building. In Chicago.

During a mild snowstorm. Mild for Chicago anyway.

And some of that snow is now drifting inside through the

He lowers his weapon. Finally takes stock of himself.

He’s a godawful, goddamn bloody mess.

Weber’s at the sink. Disinfecting a heavy duty STAPLE GUN