INT. DANNY’S APARTMENT. BEDROOM. DAWN
Danny opens his eyes. He’s in bed. It’s dark outside. The alarm clock says 5 AM.
His eyes concentrate on the cheap, coarse carpet - tiny flecks of dust rise up, shaken from the fibres.
And now the sound of heavy footsteps, reverberating through the apartment.
Danny sits up as --
The door’s kicked open. A shattering noise. And then -
Silence.
A mob of plain clothes police officers enter, shouting instructions we do not hear.
Just angry eyes & angry expressions.
The silence continues as Danny is violently pulled from the bed as if he were a grave and deadly threat.
Danny’s head pressed flat on the coarse carpet.
INT. DANNY’S APARTMENT. BEDROOM. DAWN
Silence continues except for one element of sound - Danny’s breathing. The effect of disorientation.
Danny under watch as he’s handed some clothes. An extreme level of caution, each item is checked by officers.
INT. DANNY’S APARTMENT. BEDROOM. DAWN
Silence except for Danny’s breathing, and the addition of a second element of sound --
The metal handcuffs. As Danny’s hands secured.
In the background forensic officers have already begun to process his room like a crime scene.
INT. DANNY’S APARTMENT. HALLWAY. DAWN
Silence except for Danny’s breathing and Sara’s voice, contorted & indistinct - not dialogue, we feel the rhythm of her anger and upset.
Danny being led out. Sara and Pavel being held back by officers, concerned, upset & powerless.
INT. DANNY’S APARTMENT BUILDING. COMMUNAL STAIRWAY. DAWN
Silence except for Danny’s breathing and the sound of doors unlocking --
As Danny’s led out, neighbours open their doors, peering. No sympathy just the presumption of guilt.
INT/EXT. POLICE CAR / LONDON. DAWN
Silence except for Danny’s breathing and a siren: warped and faded and distorted.
Close on Danny against the window, being driven through near-deserted London, a blur in the background.
INT. POLICE STATION. DETAINEE PROCESSING. DAY
Silence except for Danny’s breathing and a particular sound from each separate part of the sequence.
- Danny photographed.
- Fingerprints taken.
- Information entered into the computer systems.
- a DNA swab from his mouth.
- A health care professional readies a needle, pre-fitted with a tube, which runs to a 5 millimetre phial - a modern, sterile, easy-to-use blood-sampling kit.
- The needle enters Danny’s vein.
- The plastic tube turns red. The phial’s filled. The needle’s removed.
- A barcode wrapped around the blood.
INT. POLICE STATION. INTERROGATION ROOM. DAY
Danny seated. His lawyer, from Episode One, is present. Detective Taylor and colleague opposite.
The stark white abattoir interrogation room.
Detective Taylor speaks precisely, without bombast. After beats of silence, her voice hits us like a jolt.
DETECTIVE TAYLOR
The trunk.
She presents a photograph of the trunk. Empty. Just the trunk. Plain and simple. Lid open.
DETECTIVE TAYLOR (CONT’D)
An antique. Wood. Leather. Steel frame. Brass locks. Very strong.
(beat)
You claim it was used to store hiking boots. And other outdoor equipment in the back of his car.
FLASH TO:
EXT. ESTUARY. DAY (PAST)
A split second flash from the past - the idyllic country walk, the trunk filled with maps. Danny & Alex happy.
BACK TO:
INT. POLICE STATION. INTERROGATION ROOM. DAY (PRESENT)
The Detective presents a photo of the trunk as discovered in the attic. A horrific scene.
DETECTIVE TAYLOR
With a man inside oxygen levels drop seventeen percent. The temperature jumps ten degrees. You become breathless. Sweaty. There’s a moment of euphoria --
FLASH TO:
INT. SEX ATTIC. NIGHT (PAST)
A split second flash of the trunk, discovered by Danny.
BACK TO:
INT. POLICE STATION. INTERROGATION ROOM. DAY (PRESENT)
The word ‘euphoria’ jars with Danny.
DANNY
Euphoria?
DETECTIVE TAYLOR
Have you ever experimented with erotic asphyxiation?
Danny in disbelief at the line of questioning.
The detective wilfully puts on oversized reading glasses, making herself bookish & harmless:
DETECTIVE TAYLOR (CONT’D)
(reading from notes)
“When the brain’s deprived of oxygen, it induces a semihallucinogenic state called hypoxia. Combined with orgasm --”
DANNY |
DETECTIVE TAYLOR |
(interrupting) |
(continuing) |
I know what it is. |
“-- the rush is no less powerful than cocaine, and highly addictive.” |
DETECTIVE TAYLOR (CONT’D)
You know what it is, because you’ve tried it?
The question sounds casual. And lethal.
Danny considers a lie. But decides against it.
DANNY
I used to see a guy.
DETECTIVE TAYLOR
A man called Steve Fields.
Perturbed, Danny can’t hide his surprise, looking down at the sheets of paper, wondering what else she has on him.
DETECTIVE TAYLOR (CONT’D)
Did the two of you use a trunk?
DANNY
We used a belt.
(embarrassed)
I didn’t particularly enjoy it.
I’ve never done it again.
DETECTIVE TAYLOR
We were told you engaged in the practice repeatedly.
DANNY
It was three or four times. With one man.
DETECTIVE TAYLOR
How close did you come to death?
DANNY
We were careful.
DETECTIVE TAYLOR
Because?
DANNY
He was always watching. Or I was.
DETECTIVE TAYLOR
I see. So if something went wrong, he’d step in, or you would?
DANNY
(quick)
Yes.
DETECTIVE TAYLOR
That means you have personally experienced --
(checks notes)
“The moment of euphoria before conditions become critical”, haven’t you?
DANNY
(less quick)
Yes.
DETECTIVE TAYLOR
That was the moment you were supposed to open the trunk, wasn’t it?
The trap closes.
DETECTIVE TAYLOR (CONT’D)
Danny, have you ever passed out from taking too much ‘G’?
Danny stumbles, sensing that she already has the answer.
DANNY
When I first started using it.
DETECTIVE TAYLOR
Repeatedly with one man?
Repeatedly with different men?
She’s brilliant.
DETECTIVE TAYLOR (CONT’D)
More than five times?
More than five men?
DANNY
It could be.
DETECTIVE TAYLOR
What would you say was a ‘typical’ dose? One and a half millimetres?
She hands him photos of an exquisite glass tumbler by the mattress. The sequence of photos move progressively closer until we see fingerprints, lip marks on the rim.
FLASH TO:
INT. SEX ATTIC. NIGHT (PAST)
Danny picking up the glass of ‘G’ & cola.
BACK TO:
INT. POLICE STATION. INTERROGATION ROOM. DAY (PRESENT)
Detective Taylor ensnaring Danny.
DETECTIVE TAYLOR
5.2 millimetres. Enough for three.
She has him. And she knows it, so she adjusts, becoming solicitous and understanding.
DETECTIVE TAYLOR (CONT’D)
What happened that night, Danny? He asked you to lock him inside the trunk. You obliged, sat on the bed, waiting for his high. Except your high came first, and came stronger. You pass out. Nothing could wake you. Not his cries for help, not the movement of the trunk. When you did wake, an hour or so later, the attic was quiet.
Danny numb as this alternate reality is laid out before him. It’s so convincing.
DETECTIVE TAYLOR (CONT’D)
You sat up. Saw the trunk. On its side. Half way across the attic. Now you’re panicking. You open the locks. You touch his cheeks - he’s still warm... You consider calling an ambulance, of course you do. But it’s too late. You look around at the remnants of your night. The drugs. The kink. A jury’s going to hate you.
Danny shaking his head, but weakly, bewildered by the completeness of the case against him.
DETECTIVE TAYLOR (CONT’D)
You close the trunk. You leave. After all, the guy slept around. You didn’t even know his name. There were others. Maybe we’ll think it was one of them.
Danny’s voice falters. It could be mistaken for guilt.
DANNY
Why would I tell you that there were no other people?
DETECTIVE TAYLOR
There are always other people.
INT. POLICE STATION. INTERROGATION ROOM. NIGHT
A rapid, jarring cut forward, slamming into a new part of the interrogation. The detective is in her element. In full flow. Danny is looking ragged.
The Detective presents Danny with an expensive business card. Danny studies the enigmatic name.
Classy. Elegant. No phone number.
DETECTIVE TAYLOR
Exclusive. Discreet. A specialist escort agency. For the very rich.
DANNY
Alex didn’t use escorts.
DETECTIVE TAYLOR
Can we at least use his real name?
DANNY
Alistair didn’t --
DETECTIVE TAYLOR
You both enjoyed the company of strangers, it would seem.
She presses play on digital device. An audio extract. It’s Danny’s voice. It sounds like he’s on the phone.
DANNY (V.O)
(tape recording)
“I posted an ad online saying anyone could come round. I mean - any one. I’d be waiting. My only condition was that they didn’t speak. And people showed up.”
FLASH TO:
INT. DANNY’S APARTMENT. BATHROOM. NIGHT (PAST)
The scene between Danny and Alex - Alex in the bath.
DANNY
I don’t remember much about them. There were two older guys.
BACK TO:
INT. POLICE STATION. INTERROGATION ROOM. DAY (PRESENT)
Horrified, Danny stands up, speaking over the recording, the following dialogue simultaneous and confused.
DANNY (CONT’D) |
|
DANNY (V.O) (CONT’D) |
How do you have this? This was a private conversation. |
|
(tape recording) “They arrived together. I didn’t turn them away. I didn’t ask anything of them. I just reminded them of my rule. Not to speak. And they must have thought their luck was in... Because they didn’t make a sound.” |
The detective pauses the recording. Danny’s trembling with outrage. They’re all watching him.
DETECTIVE TAYLOR
You told him that story over the phone. The apartment belongs to the security services. All calls were recorded.
She passes him copies of the call logs. Numbers. Dates. Times. In black and white. Computerized. One is circled.
Danny stares blankly at the evidence. It looks so real. Finally, trying to control his emotion.
DANNY
That conversation took place in my bedroom. We were face to face.
DETECTIVE TAYLOR
We’ve just searched your apartment. No surveillance equipment was found.
Danny looks at the people around the table. Incredulity.
Even his lawyer’s stance suggests disbelief.
INT. POLICE STATION. INTERROGATION ROOM. DAY
Later, another jarring cut, slamming relentlessly forward into a different part of the interrogation
Danny’s fingers around a polystyrene cup of coffee. He’s unwell, pale, worn down.
Everyone except Danny is wearing different clothes.
Now they’re discussing the set of four keys mysteriously given to Danny in Episode 1. They’re on the table.
Also the computer handheld device from the warehouse where Danny used to work.
Danny’s exasperated, speech fraying at the edges, as if he can hear how implausible reality is starting to sound.
DANNY
Alex didn’t give me these keys. He never gave me a set of keys. They were left. In the warehouse. I don’t know by who. I don’t know how --
(nudging the device)
You say it can’t be done, like that’s a fact. But it was done! They did it! Because they needed me to go into the attic so that you could believe all -- this --
(gestures at the papers & evidence)
Except it’s all a fucking lie.
He’s lost control. Danny catches breath.
No one believes him.
INT. POLICE STATION. INTERROGATION ROOM. DAY
Danny has been hollowed out by the process. In fact, he looks gravely unwell. Pale. Shivering.
Detective Taylor remains pristine and precise.
The lawyer checks his watch.
In contrast to Danny’s stumbling speech:
DETECTIVE TAYLOR
I’m not the one running out of time. We both know those attic bedsheets - stained with semen and shit and blood - are going to come back as a match for your DNA. When they do, we will charge you.
All eyes on Danny.
Danny overwhelmed. Can’t articulate a defense.
INT/EXT. TAXI CAB / LONDON. NIGHT
Danny’s sick and shivering.
Scottie registers how ill Danny is.
DANNY
A pen?
Scottie has a beautiful pen. He hands it to Danny.
On the back of a tissue, or scrap of paper, Danny starts to recreate the information from the mysterious business card that the detective showed him.
Scottie watches.
DANNY (CONT’D)
What did the lawyer say?
SCOTTIE
He said you should confess.
Danny pauses, looks at Scottie, then continues copying from memory the information from the escort card.
SCOTTIE (CONT’D)
What is that?
DANNY
Another lie.
INT. SCOTTIE’S HOUSE. GUEST BEDROOM. NIGHT
Danny’s helped into the guest bedroom. He keeps his clothes on, slipping under the duvet. Scottie finds a thick throw, placing it over a delirious Danny.
TO BLACK:
A split second moment of darkness. In which we hear a loud slam, a noise that jolts us into --
INT. ALEX’S APARTMENT. ATTIC. NIGHT (NIGHTMARE)
A sweat drenched Danny wakes up on his back, on the sex stained sheets, in the attic, in the gloom.
We hear the slamming sound for the second time.
Danny sits up.
The attic staged as it was before. Orange hubs of filament light. A tower of babel television sets.
Except the trunk is moving closer and closer to Danny. Someone’s alive inside.
Danny stands, sweating profusely, hurrying forward, through the harness zone.
Danny reaches the trunk. Sweaty fingers on the brass locks. We see a human form pressing against the side.
As he opens it --
BACK TO:
INT. SCOTTIE’S HOUSE. GUEST BEDROOM. NIGHT
Danny opens his eyes. The clock says 7.37 PM.
His fever’s broken. He gets out of bed. Fragile.
INT. SCOTTIE’S HOUSE. STUDY. NIGHT
Engulfed in an old fashioned dressing gown Danny shuffles in. The study is dark except for Scottie at his desk, lit by a pool of intense desk lamp light.
He’s working on official looking documents.
Scottie puts the papers aside, turning to see Danny in the gloom. There’s a subtle-but-distinct-distance between them. Danny’s sensitive to it as he takes a seat.
DANNY
Saturday?
SCOTTIE
Sunday.
Silence.
SCOTTIE (CONT’D)
You should eat something.
DANNY
The bedsheets, in the attic - they’re going come back a match for my DNA.
Silence.
SCOTTIE
How is that possible?
DANNY
Alex dry-cleaned everything. That’s when they were stolen.
Silence.
DANNY (CONT’D)
They’ve been working on this for months.
Silence.
DANNY (CONT’D)
I’m going to prove --
SCOTTIE
(interrupting)
You can’t even prove it wasn’t you. You’re talking about spies and conspiracies and --
(angry)
Look at you!
Danny looks at himself, a pitiful figure lost in Scottie’s old dressing gown. Scottie’s anger melts.
SCOTTIE (CONT’D)
(affectionate)
Look at you.
EXT. EAST LONDON. NARROW STREET. SHOP. DAY
A shadowy side street. A row of old fashioned shops and craft stores. Cobblers. Locksmiths. Quaint and run down.
Danny stands outside a silversmiths. He checks the street to make sure he wasn’t followed. He enters.
INT. EAST LONDON. SILVERSMITH. SHOP. DAY
Part shop, part workshop - a beautiful bronze bell rings above the door as Danny enters. He waits at the counter, standing in front of a wall of keys.
An old man emerges from the back, wearing a cracked, ancient leather apron, a fine layer of metallic dust on his clothes and spectacles.
Part wizard, part émigré, a man who has travelled far and made London his home.
An accent dragged across continents.
The silversmith looks Danny over, unimpressed. Until Danny places the cylinder on the counter.
The silversmith examines it, bewitched by its complexity and beauty. After a moment, he reassesses Danny.
SILVERSMITH
This belongs to you?
Danny nods.
SILVERSMITH (CONT’D)
Show me your wallet.
Puzzled, Danny hands it over.
The silversmith glances at the cards but seems much more interested in the wallet itself as a form of ID. Not leather. Cheap. Synthetic. He picks at stitching.
SILVERSMITH (CONT’D)
How does a person owning something like this --
(the wallet)
End up owning something like this?
(the cylinder)
DANNY
It was a gift.
SILVERSMITH
(incredulous)
A gift?
DANNY
You think I stole it?
The silversmith considers. He doesn’t.
SILVERSMITH
Want to sell it?
DANNY
Can it be opened?
SILVERSMITH
If you know the code.
DANNY
Can’t it be picked?
The silversmith lowers his ear to the cylinder, turning the dials, listening carefully. Delighted.
SILVERSMITH
Not a sound! Beautiful work. Exceptional.
DANNY
What about cutting it open?
SILVERSMITH
(with contempt)
I wouldn’t agree to try. Someone else might.
About to hand it back but stops.
SILVERSMITH (CONT’D)
But an object such as this was made with care. Skill. Love. Most of all, it was made with the foreknowledge that someone crude minded might use brute force. Are you sure force won’t destroy whatever it contains? Or was it intended to be opened only by he who knows the code? And no one else?
He hands it back to Danny.
Danny considers it afresh, daunted by its perfection.
SILVERSMITH (CONT’D)
A gift, perhaps. But perhaps not a gift meant for you.
And Danny too has his doubts.
INT. DANNY’S APARTMENT. BEDROOM. NIGHT
Danny seated, copying the emblem for the escort agency from the fragment of tissue we saw in the taxi.
He’s carefully copying it onto a slip of card. Creating a handmade replica.
Still obviously handmade, coloured in with black biro ink. But as close to the original as Danny can make it.
Finished, he examines it. Runs his finger over the logo.
What does this mean?
Danny picks up his phone, going through the list of names.
He stops at Rich. No photo.
Just a number.
Danny seems greatly troubled by the prospect of this man.
EXT. RIVERSIDE APARTMENT BUILDING. NIGHT
A modern block of luxury apartments. Glass. Steel. Landscaped gardens. Located directly on the riverfront.
An apprehensive Danny stands outside, agonising over a decision about whether to go in, or not.
In his fingers we see the escort card.
Danny enters.
INT. RIVERSIDE APARTMENT BUILDING. NIGHT
Danny approaches the concierge. He’s looked over.
DANNY
I’m here for Rich. He’s expecting me. I’m a friend.
INT. RIVERSIDE APARTMENT BUILDING. ELEVATOR. NIGHT
A stylish elevator rises up to the Penthouse.
Apprehensive, Danny waits.
The door opens directly into --
INT. RIVERSIDE PENTHOUSE. HALLWAY. NIGHT
The space oozes wealth without style.
Few personal possessions.
Danny knows the way. He threads a path through.
Walking through this space as if it were a bad memory.
He passes a wall of platinum albums.
INT. RIVERSIDE PENTHOUSE. MAIN ROOM. NIGHT
Vast glass windows.
The room itself is sparse. Pre-installed luxury. Shelves are filled with records. A sophisticated music system with decks.
And there, in a chair, at the corner of a dining room table sits Rich. In shadow and light.
Who is this man?
Rich is a record producer. Self made, started his own label, nothing cool, boy bands. Despite the sentimentality of the music he’s not sentimental. He’s razor sharp shrewd.
He’s infamous for discarding bands as they grow tiresome or unpopular. And this fact informs the way he treats people in general - taking what he wants and then moving on.
Rich is as brilliant as he is ruthless. He has charisma and verve and feline savvy.
He knows what people wants. He gives it to them. And in exchange he always gets what he wants.
Formerly a producer who did drugs on the side he sold his label for a vast payoff and he’s now a man who does drugs with a bit of producing on the side.
He’s a high functioning crystal meth addict: the kind of man who would never accept that he was an addict.
Mid forties, he dresses in Dolce & Gabbana, conspicuously expensively. The clothes look lousy on him. Flash. Glossy. But we shouldn’t be laughing at him: he’s come up from nothing, why shouldn’t he be proud of the money he’s made.
He’s seated, smoking from an elaborate glass pipe.
It’s not chance that he’s smoking from this pipe: he knew Danny was coming and this pipe is for Danny.
Let’s take a look at the pipe in detail: it’s a precise piece of equipment, a narrow cylindrical tube with a round golf ball shaped glass end. It has a fragile beauty.
The crystal rocks are like large salt crystals. They sit in the base of the golf ball curve where they’re heated by a flame. The smoke fills the sphere. It’s then sucked up through the narrow tube.
Rich exhales: a cloud of smoke. Note the smoke is odourless and not unpleasant.
He puts the pipe down.
The effect this drug has on Rich’s character is to make him sharp, heightened senses, not drowsy, but intense and crisp. With a voracious sexual appetite.
There is a flood of dopamine to the brain. If Rich were a first time user he’d be euphoric, ‘wasted’ but he’s been using for many years and the receptors in his brain have been desensitized. He smokes now to maintain a level.
This means he’s perfectly coherent. But changeable. His mood can turn on a dime.
Rich is playful only because he’s sure that he’ll win. Playful like a snake. Playful like a predator.
He’s dangerous. Seductive. And Danny should get as far away from him as possible. Except Danny can’t.
RICH
Dan - ne.
DANNY
Rich.
RICH
It’s been a long time.
FLASH TO:
INT. RICH’S APARTMENT BUILDING. ELEVATOR. NIGHT (PAST)
Rich and Danny with just three other guys. None of the guys are over the age of twenty five. None under twenty.
They feel young in life experience terms, first jobs, minimum wage, cheap tight jeans and cheap white sneakers.
They should be a “type” - slim, lean muscular, attractive, and poor, not posh.
Rich is the only one in expensive clothes.
The contrast is sharp and clear.
These young men orbit him like planets around the sun.
All their eyes on Rich.
He has the drugs. He dangles the bag of crystal.
There’s laughter. It’s shallow. One laughs and another laughs merely to echo it. There hasn’t even been a joke.
Rich is bringing them home, herding them home.
Danny’s eyes eager - on the drugs.
BACK TO:
INT. RICH’S APARTMENT. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT (PRESENT)
Danny’s eyes wary, nervous.
Rich gestures for Danny to sit beside him.
Which he does.
Very deliberately Rich sets up a white crystal in the pipe.
The process is as much part of the hit as the drug.
Danny watches.
Rich lights it with care using an expensive sharp blue flame lighter, a gas blaze. The crystal rock glows.
Precious smoke fills the circular base of the pipe.
Danny’s eyes follow the swirls of smoke.
Danny is resisting. Fighting. It’s a battle.
Rich spots this reaction, it confuses him.
RICH
You seem tense.
Rich offers his pipe.
DANNY
I’m good, thanks.
Rich’s eyes sharpen.
The pleasure flashes into anger. He’s confused. He thought Danny had come here for free drugs in exchange for sex.
RICH
It’s all yours...
(Danny doesn’t move)
If you don’t smoke it it’s going to be wasted...
Sure enough the smoke begins to seep out of the top.
And Danny’s eyes are on the smoke. His brain does remember this pleasure, some part of him wants to say yes.
He’s fighting it.
RICH (CONT’D)
It’s getting away...
DANNY
I’m good.
RICH
(sharp)
You’re not a man who usually says no?
FLASH BACK TO:
INT. RICH’S APARTMENT. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT (PAST)
The three young men and Danny are lined up.
All have their tops off.
All have their mouths open, like sparrows waiting to be fed.
Rich lights the crystal meth pipe. He inhales deeply.
And then walks down the line of boys, blowing a little smoke into each of their open sparrow mouths.
Rich reaches Danny. He blows smoke inside his mouth.
And closes his lips around Danny’s lips, trapping the smoke inside. The rush hits Danny.
His pupils explode.
Rich observes.
BACK TO:
INT. RICH’S APARTMENT. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT (PRESENT)
Now Rich sits back, his brilliant mind is reassessing Danny and wondering what on earth he’s doing here.
DANNY
I need information.
RICH
Information? How very grown up you’ve become. What information could you possibly want?
Danny puts down the card we just saw him copying out.
The escort card.
Rich stares at Danny a while, still assessing.
Something’s changed about Danny. It’s curious.
He has grown up.
Rich finally turns his attention to the card.
He picks it up. Runs his finger over it.
Rich’s reaction darkens. He’s anxious. Afraid even.
RICH (CONT’D)
Who sent you?
DANNY
No one.
RICH
Who gave you this?
DANNY
I was shown it. The real thing. I copied it down.
RICH
Who showed it to you?
DANNY
Who are these people?
RICH
Why are you being so evasive?
DANNY
Can you help me?
RICH
You can’t be that stupid.
DANNY
You know them - don’t you?
RICH
(considers)
No, not stupid. Just blindly stumbling around...
(considers)
Yes, I know.
DANNY
How do I contact them?
RICH
Impossible.
DANNY
It’s important.
Volatile Rich’s moods shift again. Danny clearly doesn’t know what he’s doing. Not a trap. Rich senses opportunity and gestures for Danny to move closer.
RICH
Closer.
Danny moves closer.
RICH (CONT’D)
Closer!
Danny moves very close.
Rich leans in. He sniffs Danny.
RICH (CONT’D)
You have the particular stink of a man out of his depth.
The proximity is held for a beat. And we wonder if Rich is going to kiss him. Danny tries hard not to recoil.
RICH (CONT’D)
Open your mouth.
DANNY
Can you help?
RICH
If you open your mouth it might become possible.
Rich lights the pipe.
RICH (CONT’D)
Open.
Danny weighs it up.
RICH (CONT’D)
Open.
Rich inhales, but not for himself, he intends to blow it into Danny’s mouth.
Danny can’t.
Angry Rich blows it across his face.
RICH (CONT’D)
(angry)
You think I’d give this information away for free? Do you have any fucking idea how upset these people would be if I shared their secrets with the likes of you? They value privacy. They do not take kindly to indiscretion.
A cruel smile from Rich.
Despite the abuse Danny is still here. He hasn’t left.
Danny’s trapped. He wants this badly.
Rich relishes the dilemma.
He changes tack. Becoming charming.
RICH (CONT’D)
Why don’t you take a minute? Freshen up. And ask yourself: how badly do I want this?
INT. RIVERSIDE APARTMENT. BATHROOM. NIGHT
An amazing marble bathroom. A giant bathtub positioned by the window with views over London.
Danny washes his face. Looks in the mirror. Opens the cabinet. Viagra. Valium. Cocaine. Lube. Condoms. Clamps.
FLASH TO:
INT. RIVERSIDE APARTMENT. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT (PAST)
A vision of hedonism: a post club party, seven-eight-nine guys, various states of undress, music, drugs - happiness of the thinnest kind.
Danny among them. Rich has his hands all over him.
A naked man walks feline like on all fours towards them.
FLASH BACK TO:
INT. RIVERSIDE APARTMENT. BATHROOM. NIGHT (PRESENT)
Danny’s thoughts are interrupted by an awful laugh. Rich is at the door. Watching him.
He enters, squeezing past, hands on Danny’s hips. He climbs into the tub, despite it being empty.
RICH
I’m going to die in this tub. Heart attack. Or a stroke. They’ll find me here, tongue hanging out, my little dick bobbing about in the bubble bath. Four strong men will heave me out. My flesh will slosh and slop on the marble floor. And they’ll write about me: “he was a man who always got what he wanted”.
He laughs. And smokes. Regarding Danny’s dilemma.
DANNY
I can’t.
Rich turns mean. He was sure Danny would say yes.
RICH
Then fuck off.
INT. DANNY’S APARTMENT. BATHROOM. NIGHT
Danny in the shower, under a dribble of tepid water, scrubbing the night’s sleaze from his skin.
FLASH TO:
EXT. ESTUARY. DAY (PAST)
Danny and Alex walking by the sea - happy.
BACK TO:
INT. DANNY’S APARTMENT. BEDROOM. NIGHT (PRESENT)
Danny enters his bedroom. In jogging pants, ready to sleep. However, he finds Sara sitting on his bed.
She’s been waiting for him. She seems anxious.
Even though he’s exhausted, Danny joins his troubled friend putting an arm around her - ready to help.
DANNY
What’s wrong?
She’s upset. And nervous.
SARA
Why didn’t you tell me?
Danny’s surprised - this is about him.
DANNY
Tell you what?
Sara’s sad eyes stare into his. Trying to make sense of his response.
SARA
Nothing would change between us, you know that, don’t you?
Danny’s perplexed.
DANNY
Sara, I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Sara searches his expression: blank incomprehension. She becomes embarrassed. And apologetic.
SARA
You’re not ready. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have...
(hugs him)
I love you.
There are tears in her eyes. She stands, intending to leave. But Danny gently takes her hand. Stopping her.
DANNY
Hey?
She’s confused by the signals.
DANNY (CONT’D)
Tell me.
SARA
Danny, I found it.
DANNY
Found what?
SARA
Your medication.
Sara’s beginning to doubt herself.
In contrast, Danny becomes assertive.
DANNY
Sara, what did you find?
She walks to Danny’s desk. Opens the drawer, reaches in. Pinched between her fingers is the pill from episode 2.
Danny’s confusion transitions to fear.
INT. SOHO. SEXUAL HEALTH CLINIC. RECEPTION. DAY
Danny at the reception. Filling in a form.
“Do you have any particular reason for wanting an HIV test today?”
Danny stares at the Yes or No answer.
INT. SOHO. SEXUAL HEALTH CLINIC. WAITING AREA. DAY
The room’s bright and clean. Effort has been spent on making the space welcoming. However, a waiting room it remains. With an anxious energy.
Danny’s seated. He steals glances at the other people.
The room is full. A mix of older and younger, a few couples. Predominantly men.
Very little conversation. Some are there for support. Even so, only a few whispered words.
On a digital screen is a notice: ‘Had sex without a condom? Fill in a survey to win an Ipad’.
A sexual health clinician appears. A middle aged woman. She’s reading from the form he filled in.
CLINICIAN
Danny?
Danny hears his name. No surname. A fractional pause before he stands. Eyes land on him, briefly, curious.
The woman smiles, professionally. Unusually for him, Danny doesn’t smile back.
INT. SOHO SEXUAL HEALTH CLINIC. TESTING ROOM. DAY
A desk. An ancient computer. An examination bed. Blue plastic shelves full of testing equipment. A sink.
A narrow window with a view over Soho.
The room is narrow and rectangular. Standing in the middle with arms outstretched you could touch both walls.
Danny seated.
The clinician at the desk, glancing over his form.
CLINICIAN
Last test was eight months ago. Since then, one sexual partner. And you’re always safe?
DANNY
Always.
The clinician reacts to his unusually forceful emphasis.
CLINICIAN
Do you use a condom during oral sex?
DANNY
No.
CLINICIAN
It’s low risk but not ‘no risk’.
She stands. Readying the test. There’s a ritual. The commentary is always spoken, no matter how many tests you have. Like airline safety procedures.
CLINICIAN (CONT’D)
We’re going to use a finger prick test. This isn’t a test for HIV but for the antibodies produced in response to the infection. It will detect infections six weeks after exposure --
DANNY
I haven’t had sexual contact - of any kind - for over six weeks.
Again, she’s sensitive to his emphasis.
CLINICIAN
Then this result will be up to date. I need to ask, before the test, if the result comes back positive is there someone you can phone?
The question hits Danny hard. Danny manages a nod.
The clinician puts her plastic gloves on.
CLINICIAN (CONT’D)
We have a support network. No one is ever alone. Just so you know.
She takes Danny’s hand, pushing down all his fingers except for the middle.
CLINICIAN (CONT’D)
Going to feel a slight scratch.
A finger prick stamp on the tip. A bubble of blood. She gives it a squeeze and fills a very thin glass tube.
She places a bud of cotton on the top of his finger.
She’s finished. Blood taken. Easy. Quick. Sample ready.
CLINICIAN (CONT’D)
This will just take a few minutes.
She leaves.
Danny alone.
There’s no clock on the wall.
We should not jump cut out of this wait. Play it in real time, feel every beat with Danny. Discount how quickly it reads on the page - this should be roughly two minutes.
- Danny looks out of the window. Coffee shops and passers-by. He watches the random street interaction. The fragments of conversation.
- He turns back and stares at door.
- He looks at the blue plastic shelving units full of different testing equipment.
- Notices a box of free condoms and lube on the desk.
- Glances at the battered ancient computer. His information on screen.
- Spots a water mark on the ceiling. Searches for other signs of funding constraints. Scuffs on walls, etc.
- Removes the cotton bud from his finger tip. Looks at the blood-stained fibres. Throws it in the orange bin.
- Stares at the pin prick on the tip of his finger.
The door opens.
The clinician returns.
She’s carrying the test. A small petri dish. Her body language is impossible to read.
CLINICIAN (CONT’D)
The result is reactive.
The word ‘reactive’ sounds oddly blank.
CLINICIAN (CONT’D)
We use the word ‘reactive’ because 7 out of a 1000 results come back with ‘false reactive’ result so what we’re going to do now --
Understanding, Danny stands up, sharply, the chair pushed back. The noise is unsettling. His movement abrupt.
Silence.
The clinician is delicate with him.
CLINICIAN (CONT’D)
Danny, why don’t you take a seat for me?
Danny’s in shock.
He looks directly at her. She remains careful with him.
CLINICIAN (CONT’D)
Danny?
He slowly sits down.
She also sits, putting the test down on the desk.
A small petri-dish with clear fluid. And through the liquid are two small dots.
CLINICIAN (CONT’D)
Two dots indicate the presence of antibodies to the HIV virus.
Danny stares into the two blue dots. They’re like two little eyes looking back at him - he stares and stares as if they were the eyes of his enemy.
CLINICIAN (CONT’D)
I need to take a second sample. And run a second test to rule out the chance of a false result.
He’s still staring at the two blue dots. Danny looks at her. His mouth is dry. He shakes his head.
So many people lie about their sex lives that the clinician is accustomed to a disconnect between a reactive test and claims about their sexual activity.
DANNY
It’s not possible.
She presumes he’s in denial.
CLINICIAN
Let’s run the second test.
The second test.
She readies the equipment.
This time no talking. And the atmosphere is very different. From both of them. Fraught.
Plastic gloves on. She takes Danny’s other hand, his left one. This time his hand is trembling.
She waits.
Danny steadies himself.
She pushes down all his fingers except for the middle.
A finger prick stamp on the tip. A bubble of blood. She gives it a squeeze and fills a thin glass tube.
She gives him a bud of cotton to put on the top of his finger. She’s finished. Blood taken.
Second sample ready.
CLINICIAN (CONT’D)
Would you like someone to wait with you?
Danny shakes his head.
She leaves.
We do not cut out of this second wait. We must feel it in real time. Beat for beat. Again, discount how quickly it reads - this is another two minutes.
But the energy of these two minutes is completely different. Tension no longer subsumed. On the surface.
As soon as the door is shut Danny stands and paces.
- He stops at the desk. Stares intently at the two implacable blue eyes in the petri dish.
- Walks to door. Places hands on it. Pushing against it.
- Walks back to the desk. Stares again at the two blue eyes in the petri dish. Unable to believe them.
- Removes the cotton bud from his finger tip. Sees the bloody fibres. Throws it away. In the orange hazard bin. And this time his eyes linger on the hazard symbol.
- Suddenly he seems to lose all of his frantic energy, short of breath, he sits at the desk.
- Close on the ancient computer screen: his health records. A large amount of text. He reads, blankly at first, then with more concentration.
- A long list of entries.
Danny scrolls up:
“Syphilis. Chlamydia. Hepatitis B. Hepatitis C.”
It all looks so absolute and real on screen. Dates. Antibiotics. On and on and on...
Danny scrolls up faster and faster, over a sexual health history packed with incident, until Danny reaches his name at the top of the screen.
He stands, stepping back from the computer, as if it were a threat to him. And, in many ways, it is.
And now he sees, in the blue plastic shelves --
A blood testing kit.
Danny takes it out. Removes the packaging. A needle combined with a tube that leads into a 5 millimetre plastic phial. An all in one unit.
It’s the exact same piece of kit used by the medic at the police station. From the opening sequence.
Danny holds the needle up to eye level. The moment of full comprehension.
Slowly his fingers tighten around the needle. Until it disappears within his clenched hand.
The door opens.
The Clinician is surprised to see Danny so close to the door, holding that piece of kit, his expression full of fear and fury. She’s startled.
An uneasy stand-off.
DANNY
I know how they did it!
CLINICIAN
Danny --
DANNY
I know!
Danny’s emphasis changes with each exclamation, modulating from anger to despair.
DANNY (CONT’D)
I know!
CLINICIAN
Danny --
DANNY
I know.
CLINICIAN
Danny --
DANNY
I know...
He isn’t listening. He raises his fist, containing the needle and phial to his head. Frozen in this position.
The clinician peers out into the corridor. She gestures for help.
A friendly male member of staff joins her. They stand at the door. Some form of silent communication. He understands. Both trained in distress.
CLINICIAN
Danny?
She does not touch him. They hold back.
Slowly Danny lowers the needle and phial from his face.
CLINICIAN (CONT’D)
Danny, why don’t you take a seat?
Now numb and compliant Danny steps back, perching on the edge of the bed, still holding the needle.
The clinician cautiously steps closer.
The second member of staff remains at the door.
CLINICIAN (CONT’D)
Danny, why don’t you give me the needle?
It takes a moment for Danny to process the request. An all consuming weariness has come over him.
He opens his hand. The needle has sunk into his skin. There’s blood. The glass phial has broken.
She places the second test result down on the table. Next to the first.
She puts on a fresh pair of gloves, taking a tissue in order to remove the bloody needle.
She moves gingerly. Warily.
She throws the needle into the hazardous orange bin. She returns, to tend to his minor injury.
Meeting her glance Danny understands that she’ll never believe him. Nor will the man at the door.
Danny slowly turns to the second test result on the desk - a second set of blue eyes watching him, beside the first set - two pairs of enemy eyes now on him.
Confirmation.
CLINICIAN (CONT’D)
Is there someone we can call?
INT. SCOTTIE’S HOUSE. LIVING ROOM. EVENING
Scottie stands by the window, looking out. His hands are clasped behind his back. It’s dusk. He’s in shadow. His stance appears formal and objective.
Danny is seated on the sofa. He’s been crying. And remains on the brink of tears.
His dialogue is muddled - he knows what is true but can’t explain how it is so. The monologue veers wildly between compelling and implausible.
DANNY
When he took my blood at the station they must have injected me at the same time --
(sudden thought)
The virus can’t survive outside the body --
(sudden thought)
They must have kept it heated --
(sudden thought)
And I know it hasn’t been six weeks and it takes that long to show up in the test --
(beat)
Maybe they found a way --
But Danny doesn’t have the answers.
DANNY (CONT’D)
(abandoning the explanation)
I don’t know how. I don’t know how they did it. But they did it.
(pitiful)
They did it.
Scottie makes no attempt to console or comfort Danny. He isn’t even looking at him.
Sensing that the situation is slipping away Danny rallies, trying to compose himself.
DANNY (CONT’D)
Please Scottie. You have to believe me.
(beat)
Please...
(beat)
Please...
But Scottie doesn’t turn around. In sharp contrast, Scottie’s response is precise & composed.
SCOTTIE
I remember taking you to hospital all those years ago. When there was a chance you were infected. We barely knew each other. You were so young. More child than adult. I made you promise to never take a risk like that again. And you promised. You promised me, Danny.
Danny breaks down at the thought of Scottie not believing him. The tears that follow are from the very depth of his soul, wrenched up in the most awful way.
Scottie does not move to comfort him.
Danny repeats his petition but, this time, through the tears and snot, he’s barely comprehensible:
DANNY
Scottie-I-swear-to-you-I-never-broke-that-promise-I-swear-Scottie-please-believe-me-because-I-don’t-have-anyone-else-if-you-don’t believe-me-I-don’t-have-anyone else...
A desperate plea. One Danny thinks will never be believed. He lapses back into tears.
He has no hope.
Scottie doesn’t budge from his position. Doesn’t rush to offer any soothing reassurance. Doesn’t even turn around.
Finally, quietly, still looking out the window --
SCOTTIE
I believe you.
Danny doesn’t quite hear, or understand. He wipes his eyes, trying to catch up. He waits. Unsure.
SCOTTIE (CONT’D)
I knew that you were a young man who’d make a lot of mistakes. But never the same one twice.
(beat)
I believe you, Danny. I believe that they deliberately infected you.
Danny is blank. Numb. No longer crying. He can’t fathom that Scottie is on his side. Or what this means.
Scottie still hasn’t altered his position, still isn’t looking at Danny.
SCOTTIE (CONT’D)
Not to kill you, obviously. With medication you’ll live a long and normal life. They did it to discredit you. They’ll say you took risks with your own health. You were reckless and irresponsible. Perhaps they’ll even say you infected Alex.
DANNY
No, he was --
SCOTTIE
Negative?
Danny silent. Reconsiders.
SCOTTIE (CONT’D)
The story of you two has been written. It was written many months ago. A sordid tale, the details of which will leak into the public sphere. People will recoil. Many will think that you got what you deserved. No one will campaign for answers. No one will demand justice.
Scottie’s voice remains calm and analytical. Dissecting the situation carefully. Without emotion, like a professor presented with a problem.
Danny sits back in his chair, eyes on the ceiling. He’s suddenly so incredibly exhausted.
DANNY
These people...
SCOTTIE
Yes.
DANNY
...They’ll do anything.
SCOTTIE
Yes.
DANNY
I can’t...
SCOTTIE
No.
For the first time we witness Danny utterly defeated.
DANNY
I can’t.
He closes his eyes.
It’s over.
And then --
SCOTTIE
A long, long time ago I had a lover.
Danny opens his eyes.
Yet to his surprise Scottie still hasn’t moved to comfort or console him. He remains at the window, in the shadows.
Danny wondering what Scottie’s talking about.
SCOTTIE (CONT’D)
He was an aspiring artist. Quite promising. Extraordinarily beautiful. He had countless admirers, of course. And rightly so. I didn’t begrudge him that. I was the man he phoned when he wanted a good meal. Tickets to a West End show. I was stability. Domesticity, which he liked to dip his toe into every now and again. I was more than happy with the arrangement.
Exhausted, Danny listens to the seemingly irrelevant story without a trace of impatience.
SCOTTIE (CONT’D)
His name was Raphael. Not his real name, one he’d chosen for himself, as he reshaped his suburban background into something more fitting for an avant-garde metropolitan artist.
(beat)
1983, and he was among the first in London to fall ill. Back then it didn’t even have a name. There was no information. No leaflets. No warnings. No answers. You’d watch the news and hear no mention of it. A secret plague.
Danny’s now listening in earnest.
SCOTTIE (CONT’D)
I visited him as often as I could, with as much fresh fruit and vegetables as I could carry.
FLASH TO:
INT. HOUSING ESTATE. CORRIDOR. DAY (PAST)
Moving down a wretched, gloomy communal corridor. Grey. Dark. Without color. We’re almost floating, dreamlike.
The door to an apartment opens to reveal --
INT. HOUSING ESTATE. BEDSIT. DAY (PAST)
A tiny studio apartment. Little bigger than the bed at its centre. No bathroom. No kitchen unit. A sink.
Poverty, squalor and yet this room is remarkable --
The bed is blue, not painted, blue sheets, blue pillows. Lying on top of it is a beautiful gaunt young man.
The young man is painted one shade of blue, in thick oil paints, encrusting him, cocooning him in blue.
His hair is painted blue, not dyed. His pubic hair too. The paint is days old, cracked and dry.
Aside from being wisp-thin, the man has no other outward signs of sickness.
Painted on the back wall, emerging at the exact point behind his head, is a pyramid of blue - spreading out, narrow at first, expanding across the back wall, and up onto the ceiling, which is almost completely covered.
Within this pyramid is every shade of blue known to man, swirls, lines, Pollack splatters, always abstract.
The effect is both magical and disturbing, as if all this blue burst out of the man’s mind, as if he’d blown his brains out and the result was not blood, but blue, covering the back wall and ceiling.
Outside of the brain splatter of blue, which is painted with mania and genius, the remaining three walls are one shade of blue and low key.
The blue continues across the floor - carpet painted one shade of blue, covered with a hard blue crust. Again, low key shades, so the ceiling and back wall dominate.
Clothes on a painted blue rack are all blue, either originally blue or dyed blue.
In shock, at the door, we see a brown paper bag being dropped, hitting the floor, different coloured fruit rolling across the blue carpet.
BACK TO:
INT. SCOTTIE’S HOUSE. LIVING ROOM. EVENING (PRESENT)
Scottie remains at the window. He still has not turned around, arms behind his back, looking outside as though he stood at the doorway to the blue room.
SCOTTIE
He’d been given a book on colour therapy. In it blue was described as having healing properties. Blue - blue alone - was able to fight infections. Blue - blue alone - could save him. Blue and blue alone. The idea no doubt appealed to his artistic sensibilities. In those days mysticism and magic stood in for medicine. He wouldn’t accept the fruit and vegetables because they weren’t blue. But - since water was blue - he eventually agreed to a bath.
FLASH TO:
INT. HOUSING ESTATE. COMMUNAL BATHROOM. DAY (PAST)
A grubby communal bathroom. Cracked tiles. Dirty. Without a window. No natural light. No colour.
Scottie is bathing the beautiful man. Tenderly, as if afraid the man will break. We don’t need to see Scottie, just the man and a younger Scottie’s caring hands.
The oil paint breaks off in uneven fragments.
As the blue paint dissolves Scottie reveals, across the man’s back, skin lesions: Kaposi’s Sarcoma.
A purple color. But subtle and real, unlike the vivid blue, this can’t be washed away.
The permanence of this purple.
Scottie’s fingers pass over them.
The beautiful man’s expression is serene. At peace.
BACK TO:
INT. SCOTTIE’S HOUSE. LIVING ROOM. EVENING (PRESENT)
Scottie in the same position, at the window.
SCOTTIE
I told him that he’d given up. I told him to fight.
(reenacting)
“Let’s find some better answers than the colour blue.” But he refused. He said that I’d never faced the inevitability of defeat. He was going to die. He was going to suffer. And suffer terribly. There was nothing he could do. There was nothing anyone could do. He was right. On both counts. He did suffer terribly. And I have never faced the inevitability of defeat.
For the first time, in this exchange, Scottie turns around to face Danny. Close on Scottie’s eyes.
FLASH TO:
INT. HOUSING ESTATE. BLUE ROOM. DAY (PAST)
The blue room.
The bedsheets have been stripped so the bed is now white. The carpet has been unevenly scratched clean of most of the blue paint. The room emptied.
All that remains is the blue brain burst - the pyramid of mania-blue across the back wall and ceiling.
Cracked. Fracturing. A single autumnal blue flake falls.
BACK TO:
INT. SCOTTIE’S HOUSE. LIVING ROOM. EVENING (PRESENT)
Scottie stands before Danny & gestures for him to rise.
Danny stands.
Face to face with Scottie.
Scottie kisses Danny’s lips. Not sexual. Platonic love. An acceptance of Danny’s body. A healing act.
SCOTTIE
It is impossible. We will lose. But we will fight.
INT. LONDON BATHS. SWIMMING POOL. DAY
Underwater. All is blue.
At the bottom of a beautiful public tiled swimming pool. The noise of the world is muted.
Danny and Scottie are swimming at the deepest point - side by side. The two friends. Together.
The world has slowed.
Scottie turns upwards and surfaces.
But Danny remains a moment longer. He can’t face returning to the surface. He can’t face returning to the world.
Not yet.
He grips onto the bottom of the pool, the draining grill, or whatever, looking down.
Still sad.
He doesn’t want to go up.
And then he turns to see --
A young girl swimming along the bottom of the pool. She’s only seven or eight years old.
She’s wearing a comically huge snorkel as if she were deep sea fishing. It makes her eyes bulbous.
She’s wearing a bright glittering swimming costume, sparkling, decorated with wonderful silvery sea creatures.
She shimmers in the water. Her long beautiful hair flows around her head like silk.
She sees Danny.
And waves at him.
Danny waves back.
And the little girl returns to the surface.
Danny looks up for the first time in this sequence.
We see the surface packed with people.
And now, finally, Danny kicks up.
And we follow him up. And up. And up...
And he breaks the surface.
INT. LONDON BATHS. SWIMMING POOL. SURFACE. DAY
Danny on the surface.
He looks around. At all these people.
There’s the muscular fitness fanatic.
There’s an overweight individual.
There’s a family.
There’s an elderly man.
There’s an elderly woman.
There’s an eccentric woman.
There’s a man with a missing limb.
There’s a young straight couple kissing.
There are children playing.
Danny searches for the little girl with the snorkel but she’s nowhere to be seen.
Danny turns to see Scottie.
Scottie is sitting on a bench by the side of the pool, wrapped in towels. Patiently waiting for him.
Danny swims towards him.
INT. LONDON BATHS. SWIMMING POOL. BENCH / LEDGE. DAY
Danny gets out and sits beside Scottie, both wrapped in towels, looking out over this pool.
It’s busy with every kind of person from every walk of life, from places all over the world.
Behind Danny and Scottie is a sign that reads:
LONDON BATHS
And the whole of London is represented here. With Danny too.
DANNY
I’m ready.
Scottie nods, observing his friend.
SCOTTIE
Are you going to tell me?
Danny glances at Scottie.
SCOTTIE (CONT’D)
The secret you’ve been keeping.
Danny smiles.
DANNY
How...
He thinks better of the question.
Of course Scottie sensed something.
Danny nods.
Scottie raises a finger to his lips.
SCOTTIE
Not here. Downstairs.
Scottie stands.
Danny follows. They leave the pool
INT. PUBLIC BATHS. STEAM ROOM. DAY
Dense plumes of steam. Thick stone walls drip with condensation. Moody gloominess.
Danny and Scottie are at the back, in the darkest corner. Except for the hiss of vapour - there’s silence.
Danny and Scottie wait for the only other shadowy figure to leave. The man stands, stretches, and walks out.
The door closes. They’re alone.
SCOTTIE
Tell me.
DANNY
I lied.
SCOTTIE
About?
DANNY
I stole something. From the attic.
Scottie’s impressed.
SCOTTIE
You lied well.
DANNY
A locked cylinder.
Danny marks a small line in the condensation.
SCOTTIE
You lied wisely.
DANNY
It needs a code.
SCOTTIE
Which you don’t know?
DANNY
No.
SCOTTIE
Did Alex intend it for you?
DANNY
He told me where to look.
SCOTTIE
Then he must have believed you capable of opening it.
Danny’s exasperated.
DANNY
I’ve gone over every word. Every conversation.
SCOTTIE
Go over them again. Remember he will have been aware you were under surveillance.
(beat)
Danny, you must figure it out. You’re the only one who can.
Danny pulls himself together. He nods, about to speak when a man enters the steam room.
Scottie and Danny abruptly fall silent.
The man misinterprets the awkward silence and presumes Danny and Scottie were fooling about.
The man huffs, in disgust, and leaves, shaking his head.
Scottie and Danny are briefly amused.
The door closes. The conversation continues.
SCOTTIE (CONT’D)
Where is it now? You can’t have kept it in the flat?
Danny shakes his head, about to answer --
SCOTTIE (CONT’D)
You were right to be cautious.
Scottie sounds genuinely afraid.
SCOTTIE (CONT’D)
If they knew that you had this...
(trails off)
They would have behaved quite differently.
Scottie ponders deeply.
SCOTTIE (CONT’D)
Secrets have changed. They used to be typed documents, stashed inside manila files. Pages stamped ‘Confidential’. Rolls of microfilm. Now they’re numbers. Algorithms. The contents of that cylinder will almost certainly be incomprehensible. At least to us. We need an ally. A great mind.
Scottie stands, taking the precaution of wiping away the cylinder marked on the condensation.
INT. PUBLIC BATHS. MALE CHANGING ROOM. DAY
Danny and Scottie wrapped in towels. At the lockers. Scottie hands Danny a suit bag.
Danny’s surprised. He opens it.
A new set of clothes. Smarter. Formal. Expensive. Understated tailoring. Trousers. Shirt. A jacket.
SCOTTIE
Some of the people we need to speak to care very much about appearances. They’ll look at the cut of your suit before they listen to what you say. It’s not about wealth. It’s about a set of signals. They require a lifetime of study, which is precisely the point. Wealth can be acquired in an instant.
Danny stares at the outfit, processing the request.
SCOTTIE (CONT’D)
Tonight we must play by their rules.
INT. PUBLIC BATHS. MALE CHANGING ROOM. DAY
Danny in new attire. A radically different proposition. Fantastically handsome.
Scottie’s impressed. Danny remains circumspect.
DANNY
They fit.
SCOTTIE
What kind of spy would I be if I couldn’t guess a man’s shirt size?
But Scottie’s joke can’t conceal the problematic My-Fair-Lady dressing up of Danny.
EXT. UNIVERSITY OF LONDON. MAIN QUAD. NIGHT
Stone pillars. Columns. The grand dome. History. Prestige. Hugely Impressive.
The quad at night. Spot lit. Dramatic. No one around.
Danny and Scottie walk up the stairs towards the grand main building.
DANNY
Who is she?
SCOTTIE
She’s the President and Provost Professor of the University of London.
DANNY
Can we trust her?
SCOTTIE
There’s no art in trusting nobody. The craft of a spy has always been choosing the right people to trust.
DANNY
You two are friends?
SCOTTIE
Friends... Yes.
Scottie drifts off. Danny waits.
For once Scottie is reluctant to tell his story.
And in the end, says nothing, surprising Danny.
Danny glances back.
People on the street. People in the quad.
INT. UNIVERSITY OF LONDON. MAIN QUAD BUILDING. RECEPTION. NIGHT
While Scottie is talking to the receptionist, Danny hangs back, his attention caught by the poster board, crammed with University society notices --
Travel. Screenings. Debates. Theatre. Politics. Sport.
Curious, he explores the flyers. A new world to him.
SCOTTIE
Danny?
Scottie registers Danny’s interest in this board.
Danny rejoins Scottie.
They pass a Security Guard. The Guard’s eyes follow them further inside.
A cleaner uses a machine to polish the stone floor.
INT. UNIVERSITY OF LONDON. ELEVATOR. NIGHT
Danny and Scottie in the creaky old elevator.
The elevator arrives. Doors open --
INT. UNIVERSITY OF LONDON. MAIN BUILDING. CORRIDORS. NIGHT
Scottie and Danny step out into a deserted corridor. A long line of identical doors.
Their shoes clip on the hard stone floor, echoing around the maze-like space.
As they turn a corner, reaching another long line of doors, Scottie comes to an abrupt stop.
We hear the distinct clip-clip-clip of an unseen person walking somewhere in this maze of corridors.
The footsteps are getting closer.
Suddenly the sound stops.
The clip-clip-clip sound starts again. But the sound is getting softer. Going in the opposite direction.
Troubled, Scottie continues.
INT. UNIVERSITY OF LONDON. MAIN BUILDING. CORRIDOR. NIGHT
Danny stops outside the President’s office. A sign on the grand door.
SCOTTIE
They’ll be aware of my connection to her. They will have anticipated this meeting. Her office will be almost certainly be bugged.
Scottie gestures away from the office.
INT. UNIVERSITY OF LONDON. RARE BOOKS LIBRARY. SECURITY. NIGHT
Scottie and Danny at the entrance to the rare books library. A guard. A librarian. A metal detector. More like entering a vault than a library.
They must leave their phones and wallets behind. Emptying their pockets. Airport style screening.
They pass through the detector.
Scottie and Danny put plastic dust covers over their shoes. They’re both given a pair of gloves.
The solemn librarian, gravely unhappy at their admission, escorts them through.
INT. UNIVERSITY OF LONDON. RARE BOOKS LIBRARY. SECURITY. NIGHT
The hum of rarified air, humidity controlled.
A secure archive. Not academic romantic.
Stark steel shelves are filled with books many hundreds of years old. Priceless. Irreplaceable.
Harsh fluorescent lights on the ceiling.
Sterile and austere, impossible to see all the corners and aisles, filled with hidden spaces.
The President of the University of London - Claire - waits for them. In many ways Claire is a reflection of Scottie. Same age. A mix of brilliance and eccentricity.
Scottie and Claire hug - an embrace full of warmth and love. Danny observes. It has the feel of former lovers.
A mystery.
Claire offers a hand to Danny. He shakes it.
She turns her attention to the librarian, lingering at the back of the room.
CLAIRE
Thank you.
The librarian leaves, reluctantly.
We hear a door shut. And seal.
CLAIRE (CONT’D)
You haven’t lost your taste for theatricality.
SCOTTIE
For once it’s justified.
The fond reunion atmosphere changes.
CLAIRE
What is this about? Why couldn’t you tell me on the phone?
SCOTTIE
A former student of your university. A prodigy.
DANNY
You might have known him as Alistair Turner. But he preferred the name Alex.
Claire regards Danny with exacting scrutiny. Catching up with the gravity of the situation.
CLAIRE
Let’s walk.
INT. UNIVERSITY OF LONDON. RARE BOOKS LIBRARY. MAIN CHAMBER. NIGHT
The three conspirators on the move, through the steel maze of bookshelves, weaving an unpredictable path.
Their voices are low.
CLAIRE
I didn’t know Alex personally. Only by reputation. There aren’t many students who start their degree at the age of fifteen.
DANNY
He was murdered.
Claire turns to Scottie for confirmation.
SCOTTIE
He was murdered, Claire.
Scottie gives no evidence. Nothing to back up the claim. Yet Claire nods, accepting. His words are enough.
Danny follows the mechanics of credibility.
CLAIRE
I take it you want to speak to Alex’s professor?
DANNY
Marcus Shaw.
SCOTTIE
What do you know about him?
CLAIRE
Brilliant. Difficult.
SCOTTIE
And his relationship with Alex?
CLAIRE
They were close.
SCOTTIE
Sexual?
Danny’s about to object. Scottie stops him.
CLAIRE
I’m confident their intimacy was purely intellectual.
DANNY
Will he talk to us?
CLAIRE
Marcus is precise. He won’t ‘chat’. Unless you’re talking about mathematics the discussion will be a waste of time.
SCOTTIE
Is it possible Alex confided in him?
CLAIRE
That’s a very serious allegation.
SCOTTIE
I’m just thinking aloud.
CLAIRE
Marcus admired Alex. On some level, he might have envied him. But I can’t believe he would’ve harmed him --
Suddenly the entire archive is plunged into darkness. Then, slowly, the fluorescent lights reboot.
Aisle by aisle until the table is in light again.
They’re spooked. They’ve stopped walking.
SCOTTIE
Can you arrange a meeting?
CLAIRE
Then you do have something specific to speak about?
Scottie glances at Danny.
Danny must decide. Does he trust her?
DANNY
We will.
Claire processes this revelation. Inscrutable.
INT. UNIVERSITY OF LONDON. RARE BOOKS LIBRARY. MAIN CHAMBER. NIGHT
Danny, Scottie and Claire about to leave.
SCOTTIE
Don’t send emails. Don’t make calls. They’ll have access to your computers. Your office. Your phone.
(grave)
Claire, I should warn you --
CLAIRE
(interrupting)
He was my student, Scottie.
Scottie nods.
The door opens.
The librarian is standing outside.
EXT. UNIVERSITY OF LONDON. NIGHT
Scottie hails a black cab.
DANNY
Where now?
SCOTTIE
A club, I thought.
EXT. MAYFAIR. EXCLUSIVE MEMBERS ONLY CLUB. NIGHT
Embassies and tax avoidance offices. Boutique shops. Fine dining establishments.
The streets are silent. And immaculate.
A beautiful period building. All front curtains closed. No glimpse inside. No sign.
Danny and Scottie at the gate.
SCOTTIE
Don’t admire your surroundings. Affect an air of mild boredom. But don’t take it too far. It needs to feel effortless. Making an effort is the surest give away.
DANNY
This isn’t going to work.
SCOTTIE
All we need is enough uncertainty for them to allow you inside. The advantage is on our side: more than anything they despise making a scene.
They open the gate.
INT. MAYFAIR MEMBERS ONLY CLUB. RECEPTION. NIGHT
Dickensian. Dark timbers. Candle light. Antiques. Art on the walls: paintings of naval battles. Polished bronze busts of historical figures in glass cabinets. All men.
We could be a hundred years in the past.
At the front desk stands one young man and one older gentleman: both dressed in long-coat black tie.
Their solemn faces greet Scottie as he signs the leather bound ledger using a fountain pen.
FRONT OF HOUSE
Good evening, sir.
SCOTTIE
Good evening. One guest.
In synchronicity the two men turn to examine Danny.
He tries hard not to recoil under the stare. And does well. Yet they’re not convinced.
Scottie moves towards the next room.
As Danny passes the desk the younger man hands him a cream card with the rules neatly printed on it:
“No phones. No photographs. No electronic devices of any kind. Ties must be worn at all times.”
INT. MAYFAIR MEMBERS ONLY CLUB. LOUNGE. NIGHT
Danny and Scottie seated in deep leather chairs. A real fire burns. No artificial light.
Bookshelves hold leather volumes but we sense they haven’t been read.
The lounge is full. Danny’s the only person under the age of fifty. Everyone wears a suit. Saville Row. Nothing flashy. No gold watches. No bright colours.
Danny’s socks - exposed as he’s seated - are Christmas novelty. A ring of reindeer. He spots them and sits forward so that his trousers sink back over the reindeer.
Trying to ignore that he’s under scrutiny, Danny studies the menu. No prices. They talk in hushed tones.
DANNY
How do you know what anything costs?
SCOTTIE
Everything goes on account. It’s presumed each member can always pay his way. Money’s never mentioned. Seen. Or discussed.
Danny can’t help but glance about the room.
DANNY
There are more women in a gay club.
SCOTTIE
Women are not allowed.
DANNY
Is that legal?
SCOTTIE
How many women do you think apply?
An elegant man in his fifties enters, bespoke tailoring, nodding hellos to most in the lounge.
He spots Scottie and joins them. He’s James. Regal. Angular. Good looking. Groomed. Sensational waves of glossy grey hair. And full of apparent good cheer.
He shakes Scottie’s hand.
JAMES
Good to see you.
SCOTTIE
You look fantastic as always, James.
James smiles, placing a gracious hand on Scottie’s arm. Instantly the social order is established.
James turns to Danny. Offering his hand and silently assessing this young man. Unfavourably.
His good cheer takes a small but noticeable knock.
DANNY
Danny.
He regrets not using ‘Daniel’ but too late. James doesn’t even give his name.
They sit. But there’s already tension. James can sense something’s wrong, some rule broken, or about to be.
Scottie tries to maintain a breezy air, turning to Danny.
SCOTTIE
James and I have worked together for over thirty years.
JAMES
Not really together, Scottie.
Said lightly, but sour underneath.
SCOTTIE
No, I suppose not.
We sense James is much higher up, a great success, whereas Scottie has remained stuck in the middle.
SCOTTIE (CONT’D)
James, I’m afraid I need to ask a favour.
JAMES
A favour?
SCOTTIE
Afraid so.
Another rule broken. James’s mood darkens again.
JAMES
Scottie, this is unlike you.
SCOTTIE
The situation is exceptional.
James weighs up the situation carefully.
JAMES
Very well.
SCOTTIE
What can you tell me about the murder of Alistair Turner?
As outrageous a comment as could be imagined. Even Danny is taken by surprise.
James is appalled. And furious. Although his expression has barely changed. He leans forward. In a low voice:
JAMES
Have you lost your mind?
Silence.
James stands, about to leave.
SCOTTIE
I’m asking you to be indiscreet. The quid pro quo is that I will not be.
James stops, looking down at Scottie. Weighing up all the secrets that he contains. He’s not sure.
James sits. Eyes on Danny. Then Scottie.
JAMES
You’ve been hanging around too many street corners, old friend. Your acquaintances are beginning to rub off on you.
SCOTTIE
Oh no. I learnt these tricks from the top.
JAMES
You’re sure you want to continue down this road?
SCOTTIE
Quite sure.
JAMES
That’s an awful shame.
James carefully calculates.
JAMES (CONT’D)
I’ll tell you a joke. How about that?
SCOTTIE
It would depends on how funny I find it.
JAMES
It’s hysterical.
Said without a trace of humour.
Scottie nods. Deal agreed.
Danny can’t follow the logic of this peculiar exchange.
JAMES (CONT’D)
An Englishman, a Chinaman, a Frenchman, an American, a Russian, an Israeli and a Saudi walk into a bar.
(beat)
And they all agree.
That was the punch-line.
Danny’s baffled. But Scottie acts as if he’s heard the most disturbing piece of information. Disconcerted, he nods, solemnly. Transaction concluded.
James glances at Danny.
JAMES (CONT’D)
You’d better explain it to your boy at a later stage.
Danny should be offended but isn’t. He’s watched this whole exchange as though he were a visitor to a zoo.
James stands.
JAMES (CONT’D)
Like I said, old friend, an awful shame.
James leaves.
And now everyone in the lounge is staring at them. As if they can sense that the club rules have been shattered.
SCOTTIE
Time to go.
INT. MAYFAIR MEMBERS ONLY CLUB. RECEPTION. NIGHT
As Scottie and Danny leave, the older staff member gently intercepts Scottie, remaining polite.
FRONT OF HOUSE
If I could ask you to settle up, Sir?
Scottie takes a beat.
SCOTTIE
Of course.
He heads to the desk.
EXT. MAYFAIR MEMBERS ONLY CLUB. NIGHT
Danny and Scottie stand outside.
DANNY
What did it mean?
SCOTTIE
That my membership has been cancelled with immediate effect. A pity: they did a marvellous eggs Benedict.
DANNY
The joke, Scottie, the joke.
SCOTTIE
I thought it was perfectly clear.
DANNY
No.
SCOTTIE
Substitute the nationality for the security agency. British MI6. The Chinese Ministry for State Security. Israeli Mossad. American CIA. Russian FSB. And Saudi GIP.
DANNY
Okay?
SCOTTIE
The punch line was that they all agree.
(beat)
Danny, they’ve never agreed on anything. Ever. Until now, it seems. Whatever Alex discovered - whatever it was, whatever it is - no one wants in the open. We’re not up against one intelligence agency. We’re up against them all. What does it mean? It means we’re quite alone.
And the two of them are alone - the only people standing on this sleepy exclusive street.
EXT. VAUXHALL. NIGHT
Danny walking in his expensive suit. Casual party crowd pass him by. Self conscious, he takes his tie off.
Gradually he becomes aware that an expensive car is trailing him. Or is he imagining it? Not sure.
He turns a corner.
EXT. VAUXHALL. DANNY’S APARTMENT BUILDING. NIGHT
Danny can see his home, not far.
The expensive car following also turns the corner.
Danny checks, and stops, alarmed.
The car accelerates, straight towards him.
Danny pulls back as if expecting the car to mount the pavement and crash into him.
But the car parks beside him. The back door opens.
Danny steps forward. He sees Rich in the back seat. There’s a no-nonsense driver in the front.
RICH
Get in.
Danny is unsure.
RICH (CONT’D)
Get in the fucking car.
Danny obeys.
INT/EXT. RICH’S CAR / VAUXHALL. NIGHT
As soon as Danny shuts the door Rich’s driver pulls out, accelerating at great speed. Running a red light.
A radical contrast to his previous manner, Rich seems rattled and on edge.
He eyes Danny’s natty suit.
RICH
Found yourself a rich Daddy, my fun-loving-friend?
Studying Danny’s expression.
RICH (CONT’D)
Or is it fun no more, Danny? Have you fallen out of love? With fun?
(assessing)
You have.
(as if betrayed)
Some call that growing up. I call it growing old. Once you let fun go you never get it back. And over and above everything - or anybody - I choose fun.
A declaration about fun spoken with darkness.
Rich gestures to the back seat pocket.
RICH (CONT’D)
For you.
Danny reaches in. He pulls out --
A large padded envelope. Sealed. He takes it. And is about to open it.
RICH (CONT’D)
Not here.
DANNY
What is it?
RICH
It’s ‘the impossible’.
DANNY
Why did you change your mind?
RICH
I didn’t.
At great speed the driver pulls into a service station.
DANNY
I don’t understand.
RICH
I’m sure you don’t.
The driver parks.
RICH (CONT’D)
Get out.
Danny is confused. He lingers.
RICH (CONT’D)
Get out the fucking car.
Just as Danny is about to get out.
RICH (CONT’D)
Oh, Danny?
Danny looks back.
RICH (CONT’D)
Have fun.
Rich’s face is knowing and mean.
Danny gets out.
EXT. VAUXHALL. SERVICE STATION. NIGHT
Danny under the alien service station lights.
Rich’s car accelerates away.
Danny looks at the padded envelope in his hand.
He spots the service station toilets.
INT. VAUXHALL. SERVICE STATION STORE. RESTROOM. NIGHT
Danny locks the door.
The toilet should be horrendous, concrete, grim.
He stands in front of the mirror. Envelope resting on the sink. He uses his key to rip the tape.
He reaches inside --
A cheap mobile phone.
The keypad has been doctored so none of the buttons can be used apart from the ‘accept call’ button.
It’s on. Fully charged.
Then - shrill and startling - the telephone rings. No caller ID. Danny stares at it.
The phone continues to ring.
Danny presses accept.
END OF EPISODE