DIE HARD 4

By

Mark Bomback
 1.

EXT. PRISON - NIGHT

The prison glows like a reactor against the darkness.

Burn in: “Federal Detention Facility. Lancaster, PA.”

INT. LANCASTER DETENTION FACILITY - NIGHT

PHIL THE PRISON GUARD is making his nine o’clock rounds.

PHIL
Jackson, Omar. Lights out.

The lights from a cell blink out. Phil walks on.

PHIL
Harris, James. Let’s go, lights out.

A grumble O.S., then the cell’s lights blink out. Phil

arrives at the next cell. The lights are out, but a faint TV
flicker still glows. Phil sighs in annoyance.

PHIL
McClane, John. No TV after lights out.

No answer from within the cell. Phil raps on the bars.

PHIL
You hear me, McClane?

THE CAMERA SLOWLY PIVOTS to the cell, where we find a man

leaning back on a cot, watching TV. The TV flicker reveals a
face... But this isn’t the John McClane we know. It’s a
younger, hip-looking 22 year old version. Meet JACK MCCLANE,
chilling out in front the TV like he’s in his living room.

JACK
How many times do I have to tell you?
It’s Gennero. Jack Gennero.

PHIL
You can call yourself Britney Spears for
all I care. It’s lights out.

JACK
Come on, Phil, I’m getting out tomorrow.
It’s my last night in paradise.
(taps the toilet seat)
Pull up a chair. They’re running a
“Golden Girls” marathon.

PHIL
(shakes his head)
Six months you been bustin’ my balls.
(CONTINUED)
 2.
CONTINUED:

JACK
Admit it, Phil. You’re gonna miss me.

PHIL
Like I miss my colon polyps.

INT. DETENTION FACILITY - CORRIDOR - EARLY MORNING

Jack is now dressed in his street clothes, escorted down the

cell-block corridor by two stone-faced GUARDS.

JACK
Well you guys have been great. Seriously,
let’s keep in touch. You have my e-mail?

The Guards just ignore him as they lead him into

INT. DETENTION FACILITY - PROPERTY ROOM - MOMENTS LATER

Jack is inspecting the contents of his backpack as a PRE-

RELEASE OFFICER reads him his release instructions.

PRE-RELEASE OFFICER
Failure to report to your parole officer
will result in a warrant for your arrest.
In addition -

JACK
Hold up, I had a cell phone in here!

PRE-RELEASE OFFICER
- you are prohibited from operating or
engaging with any equipment, device or
persons connected to the internet, as a
condition of your parole.

Jack stares slack-jawed at the officer a beat.

JACK
Dude, that’s cold.

CUT TO:

INT. AN ELEGANT HOTEL - MAIN LOBBY - LATE NIGHT

A sign by the entrance reads: “BIENVENUE: CONFERENCE

INTERNATIONALE D'ENERGIE NUCLEAIRE.”

Burn in: “Le Grande Hotel. Lucerne, Switzerland.”

Sweep across the lobby to find a multi-ethnic assortment of

socially-awkward SCIENTISTS AND ENGINEERS milling about.

(CONTINUED)
 3.
CONTINUED:

IN THE LOBBY BAR

MAI (20s), a waifish Eurasian with stunning looks, sits at

an intimate table across from ROGER MONTGOMERY (50s), an
American middle-aged nerd clearly buzzing from the attention
of this young beauty. He leans forward in his chair, a black
laptop case resting against his chair leg.

MONTGOMERY
Four. One to screw in the bulb, and three
to debate the merits of breeder reactor
efficiency as it pertains to Plutonium-
239 reprocessing.

Mai chuckles at the lame joke. Montgomery grins bashfully.

MONTGOMERY
You like that one? My wife says I tell
too many bad jokes.

MAI
I think a sense of humor can be a man’s
sexiest feature.

Montgomery blushes, swallowing hard on temptation, when -

MAN’S VOICE (O.S.)

(Eastern European accent)
Pardon me, Mr. Montgomery?

Montgomery glances up to a well-dressed conference attendee;

the man’s badge reads “Gabriel Petrovich, Croatia.” He
carries a slender, black laptop case.

GABRIEL
Sorry to interrupt, I simply wished to
say how much I enjoyed your talk today on
coolant system design.

MONTGOMERY
Oh, well thank you very much, Mr. -
(reads his badge)
- Petrovich.

GABRIEL
I was particularly struck by your
analysis of thermal moderators...

Mai rests her slender hand over Montgomery’s.

GABRIEL
Oh - I’m sorry, I’m afraid I’m keeping
you from your lovely wife.
(CONTINUED)
 4.
CONTINUED:

MONTGOMERY
Um, actually, this is, uh -

MAI
(coolly)
His niece.

GABRIEL
Of course. Well, good night to you both.

Gabriel walks away as Montgomery glances down nervously at

his hand in Mai’s.

MAI
Does your room have a nice view?

Montgomery looks around, conscious of his colleagues. She

smiles back at him confidently, sexy as hell.

MAI
Why don’t you tell me the number, and
I’ll meet you up there in five minutes.

CUT TO A GLASS ELEVATOR - MOMENTS LATER

Montgomery steps in, carrying his laptop case. He presses

“10,” flush with anticipation. The elevator starts to ascend
- when Montgomery suddenly looks confused.

MONTGOMERY’S POV THROUGH ELEVATOR GLASS: in the lobby now

three stories below, he sees Mai talking to Gabriel. He sees
the LAPTOP CASE Gabriel is holding is identical to his own.

Suddenly worried, Montgomery quickly unzips his laptop case -

to find it contains only a wet newspaper. A look of panic on
his face -

CLOSE ON MAI AND GABRIEL IN THE LOBBY

Heading for the exit, Gabriel has a PDA in his palm. On its
small screen we glimpse what looks like a digital blueprint
for an elevator’s components. Gabriel’s stylus works
quickly, entering various commands, hacking into the
elevator’s computerized controls...

BACK TO MONTGOMERY IN THE GLASS ELEVATOR

Now six stories above and ascending, he frantically presses

buttons on the panel... but the panel is not responding.

CLOSE ON GABRIEL AND MAI EXITING THE LOBBY

Gabriel tucks his PDA back in his pocket as he and Mai pass
(CONTINUED)
 5.
CONTINUED:

through the lobby doors. CLOSE ON MONTGOMERY’S LAPTOP CASE

in Gabriel’s grasp.

BACK TO MONTGOMERY IN THE GLASS ELEVATOR

Panicked face pressed to the glass, Montgomery watches Mai

and Gabriel disappear. He pounds frantically on the thick
glass pane, shouting for help -

- when the elevator abruptly jolts to a halt - nine stories

above the lobby. Freaking out, Montgomery suddenly freezes.
He hears unsettling sounds above him... hydraulics emitting
depressurized hisses... gears slipping from their holds -

- and just as he opens his mouth to scream, the elevator’s

glass car suddenly plummets to a free fall, racing to the
ground at a terrifying speed -

- and SMASHING to the lobby in an explosion of glass.

INT. A BLACK BMW

Mai driving, Gabriel in the passenger seat, searching

Montgomery’s laptop: a wealth of files and links for U.S.
nuclear power plants. Gabriel grins, satisfied.

GABRIEL
This is going to be fun.

CUT TO:

EXT. NUCLEAR POWER FACILITY - PARKING LOT - DUSK

The sun is going down, and POWER CREWMAN OWEN has just got
off work. He fires up his pick-up truck and cranks the
radio, singing along off-key as he heads for the exit gate.

OWEN
He’s a smooooth operator... A
smoooooooooth operator...

Burn in: “Indian Springs Nuclear Power Facility. Oregon.”

Owen waves a KEY FOB past a sensor; the ELECTRONIC STEEL
GATE begins to open. Owen returns his foot to the gas pedal.

OWEN
Coast to coast, L.A. to Chicago-

- CRASH! as his truck slams into the electronic gate, which

just froze halfway through opening.

OWEN
Ah Christ!
(CONTINUED)
 6.
CONTINUED:

Owen hops out of his truck to inspect the damage.

OWEN
I’m not paying for this, I don’t care
what they -

Owen abruptly halts, frowns to himself, and turns - stunned.

The power plant behind him is entirely pitch black.

INT. NUCLEAR POWER FACILITY

Owen bounds down an industrial stairwell lit by emergency

generator strip-lighting. He bursts through a heavy door to
the OPERATIONS DECK to find a scrambling NUCLEAR CREW.

OWEN
How can we lose power? We make the power!

DECK SUPER
We’ve got power! We just can’t move it!

An alarm suddenly blares. The Crew Chief has had enough:

CREW CHIEF
MANUAL POWER DOWN! ALL HANDS MOVE!

INT. NUCLEAR POWER FACILITY - MONTAGE - QUICK SHOTS

WORKERS rush the TURBINE BUILDING, manually throwing power-

diverting switches. In the REACTOR BUILDING, silver-suited
NUCLEAR FIREMEN slide down stair-ramps and begin winding
back the pumps, redirecting the cooling water.

TENSE FACES OF WORKERS IN HAZMAT SUITS, manually removing

nuclear rods from the core. TIGHT ON OWEN AMONG THEM,
carefully removing a rod -- when the lights and equipment
BLINK BACK ON with a massive WHOMP, startling Owen so badly
that the rod slips from his gloves -- he lunges and catches
it just before it hits the floor.

CLOSE ON OWEN’S SWEATY FACE THROUGH HIS HOOD’S LENS, wide

eyes sweeping the now-lit space, buzzing with confusion.

OWEN
(muffled under his hood)
What the hell was that?

INT. DEPARTMENT OF HOMELAND SECURITY - INFORMATION ANALYSIS

CENTER - EVENING

An impressive room fitted with the best technology our

government can buy: huge screens, satellite uplinks, etc.,

(CONTINUED)
 7.
CONTINUED:

all manned by young, digital-age types. We settle on RAJ, a

geeky analyst, frowning nervously at his computer.

RAJ
Dawson still here?

MOLINA, the analyst at the next terminal, glances up.

MOLINA
I think so. Why?

INT. DHS - CORRIDORS - NIGHT

Under Secretary LEE DAWSON (30s) marches past cubicles

toward an office; a placard reads “SECRETARY KARL RENNER.”
She opens the door to find RENNER (50s) in a tuxedo.

RENNER
I’m late for a fundraiser. Can it wait?

DAWSON
No sir, I don’t think so. Five nuclear
power plants across the country just went
dark, all at the exact same moment.

Renner immediately looks alarmed.

DAWSON
Here’s the kicker: they all regained
power exactly 4 minutes later.
Preliminary analysis indicates it was the
result of a hack, only no damage was
incurred. It could just be a prank.

RENNER
Any suspects?

DAWSON
Too many. The list is huge.

Dawson hands Renner an enormous file teeming with papers.

DAWSON
It’s gonna be a nightmare rounding them
all up. We have to locate them,
demonstrate probable cause...

RENNER
(zero sympathy)
Be creative.
 8.

EXT. JERSEY SHORE - LATE NIGHT

A tired old motor boat bobs in the moonlight by a battered

dock. We follow the dock up to a shabby shore-side cottage.

Burn in: “Jersey Shore. 1:24 A.M..”

INT. BEDROOM - LATE NIGHT

Dark in here. The decor doesn’t suggest much of a life: a

fishing pole, some crumpled beach clothes, a half-eaten TV
dinner, empty “near-beer” cans and a crushed pack of
Nicorette gum.

Burn in: “Day 1.”

The sudden RING! of a telephone breaks the stillness.

RING... RING... O.S. we hear the creak of a boxspring, and a
phelgmy GROAN that sounds like it came from a wounded bear.

CLOSE ON THE BARE WOOD FLOOR as a pair of feet lower from

the bed; note the jagged network of scars on their soles.
RING... RING... A hacking cough accompanies the sound of
knees cracking as the man struggles to rise.

TRAVEL UP HIS TORSO as he stretches with a series of spine

pops: it’s a landscape of scarred and tortured flesh, raised
tracks that were once stitches, tell-tale scallops of former
bullet wounds, faded marks from old burns. RING... RING...

CLOSE ON THE RINGING PHONE as we hear the man cross the room
to the tune of more joints popping. His hand finally enters
frame, picks up the phone, slowly raises it to his ear...

MCCLANE (O.S.)
(garbled, half-awake)
This better be Publisher’s Clearing
House.

... and we now see the none-too-happy face of JOHN MCCLANE.

DAWSON (FROM PHONE)

John?

McClane grunts to the affirmative.

DAWSON
John, it’s Lee Dawson. Sorry for calling
so late.

A groggy smile slowly surfaces on McClane’s face.

(CONTINUED)
 9.
CONTINUED:

MCCLANE
No sweat, kid. It’s been a while.

DAWSON
How’s retirement?

MCCLANE
One big fiesta. Skiing the alps, weekend
jaunts to Monte Carlo... What about you?
You make Lieutenant yet?

DAWSON
Actually, I left NYPD about a year ago.
I’m with the Department of Homeland
Security now.

MCCLANE
(disappointed)
The feds?
DAWSON
To be honest, John - that’s the reason
for my call.
(beat)
We’re hoping you can do us a favor...

As McClane listens, his eyes drift to a FADED PHOTO in a

dusty frame, circa late-80s: McClane and his kids, Jack and
Lucy, smiling at the beach. PUSH IN CLOSE ON JACK, AGE 4.

EXT. A CONVERTED WAREHOUSE - DAWN

A 3-story building in a run-down part of the city taken over

by the hipster set.

Burn in: “South Philadelphia. 6:12 A.M.”

We find McClane standing at the door, squinting at the

buzzer. Beside the button a piece of tape reads: “3rd floor -
Gennero, J.” McClane looks irritated.

MCCLANE
Son of a bitch...

McClane presses the buzzer repeatedly, gets no answer. He

can hear faint techno music from above. He tries the front
door - it’s unlocked.

INT. CONVERTED WAREHOUSE - TOP FLOOR

TECHNO MUSIC BLASTING at a party just starting to wind down.

There are still lots of young bodies packed like sardines,

(CONTINUED)
 10.
CONTINUED:

dancing and drinking beneath a large banner tacked to a wall

reads “WELCOME HOME JACK!”

We push through the bodies, until we see find McClane,

cupping his ears to the deafening music as he searches the
crowd. He pushes his way through the packed dance floor, but
it’s tough to get through - especially when two flirtatious
HOTTIES mistake his movements for dancing and sandwich him.

One of them offers him a shot glass.

HOTTIE 1
Body shot?

McClane stretches his collar to show two bullet scars.

MCCLANE
I’m trying to cut down. Either of you
ladies know where I can find Jack?

HOTTIE 2
Jack Gennero?

McClane rankles at the name, but nods. Cut to:

CLOSE ON JACK - ACROSS THE ROOM

Jack’s talking up a hot GOTH CHICK, leaned up against a wall

- when someone taps his shoulder.

JACK
(glancing back)
Dude, do you mind? We’re trying to solve
world hunger over here.

And then Jack freezes, seeing it’s McClane who tapped him.

JACK
Holy shit.

MCCLANE
Long time no see.

GOTH CHICK
Who’s the fossil?

JACK
My Dad.
(to McClane, guarded)
What are you doing here?

MCCLANE
I heard you got out. I thought maybe we
could grab a cup of coffee, try to talk
(CONTINUED)
 11.
CONTINUED:
MCCLANE (CONT'D)
things over, put some stuff behind us.
Ideally some place a little less noisy.

Jack looks skeptical.

MCCLANE
Look Jack, I know it’s been a while -

JACK
Three years this Christmas. You said you
never wanted to see me again.

MCCLANE
We both said a lot of things. Besides,
you know I get testy around the holidays.

JACK
(a beat; wary)
Are you dying?

MCCLANE
Huh?

JACK
I’m trying to figure out your angle here.

MCCLANE
No angle.
(holds up his hand)
Just a cup of coffee. I swear.

INT. DHS - DAWSON’S OFFICE - MORNING

An exhausted Dawson is at her desk when Renner enters.

RENNER
Any more incidents like last night’s?

DAWSON
Been dead quiet all morning. Still
running down that list of suspects.

Renner picks up a file on her desk. He flips it open, reads:

RENNER
“John McClane Jr., aka Jack McClane -”
(looks up)
McClane? He’s not related to -

DAWSON
(nods)
It’s his son.

(CONTINUED)
 12.
CONTINUED:

RENNER
“23 priors for unauthorized access to
online information. All misdemeanors.”
Says here he just served time?

DAWSON
He hacked into a bunch of Fortune 500
companies and sent e-mails announcing
“Come Naked to Work Day.” Apparently some
employees didn’t realize it was a prank
until it was too late.
(shrugs)
He didn’t do much damage. I think the
kid’s just got a problem with authority.

RENNER
Must run in the family. When are you
going to question him?

DAWSON
Today. I got his father to bring him in.

EXT. WAREHOUSE/ STREET - MORNING

McClane and Jack exiting the warehouse.

MCCLANE
Car’s this way.

Jack follows McClane across the street.

JACK
I gotta admit, I really thought you meant
it back then. That we were out of each
other’s lives for good.

McClane avoids his eyes, a hint of regret at his deception.

MCCLANE
Yeah, well, people change.
(looks over at him)
What about you, Jack? Have you changed?

JACK
You sound like my shrink.

MCCLANE
I’m trying to sound like your father.

JACK
Don’t feel bad. You’re out of practice.

McClane frowns, but refrains from reacting.

(CONTINUED)
 13.
CONTINUED:

JACK
You know, that was her theory, my shrink.
That my “anti-social tendencies” stem
from a desire to get back at you.

MCCLANE
At me? For what?

JACK
For never being around when I needed you.

MCCLANE
You referring to your first arrest or
your tenth?

McClane arrives at his car: a vintage 1965 Mustang.

JACK
Are the Flintstones aware you stole their
car?

MCCLANE
This is a ‘65 Mustang, and it cost me
half my pension. A pension I earned from
doing hard, honest work.

JACK
And now you drive a forty year old car.
You’re a real inspiration.

MCCLANE
Still got a wise-ass answer for
everything.

JACK
Mom says I inherited it from you.
Fingers crossed I got her hairline.

McClane yanks open the passenger door, fuming.

MCCLANE
Just get in.

JACK
I think this whole father-son bonding
thing’s going well so far, don’t you?

INT. MCCLANE’S CAR

McClane starts the engine. Jack’s in the passenger seat,

leaning forward to fidget with the radio.

(CONTINUED)
 14.
CONTINUED:

JACK
So where are we going for this
aforementioned breakfast?

MCCLANE
D.C.

Confused, Jack glances up - just as McClane snaps a handcuff

on his wrist!

JACK
What the hell?!

McClane snaps the other cuff to the passenger door handle.

MCCLANE
Department of Homeland Security has some
questions for you, and they thought you
might be a flight risk.

JACK
So you said you’d bring me in?! What kind
of asshole does that to his own kid?!

McClane starts the engine, shifts into gear.

MCCLANE
I don’t know. Ask your shrink.

CUT TO:

INT. AIR FRANCE AIRCRAFT - IN FLIGHT - MORNING

Mai sits by a window, staring at something in her lap: an

old, weathered postcard. We glimpse a few lines in faded
ink, something about a Merry Christmas. The postmark reads
“Shady Bower, Indiana. Dec. 10, 1979.”

CAPTAIN (O.S.)
We’re beginning our descent. On behalf of
the crew, I’d like to wish you all a
pleasant stay here in Washington D.C., or
wherever your travels make take you...

Mai tucks the postcard away, peers coolly out the window.

EXT. STAHL ESTATE - BALTIMORE - MORNING

Gabriel stands in the foyer of a truly magnificent home.

MAN’S VOICE (O.S.)

Welcome to Baltimore, Mr. Petrovich.

(CONTINUED)
 15.
CONTINUED:

Gabriel turns to find ARLEN STAHL (50s), a nebbishy business

mogul with clearly expensive tastes.

GABRIEL
You have a beautiful home, Mr. Stahl. The
software business has treated you well.

STAHL
Well, you know what they say - there’s
always room for improvement.

INT. STAHL’S ESTATE - LIVING ROOM

No sooner do Stahl and Gabriel enter, than Bach’s “Sheep May

Safely Graze” suddenly pipes in from unseen speakers.

STAHL
Clever, huh? Thermal sensors in the walls
detect your mood, then find the
appropriate music from a database.
(pours a drink)
It’s a digital age, Mr. Petrovich,
whether we like or not. Of course some
people still find that hard to swallow.
But I guess that’s where you come in.

GABRIEL
My team is assembled and awaiting their
instructions. And compensation.

STAHL
Get right down to business, don’t you?
The remaining funds were transferred half
an hour ago.

Gabriel smiles thinly, pleased.

STAHL
$100 million’s a lot of money, you know.

GABRIEL
I assure you, Mr. Stahl - you’ll get more
than you bargained for.

EXT. INTERSTATE 95 - DAY

McClane’s Mustang passes a sign “WASHINGTON D.C. - 8 MILES.”

INT. MCCLANE’S CAR - DRIVING

McClane drives in silence, focused on the road and the

classic rock playing on the radio. Jack’s slumped in the
passenger seat, still cuffed uncomfortably to the door.
(CONTINUED)
 16.
CONTINUED:

JACK
Can you please turn down the Deep Purple
a little?

MCCLANE
It’s Springsteen, genius.

JACK
Oh. He’s dead, right?

McClane exhales annoyance. Bored, Jack starts to imitate

Springsteen’s rasp. McClane snaps off the radio. Silence.

JACK
What do they want to question me about
anyway?

MCCLANE
Five nuclear plants temporarily lost
power at the exact same time last night.
Timing seems awfully suspicious, what
with you getting out yesterday.

JACK
It’s called a coincidence, okay?
McClane just shrugs - he’s not buying it.

JACK
You really think I had something to do
with it?

MCCLANE
Honestly, Jack? I don’t give a shit.
They said if I brought you in, they’d
consider your participation voluntary, so
that’s what I’m doing. I’m trying to keep
you from screwing up your life any worse
than you already have.

Jack looks stung but tries not to show it. They drive in
silence a beat.

JACK
Just for the record, I’m White Hat.
(off McClane’s look)
Hackers are either White Hat or Black
Hat. White Hats are good -

MCCLANE
I get it. Very cute. I gotta tell you
though, I don’t see the difference.

(CONTINUED)
 17.
CONTINUED:

JACK
You would if you ever met a Black Hat.

EXT. A RUN-DOWN CITY NEIGHBORHOOD - DAY

Swoop over blocks of tenements, halt on a rooftop dotted

with antennae and mini-dishes. Noticeable, not conspicuous.

INT. TENEMENT APARTMENT - DAY

A dingy shell of an apartment. Yet as we pan off a barred

window, we hear the clacking of computer keys.

In the center of the room we find BRICE (early 20s, darkly

serious), TREY (late 20s, scraggly hair, tribal tattoos and
a pierced lip), CASPER (mid-20s, pasty pale, creepy), and
Mai. Each has at least three laptops working, in addition to
modified circuit boards, ancillary hard drives, etc.

No one speaks, the clatter of simultaneously clacking keys

so incessant it sounds like running water. Their focus is
beyond impressive - it’s frightening.

GABRIEL (O.S.)
(over the racket)
I SAID how are we doing?
They all glance up to discover Gabriel by the front door,
having just arrived.

MAI
Day One is right on schedule.

They resume their tandem-hacking as Gabriel approaches, eyes

roaming their cluttered collection of laptop screens.

CLOSE ON GABRIEL, a satisfied gleam in his eyes as his gaze

travels from screen to screen -

- revealing a startling array of network sites from all over

the country: FIRE DEPARTMENTS, POLICE DEPARTMENTS,
HOSPITALS, TRUCKING COMPANIES, U.S. POSTAL SERVICE,
SUPERMARKET CHAINS, WATER TREATMENT FACILITIES, NEWSPAPERS,
SHIPPING COMPANIES, TV NETWORKS, RADIO STATIONS, EMERGENCY
SERVICES, NATIONAL BANKS, INSURANCE COMPANIES - more and
more windows coming at us faster and faster, culminating in
a rapid-fire montage of pixellated images and words flying
at us in split-seconds before collapsing into streaming
blocks of computer code at the hands of the hackers...

We stop finally on a close up of one of Casper’s screens to

read: WMATA: D.C. TRANSIT AUTHORITY. AUTHORIZED ACCESS ONLY.
 18.

EXT. WASHINGTON D.C. - KEY BRIDGE - DAY

McClane’s Mustang is one of many vehicles negotiating the

bottleneck of heavy bridge traffic into the city.

INT. MCCLANE’S CAR

McClane grips the wheel impatiently. He looks over at Jack:

fast asleep. For a moment, we see a fatherly look on
McClane’s face - but he shakes it off, returning his
attention to the road, where we now see the cause of the tie-
up: a lane closed for a crew working on an exposed gas main.

MCCLANE
Hey fellas, how about picking a little
busier time to dig up the street? Like
during the next parade maybe?

EXT. AN INTERSECTION

Same area, a few blocks ahead. A sports car is driving. It

passes under a green traffic light -- and is smashed by a
city bus at full speed! The two vehicles screech and careen,
clipping more cars around them, finally skidding to a halt,
bits of smashed automobile everywhere; we continue racing
down the street into

ANOTHER INTERSECTION as a motorcycle crashes into the

oncoming hood of an SUV, flips some 30 ft. up into the air
and smashes into the green light of the traffic signal
dangling above and we’re still flying down the street to

THE NEXT INTERSECTION as two cars drive straight into each

other, two more skidding into them from either side, the
whole crushed, screeching mass of smoke and metal shattering
a store window in a spray of glass as we cut back to:

INT. MCCLANE’S CAR

Now travelling at a relatively decent pace.

MCCLANE
Finally it opens up a little --
- when the car ahead abruptly jerks to a halt. McClane slams
the brakes. Jack jerks forward, jolted awake.

JACK
What the hell! Why’d you...

Jack’s words trail as he sees that not just the car in front
of them but the entire block has come to a stand-still.
Impatient drivers honk their horns. Only as McClane listens,
(CONTINUED)
 19.
CONTINUED:

he realizes there are a whole lot of horns honking. More

than just a block’s worth.

McClane leans out his window, but can’t see much. Puzzled,
he checks that Jack’s handcuffs are secure.

MCCLANE
Wait here.

EXT. STREET - TRAFFIC JAM - MORNING

McClane jogs past stuck cars, back to the bridge. From the
elevation, he gets a wider look at this area of the city...

MCCLANE’s POV: every street as far as the eye can see is

bumper-to-bumper traffic. Half the intersections are sites
of major accidents. And every single traffic light is green.
Hundreds of green dots glowing eerily across the cityscape.

INT. MCCLANE’S CAR - MOMENTS LATER

Jack’s still cuffed to the passenger door - when the

driver’s side suddenly bangs open. McClane hops in.

MCCLANE
All the goddamn lights are green.

JACK
Really? Well, so much for my interview.

McClane considers the situation - then pulls over and shuts

off the engine.

MCCLANE
We’ll take the subway.

He secures an old “Club” lock to the steering wheel.

JACK
That’s the extent of your automotive
security system? “The Club?”

McClane just gets out. Jack’s left alone in here.

JACK
Hey! What about me?

- when the passenger door is suddenly yanked open, dragging

Jack (cuffed to the handle) halfway out of the car.

INT. D.C. METRO STATION - DAY

MetroCards are swiped through scanners. The station’s very

hectic; clearly McClane wasn’t the only one with this idea.
 20.

INT. SUBWAY - CONDUCTOR’S CAB

A heavy-set conductor (ALVAREZ) presses a button, leans into

a mic, and mumbles through a mouthful of Egg McMuffin:

ALVAREZ
Stand clear of the closing doors.

INT. SUBWAY CAR - MOMENTS LATER

McClane and Jack are wedged shoulder to shoulder as the

train rattles along. A prim-looking WOMAN stares uneasily at
Jack’s cuffed wrists. Jack smiles back at her.

JACK
A little S&M mishap. Muscles here lost
the key.

MCCLANE
Shut up.
(explains to Woman)
He’s my kid.

The Woman awkwardly averts her eyes.

EXT. SUBWAY TRAIN

As seen from down-tunnel. Close on the spinning blur of

carrying tires along the guiding bar as the train’s cars
twist and turn. The train seems to be picking up speed.
INT. SUBWAY CAR

McClane feels it too. The rattling is more jolting, the

rumble beneath their feet intensifying. He peers out the
window - black tunnel walls whipping past when -- Bang! the
train hits a particularly hard bump.

EXT. SUBWAY TRAIN - UNDER THE TRAIN

Sparks starting to fly from the steel safety wheel.

INT. SUBWAY CAR

Passengers looking nervous. McClane knows something’s not

right. His eyes dart, land on the intercom. He pushes it.

MCCLANE
Hey, everything okay in there? Hello?

INT. SUBWAY - CONDUCTOR’S CAB

Alvarez, however, is gaping at his on-board computer. The

(CONTINUED)
 21.
CONTINUED:

train speed flashes in warning as it exceeds 70 mph.

INT. SUBWAY CAR

McClane turns to Jack, swiftly jerks his hands into the air.

JACK
What the -

McClane unlocks one cuff, re-cuffs it to the overhead bar.

MCCLANE
Hang tight.

INT. SUBWAY CARS - MOMENTS LATER

McClane works his way from car to car, pushing past

EXECUTIVES, WAITRESSES, HARD HATS, A LITTLE LEAGUE TEAM...
Everyone looks nervous from the speed.

INT. SUBWAY - FIRST CAR - CONDUCTOR’S CAB

Alvarez grips a receiver to his ear.

ALVAREZ
What do you mean “stand by?!” We’re doing
almost 90!

Suddenly a pound on the door startles the crap out of the

already tense conductor. It’s McClane.

MCCLANE
What’s going on, man? This thing’s gonna
jump the rails the way you’re gunning it!

ALVAREZ
I’m not doing shit! The train’s run
entirely by Automatic Train Control over
at Headquarters. Acceleration, braking -
everything.

MCCLANE
So what the hell do you do?
ALVAREZ
(sheepishly)
Open and close the doors?

MCCLANE
All right, listen, my name’s John, I’m an
ex-cop. Does headquarters know what’s
wrong with the system?

(CONTINUED)
 22.
CONTINUED:

ALVAREZ
All they know is it suddenly went off-
line. It’s affecting all the routes.

ON MCCLANE as this registers with him.

MCCLANE
There’s no manual override?

ALVAREZ
We’re going 20 miles per hour faster than
the maximum allowable speed - I try that
and we’ll jackknife for sure!

EXT. SUBWAY TRAIN - FRONT END

Insert shot of the nose of the train smashing through the

blackness at a terrifying velocity.

INT. CONDUCTOR’S CAB

McClane has to think fast.

MCCLANE
The electronic brakes, how do they work?

ALVAREZ
It’s - they’re air brakes. Air goes in,
they release - air goes out, they brake.

MCCLANE
They’re connected by piping?

ALVAREZ
I - I think so, yes.

MCCLANE
Where’s the distributor?

CLOSE ON A PLATFORM DOOR AS

Bang! the door slams open and McClane barrels through:

MCCLANE
Everybody stay calm and move quickly to
the back of the train! Let’s go!

Everyone shoving rearward in panic. McClane suddenly sees: a

LITTLE LEAGUER with an aluminum bat slung over his shoulder.

MCCLANE
Hey you - kid!

(CONTINUED)
 23.
CONTINUED:

The kid glances back up at McClane with fear in his eyes.

EXT. SUBWAY TRAIN

The train blasts past us as we whip fix on

THE EXPOSED GAP BETWEEN CARS ONE AND TWO

On the cramped platform we find McClane crouched, grease

staining his hands and face as he strains to remove the
distributor’s housing. Behind him the little leaguer’s bat
is propped against the compartment door.

Sparks fly from tracks rushing right underneath McClane’s

feet. With one last tug, McClane finally pries the housing
off - it flies from his hands, knocks against the tunnel
wall and vanishes like a pebble in an endless well.

He quickly spins, grabs the Little Leaguer’s aluminum bat.

As he rises, he can see through the small window into the
now empty first car, through the front windshield and into
the black tunnel ahead.

He braces himself, raises the bat, and slams it down on the

exposed valve: an ear-splitting bang!, but a minor dent.

McClane regains his footing, raises the bat again, and slams
it down harder on the valve. A chink of spark, and the faint
hiss of air. Just a whisper, but it’s a start.

INT. SUBWAY CAR TOWARD REAR

Jack still dangles by his wrists, smushed on all sides by

the crush of terrified passengers huddled back here...

INT. CONDUCTOR’S CAB

Alvarez is drenched in sweat as he gapes helplessly at the

computerized panel before him. And then he focuses on
something: on a far monitor, a digital map of the entire
system shows the location of each train within.

ALVAREZ
What the -- oh God, we’re re-routing...
We’re re-routing to an occupied line!

BACK TO MCCLANE IN CONNECTOR

McClane hefts the bat, takes another swing - bang! Dents it

some more. Air hisses out far more audibly.

(CONTINUED)
 24.
CONTINUED:

INSERT THE WHEELS ON THE TRACK

McClane’s idea is actually working: the thick brake pads

start to descend closer to the wheels...

BACK TO MCCLANE

Chokes up on the bat. One more hit should do it.

MCCLANE
All right, John. Bottom of the 9th,
count’s 2 and 3... Here comes the pitch -

He starts to swing down -- when the train banks up a curve

as it switches tracks, knocking McClane off-balance! He
falls backwards... toppling off... head dropping back all
but an inch from the platform edge rushing past, about to
shave off the top of his skull -

- when McClane seizes a hand-grip and tugs himself back up

just in time. The aluminum bat, however, falls and snaps
like a twig under the train. Gasping, he hoists himself up --
then suddenly freezes...

MCCLANE’S POV THROUGH THE SMALL WINDOW: peering through the

first car, out the nose glass... to a pair of headlights in
the distance!

MCCLANE
Oh shit!

No sooner does this register than Alvarez’s quivering face

slams in front of the window glass, blocking McClane’s view.

ALVAREZ
(screaming through glass)
WE’RE ON THE WRONG TRACK!!

MCCLANE
I KNOW! GET DOWN!!

Alvarez dives to the floor. McClane can see again: the

headlights coming closer! The combined roar of two trains is
tremendous, the crash a matter of seconds now... Helpless,
McClane crouches down in the gap, bracing for it -

INTERCUT the two trains about to collide head-on -

INSERT Jack and the passengers inside the train, panicked

but not truly aware of the danger -

CLOSE ON MCCLANE, eyes clenched, sure this is the end -

- when he feels himself suddenly lurch to the left, and in

(CONTINUED)
 25.
CONTINUED:

an instant the other train is racing past him on his right?

ANGLE ON A TRIANGULAR WEDGE OF TUNNEL WALL by which both

trains narrowly pass as they move past each other.

INT. FIRST SUBWAY CAR

Alvarez on all fours, absolutely astonished as he crawls

into the conductor’s cab, peers up at the monitor.

ALVAREZ
We’re back online! We’re back online!

INT. METRO STATION PLATFORM - SHORT TIME LATER

The subway train rolls to a halt. The passengers hurriedly

file out from the cars, abuzz with relief.

INT. SUBWAY CAR

Jack all alone in here, still hanging from the overhead bar
by his cuffed wrists - when the divider door bangs open and
McClane enters, grease-stained and sweat-soaked.

JACK
Took you long enough -

McClane just grabs him by his shirt, yanks him face to face.

MCCLANE
Look me in the eye right now and tell me
you didn’t have anything to do with that.

JACK
What are you talking about?! You left me
hanging here like a salami!

McClane says nothing as he uncuffs him from the pole.

JACK
Why? What happened?

INT. D.H.S. - INFORMATION ANALYSIS CENTER - DAY

Dawson hovers over Raj, busily working on his computer

alongside the sea of other analysts doing the same. On his
screen we see SUBWAY CAM surveillance footage from around
the country - confused commuters streaming out of trains.

RAJ
We’re getting identical reports from New
York Transit Authority, Boston, Chicago,
L.A., Seattle. Networks went dead for a
few minutes, then came back completely
(CONTINUED)
 26.
CONTINUED:
RAJ (CONT'D)
unscathed - like nothing happened.
(uneasy)
I don’t get it.

DAWSON
Isn’t there any way to trace this?

RAJ
We’re trying. But whoever did this knows
their shit.

EXT. SUBWAY EXIT - DAY

McClane is leading Jack by his cuffed wrists.

JACK
It was probably just a glitch. Technology
isn’t perfect - yet.

MCCLANE
You can have all the technology you want -
it’ll still a physical world. You take
too many elevators, you forget how to use
the stairs.

JACK
That’s pretty deep, you know that? I’m
serious, you kind of had that Morpheus
vibe going for a second there.

Jack suddenly halts - something’s just occurred to him.

MCCLANE
Something wrong with your feet?

But Jack doesn’t answer. PUSH IN TIGHT ON JACK as his eyes

lock on something across the street. A city WORKER is re-
programming one of the GREEN TRAFFIC LIGHTS, talking into
his belt radio.

WORKER
It’s the craziest thing, now they’re all
working again...

JACK’S POV: Whipping around to ALL THE OTHER GREEN TRAFFIC

LIGHTS starting to blink back to red again -

JACK
It’s not a glitch... Holy shit, I know
what this is.

MCCLANE
What?

(CONTINUED)
 27.
CONTINUED:

Jack turns and meets his eyes. He looks genuinely concerned.

JACK
Gregory Hartwick.

EXT. D.C. STREET - DAY

McClane and Jack pacing down the busy street.

JACK
Gregory Hartwick was a child prodigy the
CIA recruited when he was like 10 years
old to help design ARPANET.

MCCLANE
I’m guessing that’s not a hair spray.

JACK
ARPANET predated the internet, and
Hartwick was part of the team that
created it. But when he got older, the
government decided he was a security risk
and booted him out. Hartwick got pissed,
and came up with his cookbook.

MCCLANE
His “cookbook?”

JACK
It’s like a hacker’s manual. Hartwick put
it online, called it How to Crash an
Empire in 3 Days. It describes step by
step how a small team of hackers could
send America back to the stone age.

MCCLANE
(skeptical)
In three days.

JACK
It has to do with response time. Hartwick
calculated exactly how fast the
authorities could react. Keep it under
three days and you’d destroy the system
faster than it could defend itself.
(beat)
And if I remember right, it begins
exactly like this: a series of random
shut downs that seem easy to repair. It
looks like nothing’s wrong, only when the
computers are re-started, that’s when the
bad shit gets installed. Viruses, worms,
Trojan horses, you name it...
(CONTINUED)
 28.
CONTINUED:

He regards the ominous sea of green lights.

JACK
I’m telling you, this is either Gregory
Hartwick, or another Black Hat borrowing
his recipes.

MCCLANE
Or you’re jerking my chain.

JACK
I swear I’m not. I can prove it. Just
give me five minutes on a computer -

MCCLANE
Are you high? No way. I know the terms of
your parole. You think you know what this
is? You can run it by DHS.

JACK
And what if they don’t believe me?

MCCLANE
Are you kidding? An upstanding citizen
like yourself?

JACK
My point exactly - I need proof! Look, if
I’m right, these guys are already
uploading the rest of Day One. But I
can’t prove shit without a computer, and
we both know the feds aren’t about to let
me use one of theirs.

McClane looks extremely reluctant, but knows he’s right.

JACK
Five minutes, that’s all.

ON MCCLANE, rubbing his temples, very much on the fence...

INT. SYLVAN LEARNING CENTER - DAY

We follow a SOCCER MOM carrying a tray of steaming Starbucks

coffees as her FIVE-YEAR-OLD runs ahead of her and into

SYLVAN KIDS ROOM

A pastel semicircle of computers parked in front of bean bag

chairs on which PRESCHOOLERS play computer games.
Conspicuously among the kids is Jack, hunched over a
keyboard, fingers working at warp speed.

(CONTINUED)
 29.
CONTINUED:

ON MCCLANE, standing near the door watching him, looking

uneasy - yet reluctantly impressed by Jack’s obvious skill.
The Soccer Mom approaches, offers him one of those lattes.

SOCCER MOM
You look like you could use one.

MCCLANE
... Yeah, thanks.

SOCCER MOM
So which genius is yours?

MCCLANE
Over there. The man-sized boy.

SOCCER MOM
Oh... The Special Needs child.

MCCLANE
You don’t know the half of it.

McClane crosses over to Jack. There’s a six-year-old WHIZ

KID helping him.

MCCLANE
Find anything yet?

WHIZ KID
Working on it. Try the Dead Man’s switch.

McClane stares down at the Whiz Kid.

MCCLANE
How old are you? Eight?

WHIZ KID
I’m six. How old are you?

No answer from McClane, who wisely returns to his post.

INT. TENEMENT BUILDING - APARTMENT

Mai, Casper, Brice and Trey still hacking like gangbusters.

Brice suddenly stops typing, quickly looks up to Gabriel.

BRICE
Shit! We’ve got a visitor. Poking around
the transit sites.

Gabriel calmly steps over to Brice’s monitor, almost amused.

(CONTINUED)
 30.
CONTINUED:

GABRIEL
Hm. See if you can isolate a sig block
and identify our guest.

Brice runs a scan as a thin smile widens on Gabriel’s face.

GABRIEL
DHS will want a suspect, right?

INT. SYLVAN LEARNING CENTER - COMPUTER ROOM

Jack is squinting at his monitor screen, analyzing the

hack’s source code -- when he suddenly freezes. In the code,
we see new lines of code suddenly appearing.

JACK
What the -- they’re using my sig? How the
hell did they -- they’re using my sig!

WHIZ KID
What’s wrong?

JACK
Somebody’s using my sig to make it look
like I’m the one behind these hacks!
INT. DHS - CORRIDORS - DAY

Raj is running down the hall, past INTERROGATION ROOMS in

which we see AGENTS QUESTIONING AN ARRAY OF HACKERS behind
thick glass. Raj finally arrives at a window behind which we
see Dawson questioning a pair of wise-ass looking suspects.
Raj knocks on the glass. Dawson looks up - sees the urgency
on his face - and steps out of the room.

RAJ
We found a sig block in the transit hack.
(off her confusion)
It’s a signature coding style, every
hacker has one. It’s like a digital
fingerprint. We even have a database -

DAWSON
(quickly)
Run it through. See if we get a hit.

INT. SYLVAN LEARNING CENTER

Jack is typing frantically, sweating bullets.

JACK
Shit! They’re planting it everywhere!

(CONTINUED)
 31.
CONTINUED:

CUT TO MCCLANE ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE GLASS

Oblivious to Jack’s panic - when his cell phone rings.

MCCLANE
(picks up)
Yeah?

DAWSON (ON PHONE)

John, it’s me. Is your son with you?

MCCLANE
Yeah, we’re on my way over. Listen, Jack
thinks he might have a lead for you guys.
Someone named Gregory Hartwick -

DAWSON (O.S.)
(gravely)
John, where is Jack right now?

McClane glances through the glass, covers for him:

MCCLANE
He - had to use the bathroom. Why?

DAWSON (O.S.)
The situation is getting a lot more
serious. It’s imperative that you bring
him in immediately. We’re concerned that
if he somehow gains access to a computer,
he could try to cover his tracks.

MCCLANE
Cover his tracks? What are you...

McClane turns to the glass... to find Jack at his computer

staring right back at him - the look of panic in Jack’s eyes
compounded by the sight of McClane on his cell phone.

DAWSON
We have digital evidence linking him to a
number of these hacks. I’m sorry, John.

TIGHT ON MCCLANE, tensing up, eyes still locked on

JACK, staring back at him across the room, seeing the

telling suspicion in his father’s stare.

MCCLANE
(under his breath)
Don’t do it, Jack...

Jack hesitates - then abruptly turns and bolts!

(CONTINUED)
 32.
CONTINUED:

MCCLANE
JACK WAIT!

But Jack’s already gone. McClane tears off after him.

INT. DHS - INFORMATION ANALYSIS CENTER

Dawson looking worried, clutching her cell phone.

DAWSON
John?... You there? John?

EXT. D.C. STREET - DAY

Panicked, Jack’s running through cars stuck in traffic.

He spots McClane in the rear view mirror of a car, chasing
him. Jack leaps to the trunk of the next car, starts
running over them. Trunk, roof, hood. Trunk, roof, hood.

Behind him, McClane does the same but less nimbly, bounding
from one car then crashing and denting the fender of
another.

MCCLANE
(between breaths)
Still - chasing - my - own - kid!

Jack notices something up ahead. Hops down to the street.

McClane sees this, jumps to another car and hits it hard,

rolling off it with a grunt. McClane chasing in between
cars, to where he saw Jack was headed: A STATION WAGON WITH
A BIKE RACK mounted to its tail - only there’s no bike.

McClane looks up, panting... to see Jack riding away on the

bike through the gaps in traffic, disappearing around a
corner. He’s gone.

CUT TO:

INT. TELEVISION NEWS STUDIO - DAY

A quaffed NEWS ANCHOR on camera reads from his teleprompter:

ANCHOR
In other news, still no word on what
caused that trouble on the subway this -

The Anchor suddenly stops - his teleprompter has gone blank?

A Producer frantically gestures for him to fill dead air.

ANCHOR (CONT'D)
Um...
 33.

SMASH INTO A SERIES OF QUICK SHOTS:

INT. A SUPERMARKET IN ALABAMA

A sea of CASHIERS look baffled as none of their registers

will open -

INT. A AUTO FACTORY IN MICHIGAN

An assembly line abruptly jolts to a halt -

INT. AN ATM KIOSK IN MANHATTAN

A long line of people face suddenly blank ATM screens -

INT. A LAS VEGAS CASINO

A crowd of gamblers up in arms as the electronic SPORTS BOOK

BOARD is going haywire -

INT. A 911 CALL CENTER IN OHIO

Operators struggle with suddenly blank computer screens -

INT. A HOSPITAL EMERGENCY ROOM IN DETROIT

Staff scrambling as all the EKG machines blip blankly -

- and then suddenly, all at once, they come back on. Gasps
of relief, confused staff quickly resuming their work...

BACK TO TELEVISION NEWS STUDIO

The Anchor blinking uncomfortably, desperately trying to

fill time -- when the teleprompter blinks back on. The
Anchor exhales with relief, composes himself.

ANCHOR
Sorry about that, folks. Just a little
technical difficulty...

INT. DEPARTMENT OF HOMELAND SECURITY - RENNER’S OFFICE - DAY

A very tense Dawson is briefing Renner.

DAWSON
It’s spreading like wildfire. We’re
getting reports from all over the country
- police departments, hospitals, banks,
chain stores, you name it. Their
computers go down for a few minutes, then
come back seemingly unharmed.

(CONTINUED)
 34.
CONTINUED:

RENNER
Think this is Jack McClane’s idea of a
sick joke?

Dawson is about to reply, when an ASSISTANT steps in.

ASSISTANT
Excuse me, Agent Dawson?

INT. DEPARTMENT OF HOMELAND SECURITY - LOWER LOBBY - DAY

McClane waiting anxiously at reception -

DAWSON (O.S.)
John.

He looks up to find Dawson entering - she’s immediately

worried when she sees McClane is here alone.

DAWSON
...Where’s Jack?

INT. D.H.S. - CORRIDOR - MOMENTS LATER

Dawson is walking McClane down the corridors.

DAWSON
We’re coordinating with local PD. Don’t
worry, we’ll find him.

MCCLANE
Did you check out this guy Hartwick?

DAWSON
We did. Jack was right about his
cookbook. The site had expired, but we
retrieved an old screencap.

She hands McClane a stack of printouts. McClane regards the

printout: “HOW TO DESTROY AN EMPIRE IN 3 DAYS.” The first
page starts with the T.S. Eliot quote:

MCCLANE
(reading, unsettled)
“This is the way the world ends, not with
a bang but a whimper.”

DAWSON
Pretty terrifying stuff.

MCCLANE
You guys gonna track him down?

(CONTINUED)
 35.
CONTINUED:

DAWSON
Already did. He’s been dead for 5 years.

INT. A GAP STORE (DOWNTOWN D.C.) - FITTING ROOMS - DAY

A SALESWOMAN waits uneasily by a fitting room stall - when

it opens and Jack steps out in his t-shirt and boxer shorts.

SALESWOMAN
Well?

JACK
I’m not sure. Can I try the next size up?

SALESWOMAN
M’kay. For which item?

JACK
All of them.

Flustered, the Saleswoman has no choice but to accept the

huge pile of clothes Jack hands her. No sooner does she
leave than Jack rushes to a nearby inventory computer.

INT. TENEMENT BUILDING - APARTMENT - DAY

Gabriel’s crew still busy hacking. Gabriel hovers by Brice.

GABRIEL
Our trespasser, do you have a name yet?

On Brice’s screen we see he’s already amassed a digital

dossier on Jack. JACK’S POLICE MUG SHOT stares back at us.

BRICE
“Jack McClane.” Just got out of prison.

Gabriel chuckles to himself, pleased by the serendipity. He

starts to walk on, then notices something on Mai’s screen: a
series of addresses in INDIANA. The instant she feels
Gabriel watching her Mai clicks the window closed, returns
to her hack. Gabriel studies her a beat, but says nothing.

INT. A GAP STORE (DOWNTOWN D.C.) - FITTING ROOMS - DAY

Jack huddled over the inventory computer, its screen now a

stream of dense code, his fingers racing over the keys...

JACK
Come on, asshole, you jacked in from
somewhere...
(finally)
Bingo.
(CONTINUED)
 36.
CONTINUED:

On the computer screen we read “IP SUBSCRIBER ADDRESS: 179

GREEN STREET, APT 6C, WASHINGTON D.C.”

INT. D.H.S. - DAWSON’S OFFICE

McClane scanning through the Hartwick info on Dawson’s

computer monitor: photos of a frail, awkward TEEN; a gangly,
angrier 20 YEAR OLD. A few candids of a bearded 30 YEAR OLD
who looks like he’d be buddies with the Unabomber. McClane
reads a quote:

MCCLANE
“I brought America into the digital age.
I can take her out of it.” Modest guy.

McClane arrives at a final photo: Hartwick sprawled on a

brain-stained rug, gun in one hand, half his head gone.

DAWSON
Blew his brains out in the basement of
his parents’ home in northern California.

The desk phone rings. Dawson grabs it.

DAWSON
Yes?... We’ll be right down.
(quickly turns to McClane)
I think we just found Jack.

INT. DHS - INFORMATION ANALYSIS CENTER

WEST, another analyst, sits before a bank of monitors; on

each monitor we see grainy TRAFFIC CAM VIDEO.

WEST
Corner of 19th & K, coming out of a Gap.

ON MCCLANE AND DAWSON, watching. Circumstances aside,

something about spying on his own kid makes McClane uneasy.

WEST
We pick him up again on East Capitol &
10th, where he continues along Green
Street. That’s where we lost him.

MCCLANE
What’s on Green Street?

West types some commands, the monitor images switch to a

SATELLITE FEED. West hyper-magnifies the image, scans the
area... until we see on a familiar tenement rooftop dotted
with antennae and dishes. McClane turns to Dawson.

(CONTINUED)
 37.
CONTINUED:

MCCLANE
You asked me for a favor. Now I’ve got
one for you.

EXT. HOUSING PROJECT - TENEMENT BUILDING - DAY

Jack crosses past a pair of TOUGHS out front.

TOUGH 1
Ain’t nobody up there. That shit’s
condemned.

Jack just nods, continues toward the building - when he’s

grabbed by the second guy and slammed into the wall.

TOUGH 2
Didn’t you hear what he said, fool?

Jack’s about to panic - when he notices the PS Portable

poking out of Tough 1’s pocket.

JACK
You guys into Madden ‘07?

Tough 1 looks to Tough 2, then nods suspiciously.

JACK
What if I said I know the cheat code to
make the cheerleaders take off their
uniforms?

INT. TENEMENT BUILDING - MOMENTS LATER

Jack warily climbing up grimy stairs. Through a cracked

window we see the two toughs hunched over their videogame.

Jack arrives at apartment 6C, hesitates by the door -- then

kicks it open. The apartment is the same one Gabriel and his
crew had occupied... only now it’s as dingy and abandoned as
the rest of the building. Baffled, Jack steps in, failing to
notice the MOTION DETECTOR discreetly overhead.

EXT. A REMOTE STORAGE FACILITY OUTSIDE D.C. - DAY

Our hackers are gathered, impatiently smoking. Gabriel’s PDA

suddenly starts to BEEP. He glances down at it: on the tiny
screen a tiny MOTION DETECTOR ICON BLINKS, beside it a small
window shows live lipstick cam video of Jack entering the
apartment (the camera clearly concealed). Gabriel smiles.

GABRIEL
Welcome, Jack.

(CONTINUED)
 38.
CONTINUED:

O.S. the sound of car engines. Gabriel looks up to find five

innocuous WHITE VANS pulling into the lot.

GABRIEL
Our rides are here.

The vans roll to a halt, their five DRIVERS peering out at

us - slabs of meat with mirthless eyes.

TREY
Who’re they?

GABRIEL
Some hired help, for security purposes.

Trey looks to Brice and Casper - all are on edge. Mai too
doesn’t like the looks of them, warily approaches Gabriel.

MAI
Is this really necessary?

GABRIEL
Don’t worry. Just think of them as the
hardware to your software.

Mai reluctantly heads for the first van, and the others
follow suit, each hacker boarding a different van. Gabriel
gets in the last one, opens the door to reveal it’s fully
loaded with computer equipment. A portable hacker’s delight.

INT. TENEMENT APARTMENT 6C

Jack has now entered the seemingly abandoned apartment, the

dead quiet making him nervous - when he sees

A BACK ROOM. Vacant except for a card table, on which four

laptops are positioned in a square. He slowly approaches the
laptops. Their screens are dark. Jack reaches out to defuzz
one - when his hand freezes an inch above the keys.

JACK’S POV: the battery casing on one of the laptops is not

fully tucked in.

Jack quickly leans in, notes the way its wired in back, then
looking up, spots the MOTION DETECTOR subtly rigged above.
He suddenly looks terrified, turns to run and SLAMS into-

MCCLANE. Jack’s too panicked to even register the surprise -

or to resist when McClane slaps the cuffs back on.

MCCLANE
(hard)
Not this time, Jack.
(CONTINUED)
 39.
CONTINUED:

Jack starts to run, but he’s yanked back by his cuffs.

JACK
You don’t get it! We’ve got to get out of
here! Those laptops aren’t laptops -
they’re wireless incendiary devices!

MCCLANE
Right. And I’m Mahatma Gandhi.

JACK
I’m telling you, those are bombs! Those
go off, and it’ll look like I killed
myself! Someone’s trying to frame me!

MCCLANE
Who, Gregory Hartwick? Hartwick’s dead,
Jack. I saw a photo of the guy - his head
looked like a bowl Spaghettios.

Jack takes a beat to register this - then:

JACK
It was from a negative? The photo you
saw, it was printed from the negative or
was it on a computer?

McClane’s hesitation gives Jack his answer: computer.

JACK
(sure it’s fake)
Hartwick’s dead? Show me a body.

EXT. TENEMENT BUILDING

On the ground with four other AGENTS. She clicks her radio:

DAWSON
John, have you got him yet?

BACK TO MCCLANE AND JACK IN THE TENEMENT

MCCLANE
(into radio)
I got him. Listen Dawson, do me a favor
and have your guys double-check that
Gregory Hartwick is really worm food.

McClane clicks off. Jack still gaping at the laptops.

JACK
Can we just get out of here now?!

(CONTINUED)
 40.
CONTINUED:

MCCLANE
No.

JACK
WHY NOT?!

MCCLANE
(peering around)
Because you want to. Which makes me think
you’re hiding something from me.

JACK
I AM NOT! Look, I’m sorry, okay?! I’m
sorry for every time I ever lied to you -

MCCLANE
It’s too late for that, Jack. First you
feed me some line about needing a
computer so you can run out on me.
(pacing to the laptops)
And now you expect me to believe that a
bunch of laptops are actually bombs.

McClane reaches for one of the laptops -

JACK
DON’T!

MCCLANE
Why not?
(picks up a laptop)
What is it you don’t want me to -

- the laptop screen in his grasp suddenly starts to emit a

low vibration and from one of their tinny speakers we hear
we hear Ray Charles: “Hit the road, Jack, and don’t you come
back no more no more no more no more...”

McClane’s eyes quickly dart to Jack - see the dire fear in

son’s eyes - then whip back to the laptops: all four are
starting to BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP as McClane now sees the
hollowed out underside of the laptop in his hand, packed
with a dense tangle of wires and a SECONDS TIMER that’s
rapidly ticking down from 30...

JACK
(pale as a sheet)
Now do you believe me?!

McClane immediately yanks Jack by his cuffs as they bolt for

the door -

(CONTINUED)
 41.
CONTINUED:

TENEMENT HALLWAY

- the door SMASHING open as McClane and Jack stumble to

the stairwell. We hear their feet pounding in retreat as we
TRACK BACK IN through the open apartment door, pushing in
tighter and tighter until we arrive at

THE FOUR LAPTOPS, as their beeps abruptly stop... then from

the speakers comes a familiar, congenial computer voice:

AOL LOG-OFF VOICE

Good-bye.

BOOM! as the four dummy laptops detonate with ear-splitting,

devastating force -

INT. STAIRWELL

McClane and Jack tumbling down the 2nd story when McClane
jerks Jack with him as he dives through a cracked window -

MCCLANE/ JACK
AAAAAAAHHH!!!

EXT. APARTMENT

- just as the entire tenement building concusses!

CUT TO DAWSON AND THE AGENTS ON THE GROUND

shielding themselves from the blast and debris.

DAWSON
Get our guys up there a.s.a.p.!
(into his radio)
John?!... John?!

Dawson peers up at the annihilated 6th floor, fire raging

through the dense smoke. She scans the area - no sign of
McClane or Jack anywhere. She exhales, sick to her stomach.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. A LARGE BANK - LATE DAY

A line snakes practically out the door, frustrated customers

craning their necks, trying to see what’s taking so long.

Burn in: “First National Bank, San Francisco, CA.”

AT THE TELLER WINDOWS

An anxious TELLER stares down at her computer, then looks up

at the tense CUSTOMER on the other side of the glass.
(CONTINUED)
 42.
CONTINUED:

TELLER
Sorry for the wait. We’ve been having
trouble with our computers -

The Teller’s eyes suddenly go wide. Follow her breathless

look to HER COMPUTER SCREEN: reams and reams of account data
are suddenly being erased right before her eyes. She
frantically taps at her keyboard, but it does nothing. Line
after line vanishing at an incredible pace...

TELLER
I - I have to get my manager...

INT. A SKYSCRAPER - MORTGAGE LENDING OFFICE - LATE DAY

A YOUNG COUPLE are waiting to sign their loan docs.

Burn in: “Citywide Mortgage Lenders. Annapolis, MI.”

LOAN OFFICER
Now if you’ll just sign here are here,
we’ll be all -

The LOAN OFFICER suddenly frowns at her computer screen. All

of her data is vanishing before her eyes. She whips around,
glances out her office door to

A HUGE SEA OF CUBICLES

Hundreds of confused heads popping up from their cubicles,

the data vanishing from their desktop computer monitors -
like some invisible finger is holding the “delete” button.

INT. N.Y.S.E. TRADING FLOOR - LATE DAY

Wide shot of the floor of the exchange, things slowing down

as traders wait for the close of business.

Burn in: “New York Stock Exchange. 4:58 pm.”

INSERT: INT. A WHITE VAN - DRIVING

Casper in his mobile workstation, when an INSTANT MESSAGE

pops up on one of his laptop screens: All set?
Casper types the reply as he mutters:

CASPER
Locked and loaded.

He cranks up his iPod, and starts typing...

 43.

BACK TO: N.Y.S.E. TRADING FLOOR

A TRADER scribbling an order glances up at the big board -

and his jaw drops. On the board, the Dow, Nasdaq and S&P 500
indexes are all plummeting at a rate that’s beyond alarming.

For a surreal moment, the trading floor instantly falling

into mute shock. We hear a few muttered expletives as
everyone just stares helplessly up at the board. Indexes are
already less than half what they were just seconds ago.
Numbers keep spiralling down, down, down...

All it takes is one anonymous voice in the crowd to shout

out a solitary sell order --

-- and the entire floor erupts in absolute pandemonium.

SMASH CUT TO:

INT. DHS - INFORMATION ANALYSIS CENTER

The phones are ringing like crazy in here; an atmopshere of

mounting alarm. Renner anxiously hovers over Raj and the
other nearby analysts.

MOLINA
It’s one big mega-virus. You can see it
in the distribution pattern.

On a large screen, a MAP OF THE U.S. shows thousands of tiny

dots spreading outward in small clusters.

MOLINA (O.S.)
We’re talking complete erasures of entire
databases and backup files. Every single
piece of information just - gone.

RENNER
(panicking)
Exactly how many banks are affected?

MOLINA
At the rate this thing’s spreading -
(looks up)
- all of them. And it’s not just the
banks. We’re getting reports from
insurance firms, credit card companies,
brokerage houses, mortgage lenders...

Renner looks like he’s about to have a heart attack -

(CONTINUED)
 44.
CONTINUED:

TANSEY
(rushing over with a phone)
Sir, the Chairman of the Securities and
Exchange Commission is on the line for
you. He says it’s urgent.

Renner takes the phone. Hold on his face as it drains of

last remaining color, then pan across the room - where for a
moment all eyes are fixed on the TV MONITORS: live coverage
of the Wall Street crash just starting to break. Shots of
hysterical traders, terror and confusion on city streets...

Just then Dawson enters, returning from the blast. She halts
in her tracks on seeing the news.

Renner spins on her, cupping the phone.

RENNER
Well?!

DAWSON
Our guys have been over the wreckage.
Still no sign of McClane or his father.
John Senior’s got a gift for staying
alive. Could be hereditary.

CUT TO:

EXTREME CLOSE ON MCCLANE’S FACE. He looks dead, brow flecked

with blood and soot. Finally his CLOSED EYES strain open in
pain. Dazed, he peers around to find he’s in the back of

INT. A TAXI CAB - D.C. STREETS - LATE DAY

Jack sitting beside him, a little less battered.

JACK
One guess who broke who’s fall.

McClane winces, struggling to sit up.

JACK
You okay?

McClane painfully assesses his state with what at this point

is practically an M.D.’s breadth of experience:

MCCLANE
(poking his side)
One... two broken ribs...
(prods his shoulder)
Hairline fracture of the clavicle...

(CONTINUED)
 45.
CONTINUED:
MCCLANE (CONT'D)
(his left leg)
And a dislocated -

He takes his knee and quickly TWISTS with a agonized grunt -

MCCLANE
- knee.
(exhales)
You?

JACK
(nods, spooked)
It’s a weird feeling, knowing that
somebody out there wants you dead.

MCCLANE
(deadpan ironic)
I can only imagine.

Jack just peers out his window, still looks shaken.

MCCLANE
Listen - maybe I should’ve believed you.
But you’re like the boy who cried laptop.

Jack just nods. A beat of silence.

MCCLANE
Hey Jack?

JACK
Huh?

MCCLANE
Where the hell are we going?

JACK
Whoever’s behind this thinks I’m dead.
That means their guard’s down, and I’ve
got a chance to find them.

ON MCCLANE: this kind of thinking resonates with him.

JACK
Unless you still plan on bringing me in?

McClane mulls it over... then finally turns to Jack and

looks him dead in the eye: he’s back in the game.

MCCLANE
Like I said. Where are we going?
 46.

INT. UPSCALE SHOPPING MALL - LATE DAY

The mall is bustling with shoppers happily patronizing all

the big, flashy chains. The disheveled duo of McClane and
Jack look utterly out of place as they ride side by side up
a sleek escalator.

On the opposite escalator they pass a YOUNG DAD WITH HIS

HAND ON HIS SON’S SHOULDER, right out of a Hallmark card.

JACK
Remember that time you took me fishing?

MCCLANE
How could I forget? You bitched the whole
time that your Walkman didn’t work.

JACK
Only after you threw it overboard.

They arrive at the upper level, walk past an ATM KIOSK.

People are all struggling with their cards. McClane clocks
it for a moment -

JACK
We’re here.

McClane looks up to find a flashy ELECTRONICS SUPERSTORE.

Loud pop music from stereos competing with noise from TVs.

JACK
I’ll be quick. I know exactly what I
need.

McClane warily enters to the blasting music and lights.

MCCLANE
Where’s the stripper pole?

INT. DHS - INFORMATION ANALYSIS CENTER

Dawson stands over Raj, issuing an APB for John and Jack
McClane. Digital photos of John and Jack are up on various
monitors. Behind her the room is awash in noise and chaos.

Tansey approaches Dawson, hands her a sheet of paper.

TANSEY
I just called the Redwood Funeral Home.
(off her confusion)
You asked me to look into exhuming
Gregory Hartwick’s body?

(CONTINUED)
 47.
CONTINUED:

DAWSON
Oh - right. And?

TANSEY
It’s for dogs.

Dawson looks puzzled, then glances down at the paper in her

hand. It’s a fax sheet, the letterhead reads: “REDWOOD
FUNERAL HOME FOR BELOVED CANINES.”

DAWSON
Sonuvabitch...
(quickly)
Where’s Renner?

INT. MALL - ELECTRONICS STORE

A condescending hipster SALESPERSON rings up a brand new

laptop, a bag’s worth of additional software and hardware.

SALESPERSON
Gonna try surfing the web, huh? Good for
you. It’s never too late to start.
That’ll be $6,857 with tax.

REVERSE ON MCCLANE. Can’t believe his ears.

MCCLANE
Are you kidding me? I paid less for my
first apartment!

SALESPERSON
Students get a 10% discount.
(smirks)
Do you have a valid student ID?

MCCLANE
Just an honorary degree from Fuck U.

That shuts him up. McClane signs his receipt, turns to Jack -

- only to find Jack staring at a WALL OF FLATSCREEN TV’S.

PUSH IN ON THE WALL OF TV’S: NEWS FOOTAGE of crowds gathered

around banks all around the country, the crowds ranging from
urban to rural, frightened to hostile.... Shots of police
desperately trying to maintain order. Chaos starting....
Images of the Wall St. crash and the trading floor furor...

The banner below reads: “HACKER PRANK OR TERRORIST ATTACK?”

(CONTINUED)
 48.
CONTINUED:

REPORTER (V.O.)
...the unprecedented event is being
blamed on a particularly virulent
computer virus. Banks are insisting their
assets are secure, and officials are
urging the public to remain calm.

PUSH IN TIGHT ON MCCLANE standing amid this sea of

electronics, a knot in his stomach tightening.

DAWSON (SOUND ADVANCE)

This was Day One...

INT. D.H.S. - INFORMATION ANALYSIS CENTER - LATE DAY

Dawson is conferring with Renner amidst the tension in here.

ON TV MONITORS behind her: the same unnerving footage.

DAWSON
Jack McClane was right: Gregory Hartwick
faked his own death. And if he’s the one
behind this, things could start getting a
whole lot worse.

RENNER
Worse? What the hell do you mean worse?!

She hands him the printed screencap of Hartwick’s cookbook.

DAWSON
Hartwick devised a 3-day plan to shut
down the country. Day One is an attack on
the financial base - banks, insurers,
markets. The idea is to bring the economy
to a standstill.

FLASH INSERT: SHOTS OF EMPTY OFFICE TOWERS, SEAS OF CUBICLES

EVACUATED, WORK LEFT UNDONE. EMPTY FACTORIES AND WAREHOUSES.

FLASH INSERT: FAMILIES FROM ALL WALKS OF LIFE HUDDLED AROUND

TV SETS. PEOPLE DESPERATELY HUNTING THROUGH FILE CABINETS,
COLLECTING OLD BANK STATEMENTS, RECEIPTS...

DAWSON (V.O.)
Businesses cease operating, the dollar
drastically plummets in value, and
millions of Americans are left with no
record of their life savings. Like an
entire nation of robbery victims.

FLASH INSERT: QUICK IMAGES OF LOOTERS RAIDING SUPERMARKETS.

PHARMACIES. TARGETS, WAL-MARTS. RIOTS STARTING.

(CONTINUED)
 49.
CONTINUED:

DAWSON (V.O.)
Panic trumps order. Self-interest becomes
the sole priority.

FLASH INSERT: A GAS STATION OWNER ADDS A “1” TO HIS SIGN,

CHANGING THE COST OF A GALLON FROM “$2.79” TO “$12.79.”

BACK TO DAWSON AND RENNER

DAWSON
And then the communications go out.
Phones, television, internet - by the
time Day 2 is underway, a country
addicted to information is suddenly
deprived of any. Take Day 1’s panic, and
multiply it by 10.

FLASH INSERT: HIGHWAYS LIKE PARKING LOTS. MAKESHIFT HOMELESS

SHELTERS SPRING UP AROUND SCHOOLS, HOSPITALS, AIRPORTS.

DAWSON (V.O.)
Emergency services are down. People are
desperately searching for answers; the
impulse is to flee. That’s when the
transportation system is immobilized.

BACK TO DAWSON AND RENNER

Renner rubs his temples, swallowing on his fear.

DAWSON
Which brings us to Day 3: the deprivation
of all remaining infrastructure.
Electric, water, gas - everything goes,
and we are literally powerless, our
technology reduced to that of your
average third world country a hundred
years ago. Mission accomplished.
(beat; gravely)
That’s what I mean by worse.
INT. MALL FOOD COURT - EARLY EVENING

ON MCCLANE carrying a tray of greasy Chinese food to A FOOD

COURT TABLE, where Jack is hunched over his new laptop,
hacking like crazy. McClane hovers next to him, impatient.

MCCLANE
What’s taking you?

JACK
Will you stop sweating me? This takes
time, Hartwick routed the relays on those
(CONTINUED)
 50.
CONTINUED:
JACK (CONT'D)
bombs through like 50 different servers.
Go check out Pottery Barn or something.

MCCLANE
You’re sure it’s Hartwick?

JACK
Positive. He’s got these trademark
techniques - everyone rips them off, but
I’ve never seen them executed so
perfectly. It’s like a work of art -

Jack glances up, notices the food tray, and frowns.

JACK
You brought me Chinese food.

MCCLANE
Yeah, so?

JACK
So they use peanut oil. Hello? I’m
deathly allergic to peanuts?

MCCLANE
Since when?

JACK
Since I was like six. You don’t remember
Mom rushing me to the hospital that time
I ate a Snickers Bar?

MCCLANE
I figured you were just trying to get
attention.

JACK
By turning blue?

Jack suddenly notices something on his screen.

JACK
I got something... He was working off a
wireless PDA...
(points to a 10-digit number)
Boo-yah.

MCCLANE
What is it?

JACK
A cell phone number for someone named
“Gabriel Petrovich.”
 51.

INT. VAN - DRIVING - EARLY EVENING

Gabriel in back, his own personal control center, working

multiple laptops - when his PDA chimes. He switches to its
phone setting, picks up.

GABRIEL
Yes?

MCCLANE (FROM PHONE)

Is Gregory home?

Gabriel immediately frowns.

INT. FOOD COURT

McClane and Jack both huddled over McClane’s phone.

GABRIEL (O.S.)
(like ice)
Excuse me?

MCCLANE
Gregory Hartwick. You know, social
misfit, grudge against society, size
eleven shoe.
(beat)
Tell him it’s John McClane. Senior.
Jack’s dad.

INTERCUT W/ GABRIEL IN HIS VAN:

Gabriel rapidly typing into a laptop, calling up any and all

electronic information on “McClane, John.”

GABRIEL
You have the wrong number, Mr. McClane.

MCCLANE
(calling the bluff)
I don’t think so, Greg. So why don’t you
do us both a favor and drop the Count
Chocula accent.

Gabriel’s features go rigid a moment, then finally he

exhales calmly, and speaks like a born American:

“GABRIEL”/ HARTWICK
Well done, John. I understand there’s
just been a death in the family. My
condolences.

(CONTINUED)
 52.
CONTINUED:

JACK
(bursts in)
Think again, dickhead! Hear this?
(breathes heavy into phone)
That’s the sound of me breathing!

McClane shoots Jack a shut-the-hell-up look.

HARTWICK
Apparently I was mistaken. I take it that
was McClane version 2.0?

JACK
That’s right. And the next time you try
to blow me up, you better bring a - um...
(can’t think of anything)
Damn, I had a good one...

MCCLANE
(hisses at Jack)
Will you let me handle this?

HARTWICK
You honestly expect me to be intimidated
by some White Hat wannabee and his daddy -

On his laptops, Hartwick’s already surfing window after

window of electronic information on McClane.

HARTWICK
- a washed up ex-cop, residing at 29
Beachfront Lane, drives a 1965 Ford
Mustang license plate 5WT832, attends AA
meetings once a week and has exactly
$42,763 saved for his golden years?

Hartwick’s eyes continue to roam his screens as his cursor

delete numbers on his screen with abandon.

HARTWICK
Oops - it appears your 401K seems to have
lost some value. Wait - so did your
checking account. And your savings.
At this rate, you’ll have to start
borrowing from your daughter, Lucy.

MCCLANE
You son of a bitch -

HARTWICK
I see she’s doing well at UCLA. Oh wait -
(types in changes)
Seems she just failed two classes.
(CONTINUED)
 53.
CONTINUED:

MCCLANE
You keep screwing with my kids, and you
won’t have to fake your death again.

Hartwick is quiet, anger pulsing through his veins.

HARTWICK
Your interference was unexpected, I’ll
give you that. But you and your boy are
merely a glitch in my program.
(beat; menacing)
When this is over, I’ll be sure to
correct it.

JACK
Not if I crash your ass first!

HARTWICK
I tremble. Now gentlemen, if you’ll
excuse me...

MCCLANE
Wait-
But Hartwick’s hung up. McClane spins on Jack, furious.

MCCLANE
Can’t you program your mouth to stay shut
for five minutes?!

BACK TO HARTWICK IN HIS VAN

Hartwick calmly lowers his phone, glances at his watch, and

then types something into his PDA...

INT. VIRGINIA UNIVERSITY - CAMPUS CENTER - EVENING

CLOSE ON A B/W PHOTO OF A COLLEGIATE GLEE CLUB circa 1950:

scrubbed young faces smiling politely. PAN OFF THE WALL to

A NOISY CAMPUS CAFE crowded with modern, apathetic college

kids on cell phones and blackberries, and on laptops jacked
in to the University’s online server. Only a handful of
students are paying attention to the news report on a big-
screen TV.

REPORTER (O.S.)
...will be holding an emergency session
at the Pentagon to sort through the
aftermath of today’s attacks on the
country’s financial base...

A WOULD-BE RADICAL in Castro glasses and a retro “Anarchy”

(CONTINUED)
 54.
CONTINUED:

shirt turns to a guy at the next laptop:

WOULD-BE RADICAL
Serves them right, huh? Screw the system.

The guy at the next laptop glances up: it’s Casper.

Something about the creepy glare on his pasty face unnerves
the poser. He glances at Casper’s laptop, sees a jumble of
dense code - when Casper shuts the lid, gets up and walks
away, looking like just another college student.

REPORTER (O.S.)
... behind these malicious hacks, and
what, if anything, might be next...

Would-Be Radical suddenly hears an ERROR BEEP from his

laptop. He glances down to see a message window: “INTERNET
PROVIDER CAN NOT BE LOCATED.” Just then he hears a swell of
confused reactions and complaints. He looks up -

- to find every laptop and Blackberry in here just got the

same message.

INT. WHITE VAN - CAMPUS CENTER PARKING LOT

Casper climbs in, turns to his driver, Schenck.

CASPER
Gimme your SatPhone.

Schenck tosses the phone to Casper, who hits a number.

CASPER
IPs are going down.

“GABRIEL”/HARTWICK (O.S.)
Good work, Casper. I knew I could count
on you. Tell me, how does it feel?

CASPER
Pretty good. About time this country
stopped taking shit for granted.

“GABRIEL”/HARTWICK (O.S.)
Well put. May I speak with Schenck,
please?

Casper hands the phone to Schenck.

SCHENCK
Yes?... Sure. Not a problem.

Schenck hangs up.

(CONTINUED)
 55.
CONTINUED:

CASPER
What’d he want?

SCHENCK
This.

Schenck pulls out a silenced handgun and blows a hole

through Casper’s head.

INT. D.H.S. - DATA ANALYSIS CENTER

Dawson is reviewing various computer FACIAL SIMULATIONS of

what Gregory Hartwick might look like today. One of the
facial simulations is the spitting image of “Gabriel.”

She studies the faces - when her cell rings. She picks up.

DAWSON
Yes?
(stunned)
John?
EXT. DOWNTOWN D.C. - STREET - EVENING

McClane on his cell phone, Jack beside him.

MCCLANE
I just got off the phone with Hartwick.

DAWSON (O.S.)
You actually spoke with Gregory Hartwick?
I’ve got five techs still trying to
determine if he even exists.

MCCLANE
Jack tracked down his cell phone. It’s
registered to a “Gabriel Petrovich.”

DAWSON (O.S.)
(a beat; uneasy)
I need you to bring him in, John.

MCCLANE
That’s what we’re trying to do.

DAWSON
Not Hartwick... Jack.

MCCLANE
Jack?

(CONTINUED)
 56.
CONTINUED:

DAWSON (O.S.)
The agency is still concerned that his
signature was all over those hacks -

MCCLANE
Gotta love the feds. Would it kill you
guys to just once get to the party on
time?

DAWSON
John, I promise to arrange his release
just as soon as I can -

MCCLANE
When’s that, three days? Four? It won’t
matter by then. The way I see it, Jack’s
the only one getting us even close to
finding this Hartwick asshole -

JACK
(whispers to McClane)
Tell her I’m White Hat.

MCCLANE
(aside)
Enough with the hats!

DAWSON (O.S.)
John, trust me, this is not the time to
make waves.

MCCLANE
Yeah well, you know me... I’ve always had
pretty shitty timing.

BACK TO DAWSON IN D.H.S.

DAWSON
Meaning what - you’re just gonna go after
Hartwick yourselves?... Hello?... John?
(hangs up)
Damn it!

EXT. STREET BY KEY BRIDGE - EVENING (CONTINUOUS)

[We recognize the street as the one where McClane left his
Mustang.] McClane clicks off, finds Jack grinning at him.

JACK
Guess we’re sort of like “partners” now,
huh?

(CONTINUED)
 57.
CONTINUED:

MCCLANE
(ignores him; all business)
That phony name Hartwick’s been using,
“Gabriel Petrovich” -

JACK
Yes, partner?

McClane fixes Jack with a glare that would melt ice.

MCCLANE
Keep saying partner. I’m serious. It
makes me very, very happy.

Jack’s smirk vanishes with an awkward gulp.

MCCLANE
Now start using that overpriced hardware
I bought you to dig up whatever you can
on that name, Gabriel PetroahSHIT!

They arrive at McClane’s Mustang - to find the driver’s side

window has been smashed and the radio stolen.

JACK
At least they left your Club.

Sure enough The Club is still fitted securely to the`wheel.

INT. HARTWICK’S VAN - NIGHT

“Gabriel”/Hartwick working on his many laptops. On their

monitor screens we see hacks in progress for a slew of
telecommunications companies. On the screen he’s working on,
however, the site’s text is entirely in French. Beside “Nom
d’account:” we see Hartwick enter “Eliot, T.”

Pan to the next laptop screen on which see a digital map of

FAA flight patterns, hundreds of tiny glowing dots...

MATCH DISSOLVE TO:

A WIDE SHOT OF THE MANHATTAN SKYLINE, the city lights

splayed out like tiny dots against the night sky.

INT. COCKPIT - TOKYO AIR FLIGHT - NIGHT

We see the Manhattan skyline in the distance as a PILOT and

CO-PILOT make their descent. The Co-Pilot listens to his
headset, a look of confusion on his face. He turns to the
Pilot, says something in Japanese.
 58.

INT. FLIGHT TOWER - JFK INT’L AIRPORT - NIGHT

An AIR TRAFFIC CONTROLLER speaks tensely into his mic:

AIR TRAFFIC CONTROLLER

I repeat, our equipment has been
compromised, we are unable to get
accurate GPS readings. All aircraft with
sufficient fuel must turn around...

Behind him we see at least fifty other Air Traffic

controllers delivering the same message.

INT. AIR TOKYO AIRCRAFT - MAIN CABIN - NIGHT

A JAPANESE FLIGHT ATTENDANT informs the passengers. The

cabin erupts in a commotion of confused Japanese.

EXT. JFK AIRPORT

WIDE SHOT of the Air Tokyo plane turning around... along

with FIVE OTHER LARGE PLANES in the night sky. The runways
below already look like parking lots for grounded aircraft.

FAA CHAIRMAN (SOUND ADVANCE)

As of 8 pm, we’ve issued an order
grounding all commercial flights...

INT. PENTAGON - SITUATION ROOM - NIGHT

An enormous room peopled with over 100 SENIOR OFFICIALS from

all relevant departments. The emergency session is being
presided over by Secretary of Defense ARCHER.

FEMA DIRECTOR
It’s unclear what electronic information
we can still trust. Web-based data is-

ARCHER
(tense)
The web may not be a factor much longer.

Archer looks to Renner to elaborate.

RENNER
Only two internet providers remain
operational, and we don’t anticipate
either being so by morning. In addition,
we’re now getting reports of scrambled
telephone switching stations. This could
be the start of a nationwide landline
service disruption. If so, there’s no way
to avoid cellular overload.
(CONTINUED)
 59.
CONTINUED:

A stunned murmur through the room.

ARCHER
Ambassador, where are we with the
President’s request?

LICHT, a diplomat from the E.U., addresses the room.

LICHT
Like the rest of the international
community, the E.U. pledges to do
everything in its power to help America
repair this awful damage.
(a beat; uneasy)
Unfortunately, we can not permit
integration or interface with our
computer networks or satellites.

Angry RUMBLINGS resound. Licht defends himself over it:

LICHT
The issue is one of containment. As of
now, this is a national crisis. We are
trying to prevent a global one.

Archer turns back to the intelligence directors.

ARCHER
And we still don’t know who’s doing this
or why?

CIA DIRECTOR
China, North Korea and Iran all deny any
knowledge or involvement, although we
hesitate to rule it out. We’re also
running down a number of terrorist groups
with the capacity for this. Of course
most of them are anxious to take credit.

ARCHER
Karl?

RENNER
Nothing conclusive yet. There are a few
suspects we’re trying to track down. Our
primary focus is a fugitive hacker...

Renner glances down nervously at his papers. Jack’s file is

on top. Renner hesitates, then places it aside, to reveal
Hartwick’s screencap right underneath, its ominous title
staring up at Renner “How to Destroy an Empire in 3 Days.”

(CONTINUED)
 60.
CONTINUED:

RENNER
(a tense exhalation)
... by the name of Gregory Hartwick.

INT. MCCLANE’S MUSTANG - STREET - NIGHT

McClane waiting impatiently. Jack’s hunched over his laptop.

MCCLANE
I don’t get it. If the internet’s shut
down, how are you able to surf it?

JACK
There are abandoned satellites, cold war
leftovers mostly - they’re like private
beaches for hackers, and the surf’s
always up. I’m sure that’s how Hartwick
and his crew are getting in.
(still typing)
And FYI, the internet isn’t “shut down.”
America just can’t get on it. Trust me,
they’re still watching all kinds of weird
porno in Germany.
(suddenly halts)
Wait. I just got a hit.
He tilts his laptop screen to show McClane.

JACK
An account in Kosovo, opened by Gabriel
Petrovich. Looks like a lot of deposits
were made over the last month... Jesus,
the balance is around $100 million.

MCCLANE
See if you can trace the deposits.

Jack types rapidly - then halts, eyes widening.

JACK
This can’t be right... Looks like the
deposits were made by Arlen Stahl.

MCCLANE
Stahl - isn’t he some geek billionaire,
owns that stadium in Baltimore?

JACK
(nods)
He’s founder and CEO of Unisoft, a huge
software firm... What’s he doing mixed up
with a guy like Hartwick?

(CONTINUED)
 61.
CONTINUED:

McClane starts the engine, shifts into gear.

MCCLANE
Only one way to find out.

INT. STAHL’S ESTATE - LIVING ROOM - LATE NIGHT

Arlen Stahl is alone, pacing anxiously as he watches the

latest news on his 72” TV. The scroll “MORE THAN 3/4 OF ALL
INTERNET PROVIDERS IN THE U.S. ARE NOW NON-OPERATIONAL...
ALL AIR/RAIL TRANSPORT HALTED... PRESIDENT HAS DECLARED A
NATIONAL STATE OF EMERGENCY...”

TIGHT ON STAHL as he swallows, looking tense as hell -- when

his phone rings. He mutes the TV, picks up.

HARTWICK/ “GABRIEL” (O.S.)

I trust you’re satisfied, Mr. Stahl?

STAHL
What are you doing? Taking out phones,
crashing IPs! This wasn’t part of our
deal!

HARTWICK/ “GABRIEL” (O.S.)

Consider it a “freebie.”

STAHL
I didn’t ask for any goddamn freebies! I
just wanted to create a little scare!

HARTWICK/ “GABRIEL” (O.S.)

It worked, didn’t it? I mean, you sound
scared.

STAHL
What the hell are you...?

Stahl’s eyes drift back to his TV. The news scroll now
reads: “MANY CABLE TV PROVIDERS EXPERIENCING--” and then his
screen blinks to nothing but (muted) static.
STAHL
You end this now, you hear me?!

HARTWICK/ “GABRIEL” (O.S.)

I’m sorry, Mr. Stahl, but if you wish to
stop it, we’ll need to re-negotiate.

STAHL
You’re blackmailing me?!

(CONTINUED)
 62.
CONTINUED:

HARTWICK/ “GABRIEL” (O.S.)

I merely desire that which I deserve.

STAHL
What the hell do you call 100 million
dollars?!

HARTWICK/ “GABRIEL” (O.S.)

Seed money.

<Click> as Hartwick hangs up. Stahl tries his phone - it’s

dead now. And then from nowhere, his mood-sensing stereo
selects Wagner’s “Flight of the Valkyries.”

Stahl stares fearfully at his TV: 72 inches of snowy, mute

static. He grabs the remote, switches off the set - and in
the screen’s opaque reflection now sees Hartwick’s DRIVER
standing behind him; he spins in terror as we --

SMASH BLACK.

INT. TRUCK STOP DINER (OHIO) - DAWN

An ornery WAITRESS peers out from a kitchen.

WAITRESS
All we got is dry cereal and donuts.

Reverse angle to find Mai in an otherwise deserted diner.

Through a window we see the white van parked outside, her
burly Driver (RAND) behind the wheel.

MAI
Donuts, please.

As the Waitress walks off, Mai’s eyes happen on a patriotic

bumper sticker on the cash register (”MARINES”). In Mai’s
eyes we see a hurt surfacing. And a hatred.

Burn in: “Day 2.”

INT. VAN - MOMENTS LATER

Mai gets in, hands Rand a bag of donuts.

MAI
We’ll be passing through Indiana, yes?

RAND
Tomorrow. Why?

MAI
I need to make a stop there.
(CONTINUED)
 63.
CONTINUED:

Rand frowns -

MAI
Don’t worry. It won’t take long.

EXT. ESTABLISHER OF BALTIMORE - MORNING

Downtown is a seemingly endless gridlock of cars, most

abandoned, some serving as makeshift shelters.

EXT. CITY OUTSKIRTS - MORNING

McClane and Jack drive along the outskirts. They pass a line
of cars snaking from a gas station, where a sign reads:
“$22/gallon. No credit cards!” Next door is a KMart guarded
by armed employees, crowds camped in the parking lot.

Close on McClane as he stares out his window, uneasy, as

from the speakers on Jack’s laptop we hear:

BBC REPORTER (V.O.)

...podcast for BBC News, London. The
crisis in the U.S., originally thought to
be financial in nature, has now spread to
the communications sector as well...

QUICK MONTAGE OF INTERNATIONAL NEWS COVERAGE:

REPORTERS FROM ALL OVER THE GLOBE continue delivering the

news in their native languages (French, Hindi, Arabic,
Russian, Italian, Mandarin, German) accompanied by VIDEO:

- PHONE COMPANY WORKERS struggling in vain to unscramble

lines.
- A YOUNG WOMAN standing on the side of a highway holding a
scrawled sign “CELL PHONE DEAD. NEED HELP.”
- PLANES grounded in airports across the country. REIGHT
TRAINS grounded in rail yards across the country.
- SHOTS OF BLANK TV SETS. BLANK COMPUTER WINDOWS. SILENT
RADIOS. Useless cable routers and antennae.
- IMAGES OF FOREIGN MARKET TRADING FLOORS. The U.S. Dollar
plummeting. U.S. stocks being dumped en masse.
- NATIONAL GUARDSMEN mobilizing, rolling out onto city
streets in Detroit. Miami. Boston. Washington D.C..
- ARMED SUBURBANITES patrolling their lawns and driveways...

EXT. STAHL’S ESTATE - DAY

McClane’s car sits in the circular drive, Jack in the

passenger seat working on his laptop. Through the window we
see McClane question a housekeeper, then return to the car.

(CONTINUED)
 64.
CONTINUED:

MCCLANE
Housekeeper hasn’t seen Stahl all
morning. Thinks he’s probably at work.

JACK
I might have something.
(looks up from his laptop)
I hacked into Unisoft’s network. Turns
out they’re on the verge of bankruptcy.
Stahl invested a shitload in developing
some cybersecurity software that nobody
bought.

MCCLANE
Security, huh?

McClane chews on this as he starts the car. They start to

drive off when a thought occurs to McClane:

MCCLANE (CONT'D)
Think maybe that’s why Stahl was paying
Hartwick? To scare up customers?

JACK
(considers it)
It would be one hell of a sales tool.

EXT. UNISOFT ARENA - VISITOR’S GATE - DAY

A big, new stadium, the huge parking lot practically empty.

McClane’s Mustang idles at the GUARD KIOSK. The Guard inside
doesn’t even bother to poke his head out.

KIOSK GUARD (O.S.)

You’re not on the list.

MCCLANE
Can you just tell us if Mr. Stahl is in?

KIOSK GUARD (O.S.)

Look buddy, I have my orders-

MCCLANE
Say we’re friends of Gabriel’s, okay?
Gabriel Petrovich.

We hear the Guard sigh in annoyance, then dial a number.

KIOSK GUARD (O.S.)

I have two men here to see Mr. Stahl...
No, but they say they’re friends with a
Mr. Petrovich?... I see... Okay.

(CONTINUED)
 65.
CONTINUED:

The Guard hangs up, now leans his head out of the kiosk -
and we recognize him as one of Hartwick’s hired “hardware.”

“KIOSK GUARD”
Sorry for the confusion, gentlemen. Park
in the VIP section and enter through the
stadium club. Someone will take you up.

INT. UNISOFT ARENA - STAHL’S OFFICE - DAY

Hartwick steps over a security guard’s DEAD BODY as he

approaches Trey, seated at Stahl’s desk computer.

HARTWICK/ “GABRIEL”
How much longer?

TREY
Almost clean...

We now see Trey is erasing any link on Stahl’s hard drive to

Gabriel Petrovich. Tilt up to Hartwick’s THUGS, dressed as
stadium security. One of their radios goes off:

“KIOSK GUARD” (FROM RADIO)

They just entered the arena.

INT. STADIUM CLUB

His backpack of gear slung over his shoulder, Jack follows

McClane into the ultra-swank, VIP bar, presently empty.

MCCLANE
So this is how the other half drinks.

McClane regards a wall of photos depicting Stahl posed

proudly with various NBA and NHL players.

MCCLANE
That’s Stahl, huh? Guy’s got “picked last
for dodgeball” written all over him. Now
he owns a team. Payback’s a bitch.

He glances over to see Jack picking up a CHAMPIONSHIP TROPHY

from behind a display case.

MCCLANE
What the hell are you doing?

JACK
I want to know how it feels to be a jock.

(CONTINUED)
 66.
CONTINUED:

MCCLANE
Put the trophy back, you’re gonna set off
the alarm.

Jack now sees a tiny sign by the display: ALARM WILL SOUND.

JACK
Hey, you’re right.
(frowns)
So why didn’t it?

McClane’s already asking himself the same thing. His eyes

dart around the empty bar. Too quiet in here.

MCCLANE
Get back in the car.

EXT. ARENA PARKING LOT - MCCLANE’S CAR

McClane and Jack pacing toward the Mustang still parked

outside the stadium club. McClane now notices the white vans
now - and the absence of the guard in the kiosk.

McClane hops in, Jack opens his door to do the same...

MCCLANE
Just keep your head down and-

McClane glances over at Jack - only to find the “Kiosk

guard” in the passenger seat, a gun trained on his head.
Through the passenger window he sees Jack clutched at
gunpoint by another “guard” (WALKER).

“KIOSK GUARD”
Leaving so soon?

MCCLANE
You guys don’t have the kind of hot dogs
we like.

“KIOSK GUARD”
Shut off the car.

McClane’s eyes fix fearfully on Jack, doing his best to

assure his son he’s going to save him.

McClane glances in his rear view, sees a third thug (NIKO)

approaching his driver’s side. Stuck, he reaches to shut off
the ignition - as his other hand slips under his seat...

MCCLANE
All right, just take it easy -

(CONTINUED)
 67.
CONTINUED:

McClane suddenly yanks his “Club” lock out and smashes it

into the side of Kiosk Guard’s face. He grabs the Guard’s
gun hand and fires a round through the driver’s window into
Niko just about to open it! McClane then breaks Kiosk
Guard’s arm with a CRACK as he twists it to fire through the
passenger window into Walker, who drops right beside Jack.

MCCLANE
Get in!

Jack is frozen with amazement, his mouth agape -- he starts

for the passenger door when -

JACK
DAD LOOK OUT!

Niko (the bullet only hit his shoulder) lunges through the
smashed driver’s window, grabbing McClane by the throat,
knocking his gun to the car floor.

McClane struggles to pry him free, but Niko is about to

crush his windpipe -

- when McClane’s foot floors the pedal, the Mustang

barrelling forward, straight through the doors of

THE STADIUM CLUB

The Mustang SMASHES IN, plowing tables and trophy cases,

sideswiping the bar in a spray of smashed bottles - but Niko
is hanging on, climbing over McClane and into the Mustang.

IN THE MUSTANG

McClane still choked by Niko, who now spots the gun on the
passenger floor. He reaches for it - but McClane catches
this and crushes the pedal, causing the gun to fly under the
seat into the back -- and causing the Mustang to smash
through the opposite side of the bar, into

THE STADIUM’S LOWER CONCOURSE

The battered Mustang skids along the slick surface,

crashing through the VENDOR STATIONS and CONCESSION STANDS.

EXT. UNISOFT ARENA - GUARD KIOSK

Panicked, not knowing where to hide, Jack opens the door to

the vacant kiosk - and now sees the body of the real kiosk
guard slumped dead on the ground.

Jack tries the phone on the desk. Dead. He tries the dead
guard’s cell phone. Dials 911.
(CONTINUED)
 68.
CONTINUED:

COMPUTERVOICE (FROM CELL)

We’re-sorry-for-the-inconvenience-but-all-
cellular-service-is-temporarily-

Jack tosses the phone, panicking - when he notices the

KIOSK’S COMPUTER.

INT. STADIUM - LOWER CONCOURSE

The Mustang still wildly speeding forward, smashing through

every food and souvenir stand in its wake as it barrels up

A RAMP TO THE UPPER CONCOURSE. McClane is steering blind,

trying to see through the cracked, concession-strewn
windshield while simultaneously trading blows with Niko in
an attempt to shove him back out the driver’s window.

INT. D.H.S. - INFORMATION ANALYSIS CENTER

Renner and Dawson look tense as hell as they survey

satellite images of MAJOR U.S. PORTS at dead standstills,
hundreds of tankers and freighters clogging bottlenecks.

MOLINA
NPA mainframe flagged 8,000 ships as
carrying nuclear material from North
Korea.

RENNER
So now we can’t even move our goddamn
waterways?!

RAJ
Um, excuse me?

They look to Raj, frowning at his monitor screen.

RAJ
Someone’s trying to hack my computer.

INT. GUARD KIOSK

Jack has patched his laptop into the kiosk computer,

uploading the info on Stahl’s money transfer to Gabriel.

JACK
Come on, jerkoffs, you want me to draw
you a map?

Jack glances nervously out the window - and now notices the
THREE HELICOPTERS perched on the rooftop.
 69.

INT. DHS - INFORMATION ANALYSIS CENTER

Dawson and Renner hunched over Raj’s monitor as Jack’s

information slowly starts to upload.

RENNER
Who the hell is “Gabriel Petrovich?”

DAWSON
(recognizes the name)
Gregory Hartwick.

RAJ
It’s a pretty rudimentary hack - almost
like he wants us to find him...?

DAWSON
(realizing)
It’s Jack McClane. Can you locate him?

RAJ
Looks like he’s using a pirated server,
signal originating somewhere in
Baltimore... possibly Unisoft Arena?

RENNER
Contact our Baltimore unit -

MOLINA
We’ve been out of contact with local
divisions since this morning.

Dawson immediately starts for the door.

DAWSON
Then get me air transport.

INT. UNISOFT ARENA - CONCOURSE RAMP

The Mustang screeching up the winding spiral, scraping the

cement walls. Inside McClane’s gained the upper hand as he
bangs Niko’s face into the ceiling - when Niko’s belt radio
suddenly hisses to life:

HARTWICK/ “GABRIEL” (O.S.)

Aren’t you done yet? We’re leaving.

McClane grabs for the radio, clicks it.

MCCLANE
And miss - the halftime - show?
 70.

EXT. UNISOFT ARENA - ROOFTOP

A flash of fury surfaces in Hartwick’s eyes.

HARTWICK
McClane 1.0. You’re starting to annoy me.

MCCLANE (FROM RADIO)

You ain’t - seen nothing - yet! You and
your pal Stahl - just graduated - to the
top of my - shit list!

HARTWICK
I’m honored, John. Although I’m sorry to
say, Mr. Stahl’s award has been granted
posthumously.

INT. STADIUM - UPPER CONCOURSE

The Mustang barrelling along the curve of the upper level,

down the narrow passage to the LUXURY BOXES. McClane has the
radio between his legs as he steers with one hand and
continues to pummel Niko with the other.

MCCLANE
So you took - his money - and then you -
killed him. You’re a real - class act.

HARTWICK (O.S.)
Oh, but his money was necessary, John.
Mr. Stahl’s investment will be crucial
once this is all over and I’ve once again
vanished into the ether.

MCCLANE
No matter - how far you run - I’ll find
you...

HARTWICK (O.S.)
Your confidence is inspiring, but naive.
Identity is nothing but a construct, a
jumble of electronic data that can be
altered by a few keystroke. You’re out of
your depth, John, don’t you realize that?
It’s a brave new world these days.

McClane doesn’t see Niko reach for something in his boot...

MCCLANE
Lettin’ a bunch of computers - do your
dirty work - I don’t see - what’s so
brave about that... Why don’t you - come
down - and settle this like a- AAAAHH!
(CONTINUED)
 71.
CONTINUED:

Niko jams a 6 inch knife into McClane’s thigh! The Mustang

immediately veers wildly, ricocheting off the far wall -

- and crashing through a luxury box, bounding over the seats

and hurtling through the huge pane of glass into open air!

EXT. ARENA ROOF TOP

Hartwick grins at the sounds.

HARTWICK
That’s why.

He clicks off, turns to Drake, about to board the third

helicopter.

HARTWICK/ “GABRIEL”
You and Peters wait here. Don’t leave
until you’re sure they’re both dead.

Hartwick gestures for Trey to follow him. They each board

the other two copters with the four remaining “guards.”

INT. STADIUM FLOOR

No sign of McClane’s Mustang... until we tilt up at the

sound of a heavy CREAKING -

- and find the Mustang dangling three stories above, hanging

vertically by a mezzanine flagpole that its rear bumper
miraculously snagged.

INSIDE THE MUSTANG

Niko’s mangled corpse is halfway through the windshield. Pan

to the driver’s side - empty. No sign of McClane...

...until we notice the seat belt dangling through the

windshield. Travel down the belt to find McClane hanging on,
banged up but in one piece.

He struggles to pull himself up through the smashed

windshield, back into the car -- but doing so hears the
CREAK of the bumper starting to come loose from the
flagpole.

MCCLANE
Shit!

McClane scrambles to climb his way back up through his car

as he hears the bumper starting to pop loose -

- and he lunges up from the top of the backseat to grab the

(CONTINUED)
 72.
CONTINUED:

flagpole just as the Mustang’s bumper rips free, the smashed

rear windshield slipping right over him as the car plummets
3 stories down and CRASHES to the basketball floor below.

WIDE SHOT OF MCCLANE hanging over the stadium by the

flagpole, peering down at the crumpled wreck. He sighs.

MCCLANE
I loved that goddamn car.

EXT. UNISOFT ARENA - GUARD KIOSK

Jack hears the sound of the helicopters departing. He peers

out to see two of the helicopters soaring away... then
notices one helicopter still on the roof. He’s about to
worry about this -

- when the kiosk is suddenly ripped to shreds by bullets,

blowing out the glass, tearing up the walls. Jack dives to
the floor, begins hyperventilating.

OUTSIDE THE KIOSK

Drake and Peters are approaching with their glocks. About to

fire again at the first sign of movement -- when from behind
them they hear the “da-da-da-DA-da-DA” charge music played
by a car horn. They spin in unison to see a goofy looking
MASCOT TRUCK barreling at them. They fire multiple rounds
into the grill and windshield...

INSERT SHOT OF THE DRIVER’S SIDE OF THE MASCOT TRUCK - a

cinder block is on the gas pedal.

MEDIUM SHOT OF DRAKE AND PETERS as they finally realize

there’s no one actually in the truck -

- and are instantly hit by a bullet in the chest apiece.

Rack focus on McClane, about 20 yards away, crouched over
the corpse of Walker, using the dead man’s gun.

Jack warily pokes his head out of the kiosk, surveys the
dead guys - then looks up at McClane, stunned and grateful.

INT. UNISOFT ARENA - STAHL’S OFFICE

McClane and Jack scarf cold hot dogs and flat soda as Jack
tries to glean whatever he can from Stahl’s computer.

JACK
Somebody already spit-shined the network.
Luckily I sent Stahl’s deposit records to
Dawson’s geeks at DHS.

McClane swallows a fistful of aspirin he found in a drawer.

(CONTINUED)
 73.
CONTINUED:

MCCLANE
Those guys I shot - they look like
hackers to you?

JACK
They’re probably for protection. Hartwick
would only need three or four top-notch
Black Hats to share the workload.

MCCLANE
If we could just get to one of them -
find out what they were gonna hit next,
force them to help us stop this thing.
We’re running out of time...

McClane exhales in frustration, at a dead end.

JACK
Stop the presses - major brainstorm in
progress! We could go ask The Warlock.

MCCLANE
The Warlock. Who the hell is The Warlock?

JACK
Only the most hardcore, jacked-in, bad-
ass hacker you’ll ever meet. If anyone
knows who Hartwick recruited for this,
it’s him.

McClane looks very doubtful, but out of options.

MCCLANE
And where exactly do we find The Warlock?

JACK
Cleveland.

MCCLANE
Cleveland.

JACK
I’m telling you, it’s worth a shot. Do
you think your car can make it?

EXT. UNISOFT ARENA - ROOFTOP

The lone helicopter still idling there. McClane is at the

controls, Jack beside him, clutching his equipment.

JACK
(shouting over the rotor)
YOU’VE ACTUALLY FLOWN THESE BEFORE?
(CONTINUED)
 74.
CONTINUED:

MCCLANE
ONLY A COUPLE OF TIMES. SEE IF YOU CAN
FIGURE OUT THE NAVIGATION SYSTEM.

JACK
(checks out the console)
NO SWEAT. THIS LOOKS PRETTY MUCH LIKE
“FLIGHT SIMULATOR 3000.”

WIDE SHOT OF THE HELICOPTER as it makes a shaky start, then

finally lifts off over the arena, soaring into the sky...

INT. A LOCKER ROOM - LATE DAY

A WORKER walks to his locker, passing a sign that reads:

“HEMMINGS ELECTRIC POWER SUBSTATION. HEMMINGS, OKLAHOMA.”
The man rounds a corner - and discovers Brice standing at
the end of a row of lockers, a plastic briefcase in hand.

WORKER
C’I help you?

BRICE
I’m from the phone company. You guys
called for some repairs?

WORKER
It’s about time! But you’re in the wrong
sector. You want to go to-

He turns to see Brice’s Driver (LUKA) behind him. The man’s

jaw barely has time to drop before he’s shot three times,
his face hitting the floor beside Brice’s briefcase.

Brice crouches and removes from the briefcase a slender fine-

toothed saw.

INT. UNISOFT ARENA - CORRIDOR

Dawson and a small team of FEDERAL AGENTS are pacing through

the devastated remains of the vendor stalls.

FEDERAL AGENT 1
Police just found Arlen Stahl in his
home, his throat slit ear to ear.

FEDERAL AGENT 2
We’ve got four bodies in the lot.

DAWSON
Let me know as soon as they’re ID’d.

(CONTINUED)
 75.
CONTINUED:

They pass through a gate into the mezzanine - to find

McClane’s Mustang in a crumpled heap on center court.

FEDERAL AGENT 3
What the hell happened here...?

DAWSON
John McClane.

INT. HELICOPTER - DUSK

The skies are now dark as McClane mans the controls, peering
down. A sea of cars on the highways. Empty train tracks.
Crowds of people gathered at makeshift shelters.

MCCLANE
Jesus...

He glances over at Jack, fidgeting in the passenger seat.

JACK
Is there a bathroom in here?

McClane hands him an empty plastic water bottle.

JACK
I can hold it.

MCCLANE
So this Warlord -

JACK
Warlock.

MCCLANE
Whatever. I take it he’s Black Hat?

JACK
Actually, he’s more of a Grey Hat.
Still, he does not dig cops - even
retired ones. It’s probably best if I
meet with him alone.

MCCLANE
My ass you will. You better think of a
Plan B.

INT. HEMMINGS SUBSTATION (OKLAHOMA) - CORRIDOR - DUSK

We now find Brice and Luka arriving at a biometric keypad.

Brice unzips his satchel; we glimpse the handsaw we saw
earlier, but it’s a severed finger Brice pulls out. He
presses the tip to the pad. It blips green.
 76.

EXT. HEMMINGS ELECTRIC POWER SUBSTATION - EVENING

Brice and Luka walk past power towers, Brice prattling with
nerdy arrogance, Luka looking like he could give a shit.

BRICE
See, the country’s divided into three
power grids, linked by direct current
lines with extra-high-voltage connections
that are stepped-down and redistributed
in places like this.

They arrive at the station’s “bus.” Brice straps on a pair

of rubber gloves, then smashes the casing open to reveal a
complex array of switches, jacks and small monitors.

BRICE
Welcome to the first nationwide rolling
blackout.

And with a CLOSE UP of a wire cutter’s snip we

SMASH TO:

RAPID MONTAGE:

-- a CROWDED ELEVATOR in Boston suddenly jolts to a halt

as it goes pitch black. A woman screams -
-- as New York’s Roosevelt Island TRAMWAY jerks to a
stop, trapping passengers 250 feet above the East River -
-- as a HOSPITAL EMERGENCY ROOM in Seattle is thrust
into utter chaos as all its monitors and lights go out -
-- and a RED CROSS BLOOD BANK in Jacksonville loses all
the juice in its storage walls of freezer units -
-- as do walls of freezers in a massive SUPERMARKET in
suburban Des Moines -
-- while A GRAMMAR SCHOOL AUDITORIUM in East Los Angeles
echoes with the shrieking of scared children -
-- and RESPIRATORS fail in a Wisconsin nursing home -
-- as do HEART MONITORS in an Oregon hospital -
-- and the entire FLIGHT TOWER of an Ohio Air Force base-
-- and the WHITE HOUSE goes dark - and the CAPITOL
BUILDING -
-- and the INFORMATION ANALYSIS CENTER at D.C.’s
Department of Homeland Security.

INT. HELICOPTER - EVENING

Through the windshield we see the lights of Cleveland as

they soar over Lake Erie. Jack studies the navigation.

(CONTINUED)
 77.
CONTINUED:

JACK
There’s an empty field about a mile south
of here.

MCCLANE
Good. With a little luck, I can land this
thing in one -

Suddenly every light in the city goes dark. From up here it

looks like someone just turned the whole world’s lights off.

MCCLANE
What the hell just happened?!

Nothing but black sky ahead and blacker Earth below.

JACK
They must’ve hit the power stations!

MCCLANE
I can’t land without lights!

McClane’s mind races desperately - when suddenly a bright

GLARE blinds them through the windshield. We can barely make
out a silhouetted PAIR OF F-16 FIGHTER JETS.

MEGAPHONE VOICE
THIS IS THE UNITED STATES AIR FORCE,
ORDERING YOU TO LAND AT ONCE. AIR TRAFFIC
IS GROUNDED AND YOU ARE IN RESTRICTED
AIRSPACE. COMPLY IMMEDIATELY OR YOU WILL
BE FIRED UPON.

MCCLANE
You’ve gotta be shitting me! Like we
don’t have enough problems?!

JACK
We’re gonna die!

MCCLANE
We’re not gonna die!
(split decision)
We’re gonna jump!

McClane scrambles into the back, searching for the

parachutes - only finds one.

MCCLANE
Just keeps getting better...

(CONTINUED)
 78.
CONTINUED:

JACK
(sees the lone parachute)
THERE’S ONLY ONE PARACHUTE?!?

McClane yanks him around, quickly fits the parachute on him,

hands him his backpack of gear, straps it to the front.

MEGAPHONE VOICE
THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING.

McClane guides him to the door and jerks it open.

MCCLANE
Don’t say I never gave you enough hugs.

McClane wraps him arms tight around his son, and before Jack
can have a chance to scream -

- leaps out of the helicopter with him just as the F-16s

open fire on the helicopter, blowing it to smithereens.
ON MCCLANE AND JACK AGAINST THE DARK SKY

As the parachute opens and they drift down toward the

blackness below, McClane clutching Jack.

JACK
I’m starting to see why you never took me
to work!

McClane squints down at the dark cityscape.

MCCLANE
Just keep your eyes peeled for something
soft!

CUT TO:

A WOMAN WITH HUGE BREASTS, standing in the dark of

EXT. A PARKING LOT (CLEVELAND OUTSKIRTS)

She’s desperately trying to get service on her cell phone -

- when from nowhere a distant pair of screams precedes

McClane and Jack SLAMMING into the pavement behind her.

The terrified woman GASPS as she sees McClane and Jack

working their way out from under the parachute, groaning.

EXT. CLEVELAND - DOWNTOWN - NIGHT

McClane and Jack toting their gear through pitch black

(CONTINUED)
 79.
CONTINUED:

streets. The city has a post-apocalyptic feel to it, people

wandering terrified, using their otherwise useless cell
phone displays as flashlights.

JACK
Only a couple more blocks.

MCCLANE
This Warlock asshole better be worth the
trip. There isn’t time to screw around.

EXT. AN OLD DUPLEX - NIGHT

The house is one of many on a street that looks like Archie

Bunker’s. An old station wagon sits in the driveway.

MCCLANE
This is his headquarters? Why the hell
did I listen to you?

JACK
Just remember: you’re a Black Hat looking
to recruit the same crew Hartwick’s been
using. Don’t worry about why. The Warlock
won’t want to know.

THE FRONT DOOR

The doorbell plays a bar of Stephen Foster. Jack fidgets.

JACK
Man I gotta pee.

In a minute, we hear footsteps warily approaching from

inside. The door creaks open a crack... and a bizarre-
looking woman in her 60s answers the door in a mumu.

WOMAN
Whadda you want?

JACK
Good evening, Mrs. Kaludis. Is Freddy
home?

She eyes them up and down - then opens the door.

MRS. KALUDIS
Fred-dy, you got com-pa-ny!

INT. KALUDIS HOME - NIGHT

Crammed with 1970’s furniture and flea-market knick-knacks.

Mrs. Kaludis opens a door that leads to the basement.

(CONTINUED)
 80.
CONTINUED:

MRS. KALUDIS
Tell him his dinner’s been sitting on the
table half an hour already.

McClane and Jack descend into the basement alone.

MCCLANE
“Freddy?”

JACK
Freddy Kaludis is his real name.
Seriously though, only call him Warlock.
Anything else really pisses him off - and
you do not want to piss him off.

They reach the bottom step, and Jack opens a door to

THE WARLOCK: aka Freddy Kaludis, early 30s, crooked glasses,

greasy complexion, body by McDonald’s. He frowns at them
with a mix of paranoia and snide superiority, surrounded by
wall-to-wall computers, every conceivable electronic gadget -
and a life-size Boba Fett poster.

McClane shoots Jack a look that could kill.

JACK
Warlock! Good to see you, man, it’s been
a while. You look like you lost weight?

WARLOCK
Spare me your sycophancy, McClane, and
state your business. I’m running five
portable generators and do NOT wish to
waste kilowattage on idle chit-chat.

JACK
Sure, man. This here is John. He’s an
independent contractor, if you know what
I mean. He wants to know who Hartwick’s
using for his crash crew, and I told him
if anyone can find out, you can.

MCCLANE
How ya doing... Warlock?

WARLOCK
Irritated, inconvenienced, and frankly
skeptical of your credentials. You don’t
look like any Black Hat I’ve encountered.

JACK
He’s Canadian.

(CONTINUED)
 81.
CONTINUED:

Warlock scowls, but it seems to make a bit more sense.

JACK
And he’s willing to pay.

WARLOCK
With what, pray tell?

Jack opens his knapsack, shows Warlock all his gear.

JACK
With this.

The Warlock peruses it briefly, then leans back.

MCCLANE
That’s 7 grand worth of gear.

WARLOCK
I’m well aware of its aggregate retail
value, thank you very much.

JACK
So what do you say, man? Can you help us
out?

The Warlock squints at them a beat - then takes the bag, and
solemnly turns to one of his many computers.

WARLOCK
This could take a few minutes.

JACK
Cool. Hey Warlock, you think I could use
your bathroom?

WARLOCK
(big put-upon exhalation)
Second door on the left. And Jack: my
toiletries are my toiletries.
McClane gestures angrily to Jack not to leave him alone with
this freak; Jack indicates how bad he has to pee, and goes.

The Warlock types rapidly, muttering to himself, swiveling

in his chair from computer to computer. McClane fidgets in
awkward silence, glancing around.

MCCLANE
Nice place you got here - Warlock.
(sees the Boba Fett poster)
Cool poster.

(CONTINUED)
 82.
CONTINUED:

WARLOCK
Oh? Are you a fan of the Fett?

MCCLANE
Um, sure, you know - who isn’t? Though I
was always more of a Star Wars nut.

WARLOCK
(frowns)
Boba Fett is from Star Wars.

MCCLANE
(beat)
No shit?

The Warlock’s eyes narrow to paranoid slits - he then

suddenly spins to his computers, rapidly shutting down.

MCCLANE
Hey - hey what are you doing?

WARLOCK
You were lying! You’re no Black Hat!

MCCLANE
Okay, fine, I’m an ex-cop -

WARLOCK
What?!

MCCLANE
Look, this is a national emergency,
asshole, I don’t have time to -

Just then Jack returns, zipping up his fly.

WARLOCK
You! You brought an officer of the law
into my base camp?!
JACK
Oh shit.

Jack quickly looks to McClane, who shrugs, fed up with this.

JACK
Warlock, I can explain - he’s my Dad -

WARLOCK
Traitor! Decepticon!

JACK
Please, Warlock. We need your help, man!
(CONTINUED)
 83.
CONTINUED:

WARLOCK
Me help you? Just what on earth could
possibly persuade me to do that?

McClane suddenly grabs Warlock’s chubby face in one hand and

scrunches it, glaring with the promise of much worse.

MCCLANE
You don’t really want me to answer that,
Freddy.

SAME - MOMENTS LATER

The Warlock is like jello, terrified of McClane.

WARLOCK
I could only get one name. Mai Linh.

JACK
Mai Linh - are you sure?

MCCLANE
(surprised)
You know her?

JACK
Not personally, no, but there are close
to a million true hackers in the world -
and maybe five of them are hot chicks.
Word gets around.
(to Warlock)
I thought she was strictly White Hat
hactivism?

WARLOCK
Apparently something changed her mind.
(types on keyboard)
She cleared customs yesterday.

McClane looks at the information on Warlock’s screen.

MCCLANE
“Mai Lihn. Born 1978, Tan San Nuit
AirBase, Vietnam.” Means her old man’s
probably American...
(reads on)
Sergeant Henry P. Kurland of the U.S.
Marine Corp. See if he stayed over there.

WARLOCK
(calls it up on the computer)
V.A. has him living in Indiana, some town
called Shady Bower.
(CONTINUED)
 84.
CONTINUED:

MCCLANE
She could still be in contact with him.
Indiana - that’s only one state over,
right?... Hel-lo?

Warlock looks to Jack, and they both shrug in unison.

EXT. KALUDIS HOME - LATE NIGHT

Mrs. Kaludis is having a conniption as McClane and Jack

requisition her 1988 Buick station wagon.

MRS. KALUDIS
Freddy! You’re giving them our car?!

“Warlock” watches helplessly as McClane and Jack peel away.

EXT. A TRACT HOUSE - DAWN

A white van rolls up before a small house sitting on a patch

of dry lawn. Inside the van we see Mai and her Driver, Rand.

Burn in: “Day 3.”

MAI
I won’t be long.

INT. A TRACT HOUSE - BEDROOM - DAWN

In a cramped bedroom, middle-aged HENRY KURLAND finishes

getting dressed, turns to his anxious WIFE.

MAN
I’m going into town, see if there’s news.

As he passes a dresser, we see a photo of the man in younger

days, dressed in a Marine uniform.

INT. TRACT HOUSE - LIVING AREA (CONTINUOUS)

Kurland enters, crossing the room, when he freezes - whip

pan to Mai, standing across the room, a gun in her hand.

KURLAND
Mary mother of god...

MAI
It’s Mai, actually. Hello, Daddy.

EXT. RURAL HIGHWAY - DAWN

Mrs. Kaludis’ station wagon tears past a sign: “Entering

Indiana.”
 85.

INT. STATION WAGON

McClane drives, Jack in shotgun. Every gas station,

convenience store and highway McDonald’s they pass is dark
and empty, lending the rural landscape an apocalyptic feel.

JACK
You had to call him Freddy. You realize
he’s gonna make my cyberlife hell for the
next 20 years?

MCCLANE
Let’s just hope we can get to this Mai
chick and force her to help us stop this
thing before it’s too late. You’re sure
she’s integral to Day 3?

JACK
She’s the best there is for dismantling
network security systems. And Day 3 is
the remaining utilities.

Jack fidgets uncomfortably in the lumpy passenger seat.

JACK
I’m starting to get the appeal of your
‘65 Mustang.

Out of habit he flips on the radio - but there’s nothing but

static on every channel. It’s creepy as hell.

JACK
And Rick Springfield, for that matter.

MCCLANE
For Chrissake, it’s Springsteen.

JACK
Rick Springsteen, right, sorry.

INT. TRACT HOUSE - LIVING AREA

Kurland as he was, staring down the barrel of Mai’s gun.

KURLAND
What is it you want? An apology? Money?

This only disgusts Mai more, tears welling in her eyes. She
realizes it’s time to do this; she braces herself --

BOY (O.S.)
Dad?

(CONTINUED)
 86.
CONTINUED:

Mai’s eyes dart to a 10 year old BOY frozen in the doorway.

KURLAND
Bobby, go back to your room.

But the boy just stares at Mai, sensing something

inexplicable, as transfixed by her as she is by him.

MAI
I.... I’m your...

Mai can’t get the words out, the gun trembling in her grasp -

KURLAND
Damn it Bobby get back in your room!

EXT. TRACT HOUSE

Rand waiting impatiently - when the passenger door flies

open and Mai jumps in. He then sees Sgt. Kurland behind his
screen door, shaken but alive.

Rand says nothing, just shifts into gear and peels away.

INT. WAGON - HIGHWAY IN ILLINOIS - DRIVING

Jack squirms in the passenger seat.

JACK
Jesus, it’s like they stuff these seats
with golf balls.

MCCLANE
You’re like a jukebox of complaints, you
know that? We’re only 20 miles away. Just
be grateful we haven’t hit any -

They’ve just come over the crest of hill; just below them
the Interstate is a motionless sea of automobiles.
MCCLANE
- traffic.

McClane considers it for all of two seconds, downshifts --

and abruptly steers off-road, onto the rock-strewn dirt that
serves as the highway shoulder. The wagon rattles violently;
McClane grips the wheel, Jack looks nauseated.

JACK
We’ve got - twenty more miles - of this?!

MCCLANE
No - we’ve got - twenty miles - of this.
(CONTINUED)
 87.
CONTINUED:

The wagon suddenly tilts as the shoulder slopes 30 degrees,

Jack crushed against his door as they plow through the dust.

JACK
Now I know why Mom never let you drive
car pool!

EXT. RURAL ROAD - VAN - MORNING

Rand’s van rips past wilting farmland. Mai peers out, lost.

We crane up above, higher and higher... The shot pixilating

into a digital image that’s actually on

A LAPTOP SCREEN - G.P.S. IMAGER. The van now a blinking dot,

the rural landscape a patchwork of coordinate markings.
Continue pulling back from this, to

HARTWICK in his mobile headquarters, working on a hack. On

his laptop screen we see windows for various MUNICIPAL WATER
TREATMENT FACILITIES. He’s shutting them down one by one -

- when notices the blinking red dot on his other monitor. He

studies it a beat, then grabs his SatPhone, livid:

HARTWICK
Did I approve a goddamn DETOUR?!
INT. RAND’S VAN

Pan from Mai’s GPS locator jostling on the floor by the back
seat, to Rand and Mai in front. They’re driving along a dry
riverbed. Rand is on his SatPhone.

RAND
She insisted.

HARTWICK (O.S.)
I call the shots, understand?!
INT. MCCLANE’S CAR

- McClane and Jack are still careening wildly along the

banked shoulder. McClane’s body jerks so hard it’s a blur.

JACK
Dad, I think I’m gonna be sick...

MCCLANE
Then roll down the window!

JACK
How? My arm’s wedged under my spleen!
(CONTINUED)
 88.
CONTINUED:

McClane manages to glance over - only to see something on

the horizon: across a stretch of farmland, a white van
racing in the opposite direction.

MCCLANE
Holy shit - there they are!

Smushed to the window, Jack tries to look -- when McClane

suddenly jerks the wheel and Jack’s head snaps back as they
careen down the slope in a spray of rocks and dirt, landing
with a bang in the field, tearing through it, heading for...

EXT. RURAL ROAD - ALONG THE DRY RIVERBED (CONTINUOUS)

Rand still on with Hartwick - when he notices the Kaludis

station wagon barrelling in at a right angle just up ahead.

RAND
We’ve got company.

Rand hangs up, reaches into his waist for his gun.

INSERT MCCLANE AND JACK IN THE STATION WAGON

shocks taking a beating as the car bangs over rough terrain -

- when a bullet suddenly shatters the windshield.

JACK
They spotted us!

MCCLANE
Gee, do you think?! Grab the wheel!

Jack does so, McClane climbing out of the window, training

his purloined glock on the van, firing back as they continue
to plow toward it from the right -

- when Rand’s bullets puncture the wagon’s tire! Jack feels

the wheel go wild in his grasp, the wagon starting to skid
out of control as it hurtles toward the van -

McClane ducks back in.

MCCLANE
Put your head between your legs!

JACK
Why?! So I can kiss my ass goodbye?!?

McClane reaches over and shoves Jack’s head down as he grabs

the wheel and intentionally jerks it - aiming the skidding
wagon right at the van...
(CONTINUED)
 89.
CONTINUED:

TIGHT ON THE VAN’S GRILL as the station wagon CRASHES right

into it, sending the van careening wildly, hurdling on its
side and over the drop to the dry riverbed... where it
smashes 30 feet below with an awful sound.

ON MCCLANE as he jumps from the wagon, hurrying down toward

THE DRY RIVERBED, where he finds the wrecked convertible

upside down on the silt floor. Jack jogs up beside him.

MCCLANE
Stay here.

ANGLE ON THE WRECKED VAN

McClane arrives at the van, sees Rand’s dead body twisted

out the driver’s window. He moves around to the passenger
side, bends down to peer through the accordioned door. He
sees Mai, eyes closed, either unconscious or dead.

McClane reaches in, feels for a pulse, calls up to Jack -

MCCLANE
She’s alive!

McClane bends down, tries to pull Mai out from under the
overturned vehicle, but she’s pinned.

His eyes dart, see the rear door busted open. McClane runs
over, reaches in, fishing around, pulls out a jack.

McClane goes back to the side of the car and starts to try
to jack the van up (only upside-down). It creaks with
resistance, then slowly starts to give a little...

INT. HARTWICK’S VAN - DAY

Hartwick as he was, before two laptops. The GPS’s blinking

red dot sits stationary. Pan to a small black bar marked
“KS/J-109, KERRYWOOD HYDROELECTRIC DAM.” Pan to the second
laptop; on-screen we glimpse “Bureau of Land Management.”

HARTWICK (INTO SATPHONE)

Keep Trey alive. I’m going to need him to
assume Mai’s responsibilities.

EXT. RIVERBED

McClane has managed to jack the van up a good foot off the
ground. He bends down, peers through the slot. Mai’s still
unconscious. He starts to reach in...
 90.

INT. HARTWICK’S LOCATION

EXTREME CLOSE ON Hartwick’s finger as it sinks into a key -

EXT. KERRYWOOD HYDROELECTRIC DAM

CLOSE ON FLOW VALVE CONTROL PANELS as the activation lights

suddenly blink green.

CLOSE ON THE FLOW VALVES as they creak open - and with a

sudden rush, a wall of water starts to hurtle toward the dam
- 10 flow gates releasing 45 thousand cubic ft of water per
second, slamming into the dam-wall, straining it as water
spills over the sides, jetting from pipes...

EXT. RIVERBED

McClane’s on his belly, halfway under the jacked-up van,

trying to pull Mai out - oblivious to the dam situation.

INSERT: EXTREME CLOSE ON THE JACK as it starts to quiver -

INSERT: ANOTHER SECTION OF DRY RIVERBED as it flash floods -

EXT. MCCLANE’S SECTION OF RIVERBED

CLOSE ON MCCLANE UNDER THE VAN when he hears the distant

sound of rumbling. He frowns, tries to peer out from under
here, but can’t see anything -

- other than the jack about to buckle -

MCCLANE
Shit!

- he scrambles out from under the car, dragging Mai out with
him a split-second before the jack snaps in half and the van
crashes back down.

JACK (O.S. FROM ABOVE)

Dad! Get out of there!

McClane looks up, hears the rumbling growing louder,

drowning out Jack, who is frantically gesturing to something
in the distance...

McClane turns - and suddenly sees the wall of water rushing

at him with an unbelievable, overwhelming force! McClane
dives back toward the car, grabs onto Mai with one hand and
grabs a car door handle with the other -

- just as this virtual tidal wave hits and nearly sweeps

them away with other debris in its wake. Immediately plunged
(CONTINUED)
 91.
CONTINUED:

under, McClane grips the door with all his might, dragged
along as the upended van grinds along the riverbed floor.

A WIDE SHOT (JACK’S POV) shows the entire riverbed flooded

like a stretch of rapids, engulfing the van.

CLOSE ON MCCLANE UNDERWATER

Still clutching Mai, he grips the door handle to avoid being

rushed away in the current. He looks over at Mai - eyes
closed, bubbles escaping her lips... Lungs straining,
McClane cranes his neck, squinting through murk and debris
rushing at him - he spots a length of tree root jutting from
the riverbank wall behind him.

He lets go of the car door and they’re immediately whipped

into the current with a jarring velocity...

WIDE SHOT OF RIVERBED FROM ABOVE

Water rushing violently. Still no sign of McClane. Jack

lowers his head, sure it’s too late -

- when McClane’s body suddenly surfaces, one arm clutching

Mai, the other managing to grab onto the jutting root before
they’re both flushed downstream. Mai chokes on water,
McClane sucks in air, but both are, miraculously, alive.

INT. DHS - DATA ANALYSIS CENTER - DAY

The huge room now lit only by the lights of computer

monitors powered by backup generators. Track along sleep-
deprived Techs tensely monitoring every utility still
unaffected. Halt on Raj as he suddenly looks up, at once
alarmed and encouraged.

RAJ
I got something!

Push in on his screen to see he’s monitoring the INDIAN

SPRINGS NUCLEAR POWER PLANT in Oregon.

EXT. ST. MATTHEW’S HOSPITAL - GARY, INDIANA - DAY

The lawn and parking lot serve as a combination triage

center/ temporary shelter for hundreds of people camped out
here. The prevailing mood is uncertain fear.

Above we see a small fleet of helicopters racing in.

CLOSE ON A HELICOPTER as it sets down in the middle of a

blocked-off street. We see the D.H.S. logo stencilled on the
door as it swings open... and Dawson hurriedly steps out,
followed by some field agents.
 92.

INT. ST. MATTHEW’S HOSPITAL - GARY, INDIANA - DAY

Dawson paces down a dark corridor. Huddled at the far end a

bunch of official-looking types mill around a hospital room.

Dawson arrives at the door, peers in to see MAI INSIDE,

hooked up to IVs, banged up and unconscious.

Frustrated, Dawson turns - and now notices Jack sitting

alone a few feet away. They lock eyes a silent moment.

JACK
So you’re Dawson.

DAWSON
And you’re Jack.

Dawson takes a step closer - and extends her hand warmly.

DAWSON
How’s your Dad?

INT. HOSPITAL - EMERGENCY ROOM - DAY

The place looks like a war zone, PATIENTS crammed

everywhere, camped out on all available floor space. Sounds
of wailing babies, crying children, yelling adults. Not
nearly enough equipment, power, or staff.

IN A CUBICLE BEHIND A CURTAIN WE FIND MCCLANE sitting on a

cot, flinching as a NURSE repairs a dislocated shoulder -
when Jack pops his head in.

MCCLANE
Well?

JACK
Mai still hasn’t come to.

McClane shakes his head in frustration.

JACK
You’ve got a visitor.

Dawson now arrives behind Jack, smiling gratefully.

DAWSON
Still saving everyone’s ass, huh John?

MCCLANE
(shrugs)
Not sure what good it did if she’s still
unconscious.
(CONTINUED)
 93.
CONTINUED:

DAWSON
Actually, I’ve got news - we finally
caught a break. One of our analysts
spotted a network breach at a nuclear
power plant in Indian Springs, Oregon.
We’ve got agents setting up a perimeter
as we speak. I’m on my way there myself.

McClane and Jack exchange a look of uncertainty.

MCCLANE
A nuclear power plant?

DAWSON
One of the eleven Hartwick shut down that
first night. We’ve already authorized
closures of all remaining utilities,
including gas and water, just to be on
the safe side.

MCCLANE
In other words, we’re finishing Day 3 for
him and shutting down the rest ourselves?

DAWSON
Just a temporary precaution until we
bring Hartwick in. Don’t worry, we’ll
retain complete control of those systems.

MCCLANE
This doesn’t feel too easy to you?

DAWSON
Trust me, John, nothing about this has
felt easy. You just let them finish
patching you up.

Dawson squeezes McClane’s good shoulder, then heads out.

A beat, then:

MCCLANE
You still got your gear?

JACK
(hefts his backpack)
Right here.

MCCLANE
See if you can hack into that nuclear
plant, make sure the mathletes are
barking up the right tree.
 94.

EXT. HOSPITAL - PARKING LOT - DAY

Dawson crossing toward the helicopters as around her federal

agents are mobilizing.

AGENT
We leave in two minutes.

DAWSON
Re-establish radio contact with D.A.C.. I
know we’re laying low, but I want
absolute certainty our guys remain in
control of that plant’s computer network.

INT. HOSPITAL EMERGENCY ROOM - MCCLANE’S CUBICLE

McClane gazes out at the desperate triage/shelter scene on

the lawn - when Jack suddenly looks up from his laptop.

JACK
It’s a mimic.

McClane spins, sees that Jack looks genuinely afraid.

JACK
What DHS found was a breach of a mimic
system. Hartwick must have uploaded a
carbon copy of that nuclear plant’s
entire computer network.

MCCLANE
So the feds are monitoring -?

JACK
A perfect replica. And if Hartwick’s crew
could fake that network, they could fake
any of them: water, gas...

MCCLANE
(leaps up; alarmed)
In other words we haven’t shut down shit.

EXT. HOSPITAL - LOT - LATE DAY

Dawson is about to climb into her helicopter -

MCCLANE
Wait!

Dawson turns to find McClane and Jack racing over.

 95.

SAME - MOMENTS LATER

Dawson stands by her helicopter, looking torn.

MCCLANE
I’m telling you, your guys have been
monitoring phony systems. The real ones
are still vulnerable!

DAWSON
That’s not what my techs are saying. How
sure are you about this, Jack?

JACK
Almost positive.

DAWSON
Almost.
(hesitant; to McClane)
You’re asking me to take your son’s word
over that of my entire staff?

McClane looks to Jack. He trusts him wholeheartedly.

MCCLANE
I am. Yes.

DAWSON
If not the nuclear plants, then what are
they going to hit next?

JACK
(admits)
I don’t know. I’m working on it.

Dawson chews on this a beat, then finally:

DAWSON
I’m sorry. I got to make the call here.

MCCLANE
But Day 3’s almost over -

DAWSON
All the more reason to move on what we’ve
got.

McClane realizes there’s no arguing, just nods solemly as

Dawson climbs up into the helicopter, nods to the pilot, and
they begin their ascent...

...leaving McClane and Jack on the ground, watching

helplessly as the copters depart. McClane looks exhausted
(CONTINUED)
 96.
CONTINUED:

and beaten. Jack, however, is still full of fire as they

head back to the hospital.

JACK
Now what?

MCCLANE
What do you mean?

JACK
Well we’re not just gonna wait to see
what they do hit, are we?

MCCLANE
I don’t see what choice we have. You want
to keep hunting Hartwick on your laptop,
I’ll cross my fingers you find the
bastard. But I got a feeling it’ll be too
late. Hartwick was right about one thing.
It’s a new world. Your world, not mine.

JACK
You’re wrong - it’s both of ours. You can
still take this guy, Dad. I mean it,
you’re like John Henry - you know, that
dude who raced a machine to see who could
lay down a railroad track faster? In the
end, John Henry won. He beat the machine.
MCCLANE
And then he dropped dead. You might want
to work on your pep talks. Anyway, since
when does “Jack Gennero” care about
anyone but himself?

JACK
He doesn’t. But Jack McClane does.

McClane’s moved, about to say something - when he looks up

to find they’ve arrived on the lawn. He and Jack look out on
the more than 500 people gathered here.

The mood has shifted from despairing to inspiring.

Volunteers are supporting the overwhelmed staff, passing
around food and water; some are quietly singing “America the
Beautiful,” the song carrying over a BRIEF MONTAGE OF A
NATION STARTING TO RALLY TO THE OCCASION:

-- In Atlanta, soup kitchen volunteers serve not only the

homeless, but stranded middle-class families too...
-- The same scene playing out along the beaches of Southern
California...

(CONTINUED)
 97.
CONTINUED:

-- While in Nebraska, a cattle rancher has converted miles

of acreage to be used as a makeshift camp site to provide
emergency shelter...
-- As has an upscale Nordstrom’s in Seattle...
-- As well as the Mall of America...
-- And all of the Houston Astrodome...
-- While in Times Square, an enormous hand-painted banner
hangs just below the pitch black Jumbotron. It reads: “WE
ARE NOT AFRAID OF YOU.”
BACK TO MCCLANE

Peering out at the undeterred crowd, he can’t help but be

moved, a flicker of hope restored -- when just then a STATE
POLICE OFFICER runs up to them, out of breath.

OFFICER
Your friends from D.H.S. take off yet?

MCCLANE
They just did. Why?

INT. MAI’S HOSPITAL ROOM - DAY

Mai still hooked up to her IVs, her eyes now open - groggy
but conscious. It takes her a moment to notice McClane,
standing at the door, Jack just behind him.

MCCLANE
Mai, you’ve got a chance to end this now.
Tell us what Hartwick’s final move is.

Mai is silent, her expression hardening to a cold glare.

MCCLANE
You think Hartwick gives a damn about
you? He tried to kill you back there. Two
other hackers already turned up dead.

We see this is news to Mai, but she maintains her resolve.

MAI
His agenda doesn’t concern me. I had
reasons of my own.

JACK
We know, you’ve got a beef with America
cause your old man dipped and ditched. So
that gives you the right to crash the
whole country?!

MCCLANE
Shut up Jack -

(CONTINUED)
 98.
CONTINUED:

JACK
No, screw that! My Dad saved your life -

MCCLANE
Jack!

A tense silence fills the room. Mai stares at McClane, not

so much moved as surprised.

MCCLANE
Please. We need your help here.

MAI
Clearly.

At a loss, McClane shrugs, starts to go, then takes one look

back at her.

MCCLANE
Your father. You went there to kill him,
didn’t you?

MAI
(a beat; torn)
He wasn’t worth it.

MCCLANE
Is this?

Mai stays silent, avoiding his eyes - he’s definitely

pressed a button. And yet she still doesn’t budge. McClane
gestures for Jack to follow him out - it’s useless...

MAI
Illinois.

McClane and Jack freeze. Mai hesitates.

MAI
...A town called Perchum. About 15 miles
west of the state line. It was just a
rendezvous point. I don’t know where we
were to go from there.

MCCLANE
And the hack?

MAI
We weren’t given any details.

EXT. HOSPITAL - A MOBILE OPS TRAILER - LATE DAY

McClane bursts in - finds the officer he spoke with earlier.

(CONTINUED)
 99.
CONTINUED:

MCCLANE
Get on the radio - we need all available
force dispatched to Perchum, Illinois,
it’s only fifty miles or so from here!

The Officer doesn’t move -

MCCLANE
Come on, man!

OFFICER
Radios are all scrambled.

JACK (O.S.)
Dad!

McClane spins to find Jack racing up, laptop under his arm.

JACK
There’s a gas compressor station less
than 20 miles from Perchum.

JACK OPENS HIS LAPTOP SCREEN, shows McClane a map of the

U.S. criss-crossed by a NETWORK OF PIPELINES as dense as the
NY subway system.

ON MCCLANE as he looks straight back at Jack, stunned.

MCCLANE
He’s gonna blow the pipelines.
Jack nods, just as scared.

JACK
It’s how Hartwick bet the bank.

CUT TO:

JACK’S LAPTOP SCREEN. Beside the map of the nation’s

pipelines, we see a second window, on it a long list of
INTERNATIONAL PETROLEUM STOCKS (country flags beside names).

JACK
I asked myself, if I had 100 million
dollars and America was about to be shit
out of oil, where would I put my money?

Tilt down to the BUYER: “ELIOT, T.” McClane takes out the
crumpled printout of the Hartwick cookbook screencap, reads
the epigram: “This is the way the world ends, not with a
bang but a whimper. - T.S. Eliot.”

(CONTINUED)
 100.
CONTINUED:

MCCLANE
Hartwick referred to Stahl’s money as an
“investment.” This must be what he meant.
(seething)
He’ll destroy America and make a billion.

EXT. MOBILE OPS TRAILER - HOSPITAL LOT

Jack and McClane hurrying across the lot, Jack reading off a
DHS issue palmtop.

JACK
So DHS believes they already shut down
the gas lines themselves, but that was
just to a mimic. If the lines are really
still open and Hartwick was to close
crucial valves, that would destabilize
line pressure and create what’s called a
“hammering effect:” pressure builds, a
valve eventually bursts, and blammo -
(glances up)
They start a domino chain of explosions
unlike anything anyone’s ever... Dad?

Jack realizes McClane’s nowhere near him. He scans the lot -

and finds McClane crouched by a parked Harley, in the
process of hotwiring it. Jack regards the cramped sidecar.

JACK
I take it I don’t get to drive.

EXT. COMPRESSOR STATION (ILLINOIS) - LATE DAY

An enormous cylindrical steel structure, circumferenced by a

field of ground valves - in the middle of absolute nowhere.
Dwarfed by the structure, we spot a pair of white vans.

INT. COMPRESSOR STATION - CONTROL ROOM 1

Lit only by emergency generator lighting and a large

panoramic window. Trey is patching equipment into the
mainframe. Hartwick stands behind him.

TREY
I thought Mai was going to do this?

HARTWICK
She was unavoidably detained.

Trey hesitates, visibly nervous.

(CONTINUED)
 101.
CONTINUED:

HARTWICK
Relax, Trey. You’ll be done before you
know it.

Hartwick turns to Trey’s Driver (TURKO) with a look to

indicate the double-meaning. The far door bangs open. Luka
and Schenck enter, armed.

HARTWICK
You’ve secured the rest of the station?

SCHENCK
All dead and accounted for.

EXT. ILLINOIS STATE LINE - DAY

A shot of rural tranquility... when a Harley races into

view, McClane hunched over the handlebars doing 120mph, Jack
crouched in the sidecar, clutching the sides for dear life.

CRANE UP to glimpse the compressor station in the distance,

the top of its massive cylinder now in view.

INT. COMPRESSOR STATION - CONTROL ROOM

Trey is typing away; on his screen are electronic controls

for gas flow divided up by about 20 regions across the
country. Pan across other monitors to find he’s usurping
control of flow direction, pressure, valve closures...

EXT. COMPRESSOR STATION

Their Harley rolls to a stop as they pass through the gates.

McClane sees they’ve been hastily cut. He hands Jack a gun.

MCCLANE
Just in case. You ever fire one of these?

JACK
Not exactly - but I stomp ass at Halo.
(off McClane’s confusion)
It’s a video game.

MCCLANE
You studied the schematic. What’s the
best way in?

Jack looks around, sees an exposed pipe disappearing

underground marked “UNDER REPAIR.”
 102.

INT. EXPOSED PIPELINE

McClane and Jack crawl on hands and knees down this length
of dark, empty pipe. The gas smell is clearly still intense.

JACK
These fumes can’t be good for my health.

MCCLANE
Either is getting shot. Keep your voice
down.

McClane squints ahead as they crawl forward.

MCCLANE
Do we know where this leads exactly?

JACK
Well, according to the schematic, there
should be a spill tank that --

Jack and McClane suddenly tumble out of the pipe, into

INT. A LARGE UNDERGROUND SPILL TANK

Also pitch black, the bottom filled with about a foot of

cooled, condensed gas. Jack and McClane are soaked as they
get to their feet, splashing toward a ladder leading out.

INT. TURBINE ROOM

The hum of emergency generators and a solitary green bulb’s

worth of light give the space a submarine-like feel. We find
Luka making a security round - when he halts, hears the echo
of McClane and Jack climbing out of the spill tank below.

CLOSE ON A SIDE HATCH (TURBINE ROOM)

as it bangs open and McClane and Jack enter, their guns

sweeping the greenish dark.

JACK
Doesn’t look like anybody’s down here.

And then they see the bodies of FIVE DEAD STATION

TECHNICIANS, slumped with backs against a far wall.

JACK
(nervously)
Scratch that, amend it.

MCCLANE
Which way to the control room?
(CONTINUED)
 103.
CONTINUED:

JACK
Should be three stories up.

Gun drawn, McClane starts to cross the room, Jack following

after - when he trips over the leg of one of the corpses.

JACK
Sorry.

He continues after McClane, but we hold on the corpse... to

see its head start to raise: it’s Luka, raising his gun.

MCCLANE
(glances back)
Huh?

JACK
Nothing. I was talking to happy face back
there.

Jack points back to Luka -- just as Luka is about to fire!

Jack’s frozen with panic -- when McClane dives on him as
Luka's shot whizzes past. McClane fires back as he yanks
Jack to a far wall, concealed by the turbine components.

INT. COMPRESSOR STATION - LOUNGE

Schenck and Turko are scrounging for food when they hear the
shots. They immediately draw weapons and hurry out.

BACK TO TURBINE ROOM

McClane and Jack still semi-concealed, McClane firing at

Luka, Luka firing wildly back, bullets tearing up the walls.

JACK
(freaking out)
This is absolutely nothing like Halo!

MCCLANE
(gestures to an exit)
Listen, when I say run, you haul ass
through that door.

JACK
Oh Jesus -

MCCLANE
Trust me.

McClane silently edges toward Luka, using the dim lighting

to his advantage.

(CONTINUED)
 104.
CONTINUED:

Angle on Luka, scanning the room - from his right he hears:

MCCLANE
Run!

Luka spins on McClane, blasting off shots -- only McClane’s

vanished into thin air? Luka hears the rush of footfall and
Jack slamming the door across the room. Luka is completely
confused - whips around, wants to go after Jack, but knows
McClane’s still hiding here.

Luka thinks he sees a shadow in the corner, steps closer --

and is clocked across the face by the steel hatch door of
the spill tank that McClane had crawled back into!

McClane hops down; Luka raises his gun to fire - as McClane

takes him out with three quick shots. He drops dead on the
exact same spot where he’d been faking it.

MCCLANE
You like playing dead? Be my guest.

A creak of the far door as Jack pokes his head back in.

JACK
...Dad?

He spots McClane patting down Luka's corpse. McClane finds a

palmtop computer, tosses it over to Jack.

MCCLANE
Let’s go.

INT. CONTROL ROOM

Hartwick supervising Trey - when Schenck and Turko burst in.

TURKO
We’ve got shots from the first floor.

HARTWICK
Shit! I thought we were secure!

He shoots Turko a look to stay here with Trey, takes out a

gun of his own and exits.

INT. COMPRESSOR STATION - FIRST FLOOR

McClane and Jack at a jog, guns ready. They note two

different stairwells leading up - then hear Schenck above.
 105.

INT. COMPRESSOR STATION - SECOND FLOOR

Schenck is deciding which direction to head down -- when he

hears the sound of a door opening in the left stairwell.

INT. COMPRESSOR STATION - LEFT STAIRWELL

Schenck throws open the door to find steel mesh stairs lit
only by a single strip of emergency lighting, leading down a
blind turn. He proceeds carefully down, ready to shoot...

Insert: McClane hanging on underneath the steel mesh stairs.

Schenck takes another step - when McClane fires a shot

straight through the mesh, into Schenck’s thigh! He screams,
comes tumbling down as McClane bolts out the exit.

INT. 2ND FLOOR MEN’S ROOM

Pitch black. McClane has ducked in here, quietly re-loading

a clip -- when the door bangs open in a hail of bullets,
tearing up walls and mirrors as McClane dives to the tile.

It’s too dark to see anything; McClane can only hear

Schenck’s furious panting as he limps in... Until Schenck
flips on his gun’s laser site and starts to sweep the room.

Tight on McClane, holding his breath as the red dot of the

laser sweeps just beside him. He reaches for something...

Hearing the sound, Schenck swings his laser... its red dot
landing on a shard of smashed mirror McClane had managed to
grab, the laser bouncing off the surface and shining
directly back on Schenck’s chest.

McClane fires directly at the target, blowing Schenck away.

MCCLANE
Right back at ya, pal.

INT. 3RD FLOOR

Jack steps out of the stairwell, proceeds down a hallway,

hugging the wall... He freezes when he sees the door to the
control room slightly ajar.

INT. CONTROL ROOM

Trey still entering commands, when he hears something down

the hall. He turns to Turko, who leans his head out...
 106.

INT. 3RD FLOOR CORRIDOR

TURKO’S POV: nothing but empty hallway.

Not satisfied, he takes out a Glock, starts down the hall.

INSERT JACK: pressed tight against the opposite wall,

watching Turko walk off. He can hear the sound of Trey’s
keyboard clacking. Knows time is of the essence.

INT. 2ND FLOOR CORRIDOR

Hartwick is pacing down this curved stretch, his furious,

predatory eyes sweeping around him...

FURTHER DOWN THE CORRIDOR

McClane hears Hartwick’s approach. His eyes dart - find the

lounge Schenck and Turko were in earlier. He slips inside.

INT. CONTROL ROOM

Trey is about to enter the command that will result in the

first sector of pipeline erupting. We see the 200 mile path
light up on his screen’s digital map... heading right
through the city of Chicago.

His finger starts to hit the “Return” key -- when he halts?

TILT UP TO TREY, staring back at his screen in disbelief.

On his monitor screen, a small IM window has popped up:

Having a good time, asshole?

Trey can’t believe what he’s seeing. He spins around -

- and his forehead bangs right into Jack’s gun muzzle. He

tucks the PDA he sent the message with into his pocket.

JACK
Hands where I can see ‘em, scumbag.

Trey complies. Jack grins, digging the McClane Sr. vibe.

JACK
(to himself)
Sweet.

INT. EMPLOYEE LOUNGE

McClane is poised just behind the door, gun at the ready.

 107.

INT. 2ND FLOOR CORRIDOR

Hartwick nears the lounge, sees the door just slightly ajar.
He fumes, pauses just on the other side... as we come around
to see for the first time McClane and Hartwick separated by
nothing more than two inches of door -

- when Hartwick’s PDA beeps. He takes it out, frowns at a

map of the gas lines: Trey’s progress is at a stand-still.

Insert McClane: his finger tightening on the trigger...

Close on Hartwick: still frowning at his palm-top - when his

nostrils flare, sniffing the air. He smells something...

Close on McClane’s pants: still wet with gas.

Hartwick smiles as he turns his own gun to the door -

- when McClane kicks it open, knocking him back into the

hall! Hartwick’s gun goes flying; he looks up to McClane
charging him.

Hartwick counters with an elbow to McClane’s face. More

blows are exchanged, brutal and merciless... when McClane
finally manages to slam Hartwick against a wall and jam his
gun right under Hartwick’s chin.

INT. CONTROL ROOM

Jack keeps his gun to Trey’s head, Trey at the keyboard.

JACK
Where’s the nearest storage facility?

TREY
(beat; unwillingly)
About 40 miles north of here.

JACK
That’s where we’ll redirect the flow. Now
start re-opening those valves.

Trey reluctantly starts typing into the system.

JACK
Hey, hey, you dropped a terminal command
line. Who do you think you’re dealing
with - some eighth grader with a dial-up?

INT. 2ND FLOOR CORRIDOR

Hartwick still pinned to the wall by McClane at gunpoint.

(CONTINUED)
 108.
CONTINUED:

HARTWICK
Ironic, isn’t it, John. After all this,
it still comes down to fists and bullets.

MCCLANE
It’s about goddamn time.

McClane yanks Hartwick from the wall, pushes him forward.

Hartwick spies something in the corner of his eye...

Rack focus to see appearing around the curve behind them -

Turko, his Glock aimed directly at an unwitting McClane.

MCCLANE
It’s nice to know there are still a few
things you can count on in this world...

McClane steps right into Turko’s sites, Turko about to blast

away -- when McClane suddenly spins and fires a shot that
rips through Turko’s Glock hand, the weapon rattling to the
floor. Turko clutches his shredded hand, howling.

MCCLANE
Like dumbasses.

McClane glances up: to the un-powered security camera’s lens

overhead in which he’d seen him.

Hartwick’s eyes dart to where his own gun was knocked. Knows
he can grab it, if only Turko would make the sacrifice play.
Hartwick gives Turko an encouraging nod. Turko hesitates,
looks back down at his Glock on the floor.

MCCLANE
Don’t do it, man. Whatever he’s paying
you, it’s not worth it.

Turko glowers, clearly not one to back down. Hartwick grins

as Turko starts to bend for his Glock... when Turko suddenly
about-faces and makes a run for it. McClane coolly turns to
Hartwick, who is fuming.

MCCLANE
Funny thing about mercenaries.
(jerks Hartwick forward)
They’re mercenary.

INT. CONTROL ROOM

Trey is still reversing his work at gunpoint. Jack regards

Trey’s tattooed arms and multiple piercings.

(CONTINUED)
 109.
CONTINUED:

JACK
Original look you got going there.
Did those hurt?

TREY
(mutters)
No.

Jack suddenly reaches over and grabs Trey’s nose ring!

JACK
What about now?

TREY
OW!

JACK
You skipped another line of code,
jerkoff. Now stop screwing around.

TREY
What are you talking about? I executed
that perfectly!

Jack lets go of the nose ring, points to the monitor.

JACK
Oh yeah, what do you call that?

Jack leans over to type with his free hand - and Trey
delivers an unexpectedly powerfully headbutt.

Jack topples back, and Trey is on him, wailing on him with

one hand, trying to seize Jack’s gun with the other. Jack is
taking the beating of his life, when he manages to squeeze
his knee under Trey’s chest - and kick him across the room.

Trey rises - and Jack bashes him across the face, then sends
a brutal kick to Trey’s stomach; we see it in Jack’s own
reaction: even he didn’t know he could fight!

Trey rises, glares up at Jack, clutching his gun.

JACK
Come on, man. We’re almost done here.

Trey sees the uncertainty in Jack’s eyes. He grins, and

suddenly charges with sheer violence -

And Jack blows a hole right through his chest. Trey falters
a second - then drops dead.

(CONTINUED)
 110.
CONTINUED:

Jack stares at his smoking gun - awed by what he just did...

when he realizes it’s awfully quiet in here. He looks past
where Trey was standing - to see that the bullet went
straight through Trey, and into the mainframe. Pan across
dead blank monitors and now useless computers.

JACK
(goes pale)
Oh crap...

Just then the door bangs open - Jack spins, fumbling with
his gun - it’s McClane, with Hartwick in tow. McClane
surveys the mess, sees Trey’s body.

MCCLANE
You all right?

JACK
I -- he --

MCCLANE
It’s okay. You got those cuffs I gave
you?

JACK
...huh?

MCCLANE
Handcuffs. I need them.
Jack fishes out the cuffs, tosses them. McClane shoves
Hartwick to the ground, cuffs him to Trey’s dead body.

MCCLANE
You take care of everything in here?

JACK
Not exactly. See, I was trying to divert
the gas flow to a storage facility. We re-
opened some of the valves, but then -

MCCLANE
Then you shot the computer.

Jack gives a queasy nod. McClane looks ill. Hartwick smirks.

JACK
The blasts are gonna start any minute
now. And if that flow isn’t diverted,
they’re just gonna keep on going.

MCCLANE
Keep on going where?
(CONTINUED)
 111.
CONTINUED:

JACK
Chicago.

MCCLANE
What?!

JACK
Then Kansas City. Omaha. Denver -

MCCLANE
Shit! Okay, let’s try to think here...

Hartwick lets out a dry laugh. McClane paces over to him.

MCCLANE
Any ideas, Gregory?

Hartwick just offers a hateful, smug smile - when McClane

clocks him across the head, knocking him out cold.
MCCLANE
Then shut up.

Jack examines the pipeline schematic on the wall.

JACK
It’s just that one mainline we’d have to
divert. But without the computer...

MCCLANE
There’s no way to do it manually?

Jack shakes his head, plunging into full-blown panic:

MATT
You were right about taking too many
elevators! We program these machines to
do all our work, and now we’re all at the
mercy of computers and technology and the
whole country’s going to-

MCCLANE
Fowler! Now’s not the time for a “moment
of clarity,” all right?
(studies the schematic)
We’re talking about this mainline here?

He points to the line running toward Chicago. Jack nods.

MCCLANE
Maintenance posts are positioned every 20
miles. Looks like the pipe comes above
ground at those junctures.
(CONTINUED)
 112.
CONTINUED:

He peers hard at the first juncture. Only 20 miles away.

JACK
Only you can’t divert the mainline from
there.

McClane’s just staring at the schematic: at a spot marked

“Fuel Truck yard” less than a mile from the same spot.

MCCLANE
I’m not talking about diverting it.

McClane hurries for the door.

MCCLANE
You keep an eye on Hartwick. And see if
any of this stuff still works.

EXT. COMPRESSOR STATION - LATE DAY

McClane runs to his Harley, starts it up... when he hears

something. A faint hammering sound, coming from underneath
the earth. It’s starting.
McClane starts the engine, hops on the bike, and begins to
ride off. Only as McClane starts toward us do we see a
figure running up behind him.

On McClane, peering ahead - when he feels a bullet whiz past

his head! Shocked, he glances back -- when a pair of hands
grab hold of him! It’s Turko, leaping into the side car,
trying to tug McClane off the motorcycle!

McClane guns it as he tries to kick Turko off. Turko swings

his gun around to get a shot at McClane’s head - but McClane
grasps his wrist (steering with one hand), shoves it away -
the motorcycle picking up speed...

McClane can see the muzzle of the gun inching closer and
closer to his head - and the compressor station gates just
ahead. With every ounce of strength McClane guns the Harley
hard as he can as he yells to Turko -

MCCLANE
WHATEVER YOU DO, DON’T LOOK UP!

Turko glances up and his eyes widen to sudden horror -- as

he smashes right into the gate, the sidecar shorn right off
the bike as McClane speeds away.
 113.

INT. COMPRESSOR STATION - CONTROL ROOM

Hartwick still unconscious and cuffed to a dead Trey. Jack

studies Hartwick with both fascination and repulsion.

JACK
So you’re Gregory Hartwick. Huh. I
thought you’d be taller.

Jack turns back to the computers - and Hartwick’s eyes blink

open. His nostrils sniff as he peeks up at Jack walking away
- notes Jack’s pant bottoms still very damp with gas.

Travel to Hartwick’s cuffed hands slipping a cigarette

lighter out of dead Trey’s back pocket...

EXT. RURAL ILLINOIS - LATE DAY

McClane gunning the Harley as fast as it’ll go along the

path of the pipeline (designated by markers), the compressor
station a vanishing dot behind him.

Reverse direction as our camera races (F/X shot) along the

pipeline route at bullet speed across miles and miles -
until we arrive at the skyline of Chicago.
INT. THE MAINLINE PIPE

A steady hiss of gas as we glean the source of that

hammering sound: a closed valve succumbing to the immense
pressure it won’t let pass (the “hammering effect” Jack
spoke of). The force is so tremendous that six inches of
reinforced steel valve are actually starting to buckle...

EXT. ABOVE GROUND

Barely populated, miles of desert shrubs. Then from

underground we hear that hammering growing louder...

Louder... louder... BOOM! as the desert floor literally

blows up in a spray of earth and fire, the blast catapulting
a massive fireball into the air -

And within twenty seconds it happens again... And again...

Only from high above can we truly make out the extent of the
destruction: a chain-reaction of ultra-powerful explosions
going off in domino succession, colossal eruptions of fire,
noxious smoke and debris screaming up at us, shredding the
earth in a path of fire the breadth of a canyon.
 114.

EXT. 10 MILES DOWN THE LINE

McClane on his Harley, tearing down the line when he hears

the explosions behind him. He peers back -

- to see the eruptions blasting into the sky in huge plumes

of flame with a deafening sound of exploding pipe and earth -
and it’s all travelling in the same direction he is.

Crane up to a wide aerial shot to get a full sense of the

scope: the unbelievable sight of McClane on a Harley, trying
to outrace the chain reaction of explosions.

INT. COMPRESSOR STATION

Jack is staring tensely out the panoramic window at the

black smoke billowing up in the distance.

HARTWICK (O.S.)
He’ll never make it.

Startled, Jack whips around, gun pointed, to find Hartwick

leering up at him with a bloody grin.

EXT. MAINLINE PATH (RURAL ILLINOIS) - LATE DAY

McClane is racing toward us... behind him the explosions,

every inch of sky raging fire and smoke.

MCCLANE’S POV: as he races over a landscape that’s just a

blur, he can make out the maintenance post just ahead.
Emerging from the ground is the huge mainline pipe.
McClane’s eyes sweep the area - find what he’s looking for:
a sign that reads “TRUCK YARD. AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.”

INT. CONTROL ROOM

Through the panoramic window the sky is only more dense with
billowing smoke. Jack is staring nervously at Hartwick.

HARTWICK
We’re probably pretty alike, you and I.

Jack tries to ignore him, but Hartwick goads on:

HARTWICK
Only one of us uses his talents for great
things, and one of us squanders it -

JACK
Look dude, spare me the “come to the dark
side” routine, okay? I’m not buying.
 115.

EXT. TRUCK YARD

McClane’s Harley roars in to a yard filled with parked fuel

tankers. He hops off his bike, hauls ass to the first tanker
in line and scrambles in.

His head ducks under the dash, and in a moment we hear the
tanker’s engine roar to life.

ON MCCLANE IN THE TRACTOR CAB

He shifts into 1st, about to take off - when he sees a 70

year old SECURITY GUARD hurrying out of the truck yard,
gripping a shotgun.

SECURITY GUARD
What in tarnation d’ya think yer doin?

MCCLANE
Taking out the pipeline!

SECURITY GUARD
What?!

McClane doesn’t have time to explain - he slams the pedal

and takes off.

INT. THE TANKER TRUCK - TRACTOR CAB

McClane gripping the huge wheel, racing back toward

THE EXPOSED PIPELINE

Now visible through his windshield, less than 1/4 mile away.
The tanker’s heading straight for it at a fast clip.

McClane looks left: the explosions are closing in fast - a

minute or two away from ripping right through this stretch
of pipeline and clear on to Chicago.

McClane looks around the tractor cab, finds an old radio on

the floor. He lifts his foot off the pedal, sets the radio
down on it, pinning the pedal to the floor.

The tanker picking up speed, McClane gets ready to jump. He

reaches for the door handle, starts to open it -

- when suddenly he hears a bang! and the tanker veers with a

hard jolt?!

Stunned, McClane looks in the rear view mirror to see that

the back tire is blown to shreds -

(CONTINUED)
 116.
CONTINUED:

- by a shotgun blast from the old SECURITY GUARD, who’s

racing after him in an equally old pick up truck!

MCCLANE
SHIT!

No time to spare - the tanker is careening off its path,

rattling violently. McClane tries to right it, but it’s
veering too wildly. Even though it’s less than 100 yards
away, the tanker is hurdling completely off course -

- it’s going to miss the exposed pipe altogether! McClane

only has a second to glimpse the nearing explosions, only
moments away from the crucial juncture -

And then he has one last idea: he throws the door wide open,
about to jump - and yanks the wheel the opposite direction -

- causing the entire tanker to jacknife and start to tip -

- as he jumps from the careening monster and into the dirt -

- and the fuel tanker skids in its jacknife and topples, its
semitrailer swinging out in a spray of dirt and gravel...

... and SMASHING right through the exposed pipe, ripping it

clean open and away from the remaining line -

- just as the chain of explosions arrives - hitting the

tanker trailer and erupting in an explosion like a mega-ton
bomb, a concussive mushroom of fire and smoke...

ANGLE ON MCCLANE: face down in the dirt, arms over his head,
getting absolutely pummeled by debris. Only as it settles
does he finally manage to squint up - and allow himself the
faintest grin.

MCCLANE’S POV: as unbelievable as the blast was - it ends

here. The rest of the mainline has gone unharmed.

OLD MAN (O.S.)

Well I’ll be.

McClane slowly squints back at the Old Security Guard,

standing a ways back by his pick up truck. McClane just
shakes his head, exhausted.

INT. CONTROL ROOM

Jack stares at the wall clock, looking only more anxious.

HARTWICK
Daddy should’ve been back by now.
(CONTINUED)
 117.
CONTINUED:

Jack stares anxiously at the sooty sky.

HARTWICK
You know, I could’ve used someone like
you, Jack. Maybe I still could, if your
services are negotiable -

Jack suddenly spins around, tense and angry.

JACK
I told you to shut the hell up!

HARTWICK
Don’t you even want to hear what I have
in mind? It would be a partnership -

Jack snaps, storms toward Hartwick, fists clenched.

JACK
I mean it, Hartwick...

INSERT Hartwick’s concealed hand as his thumb hovers over

the lighter.

Jack marches closer, Hartwick’s grin diverting his attention

from the lighter, now within an inch or two of Jack’s pants -

- when Jack notices the glint of metal in Hartwick’s hand...

Slo-mo tight on Jack as his anger turns to fear...

Slo-mo tight on Hartwick as he’s about to flick the lighter -

- when he hears a hammer cock right by his ear. TILT UP TO

MCCLANE. Sweat-drenched and filthy, leaning into frame.

MCCLANE
Do it and I swear to God: your world’s
gonna end with a bang, not a whimper.

He looks up at Jack, staring back at him in disbelief.

JACK
You did it...? You friggin’ did it!

McClane manages a weary nod and a smile.

MCCLANE
We did it.
 118.

EXT. COMPRESSOR STATION - SUNSET

McClane and Jack exiting a fleet of State Police arrive, a

team of OFFICERS hurrying up to them. McClane points them
toward the station tower.

INT. COMPRESSOR STATION - CONTROL ROOM

Gregory Hartwick is cuffed to chair, a piece of paper pinned

to his shirt on which McClane has written: “ARREST ME.”

EXT. COMPRESSOR STATION - SUNSET

McClane and Jack walking away from the station.

JACK
I guess this is goodbye, huh? Can you
remember when we last spent this much
time together?

MCCLANE
Been a while, that’s for sure.

A touching beat, neither really knowing how to express

emotion.

JACK
So - you know - I’ll try to be better
about staying in touch and all.

MCCLANE
Yeah. Me too.
(a long beat, then:)
Listen, Jack, I was thinking - if you
need a place to stay for a while...

Surprised, Jack’s lips curl into a smile, genuinely moved.

JACK
You’re serious? You want to be roomies?

MCCLANE
Not if you’re gonna use the word
“roomies” I don’t.

JACK
Can I get us a laptop?

MCCLANE
Not a chance. You’re still on probation.

JACK
What about an XBox?
(CONTINUED)
 119.
CONTINUED:

MCCLANE
No, Jack.

As they continue, we slowly CRANE UP AND AWAY...

JACK
Okay, a Playstation then.

MCCLANE
Exactly what part of “no” don’t you
compute?

JACK
Oh come on, why not?

MCCLANE
Because I’m your father, that’s why...

...until their banter is out of ear shot, and we

FADE OUT.

The End