Hollywood Scream Play (28 page)

I nod. “Okay, I’ll see if either of them will take my call.” I fumble for my car key. “But please don’t be too disappointed if I also hit a brick wall.”

She pats my arm. “Donna, I can tell you already that you won’t. You’re one of the most diligent parents I know.”

I wish I had her confidence in me.

More importantly, I wish I had her confidence in Lee Chiffray.

Here’s hoping he doesn’t disappoint Miss Darling as much as he’s disappointed me.

Chapter 19

All the President's (Wo)men

“It involves the entire U.S. Intelligence Community. FBI…CIA…Justice…it's incredible. …It was mainly to protect the covert operations. It leads everywhere. Get out your notebook. There's more. Your lives are in danger.”

—Hal Holbrook, as “Deep Throat” in 
All the President’s Men

Is your heart palpitating because you’re THIS CLOSE to one of your favorite actors of all time? Here are some quick etiquette tips in the art of the autograph:

Tip #1: Don’t ask if you’re in a lavatory of any nature. It doesn’t matter if it’s the restroom at the Ritz, the Staples Center or the Oscars, one of you will be doing something the other won’t want to see or hear—let alone come in contact with a pen or paper from the other, while doing so.

Tip #2: Don’t ask if you’re on the movie set with him and he’s going through his actor’s prep in order to get into character—especially if he’s a serial killer, because you’re giving him the perfect reason to wring your neck.

Tip #3: Don’t ask if he’s in an argument with his significant other. However, if it leads to a break-up and the actor is looking for a shoulder to cry on, bare yours—or better, your chest—and hand him a pen.

“Yes, the president has been expecting you,” Lee Chiffray’s secretary replies crisply, when I call to make an appointment. “In fact, he’s asked me to block out a half-hour, starting at four o’clock today.”

He’s expecting me? How audacious is that?

The manners drilled into me by mother come to mind. 
Always a lady, even under pressure. You catch more flies with honey than vinegar.

In this case, my father’s lessons also apply: 
Keep your gun cocked and loaded—but don’t fire until you see the whites of their eyes.

Figuratively speaking, of course.

“I’ll be sure to be prompt. I know he keeps a pretty tight business schedule,” I say sweetly, then hang up.

I win at this war of misplaced trust if I get him to agree to the auction prize. I lose if I show anger.

My greatest weapon is my indifference.

When I arrive, I’m shown into the study. He doesn’t keep me waiting long. California agrees with him. He’s only been here two days, but apparently, it’s been long enough for him to acquire a healthy tan and sun-bleached hair, his surfer boy good looks roll back his age once again and belie his position as leader of the free world.

Ken and Barbie are both living in the White House.

All weekend, photographers have been standing on the sidewalk flanking the fence around Lion’s Lair’s private golf course, a nine-hole course. They are still far enough away that they have cameras with telephoto lenses to capture his perfect golf swing, and the admiring glances of foreign dignitaries and the business movers-and-shakers who make up each day’s foursome.

One of today’s players is the Yemeni president. I still cringe at the memory of my role in the theft of his country’s greatest antiquity.

Thank goodness that little caper will never get out. Being the cause of an international incident? I could likely kiss my pardon adios! Or in this case,
ma`a as-sal
ā
ma
.

Lee is all smiles as he walks into the room. When he comes over to greet me, he leans in so that our faces are close enough for a friendly kiss. I counter his move by leaning back, offering my hand instead.

When our eyes meet, I see the disappointment in his. That’s okay. This is one emotional minuet I’ll be sitting out. My dance card is full, thank you very much.

“Welcome home, Mr. President.”

Hearing the sincerity in my voice, his shoulders relax a bit. “Thank you, Donna. You’re the perfect welcoming committee.”

Why should he be nervous? It’s I who comes, wide-brimmed straw hat in hand. It’s a pale yellow, and matches my favorite yellow polka-dot dress.

“I hope Babette and Janie are well. I’m sure Trisha will be happy to see Janie, if it can be arranged before you head East again.” 
I don’t like the way he’s staring at me, as if I’m the one who got away
.

Well, I guess I did, thanks to him.

“You look like spring,” he says finally.

“It’s always spring in Orange County,” I counter.

“You love taunting me, don’t you?” His flirtatiousness is delivered with a raised brow.

“I wouldn’t dare,” I murmur. “I may end up in jail.”

His smile fades. “That’s not fair, Donna.”

I shrug. “You’re right. It wasn’t. I’ve got the presidential pardon to prove it.”

“And yet, you still don’t forgive me.”

“If you say yes to the auction gift of a dinner here, with the winner, we’ll call it even. Agreed?”

He laughs. “You’re on—as long as you rig it so that you win.” He motions me to sit on the settee by the fireplace.

Instead of taking the chair beside it, he eases in beside me.

He’s taking me at my word. He’s been getting off easy all his life. Why should this be any exception?

“The school will write in any contingencies to the gift. I’m sure the winners would appreciate a photo taken with you and the First Lady—”

“Whatever you want. You can arrange the details with my secretary.” He doesn’t rise. He’s not acting like the Commander-in-Chief.

“But of course. Well, thank you again for your generosity to the school—”

“I owe you an apology,” he interrupts bluntly. “You’re right. Carl is a terrorist, and needs to be locked up.”

Duh, yeah.

“Explain to me, then, Mr. President, why did you champion him for the directorship?”

“You know, you can call me Lee in private.”

“But…it’s no longer proper that I do so.”

“You’re right, Mrs. Stone. It isn’t. However, if you keep talking to me as if I’m some sort of statue, I’ll know I’ve lost your friendship.”

Is that what we are, friends?

Should I need to ask, it’s proof he’s right.

With Carl sitting in high cotton, I need all the friends I can get—especially this one.

“No—Lee, you haven’t lost it.” I take a deep breath. “Now, answer my question.”

He looks away for a moment. When our eyes meet again, the dread I see in his face makes me so sad. “I met Carl during the negotiations for Global World Industries’ purchase of Breck Industries. As the executor of Jonah’s trust, he negotiated the deal on Babette’s behalf.”

“I see. Go on.”

“As you know better than anyone, Jonah’s participation in the Quorum was covered up from the public. The only knowledge I had of the entity known as the Quorum was through its joint ventures with Breck Industries. One of those ventures was Fantasy Island. I found out later it was Jonah’s personal playground.”

I snicker. “Oh, it was more than that.”

“Yes, when the time was right—that is, when he knew it would ruin GWI should the word get out—Carl took great joy in revealing its original name—Misfit Quay, and the fact that Jonah’s porn site, The Island of Misfit Sluts, was run from there, as well as the fact that the women he used were slaves, and snuffed out.” He shakes his head angrily. “I was able to convince him to use the island for legitimate purposes. GWI agreed to underwrite Fantasy Island for Boarke. What we didn’t know is that the Quorum was paying him to house political prisoners in the basement of the Hunt Club, right there on the island.”

“When did you find out Boarke was using the prisoners as human prey?”

He shrugs. “I guess I found out around the same time you did—while I was vacationing there with Babette. I found it odd that one of our pilots had disappeared. Battoo led me in the right direction.” He turns to face me. “It was a nightmare of an investment for GWI. To find out the true purpose of the resort—”

“Including the Quorum’s goal of testing a lethal plague virus on the prisoners?”

He nods. “Yes, that, too.”

Suddenly, I remember Trisha spelling the word Quorum—something she claims she learned from Babette. “Lee, I have to ask you: do you think Babette knows the true mission of the Quorum?”

He slumps into the settee. “I…can’t answer that. She knew Jonah was a member of ‘some silly private little men’s club,’ as she put it. And she met Carl through it. She saw him climb up its ranks, from part of the security detail to a full-fledged member.”

“You were close to Catherine Martin, were you not?”

“Originally, she was a friend of the Brecks.”

“Carl killed her husband, Robert. You read that in our report.”

“With what I know of him now, I have no reason to doubt you on that. But if you remember, the webcam video Acme provided, in which Catherine and the shooter discuss Robert’s assassination, didn’t show a clear picture of the man’s face. To top it off, his voice was electronically altered. Considering your history with Carl, further substantiation would be needed, and Catherine won’t validate his participation.”

Of course not. She’s afraid of Carl’s wrath, and in prison, she’s a sitting duck.

“Whose idea was it for you to be Catherine’s running mate?”

“It came from Catherine. Of course, Babette was excited, and nudged me into accepting.” He shrugs. “I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that my ego had something to do with it, too.”

“And, of course, Carl encouraged you.”

He nods.

“The Quorum was funneling cash to Catherine. She was bought and paid for. Then, when Carl learned Robert was going to divorce her right in the middle of the election, he convinced Catherine that Robert had to be exterminated; it gave him one more thing to hold over her head. It also gave him the nomination as Director of Intelligence.”

I look him in the eye. “But you were Carl’s failsafe. Should she implode before, during, or after the election, he needed someone in place to carry on with the nomination. He needed to control the vice president, too.” I take his hand in mine. “Lee, what does Carl have on you?”

He rises in order to pace the floor.

When he stops, it’s directly in front of me. “He knows I killed a young woman. Her death was accidental, but Carl, of course, can make it look otherwise.” He crouches in front of me, his head bowed. “He knows the woman and I had a daughter together, and he knows where the girl is.” He’s choking up now, and I can barely hear him. “He knew of my connection to Catherine and Robert Martin and he encouraged Babette and me to be Senator Martin’s biggest supporters in the presidential primaries. Carl made it seem that it was Catherine’s idea that she make me her running mate. Later, of course, I learned that it was Carl’s idea all along. So yes, you’re right. I was his Trojan horse into the oval office. If I didn’t make him DI, he could have easily ruined me.”

I stroke his head, but I doubt I’m giving him much comfort.

Finally, he lifts his head. He takes my hand. “You are my greatest weapon against Carl.”

And he is mine. We both know it.

“GWI funded Addison’s movie, didn’t it?”

“Yes,” he confesses quietly. “It’s why Acme was called in as consultants. I told Addison to pay you whatever it took to get you.”

“You mean, we were being overpaid on purpose?” I have to laugh at this. “You’ve just burst my bubble! It was the easiest money I’ve ever made, and certainly less dangerous than covert ops—well, except when there’s a murderer on the set.”

“I also made sure that the shooting locations were close enough for you to get to the witnesses you needed. Ryan back-channeled the necessary cities,” he reminds me.

I shake my head. “I thought it was too much of a coincidence.”

“If I was going to clear you of Carl’s charges, I needed someone with a vested interest to do the legwork. I couldn’t jeopardize anyone who worked under Carl. You were already on the run. And besides, you knew where all the bodies were buried, literally.”