due SOUTH

"ALL THE QUEEN'S HORSES"
Story by Paul Gross & John Krizanc & Paul Quarrington
Teleplay by Paul Gross

Published Draft - March 7, 1995
Revised Pink - March 15, 1996
Pages (65): Full Script

Regular Cast	Recurring Cast
FRASER	THATCHER
RAY	ELAINE
DIEFENBAKER	TURNBULL
WELSH	FORD
	DEETER
	FROBISHER
	FRASER SR.
Guest Cast
Speaking Roles
ALBEE
BOLT
BRECHT
CHRETIEN
COMPUTER GUY
CONDUCTOR
CREEVE
NARRATOR
PINTER
RACINE

EXTERIOR-DAY	INTERIOR-DAY
BRIDGE OVER TRAIN TRACKS	CONSULATE – FRASER’S OFFICE
FIELD	POLICE STATION - BULLPEN
ILLINOIS COUNTRYSIDE	POLICE STATION – SITUATION ROOM
OUTSIDE OF TUNNEL	POLICE STATION – WELSH’S OFFICE
HELICOPTER PAD	STATION SIDING 33
STATION SIDING 33	STATION SIDING 33-CREVE’S OFFICE
TRAIN	TRAIN
-BETWEEN RIDE CAR AND CABOOSE	-CABOOSE
- BETWEEN RIDE CAR AND UTILITY	-RIDE CAR
-TOP OF TRAIN	-HORSE CAR
-UNDERNEATH TRAIN	-TOILET/RIDE CAR
TRAIN TRACKES	-ENGINE
TRAIN YARD	-UTILITY CAR
	VECCHIO HOUSE - KITCHEN
EXTERIOR-NIGHT	INTERIOR-NIGHT
none	none

SCRIPT DAYS
Scenes Day/Night
1 - 100 DAY ONE


PROLOGUE

EXT. VARIOUS FIELDS AND STABLES -- DAY
The chords of "Ride Forever" play over:
A jet black horse ridden by a Mountie in brilliant red serge approaches the camera. The one horse gradually becomes many until our screen is filled with thirty-two black horses ridden by thirty-two red coated Mounties. They break formation, fold in on themselves and intersect with dizzying precision.
Over this documentary (cut from existing footage) we hear:
NARRATOR (V.O.): ...the Musical Ride was formed by the Royal Canadian Mounted Police as a showcase of their prodigious skill in horsemanship. The thirty-two riders, thirty-two horses, the scarlet tunic, the battle lance and the precision drills which culminate in the 'dome' formation...
We see the Musical Ride form their famous circle.
NARRATOR (V.O.) (CONT'D): ...have inspired wonder since their inception in 1873. Theirs is a history rich in tradition and the Musical Ride has secured its place as an enduring symbol of a nation, a symbol that is admired around the world...
PULL BACK: to discover we are in a...
EXT. TRAIN YARD -- DAY
...where a documentary film crew is gathered around a monitor. In the B.G. we can see the Musical Ride as it loads horses and gear into an awaiting train.
The film crew's director, reeking of 'hauteur', turns to THATCHER.
SUPER: SOUTHERN MANITOBA, CANADA
BOLT: That is to the bone beautiful. OK, now we grab shots. Boom. Boom.
Boom. The sweat of it all.
THATCHER: You don't think we need, say, an 'on the spot' interview?
BOLT: A 1970-s 'let's-talk-about-what-we-already-know interview'? I don't think so. America needs inspiration, not chat. She needs heroes.
THATCHER: What about that fellow with the big ears.
BOLT: You mean Ross Perot?
THATCHER: No. I was thinking Mickey Mouse.
BOLT: Ahh, but does he have a red tunic? Does he have a battle lance? I think not. Let's go. Let's shoot.
The crew starts to follow him across the yard. As they walk, they cross paths with the CONDUCTOR and ENGINEER.
CONDUCTOR: ...we have track clearance, so as soon as they're loaded, let me know.
As they pass through frame, we discover FRASER watching the load up with pride.
FRASER SR. (O.S.): Nothing quite like it, is there, son?
FRASER turns to see the ghost of his father.
FRASER: Dad. I didn't know you were coming.
FRASER SR.: Oh, I wouldn't miss this for the world. Stirs the blood.
FRASER: You don't have blood. You're dead.
FRASER SR: (shrugs) I have the memory of blood. Must be something beating.
(beat) Would you look at my old stable mate?
He refers to SERGEANT BUCK FROBISHER, a grizzled Mountie on horseback who watches the load up with a stern gaze.
FRASER: Looks good, doesn't he?
FRASER SR.: If you go in for that sort of thing.
FRASER: Why don't you go say hello?
FRASER SR.: I'm not sure if I can, son. And I wouldn't want to impose.
FRASER: You're dead. It's not really an imposition.
FRASER SR.: Well, I just might give it a try.
He starts off. As he passes the camera crew we see BOLT in full flight as he directs his team.
BOLT: That's it. In close. Right up the nose. Do we have a snorkel?
CUT TO:
INT. CABOOSE OF TRAIN -- MORNING
The car has been converted into a mobile office. FRASER leans over the desk, talking into a speaker phone.
RAY (O.S.): Why are you calling me, Fraser?
FRASER: You told me to.
RAY (O.S.): No, I did not.
FRASER: Yes, you did, Ray. In fact, your exact words were: "let me know how it goes."
CUT TO:
INT. KITCHEN/VECCHIO HOUSE -- MORNING
This poker game has continued through the night and into the somber hours of the morning. RAY is on his cell phone. DIEF watches him with a pleading look.
RAY: See, this is another thing that's wrong with you, Fraser. When somebody says, "Let me know how it goes", they don't mean that you should call them and let them know how it is going as it goes. What they mean is, "Let me know how it goes when it is all done and gone." You understand?
FRASER (O.S.): Not entirely, Ray. How's Diefenbaker?
RAY dumps a bag of cheesies on the floor which DIEF promptly sets about
devouring.
RAY: He's fine. Gotta go, Benny. (hits the 'end' button) The game is called 'Screw Your Neighbor', gentlemen. Ante in.
CUT TO:
EXT. TRAIN YARD -- DAY
FRASER crosses the yard. FROBISHER sees him coming and raises a cane over his head.
FROBISHER: They issued you one of these yet?
FRASER: No, sir. Not yet.
FROBISHER: Well, you're still young. Give it a few years and the steel blade that went into your leg will catch up with you, just like it did me.
FRASER: You still sit a horse well.
FROBISHER: Not without a step stool.
FROBISHER has an attack of gas which they deftly ignore. FRASER SR. appears at FRASER'S shoulder.
FRASER SR.: Reminds me of the time he and I spent in an outhouse in Dead Horse Gulch.
FRASER: (to his father) Do you mind?
FRASER SR. shrugs and wanders off. FROBISHER turns to FRASER.
FROBISHER: What's that, son?
FRASER: Nothing, sir.
FROBISHER: Shall we?
They start for the train doors. As they walk:
FROBISHER (CONT'D): The boys introduced me to a real eye opener last week. Moose hock rolled in wild boar tongue, covered with gorgonzola cheese.
FRASER: I'd like to try that sometime.
FROBISHER: I wouldn't be too hasty. Seems to follow you around for quite a while.
They step into the train and the doors close. We hear the SOUND OF THE TRAIN WHISTLE. With a creak and a hiss, the train pulls out of the station.
The CAMERA lingers as the train pulls away...
Then drifts to the windows of the station house where we see the ENGINEER and CONDUCTOR bound and gagged on the floor.
As they struggle to reach the phone, the train disappears from sight...
FADE OUT:
END OF PROLOGUE

ACT ONE

EXT. ILLINOIS COUNTRYSIDE -- DAY
The train hurtles through rural farmland. SUPER: SOMEWHERE IN ILLINOIS, U.S.A.
CUT TO:
INT. RIDE CAR -- DAY
The Ride sits bolt upright as THATCHER addresses them.
THATCHER: ...we will avoid specifics. We will speak only when we are spoken to.
We will keep our responses short and to the point. We will maintain our postures and above all? We will act naturally.
The Mounties stare at her as if caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.
BOLT looks to THATCHER as if to say, "We have nothing to film." She turns to FRASER.
THATCHER (CONT'D): Why are they staring at me?
FRASER: I suspect they're terrified.
THATCHER: Of what?
FRASER: You, sir.
THATCHER: Don't be ridiculous. Make them do something.
FRASER: With respect, doing nothing is often a natural reaction to fear.
THATCHER: The whole point of this exercise is to bring a new dynamism to our image. Look at them! They're stiffs. Make them do something, anything. They can break into song for all I care, they just can't sit there.
FRASER: Understood. May I?
He takes a guitar from a nearby Mountie and strikes into the chords of 'Ride Forever'. The Mounties relax and the film crew leaps into action, panning along the faces of the now more animated horsemen.
As he sings, he notices that the CAMERAMAN (RACINE) appears to be framing a shot on the floor, the Nagra has no take up reel and on the roof overhead he hears the sound of footsteps.
THATCHER has sidled over to BOLT for a schmooze. FRASER hands the guitar off for the second verse and gestures toward THATCHER for her to join him.
THATCHER: (to BOLT with irritation) Will you excuse me?
She joins FRASER who draws her toward the door that leads to the caboose. As they move, a P.A. bars their way.
BOLT signals to the P.A. to let them pass. As FRASER and THATCHER step through the door, the P.A. locks the door. The camera crew exchange subtle glances.
CUT TO:
INT. CABOOSE -- DAY
THATCHER wheels on FRASER:
THATCHER: Fraser, I was in the middle of a --
FRASER: And I apologize for interrupting, sir, but something is amiss.
THATCHER: Well, yes, the song is a little purple and it would help if they could hold a tune --
FRASER: Not with the song, sir. With the film crew.
THATCHER: The film crew?
FRASER: If that is indeed what they are.
They peer through the doors and can see the film crew exiting the far side of the Ride car.
EXT. BETWEEN RIDE CAR AND UTILITY CAR -- DAY
The film crew steps through the far door and secures it. BOLT reaches up for the dial on a CANISTER OF GAS...
INT. RIDE CAR -- DAY
ANGLE ON: GAS SEEPING THROUGH THE VENTS.
In spite of a couple Mounties passing out, they continue to sing with gusto, led by the booming bass of FROBISHER.
INT. BETWEEN RIDE CAR AND UTILITY CAR -- DAY
RACINE checks his watch.
RACINE: Don't they ever stop?
BOLT: Hard to stop a catchy tune.
INT. RIDE CAR -- DAY
The Ride has by now more or less nodded off with the exception of FROBISHER who sings away, strangely immune to the effects of the gas. He looks around him and stops.
FROBISHER: Geez, I'm sorry, fellows. I didn't realize it was critical.
He stands and makes his way to the bathroom.
CUT TO:
INT. CABOOSE -- DAY
FRASER and THATCHER see FROBISHER stepping into the bathroom and the gas seeping through the vents.
THATCHER: What do you propose we do?
FRASER: I'd like a moment to think about that.
FRASER leaps out of the window. She rushes to it.
THATCHER'S P.O.V.: OF THE TRACKS
FRASER is nowhere to be seen.
THATCHER: Well, that's very helpful.
CUT TO:
EXT. BETWEEN RIDE CAR AND UTILITY -- DAY
BOLT consults his watch and nods. They enter the...
INT. RIDE CAR -- DAY
And move through the inert Mounties, passing by...
INT. TOILET/RIDE CAR
Where FROBISHER splashes some water on his face and slaps his cheeks.
EXT. UNDERNEATH TRAIN -- DAY
FRASER climbs underneath the train, his back narrowly scraping the ties.
INT. TOILET/RIDE CAR -- DAY
FROBISHER stands before the toilet. He thinks better of urinating and decides it's time for a squat.
EXT. UNDERNEATH TRAIN -- DAY
FRASER removes a section of pipe, then peers up the hole.
INT. TOILET/RIDE CAR -- DAY
FROBISHER is about to lower himself when:
FRASER (O.S.): Sergeant Frobisher? Before you go any further, may I have a word with you?
A startled FROBISHER looks around the compartment for the source of the voice.
FROBISHER: Friend or foe?
FRASER (O.S.): Friend, I assure you.
FROBISHER: Where are you?
FRASER (O.S.): Right, here, sir.
FROBISHER: (he peers in the basin) In the sink?
FRASER (O.S.): No, sir. Directly underneath you.
FROBISHER: My, God!
FROBISHER leaps to his feet and peers down the hole. FRASER'S face is framed through the hole of the toilet.
FROBISHER (CONT'D): (a happy discovery) Benton.
FRASER: I'm relieved to see you're alright.
FROBISHER: That's a matter of opinion. What are you doing in my toilet?
FRASER: I've come to brief you, sir.
FROBISHER: There was something wrong with the door?
FRASER: In a manner of speaking.
FROBISHER: Very well. Carry on.
FRASER: We have a problem, sir. It is my belief that the men have all been gassed.
FROBISHER: Oh, my God.
FRASER: Furthermore, I believe this train is no longer under our control.
FROBISHER: It's worse than I thought.
FRASER: Yes, sir and I thought it prudent to inform you.
FROBISHER: Inform me? I've been living with it for a week.
FRASER: Sir...?
FROBISHER: Yes?
FRASER: I have no idea what you're talking about.
FROBISHER: It's an old motto, Fraser, but one well worth adhering to: you are what you eat.
FRASER: I'm not sure how this relates to the terrorists, sir.
FROBISHER: Terrorists?!
FRASER: Yes, sir. I believe that terrorists have taken over the train and gassed the men into a stupor.
FROBISHER: So it wasn't... Ah, well! That's a relief!
FRASER: Sir?
FROBISHER: Why wasn't I affected?
FRASER: My guess would be that the elevated protein count of the moose hock, in combination with the high acidity of the gorgonzola furnished you with a temporary immunity.
FROBISHER: So there were some benefits after all. How many terrorists are there?
FRASER: Undetermined, sir.
FROBISHER: Our strategy?
FRASER: Unformed. I thought I should assess your status first and then inform our superior officer. In the meantime I suppose you should just continue...with your current...project.
FROBISHER: Very well. Good luck, son.
He sticks his fingers down the hole in an attempt to shake FRASER'S hand.
EXT. UNDERNEATH THE TRAIN -- DAY
FRASER returns the way he came.
INT. TOILET/RIDE CAR -- DAY
FROBISHER is still bent over the toilet.
FROBISHER: Benton. (no reply) I'm stuck.
VOICE (O.S.): Stuck?
FROBISHER: In the hole.
VOICE (O.S.): I'd like to give you a hand but unfortunately it's not my strong suit.
FROBISHER: I'm issuing you an order, Constable!
VOICE (O.S.): For God's sake, you sound like an old man.
FROBISHER: (outraged) Who the hell are you to call me an old man? Why, I tell you --
He wrenches his hand from the hole which spins him around to face FRASER SR., his long dead friend.
FROBISHER (CONT'D): You're dead.
FRASER SR.: (smiles) Good to see you, Buck.
CUT TO:
INT. CABOOSE -- DAY
THATCHER is now attired in her dress reds. She faces the window, as FRASER clambers back inside the caboose.
FRASER: Just as I suspected --
He stops, seeing that she is wearing her dress uniform.
FRASER (CONT'D): You've changed, sir.
BOLT steps into view, holding a machine pistol.
BOLT: And she's looking good, don't you think? I just love a woman in a uniform and these particular uniforms are so darned arresting I thought "Hey, why not?" Rest assured there was nothing untoward between us. It's just that I find it a whole lot easier to kill people when they're in uniform – should killing prove necessary, that is.
FRASER turns toward the door, only to face the muzzle of a gun that is wielded by the soundman (named BRECHT).
CUT TO:
INT. TOILET/RIDE CAR -- DAY
FROBISHER looks at FRASER SR. with close scrutiny.
FRASER SR.: Which part of this situation do you find hard to believe? That I'm dead?
FROBISHER: No, sir, I'm quite prepared to accept that you're dead. No. My stumbling block is: how do I know you are who you claim to be?
FRASER SR.: You want proof?
FROBISHER: I think I'm entitled.
FRASER SR.: Alright. Go ahead.
FROBISHER formulates his question.
FROBISHER: April 23rd, 1957, 60 miles north of Destruction Bay. Two men stood on a rope bridge that spanned a canyon. On the other side of the bridge a woman was held in the clutches of a deviant. Between them, the men had two bullets and only one rifle. It was an impossible shot but they both knew that whoever made it would be the man to secure the love of the woman. The first man tried and he failed. The second man tried...and he won the whole shooting match.
FRASER SR.: And we were happy, Caroline and I.
FROBISHER narrows his eyes.
FROBISHER: I've no doubt you were but the question is this: the two men spoke about this impossible shot many times over the years of their friendship. And when they referred to it, what did they call it?
FRASER SR.: The shot, you mean?
FROBISHER: Yes. The shot.
FRASER SR.: The shot. Well. They called it...
FROBISHER: Time's up.
FRASER SR.: Oh, come on.
FROBISHER: No, sorry. You'll have to leave.
FRASER SR.: That's ridiculous!
FROBISHER: The Bob Fraser I knew wouldn't have had to think of his answer.
FRASER SR.: I'm dead. It affects your memory.
FROBISHER: Out. Now.
FRASER SR.: (raises his voice) It was called...
FROBISHER waits.
FRASER SR. (CONT'D): 'The Great Yukon Double White Spruce Telescoping Bank Shot'.
FROBISHER: It is you, by God. (a huge smile) Bob!
FROBISHER leaps to hug his old friend, only to find his face pressed up against the mirror.
FRASER SR.: You're in one hell of a pickle, my friend. You've got a train to stop.
FROBISHER: (nods) I'm afraid you're right.
FRASER SR.: And if you want to stop a train?
FROBISHER: You put on the brakes. Follow me.
He winds up and punches the window with his hand. Then drops out of frame in pain. The window remains intact. FRASER SR. steps forward and reads a safety plaque affixed to the side of the window.
FRASER SR.: For emergency exit press yellow lever.
FROBISHER'S hand enters the frame and presses the lever. The window pops out.
CUT TO:
INT. VECCHIO KITCHEN -- DAY
The pot is large. The air is thick. DIEF is eating. The cell phone rings.
RAY snaps it up and growls into the phone.
RAY: I'm holding the bullet in Low Chicago with twelve hundred in a pot that keeps climbing -- this better be good.
FRASER (O.S.): (in a stilted voice) This is Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and I am reading a prepared text.
RAY: (to the other players) Am I some kind of God? Some kind of bad luck God and I just don't know it?
CUT TO:
INT. CABOOSE -- DAY
BOLT gestures for FRASER to continue. He reads from a prepared text.
FRASER: The charter train coded 56023, travelling on the Palliser line is now hostage. Any attempt to board the train will result in the death of those on board. Any sighting of aircraft will resulting in death...
He stops reading and cups the phone.
FRASER (CONT'D): (to BOLT) You know, the grammar of this is flawed.
THATCHER: Are you trying to get us killed?
FRASER: No, Ma'am, I'm just trying to protect the English language.
BOLT snatches the phone and the prepared text from FRASER and thrusts it at THATCHER.
BOLT: You read it.
THATCHER: I don't have my glasses.
BOLT: Borrow mine.
THATCHER: I'm dyslexic.
BOLT takes the phone and the text into his own hands.
BOLT: Our demands are the following: ten million dollars.
He cups the phone and talks to FRASER.
BOLT (CONT'D): I think you'll enjoy this bit 'cause I picked your friend.
CUT TO:
INT. VECCHIO KITCHEN -- DAY
RAY scrambles for his tape recorder, pounds it a couple of times, locates 'record' and holds it to the phone.
BOLT (O.S.): ...to be delivered by Detective First Grade Raymond Vecchio of the Chicago Police Department, unaccompanied to station siding 33 on the Palliser line by 4:00 p.m. central standard time.
CUT TO:
INT. CABOOSE -- DAY
BOLT finishes reading his prepared text.
BOLT: We must be ever vigilant, America, for the enemy is already among us.
BRECHT: Very nice, sir.
BOLT: Thank you.
CUT TO:
INT. ENGINE OF TRAIN -- DAY
A TERRORIST (MOLIERE) mans the engine room, peering down the track. FROBISHER yanks the door to the engine room open.
FROBISHER: Ah hah!
He grabs MOLIERE, lifts him up and hurls him off the speeding locomotive.
FRASER SR.: Hmmm.
FROBISHER: What do you mean, 'hmmm'?
FRASER SR.: Nothing. It's just -- do you know how to operate a train?
FROBISHER: I was counting on you.
FRASER SR.: Haven't the foggiest.
FROBISHER: Oh. Well, it can't be that hard. (looks around) Where do you think they'd put the coal in one of these things?
They look about the engine room -- obviously stumped.
CUT TO:
INT. POLICE STATION -- WELSH'S OFFICE -- DAY
RAY and DIEF burst into the room. WELSH looks up.
RAY: Lieutenant. We have a situation.
FADE OUT:
END OF ACT ONE


ACT TWO

INT. POLICE STATION -- BULLPEN -- DAY
This is now a Situation Room. Computer gizmos dominate the desk and FBI Agents sporting earphones buzz purposefully throughout the room. Thundering through, with his grave sense of mission, is Agent FORD.
FORD: What have you got for me?
DEETER: Nothing yet. We're running Vecchio's tape for voice match but that could take a while.
FORD: Get Harris at State. I want him on line. And get the divisional guy from NTSB down here now. (yells) Shorren. Phelps. McTavish. Inside.
They storm into...
INT. POLICE STATION -- WELSH'S OFFICE -- CONTINUOUS
Where they join RAY and WELSH. FORD takes the floor.
FORD: Alright, gentlemen, here's our situation: representatives of State and the NSC are meeting regarding the larger implications. As I speak, two Rapid Response teams from Quantico and Fort Bragg are flying into --
RAY: What? No B-52 squadron?
FORD: You have a problem with this, Detective?
RAY: Well, we all got our styles, Ford. Me? If I got a head ache, I don't take a chain saw to it, I swallow a couple of aspirin.
WELSH: Vecchio, this is their field protocol.
RAY: We got people on that train, Lieutenant. Mounties, sure, but they're still people. And we don't know what their situation is.
FORD: That's right, Detective, we can't talk to them, so we don't know, so we assume the situation has gone sour until we receive confirmation one way or the other. And let's be clear on one thing: you're a conduit, nothing more. Do we understand each other?
RAY: I don't think that's possible, Ford.
WELSH shoots RAY a calming gesture.
DEETER: I'm confused. What is a Musical Ride? I mean, is it like a theme park thing?
WELSH: No, no, no. They've got all these horses. Beautiful black horses all criss-crossing with their tails and manes and battle lances. Takes your breath away.
They all stare at him.
WELSH (CONT'D): I was a kid. It haunted me.
And ELAINE pops her head in.
ELAINE: We have the Consulate on the line.
FORD: (presses speaker phone) This is Agent Ford, FBI.
TURNBULL (O.S.): Constable Turnbull here. Assistant Interim Deputy Liaison Officer.
FORD: You've been briefed on the situation?
TURNBULL (O.S.): Fully.
FORD: And what is your government's position?
TURNBULL (O.S.): I have no idea. But I am authorized to speak for them. Furthermore, under Chapter 11, paragraph 7 of our field manual, I am authorized to allocate funds.
CUT TO:
INT. FRASER'S OFFICE -- CANADIAN CONSULATE -- CONTINUOUS
TURNBULL mans FRASER'S desk.
TURNBULL: So far, between the Consulate credit card and petty cash, which is $67.39 -- in U.S. dollars, mind you -- I've amassed...just give me a couple ticks to add this all up...
CUT TO:
INT. POLICE STATION -- WELSH'S OFFICE -- CONTINUOUS
FORD makes a gesture to cut the phone call.
FORD: Alright, gentlemen. We're stepping up protocol --
RAY: On the basis of what? The guy's a moron! He can barely tie his shoes --
FORD: You don't get it, do you, Vecchio? This is the dance of diplomacy. You do things for show. But trust me, there isn't a country left on this planet that will cave into terrorists' ransom demands. Not one nation!
HARD CUT TO:
INT. PARLIAMENT BUILDINGS -- DAY
Prime Minister JEAN CHRETIEN fields questions from a phalanx of reporters. He holds up his hand for quiet.
CHRETIEN: As the Prime Minister of the Government of Canada let me assure you we will do anything to get our Musical Ride back. And when we do, my wife has requested that they be permanently stationed in our bedroom.
CUT TO:
EXT. ILLINOIS COUNTRYSIDE -- DAY
Across a farmhouse, we se the train in the distance.
INT. HORSE CAR -- DAY
BOLT ushers THATCHER and FRASER into the car. The horses are edgy with tension.
A subordinate terrorist (ALBEE) props up an unconscious Mountie.
BOLT: In an effort to prove my intentions are serious, I thought you might appreciate this gesture.
He slides the door of the box car open. The countryside hurtles by. They toss the Mountie out of the car.
CUT TO:
INT. FARMHOUSE KITCHEN -- CONTINUOUS
A farmer and his wife sit before their lunch. With an almighty noise and a shower of glass, the Mountie crashes through the window and lands on their dinner table. The farmer and his wife stare at one another.
CUT TO:
INT. HORSE CAR -- CONTINUOUS
THATCHER and FRASER are now handcuffed in a hug: his hands around her back, hers around his.
BOLT: See, now this amuses me. Superior officer. Junior officer. Boss.
Worker. The empowered. The unempowered. And you're hugging each other. It's a beautiful sight.
FRASER: What do you hope to gain from this?
BOLT: You can't begin to imagine. Well, maybe you can. Start by thinking:
train. Then think: explosives. Then mix the two together. (to ALBEE) If they move, shoot them.
CUT TO:
INT. POLICE STATION -- SITUATION ROOM -- DAY
DEETER comes flying into WELSH'S office.
DEETER: We have confirmation. A Mountie showed up for lunch at a farmer's house.
FORD: (less than pleased) Get Vecchio in here.
CUT TO:
INT. ENGINE -- DAY
FROBISHER and FRASER SR. continue to inspect the engine apparatus in search of the brakes. FROBISHER alights on a rather simple looking device.
FROBISHER: Ah hah!
FRASER SR.: What have you got?
FROBISHER: I've found the brake.
FRASER SR.: What makes you think that's a brake?
FROBISHER: It's written right on it: brake.
FRASER SR.: Could be a ruse.
FROBISHER: To what end?
FRASER SR.: Something criminal.
FROBISHER: Are you trying to tell me an entire crew of design engineers conspired to mis-label key elements of a train?
FRASER SR.: It's possible.
FROBISHER: I'm dealing with a lunatic.
FRASER SR.: You see, this is what's wrong with you, Buck. You discount everything but the probable. It's no wonder you couldn't make that shot.
FROBISHER: Don't think you can twist the knife. It was springtime. I had allergies. My eyes were cloudy.
FRASER SR.: Well, if that helps you sleep at night --
FROBISHER: This *is* a brake, Bob, and I'm going to bring this ride to a halt.
FRASER SR.: Very well.
FROBISHER grasps the lever, readies himself, then pulls. Nothing happens.
FRASER SR. (CONT'D): Hmmm. Pretty effective, Buck.
FROBISHER: What's this...?
The two men follow the path of wires that are attached to the brake mechanism.
FROBISHER turns to FRASER SR.
FROBISHER (CONT'D): My God. They've bypassed the brakes. We've got to find Benton. This train is a runaway.
CUT TO:
INT. HELICOPTER PAD -- DAY
A helicopter waits. RAY is given his final briefing by FORD.
FORD: Parameters: you drop the money, you sit down and you stay put. You do
nothing without my authorization --
RAY: Tell me something, Ford. You comfortable knowing you've had five cases
sunk from underneath you?
FORD: Don't play games with me.
RAY: I'm not playing games. This is my friend.
TURNBULL hands the attache case of money to RAY. He takes it and, accompanied by DIEF, he heads for the chopper.
CUT TO:
INT. HORSE CAR -- DAY
THATCHER and FRASER still handcuffed in a hug. They whisper the following:
THATCHER: The men aren't dead, are they, Fraser?
FRASER: No, sir. As we passed through the car I detected the after-odor of Quixotimanophyl -- a paralytic. It's harmless but the men won't regain consciousness for approximately 26 minutes --
THATCHER: Say no more. (to ALBEE) Excuse me?
CUT TO:
INT. STATION SIDING 33 -- P.O.V. OUT WINDOW -- DAY
A white out, created by a departing helicopter. As it clears, we discover RAY and DIEF walking toward an apparently abandoned station. They reach the door and step inside.
CUT TO:
INT. STATION SIDING 33 -- CONTINUOUS
Inside the station office we find an alarmingly old guy named CREEVE sitting at a desk.
RAY: Hey. I'm with the police.
CREEVE: You are? And where are they?
RAY: I'm it. I'm the police.
CREEVE: Oh, you are. And do you like it, son? Does it pay well?
RAY: Pays fine. You got something called a 'mail pole'?
CUT TO:
INT. HORSE CAR -- DAY
ALBEE stands near FRASER and THATCHER. The horses shift uneasily.
ALBEE: You met him?
THATCHER: Dated him.
ALBEE: De Niro?
THATCHER: He gave me a tattoo. On my hip.
ALBEE bends down to see it. THATCHER slips to one side and FRASER kicks, his foot connecting with ALBEE'S gut. He doubles over and THATCHER knees him in the temple. ALBEE falls to the floor.
FRASER: Nicely done, sir.
THATCHER: (breathes deeply) Thank you.
FRASER: May I?
THATCHER: May you what?
MUSIC STARTS:
FRASER leans toward her face. She stares at him, slightly aghast, but says nothing. He parts his lips but continues past hers, past her cheek until he reaches her hair. She looks somewhat confused. FRASER emerges from her hair with a bobby pin in his mouth.
She watches him manoeuver the bobby pin with his tongue until he has one prong in his teeth. He looks at her. She seems to understand. He leans his mouth toward hers.
She takes the other prong of the bobby pin in her teeth and they pull back until the pin is straightened. As they do, the pin falls into her blouse.
They stare at one another for a second. She issues the slightest gesture of assent. He acknowledges and angles his head to her blouse. He undoes a button with his teeth. From the expression on her face, we can assume she thinks he's taking rather too long.
He lifts his head, the bobby pin in his teeth, then leans next to her, cheek to cheek and drops the pin into his hand. They stay that way, cheek to cheek, as he picks the lock.
FRASER: Escada?
THATCHER: I beg your pardon?
FRASER: Your fragrance.
THATCHER: No.
FRASER: Cartier?
THATCHER: No.
He finishes picking the lock, frees himself, then starts to work on hers. As he does:
FRASER: Chanel?
THATCHER: (the idea is beneath contempt) Please.
FRASER: I'm stymied. What is the perfume you're wearing?
THATCHER: I'm not wearing anything, Fraser. I hate perfume.
CUT TO:
EXT. STATION SIDING 33 -- DAY
RAY waits on the platform. The money bag dangles on the mail pole. The train approaches and hurtles through the station. As the caboose passes a snatch pole is extended, BRECHT lifts the bag off the pole and pulls it into the compartment.
CUT TO:
INT. RIDE CAR -- DAY
Surrounded by inert Mounties, RACINE and BOLT assemble the component parts of a bomb out of their camera equipment -- a complicated looking affair. BRECHT bursts into the car, carrying the bag of money.
BOLT: It's all there? (BRECHT nods) Perfect. Now, find the old man and give him the heave ho.
CUT TO:
INT. UTILITY CAR -- DAY
At the sound of a door opening, FROBISHER ducks behind a partition. He waits a beat, then pounces...
FROBISHER: Ah ha!
...startling the snot out of FRASER and THATCHER.
FROBISHER (CONT'D): Oh. Thank God. Friendlies. Allow me to debrief: the enemy has bypassed the brakes. In a nutshell? We are travelling in a runaway.
FRASER: Not only is it a runaway, sir, but it's loaded with explosives.
FROBISHER: That station we just passed through? They took something off a mail pole.
THATCHER: The ransom.
FRASER: (nods) Which leaves only one conclusion: the ransom was a cover.
Their darker purpose is to drive this bomb into the heart of Chicago --
They hear the sound of footsteps on the roof, then on the ladder leading toward their position.
THATCHER: In here.
She pulls them into...
INT. BATHROOM -- CONTINUOUS
Cramped quarters for three people.
THATCHER: Do you have a gun?
FROBISHER: Of course not. I checked it at the border.
FRASER: Likewise.
INT. UTILITY CAR -- CONTINUOUS
BRECHT opens the door to the car...
INT. BATHROOM -- CONTINUOUS
THATCHER: If we survive this would you remind me to recommend some changes to official travel policy?
FRASER: Yes, sir.
He leans back and kicks the door open...
INT. UTILITY CAR -- CONTINUOUS
...sending BRECHT sprawling backward into the car. As he clambers to his feet, FRASER leaps through the door and starts up the ladder. BRECHT lunges after him, grabbing an axe on the way.
THATCHER and FROBISHER poke their heads out of the bathroom.
FROBISHER: He could probably use some help. I imagine I should...
THATCHER: No, Sergeant. It's my responsibility.
She steps through the door and reaches for the ladder...
EXT. TOP OF THE HORSE CAR -- DAY
FRASER and BRECHT are locked in hand to hand combat. FRASER lands a blow that is replied by a roundhouse from BRECHT. FRASER slips it, rises and they grip each others throats.
THATCHER pokes her head over the lip of the car and sees them locked in a death grip. She sweeps her arm back and chops at the feet of BRECHT who loses his footing and topples backward over the edge of the train.
As he starts to fall, he snaps a hand out and manages to grab FRASER by his Sam Browne. They fall into the lethal depths of a canyon. Death is presumed.
FADE OUT:
END OF ACT TWO


ACT THREE

EXT. ILLINOIS COUNTRYSIDE -- DAY
As the runaway train screams through the farmland...
INT. RIDE CAR -- DAY
RACINE fiddles with the wiring of a digital clapboard.
BOLT: We've got ten minutes to the shunt. How are you coming with the
detonators?
RACINE: They'll be ready
CUT TO:
INT. HORSE CAR -- DAY
FROBISHER, THATCHER and FRASER SR. are huddled together.
THATCHER: It was my fault.
FROBISHER: No, it wasn't.
FRASER SR.: In a way it was.
FROBISHER: Stay out of this.
THATCHER: How can I stay out of it? I'm the senior officer on board this train. Fraser was my immediate staff. He was my responsibility.
FRASER SR.: She has a point, Buck.
THATCHER: He drove me crazy, that's no secret. But lately I had started to think...I mean, I had started to feel...
FRASER SR.: Oh, my God. You don't think she...
FROBISHER: Good Lord. You don't think you're...
THATCHER: I'm confused, Sergeant. My feelings are very confused.
FROBISHER: I see.
FRASER SR.: I see? What kind of counsel is that? Console her, for God's sake!
FROBISHER: Inspector...there are times...times between men and women when things arise...feelings... (runs out of advice) Well, enough said.
FRASER SR.: Enough said?!
THATCHER: You're right, Sergeant. We've got to push on. We have a train to stop. You handle the men. I'll take the engine.
She steps out of the car.
FRASER SR.: Really takes death in stride, doesn't she?
FROBISHER: You don't actually think he's dead, do you?
FRASER SR.: Benton? No. My guess is he's executing a plan that will bring this crisis to an end.
CUT TO:
EXT. TRAIN TRACKS -- DAY
FRASER is on a handcar, pumping like a madman, the train in the distance. He catches sight of a coil of rope on the floor of the handcar...
CUT TO:
INT. STATION SIDING 33 -- DAY
CREEVE sits at his staggeringly messy desk. RAY throws his cell phone down in disgust.
RAY: Don't you have some way to track trains? Some kind of grid thing? Some kind of computer?
CREEVE: Oh, sure, they gave me a computer, but the thing's a useless piece of junk. Nothing on it but fish. Little fish swimming around.
He pulls a coat aside to reveal a computer. Fish swim about on 'screen saver'.
RAY bangs the keyboard. The fish vanish and are replaced by a railroad grid.
CREEVE is impressed.
CREEVE (CONT'D): Are you some kind of expert?
CUT TO:
EXT. TRAIN TRACKS -- DAY
FRASER spins a noose over his head and throws the rope. It catches the gate at the back of the caboose. He starts to pull himself hand over hand up to the caboose...
CUT TO:
INT. RIDE CAR -- DAY
FROBISHER and FRASER SR. move through the inert Mounties.
FRASER SR.: Buck. Trouble.
ANGLE ON: BOLT AND RACINE ENTER THE CAR.
FROBISHER plunks himself down and feigns a stupor.
RACINE: There's no sign of Brecht.
BOLT: Forget him. Let's get up front and set the charges, then we'll clear back to the caboose.
FROBISHER passes wind. The TERRORISTS look at one another, each assuming it was the other. A beat. Then, as they leave:
FROBISHER: (under his breath) Pardon me.
CUT TO:
EXT./INT. HORSE CAR -- DAY
THATCHER is about to open the door to the next horse car when FRASER appears out of thin air, landing next to her.
THATCHER: (aghast) Fraser!
FRASER: Sir.
He draws her into the car.
THATCHER: I thought you were dead.
FRASER: I'm sorry to disappoint you, sir.
THATCHER: How did you --?
FRASER: It's not important. What is important --
THATCHER: Not important? I grieved for you.
FRASER: You did?
THATCHER: Briefly.
FRASER: Understood. I've had a little time to think and it's my belief, given the nature of our situation, and the threat we pose, that the logical course of action for the authorities will be to destroy the train.
THATCHER: And everyone on board?
FRASER: Yes, sir.
THATCHER: That's madness.
FRASER: Not entirely, sir. I mean, if you were in their situation wouldn't you do the same?
THATCHER: You think I could be that cold hearted?
FRASER: To be honest with you, sir, I would have thought you'd be more than up to the challenge.
THATCHER: (stunned) Is that what you think of me?
FRASER: I don't mean to upset you, sir --
THATCHER: I'm not upset, Fraser.
She steps back out the door and starts up the ladder. FRASER follows. As they disappear above our frame...
BOLT and RACINE
enter the shot, carrying the component parts of the bombs. We follow them into...
INT. ENGINE -- CONTINUOUS
Where they attach the detonators to the cases of SEMTEX PLASTIQUE. They finish their handiwork by connecting the entire apparatus to a DIGITAL CLAPBOARD.
CUT TO:
EXT. TOP OF THE TRAIN -- DAY
FRASER and THATCHER head toward the engine. She suddenly stops and wheels on him.
THATCHER: Actually, Fraser, I am upset. What makes you think we're so
different? You graduated first of your class. So did I. You received medals for field work, as did I. You wear red serge. I wear red serge. The only difference between us is that you are a woman and I'm not.
FRASER: I think you have that backward, sir.
THATCHER: You know what I mean.
FRASER: Yes, I do.
THATCHER: I'm not made out of stone.
FRASER: I'm very much aware of that, sir.
THATCHER: Are you?
FRASER: Yes.
THATCHER: You are?
FRASER: (nods) I know you have a heart. And I think your heart beats in exactly the same way as mine.
THATCHER: You think it does?
FRASER: Yes.
THATCHER: What about right now?
FRASER: Sir?
THATCHER: What is it doing right now?
FRASER: It's racing, sir.
THATCHER: Out of control?
FRASER: It's a runaway.
They stare at one another. Something electric crackles between them, hangs in the air...then sweeps them into a spine tingling, large 'R' Romantic, two-red-coats-on-the-top-of-a-runaway-train KISS.
ANGLE ON: A TUNNEL APPROACHES.
They remain oblivious to everything but each other. The train zooms through the tunnel. They emerge from the other side still locked in an embrace – the only difference being that the top of FRASER'S hat has been sheared off.
FROBISHER'S HEAD pops out of a hatch in the top of the car.
FROBISHER: I'm not one to throw water on a decent fire but something's afoot with the enemy. They're gathering in the caboose.
FRASER and THATCHER separate, slightly embarrassed.
THATCHER/FRASER: We were just/we were talking/we were...
FROBISHER: Strategy session. I understand.
CUT TO:
EXT. TRAIN TRACKS -- DAY
CLOSE ON: A track switch being activated at a shunt line.
PULL BACK: to see a new terrorist (PINTER) moving from the switch to a YELLOW SERVICE CAR that waits on the main line.
In the B.G. our train thunders toward us. Then, groaning and heaving, it switches tracks.
CUT TO:
INT. POLICE STATIOIN -- BULLPEN -- DAY
Mayhem.
COMPUTER GUY: They've gone off the grid!
FORD: It's not a jet, people! Find it!
CUT TO:
INT. STATION SIDING 33 -- CREEVE'S OFFICE -- DAY
RAY and CREEVE stare at the computer.
RAY: Where the hell'd it go?
CUT TO:
EXT. TRAIN TRACKS -- DAY
PINTER pulls himself up on the back of the caboose and hits an RF transmitter.
The YELLOW SERVICE CAR starts rolling down the main line.
CUT TO:
INT. POLICE STATION -- BULLPEN -- DAY
The tension continues.
COMPUTER GUY: We got them back!
CUT TO:
INT. STATION SIDING 33 -- DAY
RAY follows the path of a shunt line on an ancient map.
RAY: Where's this end up?
CREEVE has his nose buried in a log book.
CREEVE: At a nuclear plant. But your train won't make it there 'cause there's another one coming this way, carrying spent fuel rods.
RAY: Why the hell would they divert -- wait a minute. Fuel rods?
CREEVE: Yep. It's a train load of radioactive uranium, basically.
RAY: So if that train meets up with our train and our train's wired --
(gathering up maps) You got a car?
CREEVE: Have I got a car?
CUT TO:
INT. POLICE STATION -- BULLPEN -- DAY
ELAINE leaps up from her station, pulling off her headphones and hands a piece of paper to FORD.
ELAINE: We have a voice match.
FORD: (reads) Bolt, Randal K. Born Oregon, 1953. Ex-military. Demolitions expert.
CUT TO:
INT. TRAIN -- VARIOUS CARS -- DAY
FORD'S reading of BOLT'S biography continues as BOLT moves through the train toward the caboose.
FORD (O.S.): Dishonorably discharged in 1987 following an explosion at an officer's mess in Baden-Baden. Went underground stateside and resurfaced in a White Supremacist group based out of Idaho called The Fathers of Confederation. He's been linked to a number of recent bombings and train derailments.
CUT TO:
INT. TRAIN -- VARIOUS CARS -- DAY
The trio of FROBISHER, FRASER and THATCHER runs through the cars like bats out of hell, heading for the caboose.
CUT TO:
EXT. FIELDS -- DAY
RAY and CREEVE scream along in a Monster Jeep. CREEVE drives; RAY studies the map which he brings down in front of CREEVE'S face, blinding him. DIEF sits between them.
RAY: What's this?
CREEVE: Safety measure. A emergency run-off shunt.
RAY: Can we get our train on it?
CREEVE: Just got to get to the switch.
CUT TO:
INT. RIDE CAR/CABOOSE -- DAY
The trio peers around the partition and into the caboose.
FRASER: Follow me.
THATCHER: No.
FRASER: Ma'am?
THATCHER: This is my detail. I'll go first. You'll back me up.
She takes off and rushes through the door. FRASER and FROBISHER look at each other for a second.
FRASER SR.: Boy, times have changed. On balance I think for the better, but in my day a woman wouldn't --
FROBISHER/FRASER: Do you mind?
FROBISHER and FRASER stare at one another, both aware the other can see a ghost.
FROBISHER/FRASER (CONT'D): You can -- I mean -- he's...?
FRASER SR.: You think this is a good time to be pondering one of death's mysteries, fellows?
FROBISHER: He's right.
FRASER: Ready?
The two Mounties leap through the door and onto...
EXT. BETWEEN CABOOSE AND RIDE CAR -- CONTINUOUS
...the platform to discover that THATCHER is held at gunpoint by RACINE. BOLT smiles an unctuous smile.
BOLT: Howdy, gentlemen. I have no quarrel with you personally. I hope you believe that. Matter of fact, I think that little horsey thing you do is kind of cute. But you wear the uniform of a foreign country and in the larger context you have no business being on American soil. And you would not be here were it not for the complicity of the American government which is an outlaw government,
which is a government that has elected to betray the sacred trust of its founding fathers. This betrayal is intolerable and that government must be punished. So I have decided to take this opportunity to demonstrate a little trick I've been learning to do with a radio frequency transmitter.
He holds up the TRANSMITTER and flips a switch.
INT. ENGINE -- CONTINUOUS
The DIGITAL CLAPBOARD lights up with red number. The bombs are now active.
EXT. BETWEEN CABOOSE AND RIDE CAR -- CONTINUOUS
BOLT holds up the transmitter.
BOLT: Congratulate yourselves, gentlemen. This train is bound for glory.
Matter of fact, this train is now the trigger mechanism to an imminent nuclear meltdown. But let's look on the bright side, shall we? You'll be warm.
He pulls the pin on the caboose which starts to drift...
FRASER prepares to jump the cars. Just as he is about to leap, FROBISHER holds him back.
FROBISHER: Priorities, son.
FRASER: But, sir --
FROBISHER: Priorities.
FRASER and THATCHER stare at one another as the caboose and the train drift further and further apart.
FADE OUT:
END OF ACT THREE


ACT FOUR

EXT. FIELDS -- DAY
RAY, DIEF and CREEVE bounce along the snowdrifts.
CUT TO:
EXT. RIDE CAR -- DAY
On the platform at the rear of the train, FRASER watches as the caboose retreats into the distance. In the doorway of the car FRASER SR. whispers in FROBISHER'S ear.
FRASER SR.: You better talk to him, Buck.
FROBISHER: Why me? He's your son.
FRASER SR.: Well, I'm dead and my advice seems to be getting stale. Come on. Go ahead.
He makes a gesture to proceed, then retreats to a discreet distance. FROBISHER clears his throat.
FROBISHER: You know, son, your mother...your mother married a good man.
FRASER: Yes, she did.
FROBISHER: And your father and I had, well, I guess you would call it a rivalry. But in the end we both knew that we would have to forge ahead. No matter the outcome. You follow me?
FRASER: No, sir, I have no idea what you're talking about.
FROBISHER looks at FRASER SR. for encouragement.
FROBISHER: What I'm trying to say, is that there are times, times between men and women, when things arise... feelings...
FRASER: She's my superior officer, sir. That's all.
FROBISHER: (relieved) Well, enough said then.
FRASER SR.: Great. All done?
FROBISHER: Yep.
FRASER: Let's get back to business.
CUT TO:
INT. POLICE STATION -- WELSH'S OFFICE -- DAY
The head of a Rapid Response Team lays a map out on the desk.
FORD: We've got a fail safe position at mile 31. The train enters a tunnel.
We can pull the rails and hit it with everything we got.
WELSH: Wait a minute, hold on -- you're going to blow the train?
FORD: You'd rather blow up Chicago?
CUT TO:
INT. BRIDGE OVER THE TRAIN TRACKS -- DAY
RAY and DIEF stand on a bridge as the train approaches. RAY shouts a direction to CREEVE who takes off in his truck. The train nears. RAY girds his loins, then he and DIEF jump.
CUT TO:
INT. BETWEEN HORSE CAR AND ENGINE CAR -- DAY
FROBISHER, FRASER SR. and FRASER are about to step into the passage only to find it blocked by RAY and DIEF who land in a crumpled heap at their feet.
FROBISHER: Good timing. We can always use extra hands.
RAY: What is with you people? We just jumped onto a moving train and no one can say hello?
FRASER: Hello, Ray. We're in a bit of a pickle.
RAY: You better believe you are. And it's a dill.
They step through the passage and into...
INT. ENGINE -- CONTINUOUS
...the engine room.
RAY: This train is on a collision course with a load of radioactive plutonium.
I'm talking meltdown, Three Mile Island, Chernyobal, I'm talking --
He stops talking and they all stare at the intercom speaker on the engine console:
BOLT (O.S.): ...and we will head south.
RACINE (O.S.): What are you doing, Bolt? I thought we were going north.
BOLT (O.S.): Change of plans.
CUT TO:
INT. CABOOSE -- DAY
THATCHER'S handcuffed hands move away from the CAR-TO-CAR-INTERCOM she has cunningly flipped on.
PINTER: What do you mean 'change of plans'?
BOLT: Well, a couple of changes of plan, actually. First, we *are* heading south, to an ATV and then a helicopter. And second? Turns out I'm kind of greedy so you won't be coming along.
He fires twice. RACINE and PINTER fall.
BOLT (CONT'D): Just you and me, Inspector Thatcher.
CUT TO:
INT. ENGINE -- DAY
FRASER'S eyes harden.
RAY: They got the dragon lady?
FRASER: Let's get to work.
FROBISHER: Alright. Priorities. One: defuse bombs. Two: stop train. Have I overlooked anything?
FRASER: What if we can't do either?
RAY: I found us a safety net. There's an emergency run-off shunt a couple miles down the line.
FROBISHER: How do we pull the switch?
RAY: We don't have to. I got a man on it right now...
CUT TO:
INT. FIELDS -- DAY
CREEVE'S Monster Jeep sails through the air...
CUT TO:
INT. ENGINE ROOM -- DAY
RAY examines the bomb: wiring, plastique and whirling numbers on the timers. FRASER assists him.
RAY: ...all we gotta do is crack the guy's signature on the trigger mechanism. So, what are we looking at here?
They move the discarded film equipment -- canisters, cases, a DIGITAL CLAPBOARD and a RIFLE.
CUT TO:
EXT. FIELD -- DAY
BOLT pulls a tarp off a copse, revealing an ATV.
BOLT: Our chariot awaits.
CUT TO:
INT./EXT. ENGINE -- DAY
FROBISHER looks through his all purpose Mountie binoculars.
ANGLE ON: A TRAIN APPROACHES IN THE DISTANCE.
FROBISHER: We have a train. Twelve o-clock.
FRASER: Range?
FROBISHER: Six point three kilometers.
FRASER: Ray?
RAY: It's gotta be sitting right in front of us!
FROBISHER: Six point one kilometers.
RAY: Something obvious!
FROBISHER: Five point seven kilometers.
FRASER: Where's your man on the shunt?
FROBISHER: Five point three kilometers.
RAY: He'll be there!
FROBISHER: No, son, I don't think he will be.
Through the windows they all see:
ANGLE ON: THE MONSTER JEEP IS STANDING ON IT'S NOSE. CREEVE STANDS NEXT TO IT, WAVING.
A defeated PAUSE descends on the engine room. FROBISHER looks around the room, then rises to his full, heroic height.
FROBISHER (CONT'D): Hand me the gun.
FRASER: Sir?
FROBISHER: You heard me.
FRASER hands him the rifle.
FROBISHER (CONT'D): Stand back.
FROBISHER steps out of the door and walks to...
EXT. FRONT OF THE ENGINE -- CONTINUOUS
FRASER SR. appears at his shoulder.
FRASER SR.: 'The Great Yukon Double White Spruce Telescoping Bank Shot'?
FROBISHER: (whispers) Any bloody thing I can hit.
He lifts the rifle, only to discover it is equipped with a very modern, very complicated, very high-tech sight.
FROBISHER (CONT'D): What the hell are you supposed to look through?
FRASER SR.: I haven't a clue. What about this...?
ANGLE ON: RAY AND FRASER
Staring at the camera equipment, their brains racing. DIEF barks at the DIGITAL CLAPBOARD.
RAY: What are these numbers?
FRASER: They should indicate date and time but this isn't the date this is --
RAY: Speed, it's the speed of the train.
FRASER: So if we decelerate we explode.
RAY: Which means we got to trick it into thinking we're still moving.
They look around the compartment. Their eyes land on: A SMALL, PORTABLE FAN.
ANGLE ON: FROBISHER
Gives up on the modern gadget.
FROBISHER: Oh, forget it.
He yanks the sight off and lifts the gun to his naked eye.
ANGLE ON: RAY AND FRASER
They have set the fan up next to the CLAPBOARD. RAY examines the leads to the board as FRASER strips a wire.
RAY: OK, hand me the wire.
ANGLE ON: FROBISHER
Lowers the gun.
FROBISHER: It's an impossible angle.
FRASER SR.: No angle's impossible.
FROBISHER: You were Bob Fraser. Look at me. My eyes are fading, my knees won't hold and I've been passing wind for a week.
FRASER SR.: You still don't get the secret, do you? After all these years.
FROBISHER: What secret?
FRASER SR. whispers something in his ear. FROBISHER nods then lifts the rifle.
He CLOSES HIS EYES and fires...
...the bullet hits the switch to the shunt and it MOVES...
FRASER SR.: Nothing to it.
FROBISHER yells back into the engine room:
FROBISHER: The track is ours!
RAY attaches the wire from the FAN to the CLAPBOARD. They stare at the numbers: they remain constant.
RAY: Hit the brakes!
FRASER slams on the brake...
CUT TO:
EXT. WIDE SHOT -- TRAINS -- DAY
Our train takes a groaning, heaving left down the shunt line and comes to a stop a few cars in. The approaching train loaded with plutonium screeches to a shuddering halt just before the shunt. Together they make a skewed T-Bone.
CUT TO:
INT. ENGINE -- DAY
FRASER SR. appears next to FRASER.
FRASER SR.: If your mother were here, she'd probably want you to go saddle a horse.
FRASER smiles at his father, then strides out of the engine room. FROBISHER reenters.
RAY: Tell me he's not going after the dragon lady.
FROBISHER: Apparently she has other sides.
FRASER SR.: What about the men?
FROBISHER: (looks at his watch) If Benton's calculations are correct, they should be waking up right about...
CUT TO:
INT. RIDE CAR -- DAY
The constables are still comatose.
FROBISHER (O.S.): ...Now.
The Mounties wake up in unison, exactly where they left off -- in mid-chorus of 'Ride Forever'.
CUT TO:
INT. HORSE CAR -- DAY
FRASER is about to leap onto the horse when the door opens:
FROBISHER: You didn't think you'd make this ride alone, did you?
CUT TO:
EXT. HORSE CARS -- DAY
The train is still and mostly silent, except for the occasional hiss and creak.
WITH THE STIRRING ACCOMPANIMENT OF THUNDEROUS MUSIC:
The doors to the box cars crash open simultaneously. Led by FROBISHER and FRASER, thirty-four jet black horses, ridden by thirty-four Mounties wearing red serge and carrying battle lances leap from the train and thunder away from the train, kicking snow in their wake...
EXT. FIELD -- DAY
THATCHER and BOLT barrel down a small hill astride the ATV. BOLT guns the engine. As they come up over the next rise he slows the vehicle.
WHAT HE SEES IS: the entire MUSICAL RIDE in CHARGE formation.
FROBISHER: Charge!
THE RIDE lowers its lances and gallops forward.
BOLT Frantically tries to turn the ATV as
THE RIDE
Closes ground. They circle around him, their horses intersecting with a disorienting complexity.
ANGLE ON: FRASER AND FROBISHER
Galloping forward and throwing their battle lances in unison. The lances strike into the ENGINE of the ATV. Smoke bursts from the motor and the vehicle comes to an abrupt stop.
BOLT
Trains his weapon on
FRASER
Who gallops toward him.
THATCHER
Snaps her elbow back, catching BOLT in the jaw and throwing him off the ATV as FRASER
Thunders through, scooping THATCHER off the ground and setting her down on the saddle in front of him.
THE RIDE
Reconfigures itself with electrifying speed and in a
SPINE-TINGLING AERIAL SHOT
We see BOLT trapped in the center of the famous CIRCLE.
CROSS FADE TO:
EXT. FIELD -- DAY
In beautiful formation, the Ride returns to the train across the snow covered fields. On one side, they are led by FROBISHER; on the other, by FRASER and THATCHER.
FRASER looks across the ranks of Mounties and catches FRASER SR.'S eye. The two men exchange a solemn salute.
ANGLE ON: FRASER SR. LEANS INTO FROBISHER'S EAR.
FRASER SR.: That was one hell of a shot, Buck. Almost ranks right up there with The Great Yukon Double Douglas Fir Telescoping Bank Shot.
FROBISHER: Of course, you realize I knew all along it was you she loved.
FRASER SR.: So you missed intentionally? That's what you're trying to tell me?
FROBISHER: Well, you were my friend.
FRASER SR.: I was never your friend.
FROBISHER: Oh, yes, you were.
FRASER SR.: Oh, no, I was not.
ANGLE ON: THATCHER LEANS INTO FRASER'S EAR.
THATCHER: You understand, Fraser, that what happened between us can never repeat itself. Unless, of course, the exact same circumstances were to repeat themselves.
FRASER: By that, sir, you mean we would have to be on a train full of
unconscious Mounties that had been taken over by terrorists and was heading for a nuclear catastrophe?
THATCHER: Exactly.
FRASER: Understood.
CUT TO:
EXT. TOP OF THE TRAIN -- DAY
RAY and DIEFENBAKER are on the top of the train, watching as the Musical Ride approaches. DIEF moans.
RAY: I know, big fellow, but there are times...between men and women, when things...come up ...feelings... (DIEF moans again) Yeah, enough said.
FADE OUT:
EXT. OUTSIDE A TUNNEL -- DAY
Tracks lead into a black hole. We hear over this:
ELAINE (O.S.): It's on its way.
FORD (O.S.): This is Agent Ford. Firing readiness! Make ready!
Guns are cocked as the YELLOW SERVICE CAR glides into the tunnel.
FORD (O.S.) (CONT'D): Firing on my command. Three. Two. One. Fire!
CUT TO: BLACK
END OF ACT FOUR