MIKAILAVICH, the sub's pilot, sits hunched over his controls... singing

softly in Russian.

Next to him on one side is BROCK LOVETT. He's in his late forties, deeply

tanned, and likes to wear his Nomex suit unzipped to show the gold from

famous shipwrecks covering his gray chest hair. He is a wiley, fast-talking

treasure hunter, a salvage superstar who is part historian, part adventurer

and part vacuum cleaner salesman. Right now, he is propped against the CO2

scrubber, fast asleep and snoring.

On the other side, crammed into the remaining space is a bearded wide-body

named LEWIS BODINE, who is also asleep. Lewis is an R.O.V. (REMOTELY

OPERATED VEHICLE) pilot and is the resident Titanic expert.

Anatoly glances at the bottom sonar and makes a ballast adjustment.

                                                                    CUT TO:

3 EXT. THE BOTTOM OF THE SEA

A pale, dead-flat lunar landscape. It gets brighter, lit from above, as MIR

ONE enters FRAME and drops to the seafloor in a downblast from its

thrusters. It hits bottom after its two hour free-fall with a loud BONK.

                                                                    CUT TO:

4 INT. MIR ONE

Lovett and Bodine jerk awake at the landing.

                                  ANATOLY

                           (heavy Russian accent)

We are here.

EXT. / INT. MIR ONE AND TWO

5 MINUTES LATER: THE TWO SUBS skim over the seafloor to the sound of

sidescan sonar and the THRUM of big thrusters.

6 The featureless gray clay of the bottom unrolls in the lights of the subs.

Bodine is watching the sidescan sonar display, where the outline of a huge

pointed object is visible. Anatoly lies prone, driving the sub, his face

pressed to the center port.

                                   BODINE

Come left a little. She's right in front of us, eighteen meters. Fifteen.

Thirteen... you should see it.

                                  ANATOLY

Do you see it? I don't see it... there!

Out of the darkness, like a ghostly apparition, the bow of the ship appears.

Its knife-edge prow is coming straight at us, seeming to plow the bottom

sediment like ocean waves. It towers above the seafloor, standing just as it

landed 84 years ago.

THE TITANIC. Or what is left of her. Mir One goes up and over the bow

railing, intact except for an overgrowth of "rusticles" draping it like

mutated Spanish moss.

TIGHT ON THE EYEPIECE MONITOR of a video camcorder. Brock Lovett's face

fills the BLACK AND WHITE FRAME.

                                   LOVETT

It still gets me every time.

The image pans to the front viewport, looking over Anatoly's shoulder, to

the bow railing visible in the lights beyond. Anatoly turns.

                                  ANATOLY

Is just your guilt because of stealing from the dead.

CUT WIDER, to show that Brock is operating the camera himself, turning it in

his hand so it points at his own face.

                                   LOVETT

Thanks, Tolya. Work with me, here.

Brock resumes his serious, pensive gaze out the front port, with the camera

aimed at himself at arm's length.

                                   LOVETT

It still gets me every time... to see the sad ruin of the great ship sitting

here, where she landed at 2:30 in the morning, April 15, 1912, after her

long fall from the world above.

Anatoly rolls his eyes and mutters in Russian. Bodine chuckles and watches

the sonar.

                                   BODINE

You are so full of shit, boss.

7 Mir Two drives aft down the starboard side, past the huge anchor while Mir

One passes over the seemingly endless forecastle deck, with its massive