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They went back indoors and rode the elevator ten stories to the roof. Irina said, “The best photoplays of the future will be those that are created inside the film studio.”
The picture-taking studio had room for several cinematograph studio stages with glass ceilings to capture natural light. At one edge of the roof stood a stone wall that could serve as a precipice or a building. Bell leaned over and looked down. The life net winked back at him, no bigger than a dime.
“I have one more thing to show you.” She took him down to the eighth floor to a gleaming camera and projector machine shop, with a laboratory attached.
“Everything is up-to-date. Would you like to use our facility, Isaac?”
“Will your Artists Syndicate allow it?”
“I will deal with the Artists Syndicate. You and Clyde will deal with me.”
“Done,” said Isaac Bell. “With one proviso. My firm will staff Lynds’s workshop with mechanicians.”
“If you like, though we already have the best in Los Angeles.”
“And we will provide our own guards.”
“Whatever for? This building is a fortress.”
“So I noticed. Nonetheless, my directors are conservative. They will demand that we do everything possible to protect Lynds’s invention.”
“Perhaps you could convince them that the building is safe.”
“My directors remember what happened on the Mauretania. Professor Beiderbecke was killed. And the machine was destroyed in a fire. You can imagine why they insist that we protect our investment.”
“I understand,” she said reluctantly.
“I hope this wouldn’t cause trouble with the Artists Syndicate.”
“I told you. I will contend with the syndicate. Let us shake hands on our deal.”
On his way back to Van Dorn headquarters, Isaac Bell rented a house big enough for Clyde Lynds to share with Lipsher and two more bruisers from Protective Services.
* * *
Irina Viorets locked the door to her office in the Imperial Film Manufacturing Building and lifted a leather-bound copy of the novel War and Peace from her bookcase, causing the case to slide open on a private stairway. She climbed two flights to a suite hidden on the ninth floor. Its windows were heavily draped, making it cool and dark. To a northern European, it offered welcome refuge from the Los Angeles heat and sunlight.
The man waiting for her report sat behind his desk with his face in shadow.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Bell insists on posting his own guards.”
Book Three: Hollywood
26
General Christian Semmler laughed at Irina Viorets.
“Of course he wants his own guards. He’s cautious. What do you expect of an ‘insurance man’?”
“How would I know what to expect? I am not a soldier, only an artist.”
“You are ‘only an artist’ like a cobra is only a snake.”
“You have no right to mock me. I have done exactly as you wanted.”
“And will continue to.” Christian Semmler watched her gather her courage, then brutally cut the legs out from under her. “No! To answer the question forming on your lovely lips, I have no message for you from your fiancé.”
“You promised,” she said bleakly.
