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1. TELFER HOUSE: LIBRARY
INT/NIGHT
ANDREW TELFER, a scrawny
seventy-year-old, is writing a note at his desk in one corner of
a big, book-lined room. Dangling from the central chandelier is
a noose. A chair stands beneath it.
TELFER looks up for a moment. Blankly,
he eyes a framed photoportrait on his desk: a beautiful,
thirty-something blonde returns his gaze with an enigmatic
smile.
He stops writing and folds the sheet,
scrawls something on the back, and leaves it on the desk. Then
he walks to the centre of the room and climbs on the chair. He
puts his head through the noose and tightens it around his
neck.
He kicks away the back of the chair, but
it doesn't fall. Frantically, he tries again: this time the
chair topples over. The chandelier squeaks as it swings on its
hook, but it holds. Fragments of plaster come raining down.
TELFER's neck isn't broken: he starts to
choke. His feet perform a convulsive dance in mid-air only six
inches above the floor; one of his shoes comes off.
The CAMERA leaves the dying man and
MOVES IN on the bookshelves. To the accompaniment of choking
sounds, it PANS across the serried rows of volumes until it
reaches a gap that shows where one of them has been removed.
The choking sounds cease.
The CAMERA enters the black void left by
the missing book.
Absolute, abysmal DARKNESS.
3. MANHATTAN APARTMENT INT/DAY
The Manhattan skyline seen through a
picture window. Above it, reflected in the windowpane, the face
of an OLD WOMAN seated with her back to the room. Her expression
is impassive and self- absorbed, her twisted mouth suggests
she's a stroke victim. She seems quite uninvolved in the action
behind her.
CORSO (O.S.) An impressive collection.
You have some very rare editions here. Sure you want to sell
them all?
We now discover the speaker, BOB CORSO:
a tall, lean, rather unkempt man in his 30's. Steel-rimmed
glasses, crumpled old tweed jacket, worn cords, scuffed brown
oxfords. He could almost be a shabby university teacher if it
weren't for the street-wise glint in his eye.
He replaces a book on a shelf. Standing
beside him is the Old Woman's SON, a middle-aged man with a
puffy red face. Her DAUGHTER-IN-LAW looks on, one hand cupping
her elbow, the fingers of the other playing avidly with her
lower lip. The SON is cuddling a large Scotch on the rocks like
it's an integral part of his anatomy. His tone is too lugubrious
to be true.
SON: They're no use to Father, not
anymore -not now he's passed away. His library was his own
little world. Now it's just a painful memory for Mother
here.
DAUGHTER-IN-LAW: Unbearably painful.
CORSO glances at them over the top of
his glasses, then at the OLD WOMAN. It's clear that the OLD
WOMAN's true source of pain is their rapacious desire to convert
her late husband's library into hard cash.
CORSO picks up a notebook, adjusts his
glasses with an instinctive, habitual movement, taps the
notebook with his pencil.
CORSO: Well, at a rough, preliminary
estimate, you have a collection here worth around two hundred
thousand dollars.
DAUGHTER-IN-LAW (almost jumps): Two
hundred thousand?!
CORSO : Or thereabouts.
He smiles sweetly at the
DAUGHTER-IN-LAW.
The OLD WOMAN continues to stare blankly
at her reflection in the window. Behind her, the SON sidles up
to CORSO, who indicates the volumes in question.
SON: How much were you thinking of-
CORSO: Hmm- I couldn't go higher than
four grand-four-and-a- half tops. (takes an envelope from his
shoulder bag and starts peeling off some bills)
4. MANHATTAN APARTMENT HOUSE CORRIDOR
INT/DAY
CORSO strides briskly along the corridor
toward the elevator with the canvas bag slung from his shoulder.
He's grinning to himself. The bag is obviously heavier than it
was.
The elevator doors open just as he's
about to press the button. He almost collides with a
bespectacled, briefcase-carrying man in a three-piece suit and
bow tie (WITKIN)-a cross between an intellectual and a business
executive.
WITKIN (caustically): You here? You
didn't waste much time.
CORSO: Hello, Witkin. There's a small
fortune in there. (smiles sardonically) Help yourself.
WITKIN (eyes CORSO's beg suspiciously):
You're a vulture, Corso.
CORSO: Who isn't in our business?
WITKIN: You'd stoop to anything.
CORSO brushes past him into the
elevator, turns and pats his shoulder bag.
CORSO: For a 'Quixote' by Ybarra? You
bet I would.
WITKIN (indignantly): Unscrupulous,
thoroughly unscrupulous!
CORSO (thumbs the elevator button): Good
hunting!
The doors close on WITKIN's indignant
face.
5. BERNIE'S BOOKSTORE EXT/INT/DAY
A sign says "CLOSED." CORSO pushes open
the door of an old fashioned semibasement bookstore-'BERNIE'S
RARE BOOKS'-and enters. He walks up to the counter and deposits
his bag on it.
BERNIE (O.S.): Witkin just called me.
He's spitting blood.
CORSO looks around. The voice came from
ten feet up and three bookcases along. BERNIE FELDMAN, a man
around CORSO's age with dark, curly hair receding at the
temples, is perched at the top of a spiral staircase.
CORSO: What's his problem?
BERNIE (replacing some books): He says
you're a double-dealing, money grubbing bastard. He says he had
that sale tied up, and now you've queered his pitch.
CORSO (grins to himself): He should be
quicker off the mark.
The spiral staircase judders as BERNIE
starts to descend.
CORSO goes over to a wall cupboard and
opens it. An assortment of bottles and glasses come to
light.
CORSO (cont.): May I?
BERNIE: Your valuation was way over the
odds it's brought those people out In a rash. They're now asking
twice what the books are worth.
CORSO, still grinning, pours himself a
slug of Scotch. BERNIE reaches the ground.
BERNIE (cont.): He's talking about suing
you. Well, let's face it: you screwed him. That's what it's
called.
CORSO: I know what it's called.
BERNIE comes up close.
BERNIE: He also says you snaffled the
'Don Qui -
He breaks off as CORSO produces the four
volumes of the 'Quixote', bends over to examine them, whistles
appreciatively.
BERNIE: (cont.): The Ybarra 'Don
Quixote', 1780, four volumes. Fantastic! (opens one)
Sonofabitch, you're the best in the business. Definitely.
CORSO: And the most expensive. (smiles
slyly) That client of yours, the Swiss, is he still interested
in this edition?
BERNIE smiles back, then redirects his
attention to the books.
BERNIE: Sure, but Witkin will blow a
fuse. I told him I had nothing to do with this operation.
CORSO knocks back his Scotch in one.
Extracting a crumpled cigarette from the pocket of his overcoat,
he sticks it in his mouth and lights it.
CORSO: Nothing except your ten
percent.
BERNIE: : Twenty. The Swiss is my
client, remember.
CORSO (shakes his head): No deal.
BERNIE: Fifteen. (cynically) For my
children's sake.
CORSO: You don't have any.
BERNIE: I'm still young. Give me
time.
CORSO (expels a lungful of smoke,
unmoved): Ten.
6. BALKAN BUILDING EXT/DUSK
A taxi pulls up outside an opulent
building downtown. CORSO gets out, dodges a persistent beggar,
and enters. The sign above the entrance reads: 'BALKAN
PUBLICATIONS'.
7. BALKAN BUILDING: LOBBY INT/DUSK
CORSO nods to the SECURITY GUARD at the
desk and makes hit way across the lobby to a door at the back.
Beside it stands an easel-mounted announcement: 'Demons and
Medieval Literature, by Boris Balkan, Ph.D.' It's adorned with a
medieval engraving depicting an Inquisition torture scene.
8. BALKAN BUILDING: LECTURE ROOM
INT/DUSK
BORIS BALKAN, standing at a
state-of-the-art lecturer's desk, is a bulky, imposing figure of
a man around 50 years old. His thick gray hair is slicked back
to reveal a domed forehead. The eyes beneath it radiate keen
intelligence through a pair of heavy hornrims. He speaks in a
deep, slow, almost monotonous voice, but with great
authority.
BALKAN: Relevant information may be
found in Antoine Martin del Rio's 'Disquisitionum Magicarum',
Louvain 1599, and earlier, in 1580, in 'De la demonomanle des
sorciers' by the Frenchman, Jean Bodin-
His eyes flicker in the direction of the
door as CORSO enters.
CORSO's entrance has also been noted by
a GIRL in jeans and white sneakers: childlike face, short hair
and green, feline eyes.
He sits down in the same row, but on the
other side of the aisle, settles himself in his chair and scans
the AUDIENCE, most of whom are middle-aged and female. He gives
the GIRL a cursory glance, then concentrates on BALKAN.
BALKAN (cont.): Bodin was probably the
first to attempt to establish a system - if the term system may
be applied to the Middle Ages - for classifying the contemporary
perceptions of evil. In Bodin we find one of the first
definitions of the word 'witch'. I quote: (cocks his head for a
better look at the text) 'A witch is a person who, though
cognizant of the laws of God, endeavors to act through the
medium of a pact with the Devil- '
As BALKAN's lecture proceeds, CORSO's
eyelids begin to droop. We PAN over the faces of the AUDIENCE
(THE GIRL is still covertly observing CORSO). BALKAN's voice
drones on, fades away.
9. BALKAN BUILDING: LECTURE ROOM
INT/NIGHT
CLOSE on CORSO fast asleep.
BALKAN (O.S.): I see you enjoyed my
little talk, Mr. Corso.
CORSO gives a start and opens his eyes.
He takes a moment or two to focus on BALKAN, who's standing over
him. Peering around through his steel-rimmed glasses, he sees
that the lecture is over. The last of the AUDIENCE are filing
out. We glimpse THE GIRL making her exit.
CORSO: Did I snore?
BALKAN: Nice of you to ask. No, not that
I noticed. Shall we go?
He gestures at the door with a cold and
impassive air. CORSO gets to his feet.
10. BALKAN BUILDING: LOBBY INT/NIGHT
BALKAN walks swiftly across the lobby to
the elevators with CORSO at his heels. They leave behind a buzz
of conversation from members of the AUDIENCE who are still
discussing the lecture.
BALKAN: Don't you sleep nights?
CORSO: Like a baby.
BALKAN: Strange, I'd have bet a brace of
Gutenberg Bibles you spend half the night with your eyes peeled.
You're one of those lean, hungry, restless types that put the
wind up Julius Caesar - men who'd stab their friends in the
back-
They reach the elevator. BALKAN presses
a button and turns to CORSO, who yawns.
BALKAN (cont.) Not, I suspect, that you
have many friends, do you, Mr. Corso? Your kind seldom does.
CORSO (calmly): Go to hell.
BALKAN is unruffled by CORSO's
discourtesy. The elevator doors open. He stands aside to let
CORSO pass, then follows him in.
11. BALKAN BUILDING: ELEVATOR
INT/NIGHT
BALKAN punches a code number on the
elevator's digital keyboard With a subdued hiss, the elevator
starts to ascend.
BALKAN: You're right, of course. Your
friendships don't concern me in the least. Our relations have
always been strictly commercial, isn't that so? There's no one
more reliable than a man whose loyalty can be bought for hard
cash.
CORSO: Hey, Balkan, I came here to do
some business, not shoot the breeze. You want to expound your
personal philosophy, write another book.
BALKAN: You don't like me, do you?
CORSO (shrugs): I don't have to like
you. You're a client, and you pay well.
The elevator reaches its destination,
the doors open.
12. BALKAN BUILDING: COLLECTION
INT/NIGHT
The elevator opens straight into a
spacious room faced with black marble. The walls are bare save
for a big, back-lighted photograph of a ruined castle
overlooking a desolate valley.
Two huge windows in the right-hand wall
extend from floor to ceiling. Visible outside on the building's
floodlit facade, gargoyles gaze out over the city with their
monstrous heads propped on their claws.
The centre of the room is occupied by a
rectangular block of tinted glass resembling a big black
monolith. Vaguely discernible through the glass are shelves
filled with antique books in exquisite bindings.
BALKAN leads CORSO over to the
'monolith' . He gestures at it proudly, soliciting
admiration.
BALKAN: Well?
CORSO: Yup.
BALKAN: You're privileged, Corso. Very
few people have ever set foot in here. This Is my private
collection. Some bibliophiles specialize in Gothic novels,
others in Books of Hours. All my own rare editions have the same
protagonist: the Devil.
CORSO is impressed but does his best not
to show it.
CORSO: May I take a look?
BALKAN: That's why I brought you
here.
He goes over to the 'monolith' and
punches a keyboard on a control panel, gestures to CORSO to come
closer.
CORSO puts out his hand. Before he can
touch the glass, it glides aside with a faint hum. He adjusts
his glasses and glances at BALKAN, who looks on calmly. His eyes
roam along the spines of the books. BALKAN comes and stands
beside him.
BALKAN (cont.): Beautiful, aren't they?
That soft sheen, that superb gilding- Not to mention the
centuries of wisdom they contain-centuries of erudition, of
delving Into the secrets of the Universe and the hearts of men-
I know people who would kill for a collection like this. (CORSO
shoots him a quick glance) The Ars Diavoli! You'll never see as
many books on the subject anywhere else in the world. They're
the rarest, the choicest editions in existence. It has taken me
a lifetime to assemble them. Only the supreme masterpiece was
missing. Come-
He has accompanied CORSO on his tour of
the collection. They come to the end of the 'monolith'.
Gesturing to CORSO to follow him, BALKAN goes over to an
ultramodern, brushed steel lectern standing beside one of the
huge picture windows.
As he approaches the lectern, CORSO
briefly glimpses the sheer drop beyond the window, the twinkling
lights of traffic passing in the street far below.
Reposing on the lectern is a black book
adorned with a gold pentagram. CORSO opens it at the title page,
which displays the title in Latin and a pictorial engraving.
CORSO (not looking at BALKAN) 'The Nine
Gates of the Kingdom of Shadows-
BALKAN: You're familiar with it?
CORSO: Sure. Venice, 1623. The author
and printer was Aristide Torchia, burned by the Holy
Inquisition, together with all his works. Only three copies
survived.
BALKAN One.
CORSO: The catalogs list three copies
surviving in private ownership: the Fargas, the Kessler, and the
Telfer.
BALKAN: True. You've done your homework,
but you're wrong nonetheless. According to all the sources I
myself have consulted, only one is authentic. The author
confessed under torture that he'd hidden one copy. Only one.
CORSO: Well, three are known.
BALKAN: That's the trouble.
CORSO resumes his inspection of the
book.
CORSO: Where did you get it?
BALKAN: I bought it from Telfer.
CORSO (surprised): Telfer?
BALKAN (looking out the window): Yes, he
finally sold it to me. The day before he killed himself.
CORSO: Good timing.
BALKAN ignores this. CORSO turns the
pages with care. He lingers over AN ENGRAVING OF A KNIGHT IN
ARMOR RIDING TOWARD A CASTLE WITH A FINGER TO HIS LIPS as though
enjoining the reader to silence. Below it is a caption. BALKAN
draws closer and reads over CORSO's shoulder:
BALKAN: Nemo pervenit qui non legitime
certaverit.
CORSO: You only succeed if you fight by
the rules?
BALKAN: More or less. Ever heard of the
'Delomelanicon'?
CORSO: Heard of it, yes. A myth, isn't
it? Some horrific book reputed to have been written by Satan
himself.
BALKAN: No myth. That book existed.
Torchia actually acquired it.
He returns to the window overlooking the
sheer drop. Gazing down, he goes on:
BALKAN (cont.): The engravings you're
now admiring were adapted by Torchia from the 'Delomelanicon'.
They're a form of satanic riddle. Correctly interpreted with the
aid of the original text and sufficient inside information,
they're reputed to conjure up the Prince of Darkness in
person.
CORSO: You don't say.
He continues to turn the pages.
BALKAN: Are you a religious man, Corso?
I mean, do you believe in the supernatural?
CORSO: I believe in my percentage. I
also believe that books grow old and decay like the rest of us-
Don't you get dizzy, standing there?
BALKAN continues to stare down at the
nocturnal cityscape. CORSO changes tack.
CORSO (cont.): What the hell do you want
from me, Balkan?
BALKAN leaves the window and confronts
him.
BALKAN: I want you to go to Europe and
play the detective. The other two copies are in Portugal and
France. You must find some way of comparing them with mine:
every page, every engraving, the binding - everything. I'm
convinced that only one can be authentic, and I want to know
which one it is.
CORSO: Could be an expensive trip.
BALKAN takes a folded check from his
pocket and hands it to CORSO, who slips it into his breast
pocket unexamined.
BALKAN: That's to get you started. Spend
what you need.
CORSO: What if I find your copy's a
forgery?
BALKAN stares at him coldly for a
moment.
BALKAN: It's quite on the cards.
CORSO seems mildly surprised. He looks
at the book again, 'listens' to the quality of the paper by
putting his ear to the pages and riffling them with his
thumb.
CORSO: Really? It doesn't appear to be.
Even the paper sounds kosher.
BALKAN: Even so. There may be something
wrong with it.
CORSO continues to examine the book. He
smiles ironically.
CORSO: You mean the Devil won't show
up?
He shuts the book and replaces it on the
lectern.
BALKAN: Don't be flippant. (quotes)
'There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in
your philosophy.'
CORSO: Hamlet believed in ghosts, not
demons.
BALKAN: If all three copies turn out to
be bogus or incomplete, your work will be done. If one of them
proves to be genuine, on the other hand, I'll finance you
further.
CORSO stares at him, then unfolds the
check and glances at the amount - a substantial sum, from the
way he raises his eyebrows.
BALKAN (cont.): 1 shall want you to get
it for me at all costs, never mind how.
CORSO: Never mind how sounds
illegal.
BALKAN: It wouldn't be the first time
you've done something illegal.
CORSO: Not that illegal.
BALKAN: Hence the size of the check. Do
a good job, and I'll double it.
He picks up 'The Nine Gates' and holds
it out. After a moment's hesitation, CORSO replaces the check in
his pocket and takes the book.
BALKAN (cont.): Be careful, Corso.
CORSO: What do you mean? (indicates the
book) With this?
BALKAN: Just be careful.
13. CORSO'S APARTMENT INT/NIGHT
A diminutive kitchenette. CORSO, one
hand wrapped around a Scotch, uses the other to remove a TV
dinner from the freezer compartment of his refrigerator and
insert it in a microwave. He shuts the door, sets the timer, and
strolls out into the living room.
A bleak bachelor pad: no pictures,
ornaments or photographs, just books on every available shelf
and surface. Against one wall, a desk with a computer on it. On
the floor beside the desk, CORSO's shabby canvas bag. On the
desk itself, 'The Nine Gates'.
CORSO goes over to the desk. He stares
down at the book for a long moment, meditatively sipping his
Scotch. Then, without putting his glass down, he opens the book
one-handed and idly turns a few pages, pauses at THE ENGRAVING
OF THE KNIGHT IN ARMOR RIDING TOWARD THE CASTLE.
We slowly MOVE IN until the screen is
filled with an INSERT of the knight with his finger
enigmatically raised to his lips.
14. TELFER HOUSE: SITTING ROOM, LIBRARY
INT/DAY
CORSO, canvas bag on shoulder, is
standing in the middle of a luxuriously furnished sitting room.
The decor, which includes a smiling portrait of Andrew Telfer,
is extremely opulent.
CORSO is looking up at the portrait when
the door opens. He turns to see LIANA TELFER on the threshold
with a business card in her hand. His appreciation of her looks
is evident.
LIANA (whose photoportralt we saw in
Scene 1) is a very sexy, thirtyish blonde with milky skin and a
figure whose generous curves are far from concealed by her ultra
chic black costume. She gives CORSO the once-over, then enters,
closing the door behind her.
CORSO: Mrs. Telfer? (gestures at the
business card) Bob Corso. Sorry to trouble you at a time like
this.
LIANA comes over and sits down on a
sofa, simultaneously motioning CORSO into the armchair that
faces it over a coffee table. She puts his card down, crosses
her lovely legs, and waits.
CORSO sits down with his beg between his
feet. Opening it, he produces 'The Nine Gates'. LIANA
involuntarily stiffens at sight of it.
CORSO (cont.): It would be very helpful,
ma'am, if you could tell me what you know about this book.
He holds it out. After a momentary
pause, LIANA slowly reaches for the book, opens it at random,
turns a page or two. She speaks with a slight French accent.
LIANA (casually): Isn't this one of my
husband's books?
CORSO: Right. It was in his collection
until very recently. He sold it to a client of mine. I'm trying
to authenticate it.
LIANA: He sold it, you say? How strange.
It was one of his most treasured possessions.
CORSO: He never mentioned the sale?
LIANA is fractionally late in answering.
CORSO spots her hesitation.
LIANA: No. It's news to me. Who bought
it?
CORSO: A private collector.
LIANA: May I know his name?
CORSO: I'm afraid that's
confidential.
LIANA: I suppose he has a bill of
sale?
CORSO: No problem there.
LIANA: Is this your job, authenticating
rare books?
CORSO: And tracking them down.
LIANA (smiles): You're a book
detective.
CORSO (smiles back): Kind of. (pause) Do
you recall when and where your husband acquired this book?
LIANA: In Spain. We were vacationing at
Toledo. Andrew got very excited-paid a great deal of money for
it. He was a fanatical collector.
CORSO: So I gather.
LIANA deposits 'The Nine Gates' on the
coffee table and rises.
LIANA: I'll show you.
CORSO rises likewise. Then a thought
strikes him: swiftly retrieving 'The Nine Gates' and his bag, he
stows one in the other as he follows her undulating hips to a
door at the far end of the room, which she opens.
LIANA (cont.): Look.
She walks on ahead into the library in
which Andrew Telfer hanged himself. CORSO is still eyeing her
delectable rear view.
CORSO: Magnificent-
Reluctantly, he drags his eyes away from
LIANA and surveys the crowded shelves.
CORSO (cont.): Really magnificent-
He goes over to inspect the bookshelves.
In passing he glances up at the chandelier, which is still
hanging slightly askew.
LIANA: Andrew used to spend many hours
in here.Too many.
CORSO: Did he ever try it out?
He asks the question with an air of
spurious innocence, looking around the room as he does so. LIANA
frowns.
LIANA: I don't understand.
CORSO (cont.): The book-did he ever use
it to perform some kind of ritual intended to- well. produce a
supernatural effect?
LIANA: Are you serious?
CORSO: Absolutely.
LIANA: A Black Mass, you mean?
CORSO: More or less. An attempt to
conjure up the Devil.
LIANA: Andrew was a trifle eccentric,
Mr. Corso, but he wasn't insane.
She gives a mournful shrug, every inch
the recent widow.
LIANA (cont.): It's true he'd been
acting strangely those last few days. He shut himself up in
here-seldom emerged except for meals.
She draws a deep breath, glances at the
chandelier.
LIANA (cont.): That morning I was woken
by the screams of the maid: he'd hanged himself. (pauses, looks
at CORSO) Whatever he was up to, I certainly can't see him
chanting mumbo-jumbo or trying to raise the dead.
The flippant tone of the last few words
sounds rather forced. CORSO smiles at her faintly over his
glasses, pats his shoulder bag.
CORSO: The Devil, Mrs. Telfer. This book
is designed to raise the Devil.
15. TELFER HOUSE EXT/DAY
CORSO crosses the forecourt to the
street. A man with a MUSTACHE and a scarred face is leaning
against a limo parked outside the house, smoking a small cigar.
They eye each other briefly.
CORSO reaches the sidewalk just as a cab
sails past. He raises his hand too late to flag it down, looks
around for another.
The MUSTACHE's cellphone beeps. He
reaches into the limo and picks up the receiver.
16. REFERENCE LIBRARY INT/DAY
The big reference library is divided up
by freestanding bookshelves and has a gallery running around it
at second-floor level. NUMEROUS READERS are occupying the rows
of tables in the central area.
CORSO is seated at one of the tables
with the 'Nine Gates' in front of him. Beside it reposes a large
catalog and his notebook. The 'Nine Gates' is open at the
frontispiece, which displays the title - 'De Umbrarum Regni
Novem Portis'- and the words 'Sic Luceat Lux' separated by an
emblem consisting of A TREE ENCIRCLED BY A SNAKE DEVOURING ITS
OWN TAIL.
As we MOVE IN ON THE COILED SNAKE, we
hear CORSO translating to himself in a low voice:
CORSO (O.S.): Sic Luceat Lux - Thus -
let the light - shine-
17. REFERENCE LIBRARY INT/DUSK
Many of the tables are now deserted, and
the shaded reading lights have been switched on.
CORSO shuts a catalog and gets up to
replace It in the wall of books behind his chair, runs his
finger along a shelf till he comes to another fat tome and
removes it. He's startled to see, framed in the resulting gap,
the face of THE GIRL at Balkan's lecture: short hair, green,
feline eyes. The face recedes and disappears.
CORSO quickly rounds the end of the
bookshelf: no sign of her. He looks both ways, but the aisles
are deserted. Puzzled, he resumes his seat and opens the second
catalog. Then, sensing that he's being watched, he swings
around.
Nothing outwardly suspicious, just two
BESPECTACLED STUDENTS comparing notes In sibilant whispers. He
looks right: a scattering of READERS. He scans the reading-room
at large: still nothing untoward.
He turns some pages in 'The Nine Gates',
comes to AN ENGRAVING OF A NAKED WOMAN RIDING A SEVEN-HEADED
DRAGON WITH A CASTLE ABLAZE IN THE BACKGROUND. He consults the
second catalog, which displays a small reproduction of the same
scene with text wrapped around it, and jots something down in
his notebook.
Wearily, he straightens and stretches,
removes his glasses, pinches the bridge of his nose. As he Idly
scans the reading room, his astigmatic vision gives him an
unfocused glimpse of THE GIRL looking down at him from the
gallery overhead. By the time he replaces his glasses, she's
gone.
18. CORSO'S APARTMENT HOUSE
EXTINIGHT
It's raining hard. CORSO trudges up the
steps of his brownstone with the canvas bag on his shoulder and
a bag of groceries In his arms.
19. ELEVATOR INT/NIGHT
CORSO rides the elevator up.
20. CORSO'S APARTMENT HOUSE: PASSAGE,
APARTMENT INT/NIGHT
CORSO emerges from the elevator and
walks down the passage to his door. He inserts his key in the
mortice lock and tries to turn it. Nothing doing: It's unlocked
already.
Next, he inserts his key in the second
lock and turns it. Not being double-locked, the door opens at
once. It takes him a moment to digest the significance of this
fact.
Just then he hears a muffled crash from
inside the apartment: a window has been flung open in a hurry.
He bursts into the living room. No one there, but the light is
on. Dropping his shoulder bag and groceries, he dashes into the
bedroom.
The window is open and the curtains are
billowing out into the room. CORSO darts to the window, flings
one leg over the sill and climbs out on the fire escape.
21. FIRE ESCAPE, SIDE STREET.
EXT/NIGHT
Feet can be heard clattering down the
fire escape. CORSO peers over the rail just in time to see a
DARK FIGURE emerge into the side street beneath him and sprint
off through the rain.
CORSO (yells half-heartedly): Hey,
you!
He gives up and climbs back inside.
22. CORSO'S APARTMENT INT/NIGHT
CORSO scans the living room. The only
immediate sign of the intruder's presence is that the chair has
been pulled away from the desk and one of the drawers is
open.
CORSO pushes the chair back into place
and shuts the drawer.
23. BERNIE'S BOOKSTORE INT/DAY
ON 'The Nine Gates' lying open on
BERNIE's desk. He's reverently turning the pages with CORSO at
his elbow.
BERNIE: Son of a bitch- Where did you
get this?
CORSO: Balkan. He wants me to research
it.
BERNIE: Balkan owns a 'Nine Gates'?
CORSO: Recently acquired from the late
lamented Andrew Telfer.
BERNIE: Trust Balkan. What does he need
you for? I don't suppose he plans to sell it.
CORSO: He wants me to compare it with
the other two surviving copies in Portugal and France. I'm off
to Europe.
BERNIE: Compare it?
CORSO: Yeah. Only one of the three is
authentic, he says.
BERNIE: Well, this one looks genuine
enough. Must be worth a million. Jesus! Take good care of
it.
CORSO: That's why I'm here. I need you
to stash it for me. I'm starting to see things.
BERNIE stares at him.
BERNIE: Like what?
CORSO: Uninvited visitors, unfamiliar
faces. I don't trust anyone, not even Balkan. (reflects for a
moment) Come to think of it, I don't even trust you.
BERNIE registers a mixture of affection
and cynicism.
BERNIE: That's mean, buddy. You know I'd
never screw you without a damn good reason: money, women,
business. Anything else, you can relax.
CORSO taps the book with his
forefinger.
CORSO: You'll answer for this with your
balls, Bernie.
BERNIE (still engrossed): Sure, man,
sure. You can castrate me personally.
CORSO: I'll pick it up on my way to the
airport.
BERNIE: No problem.
He continues to pore over the book,
turns another page, reads aloud:
BERNIE (cont.): 'Virtue lies
vanquished', huh? These engravings are terrific.
CORSO (leans over his shoulder): Or
horrific, whichever.
BERNIE nods absently. He smiles to
himself with an air of enchantment.
BERNIE (cont.): Beautiful, just
beautiful-
Visible through the bookstore's
semi-basement windows, the legs of PASSERSBY accelerate as they
scurry past: it has started to rain. A pair of MAN'S LEGS in
dark slacks come to a halt. The butt of a small cigar falls to
the sidewalk, the LEGS walk on. Two WHITE SNEAKERS come into
view. They step on the butt and extinguish it.
24. CORSO'S APARTMENT INT/NIGHT
CORSO is in the bedroom, packing some
articles of clothing and toiletries in a small Samsonlte
suitcase lying open on the bed.
The doorbell rings. Fractionally
startled, CORSO straightens up, dumps a handful of socks on the
bed and goes out into the lobby. He peers through the spyhole:
LIANA TELFER is standing outside.
CORSO pauses for a moment, thinking
hard, then opens the door.
LIANA: May I come in?
CORSO, rather bemused, steps aside and
ushers her in.
CORSO: This way.
He shows her Into the living room. LIANA
starts to unbutton her coat.
CORSO (cont.): Allow me.
He helps her off with her coat and
drapes it neatly over a chair. She's dressed to kill In a black,
lowcut cocktail gown.
LIANA: Thank you.
CORSO: Sit down, won't you?
LIANA sinks gracefully onto the sofa,
taking in the decor of his bachelor apartment as she does
so.
LIANA: I've come to talk business.
CORSO: Great. Everyone's talking
business to me lately.
LIANA takes a slim gold cigarette case
from her purse, extracts a black Russian, and lights it with a
gold Dupont. Meantime:
LIANA: Yesterday, when you came to see
me about that book, I was too surprised to react as I should
have done. I mean, it really was one of Andrew's favorites.
CORSO: So you said.
LIANA: I'd like to get it back.
CORSO: That could be a problem.
LIANA: Not necessarily. it all
depends.
CORSO: On what?
LIANA: On you.
CORSO stares at her, absorbing the lines
of her figure, the slim legs sheathed in sheer, black silk
stockings.
CORSO: I don't understand, Mrs. Telfer.
The book isn't mine to dispose of.
She sits back, showing off her superb
legs to even better advantage.
LIANA: You work for money, I take
it?
CORSO: What else?
LIANA: I have a great deal of money.
CORSO: I'm happy for you.
LIANA: You could stage a theft. I'm sure
your client is well insured.
CORSO: I'm a professional, ma'am.
LIANA: You're a professional mercenary.
Mercenaries work for the highest bidder.
CORSO: I make a living.
LIANA (huskily): I could throw in a
bonus.
CORSO: This has happened before
someplace.
LIANA: I know. In the movies.
CORSO: And she had an automatic in her
stocking top.
CORSO watches, mesmerized, as she
slowly, very slowly, slides her skirt up her thighs to reveal
the creamy flesh between her stocking tops and black lace garter
belt.
LIANA: No automatic.
Just as slowly, she smooths her skirt
down over her thighs.
CORSO swallows hard. He rises and goes
to his drinks corner, a shelf with an array of bottles and
glasses on it. Over his shoulder:
CORSO: Want one?
LIANA: Why not?
CORSO splashes some Scotch into two
tumblers and carries them over to her.
LIANA sits motionless for an instant,
looking up at him. Then, very slowly, she stubs out her
cigarette, extends the same hand, and fondles his crotch.
CORSO, with the tumblers encumbering
both his hands, can only stand there like a bird hypnotized by a
snake. His Adam's apple bobs some more.
Holding his gaze, LIANA withdraws her
hand and rises. They're only inches apart now. She takes one of
the tumblers and clinks it against CORSO'S, then drains it.
CORSO, in a kind of trance, does likewise.
Very deliberately, LIANA relieves him of
his glass and puts it down on the table with hers. Then, cupping
his face between her hands, she proceeds to eat him alive.
CORSO responds. Re pulls up her skirt,
she reaches for his zipper and yanks at it. He bears her
backward and downward onto the sofa. Their bodies coalesce into
a heaving mass. The gown slips down over
LIANA's left shoulder, revealing a small
tattoo in the shape of a snake devouring its own tail.
25. CORSO'S APARTMENT INT/NIGHT
ON LIANA's hand reaching across the
floor for Corso's canvas bag. it gropes in the bag, then inverts
it, spilling the contents: a couple of packs of Luckies, a
notebook, an envelope full of bills, a Swiss Army knife, an
expert's magnifying glass, some pencils, etc.
We discover CORSO and LIANA on the
floor, their clothing dishevelled. CORSO is lying back, still
panting and sweating from his exertions, LIANA is sitting
up.
LIANA: Well, where is it?
CORSO Where's what?
LIANA Don't fuck with me, Corso.
CORSO: I thought that's what we were
doing.
LIANA's eyes narrow. Then, with an
animal cry, she goes for his face with her nails and teeth.
CORSO turns his head away just in time
and scrambles to his feet, pulling up his trousers. LIANA,
beside herself with fury, flies at him with both hands extended
like claws.
He manages to grab her wrists and
immobilize them, so she sinks her teeth in his chest.
With an agonized yell, CORSO releases
her wrists, clasps his chest and staggers back - hardly a
dignified proceeding, because he's hobbled by the trousers that
have slumped around his ankles.
LIANA looks around wildly for a weapon
of some kind, catches sight of the Scotch bottle and seizes it
by the neck.
CORSO, one hand holding his trousers at
half mast, the other raised in supplication, comes shuffling
toward her.
CORSO: Hey, look, be reasonable-
Unmoved, LIANA raises the bottle and
smashes it over his head.
26. CORSO'S APARTMENT INT/NIGHT
CORSO recovers consciousness, gingerly
feels his aching head. Some blood has trickled down his face. He
surveys the room, which is in chaos and has obviously been
ransacked.
He goes into the bathroom and inspects
himself in the mirror, takes a hand towel and gingerly dabs his
scalp.
Holding the towel to his head, he
returns to the living room, where he picks up the phone and
punches out a number. We hear a recorded announcement:
BERNIE (V.O.): Hi, this is Bernie's Rare
Books. I'm not available right now. If you want to leave a
message, please speak after the beep-
CORSO (into phone): Bernie, you there?
Bernie? Pick up!
No response. He replaces the
receiver.
27. BERNIE'S BOOKSTORE EXT/NIGHT
CORSO, bag on shoulder, is lurking in a
doorway across the street from the bookstore. The place looks
silent and deserted, but a dim glow indicates that a light must
be on somewhere inside.
CORSO quits the doorway and hurries
across the street. He walks down the steps to the door and tries
the handle. The door opens.
28. BERNIE'S BOOKSTORE INT/NIGHT .
Only Bernie's desk light is on. No sign
of Bernle himself. CORSO listens intently, looks up at the top
of the spiral staircase, which is in shadow, calls in a low
voice:
CORSO: Bernie?
No response. He listens some more:
nothing but the sound of a passing car.
He makes his way cautiously along the
bookcases and rounds a corner, then stops short with a look of
horror on his face.
BERNIE has been lashed upside down to
the handrail of the spiral staircase. His mouth and eyes are
open, and his battered face is streaked with blood.
CORSO (cont.): Jesus Christ!
He puts out a hand toward BERNIE, but
the man is so obviously dead that he withdraws it. He looks
around in an involuntary, apprehensive way. Then, satisfied that
he's alone, he starts to climb the staircase. Once past BERNIE's
corpse, which he studiously avoids touching, he climbs faster.
The staircase creaks and sways.
Reaching the third tier of bookshelves,
he presses a hidden button. With a faint click, a panel springs
open to disclose a recess filled with books.
CORSO expels a deep breath. There it is,
safe and sound: 'The Nine Gates'. He looks down at BERNIE.
CORSO: Thanks, man- I'm sorry-
29. AIRLINER INT/DAY
CORSO, ensconced in a window seat, is
moodily gazing out at some passing cloud-castles. The sun is
setting.
30. SPANISH AIRPORT INT/NIGHT
The brightly illuminated arrivals hall
is thronged with PASSENGERS in transit.
COP.SO, wearing his overcoat and
carrying his suitcase, threads his way through them with the
canvas bag on his shoulder. Weary and unshaven, he stares
straight ahead with an abstracted expression, adjusts his
glasses.
31. TOLEDO STREET, ALLEYWAY EXT/DAY
CORSO's footsteps echo ans he walks, bag
on shoulder, along one of Toledo's narrow medieval streets. Very
few people to be seen. The sun is shining brightly, but there's
a strong wind blowing.
Rounding a corner, CORSO heads down an
alleyway flanked by scaffolding swathed in protective netting
and blue tarpaulins. it's completely deserted. No sound but that
of canvas billowing in the wind like a ship's sails. He consults
a street sign, turns another corner.
He reaches a doorway leading to an inner
courtyard, bumps into a BOY who comes running out. We hear the
strident cries of a woman.
BOY: S!, si, mama!!!
A flight of steps in one corner of the
courtyard leads down to the basement. CORSO descends them and
stops outside a door. A grimy window beside it serves to display
some old books and religious prints. The sign on the door reads
HERMANOS CENIZA RESTAURACION DE LIBROS. Below it: 'On parle
Francais' and 'English spoken'. CORSO opens the door, which
creaks.
32. CENIZA BROS. WORKSHOP INT/DAY
CORSO enters. A gaunt, bent-backed old
man (PEDRO CENIZA) with a pair of glasses perched on the end of
his big nose looks up from an old hand press. Everything about
him is as gray as the cigarette ash that rains down on his
clothes and the books he's working on. He's a chain-smoker.
PEDRO: Senor.
CORSO: Buenas tardes.
PEDRO: Buenes tardes.
PABLO (O.S.) Buenas tardes.
CORSO turns to see another old man
(PABLO CENIZA) surface from behind some stacks of paper. His
resemblance to PEDRO - bent back, big nose, spectacles - is such
that they can only be twins. PABLO wipes his inky hand on a rag
before shaking CORSO'S. PEDRO follows suit.
CORSO hesitates briefly, taken aback by
this dual apparition. PEDRO and PABLO look him up and down with
their keen, twinkling little eyes. Their movements are slow and
serene, their expression carries a hint of mockery, and they
often exchange knowing smiles. They're so in sync that they
communicate by means of glances and finish off each other's
sentences.
CORSO: You speak English?
They nod simultaneously. He produces
'The Nine Gates' from his shoulder bag.
CORSO (cont.): I'd appreciate your
opinion on this.
PEDRO takes the book with tremulous
hands. PABLO quickly clears away some parchments on the
workbench to make room for it.
Some ash from PEDRO's cigarette falls on
the cover.
PABLO clicks his tongue and blows it
off.
PABLO (reprovingly): What a habit for a
bookbinder! (smiles at CORSO) 'The Nine Gates- ' A superb
edition. Very rare.
PEDRO (opens it): The Telfer copy.
CORSO: You used to own it, right?
PEDRO: We used to, yes.
PABLO: We sold it.
PEDRO: We sold it when the opportunity
presented itself. it was too-
PABLO: ... too good to miss. An
excellent sale.
PEDRO: An excellent buy - impeccable
condition.
PABLO: Impeccable. You are the present
owner?
CORSO: A client of mine.
PABLO (over his glasses): I would never
have believed she would part with it.
CORSO: She?
PABLO (without looking up): Senora
Telfer.
CORSO reaches into his overcoat pocket
and extracts a crumpled cigarette. He's raising it to his lips
when he stops short, produces the equally crumpled pack and
offers it to PEDRO, who has just discarded his butt.
PEDRO helps himself to a Lucky, breaks
off the filter and jams it in his mouth. CORSO lights both of
them.
CORSO 1 understood it was Mr. Telfer
that bought it.
PABLO: He paid for it.
PEDRO: It was the senora who made him
buy it. He did not seem particularly- (glances at PABLO)
PABLO: ..interested.
PEDRO has finished examining the text.
He looks at the spine.
PEDRO: A superb specimen.
CORSO (hesitates briefly): Could it be a
forgery?
PEDRO (suspiciously, almost indignantly)
A forgery? (turns to PABLO) You heard that, Pablo?
PABLO wags his finger reprovingly in
CORSO's face.
PABLO: I took you for a professional,
senor. You speak too lightly of forgeries.
PEDRO: Far too lightly.
PABLO: Forging a book is expensive.
Paper of the period, the right inks- . (makes a dismissive
gesture) Too expensive to be profitable.
PEDRO and PABLO assess the effect of
their words on CORSO, who digests them.
CORSO: I'm aware of all that, but could
some part of it be forged? Restorers have been known to replace
missing pages with pages taken from another copy of the same
edition. Have you never done that yourselves?
The old men look at each other, then
turn to CORSO simultaneously. PEDRO, looking flattered,
nods.
PEDRO: Of course it can be done.
PABLO: It requires great skill,
naturally, but yes, it can be done.
CORSO: Couldn't that be the case
here?
PABLO: What makes you ask?
CORSO: My client wishes to satisfy
himself of the book's authenticity.
The brothers eye each other over their
glasses. CORSO adjusts his own.
CORSO (cont.) : His name is Balkan.
Boris Balkan of New York.
PABLO and PEDRO exchange another glance.
CORSO detects the hint of a smile that passes between them.
PEDRO: All books have a destiny of their
own.
PABLO: Even a life of their own. Senor
Balkan is a noted bibliophile. He's no fool. He must know this
book is authentic.
PEDRO: We know it.
PABLO: So must he.
PEDRO: This book was with us for
years.
PABLO: Many years.
PEDRO: We had ample opportunity to
examine it thoroughly. The printing and binding are superb
examples of 17th century Venetian craftsmanship.
He picks up the book and riffles the
pages under CORSO's nose.
PEDRO (cont.): Finest rag paper,
resistant to the passage of time! None of your modern wood
pulp!
PABLO: Watermarks, identical shades,
ink, type faces- If this is a forgery, or a copy with pages
restored, it's the work of a master.
PEDRO: A master.
CORSO contemplates the brothers with a
smile.
CORSO: Did you study the engravings?
They seem to form a kind of riddle.
PEDRO and PABLO reopen the book and look
at the engravings.
PABLO: Well, yes- (another glance at
PEDRO) Books of this type often contain little puzzles.
PEDRO: Especially in the case of such an
illustrious collaborator.
CORSO looks at PEDRO with sudden
interest, then at the book, then back at PEDRO.
CORSO: Collaborator?
PEDRO shrugs, PABLO refocuses on
CORSO.
PEDRO: You cannot have proceeded very
far with your research. Come, look closely.
He takes a magnifying glass and holds it
over one of the engravings, which shows A HERMIT WITH TWO KEYS
IN HIS HAND AND A DOG AND A LANTERN BESIDE HIM.
A microscopic inscription can be
detected in the bottom right corner.
CORSO bends over it, looking mystified.
PEDRO grows impatient.
PEDRO (cont.): Don't you see? Only seven
of the engravings were signed by Aristide Torchia.
CORSO: And the other two?
PEDRO: This is one of them. Look.
CORSO peers through the magnifying glass
once more.
We see the INSERT 'Invenit L.F.'
CORSO: 'L.F.'? Who's that?
PEDRO: Think.
CORSO: Lucifer?
PEDRO and PABLO chuckle heartily.
PEDRO: You're a clever man, senor.
Torchia was not alone when they burned him alive.
CORSO: But that's absurd! You don't
honestly believe-
PEDRO: The man who wrote this did so in
alliance with the Devil and went to the stake for it. Even Hell
has its heroes, senor.
CORSO looks from one to the other,
trying to figure this out.
33. TOLEDO ALLEYWAY EXT/DAY
CORSO walks back along the narrow
alleyway with the canvas- covered scaffolding. He glances over
his shoulder. Not a soul in sight. The blue canvas flaps in the
wind, the scaffolding creaks and groans. He walks on.
He hears a sudden rending sound, looks
back and up.
There's little time to react: the
scaffolding has come away from its mountings. it's starting to
buckle and fall out into the street.
Desperately, he breaks into a run.
Behind him, collapsing like a house of cards, the mass of canvas
and metal gains on him as he sprints for the end of the alley,
summoning up all his energy for a final burst.
The last of the scaffolding hits the
ground only inches behind him. He looks back at the tangled mass
that has only just failed to engulf him.
34. TRAIN EXT/NIGHT
A train speeds through the darkness.
35. TRAIN: DINING CAR INT/NIGHT
The dining car is deserted save for
CORSO and a STEWARD, who is lolling against the kitchen bulkhead
at the far end.
CORSO, with a coffee cup and a brandy
glass at his elbow, has 'The Nine Gates' lying open in front of
him at THE ENGRAVING OF THE HERMIT WITH THE KEYS, DOG, AND
LANTERN. There's some cigarette ash trapped between the pages.
Smiling faintly, he blows it away. Then he reaches into his bag
for his magnifying glass, pushes up his steel-rimmed specs, and
screws the glass into his eye. He examines the engraving at
close range.
We see again the INSERT of the
inscription 'Invenit L.F.'
CORSO straightens up and removes the
glass from his eye. He finishes his brandy and beckons the
STEWARD.
36. TRAIN: CORRIDOR INT/NIGHT
The clickety-clack of wheels on tracks
swells in volume as CORSO, bag on shoulder, crosses the sliding
floorplates that connect one car to another.
He enters the next corridor and stops
short: there's a lone figure leaning against a window, looking
out: it's THE GIRL we saw at Balkan's lecture: short dark hair,
catlike green eyes, slim, athletic figure, jeans and white
sneakers.
CORSO sets off along the corridor. When
he reaches her, they eye each other's reflections in the
windowpane.
THE GIRL (softly): Hi.
CORSO pauses to look at her, unable to
make up his mind.
CORSO: I've seen you before, haven't
I?
THE GIRL: Have you?
CORSO: Yes, somewhere.
A brief silence.
THE GIRL: Are you traveling in this
car?
CORSO: The next one.
THE GIRL: The sleeper. (smiles) I travel
on the cheap.
CORSO: Are you a student?
THE GIRL: Something like that. (looks
out the window again) I like trains.
CORSO: Me too. What's your name?
THE GIRL: Guess.
CORSO: (shrugs, smiles): Greeneyes.
THE GIRL: That'll do. What's yours?
CORSO: Corso.
THE GIRL: Strange name.
CORSO: Italian. it means 'I run'.
THE GIRL: You don't look like a runner
to me - more the quiet type.
They look at each other's reflections
once more. THE GIRL's gaze is direct and unwavering. CORSO
terminates their encounter with a diffident little nod.
CORSO: Well, have a good trip.
THE GIRL: And you.
CORSO walks on down the corridor.
There's something weird about this chance encounter, but he
can't figure out what.
THE GIRL (cont.): See you around,
maybe.
CORSO pauses and looks back. She's still
leaning against the window, staring out. He nods.
CORSO: Maybe.
37. SINTRA STATION EXT/DAY
It's a damp, gray morning. A sign reads:
'SINTRA'.
CORSO, bag on shoulder and Samsonite
suitcase in hand, gets off the train.
38. QUINTA FARGAS GATEWAY EXT/DAY
One of Sintra's traditional horse-drawn
carriages drops CORSO in front of a massive gateway flanked by
stone walls thick with ivy. Some birds peer down at him from a
branch.
The gateposts are surmounted by two
mildew-covered female busts in gray stone, one of them with its
face obscured by ivy. CORSO contemplates them for a moment, then
pushes open the gate, which squeaks protestingly. Beyond it, a
neglected drive.
39. QUINTA FARGAS: DRIVEWAY, GROUNDS
EXT/DAY
A gray, desolate, infinitely melancholy
scene. Dead leaves litter a gravel driveway flanked by crumbling
statues, some of which have toppled over onto the
long-neglected, weed-infested lawn. CORSO's muffled footsteps
are the only sound.
Near the house is a dried-up,
dilapidated fountain faced with tiles and topped by a mouldering
cherub. The waters of the ornamental pond beside it are dark as
molasses and coated with dead leaves and water lilies.
The Quinta Fargas is a gloomy,
four-square, 18th century mansion. CORSO walks up the steps and
tugs the old-fashioned bellpull. A mournful jangling sound
issues from the recesses of the house. CORSO waits, glances at
his watch.
Echoing footsteps approach. A sound of
bolts being withdrawn, and the door opens to reveal VICTOR
FARGAS. Tall and emaciated as an El Greco saint, he has a
drooping white mustache. His baggy trousers and oversized
woollen sweater contrast with a pair of old but immaculately
polished shoes. His appearance perfectly matches his melancholy
surroundings.
FARGAS: Yes?
CORSO: Bob Corso, Mr. Fargas. (Puts out
his hand) How do you do.
FARGAS hesitates before shaking hands.
Then his face clears.
FARGAS: Corso, ah yes. Please come
in.
40. QUINTA FARGAS: RECEPTION ROOMS,
DRAWING ROOM INT/DAY
FARGAS, who has a slight limp, leads the
way through two reception rooms, once imposing but now entirely
bare and empty. By the dim light that filters through their
dusty windows, CORSO observes the patches on the walls that
indicate the former location of paintings, curtains, pieces of
furniture, etc.
FARGAS: Home, sweet home!
He ushers CORSO into a large but
sparsely furnished drawing room.
FARGAS (cont.): You won't say no to a
brandy, 1 take it?
He goes over to a side table and pours
some cognac into two fine crystal glasses.
CORSO, meantime, is surveying the room.
At the far end, a huge open fireplace. Two ill-assorted
armchairs, a table, a sideboard, some candlesticks, a violin
case - and books. They're neatly stacked on the floor and the
few pieces of furniture. CORSO has just discovered them when
FARGAS comes over with the glasses. He puts his bag down and
takes one.
CORSO: Thanks. (admiringly) Handsome
glasses.
FARGAS: These are the only ones I have
left.
CORSO looks around the room.
CORSO: Must have been a beautiful
place.
FARGAS: it was, but old families are
like ancient civilizations: they wither and die.
He raises his glass in a silent toast.
CORSO reciprocates. FARGAS gestures at the books.
FARGAS (cont.): There they are, eight
hundred and thirty-four of them. A pity you didn't see them in
better times, in their bookcases. I used to have five thousand.
These are the survivors.
CORSO, runs his fingers caressingly over
a book.
CORSO: So this is the Fargas collection.
Not quite as I imagined it.
FARGAS: C'est la vie, my friend. But I
keep them in perfect condition, safe from damp, light, heat and
rats. I dust and air them every day. it's all I do do, in
fact.
CORSO: What happened to the rest?
FARGAS: Sacrificed in a good cause. I
had to sell them to preserve the others. Five or six books a
year. Almost all the proceeds go to the state in taxes.
CORSO: Why don't you sell up?
FARGAS: Sell the Fargas family estate?
it's obvious you're an American, my friend. There are things you
can't be expected to understand.
CORSO continues to survey the books,
fascinated.
CORSO: If you sold all these your
financial problems would be over- (picks up a book and examines
it) Look at this, Poliphilo, for example: a real gem!
He replaces it. FARGAS leans over and
carefully adjusts the book until it's precisely in its original
position.
FARGAS: I know, but if I sold them all
I'd have no reason to go on living. More brandy?
He heads for the bottle on the side
table without waiting for a reply.
CORSO: What about 'The Nine Gates'?
FARGAS (puzzled): What about it?
CORSO: That's why I'm here.. I told you
on the phone.
FARGAS: The phone? (pause) Yes, of
course, I remember now. Forgive me. Of course, 'The Nine
Gates'.
He looks around several times as if
trying to collect his thoughts, drains his cognac, and limps
over to some books on a rug near the fireplace. FARGAS and CORSO
kneel on the rug side by side. CORSO examines the books, which
all deal with magic, alchemy and demonology.
FARGAS (cont.): Well, what do you
think?
CORSO: Not bad.
FARGAS: Not bad indeed. These I will
never sell. At least tan of them are exceedingly rare. Look,
Plancy's 'Dictionary of Hell', first edition, 1842, Leonardo
Fioravanti's 'Compendi di Secreti' of 1571- But this is what
interests you, no?
He picks up a black book with a gold
pentacle on the cover - the second copy of 'The Nine Gates' -
and holds it out. CORSO takes it carefully and gets to his feet.
FARGAS rises too.
FARGAS (cont.): There it is, in perfect
condition. it has travelled the world for three-and-a-half
centuries, yet it might have been printed yesterday.
CORSO takes the book over to a window.
FARGAS follows.
CORSO: Is it in order? You haven't
detected anything unusual?
FARGAS: Unusual? No. The text is
complete, the engravings too. Nine plus the title page, just as
the catalogs state - just like the Kessler in Paris and the
Telfer in New York.
CORSO: it Isn't the Telfer anymore.
Telfer killed himself, but he sold his copy to Balkan first.
FARGAS: Balkan- If he sets his heart on
a book, no price is too high-
He reflects for a moment, shaking his
head and staring at the floor.
FARGAS (cont.): it's strange he should
have sent you here, if he already-
He breaks off as If something has just
occurred to him. He points to CORSO's bag.
FARGAS (cont.): You have it with you?
May I see it?
CORSO fetches the book, and they go over
to a table. FARGAS places the two copies side by side, bends
over them.
FARGAS (cont.): Superb, beautiful,
identical. Two of the only three that escaped the flames,
reunited for the first time in over three centuries.
The shadows are lengthening. FARGAS
reverently turns the pages of each book In turn, caresses the
yellowing paper with his fingertips.
FARGAS (cont.): Look at this
imperfection In the fourth line here - the damaged S. The same
type, the same impression.
He turns both copies of 'The Nine Gates'
over to reveal their backboards.
FARGAS (cont.): You see? If it weren't
for this slight discoloration on the back of my copy, one
couldn't tell them apart.
CORSO: If it's all right with you, I'd
like to stay awhile and study them in detail.
FARGAS (eyes him keenly): What are you
looking for, Mr. Corso?
CORSO: I wish I knew.
FARGAS looks suddenly grave.
FARGAS: Some books are dangerous. Not to
be opened with impunity.
CORSO (with equal gravity): Very
true.
41. QUINTA FARGAS: DRAWING ROOM
INT/DUSK
A fire is burning on the hearth. FARGAS,
seated at a window, is practicing the violin. He repeats the
same short piece over and over again, occasionally pausing to
take a sip of brandy.
CORSO Is sitting at a table with both
copies of 'The Nine Gates' open in front of him at the engraving
of THE KNIGHT WITH A FINGER TO HIS LIPS. CORSO compares the two
copies with the aid of his magnifying glass. They look
identical.
CORSO turns over several pages in each
book until he comes to THE HERMIT WITH THE KEYS, DOG, AND
LANTERN. He compares the two copies. Again, no apparent
difference.
He proceeds to a third engraving: A
WAYFARER APPROACHING A BRIDGE WITH TWO GATE TOWERS AND AN
ANGELIC ARCHER IN THE CLOUDS OVERHEAD. Another seemingly
identical pair. Then he stops short and returns to the second
engraving. it looks the same, but-
Then he spots it: in Balkan's copy the
keys are In the Hermit's right hand, in Fargas's copy In his
left!
Fascinated by this discovery, CORSO
peers closely at each signature In turn. Balkan's reads 'A.T.',
Fargas's- 'L.F.'
CORSO turns to an engraving of A JESTER
OUTSIDE A MAZE WITH TWO ENTRANCES. Comparison of the two copies
reveals that in Fargas's copy one of the doorways is open; in
Balkan's it's bricked up. The signatures, too, vary: 'A.T.' in
one, 'L.F.' in the other.
CORSO (excitedly, under his breath): Now
we're getting somewhere ...
An old-fashioned telephone bell starts
ringing in the bowels of the house. CORSO looks up.
FARGAS doesn't hear the bell
immediately. He plays on for a bar or two, then pauses and
listens with his head cocked. The telephone continues to ring.
His chair scrapes the floorboards as he gets to his feet. He
puts the violin down and limps out.
42. QUINTA FARGAS: DRAWING ROOM
INT/NIGHT
CORSO's open notebook now displays a
chart consisting of two horizontal rows of nine boxes. One row
is marked 'BALKAN', the other 'FARGAS'.
CORSO is busy filling In the boxes with
either 'A.T.' or 'L.F.'
FARGAS reappears. He gives CORSO a
friendly nod, returns to the window and launches Into the same
old piece on his violin.
CORSO has now filled in all the boxes.
He studies them for a moment, then rings all the 'L.F.'s in
red.
43. QUINTA FARGAS: GATEWAY, ROAD
EXT/NIGHT
Under an owl's vigilant gaze, CORSO
shuts the gate. His breath Is visible as steam In the chilly
night air. After a last backward look at the statue-bordered
driveway and the neglected garden, he turns up his overcoat
collar, settles his bag on his shoulder, and sets off down the
road toward the lights of Sintra, which are visible in the
distance. His footsteps re-echo from the wall that bounds the
Fargas property.
Then it happens: he hasn't gone far when
two headlights snap on behind him. Simultaneously, the car
starts up and takes off with a squeal of tires.
CORSO spins around. He stands there
transfixed for a moment, then dodges behind a projecting
buttress as the car hurtles past, missing him by a whisker.
The car, a big dark sedan, skids to a
halt some twenty yards away. The driver' s door opens and A TALL
MAN gets out. He momentarily hesitates when he sees CORSO still
on his feet.
Just then we hear a motor vehicle - a
noisy one - rounding the next bend. The TALL MAN is captured by
a beam of light. CORSO has seen him before: it's the
MUSTACHE.
The MUSTACHE decides to beat it. He
dives back Into the car and takes off fast.
CORSO, trembling with shock, watches the
tail lights recede and disappear. The sound of the approaching
vehicle increases in volume. CORSO turns to stare at it.
Wobbling unsteadily along the road comes
a lone PEASANT astride a ramshackle motorbike with a blown
exhaust. The PEASANT honks as he goes by. CORSO retrieves his
bag from the roadside.
44. SINTRA HOTEL EXT/NIGHT
CORSO enters a small hotel.
45. SINTRA HOTEL: RECEPTION, LOUNGE
INT/NIGHT
CORSO, still looking pretty rocky,
collects his key from the reception desk and sets off In the
direction of the elevator.
Visible in the background Is the hotel
lounge. TWO ELDERLY FEMALE TOURISTS, possibly retired English
schoolmarms, are quietly conversing at one table while AN
OVERWEIGHT GERMAN COUPLE sip cocktails at another.
CORSO, idly scanning the lounge as he
makes for the elevator, stops short: a pair of legs In jeans and
white sneakers are jutting from an inglenook fireplace in the
far corner. He goes over to investigate.
THE GIRL Is snuggled up In an armchair
with a book on her lap. He hesitates for a moment. She looks
up.
CORSO: Hi. You didn't say you were bound
for Sintra.
THE GIRL: Neither did you.
CORSO: What are you doing here?
THE GIRL Reading.
CORSO: I can see that.
THE GIRL: And bumping into people
unexpectedly.
CORSO: Unexpectedly is right.
THE GIRL: Are you on a business trip?
(indicates his shoulder bag) Is that why you always carry that
thing around?
CORSO doesn't answer, adjusts his
glasses. inquiringly at her book.
THE GIRL hands it to him. We see the
title: 'The Devil in Love' by Jacques Cazotte.
CORSO: You like Gothic novels?
THE GIRL: I like books. I never travel
without one.
CORSO: Been traveling long?
THE GIRL: Ages.
CORSO eyes her, intrigued. She uttered
the word in the simple, natural way that characterizes all her
behavior.
CORSO: You said you were a student?
THE GIRL: Did I? (shrugs) So I am. In a
way.
CORSO shakes his head and smiles. He's
getting nowhere fast.
THE HOTEL PORTER appears at his
elbow.
HOTEL PORTER: Excuse me, senhor. Phone
call.
CORSO (surprised): For me? Are you
sure?
HOTEL PORTER: Sim, senhor.
He withdraws. CORSO turns back to THE
GIRL.
CORSO: Well, sorry I disturbed you.
He hands back the book and turns to
go.
46. SINTRA HOTEL: PHONE BOOTH
INT/NIGHT
CORSO picks up the receiver with a
puzzled frown. He gestures
CORSO: Yes?
BALKAN (V.O.): Mr. Corso?
CORSO (startled): Balkan? How did you
find me?
BALKAN (V.O.): Made any progress?
CORSO: Progress? You could call it
that.
BALKAN (V.O.): Well?
CORSO: I've examined the Fargas copy.
it's authentic. At least it looks that way. Like yours. But
there are discrepancies.
BALKAN (V.O.): Discrepancies?
CORSO: In the engravings. Like keys in
different hands, doorways open In one copy and bricked up In the
other.
BALKAN (V.O.): 1 see.
CORSO: And there's another thing.
BALKAN (V.O.): Yes?
CORSO: The ones that differ are ail
signed 'L.F.' Seems like some kind of riddle.
A long pause.
CORSO (cont.): Are you still there?
Where are you, anyway?
BALKAN (V.O.): I think you'd better get
it for me.
CORSO: The old man wouldn't sell it to
save his life - he said as much.
Another long pause.
CORSO (cont.): Balkan?
A click, and the line goes dead.
47. SINTRA HOTEL: CORSO'S ROOM
INT/DAWN
The curtains are drawn, but there's
light enough for us to see CORSO lying fast asleep on his back
in bed, one limp arm trailing over the edge.
A knock at the door. He grunts and props
himself on one elbow.
CORSO (sleepily): Just a minute.
He rolls out of bed and wraps the
bedspread around his waist. Then he opens the door and stands
there, a tousled figure with Liana's teeth marks clearly visible
on his chest. THE GIRL is outside.
THE GIRL: You left your phone off the
hook.
CORSO: Jesus- (peers blearily at his
watch): What time is it?
THE GIRL: Early, but you have to go.
CORSO (bewildered): Go where, for God's
sake?
THE GIRL: The Fargas place.
CORSO is at first too bemused to find it
odd that she should know the name.
CORSO: Fargas? I already saw Fargas.
THE GIRL: I think you should see him
again.
CORSO: What is this, a practical joke?
Who the hell are you? What do you know about Fargas?
THE GIRL: Better get dressed. I'll wait
for you downstairs.
48. QUINTA FARGAS: DRIVEWAY, HOUSE
EXT/DAY
CORSO and THE GIRL are walking in
silence up the driveway, with its carpet of dead leaves and
avenue of crumbling statues. He eyes her, mystified, as she
strides briskly along with a blue duffel coat over her usual
attire. The early morning mist is dispersing.
With another look at THE GIRL, who
remains standing at the foot of the steps, CORSO goes up to the
front door and yanks at the bellpull, producing the same muffled
jangling sound as before.
THE GIRL: Don't bother. He isn't
there.
CORSO (sarcastically): Really. So where
is he?
THE GIRL: Over there.
She points in the direction of the
ornamental pond. CORSO stares at her, then walks over to it and
freezes: VICTOR FARGAS's corpse is floating face up among the
dead leaves and lily pads. An empty brandy bottle is floating
alongside.
CORSO (mutters): God Almighty!
He emerges from his stupor and walks
back to THE GIRL, who's still standing outside the front door.
Ignoring her, he tries the handle, but it's bolted.
THE GIRL: You want to get inside?
CORSO nods wordlessly, too shocked to
bandy words with her.
THE GIRL looks up at the facade. Then,
with unsuspected agility, she shins up a drainpipe beside the
door and climbs onto the balcony above it. One of the French
windows is broken. She reaches inside, releases the catch, and
disappears from view.
CORSO waits, casting occasional glances
at the ornamental pond and its occupant.
There's the rattle of a bolt being
withdrawn, and THE GIRL opens the front door from the
inside.
CORSO: Wait here.
He enters the house.
49. QUINTA FARGAS: RECEPTION ROOMS,
DRAWING ROOM INT/DAY
CORSO traverses the empty reception
rooms and reaches the drawing room. His foot crunches on
something as he crosses it on his way to the rug on which the
occult books were stacked: it's the remains of one of Fargas's
treasured brandy glasses. He pauses for long enough to identify
it, then walks on.
The books are lying scattered across the
rug: no sign of 'The Nine Gates'.
CORSO: Shit! Shit, shit!!!
He looks around helplessly. Then he sees
it: the last of the fire is still smoldering on the hearth, and
lying open among the ashes, charred around the edges, is
Fargas's 'Nine Gates'.
He picks up,the mutilated volume, looks
at it for a moment, ruefully shaking his head, and stows it in
his canvas bag.
50. QUINTA FARGAS EXT/DAY
CORSO emerges from the house.
THE GIRL: Well, did you find it?
CORSO: You know too damned much. More
than I do. Why do you keep following me around? What are you, a
groupie or something? IRS, CIA, Interpol? Who are you working
for?
THE GIRL: You're wasting time, asking
all these questions. We'd better get out of here. There's a
flight from Lisbon to Paris at noon. We should just make it.
CORSO: What's with the 'we'?
THE GIRL: There are two of us, aren't
there?
51. AIRLINER CABIN INT/DAY
A sunlit mountainscape of dazzling white
cloud glides past the window beside which THE GIRL is drowsing
with her head on CORSO's shoulder. The cabin is bathed in milky
radiance, the atmosphere is tranquil and soothing.
CORSO looks down at THE GIRL.
CORSO: Somebody's playing a game with
me.
THE GIRL (drowsily): Of course. You're a
part of it.
CORSO: What exactly happened back
there?
THE GIRL: Fargas caught someone
stealing, I guess.
CORSO: And what do you guess happened to
him?
THE GIRL simply): He drowned.
CORSO: With a little help from who?
THE GIRL (shrugs): He's dead. Who
cares?
CORSO: I care. I could wind up the same
way.
THE GIRL: Not with me around to take
care of you.
CORSO: I see. You're my guardian
angel.
THE GIRL: Something like that.
She removes her head from his shoulder,
turns away, and snuggles up against the window instead.
52. PARIS AIRPORT ARRIVALS HALL
INT/DAY
CORSO makes his way across the bustling
arrivals hall. THE GIRL, now with a backpack slung over her blue
duffel coat, is trailing along in his wake. He glances back at
her occasionally.
The PASSENGERS slow as they reach the
bottleneck at immigration control. CORSO, shuffling along in
line, takes out his US passport in readiness to show it. He
looks around for THE GIRL, but there's no sign of her.
53. PARIS HOTEL EXT/DAY
A taxi drops CORSO in front of a modest
but respectable three- star hotel. He hands some money through
the driver's window and heads for the entrance.
54. PARIS HOTEL: LOBBY, RECEPTION DESK
INT/DAY
CORSO walks up to the reception desk,
which is presided over by a desk clerk (GRUBER). A short, squat
reincarnation of Erich von Stroheim, he wears his uniform like a
Prussian grenadier.
CORSO: Hello, Gruber.
GRUBER looks up, acknowledges CORSO's
presence with a curt, faintly military inclination of the
head.
GRUBER: Welcome, Mr. Corso. Delighted to
see you again. (consults his computer screen) We don't have any
vacancies, but I'm sure I'll be able to organize something.
CORSO: Thank you, Gruber.
Discreetly, he slides a 100 franc bill
across the desk. GRUBER makes it vanish with elegant alacrity
and smiles - almost.
GRUBER Thank you, sir.
55. PARIS HOTEL: CORSO'S ROOM
INT/DAY
A bottle of Scotch and a glass repose on
a small desk, likewise Balkan's 'Nine Gates' and Fargas's
charred copy. A Lucky is smouldering in the ashtray beside
them.
CORSO is turning the pages of what
remains of Fargas's copy. He pauses at a page of text bearing a
distinctive ornamental capital, peers at the gutter, and detects
that the page facing it has been torn out. Thoughtfully, he runs
his finger along the rough edge. Then he opens Balkan's copy at
the same place.
What is missing from the charred copy is
the engraving of THE HERMIT WITH THE KEYS, DOG, AND LANTERN.
CORSO takes a pull at his Scotch and
leans back with the Lucky between his lips, thinking hard. Then
he glances at his watch and stands up.
56. PONT DES ARTS EXT/DAY
It's a fine day. CORSO, canvas bag on
shoulder as usual, is striding across the bridge toward the Left
Bank.
57. KESSLER BUILDING EXT/DAY
CORSO walks up to the entrance of a
tall, well-preserved old building overlooking the Seine.
58. KESSLER BUILDING INT/DAY
A grim-faced CONCIERGE is sitting in her
cubby-hole. She eyes CORSO inquiringly.
CONCIERGE: Monsieur?
CORSO: The Kessler Foundation.
CONCIERGE Dernia re astage.
She jerks her head in the direction of
an old-fashioned elevator like a gilded cage.
59. KESSLER BUILDING: LOBBY INT/DAY
The SECRETARY is a big-bosomed,
middle-aged woman with hornrims and scraped-back hair. She looks
up at CORSO with an inquisitorial air.
CORSO: Bob Corso. I have an appointment
with Baroness Kessler.
Having consulted her appointments book
and her watch, the SECRETARY rises. She speaks with a French
accent.
SECRETARY: This way.
She walks ahead of CORSO down a panelled
corridor and stops outside a heavy wooden door.
SECRETARY (cont.): You have thirty
minutes.
She knocks on the door and opens it.
60. KESSLER BUILDING: OFFICE, LIBRARY
INT/DAY
A spacious room filled with luxuriant
potted plants. Beside the window, a large desk. covered with
papers and books, some of them open. CORSO follows the SECRETARY
in. BARONESS KESSLER, an elegant little white-haired old lady
with a Hermes scarf draped around her shoulders, turns her
electric wheelchair to face him. She speaks with a pronounced
German accent.
BARONESS KESSLER: Mr. Corso? Come in.
I've heard a great deal about you.
She approaches with her left hand
extended. We see that her right arm has been amputated at the
elbow.,
CORSO: Nothing good, I hope.
They shake hands.
BARONESS KESSLER (to the SECRETARY):
Merci, Simone (to CORSO): You hope right.
The SECRETARY exits, closing the door
behind her.
CORSO (dryly.): I'm reassured, Baroness.
In my trade, to be spoken well of can be professionally
disastrous.
He surveys the room. Visible through
some open double doors on the right is a vast library. He
focuses on it. BARONESS KESSLER follows the direction of his
gaze.
BARONESS KESSLER: Yes, there it is: the
Kessler Collection.
CORSO: Very impressive too. I know your
catalog almost by heart.
BARONESS KESSLER: Strange we haven't met
before. Your name is a byword among dealers and collectors but I
imagine you know your own reputation better than I do.
CORSO: It keeps the wolf from the door.
(smiles to change the subject) Were you in the middle of
something?
BARONESS KESSLER beckons him over to the
desk. CORSO looks at the array of books and papers. An elegant
fountain pen lies on top of some handwritten notes.
BARONESS KESSLER: My latest work: 'The
Devil: History and Myth' - a kind of biography. It will be
published early next year.
CORSO: Why the Devil?
BARONESS KESSLER (laughs): I saw him one
day. I was fifteen years old, and I saw him as plain as I see
you now: cutaway, top hat, cane. Very elegant, very handsome. It
was love at first sight.
COP.SO chuckles, doing his best to charm
the old lady.
CORSO: Three hundred years ago they'd
have burned you at the stake for saying that.
BARONESS KESSLER: Three hundred years
ago I wouldn't have said it.
They both laugh.
BARONESS KESSLER (cont.) Nor would I
have made a million by writing about it. (abruptly businesslike)
What is it you wish to discuss, Mr. Corso?
COP.SO (adjusts his glasses): There's a
book in your collection I'd like to examine.
She smiles as if that were already
obvious.
COP.SO (cont.): It's 'The Book of the
Nine Gates of the Kingdom of Shadows'.
BARONESS KESSLER (unsurprised): The Nine
Gates? An interesting work. Everyone's been asking about it
lately.
CORSO (stiffens almost imperceptibly):
Really?
BARONESS KESSLER eyes him for a
moment.
BARONESS KESSLER: Come with me.
Swinging her wheelchair around, she
steers it toward the double doors and into the library beyond
them. CORSO follows.
CORSO (cont.): You really believe in the
Devil, Baroness?
BARONESS KESSLER: Enough to devote my
life and my library to him, not to mention many years of work.
Don't you?
CORSO: Everyone's been asking me that
lately.
BARONESS KESSLER looks mildly amused.
She sends her wheelchair gliding over to a bookshelf and removes
the third copy of 'The Nine Gates'.
BARONESS KESSLER: This book demands a
certain amount of faith.
CORSO: My faith is in short supply.
They both go over to a small table in
the centre of the room. BARONESS KESSLER opens the book and
turns a few pages. There are handwritten slips of paper inserted
throughout.
BARONESS KESSLER: I know this book
extremely well. I studied it for years.
CORSO: Do you have any doubts about its
authenticity?
BARONESS KESSLER (glances at him
suspiciously): None whatever.
CORSO: You're sure?
BARONESS KESSLER: My knowledge of this
book is profound. 1 wrote a biography of its author.
CORSO: Aristide Torchia?
BARONESS KESSLER: A courageous man. He
died for the sake of this very book in 1623. He had spent many
years in Prague, a centre of the occult. While there he studied
the black arts and acquired a copy of the dread 'Delomelanicon'.
This is his adaptation of that work, which was written by
Lucifer himself. After they burned him at the stake, a secret
society was founded to perpetuate its memory and preserve its
secrets: the Brotherhood.
CORSO: The Brotherhood?
BARONESS KESSLER: Yes, a kind of
witches' coven. For centuries they have met to read from this
book and worship the Prince of Darkness. Today they've
degenerated into a social club for bored millionaires. I myself
belonged to the Brotherhood many years ago, but time is too
precious at my age. I told them to go to the Devil. She titters
at her own little joke.
CORSO: They still meet?
BARONESS CORSO: Every year.
CORSO: And you say they read from this
book?
He stares from the book to BARONESS
KESSLER.
BARONESS KESSLER: No, I took mine back
when Liana Telfer acquired the one in Toledo. Victor Fargas is
an unbeliever - he has always refused to participate, so
naturally they use the Telfer copy. Not that it has ever worked.
(pause) They never do, to be honest.
CORSO: So Andrew Telfer never took
part?
BARONESS KESSLER: Never. He knew nothing
of these activities until that creature Liana de Saint-Damien
married him for money. She used his dollars to buy the book and
renovate her chateau. An old and aristocratic family, the
Saint-Damiens, but penniless. They have dabbled in witchcraft
for hundreds of years.
CORSO: Telfer hanged himself last
week.
A brief silence. She looks stunned for a
moment.
BARONESS KESSLER: I see. And Fargas?
CORSO looks at her impassively.
CORSO: He was alive the last time we
spoke.
BARONESS KESSLER: When was that?
CORSO Two days ago.
BARONESS KESSLER digests this, looks at
him keenly.
BARONESS KESSLER: Who exactly are you
working for, Mr. Corso?
CORSO: My client's name is irrelevant,
Baroness. I'm simply trying to authenticate his copy - the one
Telfer sold him before he died.
BARONESS KESSLER (catches on): How
stupid of me! I should have guessed!
Angry now, she swings her wheelchair
around to face him full on.
BARONESS KESSLER (cont.): You've
outstayed your welcome, Mr. Corso.
CORSO: I was hoping to examine your copy
in detail.
BARONESS KESSLER: Certainly not. Tell
your client, who can only be Boris Balkan, to come and examine
it himself - if he dares. Tell him not to send any more wolves
in sheeps' clothing. And now, kindly leave.
Sternly, she points to the door with her
stump. Her wheelchair hums as she shepherds CORSO out through
the office. He opens the door to the corridor.
BARONESS KESSLER (cont.) You don't know
what you're getting yourself into, Mr. Corso. Get out before
it's too late.
CORSO: I'm afraid it already is,
Baroness.
BARONESS KESSLER: Some books are
dangerous, and this is one.
CORSO (smiles wryly): So people keep
telling me. Thanks s for your time.
BARONESS KESSLER watches him exit. He's
hardly out the door when she picks up the phone.
61. KESSLER BUILDING: LOBBY
INT/EVENING
CORSO walks back along the corridor. The
SECRETARY, who has been peeling an orange, unsuccessfully hides
it below desk level and gives him a curt nod as he passes.
62. KESSLER BUILDING, RIVERSIDE STREET
EXT/EVENING
CORSO emerges from the building. As he
does so he catches sight of the MUSTACHE leaning against the
parapet of the riverside promenade across the way.
The MUSTACHE stiffens and straightens
up. CORSO, with one eye on him, starts walking. The MUSTACHE
starts walking too, keeps level with him on the other side of
the street.
CORSO comes to a cafe. For want of a
better idea, he goes inside.
63. CAFE/RIVERSIDE STREET
INT/EXT/EVENING
CORSO sits down at a table, orders a
drink. Looking out the caf& window, he sees the MUSTACHE
leaning against the parapet in his former pose, watching.
The MUSTACHE lights a small cigar
without taking his eyes off CORSO.
64. CAFE/RIVERSIDE STREET
INT/EXT/NIGHT
CORSO is still sitting at his table,
which now has several checks on it. The lights come on, blotting
out his view of the street through the window. All he can now
see is a reflection of the c'fe's interior, including his own
seated figure. He drums on the table irresolutely, glances at
his watch, deliberates.
He can't postpone the moment of decision
any longer. He adds up his checks and puts some money on the
table. Then, settling his bag on his shoulder, he makes for the
door. He peers across the street, sees no sign of the Mustache,
and exits.
65. RIVERSIDE STREET, SEINE QUAYSIDE
EXT/NIGHT
CORSO emerges from the cafe. Still no
sign of the Mustache. He sets of falong the sidewalk, glancing
across the street as he does so. Then, over his shoulder, he
catches sight of a car with dipped headlights - a dark-colored
sedan - crawling along the curb some twenty yards behind
him.
On impulse, he darts across the street
to the riverside promenade and dashes down the flight of steps
that leads to the quay.
The car's headlights blaze up. it
accelerates, tires squealing, and swerves across the one-way
street in pursuit.
66. SEINE QUAYSIDE, PROMENADE
EXT/NIGHT
CORSO races down the steps, hears the
car skid to a halt, and sprints off along the quay with his
overcoat flapping and the shoulder bag bumping against his
flank. it's misty down on the quayside, and the streetlights
cast a yellowish glow that hinders visibility rather than helps
it.
A couple of hundred yards along the quay
he runs out of steam and slows, turns to look: no sign of the
Mustache, no sound of pursuing footsteps. Relieved but still
wary, he leans against the embankment wall to catch his breath
and light a cigarette. Then, with a final backward look, he
walks on to the next flight of steps.
He's halfway up them when the MUSTACHE,
a tall, menacing figure, appears at the top. He turns to flee,
but the MUSTACHE is too quick for him. He darts down the steps
and punches his retreating figure behind the ear. CORSO misses
the last couple of steps and lands face down on the
quayside.
The MUSTACHE is on him in a flash. He
bends down and yanks the strap of the bag off his shoulder.
CORSO resists, hugs the bag protectively, gets kicked in the
stomach, doubles up and hangs on for dear life.
As he lies there with the MUSTACHE
kicking him repeatedly and tugging at the strap, he sees,
silhouetted against the yellowish, misty glow of the nearest
streetlight, a ghostly figure flying down the steps: It's THE
GIRL, with her duffel coat streaming out behind her like
Superman's cape.
The MUSTACHE has finally gotten the bag
away from CORSO. Just as he straightens up and turns to go, THE
GIRL performs a flying leap and kicks him in the solar plexus.
He grunts and goes sprawling on his back, dropping the bag.
THE GIRL is stooping to retrieve the bag
when the MUSTACHE scrambles to his feet and lunges at her. He
throws a punch at her head. Although she neutralizes most of its
force by riding it, he catches her a glancing blow on the
nose.
THE GIRL reacts like lightning, kicks
him in the balls. He yelps and goes into a crouch. Then, with a
spin kick, she floors him once more. He lies there, spitting
blood and glaring up at her. She seems to have knocked the fight
out of him at last.
With one wary eye on the MUSTACHE, THE
GIRL picks up the shoulder bag and turns to CORSO, who's
struggling to his feet.
Beyond her, he sees the MUSTACHE get up
and make for the steps.
CORSO: Hey, he's getting away!
THE GIRL merely turns to look. CORSO
sets off after the MUSTACHE, who has already started up the
steps, and just manages to grab one of his legs. The MUSTACHE
kicks @ self free and continues up the steps with CORSO clumsily
following a few feet behind.
Waiting at the top of the steps, engine
idling and passenger door open, is the dark sedan, a Mercedes.
CORSO reaches street level in time to catch a glimpse of the
glamorous blonde behind the wheel: it's LIANA TELFER. The
MUSTACHE jumps in and slams the door. The car burns rubber as it
accelerates away.
THE GIRL calmly climbs the last few
steps with CORSO, a beg in one hand and his glasses in the
other. She hands them to him.
THE GIRL: They're broken. You should be
more careful.
CORSO, leaning back against the
promenade wall and breathing heavily, stares at her with his
mouth open. He slides down the wall and subsides into a sitting
position on the sidewalk.
67. RIVERSIDE STREET EXT/NIGHT
CORSO, one lens of his glasses cracked,
is still sitting on the sidewalk with his back against the wall.
THE GIRL is sitting beside him.
He produces a crumpled Lucky and lights
it. it takes him quite a while, his hands are shaking so
badly.
THE GIRL's nose is bleeding. She wipes
it on her sleeve. CORSO produces a handkerchief as crumpled as
his cigarette and hands it to her.
CORSO: When did you learn all that?
THE GIRL: What?
CORSO aims a feeble kick in the air.
CORSO: That stuff.
THE GIRL (casually): Oh, ages ago.
CORSO: No shit.
THE GIRL gets up and holds out her hand.
CORSO takes it and rises with an effort. He flicks his cigarette
over the parapet.
They walk off along the promenade side
by side.
68. PARIS HOTEL: LOBBY, RECEPTION DESK
INT/NIGHT
CORSO goes up to the reception desk,
where GRUBER is on duty.
CORSO: I need a favor, Gruber.
GRUBER looks up, registers his broken
glasses and dishevelled condition. THE GIRL is standing in the
background.
GRUBER: Certainly, Mr. Corso.
CORSO: Liana Telfer, maiden name
Saint-Damien. Thirtyish, blond, dishy. Probably accompanied by a
big man with a Clark Gable mustache.
Impassive as ever, GRUBER make some
notes on a pad.
CORSO (cont.): I want to know if they're
staying at some hotel here in Paris.
GRUBER: It could take a little time.
CORSO: Of course. Start with the
five-stars. They're the best bet.
GRUBER: Very good, sir. (pause) Are you
feeling all right?
CORSO: I've felt better. Thanks, Gruber.
Let me know if you locate them.
GRUBER watches CORSO and THE GIRL walk
to the elevators.
69. PARIS HOTEL: BEDROOM INT/NIGHT
CORSO is filling a plastic laundry bag
with ice from a tray in the minibar.
THE GIRL is sitting on the bed with her
head tilted back and a bloodstained handkerchief to her nose.
The bedside light bathes the room in a subdued glow.
CORSO: Here, hold this against your neck
and lie back.
He sits down beside her and hands her
the improvised ice pack. She applies it to the nape of her neck,
lies back and shuts her eyes.
CORSO (cont.): You were great down there
by the river. I haven't really thanked you.
She opens her eyes and smiles at
him.
CORSO (cont.): Like to tell me what's
going on?
THE GIRL (shrugs faintly): Someone's
after your book.
CORSO: They didn't have to kill Fargas
to get it. They didn't have to mutilate his copy, either. They
tore out the engravings and ditched the rest. There's got to be
more to it than that.
Her nose has stopped bleeding.
THE GIRL: Do you believe in the Devil,
Corso?
CORSO: I'm being paid to. Do you?
THE GIRL (smiles): I'm a bit of a devil
myself-
She reaches up, removes his glasses, and
puts them on the bedside table. CORSO eyes her uncertainly. Then
the spell is broken: her nose starts to bleed again.
She puts her fingertips to it and
inspects the blood on them. Very deliberately, she dabbles them
in the blood some more, reaches up, and gently draws four
vertical lines down his face from his forehead to his mouth,
where her fingertips linger.
CORSO's face approaches hers. They melt
into a passionate kiss, Then she pushes W= away, rolls him over
on his back, unbuttons his shirt, and rests her palms on his
chest. Playfully, she runs her forefinger over the imprint of
Liana's teeth.
THE GIRL (smiles mischievously): Would
you know a devil if you saw one?
70. PARIS HOTEL: STAIRS, LOBBY,
RECEPTION DESK INT/DAWN
CORSO, tieless and unshaven, descends
the stairs to the lobby carrying his beg. The JUNIOR DESK CLERK,
a spotty youth, is dozing on a chair behind the reception desk.
CORSO goes over and reps on the desk. The JUNIOR DESK CLERK
springs to his feet like a jack-in-a-box. CORSO jerks his chin
at the door behind him.
CORSO: Do you have a photocopier back
there?
JUNIOR DESK CLERK: Er, yes,
monsieur.
CORSO: May I use it?
JUNIOR DESK CLERK: Are you a guest,
monsieur?
CORSO: You mean I don't look like
one?
JUNIOR DESK CLERK: Of course, monsieur.
This way, monsieur.
He lifts a flap and shows CORSO into the
back office.
CORSO: Room 35. And get them to send up
breakfast for two.
71. PARIS HOTEL: OFFICE INT/DAWN
CORSO has deposited his bag beside the
photocopier and taken out Balkan's 'Nine Gates'. He opens it at
the first engraving - THE KNIGHT WITH A FINGER TO HIS LIPS - and
inverts it. Positioning it on the photocopier, he shuts the flap
and presses the start button.
The photocopy glides out into the
tray.
72. PARIS HOTEL: CORSO'S ROOM
INT/DAWN
CORSO enters, quietly closing the door
behind him. THE GIRL is lying sprawled among the rumpled sheets,
fast asleep. Her clothes are draped over a chair with her
backpack alongside.
Stealthily, CORSO takes Balkan's 'Nine
Gates' from his bag and secretes it behind the minibar, then
goes into the bathroom.
73. PARIS HOTEL: BATHROOM, BEDROOM,
CORRIDOR INT/DAY
CORSO, with his hair damp from the
shower and a towel around his waist, is halfway through shaving
when there's a knock on the bathroom door.
One cheek daubed with foam, he opens it
to find himself confronted by a FLOOR WAITER, check pad and
ballpoint in hand.
FLOOR WAITER: Bonjour, monsieur. Votre
petit dajeuner.
CORSO: Oh. Sure.
Taking the pad, he emerges into the
bedroom and scribbles his signature, then stops short: there's a
breakfast cart in the middle of the room, but the bed in empty
and The Girl's clothes and backpack have disappeared.
CORSO (cont.): Where is she?
WAITER: Pardon?
CORSO: Madame, ou elle est?
FLOOR WAITER: Je ne sais pas,
m'sieur.
He makes for the door and exits.
CORSO catches hold of the door just as
it's closing, puts his head out into the corridor, looks right
and left.
No one in sight but the FLOOR WAITER,
who casts a puzzled glance over his shoulder as he walks
off.
CORSO steps back into the bedroom and
shuts the door. He stands there for a moment, frowning at the
empty bed. Then, abruptly galvanized, he dashes over to the
minibar and looks behind it. His fears are groundless: 'The Nine
Gates' is still there.
Just then the phone rings. He picks up
the receiver and puts it to his ear on the clean-shaven side of
his face.
CORSO: Yes?
BALKAN (V.O.): Come down. I'm in the
cafe across the street.
74. PARIS HOTEL, CAFE. EXT/INT/DAY
CORSO, wearing his crumpled overcoat and
carrying his bag, emerges from the hotel and crosses the street
to a cafe opposite. He enters and looks around, catches sight of
BALKAN's sleek gray head at a table in the corner. He goes over
to him.
CORSO: You sure as hell get around.
He sits down with the shoulder bag
between his feet. A WAITER appears at his elbow.
CORSO (cont.): (to the WAITER): Un cafe
noir, s'il vous plait.
The WAITER nods and withdraws. BALKAN
studies CORSO's face through his hornrims, notes the glasses
with the cracked lens.
BALKAN: Problems?
CORSO: Yeah, like someone tried to total
me a couple times. Aside from that, three people have died on me
since I took this job. (thinks for a moment) Well, two. Telfer
was dead already.
BALKAN: 1 don't follow you.
CORSO: It's simple enough. You give me
'The Nine Gates' and they start dropping like flies. I'm
thinking of giving it back.
BALKAN: Who are you talking about?
CORSO: My pal Bernie Feldman, for
one.
BALKAN: The book dealer? He's dead?
CORSO: Murdered. He was holding your
book for me. Someone was after it. He wouldn't give it to
them.
A moment is silence. Then BALKAN emits a
wholly incongruous chuckle. The chuckle becomes a guffaw, the
guffaw gives way to peal after peal of uproarious laughter. He
slaps his thighs and rocks back and forth, his face turns puce,
his eyes fill with tears.
His hilarity is so deafening that the
cafe's other CUSTOMERS turn to stare. CORSO, too, stares at
BALKAN as if he's gone crazy.
BALKAN's mirth gradually subsides. He
removes his hornrims and mops his eyes. Eventually, still
chuckling:
BALKAN: Poor fellow. Very creditable of
him.
COP.SO refrains from commenting on this
outburst.
CORSO: Then there's Fargas.
The WAITER brings CORSO'S coffee. BALKAN
waits for him to put it on the table and retire.
BALKAN: What about Fargas?
CORSO: Dead too.
BALKAN: How do you know?
CORSO: I saw him - and his copy, or what
was left of it. Someone had snitched the engravings and tried to
burn the rest.
BALKAN stares at him for a moment.
Then:
BALKAN: How tragic. What about the
Kessler copy?
CORSO: The old woman says it's
authentic, but I didn't get a chance to look at it closely. As
soon as she guessed you were behind my visit she threw me out.
You aren't her flavor of the month.
BALKAN: You must see her again. You must
get me that copy - or examine it, at least.
CORSO (derisively): Are you kidding? I'd
have to be the Invisible Man.
BALKAN reaches into his black briefcase
and produces a big manilla envelope.
BALKAN: Try this.
CORSO takes the envelope and looks at
it. it's addressed to 'Baroness Friede Kessler'.
75. KESSLER BUILDING: LOBBY iNT/DAY
CORSO, canvas bag on shoulder, hands the
envelope to the SECRETARY, who takes it and walks off down the
corridor.
76. KESSLER BUILDING: OFFICE iNT/DAY
A black and white photo fills the
screen: it shows a young and beautiful BARONESS KESSLER flanked
by two men in SS uniform. One of them is Heinrich Himmler.
BARONESS KESSLER is scowling down at a
wartime number of 'Signal', the Nazi propaganda magazine. It's
lying open on her desk with Balkan's envelope beside it.
The SECRETARY shows CORSO in. The
BARONESS addresses her crisply.
BARONESS KESSLER: Merci, Simone.
The SECRETARY nods and exits. Fixing
CORSO with a cold, challenging stare, BARONESS KESSLER feeds the
magazine into a shredder beside her desk. She no longer looks
such a dear little old lady.
77. KESSLER BUILDING: LIBRARY, OFFICE
iNT/DAY
CORSO is seated at a library table on
which reposes the Kessler copy of 'The Nine Gates'. Beside it
lies his notebook and the photocopies of Balkan's engravings.
His shoulder bag is hanging on the chairback, his overcoat
draped over it. He reaches into his pocket and produces a Lucky,
takes out his lighter.
BARONESS KESSLER: Blackmail doesn't
entitle you to smoke in my library, Mr. Corso.
CORSO stops short and looks back through
the double doors into her office: she's seated behind her desk
like a graven image, watching him intently. He reinserts the
Lucky in its pack and pockets his lighter. Getting down to work,
he opens 'The Nine Gates' and extracts one of the Baroness's
handwritten slips, reads it to himself in a low voice.
CORSO: 'I will recognize your servants,
my brethren, by the sign that adorns some part of their body, a
scar or mark of your making- '
He replaces the slip. BARONESS KESSLER
cranes her body largely obscures her view of the table.
CORSO turns some pages and comes to the
engraving of THE KNIGHT WITH A FINGER TO HIS LIPS. He compares
it with the photocopy: the castle has three towers instead of
four. He examines the margin of the engraving through his
magnifying glass to ascertain the presence of something he
already knows will be there: an 'L.F.'
He turns to the chart in his notebook,
which has already acquired a third row of nine boxes. He writes
'Kessler' beside it and enters an 'L.F' in the first box.
The second engraving - THE HERMIT WITH
THE KEYS - appears to be identical and the signature is 'A.T.'
An 'A.T.' goes down in the second box.
The third engraving is different: THE
ANGELIC ARCHER has an arrow in his quiver, whereas the photocopy
of Balkan' s counterpart does not. This one, too, is signed
'L.F.' CORSO enters an 'L.F.' in the third box.
We MOVE IN until the chart FILLS THE
SCREEN.
78. KESSLER BUILDING: LIBRARY,
OFFICE
LONG SHOT of CORSO from behind. He leans
back and stretches, glances in the direction of the office:
Baroness Kessler is no longer at her desk. Absolute silence
reigns.
He resumes work, turns to the ninth
engraving: THE NAKED WOMAN RIDING THE DRAGON WITH A CASTLE
ABLAZE IN THE BACKGROUND.
There's a loud thud, and the engraving
sways and blurs. THE SCREEN GOES BLACK.
79. KESSLER BUILDING: LIBRARY,
OFFICE
FADE IN. An electrical hum, punctuated
by a strange, rhythmical series of clicks and thuds: click-thud,
click-thud, click-thud-
CORSO, sitting slumped over the table,
comes to. He groans and laboriously straightens up, feels his
head and winces. The strange sound impinges on his
consciousness: he looks around vaguely for its source and
discovers it:
BARONESS KESSLER's wheelchair has been
left in forward gear. Complete with occupant, it's colliding
again and again with the wall beneath a window on the other side
of the room. CORSO, who can just glimpse the top of the old
lady's head from behind, sees it jerk forward at each impact. He
struggles to his feet.
CORSO: Baroness?
No answer. Unsteadily, he makes his way
over to the wheelchair and swivels it around, starts back with a
muffled exclamation.
BARONESS KESSLER has been strangled with
her Hermes scarf: her cheeks are blue, her eyes and tongue are
protruding.
Unobstructed, the laden wheelchair takes
off across the library and heads for the double doors, which are
now closed. it runs into them full tilt, bursts them open, and
continues on its way.
Instantly, smoke comes billowing into
the library, accompanied by a crackle of flames. The wheelchair
disappears into the murk.
CORSO wildly scans the table for
Baroness Kessler's 'Nine Gates', but it's gone. Snatching up his
notebook and abandoning his shoulder bag and overcoat, he makes
for the office at a run.
The office is thick with smoke and
illumined by a fiery glow. CORSO pauses in the doorway,
shielding his face from the heat with one hand, and surveys the
scene.
BARONESS KESSLER and her wheelchair have
come to rest in the midst of a bonfire of books and papers.
CORSO can just make out her copy of 'The Nine Gates' on top. The
flames are already engulfing it.
CORSO takes a last look, then dashes
through the smoke to the door and exits.
80. KESSLER BUILDING: CORRIDOR, LOBBY,
LANDING INT/DAY
With smoke billowing after him, CORSO
dashes along the corridor, through the lobby, which is deserted,
and out onto the landing.
81. KESSLER BUILDING: LANDING, STAIRS,
HALLWAY INT/DAY
On the landing CORSO bumps into the
SECRETARY, who has just emerged from the elevator. She gives a
little shriek and drops a paper bag. Half a dozen oranges go
bouncing ahead of CORSO as he races down the stairs.
In the hallway he almost upends the
CONCIERGE, who's wielding a broom in her curlers. Leaping aside
with a startled yell, she speeds him on his way with some choice
imprecations, then peers up the stairwell: the upper stories are
already wreathed in smoke, and sundry TENANTS have debauched
onto the landings. The SECRETARY comes pelting down the stairs,
screaming at the top of her lungs.
82. SMALL PARIS SQUARE EXT/DAY
CORSO douses his head in the basin of a
fountain, shakes off the drips and massages his face. Then he
leans against the basin and looks around. He's all alone in the
little square.
He takes out a crumpled cigarette and
inserts it between his lips with dripping fingers, gropes for
his lighter, and vainly tries to light it. Wearily, he removes
the cigarette from his lips and tosses it away. All at once, he
spots a huge Great Dane watching him from the mouth of an
alleyway. CORSO and the Great Dane stare at each other.
Then the silence is broken by a fire
engine's siren, faint at first but growing louder.
83. RIVERSIDE STREET CORNER EXT/DAY
CORSO reaches an intersection and looks
around the corner.
The Kessler building is ablaze. Tongues
of flame and clouds of smoke are issuing from the windows of the
upper stories. Fire engines and squad cars are drawn up outside,
FIREMEN are directing their hoses onto the flames, GENDARMES
cordoning off the street and keeping curious SPECTATORS at
bay.
84. PARIS STREET, HOTEL LOBBY
EXT/INTIDAY
CORSO, looking wrung out, crosses the
street and makes for the hotel entrance.
He's just going through the revolving
doors into the lobby when THE GIRL appears on the inside.
Hooking her arm through his, she steers him around and back
outside again in one continuous movement. As she does so:
THE GIRL (mutters): Just keep going.
Still firmly gripping his arm, she
Propels him out onto the sidewalk.
CORSO (baffled): What are you playing
at?
THE GIRL: See those men talking with
your friend Gruber?
CORSO turns to look. inside the lobby,
TWO MEN IN TRENCHCOATS are standing at the reception desk in
conversation with GRUBER.
THE GIRL (cont.): Police.
At that moment, GRUBER looks past them
at CORSO. He briefly locks eyes with him but shows no sign of
recognition.
CORSO: Shit.
He turns and walks off with THE GIRL at
his side.
85. PHONE BOOTH EXT/INT/DAY
CORSO is in the act of entering a glass
phone booth.
THE GIRL: You look better without that
old bag and coat of yours. They didn't do anything for you.
CORSO shuts the door in her face. He
picks up the receiver, inserts a coin, punches out a number. THE
GIRL pulls a funny face at him through the glass. CORSO's only
response is to turn away and cup his hand around the
receiver.
CORSO (into phone): Gruber? it's me,
Corso. Can you talk?
GRUBER (V.0): No, sir.
CORSO: But you can listen?
GRUBER (V.O.): Certainly, sir.
CORSO: I'd like you to do something for
me.
From outside we see. THE GIRL, arms
folded, casually watching him.
86. PARIS BRASSERIE INT/DAY
GRUBER enters a brasserie crowded with
lunchtime CUSTOMERS. He's looking distinctly Prussian in spite
of the civilian overcoat over his uniform. He spots CORSO at the
far end of the bar with THE GIRL beside him. She's sucking up
some colorful beverage through a straw. GRUBER acknowledges her
presence with a formal nod.
CORSO: You don't have it?
GRUBER: There was nothing in the place
you described, sir. I'm sorry.
CORSO: Goddamit!
He turns to THE GIRL.
CORSO (cont.): I suppose you didn't take
it?
THE GIRL: You still don't trust me, do
you?
GRUBER clears his throat.
GRUBER: I think I may have the answer,
sir. Someone visited your room earlier on, while my young
colleague was on duty: your wife.
CORSO: My wife? I.don't have any
wife.
GRUBER: That's what I told him .
CORSO: Could he describe her?
GRUBER (nods): Thirtyish, blond,
dishy.
CORSO Liana-
GRUBER: Which reminds me, sir: the lady
and gentleman you mentioned - they're staying at the Hotel
Crillon, Suite 236-238.
CORSO: Good for you, Gruber. Thanks a
lot.
GRUBER: Always glad to be of service,
Mr. Corso.
CORSO: I owe you one for those cops,
too.
GRUBER: Ah yes, sir. Interpol.
CORSO: Interpol! What exactly did they
want?
GRUBER: They expressed an interest in
your whereabouts.
CORSO: And? What did you tell them?
GRUBER: That you were out.
CORSO: Anything else?
GRUBER: They asked if I knew whether you
had recently visited Portugal.
CORSO: And?
GRUBER: I said that our guests do not
make a habit of providing us with their itineraries.
CORSO extracts a 500 franc bill from his
billfold and slips it into GRUBER's hand. GRUBER acknowledges
this largesse with a gracious inclination of the head.
CORSO: For what it's worth, Gruber: I
don't know what they think I've done, but I'm innocent.
GRUBER (impassively): Naturally, Mr.
Corso. All our guests are.
87. HOTEL CRILLON: FORECOURT EXT/DAY
We OPEN on the luxury hotel's facade,
which bears the inscription 'HOTEL DE CRILLON', then PAN DOWN to
the entrance and the forecourt, which is accessible from the
main road but separated from it by a long, narrow island with a
cab rank at one end.
A hive of activity: HOTEL GUESTS come
and go, the DOORMAN, a majestic figure in his gold-braided
uniform, deferentially closes the door of a departing Rolls, a
BELLHOP backs a guest's car into a gap in the already
overcrowded forecourt.
A cab drives up to the entrance. The
DOORMAN opens the door, CORSO and THE GIRL get out. CORSO turns
to pay the CABBY, the DOORMAN twitches an eyebrow at THE GIRL's
jeans and sneakers.
CORSO and THE GIRL enter.
88. HOTEL CRILLON: OUTER LOBBY, MAIN
LOBBY INT/DAY
Visible beyond the outer lobby, which
has elevators on one side and stairs on the other., is the
palatial main lobby, with its floor and walls of honey-colored
marble. That, too, is buzzing with activity.
CORSO and THE GIRL stand aside as an
elevator door opens and some camera-toting JAPANESE TOURISTS
emerge. Meantime:
THE GIRL: What'll you do when you see
them?
CORSO (dryly): Hide behind you,
probably.
They enter the elevator. The doors glide
shut.
89. HOTEL CRILLON: CORRIDOR INT/DAY
CORSO and THE GIRL walk down the
corridor, checking numbers as they go. They've almost reached
the door of Suite 236-238 when it opens abruptly. They jump back
in alarm.
A BELLHOP emerges backside first, towing
a baggage cart laden with smart Vuitton suitcases.
CORSO and THE GIRL take refuge in a
lateral passage a few feet to their rear as the BELLHOP sets off
down the corridor in the opposite direction, leaving the door
open.
CORSO pads silently up to the door and
enters with THE GIRL at his heels.
90. HOTEL CRILLON: SUITE INT/DAY
A deserted sitting room with an old
'Herald Tribune' lying abandoned on the floor and two dirty
coffee cups on the table. No sound, no signs of recent
occupation aside from a thin wisp of smoke rising from the
inefficiently stubbed-out remains of a small cigar.
The bedroom door is ajar. THE GIRL
stands watching as CORSO tiptoes over pushes it open. The room
is empty, the bed unmade.
CORSO: Downstairs, quick!
91. HOTEL CRILLON: LOBBY INT/DAY
CORSO and THE GIRL have used the stairs
for speed's sake. Panting, they halt at the foot of the last
flight and scan the spacious but crowded lobby. it's a moment
before they catch sight of their quarry.
The MUSTACHE is standing at the
cashier's desk with LIANA beside him.
CORSO: C'mon. Better grab a cab or we'll
lose them.
Heads averted, they thread their way
across the lobby and make for the exit unobserved.
92. HOTEL CRILLON: CAB RANK EXT/DAY
CORSO and THE GIRL have stationed
themselves at the cab rank on the island. CORSO sees a cab
approaching amid the stream of traffic and tries to flag it
down, but it's taken.
CORSO: Damn!
93. HOTEL CRILLON: FORECOURT EXT/DAY
Meantime, in the forecourt, the DOORMAN
hands LIANA into the passenger seat of the Mercedes sedan while
the MUSTACHE supervises the BELLHOP as he stows their baggage in
the trunk.
A Rolls pulls up behind the Mercedes,
closely followed by a yellow Lamborghini driven by a smartly
dressed, mustachioed ARAB with a BLOND BIMBO beside him.
The ARAB gets out, leaving his keys in
the ignition. Nonchalantly signaling to the DOORMAN to park his
car, he disappears into the hotel with the BIMBO in tow.
The DOORMAN acknowledges his gesture
before smilingly accepting a tip from the MUSTACHE, who gets in
behind the wheel.
THE GIRL (O.S.): They're going!
94. HOTEL CRILLON: CAB RANK, FORECOURT
EXT/DAY
CORSO sights another cab approaching and
cavorts into the roadway, waving his arms like a madman.
The cab honks and swerves to avoid him,
obstructing some other vehicles, which honk in their turn. it's
empty.
CORSO: Bastard!
Frustrated yet again, he. retreats to
the island.
Beyond his agitated figure in the
forecourt, we see the Mercedes drive off.
95. HOTEL CRILLON: FORECOURT, CAB RANK
EXT/DAY
With a screech of tires, the yellow
Lamborghini takes off fast in reverse. Skirting the island, it
backs out into the oncoming traffic. Then, slammed into first,
it skids to a halt beside the curb at CORSO's elbow. The
passenger door opens, THE GIRL cranes over and looks up at him
from behind the wheel.
THE GIRL: Coming?
CORSO stares at her for an instant, then
jumps in.
The Lamborghini sets off after the
Mercedes, which is not far ahead. it threads its way into the
stream of traffic, pursued for a few yards along the sidewalk by
the wildly gesticulating DOORMAN.
96. LAMBORGHINI/PARIS STREETS INT/EXT
DAY
THE GIRL is expertly piloting the
Lamborghini through heavy traffic. The Mercedes can be seen a
few cars ahead.
CORSO: Couldn't you have pinched
something a bit less conspicuous?
THE GIRL: Don't be so picky. Most people
would give their eyeteeth for a ride in this.
CORSO surveys the car's luxurious
interior, opens the glove compartment, removes the contents and
inspects them: some CDs, the car papers, a pair of expensive
wrap-around sunglasses, an Arab keffiyeh.
97. LAMBORGHINI/FREEWAY INT/EXT/LATE
AFTERNOON
Visible through the windshield, the
Mercedes is cruising along several hundred yards ahead of the
Lamborghini.
CORSO: We can't sit on their tall
forever. They're bound to smell a rat.
98. FREEWAY EXT/DUSK
LONG SHOT of the Lamborghini
accelerating to draw level with the Mercedes.
99. MERCEDES/FREEWAY EXT/DUSK
The MUSTACHE, with LIANA at his elbow,
glances sideways.
100. LAMBORGHINI/FREEWAY EXT/DUSK
The MUSTACHE's POV: the Lamborghini
overtaking with a figure in shades and a kefflyeh at the
wheel.
It's THE GIRL. She looks straight ahead
as she passes. No sign of CORSO.
101. LAMBORGHINI/ FREEWAY EXT/DUSK
CORSO, who has been hiding below door
level, sits up. After a cursory glance over his shoulder, he
settles back in his seat and lights a Lucky, covertly eyeing THE
GIRL.
THE GIRL: How do I look?
CORSO: You look a million. A million
barrels of oil.
102. LAMBORGHINI/FREEWAY EXT/DUSK
The Lamborghini passes an exit. THE
GIRL, who has discarded the keffiyeh and shades, is driving with
one eye on the rearview mirror.
103. FREEWAY EXT/DUSK
The Mercedes indicates right, slows, and
turns off at the exit.
THE GIRL (O.S.): Sit tight!
104. LAMBORGHINI/FREEWAY EXT/DUSK
THE GIRL pulls over onto the shoulder
and stands on the brakes. Throwing the car into reverse almost
before it's stationary, she hurtles backward along the
shoulder.
A couple of cars flash their headlights
and blare as the Lamborghini reaches the exit and skids to a
halt, narrowly missing a large truck that has beaten it to the
exit.
105. LAMBORGHINI/EXIT ROAD EXT/DUSK
The Lamborghini crawls along behind the
truck as it grinds up the single-lane exit road.
CORSO (impatiently): C'mon, c'mon!
THE GIRL blasts the truck with her horn
and flashes her headlights. The truck's only response is to slow
still further before pulling up at a T junction.
CORSO (cont.): What in hell's the matter
with him?
Clearly visible in the glare of the
Lamborghini's headlights, an arm emerges from the truck's cab
window and gives a prolonged, one-fingered salute. The arm
disappears, the truck moves off at last and turns left across
the bridge spanning the freeway. The Mercedes is nowhere in
sight.
The Lamborghini moves up to the T
junction and stands there, engine purring.
THE GIRL: Take your pick.
CORSO: No, you. You know everything.
THE GIRL: If you say so.
She turns off right.
106. LAMBORGHINI/COUNTRY ROAR)
EXT/NIGHT
It's dark now, and the Lamborghini is
speeding along an avenue of poplars. No sign of the
Mercedes.
THE GIRL: We lost them.
CORSO: Not at this speed. They must have
gone the other way.
THE GIRL: You mean I don't know
everything after all?
CORSO: Turn around.
They pass a small intersection on the
right. THE GIRL backs into it but doesn't complete the
manoeuvre: something catches her eye.
THE GIRL: Thirtyish, blond, dishy - what
was her name again?
CORSO: Telfer. Liana Telfer.
THE GIRL: No, her maiden name.
CORSO: Saint-Damien.
THE GIRL: Look.
CORSO's POV: the Lamborghini's
headlights have illuminated a signpost. One of the signs reads:
'ST.-DAMIEN 2 Km.' It points the way they were going.
THE GIRL turns out into the road and
drives on in the original direction.
107. LAMBORGHINI/VILLAGE EXT/NIGHT
THE GIRL slows as they pass the
'ST.-DAMIEN' sign at the entrance to the village itself.
THE GIRL: Should we drive straight
in?
CORSO: In this thing? We might as well
hang a bell around our necks. Park here.
108. ST.-DAMIEN VILLAGE EXT/NIGHT
CORSO and THE GIRL walk gingerly down
the old village street. A faint glow emanates from a few windows
in the time-worn houses, but the street itself is utterly
deserted.
109. VILLAGE SQUARE EXT/NIGHT
They pause at the mouth of a small,
equally deserted square: church at one end, mairie across the
way, village stores shuttered and in darkness, two or three
parked cars, none of them the Mercedes.
THE GIRL: So?
CORSO looks around irresolutely, sees
light coming from the basement window of a baker's shop.
110. VILLAGE BAKERY EXT/INT/NIGHT
Side by side, CORSO and THE GIRL look
down through the open transom of the basement window. inside, a
flour-smeared BAKER is deftly preparing a tray of croissants for
the oven.
CORSO: Monsieur?
The BAKER looks up, wipes his hands on
his smock, and walks over to the window.
BAKER M'sieur?
CORSO: Nous cherchons la maison de
Madame de Saint-Damien.
BAKER: Le chateau, vous voulez dire.
CORSO: (to THE GIRL): Chateau! That's it
- got to be. (to the BAKER): Ou il est, le chateau?
BAKER (gestures): La route apres
''egllse, m'sieur.
111. LAMBORGHINI/MINOR ROAD
EXT/NIGHT
THE GIRL is driving slowly along a
country road flanked on one side by woods. A pair of ornate
wrought-iron gates and a gatehouse loom up on the left.
CORSO: Keep going.
There's a light on in the gatehouse.
They glimpse the gatekeeper leaning against his door, smoking,
as they cruise past.
112. LAMBORGHINI/MINOR ROAD
EXT/NIGHT
The Lamborghini backs into the mouth of
a farm track. THE GIRL and CORSO get out, cross the road, and
strike off into the woods.
113. CHATEAU DRIVEWAY EXT/NIGHT
Hugging the trees that border it on one
side, CORSO and THE GIRL are making their way up a long,
straight, graveled driveway. The lighted gatehouse is to their
rear, the lights of the ch&teau can be seen ahead.
Hearing the sound of a car behind them,
they turn to see its headlights swing in through the gates. They
quickly take cover in the trees and watch the car - a big limo -
glide past, then emerge and walk on.
114. CHATEAU ST.-DAMIEN EXT/NIGHT
CORSO and THE GIRL observe the chateau,
a substantial 17th century mansion, from the edge of the
trees.
The forecourt, in which come 20
expensive-looking cars are parked, one of them the Mercedes, is
illuminated by the flambeaux on either side of the portico and
the lights inside the building. The limo has pulled up at the
foot of the steps, and the occupants, a smartly dressed ELDERLY
COUPLE, are being greeted by a tuxedoed BUTLER while their
suitcases are removed from the trunk and carried in after them
by a MANSERVANT.
115. CHATEAU/GREAT HALL
EXT/INT/NIGH'r
CORSO and THE GIRL have worked their way
around to the side of the chateau. One of the lighted windows
gives them a view of the upper reaches of the chateau's great
hall, with its balustraded minstrel gallery and lofty, vaulted
ceiling. They climb on a stone bench for a better look.
Inside, overlooked by an array of
ancestral portraits, some 50 GUESTS are inaudibly conversing in
groups. Men and women alike are attired in long black robes
resembling monks' habits, and all have silver pentacles
suspended from their necks on silver chains. Their cowls are
thrown back to reveal the heads and faces beneath. A motley
assortment of people, most of them middle- or late middle-aged,
one or two of oriental origin. No sign of Liana or the
Mustache.
THE GIRL: See them anywhere?
CORSO: No.
THE GIRL: They aren't there.
116. CHATEAU/KITCHEN EXT/INTINIGHT
CORSO and THE GIRL continue to make
their cautious way around the house. Peering through a
semi-basement window, they see TWO CHEFS chopping vegetables at
a big kitchen table.
They pause, at a loss, and look up at
the house. Several of the second-floor windows are illuminated,
and one of them has some creeper-covered trelliswork running up
to its balcony.
117. CHATEAU: BALCONY/LIANA'S BOUDOIR
EXT/INT/NIGHT
THE GIRL, with CORSO close behind her,
has just reached the top of the trelliswork. She clambers over
onto the balcony. CORSO scales the last few fact, reaches for
the balustrade, straddles it and joins her. Together, they peer
through the French windows.
With them, we see a bedroom decorated in
a very feminine style all frills, flounces, and elegant Louis
Quinze furniture. Two of Liana's Vuitton suitcases are on the
floor near the dainty fourposter. A third, with her discarded
clothes beside it, is lying open on the bed itself.
LIANA has stripped to her panties. CORSO
and THE GIRL watch as she slips them off, goes to a wardrobe,
and takes out a black robe and silver pentacle like the ones we
saw downstairs . Pulling the robe over her head, she smooths it
down, dons the pentacle, and inspects herself in a cheval mirror
in the corner of the room.
COP.SO takes advantage of her
preoccupation to try the French windows. They won't budge. He
turns to THE GIRL and shrugs, then raises his foot and kicks the
glass in.
LIANA spins around with a terrified cry
and stands there transfixed. CORSO reaches inside, turns the
knob, opens the French windows and steps into the room. THE GIRL
follows.
LIANA: You!
CORSO: Where is it?
LIANA: How dare you!
CORSO: That book isn't yours, Madame. 1
need it.
LIANA: Get out of here, both of you!
CORSO goes over to the bed and empties
the suitcase onto the floor. Among . its contents is 'The Nine
Gates'. LIANA instinctively lunges for it, but THE GIRL blocks
her.
CORSO (to THE GIRL): Careful, she
bites!
He's stooping to retrieve the book when
the door opens and the MUSTACHE, robed and barefooted, stands
framed in the doorway. CORSO turns quickly with the book in his
hand, THE GIRL stiffens.
LIANA makes a dive for the bedside table
and produces a chrome- plated automatic from the drawer, flips
the safety catch.
LIANA (to CORSO and THE GIRL): Don't
move, either of you. (to the MUSTACHE): Get the book, Bruno.
CORSO takes a tentative step backward as
the MUSTACHE approaches him with his left hand extended. He
reluctantly surrenders the book.
The MUSTACHE rewards him for his
co-operation with a vicious right hook to the jaw. CORSO goes
down, losing his glasses yet again. Groggily, he crawls around
in search of them.
The MUSTACHE joins LIANA, steering well
clear of THE GIRL. He hands her 'The Nine Gates' and carefully
transfers the automatic from her hand to his.
LIANA (cont.): Take them downstairs and
lock them up. We'll deal with them later, there's no time
now.
MUSTACHE (to CORSO, Italian accent):
Turn around.
CORSO, who has scrambled to his feet,
complies. The MUSTACHE applies the muzzle of the automatic to
the nape of his neck.
MUSTACHE (cont.): (to THE GIRL): You. Go
first. Any trouble, I blow his brains.
THE GIRL makes for the door. The
MUSTACHE prods CORSO into motion. They exit.
LIANA stares after them for a moment,
clasping 'The Nine Gates' to her bosom.
118. CHATEAU: PASSAGE INT/NIGHT
A long passage lined with more ancestral
portraits. The ancient floorboards creek as THE GIRL obediently
walks ahead of CORSO and the MUSTACHE, whose automatic is
levelled at CORSO's back. They reach the end of the passage.
MUSTACHE: Go left. Down the stairs.
119. CHATEAU: STAIRCASE, PASSAGE
INT/NIGHT
They descend a staircase to ground
level. Another long passage confronts them, much like the first
but floored with marble.
MUSTACHE Avanti, avanti!
A door at the end leads into a
stone-flagged passage with whitewashed walls. They make their
way along it until they reach a heavy oak door.
MUSTACHE (cont.): (to THE GIRL): Open
it!
THE GIRL does so to reveal a small
landing and a flight of stone steps leading downward. She stops
short: the steps have no guard rail and the cellar beneath is
shrouded in darkness.
120. CHATEAU: WINE CELLAR INT/NIGHT
The MUSTACHE prods CORSO through the
doorway until ALL THREE are on the landing, then throws a light
switch.
Bare bulbs shed little light on the
steps but illuminate a large vaulted chamber below. it's the
chateau's wine cellar: oak barrels and racks of bottles thick
with dust and cobwebs are housed behind an iron grille with a
door in it. The door is ajar, the key in the lock.
MUSTACHE (to THE GIRL): Move!
THE GIRL sets off down the steps. CORSO
follows with the MUSTACHE at his heels.
Halfway down, CORSO pretends to stumble:
he crouches and turns in a single movement. The MUSTACHE,
following close behind, trips over him. CORSO seizes his robe
and yanks at it, helping him on his way. Simultaneously:
CORSO (to THE GIRL): Watch out!
THE GIRL plasters herself against the
wall to avoid the MUSTACHE's somersaulting body. The automatic
escapes from his hand and slithers across the flagstones as he
comes to rest, with a sickening thud, at the foot of the steps.
THE GIRL follows him down and picks it up.
CORSO reaches the foot of the steps and
rolls the MUSTACHE over on his back. He's out cold, with blood
oozing from a broken nose.
THE GIRL (faintly admiring): I didn't
know you had it in you.
CORSO: Another thing you didn't
know?
He takes hold of the MUSTACHE's ankles
and, with THE GIRL's assistance, hauls him through the grille
into the inner cellar. He stares down at the man for a
moment.
CORSO (cont.): Hey, give me a hand. I
want his gear.
He starts to peel of fthe MUSTACHE's
robe from the feet up, revealing a pair of exceptionally hairy
legs.
121. CHATEAU: WINE CELLAR INT/NIGHT
CORSO shuts the grille door, locks it,
and tosses the key into a corner. The MUSTACHE's naked,
motionless body can be vaguely discerned through the bars.
122. CHATEAU: PASSAGE INT/NIGHT
CORSO and THE GIRL cautiously retrace
their steps along the marble-floored passage. CORSO is wearing
the Mustache's robe and pentacle over his clothes with his shoes
and trouser bottoms incongruously visible below the ham. They
pass the stairs they descended and continue on their way.
They turn a corner. As they do so, they
hear a faint, intermittent hum. They pause to listen, then walk
on. The sound grows louder and more distinct: somewhere in the
chateau, voices are chanting in unison.
Turning another corner, they find
themselves in an anteroom that terminates in two massive double
doors. The chanting is coming from beyond them.
CORSO walks over to the doors with THE
GIRL at his heels. He grasps the handle.
THE GIRL (hisses): No! Up to the
gallery.
123. CHATEAU: BACK STAIRS, GALLERY
INT/NIGHT
The chanting is even louder now. CORSO
and THE GIRL reach the top of some uncarpeted stairs and
cautiously open a small door. A wave of sound hits them.
124. CHATEAU: GALLERY, GREAT HALL
INT/NIGHT .
They steal through the doorway into the
shadowy gallery, which runs around three sides of the Great
Hall, and peer over the balustrade. They've emerged near the top
of a spiral staircase leading down from the gallery to a point
near the double doors at the rear of the hall.
At the far end of the huge room in a
dais draped in black with some shallow steps leading up to it.
On the wall above the dais hangs an inverted silver crucifix; on
the dais itself, which is flanked by a pair of outsize black
candles in three-foot silver candlesticks, LIANA stands facing
the hall from behind a silver lectern on which reposes 'The Nine
Gates'. Arrayed in the body of the hall are the 50 GUESTS, now
cowled, each holding a lighted black candle. The flickering
candle flames bathe the whole scene in tremulous
chiaroscuro.
LIANA and the GUESTS are taking it in
turns, like priest and congregation, to intone passages from the
Latin text of 'The Nine Gates'.
CORSO (quietly, to THE GIRL): You stay
here and cover me. I'm going down.
Pulling the cowl over his head, he
sneaks down the spiral staircase, secretes himself in the rear
rank of GUESTS, and concentrates on LIANA and the book as the
litany continues.
All at once, unseen by us, the doors
swing open with a crash and BALKAN's deep bass voice punctures
the air on a derisive note.
BALKAN (O.S.):
Mumbo-jumbo-mumbo-jumbo-mumbo-jumbo -
The GUESTS stop chanting, and fifty
cowled heads turn to look for the source of this unseemly
interruption. Up on the dais, LIANA freezes.
BALKAN:
Mumbo-jumbo-mumbo-jumbo-mumbo-jumbo-
Looking over-life-size in his dark and
elegant double-breasted suit, he strides toward the dais. Any
GUESTS who fail to get out of his way in time are brusquely
elbowed aside. LIANA watches him, transfixed, as he climbs the
steps and turns to face the bemused GUESTS.
BALKAN (cont.): Look around you - yes,
all of you. What do you see?
The GUESTS involuntarily turn to look at
each other.
BALKAN (cont.): I'll tell you: a bunch
of buffoons in fancy dress. What are you expecting, an
apparition? I'm the only apparition you'll see tonight. You
really think the Prince of Darkness would deign to manifest
himself to the likes of you? He never has and he never will -
never!
He closes 'The Nine Gates' with a snap
and holds it up.
BALKAN (cont.): You read from his book,
yes, but you have no conception of its true power. I alone have
grasped its secret. I alone have fathomed the Master's grand
design. I alone am worthy to enjoy the fruits of that discovery:
absolute power to determine my own destiny.
LIANA finds her voice at last.
LIANA: You're insane, Boris. (puts out
her hand): Give it back at once.
BALKAN rounds on her.
BALKAN: As for you, Liana de
Saint-Damien, you're even guiltier than the rest of this
pathetic rabble. You have at least some idea of what this book
can do in the right hands, yet you lend yourself to these
farcical proceedings, these orgies of ageing flesh conducted in
the Master's name. You're a charlatan!
LIANA tries to grab the book, but BALKAN
holds it above his head.
LIANA claws his cheeks in desperation.
BALKAN clasps his face, dropping the book.
LIANA makes a dive for it, but BALKAN
pounces on her. They roll over in a clinch, struggling
fiercely.
BALKAN grabs LIANA by the throat. She
tries to break his grip, but he redoubles it. Halfway down the
dais steps with BALKAN on top of her, she fights for breath. Her
suffocated, agonized face is turned toward the hall.
The GUESTS shrink back in horror, some
of them dropping their candles. Hysterical screams rend the
air.
CORSO comes to life. Hampered by his
robe, he makes for dais as fast as he can, scattering frightened
GUESTS in the process. He takes hold of BALKAN's shoulders and
tries to haul him off LIANA.
BALKAN, still throttling her, turns to
look. He glares at CORSO through his heavy hornrims, his
features contorted with rage and stupefaction. Then, removing
one hand from LIANA's throat, he deals CORSO a backhanded blow
that sends him reeling.
LIANA seizes the chance to break free.
She crawls away and almost regains her fact, but BALKAN is too
quick for her: grabbing her pentacle chain from behind, he
proceeds to garrotte her with it.
LIANA, now on her knees, scrabbles
unavailingly at the chain that is biting into her neck. Her face
turns purple, her tongue begins to protrude.
CORSO looks around wildly for a weapon.
He seizes one of the three-foot candlesticks and raises it over
his head. Suddenly:
THE GIRL (O.S.): Don't, Corso!
Startled, he lowers the candlestick and
looks up: THE GIRL is perched on the gallery balustrade just
above him.
Too preoccupied with Balkan and Liana to
wonder what her game is, CORSO raises the candlestick once
more.
THE GIRL lands on top of CORSO, bearing
him to the ground, and immobilizes him with a hammerlock.
CORSO: Get off me! He'll kill her!
THE GIRL: Leave them.
BALKAN completes his grisly work:
LIANA's purple face is all too reminiscent of Baroness
Kessler's. With a final tug at the chain, he plants one foot in
the small of LIANA's back and sends her limp body sprawling
across the floor of the hall.
Screams and cries of horror go up from
the GUESTS, who have recoiled still further.
BALKAN straightens up, a somewhat
dishevelled but still imposing figure despite the scratches on
his cheeks. Even his hornrims are still in place. He leans
fonward, eyes narrowed in a mock menacing way, and stamps his
foot.
BALKAN (in a voice like thunder):
Boooh!
With more hysterical screams and cries
of dismay, the GUESTS turn tall and flee the hall like a herd of
panic-stricken cattle, jostling each other in their eagerness to
get out the door.
Calmly, without so much as a glance at
THE GIRL, CORSO, or LIANA's corpse, BALKAN smooths his hair
down, picks up 'The Nine Gates', and strides majestically after
them.
Silence falls. THE GIRL releases her
grip on CORSO's arm, gets off him and rises to her knees. He
sits up, nursing his elbow and staring at her with blank
incomprehension.
CORSO: Why did you do it?
THE GIRL: Some things are meant to
happen. That was one of them.
CORSO: Don't give me that crap again!
You were working for him all along!
THE GIRL: Funny, I thought you were.
CORSO: You played me for a sucker, the
two of you. I don't intend to take the rap for that maniac.
THE GIRL: He just murdered someone with
a roomful of witnesses. That lets you off the hook for the other
killings. You should be grateful.
CORSO: I'm ecstatic.
He gets to his feet. We hear the sound
of cars starting up and driving off in a hurry.
THE GIRL rises too, starts to pat the
dust of fhis robe. CORSO impatiently evades her hand.
CORSO (cont.): Where's he off to?
THE GIRL: What do you care? Your job is
done. This is as far as you need to go.
CORSO: The hell it is! The sonofabitch
owes me the other half of my fee.
THE GIRL (ironically): Of course, it's
just business. I thought your curiosity had gotten the better of
you.
CORSO: Okay, so what's meant to happen
next?
THE GIRL: You really want to know?
125. MERCEDES/MINOR ROAD EXT/DAWN
THE GIRL, with CORSO red-eyed and
unshaven beside her, is driving along a country road bordered by
rolling fields wreathed in gray mist. They've appropriated
Liana's Mercedes sedan.
126. MERCEDES/FREEWAY EXT/DAY
CORSO has taken over the wheel. THE GIRL
is fast asleep with her heed on his shoulder. The deserted
freeway runs across a viaduct that spans a valley hundreds of
feet below. The hazy blue shapes of mountains can be glimpsed in
the distance.
127. MERCEDES/MOUNTAIN ROAD
EXT/SUNSET
THE GIRL is back behind the wheel, CORSO
smoking. Dazzled by the setting sun, THE GIRL lowers the visor.
The landscape has become bleaker and more mountainous.
Switchbacks are visible ahead.
128. MERCEDES/MOUNTAIN ROAD EXT/DUSK
The Mercedes rounds a bend.
Visible in the distance, crisply
silhouetted against the afterglow, is a castle.
It's the one of which we saw a
backlighted photograph on Balkan's wall.
129. CASTLE EXT/DUSK
THE GIRL pulls up some distance from the
archway that was once the castle gate. A dark green Range Rover
is already parked beside it. CORSO and THE GIRL get out and
briefly survey the derelict building. A glimmer of light is
issuing from the arrow slits in one of the turrets.
130. CASTLE COURTYARD EXT/DUSK
CORSO and THE GIRL cross the deserted
courtyard, which is littered with fallen masonry.
131. CASTLE STEPS, BATTLEMENTS
EXT/DUSK
CORSO and THE GIRL climb a dilapidated
flight of stone steps to the battlements and walk along them to
the tower.
They pause outside the moldering old
door and listen. A man's voice is faintly audible.
CORSO puts his hand on the handle. THE
GIRL gropes in the pocket of her duffel coat and produces the
chromium-plated automatic, holds it out.
CORSO hesitates briefly, then stuffs it
in his jacket pocket. He op ~ the door and enters, followed by
THE GIRL.
132. TURRET CHAMBER INT/NIGHT
CORSO and THE GIRL are looking down into
the interior of the turret, which forms a cylindrical chamber.
They're on a small landing from which a steep flight of
unprotected stone steps curves down and around the inner wall to
the floor of the chamber. The floor, littered with debris
including worm-eaten
beams that have fallen from the ceiling
far above, consists of massive, age-old planks.
9 1
A large circle has been chalked in the
middle of the floor, and within it a square divided into nine
boxes numbered 1-9. Each box contains some unrelated object: a
rusty knife, a piece of cord, a stone, a gold ring, a serpentine
bracelet, a glass vial, a small pile of earth, a quill pen, an
hourglass.
The chamber is illuminated by half a
dozen kerosene lamps located around the circle but outside it.
Also near the circle is a camper's collapsible table with
various objects on it: a black briefcase, 'The Nine Gates', a
magnifying glass, a vacuum flask and mug. On the floor beside
the table are a large jerrican and an open suitcase with more
books spilling out of it.
The voice we heard from outside is that
of BALKAN, but a BALKAN unlike any we have seen before: no
jacket or necktie, shirt sleeves rolled ' up, vest half
unbuttoned, strands of gray hair falling over his scratched and
sweating face, cheeks flushed, eyes ablaze with excitement.
He's kneeling in front of the numbered
boxes and gabbling to himself in an expressionless monotone:
BALKAN: ... eight doors come before the
Serpent that guards the word, Teth, Enea, Novem, Oded, the
number nine, which holds the final secret, the mystery of
mysteries. The Serpent is the beast that always sleeps with one
eye open and is reflected in the Mirror of Knowledge. (giggles
triumphantly) Eight engravings plus one, or one plus eight,
which coincides with the number that St. John of Patmos
attributed to the Beast: 666-
CORSO (to THE GIRL): He needs
therapy-
Feverishly, BALKAN proceeds to scrawl
some numerals on the floor with a piece of chalk, muttering as
he does so.
BALKAN: Six plus six plus six equals
eighteen. One and eight. (even more triumphantly): One plus
eight equals nine!
CORSO starts to descend the steps. THE
GIRL stays behind, sits down on the top step, props her chin on
her hand, and watches the proceedings.
BALKAN rises with chalk dust all over
the knees of his pants. He goes to his briefcase and takes out a
sheaf of torn engravings.
CORSO has reached the foot of the steps.
BALKAN, turning to resume his place in the circle, catches sight
of him. He freezes in disbelief, and a long moment passes before
he speaks.
BALKAN (cont.): What are you doing
here?!
CORSO: I thought I'd drop in before they
put you behind bars.
BALKAN: Go away!
CORSO: We had a deal, remember?
BALKAN: A deal?! What impertinence! You
bungled it, damn you! You failed me all along the line! Thanks
to your lack of initiative,Ii was compelled to do my own dirty
work. And I did it! I got these myself! See, here they are!
(brandishes the engravings, speaks with mounting vehemence) Nine
engravings or nine doors, and only an initiate can open them.
Each door has two keys, each engraving discloses a number, a
secret element and keyword to be interpreted in the light of
reason and the Cabbala, the one true philosophy!
CORSO: I want my money.
BALKAN: Don't you understand what's
going on here?
He returns to the circle, kneels down
again, and deals out the engravings like playing cards, one to a
box, leaving three boxes empty. Meantime:
BALKAN (cont.): You have before you the
mystery of which men have dreamed throughout the centuries.
Thousands have died an agonizing death in hopes of just a
glimpse of what you're about to see!
CORSO: Yeah? What's that, Old Nick in
person?
BALKAN: Don't be ridiculous! He has
never appeared to anyone, never! He's a spirit - the spirit of
pure evil. He manifests himself through his servants, of whom
I'm proud to be one!
He rises, walks quickly over to the
little table, and opens 'The Nine Gates' . Turning over several
pages, he tears out an engraving. His voice betrays rising
excitement, his face assumes a look of insane fervour.
BALKAN (cont.): Three copies, but only
nine of their twenty-seven engravings hold the key, and I have
them all! (tears out two more engravings in quick succession) 1
have only to complete the sequence. Then the Serpent will enter
the seal of Saturn, and I - I shall enter the Ninth Gate!
CORSO: Cut the crap and write me a
cheque.
BALKAN returns to the circle, kneels
down once more and neatly positions the three engravings in the
empty boxes. Then he rises, goes' to the table, and pours
himself a drink from the vacuum flask. He gargles with it,
swallows, and shakes himself like a wet dog. Whatever the flask
contained, it seems to have invigorated him.
Seizing the jerrican, he removes the cap
and dribbles gasoline around the circle, then picks up one of
the kerosene lamps and hurls it at the floor. The lamp smashes
and ignites the gasoline. instantly, he's ringed with fire.
He draws himself up and stands erect in
the canter of the circle with flames dancing all around him.
BALKAN: I give you my allegiance,
Master. I surrender myself unto you body and soul. Let me fear
neither noose, nor sword, nor poison. Let me walk unscathed
among lepers and the plague-ridden. Erase me from the Book of
Life and inscribe me in the black Book of Death. Let it be no!
Let it be so now!
His fervent voice and the wild-eyed,
demented look on his face are such that not even CORSO is
tempted to break the momentary silence that ensues.
BALKAN (cont.): (ecstatically): Yes,
master, yes! Oh, thank you, thank you! I can feel the power
flowing through me like an electric current, rendering me
capable of any achievement, mental or physical! I could float on
air, walk on water.
He stoops and dabbles his hands in the
ring of fire.
BALKAN (cont.): See? 1 plunge my hands
in fire and feel no heat:
He picks up the jerrican and inverts it
over his head, dousing himself in the contents, then hurls it
aside.
CORSO: Hey, don't be stupid!
But BALKAN is deaf to reason.
BALKAN (in a mounting frenzy): Admay,
Eloy, Agla, Zatel, Gebal, Elimi, Ashtoreth, Moloch, Shamash,
Dagon-
With a whoosh, he himself catches fire.
Flames play over his ecstatic figure.
BALKAN (cont.): It's miraculous! I feel
nothing, nothing at all!
He emits another triumphant laugh that
soars up the scale until it becomes a high-pitched scream of
agony. He starts to caper around, slapping at his clothes, his
face, his hair.
CORSO has regained his feet. He takes
the automatic from his pocket and sends it slithering across the
floor and through the ring of flames.
CORSO: Here, you idiot!
He retreats up the steps with horror
written on his face. THE GIRL has risen to her feet. He takes
her hand and, with a last backward glance, hustles her
outside.
133. CASTLE COURTYARD EXT/NIGHT
Balkan's wild screams reverberate around
the walls as CORSO and THE GIRL hurry across the courtyard.
134. CASTLE EXT/NIGHT
CORSO and THE GIRL are standing beside
the Mercedes. Smoke and tongues of flame are issuing from the
arrow slits of Balkan's tower. His screams rise in a crescendo.
Then a gunshot cuts them off like a knife.
CORSO: He really thought it would
work.
THE GIRL: He wasn't to know it
wouldn't.
CORSO stares at her, momentarily
puzzled, then at the blazing castle, then back at her.
CORSO: You didn't do anything to help
him, Greeneyes, not this time.
THE GIRL: I'm your guardian angel,
remember?
She lays her palm against his cheek,
then crooks her hand around the nape of his neck and draws his
face toward hers, kisses him tenderly on the lips. CORSO returns
her kiss. He folds her in his arms and holds her close. The
fiery glow dances over their entwined figures.
135. CASTLE EXT/NIGHT
LONG SHOT of the castle ablaze. The
flames have spread from Balkan's tower to the rest of the
building. Smoke and flames are now belching from it. The sky
overhead is tinged with crimson.
136. PARIS HOTEL: BATHROOM, BEDROOM,
CORRIDOR INT/EARLY MORNING
CORSO, his hair damp from the shower and
a towel around his waist, is halfway through shaving when
there's a knock on the bathroom door.
One cheek daubed with foam, he opens it
to find himself confronted by the FLOOR WAITER, check pad and
ballpoint in hand
FLOOR WAITER: Bonjour, m'sieur. Votre
petit dejeuner.
CORSO: Oh. Sure.
Taking the pad, he emerges into the
bedroom and scribbles his signature, then stops short: there's a
breakfast cart in the middle of the room, but the bed is empty.
No sign of The Girl or her clothes.
CORSO (cont.): Where is she?
WAITER: Pardon?
CORSO: Madame, ou elle est?
FLOOR WAITER : Je ne ''ai pas vue,
m'sieur.
He makes for the door and exits.
CORSO catches hold of the door just as
it's closing, puts his head out into the corridor, looks right
and left. No one in sight but the FLOOR WAITER, who casts a
puzzled glance over his shoulder as he walks off.
137. PARIS HOTEL: LOBBY, RECEPTION DESK
INT/DAY
CORSO, now dressed but unshaven, hurries
over to the reception desk, where GRUBER is on duty.
GRUBER greets him with an almost
imperceptible inclination of the head.
GRUBER: Good morning, Mr. Corso.
CORSO: Morning, Gruber. The young lady I
came with, have you seen her?
GRUBER: Yea, sir. She went out not long
ago.
He reaches behind him and produces a
folded message slip from one of the pigeonholes.
GRUBER (cont.): She asked me to give you
this.
He hands the slip to CORSO, who opens
it. With him, we read:
'See you around, maybe.'
And below:
'PS. The 9th Engraving was a
forgery.'
138. TOLEDO STREET, ALLEY EXT/DAY
CORSO's footsteps echo as he walks along
one of Toledo's narrow medieval streets. The steel-framed
glasses with the cracked lens have been replaced by a new pair
with gold frames. He's wearing a smart new overcoat and has a
new leather bag slung from his shoulder.
He rounds a corner and heads down the
deserted alleyway we saw in Scene 27. No scaffolding, just
sandblasted walls and freshly painted window frames and
grilles.
He reaches the doorway leading to the
inner courtyard, hears a woman's strident cries, bumps into THE
BOY, who comes running out as before.
139. TOLEDO: COURTYARD, CENIZA BROS.
WORKSHOP EXT/DAY
CORSO crosses the courtyard to the steps
that led down to the Cenizas' workshop. He stops short and
stares.
The old door - 'HERMANOS CENIZA -
RESTAURACION DE LIBROS' - has been taken of its hinges and
propped on its side against the basement wall. The display
window is just a gaping hole: the window frame has been ripped
out, exposing the masonry surrounding it. The whirr of a power
tool can be heard.
CORSO, looking puzzled, descends the
steps.
140. TOLEDO: CENIZA BROS. WORKSHOP
INT/DAY
CORSO pauses in the doorway and surveys
the interior. The hand press has disappeared and the floor is
littered with debris. Pale rectangular patches on the grey walls
indicate where counters and cabinets have been ripped out.
TWO SPANISH WORKMEN are busy detaching
an old cabinet from the wall with an electric screwdriver.
CORSO: Oiga!
He has to repeat himself before they
interrupt their activities.
1ST WORKMAN: Seftor?
CORSO: Los Hermanos Ceniza?
1ST WORKMAN: Los Ceniza? (glances at the
2ND WORKMAN): Est&n muertos.
CORSO: Como muertos? Quando?
1ST WORKMAN: Oh, hace anos, anos.
CORSO: ANOS?!
The 2ND WORKMAN comes over, wiping his
hands on his apron.
2ND WORKMAN: Ingles?
CORSO: Americana.
2ND WORKMAN (as if that explained
everything): Ah- They dead, many years.
CORSO (more and more puzzled): But they
were here not long ago - I spoke with them.
The 2ND WORKMAN looks at his colleague,
shrugs and chuckles as if to convey that Corso is crazy, like
most foreigners.
1ST WORKMAN: Disculpe.
He indicates that CORSO is in the
way.
Utterly disconcerted, CORSO backs up as
they manhandle the cabinet away from the wall and tilt it
forward prior to laying it face down on the floor.
As they do so, a dusty piece of paper
slides off the top of the cabinet and seesaws to the floor like
a falling leaf.
Instinctively, CORSO stoops and picks it
up. He looks at it idly, then more closely. His eyes widen.
It's the Ninth Engraving: THE WOMAN
RIDING A SEVEN-HEADED DRAGON WITH A CASTLE ABLAZE IN THE
BACKGROUND.
The woman's face bears a strong
resemblance to that of The Girl.
141. TOLEDO: ALLEY EXT/DAY
CORSO walks back along the alleyway with
the engraving in his hand. His receding figure dwindles to a
speck.
THE END
