Taking Chances

by Susan Lewis

  And around the other side of the silent, deadly tableau, Kris was half out the window, the lower part of his body trapped and crushed by the wheel, his gun back a way on the edge of the road.

  But Sandy said no more, wanting to spare him her own feelings, for they weren’t relevant now.

  ‘What were you doing there?’ Michael finally said.

  Sandy’s eyes moved about the Emergency Room. ‘I don’t know,’ she said in a whisper. ‘I knew they were meeting, Ellen and Tom, and I just … I don’t know, I can’t explain it. I just had this need to go and talk to them. But by the time I got there they were leaving. I saw Ellen and Kris coming out of the gates, and then this Mercedes pulled out of another drive further along and started to follow them.’ She took a breath. ‘I didn’t think anything of it at first, you see so many limousines up around that way …’

  ‘Mr McCann?’ It was the nurse.

  Michael looked at her kindly, oriental face, and felt the monstrous fear rise in him again.

  ‘The doctor will be able to speak to you in a few minutes,’ she told him. ‘Please come this way.’

  ‘How is she?’ Michael said, getting to his feet. ‘Is she going to come through?’

  ‘The doctor will speak to you,’ she told him, her gentle, almost funereal tone driving terror to the very roots of his heart.

  ‘I’ll wait here,’ Sandy said.

  Michael turned back. ‘Get on the phone to Vic Warren and ask him to break the news to Matty,’ he said. ‘Then call my mother.’

  ‘What about Ellen’s parents?’

  ‘I’ll call them when we know …’ He stopped, then started again. ‘After I’ve spoken to the doctor.’

  There was no scale by which he could measure his levels of fear or tension as he waited in a small side room for the doctor to come. Beyond it all he was trying desperately to connect with Ellen, but fear was a ghastly monster to control. Inconsequential thoughts flitted through his mind, like who might empty the wastebin beside him, or if the Hockney on the wall was an original. He looked at the other chairs and wondered about the hundreds of people who had sat in this room before him. For a long time he focused on a stain on the carpet, the block in his mind seeming as stubborn and unerasable.

  Then he was thinking about the movie and the fact that it would have to stop now whether Forgon liked it or not – to begin with Matty would be on the next plane to LA, and to end with, there was a very good chance the police, or FBI, would halt it until investigations were complete.

  He thought of Tom and how he had been right about them targeting Ellen, though not even Tom could have known that while he and Ellen were inside Vic Warren’s house talking, Galeano’s people were waiting outside. Later Michael would learn about the bogus roadworks that had closed down a two-mile stretch of Mulholland Drive and brought half of LA to a standstill. And about the bugs that had been planted in their home and on Ellen’s phones at work. He even got to find out about the call Ellen had received and never told him about.

  But as he sat there now, in a small room on the seventh floor of Cedars Sinai’s north tower, less than fifty yards from the frantic efforts to save her life, he didn’t know any of that. All he knew was the overpowering need to remain strong for her, to be able once again to tell her how much he loved her, and to ask her to forgive him for his stupidity and pride. He wanted her to know that he believed the baby was his, and that he wanted it with all his heart. But it would be too late now, for what were the chances of an unborn child surviving a crash like that? He thought of the moments in the bath, when he had touched her and the baby, and held them in his arms and felt them merge as one. And then he thought of how her body must look now, laid open to the rescuing hands of surgeons, while their baby …

  Unable to stop himself he started to cry. The bitter irony of it all wasn’t lost on him either, for he had agreed to her meeting Chambers in the privacy of Vic Warren’s home as a way of showing her his trust, when really what he’d wanted was for her to be there when the lawyers had witnessed the transfer of his shares. Another gesture of trust.

  But now wasn’t the time to try reasoning with the curiously cruel quirks of fate, so he forced himself to think of Chambers again and how he was going to take it when he was told what had happened. It wasn’t something Michael found easy to imagine, for his own guilt was reaching limits he could barely endure. How much worse it was going to be for Chambers, who had already lost the woman he loved, and would now no doubt hold himself responsible for what had happened to Ellen, and the children in Colombia too. How bitterly he was going to regret not putting his plan into action sooner. Had he known, of course he would have, but how could he have known?

  The door opened and the surgeon came in.

  Michael stood up.

  ‘Mr McCann, I’m Dr Mills,’ the surgeon said, holding out his hand. He was wearing aqua-colour scrubs and boots, his hair was covered by a cap and a mask hung loosely around his neck. His green eyes were giving nothing away.

  Michael shook his hand. ‘How is she?’ His voice barely made a whisper.

  The doctor’s eyes remained firmly on his, as though trying to pass over some extra strength. ‘I’m afraid not good,’ he answered.

  Michael suddenly wanted to hit him, pound him, throw him up against the wall and tell him to stop lying.

  ‘The injuries she sustained from the crash are serious,’ the doctor continued, ‘but mainly thanks to her seat-belt, not life-threatening. It’s the bullet she took in the chest that’s causing the problem.’

  Michael’s eyes rounded with terror. No-one had told him she’d been shot.

  ‘We’ve managed to remove it,’ the surgeon was saying, ‘but I’m afraid the damage it inflicted … It was very close to the heart … Her left lung has collapsed … We’re working on stopping the bleeding … She’s also sustained injury to her pulmonary arteries and oesophagus, and there is some serious contusion to the lung tissue which is causing bleeding directly into the lung.’

  Michael’s face was grey. He didn’t want to imagine all the things he’d just heard, he didn’t want them to be about Ellen. This was all just a nightmare. ‘What are her chances?’ he finally managed to ask.

  The surgeon’s eyes held firm. ‘I’m sorry, Mr McCann,’ he said, ‘but I’m afraid I have to advise you to prepare yourself for the worst.’

  ‘No!’ Michael cried. The word had erupted from the core of his fear. He looked at the surgeon with fierce and desperate eyes. His skin seemed to be tightening over his bones, his insides were cowering from the truth. ‘You’ve got to save her,’ he said hoarsely. ‘You’ve got to.’

  ‘I promise you, we’re doing our best.’

  Michael nodded and bowed his head.

  The surgeon waited a moment then said, ‘The baby was delivered by C-section just after they got here. Your wife was already in labour.’ He paused, waiting for Michael to ask, but he didn’t. ‘It’s a boy,’ he said.

  Michael looked at him stupidly.

  Mills permitted himself a small smile as he nodded. ‘He made it,’ he said. ‘He’s not a big guy, but he’s doing just fine. He’s in Neonatal ICU right now, but you should be able to see him later in the day.’

  Michael nodded and pulled a hand over his face. He suddenly felt so exhausted he could barely continue to stand. ‘What about my wife?’ he said. ‘When can I see her?’

  ‘I’ll let you know as soon as …’ He stopped as the door opened and a nurse came in.

  ‘Cardiac arrest.’

  The doctor was out the door and along the corridor before Michael could make himself move. When finally he did he looked up to see Sandy standing in the corridor outside.

  ‘The police are waiting to see me,’ she said.

  Michael nodded and swallowed the ocean of tears in his throat. Then turning around he went back to the chair.

  Sandy came and sat next to him.

  It was a long time before either of them spoke.

  ‘The
nurse told me about the baby,’ she said. ‘At least that’s some good news.’

  He sat forward, resting his arms on his knees and burying his face in his hands. ‘It’s mine,’ he said, after a while. ‘I know you thought it might not be, but the dates, they’re … It could only be mine.’

  Sandy sat quietly staring into space. The nurse had told her that already. Any earlier, she’d said, and the baby wouldn’t have stood so much of a chance – seven months should be just fine though. Sandy had started to protest, then stopped as she realized the woman wouldn’t have made such an error. And besides, it made sense, for why else would a woman with Ellen’s morals have agreed to tell Michael the baby was his, unless it was the truth? So Ellen had taken the shares knowing that she wouldn’t be lying to Michael. Which meant Sandy had been tricked. Played for a fool. How they must have laughed at her. But they weren’t laughing now, nor was she feeling any bitterness or surprise – in fact right now nothing seemed to be reaching her at all.

  ‘Your mother’s coming over,’ she told him, ‘and Matty’s on her way back.’

  He didn’t want to hear that, it was only confirming that the nightmare was real. ‘I’d better call her parents,’ he said.

  He got up and started towards the door. When he reached it he stopped and turned back. ‘Did you get hold of Tom?’ he asked.

  Sandy shook her head. ‘I don’t know where he is,’ she answered, looking suddenly very lost. ‘He’s checked out of the hotel.’

  Michael put a hand to his head. ‘I forgot,’ he said. ‘He’s gone to Colombia.’

  Sandy’s face turned even whiter than it already was. ‘But he can’t,’ she protested, ‘they’ll kill him.’

  Michael looked at her and for a fleeting moment wondered how they had got to this place in their lives. Then, remembering that time was no longer on his side, he went to find a phone to call Ellen’s parents.

  Chapter 22

  THE HEART MONITOR over the operating table flatlined at four forty-three in the afternoon.

  By four forty-eight the five-man team had her back again and the urgent struggle to save Ellen’s life continued. She’d now been undergoing surgery for the best part of two hours, and it was doubtful her body could sustain much more trauma. But her heart was stabilizing and for the moment at least they had managed to stop the bleeding.

  Michael continued to wait. Rosa, one of the agents from ATI and a close friend to Ellen, had come to join him, bringing him coffee and doughnuts. The coffee he took. It made him feel better, though his body remained stiff, and the sense of unreality and exhaustion weighed heavily.

  He’d seen the baby, tiny, helpless creature that it was, all tubed up and shut in a glass case to protect him from the world. He had no hair, and his skin was red and shiny, almost transparent. There was a problem with his lungs, though the obstetrician had said that was normal in prematures, and that there was very good reason to stay optimistic. Michael had stood looking at him for a long, long time, feeling emotions sway and catch in his heart, as he prayed desperately to God that Ellen would get to see him, and hold him, and be there as he grew strong and became ready to take his bow in the world. So far he hadn’t given him a name, though he had one ready if he had to. He just didn’t want to do it without Ellen.

  But for now all he could do was wait. It would be a few hours yet before either Matty or Ellen’s parents got there, and he guessed that some time soon, probably when they’d finished with Sandy, the police would want to talk to him too.

  As the movie was only a couple of weeks into shooting, and no vote had been taken to alter its course, Ted Forgon got on the phone to Vic Warren and told him he was recasting the part of Rachel. If Matty was going to be away for a while, they couldn’t afford the delay.

  Warren could hardly believe what he was hearing. Matty had only left the set a couple of hours ago, and as far as he knew Ellen was still in the operating room. He called Forgon every foul name he could think of, then refused to do anything until he’d heard from Michael. Forgon promptly fired him, then got straight on the phone to another director and told him to get himself down to Los Mochis, pronto. And while he was at it he called up a couple of screenwriters and told them to get themselves down there too, because the way things were going it was pretty certain a few changes would be needed.

  ‘Give it some more blood and guts,’ he told one of them. ‘A couple of good chase scenes and some nice big tits up there for the love stuff. Go easy on the laughs though, this is supposed to be a serious piece. But forget about naming names, maybe you should elbow Colombia altogether. Turn it into a Russian spy piece if you have to, and do what you can to lighten it up a bit, or we’re going to drive half the nation to Prozac.’

  ‘Don’t you think you should take a look at Tom Chambers’s contract before you go ahead with that?’ Chris Ruskin suggested. He’d just walked in on the end of Forgon’s call, and having no great love for Hollywood ethics, he had even less for Forgon.

  ‘Fuck Chambers’s contract!’ Forgon responded. He was clearly really charged up by the idea of taking over.

  Ruskin’s face was impassive, though the contempt was only a layer away. ‘I think you’ll find he’s got exclusive rights on the …’

  ‘He gave up his rights the day he went into movies,’ Forgon snarled. ‘Now unless you’re going to be some use around here, I suggest you get your fairy ass back to New York where it belongs.’

  Sandy was the first to find out about Forgon’s assumption of control. Having spent the past hour with the police she returned to the hotel to find a message from Vic Warren demanding someone get on Ted Forgon’s case now or he, Warren, really would walk. There was another message from Chris Ruskin telling her to call him immediately she got back. There were still others from the set producers asking what they should do, and from at least half a dozen publicists saying they must have some kind of statement to give to the press. In fact it seemed as though the whole world was trying to get hold of her now that the news of Ellen’s accident was out – and that was how everyone appeared to be referring to it, as an accident, for she could find no mention anywhere, either in her messages or on the few channels she quickly flicked through, of a shooting.

  Exhausted though she was, she could feel a new energy starting to kick in. Obviously there was no way she could trouble Michael with any of it, nor was there any way she was going to stand by and let Forgon hijack this movie as though it were some vacuous thriller for the testosterone titans.

  Picking up the phone she called Chris Ruskin first and asked him to come over to the Four Seasons right away. While she was waiting she tried calling Alan Day in Colombia, but couldn’t get a reply. By now Tom’s flight would be halfway to Miami, where he would then make the connection to Bogotá. Quickly she got back on the phone and spoke to Maggie, Michael’s assistant, telling her to put a message out at Miami airport for Tom to call the minute he landed. If nothing else, she should tell him about Ellen, and with any luck that alone would persuade him to turn around and come back. Forgon’s attempts at sabotage would hopefully clinch it.

  Chris Ruskin arrived, and over a fortifying few shots of brandy she told him what she intended to do if, for any reason, Tom didn’t get the message and call back. She was still too beset by shock and the aftermath of all that had happened to calculate properly the size of the risk she would be taking, which was why she had wanted to run it by Ruskin to see how he responded. To her relief he was in total agreement, and even declared himself to be more than ready to share the responsibility should her plans backfire. From that Sandy realized he wasn’t entirely in tune with how dangerous her plans could prove, but as they were really only a danger to her, she saw no reason to elaborate.

  By five o’clock it was clear Tom wasn’t going to ring. She tried not to take it personally, telling herself that he probably didn’t get the message, rather than confronting the possibility that he still didn’t want to speak to her. She got back on the phone to Maggie to see
if maybe he’d called there, but he hadn’t, nor was there any word from Michael. Sandy took that to be good news, for if Ellen hadn’t made it she was sure they’d all know with a horrible speed.

  Within an hour the movie’s senior publicist had performed nothing less than a miracle, and Sandy was at CNN’s Los Angeles studios preparing to do a live link-up with their studios in New York. She was to be the first guest of the evening on Larry King Live. The news of Ellen’s accident was, for the moment at least, LA’s top story. It would probably remain that way for one, possibly two hours, after that it would be lucky if it even got a mention again, which was why Sandy had to strike now, at a time when the incident already had attention. She’d told Larry King’s researchers about the shooting, which was how she’d managed to get the top slot. They were thrilled – not only was this a great scoop for the show, but it was really going to get the American people going to discover that some Colombian drug lord was able to reach out from a prison cell and affect the lives of American citizens who were going about their business on American soil. Added to that, of course, was the fact that the woman who’d been shot was one of the executive producers on a movie about Rachel Carmedi, the American journalist who, most would remember, had been murdered in Colombia.

  Somewhere, in the panicked rush of her mind, Sandy knew that if Tom were aware of what she was planning he would do everything he could to stop her. But he didn’t know, and even if she was putting herself in danger something had to be done to stop Ted Forgon – and, maybe, to stop Tom Chambers too.