“Understood, Mr. Avery.” Marion collected the signed papers and turned to leave, then asked, “Any news of Kate? We haven’t seen her since . . .” Marion hesitated, concern in her voice. “It’s been a year already.”
“I . . . I know, Marion,” Sherman said. “She has been a bit absent, but her birthday is coming up. Perhaps we could put together a special evening for her.”
“Yes, I think that sounds wonderful!” Commented Marion.
“I agree,” Sherman replied.
With Marion safely out of his office, he reached for the remote and pushed the green button. The majority of the wall panels shifted, turned and revealed an electric wall. Several security lenses showed an assortment of compact rooms underneath the hotel. No one knew they existed except The Array. Now they were silent and empty. His eyes viewed the time chamber now in its normal recharging cycle, tested monthly and preparing for the next transfer in three weeks. Special personnel didn’t come in until three days before the transfer,
protecting the area and limiting the traffic in the underground tunnels.
He remembered how amazed he had been when Hughes had shown him the tunnels left over from World War II that had connected to houses behind the Regent Beverly Wilshire Hotel, several owned by The Array. The rooms were simple, but compact with the latest and the best high-tech equipment. Hughes had insisted on it. And with his connections, no questions were asked. All of them had been hand picked by Hughes from various teams involved with the Philadelphia Project. The five had amazingly blended their talents, moving into the world of time travel with a passion. Hughes never did anything half-assed. It was like being in a sci-fi toy land, but without the government bullshit.
It had been quite a ride for all of them. The studio front, Tyme Studios, was another Hughes invention. It was common knowledge he poured money into Hollywood. No one knew or cared to look deeper. It created absolute secrecy that had held to this very day. Sherman glanced again at the photo of Lilli and Kate, thinking he really should relax. After all,
if there was going to be a problem, it would have already occurred.
* * *
Kate had worked herself into an irate frenzy. The cover up, the destroyed tape, the betrayal. It was entirely unacceptable. She burst into the outer offices, startling Marion, who blinked and produced a sudden nervous smile.
“Kate, good heavens! We were just . . .”
“Save it, Marion. Where is he?”
“Uh? . . .” Marion faltered.
“Where is he, Marion?” Kate repeated.
Taken aback by Kate’s angry tone, she frowned, “What’s wrong, Kate?” Marion asked.
“Nothing. Where is he, Marion?”
“He’s in a meeting. No interruptions under penalty of death.”
“Well, pardon my French, tough shit! I’m going in.”
Marion, alarmed, half rose out of her chair and then stopped, turning to buzz Sherman.
“Don’t even think about it, Marion.”
“Oh, dear,” she muttered to herself.
The double doors thundered open and Kate strode in. Stopping just inside, she slammed the doors with a resounding bang. She surveyed the room. All guilty parties present. Hank by the bar with a vodka tonic, Uncle Sherman at the big desk, Carl in his usual argyle sweater and slacks, turned his blonde head away from the window, adjusting his wire-rim glasses. Edmond and John in the chairs in front of Uncle Sherman’s desk.
“Okay. I have one question. What the hell is The Array?”
It was the longest 30 seconds in history. No one spoke. A pained expression passed briefly over Carl’s face as he attempted a nonchalant glance. Edmond and John, Kate would swear, didn’t move or breathe. The only sound was the soft tinkle of ice cubes from Hank’s unsteady hand. He finally put down the glass as Sherman’s phone buzzed. He picked it up. “No, Marion. It’s all right. No, it’s not your fault. I don’t even believe a freight train could have stopped her.”
Kate saw and heard his annoyance. She didn’t care. She was too mad to care at this point.
“So I see someone in this group is not mute.”
“I’m waiting,” Kate added as she crossed her arms in a defensive stance.
Sherman lifted an eyebrow. “A bit theatrical, don’t you think, Kate?” Sherman finally said.
“Theatrical! Well, I guess you would know. I want answers,” she paused for emphasis, “NOW!”
A sudden humming sound echoed when a panel turned and slid to the side as a small elevator door opened and out stepped Jack Baldwin. “Kate, darling, where have you been all my life?” His deep voice swirled around the silent room, engulfing Kate in complete shock. Whatever she had expected, it certainly hadn’t been Jack Baldwin.
Unsettled, she paused, remembering she had been a young girl the last time she had seen him, and she hated to admit she had a stupid crush on him—bad skin, glasses and all. Now at six-feet, one-inch, prematurely gray hair, and soft brown, sexy eyes, he created an unsettling sensation of intimacy. She was unexpectedly bombarded with memories and impressions.
Blinking as if to clear her mind, she snapped, “What are you doing here?” Not allowing him to answer, she added, “No, let me guess, you are part of this rat pack.”
“Now Kate, me thinks the lady doth protest too . . .”
“Don’t even go to Shakespeare. He can’t help you now.”
Jack, in a move to save the moment, was also dealing with odd feelings and forgotten memories. Instantly, he assessed her strength and wondered about her restrained passion that showed in her present anger. The muscles in his jaw worked. He was well aware of the impression he had on women. But Kate, he sensed, didn’t fluster easily. He didn’t have time for this. Not now with the pair of green eyes looking
daggers at him. Not when he knew she could blow the lid off of everything.
Sherman Avery had seen entrances in his day, but Jack just went to the top of the line. The man deserved a raise for his performance, but Sherman had more serious concerns. Lilli’s contract of silence and loyalty had just run out, leaving him to face his worst fears.
“Kate, it seems we have a few things to discuss,” he said.
“And let these co-conspirators off the hook?” Kate retorted, her eyes blazing. “No way!”
Sherman stood to his limited commanding height of five-feet, nine-inches, leveling his eyes at Kate and said, “That’s enough, Kate!”
“No, it’s not. Not by a long shot!”
“Kate, I mean it!”
By now, John and Edmond had risen to offer Kate a chair. She gave them a withering look.
Jack knew he had to intercede, if only temporarily. He reached for Kate’s hand, studying the fury, hurt and fear in her eyes. “It seems we have some catching up to do.” He watched her eyes narrow like smoke and fire. Their eyes locked for the barest moment and then the moment was gone.
“Not in this lifetime. You are just as bad as them.” She waved her hand casually in the air.
“I think not m’ lady.”
Kate rolled her eyes. “Oh God, would you and Shakespeare leave the room or go on the road indefinitely?” Her heart skipped a beat in anger and something else as the chemistry hung in the air between them. She snatched her hand away. “Isn’t it time for you to leave?”
The subtle amusement in Jack Baldwin’s brown eyes made Kate want to throw something. Instead, she continued to glare at him.
After taking all he could of Kate’s scathing expression, he nonchalantly turned, saluted Sherman and said, “Gentlemen, I believe that’s our cue to leave.” John, Edmond, Hank and Carl had moved, none too slowly in the direction of the door.
Sherman nodded to them and the door closed quietly behind them. Pretending a calm he certainly didn’t feel, Sherman Avery asked, “So how did you find out?”
The question hung in t
he air between them when Kate finally said, “Oh, you mean that I’m a time-travel baby and that my father is . . .” Kate abruptly stopped speaking, remembering that Lilli hadn’t told Sherman who was Kate’s father.
“No. On second thought, I’ll reserve the exclusive rights to that information.”
“Kate, I’m disappointed.”
“Well, get over it!”
“Kate, listen to me. I know you’re upset, shocked even, but . . .”
“No, you don’t know how I feel.”
Sherman sighed. This was going from bad to worse. “Kate, how did you find out?”
“The video.”
“What video?” Sherman asked, feeling more alarmed than he thought possible.
“Oh, the death bed confession. The one that said, ‘Deliver one year after my death.’ The one that self-destructed like a bad version of a Mission Impossible movie.”
Sherman cleared his throat. While his mind was at once relieved the evidence of the tape was destroyed, he was equally upset he would never see it.
Before he could find the words, Kate said, “Who are you anyway? What is The Array? And why didn’t you tell me the truth?”
Truth, that word was getting overworked right now and could ruin everything, Sherman realized as he watched Kate. He had to protect them and pacify her until they finished their last retrieval of “Gone With the Wind’s” sequel. Desperate, he decided on half-truths.
“I’m waiting, Uncle Sherman.”
Sherman looked into Kate’s face and wished he didn’t have to lie, but her stubbornness would be the undoing of them if he didn’t nip this in the bud now.
“Okay. I’ll come clean out of respect for your mother, who I may add, was invaluable to us. A group by that name did
exist, but many years ago. It was disbanded at your mother’s return.”
“Yeah, right,” Kate remarked in irritation.
“I’m not kidding, Kate! We were running out of money. You can imagine the costs involved were . . .”
“Out of money when Howard Hughes bankrolled you?”
Sherman’s stomach knotted. Obviously Lilli was more than generous with her details. “Well, he didn’t exactly bankroll us. He was one of several investors at that time.”
Kate leaned back in her chair and considered the information for a few seconds. She’d swear that he was lying. It sounded right, but it felt wrong. “So what you are telling me is this Array doesn’t exist and all you do now are movies. How dull for you,” she remarked acidly.
Sherman attempted tolerance. He had to rise above her hurt and betrayal. “Yes, dear, just movies. And I certainly would have to say, it’s hardly dull.”
“Perhaps. But how does a scientist become a CEO of a movie studio?”
He chuckled. She was too sharp. “In Hollywood you can become anything. You should know that by now, Kate.”
“Yes, of course. The land of smoke and mirrors. How could I forget?”
“Listen Kate, why don’t we talk about this over dinner in a day or two? I want to hear about Screen Gems and how you are doing.” He was obviously giving her the royal brush off and playing Father Knows Best.
He was definitely lying. However, Kate decided to play along, let him believe he had smoothed the rough waters. “Dinner? Day after tomorrow? Okay. ‘Spagos?”
“Of course, why not? Early, about 6:30. We’ll sort this all out. I promise.”
Kate nodded and managed a sweet smile. “Just like old times.”
“Great,” Sherman said. Sherman stood and came around to the front of the desk.
As Kate rose, he patted her on the back as she thought, “You are a hell of a liar and I’m going to prove it.”
CHAPTER III
Eugene Hawk squirmed in an almost childlike delight. His unusual almond, sherry-colored eyes and pale, nondescript face watched intently as his computer printed his latest find, an obscure little article on the sci-fi Hollywood website, The Silver Screen: Fact or Fiction. Naturally, anyone that had worked in Hollywood had heard the fabled myth, but to date, any articles, tangible information was
nonexistent. It was the kind of thing that was rehashed every Halloween.
Hawk was obsessed with any kind of government cover up. There was so much bullshit out there, he knew one day he would hit the mother load. One of his favorites, along with Area 51, was the legend of the Philadelphia Experiment. Hawk worked on the fringe of believability, where curios minds mixed with suspicious ideas. He had developed a network of unusual, smart and at times obsessed people where he collected pieces on a very large, strange and every-changing mystery. Oddly, this little article, he was convinced, was a necessary piece that fit into this strange, complex puzzle. His latest quest was whether it was true that a secret organization had been stealing manuscripts in the past and producing them today, and which studio was doing it.
He shook his head. Hollywood, a smog-infested, ego-polluted vortex was the biggest facade as far as he was concerned, but he knew how to work it. He worked the Hollywood scene as a celebrity photographer. It was his money making machine. It paid for the small Hollywood Hills home he rented and the latest electronic equipment he could acquire.
He tracked everything from the police to outer space noises, but his real passion was scandal—the great cover up. He was convinced he would discover something so big, so incredible he would be set for life. Money from the good guys to give information or money from the bad guys to withhold information. He didn’t give a shit! His determination had brought him a variety of information, so widely separated, places and details that would have dissuaded another, but not Hawk. It was similar to watching a kaleidoscope as pieces shifted and changed. They would provide, on occasion, a startling collaboration.
He lifted the printout, folded it precisely in half, and put it in his “current interest” file. As he stuffed the last of a Twinkie in his mouth, his beeper suddenly sounded. “Shit!”
He was late for a shoot at the Regent Beverly Wilshire. Cher was giving a talk to a women’s group on the benefits of aging gracefully. “Ought to be a winner,” Hawk grinned, rolling his eyes.
Licking his sticky fingers, he wiped his hands on his worn jeans, looking around for his camera bag and equipment. He pulled on an old denim jacket and grabbed his wallet, shades and keys. He turned off the computer and desk lamp, gently closing the top of the “current interest” file as his eyes gleamed with future anticipation.
“Hey, man! We thought you had spaced on us,” Tony, a stocky Italian remarked as Hawk loped across the hotel lobby to join them.
“Yeah, Hawk,” Rodney said, a tall black man. “Cutting it a little close this time.”
“No way. Just busy,” Hawk replied.
Tony nodded as Rodney said, “Hey, isn’t that Sherman Avery? You know, the dude that runs Tyme Studios.” The three men turned to watch as the stocky older gentleman strode briskly into the hotel lobby. He was joined by four other men who proceeded to have a very animated conversation.
Not close enough to hear, Hawk’s radar went up. Instinctively, he reached for his camera, raising and focusing the lens, then took a few shots. You never know was his motto.
“Don’t waste your time, man. He’s over the hill,” declared Tony.
“Maybe,” Rodney said, “But he does great movies.”
“You know his studio is the only studio in Hollywood that doesn’t do sequels. Can you believe it?”
Hawk’s eyes narrowed in interest. “What are you? The trivia king?”
“No, man. I just follow the trades. It’s common knowledge.”
Hawk looked at Tony, “You agree with this?”
Tony shrugged his beefy shoulders, “Could be.”
They watched then as the men suddenly turned and walked out the front door. Obviously, more information for the “current interest” file, Ha
wk observed.
Three hours later, the ladies’ luncheon over, Hawk stood on the sidewalk in the front of the Regent Beverly Wilshire smoking a cigarette.
Tony and Rodney had packed up and joined him.
“I’m working on the strip tonight, the Viper Room, a club party,” Tony remarked.
Hawk nodded as he dragged deeply on the cigarette, his mind elsewhere. Finally, he remarked, “Good hunting.”
“Thanks, man. It’s bound to be intense. A lot of crazy kids.”
“What about you, Rodney?” Tony asked. “Home tonight?”
“If not, my girlfriend is gonna leave me. Too busy lately.” Rodney chuckled.
“Girlfriends. Who has time?”
“No shit, but can’t live with them or without them.”
“You mean you can’t live without getting laid,” Tony said.
“Yeah, that too!” Rodney grinned.
“What about you, Hawk? Working tonight?”
“I got a few irons on the fire,” he remarked, obviously distracted.
Rodney looked at Tony with a knowing expression, “What are you up to, Hawk? Another UFO landing on the Hollywood Hills sign?”
Hawk managed a tolerant, amused grin. “Yeah, something like that.” He took a last drag on the cigarette and destroyed it under his boot heel.
“You’re too weird, man,” Tony said, gathering his gear. “See ya.”
“Yeah, later,” Rodney said as the two turned and left.
Hawk waited until Tony and Rodney had turned the corner. He then re-entered the hotel lobby.
He had to take a leak first. Second, he felt he needed to do some looking around. Taking the elevator, he pushed the code for the special events floor.
The door opened and he headed for the can when something touched his senses. He stopped and looked around. “What the hell?” He was in the hotel all right, but obviously on the wrong floor. It looked like part of the hotel that hadn’t been renovated. A musty old smell hung in the air. Everything was the same, but faded. Budget cuts will do it to you every time. Looking down the hall, seeing the men’s room sign, he decided to take care of nature first. Minutes later, after exiting the men’s room, he was even more perplexed. The bathroom worked, but the equipment was old and yet it was in perfect condition. “Weird.” Then he heard voices. He looked around, knowing he wasn’t where he was supposed to be. Spying the utility closet nearby, Hawk opened the door and slipped in gently, closing it behind him. He leaned against the door, holding his breath, straining to listen. Bits of conversation floated in the air. He could barely make sense of it. Two men were talking.
The Silver Screen Page 2
