Original subtitles

Hi.

Wanna rent storage space?

Okay.

A friend of mine rents a space here. Do you think I'd get something close to her?

A friend got a name?

Yeah, Rebecca.

Okay. She probably got a last name.

A few, actually. Five ex-husbands.

I don't remember them all. Okay.

There's only one Rebecca.

Wenzel.

Wenzel.

Husband number four.

Well, that's H-42. One space left on that floor.

Want it?

Mrs. Smith, Rebecca Wenzel.

F in biology, so you're not perfect after all.

An actress, how appropriate.

The moon shines bright in such a night as this when the sweet wind did

gently kiss the trees and they didn't make no noise in such a night.

I'm Mr. Smith, but that's not my real name.

I'm Mrs. Smith, but that's not my real name either.

You see, we're spies.

But let's face it, this name thing, couldn't it get a little confusing?

People might think we're married.

That's okay.

As long as you don't.

Waiting long? Just got here.

Thank you, Mrs. Smith. You're expected in the lab. Thanks.

Any idea what this is about?

Not a clue, you.

New jacket?

No.

Nice.

There was some storm last night.

Over an inch of rain, I hear.

Did you go out?

Stayed in, you?

I dug up an old book. Read.

Anything good?

Sure.

I haven't quite figured out where it's going yet.

Okay, enough dawdling, you two. Come on, let's go.

This crate was plucked by U.S. Customs off the tarmac of JFK late last night.

I assume that this was inside? Yes, it was.

And what was inside of that? Phylloxera virifoli.

There were nearly 250,000 of them in the canister.

What exactly are Phylloxera virifoli?

They're aphid-like insects that eat the roots of grapevines.

At least that's what I remember from my high school biology class.

Right, Doc?

Well, more or less.

You see, most phylloxera eat the roots of only certain vines.

These phylloxera have been genetically altered.

Mutated? Exactly. But these little fellows aren't

very particular about their eating habits.

They'll sink their teeth into any grape root you put in front of them.

What about pesticides? Well, we haven't found one yet that'll kill them.

So this crate with the little bug bombs in it that was found at JFK,

any idea where it's headed?

Airport freight counter, Rome, Italy.

No name, no return address.

250,000 insects jetting across the Atlantic on some kind of Roman holiday. Why?

Agricultural and economic terrorism, that would be my guess.

That's exactly what the World Trade Organization

and the Department of Agriculture are afraid of.

A plague. Within a week, every vineyard in Italy would be wiped out.

And from there, France and the rest of Europe

would be infested in a matter of months.

Billions of dollars lost.

Thousands of people put out of work.

So where do we start?

A duplicate crate has been prepared to send to Rome. I suggest you follow it,

see where it's heading, and stop whoever is behind this.

In the late 1800s, traditional phylloxera devoured the vineyards

of the most important wine-producing regions in Europe.

They finally tried to graft their vines with American rootstock.

Here's another one.

An infestation in Napa Valley.

Are you listening to a word I'm saying?

Blah, blah, blah, rootstock, and blah, blah, blah, infestation.

Just wake me up when you see Mediterranean blue, all right?

Fine, sleep.

I'll just go over the freight annex security manifest myself.

You haven't done that yet?

The moon shines bright.

It's such a night as this, when the sweet winds did gently kiss the trees.

How's the rest of that go?

Shakespeare?

How should I know?

Jet lag. Oh, jet lag gets me every time.

How you holding up?

You didn't even sleep.

Never better.

I mean, how could you possibly... I drank water.

You drank Screwtop Airlines Chablis. Why is this so hard to understand?

Well, maybe because it's not...

Great. It's moving.

About time.

Got it.

Male, mid-twenties, looks like an employee.

I'll transmit to the factory for a possible ID.

Cell phone, he's making a call.

They're speaking Italian.

In Rome? Imagine that. You fluent?

Not to get by.

Woman, sounds like a girlfriend.

She's reminding him to pick up a Costa Cata drale.

A what?

Wine, it's a brand of wine.

Oh.

What, anything else?

Yeah, she says she loves him and she can't wait to get him back

in bed so she can practice her feather and lipstick trick.

I meant about the crate.

No. Feather and lipstick trick?

Next time I get to listen.

Oh, we're gonna find out where our little payload of pestilence is headed.

Engine overheated.

Doesn't look too serious, though.

How can you tell?

His hands.

Italians always talk with their hands when they get very excited, and he wasn't.

What are you doing?

Wine tasting?

Yep.

Why, if I may ask?

Tuscany wine vineyards, time to kill. Does this taste peaty to you here?

Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't wine tasting a skill that's acquired through years of

practice and not picked up in some dime store

novel when you got a few minutes to kill?

Hey, you work with what you got.

Try it. Just see.

So does it taste like sweet or fruity, dry?

Red.

You're a regular connoisseur, aren't you?

Nothing to it.

So where do you think he's headed with the crate?

Probably to a little vineyard about...

30 kilometers up the road.

Why'd you say that?

Remember his girlfriend reminded him to pick up a Costa Catedrale?

Yeah.

Costa Catedrale comes from an exclusive vineyard in Livorno,

and Livorno happens to be about... About 30 kilometers up that road.

Uh-huh.

And you know this?

I know this.

You've been here before.

Tuscany?

Sure.

But then so have lots of folks.

Yeah, but I hazard to guess that you were more than a tourist.

Maybe.

Maybe? Yep.

Maybe.

I don't think I care for his tone.

Neither.

I'm sorry, did you want him?

Come on, Romeo.

You expect us to believe that's your real name?

Scream's alias, like Goldfinger or Mata Hari or... Mr. Smith!

Mr. Brosini, what's going on? His refute is garbage

gathered from his apartment, as you request.

Anything else? Niente. My contacts at Polizia Roma

are still exploring this fellow's background.

They tell me that so far, he appears clean.

Listen, Lenio.

Ten years of your life playing drag queen in a prison sideshow.

I suggest you tell us who you're working for.

Who sent the crate?

Piss off up a rope.

Maybe I can convince Romeo to be a bit more cooperative.

I thought we agreed.

You're the good cop. I'm the bad cop.

Playing mutt and Jeff is what you said. You're mutt and I'm Jeff,

and everyone knows mutt is the good cop, not the bad cop.

Ah, you got it backwards.

You're not mutt and I'm not Jeff.

Not that. The good, bad part. Jeff, that's you, is always a good cop.

But me is always... Actually, signori, I believe the lady is correct.

It is Jeff who is... Shut up!

This is getting us nowhere. Couldn't agree with you more.

In that case, do you want to do the honors?

Don't mind if I do.

Let's see what kind of garbage you have here, Romeo. How do people eat this stuff?

Oh, what do you know?

A feather.

Uh-huh, with lipstick.

Hmm, the old feather and lipstick trick.

This could warrant further interrogation.

Well, I'm afraid that's gonna have to wait.

Right now, we need... What have we here?

What do you say, Romeo?

In vino veritas, hmm?

Familia Angeletti.

Know it?

Should I?

Family-owned vineyard in Sonoma, California. Rare vintage, very private,

and never sold anywhere outside of the U.S.

Really?

Really.

So how did Romeo get a bottle?

Gift, maybe, for services rendered.

Angeletti, huh? You think they're behind the bug bomb?

Exactly. Angeletti's market share skyrockets, and he makes a killing.

Breeding these toxic bugs would require a special lab,

one capable of controlling temperatures between the frost level,

which at this latitude is 40 degrees and upside up, 110. Really?

We should just go and find it.

Just like that? Let's go find it? Yeah.

Aren't there many buildings? How hard could it be?

Uh-oh. Smiling face for two months, 12 o'clock.

Just a person we're here to see.

Hi there, Elena Rossini. You must be the reps from all

those four-star restaurants I'm dying to eat in.

That would be us.

Mitchell Sanders.

Hi. Hi.

Judy Harding, International Vintage Wholesale.

We're thrilled to have a chance at this account, Miss Rossini.

Oh, call me Elena, please.

Maybe you could show us around.

Oh, I'd love to.

Don Alfredo Angeletti, he's the vintner here. He sent me out to greet you.

Don Alfredo is unavailable?

Oh, no, no. He's just a flavor that takes a little getting used to.

He's opinionated and dynamic, but shy in his own way.

He sent me out to break the ice.

So that's your function here, then. Official icebreaker.

Well, only part-time. I'm the resident lab rat.

Uh, viticultural entomology. I just got my PhD. Oh, so you're a doctor of bugs.

That's me, doctor of bugs.

Mature.

Sienna rimmed.

Ruby ball.

Cabernet nose with a trace of blackcurrant.

New oak, possibly. Dry.

Peaty.

It's a Bordeaux.

And you would say?

Oh, um... May I...

Mature, yes, but on the young side.

Fruity, earthy nose, medium-dry palate. In sum, I'd say 78 Chateau Grand Isle.

It's all Miss Harding, no color highlights, no complexity of finish.

Well, 78 wasn't exactly Judy's best year.

There is a distinctive nose of raw blackcurrant, no new oak, and... Um...

Yes, and, and?

Well, I don't want to be a know-it-all.

No, you really shouldn't be a know-it-all.

Please, know it all away.

Well... Fresh, medium-bodied palate.

Straightforward, but nicely sustained, dry, earthy Cabernet flavor, and...

Modest, aromatic aftertaste of medium length.

Stress is fruit rather than complexity.

My call, a perfect example of a 78 Chateau Saint-Jacques.

In fact, I'd stake my commission on it.

Seventh-day chapter of St. Jacques.

I could have sworn...

Excellente!

I measure a man, Mr. Saunders, not by his profession, his appearance,

or his social respectability, but by his tongue, his taste in wine.

And you, my friend...

What a tongue. Come.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no.

Like in any new romance, my friend,

certain secrets must remain behind closed doors. Am I not right, Elena?

So I've been told, Don Alfredo.

Now, enough of work. The Harvest Festival begins today, and you will be my guests.

Wenzel, Grove Avenue, Barrington, Illinois.

Mrs. Smith's parents are... Ready to go phylloxera hunting?

Have you ever heard of the word knock?

Doesn't apply. I'm a spy.

And spies can't knock?

Not when they're spying.

It would ruin all the fun.

On the other hand... On the other hand what?

On the other hand, another spy will often ask a spy if she knows the

word knock when it is actually he who is in the process of spying.

Elena Rossini?

Research.

Aside from being brilliant, she also used to own this place.

The Vineyard? You're kidding.

Yeah, but her father, he died.

Press F4.

F4? F4.

Banco Milano.

You actually hacked into her father's old banking records.

Yeah. It seems her father borrowed a whole bunch of money from that.

And used the property as collateral. Press F10. F10? F10.

Wait, check that out.

These are the names of the board of directors at Banco Milano.

The year it foreclosed on Elena's father.

Don Alfredo? He was on the board?

Kind of gave the Don the inside track on buying the place cheap, huh?

Okay, so one of us stomps for the layman, keeps her busy.

And one of us breaks into the greenhouse and looks for the flockser.

Agreed. In and out in ten minutes, right?

Agreed. You stomp, I'll sneak.

I think that would be a mistake.

Why?

Because if you don't get to stomp, you'll be missing...

An experience that very nearly defies description.

You've stomped?

Many times.

Uh-huh.

Tuscany?

Okay, so this experience that very nearly defies description, describe it.

It's more than physical, it's emotional, spiritual even.

A sort of marriage between past and present, old and new.

Imagine mounds of round, succulent grapes.

Flavored by the rich soil, warmed by the sun.

You step into the barrel and feel them massage the soft, tender soles of your feet.

And then, so sudden it takes your breath away, they burst between your bare toes.

In a sweet explosion of such sensual pleasure that you will

never again taste wine without blushing at the memory.

I see.

Good.

Good. Well, then, in that case, you stomp, I'll sneak.

Hey, guys, you're just in time.

Wouldn't have missed it for the world.

Shoes.

Didn't I tell you?

That's right! There you go!

Ha ha ha ha!

This is the vine that started this whole vineyard.

My great grandfather brought it over in 1887 from Italy.

That's really all I have left of my family.

What about the rest of the vineyard?

I heard it all belonged to your family at one time.

Yeah, it did, back when I was in high school.

What happened?

I'm sorry.

It's really none of my business. No, no, you know what? It's okay.

My mom had a bad heart for as long as I can remember.

Well, there were hospital bills and loans and debts. There was always something.

In the end, my dad just couldn't save any of it.

My mom or the vineyard.

So is that when Don Alfredo bought the place?

He let me stay here.

He even loaned me money for my PhD.

He is such a good man. I don't think there's anything that I wouldn't do for him.

So what about you?

Well, you know, family.

What about me?

Husband, maybe? No.

No husband.

I really travel too much to meet anybody.

What's wrong with that Mitchell guy? He's cute.

Yeah, but I'm not really his type, believe me.

Well, I saw you together at the festival. It

didn't work that way to me. I don't know.

It's just, uh...

There's a lot about me he doesn't know. Well, maybe you should tell him.

Who knows what you might be missing out on.

Judy, excuse me. I've been looking for you.

Our distributor in New York is requesting a conference.

Can you excuse us, please? Oh, of course. Thanks.

Positive it was Romeo?

Trust me, we followed him halfway across Italy. I know what Romeo looks like.

What we don't know is how he got here. Or who killed him and took his body.

It was gone when we got back to the greenhouse.

Well, the best I can get from our office in Rome

is that he was turned over to the police there.

So then someone paid his bail.

Don Alfredo, it had to be.

Well, what about Elena?

I mean, after all, she is the expert in insects.

They are working together.

My gut tells me she's clean. Wait, wait, wait. Your gut?

Since when have you relied on anything other than data, research, and hard facts?

Since now.

And are you telling me you've never relied on your gut?

All the time.

Then maybe you're starting to rub off on me.

The clock is ticking, people.

The first bug bomb failed to reach its target.

It is safe to assume that Romeo shared that information before he was killed.

You think they'll try again?

Oh, absolutely. And soon.

So make no mistake, unless we locate those Phylloxera virifoliae,

we're going to have a monumental disaster on our hands.

So find the damn things!

Up, up and away.

Can I fly it? Sure.

Just put your hand on the joystick and pull it back. Okay.

It's kind of like flying a kite.

Yep, a little.

Okay, camera's on, thermographic's up and running.

Think this will work?

It has to.

The locks were worn in the greenhouse,

and we searched every place else on the grounds.

Oh, here.

Autopilot.

She'll give us a 360-degree thermographic sweep of the property.

The moon shines bright.

In such a night... The rules of the factory.

You know how we're not supposed to know anything about the people we work with?

Yeah, what about them? What about the little stuff?

What kind of little stuff?

I don't know.

You know...

Favorite colors, hobbies, great books you've read lately,

whether you like to sit in front of the movie

theater or the back of the movie theater,

that kind of little stuff. Is that okay to talk about?

I guess. I mean, if you really care.

I didn't say I cared. I just asked if it was okay.

You know, in case you cared.

Do you?

Hey, I didn't bring this up. You did.

Now, if you want to know what my favorite color is, all you have to do is... Orange.

You know, what makes you think... Not you.

Orange?

There. Look. I'm honest, Jerry.

No, right beside it.

Another hot spot?

Exactly, but there's no building there.

At least not above ground.

A natural hot spring, maybe?

And a perfect square attached to the monastery? I don't think so.

And there's only one thing it could be?

Any sign of infrared security?

Nope. Got a mainframe slot peripheral under your robes anywhere?

It's getting a tad personal, don't you think?

Are these all phylloxera?

Phylloxera test group D, test group F, test

group G. I got groups P, Q, and R over here.

Control and half a dozen variants.

All phylloxera. So what's your gut tell you now?

This could be legitimate research.

Legitimate?

Sure.

If your goal is destroying all the vineyards

in Europe and the economy along with it.

Look, Elena lost everything she had. Her family,

her family's vineyards. She wouldn't do that.

Not even for Alfredo. Didn't you tell me that

she said that she would do anything for him?

Yeah, but not this.

What are you doing?

I'm gonna look at one of these babies under a microscope.

Why?

So I can see if it's the same as the one we saw in the factory.

They're all gonna look the same.

Changes in the genetic makeup don't necessarily translate to the physical.

Oops.

Oops what?

Oops, I dropped it.

The phylloxera? Uh-huh. Oh, that's nice.

An insect capable of destroying the world's grape industry,

and you let it out to stretch its legs?

Are you going to criticize or help me?

Criticize?

Oh, rhetorical questions.

This isn't working. We need a plan. A plan? Yes.

You start on one side of the lab. I start on the other side.

We work our way towards the center, and we trap it.

You mean like herding cattle, only with a tiny little winged insect instead?

Right, exactly.

Yes, that is the dumbest idea I have ever heard.

What the hell was that for?

Got it.

Nice going.

Thank you.

Hold it right there.

What are you doing in here?

It's a monk thing.

Monk thing?

Hazing, actually.

Monk hazing.

In order to join the brotherhood here at the monastery, it's... Yeah, that's right.

We thought it was so beautiful here, we decided, you know, to stay,

and one thing led to another, and... I'm not stupid,

so please don't treat me like I am.

Then maybe you should put the gun down.

And maybe you should tell me why you broke into my lab.

We're here to kill the Phylloxera.

Why?

Why?

You sent enough mutated bugs to Italy to destroy

all the vineyards in Europe, and you ask us why?

I don't know what you're talking about.

I mutated the Phloxera for research so I could develop a resistant root stock.

And that's all?

Of course. I'm extremely careful. I would never let them loose.

What about Don Alfredo? No.

Don Alfredo wouldn't use me like that. He took care of me. He paid for my schooling.

I'm sorry, Elena, but I have used you.

Try to understand. I did not mean to hurt you.

It was just business.

Terrorism is more like it.

I assume it was you two who followed Romeo in Tuscany?

I assume it was you who killed Romeo.

That wasn't supposed to happen.

What a shame. You had such a nice tummy.

Lock her in in her room.

What, are you going to lock us in our room too there, Don?

I'll deal with you two when the time comes. Until then...

Yeah, except for the part where I've been knocked unconscious, tied up,

and left in a stuffy room that smells like cheap booze.

You're saying this isn't a typical Sunday morning for you?

Look, there's a titanium stiletto in the toe of my boot.

I can either cut your robe All right. Iris, where are they?

Oh, I can't.

Sorry.

You know, playing with a sharp eye is only funny until somebody loses an eye.

And this might be a little easier if you were still gagged.

Ow!

Hold still.

Okay.

Aren't you forgetting something here?

After pressing, the wine is stored here in our fermentation hall.

This is where the pits and the skins are allowed to float to the top.

It's the skins that give red wine their color. I would have cut myself loose.

But I'm not the contortionist you'd like to believe I am.

Trust me, it's not a contortionist I need right now.

Mom, I hear people.

But mom!

You sure this is how we get in here?

Any luck?

No, I think they just sat us down in here and built the whole thing around us.

You got the bugs.

He's got Elena.

Got any ideas?

Call the factory for a tactical airstrike?

Better idea.

Better than an airstrike?

Yeah, head them off at the pass. What?

Common?

Of course I'm common.

Sorry there, Trigger.

You think we beat them?

They were traveling, what, 80 miles an hour for six miles.

We were going 35 for about two, so it beats the hell out of me.

Tie this off on that cart.

I like the way you think, Smith.

Elena, over here.

Elena, get back into the car.

We need to eliminate these people and then be on our way.

Drop it, Don. I don't want to have to use this.

Can't say she didn't warn you.

It feels you have a choice to make.

You can either shoot me, or see how many of

these you can stop from getting free, hmm?

Am I missing something here?

Yes, those insects are harmless.

I gave them the wrong ones.

They can't hurt anything.

So the vineyard belongs to Elena now.

Uh-huh.

That was a deal Alfredo made.

Either return the vineyard or face extradition to Italy.

I guess he prefers our prison system.

I wonder whose idea that was.

I don't know, but I have a feeling.

No more.

This is gonna be a great year. Blue.

That's my favorite color.

Blue.

Is there like some kind of tradition or something that says that the Harvest Queen

gets to dance with the man of her choice on the final night of the festival?

I don't know, but if there isn't, there certainly should be. Your Majesty.

You'll do nicely. Thank you.

This reminds me of Tuscany. Did you dance like this before in Tuscany?

Every night.

The moon shines bright on such a night as this.

When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees,

and they did make no noise in such a night.

Premiering Sunday night, a special event of frightening proportions.

From the world's best-selling master of horror Stephen King comes The Shining.

Two terrifying nights, 8.30 Sunday, concluding Wednesday.

The Late Show is next with David Letterman.