Once a protégé of Stone Barrington, Herbie was now a senior partner at Woodman & Weld, and one of their most respected lawyers. Though he usually handled major cases, Herbie could always be counted on to do legal favors for friends.
Herbie was glad to hear from him. “Billy, what’s up? I hear you’re making a movie.”
“Boy, are you behind on the news.”
Teddy caught him up on the situation with Sammy Candelosi and Pete Genaro, and how he’d ended up in the hospital. It seemed urgent enough, even leaving out Tessa’s problems and the whole corporate takeover.
Herbie was shocked. “Someone tried to kill you? That’s terrible. Is there anything I can do?”
“Get me out of here.”
* * *
—
Teddy’s doctor was horrified. “You can’t check out.”
“Actually, I can,” Teddy said. “I just have to sign a waiver that I am checking out against medical advice. Then the hospital’s covered, and they’re happy to get the bed. I have an attorney standing by, if you need it explained to you.”
“Your leg’s in traction.”
“Only because you put it there. Take it out of traction, and I’ll be on my way.”
“I’m not going to do that.”
“It’s all right, I will.” Teddy unhooked the cable holding up his leg. “Ta-da! Now, if you’ll just have a nurse bring a wheelchair, I’m good to go.”
It wasn’t quite as easy as that, but at least Teddy didn’t have to resort to a legal injunction. Two hours later a nurse wheeled him out the emergency room exit where Rick was waiting with a car.
Teddy slid into the backseat, and Rick took off.
“Did you get the items I requested?”
Rick jerked his thumb. “It’s all in the trunk. Scalpel, surgical scissors, surgical saw, needle and surgical thread, Ace bandages, adhesive tape, antibiotic ointment, a pair of crutches, and a wheelchair.”
“No cookies?”
“I could arrange for a grocery delivery. You’re not getting shot while I’m shopping.”
“I was kidding.”
“Oh,” Rick said. Clearly joking about such a serious subject was not in his nature.
The super at Mark Weldon’s apartment building was out front when Rick pulled up. He raised his eyebrows when Teddy emerged on crutches. “Whoa. What happened to you?”
“I had an accident on the set.”
His eyes widened. “Are you the stuntman who fell?”
“My fame precedes me.”
“No, really. You fell from the fifth floor?”
“The fall was what we were filming. There was a landing pad staged below.”
“Looks like you missed.”
“This is nothing,” Teddy said, referring to the crutches. “Tomorrow I’ll be back on the set.”
The super looked doubtful.
Rick helped Teddy up the stairs to his apartment. “You want me to leave the wheelchair in the car?” Rick asked. “It’s going to be a bitch getting it up and down the stairs.”
“I’m going to leave you in the car, too,” Teddy said. “Park down the street where you can watch the door. Call me on the phone if you see anyone suspicious trying to get in.”
“I could sit by the door.”
“You’re not an aide, you’re a bodyguard. You can’t sit outside the door, and inside you’ll drive me nuts. Go set up a good surveillance point. I’ll call you if I need anything.”
That wasn’t the way Rick would have played it, but Mike’s instructions had been explicit.
As soon as Rick was gone, Teddy locked the door behind him. He took out his gun and set it on the table for easy access.
Then he got down to work.
89
Teddy couldn’t have a cast on for what he intended to do. He took the cast off and examined the leg. The doctor had done a good job of setting it. With the cast on, it would heal rather quickly. With the cast off, it would be all right if he didn’t put any pressure on it.
Teddy had to put pressure on it.
Teddy covered the wound with sterile pads, and wrapped them in adhesive tape. He bracketed the broken area with wooden splints. They wouldn’t hold as well as the cast, but they would be better than nothing. He taped them tight, making the splint as thin as possible.
He wrapped the leg in Ace bandages, so tight as to cut off the circulation. He was risking gangrene, but it couldn’t be helped. He had two criteria: he couldn’t stagger, and he couldn’t fall down.
Teddy pulled on a pair of suit pants. The bottom of the leg looked slightly bulky, but it would have to do.
Teddy limped into the bathroom and looked at his face in the mirror. It was shocking. His mummy costume was so extensive he could have passed for the Invisible Man. As in that movie, he could imagine unwinding the bandage and finding nothing there.
Teddy cut through the bandage with surgical scissors. It unwound easily, a good sign. His face wasn’t bad. He had a few cuts and bruises, but nothing that makeup wouldn’t hide. His forehead was still gashed and swollen, but it was near the hairline where it could be covered with a wig.
And he wasn’t suffering the effects of a concussion. He staggered a little when he let go of the sink, but that wasn’t from dizziness, that was from the broken leg.
He was good to go.
* * *
—
In his long years of equipping CIA operatives for missions, Teddy had drilled one idea into their heads: It is inadvisable to meet the same person under two separate identities. No matter how good you are, or think you are, there is always something that will trip you up. Some small characteristic that you don’t even realize you have, but which triggers a flash of doubt in the person you are attempting to fool. It is far better to send a second agent, even one not as proficient as you might think you are.
Teddy was not one to disregard his own advice, but he had no other agent, and he needed to call on Mason Kimble and Gerard Cardigan again. He had met them as a dirty old man, eager to hang out with movie types. He needed to get as far away from that image as possible, particularly as his pitch this time would be the same—a desire to invest in movies. To pull it off, Teddy went younger and Italian. Carlo Verdi had thick black hair threatening to creep down his face as sideburns. He put on a flashy suit, and transformed himself into a New Jersey wiseguy.