EXT. LONDON, ENGLAND - DAY

Establishing shots of the grand old city in all its gray stone glory. The wet chill of winter is evident in the cold light and bare trees.

INT. HOTEL SUITE - BEDROOM - DAY

Brady steps out of the bathroom of the luxurious suite, fresh from the shower, toweling his hair. In the next room, he can hear Chloë running scales. He listens for a minute, smiling, then heads to the mirror.

He picks up his HAIRBRUSH, then stops, looking at CHLOË'S BRUSH. He puts his down and picks hers up. He pulls one long hair from the bristles, squinting at it.

There's a little white bump on the end: follicle.

He puts the brush down and picks up his CELL PHONE, dials.

BRADY
(to phone)
Hey, Watson! Brady Black....I'm good.
I'm in town....Oh, you did, huh?...Well,
I was wondering if you've got time to do
a little something for me....

INT. SUITE - LIVING ROOM - DAY

Chloë's still warming up. There's a knock at the door. Chloë stops singing and answers it. It's a bellboy.

BELLBOY
'Morning, madam. You have a package
for me?

CHLOË
Package?

BRADY (O.S.)
I have it!

He comes jogging out of the bedroom, more-or-less dressed, with an envelope in his hand. He hands it to the bellboy.

BRADY (CONT'D)
That needs to go by courier today
to the address on the front.

BELLBOY
Of course, sir.

BRADY
Thanks.

Brady tips him and he leaves. Chloë closes the door and rounds on Brady suspiciously.

CHLOË
What was that all about?

BRADY
Wouldn't you like to know?

CHLOË
I would, in fact.

He puts his arms around her. She pouts.

BRADY
It's a surprise.

CHLOË
What kind of surprise?

BRADY
Not sure yet. Either the good kind
or the kind when you open the fridge
and there's nothing you wanna eat
so you order Chinese.

Chloë laughs and shakes her head.

CHLOË
You almost ready?

BRADY
Yes. Need shoes though.

He goes back into the bedroom. Chloë roots through her purse as she talks to him, raising her voice.

CHLOË
So are you excited to see them?

BRADY
(from bedroom)
More like completely weirded out. We
haven't even heard from Susan and
Elvis in, like, a decade.

He emerges, shoes in hand. He sits and begins putting them on.

CHLOË
You like them, though?

BRADY
Sure. I mean, I never met Edward.
But Susan's a trip.

CHLOË
How so?

BRADY
The woman named her son "Elvis."
What does that say to you?

CHLOË
I see your point. But what about
the little King? What's he like?

For a split second Brady sees a FLASH OF STEFANO'S GRINNING FACE.

BRADY
He, uh...he was just a baby last
time I saw him. Wasn't even talking
yet, much less walking around
and singing.

Chloë looks at him with suspicion again.

CHLOË
How long is it going to take before
you tell me what's going on?

BRADY
Nothing's going --
(off her look)
There's an old case. Some stuff's
come up. It's probably nothing.

CHLOË
Can you tell me?

He hesitates, then slowly shakes his head.

CHLOË (CONT'D)
I really hate this part of the job.
(beat)
Anything I can do to help?

He beckons her over. She obliges and drapes herself across his lap. He kisses her.

EXT. WHITEHALL - DAY

Brady and Chloë, dressed for the cold, are headed south along the wide boulevard lined with Inigo Jones buildings. Brady has his hands stuffed in his pockets and his collar turned up against the damp. Chloë, on the other hand, is practically Mary-Tyler-Mooring it down the street. He watches her with amused disbelief.

CHLOË
(inhales deeply)
Mmm...I love this city. Have
I mentioned that? Have I mentioned
how much I love this city?

BRADY
Once or twice.

CHLOË
Well, I do. I really really do. Don't
get me wrong. New York is New York,
and it will always be the greatest
city on earth and it will always be
"home," but London, ah, London....
it's magic.
(inhales again)
Smell that?

BRADY
(sniffs)
Bus fumes, frying fish, and rain.

CHLOË
London!

BRADY
Lunatic.

CHLOË
Go ahead. Scoff. But after the show's
done and we've got some free time,
I'm going to show you the town.

BRADY
I've seen London before.

CHLOË
From the back of a surveillance
van no doubt.

BRADY
Disused Underground tunnels,
actually.

CHLOË
Then you definitely haven't seen
my London.

She takes his hand and leads him down the street to

EXT. WESTMINSTER ABBEY - DAY

Establishing shot of the ghostly white, gothic cathedral. Chloë drags Brady through the scattered tourists and into the building.

INT. NAVE - WESTMINSTER ABBEY - DAY

They enter. The true size and age of the ancient Cathedral hits Brady, and he looks around in wonder while pulling off his gloves.

BRADY
Holy moly.

CHLOË
Holy everything, actually. Don't
step on the poppies.

They skirt the Grave of the Unknown Warrior embedded in the floor. Brady gapes like a true tourist, while Chloë seems to be searching for someone.

BRADY
(looking at floor)
Whoa. I see dead people.

CHLOË
Yup. Buried in the floor, the walls.
Henry the Fifth's Queen Kate is in
a ceiling. More famous corpses in here
than you can shake a stick at....Hm.
The choir director said he'd meet
us out here. I wonder --

FEMALE VOICE (O.S.)
(squealing)
Oh, my lord in heaven! Brady Black!

Brady looks up and is immediately tackled by SUSAN BANKS-CRUMB. The tall, thin, homely and homespun woman throws her arms around him an bounces up and down like a child. Brady, laughing, hugs her back.

SUSAN (CONT'D)
Goodness! The last time I saw you
you was belly high to a bullfrog!
Now look at you! So tall and handsome!
Just like your daddy!

CHLOË
(to Brady; amused)
I take it this is Susan?

BRADY
Uh, yeah.

BOY'S VOICE
Gosh. It's really you, innit?

All three turn toward the sound of this new voice and see a 13-YEAR-OLD BOY. He is tall for his age, strongly built, with golden skin, dark hair, and dark eyes -- a different color but the same doe-like shape as Chloë's. He is staring at Chloë, mouth open a little in wonder.

He and Chloë lock eyes, and her expression softens as something passes between them: a feeling, an understanding.

CHLOË
(softly)
So you must be Elvis.

LATER

Susan and Brady sit in the pews and look up toward the QUIRE, where Chloë watches Elvis and THE REST OF THE CHOIR practicing (perhaps a bit of Handel's Messiah?). Susan looks ready to burst with pride.

SUSAN
Would you look at that! That's my
little boy up there, and he's gonna
be singing with Miss Chloë Lane!
He's so growed up! And you! Look
at you all growed up and married
to Miss Chloë Lane! 'Cept you're
not married to Miss Chloë Lane
anymore, are you?

BRADY
Technically, no, but --

SUSAN
Then what exactly are your
intentions toward Miss Chloë
Lane, Mr. Brady Black?

BRADY
(to himself)
Geez. It's Groundhog Day.
(to Susan)
Look, Susan, my intentions are
totally honorable --

SUSAN
Uh-huh? Then why ain't you and
Miss Chloë Lane married yet?

BRADY
We've just...it's...it hasn't been
the right time.

SUSAN
Mr. Brady Black, your daddy
married me while I was in the
middle of giving birth to my
precious Elvis, so don't you give
me no hooey about the right time.
You love somebody, it's always
the right time.

Meanwhile, in the quire, Chloë has joined in with the boys. Her voice rings beautifully through the cathedral.

SUSAN (CONT'D)
Now, would you listen to that! She
sounds just like an angel, doesn't she?

BRADY
She is an angel.
(beat)
From what I've heard of Elvis, he's
got a lot of talent himself.

SUSAN
My Elvis is a very special young
man, don't you doubt it.

BRADY
He's a good kid, huh?

Susan turns on him, her normally sweet face angry and defensive.

SUSAN
(harsh whisper)
I know what you're askin'. He's
a good boy, my Elvis. He ain't
nothin' like his daddy. An' he
ain't gonna be like him.

Brady looks away, uncomfortable. The singers can be heard LAUGHING.

INT. GO SUSHI - AFTERNOON

This sterile/industrial white-and-chrome restaurant contains a sprinkling of young, happy hipsters and A CONVEYOR BELT that brings PLATES of freshly prepared SUSHI from the chefs at the back of the room through the dining room, past each table. Customers pluck the plates off the belt as they pass.

Chloë, Brady, Susan, and Elvis are in a booth. Everyone but Susan has a STACK OF EMPTY PLATES piled high in front of them. Susan sits with a BOWL OF MISO SOUP in front of her, looking with horror at the others' selections.

Brady plucks a plate of bright red, raw yellowfin tuna off the belt and shows it to Susan, who cringes away.

BRADY
Sure you don't want any?

CHLOË
Brady! Very mean!

ELVIS
C'mon, Mum! Try it! It's brilliant,
really!

SUSAN
If the Good Lord had intended us
to eat raw fish, he wouldn't've
given us the Fry Daddy. I will
just eat my soup, thank you very
much.

BRADY
You know that soup's got tofu
in it, right?

ELVIS
Tofu? Really? Oh, no, Mum!
You're eating tofu?!

SUSAN
(beat)
Did they cook it?

CHLOË
Honestly! You guys! Susan, tofu
is just made of beans, and yes,
they cooked it. Brady, do not
turn to the Dark Side, and you, Mr.
Crumb, don't get any bright ideas
from this guy. He's a very, very bad man.

She says this with a smile toward Brady, but his smile in reply is less than convincing. Susan looks downright distraught. Before Chloë can question, Brady's CELL PHONE RINGS. He answers.

BRADY
(to phone)
Black....Hey, man....Wow, that was
fast....You're kidding! Excellent!...
Yeah, okay. See you in a few.
(hangs up; to Chloë)
That was...er, you know that work
thing from this morning?

CHLOË
Good news?

BRADY
Looks like it. I gotta get down
there.

CHLOË
Go. I'll see you tonight.

He kisses her goodbye, gives Susan a hug and Elvis a handshake, and walks out.

Awkward now, strangers without Brady, the three smile a little uncomfortably and shift in their seats.

SUSAN
(to Elvis)
Well, now, I guess it's just you
and me and Miss Chloë Lane, huh,
Skeeter?

ELVIS
Yeah, I guess.

SUSAN
Maybe we should think about making
Miss Chloë Lane feel at home.
What'd'ya think about that?

ELVIS
I think that's a very good idea, Mum.
(to Chloë)
I could -- I mean, if you like, I
could show you around London.

CHLOË
(softening)
I would like that very much.

EXT. NEW SCOTLAND YARD - DAY

Establishing shot.

INT. IAN WATSON'S OFFICE - FORENSICS - NEW SCOTLAND YARD - DAY

Just another office. Maybe a little more high-tech, maybe a little more cluttered with files, but nothing out of the ordinary. IAN WATSON (mid-twenties, small and wiry, glasses) sits at one of several COMPUTERS, typing, absorbed in the screen.

There is a KNOCK at the door, and Brady enters without waiting for an answer. Watson looks up as he enters.

WATSON
Brady Black, you daft Yank
bastard!

BRADY
Ian Watson, you manky Scottish git!
Whatcha got for me?

Hand shaking and man-hugs. Watson waves Brady into a seat.

WATSON
Have I mentioned that you are the
luckiest wanker in the bloody
Western hemisphere?

BRADY
How's that?

WATSON
Well, in addition to the fact that,
not once but twice, mind you, have
managed to secure the affections
of one of the most gorgeous
women on the planet, a woman with the
most magnificent pair of --

BRADY
(mock angry)
Okay! Moving it along!

WATSON
--eyes I have ever seen, but
then, you somehow blunder,
Inspector Clouseau-like, onto a
piece of evidence like this.

Watson holds up a little PLASTIC BAGGIE containing Chloë's hair. He grins deviously at Brady, who has stopped smiling.

WATSON (CONT'D)
Going to tell me where it's from?
(off his look; sighing)
All right. Need-to-know and all that.
Fine. But remember to send profuse
thanks, preferably in the form of cash
and/or loose women, when you find
this bird.

Watson turns back to his computer and begins typing. Brady rolls his chair up for a better view. Watson points to the SCREEN, which displays row after row of letters: ATCCGTGTATCGATTCGCA....

WATSON (CONT'D)
This here is your girl's full genotype.
I type her and run her through the
system, nothing unusual. Female,
blood type A negative, blue eyes,
probably tall, etcetera. Now, you said
just to run her against the civilian
databases. I did. No match, and no
likely parent matches either.

BRADY
(grumbles)
Too much to hope for, I guess.

WATSON
(cutting him off)
So then, just for giggles, I
run a check for unusual genes and
mutations, and voila.

Watson points toward the bottom of the screen, where a string of SEVEN T's is highlighted in YELLOW.

WATSON (CONT'D)
The "EDM7 gene," which, cleverly
enough, generates the EDM7 blood
plasma protein.

BRADY
Well, what is it? What's this protein?
what does it do?

WATSON
Nothing, as near as anyone can
figure. What's interesting about it
isn't what it does, it's where it comes
from.

BRADY
Where --

WATSON
I'll tell you if you stop interrupting.
The EDM7 gene is a very rare
mutation only found in one, small
extended family of Italian descent.
It was discovered in 1968 and named for
the subject in whom it was identified:
one Ernesto DiMera. Uncle of the
infamous Stefano.

PUSH IN on Brady's horrified face.

WATSON (CONT'D)
No doubt about it. Your girl is definitely
a DiMera.