Y2K

Good evening, my friend.

What urgent business brings you here?

It has come to my attention

that clandestine forces are coming to your country

very soon, forces from my government.

This information begs me to question your motive, senor.

Question whatever you like.

They are the facts.

You and your interests will be destroyed.

Very well.

If the Americans want an end to their drug wars,

I'll give it to them.

But their attack will be nothing less

than a global embarrassment ..

I understand your feelings.

That's why I thought it was important we talk.

Now, if you'll excuse me, my friend, I am late.

Cuidado, mi amigo.

This doesn't make sense.

I followed every procedure possible.

It's Not going away.

WOMAN (OVER HEADSET): I'm calling the general.

But it's a mistake!

I mean, it's in Columbia, for crying out loud.

We don't have silos down there.

The general's going to kill us if this is a false alarm.

Call the general.

Now.

Ma'am.

All set?

Keep an eye on it, buddy.

Yes, sir.

Well, this better work, Tranner, you hear me?

You hear me?

Look, I don't know why the DOD stuck me with you.

But I got a shit load of important people

here tonight, so I better not look like an idiot.

Yeah, we've all seen that before.

What?

I said, it's been a real chore,

but everything looks like it's, uh--

it's ready to go.

Good.

Hey, Sawyer.

How are you?

Chloe.

Vince.

You know, I'm not so sure I like the, uh, new you.

How can you tell me you're having half as much fun

with that idiot as we had, huh?

Jealous?

Such a predictable reaction from you.

I'm surprised to see you out celebrating tonight, Vincent.

Shouldn't you be hard at work, whacking your way

into some supercomputer?

It's called hacking, Chloe, but you knew that.

No, it seems, uh--

the inferior skills of today's programmers just, uh--

they've spoiled it for me.

Use the millennium as an excuse to evolve, Vince.

Juvenile prankster thing-- major turn-off.

Come on, let's go.

Here we go.

Here we go, ladies and gentlemen.

The moment we've all been waiting for.

The beginning of the new millennium, the first New

Year's Eve celebration aboard the International Space

Station.

And 5, 4, 3, 2, 1!

Happy New Year!

Wow.

You're sweeter than sugar, baby.

Aw.

I wonder what else is on, baby?

KEN (ON TV): Looking on.

You're the hottest.

WOMAN (ON TV): I like it.

KEN (ON TV): You're sweeter than sugar, baby.

And Ken's been a bad boy.

Mm, you're sweeter than sugar, baby.

Tranner, you're dead ass, whore.

Hey, it was a joke.

Sweeter than sugar?

I was kidding.

Grab him.

Ouch!

Shit!

Whoa!

Oh, god!

Yeah!

Oh my god!

Let's not be stupid now.

Want to do this?

You don't have to balls for this.

That's-- my car!

You little prick!

We'll take him from here, sir.

She handles a little loose in the corner, man.

Yeah-- - See ya!

If this little shit show comes back

as one of your practical jokes, you'll

serve your full sentence in the worst hellhole I can find.

Yes, sir.

Shit.

This thing showed up at 22:00 hours our time.

It's midnight in Columbia.

A silo triggered by the first minutes of the new year--

that sounds suspiciously like a Y2K malfunction,

wouldn't you say?

The only reason the Defense Department spared

you the prison cell is that you were supposed

to solve the Y2K problem.

Isn't that right, Vincent?

Yes.

I don't know why everybody's pointing the finger.

At you?

Well, let me see.

How about, uh, I hack into purchasing and requisition

a chopper to take me and my slacker buddies

snowboarding for the weekend?

That was after some virgin powder.

Oh.

Or maybe I redirect a surveillance satellite

to broadcast a White Zombie concert

to the university auditorium.

It was a special live performance.

18 minutes, it sold out.

Look, I've had enough of your shit, Vincent, goddammit!

Now, just tell me that this is one of your stupid pranks,

and let's all get home to bed, instead

of me calling DC and having to wake up the commander-in-chief,

for Christ's sake.

It's not me.

It ain't.

General, it's agreeing to accept the stand-down code.

Thank god for that.

Find the proper code and shut it down right away.

Yes, we tried that, sir.

None of the current codes are working.

The computer assures us the codes are

known only to, uh, Coco Leo.

Coco what?

Who the hell is that?

From what I've seen in all the failsafes are blocked.

This thing has a real hard-on for that Coco Leo bits.

It's going to take me a few days to crack through this one.

It appears to be a talented class system like

the stratus silos of the '60s.

If it is a Y2K glitch, the calendar's

going to reset to when it was first programmed.

Although this computer is too smart to go

looking around in the 1900s.

You know what I think?

I think it's going to look from the first person it knew

to have the deactivation codes.

Here's the target now.

Moscow.

Well, we could have put money on that.

Get me the director of the CIA.

Excuse me, sir.

There's a General Seward on the line for you.

Yes, General.

I'm sorry to ruin the festivities, Director

Blanchard, but I was wondering whether you could

answer me a quick question.

Yeah, shoot.

Do you remember who in our government's

last administration held the code name Coco Leo?

You picked a rather awkward time for trivia, General.

What's going on?

Well, it's just that our screens here indicate that

in 32 hours' time, one of our nasty little redbirds

is going to launch itself from the Colombian jungles

and take out Moscow.

Unless, of course, it gets to chat with its old pal Coco Leo.

I was hoping that you or somebody that you know

could wake up Mr. Leo and tell him that he has a phone call.

Hello?

Are you there, sir?

Yes, I'm here.

Coco Leo, as I recall, was Richard Nixon.

Richard Nixon?

I see.

Whoops.