Eichmann Page #4

the inside of the Old Man’s ass.

The friend blurts out a laugh. A look from Aharoni.

Across from them, Hanna is looking over. Makes eye contactwith Malkin. Aharoni sees.

AHARONI:

We just got back from Cologne. Long

nights. You know what she told me,

about you and her? It wasn’t that you

hit the prick we were meant to be

watching. It wasn’t you f***ing my

mission. No, no. She said it was more

your limp dick and faggoty bracelet-

WHUMP! Malkin SLAMS Aharoni’s head into the table- Aharoni

recovers, GRABS MALKIN’S HAND, TWISTING IT BACK

-but Malkin TURNS, too quick, seizing Aharoni’s arm- holds it

as he JABS Aharoni in the rib, DROPPING HIM.

The room respond- people CHEERING, WHOOPING, some joining in

Aharoni’s two friends weigh in- Malkin DUCKS a swipe from thefirst- LIGHTNING-FAST PUNCH TO THE GUT, ELBOW TO THE FACE-

-the second GRABS MALKIN, but he SLIPS OUT OF HIS GRASP,

SPINS AND SHOOTS HIS HAND OUT, GRABBING THE GUY’S THROAT AND

-SLAMS HIM DOWN INTO THE GROUND.

Just as another Mossad agent goes to enter the fray- THREEPEOPLE GRAB MALKIN FROM BEHIND, DRAGGING HIM OFF. He tries to

wriggle free. And, as he’s pulled away a NOISE- the sound ofa GAS-FIRE IGNITING- BUILDS AND BUILDS-

In amongst the crowd, we catch a GLIMPSE of an incongruousWOMAN- blonde hair, red cheeks, DRESSED LIKE A POLISH PEASANT-

Malkin STOPS STRUGGLING. Stares at where this woman was a

moment ago. He doesn’t even notice as he’s dragged past Hanna.

INT. HAREL’S OFFICE. MOSSAD HQ. DAY

Stood at his window staring out, is 48-year-old spymasterISSER “Old Man” HAREL. Built like a pitbull with a voice to

match. His secretary DVORA, at her type-writer nearby.

Sat in the centre of the room is Malkin. Watches Harel, who

looks like he’s deciding whether or not to explode. Finally

9.

HAREL:

Dvora, out you go. Come on. You

know what you get like when I getangry. Get on! Move it!

Affronted, Dvora stares daggers at Malkin as she leaves.

HAREL (CONT’D)

First you waste 30 minutes playingclowns at your reassessment. Thenyou put six-inches worth in ourchief interrogator’s face.

MALKIN:

(beat)

It won’t happen again.

Harel studies him a moment.

HAREL:

You know I used to grow oranges, onthe Herzliya kibbutz?

MALKIN:

Oh. You’ve never mentioned it.

HAREL:

You wanna talk about your smart mouth

as well as your shitty attitude?

(Malkin holds hands up)

It was before all this. Brits were

still here and people like us couldgrow oranges. Arabs worked with usthen, peacefully. One of ‘em, nameno-one could remember or pronounce,

looks like a stereotype of astereotype. So we call him Arab theArab, which he seems to have no

problem with. Nice guy. Family man.

But one morning I wake up togunfire. And Arab, who just lastnight was wrapping Diphenyl paper

around oranges- now he’s got hishands on a Kalashnikov.

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