Eighteen combat-ready special forces, wearing assault black, jump packs and combat gear, stare down the deep end of a greasy ramp into the night sky. Village lights flicker 19,000 feet below.
The STRIKE FORCE LEADER signals to his team.
Without a moment's hesitation, they dive into the darkness and plummet toward earth.
A military GUARD, old Soviet-style uniform, rounds the corner of the large estate toting an AK-47.
A red laser dot appears briefly on his forehead and, after a beat, the red dot seems to bleed. The Guard collapses dead. Two other GUARDS are dispatched with single, silenced shots.
A Strike Team member at a junction box awaits a signal.
Through infra-red binoculars the strike Force Leader watches his assault troops as they take positions.
On the estate - as the power goes out. The team on the mansion's front porch pops the door and pours in.
FOLLOWING - the FIVE TEAM MEMBERS as they rush a stairway in phalanx formation. They nearly knock over an old lady, who in turn lets out a blood curdling scream.
Assault weapons pointed at the bed. The soldiers yank back bedsheets to reveal IVAN STRAVANAVITCH, a middle-aged man and his half-naked 18-year-old concubine.
The soldiers pull Stravanavitch to his feet and haul him out of the room.
FOLLOWING - As they push down the hallway.
MANSION SECURITY GUARDS rally with haphazard gunfire.
Out come the strike force's flash-bang grenades. Exploding everywhere, disorienting Stravanavitch's men.
Signal flares burn as a helicopter descends on the position. The Strike Team evacuates across the field and forces a struggling Stravanavitch into the low-hovering copter.
The commandos swiftly board the craft as a handful of Stravanavitch's guards break into the clearing. They open fire.
And the mounted machine guns on the helicopter return.
One of the Strike Team members takes a bullet to the neck. He's' pulled by his comrades into the chopper as it lifts into the sky, its guns spitting lead...
Archangel, this is Restitution. The package is wrapped. Over.
VOICE (V.0. RADIO) Roger, Restitution. We are standing by for delivery.
The SOUNDS of a dinner banquet. Forks clanking against plates and the din of a hundred conversations, broken by...
The DING, DING, DING of a SPOON tapping against a wine glass.
SUPER TITLE: "MOSCOW - THREE WEEKS LATER
FADE IN:
Hundreds of men and women in formal evening wear sit at round banquet tables. A HUSH falls over the guests as the DINGING continues. All attention turns to the front table.
A rotund, silver haired-man in his late sixties rises and sidles past U.S. and Russian flags up to the podium microphone. He is STOLI PETROV, President of Russia.
Petrov's harsh Russian issues through the room. But over it we hear a young woman's voice translating.
AT THE FRONT TABLE -
A translator's words ring in the earpiece of a handsome man in his mid-forties. Worry lines crease his forehead and the touch of gray at his temples attest to three very difficult years in office.
This man is JAMES MARSHALL, and he is the PRESIDENT of the UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. He busily makes last minute changes to his speech.
Mr. President.
Thunderous applause as Marshall rises and approaches the podium.
At the back of the room, DOHERTY, a senior policy adviser whispers to the President's Chief of Staff ED SHEPHERD...
The applause dies as Marshall begins to speak.
Turkmenistan massacres.
The room remains silent a few beats. Most guests respectfully bow their heads.
Marshall begins again, but this time in English. The young woman translates simultaneously for the Russian audience.
Applause from the audience. Marshall turns the page on his speech.
During the applause, Marshall pulls a page from the speech, folds it and slides it into his pocket. He removes his glasses and looks out into the crowd. His tone becomes more personal.
He's not reciting the speech anymore.
Terror is not a legitimate system of government. And to those who commit the atrocities I say, we will no longer tolerate, we will no longer negotiate, and we will no longer be afraid. It's your turn to be afraid.
Applause rolls through the crowd.
Sprawling terminals spread out to runways like tentacles.
A RUSSIAN NEWS VAN emerges from the darkness and pulls to a stop by a Secret Service barricade.
SPECIAL AGENT GIBBS greets the Russian news team that emerges.
Please present your equipment to Special Agent Walters for inspection.
The news team's segment producer, a crusty old Russian named KORSHUNOV raises his big bushy eyebrows.
Though we wish to extend your press service every courtesy, you will comply with our security measures to the letter.
Korshunov and the FIVE MEMBERS of his news crew present their video cameras, sound equipment and supplies to Special Agent WALTERS for inspection. Secret Service DOGS sniff through the baggage.
Korshunov puts his thumb on the ID pad of a portable computer.
The computer matches up his thumbprint with his dossier and photograph. "CLEARED" flashes on the computer screen.
The President, walking with his entourage.
The President exits the building and enters his limousine.
Walters hands the bags back to the Russians.
A striking woman in her early thirties descends Air Force One's stairway. MARIA MITCHELL.
Press Relations for the Presidential Flight Office. She'll take you from here.
They ascend into the belly of Air Force One.
Winding its way down narrow cobblestone streets onto a major thoroughfare.
The limousine is packed with advisers, aides, military staff, including LT. COL. PERKINS, the keeper of the NUCLEAR FOOTBALL handcuffed to his wrist. In the b.g. on the limo's television set, the LARRY KING SHOW indulges in its normal banter.
Marshall wearily rubs his temples as he stifles a yawn.
Marshall's watch alarm beeps and he automatically reaches into his breast pocket, pulls out a medicine vial and downs two pills with a coffee chaser.
On the T.V.
Shepherd turns up the volume.
Marshall mutes the television. A quiet moment.
Marshall considers. Then decides.
Maria Mitchell escorts the Russians down the plane's length. As they pass the galley, Maria motions up a set of stairs.
They walk by several conference rooms, running down the starboard side of the plane.
Past the conference rooms, they walk by a small side room where SECRETARIES work on computers, generating documents.
The REAR PRESS CABIN, just ahead of the rear galley and bank of bathrooms. A handful of disgruntled reporters feign sleep.
Mitchell exits forward. One of the reporters stirs and looks up at the news team. He groans. Space is a premium back here.
Korshunov trades looks with his news team.
The President's motorcade pulls up in front of Air Force One.
The President and his entourage ascend from the lower deck platform onto the main deck. COL. DANIEL AXELROD, Air Force One's pilot, snaps off a salute as he passes.
Marshall nods as he pulls off his bow tie and enters his stateroom. Shepherd follows two steps behind.
Marshall halts Shepherd with a gesture.
Shepherd nods and waits by the door. Lt. Col. Perkins takes a seat outside the Presidents stateroom and opens the latest Tom Clancy thriller, using the nuclear football as a lap desk.
Marshall collapses on the couch, rubs his eyes, then closes them. A moment of peace in a breakneck day.
The knock at the door jars him.
Shepherd enters.
President Marshall picks up one of the many phones in his office.
* MARSHALL
Forget it, Shep. The kid gave his life for his country and the
Speaker's a bastard for turning him into a sound bite. I'll take the heat. Understood?
A STEWARD enters the room.
The steward nods and disappears from the room.
Marshall picks up a stack of policy reports. Thumbs through them.
The steward arrives with the Russian beer. Marshall takes a swig. He swallows hard. Piss-water. Marshall crosses to his sink and pours the beer out. He hands the bottle to the steward.
The steward nods...
AND SLINKS AWAY WITH THE BOTTLE. MARSHALL CATCHES HIMSELF --
Marshall picks up the phone again.
THREE Air Force SPECIALISTS man the elaborate communication system occupying much of the upper deck. Top-of-the-line computers, communication systems, video decks, and satellite receivers.
He slides in a videotape and channels the feed to the * president's stateroom.
A monitor comes to life with a basketball game.
Shepherd exits as Marshall settles into his leather chair and dives into work. He punches a button on the speakerphone.
The Marine Guards snap to attention once again as the First Lady's motorcade arrives.
ROSE MARSHALL, a self-assured woman with an aristocratic gleam, alights from her limo. She takes a few steps, then turns, tapping her foot impatiently.
Your father's gonna have a fit.
ALICE, the President's 13-year-old daughter, straggles out of the car, rolling her eyes.
As the First Lady's entourage enters.
Again, Alice rolls her eyes.
Rose pulls Alice aside.
Alice toes her foot into the carpet as she releases an exasperated sigh. She is, in this moment, the patron saint of know-it-all 13-year-old girls. Alice waves toward the Presidential Suite.
With the weight of the entire world on her shoulders, Alice
Collapses into one of the many leather chairs. It seems to swallow her. JORY, a steward passes.
Alice eyes the swirl of Aides who are pretending to work nearby.
But it's obvious that they're eavesdropping. Alice smiles and waves at them dramatically.
Rose nods, smiling a half-smile. After a thoughtful beat, Alice gets up and crosses to the Presidential suite. She exchanges words with the Aide standing outside the door and comes back, covering her disappointment.
Joey the steward hands her her cocoa with a wink and a smile.
Her eyes light up at the mound of whip cream on top.
doesn't take a genius to figure which is more important.
A quiet pause, then...
The plane jolts forward as it begins to taxi.
Alice points. And as if on cue, Marshall exits from his office and checks his watch.
Alice nods.
Alice rises and hugs her father. A White House PHOTOGRAPHER snaps off a few shots for the papers. Alice makes a face at them. A second later, Shepherd comes up the corridor, breaking up the pair.
As Marshall moves toward the conference room, he bends and gives Rose a quick peck on the cheek. It all reeks of formality.
Rose shuts the door behind them. As she starts to speak, Marshall pulls her into a long passionate kiss. Rose pulls away.
I've gotta go stop a war.
Schedule. What do you want me to do, Rose, tell the G7 to fuck off because I'm a family man?
(BEAT) I'm sorry. That wasn't fair.
He takes her in his arms.
Long beat. He smiles at her, it's the same sweet smile that won her heart, the same smile that got him elected. She softens.
She smiles. The tension breaks.
They kiss again, this time for real. But... a knock on the door.
Shepherd opens the door.
Rose rolls her eyes.
Marshall heads for his meeting.
Col. Axelrod and his co-pilot LT. COL. ARTHUR INGRAHAMS are at the wheel.
Axeirod eases up the throttle and the four GE-F103 Turbofan engines spring to life.
A picture perfect take-off as Air Force One slides through the moonlight and skates upward on a sheet of air.
Airborne in the midnight sky.
Aircraft engines drone.
CLOSE ON - A coffee pot pouring piping joe into a mug emblazoned with ubiguitou Presidential Seal. The mug is placed on a tray with a half-dozen other mugs and passed to a STEW. He carries the tray down the corridor past passenger cabins.
Drowsiness has overtaken the plane. Many of the passengers and aides are asleep. CNN plays On T.V. sets, entertaining the few night owls and news junkies.
Toward the front of the plane, the steward enters the conference room.
As the steward closes the door behind him, all background noise disappears. We are in a sound shielded room. Even the engines' drone cannot be heard.
The lights in the room are dim as MAJOR CALDWELL, a military advisor, projects satellite photos of Iraqi military bases onto a screen.
The steward serves coffee as unobtrusively as he can while the meeting continues.
We follow the steward as he slips out of the conference room and back into the...
with a few coffees left on his tray. One of them is scooped up by Gibbs as he passes, his nose is buried in a fax.
Gibbs leans in the cabin.
Special Agents Walters and JOHNSON rise and follow Gibbs into an adjoining office.
Gibbs closes the door behind the two agents. As Walters and Johnson take their seats, Gibbs WITHDRAWS HIS WEAPON and...
SHOOTS each of the agents in THE BACK OF THE HEAD.
Silenced pistol. Blood all over the desk. Gibbs removes each of the agent's weapons and slips them into his waistband. He waits a few beats, takes a long sip of coffee, then exits the office.
As he passes through the cabin he takes a silent inventory. Five other agents working, sleeping, on the phone.
Gibbs nods to Korshunov. Korshunov nods one of his men. NEVSKY removes one of his videotapes, pops the front cover exposing the tape. Across the face of the tape is a thin strip of a rubbery substance. Nevsky pulls the strip up and out, making a kind of fuse. He reaches for a pack of matches... courtesy matches, sporting the Seal of the
President.
Nevsky nods and lights the fuse.
IN A RAPID SUCCESSION -
GIBBS tosses his two extra weapons to Korshunov's men, pivots the corner and begins firing at his colleagues. The SECRET SERVICE AGENTS try to get at their weapons, but Gibbs has caught them completely off-guard.
Several silenced central nervous system shots (head and neck) and the five agents slump back, their red blood cascading down the creases of the fine Corinthian leather chairs.
Nevsky tosses the cassette up the corridor... smoke pours out of it. Smoke screen.
BAZYLEV and ZEDECK catch the guns Gibbs tossed and hold them on the reporters.
Bazylev grabs the stunned reporters, yanking them into the aisle.
Human shields. A half dozen of them.
Behind the terrorists, one of the bathroom doors swings open. A SECRET SERVICE AGENT emerges. Sees what's happening. Reaches for his gun. ZEDECK fells him with a well placed unsilenced GUN SHOT. SCREAMS ensue...
A sleeping SECRET SERVICE AGENT bolts upright. HEARS MORE SHOTS.
He springs up and moves toward the gunshots, his weapon drawn.
Bazylev and Zedeck lay down a suppressing fire outside the door.
Korshunov, Nevsky and VLAD follow Gibbs into the Secret Service office. Gibbs opens a locker and pulls out a stash of MP5 automatic assault rifles and bullet-proof vests.
Korshunov raises his bushy eyebrows in delight.
The Secret Service agent fights his way through the smoke to a wall panel. Punches a red buttoned intercom.
A red light on the security panel lights up...
Cot. AXELROD Cabin/Flight Deck: Code Red Acknowledged... Shit.
Axelrod toggles his headset to secure line.
SUPER - "RAMSTEIN AIR BASE, GERMANY"
Hunched over a control terminal, the AIR TRAFFIC CONTROLLER tracks Air Force One's radar image.
The WATCH OFFICER springs into action, picking up a phone.
The controller hits a red button on his console. Sirens flare up and klaxons wail across the base.
The controller looks down to his runways. In the light of the moon he sees a half-dozen men rushing toward F-15 Eagles.
The once sleepy midnight control room cranks into full crisis mode.
Pandemonium. GUNFIRE pops in the b.g. Air Force Specialists try to get the word out.
General Greely? No sir, Interrupt her. This is this is Air Force One. We Air Force One with an have a code red. Shots emergency call. have been fired.
The conference room door bursts open and TWO SECRET SERVICE AGENTS, weapons drawn, enter the room and run to Marshall.
The once quiet room floods with light. The sounds of a gunfight and a blanket of smoke sweeps into the cabin.
The agents lift Marshall to his feet, and practically carry him from the room, leaving the other high ranking officials to scramble for themselves in a cacophony of shouts.
NEAR THE FORWARD GALLEY -
Alice is nearly trampled by agents responding to the gunfire.
One agent grabs her and shoves her into a bathroom.
GUNFIRE pops all around her.
Smoke, automatic weapons fire. Secret service agents battling the terrorists. Aides, diplomats, crew and personnel caught in the crossfire.
A spray of weapons fire overhead and everyone hits the floor.
Shots can be heard outside.
Ingrahams locks the cockpit door.
Air Force One banks into a curve and descends through broken clouds.
The sounds of gunfire have reached the the nose of the plane.
Rose peers out to see what's the matter. An armed Secret Service agent runs toward her.
A spray of bullets mows him down. He collapses in the door frame. Terrified, Rose tries to close the door, but the dead agent is in the way.
Filled with smoke and gunfire. The agents rush the President behind a forward bulkhead.
VOICE (OVER MIKE) Negative... negative... they're up here too.
Marshall looks up the hallway toward his stateroom.
HITS - One of the Secret Service agents in the shoulder.
Blood blossoms through his clothes but he winces it off.
The Secret Service agents whisk the President to the front stairwell. They pull up a floor panel, revealing stairs descending toward the baggage deck.
Alice, huddled atop the commode.
Alice opens the door and rushes...
Hysterical SECRETARIES feverishly dump classified documents into a shredder, while Perkins struggles to open the black leather briefcase handcuffed to his wrist.
Bullets tear up the doorknob lock arid SERGE kicks in the door.
The Fawn Halls hit the floor as gunfire sprays overhead. But Perkins swings around brandishing his sidearm. He opens fire on Serge, but the bullets smack harmlessly against the SWAT vest.
Serge returns fire, ripping up Perkins who collapses over the shredder, and with his last bit of strength, he dumps out the briefcase.
Papers containing NUCLE WAR STRATEGIES and MISSILE LAUNCH CODES slide into the hungry Shredding machine. Perkins manages a slight smile before he keels over dead, his duty fulfilled.
The shredded remains of the nuclear football rain over his head like tickertape at a hero's parade.
The pale moon catches shiny streaks of metal that descend through the broken clouds. The Squadron of F-15 Eagles drops into formation around Air Force One.
Gun shots right Outside the cockpit door.
Encased in a helmet, mask, and visor, Carlton watches the
flashes of gunfire in the dark windows of the plane.
COt. CARLTON Copy. Delta Force has been mobilized.
Beneath the main cabin, the Secret Service agents run the President through the forward baggage compartment and the lower galley: a large room with compartments, storage freezers and food preperation tables.
On the far side of the galley, the agents fling open a hatchway and enter...
A NARROW GANGWAY - running between the lower galley and the rear baggage hold, flanked on either side by the landing gear bays.
They duck under wing supports until they come to a mesh grating.
The uninjured agent lifts the grating revealing an ESCAPE POD.
Marshall freezes.
A second later gunfire rips Up the agent's face. The new volley sends Marshall under the cover of a wing strut. The second agent takes Position and returns fire. He quells the incoming volley for a moment.
SECRET SERVICE AGENT # I have a family, too, sir. Now get in the fucking pod.
The firing begins again. Marshall struggles with the decision.
SECRET SERVICE AGENT # Mr. President... MR. PRESIDENT! You have to do this! The pod, on three. Ready?
The agent shoves in a fresh clip...
The agent combat-rolls into the open and fires. He advances down the gangway acting as a shield for the president, shooting blindly. Marshall watches as he's hit repeatedly, but it gives him the time he needs to dive for the pod.
REVERSE ANGLE - VLAD AND NEVSKY
behind the bulkhead. When the agent drops, Nevsky and Viad rush down the gangway. They arrive at the closed pod just as it begins to slide on its rails. They let loose dozens of rounds from their MP55, but the bullets just plink off.
The pod-lock doors slide shut. The President is on his way to safety.
Small bay doors open in the belly of Air Force One, and a human sized cannister drops from the bottom, its parachute Opening instantly.
A light flashes On the panel.
Her voice comes closer, filled with choking fear and panic. She rounds the corner and Nevsky catches her hair with a vice-tight grip shoving his MP5 into the small of her back.
Korshunov kicks open the door.
Gunfire from ROSE, who holds the dead secret service agent's weapon. She empties the clip at the doorway. Click, click. No more bullets. Korshunov steps into the room, brandishing his automatic, smiling. Rose backs against the wall and raises her hands.
A Marine helicopte touches down on the greenway. Marines salute and escort KATHERINE CHANDLER from the chopper' interior to the South entrance of the White House. She is the VICE PRESIDENT of the UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.
Zedeck steps over the three dead Communications Specialists, on his way to the cockpit door. Tries the door. It's locked.
He pounds on it.
Through the cockpit window, the glowing landing lights of Ramstein Base are visible in the distance, cutting a wedge through the German towns and fields.
Zedeck's pounding continues.
Rescue vehicle sirens gyre in the darkness. A team of black- faced commandos unload from troop truck. Snipers take position atop rescue vehicles, barracks, and the control tower.
High-powered rifles with infra-red scopes.
Zedeck aims his MP5 at the flight door. Fires off a dozen rounds. Nickel sized indentations blossom across the steel surface.
Dull thuds of bullet impacts.
They're some real good men waiting to help us.
The plane sprouts landing gear as it descends over the city.
Coming in fast and low.
Gibbs shoves Zedeck aside. Produces a thumb-sized amount of C-4.
Final approach... the landing strip not far at all.
He raises his flaps. Air speed and altitude drop.
Spotters find Air Force One's navigation lights visible in the sky, descending from the distant darkness. Followed by the cluster of F-lSs.
Gibbs rolls out the C-4 like a kid making a snake in pottery class. He presses it along the door seal.
Altitude decreasing. 300 feet... 200 hundred feet...
The runway coming up to meet them.
As the entire airbase collectively holds its breath. Air Force One's tires hover 50 feet above the ground... 40 feet... 30...
Gibbs raises his pistol. Aims at the C-4. Fires. BAM!
A BLINDING FLASH. The door blows in.
The wheels touchdown.
Gibbs and Zedeck storm the cockpit.
RNT. FLIGHT DECK - NIGHT
Axeirod gropes at the plane's controls, trying to retain the wheel. Gibbs dispatches Axeirod with one shot. Zedek is a little messier with Ingrahams. But both pilot and co-pilot slump over their controls.
The taxiing Boeing 747 suddenly veers to the right cutting across runways. Emergency vehicles give chase.
The plane bounces. Is airborne for a second. Touches down again with a jolt.
Terrorists lead hostages to the conference room. Everyone is bounced around, slamming against walls, spilling over chairs.
A MASTER SERGEANT seizes the opportunity and grabs for Bazylev's gun, but Bazylev shoots him almost point blank.
Chaos. Gibbs tries to pull Axelrod off the controls.
Zedek slams the throttle all the wa up. Spotlights and sirens swirl outside the cockpit window.
The Flying White House careens toward the barracks, then edges toward a hangar. The jet engines strain to reach full power.
The controller stares down at the out-of-control plane.
Gibbs pulls Axeirod's body out of the pilot's seat. Looks out the cockpit window and sees...
Adjusts the flaps...
Air Force One closes in on the Starlifter. She's struggling off
the ground like some injured bird. The straining metal defies gravity.
Gibbs senses that he's too close. He pulls way back on the stick, risks stalling her out... but the bird responds.
Air Force One barely clears the Starlifter, the edge of her wing just missing the top of the C-141's tail.
The sharpshooters, the emergency crews, the commandos from Delta Force... Nothing they can do but watch her rise out. of sight.
Gibbs and Zedeck. Gibbs checks over all the instruments.
Gibbs banks the plane into a curve, then activates the auto- pilot.
As Korshunov walks Rose up the corridor, he meets up with Gibbs, descending from the upper deck.
Gibbs touches his bulletproof vest.
Rose allows herself a half-sob of relief.
Eyes filled with hatred... Rose SLAPS Gibbs face.
Gibbs doesn't react.
High-tech maps and communications systems line the walls, surrounding an austere main conference table. Laptop computers and secure telephones by every seat. Side tables. Tele-type machines spitting out classified information.
VICE PRESIDENT CHANDLER analyzes the projected course of Air Force One on the tactical vid-map.
GENERAL NORTHWOOD, head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff...
National Security Advisor WALTER DEAN leans forward.
we'll be dealing with a hostage situation and not an assassination attempt. Not much else until there's more data.
The Under-Secretary of Defense, THOMAS LEE, punches up a scenario on the lap-top.
The aide nods and picks up a telephone.
Chandler turns toward the door. The Colonel enters the room, holding a black briefcase identical to Perkins'.
A HUEY, flanked by a pair of APACHES, skims the surface of wheat fields at maximum velocity.
The pilot checks his instruments. He's honing in on a signal.
The swirling spotlights of the Apaches finally illuminate the Seal of the President atop the EMERGENCY DEPLOYMENT POD.
The Huey drops in for a landing and a half dozen Army Rangers in full combat gear deploy to the pod. They open it.
But.........
IT'S EMPTY.
Bruised and battered, some blood smeared across his tuxedo shirt... PRESIDENT JAMES MARSHALL lowers himself from one of the overhead wing struts.
He emerges into the bowels of Air Force one.
He stands quietly a moment, listening... for footsteps, for gunfire. All quiet except for the whine of the jet engines.
He tak9s a moment to think. Considers his situation. His eyes find the dead agent who risked his life so he could make it to the pod. He trots down the gangway toward the lower galley.
Air Force One hovers atop billowy peaks. The smaller F-15s cluster around her in a loose formation.
FIGHTER PILOT #1 (0.5. RADIO)
Sir, isn't there something we can do besides escort?
FIGHTER PILOT #1 No sir. I just wish...
Marshall looks around for a weapon... half-full coffee pot,
stove, walk-in freezer, plates and silverware. Marshall picks up a butcher knife.
Nevsky and Bazylev guard the conference room door as Korshunov and Vlad enter. Nevsky hands Korshunov a copy of the plane's manifest.
Korshunov nods and enters the room.
Korshunov surveys the hostages. Viad covers them at gunpoint.
Rose holds Alice, comforting her. shepherd, Doherty, Aides, Advisors, Crew... Fifty of them huddle like sardines.
The plane's doctor administers to the wounded.
Korshunov stares down his captives.
Korshunov exits, with Viad backing out behind him. Leaving the hostages alone. The sound of the door locking.
A mournful beat. Everyone looks at each other and the dead and wounded victims of this heinous act...
Hushed conversation breaks out all over the room.
Caldwell paces, looks around the room.
parachutes in case of an engine failure. Now we can either wait for a political resolution, or try to resolve this thing ourselves.
The terrorists move toward the nose of the plane leaving Nevsky to guard the conference room.
President Marshall reaches the front stairway. Cautiously climbs to the main cabin. As he reaches the top stairs, he hears Russian conversation approaching. He ducks back into the stairwell.
He can't see them, but he can hear them.
The terrorists pass within a few feet as they ascend to the Mission Communications Center on the upper deck.
Marshall waits a few beats, listens to the silence. Then re- mounts the stairs and almost runs into the back of...
Marshall FREEZES... looks past Viad down the corridor where Nevsky guards the main conference room floor.
Unaware of Marshall, Viad reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cigarette. Lights it. On the first puff he feels a presence behind him.
VLAD slowly turns around...
Nothing there.
He smiles at his jittery nerves, turns back round.
MARSHALL, flattened behind the edge of the galley divider. He creeps away from Vlad toward the Presidential Suite... stepping gingerly over dead secret service agents.
* Korshunov pulls a handkerchef from his breast pocket and wipes the blood from a telephone headset.
Gibbs works the communications board, dialing in a series of numbers. Telephone ringing...
A map of Air Force One's flight trajectory is displayed on the rear screen. Moscow to Berlin and back toward the Black Sea.
The assembled brass listens as Korshunov's voice slithers off the speaker phone.
The phone clicks off. A silent beat in the room.
GENERAL CHARLES GREELY, head of the 87th Mechanized Air Wing, the unit responsible for Air Force One, enters the room.
The Tech Officer indexes back on his computer.
A silent beat.
All eyes turn to Dean.
BLEW AND A WEEK AFTER THAT, THIS 19-
year-old kid, the pilot... he walks out of the jungle in pretty bad shape. He survived the crash and finished the mission... alone.
Most of the President's service record makes for dull reading because most of what he did iarLZ ULirn. History remembers him for what he did aflar he got back to the states -- the protests, the rallies -- But he was a soldier once, a damn fine one.
Marshall cautiously enters the room. Ready for action.
The room is empty, but it's been trashed by the firefight.
The sound of voices... coming from the Duke game which still plays. Marshall hustles over to one of the secure phones.
It's dead. He tries the regular phone. Dead. Hangs it up in disgust.
He steps on some glass. It's a broken frame holding a PHOTOGRAPH of Alice and Rose. He picks up the photo and lays it on a table.
He thinks for a beat... glances around the room, searching...
Then he crosses to the closet, opens it and begins rifling through his wardrobe.
Caldwell stands on the conference table. The hostages have removed one of the ceiling panels. Air supply ducts and bundles of wiring run through the ten-inch space between the
ceiling and the shielding plates.
Rose looks around the room. Hopeless. Her eyes land on the carpet...
Marshall opens the stateroom door and slowly slides into the corridor.
Vlad still faces the opposite direction.
Marshall creeps down the hallway, when...
Beep... Beep... Beep...
Marshall's watch alarm goes off.
Marshall dives for the nearest doorway. Vlad swings round to see a figure slip into the senior staff cabin.
Vlad, unsure of what he saw., cautiously heads toward the staff cabin. As he nears, he bends over a dead Secret Service agent and pulls up the lifeless wrist revealing abeening watch. It wasn't Marshall's after all. No matter. Vlad continues to the staff Cabin.
Marshall frantically searches for something he can use as a weapon. In the room: some video monitors, leather chairs and phones. stainless steel cabinets run the length of one of the walls.
Marshall throws the cabinet doors open, revealing...
A fully stocked MEDICAL CENTER... fold-down operating
table... high-intensity lights. Equipped to deal with any medical emergency the president might encounter.
But too late. Vlad kicks the door open.
Marshall yanks down the operating table, and it smashes into Vlad, knocking him down. Marshall lunges with his knife, but Vlad OPENS FIRE. A HALF DOZEN ROUNDS pump into Marshall's belly. He's thrown back against the wall, then slumps to the floor.
Vlad approaches the crumpled body. Leans down to examine his victim. He cups his hand under the man's chin and lifts his
head. Recognizes him.
But Marshall's eyes flash open.
He springs, shoving the butcher knife under the flack jacket and into Vlad's spleen. Vlad freezes, unsure of what just happened.
Marshall is on his feet. Never letting go of the twisting knife, he grabs Vlad by the back of the head and slams his face against the mirror above the surgical scrub sink. The mirror shatters and streams of blood erupt cn the terrorist's face. The blood drips down into the white porcelain sink, swirling into the drain.
Vlad elbows Marshall in the neck, stunning him momentarily.
He wipes the blood from his face, spins and hits Marshall with a devastating right cross. Marshall reels back against the wall, and Vlad follows, shoving the MP5 into Marshall's throat. Marshall grabs the gun near the trigger...
* VLAD
Don't move or I'll blow your head off.
Marshall presses the saftey button on the gun with his forefinger, then knees Vlad in the balls. Viad pulls the trigger repeatedly as he goes down, but nothing happens.
Instead he comes up swinging his gun butt against Marshall's face. Like a bat hitting a baseball, it knocks Marshall into the medical closet. The gun goes flying, skittering
HE SPOTS A DEFIBRILLATOR, REACHES AND SWITCHES IT ON. LOW-
pitched hum and beeping.
Marshall pulls his head forward, straining against the plastic tubing. Then slams back into Vlad's head. Viad releases his
grip just for a moment...
The beeping becomes a steady whine.
... but a moment is all Marshall needs as he grabs the def ib's CARDIAC PADDLES, turns, and SLAMS them on either side of Vlad's head.
Vlad convulses from the shock for a full five seconds... his eyeballs roll, his hair stands on end. then he collapses to the floor.
Marshall catches his breath for a moment. Pulls open his shirt. Beneath it he wears a bulletproof Kevlar vest. He lifts the vest and a half-dozen angry welts have blossomed across his skin. The stuff may be bulletproof, but each of Vlad's shots sting like a motherfucker.
Nevsky walks down the corridor. Sees that Vlad is away from his post.
* INT. STAFF CABIN.
Marshall opens the medical cabinets, rifling through them.
Pulls out hypodermics, adrenalin, rubbing alcohol... arming
himself.
Nevsky works his way up the corridor, peeking in rooms.
As he enters the...
he's blinded by the high intensity surgical lights.
Marshall cracks a tank of anesthesia across Nevsky's heu Nevsky goes down.
Marshall rips Nevsky's MP5 off of him. Holds it to Nevsky's throat.
Nevsky says nothing.
The conference room, right? Right?
Marshall jerks him to his feet.
Marshall walks flevsky toward the mj vonteronve room3 As they pass the stairs to the upper deck, Nevsky breaks away.
Marshall fires. Killing him.
SHIT1
No time for remorse. Marshall tries the Main conference Room door. Locked. He knows the others will be coming so he flattens himself against the corridor wall. Trains his gun on the stairs.
Just as the terrorists descend, Marshall squeezes off a few rounds. The terrorists edge back up the steps, returning fire.
Marshall checks his clip, not many bullets left. He fires off a few more shots to buy some time then ducks round the corner and pulls out the bottle of rubbing alcohol and some gauze.
The terrorists seize the moment of quiet, descending the stairs to take position.
Marshall lights the gauze fuse of his new made Molatov
cocktail and throws it down the corridor. The bottle crashes into a BALL OF FLAME. Catching Bazylev on fire. He yells, drops and rolls. FIRE SUPPRESSING FOAM immediately sprays down from overhead.
Serge hops Bazylev's burning body and heads down the corridor, looking for this new wildcard. Korshunov grabs a fire extinguisher from the galley and attends to Bazylev.
Marshall retreats behind a divider. Sees Serge coming. Fires a few rounds, then retreats to the next divider. Working toward the rear of the plane.
Serge picks his way through the rear cabins, advancing cautiously.
Marshall's out of plane. Nowhere to hide in the galley.
Marshall eyes the bathrooms, doors flapping.
Time for a deadly version of the shell game. serge fires several rounds into the first closed bathroom door. The bullets slice easily through the thin doors. He kicks the riddled door open. The stall is empty.
Serge moves to the next one. Same procedure. It's empty.
Moves to the last bathroom, confident he's got him. He wails with his MP5, turning the hatch into swiss cheese. Waits a beat, then...
Kicks it in. It's empty too.
Serge looks around. Where the hell is this guy?
Serge reluctantly returns to his group.
Marshall tumbles out of the cramped galley dumbwaiter, breathing heavy. He slumps against the bulkhead and slides
down to the ground.
He takes a moment to pull himself together, to clear his head. He hefts the MP5, refamiliarizing himself with the weight and texture of a gun. He checks the clip. Only a handfull of rounds left. He slaps it back in and switches
from automatic fire to single-shot then pantomimes firing.
Looking down the barrel of the gun, he notices bins loaded with luggage.
Stoli Petrov on the phone, behind his large oak desk.
Each member of the crisis team is either on the phone or huddled with staff. A secure fax machine spits out papers which Lee slips into files.
Lee interrupts Chandler on the phone.
Chandler hangs up the phone.
Northwood pops out of his huddle.
Anticipate their landing site and get strike teams in place.
I've got a satellite passing overhead in twenty minutes. We can narrow down the landing site choices based on runway length and any unusual activity. With luck we'll only have to capture three or four sites.
* DEAN
Madame Vice-President...
Dean...
the President is still alive.
Oh shit... what is that?
Chandler refers to a monitor in the rear of the room.
CNN, the omnipresent player on the world political stage, broadcasts video from Ramstein Air Base.
Air Force One, lit up by moonlight.
The fire is extinguished. Zedeck squats over Nevsky's body.
Gibbs and Serge maintain a defensive position, guns ready.
Bazylev emerges from the Senior staff Conference room. He shakes his head "no". Korshunov nods and furrows his brow.
Wounded but alive. Serge, Bazylev...
Find him.
Serge and Bazylev lock and load, head off in separate
directions.
The hostages have torn up a section of carpeting. Caidwell and Shepherd examine the floor. Smooth sheets of steel riveted together. Pointless.
The door swings open and Gibbs and Korshunov enter. They spots the ripped up carpeting.
They don't move. Korshunov raises his gun, points it a Shepherd's head.
Doherty steps forward. Shepherd tries to pull him back, to no
* avail.
Korshunov SHOOTS Doherty through the head. Screams from some of the hostages. Korshunov squeezes off a few shots to quiet everyone.
Rose turns to the other hostages.
She locks eyes with Caldwell. HKeep working.N He nods.
The President hunts through luggage. Overturned garment bags and suitcases around him, belongings littered all over the bulkhead. He sifts through heaps of clothing and finally recovers what he's been looking for...
He can't remember the number. He dials...
CLOSE.ON PHONE -555-1212... Information.
The phone rings...
Bazylev, moving like a commando, slowly and methodically works his way into the lower galley.
Marshall. Finally, the phone picks up.
VOICE (O.S. PHONE) Information. How can I assist you?
VOICE Yes, sir. Can I help you?
The rest area consists of a couple of bunks behind the
cockpit area, still soiled black from the earlier C-4 explosion. Korshunov pours a cup of coffee and offers it to Alice.
Gibbs wraps Rose's hands behind her back with duct tape.
Alice sits up, attentive.
class? Tell me, do you know what the word "propaganda" means?
Rose doesn't know whether to be pissed at Alice or proud of her. Korshunov smiles, nods his head and lifts his gun.
He aims his gun at Alice.
A long beat, the Korshunov lovers the gun.
Once he hears our simple demand, I'm sure he will acquiesce. For your sake.
Korshunov smiles. Gibbs grabs Alice's hands and pulls them behind her back. Begins wrapping them with the tape.
Serge searches through the galley cabinets, spots the galley dumbwaiter. Now he knows where his quarry went.
He angrily grabs a service cart and shoves it into the dumbwaiter, disabling it.
Bazylev hears the beeps of a phone dialing. He moves toward the aft portal of the gangway.
Marshall waits as the phone rings...
A chipper woman in her mid-20s picks up the call.
MT. REAR BAGGAGE HOLD -
The switchboard operator thinks for a moment. Maybe she can have some fun with this nutcase.
Bazylev appears behind Marshall. Raises his gun.
Gunfire in the background.
Her face says N. The Switchboard operator pulls out a call sheet and finds a number.
On the phone, lying open on a heap of clothing.
Bazylev points the machine gun at Marshall's head.
Marshall doesn't move, his np5 hanging at his waist... his hand inches from it.
Marshall... with no options... slowly moves his hands away from the gun.
Bazylev motions Marshall to get on his knees. Marshall complies.
Marshall pulls his shirt aside revealing his Kevlar vest.
Chandler on the phone. An aide waves, trying to get her attention.
situation, but it's a contigency that must be considered. Hang on... (to Aide) What?
Caller's gone, but the line's still active.
The call comes in on speaker phone, distorted muffled voices and the whine of an aircraft in the background.
Can we hear what's going on?
Dean picks up a phone.
WILLIS, a grossly overweight man in his late forties surrounded by a monolith of high-tech, starts working his console.
Audio waveforms appear over Willis' console. He implements digital filtering routines, cleaning up the sounds.
The group listens intently. The call modulates, distorts, dissolves... then clarifies.
President.
Understand?
Northwood stares up at the tactical board. Air Force One... surrounded by the F-l5s.
General Northwood picks up a secure phone and dials.
your fighters. Madame Vice President... with your permission?
Marshall on his knees, hands behind his head. Bazylev, his automatic pressed against Marshall's forehead, disarms Marshall before stepping away. He slings Marshall's MP5 over his own neck. Studies Marshall a beat.
Marshall stares straight ahead tn silent defiance. Bazylev kicks him in the gut. Marshall doubles over, wheezing.
Bazylev grabs Marshall's hair and tugs his head back. He holds Marshall with his eyes.
Bazylev slams Marshall's face against his knee. Marshall slumps forward.
Marshall slowly rises to his feet. Bazylev swings wide around him.
That is what they've always done.
Serge seals off the second dumbwaiter.
The Squadron of F-15 Eagles hover around Air Force One.
The other airplanes flare out giving distance to the Jumbo Jet. Canton's plane drops back.
On TARGETING COMPUTER - Graphics: As it acquires Air Force One.
Hands behind his head, Marshall walks in front of Bazylev, an MP5 pressed against his neck.
Carlton pulls the trigger.
An air-to-air missile detatches from under the Eagle. Its tail ignites in flame.
Zedeck monitoring the controls. Situation normal. Then all hell breaks loose as an entire wall of instrumentation lights up. Warning bells. Flashing lights.
The TACTICAL COUNTERMEASUREs COMPUTER - Springs to life.
High-tech readouts, risk analyses, schematics, and assessments. Radar tracks the incoming, identifies it.
On Screen: "Autopilot disengaged"
The plane banks into a dive, throwing Zedeck back against his chair.
On screen: "Activating countermeasures"
With no oneat the controls, Air Force One goes into a sharp sloping dive.
Bazylev, thrown off balance, tries to keep his gun trained on Marshall.
The missile follows a wide arc toward the banking plane.
Gibbs slides into the pilot's seat, attempts to regain control.
The Tactical Countermeasures Computer:
"Electronic Jamming has failed Target acquired"
Out the cockpit window, the brightly burning tail of the missile closing on them.
The Tactical Countermeasures Computer:
"Missile Closing:
Metallic Chaff Burst Standing by:"
The computer counts down from eight... seven...
The missile screams toward the jumbo jet, a slow easy target.
Five... Four...
Three... two....
Small bays doors slip open below the aircraft. A cloud of small metallic narticles sprays out of the bottom of the aircraft.
On the faces of the terrorists, as the missile comes right at them.
Then the missile veers downward.
The Tactical Countermeasures Computer:
"Missile Neutralized"
The missile dives into the swarm of descending chaff and DETONATES, lighting up the evening sky. Red flames reflect
against the silver-grey clouds.
The shock wave hits the aircraft.
Lights flicker and the plane rocks side to side.
HOSTAGES are bounced around the conference room.
Marshall and Bazylev are slammed against the ceiling and then the floor.
Marshall seizes the moment. Grabs Bazylev's gun. The two struggle and Bazylez instinctively pulls the trigger. A burst of richocheting gunfire sparks across the bulkhead.
The turbulence worsens. Bazylev manages to wrest away the rifle, but the plane pulls into a climb, sending Bazylev tumbling down the gangway into the rear baggage hold.
Marshall manages to pull himself up the grating and into the galley. He's free, for the moment.
Gibbs steadies the plane as the shock wave from the explosion * subsides.
Korshunov examines the Tactical Countermeasures Computer.
Korshunov smiles and puts his hand on Gibbs shoulder.
Marshall Struggles to assemble the hypodermic and the container of adrenalin.
Bazylev pulls to his feet, heads back down the gangway.
Marshall greets Bazylev with a spray of hot coffee from the Simmering pot as he enters. Bazylev covers up, but the spray sears him pretty bad. He yells in pain, turning.
Marshall springs, imbedding the hypodermic needle into Bazylev's neck. A full dose of adrenalin. Bazylev pulls the empty needle from his neck. Marshall steps back, waiting for a reaction.
A pregnant pause as they both wait to see what happens.
Then Bazylev smiles and slowly turns toward Marshall.
Marshall backs away as Bazylev levels his gun.
He fires once, hitting Marshall in the arm. Marshall winces off the pain.
He backs Marshall against a wall and holds him in his sights.
But he doesn't shoot. His breathing becomes faster and faster as the adrenalin takes hold. Building... building... He screams and clutches at his throat.
His eyes spin back and then his heart explodes.
Bazylev is caught frozen, suspended in a moment of disbelief.
Death reflex. He fires off several rounds from the gun as he collapses.
Marshall waits a beat, half-expecting Bazylev to rise. He slowly approaches the body and retrieves the KP5.
The F-lSs pull back into formation around the Jumbo Jet.
Marshall retrieves the phone, then wedges himself behind a waste storage tank, out of view.
Rose and Alice On the bunk. Alice's eyes are Watering.
Korshunov examines tOPographic maps in the adjacent M1C.c. and speaks into a phone in Russian.
Rose smiles sadly.
Alice nods. She's trying.
Serge finishes his sweep of the upper level.
INTERCUT:
Marshall rips his sleeve off, swabs the blood off his arm.
Bazylev's bullet took out a good chunk of flesh when it grazed him.
Marshall opens a travel bottle of Vodka and pours it over the wound. He winces from the pain.
V.p CHANDLER 69.
I think we're okay, sir. flow that we know You're alive we can force Petrov to release Stravanavitch.
MARSpari Don't tell me you plan to give in to these fuckers.
GENERAL NORmwOOD We plan to do whatever it takes to keep you alive, sir.
* MARSHALL
And what happens when Stravanavitch is freed and discovers he's got the President? You think for a second that that crazy bastard is just gonna turn me over? He'll ask for the goddamn moon before he's done.
A long silence, then...
Lee shakes his head at Chandler, signalling "don't tell."
MARSHAlj Whoever said that, shut up. Walter, are you there?
It's going to take a miracle to figure this one out.
A long beat. We hold on Marshall's determined face.
Serge comes across Bazylev. Checks for any sign of life.
Stone cold dead. He looks around and grips his gun a little tighter as he backs out of the room.
Serge closes the stair access panel to the baggage deck.
Sealing Marshall off.
Serge comes trotting up the stairs and collects new clips.
Korshunov swallows hard...
Bring me a hostage. A woman.
Marshall sees that the stairway hatch has been sealed.
Marshall hits the button for the dumbwaiter. The dumbwaiter begins to descend then snags on the service cart. Its motor grind to a halt. Marshall slumps dQwn. His hopes dashed.
Nothing to do now but wait.
Serge looks over the crowd of hostages like a bouncer at a hip dance club. His eyes fall on Maria Mitchell.
Marshall, seated on the floor. The cabinet next to him is stacked with packs of complimentary cigarettes, all with the seal of the President.
He opens up a pack and puts the cigarette in his mouth. He snags one of the Presidential lighters, tries to light it several times but it only sparks. XC shakes it. It's out of tial. He tosses it aside and reaches for a book of matches, but he FREEZES in mid-reach. A thought occurs to him.
Marshall, lacking a screwdriver, levers open the hatch to the Avionics compartment with the barrel of his gun.
RUT. AVIONICS COMPARTMENT - NIGHT
Marshall sees the stacks of panels, piping, Wiring, electronics.
He searches up and down.
Serge leads Maria Mitchell up the stairway. Korshunov nods.
Maria is scared, she says nothing. She looks over to the First Lady and Alice.
Korshunov switches on the airplane's P.A.
Maria Mitchell's voice echos over throughout Air Force One.
Marshall halts his search to listen.
Rose cradles Alice, both of them looking away, as Korshunov raises his gun, pointing it at Mitchell.
MITCHEL*L Because... because I don't want to die.
The hostages, listening.
Marshall listens, helpless to do anything.
Did you hear her? She said I'm pointing a gun at her.
Marshall's eyes widen.
Oh shit. Marshall tries to decide what to do.
He climbs out of the avionics compartment and hurries to the front baggage compartment.
Zedeck and Serge wait by the stairway hatch.
Hostages wait, expectantly.
Marshall frozen near the bottom of the steps. To go up would be to betray everything he believes in, and lose any chance to save the others. But if he stays...
Tears stream down Maria Mitchell's face. She's trying so hard to be brave in front of Rose and Alice.
For Marshall, this is the hardest decision of his life. His face a mask of anguish as he wrestles with his conscience.
He starts toward the stairs.
Korshunov looking down the barrel of the gun.
It takes every bit of training and will to stop Marshall from going up those stairs. He knows what's going to happen. He closes his eyes tight as if that will stop it from happening.
A long silent beat. Then... BAAAAM!
Marshall sinks to to his knees.
Hostages hold each other tight for comfort. A mournful silence fills the room.
Marshall, silhouetted in the half light, craddles his head head in his hands. The shaft of light disappears as the main cabin hatch closes, sealing him off once again.
zedeck and Serge drag the dead woman out of the compartment.
Alice sobs quietly.
Marshall crosses back to the avionics compartment, talking on the phone.
VOICE (through static) Chief Mechanic, 87th Air. How can I help you?
Next time I say we rush `em. They can't shoot us all.
Several of the hostages raise their hands.
The Chief Mechanic has Air Force One schematics open in front of him. He and his staff are huddled around them.
Marshall finds the wires: red, white, blue, green and yellow.
Static blankets the conversation.
here, because if you get the wrong ones, you'll cut the engine feeds and stall the plane.
The static worsens.
Marshall, Using a kitchen knife, slices the green wire. Heavy static. The phone beeps... lOsing batteries.
Static comes roaring back and garbled voices...
MARSHAlj Hello? Are YOU there?
Dead. Marshall tries to activate it again.
MARSHAIJi Hello? Hello?
Nothing. He tosses the dead phone aside.
Marshall stares. Cross the green wires with the... what?
Red, white, blue... or the yellow. His choice is obvious. He cuts the yellow wire and crosses it with the green, leaving the red, white and blue standing.
He waits. The engines continue to groan. He allows himself a smile.
Beneath the plane a trickle of gasoline appears and grows into a strong steady stream.
A red warning light flashes on the plane's panel.
Korshunov crosses to the flight deck.
Zedeck nods and dashes out of the cabin.
Zedeck pulls open the hatch cover to the forward front stairs. Descends into the dimly lit underneath.
Serge descends right behind Zedeck.
Zedeck, Spooked by the dark shadows, senses he's being watched.
Zedeck hastens toward the Avionics compartment, gun at the ready. Serge sweeps the area behind.
They hear a metallic clank echo and reverberate around him.
They both check left... right... behind them...
Nothing.
It's creepy being a walking target.
From behind a water storage tank, Marshall watches down the barrel of his Mp5. With all the equipment in the way, it's almost impossible to line up a clear shot.
And they're both well armed. He looks toward the stairway instead.
Zedeck enters the Avionics compartment. Serge takes a defensive position outside the door.
Serge hears a noise and opens tire.
Zedeck opens a panel and rips out some wiring.
Gibbs checks the fuel gauges. They stop falling.
Tactical Map: Air Force One over the Black Sea heading south west toward Turkmenistan.
An Aide holds up a phone.
Korshunov on the phone.
it right now.
Lee whispers to the Vice President.
Murmuring and hushed discussion floats over the airwaves.
A long silence. Korshunov looks toward Alice.
Another several beats of hushed murmuring.
Serge and Zedeck lower the hatch to the baggage compartment and seal it. They head up the stairs to the M.C.C.
Korshunov paces, weighing his pistol in his hand.
Get back to the conference room.
Serge takes his position by the conference room.
Across from him, against the cabin divider, Marshall peers down the sight of his gun.
Serge freezes.
Serge raises his hands. Marshall reaches over and pulls out the clip to his MP5.
Caldwell, Shepherd and a few other aides hear the key turn in the lock. They quickly take position around the door. As Marshall marches Serge in, they're both tackled and smothered by the group. They wrest the guns away and shut the door quickly behind them.
Marshall struggles against his people.
Surprised to hear their boss' voice, the aides and advisors release Marshall.
Satellite pictures of various landing strips projected on wall-sized monitors.
those five, only these three have shown any activity.
General Northvood points with a laser pointer.
A nearby SECRETARY in her late 20's pipes up.
President. Voice lines and faxes are on two completely different systems of encryption. It'd be easy to overlook the data systems.
What do they have to lose?
Caidwell, holding Serge's gun, takes position by the front stairway and waves the other hostages on. They emerge from the conference room, and move to the stairway.
Marshall and the secretary rush the opposite direction toward the equipment room.
Amid shouting questions, the PRESS SECRETARY alights to the podium.
nationals.
Murmurs, shouts, and more questions.
Korshunov turns toward the monitor. Furrows his brow.
Where is the President?
Marshall and the Secretary step over Perkins' body on the way to the fax machine.
Marshall grabs a piece of paper and a pen. Scribbles a note.
He signs the paper and hands it toher. She slides it into the machine, checks the listed numbers and dials.
They wait... will it work? A few beats, a few beats more.
The machine pulls the paper in and begins scanning.
Marshall's note spits out of one of the fax machines. But in the bevy of activity, will it be noticed?
Caldwell spins open the rear emergency pressure door and leads the hostages into...
A cargo hold extending up the tapered edge of the aircraft's rear. The hostages begin pulling parachute packs out of the overhead storage bins. Helping each other.
Korshunov listens to Zedeck yell into the phone in Russian.
Korshunov eyes Alice and Rose.
Caidwell assists everyone in strapping on their packs. He addresses one group, mostly women and senior staff, who belt into the larger chutes.
Once I check you, go stand behind the yellow line. You're good. You're good. You're good.
Two neat lines ready to jump. One line on the deployment wire, and the other set for freefall.
Marshall and the secretary arrive.
Caidwell crosses to prep the Launch Ramp controls.
The gas gauges read very close to empty. Korshunov Stands behind Gibbs, while Zedeck keeps an eye on the First Lady.
Everybody waits. Caidwell watches the indicator. 30,000 feet.
A KC-135, the USAF flying gas station, descends in front of Air Force One.
TNT. AIR FORCE ONE FLIGHT DECK - NIGHT
The KC-135 extends its flying gas pump.
It's the yellow lever on the upper control panel. And next to that there's a toggle Switch to open your intake. Got it?
Air Force One, do you see the fueling arm?
Through the cockpit Window, the long metallic appendage dangles ahead of the plane.
As Air Force One edges its nose up to the appendage. The appendage finds it's grove and slides right in.
TNT. TAILCONE PARACHUTE LAUNCH PLATFOIW -
We're ready.
Marshall indicates the four men without parachutes on. TWO AIR FORCE CREW MEMBERS, Major Caldwell and Shepherd.
None of them changes his mind.
A silent beat. A few forced smiles in this very tense room.
The President crosses to one of his aides.
Marshall smiles.
The KC-135 flies above Air Force One, connected by a gasoline umbilical cord.
Caldwell breaks safety glass. Reaches into a compartment and pulls a lever.
A mechanical him and clank gives way to a rush of wind as the tail section of Air Force One hinges open on hydraulic struts, extending like a plank behind the plane. We can see the sky with its angry clouds.
Rushing by at two hundred knots.
A warning light flashes on the control panel. Tactical Video Display shows the emergency parachute ramp activating.
Zedeck runs toward the conference room. He bursts through the doors.
Empty.
Tracking: Zedeck Sprinting to the rear of the plane.
The tail cone section of Air Force One hinges open and parachutes begin to blossum from the rear of the plane.
From several miles back Carlton watches the chutes emerge.
Radio traffic echos through the room.
Zedeck reaches the emergency pressure door. Through the porthole he sees the hostages getting away. He tries the door hatch. Locked.
Zedeck looks around. Crosses to the lower rear galley.
He kicks open the panel on the stove. Rips out the propane tank. He runs back and wedges the tank into the door lock.
He backs off 50 feet, turns and opens fire on the tank.
The tank explodes, blowing the door out.
The remaining parachutists are blown out the rear. Chutes deploying.
Marshall and Serge are knocked down the ramp, tumbling toward oblivion. Just as Marshall's about to slide off the corner of the ramp he grabs its hydraulic strut.
Plummeting death.
His grip is all that separates his dangling body from a long Serge tumbles by Marshall, limbs flailing, and with a scream Woven from a thousand nightma5, he loses his grip and slides off the ramp into the jetblack sky, falling endlessly.
Shepherd and Caldwell manage to hang to safety webbing as the
wind whips around them. The two other air force crew members Without chutes also manage to hang on.
As the plane depressurizes, it BUCKS like a wild bronco.
Marshall looks down into the sky. Below his dangling legs, parachutes blossoij. He's straining... he can't hold on forever.
Gibbs fights the wheel.
Oxygen masks spring out from an overhead compartment as air is sucked out of the cockpit...
The plane shudders and jumps badly....
Gibbs wrestles with the yoke, to no avail.
Air Force One jerks upward, snapping off the fueling arm of the KC-135.
The broken edge of the fueling arm scrapes along the top of Air Force One... metal against metal... tearing a gash in the plane... Sparks fly.
Gibbs Sees the fueling arm catch fire. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure what's coming. The flames creep up toward the gas tanks.
Air Force One descends.
Whipping fire trails the KC-135.
Slowly rolls it way into the plane's main tank.
A burning fuse.
BARRROOOOOOOM! A FIRECLOUD ERUPTS ACROSS THE SKY.
Sky like daylight.
From this incredible firecloud, the burned out skeleton of an airplane emerges, falling toward earth.
The F-15 escort zoom toward the unexpected fireball.
Carlton's planes go into emergency climb, standing on their afterburners to escape the inferno.
Marshall hangs on to the strut for dear life as the pressurized air swooshes by him, taking with it everything that isn't nailed down including some of the spare parachutes.
Fire rains down from the heavens, the sky like one giant napalm nightmare.
The shock wave hits the plane, slamming it violently.
Almost yanking the hyraulic arm from Marshall's grasp.
The military aides without parachutes lose their footing and tumble off the platform. SCREAMING as they fall into fire.
The burning KC-135 shell, an apocalyptic Flying Dutchman in a vengeful Kamikazee dive at Air Force One.
It's gonna be close.
The flaming shell passes only a few hundred yards to the rear of the 747.
Marshall's got a great view. Flames dance in his eyes as he watches the refueling plane descend.
The brightness subsides, and the sky grows dark again.
The wave of pressurized air subsides leaving Zedeck, Marshall, Shepherd and Caldwell on the ramp. Caldwell begins edging toward Marshall.
Marshall barely hangs on.
Zedeck motions to Caidwell with his gun. "Go get him."
Caldwell crawls down the ramp and extends his hand to Marshall.
THE PRESSURE DOOR SLAMMING SHUT -
zedeck leads Marshall, shepherd and Caldwell away.
IPRR. AFO'S FLIGHT DECK -
Gibbs steadies the plane.
Gibbs checks the guages.
The sun begins to set along the Potomac in long streaks of red and pink. The White House lights flicker on uminating the long staunch columns, the pillars of democracy.
RNT. WHITE HOUSE SITUATION ROOM - EVENING
Tired. Strung out. Bickering within the small workgroups.
Chandler crosses to General Northwood, who has just hung up the phone.
Zedeck leads the three hostage into the M.C.C.
Rose and Marshall - their eyes meet. Enormous relief for the both of them. Marshall smiles at his wife, as she fights back her tears.
President.
Zedeck grabs Caldwell's hands and tapes them behind his back with duct tape. Rose and Alice already have their hands taped.
Gibbs!
Gibbs puts the plane on automatic pilot. Rises to join the group.
Korshunov separates Marshall from his family. Waves him into the Com Officer's chair. His hands are now wrapped too.
Gibbs enters looking down.
I serve my commanding officers.
Korshunov holds up a telephone.
Gibbs.
Gibbs grabs Alice and shoves her into a chair. She fights him off, and he smacks her across the face and shoves his gun into her neck.
Marshall and Rose struggle against their bonds.
Korshunov runs his finger down Alice's cheek.
Marshall looks to Alice, then Rose, then back to Alice.
Gibbs withdraws his pistol. Places it against Alice's temple.
Tears of fears are streaming down Alice's face. She looks into her father's eyes.
Marshall struggles with his duty. His honor.
Marshall tries to look away, but Zedeck forces him to watch.
Alice's face, trying to be brave.
Rose looks away.
Alice looks at her father for the very last time. Then shuts her eyes tight.
Gibbs begins to squeeze the trigger.
Korshunov smiles.
Gibbs withdraws the gun from Alice's temple. Alice opens her eyes and gasps for breath.
You are true to your nature, Mr.
President.
A sleepless Petrov paces back and forth, smoking a cigarette.
The phone RINGS. He looks up expectantly as his aide answers.
Petrov stops in mid-pace. Considers his cigarette for a moment and then walks over to the phone.
A guard walks down the cold steel hallway. He rattles the bar of a darkened cage, he pulls out a set of keys and unlocks the door.
Stravanavitch awakes, and leans forward into the light. He and the guard trade looks. After a beat, the guard turns and retreats down the the hallway.
Stravanavitch rises from his bunk and approaches the cell door. He leans against it and it swings open.
Rose stares at Marshall. Her look is hard to read. Distant... cold, perhaps.
Korshunov considers the pair. Hands taped behind their back.
They're harmless. Korshunov nods.
Marshall rises and joins her on the pilot's rest bunk.
Rose moves closer to him, and speaks in a low voice.
From behind, we see her push his taped hands away.
He looks at her quizically.
He feels the wall behind him. A dull edge of metal twisted slightly from the earlier cockpit door explosion.
He understands.
She smiles back at him.
Behind Marshall's back, he begins to cut away at the duct tape.
Ivan Stravanavitch walks down the long prison hallway. Other PRISONERS see him and begin banging on their bars in rhythm.
As he parades down the corridor, the banging grows until it becomes deafening. Stravanavitch smiles a cocky smile.
One by one, guard doors swing open in front of him. In fact, a few of the HACKS salute Stravanavitch as he passes.
The communication board beeps and Zedeck picks up the line.
He exchanges some words with the caller in Russian, then hangs up the phone.
Korshunov smiles and puts his hand on Zedeck's shoulder.
Marshall leans his head against the wall. Just as he expected.
Korshunov nods, motions Zedeck to take care of it. Zedeck reluctanty descends to the main cabin.
President... all defeats are temporary and all victories are temporary. Today' 5 conquerers are tomorrow's vanquished.
Zedeck arrives with a glass of water.
Zedeck brings the cup of water to Marshall's lips. Marshall tips his head back to receive it.
Water spills over Marshall's face. He shakes it off.
With blinding speed, Marshall leaps to his feet and swings his arm around Zedeck's throat. He snaps Zedeck's neck with quiet efficency.
Gibbs fires at Marshall, but Marshall, using Zedeck as a shield, grabs hold of the terrorist'sMP5 and lets loose... mowing down the former Secret Service agent.
The rest of Gibb's shots pelt against the cockpit controls sending showers of sparks flying.
Korshunov whips out his gun and lines up a clean shot at Marshall's head.
Korshunov fires at Marshall, but...
Major Caidwell dives in front of the bullet spray taking the rounds in his chest.
Marshall turns his aim to Korshunov... but Korshunov grabs Alice and presses his pistol to her head.
Stand-off.
Marshall holds Korshunov in his sights. Slowly advancing.
President. And I love my country.
It's a fair trade.
Korshunov backs away to the steps. Marshall does not lower his gun. Korshunov disappears down the staircase.
Shepherd stands. Marshall unwraps Shepherd's hands.
Marshall slowly descends the steps to the main cabin. As soon as Shepherd gets her hands loose, Rose rushes to Caidwell's aid. Shepherd crosses to the communications panel and picks up a headset. Begins dialing numbers
In his nightdress, Stoli Petrov nurses a vodka on ice. His
Petrov's eyes widen.
A wall of bars part and Stravanavitch walks through. Into the main exercise yard.
The main gate separates him from...
A group of men wait in the street by a limousine.
The main gate opens slowly.
When the men sees Stravanavitch they come to attention and salute him. Stravanavitch returns the salute. And then starts his march toward his limousine...
A SIREN WAILS. LIGHTS FLOOD THE INSIDE AND OUTSIDE OF THE PRISON.
The front gate begins to close. Worry crosses Stravanavitch's face. His men rush toward him, take position by the gate.
Stravanavitch breaks into a run toward his limousine.
Stravanvitch looks behind him. Guards rushing toward him from the yard... the limousine fifty yards ahead of him... closing fast...
On the limo... the back door open and waiting.
A shot rings out from the guard tower, followed by another, and another. Like popcorn starting to pop. Stravanavitch's men return fire. A minor war breaks out. Loyal guards battling Stravanavitch sympathizers.
Stravanavitch caught in the middle, hit by one bullet, then another, then another. He makesit to the open rear door of the limousine, but collapses dead.
Everyone stops firing. Stravanavitch's men rush to his side..
Petrov slips under the covers as an aide knocks on his door.
A beat.
Petrov turns out his bedside light.
Marshall ascends down from the upper deck. Spots Korshunov by the front stairway. Korshunov pushes Alice down the stairs to the underdeck.
Autopilot engaged. A shower of sparks erupts from one of the bulletholes in the panel.
Directional compass... the course heading drifts off to the south.
The squadron of F-15 still surround Air Force One, which slowly banks to one side.
Over... Air Force One please respond...
FIGHTER PILOT #1 Sir, this new bearing. We're headed for Iraq, sir.
Unaware of the course drift, Shepherd and Rose lift Caldwell onto a bunk.
Caidwell smiles, settles peacefully back in the cot. He dies.
Rose reaches up and shuts his eyes.
Marshall makes his way through the dimness. Stepping cautiously.
A shot rings out and richochets off a piece of piping right over Marshall's head.
Undaunted Marshall advances.
He listens, footsteps ahead of him.
ON Korshunov - holding Alice by her hair, practically dragging her over the mid-section wing cross-braces.
As Marshall appears in the gangway he fires off another shot, hitting a cooling vent. Steam fills the' gangway area, bathed in red auxiliary lighting.
Korshunov retreats toward the rear of the plane.
SUPER - "HUSSEIN AIR BASE, NORTHERN IRAQ"
A cacophony of Arabic. The radar indicates an apparent invasion force heading for its borders.
Iraqi pilots rush to their MiGs.
All eyes on the tactical display... Air Force One's course has arced south and the plane is heading straight for Iraq.
GENERAL NORTHiqOOD Fifteen miles, so two minutes.
Marshall checks behind the racks of stored goods and luggage.
P.O.V. LOOKING DOWN A GUNSIGHT AS MARSHALL WALKS INTO THE
open.
A finger on the trigger.
Korshunov fires and Marshall dives out of the way. He cones up in defensive crouch ready to shoot, but all he can see is Alice.
Marshall smiles briefly. But Alice is yanked around the corner. Marshall hears foatsteps. He junps to his feet and cautiously follows.
On the tactical display as a second group of fighters appear. ready to challenge the F-l5's.
Air Force One and the cluster of F-15's zoom by.
All Carlton receives is static.
Nobody at the wheel. The automatic pilot is still engaged.
Con. CARLTON Okay, guys, time to earn your paychecks. Stay in protective formation, and do not engage, I repeat, do not engage... unless you are fired upon. All wings acknowledge.
FIGHTER PILOT #1 Halo one, acknowledged.
FIGHTER PILOT #2 Halo two, acknowledged.
The rest of the pilots chime in.
Marshall swings into the cubicle... empty.
He crosses to the cargo bay/parachute launch ramp hatchway.
Looks through the porthole.
Korshunov straps on one of the few remaining parachutes. He tosses the rest of the spares out onto the platform.
Marshall steps onto the platform. Korshunov fires off a round forcing him behind the door for cover.
Korshunov pulls Alice in front of him and yanks down the ramp activation lever.
The ramp lowers, and Alice gets her first look at the drop.
Marshall watches the remaining parachutes slide off the ramp and into the stormy sky.
Korshunov backs toward the edge of the ramp, pulling a struggling and fighting Alice.
Korshunov is a foot away from the edge of the ramp... two steps back, he and Alice will take the plunge.
Marshall lines up his shot. Korshunov laughs as he presses his pistol to Alice's ear.
Marshall fires, his bullet ripping apart a good deal of Korshunov's face and snapping his body back.
Korshunov tumbles off the platform, but his limbs are caught. in Alice's. She's knocked to her belly and his dead weight drags her off the edge of the platform.
Marshall dives down the sloping platform, reaching out for her...
Alice tries to grip the platform with her hands, but she can't hold on. Her hand slip off the metallic lip.
But as she falls, she's caught by the wrist. Strong arms pull her up. Her father's arms. He carries her back to the safety of the plane. She's sobs uncontrollably.
Shepherd and Rose appear. Marshall locks eyes with Rose... smiles. Shepherd crosses to the parachute bins.
The plane shakes with the thunder of a supersonic boom.
A half dozen MiGs race by the cluster of American aircraft at breakneck speeds.
GENERAL CERALLOS eyes the radar.
Cerallos takes a moment, looking at the screen.
The Soldier listens to chatter coning over his headset.
Another sonic boom.
Marshall makes his way to the cockpit.
Through the cockpit window, a MiG accelerates out of the darkness coming straight at us. At the last second it pulls up slightly, riding over the top of the 747.
Its sonic boom rocks the jumbo jet.
Marshall rushes back to one of the rear upper deck windows.
He looks out at the F-l5s.
We are on a rescue mission. Do not engage. I repeat, do not engage.
A MiG loops into position behind Carlton.
switches his targeting computer on. Finds carlton in his sights. Good tone.
The pilot pulls the trigger.
The missile detaches from the MiG and slides toward Carlton.
Carlton breaks formation, leading the missile astray. His plane tucks into a tight little roll. The missile misses over Carlton's rolling wings.
Halo Team is cleared to engage. I repeat, you are cleared to engage.
Carlton pulls his plane into a monster climb.
A ringing phone is answered by an aide. A few beats.
Marshall settles into the pilot's chair. Shepherd comes in.
Marshall looks at the plane's bearing. The instruments are shot to hell.
An F-15 follows a MiG into a barrel roll.
The MIG pilot targets Air Force One. He cuts his speed as he lines up his shot. Gets a lock.
On tactical computer - "RADAR LOCK"
"Dis-Engaging Auto-pilot"
The plane banks left into a dive. Marshall grabs the yoke.
Finger on the trigger.
Looking forward from underneath an F-15, the MiG heads toward Air Force One. The F-15 fires a sidewinder.
On the MIG... as it fires its missile. The F-15's sidewinder blows the MIG up, taking the missile with it.
Air Force One is clear... for the time being.
MARSHALL STRUGGLES TO REGAIN CONTROL OF THE 747. HE OVER-
compensates and the plane rocks side-to-side.
Marshall checks out the tactical display.
Marshall finds the throttle, pushes it up all the way. He feels the plane out, gently nudges it into a turn.
Two MiGs flare out of an engagement with the F-15's and break toward Air Force One.
FIGHTER PILOT #2 Halo Two... I can't get there in time.
The two MiGs lock onto Air Force One. Each fires a missile at the President's plane, before breaking in opposite directions.
A red buzz. It's all Marshall can do to keep the plane flying straight.
Tactical Countermeasures Computer... as it tracks the incomings...
"Heat Seekers"
"Launching Flares"
Brightly burning flares launch from either side of Air Force One's wings and descend toward earth.
The missiles follow the heat of the flares, plummeting harmlessly to earth.
The shock waves from a nearby MiG explosion shakes the plane.
In the aftermath, Marshall takes a moment and pulls on the pilot's headset.
FIGHTER PILOT #1 (V.0.)
I'm on it.
On the two MiG's heading for Air Force One.
An F-15 drops in behind them. The MiGs scissor and break in OPPosite directions. The F-l5 can only follow one of them.
I need help down here.
The other MiG comes up on the 747 and opens fire with his CANNONS. The shells rip up the surface of the aircraft's wing. The MiG swoops past Air Force One and jerks into a * vertical.
On the damaged wing - Fuel starts leaking out and the outer jet engine catches fire.
Red warning light flashes on the control panel.
Marshall reaches over and toggles the shutoff switch.
The engine whirs to a halt and the rushing wind blows out the fire. But now she's only got three engines.
Through the cockpit window, an F-15 settles in front of Air Force One... Flames pouring out of its tail. Under any other condition, it would be pretty. Alice, Rose and Shepherd watch Marshall fly.
Canton in pursuit of a Mis.
Carlton breaks left, lines up a MiG and fires. He nails the Iraqi aircraft.
Buzzer sounds in Carlton's cockpit. He's been locked on.
Carlton puts his plane into a triple canopy roll then slams on his airbreaks. The MiS shoots by him and Carlton lets loose with his CANNONS. The MiG pulls up and disengages.
Canton's plane edges around to the right... and Marshall follows. The 747 leans at an angle and continues the turn until the F-15 is dead ahead. Another plane explodes ahead of him at three o'clock.
Can't you fly any faster?
IRA'. WHITE HOUSE SITUATION ROOM - NIGHT
All eyes are glued to the tactical screen, showing the dogfight. They listen to the radio traffic.
FIGHTER PILOT #1 (V.0.)
Air Force One, MiGs four and five are on your tail.
Two MiGs targeting the big bird.
FIGHTER PILOT #1 I can't get a lock. Break right.
Break right.
Marshall struggles with his stick turning the aircraft to the right.
Of course its pointless. The Boeing is a fucking sloth compared to these fighters.
The familiar buzz. Tactical computer. "RADAR LOCK"
Alice notices the computer. At the upper right hand of the screen, the computer displays Defensive Mode/Offensive Mode.
Defensive Mode is highlighted.
Alice reaches out and touches the screen.
Alice's touch activates offensive mode.
Along the belly of the aircraft, two hatches pivot open, revealing a series of missiles.
SKY - AS THE F-15 JOCKEYS WITH THE `NO MIGS
FIGHTER PILOT #1 I can't get good tone.
The F-15 fires, but the Sidewinder screams past the turning HiGs.
Tactical computer... Over graph display.
"Offensive Counter Measures Activatedw "Launching Missiles"
ERR. AIR FORCE ONE -
The Flying White House launches two sparrow missiles. The MiGs release flares, but the Sparrows don't flinch.
Twin FIREBALLS erupt in the sky as the Mics evaporate.
But from the fireball, a MISSILE emerges coming right at Air Force One.
Closing fast.
FIGHTER PILOT #2 Boss, they got one off.
On the console... sparks fly.
Tactical computer flashes... "SYSTEM FAILURE"
"Missile Locked"
MARSHMj What did you touch? What did you touch!?
Marshall checks display.
The missile has Air Force One dead to rights, crawling right up its tail pipe.
Just before its about to hit the plane...
An F-15 swoops up from below. Like a Secret Service agent during an assassination attempt...
The F-15 takes the bullet in its mid-section. BOOM!
The blast slams bits of the fighter plane against Air Force One. Rocking it badly. Chunks of the plane rip away metal sheeting on the 747's wings and tail section.
A squadron of Navy F-14s drops into the theatre. The cavalry.
Marshall works the controls of the 747. Tries to engage the automatic pilot. The system is fried. Marshall wrestles with the yoke.
Canton pulls up and drops back over the plane. He looks down at the Boeing's wing.
Sir, I got some bad news. Air Force One... there's no way they can bring it down. Plane's damaged, it's unlandable.
Marshall looks out the side cockpit window, sees Carlton's F- 15 fly steady with his.
Carlton salutes Marshall. Marshall returns it.
General Northwood collapses into his chair.
Dead silence in the room.
General Greely ambles over to the tactical map and just stares at it. He loosens his tie and scratches his head.
KC-lO Transport plane.
KC-lO PILOT Romeo Tango Zulu. We copy. Change of Orders acknowledged. We are en route.
The KC-lO banks into a turn.
Alice, Rose and Shepherd stand behind the pilot's seat.
Marshall looks to the others.
before they could get to us. We've got one other option though...
Standard news shot. CNN REPORTER facing the camera.
terrorists.
A family gathers around their T.V. set to hear the report.
Up ahead, navagation lights.
Shepherd crosses to the forward cabin door. He follows directions for emergency door release.
The emergency door opens and the emergency raft/slide deploys. It inflates before being ripped from the aircraft, gently wafting through stormy clouds.
Air rushes past the airplane at two hundred miles an hour.
Shepherd looks out into the night sky. Inky blackness and greying clouds. The horizon, though, lightens as dawn approaches.
Shepherd spots navigational lights descending from above.
It's side cargo door is wide open. Army Rangers begin winching out three-inch wide cable.
The KC-lO pratically on top of Air Force One. Separated by forty feet. Super flying.
The cable slaps against the side of Air Force One and drags along it's edge. As it slides past the open doorway, Shepherd grabs it and hauls it into the plane until he has its end. He hooks the cable to a metal clasp at the top of the door frame.
A red light flashes on the control panel. Engine number two grinds to a halt. The pressure guages drop to zero.
Rose bends down and kisses Marshall on the cheek.
Marshall holds her with his eye.
Alice throws her arms around her father.
Promise me you'll be there.
Guages show fuel is low on the remaining turbofans.
The transport plane dips into a lateral position. The two planes are connected by a hundred yards of cable.
FIVE ARMY RANGERS in snatch harnesses slide down the cable bridge onto Air Force Onefr As they hit the open doorway, they unclip and sail into the main cabin.
ARMY RANGER #1 Let's get you folks out of here.
Electronics department. Banks of television sets. Shoppers watch intently. The audio broadcast plays over a map of the region and a graphic of Air Force One.
Three Army Rangers harness themselves `to the survivors. One to Alice, one to Rose and one to Shepherd. The other two
head for the cockpit.
Alice and her Ranger are ready.
Alice takes a deep breath, closes her eyes...
The soldier clips on the cable, and shoves off the lip of the doorway, SAILING DOWN THE WIRE.
They plummet, Alice screaming. The line goes taut.
The pair slide the hundred yards to the KC-lO. Rangers grab them and bring them into the transport.
Shoppers listen to television sets, galvanized.
KC-lO PILOT The first daughter is on-board.
With a smile.
Two Army Rangers approach the cockpit.
ARMY RANGER #1 Mr. President!
Army Ranger #2 slides into the co-pilot's seat.
ARMY RANGER #2 I'll take it, sir. You get going.
Rose clips on to a Ranger's harness.
They clip on the wire, move to the lip, and rappel off the side of the plane.
As the first Ranger leads Marshall through the M.C.C.
WHEN A SHOT RINGS OUT...
The soldier at the flight yoke slumps over dead.
Marshall and the first Ranger swing around to see...
A bloody but smiling Gibbs, lying on the deck, clutching an
But Gibbs swings his rifle around. Pulls the trigger. BAM.
BAM. BAM. Hitting the Ranger.
The Ranger returns fire, shooting round after round at Gibbs before pitching over, dead.
Gibbs draws a bead on the President, smiles... but he doesn't have any strength left to pull the trigger. He expires.
And the plane begins to dive. Marshall runs for the cockpit.
Rose and her Ranger are pulled aboard the transport.
Shepherd and his Ranger clip onto the wire, but the KC-lO is now higher than Air Force One.
With Marshall back at the yoke.
HANG ON. KC-LO PILOT (V.0.)
The KC-lO transport dips lower and lower, trying to maintain its position under the descending plane.
With the KC-lO back in the Position, Shepherd and his Ranger shove off the dying plane toward safety.
TNT. WHITE HOUSE SITUATION ROOM - NIGHT
Everyone's biting their nails.
TNT. AIR FORCE ONE COCKPIT - NIGHT
Marshall holds the yoke in one hand and unclips the snatch harness from the dead ranger in the co-pilot's seat.
The last red light on the engine control panel starts to flash.
Marshall, still fighting the yoke, stands. He takes a deep
breatn, drops the wheel and runs like a motherfucker for the stairs.
Drops into a banking twist.
The cable line runs taut.
The KC-lO tries to compensate.
TNT. AIR FORCE ONE, COCKPIT -
Engine four fails.
The taut straining cable snaps one corner of the metal clasp.
The clasp starts to bend.
The clasp twisting. The cable hook ready to slip of f it.
Marshall clips on, and dives out of the door. He slides forty feet down, when....
The clasp gives. The cable line snaps away from the plane... one end connected to the KC-l0, the other connected to...
Nothing.
Marshall slides down the cable, gripping at it, trying to break his fall.
Air Force One plummets toward the water.
Marshall sliding, right behind it, running out of cable.
At the end of his rope, literally. Marshall's harness snags on the end clasp. He hangs on for dear life.
Moments later Air Force One impacts.
A huge EXPLOSION, water and flames blows sky high into the night.
Dead silence as all the patrons stare up at the T.V.
No response...
Still no response...
The massive fireball and glowing remains of the Presidential aircraft almost reaches up to where the President struggles to hold on to the end of the cable.
Marshall slipping off the line, unable to get a solid hold.
His hands slick with blood.
The belly of the KC-lO gets closer and closer.
He closes his eyes. His fingers begin to give.
All over America, families, gathered around their televisions, wait.
Please report. over.
A long beat of silence, then...
Another long beat.
Cheers flood the situation room.
Cheers flood the Department Store.
Cheers flood the press room, the living room, the sports bars, churches, schools, construction sites, hospitals... all across America.
Marshall huddles tight with Rose and Alice as a MEDIC attends to their wounds.
Marshall turns to see this soldier, a fresh-faced, 19-year- old kid, saluting his Commander-in-chief.
Marshall returns the salute.
The KC-1O soars into the emerging sunrise, flying in the center of the remaining F-l5 formation.