Mike and Stan are met at the door by a butler who takes their bags and shows them into the living room.


Seated and standing in the spacious room are TEN MEN of all origins.  RANDALL GRUBB strides over to meet them.  He is an enormous man bear of a man with a big black beard and thick black hair covering his arms and poking out from under the top of his shirt.

                                And here come the last stragglers.

Grubb wears cowboy boots, blue jeans and a western shirt.

                                Good to see you, Stan.

Randall pumps his hand and turns to the others.

                                This is "Wild Man" Stan.  He and I have partied
                                pretty intensely.

                                We sure have.

                                And who's your friend, Stan?

                                This is Mike Kelsy.  He just got booted out of the
                                Air Force, too.

Randall shakes Mike's hand.

                                How long were ya in for, Mike?

Mike coughs.  Everyone is looking at him and this is the toughest looking bunch of guys he's ever seen in his life.

                                Uh, three we -

He coughs and mumbles simultaneously.

                                What was that?  I couldn't hear you?

                                Three weeks.

                                Into service?  Or into basic?

Mike winces and gulps.

                                Into basic.

                                I don't understand.  What can you do to get thrown
                                out of basic training?  Did you kill the D.I. or something?

                                No.  I have flat feet.

Everyone laughs and Mike takes it.

                                Well, Mike, you got some idea what we're doin' here,


                                Why should I take you?

                                Well . . . I need a job.

                                The gas station on the corner's got an opening,
                                try them.

                                Look, I joined the Air Force hoping to see some
                                action and I still want to.

                                So what.  I still haven't heard a good reason yet.
                                You look like some sort of a fag to me.

Mike's eyes light up, as do everyone else's.

                                Excuse me?  What did you say?

Randall takes in everyone in the room in his glance.

                                I said, I think you take it up the ass, sonny-boy.

Mike flushes red as everybody watches him closely.

                                Oh, yeah?  I'll kick your ass right now!

All the men smile - this was exactly what they wanted to hear.  Randall steps up to Mike.  He's a bit taller than Mike and easily outweighs him by fifty pounds.

                                Oh really?  Then you'd best do it.

Mike doesn't hesitate.  He throws his entire body at Randall Grubb.  Randall loses his footing and backs into a delicate-looking vase on a pedestal.  It smashes to the floor.

Mike throws himself at Grubb again and catches him in a scissors hold, easily flipping him to the floor.  Mike comes around expertly with his arms and catches Randall in a full nelson, smashing his face into the carpet.

                                Good move, kid.  Ya got me.  Let me up.

Mike doesn't move.

                                Say Uncle.

                                You're pushing your luck.  Lemme up!

                                Say Uncle!

Mike mashes Randall's face deeper into the carpet.

                                Ah . . . Shit! . . . Uncle!

Mike jumps off of him and is across the room before Grubb is on his feet.  Stan slaps him five.

                                Good work, dude.

Randall stands, rubs the side of his face and turns to the others.

                                What'dya say guys, it's up to you?

They all nod and shrug.  A variety of accents fill the room.

                                Why not?/ Sure . . ./ He'll do . . .

Grubb steps over to Mike.  He looks like he might hit him, then shakes his hand.

                                You're in, Kid.  But if you mess up you're gonna
                                 be in a severe world of shit!  I'll make sure of it.
                                 Flat feet or not.


Everyone stands around a cardboard model of a small city sitting on top of a pool table.  It is ten blocks square, has a main street and a harbor.  Randall points with an antennae with a roach clip on the end.

                                This is Lome, Togo.  We're going to come in
                                through the city of Accra in Ghana, to the west,
                                then we'll pilot landing craft down the coast and
                                come in through the harbor.  From there, we'll
                                take the most direct route . . .
                                                           (he points out a specific
                                                           building at the end of the
                                                           main street)
                                . . . to the British Embassy.  We'll be met by a jet
                                at an abandoned airstrip five miles outside of Lome.
                                Any questions?
                                                           (everyone shakes their
                                                           head and shrugs)
                                All right, let's get this show on the road.  Those of
                                you with the earliest flights, head out now.

Four of the men pick up their small suitcases and head for the door.  Randall stops them with one last thing.

                                And make sure you've got your passports.

The men pat their pockets and nod.  Mike looks at Stan helplessly.

                                Uh . . . I haven't got a passport.

                                What?  Where is it?

                                I've never had one.  I've never been anywhere.

                                You can apply and get it pretty fast.  I got mine
                                in two days.

                                We haven't got two days.  Which leaves you with
                                two choices: Don't go, or we can whip you up one.

                                Make a passport?  Here?  But that's illegal.

Everyone in the room chuckles.

                                Kid, everything we're doing here is illegal.  Get
                                with the program.

                                But what if I get caught at customs with a fake

                                You're fucked . . .

Randall points at a bald, intense-looking guy sitting on the couch.  He is KRACAUER.

                                . . . But Kracauer here's a damn good forger.

Kracauer nods humbly.

                                I've got the blanks and a polaroid.  What'dya say,
                                kid?  If we're gonna do it, then we got to get on
                                it right now.

Mike is sincerely unsure.

                                Uh . . .

Kracauer looks up at him.

                                                           (German accent)
                                I haven't used a proper passport in twenty years.
                                I've never been caught.

Mike is convinced.

                                OK.  Let's do it.


Mike, Stan, Randall and Kracauer ride in the back.  Mike studies his new passport.

                                It looks good.  It looks really good.


                                And you say you've never been caught with your
                                fake passport, huh?

Kracauer shakes his head.

                                Nein.  But, I've got mine backed up with a false birth
                                certificate, false German identity papers and false credit
                                cards, as well as a false drivers license.  If they ask you
                                for more identification then you are indeed "fucked," as
                                Herr Grubb so aptly put it.

Mike's good feelings are gone.


                                And you'd better remember your new name.

                                Right.  I got it.  George Marshman.  No problem.

Kracauer frowns and shakes his head.

                                No!  George Marshall.  Like the general.

                                Oh, yeah. Him.
                                                           (he turns to Stan)
                                And you'll be with me, so I'll be all right.

Randall shakes his head.

                                No he won't.  We're all going out an different
                                airlines.  Most of these guys are known mercenaries,
                                we don't need the authorities making any connections
                                before we even get where we're going.

                                Oh, shit.

                                You can still back out.  It's stupid of me to be taking
                                you, anyway, but it's even stupider of you to go.

                                No it's not.  It makes perfect sense.  I'm goin' for it.

Randall nods.

                                All right, kid.  I like your attitude.


As they get out of the limo, Randall turns to Mike and Stan.

                                Until we get to Accra, none of us know each
                                other. Got it?

Kracauer and Mike nod.  Stan has a strange look on his face.  Randall sees this.

                                What's wrong?

Stan looks at Mike, then looks down.

                                I-I-I'm not goin'.

Mike is totally shocked.

                                What?  Are you kiddin'?

                                No, I'm not kiddin'.  I'm not goin'.

                                But you said-

                                -I changed my mind, okay?

                                But why?

                                I'm not dyin' in some fuckin' little country I've never
                                even heard of.  No thanks.

Randall sticks his finger in Stan's face.

                                You better not mention a word of this to anyone,
                                Stan, or I'll get you.  You can count on it.

                                I won't.

Mike looks at Stan with a pleading expression.

                                But I thought we were gonna be a team again.

                                A team of what?  Dead guys?  No thanks!

Randall looks at Stan and Mike and shakes his head and sighs.

                                All right you two, get the fuck outta here.

Mike looks from Stan to Randall.

                                What'dya mean, "you two"?  I'm still goin'.

Randall and Stan both look at Mike in amazement.

                                You are?

                                Hell yes.  What else've I got to do?

                                You can hang out with me for a while.

                                Fuck that.  I need a job.  This is a job.  I'm goin'.

                                You're nuts.

                                Maybe I am.  See ya later, Stan.

Stan looks at Mike for a long moment, then shakes his head and walks away.  Mike shrugs.  Randall looks Mike in the eye.

                                You sure?

                                Yeah, I'm sure.

Randall grins and slaps Mike on the back.

                                You're okay, kid.  Now let's get movin'.

Randall, Mike and Kracauer head into the airport.  Mike glances back and sees Stan waiting at the taxi stand.  They exchange a look, then Mike turns and walks away.


In the airport they all spread out.  Randall goes to the American Airlines desk, Kracauer to Northwest, Mike to TWA.


Mike checks his duffel bag. The FLIGHT ATTENDANT stamps his ticket.

                                Round trip to Milan, Italy connecting with Air Africa
                                to Accra, Ghana.  What are you going to do in Ghana?

Mike is caught unaware.

                                Huh . . .?

                                                           (repeating with a smile)
                                Ghana.  I've never met anyone going there.  What are
                                you going to do there?

Mike is stumped.

                                Uh . . . Sightsee.

                                In Ghana?  It's one of the poorest countries in the

                                Yes, well . . . I've been everywhere else.  You get
                                to a point where you've got to see something new,
                                even if it's poverty.

                                I'll bet your passport has lots of great visas, huh?

                                Passport?  Visas?

Mike pats the pocket with his passport.

                                Sure.  Lots of Visas.  Mastercards and American
                                Express, too.

The flight attendant laughs and hands Mike his ticket.

                                Have a nice flight, Mr. Marshall.

                                Huh?  Oh, yeah.  Thank you.

Mike walks away from the counter and wipes a pint of sweat from his brow.



Mike's TWA jet lands in Milan, Italy nine hours later.


He gets his duffel bag and steps into a long line for customs.  Strangely, it is moving very fast and before he knows it he's standing in front of an Italian CUSTOMS MAN flanked by a SOLDIER with a beret and a machine-gun.

                                                                 CUSTOMS MAN
                                                           (Holding cut his hand)

Mike is sweating as he hands it over.  Just as the Customs Official opens it, Mike glances down at his duffel bag.  On the side of it is stenciled in big white letters, "Kelsy."

                                                                 CUSTOMS MAN
                                Do you have anything to claim, Mr. Marshall?


The Customs Man reaches for Mike's duffel.

                                                                 CUSTOMS MAN
                                Open it, please.

Mike rolls it over so that "Kelsy" isn't showing and unties the string.

                                                                 CUSTOMS MAN
                                Empty it, please.

Mike pulls out all of his clothes.  There really isn't all that much, but as he's pulling stuff out, he spots letters from his Mother addressed to Mike Kelsy.  Mike's panic increases.  The Customs Man goes through the clothes rather scrupulously.

Mike glances back and see Randall Grubb at the end of another customs line.  He winks at Mike and looks away.

The Customs Man picks up the letters and opens each envelope, but doesn't read anything.  He finally pushes all of Mike's stuff past him.  Mike inwardly sighs.  The Customs Official stamps Mike's passport and holds it out to Mike, but won't let go.

                                                                 CUSTOMS MAN
                                You must be named after the American General,

Once again Mike is caught unaware.

                                Pardon me?

                                                                 CUSTOMS MAN
                                Your name.  It's the same as the American General.

                                Uh, yes it is.  General George . . .
                                . . . Marshman.

                                                                 CUSTOMS MAN
                                                           (correcting him)

                                That's what I said.

                                                                 CUSTOMS MAN
                                I saw him once during the war.

                                Did you really?  That's fascinating.

                                                                 CUSTOMS MAN
                                I was just a little boy then, but I remember it like it
                                was yesterday.

Mike is dying.  The guy won't let go of his passport.

                                My Father was very impressed with General Marshall,
                                that's why he named me after him.

                                                                 CUSTOMS MAN
                                Yes, he was a great General.  Very good to Italy.

He lets go of the passport.  Mike puts it in his pocket.  It's over and he somehow got through it.  He starts to stuff his clothes back in his duffel bag.

                                You know my Father served in Italy during
                                World War Two.

                                                                 CUSTOMS MAN
                                Really.  Where?

                                                           (calm now)

The Customs Man suddenly grows very serious.

                                                                 CUSTOMS MAN
                                Sicily is not Italy!  Italy is Italy!  Sicily is Sicily!

                                What I meant was...

                                                                 CUSTOMS MAN
                                Let me see your passport again.

Mike freezes.  He blew it.  He hands back his passport and breathes his last breath.

The Customs Man opens the passport, goes through the pages and stops.  He closes it and hands it back.

                                                                 CUSTOMS MAN
                                It's already stamped.  Welcome to Italy.

Mike picks up his duffel, breathes deeply, turns and leaves.



When Mike gets out of the terminal into the balmy Italian air, he breathes a big sigh of relief and sits down for a second on a bench.  CAB DRIVERS yell in Italian.

                                What in God's name am I doing here?
                                                           (he looks at his watch)
                                Oh, shit!

Mike jumps to his feet and walks past the various terminals.  At the very end is Air Africa.


Mike checks in with a pretty BLACK GIRL and gets a seat assignment.

Waiting in the terminal is Randall Grubb and a tall red headed guy that Mike met at Randall's house.  They both glance at him, but neither makes any move toward him.

Mike sits down on a blue plastic seat and picks up a newspaper.  It's in Italian, he can't read it.  He looks at the pictures.

Five other people arrive in the Air Africa terminal before the flight to Accra is called.  A FAT MAN in a white suit, sweating profusely and reading a German newspaper.  A SHORT GUY with glasses seemingly staring at nothing.

A mean looking man with THICK EYEBROWS reads a book in God knows what language, and peers over the top of it at Mike.  Mike starts sweating again.

                                                           (whispering to himself)

There is also a BRITISH COUPLE who just talk and talk.


On board the 30-seat French jet, Mike sits down and the man with the thick eyebrows seats himself right next to him and continues reading his book.


The jet roars down the runway and lifts off into the sky.


The man next to Mike finally turns to him.  His eyebrows are like armpits and the hair in his nose is thick.  He smells like paprika on cabbage.  He looks like he's going to kill Mike.  He reaches into his vest pocket for his gun.



                                Good.  I speak good English.

He pulls out a rectangular wooden box.

                                You play chess?

                                Mike sighs in relief.

                                Yeah, sure.


He opens the box and it's a little chess board.

                                Makes flight go by faster.

Mike nods in agreement.

                                                                                                       CUT TO:


Sir Robert Densmore and Julius Thornsby meet in an empty office.  Thornsby shows Densmore the deposit bag filled with several pounds of cut diamonds.

                                There's certainly a lot of diamonds here.  You hang
                                on to them.  And be very careful.

                                Yes, Sir.


Sekou Nyerere lies in bed in terrible pain as Undersecretary Donald Wolfitt administers an injection of morphine.  Sir Robert steps into the room.  Wolfitt sees him.

                                Bloody nuisance not being able to bring a doctor
                                in.  Gangrene will set in soon.

                                Isn't there anything you can do?

Wolfitt pulls the needle from Nyerere's arm.

                                I've just done it.

Sekou sits up, the drug beginning to effect him.



                                My wife.  I've got to get my wife.  She's in much

                                I'm afraid you're not going anywhere, Sekou.  Both
                                your legs are broken.

                                Then you must go for me.  Please, Robert?  Someone
                                must go.

Densmore considers this seriously.

                                How far away is she?

                                Not far.  Less than a kilometer.

He hands Sir Robert a piece of paper with an address on it.  Wolfitt looks at him.

                                You're not going out there, Sir Robert.  You'll
                                be killed.

Densmore shakes his head.

                                He's right, she can't be left behind.  I have to go.

                                Send the Gurkhas.

                                They're needed here.

                                That's true, but take at least one with you.  Your chances
                                will increase greatly.

                                Yes, I'll do that.

                                Thank you, Robert.

Nyerere passes out.


All six Gurkhas are still at the gate which is now boarded up and blocked by a Jeep.  There are revolutionaries on the other side, but at the moment no one is shooting.  Sir Robert steps up, his AK-47 in his hands.

                                I need one man to go with me into town to get
                                someone.  Will any of you volunteer?

All of the Gurkhas step forward.  Gueng speaks.

                                We will go, Sahib.  You stay.

                                No, no.  This is my responsibility.  However, if just
                                one of you gentlemen would accompany me, I'd feel
                                better about this whole thing.

Gueng looks at the men and points to Tenzing.

                                Take him.  He will serve you well.

Tenzing steps forward.  Densmore offers him the AK-47.

                                Here.  Why don't you take this.

                                No, no, sir.  You keep it.  I have my carbine.  I
                                know it well.

Tenzing and Sir Robert go into the embassy.  Gueng nods approvingly.  He and the Gurkhas turn back to the gate.


Sir Ian is waiting for Sir Robert and Tenzing.

                                                                 SIR IAN
                                Come this way.

He leads them to a door and unbolts it.


The heavy, oak door creaks open and Sir Ian leads them down a staircase.

                                                                 SIR IAN
                                In case you're interested, there are escape
                                routes out of all British embassies.
                                Generally 'more than one, although this
                                embassy only has the one.

He leads them through the dark basement to a wine rack filled with dusty bottles.

                                                                 SIR IAN
                                We've got to move this out of the way, but be
                                very careful, several of these bottles are quite

Sir Robert and Tenzing carefully move the wine rack aside, revealing a three foot high wooden door.

                                                                 SIR IAN
                                I haven't the foggiest where it comes out.  Do be
                                careful, Bobby.  I've known you since you were

                                I will, Sir Ian.  Thank you.

Sir Ian turns to Tenzing.

                                                                 SIR IAN
                                And thank you for the warning, sergeant.  I'm sorry
                                I didn't acknowledge it sooner.

Tenzing nods and goes through the door.  Sir Robert follows - both have flashlights.  Sir Ian shuts the door after them.


The dark tunnel is tall enough for Tenzing to stand up straight, but not Densmore, who crouches.  It is filled with cobwebs that immediately engulf both of them.  They scurry along, trying not to think about what might be lurking ahead, or underfoot.

Suddenly Tenzing puts up his hand and stops.  Densmore also stops.  Tenzing aims his flashlight beam at a coiled snake on the floor.  It is ready to strike.  Densmore shudders.  Tenzing hands Densmore his carbine.

                                We shouldn't fire our weapons in here.

Tenzing pulls a knife with a foot long curved blade, called a Kookri, from somewhere behind his back and cautiously steps toward the hissing snake.

Tenzing makes a lunge toward the snake, then quickly backs away.  The snake strikes, Tenzing sidesteps it, grabbing it around the jaws and expertly lops its head off with a single swipe of the blade.  He tosses the head on the floor and reaches back for his carbine.

                                May I?

Sir Robert is astounded.  There is five feet of headless snake writhing on the floor.  He hands Tenzing his Carbine.

                                Of course.

Tenzing continues quickly up the passageway.  Sir Robert hesitates, then jumps over the snake's body with a look of revulsion on his face.

When they reach the end of the tunnel, they find wooden slats covering the ceiling.  Tenzing and Densmore look at the slats, then at each other.

                                Who knows what's up there?

                                                           (whispering also)
                                You knock out the slats.  I'll cover.

Densmore nods and swings the butt of the AK-47 at the slats, breaking them right out.  Tenzing shoves the barrel of his carbine through the hole and brings his face up to see what he's aiming at.


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