[As we hear the distant voice of a female singer oozing through an old fashioned, sultry blues number.]

[The source of the song, an older building in the Marais district. As the song ends to a smattering of applause, the door opens -- a man steps into the dark street.]

[NEW ANGLE as he passes under a street light. CLOSE on the man's face illuminated in a ghost-like glare as he turns into camera and we see that it is Kalas. As he continues down the cobblestone street...]

[ANGLE - THE JAZZ CLUB - the door opens again -- another figure quietly leaves the club. He pauses a beat -- then casually moves in the same direction as Kalas. It might be a coincidence. CLOSER as the second man passes the same street light, we see an intelligent face, thirty, neatly dressed: Roger. He pauses a beat, lets Kalas get further ahead -- then moves after him, keeping to the shadows. He's good at this.]

[FOLLOWING Kalas as he moves down the deserted street. Then he slows for a moment: he does not turn, gives no sign of recognition that he is being followed -- just a sense of animal awareness. As he continues walking -- Roger emerges cautiously from the shadows and moves after him. RESUME Kalas - Nearing the mouth of an alley, he stops, pulls his coat tighter around him, as if to keep out the chill.]

[Roger slips into a doorway. He glances briefly at his watch--]

[INSERT - THE WATCH - just past midnight. As Roger's sleeve pulls back, we see a Watcher tattoo clearly visible on his wrist.]

[BACK TO SCENE as Roger looks back up -- ROGER'S POV - The street is empty. Kalas is gone. Roger curses under his breath and hurries towards the alley entrance. FOLLOWING Roger as he turns into the mouth of the darkened alleyway -- but it's empty, no one is there. Where the hell did his quarry go? As he turns in consternation -- a pair of hands snake from the darkness and push him headlong into a wall. Kalas is on him instantly.]

[NEW ANGLE as Kalas holds the dazed Roger immobile, grates in a voice like a conveyor belt carrying gravel into a dusty pit.]

KALAS - Looking for me?

[And off the look of panic on Roger's face--]
 

 
KALAS - ...if that's really your name.
 

 
KALAS - Wearing Cerruti?
 

 
KALAS - The human body can stand incredible amounts of pain before it dies.
 

 
KALAS - And that's all you do?

ROGER - I swear... we keep records, nothing else.
 

 
ROGER - We wouldn't hurt you, I swear!
 

[CLOSE - A RACING BIKE - a sculpted, gleaming racing shell, cylinders pounding into the RPM hell-zone as a rider, surrounded by his pit crew, cranks the throttle. The men move back -- he fishtails onto the track, his motor exploding in a deafening howl.]

[WIDER - THE TRACK - (STOCK) - Various shots as riders gun around it at breathtaking speed, hugging the ground, motors howling like insane wasps. (NOTE: throughout scene various riders run time trials in the B.G.) On a large electronic tote board we see the last name STETKEE and the time of 1136.35.]

P.A. ANNOUNCER - [voiceover] Lionel Stetkee completes his trial lap in 1136.35. That ends the time trials for the German team.
 

 
SARACEN - We'll do it right... Call a press conference... Have a party.
 

 
SARACEN - [looking around] Where the hell's security?
 

 
[Wearing the bright poured-on racing leathers of the Saracen team, Basil Dornin straddles his bike as mechanics finetune the idling motor. Basil is late twenties, arrogant, the best and he knows it. A beautiful blonde kisses him on the mouth. She's a racing groupie. Her name is Terri.]

BASIL - Why don't you be a good girl and get me a beer.

[The girl moves off, passing Philippe.]
 

 
PHILLIPE - Tell him he's crazy.
 

 
MacLEOD - [dry] He'll be the one surrounded with women. Just follow the sound of rattling jewelry.
 

 
MacLEOD - Sounds like a new keg.
 

 
KALAS - Speak... [beat] or I'll forever hold your tongue.
 

 
DAWSON - Adam Pierson. [ON MacLeod] Salzer's student. A real prodigy. He knows as much about Methos as anybody. [ON Dawson] If anybody can tell you where to look, he can.
 

 
RICHIE - [urgently] The guy's loaded. He shouldn't be out there.
 

 
KALAS - I'd love to oblige, but the truth is I hate MacLeod much more. [squeezing] Your lover took away everything from me. [beat] I'm just returning the favor.

MARIA - [protesting] No, I'm not his...
 

[A quiet, isolated house on the outskirts of Paris. MacLeod stands at the door, reaches for the door bell -- he gets the BUZZ. As he reacts, a voice comes over the intercom:]

PIERSON'S VOICE - (O.S.) Come in. It's open.

[A beat -- MacLeod draws his sword and enters the house.]

[The house is stark, ultra-modern. MacLeod moves towards the BUZZ -- it's strong, coming from a well-lit room beyond. He hefts his sword, moves quickly into the room to face--]

[The room is a stark ultra-modern mix of computers and leather-bound books of different sizes. Adam Pierson, a handsome young man of thirty, sits at a desk in an oversized logo t-shirt, Doc Martens propped on the desk, an ancient, leather-bound journal in his lap, headphones on his head. There's a pizza half-eaten in a box, a couple of beers on a shelf behind him. He looks up, gazes at MacLeod with an intelligent, penetrating look. MacLeod looks back. They hold this stance a beat -- then Pierson closes his book and takes off his headphones. His voice is calm and friendly.]

PIERSON - Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. [beat] Have a seat. Mi casa es su casa.

[He tosses MacLeod a beer. MacLeod lowers his sword to catch it, a bit shell-shocked. Then MacLeod starts to laugh.]

MacLEOD - Outrageous. [beat] Methos.

[Methos/Pierson inclines his head with the slightest of smiles, acknowledging the fact. And OFF his inscrutable look--]

[FADE OUT.]
 

 
METHOS - Before that... [shrugs] To tell you the truth, I don't remember before that.

MacLEOD - Then you really could be the first.

METHOS - Who knows?

[They continue on for a moment.]

MacLEOD - So, after all this time, have you...?
 

 
METHOS - For me it's my journal.

MacLEOD - You keep a diary?

METHOS - Sort of. I've been writing it almost since writing began. [beat] Someday, when we're all history, maybe it'll answer a few questions. [beat] There aren't many people who've stood on the same stage with Julius Caesar and the Rolling Stones.
 

 
MacLEOD - Somehow I thought you'd be...

METHOS - Deeper? Wiser? Bearded?
 

 
MacLEOD - You knew I was coming. [beat] What makes you think I won't try and kill you?

METHOS - [stops, looks at him] Because I'm a good judge of character. [beat] And you've become something of a legend yourself. [beat] It's not you who's coming for me.

MacLEOD - Kalas knows you exist.
 

 
BASIL - The gravel gets loose.
 

 
KALAS - I thought if I found Pierson, he would lead me to Methos. [with a smile] You're Methos... and you're mine.

[He raises his sword. Methos takes a step back, drawing his own sword, as Kalas advances. Kalas strikes powerfully and Methos parries expertly. This won't be easy.]
 

 
METHOS - I thought about it.
 

 
[CLOSER - Two bikes - Richie and Basil, leading the rest of the pack as they near a sharp corner in the track.]

[Saracen, standing in the pits, binocs up, watching tensely with the rest of the pit crew.]

[FOLLOWING Richie as he goes into the last corner. Basil on his inside. Richie takes it high -- and Basil slides past, low on the inside. There's no room to maneuver -- Richie's bike slides, goes out of control -- he goes down.]
 

 
INSPECTOR - Mr. Pierson? We'll need your statement at the station.

[The Inspector moves to her car. Methos turns to MacLeod.]