INT VATICAN ARCHIVES DAY-- two huge, modern glass doors WHOOSH open, revealing what looks
like a 23rd century library. It's a massive underground space,
like a darkened airplane hangar, with a dozen glass boxes evenly
spaced throughout. They're lit up from within, each containing
row upon row of bookshelves, neatly filled with books, papers, and
arcana.
LT. CHARTRAND, a twenty-five year old member of the Swiss Guard
(in a suit and earpiece, not the traditional garb), leads Langdon
and Vittoria toward the glass enclosures.
CHARTRAND
(Swiss accent)
The chambers are hermetic vaults,
oxygen is kept at lowest possible
levels. It's a partial vacuum
inside. More than ten minutes in the
vault is not recommended without
breathing apparatus.
He stops at one particular chamber and gestures to the sign on its
door -- "Il Processo Galileano."
CHARTRAND (cont'd)
I'll be just outside the door.
Langdon starts toward the entrance to the vault, but Chartrand
puts a hand on his chest, stopping him.
CHARTRAND (cont'd)
Watching you, Mr. Langdon.
Langdon looks at him. He's not popular around here.
INT GALILEO VAULT DAY
The electronic revolving door spins and admits Langdon to the
interior of the vault. He takes a deep breath, holds it, and lets
it out.
Vittoria follows shortly behind him, and she's unprepared -- the
lack of oxygen hits her hard, she dizzies.
30.
LANGDON
Take a moment. If you feel double
vision, double over.
VITTORIA
(bends over)
Feels like I'm... scuba diving... with
the wrong mixture.
LANGDON
Plenty of time.
He checks his watch. It's 7:07.
LANGDON (cont'd)
Uh... actually, I take that back.
CUT TO:
INT A DARK SPACE DAY
In a dark space, a tea bag bobs delicately up and down in a cup of
hot water. An elegant man in his forties, dressed in a casual
suit, no tie, HUMS softly to himself as he steeps his tea. No
idea of his name, but his suit is gray, so how about MR. GRAY.
The tea is on an old wooden table, being heated by a small can of
sterno. While Mr. Gray bobs the tea bag, he stares at something
to his right.
Money. A lot of it, in a number of different denominations,
neatly segmented in a briefcase. And three passports, all
different colors (and nationalities), neatly placed on top of it.
Satisfied, Mr. Gray CLICKS the briefcase shut and slides it under
the table, tucking it up against the wall. He removes the cup
from the heat, still bobbing the tea bag.
He walks, lit by candlelight that throws harsh shadows on strange
walls. He heads down a very dark hallway, past a row of
stonewalled cells, and within each is the dimly lit figure of the
older men we saw on the videotape earlier -- the kidnapped
cardinals.
He stops at the last cell, where the man, CARDINAL LAMASSE, looks
up at him from the wooden bench he's sitting on.
MR. GRAY
You have no idea what you're missing.
LAMASSE
Conclave will go on without us. The
voice of God will not be silenced.
31.
MR. GRAY
I was referring to my tea. Last
chance, I'd be happy to make you a
cup.
LAMASSE
May God forgive you for what you've
done.
MR. GRAY
Father, if God has issues they won't
be with what I've done --
(seems genuinely saddened)
-- but with what I'm about to do.
A MOMENT LATER,
Mr. Gray's hand takes the burning tin of sterno and tosses it into
a fireplace, where the liquid fire consumes a pile of dry
kindling. He picks up something else and places it in the heart
of the flames.
A long-handled iron rod.
CUT TO:
Date: 2015-12-18; view: 523
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