The Phoenician Scheme

We're only losing altitude of 50 feet per second.

Let's clear that bridge then reassess.

There might be a more survivable crash site.

More survivable crash site.

I told you!

I warned you!

Lit tarmac, short runway, 25 knot crosswind, lightning!

You just allowed me to complete a proper safety

check despite incredible threats of seven times.

It was important to take up.

You needled me, achieved me, and bullied me, but I managed to get us airborne anyway.

And now, needless to say, if we've been blown up by somebody trying to assassinate

you again, then we're gonna crash after all!

If we survive, I'm reporting you to the Trans-European Aviation Authority.

You're fired.

What's that?

What'd you say?

You fire.

A fire in the middle of emergency port lane?

Mayday, mayday, mayday, Charlie, we'll send you a request for immediate clearance.

I've got a cornfield and a, uh, looks like a soybean field, which is gonna be softer.

It's inclusive.

Never mind.

I'll be in the cornfield.

At this moment, rescue workers are laboring to extinguish the fiery wreckage

of a new-fated dual-engine aircraft in a perhaps futile attempt to recover and

identify the remains of Anatol Shaja Korda.

International businessman, Maverick in the fields of armaments and aviation,

among the richest men in Europe.

This was Korda's sixth recorded airplane crash.

Dogged for years by accusations of profiteering, tax evasion, price fixing,

bribery, Korda specialized in the mediation of clandestine trade agreements.

His moniker in financial circles, Mr. Five Percent.

He is survived by ten children, nine boys, one novitiate

nun, his daughter Liesl, and is pre-deceased by three wives.

A controversial figure, some will mourn his death, others inevitably will celebrate.

Who was this man?

How do we recognize him?

Does he have even an identity?

Let us consider his life and deeds.

Grandmother, why are we here?

I don't know you.

Space strapped to

a chair, surely a horrific display of... Actually, no, he's still alive.

Mr. Korda, sir.

Oh, fine.

What's that?

In your hand?

I don't know.

I think it's a vestigial word that I tried to get it back in.

It's not as easy as it looks.

The chair recognizes the bureaucrat from Baltimore.

Thank you.

Subject, Jaja Korda, our single common enemy who works consistently and

relentlessly against the interests of all our competing nations.

The one item only on our agenda, which unites us.

He swindles our banks.

He dodges our tariffs.

He ties up our courtrooms in tactical lawsuits.

He provokes war, as well as peace, in direct

conflict with our shared diplomatic agenda.

Subject's new venture relies heavily on personal

capital and wildly overreaches liquid resources.

Our objective, with your approval, disrupting, obstructing, impeding,

crippling Korda's enterprise in any manner possible, with option

to cancel an event of subject's sudden and probable death.

All in favor?

Aye.

Please, though, I expect you to seek news of my death.

The reports were inaccurate, needless to say.

Let me get directly to the point.

I have appointed you sole heir to my estate, which you may come into sooner

rather than later, and provisionally manager of my affairs

after the events of my actual demise on a trial basis.

Why?

Why what?

Why sooner rather than later, since you survived again?

And why am I so led to your estate?

You have eight sons at last count.

Nine sons.

Nine sons?

What about them?

They're not my heirs.

Why not?

I have my reasons.

Which are what?

My reasons?

I'm not saying.

I'm saying I'm not saying.

It's been six years since our last meeting.

I apologize.

I apologize.

I forgive you.

Are you dying?

Thank you.

No.

But I keep getting assassinated unsuccessfully so far,

and I can't allow my enemies to benefit from killing me.

That's the top priority in my life at this time.

If they get me, you get them.

Provisionally.

Like an audition?

Like a trial period.

Of being your daughter?

Of being sole heir to my estate, a manager of

my affairs after the events of my actual demise.

The personal family aspect, I agree.

That matters for the discussion.

But for now, there's much to explain, and it's all in these shoe boxes.

Bordeaux Land and Sea Phoenician Infrastructure Scheme.

My most important project of my lifetime.

Thirty years' work.

May I move?

Over there.

Over where?

Over there?

What?

They say you murdered my mother.

What?

They say you murdered my mother.

Who said that?

Who said that?

They.

That's what they say.

I feel they need to address it.

It's why I agreed to come here today.

They say that?

Well, it's, uh, forgiving.

I know you're pious.

It's a goddamn lie.

I never murdered anybody's mother in my life.

Okay, I have no choice but to take away your word.

I never personally murdered anybody at all, ever.

You've arranged murders, perhaps?

Don't put words in my mouth.

Of course I didn't and don't.

I've employed violent men to do violence on occasion in the distant past.

I take no relish in it.

They say you murdered all your wives.

I'm gonna sue them for libel in that case, whoever they are.

If you can provide me with their identities.

In fact, I was very fond of your mother and never would

have murdered her under any circumstances whatsoever.

I didn't know her that well.

I thought you came here because I summoned you.

My plan is to be a nun.

Not anymore, right?

Your brothers are there.

Jasper, David, Philip, Michael, Harry, Jamie, Samuel, Stephen, Thomas.

Hello, boys.

Will they be joining us for lunch, huh?

Of course not.

They live in a dormitory across the street.

I don't know what they're doing here.

It's today, Saturday.

I might explain it.

How about Jasper at Crossbow?

Be careful of your eyes.

He's a very good shot.

He understands this changes your life.

Listen carefully.

This shoe box contains my idea for the dam we're going to build.

This shoe box contains my idea for the canal we're in the middle of digging.

This shoe box contains my idea for the tunnel we already finished drilling.

I think he sharpens him.

I suppose I have a suction cup.

This shirt box contains my plan to assemble

the massive workforce required for the project.

In short, we're going to need slave labor, but that's available to us.

This hat box contains my negotiations with parents in shipping, mining, and railroads.

These littler sock boxes contain my agreements with titans in banking,

real estate, and black market syndicates.

Excuse me.

Hello.

Yes?

You're not my ex!

Who the deuce is that?

He's been eavesdropping on us.

I'm the new tutor.

Ah, of course.

Welcome.

Bring me the polygraph.

I always keep a tutor on staff to give lessons to an intervals of my free time.

He's going to teach us about insects and related subjects.

He's an expert in that field.

We'll be with you shortly.

This is my daughter, Liesl.

This is Professor... Bjorn.

Professor Bjorn.

Insummation.

The boxes on this carpet altogether present a blueprint to set the wheels of

commerce and motion throughout a potentially rich, now dormant region.

Then to retain an appropriate but extremely

valuable 5% of the revenues for the next 150 years.

This is just... crazy.

Yes, I admit.

If it works, it's a miracle.

What are you going to?

What's in the glove box?

That's the gap.