| Nov. 11, 2010 EXT. BARREN DESERT LANDSCAPES – DAY A barren desert landscape, baking in the sun. A deep blue sky. High rocky walls of every shape and size. Craggy rock-strewn hills. Enormous boulders sitting at strange angles. We hear a female voice singing a ululating Pashtun native tribal song from Afghanistan. A title reads: “Somewhere near the Afghanistan-Pakistan border in the Tribal Frontier.” EXT. DIRT TRACK – DAY A 20-year-old, beat-up, blue Toyota Corolla drives quickly along a dirt track through the desert kicking up a cloud of dust behind it. The car is dwarfed by the enormous landscape. INT. MOVING CAR – DAY Driving the blue Toyota is a man wearing a turban, a scarf and native Afghan garb, but is Caucasian. He is 40 years old, with a deeply tanned, weather-beaten complexion and speaks into a bulky satellite cell phone. He is ARMSTRONG. ARMSTRONG ARMSTRONG (cont.) In the backseat of the car is an arsenal: a big 50mm black military rifle with a scope, a small, Uzi submachine gun, boxes of ammunition, MREs, bottles of water, a carton of Marlboros, two 10-gallon cans of gasoline, and a black backpack. Armstrong rolls up the window, cradles the phone with his shoulder and lights a cigarette. He opens the window and the smoke is whipped away. ARMSTRONG Armstrong drives along holding the dead phone and thinking. Considering. ARMSTRONG Finally, he sighs and dials the phone – it’s a lot of numbers. The phone rings and rings, then is answered. ARMSTRONG Armstrong sighs, hangs up and sets the phone on the seat beside him. EXT. BARREN DESERT LANDSCAPE – DAY The blue Toyota barrels along, a tiny dot at the bottom an enormous rocky landscape. In the foreground, out of focus, is an Afghani man in a black turban and scarf holding a rifle, watching the car go past. EXT. DESERT – NIGHT The car is parked. Armstrong sits on his backpack outside under stars eating a U.S. Army MRE (Meals Ready to Eat). He squirts meat paste out onto a cracker, eats it, chews, shrugs – it’s not bad – then drinks some water. As Armstrong sits eating we see that he’s wearing tan army pants and black army boots under his native robe. He also has a pistol on his belt. The submachine gun sits beside him. He swallows and looks up at the stars. There are a million stars in the sky. Constellations, shooting stars, galaxies. The phone rings and he answers it. We hear a male VOICE on the other end. ARMSTRONG VOICE (O.S.) ARMSTRONG VOICE (O.S.) Armstrong writes down the name. VOICE (O.S.) ARMSTRONG VOICE (O.S.) ARMSTRONG VOICE (O.S.) ARMSTRONG ARMSTRONG VOICE (O.S.) ARMSTRONG VOICE (O.S.) ARMSTRONG VOICE (O.S.) ARMSTRONG VOICE (O.S.) ARMSTRONG EXT. BARREN DESERT LANDSCAPE/VILLAGE – DAY The blue Toyota drives across the rocky desert. Up ahead is a small Afghani village made up of dwellings made of baked mud. A shepherd walks along with a herd of sheep, Bedouin men lead their camels into the village. INT. MOVING CAR – DAY Armstrong has the phone plugged into the lighter, but even still he can’t get it to turn on. He keeps pushing the button, but nothing happens. ARMSTRONG But it won’t. He tosses it on the seat in disgust. Armstrong pulls the car over to the side of the road outside the village. He turns off the engine and gets out of the car. EXT. BARREN DESERT LANDSCAPE/VILLAGE – DAY Armstrong leans against the side of the car outside the village. He takes a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, puts a cigarette in his mouth and lights it. He looks at his watch. Armstrong drops his cigarette butt into a pile of five others. He looks to his right, then to his left. He sees a man walking slowly up the track toward him. Armstrong pulls his caftan up over the 9mm Berretta pistol holstered on his belt and unsnaps the cover. As the man slowly gets closer he sees that it’s an Afghani man in a turban, scarf and robe, cartridge belts crisscross his chest, an AK-47 is strapped across his shoulder. He is OMAR ABDUL ZAHIR. Armstrong watches as the Omar wearily steps up to him. OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG Armstrong gets into the driver’s seat. Omar goes around to the passenger door. INT. CAR – DAY Omar takes the rifle off his shoulder, gets in the car, sets the rifle upright between them and shuts the door. Omar pulls the scarf off his face revealing him to be an Afghani man in his 40s with a slightly graying beard. Armstrong puts it in gear and drives up the track. They drive along in silence for a few moments. EXT. BARREN DESERT LANDSCAPE/VILLAGE – DAY The blue Toyota passes the Afghan village, heading further off into the desolate wasteland. INT. MOVING CAR – DAY Omar sees the exposed pistol on Armstrong’s belt, but says nothing. Armstrong throws an occasional glance at Omar. OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG They ride along in silence for a few more moments. Finally . . . OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR Armstrong nods, reaches into his robe and removes a packet of U.S. currency which he hands to Omar. Omar takes the money and counts it. ARMSTRONG OMAR Omar puts the money inside his robe. ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG Omar looks serious as he turns from Armstrong and stares out the window at the passing desert. OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG It’s night and the car is parked. Armstrong and Omar sit on the ground, Armstrong on his backpack, Omar on a blanket. They eat in silence. Armstrong eats another MRE, Omar eats rice from a tin mess kit. The star-filled desert sky enshrouds them. Finally . . . OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG Armstrong reaches into his pocket and retrieves a photograph. He looks at it for a second, smiles, then hands it to Omar. ARMSTRONG Omar looks at the photo, nods and smiles. OMAR ARMSTRONG Omar reaches into his caftan and also takes out a photo, which he hands to Armstrong. Armstrong admires it and nods. OMAR ARMSTRONG He hands the photo back. Omar puts it back inside his caftan. ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR ARMSTRONG OMAR |
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