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: 644