To Kill Again: Episode One (3 page)

RATSKI
: It’s the POTUS. What did you expect?

Dyson unholsters his weapon. Hands it to the Agent reluctantly. Ratski knocks. Whispers to Dyson.

RATSKI
: You’ll shake his hand and sit only when offered. Also you’ll address him only as Mr. President, President Garrett or sir.

DYSON
: How should I address you? Dickhead?

The doors open. Another Secret Service Agent ushers Dyson and Ratski in.

INT. EISENHOWER SUITE, DORCHESTER HOTEL - CONTINUOUS

The Agent steps out of the room and closes the doors.

An elderly, grey-haired man, easily identifiable as the PRESIDENT of the United States, turns. He offers his best politician's smile.

Ratski scowls at Dyson. ‘Don’t fuck this up!’

The President rushes forward, welcoming hands outstretched.

PRESIDENT
: Hello, John. Do you mind if I call you John?

DYSON
: Not at all.

He fires Ratski a deliberate sideways glance.

DYSON
: As long as I can call you Bob.

Ratski seethes. The President, Bob Garrett, 66, laughs heartily. He slaps Dyson across the back, motioning to the sofa.

PRESIDENT
: I like that! Come, come. Sit down.

Dyson does as instructed, looking over quizzically at an oxygen tank and mask in the far corner of the room.

The President slips gingerly into a leather chair opposite. Notices Dyson’s interest.

PRESIDENT
: I just get a little short of breath sometimes. It’s nothing to worry about. Can I get you anything, John?

DYSON
: Well, an explanation would be good.

PRESIDENT
: I understand. And I can only apologize for the cloak and dagger routine. Brad here’s a good man, but he does like his dramatics.

Ratski smiles dutifully as the President adopts a more serious stance.

PRESIDENT
: Although what I’m about to tell you is strictly above what either of our two countries would deem top secret -- and it’s certainly not covered by our
special relationship
. That would become somewhat strained if your government found out about any of this at the present time. So I’m afraid we won’t be able to proceed without your full and guaranteed discretion.

Dyson nods along slowly. Unsure as to where the hell this is all heading.

PRESIDENT
: Good. Now none of this is going to be easy to accept, John. But as with all good stories we’ll start at the beginning. (beat) I’m afraid you died last night.

Dyson can’t answer that. How do you answer such a question, from such a person?

PRESIDENT
: The details please, Brad.

Ratski steps forward. Opens a leather bound file.

RATSKI
: At approximately 23:52, the two men whose deaths you are currently investigating, killed you and a Detective Sergeant Sarah Clarke. Blew you both up in your car.

Dyson chokes. Ejects from his seat.

DYSON
: That’s not what happened!

PRESIDENT
: Sit down, John.

DYSON
: No! What is this?

RATSKI
: Sit down, Detective.

DYSON
: (laughs) You’re not the real President and this is all one of those... TV hidden camera shows.

He look around the room for said hidden cameras. Points at Ratski.

DYSON
: What’s this guy, the presenter?

A moment. Stoic looks from the President and Ratski. It’s no TV hidden camera show.

RATSKI
: Shall I continue?

DYSON
: Forget it! I’ve heard enough of your bullshit.

Ratski sighs. Fumbles with a remote control. Instantly, a large flat screen TV set on one wall glows to life.

Not that Dyson notices as he stares at the President. Unafraid of his status.

DYSON
: Nice to meet you. Whoever the fuck you... really --

Now he sees the image that settles on the screen. Color CCTV footage of a lone car parked up at the kerb, stamped in one bottom corner with ‘DURWARD STREET’.

Dyson’s eyes narrow as he watches the image.

DYSON
: That’s...

RATSKI
: Your car.

ON SCREEN: the image flashes. Something strikes the car silently. Blows it to pieces, whiting out the image until it freezes.

RATSKI
: We hacked your station’s surveillance system.
Before
I went back. Not many people get to witness their own deaths, Detective.

DYSON
: What do you mean,
back
? You could’ve CGI’ed that. What is this?!

PRESIDENT
: John! I’ll hope you’ll believe me when I tell you that as President of the United States I have slightly more pressing matters to attend to than playing practical jokes on British law enforcement officers. Sit down. Please?

Dyson slips back down to the sofa. Ratski lets a clap of thunder roll away before continuing.

RATSKI
: Luckily for you, Detective, we’ve had people watching you for several weeks now, in case an incident like this arose.

DYSON
: Why?

Ratski ignores the question and carries on.

RATSKI
: The machine’s been here in the UK for several days now, after arriving in Portsmouth aboard the USS Obama.

DYSON
: Machine?

RATSKI
: This morning at... (checks file) ...06:00 hours, all pre-travel checks were completed. And at 07:16, I went back.

DYSON
: What are you talking about, Ratski?

The President leans forward.

PRESIDENT
: Okay, this is it... (awkward breath) I sent Brad back in time to save your life.

Dyson snaps his head round to Ratski, who pulls open his jacket to reveal an automatic concealed within a shoulder holster.

RATSKI
: Lucky me.

Open-mouthed, Dyson watches the President as he stands and goes to the window, looking down on Park Lane.

PRESIDENT
: We’ve made some remarkable advances in quantum physics. I don’t pretend to understand it, I just sign the checks. But, as unbelievable as it sounds, United States scientists have developed a working time machine.

DYSON
: You gotta be --

PRESIDENT
: Kidding you? No, John, I’m not. 500 years ago man thought it was impossible to walk on the moon, to fly even. You would have been burned at the stake for even suggesting such a notion. But technology moves in monumental strides.

He turns back to Dyson. Pulls an embarrassed face.

PRESIDENT
: Turns out this machine’s something of a white elephant. Apparently we can’t go forward. In time. It’s all completely over my head, but they tell me you can’t go into the future because it hasn’t happened yet. Does that make sense? (off Dyson’s blank stare) Terrorism, war, crime... mankind doesn’t change. It never learns. The only thing greater than our need to advance is our desire to destroy. Something has to be done. And if we can’t use the future to our advantage, then we must utilise the past.

Dyson looks up and meets his gaze.

DYSON
: You’re talking about... You’re talking about
timecops
.

PRESIDENT
: Crime is our predominant concern at the moment, but long-term the possibilities are endless. These are glorious days. There’s nothing more exciting than watching your child take their first steps. There’s an awful lot of ground to cover first. For now what we propose is a test, a dry run if you like. And that’s where you come in.

Ratski glares enviously at Dyson as the penny drops. He double takes, struggling to breath. Rises shakily to his feet.

DYSON
: It’s the Ripper, isn’t it? You... you wanna send me back to find out who Jack the Ripper was?

PRESIDENT
: We want you to go back and
arrest
Jack the Ripper. Bring him back for trial.

DYSON
: Bring him back?

PRESIDENT
: (laughs) I think maybe you need that drink now.

He goes to a drinks cabinet and pours two generous measures of scotch. Hands one to Dyson.

PRESIDENT
: I want people to know we have this technology. I want them to know what we can do. Therefore, Jack goes on trial, with full media coverage. I’m sending a message to the world, John. That no act of mass murder, genocide or terrorism will be without repercussion and punishment. We can -- we
will
find you. Wherever you may lurk.

He glances over at Ratski, a nervous glance of something hidden passing between them.

The detective doesn’t detect it. He gulps some scotch. Hand trembling.

DYSON
: And that’s why you saved... But why? Why me? And why the Ripper? There must be hundreds of more important... If you have this power, this machine, why not stop 9/11? JFK from getting blown away? Jesus, you could stop the Second World War from ever happening.

Ratski shoots the President another glimpse and steps up.

RATSKI
: By killing Adolf Hitler and sending the world hurtling on a completely unknown path? Think about it, Dyson. Think about it. Stop those 19 individuals from boarding the planes on that September morning, arrest them right there on the spot, and what we know now, what we accept as
history
, is gone forever.

DYSON
: And the Ripper’s different?

RATSKI
: We believe Jack the Ripper is far enough from our current position on the timeline to cause any unnecessary ripples.

DYSON
: You believe? You have no idea what you’re doing, do you? Meddling in the past without a thought for the present --

PRESIDENT
: I can assure you, John, that is not --

DYSON
: No! No, you can count me out.

RATSKI
: You would be dead were it not for our
meddling
, Detective. Let’s try to remember that.

Dyson does. He listens to the rain hammer the windows, his body slackening and pouring back onto the sofa.

DYSON
: Why me?

PRESIDENT
: When you have a crime you call the police. It’s that simple. This is a crime. Still unsolved. The Ripper murders of 1888 are your passion. There’s no one else more qualified on the subject within a police department anywhere in the world. And I don’t say that lightly. It took more than three months to find the right candidate.

He laughs loudly, then coughs hard a couple of times. Hard enough for Ratski to shoot him a concerned look.

PRESIDENT
: And here you were, all the while. In Whitechapel, at the very heart of the murders. (to Ratski) Brad.

RATSKI
: Mr. President.

He opens up the file. Reads from here and there.

RATSKI
: John Anthony Dyson, born December 7th, 1982... Single, both parents deceased.

That elicits a mournful scowl from Dyson.

PRESIDENT
: I’m sorry, John. Go on, Brad.

RATSKI
: Joined the Metropolitan Police Service in 1999... First stationed at Stoke Newington... Shot twice in an armed robbery in 2014... (smirks) Investigated by Internal Affairs for breaking the nose of a convicted pederast during interview.

PRESIDENT
: Bravo.

RATSKI
: Spent four months undercover with the Area Drugs Squad in Leeds... Eight weeks undercover in Glasgow, Scotland... Moved to Whitechapel detective’s department in 2016 when the new station opened... Received a total of twelve commendations.

He snaps shut the file.

PRESIDENT
: Quite a career.

RATSKI
: (begrudgingly) Quite.

PRESIDENT
: Of course, what the file doesn’t mention is that you’re running your department at the moment, since your superiors’ alleged involvement with certain underworld characters.

Dyson gives him a questioning glance.

PRESIDENT
: We did our research.

He downs his scotch. Asks the 64 thousands dollar question:

PRESIDENT
: So, will you do it?

DYSON
: But what about the guys Ratski here killed? How do I explain that?

PRESIDENT
: I don’t condone the use of execution squads. Their deaths are regrettable, but given the nature of their profession, an expected hazard you might say. Bury the case, John.

DYSON
: Bury... But I can’t do that. Your man here screwed up. He left evidence.

Ratski takes a step forward in protest.

RATSKI
: I screwed --

PRESIDENT
: Leave it, Brad. (to Dyson) As difficult as it is for me to suggest, I’m sure that evidence can be misplaced, if need be. I can’t imagine the good people of this city shedding too many tears for them. It’s a small price to pay. (beat) Will you do it?

DYSON
: You’re asking me to solve one crime, but leave another unsolved. I’m a cop, I... I don’t think...

Ratski glances at the President. Steps in.

RATSKI
: Detective Dyson, you’re missing the point here. We have a
time machine
. We can
fix
the deaths of these men if that’s what it takes to appease your conscience.

DYSON
: It’s not about conscience, Ratski. It’s about right and wrong.

PRESIDENT
: Your integrity’s unquestionable, I like that. But if that’s what it takes, then you can go back and stop Brad here from killing this Dennis and Richards. But first...

He flashes his best vote-winning enamel, the passion growing in his spiel.

PRESIDENT
: But first, let’s
get
Jack the Ripper. Let’s finally put this one to bed, huh? Let’s discover if he’s prince or pauper,
surgeon or patient
. Let’s end the years of theory and speculation.
130 years
, John. Let’s end it.
Tonight
. What do you say?

Dyson hesitates for a moment, looking at the President and Ratski in turn. Then he nods, a smile breaking across his face.

The President rushes forward and almost hugs him.

PRESIDENT
: There’s an old warehouse in... Where is it, Brad?

RATSKI
: Colbart Street, Mr. President.