(An middle-aged JAPANESE BUSINESSMAN is sitting on a low stool with his hands tied behind his back, dressed in a shirt and tie. The room is Japanese-style with screen windows made of translucent material. He appears to have just regained consciousness. He looks around seeming not to know where he is. A young Japanese man, TOSHIRO, enters dressed in black western clothes.)

JAPANESE BUSINESSMAN: (Subtitles) W-What? What is all this? Where am I? I'm supposed to be in Towson, Maryland.

(TOSHIRO walks around the JAPANESE BUSINESSMAN.)

TOSHIRO: (Subtitles) Welcome to Osaka. Lucky I didn't put you to sleep for good.

JAPANESE BUSINESSMAN: (Subtitles) Look, I don't think you know who I am. You're in deep trouble.

TOSHIRO: (Subtitles) I know exactly who you are. You're the man I'm about to put out of the whaling business.

JAPANESE BUSINESSMAN: (Subtitles) What are you talking about?

(TOSHIRO draws a short katana and holds it against the JAPANESE BUSINESSMAN's throat.)

TOSHIRO: (Subtitles) The entire world will know we are for real when "Time" magazine receives your finger in the mail.

(He moves his knife down to the JAPANESE BUSINESSMAN's hand and prepares to slice off the JAPANESE BUSINESSMAN's little finger.)

(Suddenly, the voice of a third man, speaking with a gruff Japanese accent, is heard.)

THIRD MAN: (Subtitles) You punk. You're going down.

(Both men look at the door. There is a large silhouette of a man in the light. The door slides open and it is FROHIKE, dressed in Japanese style - a gold patterned top and white trousers, and much smaller than the silhouette.)

(TOSHIRO gets up with a sneering sniff. He and FROHIKE slowly move to face each other. TOSHIRO starts by slashing towards FROHIKE with his knife. The fight scene that follows involves FROHIKE making amazing moves, leaping many feet into the air. At one point he winks at the JAPANESE BUSINESSMAN who is clearly astonished at what he's seeing. The fight ends when FROHIKE launches into an aerial attack, travelling most of the length of the room in the air, and kicking TOSHIRO in the chest, sending him crashing backwards through one of the paper windows. TOSHIRO runs away.)

(FROHIKE turns to the JAPANESE BUSINESSMAN.)

JAPANESE BUSINESSMAN: (Subtitles) Who are you?

FROHIKE: (Subtitles and very bad Japanese dubbed voice) There may be others. Where is your whaling fleet?

(The JAPANESE BUSINESSMAN is silent. FROHIKE takes out an ID badge.)

FROHIKE: (Subtitles) Special Investigator. That man is an eco-terrorist. I need to stop his gang from destroying your company's fleet. Give me ship names and locations. HURRY!

JAPANESE BUSINESSMAN: (Subtitles) Taki-maru, Arashi-maru, Tokkan-maru.

(Cut to a computer monitor. The conversation is being listened to via microphone and voice analysis software.)

JAPANESE BUSINESSMAN: (Subtitles and Voiceover) All three ships are in port in Yokohama.

(BYERS and LANGLY are listening in. Also there is TOSHIRO.)

LANGLY: Bingo. All three check out.

BYERS: Mission accomplished, Frohike.

(BYERS gives a 'thumbs-up' sign to TOSHIRO.)

(Cut to FROHIKE and the JAPANESE BUSINESSMAN.)

FROHIKE: (Subtitles) I must go. Others will be here shortly to free you.

(As he turns and moves towards the door, the JAPANESE BUSINESSMAN pulls his hands from behind his back with the rope loose.)

JAPANESE BUSINESSMAN: (Subtitles) Wait. I've freed myself. I'll contact my head of corporate security.

(Cut to computer screen. This is a complicated set up with a voice pattern screen.)

JAPANESE BUSINESSMAN: (Subtitles & VO) He can help.

(BYERS, LANGLY and the TOSHIRO exchange looks of concern.)

BYERS: (whispering) Answer him. Answer him.

(Cut to FROHIKE, looking worried, and the JAPANESE BUSINESSMAN who stands up having untied the rope around his ankles.)

FROHIKE: (Subtitles) Good. I must go. Special Investigator. You punk. You're going down -

(Not only are the words the wrong ones, but the voice sounds garbled. Suddenly FROHIKE yells. Then we hear whistles and feedback sounds. Quite clearly whatever clever set-up the Lone Gunmen have been using has gone very wrong. The JAPANESE BUSINESSMAN approaches FROHIKE suspiciously. He and FROHIKE face off. Then the JAPANESE BUSINESSMAN grasps a very thin wire going from FROHIKE's back to the ceiling. He now realises how FROHIKE managed those high leaps. He pulls angrily on the wire and they both turn to see one of the paper screen walls collapsing towards them. It disintegrates when it hits them and when they both stand up again the JAPANESE BUSINESSMAN sees that behind the screen are TOSHIRO, LANGLY and BYERS with two laptops.)

(The JAPANESE BUSINESSMAN looks around in disbelief. FROHIKE pulls out from his mouth an upper dental plate minus teeth but with what looks like a miniature transmitter.)

FROHIKE: Sayonara, baby.

TOSHIRO: Run for it.

(BYERS and LANGLY shut the laptops and run. FROHIKE tries but is brought up short by the wire still connecting him to the ceiling. Suddenly FROHIKE is pulled up into the air and is propelled backwards. The JAPANESE BUSINESSMAN sees him coming and yells. Quite clearly FROHIKE butts the JAPANESE BUSINESSMAN with his butt as we fade to black.)

(Night. A house is seen set in its own grounds with a wrought iron gate which is shut. There is some kind of armorial badge on the gates. The camera pans across a dark car, registration plate YRB202, and onto the lawn where there are a number of golf balls. Then the camera pans up to the large house where someone is standing on a balcony. He hits another golf ball.)

(Cut to the balcony. A hand places another golf ball on a tee. It's a young man, ALEX GOLDSMITH, who is crying. The view changes to show him from inside the room then turns to show three IBM Thinkpad laptops on a table. The VALET enters the room and looks at the laptops. He sees "Deleting files" and then "Formatting complete".)

(Cut to outside. ALEX GOLDSMITH is continuing to hit golf balls.)

(Cut to inside. The VALET takes out a gun and screws on a silencer.)

(Cut to outside. ALEX GOLDSMITH hits another golf ball and it smashes the windscreen of the car. He turns and sees the VALET at the window, pointing a gun at him.)

VALET: (smiling) Fore.

(He fires the gun three times and ALEX GOLDSMITH falls backwards over the edge of the balcony. The VALET walks to the balcony railing, looks down, shakes his head and then looks around before walking back to the window.)

(Cut to view of metal mirror showing the Lone Gunmen's VW drawing up outside some rather dilapidated buildings.)

(Cut to inside the office. FROHIKE is holding an ice-pack to the left side of his neck.)

FROHIKE: Oh, man.

(He unlocks the door. The security monitor shows a man getting up from sitting on the steps. It's BYERS.)

FROHIKE: Well, that was fast.

(FROHIKE looks outside, then turns back.)

FROHIKE: Hey! Where are the papers?

BYERS: Sitting on some loading dock somewhere. The printers would not give them to us on credit.

FROHIKE: Woah! Uh-uh. Byers, we gotta get that Japanese whaling story out to the public.

BYERS: What do you want me to say. We spent our last twelve hundred dollars getting the story. We didn't save any money for publishing it.

(BYERS and FROHIKE have moved over to where LANGLY is sat at the computer.)

LANGLY: I figured that would happen.

BYERS: Oh, no more of your 'I told you so's, Langly.

LANGLY: Far from it. If you guys are interested, I've figured out the answer to all our money problems.

FROHIKE: Oh, yeah. What's that?

LANGLY: We need to sell more papers.

(LANGLY picks up a paper from beside the desk.)

BYERS: Easier said than done.

LANGLY: (brandishing a Lone Gunman paper) Not when you got Lone Gunwoman of the Week.

(The paper has the headline "EXPOSED CRIMINAL WHALERS" and a picture of a woman wearing a Stars-n-Stripes bikini.)

BYERS: Oh, good lord, Langly. You can't use that.

(BYERS stares at the cover.)

BYERS: She's - ... she's ...

FROHIKE: She's amazing.

(LANGLY smiles. BYERS looks at FROHIKE disapprovingly.)

FROHIKE: And doesn't belong on the cover of any legitimate publication.

LANGLY: We're supposed to be fighting for truth, justice and the American way, here.

FROHIKE: Well, what the hell is this? (he points to his wounds) This isn't fighting? I put my butt on the line week in and week out while you and Byers just hide behind the scenes.

LANGLY: Yeah, your butt, my brains. I should be a dot com gazillionaire instead of gracing you two with my hacking brilliance.

BYERS: Bickering won't solve anything.

FROHIKE: Byers, don't get holier than thou.

LANGLY: Yeah, Mr. Big Picture, Mr. Mission. It's easy to talk about the stories we need to write. Fighting whaling or illegal government surveillance, or who killed JFK. But you have to ask yourself - how far will you go to print them?

BYERS: (nodding towards LANGLY's front cover) Not that far.

(The door bell sounds. BYERS goes to see who it is. FROHIKE turns his head and winces in pain, holding the icepack to his neck. As BYERS goes to open the door, LANGLY shows FROHIKE again his front cover enthusiastically.)

FROHIKE: Sorry, buddy.

(LANGLY slams the paper down on the desk.)

(The security monitor shows YVES ADELE HARLOW outside the door.)

BYERS: Uh, guys.

(LANGLY and FROHIKE come over and BYERS unlocks the door.)

YVES: Well, aren't you going to invite me in?

FROHIKE: Depends. You here to kill us?

YVES: Melvin, would you really be caught dead in that robe?

(She pushes her way in.)

YVES: I must admit, the thought of revenge did cross my mind. You cost me a tidy profit when you stole my Octium IV chip.

LANGLY: Our Octium IV chip.

BYERS: We have returned it to its rightful owner now that we've published our expose of it.

YVES: Mm. How wonderful of you.

(During this time YVES has been walking towards the computer, with the Lone Gunmen following her. She sees LANGLY's front page.)

YVES: Aah! Conspiracy theories and masturbation. I suspected there was a connection.

FROHIKE: What d'ya want, Yves.

YVES: Right, down to business, then. This morning a body was found in a Long Island dumpster. A young man called Alex Goldsmith, better known as Double Bogey.

LANGLY: DB. A golf nut.

FROHIKE: Hacker extraordinaire.

YVES: You knew him?

BYERS: By reputation. After the '97 Masters Tournament, he hijacked the Jumbotron Screen in Times Square, made it flash 'Tiger is God' for 26 minutes.

FROHIKE: Classic hack.

(They have been smiling but now turn serious and look at YVES.)

FROHIKE: Who smoked him?

YVES: The police seem to think it was a drug deal gone bad but that doesn't take into the account the three match-grade fan-dovelled slugs dug from his chest. Ammunition used by intelligence services around the globe but certainly not gangbangers.

BYERS: So, who wanted one of the world's best hackers dead?

FROHIKE: And why are you telling us?

YVES: There's a story to be uncovered here, wouldn't you say? Unless, of course, you're no longer journalists but budding pornographers.

(YVES holds up LANGLY's front cover and the three guys all look somewhat uncomfortable.)

(Cut to later. Switchblade music. BYERS is brushing off a black jacket.)

(Cut to sliding door from TLG offices. LANGLY slides the door open, the VW is parked outside. BYERS and FROHIKE go towards the VW and LANGLY slides the door shut. Inside the VW FROHIKE stashes away bag and then all three climb in the front, BYERS driving. They drive off a few yards (The VW Maryland license plate: TSD 596) when the VW grinds to a halt. End of Switchblade music. BYERS tries to start the engine, fails, then looks at the dashboard - the tank is completely empty.)

(Fade to black.)

(The VW draws up outside a small, two-storey house on a quiet residential street. The name on the mail box is Goldsmith.)

BYERS: This is the place, right?

LANGLY: Yeah, yeah. (groans) Now turn off the damn engine and stop wasting my gas.

FROHIKE: Oh, here we go with the gas, again.

LANGLY: It's a known carcinogen, you ingrate. Got like a pint of it down in my stomach.

FROHIKE: You drew the short straw. How was I supposed to know that you don't know how to siphon.

LANGLY: (to BYERS) And you, Mister Goody Two Shoes, Mister suck one gallon out of ten cars instead of ten gallons out of one car.

BYERS: Ethically it seemed more defensible.

LANGLY: Oh, you'll be sorry when I'm dead.

FROHIKE: Oh yeah, prove it. (pause) Come on, get out. Out!

(Cut to inside the house. Someone picks up a framed photograph of the young man playing golf, ALEX GOLDSMITH.)

MRS GOLDSMITH: Alex wasn't into drugs. That much I know for certain.

(The Lone Gunmen are sitting on a settee.)

MRS GOLDSMITH: He had so much going for him, with the computers. (She sits down.) He was brilliant, had such a good heart.

(LANGLY, who is clutching a cushion, belches. The other two looked at him sternly. He looks very nauseous.)

MRS GOLDSMITH: You put that in your article, that he didn't sell drugs.

(They nod.)

MRS GOLDSMITH: I guess you can see that I couldn't give him much, growing up, but I did teach him right from wrong.

BYERS: How did Alex spend his time? Did he have a specific project he was working on?

MRS GOLDSMITH: I didn't see much of him for these last few weeks.

(She tries to stifle a sob. LANGLY belches again.)

BYERS: Um, may we see Alex's computer?

(Cut to Alex's room. There are at least two monitors on a desk. FROHIKE sits down at the keyboard. The camera pans back to show a golf bag, covered with signatures. LANGLY is looking into it. MRS GOLDSMITH comes over to him.)

MRS GOLDSMITH: That was his very favourite thing in all the world. Alex said that if the house ever caught fire, it was the only thing worth saving. (LANGLY is looking very sick.) He even got it autographed by all the players in last year's US Open, even Tiger Woods, see? (She points to the autograph).

LANGLY: Wow.

MRS GOLDSMITH: I'm sure you gentlemen could do with a snack.

(LANGLY looks even sicker.)

MRS GOLDSMITH: I'll be right back.

(She leaves. LANGLY is trying hard not to throw up but fails and vomits into the golf bag. Although his head in inside the golf bag, the sounds indicate clearly what he's doing. The other two Gunmen are very dismayed.)

BYERS: Langly!

LANGLY: (lifting his head) It's OK. I'm better, thanks.

FROHIKE: Fix it! Quick!

(BYERS and FROHIKE point to their right. LANGLY drags the RING golf bag off to the bathroom.)

BYERS: Good grief.

FROHIKE: Ay, ay, ay, ay.

(Cut to the bathroom. LANGLY draws back the shower curtain, empties the golf bag into the shower, places the bag upright on the shower tray and turns on the water. He takes a bottle of detergent from the window shelf and pours it into the golf bag. He turns the water off and uses a towel to wipe down the outside. He suddenly realises that he's wiping the autographs off.)

(Cut to computer monitor, there are some beeps.)

BYERS: What do you have?

FROHIKE: A big lot of nothing. The hard drive's been reformatted.

(BYERS sighs. LANGLY comes back in with the golf bag.)

BYERS: Did you clean it up?

LANGLY: Ohhh, yeah.

(He puts the golf bag, covered with the towel, on the floor in front of FROHIKE, who lifts off the towel to reveal the smears where the autographs had been.)

FROHIKE: You washed off all the names.

LANGLY: Anyone got any magic markers.

MRS GOLDSMITH: (off screen) Fellahs? How does lemonade sound?

LANGLY: Oh, damn.

(They all grab pens and start writing on the golf bag.)

FROHIKE: (to LANGLY) It's Tiger, not Tigger, you imbecile.

(LANGLY grins sheepishly.)

(BYERS notices a piece of paper in one of the bag's pockets. He pulls it out.)

MRS GOLDSMITH: Here you are, boys.

(MRS GOLDSMITH comes in with a tray of food and drink. The three Lone Gunmen turn round and smile at her.)

BYERS: Oh, that, uh, looks, that looks lovely, but, uh, -

FROHIKE: (checking his watch) We gotta go.

BYERS: Yes!

FROHIKE: Sorry.

LANGLY: Really. Really sorry.

(They exit the room quickly. MRS GOLDSMITH watches them, puzzled. Then looks slowly round the room. The Lone Gunmen are just exiting the front door when she screams.)

LANGLY: We'll make it up to you!

(They climb into the VW.)

LANGLY: Told you I was sick!

FROHIKE: Yeah, yeah.

BYERS: Guys. I'm not sure Alex was the Saint his mother thinks he was.

(He pulls out the paper he took from the golf bag.)

FROHIKE: What's that?

BYERS: It's a bank check dated four days ago, made out to Alex Goldsmith, for one million dollars.

(FROHIKE grabs the check from BYERS, then LANGLY grabs it from FROHIKE.)

(Fade to black.)

(Day. Camera pans down from sky to show a low building and parking area surrounded by trees. A car is parked near the building and the VW is at the other end. The camera slowly zooms in on a circular object on the roof of the VW. The object rises - it's a periscope, and it turns to point at the car. On a monitor the periscope zooms in on the building. The sign on the door says "POE". The camera pans from the monitor to FROHIKE.)

FROHIKE: That's them. 'Philanthropic Outreach Enterprises'. P-O-E.

BYERS: (looking at the check) POE Corporation. Are we to believe Alex Goldsmith was working for a charity?

FROHIKE: I guess some charity, cutting million dollar checks to hackers.

LANGLY: Sounds good to me.

(Cut to monitor showing web page of the State Corporation Commission.)

LANGLY: Well, the State Corporation Commission has jack-squat on them. They have the CEO registered as a one James Bond, for God's sakes. A million bucks. I'd settle for four hundred dollars in cash to get my damned stomach pumped.

FROHIKE: LANGLY, run a plate.

(FROHIKE has focused the periscope on the car's registration plate.)

FROHIKE: New York State, M-O-D-I-V numero eight. Shut up about your stomach.

LANGLY: Oh sure, my liver's shutting down, but who cares?

(Monitor shows web page for POE.)

FROHIKE: Philanthropic Outreach. I bet the last donations these guys made was the three bullet holes they gave Alex Goldsmith.

BYERS: You're guessing he hacked for them and then they killed him.

FROHIKE: Mmmm.

LANGLY: The car's registered to one James Bond. Cute.

(Details of the owner appear on the screen.)

    Owner Num: 974895-9048579
    Licensed Owner: James Bond
    Plate: MODIV-8
    Car: Trans Am
    Color: Black
    ..try Num: 9487593-994

FROHIKE: Hey, check it.

(FROHIKE is watching the periscope monitor.)

FROHIKE: Mr. Bond, I presume.

(The monitor shows a YOUNG MAN wearing dark glasses getting into the car.)

BYERS: Let's follow him.

(The car drives off and the VW follows. Eventually the car stops in an area surrounded by trees and bushes and the YOUNG MAN gets out.)

BYERS: He's certainly in a hurry.

FROHIKE: Late for a secret meeting?

(They get out of the VW and make their way through the vegetation. They hear a constant beeping. AS they peer through a hedge, they now hear several sets of beeps. They walk around the end of the hedge onto a sports field where men are practising American Football. A whistle blows. The camera zooms in fast on a football as it is kicked. The ball flies high with a chirping sound. It lands and bounces, emitting a beep each time. It rolls to a stop near the Lone Gunmen and FROHIKE walks forward and picks it up.)

FROHIKE: (turning to the other two) So, what do you figure?

BYERS: Uh, uh, Frohike!

(FROHIKE turns just in time to see three footballers about to tackle him. They throw themselves at him and they all land on the ground, FROHIKE underneath. The YOUNG MAN sees what has happened and blows a whistle.)

YOUNG MAN: Civilians on the field! Time out!

(The footballers climb off FROHIKE who is groaning. The other two rush to help him up.)

BYERS: Frohike, are you OK?

FROHIKE: Oh sure. Somebody's car alarm keeps going off.

LANGLY: (to the footballers) What the hell! You guys blind or what?

(The footballers are all clearly blind, feeling around for each other.)

BYERS: Uh, Langly?

(The YOUNG MAN pushes through the milling footballers.)

YOUNG MAN: Check, guys. Coming through.

(He peers anxiously at FROHIKE.)

(Later, someone, presumably a first-aider, is shining a pencil torch in FROHIKE's eyes. FROHIKE also has cotton wool plugs in both nostrils.

FROHIKE: A blind football team?

(The Lone Gunmen are sceptical. The YOUNG MAN is enthusiastic.)

YOUNG MAN: Not just a team, but a league. We're the first but we got franchises starting up. In California, Arizona and Florida. God bless modern technology. Sonar helmets, beeping footballs. I know it'll work. I promise you, one day you'll be watching these men on ESPN.

(He becomes more serious and turns to FROHIKE.)

YOUNG MAN: How're you feeling?

FROHIKE: Oh, peachy.

TEAM MEDIC: Nothing broken.

BYERS: So, all this was your brain child, Mr. -

JIMMY: Bond, Jimmy Bond.

(He and BYERS shake hands.)

JIMMY: Call me Jimmy.

(There's a crash and they all look to see two players have crashed into a bench.)

JIMMY: Nice hustle, guys. Now, give me some wind sprints!

FOOTBALLER: You got it, coach! Whoo Rar!

(They run off making Rar! and Whoo! Sounds.)

JIMMY: Listen. I'm real sorry about you getting tackled but this practice is private. You gentlemen here for a reason?

BYERS: We're journalists. We're interested in doing a story about your league.

JIMMY: Sports Illustrated?

LANGLY: The Lone Gunman.

JIMMY: Right on? Huntin' and fishing'? I like that.

BYERS: Specifically, we're wondering how you fund this operation. It must be expensive.

JIMMY: Yes it is. But how do you put a price tag on a dream. Now, I know that it sounds corny but when I look at those men's faces, when they make a tackle, catch a pass - OK, that hasn't actually happened yet - but still, to me, it's worth all the silver in Fort Knox.

FROHIKE: Very touching.

JIMMY: I mean, this is America, and every citizen has a God-given right to play football!

LANGLY: Where do you get your money from?

JIMMY: We're a charitable endowment. We have benefactors that really believe in what we've got going on here.

BYERS: Who are they? We'd love to talk to them.

JIMMY: So would I - to thank them. They're completely anonymous. And they want to keep it that way. They're not in it for the glory. (pause) Shouldn't you guys be writing this down?

FROHIKE: Uh, yeah, um, look we're just gonna go back to the mobile news unit - we're just gonna grab a tape recorder -

LANGLY: We'll, we'll be right back.

(The Lone Gunmen have edged their way out of the sports park. JIMMY, smiling delightedly, sits down on a bench. Two footballers approach carrying a plastic barrel.)

FOOTBALLER: Hey coach!

(They empty the contents of the barrel over the other end of the bench and high-five each other. JIMMY smiles to himself.)

(Cut to the Lone Gunmen walking back to their "mobile news unit".)

FROHIKE: Sheesh! Can that guy be for real?

BYERS: Well' he's no criminal mastermind. Of that I'm fairly certain.

(BYERS has handed the keys to the VW to LANGLY. They all climb into the vehicle.)

BYERS: But this POE has a secret agenda, even if he doesn't.

LANGLY: Let's get the hell out of here and stop wasting our time.

FROHIKE: Yeah.

(LANGLY goes to start the vehicle. It doesn't, of course. LANGLY sighs and picks up some plastic tubing and hands it to BYERS and FROHIKE.)

LANGLY: Boys - knock yourselves out.

(LANGLY gets out of the VW.)

FROHIKE: Where you going?

LANGLY: Somebody's got to suck the pipe and it ain't gonna be me.

BYERS: Langly!

(Cut to outside the POE building. LANGLY peers in through the glass front door. He checks the door - it's unlocked. He goes in. Switchblade music.)

LANGLY: Hello? Anybody?

(He walks along a corridor and into a room where there is a computer on the desk. He pushes up his sleeves and sits down at the computer. The computer shows screens similar to web pages. LANGLY, who has been rapidly typing, stops and sighs. End of Switchblade music.)

VALET: (off screen) Need any help?

LANGLY: I - can help you.

(The man is the VALET who VALETated ALEX GOLDSMITH.)

LANGLY: For a price. (pause) I'm guessing that you knew a kid named Alex Goldsmith, number two hacker in America. (shrugs) Why settle for number two when you can have number one.

VALET: That would be you.

LANGLY: Exactly. Whatever he was doing, I could do it better.

VALET: Without even knowing what it is?

LANGLY: Doesn't matter. As long as we're talking computers, I've got all the man skills so it's all downhill, if you know what I'm saying. Come check me out.

(Switchblade music. The VALET comes over to watch the monitor. There are frequent scenes showing LANGLY doing techy stuff and then the screen shows The Department of Defence system with a clearance level of 5.)

LANGLY: Wanna be a five-star general? Just click the button.

(More scenes ending with: "SECURITY DETAILS: Bypassed Firewalls" and listing Department of Defence [Pentagon, DC], Jet Propulsion Lab [CA] and Queen's Bank of Georgetown [Cayman Islands]. End of Switchblade music.)

LANGLY: There, that makes the Pentagon, the Jet Propulsion Lab and the Queen's Bank of Georgetown, Cayman Islands. I hacked into them all inside of (checks watch) 19 minutes plus I reset your system's clock - daylight savings! I got the job?

VALET: You got the job.

(The VALET opens a desk drawer, There is a roll of duct tape in there. LANGLY looks puzzled.)

(Cut to LANGLY's head, his mouth covered with duct tape, being slammed down onto the keyboard.)

(The sports field. JIMMY hands a plastic petrol can to BYERS.)

JIMMY: Here you go. (BYERS takes it - it's clearly heavier than it looked when JIMMY was holding it.) Glad to help.

(The beeping sound is still sounding. There's another sound. FROHIKE looks around puzzled until he realises it's his cellphone. He answers it.)

FROHIKE: Hello!

(At this point he is tackled by a couple of footballers.)

(Cut to YVES sitting in her car, using a cellphone.)

YVES: Hello? Frohike?

(Cut to sports field where the footballers climb off FROHIKE who is still holding his cellphone to his ear, groaning.)

FROHIKE: Get off me! You're crushing my pelvis.

(Cut back to YVES.)

YVES: (Taunting) Are you talking to Byers? Should I call back?

(Cut to FROHIKE - BYERS and JIMMY are helping him up.)

FROHIKE: No. It's not Byers. It's just some huge guy - I mean - what is it Yves?

(Cut to YVES.)

YVES: I just thought I should let you know the whereabouts of your obnoxious friend.

(Cut back to FROHIKE, BYERS and JIMMY.)

FROHIKE: Langly? Where the hell is he?

(Cut to YVES. She raises a small pair of binoculars to her eyes. She sees LANGLY, hands tied, being bundled into the trunk of a dark car. New York licence plate DFO 604.)

YVES: At the moment, being loaded into a car trunk.

(Cut back to FROHIKE, BYERS and JIMMY. FROHIKE and BYERS exchange a look.)

(Fade to black.)

(FROHIKE is looking at a white house through binoculars. There's a car and three men who look like security guards.)

FROHIKE: Langly's in there?

YVES: Top floor most likely.

(FROHIKE, YVES and BYERS are crouched down on the other side of the metal railings surrounding the house.)

YVES: I'm guessing this is where Alex Goldsmith was murdered.

FROHIKE: What is this place?

YVES: The Belamisk Embassy.

FROHIKE: Where in the hell is Belamisk.

BYERS: A break-way republic from the former Soviet Union. It was recognised by the US last year.

YVES: At least there's one of you who isn't completely hopeless.

(FROHIKE looks hurt.)

BYERS: It looks secure?

YVES: Very. Motion detectors, armed guards, not to mention diplomatic immunity. LANGLY might as well be in Belamisk.

(YVES gets up and walks off, the other two follow her.)

FROHIKE: But what has a break-away republic have to do with a bogus charity?

YVES: An arms deal. The ruling party is faced with a rebel faction it wants to quash. They reckon a few metric tonnes of nerve gas will do the trick nicely. POE is a shell company created to hide the transaction.

BYERS: For some reason they need a good hacker to complete the deal.

FROHIKE: (to YVES) You know a hell of a lot more about this than you told us before. What are you doing in Long Island, anyway?

BYERS: I assume you're profiting from this somehow.

FROHIKE: What's your angle?

YVES: It's none of your business.

FROHIKE: I'll take a wild stab and say money, filthy lucre.

BYERS: If money's all you want, why don't you walk in there and do their hacking yourself.

YVES: Do you think they'll let Langly live to enjoy his profits?

(She walks off, leaving FROHIKE and BYERS very concerned.)

(Inside the house. LANGLY is mumbling because of the duct tape. The tape is roughly removed, making LANGLY scream.)

LANGLY: Yoww! Man! Watch the lips! Mmmm. I gotta tell you so far this job sucks.

(He is sat at the desk in the room from where ALEX GOLDSMITH was shot. The three laptops are on the desk. The VALET and another man are also there.)

VALET: (Eastern European accent) You will use these. You have T1 access, of course.

LANGLY: What's the hack?

VALET: East stock online accounts. Set up a bogus corporation. Access the account debiting protocols and transact a fifty share outright purchase at ten dollars a share on every east stock account.

LANGLY: Every account.

VALET: Yep.

LANGLY: That's probably a hundred thousand people. Fifty shares at ten dollars a share and you'll raise fifty million dollars just like that. (snaps his fingers.) And just like that (snaps his fingers again) you'll have the SEC and Justice on your tail. You gotta know they monitor every online transaction for fraud.

VALET: Just make it happen by midnight.

(He and the other man leave the room. LANGLY checks his watch. The door is closed and locked. LANGLY checks the door. He sighs then notices a golf club, he picks it up and notices blood on the head.)

(Cut to woods outside the mansion. The VW is parked there. FROHIKE is at a computer which shows a floor plan of the building. Also there are BYERS and YVES.)

BYERS: We could kill their alarm system. That's a start.

YVES: Then what? You can't go bursting in there like the cavalry.

FROHIKE: What the hell's going on with Langly, anyway. It's like he hitchhikes all the way back to POE for what? Just to get grabbed? I mean, what was he thinking?

BYERS: He was thinking with his heart, not his head. It was the question he asked of me - how far will we go?

YVES: Meaning?

BYERS: How far will we go to tell the truth, to get the story, to fight the good fight. This is his answer - all the way.

FROHIKE: That dope. He's gonna get himself killed.

YVES: Not just yet, not if he's useful to them. I assume he is, which buys us a little time. I've dealt with these kinds of people more often than I can say. I know their type. At best, we've to find out exactly what's going on in there.

FROHIKE: I could sneak in.

YVES: In broad daylight? Not easy.

BYERS: Why sneak in when you can ring the doorbell? Especially if you're someone they know.

(The sports field. The footballers have finished their practice session and are running off the field en masse.)

JIMMY: Good scrimmage, guys. Way to go. Benny, nice TD, high five.

(Benny is about to high-five JIMMY, when JIMMY hears FROHIKE and BYERS behind him and turns. Benny misses JIMMY's hand and falls to the ground with a thud.)

JIMMY: It's irresistible. The passion of these guys. I'm telling you, Monday night football better watch their butts! Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh! (he laughs) Love this game!

FROHIKE: Well, enjoy it while you can, I think you just watched your last blind football game.

JIMMY: What are you talking about?

FROHIKE: There is no league, bub. We checked. The other franchises don't exist. There's just you.

(JIMMY is still smiling - doesn't believe him.)

BYERS: POE is a front, set up to cover an illegal arms deal.

FROHIKE: And you're the fall guy.

(JIMMY is still smiling but incredulous.)

JIMMY: Me?

BYERS: Yours is the only name on record. Your company had a bank check cut to a computer programmer named Alex Goldsmith.

JIMMY: He was going to design our web page.

BYERS: He's dead.

FROHIKE: Murdered by your friend at POE.

(JIMMY's face falls.)

JIMMY: I knew it! I knew there was something up with that guy. Wouldn't give me his name, his phone number. He was talking about anonymous benefactors. Oh, man! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

(He hits himself on the forehead with the football when saying this, each time the football emitting a beep. He is very upset.)

BYERS: Anybody could have made the same mistake.

FROHIKE: Yeah. Blind football. Who wouldn't sign on for that?

JIMMY: Hey! That was my idea. I thought that up.

(Pause)

JIMMY: What about my team. What happens to them?

(Pause)

JIMMY: You know, some people actually laugh at those guys. Like blind football's funny. Like it's a lost cause. I think they're missing the point. These boys are out here because it's difficult, because people say it can't be done. They have courage. And God knows we need more guys like that, that have the courage to fight for the lost causes. Cos every now and then, one of them wins.

FROHIKE: That guy who set you up? We know where you can find him.

(JIMMY looks very, very serious.)

(A monitor showing the Belamisk mansion. JIMMY walks up to the gates. We pan back to YVES watching the monitor in the VW. FROHIKE and BYERS climb in. Via a microphone, we hear JIMMY shouting "Hello! Hello!")

(The monitor shows JIMMY shouting into the intercom by the gates. He tries the gates - they're locked).

(Cut to shot of JIMMY through the gates.)

JIMMY: Open up - you - people! Open up!

(The gates start to swing open. JIMMY walks through and approaching him are the VALET and security guard. The VALET has a golf club and he is smacking the head against his palm in a menacing manner.)

JIMMY: Hey there! Remember me? How's it shaking, buddy.

VALET: Mr. Bond. Why are you here?

JIMMY: I was in the neighbourhood. Came by to meet the anonymous benefactors. (shouts) Hello! Anonymous benefactors!

VALET: Mr. Bond!

JIMMY: (smacks his hand against his forehead) Oh! You know what I just found out? (shouts) There aren't any! (quietly) You know what else I found out? You're a murderer, who plans to buy a bunch of nerve gas and you set me up to be your (shouts) fall guy!

VALET: Where did you get these ideas?

JIMMY: I know some people, OK? Investigative journalists. They write for this hunting and fishing magazine, and they set me straight about everything. You're going down, my German friend.

VALET: I'm not German.

JIMMY: You're going up, up, up the river. I just wanted to tell you personally. So that every time you're in that prison TV room watching football, you'll think about me and my boys.

(JIMMY smiles and turns to walk away. The VALET knocks him unconscious with the golf club. He falls to the ground.)

(Cut to THE GUNMEN where they are watching the monitor showing the unconscious JIMMY being dragged away.)

YVES: Please tell me that wasn't part of the plan.

(The monitor shows the gates slowly closing.)

(Fade to black.)

(Fade into JIMMY lying unconscious on a carpeted floor. Off-screen someone is saying "Psst! Psst!")

LANGLY: Hey, guy! (JIMMY begins to waken.) James Bond!

(JIMMY lifts his head and looks in the direction of the voice. He sees a door which has a gap between it and the floor. Through this gap can be seen LANGLY's hand. JIMMY crawls over to the door.)

JIMMY: Is your name Langly?

LANGLY: Yeah. But what are you doing here.

JIMMY: I've brought you a little present from your friends. Though I don't think it'll fit under this door. Oh! Wait! Just had a thought.

(He punches his fist through the lower panel of the door just above LANGLY's head.)

JIMMY: (whispering) How's that?

LANGLY: By all means keep whispering. Don't want to alert anyone.

JIMMY: Here you go.

(He passes through to LANGLY a small device.)

JIMMY: This is what you call a "ghostly mode circle".

LANGLY: A ghost modem circuit.

JIMMY: Yeah, pretty much. It enables you to contact your friends outside, um, without fear of electrical surveillance overreach which has to do with the cadence -

LANGLY: Don't even try, all right?

JIMMY: You just plug it into your AC outlet over there.

LANGLY: DC! Thanks.

(Cut to outside the gates. It's night. The camera pans across to the VW.)

FROHIKE (VO): We've got traffic.

(Monitor shows video link to LANGLY.)

FROHIKE: LANGLY! What the hell are you doing in there, you moron.

LANGLY: (on monitor) I put my butt on the line trying to get the scoop on the POE here.

BYERS: And did you?

LANGLY: They want me to rip off east stock for fifty million dollars, but I don't know for what.

FROHIKE: But we do. It's their little slush fund for buying nerve gas, meant to be dropped on the rebels in Belor - Bela ...

YVES: Belamisk.

FROHIKE: Yeah.

BYERS: They'll kill thousands, Langly.

LANGLY: Alex Goldsmith must have found out about it. Probably refused to do the work.

BYERS: And then they murdered him for it.

FROHIKE: So, what are you thinking, man?

LANGLY: Well, I'm not stealing their fifty million that's for sure. I'm not going to help them kill a bunch of Bela-whatevers.

BYERS: Then they'll kill you.

(They all contemplate this possibility.)

YVES: Do exactly as they say.

LANGLY: Excuse me?

YVES: Did they provide an account number to transfer the money into?

LANGLY: Yes, some eastern European bank.

YVES: (to FROHIKE and BYERS) Langly's just where we need him.

LANGLY: What?

(Cut to inside the mansion. A longcase clock is chiming midnight. The VALET checks his watch and goes up to the room where LANGLY is.)

VALET: I trust you are ready.

(We see via the Lone Gunman's monitor, LANGLY crack his knuckles, rub his hands together and wink at the video camera.)

BYERS: Frohike. Show time.

(FROHIKE is at the fence. He's fixed a spreader bar between two of the metal uprights.)

FROHIKE: OK. Here goes nothing.

(He activates the device and the two uprights are slowly bent outwards.)

(Cut to JIMMY looking anxiously out of a window in an outer door and checking his watch. He suddenly starts coughing loudly, to cover the sound of him smashing the door open.)

(Cut to LANGLY typing on a keyboard. He then leans back with his hands behind his head as various electronic noises can be heard. The VALET looks enquiringly at him.)

VALET: And that's it?

LANGLY: That's it. Fifty million clams. Told you I was the best.

VALET: All of it transferred to the account number I gave you.

(LANGLY leans forward to the laptop and points to part of the screen which shows: $50.050.950)

LANGLY: Right here.

(The VALET looks carefully and then smiles.)

VALET: An excellent job.

LANGLY: Damn straight it is.

VALET: Let's see that you get paid.

(He moves behind LANGLY and takes out a gun. Then the door burst open and the security guard rushes in, speaking in an eastern European language. There follows a heated conversation between the security guard and the VALET. The security guard then leaves.)

LANGLY: What's going on?

VALET: I'll be back.

(He runs out the room.)

LANGLY: What the hell just happened?

(Suddenly something smashes through a window pane.)

(Cut to the VALET at the foot of the stairs. He picks up the telephone and we hear a couple of sentences in the eastern European language.)

(Cut to JIMMY who is on the lawn outside the mansion. He looks up and sees LANGLY on the balcony.)

LANGLY: What?

JIMMY: Come on! Jump!

(LANGLY looks around. He's not sure.)

JIMMY: Do it! Just jump!

LANGLY: What, are you nuts?

JIMMY: I jumped. It's not that far.

(Cut to laptop screen. The bar showing the account balance is rapidly moving to the left and the amount is quickly reducing to zero.

(Cut to the VW. YVES releases what looks like a bank card from a device. She kisses BYERS on the cheek.)

YVES: Good luck.

(She exits the VW. BYERS is confused.)

BYERS: What? Hey! Where are you going!

(Cut to FROHIKE. The gap between the fence uprights is wide enough for him to squeeze through)

(Cut to JIMMY still encouraging LANGLY to jump.)

JIMMY: Come on. I'll catch you.

(JIMMY holds his arms up ready to catch LANGLY.)

LANGLY: Catch me?

(LANGLY hears voices behind him.)

LANGLY: You promise?

JIMMY: Yeah.

(LANGLY climbs over the railing and rests his feet on a ledge.)

JIMMY: I got you. Come on. I gotcha.

(Behind JIMMY, FROHIKE approaches.)

FROHIKE: Hurry up! Come on!

(JIMMY turns at the sound of FROHIKE's voice, still with his hands raised. LANGLY falls to the ground behind him. JIMMY winces.)

(Cut to the VALET who hears the noise, puts down the phone and gives orders to people off-screen.)

(Cut to the lawn. FROHIKE and JIMMY help LANGLY up. The VALET and four armed men run out of the front door. FROHIKE, JIMMY and LANGLY reach the fence with bullets whizzing past them. They squeeze through the gap and run to the VW.)

BYERS: Come on! Hurry! Hurry! Come on!

(The three throw themselves into the VW and BYERS drives it away just as the VALET and the armed guards reach the gate.)

(Cut to the VW.)

JIMMY: Yee-hah! Right on, man. You guys live life on the edge.

LANGLY: Byers, we can't leave. I got that guy's money - he's gonna buy nerve gas with it.

BYERS: We won't. The ruling party of his country is bankrupt.

LANGLY: What are you talking about?

BYERS: Yves siphoned clean that Belamisk government account you provided her - stole god knows how many millions.

LANGLY: What! What about the fifty million dollars I stole?

BYERS: You never stole it! Yves only made it look like you did.

FROHIKE: Hey! Where the hell is Yves anyway?

BYERS: She's gone. After having transferred the money to an untraceable account, I assume.

FROHIKE: Take the money and run. That was her plan all along.

LANGLY: We're right back where we started.

(JIMMY's face looks very disheartened.)

(Cut to outside ALEX GOLDSMITH's house - a view from the VW. LANGLY comes out the front door and turns to MRS GOLDSMITH, they hug. LANGLY then walks down the steps, turns and waves to MRS GOLDSMITH who waves back, she is smiling. She has a piece of paper in her hands which she looks at happily. LANGLY gets into the VW.)

FROHIKE: So, uh, she forgives you?

LANGLY: Yeah, well, a million dollars forgives a lot.

BYERS: That was good of you, Langly. Giving her the check was the right thing to do.

FROHIKE: Yeah, man. I'm proud of you.

LANGLY: Aw, shut up the both of you. We're still flat-assed broke, we're sitting on yet another great story we don't have the money to publish and last week's issues are still sitting on the loading dock. Let's just go home.

(BYERS turns the ignition. The exhaust blows out black smoke and the engine dies. They all lean back in their seats and sigh.)

(Cut to the VW silently making its way by the Lone Gunmen's office. Someone is whistling. As the VW goes by we see FROHIKE is sat in the driving seat and BYERS and LANGLY are pushing.)

LANGLY: (Downbeat) That's it. I'm getting a horse.

(Cut to piles of newspapers by a flight of wooden steps. The VW approaches. FROHIKE gets out and runs over to the newspapers.)

FROHIKE: Oh, man. Hey, guys!

(He pulls out one copy.)

FROHIKE: It's last week's Lone Gunman.

BYERS: How did this get here?

(LANGLY looks up at the steps.)

LANGLY: Oh. Oh, no. No way.

(JIMMY is sat on the steps, smiling.)

BYERS: Jimmy? You paid for these?

(JIMMY gets up and walks down the steps.)

JIMMY: You guys fight the lost causes. I wanna help.

(While the Lone Gunmen contemplate this, the VW van moves silently and unnoticed behind them. Then there's a loud crash and the sound of breaking glass. The Lone Gunmen look at each other.)

(Fade to black.)

[THE END]