computer
terminal in 45 minutes.
It'll take that long to book you.
You'll be lucky to get there in 45 days!
-Book me? Book me? Bullshit!
-Hey, sit down!
[HORNS HONKING]
COP: Hey, Charlie. Charlie, you all right?
All right, call it in! I'm going after her.
Coming through! Get out of the way!
Look out!
LARRY: Slow down.
You're gonna hurt yourself.
-Get out of the way, Lisa!
DOUG: Marty called.
Maybe she got herself a boyfriend.
Terry, what's going on?
-Jack. B-Flat.
-See, what did I tell you? Jack.
Jack, do you receive? Jack?
JACK: Jack here. Just leaving.
Anything wrong?
Listen carefully. Can--?
Jack? What is this? Every time,
I get this Russian bitch on my terminal!
-Fucking machine!
-It's unbelievable. You're fired.
I'm conferring with members
of the British financial community.
-And they hear this language.
TALBOT: It's all right. We're used to it.
Well, I'm sorry, I....
It appears you did send
the Burghardt contact.
MR. PAGE: I couldn't find the Burghardt
information on any of these terminals.
TERRY: Bastard.
JACK: Terry, what's wrong?
-Tell him nothing's wrong.
-Who are these people? I want to know--
-Step out, Mr. Page.
-Tell him.
MR. PAGE: Get Larry, the guard.
-Take your hands off me.
LARRY:
Can't help you now, Mr. Page.
JACK:
Terry, what's wrong?
On second thought, Mr. Talbot...
...send it your goddamn self.
-Oh, you shouldn't--
-Shut up!
Don't let her send! Hunter, stop her!
Don't let her send a message!
Keep her away from--
[SCREAMING]
My hat! My hat!
TALBOT:
Don't kill anyone!
-Oh, my God!
TALBOT: Don't shoot the machines!
JACK: Terry, must leave
in order to make contact.
MR. PAGE:
Get off my foot!
TERRY: Burghardt is setup. Will kill you.
HUNTER: Oh, no, you don't!
-Kill her?
TALBOT: Feel free!
Carl!
Why do I have to work here?
Cancel that message.
Cancel the message.
Cancel the message.
I'll cancel something even better.
[WHINING]
I don't believe her.
-What's his code?
-Who are you?
CIA. What's his code?
What's his code?
-Give me his code, goddamn it!
-All right. It's B-Flat. God.
DOUG: Take a picture of me
next to the dead guy.
JACK:
Still here, sweetheart.
MARTY: Glad to hear it, honey.
It's Peter Caen.
-You're Peter Caen?
-Yeah. I'll explain it all later.
-The one on the frying pan?
-Yes.
Have Talbot. Have exit contact.
Meet Matuchek, store on Balton Street.
Will get you home. Promise.
-Anything you want to say?
-Well, tell him not to forget our date.
All this is for a date?
WAITER:
Our specials tonight--
-Welcome back.
-Well, thank you. Excuse me.
Darling, I'm sorry.
WAITER: More bread sticks, madame?
-Oh, no. Could I have the check, please?
Hi.
Hi, Marty. I'm sorry, Peter.
-It's all right.
-What are you doing here?
-You look very nice.
-Yeah? Thanks.
-What are you doing here?
-Jack isn't coming.
I'm sorry. He sent me a telex
from London.
Told me to come and explain it to you.
I know that he wanted to be here.
It's no big deal, you know.
After all, I was just some words
on a screen, right?
A screwdriver, a mechanic's tool
to be used by you guys.
-He asked me to take care of this.
-Please. No.
It's too much like him leaving my room
and leaving money on the dresser.
-Forty dollars. Great.
-Terry.
Well, I did my part for democracy.
I'll take you home, okay?
No. No. I'm okay.
-Yeah?
-Yeah.
She should be happy. Page is leaving,
and she's taking over his job.
If I'd known that'd get a promotion,
I'd have blown up the place.
Terry, I've got a great idea.
Let's have a little fun tonight after work.
-Yeah, quit moping. Come with us.
-Yeah, we could go to Cole's.
-No, thanks, you guys.
-Come on.
[COMPUTER BEEPING]
JACK:
Knock, knock.
Knock, knock. Please.
Leave me alone.
I'm sorry. Unavoidably delayed
in London. Queen thanks you.
Frankly, I don't give
a shit about the queen.
I did give a shit about