“Just don’t let him pick a fight. What do we win?”
“I have so much influence.”
“Minot wants to embarrass the studio. If Sol doesn’t—”
But now he was distracted by one of the publicists with a small stack of phone messages, Continental not yet running by itself.
“He listens to you,” Fay said to Ben.
“Sometimes.”
She patted his upper arm, a kind of reply, then went to join Lasner.
Bunny was looking at the top message. “Now Breimer in casting. He’s going right through the studio. Everybody who worked on Convoy.”
“You gave him Schaeffer,” Ben said quietly.
“Schaeffer’s at Fox,” Bunny said, an automatic reply, then looked up. “I didn’t ‘give’ him Schaeffer. They already had him as a Party member. Your wonderful brother probably. If you want to be technical about it.”
“You gave him the paperwork to set it up. And now he’s using it against the studio.”
“He wouldn’t be if someone hadn’t—” He broke off. “Isn’t it a little late in the day to be splitting hairs like this? Or is it all supposed to be my fault? Funny how things go missing. Maybe next time they should check the closet.”
Ben said nothing.
“I still don’t understand what she is to you.”
“Who?”
“Who.”
“Does it matter? She doesn’t deserve this.”
“Who does? Hal? My god, reaction shots.” He stopped, as if his train of thought had run out. “All right, I thought Schaeffer would buy us a little peace in our time and now it’s biting us in the ass. And now I’m the one putting out fires.” He held up the messages.
“I’m just saying, don’t give him any more.”
“I don’t have any more. Do you actually think there are Communists at Continental? Or did you find someone else on your brother’s list?”
“His list?” Ben said, looking up.
“Whatever he was feeding Minot. If there are, let’s not keep our cards too close to the vest. I’ve had enough surprises. Oh god, Liesl’s father,” he said, spotting Ostermann over Ben’s shoulder. “Down here with the field hands. He thinks I’m ruining her. Her Von Sternberg or something. Imagine. Run interference—I’ve got to call Breimer before he throws a fit.” He paused. “Look, blame who you like. There’s plenty enough to go around,” he said, looking pointedly at Ben. “But right now we’re circling the wagons. I could use some help. Go keep an eye on Mr. L, will you? He trusts you. I can’t think why.”
Ostermann had been talking to Polly, his improbable new friend.
“She writes down everything,” he said to Ben, amused. “Everything he says. Her Cicero.”
“But you’re not. Still nothing for Aufbau?”
“No. Who’s on trial? For once, not the Germans. The Comintern? No. The New Deal, I think. A political exercise.”
“It’ll burn itself out,” Ben said, glancing toward the cameras in the hearing room.
“Not yet. The start only.”
Across the room, Hal was now standing with his lawyers, listening as he sipped coffee, his face pale, making his five o’clock shadow even darker. Schaeffer, who had requested him, sat farther back in the room, smoking, looking at the rain.
“So how do we stop it?”
Ostermann shook his head. “I don’t know. In books, a brave man does it. Fights back. But I’ve never seen that happen.”
They went back to their same seats, only Bunny missing, still on the phone. Schaeffer was on the other side of the aisle, quietly wiping his glasses, people talking around him. When he glanced over, presumably unfocused, not really seeing anything, Ben felt it had been to look at him, some reminder of Danny. Who’d fed Minot’s files. Could he really ever have imagined Schaeffer as someone dangerous, one of the old comrades who needed watching? Ben sat up. But he hadn’t known him then. Schaeffer had left the Party in ’39, before Danny had arrived. Which meant Danny had got the information from someone else. His reports always checked out, Riordan had said. If he said to look, there was something to be found. Because he’d been there, too, Ben had assumed, like the meeting with MacDonald. But not this time. So who had told him? The Party didn’t keep files to rummage through, like Minot. You had to know, be part of its secret world.
“Mr. Jasper, I believe you testified that Convoy to Murmansk was the first time you’d met Mr. Schaeffer.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No, I said it was the first time we’d worked together.” He nodded apologetically. “I’m trying to be precise.”