INT. CHAMBERS’ HOTEL SUITE – NIGHT
Steve sorts through a pile of photocopied pictures of Leslie and Sarah. A Cozumel map sits open on the desk with hotel names and locations crossed off with red marker. The sheets on the bed are still fresh with mint candies on the pillows.
Steve reaches in the nightstand drawer and pulls out one of Leslie’s shirts. He crumples the shirt and inhales it.
EXT. PRESIDENTE SUITES PARKING LOT – DAY
Steve approaches Ambrose from the main lobby entrance. The sun is blinding.
I got your message.
We found the Jeep.
Ambrose strolls toward a damaged rental Jeep. A crack in the windshield distends from one end to the other. Both headlights are broken.
The police towed it here an
hour ago. Found it abandoned
near the Puntas Molas Lighthouse.
Near Cozumel’s southern tip. About
four kilometers from the main road.
Steve circles the Jeep and inspects the gravel embedded in
the knobby tires. He checks the floor
mats and finds a burned match.
You’re sure this was hers?
Ambrose glances at his clipboard.
Your wife signed the rental
agreement two days ago.
Was anyone with her besides my
I don’t know.
Any indication where she went?
Ambrose looks over the rental agreement.
No, but the contract forbids
anyone from leaving the island.
Could someone ferry a rental
Jeep off the island?
Technically they’re not suppose
to, but it happens.
Steve wipes his hands across the seats, searching the fabric and the space around the sandy floor mats. He taps the gas can strapped to the tail gate; it rings HOLLOW. He touches the severely scratched hood.
This vehicle’s been through hell
Most of this island is uninhabited.
With unpaved roads and rocky shorelines,
the environment takes its toll on our
The roads didn’t damage this hood.
Ambrose’s beeper goes off. He takes it from his belt and reads the number.
I have a pick-up at the airport.
If you need me, you can page me
at the front desk.
Steve watches Ambrose walk away.
What do you know about the
lighthouse at Puntas Molas?
Ambrose turns. He cups his hand on his forehead to shield the sun.
Not much. It’s been closed for
repairs since last summer.
Would anyone go there to swim or
They’d be crazy if they did.
The waters on that side of
the island are very rough.
There’s a strong rip tide and
a rocky shoreline that claims
at least one boat a year.
Steve checks his watch and nods.
INT. LOBBY, PRESIDENTE SUITES – DAY
Steve approaches the front desk and spots Randy pushing a luggage cart toward the elevator. Randy makes eye contact with Steve, then looks down at the floor and shakes his head.
INT. CHAMBERS’ HOTEL SUITE – NIGHT
Steve packs a duffel bag with crackers, water, and a map of Cozumel. A knock at the door prompts Steve to open it.
Steve discovers an empty hallway. He jogs toward the stairwell and looks over the open landing. When he returns to the room, he finds a note on the floor outside his door.
INSERT – STEVE READS THE NOTE
Midnight – Pier 3 – San Miguel.
EXT. SAN MIGUEL, PIER 3 – NIGHT
Live music carries across the street from the seaside promenade where Steve loiters among the masses dwarfed by the towering cruise ships.
Steve proceeds along the pier to a vacant kiosk. A payphone rings. He grabs the handset on the third ring.
The line is silent. Then a man’s voice come on.
MAN’s VOICE (VO)
Who is this?
MAN’s VOICE (VO)
El Loco’s Bar off Adolfo Rosado
Salas. Be there in ten minutes.
INT. EL LOCO’s BAR – NIGHT
Patrons whisper when Steve enters the dirt floor establishment. Murals of ocean scenery cover the stucco walls. Mariachi music plays from a radio behind the bar.
Steve approaches a back room table where FBI Agents Dale Smythe and Wendy Riker sit beneath the smoky glow of a naked light bulb. Smythe motions toward Steve.
Who the hell are you?
Agent Riker displays her badge. Her gravel voice is thick and husky, yet almost sultry at the same time.
I’m Special Agent Riker with the
FBI. My partner, Special Agent
What is this?
Agent Smythe leans forward on the bench seat, exposing his considerable girth and his 9mm Glock holstered beneath his Hawaiian shirt. He nudges the top of his dark-rimmed glasses that sit high on the edge of his bulbous nose.
Why the cloak and dagger act?
We wanted to be sure you weren’t
Followed by who?
Agent Smythe points to the opposite bench seat.
You’ve been following my family
since we landed in Cozumel.
Agent Smythe lights a cigarette and blows smoke out the corner of his mouth. Riker leans forward, exposing cleavage from her V-neck blouse.
What do you know about my wife
We’re investigating the disappearance
of nine people at various Caribbean
resorts. All are wealthy. And all
tapped their bank accounts before they
What are you saying?
Agent Riker fans the cigarette smoke.
We suspect a piracy ring is involved.
It’s more common than you think.
Though usually not in Caribbean
Has anyone contacted you about
Have you seen anyone suspicious
Aside from you two?
Steve glances around the room.
Are you working with the local
They’re aware of our investigation
but our partnership with the Mexican
Government remains tenuous at best.
The Mexican Government doesn’t
appreciate Uncle Sam throwing
his weight around.
Especially when we suspect that
one of their own is involved.
Someone in Cozumel?
We don’t know for certain. What
we do know is that yesterday
at 0800, a Coast Guard sonar pinged
a sunken vessel in 300 feet of
water outside Aruba. The wreckage
We suspect it might be a British
yacht last scene in that general
vicinity; the boat’s been missing
for three days – along with its
diplomat owner and his mistress.
And you think pirates did this?
So what’s the connection to
We don’t know, yet.
Then why are you wasting
Agent Smythe glances at his partner, then back to Steve.
We pulled your naval records.
You’ve done everything from
scrubbing hulls to underwater
demolition. We need you to dive
to this sunken ship and identify it.
If it’s the yacht we’re looking for,
it might provide us with a lead.
Something tangible we can work from.
Sounds like a job for a Coast
Guard salvage team.
The Coast Guard needs four days
to assemble a team. We can’t
spare four hours.
We can have you on site by 0600.
Three hundred feet is serious depth.
We’re talking mixed gas. Heated suits.
And a top-side crew that’s worth their
The Coast Guard has equipment on
board. What they need is someone
qualified to use it. Right now,
you’re the only option we’ve got.
And what about my wife and daughter?
Who’s searching for them when I’m
gallivanting under water?
We have undercover agents investigating
your family’s disappearance as we speak.
Our people are good at what they do.
The sooner we act on this, the better
our chances of finding your family.
Steve wipes his hand through his close-cropped hair. Agent Smythe drops his cigarette on the dirt floor and crushes it under his shoe.
Time is our enemy.
Steve shakes his head.
I don’t know…
I spoke with the Deputy Consulate
at the American Embassy–
And he assured you his people are
doing everything they can, right?
Do you know how many people
in Mexico City every day?
No, not exactly.
We’re not debating what the Deputy
Consulate told you.
The question is: do you believe him?
EXT. SEA-NOTE BOW – DAY
Victor stands on deck with a 12-gauge pump-action Browning. He blasts two clay pigeons from the sky. Pulverized fragments fall toward the water.
Damon pulls a rope attached to a spring-loaded launcher. Three clay targets hurl through the air.
In one fluid motion, Victor brings the shotgun to his shoulder, aims across the length of the barrel, fires, pumps, and fires again. 3-inch magnum cartridges litter the deck. Smoke trails from the heated muzzle.
Damon hands him a box of shells.
They’ll be here soon.
Damon launches three more targets. Before Victor can load the last shell and fire, Damon draws his .357 Magnum and blasts the clay disks. Large chunks of broken clay fall to the water.
A 36-foot, twin-engine Donzi approaches from the distance and slows alongside the longer yacht. Victor steps across the Sea-Note’s gunwale to tie off.
Carajo! Donde has estado?
A bearded CUBAN BUYER in a straw hat, khaki Chinos, and a silver briefcase boards the Sea-Note. Two body guards armed with UZIs remain on board the Donzi.
The Cuban Buyer throws a glance at Victor. VICTOR LEAVES THE SCENE AND VENTURES TOWARD THE WHEELHOUSE.
INSIDE THE SEA-NOTE’s STARBOARD CABIN
Spread eagle on her back, Leslie stares up at the cabin ceiling. Her eyes dart back and forth at the sound of men’s voices. Her wrists and ankles are tied with ropes that extend beyond the corners of the mattress. She strains to free herself.
BACK TO THE SEA-NOTE MAIN SALON
(to Cuban Buyer)
Let’s see the cash.
The Cuban Buyer opens the silver briefcase and reveals several $10,000 bundles of used bills.
The deal was five.
This is not the boat I wanted.
Damon paces about the cabin. He stops at the starboard porthole in the galley and peers at the body guards aboard the Donzi.
The Cuban Buyer whistles for his men. Victor emerges from the WHEELHOUSE with a Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine gun.
Perhaps you take me for a fool?
I’ll take you anyway I want.
Victor riddles the Cuban body guards with two quick bursts from the MP5. Shaking uncontrollably, the Cuban Buyer puts his arms in the air. His crotch is stained with urine.
Please… Take the money.
Victor blasts the Cuban Buyer, knocking him backward as bullets tear his chest apart.
EXT. COAST GUARD CUTTER – NIGHT
A helicopter hovers above the 110-foot Coast Guard Cutter, CHINCOTEAGUE. Spot lights flood the landing pad where Agent Smythe and Agent Riker escort Steve across the deck.
Shielding his eyes from the chopper’s downwash, Coast Guard CAPTAIN PETERS greets Agent Smythe with a handshake. A slender man with steel blue eyes and a dark tan, Captain Peters wears a gold academy ring with an emerald stone.
Couldn’t stay away could you?
Agent Smythe turns to Steve.
Here’s your man.
Steve extends a hand shake to the Captain.
Captain Peters. Good to meet you.
Welcome aboard the Chincoteague.
I’m not sure how much you’ve been
briefed, but I can bring you
up to speed. We’ll commence our
operation at 0700.
I’m sorry about your family. I
hope this mission helps.
INT. CHINCOTEAGUE SLEEPING QUARTERS – NIGHT
Steve rests on his back, staring wide-eyed at the bunk above him. An enlisted crew member SNORES LOUDLY in the rack across from him.
Steve checks his watch. He rolls over.
STEVE DREAM SEQUENCE – LATER
Steve’s hands shake beneath the murky water where he floats above the surface with a scuba tank on his back, panning an underwater flashlight at the hull of the sunken ship half buried in a portion of the ocean’s sandy bottom. Ripples in the metal plating on the foredeck structure reveal rusted patches encrusted with layers of barnacle growth.
Steve breaks a portal with the butt of his dive knife and aims the light at a school of silver-gray fish swimming in the ship’s dining room. Lengths of wooden molding float among the waterlogged rubble in a salt-water grave. His own exhaust bubbles rumble above his head as he inspects the grease-pen sketch on the dive slate attached to his scuba vest. The light reflects off the white tablet as he studies the hand-drawn outline of the ship’s interior.
Employing a steady scissor kick, he swims toward the ship’s stern. The underwater visibility deteriorates.
He swims inside a gaping hole above the engine room and ties a guide line to a length of railing. He swims through floating debris until a figure passes in front of him. Unable to discern the shadows through the heavy sediment, he swims toward the bloated bodies of Leslie and Sarah. Their faces appear translucent with hollow eye sockets.
Steve spits out his mouthpiece and inhales a lung full of water.
STEVE’s BUNK – PRESENT DAY
Steve snaps awake. He’s flat on his back, drenched in sweat. Shoes CLANG on the metal deck until a black Coast Guard crewman named SEAMAN TATE calls out.
Ready when you are, Captain.
EXT. COAST GUARD DECK – DAY
Agent Smythe greets Steve as he makes his way to the diver’s staging area.
You up for this?
Where’s your partner?
In the shitter.
A group of enlisted men gather around the coils of hoses extending from the surface-supplied air control center. Seaman Tate unlocks a storage trunk and drags out a canvas bag.
(to other crewmate)
Give me a hand with this.
Steve watches the men unload the diving equipment. He shakes his head when he sees the Russian version of an American Mark V dive helmet complete with a metal breast plate and canvas suit with lead-bottom boots.
(to Agent Smythe)
You’re kidding me.
Agent Smythe turns to Captain Peters.
Not what you expected?
Where’d you find that, e-Bay?
It’s old but it works. And it’s
all we’ve got.
What’s the problem?
These rigs were decommissioned
in ’79. I wouldn’t put my worst
enemy in one of these.
A lot of off-shore drilling
operations still use them.
Steve examines the dive helmet. Agent Smythe lights a cigarette. Behind the men, a small crane pivots with a length of steel cable and an air-supplied umbilical cord extending from the metal arm.
Seaman Tate steps forward.
Tate, this is Master Chief Chambers.
You’ll be his ears on this mission.
Aye aye Sir.
(to Seaman Tate)
You ever worked a mixed gas rig before?
How many hours?
Seaman Tate looks at the Captain then turns sheepishly to Steve.
EXT. CRANE HOISTS STEVE OVERBOARD – DAY
Suspended by the mechanical arm, Steve dangles over the cerulean blue water before the winch slowly deploys him feet first.
(instructing the crane operator)
We ain’t got all day. There’s seven
minutes of air in that suit.
What’s the problem?
The suit is self contained.
We can’t turn on the main air
supply until he’s fully submerged.
He’ll blow up like the Michelin
INT. SEVERAL FEET BELOW THE SURFACE – DAY
Steve checks his air pressure from the analogue gauge on his wrist. He sinks quickly with a narrow field of vision through the oval faceplate. His voice echoes inside the copper helmet.
How’s my air?
200 FEET BELOW THE SURFACE – LATER
Colors fade in the absence of natural sunlight. Underwater visibility diminishes.
SEAMAN TATE (VO)
Approaching two-hundred and
Steve activates his underwater strobe affixed to a lanyard on his breast plate. Air bubbles gurgle from his helmet’s exhaust port. When his feet touch the surface, he pans the light.
He plods along the sandy bottom.
I don’t see it…wait…up ahead.
SEAMAN TATE (VO)
Do you have visual contact?
Affirmative. Large figure.
make out the details.
Steve reaches the remains of the 50-foot sailing yacht and finds a jagged opening in the hull. The mast lays broken in half. Bullet holes riddle the starboard side. Shards of broken glass deflect the light beam.
SEAMAN TATE (VO)
Watch your umbilical.
Steve cranes his neck when a shadow flashes across his peripheral vision. He pans the light and sees nothing but floating sediment. He holds his breath, then slowly exhales.
AGENT SMYTHE (VO)
You find our boat?
Steve shines the light in front of him and makes his way around the yacht’s stern. The name X-T-SEA trails off the damaged transom.
If you’re looking for a motor
yacht, this isn’t it.
Static crackles in the dive helmet.
SEAMAN TATE (VO)
Chief… You’re breaking up.
Steve bangs his helmet with the flashlight. For a moment, all is silent except for the sound of his exhaust bubbles. a hammerhead shark blasts through a jagged opening in the yacht’s hull, tearing across Steve’s path. The flashlight SMACKS the yacht and dies. Surrounded in darkness, Steve pants inside the helmet.
Tate? Are you with me?
Steve fumbles in the dark for the flashlight.
BACK ON DECK – LATER
A frenzied Seaman Tate shouts at the crane operator.
Take him up! Take him up NOW!
The crane gently lowers Steve on deck. Water drips from the canvas suit. INSIDE THE SUIT, Steve sweats profusely about the head and neck. He stares out the helmet faceplate as the ship’s crew members gather to help remove the dive gear.
It’s getting hot in here.
Seaman Tate takes a pneumatic lug wrench and starts to unscrew the first of 8 bolts securing the helmet to the breast plate.
Save your breath. I’ll have
you out in a jiffy.
The pneumatic wrench malfunctions, emitting a rat-tat-tat-tat sound. Seaman Tate taps the wrench against the deck to revive it but the equipment continues to fail. He grabs a manual wrench and attacks the second bolt by hand.
Get him out of there!
You wanna crack the O2 a notch?
Seaman Tate works frantically to loosen the third bolt.
You know I
can’t do that Chief.
The compressor’s dead. We’re
switching to a back-up unit.
We don’t have ten minutes!
Seaman Tate spins the fourth bolt off with his finger and clamps the wrench on number five. Sweat pours down his face.
Steve leans forward and falls toward Seaman Tate. Steve’s eyes roll back in his head. His face turns pale.
STEVE DREAM SEQUENCE
Steve sees a ghostly image of Leslie in a dark room, pounding his chest, yelling at him to wake up. Leslie puts her lips to his mouth.
BACK TO CHINCOTEAGUE DECK – PRESENT DAY
Agent Riker kneels beside Steve’s body, pinching his nose; blowing in his mouth.
Steve pops his eyes open and coughs. He inhales a shallow breath and stares beyond Agent Riker.
Agent Riker helps Steve to an upright position. Seaman Tate looks over her shoulder.
Take a deep
Steve looks around, dazed and confused from his brush with death. Crewmen cheer.
You just stepped out for a second.
You’re all right.
INT. OFFICER’s QUARTERS – NIGHT
Agent Smythe leans back in a swivel chair bolted to the floor. Across from him, Agent Riker holds a brown accordion folder. Steve enters wearing Navy sweats.
You got a minute?
You look better.
Steve faces Agent Riker.
I…Ahhh…Owe you big-time.
Someone wanted that yacht
at the bottom of the sea.
The Coast Guard’s sending a
salvage team. They’ll be here
in three days.
that leave us?
The chopper returns at 0800.
We’ll be in Cozumel by dawn.
Any word on my family?
Agent Smythe shakes his head.
Agent Riker hands Steve the accordion file. Inside, a butterfly clip holds several black and white mug shots. Steve thumbs through the photos.
Our greatest hits collection.
We believe two of the men
in those photos have connections
to this man.
Agent Smythe displays a mug shot of Victor Mendoza.
Steve glances at the photo.
Oh my God…
START OF FLASHBACK
Steve recalls Victor’s face during his family’s dive trip. He recalls the tattooed forearms of an eagle clutching a trident as Victor slaps Sarah on the shoulder.
BACK TO PRESENT DAY
You all right?
Steve points to Victor’s photo.
I’ve seen this man before.
On the dive boat at the Presidente
The day my wife and daughter disappeared.
Do you recognize this man?
Steve shakes his head.
Who is he?
Victor Arellano Mendoza, a Cuban
immigrant from Miami. Served four
years as enlisted Navy before
applying for special forces training
with the SEALS. He blew a gasket
during BUDS and killed his drill
instructor. Served two years in
Leavenworth before escaping. He
killed two guards in the process.
That was nine months ago.
Last month, an anonymous caller
tipped a Miami Coast Guard patrol
about Mendoza’s involvement in a
We’ve tracked Mendoza to Curacao and
Saint John where a family disappeared
from a chartered yacht.
Agent Smythe blows smoke through his nose.
Mendoza killed a female Agent
Every time we get close to him he
slips through our fingers like the wind
INT. FBI APARTMENT, SAN MIGUEL – NIGHT
Steve peers through a window overlooking the Caribbean. His face is drawn; his eyes sunken and pinched from lack of sleep. Agent Smythe enters.
We’re wasting time. Every minute
we sit here and do nothing puts
my wife and daughter in greater jeopardy.
If we go in with guns blazing and
Mendoza isn’t there, we’ll tip
So now what? We sit here and
sing Kum bi ya?
We’ve had the phone lines tapped.
There’s 24-7 video surveillance
throughout the resort. If Mendoza
or his men were there, we would
have seen them by now.
And what if they’ve already left?
What if they’ve taken my wife and
daughter with them?
Agent Riker enters the room with her cell phone. She nods to Agent Smythe.
I got a call from Lieutenant
Mierez. One of his men found
a floater near the northern tip
outside the Puntas Molas lighthouse.
How long ago?
About an hour.
Male or female?
Agent Smythe grabs his Glock from the table and tucks it down the back of his shorts. Steve wipes his hand through his hair.
This can’t be happening.
Call Mierez back. Tell him we’re
on our way.
INT. WOODEN STORAGE SHED – NIGHT
Sarah stands up and feels along the wall for a light switch. Confused and disoriented, she flicks on the single bulb dangling above her and finds Natalie Johnston curled in a corner.
Who are you?
Natalie pulls away, shielding her face with her hands. Her shirt is soaked in sweat.
Where are we?
Sarah moves to the boarded window hammered shut with 16-penny nails. She touches the nail heads and looks around the empty storage shed for something to pry with.
We have to get out of here.
They’ll find us.
Not if I can help it.
INT. POLICE HEADQUARTERS, SAN MIGUEL – NIGHT
Steve follows Lieutenant Mierez along a narrow hallway with Agent Smythe and Agent Riker at his side. The four descend a flight of stairs to —
Steve, Smythe, Riker, and Mierez stand over the body on a gurney covered with a plastic tarp. Smythe and Riker cover their mouths with their hands. Mierez pulls a handkerchief from his pocket.
Let’s do it.
Lieutenant Mierez pulls the tarp back to reveal a white, bloated body with a severed arm and substantial flesh wounds to the torso.
Agent Smythe turns his head and gags. He blows chunks. Intestinal fluids hit the floor with a WET SLAP.
(mumbling through the handkerchief)
Do you recognize this person?
Steve steps around the body.
I can’t tell.
Agent Smythe leaves the morgue. Steve follows.
Where are you going?
To check on something.
EXT. PUNTAS MOLAS LIGHTHOUSE – NIGHT
Steve crouches outside the lighthouse foundation. He finds an entrance blocked with an iron gate secured with a chain and lock. He shines the light on a wooden plaque hanging from the chain. Waves SPLASH against the rocky shoreline.
INSERT – STEVE READS THE WOODEN PLAQUE
Peligro – No Entrada ilegal!
BACK TO SCENE
Steve backs away from the locked gate and proceeds around the other side. He stops in his tracks and looks down at his feet. At his ankles, a nearly invisible length of fishing twine stretches across the ground, reverberating like a plucked guitar string. He follows the line with the flashlight beam. The line ends at a claymore mine embedded in the ground.
He SLOWLY retreats
and finds another path to follow, one embedded with deep tire tracks in marshy
soil. He pans the flashlight beam along
the ground and discovers a piece of broken plastic partially buried in the
dirt. He inspects the broken plastic and
wipes a clear spot to reveal the remnants of an orange Tic-Tac case.
INT. LIEUTENANT MIEREZ’s OFFICE – NIGHT
Lieutenant Mierez takes a long drag from his cigarette and blows smoke at an out-of-balance ceiling fan. Sweat beads on his forehead. Across the room, Agent Riker scribbles on a notepad.
Any verdict on the cause of death?
Agent Smythe enters the room and shakes a cigarette from his soft pack. When his cell phone rings, he puts it to his ear and frowns.
AFIS came back with a hit on
our DOA’s prints. A woman named
Pamela Johnston. She took a
collar eighteen years ago for
assaulting an officer at a pro life demonstration.
Smythe puts a cigarette between his lips.
I’ll check the airlines and the hotel
Registries. If the Johnstons came to
Cozumel recently, Mendoza might still
be in town.
I’ll check their bank records for
Lieutenant Mierez paces by his desk.
Let me know what you find. The life
of another man’s family may depend
INT. SEA-NOTE STARBOARD CABIN – NIGHT
The whine from an outboard motor fades against the sound of waves lapping the hull. Leslie pulls on the ropes around her wrists and creates enough slack in the lines to free one hand. Her wrists bleed from the effort, but she manages to untie herself and leave the cabin confines.
OUTSIDE THE CABIN
Leslie presses her ear to the adjacent wall. Hearing nothing, she moves through the companionway toward —
THE MAIN SALON
Leslie enters —
She sees the outline of an inflatable yacht tender heading for shore with two men on board. She reads the navigation chart on the plotting table. Belize is circled in red marker.
She takes the VHF radio from the helm and keys the microphone.
Mayday mayday mayday! Request
immediate assistance, over.
STATIC CRACKLES from the speaker.
COAST GUARD (VO)
This is the United States Coast
Guard. Please identify…
Leslie keys the mic.
You have to help me. I’ve been
COAST GUARD (VO)
The speaker starts to BUZZ and WHINE as Leslie adjusts the squelch control.
COAST GUARD (VO)
When the dinghy circles back, Leslie abandons the radio and rummages through a toolbox. She retrieves a monkey wrench and SMASHES the dashboard and navigation monitors. Sparks fly with pieces of broken glass and plastic.
OUTSIDE THE HELM STATION
A two-cycle outboard drones louder as Leslie creeps along the gunwale opposite the approaching boat. She climbs over the bow rail and drops to the water feet first. She side-strokes to —
THE SWIM PLATFORM
She hides underneath, waiting for the men to return.
Victor and Damon reach the Sea-Note and tie off. They jump aboard the yacht with guns drawn.
Check the cabin.
BENEATH THE SWIM PLATFORM
Leslie quietly leaves the confines of her hiding space and
pulls herself inside the dinghy. She
unties the line and drifts away before she yanks the starter cord.
Damon exits —
He skirts along the gunwale toward the stern.
Damon fires at Leslie in the dark.
BACK AT THE YACHT TENDER
Leslie cranks the handlebar throttle wide open, forcing the bow to rise abruptly as the small inflatable heads for shore.
Gun shots echo across the water. The outboard sputters and dies. Ducking for cover, Leslie yanks the starter cord repeatedly. When the motor won’t start, she notices the fuel valve TURNED TO THE OFF POSITION. She adjusts the valve and pulls the starter cord until the engine comes alive.
Leslie crouches in the small inflatable, facing forward with one arm bracing an oar lock. The boat dips sharply as Victor launches himself on board like a monster from the deep. Leslie screams.
INT. CHAMBERS’ SUITE – NIGHT
A startled maid screams when Steve enters his hotel suite.
What are you doing?
The maid jumps away from the dresser. Clothes are strewn about the floor.
Lo siento, senor. Lo siento.
Habla usted ingles?
His Spanish accent resounds like a Chinese tenor with a head cold.
The maid keeps her head down and advances toward the door. Steve blocks her path.
What are you looking for?
He points to Leslie’s clothes.
Dejeme ir, por favor!
The maid thrashes when he tries to grab her arms.
Please…Senor…If they find me…
El faro. Bad things happen there.
The house with light.
Are my wife and
The maid shakes her head and flails her arms. Agitated to the point of hysteria, she breaks free and bolts for the stairwell outside.
Steve chases her to the hallway where he hears a loud scream followed by a sickening THUMP. He rounds the corner by the elevators and finds the maid’s apron caught in the walkway banister.
He leans over the railing and sees the women’s body lying face down; her arms and legs skewed at awkward angles.
Randy emerges from the elevator.
Randy peers over the guardrail as Lieutenant Mierez approaches with two armed officers.
Steve darts inside the stairwell and runs down. The officers give chase.
INT. WOODEN STORAGE SHED – NIGHT
Using a flat head screw driver, Sarah pries a nail loose from the boarded window. She works her fingers between the plywood and the window.
Shouting erupts from outside the room. A burly man with a grizzly beard and an UZI barges inside.
Get away from the window!
Sarah drops the screwdriver.
Natalie runs for the corner.
INT. CARGO VAN – NIGHT
Sarah and Natalie crouch toward the back of the cargo van as the sliding door SLAMS SHUT. Their hands are tied. Duct tape covers their mouths.
FURTHER DOWN THE ROAD
The driver steers with one hand on the wheel and the other holding the UZI. His unfastened shoulder belt clangs against the door frame. Branches scrape the van’s roof and side view mirrors as Sarah reaches for the sliding door. When the driver glances in the rear view mirror, Sarah withdraws her attempt. Natalie mouths the word no.
INT. FBI APARTMENT, SAN MIGUEL – NIGHT
Agent Smythe lights a match and holds it at the end of his cigarette. Agent Riker looks on disapprovingly.
If you light up one more time in
here, you’ll be smoking that
through your ass.
Agent Smythe fans the air with the match to extinguish the flame.
Who pissed in your Wheaties?
He takes a notepad from his shirt pocket and flips it open.
I pulled the hotel registry from
the Presidente Suites and found
a record for Marvin and Pamela Johnston.
They checked out two days ago – with
two adult children.
But we’ve only got one body.
I also checked the Johnston’s bank
records. Two days ago, Pamela
Johnston withdrew $800,000 from her
Maybe she wanted to disappear?
An abusive husband? A chance for
a better life?
And abandon her kids?
I’ve seen it before.
Her husband owns a bank. If she
needed money, she could have
taken it at any time.
You really think Mendoza’s men
got to her?
It fits the profile.
Agent Smythe pulls the slide on his Glock and grabs a map from the table.
Call Mierez and tell him to
Agent Smythe heads for the door.
Where are you going?
To play a hunch. I’ll be back
in an hour.
INT. CARGO VAN – NIGHT
Gravel PINGS inside the van’s wheel wells as the rusted Dodge 250 starts down a gravel road. When the driver’s cell phone rings, he pulls the phone from his shirt pocket and answers.
Sarah glances at Natalie. Natalie inches closer to the sliding door.
Sarah lunges for the handle and pulls it down. The door slides open to reveal an endless wall of jungle brush whirring by in a blur. The driver taps the brakes and waves the UZI at the girls who both jump out and bounce violently like a pair of crash test dummies.
Up ahead, brake lights illuminate the darkness before the back-up lights engage and the van accelerates in reverse.
The driver jumps out and surveys the landscape. He plunges toward the jungle, spraying the UZI in the girls’ direction. The clamor of RAPID GUNFIRE echoes through the trees. A flock of blue warblers SQUAWK in unison.
INT. CHINCOTEAGUE WHEELHOUSE – NIGHT
A glow illuminates from the radar screen where Captain Peters stands at the helm beside the radio officer. A torrential downpour pounds the glass in front of him. A constant hum reverberates in the background.
Any word from our mayday caller?
Keep at it. I want to know the minute
we pinpoint the signal’s location.
EXT. PIER AT PRESIDENTE SUITES – NIGHT
Agent Smythe creeps through the bushes along the deserted path leading to the Divers’ Paradise. Top 40 music plays from the tiki bar. A young couple strolls hand in hand on the beach, oblivious to Smythe’s presence.
INSIDE THE DIVERS’ PARADISE
Smythe shines his pen light in the cabin and climbs —
He finds a pump-out head and a locked storage compartment. He picks the lock and opens the lid to find a broken spear gun and several life jackets. A hidden panel
reveals a machete. Smythe squirts the blade with Luminal and observes the lime green color indicating the presence of blood.
He wraps the machete in a rag and climbs —
A shadowy figure jumps him from behind.
EXT. FBI APARTMENT, SAN MIGUEL – NIGHT
Steve arrives to find the door unlocked. He enters.
He moves toward
the back of the room and hears the clack-clack-clack from a length of spinning
audiotape slapping the empty spool on a reel-to-reel recorder. A video monitor shows the image of his Jeep
parked outside. A wisp
of steam rises from the contents of a Styrofoam cup.
Agent Smythe? Agent Riker?
He follows the hallway to the darkened bedroom where the emerald eyes of a cube-shaped alarm clock flash the time at 5:15 a.m. A cockroach scampers up the wall. The bathroom faucet drips.
Standing over an open suitcase on the bed, he pokes at the folded shirts and women’s underwear packed beside a romance novel and a .22 caliber semi-auto Beretta Bobcat. He palms the tiny gun as Agent Riker appears.
Find what you’re looking for?
I found this at Puntas Molas…
Steve presents the orange Tic-Tac case. Agent Riker steps toward him and cocks her head inquisitively.
What is it?
I found this container at the Puntas
Molas lighthouse. My wife eats these
things like candy.
How’d you get in here?
The door was open…
Steve moves away from the suitcase toward the light seeping in from the hall.
He went out for a smoke.
It looks like we may have
found your wife and daughter.
Steve blinks. He clears his throat before he speaks.
About an hour ago.
Are they all right?
They’ve been detained.
Steve glances at the video surveillance camera and sees Victor drive up in a Nissan taxi with a gold chain license plate cover. Steve points the Beretta at Agent Riker.
What the fuck is going on?
I think you know the answer
Riker pulls her Glock from her hip holster and aims at Steve.
Put it down.
Riker advances. Steve pulls the trigger twice and hears CLICK CLICK as the Bobcat’s firing pin strikes an empty chamber.
Riker nods her head toward the door when Victor enters the
I should have let you die on
Why didn’t you?
EXT. SEA-NOTE BOW – NIGHT
Victor pours gasoline on the bow as the Cuban’s Donzi approaches from the watery horizon.