Taking Chances (6 page)

‘I think,’ Pacho said, ‘that you must leave the apartment. Maybe it no longer safe.’

Chambers looked at him and said nothing.

‘I know you suspect me, my friend,’ Pacho said, ‘and it is right that you do. You must suspect everyone. Hernán Galeano want you very bad, and he pay lot of money for someone to find you. We no speak to friend of witness. We forget him now. There are others. I find them and make them talk. I bring them to you, before they have chance to get word to Galeano’s people. After you speak with them you disappear. You understand? We find places for you, lots of them. You must stay on the move.’

Once again Chambers’s harsh grey eyes searched the milling crowds in the plaza. Were they being watched now? Out here in the open like this he was a sitting target for even the most inept of assassins, and cartel
sicarios
were anything but that. Which meant that if they did have eyes on him, then his suspicions were correct: for the moment they wanted him alive – probably for much the same reasons that he wanted them alive too.

Pacho got to his feet and dropped a few coins on the table. ‘I will come for you in the morning, just after dawn,’ he said. ‘Be ready to leave.’

Chambers watched him walk off down the street, then finishing his beer he got up from the table and began the twenty-minute stroll back to the apartment. Though he had the sense of being followed, and checked several times, he spotted no-one, nor did he put too much store by the feeling. It was one he’d had ever since arriving, and he knew it probably had its roots in paranoia rather than truth.

After collecting his papers and computer from Lioba, he crossed the hall to his own apartment and locked the door firmly behind him. He wouldn’t go out again tonight.

The following morning, as the golden orb of the sun began to rise from the far horizon, Pacho came quietly up the worn concrete stairs outside Chambers’s
apartment
. There was no-one else around, the only sounds coming from the early stirrings of life in the streets, and the wail of a baby somewhere else in the block. He stopped outside the apartment door, looked back down the hall, then raised a hand to knock. His fist connecting with the wood pushed the door open. Immediately Pacho stepped back, reaching for his gun as he pressed up against the wall. He waited, listening, hardly breathing.

He moved forward, pushed the door wider and called Chambers’s name.

His mouth was turning dry, his heart beat a thick, loud tattoo in his brain. Bracing himself, he pulled out his gun and stepped quickly into the room, thumbing down the safety ready to fire.

The place was empty. He looked over at the bathroom. The door was open, the mirror reflecting a bare, white-tiled wall. The bed had been slept in. A pan of cold coffee rested on the stove. There was no sign of a struggle, nor of a hasty retreat. But everything had gone, Chambers, his computer, his papers, his clothes.

Spotting something on the floor by the bed, Pacho went to pick it up. It was a letter, addressed to Chambers at his Washington apartment, many pages long and neatly folded inside a torn blue envelope. He pulled it out and started to read. It didn’t take him long to work out who it was from, even without looking for the name at the end. Prior to returning to Colombia, Chambers had been in Brazil working with a British woman by the name of Michelle Rowe. Pacho knew about her, Chambers had told him himself. There had been no romance between the two – their only objective had been to expose the activities of a certain Brazilian whom Chambers, and many others, had suspected of employing his own death squad, as well as running a private prison for the incarceration and torture of street children.

Pacho knew that there was a whole lot more to the story with Michelle Rowe, and judging by this letter there was still more to come. But that wasn’t interesting him now. All he wanted to know was where the hell Chambers had gone.

Hearing footsteps in the hall outside, he quickly stuffed the letter inside his jacket and turned to face the door. As he expected, the footsteps stopped and two men peered cautiously into the room.

‘
Ya se fué
,’ Pacho said sharply. He’s already gone.

‘Where?’ the shorter of them asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Pacho answered. ‘Maybe to hell.’

Chapter 3

MICHAEL WAS SITTING
in a lone swivel chair facing a panel of five grey-suited businessmen. They were studying the thick files of information he had messengered over to them the day before, detailing his own personal and career backgrounds and the companies he was currently involved with.

It had been a while now since anyone had spoken, but he could see that several of them had reached the Profit Picture page for the movie, and, though the figures were certainly ambitious, he didn’t consider them beyond the realms of achievement. Indeed, should the returns only amount to half of what he had forecast, Virago Knox would still stand to make something in the region of twelve million dollars, for a mere two-million-dollar investment.

Interminable minutes ticked by, until finally Truman Snowe, the company chairman, took in a silent verdict from the rest of the board before returning his sharp eyes to Michael.

Then, in true American style, with no preamble at all, Snowe said, ‘The two-million-dollar investment for development will be transferred to the World Wide account as soon as the relevant documents have been drawn up.’

Until that moment Michael hadn’t realized how tense he was. After weeks of being turned down, he’d now
finally
achieved the funds he needed to get the movie underway. Relief brought an irrepressible grin to his face as he got to his feet and reached for Snowe’s hand. ‘You won’t regret this,’ he told him. ‘In fact, it’s probably one of the safest investments you’ve ever made.’

‘The names of the killers are to remain secret until the movie’s release?’ Snowe said, closing up the file.

‘That’s right,’ Michael confirmed, not letting on that they didn’t even know the names yet.

‘Can we ask who’s in the frame for the part of Chambers?’ the man next to Snowe enquired.

‘Richard Conway’s favourite,’ Michael answered.

‘And the part of Rachel?’ one of the others wanted to know.

Michael threw out his hands. ‘Give me a name and I’ll tell you she’s there,’ he answered. ‘It’ll be easier, though, once we know for sure that Conway’s on board. Your backing at this stage is really going to help us secure that.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I’m already running late. I’ll be in touch at the beginning of next week to set up a time to come and sign the necessary papers.’

Ten minutes later he was in the car on the way to the bank and listening to the message on Ellen’s voice mail. ‘Put the champagne on ice,’ he said when the recording had finished, ‘we’re in business. If I don’t hear from you in the next hour, I’ll put a call in to Conway’s people to set up a meeting. Oh, and by the way, we need to talk some more about hiring an investment manager. Did you mention it to Rufus yet? Call me when you get this message, I guess you’re still tied up with Gromer. Are you free for dinner tonight? I’ll cook. Love you.’

Hoping the good news would go some way to easing the tension that seemed to have arisen between them lately, he rang off, and making a left onto the freeway he started heading down town.

Not even the fact that Chambers had failed to call
again
could take the edge off his exhilaration right now. In fact he was feeling so charged up and good about everything that he was actually allowing himself the fantasy of an Oscar speech, and whom he was going to thank. If things carried on the way they were going then the list would certainly be long, and could even include Ted Forgon, since, to Michael’s amazement, the old boy had recently contacted Ellen from the bar at the Hillcrest and pledged a million dollars of his personal money if they managed to sign Richard Conway. Quite some vote of confidence considering its source, and in truth it had done more to buoy Michael than he was prepared to admit.

‘Maggie,’ he said into the phone.

‘Ah, my lord and master,’ his Scottish assistant responded. ‘Where are you? And how did it go with Virago Knox?’

‘We got it,’ Michael told her, and grinned as she squealed with excitement, then relayed the news to the rest of the office. More cheers went up and, laughing, he waited for everyone to call out their congratulations before speaking to Maggie again.

‘It’s time,’ he told her, ‘to e-mail the rest of the gang in London, Sydney and New York, and let them know that I’m proposing to allocate eighty per cent of World Wide’s capital to Tom Chambers’s movie. The fact that we’re going to be calling on them to come up with a further fifteen-plus million in the next couple of months we’ll save for a later date.’

Sandy Paull was looking down at an e-mail printout and the set of spreadsheets that had come with it, as she left her office, threaded a path through the usual mayhem going on in the agency’s main office, and pushed open Zelda Frey’s door.

‘I knew he was aiming for something big,’ she said, looking at the extremely large and colourfully dressed
agent
, who was one of Michael’s closest friends and confidantes. ‘Did you get the same e-mail? Or don’t tell me, you already knew.’

‘About the Tom Chambers and Rachel Carmedi story?’ Zelda said, cutting short the number she was dialling. ‘I guessed it was the direction he was heading in. No sign of a script, I suppose?’

Sandy shook her head. She was scanning the spreadsheets again. ‘I need to talk to him about this,’ she said. ‘Eighty per cent of our capital …’ She looked up as Zelda’s phone rang, then seeing Zelda grimace to say she had to take this call, she turned back to her own office.

After checking her watch to calculate the time in LA, she picked up the phone and dialled the ATI number. If this ‘Untitled Feature’ was going to be as big a project as the proposed budget was suggesting then she wanted to know more, and she wanted to know it now.

As she waited for someone to answer the phone she quickly checked her calendar to make sure World Wide LA’s move to the ATI building had already taken place. Yes, it had happened a week ago, which meant that Michael and Ellen were no longer working from home. Sandy didn’t allow herself to dwell on how snug and secure it all seemed over there for those two, it was best, she found, to blot that from her mind – at least for the time being.

‘Michael McCann, please,’ she said when someone finally picked up. There was an abrupt click, the strains of Satie or Chopin, then a voice said, ‘Michael McCann’s office.’

‘Is he there?’ Sandy asked.

‘Who’s speaking, please?’

‘Sandy Paull.’

‘Sandy Ball?’

‘
Paull
. With a ‘p’ Peter,’ she said, irritated that whoever this idiot was she appeared never to have heard of her.

‘Can I tell him what it’s about?’ the girl said.

‘Just tell him I’m on the line,’ Sandy responded shortly.

‘I’m afraid he’s not here at the moment. Can I have him return?’

‘Is he at home?’ Sandy asked.

‘Actually, he’s at a meeting over on …’

‘Is Ellen there?’ Sandy snapped.

‘Can I tell her what it’s about?’ the girl enquired, like a robot.

‘Is she there?’ Sandy repeated.

‘I’ll check. Can I tell her what your call is in connection with?’

‘What’s your name?’ Sandy demanded.

‘Olivia.’

‘Then listen to me, Olivia. My name might mean nothing to you right now, but if you’re at all interested in hanging on to your job, I’d put me through to Ellen and then go and do some homework on exactly who your bosses are.’

‘Uh, excuse me?’ the girl said.

It was hard not to scream as, too late, Sandy remembered it was never wise to speak in long sentences when dealing with American secretaries. She had no idea whether it was her accent they had a problem with, or if they were all just plain stupid. What she did know, however, was that when finally Ellen’s voice came on the other end of the line, for once in her life she was almost glad to hear it.

‘Sandy? What can I do for you?’ Ellen said coolly.

‘I’m fine, thank you. How are you?’ Sandy replied.

‘Michael should be back in an hour if you want to speak to him,’ Ellen told her.

‘I’m glad you’re well too,’ Sandy responded. ‘I’m calling about the “Untitled Feature” that’s just appeared on the spreadsheets. All it says is that it’s a Tom Chambers’ script. Do you have a copy? I’d like to read it.’

‘You and me both,’ Ellen retorted.

Sandy hesitated, noting the edge in Ellen’s voice. ‘You mean all this money’s been set aside without anyone seeing the script?’ she said.

‘In Hollywood that’s not so unusual,’ Ellen informed her.

‘Well, if such a large proportion of World Wide’s current resources is being directed into one project,’ Sandy said, ‘then I think the rest of us should have been consulted.’

‘I’m sure you’re right,’ Ellen said.

Sandy was intrigued by this answer, as it seemed to be confirming what she’d suspected a moment ago, that Ellen was pissed off about something and it sounded very much like it could be this movie. ‘As the Head of Development, perhaps you could tell me when a script’s likely to be available,’ she said, enjoying the dig.

‘As far as I’m aware no funds are being reassigned from any of your UK projects,’ Ellen responded, neatly avoiding the question, ‘so I don’t understand your concern.’

‘Not concern, interest,’ Sandy corrected. ‘If it’s going to be World Wide’s first major feature, I’d like to know more about it. I’m sure that goes for Chris Ruskin in New York and Mark Bergin in Sydney too.’

‘I haven’t heard from either of them on the matter,’ Ellen told her, ‘but you can be sure that as soon as there are any positive moves towards raising more finance for the project, or if a script should be approved, everyone will be notified.’

‘More finance?’ Sandy said. ‘Exactly how big is this budget likely to get?’

‘It’s impossible to say right now,’ Ellen answered, clearly annoyed by Sandy’s persistence.

‘What about stars? He must have someone in mind.’