by Stuart Woods
Sally pointed at a piece of paper just inside the door. “A message for you?” she asked.
“Looks like someone shoved it under the door.” He picked it up and read it. It was typed in all caps:
I APOLOGIZE FOR THE CRUDITY OF THE ATTACK IN SANTA FE. NEXT TIME, I’LL SEE THAT IT IS CONDUCTED IN A SMOOTHER AND LESS PREDICTABLE MANNER.
It was unsigned.
Sally read it over his shoulder. “That sounds ominous,” she said. “You never told me—what did you do to the Russian?”
“He tried to kick me in the head before knifing me, but I was a little quicker.”
“Did you have a weapon?”
“I had taken precautions. I cut his leg in a way that demanded immediate medical attention, and he took my advice about getting to a hospital.”
“Would he have known where the Santa Fe hospital is?”
“A professional assassin always knows where the nearest hospital is,” Teddy replied. “I did give him directions, though.”
“How badly was he injured?”
“Enough so that he would have bled to death without emergency treatment. He knew enough to apply a tourniquet, but he would still have needed immediate surgery to repair the damage, and he will be off that leg for some time while healing. He won’t be coming after me anytime soon, if at all.”
“You know, I used to have a boyfriend who went looking for bar fights, which he usually won, but he would come home from time to time with wounds I’d have to stitch up.”
“And where did you acquire that skill?”
“In school. I’m a registered nurse.”
“Well, then, you’d be handy to have around in certain circumstances. I’ve had to stitch myself up a couple of times, and it wasn’t much fun.”
“And you, sir—where did you acquire that skill?”
He poured them both a brandy, and they took it out to the deck, where the moon illuminated the sea. “All right, I’m going to tell you everything—or almost everything—so you’ll know that I trust you.”
“I already trust you,” she replied.
“I know, but you make me feel the need to share.”
“All right, share.”
“I grew up in Virginia, small town, and I graduated from UVA, then got a master’s in political science. Late in my last year of grad school a professor—a mentor, really—introduced me to a man over dinner, a very interesting fellow. He asked me a lot of questions, and I began to suspect that he was an officer of the Central Intelligence Agency. I was right. He called me a week later and invited me to a small dinner party at his home in Georgetown, specifying that I should come alone. The other guests, men and women, seemed to know him and each other very well. As it turned out, they were all CIA. The next day, the man turned up at my apartment in Charlottesville and invited me to join the Agency.”
“And you took him up on it?”
“After a long conversation about my background, interests, and skills, he suggested that I attend a training course at a place called The Farm—actually Camp Peary, technically a naval installation, but occupied by the CIA, near Williamsburg. Before I even met the gentleman I had been very thoroughly vetted and found to be a candidate for the operations side of the Agency.
“I took all the usual courses—lock picking, use of radios, hand-to-hand combat—I even learned to fly at the airstrip there. I was particularly adept in the urban survival courses and in various technical classes, and after about nine months there—longer than the usual course—I was taken to Langley to visit the Technical Services department, the function of which is to provide agents with communications equipment, clothing, disguises, firearms, as well as other weapons—in short, everything necessary to help an agent survive and successfully complete his mission.
“I loved what I saw happening there, and I was taken on in the department as a trainee. After twenty years there I was deputy director of Technical Services. I was offered the director’s job, but that was mostly an administrative position, which didn’t appeal to me.
“I retired from the Agency soon after, took my pension. I also ‘borrowed,’ over the years, a lot of specialized equipment and weapons, enough to stock a very nice private workshop. For some years after retiring I was something of an outlaw—I won’t go into the details of all that, since I broke the law in numerous ways. But I became the subject of a big search by my former employer, which was getting pretty hot. At that point, I encountered two young men in the Arizona desert who were unknowingly being pursued by some Russian gentlemen who meant them no good. I managed to extricate them from that situation, and in gratitude, the father of one of them, who had connections in high places, managed to obtain a presidential pardon for me.
“That was about six years ago, and I joined the two young men at Centurion Studios. They are Peter Barrington, the director, and his partner, Ben Bacchetti, who is now head of production at Centurion and who will probably eventually run the studio. After that, I lived happily ever after, until I lost my wife, but then I was fortunate enough to find you.”
“My God, what a story,” Sally said.
“It doesn’t matter if you don’t believe it. I got it off my chest.”
“Oh, I believe every word of it,” she replied. “I don’t think you would ever lie to me.”
“I thank you for that,” Teddy said, then he took her to bed.
• • •
DAX BAXTER SAT in the study of his home in Bel-Air and regarded the two gentlemen who sat across the desk from him. “All right,” he said, “you’ve been on the case for, what, thirty-six hours?”
“That is correct,” the heavyset, balding man across from him said. His name was Grovitch. His companion was Medov—tall and lean, with thick black hair.
“Where is he, and what is he doing?”
“He has returned to his home on Malibu Beach,” the man said, “in the company of the woman, Sally, from Santa Fe.”
“So she took up with him?”
“Apparently,” Grovitch said. “We don’t know yet what are her intentions, to stay or go soon. If she stays it might be of usefulness to take her first, as a lure for neutralizing him.”
“Not just yet,” Dax said. “What is his correct name?”
Grovitch consulted a notebook: “Billy Barnett,” he replied. “He is employed at Centurion Studios, in the group of Peter Barrington.”
“I know who Billy Barnett is,” Dax said, “just didn’t know that Ted Shirley was Billy Barnett.”
“He is,” Grovitch replied. “This is definite.”
“That changes things,” Dax replied.
23
TEDDY SAT AT a table on the executive side of the Centurion Commissary, across from Peter Barrington.
“It’s good to see you, Billy,” Peter said. “Are you ready to go back to work?”
“Not just yet, Peter. Perhaps in another week.”
“How have you been feeling? We all know how much you must miss Betsy.”
“I do, every day. But in fact, I’ve met someone who has helped me readjust, and faster than I would have believed possible.”
“Who is she?”
“Her name is Sally Ryder.”
“Tell me about her. Where did you meet?”
“In Santa Fe. I took some temporary work on a film there, and she was an assistant production manager. We just connected, somehow.”
“I’m happy for you, Billy. Did you leave her in Santa Fe?”
“No, I brought her back with me. She’s shopping in Malibu Village right now. I’m hoping to find her some work at Centurion. She’s done just about everything on a movie set, and she’s very, very good.”
“That’s high praise, coming from you,” Peter said.
“It occurred to me that she might be good in Betsy’s old job.”
“You think she
’s that good?”
“I do.”
“Well, there’s a problem there. Right after you left for your break, Ben sent over a woman from the executive offices, on a temporary basis, and she’s settled into Betsy’s job very quickly. I hired her permanently yesterday.”
“I see,” Teddy said, disappointed.
“However,” Peter said, “my number-two production assistant has found herself pregnant, so she’s leaving soon and giving up her job in favor of full-time motherhood. Perhaps I could have a talk with Sally about that job.”
“What a good idea,” Teddy said.
“Are you in love with Sally, Billy?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Well, that didn’t interfere with either your work or Betsy’s, so I don’t see why it should be any different with Sally.”
“I’m relieved you think that,” Teddy said. “Shall I have her call your secretary?”
“Just tell her to show up at my office at ten tomorrow morning and to bring her résumé.”
Teddy took an envelope from his pocket. “Here’s her résumé,” he said. “She’ll be there at ten.”
• • •
TEDDY WAS HAVING a drink on the deck when Sally arrived with half a dozen shopping bags. She dumped the shopping bags, poured herself a drink, and joined him. “Well, Billy, you’re a poorer man by a couple of thousand dollars, and you have only yourself to blame, turning me loose with two credit cards.”
“I’ll survive,” Teddy said. “You’ll spend more as time goes by. You’ll fill that dressing room, if I’m any judge of character.”
“You are an embarrassingly good judge of character,” Sally said, raising her glass. “Cheers.”
“Anyway, I may have found you some work to keep you busy, instead of shopping.”
“What, are you putting me on the street?”
Teddy laughed. “No, but the movie business isn’t all that different.”
“What would I be doing, sweeping up?”
“A bit more than that. You have a ten o’clock meeting tomorrow morning with Peter Barrington at Centurion, to discuss the possibility of becoming his number-two production assistant.”
“You’re kidding me!”
“I kid you not.”
“Number two, huh? How many production assistants does he have?”
“Two, and number two is with child and thus changing careers.”
“She’s not coming back after maternity leave?”
“Nope, she’s ascending to the nobility of full-time motherhood.”
“Well, bless her heart! What would I be doing for Peter?”
“Whatever he asks you to do.”
“What does it pay?”
“Whatever he offers you.”
“Does it include being chased around a desk?”
“Peter is happily married.”
“Aren’t they all?”
“Are you speaking from experience?” he asked.
“God, yes. Movie people are the horniest people in the world, and they don’t easily take no for an answer.”
“Well, I gave him your résumé. I hope it says something about taking no for an answer.”
“If I put that on my résumé, I’d never be interviewed.”
“You have a point, but believe me, you have nothing to fear from Peter, except maybe being overworked from time to time.”
“What makes you think I can do this job?”
“I’ve seen you in action. Also, Dan thought so, and apparently so did Dax Baxter.”
“Well, he did offer me a job in L.A., didn’t he?”
“There, you’re fully qualified.”
“What’s Peter like?”
“Handsome, charming, smart—no, brilliant. Have you seen any of his films?”
“All six of them.”
“Did you like any of them?”
“Each one more than the last.”
“Then it couldn’t hurt to tell him so. Peter has an ego, just like everybody else. Don’t overdo it, though.”
“I’ll try not to actually slaver.”
“Good idea. Are any of the clothes you bought appropriate for a job interview?” he asked.
“They all are, if he likes really, really tight jeans.”
“I’m sure he does, but maybe you’d better run back to the Village before the shops close.”
“Well, there is a very nice little dress that’s appropriate for absolutely anything.”
“Wear that.”
“I thought I might.”
“And maybe you should invest in a few more outfits in that category.”
“I’ll see what the other women in the office are wearing.”
“That would be effective reconnaissance.”
“Does Peter know that you and I are fucking all the time?”
“He’ll guess that when he sees you, but it won’t be a problem, unless we’re doing it at the office.”
“We can’t fuck at the office?”
“We’ll have to wait until we get home.”
“Awwwwww!”
24
PETER BARRINGTON REGARDED the woman who sat across the desk from him. She was bright, sounded willing, had a good résumé, and was quite attractive. Billy, he thought, had very good judgment. “Sally, the job pays fifteen hundred a week to start—that’s seventy-eight thousand. Is that satisfactory?”
It was a third more than Sally had ever made in a year. “It is,” she replied.
“Can you start Monday?”
“Yes, I can.”
“Good,” Peter said. “Your predecessor is at a doctor’s appointment right now, but she’ll be here for your first week—two, if you need it—to get you up to speed.” He stood up and offered her his hand. “Welcome aboard,” he said.
She shook his hand and smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Barrington.”
“I’m Peter to everybody around here,” he said.
“Peter, it is.”
“See you Monday morning.” Sally left, and Peter turned to his schedule on one of his computer screens. He was meeting his father at the studio commissary for lunch in half an hour, and he was bringing a woman.
• • •
SALLY SAT IN HER CAR and phoned Teddy.
“Did you get it?” he asked, without saying hello.
“I got it. I start Monday.”
“That’s wonderful!”
“You don’t think it will be odd for us to be working in the same office?” she asked.
“Certainly not. You’ll hardly ever see me, anyway. I spend more than half my time on sound stages or locations.”
“I’ll be home in half an hour. Buy me lunch?”
“I’ll make you lunch,” he said. “And you’re dessert.”
“Promises, promises.”
• • •
PETER PARKED HIS GOLF CART in a reserved spot outside the commissary and walked in to find his father and a very attractive woman at a table with his partner and the studio’s head of production, Ben Bacchetti. He took a seat. “Are you joining us, Ben?”
“No, I’ve got a lunch date. I just wanted to say hello to your dad and ask about my dad.”
“Your dad is as ever,” Stone said.
Ben stood. “It’s good to see you, Stone, and to meet you, Ana.”
“I haven’t met Ana,” Peter said, as Ben departed. He shook her hand.
“You didn’t tell me he was so handsome,” Ana said to Stone.
“Is he?” Stone asked. “Ana is in Santa Fe real estate,” he said to Peter. “She has to flatter everybody.”
Ana’s phone rang, and she stood. “I’m sorry, I have to take this.” She walked away from the table.
“Dad,” Peter said, “before Ana returns, I’ve be
en hearing rumors about some sort of incident at Dax Baxter’s house in Santa Fe, something involving Billy. Do you know anything about that?”
“I do,” Stone said. “I spent a few days with Ed and Susannah Eagle, and I saw Billy there at dinner. What do you know about Dax Baxter?”
“Able producer, miserable excuse for a human being, from all I’ve heard.”
“Apparently he’s also a paranoiac,” Stone said.
“Only one of his charms,” Peter replied.
“Somehow he got the idea that Billy had been sent by some enemy of his to kill him, and he promptly sent for a pro out of L.A. to eliminate his problem.”
“That’s insane. How does Baxter even know Billy?”
“Billy took a temporary job on a Baxter shoot at a movie ranch in Santa Fe. Didn’t use his own name. Billy and his girl went to a wrap party at Baxter’s new place there, and the pro, a Russian, came after him with a knife outside the house. The Russian got the worst of it. Billy put him in the hospital.”
“Have there been any legal ramifications?”
“No. Baxter wasn’t about to call the police.”
“Billy’s back in town, now, and I’ve just hired his new girlfriend, Sally Ryder, as one of my production assistants. I’m glad he’s met somebody. I think he was in a pretty bad way after Betsy’s death.”
“How could you tell? The man has the most consistently calm mien of anyone I’ve ever met.”
“I agree,” Peter said. “He can be hard to read, but there was this sadness evident in him. Is this thing over with Baxter?”
“I don’t know, and from what I’ve heard about Baxter, he may not know either.”
“He has a reputation around town for being mercurial, to put it politely. I’m told he has to pay higher than usual salaries to get crew to work for him, and even then, there’s a lot of turnover among his people. He’d probably be in jail or a padded room somewhere if he didn’t make so much money for his studio.”
“Keep an ear to the ground, and let me know what’s going on with Billy, will you?” Stone asked.
Ana returned to the table. “Sorry about that. There was a problem with a closing in Santa Fe, but I got it sorted out.”
