Stardust(185)

Henderson raised an eyebrow.

“He knew. It just wasn’t the right side. That was the hard part, figuring that out.”

Henderson took this in, thinking, then started back. “I’m going to put a tail on you.”

“Somebody could pick us off right now, if he wanted. What good would that do?”

“Might make him work a little harder for it. Find a better spot.”

Ben glanced up at the set. “Unless he’s already found it.”

After Henderson left, Ben drifted back toward the Western set. Some workers were trimming branches off the giant cottonwood, the whine of their buzz saw drowning out the carpenters in the partial saloon, all the noises a comfort now, safety in other people. Beyond the cottonwood there was a stand of live oaks, where posses tied up horses for the night, and then the raised wooden sidewalk in front of the general store and the sheriff’s office, lined with hitching rails. Had the real towns been any more substantial? Thrown together in a few weeks, the same dusty clapboard fronts and fading paint. He was standing now in the street where gunfighters faced off, hands hovering near their holsters. He looked down to the corner, half-expecting someone to appear. But it was too soon. There’d be some better plan. From the top of the building, someone with a rifle could take him with a single bullet. One shot, then glide away in the confusion as the carpenters raced out to the street. But it wouldn’t happen that way, either. A hired pachuco at the Cherokee wasn’t enough anymore. How much did Ben know, what had he already told Polly, how far had the stain spread? What Henderson didn’t seem to understand, one reason Ben had set it up this way—first they’d have to talk to him.

He was still at his desk, waiting for the phone to ring, as the production units closed down for the day. He could hear people outside heading for their cars, the line of idling motors at the gate, the lot thinning out. He tried to imagine the call, wondered where the meeting would be set. Why not Paseo Miramar, a sentimental choice. But too public at this hour. When the door opened, no knock, he jerked his head up, every part of him alert.

“I was wondering how long it would take you,” he said.

Liesl hesitated, still holding the doorknob. “I didn’t think I was going to come at all.” She walked in and put the newspaper on his desk, a presentation gesture, Exhibit A.

“You got all dressed up.”

She glanced down at the bare-shouldered evening gown. “Publicity,” she said, offhand, distracted.

“For War Bride? In that? More like Dick Marshall’s bride. How’s that going? Or isn’t it?”

She stared at him, thrown, not expecting this.

“I told you. It didn’t mean anything,” she said finally.

“Well, neither did I.”

She looked surprised again, slightly lost. “Is that what you think?”

He met her eyes, not moving. “Go on, say it.”

“What?”

“What you were going to say. When you didn’t think you’d come.”

“Bastard. I was going to say what a bastard you are,” she said, emotionless, repeating lines. “To do this to him.”

“He’s dead.”

“And this is the memory you want for him? An informer? So everyone knows,” she said, pointing to the paper, her voice stronger. “And now you’re the good one. It means so much? To be better than him?”

“It’s true. He was an informer.”

“That’s not everything he was.”

“No. Worse.”

She stopped, dropping her hand to her side. “What do you mean, worse?”

“Treason? What every Russian wants to know. What did Henderson call it? Our new order of battle.”

“The list,” she said, ignoring his tone. “You found out who they are?”

He nodded. “It took a few calls. Of course some of them don’t have phones. They’re nowhere. New Mexico, I guess. Like in the newsreel. That’s when it clicked. I remembered Friedman. The Livermore lab. Berkeley. Bingo. In Danny’s newsreel. At home. Maybe you watched it together.”

“What are you talking about? What treason? You’re going to put this in the paper? Make it worse?”

“That depends on how you read it. The Communists will think he’s quite a guy. You do. Except for his love life. But maybe that was just a get-even screw. He didn’t take her there, you know. The Cherokee love nest. That was your idea. That’s not what it was for. Party business.”

“Party business.”

“You remember the Party.”

“Remember what?” she said, confused.

“You were in it, too.”