A Tricky Game

Is this some sort of freaking game?

THE GENTLEMAN (V.O.)

I think you can call it life, Monsieur MacBride.

MACBRIDE

(into the phone)

Yeah, maybe, but what’s in this game for you, Monsieur Moreaux?

THE GENTLEMAN (V.O.)

The security of Mademoiselle Angela.

MACBRIDE

(into the phone)

Well, then why haven’t you protected her?

THE GENTLEMAN (V.O.)

What makes you think I haven’t?

MACBRIDE

(into the phone)

If you had, she wouldn’t have ended up in hospital.

THE GENTLEMAN (V.O.)

Perhaps, she might have ended up in a much worse place than that.

MACBRIDE

(into the phone)

I see, though it doesn’t make sense to me.

INT. RESIDENTIAL BUILDING (MOSCOW) – NIGHT

Faded blue walls display patches of peeled off paint. The worn-out terracotta tiles of the floor bear traces of dark grey slush.

MacBride enters, adding a fresh trail of slushed foot prints.

THE GENTLEMAN (V.O.) (CONT’D)

Monsieur MacBride, I would very much appreciate your further co-operation.

MACBRIDE

(into the phone)

My further co-operation in what?

MacBride shakes snow off his coat. The mobile slips out of his hand and HITS the floor.

The line goes QUIET.

MacBride picks his mobile up and walks into —

THE LIFT

He presses the third-floor button. As the lift goes up, the light flickers.

His mobile RINGS. MacBride hits ‘answer’.

MACBRIDE (CONT’D)

(into the phone)

Yeah?

PAVEL (V.O.)

Hi Mac, it’s Pavel.

MACBRIDE

(into the phone)

Hey man, what’s up?

PAVEL (V.O.)

I did some checking around.

MACBRIDE

(into the phone)

Yeah, what about?

PAVEL (V.O.)

(into the phone)

Kazimir Stankevitch.

MACBRIDE

(into the phone)

Oh yeah. And?

PAVEL (V.O.)

He owns a hunting lodge in Finland.

MACBRIDE

(into the phone)

Lucky dude.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. KAZIMIR’S OFFICE (MOSCOW) – NIGHT

In the middle of the room a glass desk stands. Kazimir sits at it, facing the floor-to-ceiling windows. A cigar smoulders between his fingers. The wall behind him is covered with gilded icons.

Angela walks in.

KAZIMIR

(turning his head)

Angela?

ANGELA

Yes.

KAZIMIR

(turning back to the window)

I see.

Kazimir draws on his cigar and blows a cloud of smoke towards the window that frames the city’s industrial landscape: the Moscow River winding into the horizon and the factories, dotted along it, pluming smoke out into the night sky.

Angela sits down on the black leather sofa.

Kazimir and Angela stare out the window.

KAZIMIR (CONT’D)

Feeling better?

ANGELA

Yes.

Cigar in mouth, he stands up and goes to the espresso machine.

KAZIMIR (CONT’D)

Espresso?

ANGELA

No, thanks.

He sits down on the sofa besides Angela.

KAZIMIR (CONT’D)

I’m going hunting.

ANGELA

Good for you.

KAZIMIR

(drawing on his cigar)

Join me.

ANGELA

I will.

KAZIMIR

(surprised, moves slightly away)

Will you?

ANGELA

Yes, but first I need to go to St. Petersburg.

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. RAILWAY STATION (MOSCOW) – NIGHT

A line of cars runs to the security gates of the crowded car park. Angela’s Bentley sits in the line, slowly moving forward.

EXT. RAILWAY STATION/PLATFORMS (MOSCOW) – NIGHT

Travel bag in her hand, Angela hurries along the platform, heading to the Premium carriage of the Grand Express train.

The last CALL FOR BOARDING is announced. Angela steps in.

INT. THE GRAND EXPRESS/PREMIUM CARRIAGE – NIGHT

The CONDUCTOR, a young woman in her 20s with an air of self-importance and bright make-up, wearing a gilded red uniform of the Grand Express, locks the door of the carriage and shows Angela to her compartment.