by Lee Goldberg
“Mateo!” he yelled. “Get in here!”
The Golden Devil slipped into the room so quickly and quietly that Arturo wondered if he’d been in the room all along. “Yes?”
“Have you seen the news?”
“I caught a few minutes between murdering families and raping mothers,” Mateo said.
He was joking, but Arturo knew he’d done his share of both. He just didn’t memorialize the occasions with gold teeth. The killer didn’t have enough teeth to make that practical.
“We need to prepare for an attack from the Americans,” Arturo said.
“You want me to bring in more men and weapons to fortify the compound?”
“Absolutely not,” Arturo said. “That will draw the attention of the Americans and tell them where we are, if they don’t know already. Gather all the women, children, and old people from the village and bring them here. Tell them it’s a feast, to thank them for welcoming us to the community, and that I won’t take no for an answer.”
“You’re going to use them as human shields.”
“Let’s just say I like being around people,” Arturo said, “and I’m feeling lonely up here.”
Ian Ludlow’s Bunker. Malibu, California. November 14. 4:47 p.m. Pacific Standard Time.
The smoke in the air combined with the fog rolling off Santa Monica Bay to block out most of the sun and make it prematurely dark outside. Ian and Mei tentatively emerged from the bunker wearing camouflage fatigues and hiking boots, their path through the blackened rubble illuminated by the headlight beams from a white Toyota Camry. Margo casually leaned against the car, watching the couple approach.
“What are you doing here?” Ian asked.
“I’ve been waiting two hours for you to come out,” Margo said. “You really should put a doorbell or a brass knocker on that fake boulder.”
“Wouldn’t that defeat the purpose of hiding the entrance to my secret bunker?” Ian said, watching his step as he worked his way to her, Mei following a few feet behind him.
“It’s hardly a secret,” she said.
“Only to you,” Ian said as he reached her, “and that’s because you know Ronnie.”
Margo pulled him into a hug, startling him. “I’m glad you’re alive.”
“I’m happy to see you, too.”
She sniffed his neck and pushed him away, wrinkling her nose. “You reek of sex.”
“It’s my cologne. Old Spice. Very manly stuff.”
“What I’m smelling isn’t manly.” She looked past him at Mei, who joined them. “Speak of the devil.”
“How did you know we’d be here?” Mei asked.
“I knew how impressed Ian was with Ronnie’s man cave,” she said. “I figured he’d build one for himself as soon as he got a chance.”
Ian gestured to the Toyota. “New ride?”
“It’s a stolen car that was being used by Waldo, the Russian spy who tried to kill me in my apartment this morning,” Margo said, clearly enjoying the shock on Ian’s face. “I decided it would be best if they thought he’d succeeded.”
They being the Russians.
It was the aha moment for Ian. He half expected to hear a dramatic music sting to underscore it. The whole bad-guy plot made sense to him now. He understood how the killings of the two women in San Diego, the murders of the American tourists in Porto, and the shootings in Dunn, Texas, fit together and what they were supposed to accomplish.
It was all part of an elaborate Russian plot.
The only piece that was missing for him was the final incident that would instigate Russia’s bloody, geopolitical endgame. He hoped that was because it hadn’t happened yet, which meant there might still be time to stop the United States from falling into the trap.
Margo continued with her story. “I took Waldo’s car and left my Mini Cooper in its parking spot and the Agency will make sure that nobody knows, at least for a little while, that it was actually his corpse, not mine, that was carried out of the building in a body bag.”
Mei looked at Margo as if seeing her for the first time.
“The Agency will have to do the same for me,” Ian said. “The ME took away the skeleton in my office.”
Margo studied him for a moment and broke into a big smile. “I have no clue what is going on but you’ve figured it all out. I can see it on your face.”
“Yes, I have, at least for the most part, and it would make an incredible Straker novel,” he said. “Maybe my best one yet.”
She wagged a finger at him. “I told you this would happen.”
“We need to go somewhere safe and contact Healy.”
Mei took Ian’s hand. “You can call him now and then we can all hide in the bunker until it’s over, whatever it is.”
“I’m not staying down there with you two,” Margo said. “I’ll be trapped while you fuck all day.”
“You could join us,” Mei said and gave Ian’s hand a squeeze. “That way, we all get what we really want.”
“You think I want you,” Margo said.
“Desperately,” Mei said, “and Ian wants you.”
Ian and Margo both knew that last part was true.
“What do you want?” Margo asked Mei.
“Both of you wanting me.”
“You’re definitely an actress. All you care about is being the star,” Margo said and looked at Ian, who was picturing all the possible couplings. She knew it and gave him a shove. “Get real. Do you have another idea where to go?”
“I do,” Ian said. “But you’re not going to like it.”
“I love it already.” Margo aimed her key fob at the car and the trunk popped open. “Anything is better than being buried alive in a three-way with you and Norma Desmond.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Margo drove the Toyota, with Ian and Mei spooning in the trunk, to the gates of Ronnie Mancuso’s house in a cul-de-sac in Tarzana, a San Fernando Valley neighborhood that was once part of author Edgar Rice Burroughs’ estate.
Ian wasn’t sure if it was really necessary that they hide in the trunk or if it was actually just Margo’s way of getting back at Mei for her lurid suggestion. But he figured it was better to be safe than sorry, as his grandmother used to say.
“This is like that scene in Out of Sight with Jennifer Lopez and George Clooney,” Mei said, pressed against Ian’s back. “Except I’m a much better actress than her.”
“And I’m better looking than George Clooney,” Ian said.
She bit his earlobe and gave it a tug with her teeth. “Are you patronizing me?”
“Are you saying I’m no match for George?”
Ian obviously wasn’t, unless Clooney had gained forty pounds, so Mei released his earlobe and wisely dropped the subject.
Margo rolled down her window, rang the buzzer, and gave the finger to Ronnie’s wall-mounted security camera.
The wrought iron gates yawned open and she drove up the cobblestone driveway that snaked up through the manicured garden to a Spanish Mediterranean mansion with a six-car garage. One of the garage doors was rolled up, revealing an empty space.
She parked the Toyota between a silver 1964 Aston Martin DB5 like James Bond’s and KITT, the jet-black 1982 Pontiac Trans Am from Knight Rider. The other cars in the brightly lit, spotless showroom garage were a Smokey and the Bandit 1977 Trans Am, a Starsky & Hutch 1976 Ford Gran Torino, and one of the Batmobiles from the Batman movies. The once-empty space the Toyota occupied had belonged to the original Hollywood & the Vine bright-green 2011 Ford Crown Victoria, which was being used again on the rebooted series. The car had also helped save her and Ian’s lives once, and played a very public role in exposing a dark conspiracy, which only added to the vehicle’s notoriety.
Margo waited until the garage door closed to pop the trunk. Ronnie bounded into the garage wearing camouflage fatigues, combat boots, and a holstered Glock as Margo, Mei, and Ian got out of the car.
“Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more,” Ronnie
declared and thrust his hand out to Margo for a shake. “Are you girded for battle?”
She stared at his hand. “Do you still masturbate three times a day?”
“That’s like asking if I still breathe.”
Margo ignored his hand and looked at Ian. “I thought you said he wasn’t crazy anymore.”
“He never was. It’s the rest of us who are delusional,” Ian said. “We blithely go through life pretending that we’re anonymous, that nobody cares what we are doing, saying, reading, or thinking when we know that all the electronic devices we have are constantly spying on us but we tell ourselves they aren’t.”
Ronnie fist-bumped Ian. “Truth, brother.”
“We’re all living in China,” Mei said, “but you American sheep just don’t realize it yet.”
Ronnie fist-bumped Mei. “Truth, sister.”
“I hope insanity isn’t contagious,” Margo said, “or I’m doomed.”
Ronnie turned to Ian. “I’ve had the news on all day. TMZ is reporting that you’re dead. I was mourning you, man. But then I got Margo’s call saying you’re alive and on the run again. Not only am I relieved, I’m pumped. Who are we taking on this time?”
“Russian Intelligence,” Ian said. “They’ve targeted us for death because I’ve stumbled into a massive covert op that could tip the balance of world power.”
“You’re the man.” Ronnie clapped Ian on the back. “They don’t know who they’re dealing with.”
“Did you notice that Ronnie immediately accepted your answer?” Margo said to Ian. “That’s crazy. A rational person would be skeptical.”
“Rationality and skepticism are about as useful as trying to suck on an alligator’s tit,” Ronnie said. “Nine times out of ten, it will get you killed. Besides, what he says is true, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Margo said. “But you’re missing the point.”
“I’d say you are, honey,” Ronnie said. “We’re in a crisis situation. Stop trying to reconcile your attraction to me with your sapphic vows and man up for your country. Let’s go inside.”
Ronnie led them into the house. Ian and Margo lagged behind.
Margo whispered to Ian. “Is this the best idea you have?”
“It worked out for us before,” Ian said. “By the way, do you have a copy of those sapphic vows? I’d love to read them.”
“Let me remind you that I’ve got a license to kill and I’m not afraid to use it.”
“When do I get one?”
“You aren’t even ready for a learner’s permit.”
Ronnie took them down a short hallway to the main foyer, which was two stories high with a grand staircase in the center and a domed skylight. It was a bachelor pad with six bedrooms, six baths, two kitchens, a home theater, a wine cellar, and a bomb shelter.
“Pick any bedroom you want and help yourselves to anything in the kitchen, the bar, the wine cellar, or the gun vault,” Ronnie said. “Mi casa es su casa.”
Ian could hear the voice of the president of the United States coming from the home theater, which was right off the foyer.
“We know where this son of a bitch Giron is hiding. He thinks he’s safe in Mexico, but he’s not. We’re going to bin Laden his ass. If Mexico has a problem with that, I’ll make their pissant country our fifty-first state and name it after your daddy.”
The words chilled Ian to the bone. This was the flame that would light the fuse on Russia’s explosive global plot.
“No!” Ian dashed into the home theater, past the art deco ticket booth and the vintage popcorn machine, to the four-row auditorium, where CNN was playing on the big screen. Wolf Blitzer, Jake Tapper, and a panel of assorted reporters and pundits were sitting at a table, their backs to a window that overlooked the White House. Wolf faced the camera.
“Dwight Edney was the first to air the president’s bombshell recording on his show this afternoon. Within minutes of the broadcast, the president of Mexico warned the United States that, and I quote, ‘any military action against our country will be countered with appropriate force and will result in grave consequences.’ Those are strong words. We will be looking at this crisis from all sides with our panel of experts. But first, let’s tackle the big question.” Blitzer turned to his panelists. “Are we on the brink of war with Mexico?”
“Yes, we are, and it’s exactly what the Russians want,” Ian shouted at the screen. “It’s a James Bond movie, don’t you see? It’s You Only Live Twice, The Spy Who Loved Me, and Tomorrow Never Dies all over again.”
“You know Wolf can’t hear you, right?” Margo said, picking up a remote and muting CNN.
“Of course it was Edney who got the recording,” Ian said. “The same way he got the scoop on Gustavo Reynoso before his corpse was even cold.”
“Because he’s a real journalist, a truth seeker,” Ronnie said, “not a hand puppet for the New World Order like all of the other TV talking heads.”
“Because he’s a Russian spy,” Ian said.
“No, no, not Dwight,” Ronnie said, shaking his head. “I don’t believe it.”
Margo laughed. “Says the man who believes every crackpot idea he’s ever heard.”
“I believe it,” Mei said.
“Only because you hate Edney for seeing right through you,” Margo said. “He may be a Russian spy, but he’s not stupid.”
“Here’s the real story, as Edney likes to say,” Ian said. “The Russians set up the Gustavo Reynoso killings, the shootings of the drug mules, and the massacre at the Tanner ranch. Then they fed Edney all of the facts, the fake truth, that they created to support their story.”
And that was exactly what it was—a story. Ian was sure of it. The character-based, narrative structure of the plot was rooted too much in the basics of storytelling for it to be anything else. Or for some bureaucrat to have cooked it up. This had to be the work of a writer.
Did Ian have an evil twin?
“Dwight might’ve been duped,” Ronnie said. “But I can’t believe he was actually in on it.”
“Edney is the lynchpin of their plot, the hero of their story,” Ian said. “They have to control him or the plot could collapse. It’s his job to whip up public outrage and exert increasing political pressure on the president to attack Mexico.”
“You guessed this a week ago and I blew you off,” Margo said. “We could have been way ahead of this scheme if I’d listened.”
“Don’t blame yourself. I didn’t take the idea seriously, either,” Ian said. “I’ve got to learn to trust my creative instincts.”
“So do I,” Margo said.
“I don’t understand,” Mei said. “What does Russia get out of a war between America and Mexico?”
“Belarus and Georgia,” Ian said. “It’s no secret that right now the Russians are amassing troops and weapons along their borders for their annual military exercises. But the truth is they aren’t games. It’s real. They’re just waiting for us to attack Mexico before they invade.”
“Why wait?” Mei asked.
“So the Russians won’t have to worry about any military, political, or economic blowback from the United States,” Ian said. “How can we possibly criticize Russia for invading their neighbors when we’ve just bombed Mexico?”
“It’s brilliant,” Margo said. “Get the United States to start a war so they won’t intrude in yours.”
“It’s certainly a better reason to provoke a war than trying to win broadcasting rights in China,” Ian said, “or wiping out life on earth to create an undersea civilization.”
“NATO won’t stand for the Russian invasion,” Ronnie said.
“They won’t have a choice. NATO can’t battle Russia without US support,” Ian said. “Russia will take Belarus and Georgia . . . and Ukraine, too.”
“If that happens, it’s only the beginning,” Ronnie said. “The commies won’t stop until they’ve resurrected the Soviet Union from the dead, establishing a zombie superpower that feeds on brains.”
> “That’s the Ronnie Mancuso I know,” Margo said. “Batshit crazy. But I’ve got to ask, why are they going to eat brains?”
“It’s a metaphor,” Ronnie said. “It’s the emergence of the New World Order. Freedom of thought will be eradicated. You’ll think whatever they want you to think or, more likely, what they program you to think. They’ll take our brains, get it? We can’t let that happen.”
“We?” Mei said. “You mean the four of us?”
“Hell yes,” Ronnie said.
“Be reasonable, Ronnie,” Mei said. “How can we possibly stop the United States from attacking Mexico and the Russians from invading three countries?”
Ronnie tipped his head at Ian. “Ask him.”
Ian thought about it. There was only one way to stop the story from playing out the way it was written. He had to write a new script.
“The Russians wrote a James Bond movie,” Ian said. “I’m going to write an episode of Mission: Impossible.”
CHAPTER FIFTY
The plot came to Ian right away because he’d seen it a couple hundred times before on Mission: Impossible and it always worked. It was field tested. Well, at least it was on television. Why couldn’t it work in the real world, too?
“How far along is preproduction on my episode of Hollywood & the Vine?” Ian asked Ronnie.
“They’ve locked the exterior locations, reserved the Gulfstream set at Air Hollywood, and started casting the other parts.”
“Perfect, give me your phone,” Ian said. Ronnie handed him his iPhone and Ian began typing on it. “Here’s a list of things I’m going to need you to get from the show’s makeup and special effects departments. I also need you to buy six wireless webcams, four burner phones, four sets of Bluetooth earbuds, and four laptop computers, with cash. Try to avoid surveillance cameras.”
“Who do you think you’re talking to?” Ronnie said. “I always use cash and never go shopping without being in disguise.”
“Because you’re a celebrity and don’t want to be recognized,” Mei said.
