Screenplay by

Gregory Widen

and

Peter Bellwood & Larry Ferguson

February 6, 1985

FADE IN:

MADISON SQUARE GARDEN

New York Rangers v. Edmonton Oilers.

15,000 screaming fans leap to their feet.

Gretsky steals the puck, streaks across the ice, beats two

defenders, shoots and scores.

Oilers 6, Rangers 0. Oiler fans bellow approval

One silent SPECTATOR, in overcoat, slacks and scarf, stands

out in the crowd, unmoved by the din. He is:

CONNER MACLEOD

An aura of power and charisma sets him apart. His hypnotic

eyes watch Ranger defenders slam Gretsky into the wall,

punching and kicking him.

SHOUTING PLAYERS storm onto the ice

STICKS SWING IN A BRUTAL FREE-FOR-ALL.

The crowd CHEERS. A DRUNK WHOOPS at the silent man.

DRUNK

Helluva fight, ain'it? Helluva fight.

Lotta fun, ain'it?

Oblivious, Macleod watches the battle. In his mind,

the STICK-WIELDING PLAYERS BECOME:

CUT TO:

15TH CENTURY HIGHLANDERS WIELDING BROADSWORDS

CLASHING in battle. Mountains tower over rocks and heather.

WHINNYING HORSES, agonized CRIES, RINGING steel, SKIRLING

PIPES.

DRUNK V.O.

Let's go belt somebody, then i buy

you a drink. Whaddya say?

CUT TO:

HOCKEY STICKS CLASHING IN MADISON SQUARE GARDEN

in the riot on the ice.

Concentrating, MacLeod scans the crowd. Like a predator

catching a scent, he leaves swiftly. The Drunk yells after

him.

DRUNK

Hey! Where ya goin'?

CUT TO:

MACLEOD

striding past rows of cars. FOOTSTEPS ECHOING in the Garden's

underground garage. MacLeod senses a presence. It's very

close.

Suddenly, a MAN's silhouette appears in a tunnel, blocking

his path, breath steaming in the artic air.

MAN

MacLeod.

A huge sword appears in the Man's hands. He swings. MacLeod

sidesteps, drawing a weapon from inside his coat.

A Samurai sword, carved handguard, razor-sharp,

feather-light.

The Man's overhead slams onto concrete, ripping up hunks of

stone. MacLeod fans his blade.

MACLEOD AND THE MAN"S SWORDS

clang in the tunnel, pulverizing cars, gouging columns in

showers of brilliant sparks.

Running Feet, Shouting VOICES, distant SIRENS.

His opponent is outmatched. Surging forward:

MACLEOD

cuts off the Man's head. A shimmering energy surges between

the corpse and MacLeod. MacLeod starts to glow. The garage

is crackling. Windshields EXPLODE. SIRENS closer.

VOICE O.S.

Over here -- !

Samurai sword in hand, MacLeod sprints off, swallowed by the

dark. People SHOUT.

CUT TO:

MACLEOD

racing through the garage. Behind him, a woman screams.

Desperate, he hides his weapon in a roof duct hidden by

tiles, driving it out of sight.

In the arena above, New York scores. The CROWD CHEERS.

The SOUND DISTORTS, becoming --

CUT TO:

CHEERING VILLAGERS LINING A ROAD

Loch Shiel, Scottish Highlands, 1536. Glamis castle

towers over thatched huts by the shore.

A DRAWBRIDGE CRASHES down like thunder, skirling BAG-

PIPES and DRUMS.

THE CLAN MACLEOD

Two hundred strong, rides out to battle, tartan cloaks,

bronze shields, claymores flashing in the sun.

Hatchet-faced FATHER RAINEY chants prayers.

FATHER RAINEY

God bless our brave heroes. May

this year of Our Lord 1536 bring

victory to the Clan Macleod.

VILLAGERS

(cheering)

Death and damnation to the

Fraziers! Long live the Clan

MacLeod!

Riding in the column:

CONNER MACLEOD

The ice hockey spectator, 466 years earlier. The same age

but rough-hewn, not yet possessing the quiet strength of

later years. Eyes alight, huge claymore sword strapped to

his side.

Carved into the blade, the single word:

MACLEOD

Riding with him, two older clansmen: DUGAL, his

cousin, short, arms like trees, and ANGUS, bulky and

bearded. Dugal shouts over the din.

DUGAL

Are you scared, Conner?

MACLEOD

(lying)

No, cousin Dugal. I'm not.

ANGUS

(to MacLeod)

Don't talk rubbish, lad. I peed

my kilt the first time I rode to

battle.

DUGAL

(to MacLeod)

Ah, Angus pees his kilt all the

time.

MacLeod laughs, hiding his nervousness.

A pretty girl, KATE, races down the column holding high

a bouquet.

MacLeod sweeps her up. She plants the flowers in his

hat. She jumps down excitedly.

DUGAL

(continuing;

to MacLeod)

A girl like that can wound a

soldier more than a Frazier's

sword, my friend.

KATE

Angus, you and Dugal bring him

back in one piece. D'you hear?

DUGAL

We know which piece you want,

lassie.

Yell from Angus. DRUMS and BAGPIPES.

CUT TO:

THE KURGAN

standing on a hill, watching the Clan MacLeod advance

into the gathering moorish fog below.

The Kurgan is a frightening hulk astride a massive

black stallion. Flashing eyes and a cruel mouth.

Frazier chief MURDOCH gallops up.

KURGAN

Is the one called Conner among

them?

MURDOCH

Aye.

KURGAN

Remember our pact. The boy is

mine.

Murdoch nods. He fears this giant.

FROM BELOW

can be heard the BATTLE CRIES and frenzied BAGPIPES of

the MacLeod and Frazier clans.

MURDOCH.

It's begun. Death to the MacLeods!

They charge.

CUT TO:

THE BATTLE OF LOCH SHIEL, 1536

MacLeods and Frazers collide in fury. Raging carnage.

Fog slowly moving in.

MacLeod, Dugal and Angus in the thick of it. MacLeod

tries to engage the enemy. Each time they avoid him.

Dugal's helpless beneath three Frazers. Flying from

the saddle, Angus kills two of them. The third bolts.

Gradually, the fog makes it impossible to see more than

a few yards. Each man's battle is his own, hopelessly

separated from the battling clansmen around them.

Wild-eyed, MacLeod leaps off his horse, hauling Dugal up.

MACLEOD

(shouting)

Nobody will fight me! They all

run away!

DUGAL

(grinning)

Great, laddie. Stay by me.

Suddenly, they see:

A HULKING GIANT ON A BLACK STALLION

thundering down on them, sword wheeling, an unstoppable

juggernaut, butchering everything in his path.

It's the Kurgan

MACLEOD

(transfixed)

Mother of God -- !

He feels dizzy. The Kurgan knocks Dugal senseless,

disintegrating MacLeod's shield.

Snarling, he vaults from his horse, driving his blade

deep into MacLeod's stomach.

Mortally wounded, MacLeod drops to his knees, vainly

swinging at the ghastly specter. The Kurgan swats away

his sword as though it were a toothpick.

Relishing the moment, he raises his blade high, voice

grating in triumph

KURGAN

There can be only one.

MacLeod is helpless. Time hangs suspended. Lost in

the blackness of the Kurgan's eyes, he prepares to meet

his maker.

At the last second, Dugal, Angus and others appear,

pile-driving the Kurgan back over dying clansmen.

KURGAN

Another time, Highlander.

Life ebbing, MacLeod groans, staring at the sky.

CUT TO:

POLICE CRUISERS

SCREECHING to a halt outside the Garden, SIRENS DYING,

blocking

the exit tunnel. Cops pile out, guns drawn, GARFIELD and

HAGGERTY in charge.

Headlights appear. A BMW crests the ramp at 60, sees the

block,

SQUEALS to a smoking stop. Cops take aim.

HAGGERTY

(shouting)

Get out of the car! Put your hands

on the hood.

(nothing)

Move -- !

MacLeod obeys. They frisk him. Garfield finds a wallet,

checks

a license:

MacLeod's photo, name and address:

RUSSELL EDWIN NASH

1182 HUDSON STREET

NEW YORK, NY 10013

Garfield shines a light in the suspect's eyes. They seem

bottom-

less, unafraid.

GARFIELD

Where you going in such a hurry,

Mr. Nash?

Garfield grabs his arm. trying to handcuff him. Bad idea.

MacLeod hurls him away. Garfield falls on his ass.

A ton of cops swamp MacLeod, slamming his face into the wind-

shield. Enraged, Garfield staggers up, jamming his .45 into

MacLeod's neck.

GARFIELD

Don't move, asshole. Don't even

breathe.

Another cruiser arrives. It's DYING SIREN becomes --

CUT TO:

A LONE PIPER ON GLAMIS CASTLE TURRET

His mournful LAMENT rising to the stars bove

CUT TO:

MACLEOD

breathing his last on a trestle bed in a hut, torso bandaged.

Fire crackles in a hearth. Kate kneels by the bed. Battle-

scarred, Dugal and Angus stand by.

FATHER RAINEY

In nomine patri, et fili et spiritus

sancti. Amen.

(leaving)

It is over. Other men are dying this

day. I must attend them.

Kate collapses, weeping. Dugal and Angus drag her away.

ANGUS

He's a Highlander, by God. The

last sound he hears shall not be a wailing woman.

They leave. Flickering shadows. MacLeod's ;abored

breathing slowly fades.

CUT TO:

LIEUTENANT FRANK MORAN, HOMICIDE

In the garage under the Garden, breathing hard. Bulky,

in raincoat and hat, six months to pension. With him:

DETECTIVE WALTER BEDSOE

Honest, tough, not a million miles deep.

At their feet, the Man's torso. Further away, the

head. TV crews jostle under lights. Fans shout behind

barricades -- when can they get their goddamn cars?

BRENDA WYATT

Forensics, sexy in jeans, boots and windbreaker, shoves

through the crowd, ducking the barrier. She carries

bags of equipment.

JACK LEBOWSKY, Coroner's office, wild hair, pasty-

faced, takes flash shots, unfazed by the grisly scene.

Brenda joins Moran.

BRENDA

Damn it, Frank. Forensics is

supposed to be notified the same

time as Homicide.

(noticing corpse)

What a mess.

MORAN

This one came unassembled.

Lebowsky laughs.

BRENDA

(to Moran)

Did you make an arrest?

MORAN

Yeah. An antique dealer named

Nash on Hudson Street.

She moves away:

ANOTHER ANGLE

Frowning, she examines a row of cars, confounded by the

blitzed windshields. What the hell happened?

BESIDE THE BODY

Lebowsky takes final shots, winking at Bedsoe.

LEBOWSKY

(to Moran)

How come you're not asking me the

cause of death, Frank?

Bedsoe chuckles.

MORAN

Cut the crap, Lebowsky. What time

did he buy it?

Lebowsky kneels, examining the corpse, checking his watch.

LEBOWSKY

Ten. Ten-thirty. And whatever

made this cut was razor-sharp.

BEDSOE

(to Moran, indicating

corpse)

Frank, wasn't there something on

the teletype about a guy killed

in Jersey 2 nights ago, just like

this?

Moran scratches his head.

BEHIND THE CORVETTE

Brenda freezes, staring down at a huge sword.

BRENDA

(shouting)

Hey, Frank. Look at this.

Moran and Lebowsky join her.

BRENDA

It's a Toledo-Salamanca.

MORAN

It's a what -- ?

She dusts the jeweled hilt for prints.

BRENDA

A sword, Frank. A very rare sword.

MORAN

Worth much?

BRENDA

Only about a million bucks.

(standing up)

Any antique dealer with a shop on

Hudson Street could tell you that.

CUT TO:

MACLEOD

sitting in a room, waiting. Peeling paint, tape

recorder, table and chairs.

Garfield, the cop who booked him, leans on the wall,

itching to get even.

MacLeod suddenly stares at him. Garfield shivers. The

guy's eyes are like lasers. The cop looks away.

MORAN AND BEDSOE

enter, slamming the door. Moran's got a package and

folder. Bedsoe joins Garfield against the wall.

Moran sits down, package by his chair. He clicks on

the tape and opens a folder.

Inside: wallet, money and driver's license issued to

Russell Nash.

He tosses a mug-shot of a swarthy man onto the table.

MORAN

Ever see this guy before, Nash?

MacLeod hasn't.

MORAN

Name's Osta Vazilek. Bulgarian

national. Got his head chopped

off two nights ago in Jersey.

(unwrapping

package)

Ever get over to Jersey, Nash?

MACLEOD

Not if I can help it.

MORAN

You're an antique dealer, right?

MACLEOD

Yes.

Moran lays down the jewelled weapon.

MORAN

Okay, what's this?

MACLEOD

A sword

MORAN

It's a --

(checks notes)

Toledo-Salamanca broad-sword.

Worth a million bucks.

MACLEOD

So?

MORAN

You wanna hear a theory?

(MacLeod shrugs)

You went down to the garage to buy

this sword from some guy.

(quickly)

What was his name?

MACLEOD

I don't know. You tell me.

MORAN

His name was Iman Fasil. You fought

about the price. Then you cut off

his head.

MACLEOD

Wanna hear another theory?

(Moran nods)

This Fasil was so upset by the

Rangers' lousy performance tonight,

he went down to the garage and in a

fit of depression, cut off his own

head.

Bedsoe LAUGHS.

MORAN

That ain't funny, Walt

Garfield can control himself no longer.

GARFIELD

You a faggot, Nash?

MACLEOD

Why? You cruising for ass?

GARFIELD

(leaning in)

I'll tell you what happened,

Russell -- you went down to the

garage looking for a hand-job,

and just didn't want to pay for

it.

MACLEOD

You're sick.

Garfield swings. Kicking the table aside, MacLeod jumps

up, SMASHING his fist into Garfield's sternum. Garfield

goes down.

Moran's on Garfield in a flash, knee on his chest,

Bedsoe struggles to restrain MacLeod.

MORAN

(shouting)

Calm down -- !

(to Garfield)

I mean it, damnit -- !

Flinging Bedsoe off him, MacLeod picks up his wallet.

MACLEOD

Am I under arrest?

(no answer)

Then we're through.

He walks to the door.

MORAN

Nash, we're just getting started.

MacLeod is gone. Moran stands up. Garfield struggles

to his feet.

GARFIELD

Jesus. That guy hits like a

train.

MORAN

Shut up, Rocky. I'll deal with

you in a minute.

He turns to Bedsoe

MORAN

Tail him, Walt. And try and pay

attention. That sucker's cool as ice.

Bedsoe leaves. Moran turns to Garfield

EXT. POLICE STATION - NIGHT

MacLeod steps out into the crisp night air.

Oblivious to traffic, his eyes scan the dark. Sensing

something, he turns south, looking toward Jersey.

CUT TO:

A TAN CUTLASS ON THE NEW JERSEY TURNPIKE

Knifing through the night. Inside, behind the wheel:

THE KURGAN - A CHILLING SPECTER

Shark's eyes, short curly hair.

Like MacLeod, he hasn't aged -- but a hideous scar runs

from ear-to ear across his throat. It affects his voice,

turning it into a metallic gurgle. News on the RADIO.

NEWSCASTER'S VOICE

Police arrested a man at the

decapitation scene in Madison

Square Garden. They have not

released his name.

KURGAN

(turns it off)

I know his name.

His metallic gargle is even more grating.

He slams a cassette into the stereo, a high-decibel

heavy-metal ROCK SONG: It's the Kurgan's anthem.

Raving singer, pounding drums, shrieking guitars. In

the headlights, a sign:

YOU ARE NOW LEAVING NEW JERSEY

THE GARDEN STATE

HOPE YOU ENJOYED YOUR STAY!

The Kurgan smiles grotesquely.

KURGAN

I had a better time than Osta

Vazilek. That is for sure.

His voice sounds like nails on a slate.

BRENDA

sitting at a spectrograph, placing metal shards under

a lens. Clamping wires to them, she starts a machine.

HUMMING sound. Crackling arc. She checks a computer,

takes photos. The arc dies.

She waits. A printer starts. Data rolls. She studies

it.

BRENDA

It's not possible.

Incredulous, she runs the test again. Same result.

BRENDA

Son-of-a-bitch.

Grabbing coat and bag, she heads for the door.

CUT TO:

BEDSOE

following MacLeod along Central Park South, down Broad-

way to Times Square.

ANGLE

Hungry and tired, Bedsoe trudges past bums, porno-pits

and neon signs.

MacLeod descends stairs to a subway. Picking up speed:

BEDSOE

races down after him. Reaching the tracks, he can't

believe his eyes.

The platform's deserted.

CUT TO:

BRENDA

driving her red Pontiac, turning south on 5th Avenue.

Late-night traffic. Lionel Ritchie on the RADIO.

AT 34TH

She turns west, arriving at Madison Square Garden.

Parking on the street, she gets out, carrying a bag.

CUT TO:

BRENDA

walking through the garage, flashlight piercing the murk.

She shivers, heading for where Fasil was killed.

CUT TO:

MACLEOD'S FACE IN THE FLARE OF THE LIGHTER

In the underground garage. Reaching into the roof-duct

hidden by tiles, he pulls out his Samurai sword.

Noting the chipped edge and missing pieces, he slides

it into a sheath inside his coat.

FOOTSTEPS. He snuffs the lighter

CUT TO:

BRENDA

Guiding a metal-detector across the floor. Chalk out-

lines where Fasil's corpse used to be. Near a column,

a red light blinks on her detector.

Cradling the flash, she removes SHARDS with a scalpel,

dropping them into a plastic bag.

CUT TO:

MACLEOD

hidden in shadows.

CUT TO:

BRENDA

hears a distant CLANK. She whirls her flashlight up the

tunnel.

BRENDA

Who's there?

Silence. Something's down here. She can feel it.

Trying to control her panic, she heads for the exit. She

starts running, faster and faster.

CUT TO:

BRENDA

trying to unlock her Pontiac. Heart racing, she drops her

keys.

BRENDA

Goddamn it.

Retrieving them, she opens the door and ROARS off.

CUT TO:

BRENDA

entering P.J. Clarke's. Almost empty. It's late.

She takes a corner table, trying to calm down. PHIL,

the waiter, appears.

PHIL

Hi, Brenda. What can I get you?

BRENDA

Vodka. Lots of it.

He leaves.

Removing the plastic bag from her purse, she opens it,

tipping a metal shard into her trembling hand.

MACLEOD

enters and looks around. Spotting her, he sits in a

nearby booth. Phil re-appears with a bottle of vodka.

PHIL

Say when.

three-quarters full.

BRENDA

When.

She drinks. Noticing MacLeod, Phil glides over, return-

ing to Brenda

PHIL

The guy over there wants you to

join him for a drink.

BRENDA

What guy?

Leaning forward, she sees a dim profile.

BRENDA

Thank him and tell him no.

Phil delivers the message. Brenda gulps vodka, mind in

turmoil.

Suddenly, MacLeod sits by her side. She jumps like a cat.

BRENDA

What do you think you're doing?

MACLEOD

Joining you. I'd like to buy you

a drink.

Brenda drains her vodka, setting down the glass.

BRENDA

I don't drink

About to tell him to get lost, she looks into his eyes for

the first time. Unexpectedly, she's overcome by feelings

of warmth and safety.

MACLEOD

What's your name?

His voice caresses her. She's mesmerized by his gaze.

Adrift, she hears herself answer.

BRENDA

Brenda.

The silence between them is electric. Phil RINGS the

register. The spell is broken.

She's got to get away from this guy. Shouldering her bag,

she rises, heading for the door. He doesn't move.

MACLEOD

Do you get over to Madison Square

Garden much?

She freezes, heart pounding.

BRENDA

(turning)

What did you say?

MACLEOD

Madison Square Garden. Get over

there much?

Eyes that were comforting 10 seconds ago are now cold,

drilling into her brain.

BRENDA

Why?

MACLEOD

They've got basketball.

The circus. Ice-hockey.

(a beat)

What's your last name, Brenda?

She swallows hard.

BRENDA

How come you're asking me

about Madison Square Garden?

Did you follow me in here?

No answer. He smiles. Her blood turns to ice.

BRENDA

Who the hell are you?

MACLEOD

(rising)

Let me walk you home, Brenda.

Pretty girl, alone on the

streets at night. No telling

what could happen.

BRENDA

Forget it. I can take care

of myself.

He shrugs, sitting down. She walks out, pausing to look back

at him

in the gloom. He raises his glass to her.

CUT TO:

OUTSIDE THE BAR

Brenda waits in shadows, watching MacLeod leave. He stands

for a moment, looking up and down 55th Street.

Pulling up his collar, he moves off into the night, turning

down a dark alley.

Making a fateful decision, she follows him.

CUT TO:

MACLEOD

walking briskly near the East River. Cold wind blowing. 4:00

A.M.

Deserted.

Steam rises from vents. Cars line the curb. Cats YOWL. It's

spooky.

Hearing FOOTSTEPS, he stops every few yards.

At the corner of 46th, his eyes rake the street. Nothing.

Without

warning, he sprints off, disappearing into:

A SHADOWY CONSTRUCTION SITE

RUNNING FOOTSTEPS. He grasps the Samurai hilt inside his

coat.

A FIGURE hurtles round the corner. Springing forward, MacLeod

grabs handfuls of hair.

SHOUTING in panic, Brenda fights to get free.

BRENDA

Get your hands off me!

Pumping with adrenalin, MacLeod shakes her, pulling her into

the

dark, against a brick wall. She SCREAMS.

A light goes on in a nearby apartment.

MACLEOD

Be quiet. I --

He breaks off, listening to the night, eyes flashing.

Instinctively

MacLeod ducks, yanking her with him to the dirt.

Next second:

A GLEAMING SWORD SHATTERS BRICK

inches above their heads. He rolls away from her, struggling

to

avoid a slashing blade. Dumbstruck, Brenda stares up at:

A HOWLING GIANT WITH A SCAR ACROSS HIS NECK

wielding a huge sword. It's the Kurgan.

MacLeod grabs a steel pipe, blocking the Kurgan's murderous

blows. The Kurgan's so fast, MacLeod can't draw his sword.

In desperation, he side-steps and charges, tackling him.

Locked together, they topple down an embankment into:

A SHALLOW PIT

Untangling himself, sword in hand, the Kurgan attacks.

MacLeod

defends himself with the pipe.

KURGAN

(swinging)

Good to see you again, MacLeod.

400 years is a long time.

MACLEOD

(blocking)

You slimy bastard --!

SOUNDS of DISTANT SIRENS.

UP THE EMBANKMENT

Brenda peers through the murk. Straining to see what's going

on,

she loses her footing. CRYING OUT, she falls:

INTO THE PIT

Cannoning into MacLeod's back.

MACLEOD

Jesus Christ!

(yelling)

Get the hell out of here!

Bellowing, the giant charges again. MacLeod shoves Brenda out

of

the path of sudden death.

KURGAN

(rasping)

There can only be one, Highlander.

The 2 men battle through the skeleton of a building. The

Kurgan's

murderous blade misses MacLeod by inches, slicing through

solid

iron.

The sky ERUPTS. THRASHING ROTORS. ROARING down-blast.

Blinding clouds of dirt and debris.

IT'S A POLICE CHOPPER

Searchlight beams probe swirling dust. From the sky, an

AMPLIFIED VOICE:

VOICE V.O.

You, on the ground! Stay where you

are!

Brenda CHOKES, blinded. From nowhere, MacLeod grabs her.

His arms are like steel.

KURGAN'S VOICE

(SHOUTING out of

the dark)

Some other time, Highlander.

There can be only one.

MacLeod hauls Brenda up the embankment, away from the

light, melting into the dark. SIRENS CLOSER.

CUT TO:

MACLEOD

dragging Brenda across 1st Avenue.

BRENDA

(lungs bursting)

Stop. For Christ's sake.

They halt under a street-light. She gasps for breath.

BRENDA

Who in the name of God was that?

He called you Highlander. What

did he mean, "There can be only

one?" Only one what?

MACLEOD

Shut up!

He pulls her close, eyes like bullet-holes.

MACLEOD

Listen, lady. You almost got

yourself killed.

BRENDA

I want --

He shakes her, trying to scare her away.

MACLEOD

Don't you ever follow me again

(intensely)

Forget about what you saw tonight.

You only have one life. If you

value it --

(angrily)

Go home!

He strides off. A garbage can CRASHES in an alley.

Brenda jumps.

CUT TO:

KENNY, A DESK CLERK

signing in the Kurgan. Ansonia Hotel, 73rd and Broadway.

A T.V. is on Derelicts litter the lobby.

KENNY, a chain-smoking greaser, checks the name the

Kurgan's written in the register, handing him a key.

KENNY

Okay, Mr. Victor Kruger. Room 315.

And I'm gonna hit you for 20 in

advance.

The Kurgan pulls out a thick roll of bills, dropping a

20. Kenny eyes the roll greedily.

KENNY

Listen, you want anything. Broads,

blow. Just dial 0.

Picking up a black, oblong case, the Kurgan heads for the

elevator.

CUT TO:

THE KURGAN

on a sagging bed in Room 315. Roaches crawl on a hot-

plate.

Shirtless, heavily-scarred, he munches tacos, watching

Yosemite Sam on T.V., digging the violence.

He opens his black case. Laid out in velvet slots:

THE COMPONENTS OF A LARGE SWORD

Meaty fingers caress quillions, pommel, hilt and blade.

Getting up, he moves to the window. Below, junkies

shiver in Needle Park.

KURGAN

At last... the Gathering.

He chuckles, an unnerving sound. KNOCK on the door.

A blonde HOOKER in hot-pants and boots, breasts burst-

ing from a tight sweater, leans on the jamb, cracking

gum.

HOOKER

I'm Candy.

KURGAN

Of course you are.

Dragging her in, he flings her on the bed. Fearfully,

she watches him unbuckle his belt. He slams the door.

CUT TO:

DUGAL

slamming down a tankard of ale in the Glamis tavern.

Angus and Kate sit with him.

It's 1536, the day after the fight between the Frazers

and MacLeods.

Angry villagers pack the place, only one thing on their

minds -- MacLeod's strange delivery from the jaws of

death.

Kate's thrilled by all the excitement.

DUGAL

You saw the wound, Angus. He should

have died.

KATE

I say he's got the devil in him.

The tavern erupts in shouting

MacLeod enters. Sudden silence. Seeing Angus, he moves

to join his table.

DUGAL

(rising)

Drinking with us, are you?

MacLeod freezes. Kate's eyes sparkle. Angus avoids

his gaze.

MACLEOD

What's the matter, Dugal?

DUGAL

You. Talking and breathing -- and

this morning, all but a corpse.

(shouting)

How did you manage that, Conner

MacLeod?

MACLEOD

Would you rather I was dead?

KATE

(to crowd)

It's not natural. He's in league

with Lucifer.

Uproar.

MACLEOD

Don't say that, Kate.

DUGAL

I'll say it. You've got the devil

in you.

MACLEOD

We've been kinsmen 15 years, cousin.

DUGAL

Conner MacLeod was my kinsman. I

don't know who you are.

Kate's eyes dance. The tension is electric

ANGUS

You'd best leave, Conner.

MACLEOD

(bravely)

I'm not going anywhere.

Dugal swings at MacLeod's head, knocking him down,

kicking him in the ribs.

A plowman destroys a chair on MacLeod's back. Angus

shouts over the din --

ANGUS

For God's sake, stop -- !

A villager belts MacLeod with a jug. Struggling, he

disappears under a shouting heap of clansmen.

CUT TO:

MACLEOD WITH AN OX-YOKE STRAPPED TO HIS BACK

Arms bound to it with ropes, face battered, on his

knees in the dirt.

Beyond, Glamis Castle towers over Loch Shiel.

Dugal, Angus, Father Rainey and Kate stand in a circle

of yelling villagers. The excitement has unhinged

Kate's mind.

ANGUS

(yelling at Dugal)

He's your cousin, man.

FATHER RAINEY

Burn him. It's the only way.

VILLAGERS

(chanting)

Burn him! Burn him!

ANGUS

(over crowd)

Quiet!

The NOISE subsides.

ANGUS

There'll be no burning here today.

We'll banish him.

KATE

Burn him! Burn him!

Dugal's disgusted by Kate's religious frenzy.

DUGAL

Be quiet, Kate.

The villagers shout objections. He nods to Angus and

they help MacLeod to his feet. He staggers under the

yoke.

ANGUS

Can you walk?

MACLEOD

I'll bloody well walk out of here.

ANGUS

Move, friend. Before they change

their minds.

MACLEOD

I'll not forget you, Angus.

MacLeod is driven out. Villagers spit and curse.

Wild-eyed, Kate dances round him.

KATE

Devil! Devil! Devil!

VILLAGERS

(chanting)

Devil! Devil! Devil!

ANOTHER ANGLE

Stumbling along the loch, MacLeod heads for the moun-

tains.

CUT TO:

MACLEOD

walking west on Christopher. Dim streetlights. Dogs

BARKING.

CUT TO:

MACLEOD'S HOME - 1182 HUDSON STREET, SOHO

Surrounded by Irish bars, art galleries, rubble-filled

lots.

MacLeod heads for a run-down shop next to a dilapidated

ten-story glass-and-iron warehouse.

On the shop door:

R. NASH -- ANTIQUES

Rummaging for keys, he unlocks the door and goes in-

side.

CUT TO:

MACLEOD IN A RISING FREIGHT ELEVATOR

The doors open. Before him:

A HUGE, OPEN, NEW YORK LOFT

The change from drab outside to sumptuous inside is

stunning. Exotic fish swim in a huge aquarium.

MacLeod descends the stairs to:

A SUNKEN LIVING ROOM

filled with modern art. High veilings, comfortable

sofas, Adam fireplace, spectacular views of the river.

Moving past speakers and TVs, he drops his keys on a

table beside an intercom and answering machine.

In a silver frame on the mantle: a photo of MacLeod

with a young girl, 1952. MacLeod moves through:

A GEORGIAN DINING AREA

Queen Anne table, silver candlesticks, tapestries on

the wall. He enters:

AN ULTRA-MODERN KITCHEN

Loosening his tie, he fixes a drink and walks out.

CUT TO:

MACLEOD

entering his silver room. Elegant and oval. Fabric

walls. Sofas, tables, displays of ancient artifacts:

On one wall, like spokes of a wheel: 13 broad swords.

Beside them, a bronze shield, claymore and cloak -- the

black-and-yellow tartan of the Clan MacLeod.

Sipping his drink, he sinks into a sofa, eyeing a glass

case lit by pin-spots. Inside:

An ancient sheepskin doll.

A 16th century catalan feathered hat.

A rusty anvil and tongs.

MacLeod stares at the anvil and tons, remembering:

CUT TO:

RED-HOT IRON IN TONGS

crashing onto an anvil in a sweltering blacksmith's

forge. It's 1541.

Wielding a hammer, streaked with grime and sweat,

MacLeod pounds out a horsehoe, plunging it into water.

HISSING STEAM.

In the five years since his banishment, he's filled out

-- although he's lost none of his wide-eyed, youthful

exuberance.

CUT TO:

MACLEOD

shoeing a mare outside. The forge clings to a crag.

Miles down a precarious trail, the town of Jedburgh.

Up the hill, a 3-story stone house. From the house:

HEATHER MACLEOD

appears in sheepskins, bonnet and boots, carrying a

basket.

Full-breasted, lusty and apple-cheeked, she feeds

geese, watching him.

HEATHER

(waving basket)

Pie and ale. D'you want it?

Dropping his hammer, he grabs her buttocks, crushing

her to him, grinning.

MACLEOD

All the time.

HEATHER

(squealing)

You filthy sod. You're all muck

and muscle.

MACLEOD

Aye. The way you like it.

He grins, kissing her. Stripping his apron, he dunks

his torso in a rain barrel, shaking himself off like a

dog.

She smiles. He's the loveliest man in the world.

CUT TO:

MACLEOD AND HEATHER

making love on the cliff-top in the grass. Remains of

a picnic.

Thunderheads soar over the mountains. A storm is com-

ing. MacLeod kisses her. She responds

HEATHER

You can do that forever if you

like, my lord. Will you, Conner?

MACLEOD

Aye, blossom. I will.

Foreign CURSES. Startled, they sit up.

CUT TO:

JUAN RAMIREZ

climbing the trail to the forge. Olive skin, hawk

nose, twinkling eyes, flashing teeth. Flintlock pistol

in his belt, crossbow across his back.

Strapped to his side, a Samurai sword, carved hand-

guard, razor-sharp, feather-light.

Overheated in cloak, pantaloons, feathers and gloves,

he clambers higher, swooning with fatigue.

ANGLE

Dragging himself to the top, he mops his brow.

Seeing the peasant couple before him, he bows, hat

sweeping the ground.

RAMIREZ

Greetings! I am Juan Sanchez

Villa-Lobos Ramirez, Chief

Metallurgist to King Philip II of

Spain.

(clicks heels)

At your service.

HEATHER

Who -- ?

Ramirez sees stars, looking down the trail.

RAMIREZ

My God, man. That's a climb!

Breathless, he replaces his hat, adjusting frills and

furbelows.

MACLEOD

What do you want?

RAMIREZ

Conner MacLeod

MACLEOD

Maybe you've found him.

RAMIREZ

The same Conner MacLeod wounded in

battle and driven from his village

five years ago?

The Spaniard narrows his eyes. Something seems to

seize MacLeod. He clutches his chest, unable to

beathe. Heather's alarmed.

HEATHER

Conner?

MACLEOD

(gasping)

Heather, go in the house.

(she hesitates)

Do as I say, woman

She backs up the hill and goes inside.

Ramirez flashes wall-to-wall teeth. THUNDER reverber-

ates down the valley.

RAMIREZ

(re Heather)

A beautiful young woman. Is she your

wife?

(MacLeod nods)

Sad.

MacLeod's temples are in a vise. Ramirez opens his

tunic, tracing:

A SCAR FROM NECK TO HIP

with elegant finger.

RAMIREZ

When I was young, a cart ran over

me. I should have died. But the

wound healed by itself.

Stars explode inside MacLeod's head. The forge, the

house, everything's spinning.

RAMIREZ

The sensations you feel. It is

the Quickening.

THUNDER CRACKS overhead. The storm breaks. HOWLING

WIND. Ramirez's eyes blaze with unearthly light.

MACLEOD

(shouting)

Who are you?

RAMIREZ

(shouting)

We are the same, MacLeod. We are

brothers.

Lightning etches their silhouettes against the rolling

sky.

CUT TO:

BRENDA

moving through a squad-room toward:

Moran on the phone, at his desk. Walls plastered with

mug-shots. Steam pipes HISS & BANG.

Seeing Brenda, he waves her to a seat with the receiver.

SHOUTING on the line.

MORAN

(into receiver)

Listen, pal. My advice is, get

a bigger one next time. One

that'll bite him.

He slams down the phone, eyeing Brenda.

MORAN

Here's what I'm dealing with.

Guy calls up Homicide. Wants to

swear out a complaint. His Viet-

namese neighbor ate his dog.

(a beat)

How are things in Forensics?

BRENDA

Dull. Come on. let's have lunch.

MORAN

Who pays?

BRENDA

Me.

Moran likes it. He puts on his coat. Thay head for the

door. Brenda stops.

BRENDA

Frank, I left my purse. Go ahead.

I'll catch you by the elevator.

Moran leaves. Brenda returns to the desk, opens a drawer,

and finds what she's looking for:

A bound, blue folder containing photos of Fasil's body, the

sword, a copy of an interrogation report -- and:

NASH'S MUG-SHOT

It's the guy from the bar who fought the scarred giant.

BRENDA

I'll be damned. Russell Nash.

She stares at the picture. Even in the harsh photo-flash,

his face is compelling. The eyes, haunting, evoking time-

less mystery.

Moran's phone RINGS. She jumps.

Glancing around, she jots down Nash's address, shuts the

drawer, gets her purse and heads out.

CUT TO:

YUNG DOL KIM

Alone in a rising elevator. An oriental with mahogany

skin, obsidian eyes, guard's uniform and cap, carrying

a huge sword.

He watches the floor numbers, stops at 40. The doors

open. He creep