Taking Chances (43 page)

‘Oh, a regular Robin Hood,’ Day responded. ‘But it doesn’t sound too good. Have you got any idea who it might be?’

‘No-one’s said anything, so I’d only be guessing.’

‘And who’s your guess?’

‘Ellen. As the executive producer, co-writer and close friend, she’s an obvious choice.’

‘You’re forgetting her other qualification, she’s also a woman. They got you on that once already, this time they’re going to know you won’t make the same mistake twice.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ Chambers muttered. His face had turned white and he could feel the same shaking in his limbs that he’d felt a hundred times before when dealing with the Colombian cartels.

‘You’re gonna have to talk to someone in charge,’ Day told him. ‘Someone who’s got the power to pull that plug.’

Michael’s face was so strained as he looked at Chambers across his desk that there could be no doubt of the fury he was trying to hold back. For the moment, however, he was struggling to get his mind past the relief that Ellen hadn’t yet flown to Mexico. She was due to, in a couple of days, but she sure as hell wouldn’t be going now.

‘I know I should have told you about all this before,’ Chambers was saying, ‘but honest to God, it never occurred to me they’d go after anyone but me. And before we get ourselves in a panic here, let’s remember
that
I’ve got no evidence to say they’re targeting Ellen. It’s just a possible. Did she mention any calls, or anything unusual to you?’

Michael shook his head. This was crazy, insane. Everything was in fragments, broken up by the random chaos of all that he felt towards this man and what he was telling him. It wasn’t only Ellen, though that was definitely the worst of it, it was also the chance of what this could do to the movie, to the company, their reputations, investments, futures …

‘I’m waiting to hear from this guy in Bogotá,’ Chambers went on. ‘His name’s Alan Day. He’s a Brit. A freelance reporter. At the moment Galeano’s goons are contacting him on the e-mail. There’s a good chance they’ll start getting more explicit with their ultimatums before anything actually happens, which should put us in better shape to know what to do.’

Michael picked up the phone and buzzed through to his assistant. ‘Maggie, I want you to book my mother and Robbie on the next available flight to London, then get me Ross Sherman at the Police Department. Where’s Ellen, do you know?’

‘Gone to see her Ob/Gyn,’ Maggie answered. ‘She should be here any minute though.’

‘Tell her I want to see her as soon as she gets in,’ Michael said and rang off.

‘What are the chances of stopping the movie?’ Chambers said. He’d had to ask, even though he already knew the answer.

‘None whatsoever,’ Michael said.

Chambers nodded. He waited, hoping Michael might say more, but some kind of reaching out, joining together on this was too much to expect. ‘I guess saying I’m sorry’s not really going to do it, is it?’ he said.

Michael got to his feet, and stuffing his hands in his pockets went to stand at the window. Chambers looked at him and wished to God there was something he could
do
to help ease the man’s burden. Instead he was just piling on more trouble and danger, warning him of threats that could smash his life to pieces, while his marriage fell apart because his wife was carrying a child that might, or might not, be his. Were he any other man the load he was carrying now, coupled with the disaster that was looming, would very probably break him, but with Michael there was just no telling where his limits lay.

The silence went on, then without really knowing what prompted him, Chambers said, ‘I think I should tell you, I know about the baby.’

Though he stiffened it was a while before Michael finally turned round. The look in his eyes was one Chambers knew he would never forget.

‘I don’t know what she told you,’ Chambers said, ‘but you should know that …’

‘I don’t want to discuss it,’ Michael said, cutting him off.

‘Maybe not,’ Chambers responded, ‘but she’s your wife, man, and no matter what you’re trying to tell yourself, no matter how hard you want to be on her, you’ve got to take her back now. If you don’t …’

Michael’s eyes were like granite. ‘Just where the hell do you get off telling me about my marriage?’ he spat.

‘If you don’t,’ Chambers persisted, ‘there’s every chance you’re going to find yourself in hell a whole lot quicker than you’re due. Take it from someone who knows, someone who didn’t do what he should have and ended up costing the woman he loved her life. Is that what you want? To spend the rest of your days with the kind of guilt that eats up your insides like a cancer, that tears you apart so’s you can’t even function the way other men function, because you’re not fit to call yourself a man any more. I’m telling you, Michael, it cripples you from within, it gets you so’s you can’t sleep at night, can’t think or breathe without remembering what you
could
have done, and didn’t. It crushes you, makes you so’s you might just as well stop living. Tell me, is that what you want, because it sure as hell is where you’re heading.’

Even through the molten heat of his anger Michael was wondering if in some way that wasn’t how he was already. He thought about the hostage set, and the way he had almost heard Rachel’s screams and felt her torment. He’d thought then about the pain Chambers had been through, and had known how he’d have felt if it were Ellen. That hadn’t changed, indeed, since the day she had come to him, had opened herself up to him and tried to make him see how much he was hurting them both, he had discovered a new depth to his feelings, a depth that had shown him just how incomplete he was without her. To admit that to himself was hard enough, to tell Ellen had been unthinkable, until he’d realized that it was just this kind of holding back that was tearing them apart. So he’d decided to tell her, he just needed to find the words, and he had been so close to doing that before Chambers had said just now that he knew she was pregnant. She’d sworn she’d never told him, but how else would he know?

‘Can I use your computer?’ Chambers asked, realizing they had to get off this personal ground. ‘We should check the e-mail to see if there’s been any more contact.’

Despite the regular calls between LA and Bogotá, and the hourly check on the Internet, over a week went by before there was any more contact from Galeano’s people. In Mexico the cameras started to roll and in Beverly Hills the daily rushes started turning up for the executive producers to view. Taking a sudden interest now that shooting was under way, and there was less chance of his name being attached to a megalithic nearly-was, Ted Forgon came to the screenings, but though he grunted and clucked and snorted derision, he
had
yet to get seriously abusive or difficult about anything he’d seen.

After consulting the police, Michael had organized for security to be tightened both in LA and Los Mochis, and Ellen went nowhere now without a personal bodyguard. She’d returned to the house a few days ago, just after Robbie and Clodagh had flown back to London. She still wasn’t entirely convinced that the call she had received, and barely even remembered, had been the threat Chambers was looking for, but as Michael wasn’t prepared to take any chances she had gone along with his wishes. Not that her moving back to the house had really resolved anything between them, but it could surely only help, them living under the same roof. They were also sleeping in the same bed, but they never made love, and there seemed no sense of permanence to the arrangement, and nothing of any real consequence ever got discussed.

Knowing so few British people, it was hard for Ellen to understand the stubbornness and coldness that Michael was using to mask his feelings. She saw no need for it, and was so exasperated and frustrated that she’d all but given up trying to get past it. It wasn’t that she didn’t care any more, though he sure was making it hard to, it was simply that her pregnancy was now taking its toll on her energy and what little she had left she chose to pour into the movie. Where they would go and what might happen when it was all finally over wasn’t something she could think about now, for there were still too many problems to be sorted, like Robbie and who he was going to live with, and whether Michael might even decide to go back to London with him. But even if Michael stayed, there remained his belief that she still wanted Tom, and she just didn’t know what more she could do to persuade him that wasn’t true. Maybe, if Sandy and Tom really did get involved …

In reality, that wasn’t beyond the realms of hope, for
both
Sandy and Tom had flown to Mexico earlier in the week and everyone knew how legendary film sets were for kick-starting romances.

The script hadn’t called for rain, nor, Tom assured the director, had there been anything but clear blue skies the day Rachel was taken. But after a quick discussion under the drooping awning of a catering truck, it was decided that the kidnap would take place in a torrential downpour. Should the storm pass before the sequence was finished it would be down to the digital effects guy to sort it, and if it didn’t match the exteriors of the hostage house they would just have to fix that digitally too. It was either that, or stand around this godforsaken hillside with a hundred or more people getting soaked to the skin, and not a frame of stock moving through the gate.

They began by rehearsing the stunts – three cars speeding along the steep, two-laned country road, and coming to a dangerous stop at the edge of a ditch. There was no-one but stuntmen in the cars right now, Matty and the actors who were playing the kidnappers were still warm and dry in their trailers.

The next couple of run-throughs entailed bringing on extra traffic, half a dozen trucks of varying size and cargo, Cartagena-plated saloon cars, a horse and trap and a bus. Numerous assistants and co-ordinators ran through the rain, shouting into radios and gesticulating madly, while Sandy and Tom watched squeezed together under a makeshift shelter that had been set up for Vic Warren and the video-feed monitors. It was easier to see the action from here, as the main camera was currently attached to ‘Rachel’s car’ which was impossible to get close to, never mind into.

It wasn’t until well into the afternoon that they were finally ready for a take, and though the light had faded quite grimly by then Vic Warren couldn’t have been
happier
. It added great atmosphere, gave the entire scene a kind of sinisterness that bright sunlight just couldn’t conjure. The fact that Matty’s costume had to be changed, as thin white cotton pants and a short-sleeved top didn’t do it in this kind of weather, was a minor consideration. However, it did mean another hour’s wait while something suitable was found, altered and stressed down.

At last they were ready to roll, and as Matty and the other actors were called from their trailers the vehicles were set in their start positions, while the weapons experts began loading the AK47s and M16s. Since the weapon preparation was happening only a few feet from where Tom and Sandy were standing, they not only could see what the experts and stuntmen were doing, they could hear it too – and listening to the bragging and bluster Sandy felt a distinct distaste for how macho it seemed to make the men feel just to hold and handle those guns. She glanced up at Tom, whose face was partially hidden by a waterproof hat, but the glint in his eyes was enough to tell her that he was no more impressed by the manly display than she was. Perhaps even less so, since for him there was no forgetting that it was very likely these exact makes of guns that had been used in the original kidnap.

Sandy looked at the group again and noticed how unnerved Matty seemed to be as she watched them, and Sandy couldn’t blame her, for they were the deadliest of weapons, even if they were loaded up with dummy rounds of ammunition. As one of the producers she could step in now and bring some order to the idiocy, especially as one of the stuntmen, who was doubling as a kidnapper, had just dropped to one knee and was making ludicrous chuff-chuffing sounds to simulate the machine-gun going off. Others were diving for cover, and making out as though they were blasting him back, while Vic Warren, unaware of what was happening,
strode
up the hillside with the DOP discussing at which points he would cut, so they had some idea where other shots would take over.

Sandy glanced around, hoping to find one of the set producers, or a unit manager, for she was unsure of her authority when no-one here really knew who she was. She had just spotted someone when she almost leapt from her skin at the sound of a deafening explosion. Matty screamed, and the stuntmen and male actors roared with laughter.

Sandy started forward, but Tom was already there, snatching the weapon from the stuntman who’d created the explosion. ‘I don’t know who you are,’ he snarled, ‘but as of now you don’t ever touch one of these again on this set. Do you hear me? It’s not a joke, man. These things kill.’

‘And just who the fuck are you?’ the stuntman demanded, sizing up for a more physical showdown.

‘He’s the writer,’ Sandy responded. ‘And I’m one of the producers and you’re fired. Abbie!’ she shouted to a runner.

Abbie was there in an instant.

‘Get Roger Gaites, the stunt co-ordinator over here,’ Sandy ordered. ‘Then get someone from security to escort this person off the set. Are you OK?’ she said to Matty.

Matty nodded, though she was pale and Sandy could almost feel her heart thudding.

‘Take her back to her trailer,’ she said to one of the dressers. ‘Give her a brandy or something. I’ll go and speak to Vic.’

‘I’ll take her back,’ Tom said. ‘Come and find us when you’re done.’

Realizing how unsettled he was too by the incident, Sandy squeezed his hand, then ran off through the rain to catch up with Vic. Now she’d fired the stuntman they’d have to go through all the rehearsals again to
prepare
someone else for the role. That meant there was a good chance they’d get nothing in the can today, so Vic wasn’t going to be happy. She just hoped he wasn’t going to make her look foolish by overruling her on this.

But that was exactly what he did, though in as subtle a way as possible, by getting the fired stuntman back on the set to apologize to everyone concerned. It was probably the most sensible and diplomatic response, as the last thing they needed was any bad feeling festering in the ranks. Fortunately it all took a lot less time than Sandy had feared, and as the daylight had virtually gone Vic’s mood improved no end, for he’d now decided this sequence always should have been shot at night – and a rainy, windy night was even better than just night.