The Missing Page #6

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17 OMITTED 17

THE MISSING II EP 1 FINAL SHOOTING SCRIPT 20/07/16 11.

18 EXT. ERBIL AIRPORT - DAY 16 (PRESENT DAY) 18

We’re looking up at the sky, at a bird flying lazilyoverhead, framed against the bright, blistering sun. Abovethe bird, the outline of an Emirates A330 flies into view.

We’re outside a long line of automatic glass doors. Abovethem, big yellow letters in Sorani. Just below this, the

English translation in bright red capitals - “ERBILINTERNATIONAL AIRPORT”.

CAPTION:
Erbil, Kurdistan. Present Day.

The doors open - and JULIEN emerges, a bag slung over hisshoulder. Though it might take us a moment to realise it’s

him, because his head is shaved. It gives him a tougher,

leaner look than the calm detective we know so well from

2014.

Julien blinks in the fierce heat. He looks around, taking inthe very modern city in front of him. There’s a large andshowy fountain that conceals the road behind, although thegridlocked traffic is still visible. It’s not quite Dubai

but it’s still every inch the opulent Middle Eastern city.

He scans a small group of men idling nearby, and spots one.

A Kurdish man, BAGIR, in his late 20’s, smoking a cigarette,

wearing a smart suit, and with his other hand holding up asign that reads “PAPTEES”. Julien smiles at the sight.

JULIEN:

I think this is for me.

BAGIR:

Mr Paptees.

JULIEN:

Baptiste.

Bagir frowns, confused. Julien smiles.

JULIEN (CONT’D)

It is not important. You are?

BAGIR:

Bagir. The car is this way, Mr

Paptees.

Bagir leads Julien along the road. Julien wipes his armacross his brow as he walks, already sweating in the intenseheat.

JULIEN:

How far, to Kirkuk?

BAGIR:

One or two hours maybe.

(MORE)

THE MISSING II EP 1 FINAL SHOOTING SCRIPT 20/07/16 12.

18 CONTINUED:
18

Bagir looks at Julien thoughtfully.

BAGIR (CONT’D)

You must know, Kirkuk is no place

for tourists.

JULIEN:

I am no tourist.

19 INT. TOWN-CAR - LATER - DAY 16 (PRESENT DAY) 19

JULIEN sits in the back seat of a black town-car, BAGIR up-

front driving. Julien looks out of the window at thelandscape as it passes by, and it’s clear they’re a worldaway from the familiar modernity of Erbil. The arid, barrenlandscape is broken up by the occasional half-finishedbuilding. They pass a faded green sign with large Soraniletters, and below it, “WELCOME TO KIRKUK”.

Not far beyond the sign stand three Kurdish peshmergasoldiers in red berets, AK-47’s slung over their shoulders.

They stare at the car as it passes.

We go in CLOSE on Julien, holding something in his hands. Aworn out plastic card. A phone card of some sort. He staresat it, flicking it back and forth with his finger.

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