All the President's Men

by William Goldman

Based on the novel
by
Carl Bernstein and Bob Woodward

Pre-rehearsal version March, 1975

Start with as few credits as possible. When they're over--

FADE IN ON:

A TINY BLACK PIECE OF TAPE.

We see it in the center of the large, dimly lit screen. As 
the tape is pressed around a door--

BEGIN THE BREAK-IN SEQUENCE.

It's a major piece of action, running maybe five minutes and 
it's all as detailed and accurate as we can make it, with as 
many "if only's" included as possible. ("If only" the tape 
had been attached up and down instead of around the door, 
Wills wouldn't have spotted it and alerted the police; "if 
only" the first police car called had gone to investigate, 
Baldwin, watching from the Howard Johnson Motor Inn, would 
have seen their uniforms and radioed Hunt and Liddy in time 
for them to have gotten to the five burglars and then safely 
away.)

The break-in ends when Leeper arrests the five men. He thought 
he only had one guy, so when ten hands were raised he was 
surprised. The hands are all encased in Playtex rubber 
surgical gloves. HOLD on the hands a moment; then--

						 GO TO:

A DARK APARTMENT.

The phone rings. WOODWARD fumbles for the receiver, turns on 
the bed light. He listens a moment.

			WOODWARD
	No, no trouble, Harry, be right down.
		(he hangs up)
	Son of a bitch.

He lies back. The apartment is one room, a small terrace 
beyond. Not much of a place.

WOODWARD lies still, staring at the ceiling. He blinks, blinks 
again. HOLD...

						CUT TO:

THE ENORMOUS FIFTH FLOOR OF THE WASHINGTON POST.

It looks, early of a Saturday morning, pretty deserted. Those 
reporters that are around are young, bright, and presently 
involved in nothing more taxing than drinking coffee and 
thumbing through the papers.

HARRY ROSENFELD surveys the scene from his office doorway as 
WOODWARD approaches, hangs his coat at his desk, not far 
from where ROSENFELD is standing.

			ROSENFELD
	Where's that cheery face we've come 
	to know and love?

			WOODWARD
	You call me in on my day off because 
	some idiots have broken into local 
	Democratic Headquarters--tell me, 
	Harry, why should I be smiling?

			ROSENFELD
	As usual, that keen mind of yours 
	has pegged the situation perfectly.
		(chomps on some Maalox 
		tablets)
	Except (a) it wasn't local Democratic 
	Headquarters, it was National 
	Democratic Headquarters--
		(WOODWARD is surprised--
		he hadn't known)
	--and (b) these weren't just any 
	idiots, these were special idiots, 
	seeing as when they were arrested at 
	2:30 this morning, they were all 
	wearing business suits and Playtex 
	gloves and were carrying--
		(consults a piece of 
		paper)
	--a walkie-talkie, forty rolls of 
	film, cameras, lock picks, pen-sized 
	tear gas guns, plus various bugging 
	devices.
		(puts paper down)
	Not to mention over two thousand 
	dollars, mostly in sequenced hundred 
	dollar bills.

			WOODWARD
	Preliminary hearing at Superior 
	Courthouse?

			ROSENFELD
		(nods)
	Two o'clock, work the phones 'til 
	you go.

						CUT TO:

THE CRIMINAL COURTS BUILDING.

WOODWARD hurries along, goes inside as we

						CUT TO:

A CORRIDOR INSIDE. WOODWARD comes down it, looks around, 
sees a door marked "Counsel's Offices" and heads toward it. 
Now--

						CUT TO:

A CLERK AT A DESK as WOODWARD comes up. Behind them, two 
lawyers are clearly angry about something, talking and 
gesticulating to each other.

			WOODWARD
		(to the COUNSEL'S 
		CLERK)
	Could you give me the names of the 
	lawyers for the men arrested in the 
	Watergate.

			CLERK
	These two were appointed--
		(indicates the angry 
		men)
	--only now it turns out the burglars 
	got their own counsel.
		(he starts to laugh)

			FIRST ANGRY LAWYER
		(to CLERK)
	When you gonna stop thinking it's so 
	funny.

			SECOND ANGRY LAWYER
		(To CLERK)
	We wouldda done a terrific job 
	protecting those guys.
		(neither lawyer, by 
		the way, is Clarence 
		Darrow)

			FIRST ANGRY LAWYER
	You think we're not as good as some 
	hotshot fancy lawyer?--

						CUT TO:

THE COURTROOM and business is booming. Muggers, pimp, hookers, 
their families and friends. In the scene that follows, a 
constant counterpoint is what's going on up at the front as 
an endless succession of petty criminals caught the previous 
night, the aforementioned muggers, pimps, and hookers, are 
shuttled in, given a quick appearance before a JUDGE who 
sets bond, and then shuttled out.

In the audience, one man stands out--DOUGLAS CADDY. He is 
extremely well-dressed and obviously successful. Beside him 
sits another smaller man, who is unshaven and squints. 
WOODWARD moves in, sits alongside CADDY.

			WOODWARD
	Mr. Caddy? My name's Bob Woodward, 
	I'm from the Post and I wanted to 
	ask about how you happened to come 
	on this case--

			CADDY
	--I'm not here.

			WOODWARD
		(nods)
	OK.

He takes out a small notebook, writes, muttering aloud as he 
does.

			WOODWARD
	Douglas Caddy, the attorney of record, 
	when questioned about his presence 
	in the courtroom, denied he was in 
	the courtroom, "I'm not here," Mr. 
	Caddy said.

			CADDY
		(impatiently)
	Clearly, I am here, but only as an 
	individual, I'm not the attorney of 
	record.
		(indicating unshaven 
		man)
	Mr. Rafferty has that position. 
	Whatever you want, you'll have to 
	get from him, I have nothing more to 
	say.

And as he gets up, walks off--

						CUT TO:

THE WATER FOUNTAIN IN THE CORRIDOR. There is a small line. 
CADDY waits at the end of it.

			WOODWARD
		(moving in behind him)
	Mr. Rafferty was very helpful. Four 
	Cuban-Americans and this other man, 
	James McCord.

			CADDY
	Look, I told you inside--

			WOODWARD
	--you have nothing more to say, I 
	understand that.

CADDY turns away; WOODWARD goes right on.

			WOODWARD
	What I don't understand is how you 
	got here.

			CADDY
	I assure you, there's nothing 
	mysterious involved.

			WOODWARD
	Probably you're right, but a little 
	while ago, I was talking to a couple 
	of lawyers who'd been assigned to 
	represent the burglars.

			CADDY
	So?

			WOODWARD
	Well, they never would have been 
	assigned if anyone had known the 
	burglars had arranged for their own 
	counsel. And that could only mean 
	the burglars didn't arrange for their 
	own counsel--they never even made a 
	phone call.
		(looks at CADDY)
	So if they didn't ask for you to be 
	here, how did you know to come?

Without a word, CADDY turns, leaves the line without getting 
a drink. Silently, WOODWARD watches. Now--

						CUT TO:

CADDY seated as before beside RAFFERTY. WOODWARD's voice 
come from behind him, and as CADDY turns, WOODWARD is seated 
one row back.

			WOODWARD
	Did you know to come because one of 
	the other men involved in the break-
	in called you?

			CADDY
		(turning)
	There is no reason to assume other 
	people were involved.

			WOODWARD
	Your clients were arrested with a 
	walkie-talkie; they didn't need that 
	to talk among themselves.

CADDY looks at WOODWARD, turns back.

			CADDY
		(turning back)
	They are not my clients.

			WOODWARD
	You're a lawyer and you're here--

			CADDY
	--I met one of the defendants, Mr. 
	Barker, at a social occasion once--
		(stops himself)
	--I have nothing more to say.

			WOODWARD
		(leaning forward as 
		CADDY turns away 
		again)
	A Miami social occasion?
		(explaining)
	Mr. Rafferty told me the Cubans were 
	from Miami.

			CADDY
		(sighing)
	Barker's wife called me at three 
	this morning; her husband apparently 
	had told her to call if he hadn't 
	called her by then.

			WOODWARD
	It was really nice of you to come, 
	since you'd only met him once.

			CADDY
	Are you implying you don't believe 
	me?

			WOODWARD
	I have nothing more to say.

			CADDY
	You don't mind getting on people's 
	nerves, do you?

WOODWARD considers this a moment. Then--

			WOODWARD
	Nope.

And on that word--

						CUT TO:

THE COURTROOM as without warning, it quiets. There is suddenly 
a tremendous air of expectancy, you can feel it. Now we see 
why as five men in dark business suits are led in; they've 
been stripped of belts, ties, and shoelaces. McCord is taller 
than the others. They stand, facing the JUDGE, backs to the 
audience.

WOODWARD sits watching as the proceedings start, but it's 
hard to hear. He concentrates as the JUDGE starts speaking.

			JUDGE
	Will you please state your 
	professions.

The five men do not move or reply. Then, after a long pause, 
Barker says--

			BARKER
	Anti-Communists.

			JUDGE
	Anti-Communists?
		(perplexed)
	That, sir, is not your average 
	occupation.

WOODWARD starts moving forward now, down an aisle, moving 
past kids and whores and all the rest, trying to hear what 
the hell's going on. At the front of the spectator's section 
is a fence-like wooden barricade about three feet high. As 
he approaches it--

The JUDGE indicates the bald burglar.

			JUDGE
	Your name, please.

			MCCORD
	James McCord.

			JUDGE
	Will you step forward, sir.
		(MCCORD obeys)

WOODWARD at the bench is leaning forward, trying to hear but 
it's hard.

			JUDGE
	And what is your occupation, Mr. 
	McCord?

			MCCORD
		(softly)
	Security consultant.

			JUDGE
	Where?

			MCCORD
		(softer)
	Government. Recently retired.

			JUDGE
	Where in government?

			MCCORD
		(we can't really make 
		this out)
	...Central... Intelligence... 
	Agency...

			JUDGE
		(he can't either)
	Where?

			MCCORD
		(clearing his throat)
	The C.I.A.

And on these words,

					ZOOM TO:

CLOSE UP--WOODWARD leaning over the fence practically falling 
over it in a desperate straining effort to catch what's going 
on.

			WOODWARD
		(stunned)
	Holy shit.

Now from the courtroom--

						CUT TO:

THOUSANDS AND THOUSANDS OF WASHINGTON POSTS.

We are at the end of the press run, the papers are all 
assembled and being cabled and sent off by machine to various 
places. As the papers continue to roll past--

A UNION TYPE EMPLOYEE grabs a paper, looks at the front page.

The Watergate story, headlined whatever it was headlined, is 
visible. The byline was by Alfred E. Lewis. The union type 
Post employee glances at the article--

			UNION POST EMPLOYEE
		(reading half-aloud)
	"Five men, one of whom said he is a 
	former employee..."
		(stops reading, gives 
		a shrug)
	Schmucks.

And he turns happily to the sports section--

						CUT TO:

A CLOSE UP OF HUNDRED DOLLAR BILLS.

It's new money and looks as if it's been recently ironed. 
Someone is going through the cash, making a quick count. 
During this--

			FIRST VOICE (V.O.)
	Hurry it, huh, Bachinski?

			BACHINSKI
	You said I could look at it--

PULL BACK TO REVEAL

We're in a room in a police station and two men are present. 
One, a COP, is nervous as hell and constantly aware of the 
door. The other, BACHINSKI, is taking hurried notes in a 
reporter's type notebook as he examines the evidence.

			COP
	--I said look, not memorize--

			BACHINSKI
	--almost done, give it a rest, all 
	right...
		(and he looks at an 
		address book, he 
		stops)

						CUT TO:

THE ADDRESS BOOK. Beside the name "Howard E. Hunt" is the 
notation "W.House." Now, BACHINSKI hurriedly opens the other 
book to the letter "H" and there is the same name, "Howard 
E. Hunt" and beside it, the letters, "W.H."

			COP (V.O.)
	What'd you find?

			BACHINSKI (V.O.)
	Beats me. These notebooks belonged 
	to Cuban guys?

			COP (V.O.)
	S'right.

			BACHINSKI (V.O.)
	It's gotta mean either White House 
	or whore house, one or the other.

We HOLD on the HUNT name, and the address notations. Then--

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD'S APARTMENT - NIGHT.

The phone rings, waking him. He fumbles for the phone and 
the light, finally gets them both.

			WOODWARD
	Bachinski?
		(reaches for a notebook)
	What?--hold it--
		(gets it open, starts 
		to write)
	--OK, go on, go on...

						CUT TO:

A BOX OF MAALOX TABLETS.

ROSENFELD is opening them, we're in his office, WOODWARD 
sits across the desk, holding the notebook we saw him writing 
in.

			ROSENFELD
	...go on, go on...

			WOODWARD
	That's everything Bachinski had, I 
	think it's worth following up.

			ROSENFELD
	Don't know; who the hell's Howard 
	Hunt?
		(crunches tablets)
	It's probably nothing but check it 
	out. Just go easy, it could be crazy 
	Cubans.

HOWARD SIMONS sticks his head in the office.

			SIMONS
	Anything?

			ROSENFELD
	Woodward's onto a new wrinkle with 
	the break-in thing--absolute page 
	one stuff--

			SIMONS
	--in other words, you got nothing, 
	you're thumbsucking.

			ROSENFELD
		(shrugs)
	Could develop.

			SIMONS
	Let me see what you get, but don't 
	jump--The New York Times thinks it's 
	crazy Cubans.

He moves on. ROSENFELD turns quickly to WOODWARD.

			ROSENFELD
	OK, get on this W.House guy and do a 
	better job then you did on McCord.

			WOODWARD
	I did all right on McCord.

			ROSENFELD
	Then how come the Associated Press 
	were the ones found out that Mr. 
	McCord is security coordinator for 
	the Committee to Re-elect the 
	President, otherwise known as CREEP?

			WOODWARD
		(getting it straight)
	The head of security for the 
	reelection of a Republican President 
	got caught bugging the national 
	offices of the Democrats? What the 
	hell does that mean?

			ROSENFELD
		(hasn't the foggiest)
	Mr. John Mitchell, the head of CREEP, 
	says it means nothing.
		(reads)
	"...This man and the other people 
	involved were not operating on either 
	our behalf or with our consent. These 
	is no place in our campaign or in 
	the electoral process for this type 
	of activity, and we will not forget 
	it or condone it."

			WOODWARD
		(getting up)
	You can't believe that.

			ROSENFELD
	As a rough rule of thumb, as far as 
	I can throw Bronco Nagurski, that's 
	how much I trust John Mitchell...

Now--

						CUT TO:

A MOON-FACED MAN RINGING A TRIANGLE.

						CUT TO:

THE NEWSROOM as the triangle sound echoes.

HOWARD SIMONS leaves large Managing Editor's office, walks 
past another office, knocks twice on the glass wall.

Inside the Executive Editor's office, BEN BRADLEE sits. As 
SIMONS knocks, he turns, nods. He appears, for the moment, 
deep in thought.

HARRY ROSENFELD on the opposite end of the room hurries out 
of his office, following a bunch of editors, all of them 
heading across the huge room. As he passes WOODWARD's desk 
ROSENFELD pauses.

			ROSENFELD
	What'd you get on W.House?

			WOODWARD
		(massaging his neck)
	Lotsa hints--

			ROSENFELD
		(not happy)
	I can't sell hints to Simons--
		(stops, looks at piece 
		of yellow paper)
	--you called everyone you know?
		(WOODWARD makes a nod)
	Call someone you don't know.

WOODWARD continues to rub his neck as ROSENFELD hurries off, 
all the editors still moving toward the place where the moon-
faced man intermittently rings the triangle.

WOODWARD picks up the sheet of yellow paper from his desk. 
Lined, legal-sized, it is crammed with names and numbers and 
addresses. They are in no neat order; looking at them it's 
almost like following a path; chicken tracks in ink. WOODWARD 
mutters "to hell with it" and reaches for a thick book, flips 
it open.

NOW WE SEE THE BOOK: It's the Washington Phone Directory and 
we're in the W's. As WOODWARD's finger stops, we can see 
he's looking at the White HOuse entry number. There it is, 
just like your name and mine. Listed.

Now WOODWARD starts to dial, visibly nervous, a fact he tries 
very hard to keep out of his voice tone.

			WHITE HOUSE OPERATOR (V.O.)
	White House.

			WOODWARD
		(casually)
	Howard Hunt, please.

Throughout the following call, we stay on WOODWARD's face, 
hear the other voices.

			WHITE HOUSE OPERATOR (V.O.)
	Mr. Hunt does not answer.

WOODWARD is delighted he's even there.

			WOODWARD
	Thanks, anyway--

And he's about to hang up, when--

			WHITE HOUSE OPERATOR (V.O.)
	I'll bet he's in Mr. Colson's office. 
	Let me connect you.

			SECRETARY (V.O.)
	Charles Colson's wire.

			WOODWARD
		(a little more excited)
	Howard Hunt, please.

			SECRETARY (V.O.)
	Mr. Hunt isn't here just now.

			WOODWARD
	Thanks, anyway.

And he's about to hang up again when--

			SECRETARY (V.O.)
	Have you tried Mullen and Company 
	Public Relations? He works at Mullen 
	and Company Public Relations as a 
	writer. The number is 555-1313. I'm 
	sorry I couldn't be more helpful.

			WOODWARD
	Listen, forget it.

He hangs up, sits there. His hands are a little twitchy... 
HOLD. Now--

						CUT TO:

ROSENFELD hurrying (he always hurries) toward his office. 
WOODWARD, looking for something in his desk throughout this 
scene, speaks to him.

			WOODWARD
	Who's Charles Colson?

			ROSENFELD
		(stops dead)
	I would liken your query to being in 
	Russia half a century ago and asking 
	someone, "I understand who Lenin is 
	and Trotsky I got too, but who's 
	this yokel Stalin?"

			WOODWARD
	Who's Colson, Harry?

			ROSENFELD
	The most powerful man in America is 
	President Nixon, probably you've 
	heard his name.

WOODWARD, unfazed by anything, continues to open drawers, 
close them, as ROSENFELD rolls on.

			ROSENFELD
	The second most powerful man is Robert 
	Haldeman. Just below him are a trio: 
	Mr. Erlichman is Haldeman's friend, 
	and they protect the President from 
	everybody which is why they are 
	referred to as either The German 
	Shepherds or the Berlin Wall. Mr. 
	Mitchell we've already discussed. 
	Mr. Colson is the President's special 
	counsel.

			WOODWARD
		(rising)
	Thanks, Harry.
		(looks at ROSENFELD)
	Know anything about Colson?

			ROSENFELD
	Just that on his office wall there's 
	a cartoon with a caption reading, 
	"When you've got them by the balls, 
	their hearts and minds will follow."

WOODWARD nods, heads back toward the files as we

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD AT HIS DESK dialing the phone.

He's got the Colson file spread out now, and we see pictures 
of the man and articles the Post had done on him. But 
basically what we see is WOODWARD plugging away on the goddamn 
phone and you'd think his finger would fall off from all the 
dialing and you know his voice is tiring as this montage 
goes on, you can hear it grow raspy. But a lot of what a 
reporter does he does on the phone, and that's what we're 
compressing here. The dialing never stops, the voices are 
continuous.

			WOODWARD
	Hello, I'm Bob Woodward of the Washing 
	Post and...
		(beat)
	Mullen and Company Public Relations? 
	Could you tell me when you expect 
	Mr. Hunt?
		(surprised)
	He is?

			HUNT (V.O.)
	Howard Hunt here.

			WOODWARD
	Hi, I'm Bob Woodward of the Post and--

			HUNT (V.O.)
		(impatient)
	--yes, yes, what is it?

			WOODWARD
	I was just kind of wondering why 
	your name and phone number were in 
	the address books of two of the men 
	arrested at Watergate?

			HUNT (V.O.)
		(blind panic)
	Good God!

And he bangs the phone down sharply--

--more dialing SOUNDS. Now snatches of conversation--

			WOODWARD
	I'm sorry to bother you, Mr. Bennett, 
	but we're doing some investigating 
	of one of your employees, Howard 
	Hunt.

			BENNETT (V.O.)
	Well, if you've been doing some 
	investigating then obviously it's no 
	secret to you that Howard was with 
	the C.I.A.

			WOODWARD
		(he hadn't known)
	No secret at all.

More dialing. Then--

			WOODWARD
		(tired, voice deeper)
	Hello, C.I.A. This is R.W. Woodward, 
	of the Washington Post--get me 
	Personnel--

Dialing again. WOODWARD's voice is showing genuine fatigue.

			WOODWARD
	Hi, I'm Bob Woodward of the Washington 
	Post--and--what's that?--you've never 
	heard of me?--I can't help that--you 
	don't believe I'm with the Post?--
	what do you want me to do, Madam, 
	shout "extra--extra"?

There is the SOUND of the phone being slammed down in his 
ear. Hard. Now--

						CUT TO:

ROSENFELD AND SIMONS approaching WOODWARD who is working at 
his desk. He has put in a lot of hours on this and looks it.

			ROSENFELD
	Whaddya got, whaddya got?

			WOODWARD
	Hunt is Colson's man--
		(to SIMONS, explaining)
	--that's Charles Colson, Nixon's 
	special counsel--
		(SIMONS almost says 
		something, decides 
		against it)
	--they both went to Brown University--
		(consulting his notes)
	--Hunt worked for the C.I.A. till 
	'70, and this is on deep background, 
	the FBI thinks he's involved with 
	the break-in.

			SIMONS
	What else have you got?

			WOODWARD
	According to White House personnel, 
	Hunt definitely works there as a 
	consultant for Colson. But when I 
	called the White House Press office, 
	they said he hadn't worked there for 
	three months. Then the P.R. guy said 
	the weirdest thing to me.
		(reading)
	"I am convinced that neither Mr. 
	Colson nor anyone else at the White 
	House had any knowledge of, or 
	participation in, this deplorable 
	incident at the Democratic National 
	Committee."

He looks up at them.

			SIMONS
	Isn't that what you'd expect them to 
	say?

			WOODWARD
	Absolutely.

			ROSENFELD
	So?

			WOODWARD
		(he's got something 
		and he knows it)
	I never asked them about Watergate. 
	I only said what were Hunt's duties 
	at the White House. They volunteered 
	that he was innocent when nobody 
	asked was he guilty.

			ROSENFELD
		(to SIMONS)
	I think we got a White House 
	consultant linked to the bugging.

			SIMONS
		(nods)
	Just be careful how you write it.

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD TYPING LIKE MAD, makes a mistake, corrects it, types 
on muttering to himself, and--

						CUT TO:

ROSENFELD IN HIS OFFICE munching a handful of Maalox tablets 
and--

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD taking a sheet from his typewriter, hurrying off 
and--

						CUT TO:

ROSENFELD taking the sheet from WOODWARD--

			WOODWARD
	Here's the first take--

ROSENFELD nods, shows him out and--

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD BACK AT HIS MACHINE typing faster then before, makes 
another mistake, starts to correct it, glances around and--

						CUT TO:

ROSENFELD IN HIS OFFICE gesturing to somebody but not WOODWARD 
and--

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD watching as BERNSTEIN appears in view from behind 
the wide pillar by WOODWARD's desk, heads toward ROSENFELD's 
office. WOODWARD shrugs, goes back to his typing, makes a 
typo immediately, glances over toward ROSENFELD's office, 
freezes as we--

						CUT TO:

ROSENFELD handing some papers to BERNSTEIN. They look, from 
this distance, suspiciously like WOODWARD's story.

						CUT TO:

BERNSTEIN hurrying out of ROSENFELD's office, and--

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD watching BERNSTEIN until he disappears out of sight 
behind the pillar. WOODWARD hesitates, finally goes back to 
his typing, makes another mistake, fixes it, makes still 
another, his temper is shortly to make itself known--

						CUT TO:

ROSENFELD as WOODWARD hands him another sheet of paper.

			WOODWARD
	This is all of it, Harry.

ROSENFELD NODS, takes it, immediately starts to read as we--

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD AT HIS DESK watching as ROSENFELD gestures again. 
There is a pause. Then BERNSTEIN appears from behind the 
pillar and--

						CUT TO:

ROSENFELD handing BERNSTEIN another sheet of paper. BERSTEIN 
nods, takes it, walks back toward his desk, disappears behind 
the pillar again. WOODWARD is starting to steam. Now--

						CUT TO:

BERNSTEIN AT HIS DESK typing magnificently, his hands rising 
and falling like Rubinstein's. Behind him is the pillar and 
for a moment there is nothing--then, very slowly, a figure 
peers out from behind the pillar--it is WOODWARD.

He watches. BERNSTEIN continues to type, then after a moment, 
rests, thinks, shifts around in his chair and as his glance 
starts toward the pillar--

						CUT TO:

THE PILLAR. WOODWARD is gone.

						CUT TO:

BERNSTEIN typing madly away.

THE PILLAR. WOODWARD is visible again, eyes very bright... 
now--

						CUT TO:

BERNSTEIN finishing typing, his hands moving majestically. 
WOODWARD comes up behind him, stands looking a second.

Then--

			WOODWARD
	We have to talk.

BERNSTEIN nods, grabs the papers both that he's been typing 
and that he's been copying from.

And as he rises--

						PAN TO:

WOODWARD AND BERNSTEIN walking silently out of the newsroom 
then turning left down a darker corridor, passing bulletin 
boards and wall lockers and it's all nice and quiet as they 
amble on, nodding to the few people they pass on their way 
and after a while they turn right and enter the coffee lounge 
which is empty; the walls are lined with Norman Rockwell 
reproductions and various kinds of vending machines are 
visible, selling coffee or milk or fruit or sandwiches and 
there are some plastic tables and chairs and the minute they 
are alone, the silence ends.

			WOODWARD
	What the hell were you doing rewriting 
	my story--

			BERNSTEIN
	--I sure couldn't hurt it, could I?--

			WOODWARD
	--it was fine the way it was--

			BERNSTEIN
	--it was bullshit the way it was--

			WOODWARD
	--I have to stand here and listen to 
	the staff correspondent from Virginia?--

			BERNSTEIN
		(a sore subject)
	--what have you been here, nine 
	months?--I been in this business 
	since I was sixteen--

			WOODWARD
	--and you've had some fucking meteoric 
	rise, that's for sure--by the time 
	you turn forty you might be the head 
	of the Montana bureau--

			BERNSTEIN
	--you only got the job because both 
	you and Bradlee went to Yale--

			WOODWARD
	--Bradlee went to Harvard--

			BERNSTEIN
	--they're all the same, all those 
	Ivy League places--they teach you 
	about striped ties and suddenly you're 
	smart--

			WOODWARD
	--I'm smart enough to know my story 
	was solid--

			BERNSTEIN
	--mine's better--

			WOODWARD
	--no way--

			BERNSTEIN
		(handing them over)
	--read 'em both and you'll see--

And as WOODWARD glances at the two stories--

						CUT TO:

BERNSTEIN watching. Now--

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD. He glances from one story to the other. Then, 
disconsolately--

			WOODWARD
	...crap...

And he sinks down in a chair.

			BERNSTEIN
	Is mine better?

WOODWARD nods.

			WOODWARD
		(handing the stories 
		back)
	What is it about my writing that's 
	so rotten?

			BERNSTEIN
		(as he exits)
	Mainly it has to do with your choice 
	of words.

And as he goes, leaving WOODWARD just sitting there--

						CUT TO:

BERSTEIN, re-entering the newsroom, returning to his desk. 
He starts to insert some papers into his typewriter, 
hesitates, lights a cigarette. He inhales, as, behind him, 
WOODWARD briefly is visible going to his desk behind the 
pillar.

Finally BERNSTEIN inserts the paper, starts to type as

			WOODWARD (V.O.)
		(from behind the pillar)
	Carl?

			BERNSTEIN
		(turns)
	Yeah?

			WOODWARD
		(pushing his chair 
		briefly into view)
	Fuck you, Carl.

And as he rolls forward again, out of sight--

						CUT TO:

RICHARD NIXON ON THE TUBE.

(It's the June 22 Press Conference.) He talks on about 
something, it doesn't matter exactly what here, the point 
is, it should include that strange smile of his that kept 
appearing when the man should not have been smiling. Hints 
of pressure maybe, that's all, and once it's established--

PULL BACK TO REVEAL:

WOODWARD sitting alone, gloomily staring at the set. We're 
in the Post Cafeteria, it's the next morning, and the place 
is pretty much empty. He sips the coffee, it tastes rotten. 
BERNSTEIN moves up behind him, carrying a cup of coffee of 
his own. He stands by WOODWARD briefly.

			BERNSTEIN
	You heard?
		(WOODWARD glances up)
	They put us both on the break-in 
	thing. Simons liked the way we worked 
	together.
		(WOODWARD nods, 
		BERNSTEIN sits down)
	Listen, I'm sorry I said your story 
	was bullshit.

			WOODWARD
	It's OK; I'm sorry I called you a 
	failure.

			BERNSTEIN
	Forget it, the main thing--
		(stops)
	--did you call me a failure?

			WOODWARD
	I was sure trying.

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD, BERNSTEIN, AND NIXON. The way it's shot, it's almost 
as if they're watching each other; NIXON staring out from 
the TV set, answering questions. WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN sip 
coffee. We don't know yet--or better, they don't know it 
yet, but these are our adversaries.

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD AND BERNSTEIN, without NIXON now. They sit at the 
table. Occasionally, NIXON is audible in the background.

			WOODWARD
	All right, what do we know?

			BERNSTEIN
	Let me lay a little theory on you--

			WOODWARD
		(cutting him off)
	--I'm not interested in theory. What 
	do we know? For example, Hunt's 
	disappeared.

			BERNSTEIN
	Well, Barker tried to get blueprints 
	of the Miami Convention Center and 
	the air-conditioning system.

			WOODWARD
	And McCord was carrying an application 
	for college press credentials for 
	the Democratic convention.
		(to BERNSTEIN)
	The Times has got to be full of it--
	it can't be crazy Cubans.

			BERNSTEIN
	What, though?
		(points to Nixon)
	It can't be the Republicans--he'd 
	never allow something as stupid as 
	this, not when he's gonna slaughter 
	McGovern anyway.

			WOODWARD
	Right. Nixon didn't get where he got 
	by being dumb--
		(stops abruptly)
	--listen, that was a Watergate 
	question--

						CUT TO:

NIXON ON THE TUBE. Serious now.

			NIXON
	The White House has had no involvement 
	whatever in this particular incident.

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD AND BERNSTEIN staring at the set thinking...

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD AND BERNSTEIN walking toward BERSTEIN'S desk.

			WOODWARD
	Hey?

			BERNSTEIN
	Hmm.

			WOODWARD
	What do you think he meant, this 
	particular incident? Were there 
	others? How would we find out? You 
	know anyone important?

			BERNSTEIN
		(sits, shakes his 
		head)
	I lived here all my life, I got a 
	million contacts, but they're all 
	bus boys and bellhops.

The reporter KEN RINGLE at the next desk watches them a 
moment. Then--

			RINGLE
	What do you need?

			BERNSTEIN
	Someone inside the White House would 
	be nice.

			RINGLE
		(writes down phone 
		number)
	Call her. She worked for Colson, if 
	that's any help.

As BERNSTEIN grabs for the phone--

						CUT TO:

A SECRETARIAL POOL IN A LARGE OFFICE.

BERNSTEIN is talking off to one side with an attractive girl.

			GIRL
	Kenny's crazy, I never worked for 
	Colson, I worked for an assistant. 
	Colson was big on secrets anyway. 
	Even if I had worked for him, I 
	wouldn't have known anything.

			BERNSTEIN
	Nothing at all you can remember?

			SECRETARY
		(headshake)
	Sorry.
		(pause)
	Now if it was Hunt you were interested 
	in--

			BERNSTEIN
	--Howard Hunt?

			SECRETARY
	Sure. Him I liked, he was a very 
	nice person. Secretive too, traveled 
	all over, but a decent man.

			BERNSTEIN
	Any idea what he did?

			SECRETARY
	Oh, the scuttlebutt for awhile was 
	he was investigating Kennedy--

			BERNSTEIN
	--Teddy Kennedy?

			SECRETARY
	Sure. I remember seeing a book about 
	Chappaquiddick on his desk and he 
	was always getting material out of 
	the White House Library and the 
	Library of Congress and--

And as she goes on, quickly--

						CUT TO:

THE NEWSROOM.

BERNSTEIN is at his desk, telephoning. WOODWARD stands 
alongside.

			BERNSTEIN
	White House Library, please.

We hear the other end of this phone call clearly.

			OPERATOR (V.O.)
	One moment.

			LIBRARIAN (V.O.)
		(elderly-sounding 
		lady)
	Library.

			BERNSTEIN
	Hi. Carl Bernstein of the Washington 
	Post. I was just wondering if you 
	remember the names of any of the 
	books that Howard Hunt checked out 
	on Senator Kennedy.

			LIBRARIAN (V.O.)
	I think I do remember, he took out a 
	whole bunch of material. Let me just 
	go see.

SOUND of the phone being laid down.

			BERNSTEIN
	--what do you think?--

			WOODWARD
	--Hunt doesn't seem like your ordinary 
	consultant.

			BERNSTEIN
	Maybe a political operative of some 
	sort--

			WOODWARD
	--a spy, you mean?

			BERNSTEIN
	It makes sense; Hunt worked for the 
	C.I.A. and the White House was 
	paranoid about Teddy Kennedy.

			LIBRARIAN (V.O.)
	Mr. Bernstein?

			BERNSTEIN
	Yes, ma'am.

			LIBRARIAN (V.O.)
	What I said before? I was wrong. The 
	truth is, I don't have a card that 
	Mr. Hunt took out any Kennedy 
	material.
		(WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN 
		listen, and now there 
		is something in her 
		voice that wasn't 
		there before: fear)
	I remember getting that material out 
	for somebody, but it wasn't Mr. Hunt. 
	The truth is, I've never had any 
	requests at all from Mr. Hunt.
		(beat)
	The truth is, I don't know Mr. Hunt.

There is the SOUND of the phone being dropped into its cradle. 
BERNSTEIN continues to hold his. He and WOODWARD just look 
at each other. Now--

						CUT TO:

THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS.

Now, as WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN get out of a cab, start inside--

						CUT TO:

A MALE LIBRARIAN IN HIS OFFICE.

			LIBRARIAN
	You want all the material requested 
	by the White House?

PULL BACK TO REVEAL

WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN standing there. The nod. One of them 
maybe says "yessir," the other maybe "please." The LIBRARIAN 
moves out of his office into a corridor. They go with him. 
No one else is around. The LIBRARIAN looks at them, quickly--

			LIBRARIAN
	All White House transactions are 
	confidential.

And just like that, he's back into his office, and as he 
shuts the door--

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD AND BERNSTEIN walking along through the Library of 
Congress.

			WOODWARD
	You think they are confidential? I 
	don't know anything about how this 
	town works, I haven't lived here a 
	year yet.

			BERNSTEIN
	We need a sympathetic face.

On the word "face"--

						CUT TO:

A BEARDED YOUNG-LOOKING CLERK. We're in the reading room of 
the library, and WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN are with him.

			YOUNG CLERK
	You want every request since when?

			BERNSTEIN
		(to WOODWARD)
	When did Hunt start at the White 
	House?

			WOODWARD
	July of '71.

			BERNSTEIN
	About the past year.

			CLERK
		(starts to smile)
	I'm not sure you want 'em, but I got 
	'em.

Now--

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD AND BERNSTEIN seated at a table with from anywhere 
between 10 to 20 thousand slips of paper. In front of them, 
seated at a high desk, the bearded clerk looks down on them, 
shaking his head. It's a staggering amount of work to thumb 
through.

			CLERK
	I can't believe you guys are actually 
	doing this.

			WOODWARD
		(to the clerk)
	You do a lot of things when you're 
	on a story.
		(to BERNSTEIN, quietly)
	Can you believe we're actually doing 
	this?
		(BERNSTEIN can't)

Now we have a series of shots of the two of them going through 
the slips; it took them hours and hours, and the afternoon 
darkened as they worked. And they're tired. Now--

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD AND BERNSTEIN getting back into a cab.

			BERNSTEIN
	That was fun.
		(slams the door)
	What now?

			WOODWARD
	I met a Presidential aide once at a 
	social occasion.

			BERNSTEIN
		(stunned)
	And you haven't called him?--

As the taxi pulls off--

						CUT TO:

ROSENFELD

reading an article by BERNSTEIN's desk. WOODWARD sits on an 
adjacent desk.

			ROSENFELD
		(to BERNSTEIN)
	You got accurate notes on the White 
	House librarian?
		(BERNSTEIN nods)
	OK, we'll leave space for the White 
	House denial and we should be set.

Suddenly he gestures and we--

						CUT TO:

BRADLEE STANDING ACROSS THE ROOM. Without a nod, he moves 
toward ROSENFELD.

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD AND BERNSTEIN, nervously watching BRADLEE come. As 
soon as BRADLEE is within earshot, ROSENFELD starts his sell.

			ROSENFELD
	Benjy, we got a present for you. 
	Above the fold on page one for sure. 
	It may not change our lives one way 
	or the other. Just a good, solid 
	piece of American Journalism--
		(beat)
	--that The New York Times doesn't 
	have.

BRADLEE by this time has taken the story, grabbed an 
unoccupied chair, sat down, started to read. His only response 
to ROSENFELD is an intermittent "uh-huh, uh-huh."

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD AND BERNSTEIN, watching as the silence goes on. 
ROSENFELD too. He wants the story too, but he doesn't want 
it like WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN do. They were, as they said, 
proud of their work. The silence goes on. Finally BRADLEE 
looks up.

			BRADLEE
	You haven't got it.
		(before they can reply)
	A librarian and a secretary say Hunt 
	looked at a book.
		(shakes his head)
	Not good enough.

He begins editing the piece, slashing paragraphs out of it.

			WOODWARD
	I was told by this guy at the White 
	House that Hunt was investigating 
	Teddy Kennedy.

			BRADLEE
	How senior?

			WOODWARD
		(edgy)
	You asking me to disclose my source?

Other reporters are watching now. BRADLEE is impatient, as 
always.

			BRADLEE
	Just tell me his title.

			WOODWARD
	I don't know titles.

			BRADLEE
	Is he on the level of Assistant to 
	the President or not?

WOODWARD doesn't know. BRADLEE continues to hack at their 
piece. Done, he stands, walks away.

			BRADLEE
	Get some harder information next 
	time.

WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN watch him go, they are embarrassed, 
angry, crushed. HOLD on their faces. Then--

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD'S APARTMENT - MORNING

He is in pajamas and lugging a flower pot out to the balcony, 
positioning it so it would be visible to anyone passing in 
the alley below. He takes a stick with a red flag, jams it 
into the flower pot. He's nervous and he makes several 
adjustments, making sure the red flag is secure and won't 
fall.

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD down in the alley, staring up at his apartment. The 
flag is clearly visible. It's early. He checks his watch, 
hurries out of the alley.

						CUT TO:

THE CITY ROOM - NIGHT

Deserted except for a few older Front Page types, reporters 
whose legs have given out, playing cards in a corner of the 
room. WOODWARD is working at his desk until he glances up at 
a wall clock. It's almost one on the button and as he rises--

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD racing down the stairway of the Post; as he hits 
the lobby, he turns and we

						CUT TO:

OUTSIDE THE POST - NIGHT

WOODWARD appears in the side exit, walks off. When he gets 
out of sight of the paper, he starts to run. Now--

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD turning a corner, running on. Up ahead is a cab--

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD IN THE CAB sitting forward tensely. Occasionally, 
various monuments are briefly visible, lit up in the b.g. 
WOODWARD takes out some money as we

						CUT TO:

THE CAB stopping. WOODWARD pays, gets out. The cab pulls 
away. When it is out of sight, WOODWARD starts to run again.

						CUT TO:

A STREET as WOODWARD runs by. It's not the nicest area in 
the world. He is going faster now.

						CUT TO:

A CAB GASSING UP AT A STATION. WOODWARD hurries to it, gets 
in and--

						CUT TO:

THE SECOND CAB roaring along some Washington streets.

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD INSIDE THE CAB. He looks at his watch, tries not to 
seem nervous. But his fingers are drumming, drumming and--

						CUT TO:

THE SECOND CAB stopping, as WOODWARD gets out, pays. The cab 
starts off, but slowly. WOODWARD waits. The cab doesn't turn 
as the first one did. WOODWARD still waits. Finally the cab 
turns and the second it does, WOODWARD starts to run again 
and--

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD turning a corner, running on and--

						CUT TO:

ANOTHER CORNER as WOODWARD turns it, finally stops and catches 
his breath as we--

						CUT TO:

A GIGANTIC UNDERGROUND TYPE GARAGE

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD ENTERING THE GARAGE. It's an eerie place, and his 
heels make noise and if you wonder is he edgy, yes he's edgy. 
He comes to the ramp leading down to lower levels, hesitates.

						CUT TO:

THE RAMP. It seems to descend forever.

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD starting down. HOLD on him as he walks. Down he 
goes, the shadows deepening, then disappearing, then covering 
him again. He continues on. He must be at least at the first 
underground level now but he doesn't stop, and we don't stop 
watching him as he continues to go down, turning, the SOUND 
of his shoes softer now and he's a smaller figure as we watch 
him circle around and around until we--

						CUT TO:

ANOTHER LEVEL UNDERGROUND. Dimly lit. A few cars parked here 
and there. WOODWARD hesitates on the ramp, looks around.

THE GARAGE. Dark, dark, eerie.

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD quietly stepping off the ramp, continuing to glance 
this way, that way. Now--

						CUT TO:

TWO CARS PARKED BESIDE EACH OTHER.

Nothing unusual about that. But then some cigarette smoke 
appears, trailing up and disappearing from between the cars. 
As WOODWARD moves forward--

						CUT TO:

A MAN SITTING ON HIS HAUNCHES BETWEEN THE CARS, smoking. He 
leans with his back against the wall.

			DEEP THROAT
	I saw the flag signal--what's up?

			WOODWARD
	Nothing, that's the problem--the 
	story's gone underground.

			DEEP THROAT
	You thought I'd help out on specifics?
		(headshake)
	I'll confirm what you get, try to 
	keep you on the right track, but 
	that's all.
		(looks at WOODWARD)
	Are you guys really working?
		(WOODWARD nods)
	How much?

			WOODWARD
	I don't know maybe sixteen, eighteen 
	hours a day--we've got sources at 
	Justice, the FBI, but it's still 
	drying up.

			DEEP THROAT
	Then there must be something, mustn't 
	there. Look, forget the myths the 
	media's created about the White House--
	the truth is, these are not very 
	bright guys, and things got out of 
	hand.

			WOODWARD
	If you don't like them, why won't 
	you be more concrete with me?

			DEEP THROAT
	Because the press stinks too--history 
	on the run, that's all you're 
	interested in.
		(inhales)
	You come up with anything?

			WOODWARD
	John Mitchell resigned as head of 
	CREEP to spend more time with his 
	family. That doesn't exactly have 
	the ring of truth.
		(DEEP THROAT nods)
	Howard Hunt's been found--there was 
	talk that his lawyer had 25 thousand 
	in cash in a paper bag.

			DEEP THROAT
	Follow the money. Always follow the 
	money.

			WOODWARD
	To where?

			DEEP THROAT
		(shakes his head "no")
	Go on.

			WOODWARD
	This man Gordon Liddy--he's going to 
	be tried along with Hunt and the 
	five burglars--we know he knows a 
	lot, we just don't know what.

			DEEP THROAT
		(lights a new cigarette)
	You changed cabs? You're sure no one 
	followed you?

			WOODWARD
	I did everything you said, but it 
	all seemed--

			DEEP THROAT
	--melodramatic?
		(headshakes)
	Things are past that--remember, these 
	are men with switchblade mentalities 
	who run the world as if it were Dodge 
	City.

			WOODWARD
	What's the whole thing about--do you 
	know?

			DEEP THROAT
	What I know, you'll have to find out 
	on your own.

			WOODWARD
	Liddy--you think there's a chance 
	he'll talk?

			DEEP THROAT
	Talk? Once, at a gathering, he put 
	his hand over a candle. And he kept 
	it there. He kept it right in the 
	flame until his flesh seared. A woman 
	who was watching asked, "What's the 
	trick?" And he replied. "The trick 
	is not minding."

DEEP THROAT shakes his head, walks off. WOODWARD stands alone 
now, watching. Now the shadows have the other man. Just his 
footsteps are audible. WOODWARD stands there... HOLD.

						CUT TO:

BERNSTEIN.

It's morning and he's struggling to get his bike down the 
steps of his apartment building.

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD driving up in his two-year-old red Karmann Ghia. He 
roars up alongside BERNSTEIN, waving a folded-up newspaper.

			BERNSTEIN
	What's that?

			WOODWARD
	The fucking New York Times.

						CUT TO:

The Times spread somewhat tentatively over a mailbox. A small 
headline is visible, with the words "Barker," "Liddy," and 
"Telephone" in some kind of order. WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN 
look at it the best they can.

			BERNSTEIN
	Goddamnit--

			WOODWARD
	--see?--

			BERNSTEIN
	--I'm trying--

			WOODWARD
	--fifteen phone calls--

			BERNSTEIN
	---fifteen or more phone calls from 
	the burglars in Miami to Gordon Liddy 
	at CREEP--

			WOODWARD
	Why didn't we get that?

			BERNSTEIN
	Christ, and I even know somebody at 
	the phone company--

			WOODWARD
	--you do?--with access to records?

As BERNSTEIN nods--

						CUT TO:

A LITTLE CITY PARK.

A guy shells peanuts. BERNSTEIN hurries up.

			BERNSTEIN
	Why couldn't you have just dialed me 
	from the office, Irwin?

			IRWIN
	'Cause I'm not calling out from the 
	phone company anymore--
		(drops his voice)
	--I think the place is bugged.

			BERNSTEIN
		(taking some peanuts)
	So tell me about the Times article.

			IRWIN
	What do you want to know?

			BERNSTEIN
	No games, Irwin; give.

			IRWIN
		(looks at BERNSTEIN)
	My big civil rights buddy--
		(shakes his head)
	--boy, if John Mitchell was after 
	your phone records, would you be 
	screaming.
		(eats)
	What're you onto?

			BERNSTEIN
	Something maybe big.

			IRWIN
	And that makes anything you do OK, 
	is that it?

			BERNSTEIN
	Just tell me about the goddamn 
	article.

			IRWIN
		(shelling away)
	It was accurate, but I can't get a 
	fuller listing for you--all Barker's 
	phone records have been subpoenaed.

			BERNSTEIN
	Who by?

			IRWIN
	A Miami D.A. The guy doing the 
	investigating is named Martin Dardis.
		(finishes his peanuts, 
		starts off)

			BERNSTEIN
	Irwin? I really feel bad, doing 
	something like this--you know that, 
	don't you?

IRWIN looks at BERNSTEIN for a long time. then--

			IRWIN
	Don't give me any more of your liberal 
	shit, OK, Carl?

He walks off, doesn't look back. Now--

						CUT TO:

ROSENFELD

at the water fountain on the 5th floor. He chews up a few 
Maalox tablets, notices BERNSTEIN steaming up.

			BERNSTEIN
	Harry, I just talked to a Miami 
	investigator about Barker--

			ROSENFELD
	--so?

			BERNSTEIN
	I think it might be helpful if you'd 
	send me to Miami.

ROSENFELD heads for his office, BERNSTEIN pursuing.

			ROSENFELD
	I'm the one sent you to Toronto, 
	Bernstein--

			BERNSTEIN
		(trying to head him 
		off)
	--that was awhile ago--

			ROSENFELD
	--"I think it might be helpful if 
	you'd send me to Toronto." That was 
	your spiel then. "The Lifestyles of 
	Deserters."
		(whirls on BERNSTEIN)
	I'm still waiting for it.

He enters his office, BERNSTEIN follows.

			BERNSTEIN
	Down to Miami and back--how much 
	damage can I do?

			ROSENFELD
	You're the fella who forgot he rented 
	a Hertz car, do I have to tell you 
	they didn't forget to send us the 
	bill?

And he looks unsympathetically at BERNSTEIN--

						CUT TO:

SIMONS circling around the 5th floor. ROSENFELD falls into 
step. They keep moving throughout.

			ROSENFELD
	I can predict the next words you're 
	gonna say: "anyone but Bernstein."
		(SIMONS gestures for 
		ROSENFELD to continue)
	I want to send a reporter to Miami.

			SIMONS
	Anyone but Bernstein.

			ROSENFELD
	Howard--

			SIMONS
	--remember Toronto, Harry.

			ROSENFELD
	That was awhile ago.

			SIMONS
	I don't get it--you were the one who 
	wanted to fire him.

			ROSENFELD
	I know, I did, but damnit Howard--
		(SIMONS looks at him)
	For the first time since I've known 
	him, I think he's really humping...

						CUT TO:

BERNSTEIN'S APARTMENT.

A shambles. He is busy doing two things at once, studying 
notebooks and packing. Music plays, lovely stuff; the Bach 
Brandenburgs. As the phone rings--

			BERNSTEIN
		(answering)
	Yeah?
		(pause)
	Yes, this is Carl Bernstein.
		(stunned)
	You're repossessing my bicycle?
		(softer)
	Listen, I'm sure I paid this month's 
	installment, so why don't you check 
	your records before you go around 
	hassling people?
		(pause)
	Oh...

And as he stands there--

AN ATTRACTIVE, EFFICIENT-LOOKING WOMAN of BERNSTEIN's age. 
She has just entered the apartment. Vivaldi is playing now.

			BERNSTEIN
	Hannah, I never would have bothered 
	you but I'm off to Miami and they're 
	gonna take away my ten speed unless 
	I get it straightened out fast.

			HANNAH
		(glancing around the 
		chaos)
	Where are your bills, Carl?

			BERNSTEIN
	Oh, they're here.
		(starts lifting debris 
		from his desk)
	I'm keeping much better records now, 
	Hannah.
		(grabbing a big manila 
		envelope)
	See?
		(hands it to her)

			HANNAH
		(looks inside)
	Carl, it's a jungle.
		(sits at his desk, 
		takes out a mass of 
		papers--glancing at 
		the top bill)
	I suggest you either pay this 
	immediately or lay in a large supply 
	of candles.
		(studies another bill)
	You'd give a stranger the shirt off 
	your back--except it wouldn't be 
	paid for.

He smiles, gently begins massaging her shoulders as she 
studies his finances.

			BERNSTEIN
	Hey... very tense.

			HANNAH
		(nods)
	Lot of pressure at the Star.
		(looking at the bills)
	Carl, when we got married, you were 
	four thousand dollars in debt; when 
	we split, you were solvent. That may 
	prove to be the outstanding single 
	achievement of my life, and now look 
	at this.
		(sighs)
	How much did the damn bike cost?

			BERNSTEIN
	Five hundred; six maybe.

			HANNAH
		(looking at paper)
	You're two months behind--you got 
	enough to cover?

			BERNSTEIN
	I think.

			HANNAH
	Give me your checkbook then.

			BERNSTEIN
	It's right under that pile.

He indicates a mound of papers. She pulls it out as he 
continues to massage her, more sensually now. She reaches 
back, puts her hand on his.

			HANNAH
	I thought you had to get to Miami.

			BERNSTEIN
	There's always a later plane.

			HANNAH
	You're a sex junkie, you know that, 
	Carl?

			BERNSTEIN
	Nobody's perfect.
		(more rubbing now)
	I'm glad you're out of it, Hannah--
	you're a terrific reporter and I 
	turned you into a bookkeeper.

HANNAH looks at BERNSTEIN a moment; then she smiles gently, 
shakes her head.

			HANNAH
	Aw baby, you can get it up... I just 
	wonder if you'll ever be able to get 
	it together.

And quickly from that--

						CUT TO:

BERNSTEIN

seated perspiring on a hard bench in a stifling office. 
Outside: palm trees; we're in Miami. And judging from the 
number of cigarette butts strewn around the bench, BERNSTEIN's 
been there a while. Waiting. Nervous. And maybe he never 
will be able to get it together, who knows.

At the front, a SECRETARY sits filing her nails. Behind her 
are a number of closed doors to offices. No one passes without 
her OK. The clock hits three in the afternoon as BERNSTEIN 
gets up from the bench, goes to the SECRETARY.

			BERNSTEIN
	Hi, it's me. I'm still here.

			SECRETARY
		(couldn't be nicer)
	I'm so glad.

			BERNSTEIN
	I'd really like to see Mr. Dardis.

			SECRETARY
	And you will.
		(smiles)
	But not now.

			BERNSTEIN
	I called him from Washington. He's 
	the one who asked me to be here at 
	eleven in the morning.

			SECRETARY
	I told you, he had to go out on a 
	case.

						CUT TO:

THE BENCH as BERNSTEIN slumps back down. He wipes his forehead 
with his sleeve, smokes a fresh cigarette, is kind of 
interested when a UNIFORMED COP walks up to the SECRETARY, 
who is now putting red polish on her nails.

			UNIFORMED COP
	Is it OK to go on back?

She nods.

						CUT TO:

BERNSTEIN watching as the cop walks past the SECRETARY, enters 
an office behind.

						CUT TO:

THE CLOCK ON THE WALL. IT'S QUARTER OF FOUR NOW.

PULL BACK TO REVEAL

BERNSTEIN, approaching the SECRETARY again. She is working 
on her right hand now.

			BERNSTEIN
	Could you reach Mr. Dardis by car 
	radio?

			SECRETARY
	He is not in the car.
		(Smiles; she's just 
		so understanding)
	Sorry.

						CUT TO:

ANOTHER UNIFORMED COP walking by the SECRETARY's desk.

			SECOND COP
	Hey, babe.

He enters the same office the first COP did.

						CUT TO:

BERNSTEIN. He lights another cigarette, puts it out, then 
lights another.

						CUT TO:

THE SECRETARY

finishing her manicure. It is almost five o'clock now. 
BERNSTEIN, his bench a sea of cigarette butts, slowly gets 
up and goes to the SECRETARY.

			BERNSTEIN
	Mr. Dardis does call in every so 
	often?

			SECRETARY
	Well of course.

			BERNSTEIN
		(quietly)
	Good. Just tell him I was here, that 
	I'm sorry I missed him--

He walks out the double doors.

						CUT TO:

BERNSTEIN IN HALLWAY. He looks down the hall. At the end, 
opposite the SECRETARY's reception room, is a big glass door 
with a sign reading: Office of the Dade County Clerk. 
BERNSTEIN goes into a phone booth in the corridor from which 
he can see both offices. He puts in a dime, and dials.

			BERNSTEIN
	Mr. Dardis' office, please.

						CUT TO:

SECRETARY. The phone RINGS and she punches the button on the 
phone console.

			SECRETARY
	Mr. Dardis' office.

						CUT TO:

BERNSTEIN in phone booth.

			BERNSTEIN
	This is Mr. Tomlinson in the clerk's 
	office. Could you come across the 
	hall for a moment? We've got some 
	documents your boss probably should 
	see.

He hangs up.

						CUT TO:

BERNSTEIN watching from phone booth as the SECRETARY hurries 
across the hallway. As we see her open the door of the clerk's 
office, BERNSTEIN bolts out of the phone booth and runs into 
the reception room heading straight for the SECRETARY's desk.

						CUT TO:

BERNSTEIN at her desk, looking at the telephone console, 
receiver in hand. He punches the button marked Intercom and 
we can hear it BUZZ somewhere.

			VOICE (V.O.)
	Dardis.

			BERNSTEIN
	Carl Bernstein's here to see you--I 
	don't know why, but he seems angry--

						CUT TO:

DARDIS emerging through one of the doors behind BERNSTEIN. 
BERNSTEIN see him.

			BERNSTEIN
		(to DARDIS)
	Look, you've been jerking my chain 
	all day. If there's some reason you 
	can't talk to me--like the fact that 
	you've already leaked everything to 
	The New York Times--just say so.

			DARDIS
	Listen, I've got a dinner--can't we 
	do this tomorrow?

			BERNSTEIN
		(headshake)
	I'm on deadline.

						CUT TO:

DARDIS' OFFICE. He is fiddling with a combination lock at a 
filing cabinet. BERNSTEIN is seated across DARDIS' desk.

			DARDIS
	You want Barker's phone stuff or his 
	money stuff?

			BERNSTEIN
	Whatever.

He hands BERNSTEIN some papers, glances at his watch.

			DARDIS
	I'll never get out of here in time.

			BERNSTEIN
		(flying through what 
		he's been handed)
	The telephone calls... we know about 
	that.

			DARDIS
	The rest is Barker's bank records. 
	It's mostly the eighty-nine thousand 
	in Mexican cashier's checks--

			BERNSTEIN
	--yeah, that was in The Times this 
	morning.

BERNSTEIN continues to fly through the papers.

			BERNSTEIN
		(continuing stops)
	What's this Dahlberg check?

And as it's mentioned--

						CUT TO:

CLOSE UP--CASHIER'S CHECK. It's drawn on the First Bank and 
Trust Company of Boca Raton, Florida, it's dated April 10 
and it's for 25 thousand dollars, payable to the order to 
Kenneth H. Dahlberg.

			DARDIS' VOICE
	That the twenty-five grand one?--
	Don't know--

						CUT TO:

BERNSTEIN starting to copy the check in a meticulous 
facsimile. DARDIS watches.

			DARDIS
	I never could figure just who this 
	Dahlberg was.
		(watching BERNSTEIN)
	Think it might be anything?

			BERNSTEIN
		(casually)
	This?
		(shrugs)
	Naw...

And from here quickly--

					ZOOM TO:

BERNSTEIN IN A PHONE BOOTH in the lobby of the Justice 
Building. Wildly excited--

			BERNSTEIN
	--Woodward--Woodward, listen, I don't 
	know what I got--
		(holding the Dahlberg 
		facsimile)
	--and I think the Times has it too--
		(big)
	--but somewhere there's a Kenneth H. 
	Dahlberg in this world and we've 
	gotta find him--

And now comes

THE HUNT FOR DAHLBERG.

This is a compressed montage sequence in which we CUT from 
one reporter to the other, both of them desperately trying 
to locate a man names DAHLBERG.

WOODWARD is maybe in the reference room of the Post, sweating, 
surrounded by Who's Who and Dictionary of American Biographies 
and phone books from dozens and dozens of cities--

BERNSTEIN is maybe in the phone booth of the Justice Building, 
sweating, with a pile of dimes as he dials away.

This took them hours, and that effort should be visible to 
us. They tire, grow punchy, but they keep on, checking phone 
book and dialing numbers and God knows what else. The point 
is, we want to get to DAHLBERG in a reasonably short amount 
of time, but we also want people to know there was effort 
involved.

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD, bleary, in the reference room, a girl comes in, a 
researcher librarian type.

			RESEARCHER
	Were you after the Dahlberg articles 
	from the files?
		(WOODWARD nods)
	There aren't any, sorry.

And now she drops a piece of paper, a photo--

			WOODWARD
	Whazzis?

			RESEARCHER
		(shrugs)
	Our Dahlberg file.

As she leaves--

						CUT TO:

The photo.

It is a picture of Hubert Humphrey standing next to another 
man. The caption identifies that other man as KENNETH 
DAHLBERG. Now--

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD AT HIS DESK.

The room is reasonably quiet. ROSENFELD is visible in his 
office. As WOODWARD picks up the phone, gets Minneapolis 
information--

						CUT TO:

ROSENFELD'S PHONE RINGING. He hurries in, grabs it.

			BERNSTEIN'S VOICE (V.O.)
	Harry--I know how to get Dahlberg--

			ROSENFELD
	--Woodward's talking to him know.

						CUT TO:

BERNSTEIN, drenched. There are no dimes left. He listens a 
moment more, then nods, hangs up, leans back against the 
glass, takes a deep breath, closes his eyes as we

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD on the phone.

			WOODWARD
	--this should take only a minute, 
	Mr. Dahlberg, but we're doing a follow-
	up on the break-in--
		(pause)
	--and I was kind of curious about 
	your check.

			DAHLBERG (V.O.)
	...check...?

			WOODWARD
	The twenty-five thousand dollar one.
		(silence)
	The one with your name on it.
		(silence)
	In Bernard Barker's Florida account.
		(still nothing)
	Bernard Barker, the Watergate burglar--

			DAHLBERG (V.O.)
		(struggling)
	...you're definitely doing a story...?

			WOODWARD
	Yes, sir.

			DAHLBERG (V.O.)
	I'm a proper citizen, I'm a decent 
	man, I don't do anything that isn't 
	decent or proper.
		(WOODWARD waits, pen 
		ready; tense as hell)
	I know I shouldn't tell you this...

WOODWARD's lips are going "tell me, tell me."

			DAHLBERG (V.O.)
	That twenty-five thousand dollars is 
	money I collected for Nixon in this 
	year's campaign.

			WOODWARD
	I see. And how do you think it reached 
	Miami?

			DAHLBERG (V.O.)
	I don't know; I really don't. The 
	last time I saw it was when I was in 
	Washington. I gave it to the Finance 
	department of the Committee to Re-
	Elect the President. How it got to 
	that burglar, your guess is as good 
	as mine.

			WOODWARD
		(trying to keep his 
		voice level)
	That checks out with our finding, 
	thank you, Mr. Dahlberg.

						CUT TO:

AN ARTICLE WITH WOODWARD'S NAME ON THE BYLINE.

ROSENFELD holds it.

			ROSENFELD
	CREEP financed the Watergate break-
	in, Jesus Christ.

He starts off.

			WOODWARD
	One sec'--

WOODWARD takes the story, scrawls BERNSTEIN's name in front 
of his on the byline. ROSENFELD watches. As WOODWARD finishes, 
he takes the story again, hurries off. Now--

						CUT TO:

THE HEADLINE OF THEIR STORY:

"Campaign Funds Found in Watergate Burglar's Account."

Now--

PULL BACK TO REVEAL

that it isn't exactly a gigantic headline piece. As a matter 
of fact, as more and more of page one appears, we see that 
their story is tucked away at the bottom and as bigger and 
bigger headlines are visible--

PULL BACK TO REVEAL

--the whole first page. Plastered across the top in giant 
letters is the following: "EAGLETON RESIGNS." And as you 
look at the whole page now, you can barely make out the tiny 
piddling Watergate story. The point is abundantly clear: 
nobody cared a whole lot.

						CUT TO:

THE TRIANGLE

being rung like crazy. And as it SOUNDS--

						CUT TO:

THE BUDGET MEETING

			SIMONS
	--OK, last go-round. Foreign, anything 
	else?

The foreign editor, an enormously thoughtful-looking and 
respected man, indicates "no."

			SIMONS
		(to another editor)
	National?

			NATIONAL EDITOR
	I'll stand with the Eagleton follow-
	ups and McGovern not being able to 
	get a replacement--that's your page 
	one stuff right there, Howard--

			SIMONS
	--Metropolitan?--

			ROSENFELD
	--you are ignoring the importance of 
	the Dahlberg repercussions--

			NATIONAL EDITOR
	--nobody gives a shit about the 
	Dahlberg repercussions--

			ROSENFELD
		(to NATIONAL EDITOR)
	--quit equivocating, say what you 
	mean--
		(to SIMONS and BRADLEE)
	--our story got Government Accounting 
	to start an audit on CREEP's finances--

			BRADLEE
	--and we printed that, didn't we, 
	Harry? And when the frigging audit's 
	done, we'll print that too--

			NATIONAL EDITOR
	--let me tell what happened when I 
	was having lunch today at the Sans 
	Souci--

			ROSENFELD
	--correction--when you were drinking 
	your lunch at the bar of the Sans 
	Souci--

			NATIONAL EDITOR
	--this White House guy, a good one, 
	a pro, came up and asked what is 
	this Watergate compulsion with you 
	guys and I said, well, we think it's 
	important and he said, if it's so 
	goddamn important, who the hell are 
	Woodward and Bernstein?

			ROSENFELD
	Ask him what he's really saying--he 
	means take the story away from 
	Woodstein and give it to his people 
	at the National Desk--

			NATIONAL EDITOR
	--well, I've got some pretty 
	experienced fellas sitting around, 
	wouldn't you say so?--

			ROSENFELD
	--absolutely--and that's all they 
	do, sit sit sit--every once in a 
	while, they call up a Senator, some 
	reporting--

			NATIONAL EDITOR
	--well, what if your boys get it 
	wrong--

			BRADLEE
		(after a beat)
	Then it's our asses, isn't it?

			SIMONS
		(indicates the meeting 
		is over)
	And we'll all have to go to work for 
	a living.

As the men rise and head for the door, the FOREIGN EDITOR 
moves toward BRADLEE and SIMONS who remain seated as before.

			FOREIGN EDITOR
	I don't think either Metropolitan or 
	National should cover the story.
		(BRADLEE and SIMONS 
		look at him)
	I don't think we should cover the 
	story, period.

			BRADLEE
	Go on.

			FOREIGN EDITOR
	It's not that we're using unnamed 
	sources that bothers me, or that 
	everything we print the White House 
	denies, or that almost no other papers 
	are reprinting our stuff.

			SIMONS
	What then?

			FOREIGN EDITOR
	I don't believe the goddamn story, 
	Howard, it doesn't make sense.

			BRADLEE
	It will, it just hasn't bottomed out 
	yet, give it time.

			FOREIGN EDITOR
	Ben, Jesus, there are over two 
	thousand reporters in this town, are 
	there five on Watergate? Where did 
	we suddenly get all this wisdom?

BRADLEE and SIMONS say nothing. They respect this guy.

			FOREIGN EDITOR
	Look--why would the Republicans do 
	it? --my God, McGovern is self-
	destructing before our eyes--just 
	like Muskie did, Humphrey, the bunch 
	of 'em.
		(sits on the table, 
		talks quietly on)
	Why would the burglars have put the 
	tape around the door instead of up 
	and down unless they wanted to get 
	caught? Why did they take a walkie-
	talkie and then turn it off, unless 
	they wanted to get caught? Why would 
	they use McCord--the only direct 
	contact to the Republicans?

			BRADLEE
	You saying the Democrats bugged 
	themselves?

			FOREIGN EDITOR
	The FBI thinks it's possible--the 
	Democrats need a campaign issue, 
	corruption's always a good one.
		(rises, starts out)
	Get off the story, Ben--or put some 
	people on McGovern's finances; fair 
	is fair, even in our business.

He leaves. BRADLEE and SIMONS stay where they are, both of 
them flattened by what the guy's said. Because they're not 
sure he's wrong... HOLD. Now--

						CUT TO:

THE PAPERS POURING OUT OF THE ASSEMBLY LINE.

We're back with the UNION GUY from before. He pulls out a 
paper again, looks at a story on the front page--

						CUT TO:

THE WOODWARD/BERNSTEIN STORY that said the GAO found that 
CREEP has mishandled over $500,000 in campaign funds.

			UNION GUY
		(to another UNION GUY 
		who's reading over 
		his shoulder)
	What'd'ya think?

			SECOND UNION GUY
	Politics as usual, someone just got 
	caught with his hand in the cookie 
	jar, that's all.

			UNION GUY
		(he's not so sure)
	Big fuckin' cookie jar.

As he turns to the sports section--

						CUT TO:

GETTING THE CREEP LIST SEQUENCE.

Either they get it as it is now, or as they really did, from 
a Post researcher who knew someone. In ant case, we see the 
list, with the columns of names and numbers meaning offices 
and phone extensions.

We also see the two of them working, first, making long 
attempts at figuring out who worked for whom at CREEP.

Then, once they have that, they begin using the cross-
reference phone books, which are not familiar to moviegoers. 
And from these, they begin to get the home addresses of the 
various small-fry people who work for CREEP.

Near the end alphabetically, there is a common female name, 
Jane Smith or something like that. As BERNSTEIN runs his 
finger down the addresses, something strikes him as familiar, 
and as he reaches for the phone--

						CUT TO:

A CRUMMY-LOOKING BAR - MID-DAY.

BERNSTEIN enters, looks around, then smiles and moves to a 
lovely girl with a sweet face who probably weighs 200 pounds. 
She is sitting alone in a corner booth. She nods to BERNSTEIN, 
can't quite pull off a smile.

			BERNSTEIN
		(sits across)
	This is practically a high school 
	reunion for us, Jane--I would have 
	sprung for a classier place.

			JANE
	Anyplace really public, they'd know 
	about it--they know everything at 
	the Committee, Carl--

			BERNSTEIN
	--you don't really think you're being 
	followed?

			JANE
	This girlfriend of mine at the 
	Committee, the other day she went 
	back to the D.A. to tell the things 
	the FBI didn't ask her. That night, 
	her boss, he knew what she'd done. 
	They control everything; that's how 
	they know it all.

			BERNSTEIN
	FBI too?

			JANE
	You don't believe me? Well, I was 
	working the weekend of the break-in 
	and my God, all the executives were 
	running around like crazy--you had 
	to practically wait in line to use 
	the shredding machine--and when the 
	FBI came to investigate, they never 
	even asked me about it.

			BERNSTEIN
	If you don't like it down there, why 
	don't you quit?

			JANE
	I don't know what they'd do to me.

			BERNSTEIN
		(reaching over)
	Hey, easy...

			JANE
		(headshake)
	We're a long way from high school, 
	Carl...
		(she looks at him)
	...and I'm scared.

HOLD on her frightened face a moment. Then--

						CUT TO:

BERNSTEIN

riding home on his bicycle. He gets to his building, starts 
lugging it up when--

			JANE'S VOICE (O.S.)
	They found out I saw you--
		(BERNSTEIN stops, 
		glances around)
	--they wanted to know everything.
		(louder)
	Don't call me again.

			BERNSTEIN
		(moving toward her 
		voice)
	I can help if you'll--

			JANE (O.S.)
	--stay away from me, Carl!

						CUT TO:

JANE IN THE DARKNESS. If she was scared earlier, it's panic-
time now. She turns, hurries off.

BERNSTEIN watches her. Suddenly a SOUND comes from the 
darkness behind him. He whirls. It was nothing but from the 
way he jumped when it happened you can tell the fear is 
spreading.

Now from Washington, in darkness--

						CUT TO:

ESSEX HOUSE IN MANHATTAN - BRIGHT SUNSHINE.

WOODWARD comes hurrying along, and as he enters the hotel--

						CUT TO:

A DESK CLERK shaking his head at WOODWARD.

			CLERK
	We have no one by the name of Mitchell 
	registered.

			WOODWARD
	My mistake, sorry.

And as he goes--

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD out on the street, in a phone booth near Essex House.

			WOODWARD
	Get me John Mitchell, it's urgent.

			OPERATOR (V.O.)
	That would be room 710, I'll connect 
	you.

WOODWARD waits anxiously as the connection is made.

			MAN'S VOICE (V.O.)
	The Mitchells.

			WOODWARD
	Can I speak to Martha Mitchell, 
	please.

			MAN'S VOICE (V.O.)
	Who is this?

			WOODWARD
	I've met Mrs. Mitchell in Washington, 
	I'm Bob Woodward of the Post and 
	tell her--

And the phone clicks dead--

						CUT TO:

AN ELEVATOR, the numbers of the floors being lit as it rises. 
4--5--6-- WOODWARD stands alone in the elevator. As it reaches 
seven and the doors slide open, he steps out and

						CUT TO:

THE MARRIOTT SUITE. It's numbered 710. WOODWARD approaches 
but as he does the door begins to open so he whirls, knocks 
on the door nearest him. Now 710 is wide open and several 
maids leave, watched by a large black man.

			FIRST MAID
	We'll be back after lunch.

			BLACK MAN
		(it's the voice from 
		the phone)
	We'll be here.

WOODWARD waits by his door as 710 slowly closes. The maids 
look at him a moment. He knocks again, louder.

			SECOND MAID
	I think they went out.

			WOODWARD
		(shrugs)
	I don't mind waiting.

The maids nod, move out of sight. WOODWARD stands tense and 
still, watching the closed door numbered 710... Now--

						CUT TO:

NATIONAL AIRPORT IN D.C. - LATE AFTERNOON.

People are getting off the shuttle, WOODWARD among them. 
BERNSTEIN waits.

			BERNSTEIN
		(as WOODWARD reaches 
		him)
	See her?
		(WOODWARD nods)
	Get anything?

			WOODWARD
	For the paper, no; for us, plenty.
		(The two of them head 
		for the terminal)
	I waited a long time and finally 
	this big guy--I guess a bodyguard--
	he left and I knocked and she 
	remembered me, we talked awhile.

			BERNSTEIN
	And?--And?--

			WOODWARD
		(looks at BERNSTEIN)
	--she was panicked, Carl--every time 
	I mentioned Watergate, you could 
	tell.

			BERNSTEIN
	Were you eyebrow reading?

			WOODWARD
		(shakes his head "no")
	It was there. I just don't get it; a 
	CREEP secretary being scared, that's 
	one thing. But what does the wife of 
	one of the most powerful men in 
	America have to be afraid of...?

They look at each other, neither has a clue. HOLD. Now--

						CUT TO:

THE RED KARMANN GHIA

moving along a residential area in Washington. It's later 
that night.

						CUT TO:

INSIDE THE CAR - NIGHT. WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN driving along.

			BERNSTEIN
	Left up ahead.

WOODWARD nods.

			WOODWARD
	Who's first?

			BERNSTEIN
	Alphabetically, on the CREEP phone 
	list, Miss Helen Abbott of South 
	George Street.

As WOODWARD turns left.

			BERNSTEIN
	Now hang your second right--
		(explaining)
	--this was my turf when I was a kid.

And on those words--

						CUT TO:

A DEAD END SIGN. We hear BERNSTEIN explaining--

			BERNSTEIN (V.O.)
	I brought you over one street too 
	many--go back and hang a left again.

Now on those words--

						CUT TO:

ANOTHER DEAD END SIGN.

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN pulled over to one side. BERNSTEIN, 
baffled, stares around; WOODWARD looks at a map with the aid 
of a flashlight.

			BERNSTEIN
	I don't get it... this really was my 
	turf...

			WOODWARD
		(concentrating on the 
		map)
	You're not a kid anymore.

			BERNSTEIN
		(shaking his head)
	My first day as a copy boy I was 
	sixteen and wearing my only grown-up 
	suit--it was cream colored. At 2:30 
	the head copy boy comes running up 
	to me and says, "My God, haven't you 
	washed the carbon paper yet? If it's 
	not washed by three, it'll never by 
	dry for tomorrow."
		(WOODWARD is getting 
		interested in the 
		story now)
	And I said, "Am I supposed to do 
	that?" and he said, "Absolutely, 
	it's crucial." So I run around and 
	grab all the carbon paper from all 
	the desks and take it to the men's 
	room. I'm standing there washing it 
	and it's splashing all over me and 
	the editor comes in to take a leak, 
	and he says, "What the fuck do you 
	think you're doing?" And I said, 
	"It's 2:30. I'm washing the carbon 
	paper."
		(BERNSTEIN looks at 
		WOODWARD)
	Just wanted you to know I've done 
	dumber things than get us lost, that's 
	all.

WOODWARD goes back to his map. BERNSTEIN continues to smoke, 
staring around at the night.

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD - AT THE FRONT OF A HOUSE. A sweet old lady is 
looking out at him.

			WOODWARD
	Hi. I'm Bob Woodward of the Washington 
	Post and I hate to bother you at 
	home--

			SWEET OLD LADY
	--I already get the Post. I don't 
	need another subscription.

			WOODWARD
	No, I'm a reporter. I wanted to talk 
	to you about the Committee to Re-
	Elect.

			SWEET OLD LADY
	The what to what?

			WOODWARD
	You work there, Miss Abbott.

			SWEET OLD LADY
	I'm not Miss Abbott.

						CUT TO:

ANOTHER LADY - IN HER DOORWAY. This time both WOODWARD and 
BERNSTEIN are there.

			WOODWARD
	Miss Abbott?

			MISS ABBOTT
	Yes?

			WOODWARD
	We're from the Washington Post and 
	we wanted to ask you some questions 
	about the Committee.

					ZOOM TO:

CLOSE UP - MISS ABBOTT

			MISS ABBOTT
	I'm sorry--

And from nowhere, suddenly she bursts into tears.

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN as her door slams in their faces.

They just look at each other, bewildered. And a little bit 
upset; their upset increases as the rejections go on.

						CUT TO:

WHOLE SERIES OF FACES

in quick succession--they're all in various doorways, men, 
women, young, old. The only thing in common is their fear.

			MIDDLE-AGED MAN
		(literally trembling)
	God, it's just so awful--

And as he closes the door

						CUT TO:

			A YOUNG GIRL
	--I can't--I'd like to but--
		(that's all she'll 
		say)

And as her door starts to shut

						CUT TO:

			OLD MAN
	--go--you've got to go before they 
	see you--please--

And as he almost starts to beg

						CUT TO:

			OLD WOMAN
	--no... good...

She stands there, shaking her head back and forth, back and 
forth, pathetic and sad. Now--

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD.

He is seated alone staring at his coffee cup, surrounded by 
junk food debris. We are in a Hot Shoppe, it's night, and as 
BERNSTEIN comes up with food, they're dressed differently 
from before. BERNSTEIN puts more junk food and coffee down.

			BERNSTEIN
	You had the Mighty Mo and the fries 
	without gravy, right?
		(WOODWARD shrugs)

BERNSTEIN passes over some food. They both look bleary and 
in foul moods. Silently, they start to eat, something they 
continue doing throughout. They're not hungry, they just 
eat.

			WOODWARD
	This is terrific work, if you like 
	rejection.

			BERNSTEIN
	I never scared anyone before.

			WOODWARD
	It's not us, they were scared before 
	we got there.
		(looks at BERNSTEIN)
	What do we know?

			BERNSTEIN
	Facts or theory?

			WOODWARD
	Anything you've got.

			BERNSTEIN
	We know there's got to be something 
	or they wouldn't be so panicked.

			WOODWARD
	And that something's got to be more 
	than just Hunt, Liddy, and the five 
	burglars--those indictments are gonna 
	be bullshit when they come down. 
	What else do we know?

			BERNSTEIN
	I just wish we knew when someone 
	would talk to us, that's all.

The continue to eat, bleary and numb, as we

						CUT TO:

A MIDDLE-AGED WOMAN--

--kind of an honest, hard-working face.

WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN are standing in her doorway.

			WOODWARD
	A friend at the Committee told us to 
	contact you--

			WOMAN
	--who was it?

			BERNSTEIN
	We never reveal our sources, which 
	is why you can talk to us.

			WOODWARD
	It's safe, try it, you'll see.

She doesn't talk at first, but she doesn't slam the door 
either.

			BERNSTEIN
	We understand your problem--

			WOODWARD
	--you believe in the President, you 
	wouldn't ever want to do anything 
	disloyal.

			BERNSTEIN
	We appreciate your position--really.

And now she starts, at last, to talk, and they expect it to 
be their first breakthrough, but when it turns out to be the 
most withering onslaught yet, they are stunned.

			WOMAN
	You people--you think that you can 
	come into someone's life, squeeze 
	what you want, then get out.
		(to BERNSTEIN)
	You don't appreciate a goddamn thing, 
	mister.
		(to WOODWARD)
	And you don't understand nothing.
		(voice rising)
	But the Committee's briefed us on 
	you--so get the hell out of here--
		(big)
	--do you like scaring the life out 
	of decent people?--'cause if you 
	don't, in the name of God--stop it!

And she slams the door--

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN, slowly walking back in silence back 
to the car.

			WOODWARD
	At Yale once, they held an auction. 
	There was this woman and her name 
	was Lulu Landis. Her postcards came 
	up for sale. She had 1400 postcards 
	written to her and I'd never heard 
	of her before but I knew I had to 
	have those cards, I had to know why 
	anyone would get so many messages. I 
	paid sixty-five dollars for them... 
	I got all crazy trying to work it 
	out and first it was just a maze but 
	then I found that her husband killed 
	himself in Dayton, and once I had 
	that, it all began to open, an 
	evangelist had come to Dayton and 
	his horses hit Lulu Landis at the 
	corner of 13th and Vermillion and 
	she was paralyzed. Permanently, and 
	her favorite thing til then had been 
	traveling and all her friends, 
	whenever they went anyplace, they 
	wrote her. Those cards, they were 
	her eyes...

They continue to walk; slowly.

						CUT TO:

A MIDDLE-AGED MAN--IN HIS DOORWAY

			MIDDLE-AGED MAN
	I know who you are and I'm not afraid 
	but that don't mean I'll talk to you 
	either--you're just a couple Democrats 
	out to stop Nixon getting re-elected.

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN, staring at the man.

			WOODWARD
	Democrats?

			MIDDLE-AGED MAN
	That's right.

			BERNSTEIN
	I hate both parties.

			WOODWARD
	And I'm a Republican.

The middle-aged man looks at him.

			BERNSTEIN
		(surprised, turns to 
		WOODWARD)
	Republican?

			WOODWARD
	Sure.

			BERNSTEIN
	Who'd you vote for?

			WOODWARD
	When?

			BERNSTEIN
	'68.

			WOODWARD
	Nixon.

BERNSTEIN stares at him in silence as we--

						CUT TO:

ANOTHER SERIES OF CREEP EMPLOYEES.

Only they aren't slamming doors, they're sitting in various 
rooms of their houses and apartments. We don't see the 
reporters or hear their questions but the answers they receive 
make it self-evident. We start with the middle-aged man seen 
above.

			MIDDLE-AGED MAN
	Mitchell never left the Committee--
	he resigned, sure, but he was there 
	as much as before--

						CUT TO:

			YOUNGER MAN
	--oh, don't worry, Gordon Liddy will 
	be happy to take the fall for everyone 
	because, well, it's not that Gordon's 
	crazy, he's...
		(pauses, looking for 
		the right word)
	...weird. I'll give you some Committee 
	people who know about him--only don't 
	tell it was me--

						CUT TO:

			YOUNGER WOMAN
	--of course we were briefed on what 
	to say--and never to volunteer 
	anything--

						CUT TO:

			OLD WOMAN
	--oh, we were never alone with the 
	FBI, there was always someone from 
	the Committee right there--

Smiles, talks on as we--

						CUT TO:

RICHARD NIXON'S SOMBER VISAGE.

			NIXON
	...No one in this administration, 
	presently employed, was involved in 
	this very bizarre incident...

PULL BACK TO REVEAL

BERNSTEIN and WOODWARD in a crummy cafeteria, watching the 
evening news on the TV set high on the wall. WOODWARD eats a 
hamburger, BERNSTEIN smokes, sips coffee. It is night, as 
usual now.

						CUT TO:

NIXON--on the tube.

			NIXON
	...What really hurts in matters of 
	this sort is not the fact that they 
	occur, because overzealous people in 
	campaigns do things that are wrong. 
	What really hurts is if you try to 
	cover it up.

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN as the news commentator come on, begins 
introducing another story.

			WOODWARD
	Did he just say what I think he said?

			BERNSTEIN
	You voted for him.

He gives WOODWARD a big smile. WOODWARD eats his hamburger 
in silence...

						CUT TO:

A DIFFERENT TIME, A DIFFERENT PLACE--EARLY EVENING.

BERNSTEIN gets out of his car, walks up, and knocks on the 
door of a small tract house in the D.C. suburbs. A woman 
opens the door.

			BERNSTEIN
	Hi, I'm Carl Bernstein of the 
	Washington Post and--

			WOMAN
	--oh, you don't want me, you want my 
	sister.
		(calls out)
	For you.

And we--

						CUT TO:

THE BOOKKEEPER approaching the door. She's younger than the 
cliché version of a bookkeeper. As she looks at her sister--

			BOOKKEEPER'S SISTER
	This here is Carl Bernstein--

			BOOKKEEPER
	--omigod, you're from that place, 
	you've got to go.

The sister is smoking and there is a pack on the dinette 
table.

			BERNSTEIN
	Could I bum one of your cigarettes?--

As the sister starts for the pack--

			BERNSTEIN
	--don't bother, I'll get it.

And he crosses ten feet inside the front door.

			BOOKKEEPER
	You've really got to go.

			BERNSTEIN
	Just let me get a match.

He goes into the living room area, picks up a book of matches. 
This whole scene moves slowly, the tension building under it--
it's not like news people talking, nothing overlaps here.

			BERNSTEIN
	But I want you to know that I 
	understand why you're afraid--a lot 
	of good people down there at the 
	Committee are afraid. I'm really 
	sorry for what you're being put 
	through.

			BOOKKEEPER
	All those articles you people write--
	where do you find that stuff?

			BERNSTEIN
	We don't tell anyone that. Which is 
	why you can talk to us. And if we 
	can't verify what you say someplace 
	else, we don't print it. That's 
	another reason you can relax.

			BOOKKEEPER
		(tense)
	I'm relaxed--light your cigarette.

BERNSTEIN lights the cigarette.

			BERNSTEIN
	You were Hugh Sloan's bookkeeper 
	when he worked for Maurice Stans at 
	Finance, and we were sort of 
	wondering, did you go work for Stans 
	immediately after Sloan quit or was 
	there a time lapse?

			BOOKKEEPER
	I never worked for Sloan or Stans.

			BOOKKEEPER'S SISTER
		(out of the blue; to 
		BERNSTEIN)
	Would you like some coffee or 
	anything?

As the BOOKKEEPER winces.

			BERNSTEIN
		(like a shot)
	Please, yes, thank you.
		(he looks at the 
		BOOKKEEPER)
	Can I sit down for a minute?

He is by a couch.

			BOOKKEEPER
	One minute but then--

			BERNSTEIN
	--right, right, I've got to go.
		(he sits)
	Why did you lie just then?

The BOOKKEEPER kneads her hands together silently. BERNSTEIN 
watches.

			BERNSTEIN
	I was just curious--you don't do it 
	well, so I wondered. Have you been 
	threatened, if you told the truth, 
	is that it?

			BOOKKEEPER
	...No... never in so many words...

			BERNSTEIN
		(gently)
	It's obvious you want to talk to 
	someone--well, I'm someone.

He takes out his notebook.

						CUT TO:

The BOOKKEEPER. And she does want to talk. But the notebook 
scares her terribly and she can only stare at it.

			BERNSTEIN
	I'm not even going to put your name 
	down. It's just so I can keep things 
	straight.
		(beat)
	Start with the money, why don't you?

			BOOKKEEPER'S SISTER
		(returning with coffee)
	How do you like it?

			BERNSTEIN
	Everything, please.

			BOOKKEEPER'S SISTER
		(going again)
	I won't be a minute.

			BERNSTEIN
		(to the BOOKKEEPER, 
		quietly)
	The General Accounting report said 
	there was a 350 thousand cash slush 
	fund in Stans' safe. Did you know 
	about that from the beginning?

			BOOKKEEPER
		(about to fold)
	There are too many people watching 
	me--they know I know a lot--

			BERNSTEIN
	--it was all in hundreds, wasn't it?

			BOOKKEEPER
	A lot of it was. I just thought it 
	was sort of an all-purpose political 
	fund--you know, for taking fat cats 
	to dinner, things like that.

			BERNSTEIN
	Could buy a lot of steaks, 350,000 
	dollars.

			BOOKKEEPER
		(her words are coming 
		faster)
	I can't be positive that it was used 
	for the break-in but people sure are 
	worried.

			BERNSTEIN
	Which people?

			BOOKKEEPER
	The ones who could disburse the money.

			BERNSTEIN
	Who were they?

			BOOKKEEPER
	There were a group of them--I think 
	five, I don't know their names.

			BERNSTEIN
	Sloan knew which five, didn't he?
		(she nods)

			BOOKKEEPER'S SISTER
		(back with cream and 
		sugar)
	Here we are.

			BOOKKEEPER
	I don't want to say anymore.

			BERNSTEIN
		(indicating coffee)
	It's awfully hot--
		(smiles)
	--and you haven't finished telling 
	me about the money--

			BOOKKEEPER
		(long pause; then--in 
		a burst)
	--omigod, there was so much of it, 
	six million came in one two-day period--
	six million cash, we couldn't find 
	enough places to put it. I thought 
	it was all legal, I guess I did, til 
	after the break-in, when I remembered 
	Gordon got so much of it.

			BERNSTEIN
		(heart starting to 
		pound)
	Gordon Liddy, you mean?

			BOOKKEEPER
		(nods)
	It was all so crazy--the day after 
	the break-in he gave us a speech, 
	bouncing up and down on his heels in 
	that loony way of his--Gordon told 
	us not to let Jim McCord ruin 
	everything--don't let one bad apple 
	spoil the barrel, he said. You just 
	know that when Gordon Liddy's calling 
	someone a bad apple, something's 
	wrong somewhere.
		(more and more moved 
		now)
	...It's all so rotten... and getting 
	worse... and all I care about is 
	Hugh Sloan. His wife was going to 
	leave him if he didn't stand up and 
	do what was right. And he quit. He 
	quit because he saw it and didn't 
	want any part of it.

			BERNSTEIN
	Think Sloan's being set up as a fall 
	guy for John Mitchell? Sometimes it 
	looks that way.

There is a pause. Then--

			BOOKKEEPER
	If you guys... if you guys could 
	just get John Mitchell... that would 
	be beautiful...

And now, as long last, she begins to cry. HOLD on her tears, 
then--

						CUT TO:

A TYPEWRITER

clicking away. The words "INTERVIEW WITH X. SEPT. 14" are 
visible. There is music in the background, really blasting 
away, Rachmaninoff or worse.

We are in WOODWARD's apartment and BERNSTEIN is dictating 
notes from the BOOKKEEPER interview. It's very late, and 
BERNSTEIN has notes on everything, matchboxes, and it's hard 
for him to read. They're both really excited, BERNSTEIN from 
his coffee jag, WOODWARD by what BERNSTEIN's dictating.

			BERNSTEIN
	I  couldn't believe what she told 
	me. Eight cups of coffee worth.

			WOODWARD
	Go on, go on--

			BERNSTEIN
	--we've got to find out who the five 
	guys are--the five with access to 
	the slush fund--they were aware of 
	the break-in.

			WOODWARD
	Then tomorrow's grand jury indictments 
	will just be bullshit.

			BERNSTEIN
	It goes very high--we've got to find 
	out where--

			WOODWARD
	--we will--

			BERNSTEIN
	--she was really paranoid, the 
	bookkeeper.

			WOODWARD
	That happens to people.
		(he goes over, turns 
		the hi-fi on even 
		louder. Shouts--)
	OK, go on.

The noise blasts away as BERNSTEIN and WOODWARD hunch over 
the typewriter. It's a moment of genuine exhilaration. 
Paranoid, sure, but for the first time, they're really on to 
something; it's all starting to split open...

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD AND BERNSTEIN

They are driving through McLean, Virginia, a development of 
identical imitation Tudor houses.

			BERNSTEIN
	How do you want to handle Sloan?

			WOODWARD
	You mean, who's going to play the 
	mean M.P. and who's going to be the 
	nice one?
		(BERNSTEIN nods; 
		WOODWARD shrugs)
	Whichever.

			BERNSTEIN
	He's another Ivy Leaguer so he'll 
	probably expect you to be 
	understanding--might surprise him if 
	you're not.

			WOODWARD
	You want me to be the bastard.

			BERNSTEIN
		(nods)
	And I'll just shitkick in my usual 
	way.

As they drive on--

						CUT TO:

A PRETTY YOUNG WOMAN standing in the doorway of one of the 
Tudor houses. She is very pregnant. She knows instinctively 
who they are, and she dominates them in a genuinely proud 
female way. What I mean is, it's her scene, and they're 
suddenly embarrassed to be bothering her.

			WOODWARD
	To see Mr. Sloan.

			MRS. SLOAN
	He's out.
		(There is a pause. 
		She studies them--)
	You're those two from the Post, aren't 
	you.
		(they nod)
	I'll tell him.

			BERNSTEIN
		(as she's about to 
		step back inside)
	This must be a difficult time for 
	the both of you.

			MRS. SLOAN
	This is an honest house.

			WOODWARD
	That's why we wanted to see your 
	husband.

She studies them still; more silence.

			MRS. SLOAN
	That decision is up to him.

			BERNSTEIN
		(conspiratorially)
	Maybe you could put in a good word.

			WOODWARD
	We've got another appointment tonight 
	in this area--we'll just stop back 
	later, all right?

			MRS. SLOAN
	It's a free country--
		(beat)
	--in theory.

They nod, start back down the walk. She watches them.

			MRS. SLOAN
		(calling out)
	Be careful--

They turn, look back at her.

						CUT TO:

CLOSE UP--MRS. SLOAN

			MRS. SLOAN
	--you can destroy lives.

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN watching her. She seems like a terrific 
girl. And maybe they've upset her. Or maybe what she has 
said, coming from her, has more impact than otherwise. 
Quietly, they turn back, walk in silence toward the red 
Karmann Ghia...

						CUT TO:

THE McLEAN McDONALD'S--DINNERTIME. Lots of very noisy, happy 
children. WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN sit surrounded by their 
usual array of junk food.

			WOODWARD
	Think Sloan's back?
		(BERNSTEIN seems lost 
		in thought)
	What's wrong?

			BERNSTEIN
	Nothing--I just found out that Jeb 
	Magruder from CREEP is a bigger bike 
	freak than I am.
		(sips coffee)
	I never like it when the other guy's 
	human...

They continue to sip coffee; outside it continues to rain. 
Now--

						CUT TO:

A YOUNG, SLENDER GUY answering his door.

WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN stand outside, their jackets over 
their heads, protecting themselves from the rain which is 
harder now.

			WOODWARD
	Mr. Sloan?

			SLOAN
		(nods)
	My wife told me to expect you.
		(softly)
	As you know, I haven't talked to the 
	press.

			BERNSTEIN
	We were hoping that maybe now you 
	could. We know why you left the 
	Committee. We know you're not guilty 
	of anything. But we know you know 
	who is--

It has begun to rain even harder.

			SLOAN
	--look, come in. We'll have to be 
	quiet--my wife's asleep.

						CUT TO:

A CHRISTMAS CARD from the Nixons, they are standing in front 
of the White House Christmas tree. It is signed "To Hugh and 
Debbie Sloan, with thanks, Richard M. Nixon, Patricia Nixon."

PULL BACK

and we're in the living room. More coffee is being drunk; 
SLOAN endlessly stirs his.

			SLOAN
	I'd like to talk to you, I really 
	would, but my lawyers say I shouldn't 
	until after the Watergate trial.

			WOODWARD
	You handed out the money. Maybe 
	there's a legitimate explanation for 
	the way it was done--

			BERNSTEIN
	--then again, maybe things are even 
	worse than we've written--

			SLOAN
	--they're worse. That's why I quit.

WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN wait as SLOAN is clearly going through 
a struggle with himself. Then--

			SLOAN
	Try and understand this. I'm a decent 
	Republican. I believe in Richard 
	Nixon. I worked in the White House 
	four years--so did my wife. What 
	happened on June 17 I don't think 
	the President knew anything about. 
	Some of his men I'm not so sure of.

			BERNSTEIN
	Do you think the truth will come out 
	at the trial?

			SLOAN
	That's another of the things I'm not 
	so sure of.

			BERNSTEIN
	Because people at the Committee were 
	told to lie to the prosecutors?

			SLOAN
	We were never told flat out "Don't 
	talk." But the message was clear.

			BERNSTEIN
	To cover up?

			SLOAN
	Well, they sure didn't ask us to 
	come forward and tell the truth.

			WOODWARD
	Does "they" mean the White House?

			SLOAN
	As opposed to the Committee? The 
	Committee's not an independent 
	operation. Everything is cleared 
	with the White House. I don't think 
	that the FBI or the prosecutors 
	understand that.

			WOODWARD
	The report on the cash in Maurice 
	Stans' safe, the three hundred fifty 
	thousand, that's true?

			SLOAN
	No. It was closer to seven hundred 
	thousand.

			WOODWARD
	And as treasurer, you could release 
	those funds?

			SLOAN
		(nods)
	When so ordered.

			WOODWARD
	We're not sure we've got all the 
	guys who could order you, but we 
	know there were five.
		(SLOAN is silent)

			BERNSTEIN
		(ticking them off)
	Mitchell, Stans, Magruder, they're 
	obvious--

SLOAN stirs his coffee.

			WOODWARD
	--there had to be a White House 
	overseer--

			BERNSTEIN
	--Colson.

			SLOAN
	Colson's too smart to get directly 
	involved with something like that.

			WOODWARD
		(to BERNSTEIN)
	Haldeman.
		(to SLOAN)
	Right?

			SLOAN
	I won't talk about the other two.

			BERNSTEIN
	But they both worked at the White 
	House?

			SLOAN
		(softly)
	I will not talk about the other two.

			BERNSTEIN
		(out of the blue)
	Kalmbach--Nixon's personal lawyer.

SLOAN is shocked at the mention of Kalmbach.

			SLOAN
	I can't say anything, I'm sorry.
		(He starts to rise)

			WOODWARD
	One thing I'm not completely clear 
	on--when you gave out the money to 
	Liddy, how did that work?

			SLOAN
	Badly.
		(and now for the first 
		time, he almost smiles)
	You don't realize how close all this 
	came to staying undiscovered--I gave 
	Liddy the Dahlberg check and he gave 
	it to Barker who took it to Miami 
	and deposited it.

			BERNSTEIN
	Right.

			SLOAN
	Then Barker withdrew the 25 thousand 
	in hundred dollar bills and gave it 
	back to Liddy who gave it back to me 
	and I put it in the office safe which 
	was crammed.

			WOODWARD
	Go on.

			SLOAN
	Well, when Liddy came and asked for 
	money for what turned out to be the 
	break-in funds, I went to the safe 
	and gave him--out of this whole 
	fortune--I happened to give him the 
	same hundreds he gave me--banks have 
	to keep track of hundreds. If the 
	money had been in fifties, or if I'd 
	grabbed a different stack, there 
	probably wouldn't have been any 
	Watergate story.

			BERNSTEIN
	Ordinarily, though, what was the 
	procedure?

			SLOAN
	Routine--I'd just call John Mitchell 
	over at the Justice Department and 
	he'd say "go ahead, give out the 
	money."

WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN just look at each other--they hadn't 
known it, not remotely. SLOAN stands and as they head for 
the door--

						CUT TO:

THE THREE OF THEM heading across the foyer.

			BERNSTEIN
	What happens when the baby comes?

			SLOAN
	We're moving.
		(beat)
	I've been looking for a job but it's 
	been... hard. My name's been in the 
	papers too much. Sometimes I wonder 
	if reporters understand how much 
	pain they can inflict in just one 
	sentence. I'm not thinking of myself. 
	But my wife, my parents, it's been 
	very rough on them.

						CUT TO:

BERNSTEIN and WOODWARD looking very uncomfortable as SLOAN 
goes on.

			SLOAN
	I wish I could put down on paper 
	what it's like--you come to Washington 
	because you believe in something, 
	and then you get inside and you see 
	how things actually work and you 
	watch your ideals disintegrate.
		(beat)
	The people inside, the people in the 
	White House, they start to believe 
	they can suspend the rules because 
	they're fulfilling a mission. That 
	becomes the only important thing--
	the mission. It's so easy to lose 
	perspective. We want to get out before 
	we lose ours altogether.

SLOAN opens the front door. WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN pause, 
nod, almost an embarrassed pause. Then as they hurry out 
into the rain--

						CUT TO:

A NERFBALL

flying toward a basket cupped to a picture window. When we

PULL BACK

we're in BRADLEE's office, SIMONS and ROSENFELD are also 
there, along with WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN. BRADLEE plays 
nerfball mostly; he hasn't got the worlds's longest attention 
span.

			BERNSTEIN
	Look--five men controlled that slush 
	fund as CREEP--three of them we've 
	got, Mitchell, Stans, Magruder, and 
	we're pretty sure of Kalmbach.

			WOODWARD
	We'd like to wait til we have all 
	five before we print it.

			BRADLEE
	This is a daily paper, we'll explain 
	it tomorrow.
		(looks at them)
	You're certain on Mitchell?

			WOODWARD
	He approved the payments to Liddy 
	while he was still Attorney General--

And all this now goes fast--

			ROSENFELD
	--you got more than one source?--

			BERNSTEIN
	--yes--

			SIMONS
	--has any of them got an ax?--

			ROSENFELD
	--political, personal, sexual, 
	anything at all against Mitchell?--

			WOODWARD
	--no--

			SIMONS
	--can we use their names?--

			BERNSTEIN
	--no--

			BRADLEE
	--goddamnit, when's somebody gonna 
	go on the record on this story--

			ROSENFELD
	--who you got?--

			WOODWARD
	--well, Sloan--

			BERNSTEIN
	--and we got a guy in Justice--

			BRADLEE
	--Deep Throat?--

			WOODWARD
	--I saw him. He verifies.

			BRADLEE
	OK.
		(now after the burst 
		of talk, a pause)
	You're about to write a story that 
	says that the former Attorney General--
	the man who represented law in America--
	is a crook.
		(throws the nerfball)
	Just be right, huh?

As WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN leave the office--

			BRADLEE
	Leave plenty of room for his denial.

						CUT TO:

BERNSTEIN AT HIS DESK ON THE PHONE. He has some papers in 
front of him an a notepad and pencil in his free hand. He is 
tired and very, very nervous. It is dark outside. In what 
follows, BERNSTEIN takes notes.

			OPERATOR'S VOICE (V.O.)
	Essex House, can I help you?

			BERNSTEIN
	John Mitchell, please.

There is a BUZZING SOUND. Then--

			JOHN MITCHELL'S VOICE (V.O.)
	Yes?

			BERNSTEIN
	Sir, this is Carl Bernstein of the 
	Washington Post, and I'm sorry to 
	bother you but we're running a story 
	in tomorrow's paper that we thought 
	you should have a chance to comment 
	on.

			MITCHELL (V.O.)
	What does it say?

			BERNSTEIN
		(starting to read)
	John N. Mitchell, while serving as 
	US Attorney General, personally 
	controlled a secret cash fund that--

			MITCHELL (V.O.)
	--jeeeeeeesus--

			BERNSTEIN
	--fund that was used to gather 
	information against the Democrats--

			MITCHELL (V.O.)
	--jeeeeeeesus--

			BERNSTEIN
	--according to sources involved in 
	the Watergate investigation. Beginning 
	in the spring of 1971--

			MITCHELL (V.O.)
	--jeeeeeeesus--

			BERNSTEIN
	--almost a year before he left the 
	Justice Department--

			MITCHELL (V.O.)
	--jeeeeeeeeesus--

			BERNSTEIN
	--to become President Nixon's campaign 
	manager on March 1, Mitchell 
	personally approved withdrawals from 
	the fund--

			MITCHELL (V.O.)
	--all that crap, you're putting it 
	in the paper? It's all been denied. 
	You tell your publisher--tell Katie 
	Graham she's gonna get her tit caught 
	in a big fat wringer if that's 
	published. Good Christ! That's the 
	most sickening thing I ever heard.

			BERNSTEIN
	Sir, I'd like to ask you a few--

			MITCHELL (V.O.)
	--what time is it?

			BERNSTEIN
	11:30.

			MITCHELL (V.O.)
	Morning or night?

			BERNSTEIN
	Night.

			MITCHELL (V.O.)
	Oh.

And he hangs up.

						CUT TO:

BRADLEE and BERNSTEIN at BERNSTEIN's desk. BRADLEE is going 
over BERNSTEIN's notes.

			BRADLEE
	He really made that remark about 
	Mrs. Graham?
		(BERNSTEIN nods)
	This is a family newspaper--cut the 
	words "her tit" and run it.

And now suddenly--

THE PRESSES OF THE POST

rolling the story. They're modern and gigantic and

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN. They're in the lobby of the Post at 
night and through a thick-pane of glass they're watching 
their story roll and on their faces is something you don't 
expect to see: panic.

BRADLEE comes up behind them, looks down at the presses, 
starts to talk.

			BRADLEE
	Once when I was reporting, Lyndon 
	Johnson's top guy gave me the word 
	they were looking for a successor to 
	J. Edgar Hoover. I wrote it and the 
	day it appeared Johnson called a 
	press conference and appointed Hoover 
	head of the FBI for life... And when 
	he was done, he turned to his top 
	guy and the President said, "Call 
	Ben Bradlee and tell him fuck you."
		(shakes his head)
	I took a lot of static for that--
	everyone said, "You did it, Bradlee, 
	you screwed up--you stuck us with 
	Hoover forever--"
		(looks at WOODWARD 
		and BERNSTEIN)
	--I screwed up but I wasn't wrong.

They all watch the presses now.

			BRADLEE
	You guys haven't been wrong yet, is 
	that why you're scared shitless?
		(as WOODWARD and 
		BERNSTEIN nod, BRADLEE 
		starts away)
	You should be...

						CUT TO:

THE PRESSES continuing to roll. The SOUND is incredible. Now--

						CUT TO:

A TELETYPE MACHINE

clacking away like crazy. We can read the words, "The Senator 
finished by saying that although he was..." and from there--

				 DISSOLVE TO:

A SENATOR and while the words "although he was" are still 
very fresh in our minds--

			SENATOR
	Although I am a Republican, I would 
	like to state in a pure bipartisan 
	spirit that I feel only sadness that 
	a once fine journal of record like 
	the Post would have become merely 
	the hysterical spokesman for the 
	equally hysterical left wing of the 
	Democratic Party--

The SOUND of the teletype doesn't stop in this little part 
and we see three people and it's very important that their 
voices are immediately recognizable and distinct. One, the 
SENATOR is from the West and will have that twang. The next 
two whom we are about to meet are PUBLIC RELATIONS PEOPLE 
from CREEP and the WHITE HOUSE. The CREEP voice is very 
southern, the WHITE HOUSE GUY sounds like an NBC announcer. 
The WESTERN SENATOR will be seen in a corridor of the Senate 
office building, talking to reporters, the CREEP P.R. 
SOUTHERNER will be talking to reporters in front of the CREEP 
office doors and so identified. The WHITE HOUSE SPOKESMAN 
will be standing on a platform with a flag visible off to 
one side. As the teletype goes on--

						CUT TO:

THE SOUTHERN CREEP P.R. MAN

			CREEP P.R. MAN
		(in mid-sentence)
	--hearsay, innuendo, and character 
	assassination. I can only conclude 
	that the so-called sources of the 
	Washington Post are a fountain of 
	misinformation--

						CUT TO:

THE WHITE HOUSE SPOKESMAN

			WHITE HOUSE SPOKESMAN
	--the White House has long since 
	stopped being surprised at this type 
	of reporting by certain elements of 
	the Eastern liberal press--

						CUT TO:

BRADLEE'S OFFICE

A lot of activity. BRADLEE is at his desk reading the teletype 
dispatches. SIMONS and ROSENFELD are there, WOODWARD and 
BERNSTEIN, too. A kid comes in with more teletype stuff. The 
editors look at it.

			SIMONS
		(reading)
	Same kind of crap--

			BRADLEE
		(glancing through; 
		nods)
	--all non-denial denials--we're dirty 
	guys and they doubt we were ever 
	virgins but they don't say the story 
	is inaccurate.

			BERNSTEIN
	What's a real denial?

			BRADLEE
	If they ever start calling us goddamn 
	liars--
		(little pause)
	--it's time to start circling the 
	wagons.

						CUT TO:

THE UNION GUYS IN THE POST

looking at a new headline:

NIXON ELECTION AIDES CONCEALED FACTS FROM GOVERNMENT PROBERS

			FIRST UNION GUY
	You think they know what they're 
	doing on the fifth floor?

			SECOND UNION GUY
	I got eight kids to support--they 
	better.

They start for the sports section, only this time, they stop, 
go back, stare at the headline again. From them watching--

						CUT TO:

SIMONS

walking WOODWARD to the elevators.

			WOODWARD
	What do you think Mrs. Graham wants 
	to see me for?

			SIMONS
	Maybe to fire you--since you two 
	started on this story, the Post stock 
	has dropped, what, 50 percent?
		(WOODWARD pushes for 
		the elevator)
	And the word is some Nixon people 
	are challenging her TV licenses. I'm 
	not saying she's going on relief, 
	but I don't think it's unreasonable 
	for her to want to meet you.

			WOODWARD
	You think she wants us to ease up on 
	the story?

			SIMONS
		(shrugs)
	I don't know, but I don't think that's 
	unreasonable either, do you?

The elevator opens. WOODWARD shakes his head "no" and steps 
inside as we

						CUT TO:

MRS. GRAHAM in her office as a SECRETARY lets WOODWARD in. 
He's nervous. She's standing by the window, he crosses to 
her.

			MRS. GRAHAM
	I'm so glad you could come, Mr.--

			WOODWARD
	--I'm Woodward.

She nods. There's a pause. He waits. She's trying to say 
something, get something started, but it's difficult. Silence. 
She stares out again, quietly starts to talk.

			MRS. GRAHAM
	You know, the paper was my father's 
	and my husband's when they were alive 
	and I was thinking back a year or 
	two ago when Ben called me and said 
	he wanted to publish the Pentagon 
	Papers the next day. The Times had 
	already been stopped from publishing 
	anymore of them and all my legal 
	counsel said "don't, don't" and I 
	was frightened but I knew if I said 
	no, I'd lose the whole fifth floor. 
	So we published, and that night, 
	after I'd told Ben to go ahead, I 
	woke up in the darkness and I thought, 
	"Oh my Lord, what am I doing to this 
	newspaper?"
		(She looks at WOODWARD)
	I woke up again last night with that 
	same question.
		(WOODWARD says nothing, 
		waits)
	Are we right on this story?

			WOODWARD
	I think so.

			MRS. GRAHAM
	Are you sure?

			WOODWARD
	No.

			MRS. GRAHAM
	When will you be, do you think?--
	when are we going to know it all?

			WOODWARD
	It may never come out.

			MRS. GRAHAM
	Never? Please don't tell me never.
		(beat)
	Ben says you've found some wonderful 
	sources.

			WOODWARD
	Some Justice Department lawyers and 
	an FBI man, and some people from the 
	Committee to Re-Elect, yes ma'am.

			MRS. GRAHAM
	And the underground garage one.
		(WOODWARD, more nervous 
		now, nods)
	Would I know him?

			WOODWARD
	I couldn't say.

			MRS. GRAHAM
	But it's possible.

			WOODWARD
		(throat very dry)
	It is.

			MRS. GRAHAM
	You've never told anyone who he is?
		(WOODWARD shakes his 
		head)
	But you'd have to tell me if I asked 
	you.
		(WOODWARD nods)
	Tell me.

			WOODWARD
		(he is dying)
	I would, if you really ever wanted 
	to know.

			MRS. GRAHAM
	I really want to know.

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD caught between a rock and a hard place. He is silent 
until there is the SOUND of light laughter and we--

						CUT TO:

MRS. GRAHAM. The laughter came from her.

			MRS. GRAHAM
	I wasn't serious. I have plenty of 
	burdens to carry around, I don't 
	need another.

WOODWARD tries not to exhale too audibly.

			MRS. GRAHAM
	We're going to need lots of good 
	luck, aren't we?

			WOODWARD
	Nobody ever had too much.

						CUT TO:

CLOSE UP--MRS. GRAHAM as abruptly she reaches out, touches 
WOODWARD on the arm.

			MRS. GRAHAM
	Do better.

WOODWARD makes a nod. HOLD. Then--

						CUT TO:

BRADLEE

in a state of anger, pacing around the tiny teletype room. 
WOODWARD hurries in.

			WOODWARD
	What?

BRADLEE says nothing, just points to the AP teletype. WOODWARD 
looks at it, clearly is upset.

			BRADLEE
	I thought you guys were supposed to 
	be working on this story--
		(to BERNSTEIN who 
		tears in--)
	--you think I like being aced out?

			BERNSTEIN
	--what?--

			WOODWARD
	--The L.A. Times has a huge interview 
	with Baldwin--

			BERNSTEIN
	--the lookout in the Motor Inn?--
		(WOODWARD nods)
	--he say anything we don't know?--

			WOODWARD
		(headshake)
	--just that a lot of reports were 
	sent to CREEP, but he doesn't name 
	who, not here anyway--

			BRADLEE
	--it would have been nice to have 
	had this, I sure would have liked to 
	have had this--

			BERNSTEIN
	--there's nothing new in it--

			BRADLEE
	--it makes the break-in real--it's a 
	major goddamn story--
		(starts out)
	--I'm not going to kick ass over 
	this, but I'd like you to know I 
	hate getting beat, I just hate it--
	don't forget that I hate it--

And he stalks out. WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN stand staring at 
the teletype which keeps on clacking and clacking as the 
L.A. Times story keeps getting longer.

			BERNSTEIN
	Goddamnit--

			WOODWARD
	--shit--

			BERNSTEIN
	--we gotta top the Times--

			WOODWARD
	--I know, I know--

			BERNSTEIN
	--if we could name the guys got the 
	reports, we'd be ahead again--

			WOODWARD
	--shit, who do we know?--

			BERNSTEIN
	--I know a lawyer at Justice--

			WOODWARD
	--has he got an ax?--

			BERNSTEIN
	--almost every source we've used has 
	been Republican, this guy's a card-
	carrying Democrat.

			WOODWARD
	Then he's got an ax.
		(beat)
	Call him anyway.

As BERNSTEIN nods, takes off out of the room--

						CUT TO:

THE UNION GUYS

studying the front page, on which one headline indicates 
that they're named the guys at CREEP who got the reports.

			FIRST UNION GUY
	Who is this Woodstein?
		(points to paper)
	Two stories on the front page.

			SECOND UNION GUY
	If he can't pick a winner at Pimlico, 
	to hell with him.

						CUT TO:

A HOT SHOPPE.

WOODWARD is stirring his morning coffee as BERNSTEIN comes 
in, spots him, hurries over. BERNSTEIN is maybe more excited 
then we've yet seen him.

			BERNSTEIN
	--I want you to shut up and listen 
	to me--

			WOODWARD
	--I haven't said anything--

			BERNSTEIN
	--for the first time I'm beginning 
	to feel like a fucking reporter--
	Woodward, I got a tip. A guy called 
	me up with a tip--
		(carefully)
	--someone named Donald Segretti 
	contacted a bunch of lawyers and 
	asked them if they'd like to go to 
	work with him screwing up the 
	Democrats, dirty tricks, shit like 
	that. The FBI knows about Segretti--
	Howard Hunt made a bunch of phone 
	calls to him--they interrogated him, 
	but on account of Segretti wasn't 
	involved with the break-in, they 
	didn't follow through. But Segretti 
	did a lot of traveling--he called 
	these lawyers from different places, 
	and he told them the Republicans 
	knew what he was doing.

			WOODWARD
	How high up, which Republicans?

			BERNSTEIN
	That's what we've got to find out, 
	but Segretti went to Southern Cal. 
	and so did a bunch of Nixon men--

			WOODWARD
	--Haldeman I know, who else?

			BERNSTEIN
	Dwight Chapin, Nixon's appointments 
	chief--he knew Segretti in school. 
	Maybe I'm crazy, but this is the 
	first time any of this starts to 
	make sense. What were the three 
	theories?

			WOODWARD
	The burglary was done by Cubans or 
	Democrats or Republicans.

			BERNSTEIN
	Now the reason no one believed the 
	Republicans is because there wasn't 
	any reason, they were so far ahead. 
	But Segretti was talking to these 
	other lawyers a year before the break-
	in.

			WOODWARD
	So maybe Watergate wasn't really 
	about Watergate--maybe that was just 
	a piece--

			BERNSTEIN
	--because a year before, the 
	Republicans weren't ahead, not in 
	the polls, Muskie was running ahead 
	of Nixon then. Before he self-
	destructed.

			WOODWARD
	If he self-destructed.

Now, from the two of them--

						CUT TO:

A MAZE OF CREDIT CARD RECEIPTS IN VARIOUS PILES.

There is the SOUND of bad guitar music, which as we

PULL BACK

we see is BERNSTEIN playing. We are in his apartment, it's 
night, and the two of them, bleary, are studying the maze of 
receipts.

			WOODWARD
	Segretti criss-crossed the country 
	over ten times in six months--and 
	never stayed anyplace over a night 
	or two.
		(glancing up)
	Switch to another station, huh? You're 
	driving me crazy with that.

			BERNSTEIN
	Segovia begged me for me secret but 
	I said, "No, Andres, you'll have to 
	try and make it without me."

He switches to another song which sounds a lot like the one 
he just finished playing.

			WOODWARD
		(pointing to the 
		thickest stacks)
	California, Illinois, Florida, New 
	Hampshire--all the major Democratic 
	primary states.
		(whirling)
	Why does everything you play sound 
	the same?

			BERNSTEIN
	--'cause I only know four chords--

						CUT TO:

THE CREDIT CARDS. The camera moves across the travels of 
Donald Segretti. There is the SOUND of BERNSTEIN's guitar. 
HOLD for a moment, then--

						CUT TO:

TINY, BABY-FACED MAN

standing in his doorway.

			BERNSTEIN (V.O.)
	Donald Segretti?

			SEGRETTI
	That's right.

						CUT TO:

BERNSTEIN--OUTSIDE THE APARTMENT DOOR. We are, it will soon 
be clear, in California now, Marina Del Rey.

			BERNSTEIN
	I'm Carl Bernstein.
		(SEGRETTI nods)
	My paper sent me out to see if I 
	couldn't persuade you to go on the 
	record.

			SEGRETTI
	You can't.

			BERNSTEIN
	Mind if I try?

SEGRETTI shrugs, and as they enter his apartment--

						CUT TO:

INSIDE. They walk across to a small terrace outside, where 
they sit. The terrace has a glorious view of the water and 
lots of girls in bathing costume, below.

			BERNSTEIN
	According to what we've been able to 
	verify, you've been busy.

			SEGRETTI
	I've got a lot of energy.

			BERNSTEIN
	Listen--we know you're involved in 
	this--we're going to get the story, 
	why not help?

			SEGRETTI
	They never told me anything except 
	my own role--I had to find out the 
	rest in the papers.

			BERNSTEIN
	By "they" you mean...?

He waits; SEGRETTI just shakes his head.

			BERNSTEIN
	By "they" you mean the White House, 
	don't you?
		(SEGRETTI makes no 
		reply)
	Your buddy from USC, Dwight Chapin--
	he works for the White House.

			SEGRETTI
	I know where Dwight works.

			BERNSTEIN
	When did he hire you?

SEGRETTI shakes his head, stares out at the girls.

			BERNSTEIN
	Do you feel much about the things 
	you did?

			SEGRETTI
	I didn't do anything wrong.

			BERNSTEIN
	Tell that to Muskie.

			SEGRETTI
	Oh, maybe nickel and dime stuff.

			BERNSTEIN
	During the Florida primary, you wrote 
	a letter on Muskie stationery saying 
	Scoop Jackson had a bastard child. 
	You wrote another that said Hubert 
	Humphrey was out with call girls.

			SEGRETTI
	Sometimes it got up to a quarter 
	maybe--
		(to BERNSTEIN)
	--off the record.

			BERNSTEIN
	You wrote the Canuck letter--the one 
	where you claimed Muskie slurred the 
	Canadians.

			SEGRETTI
	I didn't.

			BERNSTEIN
	But you know who did.

			SEGRETTI
	When you guys print it in the paper, 
	then I'll know.
		(closes his eyes)
	I'm a lawyer, and I'll probably go 
	to jail, and be disbarred, and what 
	did I do that was so awful?

BERNSTEIN says nothing, waits.

			SEGRETTI
	None of it was my idea, Carl--I didn't 
	go looking for the job.

			BERNSTEIN
	Chapin did contact you then?

			SEGRETTI
	Sure--off the record.

			BERNSTEIN
	On the orders of Haldeman?

			SEGRETTI
	I don't know anything about Haldeman, 
	except, Dwight's frightened of him--
	everybody's frightened of him--Christ, 
	I wish I'd never gotten messed around 
	with this--all I wanna do is sit in 
	the sun; sit, swim, see some girls.

			BERNSTEIN
	It gets interesting if it was 
	Haldeman, because our word is that 
	when Chapin says something, he's 
	gotten the OK from Haldeman, and 
	when Haldeman says something, he's 
	gotten the OK from the President.

			SEGRETTI
	Can't help you.

			BERNSTEIN
	At USC, you had a word the this--
	screwing up the opposition you all 
	did it at college and called it 
	ratfucking.
		(SEGRETTI half-smiles, 
		nods)
	Ever wonder if Nixon might turn out 
	to be the biggest ratfucker of them 
	all?

						CUT TO:

CLOSE UP--SEGRETTI staring at the girls and the blue water.

			SEGRETTI
	What would you have done if you were 
	just getting out of the Army, if 
	you'd been away from the real world 
	for four years, if you weren't sure 
	what kind of law you wanted to 
	practice, and then one day you got a 
	call from an old friend asking you 
	to go to work for the President of 
	the United States...?

HOLD on the question, then--

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD AND BERNSTEIN

back in D.C., walking through the airport.

			BERNSTEIN
	What would you have done?

			WOODWARD
	You asking would I have been one of 
	the President's men?
		(beat)
	I would have been.

As they continue on--

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD

alone in the underground garage. Tense, jumpy. He looks at 
his watch, paces around. It's all eerie as hell. Then, from 
the ramps, footsteps.

						CUT TO:

DEEP THROAT moving out of the shadows, smoking, as always.

			DEEP THROAT
	My turn to keep you waiting.
		(approaches)
	What's the topic for tonight?

			WOODWARD
	Ratfucking.

			DEEP THROAT
	In my day, it was simply called the 
	double cross. I believe the CIA refers 
	to it as Mindfuck. In our context, 
	it simply means infiltration of the 
	Democrats.

			WOODWARD
	I know what it means--Segretti 
	wouldn't go on the record, but if he 
	would, we know he'd implicate Chapin. 
	And that would put us inside the 
	White House.

			DEEP THROAT
		(nods)
	Yes, the little ratfuckers are now 
	running our government.

			WOODWARD
	Who?--be specific. How high up?

			DEEP THROAT
	You'll have to find that out, won't 
	you.

			WOODWARD
	The slush fund at CREEP financed the 
	ratfucking, we've almost got that 
	nailed down, so--

He stops as suddenly DEEP THROAT dives down behind the nearest 
car.

WOODWARD dropping beside him.

			WOODWARD
	What?

			DEEP THROAT
	Did you change cabs?
		(as WOODWARD nods)
	It didn't work, something moved there--

And as he points

						CUT TO:

THE SHADOWS BY THE RAMP. You can't see a goddamn thing. But 
there is the SOUND, faint but distinct, of breathing.

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD standing, staring into the darkness. He is scared, 
wipes his mouth. He doesn't move for a moment. Then he walks 
directly into the darkness and as he's gone--

					ZOOM TO:

A HORRID FACE IN CLOSE UP, red eyed, unshaven, beaten--there 
are half-formed scabs and cuts. He is leaning against a wall, 
shivering. He looks, for all the world, like a perpetual 
drunk.

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD in the shadows, coming closer.

						CUT TO:

THE DRUNK. He blinks slowly, tongue lolling outside his mouth. 
He watches WOODWARD approach.

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD coming still closer.

						CUT TO:

THE DRUNK. He blinks very slowly now. Maybe he isn't even 
certain WOODWARD's there.

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD stopping in front of the drunk. They look at each 
other for a long time. Then:

			WOODWARD
	Who are you?

						CUT TO:

THE DRUNK. Nothing, no reaction.

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD studying the other man.

						CUT TO:

THE DRUNK. And he blinks again, then slowly, shivering, begins 
sliding down the wall. WOODWARD reaches for him, holds him 
up.

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD managing to get out his wallet, take out some bills. 
He starts up the ramp with the drunk, and as they disappear 
up the ramp out of sight, he gives the drunk the money.

			WOODWARD
	Here.
		(softly)
	Forget your troubles and just be 
	happy.

						CUT TO:

DEEP THROAT pacing and smoking. He is visibly upset; scared 
maybe. He glances over as WOODWARD comes back down the ramp 
alone.

			DEEP THROAT
		(self-mocking)
	I hope you noticed how coolly I 
	behaved under the threat of discovery.

			WOODWARD
		(impatiently)
	Do Justice and the FBI know what we 
	know, and why the hell haven't they 
	done anything about it?

			DEEP THROAT
	They know, but they focused on the 
	burglary--if it didn't deal with the 
	break-in, they didn't pursue it.

			WOODWARD
	Why didn't they?--who told them not 
	to?

			DEEP THROAT
	Someone with authority I'd imagine, 
	wouldn't you?
		(coughs)
	Don't you know what you're onto? 
	Come on.

			WOODWARD
	Mitchell knew then.

			DEEP THROAT
	Of course--my God, you think something 
	this big just happens? The break-in 
	and the cover up, of course Mitchell 
	knew, but no more than Ehrlichman.

			WOODWARD
	Haldeman too?

			DEEP THROAT
	You get nothing from me about 
	Haldeman?

And from this tone, you know HALDEMAN scares him.

			WOODWARD
	Why did they do all this for 
	Chrissakes?--what were they after?

			DEEP THROAT
	Total manipulation. I suppose you 
	could say they wanted to subvert the 
	Constitution, but they don't think 
	along philosophical lines.

			WOODWARD
	Talk about Segretti--

			DEEP THROAT
	--don't concentrate on Segretti or 
	you'll miss the overall scheme too.

			WOODWARD
	There were more then.

			DEEP THROAT
	Follow every lead--every lead goes 
	somewhere--

			WOODWARD
	--the Canuck letter--was that a White 
	House operation--

			DEEP THROAT
		(nods, bigger)
	--don't you miss the grand scheme 
	too.

			WOODWARD
	How grand?

			DEEP THROAT
	Nationwide--my God, they were 
	frightened of Muskie and look who 
	got destroyed--they wanted to run 
	against McGovern, and look who they're 
	running against. They bugged, they 
	followed people, false press leaks, 
	fake letters, they canceled Democratic 
	campaign rallies, they investigated 
	Democratic private lives, they planted 
	spies, stole documents, on and on--
	don't tell me you think this was all 
	the work of little Don Segretti.

			WOODWARD
	And Justice and FBI know all this?

			DEEP THROAT
	Yes, yes, everything. There were 
	over fifty people employed by the 
	White House and CREEP to ratfuck--
	some of what they did is beyond 
	belief.

			WOODWARD
		(stunned)
	Fifty ratfuckers directed by the 
	White House to destroy the Democrats?

						CUT TO:

DEEP THROAT

			DEEP THROAT
	I was being cautious.
		(inhales)
	You can safely say more then fifty...

SILENCE in the garage. HOLD... then--

						CUT TO:

THE FIFTH FLOOR OF THE POST

and it's noisy. Not as noisy as it's going to get, but there 
is more tension around just now than there has been 
previously.

						CUT TO:

AN ATTRACTIVE WOMAN IN HER MID-30s. On her desk is her name, 
MARILYN BERGER. She is watching BERNSTEIN who is standing by 
the water cooler nearby. As she gets up--

						CUT TO:

BERNSTEIN drinking water.

			BERGER
	Do you guys know about the Canuck 
	letter?

			BERNSTEIN
		(nods, drinks)
	Um-hmm.
		(stops, looks at her)
	Why?

			BERGER
	I just wanted to be sure you knew 
	who wrote it.

As she speaks--

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD working at his desk, suddenly looking up as a SCREAM 
comes from the direction of the water cooler and as everyone 
turns to see, here comes BERNSTEIN dragging BERGER over to 
WOODWARD's desk.

			BERNSTEIN
		(hysterical)
	Tell him what you just told me.

			BERGER
	Just than Ken Clawsen--he used to be 
	a reporter here before he went to 
	work for Nixon--I had him over for a 
	drink a few weeks ago and he told me 
	he wrote the Canuck letter.
		(she looks from one 
		of them to the other)
	You did want to know, didn't you?

And now from her--

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN in a corner of the room, talking low 
and fast.

			BERNSTEIN
	You think we're being set up?--Christ, 
	Deep Throat tells you last night 
	that the letter came from inside the 
	White House and up traipses Marilyn 
	naming names.

			WOODWARD
	It makes a crazy kind of sense--
	remember that initiation rite they 
	have at the White House? Each new 
	member of the President's staff has 
	to prove his guts by getting an enemy 
	of Nixon.

			BERNSTEIN
	You think this was Clawsen's 
	initiation?

			WOODWARD
	Could have won him a fraternity paddle 
	with a White House seal.
		(beat)
	God knows it worked.

						CUT TO:

A FROZEN SHOT OF MUSKIE IN THE SNOW in tears, standing on 
the flat-bed truck. This was in the New Hampshire primary, 
just after the Canuck letter was published.

			WOODWARD (V.O.)
	You claiming it was all a 
	misunderstanding, Ken?

			CLAWSEN (V.O.)
	Absolutely--Marilyn's gotten it 
	totally wrong--

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD ON THE PHONE

			WOODWARD
	She's an awfully good reporter--I 
	can't remember her getting too much 
	wrong before, can you?

			CLAWSEN (V.O.)
	That's a bullshit question, that's a 
	question straight out of Wichita, 
	Kansas.

			WOODWARD
	Sorry, Ken; listen, one last thing: 
	where did your talk with Berger 
	happen?

			CLAWSEN (V.O.)
	Where?
		(beat)
	What do you mean, where?

			WOODWARD
	Well, was it in a bar, her apartment, 
	some restaurant--

			CLAWSEN (V.O.)
	--I've completely forgotten where it 
	was, except I know it wasn't her 
	apartment.

There is a sound of him hanging up the phone. Hard. WOODWARD 
hangs up quietly, rubs his eyes, calls out to BERGER who is 
at her desk--

			WOODWARD
	Non denial-denial, Marilyn--

BERGER is about to answer when her phone rings. She picks it 
up, turns to WOODWARD, mouths "it's him" and we

						CUT TO:

BERGER ON THE PHONE. Again Clawsen on the other end.

			CLAWSEN (V.O.)
	For Chissakes, don't tell them I 
	came to your place.

			BERGER
	I already told them.

			CLAWSEN (V.O.)
	Oh, that's terrific, that's just so 
	terrific, I'm thrilled you did that.

			BERGER
	I have a clear conscience.

			CLAWSEN (V.O.)
	Marilyn, I have a wife and a family 
	and a cat and a dog.

Now from this--

BRADLEE IN HIS OFFICE GESTURING

And we

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN heading toward the office. As they 
enter--

			BRADLEE
	I got Clawsen on hold--

			WOODWARD
	--his dialing finger must be falling 
	off--

			BRADLEE
	--what do you think?--

			WOODWARD
	--he went to her apartment and he 
	told her--

			BERNSTEIN
	--if he did it or just said he did 
	it, God knows.

			BRADLEE
	I could care less about where it 
	happened; what happened is what 
	counts.
		(calling out to his 
		SECRETARY)
	Put him on.
		(picks up the phone)
	Ken, I'm sorry, it was Goddamn Beirut 
	and they were having a crisis, what's 
	up, kid?
		(pause)
	Slow down, Ken, you sound frazzled.
		(pause)
	A wife and a family and a cat and a 
	dog, right, Ken.
		(pause)
	Ken, I would never print that you 
	were in Marilyn's apartment at night--
	unless, of course, you force me to.

						CUT TO:

CLOSE UP--BRADLEE. He is genuinely enjoying himself. Now, he 
puts his hand over the receiver--

			BRADLEE
	It's like they taught us at Harvard: 
	few things are as gratifying to the 
	soul as having another man's nuts in 
	a vise...

Now, as he goes back to talking--

						CUT TO:

A BIG HEADLINE IN THE POST READING: NIXON AIDES SABOTAGED 
DEMOCRATS.

Now we HOLD on that headline as the three deniers are visible 
through it in the same places they spoke before.

			WHITE HOUSE SPOKESMAN
	The story is based entirely on hearsay 
	and--

			CREEP P.R. MAN
	--we at the Committee are continually 
	amazed at the creativity shown by 
	the Washington Post--

			WESTERN SENATOR
	--although I am a Republican, I would 
	like to state in a pure bipartisan 
	spirit that I am happy that this 
	latest onslaught against the 
	intelligence of the American people 
	will be wrapping fish tomorrow. I 
	offer my condolences to the fish...

And now, the headline fades as we

						CUT TO:

SIMONS IN ROSENFELD'S OFFICE

WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN hurry in.

			ROSENFELD
	Speak.

			BERNSTEIN
	We've just been talking to Young--

			SIMONS
	--which Young?

			WOODWARD
	Larry Young, a California lawyer--

			BERNSTEIN
	--he was going to go into law practice 
	with Segretti.

			ROSENFELD
	And?--

			WOODWARD
	--and he says Chapin hired Segretti--

			SIMONS
	--well and good, but when will he 
	say it on the record.

			WOODWARD
	He just did.

			BERNSTEIN
	He'll give us a sworn statement.

			WOODWARD
	We're inside the White House now.

ROSENFELD and SIMONS just look at each other. They should be 
happy, and maybe they are. But at the moment more then 
anything else they look scared... HOLD. Then--

THE MONTPELIER ROOM OF THE MADISON HOTEL.

It's a very fancy restaurant and BRADLEE is at a corner table 
as WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN sit down. They are exhausted.

			BRADLEE
	Look, I wanted to talk because things 
	are getting really hairy and there's 
	a couple of things we've got to be 
	careful of because--

A waiter is nearby.

			BRADLEE
	--either of you want a drink or should 
	I order?--
		(They don't)
	--because--

And suddenly he lapses into perfect French with the waiter, 
ordering lunch ann salad and as the waiter nods and goes

			BRADLEE
	--because our cocks are on the 
	chopping block and you've got to be 
	sure that you're not just dealing 
	with people who hate Richard Nixon 
	and want to get him through us. You 
	see, I don't give a shit who's 
	President--I really don't, it's an 
	adversary situation between them and 
	us and it's always gonna be. I never 
	had a closer friend than Jack Kennedy 
	and once I printed something that 
	pissed him off and for seven months 
	I didn't exist.

A wine steward appears, hands BRADLEE the list. As he examines 
it, a man walks up to the table, stands there...

			MAN
	You none of you know who I am, do 
	you?
		(they don't)
	You screw me up good, you don't even 
	know what I look like.

			BRADLEE
	OK, you've had your preamble; who 
	the hell are you?

			MAN
	Glenn Sedam--you wrote about me last 
	week, you said I was one of the guys 
	at the Committee who was sent reports. 
	You were wrong.

			BERNSTEIN
	Baldwin told the FBI it was you.

			SEDAM
	Baldwin told the FBI it was someone 
	whose first name sounded like a last 
	name. They showed him a list and he 
	picked me but it wasn't me, it was 
	Gordon Liddy.
		(looks at the reporters)
	My phone hasn't stopped ringing, my 
	wife's hysterical, my kids think I'm 
	mixed up with the burglary, my friends 
	don't like me around all of a sudden.

						CUT TO:

CLOSE UP--SEDAM

			SEDAM
	You fucked around my life, you two.
		(starts off)
	I just wanted to say thanks.

BRADLEE watching WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN, who are clearly 
upset.

			BRADLEE
	That didn't sound to me like a non-
	denial denial; could you have been 
	wrong?
		(they nod)
	You had a good source?
		(nod)
	Did he have an ax?
		(pause. Then another 
		nod)

CLOSE UP--BRADLEE

			BRADLEE
	All right, you made a mistake maybe, 
	we all have, just don't make another. 
	And watch your personal lives, who 
	you hang around with. Someone once 
	said the price of democracy is a 
	bloodletting every ten years.
		(beat)
	Make sure it isn't our blood...

Now from BRADLEE--

						CUT TO:

HUGH SLOAN

holding a broom and dustpan at his front door.

			SLOAN
	I really can't talk now--

			BERNSTEIN
	--this'll only take one second--

			SLOAN
	--my wife just had the baby, my in-
	laws are arriving, I'm trying to get 
	the house in some kind of shape.

			WOODWARD
	A boy or a girl?

			SLOAN
	A girl. Melissa.

						CUT TO:

INSIDE THE HOUSE. WOODWARD AND BERNSTEIN are helping SLOAN 
with the housework. WOODWARD has a dust mop, BERNSTEIN a 
dust cloth. We are mostly in the living room throughout, and 
also throughout, the three guys beaver away tidying.

			WOODWARD
		(holding up a cup)
	Where does this go?

SLOAN points to a shelf. WOODWARD moves to put the cup in 
its proper place.

			WOODWARD
	--That cash fund that financed the 
	sabotaging of the Democrats--five 
	guys had control--

			BERNSTEIN
		(ticking them off)
	--Mitchell, Stans, Magruder, Kalmbach--

			WOODWARD
	--we're working on the last guy now 
	and we're going all the way--that 
	fifth man was Haldeman.

			SLOAN
	--I'm not your source on that--

			BERNSTEIN
	--it's gotta be Haldeman--someone 
	from the White House had to be 
	involved--

			WOODWARD
	--and it wasn't Ehrlichman or Colson 
	or the President.

			SLOAN
	No, none of those.

			BERNSTEIN
	--that leaves Haldeman, period.

			SLOAN
	I'm not your source on that.

He picks up a dust pan, starts sweeping it full.

			WOODWARD
		(taking the dust pan, 
		helping out)
	--look, when the Watergate grand 
	jury questioned you, did you name 
	names?

			SLOAN
	Of course--everything they asked--

			BERNSTEIN
	--if we wrote a story that said 
	Haldeman controlled the fund?--

			SLOAN
	--let me put it this way: I'd have 
	no problem if you did.

WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN look at each other while SLOAN empties 
the dust pan into the trash and from there, quickly--

						CUT TO:

A LONG LONG LONG SHOT OF A COUPLE

walking in the park.

We can't really make them out clearly, we never do in this 
little sequence. But the guy is wearing a windbreaker and 
has a crew cut and the woman with him is dressed casually 
too. He has his arm around her, and they are deep in 
conversation.

			WOODWARD'S VOICE (V.O.)
	Hey?

PULL BACK TO REVEAL

WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN sitting on a park bench swilling down 
a six-pack.

			WOODWARD
	I think that's him.

			BERNSTEIN
	Who?

			WOODWARD
	Haldeman.

						CUT TO:

THE COUPLE walking along. We just can't quite make them out. 
But it might be.

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN staring after the couple, trying to 
focus.

			BERNSTEIN
	Nah.
		(squints hard)
	Maybe.

			WOODWARD
	What if I went up and introduced 
	myself--think he'd slug me?

			BERNSTEIN
	Well, we are trying to ruin his life.

			WOODWARD
	It's nothing personal, though.
		(looks troubled)

			BERNSTEIN
	What's the matter?

			WOODWARD
	Same as Magruder, I don't like it 
	when they turn out to be human.

			BERNSTEIN
		(nods)
	I wish we were investigating Attila 
	the Hun.

			WOODWARD
	Maybe we are...

						CUT TO:

THE SLOW-WALKING COUPLE. They continue on. We still don't 
see them quite clearly. HOLD... then--

						CUT TO:

A PUDGY LITTLE MAN HALF-HIDDEN BEHIND A MAGAZINE.

PULL BACK TO REVEAL

A DRUGSTORE-TYPE PLACE. WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN are at the 
adjoining table.

			PUDGY MAN
	--Goddamnit, I'm not gonna say it 
	again--you get nothing about Haldeman 
	outta me--

			WOODWARD
	--we don't need it now, because 
	tomorrow's story is about the FBI--

			BERNSTEIN
	--about how all you supposed experts 
	really blew the whole investigation--

			FBI GUY
		(stung)
	--we didn't miss so much--

			WOODWARD
	--you never knew Haldeman had control 
	of the slush fund--

			FBI GUY
	--it's all in our files--

			BERNSTEIN
	--not about Haldeman--

			FBI GUY
	--yeah, Haldeman, John Haldeman.

And he gets up quickly, goes. WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN savor 
the moment but only briefly as it hits them--

			BERNSTEIN
	--Jesus--

			WOODWARD
	--he said John Haldeman, not Bob 
	Haldeman--

And as they take off after the agent--

						CUT TO:

BRADLEE'S OFFICE.

WOODWARD, BERNSTEIN, BRADLEE, SIMONS, ROSENFELD. Wild tension. 
The editors have a long story and they all read and pace, 
read and pace; the reporters look traumatized with fatigue. 
All this goes fast.

			BRADLEE
		(staring at the typed 
		story)
	--I don't know, I don't know, it 
	feels thin--

			SIMONS
	--Christ, I wish I knew if we should 
	print this--

			ROSENFELD
	--listen, we didn't make them do 
	these things--once they did, it's 
	our job to report it--

			SIMONS
		(to the reporters)
	--go over your sources again--

			WOODWARD
	--Sloan told the Grand Jury--he 
	answered everything they asked him--
	that means there's a record somewhere--

			BERNSTEIN
	--and the FBI confirms--what more do 
	you need?--

			ROSENFELD
		(whirling to BERNSTEIN)
	--listen, I love this country, you 
	think I want to bring it down?--I'm 
	not some goddamn zany, I was a hawk--

			SIMONS
	--Harry, weren't you just arguing 
	the opposite way?--

			ROSENFELD
	--maybe I'm tense--

			BRADLEE
	--well shit, we oughtta be tense--
	we're about to accuse Mr. Haldeman 
	who only happens to be the second 
	most important man in America of 
	conducting a criminal conspiracy 
	from inside the White House--
		(beat)
	--it would be nice if we were right--

			SIMONS
		(to the reporters)
	--you double-checked both sources?--

They nod.

			BRADLEE
	--Bernstein, are you sure on this 
	story?

			BERNSTEIN
	Absolutely--

			BRADLEE
		(to WOODWARD)
	--what about you?--

			WOODWARD
	--I'm sure--

			BRADLEE
	--I'm not sure, it still feels thin--
		(looks at SIMONS)

			SIMONS
		(to WOODWARD and 
		BERNSTEIN, after a 
		puse)
	--get another source.

Now quickly

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN huddling outside BRADLEE's office.

			BERNSTEIN
	How many fucking sources they think 
	we got?--

			WOODWARD
	--Deep Throat won't confirm--I never 
	thought he was scared of anyone, but 
	he's scared of Haldeman.

			BERNSTEIN
	I know a guy in the Justice Department 
	who was around the Grand Jury.
		(looks at WOODWARD)

			WOODWARD
	--We got twenty minutes to deadline--

And as he speaks

						CUT TO:

BERNSTEIN talking softly from a relatively private phone in 
the newsroom. The voice of the lawyer is also whispered and 
scared to death.

			LAWYER'S VOICE (O.S.)
		(barely audible)
	...You shouldn't ever call me like 
	this, Carl...

			BERNSTEIN
	Will you confirm that Haldeman was 
	mentioned by Sloan to the Grand Jury?

			LAWYER'S VOICE (O.S.)
	...I won't say anything about 
	Haldeman... not ever...

			BERNSTEIN
		(desperate)
	All right--listen--it's against the 
	law if you talk about the Grand Jury, 
	right? But you don't have to say a 
	thing--I'll count to ten--if the 
	story's wrong, hang up before I get 
	there--if it's OK stay on the line 
	till after, got it?

			LAWYER (O.S.)
	Hang up, right?

			BERNSTEIN
	Right, right--OK, counting: one, two--
		(he inhales deeply)
	--three, four, five, six--
		(now he's starting to 
		get excited)
	--seven, eight--
		(inhales deeply)
	--nine, ten, thank you.

			LAWYER (O.S.)
	You've got it straight now? Everything 
	OK?

			BERNSTEIN
		(on a note of triumph)
	Yeah!

And on that shout

						CUT TO:

A HEADLINE IN THE POST--A PHOTO VISIBLE OF HALDEMAN:

       "TESTIMONY TIES TOP NIXON AIDE TO SECRET FUND"

						CUT TO:

THE WHITE HOUSE SPOKESMAN

			WHITE HOUSE SPOKESMAN
	On the record let me say just this: 
	the story is totally untrue. On 
	background, I'd like to add that Bob 
	Haldeman is one of the greatest public 
	servants this country has ever had 
	and the story is a goddamned lie.

			      NOW FAST ZOOM TO:

BRADLEE

roaring out of his office doorway.

			BRADLEE
	Woodstein!

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN tearing into BRADLEE's office--he 
stands scowling at the TV set in a corner of the room--
outside, it is raining like hell.

						CUT TO:

THE TV SET. SLOAN is walking along toward a large office 
building, he is flanked by a lawyer. A TV Reporter (it was 
DANIEL SCHORR) is walking alongside, mike in hand.

			SCHORR
	Mr. Sloan, would you care to comment 
	on your testimony before the Grand 
	Jury.

			SLOAN
	My lawyer says--

			SLOAN'S LAWYER
	--the answer is an unequivocal no. 
	Mr. Sloan did not implicate Mr. 
	Haldeman in that testimony at all.

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN. They look sick. Desperate, tired, 
stunned, confused; there is nothing to say.

						CUT TO:

BRADLEE glaring at them. HOLD ON BRADLEE... then

						CUT TO:

THE FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION

in the rain, and

						CUT TO:

A CORRIDOR IN THE BUILDING AS THE PUDGY FBI MAN retreats 
down the hall. WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN, soaked, chase after 
him.

			FBI MAN
	--I'll deny everything--everything--
	I never talked to you about Haldeman--
	I never talked to you about anything--
	I'm not talking to you now--

			BERNSTEIN
	--what went wrong?--

			WOODWARD
	--for Chrissakes just tell that--

			PUDGY FBI MAN
	--fuck you fuck you fuck you--

And he tears into an office, slams the door and as we hear 
it lock--

						CUT TO:

THIS IS WHERE THE SOURCE BURNING SCENE WOULD COME BUT I AM 
NOT WRITING IT FOR THIS VERSION.

My reasons are as follows: (1) it is a complicated long scene 
to put down; (2) we are terribly late in our story; (3) it 
would mean, here, two hours into the movie, we are bringing 
in an entirely new character; the FBI agent's head to whom 
they go, and I think that is unnecessary and confusing; and 
(4) most important, I think the characters have been abused 
enough in this version--we have added the Sedam scene and 
they are berated more in this version by the CREEP people 
before things turn. (5) Finally, all this can show in reality 
is that they are desperate, and I would rather let the actors 
give that to us. I feel that it would be a genuine error at 
this time in the flick to go into the convolutions of how 
it's bad manners for a reporter to burn a source, if we've 
got anything going by this point, I can't conceive of much 
an audience will be less interested in than the reporters 
misbehaving.

However, if the scene is requested next time through, I shall 
be only too happy to oblige.

What I would like to do is cut from the FBI saying "fuck you 
fuck you fuck you" and locking his door to the following:

WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN walking in the rain. It's pouring as 
they leave FBI Headquarters and they are in anguish.

			BERNSTEIN
		(after a while)
	Woodward?

			WOODWARD
	Hmm?

			BERNSTEIN
	What was the mistake? Do you think 
	it's been rigged, all along the way, 
	leading us on so they could slip it 
	to us when it mattered? They couldn't 
	have set us up better; after all 
	these months our credibility's gone, 
	you know what that means?

			WOODWARD
		(nods)
	Only everything...

They are soaked, Nearby is a garbage can, they grab papers, 
hold them over their heads, start to walk. Now--

CAMERA MOVES UP HIGHER TO REVEAL

The papers they grabbed were the Post front page. (This 
happened.) And as they walked, the Haldeman story was on 
their heads. HOLD on the reporters walking miserably through 
the rain. Now--

						CUT TO:

THE POST.

A tremendous pall has settled on the city room. People walk 
by, glancing at WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN, who sit almost 
immobilized at their desks, wet, whipped; no energy left.

						CUT TO:

BRADLEE'S OFFICE. SIMONS sits across from BRADLEE as ROSENFELD 
enters quietly with a bundle of teletype paper.

			SIMONS
		(indicating the papers)
	More denunciations?

			ROSENFELD
		(nods)
	One Senator just gave a speech 
	slurring us 57 times in 20 minutes.

BRADLEE has started typing something brief. When ROSENFELD's 
done, so is he. He hands it to SIMONS.

			SIMONS
	What's this?

			BRADLEE
	My non-denial denial.

			ROSENFELD
	We're not printing a retraction?

						CUT TO:

CLOSE UP--BRADLEE. He is thoughtful for a while. Then, 
spinning around, staring out towards the newsroom:

			BRADLEE
	Fuck it, let's stand by the boys.

And he stands, spins out of the room as we

						CUT TO:

THE FLOWER POT ON WOODWARD'S TERRACE.

The rain has stopped. The apartment is dark. It's late at 
night. Inside, the phone RINGS and

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD'S APARTMENT in the dark as he manages to knock the 
phone off its cradle.

			WOODWARD
	Hello?

			BERNSTEIN'S VOICE (O.S.)
	What'd you find?

			WOODWARD
	Jesus Christ, what time is it?

			BERNSTEIN
	You overslept?

			WOODWARD
	Goddamnit!--

He fumbles for the lamp, as it falls with a CRASH--

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD--MOVING. Hair wild, clothes half-buttoned, he runs 
through the dark Washington streets as we

						CUT TO:

TWO WELL-DRESSED MEN in the shadows across the street, going 
in the same direction and

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD spotting them, picking up the pace and

						CUT TO:

THE TWO MEN moving faster too and now

						CUT TO:

A BUNCH OF CABS. WOODWARD jumps into the first and as it 
roars off

						CUT TO:

THE TWO MEN getting into a cab also, roaring off in the same 
direction and

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD'S CAB taking a corner fast and as it goes on, HOLD 
until the second cab takes the same corner, faster, and now

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD jumping out of his cab, fumbling into his pockets 
for change as we

						CUT TO:

THE TWO MEN getting out of their cab, paying, and as their 
cab drives off

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD diving back into his cab and in a moment it is 
roaring again through the night and we

						CUT TO:

THE TWO WELL-DRESSED MEN standing on the sidewalk, watching 
as WOODWARD disappears into the night and then suddenly,

					ZOOM TO:

DEEP THROAT IN CLOSE UP AND MAD.

			DEEP THROAT
	--you were doing so well and then 
	you got stupid, you went too fast--
	Christ, what a royal screw up--

PULL BACK TO REVEAL

DEEP THROAT and WOODWARD in the underground garage.

			WOODWARD
	--I know, I know, the pressure's off 
	the White House and it's all back on 
	the Post--

			DEEP THROAT
	--you've done worse than let Haldeman 
	slip away, you've got people feeling 
	sorry for him--I didn't think that 
	was possible. A conspiracy like this--
	the rope has to tighten slowly around 
	everyone's neck. You build from the 
	outer edges and you go step by step. 
	If you shoot too high and miss, then 
	everybody feels more secure. You've 
	put the investigation back months.

			WOODWARD
	We know that--and if we were wrong, 
	we're resigning--were we wrong?

			DEEP THROAT
	You'll have to find that out, won't 
	you?--

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD exploding.

			WOODWARD
	--I'm tired of your chickenshit games--
	I don't want hints, I want what you 
	know!

						CUT TO:

DEEP THROAT. He blinks for a moment. Then he begins to 
whisper.

			DEEP THROAT
	It was a Haldeman operation--the 
	whole business--he ran the money, 
	but he was insulated, you'll have to 
	find out how--

WOODWARD takes a breath, nods.

			DEEP THROAT
	--wait--
		(almost a smile)
	--there's more...

And from his weathered face

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD

walking up to his apartment house later that night. He sees, 
and then we see, BERNSTEIN, asleep at the front door. He 
comes awake as WOODWARD approaches.

			WOODWARD
	We gotta go see Bradlee--I'll fill 
	you in in the car.

						CUT TO:

BRADLEE IN HIS DOORWAY IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT.

It's a house with a lawn and from somewhere there is the 
SOUND of dogs barking.

			BRADLEE
	You couldn't have told me over the 
	phone?

						CUT TO:

WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN moving up the walk to BRADLEE.

			WOODWARD
	We can't trust the phones, not 
	anymore. Deep Throat says so.

As WOODWARD beckons for him to move out into the lawn--

			BRADLEE
	We can't talk inside either?

			WOODWARD
		(headshake)
	Electronic surveillance.

						CUT TO:

THE THREE OF THEM MOVING OUT ONTO THE LAWN. It's October 
now. You can see their breaths as they speak.

			BERNSTEIN
	I finally got through to Sloan--it 
	was all a misunderstanding that we 
	had: he would have told the Grand 
	Jury about Haldeman, he was ready 
	to, only nobody on the Grand Jury 
	asked him the goddamn question.

			WOODWARD
	So I guess you could say that we 
	screwed up, but we weren't wrong.

			BRADLEE
	Anything else from Mr. Throat?

			WOODWARD
	Mitchell started the cover-up early, 
	everyone is involved in the cover-
	up, all the way to the top. The whole 
	U.S. intelligence community is mixed 
	in with the covert activities. The 
	extent of it is incredible.
		(little pause)
	And people's lives are in danger, 
	maybe including ours.

						CUT TO:

BRADLEE. He nods again, starts walking the two reporters 
back toward WOODWARD's car.

			BRADLEE
	He's wrong on that last, we're not 
	in the least danger, because nobody 
	gives a shit--what was that Gallup 
	Poll result? Half the country's never 
	even heard the word Watergate.

						CUT TO:

THE RED KARMANN GHIA as the three approach.

			BRADLEE
	Look, you're both probably a little 
	tired, right?
		(They nod)
	You should be, you've been under a 
	lot of pressure. So go home, have a 
	nice hot bath, rest up fifteen minutes 
	if you want before you get your asses 
	back in gear--
		(louder now)
	--because we're under a lot of 
	pressure, too, and you put us there--
	not that I want it to worry you--
	nothing's riding on you except the 
	First Amendment of the Constitution 
	plus the freedom of the press plus 
	the reputation of a hundred-year-old 
	paper plus the jobs of the two 
	thousand people who work there--
		(still building)
	--but none of that counts as much as 
	this: you fuck up again, I'm gonna 
	lose my temper.
		(pause; softer)
	I promise you, you don't want me to 
	lose my temper.
		(shooing them off)
	Move-move-move--what have you done 
	for me tomorrow...?

And as they get back into the car--

						CUT TO:

THE NEWSROOM--EARLY MORNING

and it's empty pretty much, except at their desks sit WOODWARD 
and BERNSTEIN, typing away. They type on and on and as they 
do, voices are HEARD, the same voices we've become familiar 
with, the WESTERN SENATOR, the CREEP P.R. MAN and the WHITE 
HOUSE SPOKESMAN.

			WESTERN SENATOR (O.S.)
	Although I'm a Republican, I would 
	like to state in a pure bipartisan 
	spirit tht the greatest political 
	scandal of this campaign is the brazen 
	manner in which, without benefit of 
	clergy, the Washington Post has set 
	up housekeeping with the McGovern 
	campaign...

			CREEP P.R. MAN
	For twenty years, the Eastern liberal 
	press has been trying to smear Dick 
	Nixon. Fortunately, the American 
	public is too smart to be fooled 
	by...

			WHITE HOUSE SPOKESMAN
	I have been informed reliably by 
	John Dean that no one connected with 
	the White House...

			WESTERN SENATOR
		(coming in, overlapping)
	It is only our pathetic Post that 
	deliberately tries to infuse the 
	Watergate caper with a seriousness 
	far beyond those shenanigans that 
	have been the stock trade of political 
	pranksters ever since...

WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN work on. And now, as the voices 
continue condemning, we see them--all the President's men--
as their faces flash on the screen for an instant--only these 
aren't fashion portraits we're looking at, these are the mug 
shots of the men taken when they went to jail and they flash 
on, the mug shots and the name and across each the word 
CONVICTED. There's VIRGILIO GONZALES--CONVICTED, and EUGENIO 
MARTINEZ, CONVICTED, and FRANK STURGIS, CONVICTED, and BERNARD 
BARKER, CONVICTED, and JAMES McCORD, CONVICTED, and HOWARD 
HUNT, CONVICTED, and GORDON LIDDY, CONVICTED, and DONALD 
SEGRETTI, CONVICTED, and DWIGHT CHAPIN, CONVICTED, and now 
the denunciations are louder, shriller, briefer.

			WHITE HOUSE SPOKESMAN
	An insult to the American public--

			CREEP P.R. MAN
	--the deplorable tactics employed by 
	the Washington Post--

			WESTERN SENATOR
	--I have been given access to evidence 
	in possession of the White House and 
	that evidence--

WOODWARD and BERNSTEIN type on. Their machines are the only 
SOUND in the enormous room. And now more mug shots appear--

JEB MAGRUDER, CONVICTED, EGIL KROGH, CONVICTED, JOHN DEAN, 
CONVICTED, JOHN EHRLICHMAN, CONVICTED, CHARLES COLSON, 
CONVICTED, HERBERT KALMBACH, CONVICTED, and LARUE and PORTER 
and MITCHELL and HALDEMAN--all, all the President's men--
CONVICTED. Now--

THE CAMERA STARTS TO MOVE toward the pillar, the one that 
separates the two reporters, and the denunciations are still 
going on, but not so loud now, not so fierce.

			WESTERN SENATOR
	Well, if I was wrong, I sure the 
	hell wasn't alone--

			CREEP
	--the fact remains that except for 
	Watergate, we ran one hell of a great 
	campaign...

The CAMERA is almost at the pillar now.

BERNSTEIN bums a cigarette from a cleaning lady. WOODWARD 
kicks his typewriter. Then they both go back to work.

Now we're at the pillar. That's all we see. Just that. And 
all we HEAR is the two reporters working away, on and on 
until--

			        FINAL FADE OUT:

THE END