18EXT. RAIL YARDS – DAY

The Protagonist, tied to a chair, in a windswept rail yard. In front of him, the ‘Target’, also tied to a chair, back to us. The Driver steps back, SWEATING. BLOODY PLIERS in hand.

DRIVER

(breathless)

A man can be trained to hold out

for about eighteen hours.

The Driver gestures at a CLOCK on a table –

DRIVER (CONT'D)

So your colleagues will clear by 7.

The Driver PUSHES the ‘Target’s chair over. The ‘Target’ lands hard on his side on the gravel. Groaning.

DRIVER (CONT'D)

He didn’t last eighteen minutes.

The Driver pulls out a KNIFE. Leans in to the Protagonist –

DRIVER (CONT'D)

But he didn’t have anything to

hide. You were smuggling a nobody.

The knife moves towards the Protagonist’s throat...

DRIVER (CONT'D)

Risky.

...then to his collar – which he CUTS –

DRIVER (CONT'D)

Or were you counting on this?

...pulling out a SILVER CAPSULE. The Protagonist stares.

DRIVER (CONT'D)

Death, CIA issue.

The Driver TOSSES the pill, WAVES the pliers at the clock –

DRIVER (CONT'D)

Spare yourself once they’re clear.

The Protagonist looks at the clock – ‘5:38’. A FREIGHT TRAIN RUMBLES PAST, CLOSE... As we close in on the clock, THE PROTAGONIST’S SCREAMS ARE DROWNED OUT BY THE FREIGHT TRAIN...

The Driver steps back. The Protagonist breathes heavy, blood dribbling... the Driver follows his gaze to the clock – ‘6:53’ – then checks his watch. Frowns theatrically, picks up the clock, SHAKES it –

DRIVER (CONT'D)

Running fast...

The Driver SETS THE HANDS BACK ONE HOUR. The Protagonist watches, DESPAIRING... as the Driver puts the clock back on