31
Teddy had a two-o’clock set call. He arrived at a quarter till, and went straight to wardrobe and makeup.
Tessa was already there. She was having her eye makeup checked, which was something she usually did herself. Teddy figured she was waiting for him.
She was. She managed some stilted small talk in front of the makeup artist, and whisked him out of the room as soon as he was done.
The soundstage was abuzz with grips and electricians and cameramen setting up.
“Let’s get out of here,” Teddy said. He walked her out onto the back lot.
The moment they were alone Tessa said, “So, what about the gun?”
“I’m working on the gun.”
“Why did he send it to me?”
“Just to frighten you, I think.”
“How do you know?”
“Because nothing happened. The other obvious reason to send you the gun is to frame you for the Ace Vargas murder.”
“You do think that’s the gun that killed Ace Vargas?”
“I think there’s a pretty good chance. But I don’t think our blackmailer is actually trying to frame you with it. If he was, he could have hidden it somewhere in your home or trailer, tipped off the authorities, and policemen would have shown up at your house with a warrant. Instead he gave it right to you, and gave you time to get rid of it. He doesn’t want you in the hands of the police. He wants you free to do what he wants.”
“I just wish I knew what that was,” Tessa fretted. “He’s toying with me.”
“All of this is just setting the stage, softening you up for what comes next.”
“So what can it be?”
“We’ll have to wait to find out.”
* * *
—
When he got off from filming, Teddy went home and changed back into Agent Jonathan Foster. He strapped a gun to his ankle and put on a shoulder holster. He drove downtown and spent a good half hour checking out the streets around the CIA lab, just to be sure “Jonathan Foster” hadn’t been found out and he wasn’t walking into a trap.
When he was relatively certain the building wasn’t being watched, he crossed the street and went in.
He knocked on the door to the lab with his left hand. His right hand was under his jacket on his gun.
The look on Jaspar Billingham’s face told him all was well. The young man was pleased as punch. He’d found a match.
Teddy took the gun and the photo, collected the test bullets Jaspar had fired, swore him to secrecy one more time, and got the hell out of there. He felt bad for the young man, who was probably already celebrating his promotion in his head.
Teddy went home and changed out of his Jonathan Foster guise. Then he hacked into the CIA and carefully deleted any trace of Jonathan Foster from their website. He’d have to trash the identity now. It was too bad. He was kind of fond of Agent Jonathan Foster.
32
Gerard Cardigan was listening on the phone. Every now and then he would lift the receiver from his ear and mime, “Blah, blah, blah,” with his other hand. He covered the mouthpiece and shook his head. “You ask a simple question and you get someone’s life story.” He put the phone back to his ear. “Yes, yes, that’s very interesting. What I want to know is has the transfer of stocks gone through?” That question triggered another deluge of unwanted information.
Mason Kimble extended his hand and waggled his fingers. Gerard handed him the phone. Mason took it and said, “Put Cy on.” A moment later he said, “Cy, Mason Kimble. I’m trying to do the math here. I need a simple number, not an explanation. How many shares of Vanessa Morgan’s holdings have been transferred to my account?” Mason grabbed a pencil, turned a piece of paper around. “Uh-huh.” He scribbled on the paper. “Thank you,” he said, and hung up.
Mason swiveled the paper around for Gerard.
Gerard smiled. “In some ways you’re scarier than I am.”
“In some ways. And the winner is . . . ?”
“Forty-two point seven percent.”
“Perfect,” Mason said, beaming. “And Tessa Bacchetti’s seven point five makes fifty point two. That calls for champagne.”
Gerard looked up. “We have champagne?”
“I had a feeling about the numbers. I picked it up this morning.”
Mason opened the storage cabinet behind the desk and removed an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne cooling. He popped the cork and filled a pair of flutes. He handed one to Gerard. “To Star Pictures!”
“I told you we’d make it,” Gerard said.
“We cut it close. The stockholders’ meeting is next week.”
“It was never in doubt.”
“I’d forgotten how effective your methods of persuasion are.”
Gerard took a sip. “Shall we send our date an invitation?”
“Absolutely. We want to give her time to pick out a dress.”
Mason went to the storage cabinet, took out a brand-new cell phone, and wiped it clean. “Hand me a mailer, will you?”
* * *
—
The mailer was on the stoop when Tessa stumbled out of her front door for her six-thirty call. She opened it in the limo on her way to the set. There was no note, no DVD, just the phone. She half expected it to ring, but prayed it wouldn’t. What would the driver think? He’d only hear her end of the conversation, but even so.
The phone didn’t ring on her way to the set. It rang in the middle of her scene with Brad. For once it was going well. Tessa was distracted and exhausted, which pulled her performance down, and Brad stepped his up. The result was the two of them blended perfectly and the scene flowed.
Then the phone rang.
Peter was incredulous. “Who has a cell phone on set?”
He felt bad when he realized the phone was Tessa’s, but he was still annoyed, particularly when she didn’t just turn it off.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I have to take this.” She ran off the set, away from the cast and crew. “Yes,” she said quietly, when she was out of earshot.
“You kept me waiting. I don’t like to be kept waiting.”
“Why did you send me a gun?”
“No, no, no. You don’t get to ask questions. You only answer them. Are you going to do what I say?”