EXT. WILLKIE FARMER’S HOUSE – UNITED STATES – DAY (1960)
Big old house somewhere in the Midwest. Willkie Farmer a man in his early twenties exits home. His mother – CHARLOTTE – runs after him.
CHARLOTTE
Where are you going, son?
WILLKIE
Ma, I’m not a small boy anymore,
don’t ask me where to? It’s time
for me to do a real man’s job!
CHARLOTTE
Well, you can look after cattle
here, it’s a man’s job
WILLKIE
(after a pause)
I’ll drop you a line, ma. Don’t
worry about me.
WILLKIE turns and walks away down the dusty road.
INT. BAR OWL – UNITED STATES – NIGHT (1960)
WILLKIE sits in a bar next to a middle-aged COWBOY, who sips his beer slowly. The man has a big SCAR on his left cheek. After a glass of beer COWBOY turns his swarthy face to WILLKIE and looks at him with his piercing gray hawk-like eyes. COWBOY wipes his mouth with a sleeve.
COWBOY
Whiskey?
WILLKIE
(readily)
I wouldn’t mind.
COWBOY nods to the bartender. He pours the men two glasses of spirits.
COWBOY
Where are you going, son… if it’s
not a secret?
WILLKIE
Looking for job!
COWBOY
What kind of job?
WILLKIE
One that pays money
At this moment a doorway in the bar opens wide and THREE GENTLEMEN in suits enter.
COWBOY slowly puts his right hand under the table.
The GENTLEMEN say something to one of the men in the bar and leave.
COWBOY follows them with his eyes, then turns to WILLKIE.
COWBOY
I might have a job for you, son.
WILLKIE
What do I do?
COWBOY
What I tell you to.
WILLKIE
Nope! That will not do. Tell me
what’s the job or I won’t go for it.
COWBOY
As you wish! (long beat) But I pay
with pure gold!
COWBOY takes out a little leather bag from his pocket and throws it on the table in front of WILLKIE. A handful of golden sand dusted on the top.
Looking at the bag, WILLKIE mutters something unintelligible. Seeing what a strong impression the gold has made on his new companion COWBOY grunts with satisfaction.
At this moment THREE MEN in suits enter the bar again. While WILLKIE weights the little bag in his hand, they approach him and the cowboy.
FIRST MAN IN SUIT
Texas Police! Nick Gordon, follow us.
The MAN in SUIT grabs the leather bag from Willkie’s hands.
FIRST MAN IN SUIT (CONT’D)
Heavy.
COWBOY takes out his colt
COWBOY
It’s not yours
THE FIRST MAN throws the bag on the table and steps backwards.
FIRST MAN IN SUIT
(quietly)
You’re dead!
COWBOY
Can I see you warrant, officers?
FIRST MAN IN SUIT
Here it is.
He hits COWBOY’S hand with the gun. The fight starts.
EXT. BAR – CONTINUOUS
COWBOY and WILLKIE run fast away from the bar.
BANG.
One of the bullets swishes over WILLKIE’s head. The second one reaches COWBOY.
He screams with pain.
WILLKIE catches up and drags him to the car.
The three men chase them.
WILLKIE jumps in the car and darts off.
INT. COWBOY’S CAR – NIGHT (SEVERAL HOURS LATER)
COWBOY breaths with difficulty
WILLKIE
Who were those guys? They were not
from the police, right?
COWBOY shakes his head
WILLKIE (CONT’D)
We need to treat your wound.
He tries to lift COWBOY, but he wheezes and moans. WILLKIE puts him back down.
COWBOY
In my right pocket.
COWBOY glances at his jacket
COWBOY
Take it… there, in the right pocket.
WILLKIE unbuttons the pocket and takes out a folded white envelope.
COWBOY (CONT’D)
It does not have a name on it, the
name of the owner of the land and
the gold mine. Write you name,
son… Go to Los Angeles, you need
to go to Gold Star, find Richard
Taylor and show him this paper.
COWBOY coughs
COWBOY (CONT’D)
But there is more, son. There is
more. There is a place in Russia
where there are sand dunes of
gold…
COWBOY chocks and falls silent.
For some time WILLKIE keeps looking at the dead man. Then he folds the envelope and puts it in his shirt pocket.
INT. ARTEMIEV’S OFFICE – GEOLOGY INSTITUTE – MODERN RUSSIA – DAY
INSERT SHOT – OLD YELLOW PAGES OF THE NOTEBOOK
Diary of a Convict:
V.O. LIUBOV ARTEMIEVA
March 1966. I just now realized how stupid it was! I do not even know his name. He said that he was an American journalist and writes essays on the Russian nature. I called him a Yankee as a joke. It seemed he wasn’t offended. So I called him Jan – for short. My boy – he has his eyes.
ARTEMIEVA’S HAND TURNS PAGE AFTER PAGE
September 1966. I nearly went mad with grief when my son was taken away from me.
November 1967. My son is one year and two months! How is he there? How does he look now?
August 1968. It’s him! Damn, Jan! I recognized him immediately. What the hell is he doing here in the prison? How did he get here? And this woman with him – very well dressed. No, I’m not jealous!
August 1968. I was allowed a meeting with Jan! But what to tell him? That our son was taken away from me.
August 1968. I’m afraid. It is possible that the risk would cost me even longer, if not eternal separation from my dear son!
August. In 1968. I ran away from camp with Jan!
BACK TO SCENE
ARTEMIEV closes the diary.
INT. CLASS ROOM – GEOLOGY INSTITUTE – MODERN RUSSIA – DAY
NICHOLAY YURSKY a twenty-five year old lecturer stands in front of his students.
YURSKY
