Agent to the Stars (27 page)

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Authors: John Scalzi

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“To the computer,” Carl said. “I set up an America Online account for him and the
Ionar
. It's a nonconspicuous way for them to communicate.”
“How does the
Ionar
sign on?” I asked.
“Well, it's a hell of a long-distance call,” Carl said.
 
The
e-mail response from the
Ionar
was brief.
You idiots,
it said.
You were supposed to
solve
problems, not
make
them. Haul her up here.
 
Herés
how you get one of the most popular actresses in the United States out of a hospital without anyone noticing.
First, you let it leak that your actress is going to be moved. This is a simple matter of having the appropriate doctor causally mention the fact to one of the nursing staff . From there it spreads like an airborne virus. From the staff, it logically goes to the press; despite Mike Mizuhara's best efforts, some of his staff was in the pocket of the tabloids. It's not just the custodial staff, either—you'd be surprised at what a cardiac surgeon pulling down $300 thousand a year will do for an extra thousand bucks. It was time to let this blatant self-interest work for us.
At 9 p.m., an ambulance pulls up to the emergency entrance of Pomona Valley. Nearly as soon as it pulls up, someone is hustled into it on a stretcher. The stretcher is effectively blocked from view by a clutch of burly orderlies and doctors—only the briefest of flashes show the blonde hair that give those watching (and taping) a clue as to whom it might be. The ambulance pulls away, with much slamming of doors, flashing of lights, and wailing of sirens, followed by a caravan of hastily-gotten-into cars. Two of these cars are in a slight fender bender as they rush out of the parking lot; neither driver bothers to stop as they speed after the receding ambulance.
That's the decoy ambulance.
Roughly twenty minutes later, a medical helicopter screams overhead, dropping dramatically into the Pomona Valley parking
lot, as Pomona Valley has no helipad. The doors to the emergency entrance burst open, and a stretcher races to the helicopter, orderlies and doctors in a full sprint. On the way, a woman's arm slips off the stretcher and dangles, her IV tube fluttering with the speed of the stretcher's journey. As the stretcher approaches the helicopter, the side doors launch open; in one unbelievably smooth motion the stretcher is lifted into the helicopter and the doors slammed shut.
The helicopter is lifting off even as the ducking orderlies scurry away, its final destination telegraphed, perhaps, by the lettering on the tail of the copter: Cedars Sinai Medical Center. This time, a smaller contingent of cars flies out of the parking lot, their drivers fiddling with their scanners in an attempt to grab the frequency the helicopter is on, or yammering on cellular phones, trying to contact the editor at the home office whose job it is to listen to the scanners.
That's the decoy medical helicopter.
The next ambulance ambles in ten minutes later. This time around, there's no mad rush; the press has been rousted out of the blinds, so now Michelle can be taken to her destination safely, securely, and at sane speeds. Only two orderlies and one doctor accompany the stretcher to the ambulance. In a few minutes she's in; the doctor confers briefly with the paramedics, then walks away as they step back into their rig and drive away, no lights, no sirens, and proceed normally toward the 10 freeway. Only one car, bearing one smart, experienced reporter, follows. Patience is a virtue—it shall be rewarded.
That's the second decoy ambulance.
The real ambulance rolls in, lights flashing but no siren, as the other ambulance exits. The orderlies and the doctor, heading back into the hospital, turn around. Inside this ambulance
is a man who appears to be having a stroke; the doctor does a quick assessment as the paramedics unload the patient, and rushes him through the emergency door. As the door opens on one side, it opens on the other, and another stretcher pops out and into the back of the ambulance, just like that. There's only two orderlies this time—me and Miranda. We go in the ambulance with the stretcher. The paramedics close the doors behind us.
Mike Mizuhara and Dr. Adams were, of course, adamantly against moving Michelle. By now they knew she was never coming out of the coma, and were pressing us to let them do what they could to make her comfortable, to see out the process that had begun at their hospital. Dr. Adams in particular was bitter about my decision to move Michelle; he relented only after I had promised that he would be able to actively consult with the doctors that were continuing her care. It was a lie, of course, since the doctors continuing her care were 50,000 miles away in orbit and not doctors in any conventional sense of the word. But that's not really something I could discuss without a long explanation, or without being committed to psychiatric observation by Dr. Adams.
The ambulance pulled away and got on the 10 heading east. Two miles later it exited, drove behind an Albertson's supermarket, and stopped. That was where the paramedics got out. Their cars were stashed there. They weren't paramedics; they were out-of-work actors with emergency medical training. Where Carl found two actors with that combination of talents in less than a day, I have no earthly idea. That's why he's the boss.
As it was, one of them was hesitant to leave Michelle. She took the time to check her respirator's function and to make sure we knew what to do if it malfunctioned. I assured her that we would be fine.
“Ted and I talked up front on the way here,” she said. “Both of us would be happy to take her all the way to where she's going. We won't tell a soul. We just want to make sure she gets there in one piece.”
“I believe you, and thanks,” I said. “But that's really not possible.”
She sighed and looked at Michelle. “Look at her,” she said. “You know, a week ago, I would have done just about anything to be where she was. Now, I'd bet she'd do anything to be where I am. It's kind of funny, isn't it? Funny ironic, not funny ha-ha.”
“It is,” I said. “What's your name?”
“Shelia Thompson,” she said.
“Shelia, if you don't mind me asking, what are you and Ted getting out this?”
“I don't know what Ted is getting,” she said. “I never met him before, actually. I'm getting a part on a pilot. I don't have to audition—do not pass go, do not collect $200, just go straight to acting. I've actually read the pilot. It's a medical drama, of all things. It's not bad. It might even have a chance to get on TV somewhere. It seemed like a smart move.”
“You're not sure now?”
She shrugged. “It feels like I'm walking over Michelle Beck to do it. It's not what I expected. I hope that doesn't sound ungrateful.”
“It doesn't,” I said. “Listen, I never do this. But do you have an agent?”
“No.”
“In a week, give me a call at Lupo Associates. My name is Tom Stein.”
“I will give you a call, but not about acting,” Shelia said. “I
want to know what happens to Michelle. It's going to be hanging over me until I find out. And if I find out she died, I'm going to feel partly responsible. So you'll tell me. Fair enough?”
“Fair enough,” I said, and shook her hand. “Try not to worry, Shelia. Michelle's going to be all right. Really.”
She smiled a little smile and walked away to her car.
Miranda stayed in the back with Michelle. I got in the front and got behind the wheel. Joshua was already in the front with me, having driven over with the actor-paramedics.
“You would think these things would be roomier in the front,” Joshua said. “But they're not. I spent the last hour squashed down in the footwell. The woman paramedic had to keep her feet under her.”
“I just met her,” I said. “She seemed nice.”
“She was,” Joshua said. “The other guy, on the other hand, was a real jerk. Talked about his acting all the way over, and kept hitting on the woman. I nearly ripped out his throat with my teeth. Only the fact that he was driving kept me from doing it.”
“It's good that you think these things out,” I said, starting the ambulance.
“Thanks,” Joshua said. “One of us has to.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I said.
“Tom,” Joshua said. “If we can't bring Michelle back, what are you going to do? You can't just take her back to Pomona Valley, you know. And you can't drop her off anywhere else. And if she dies, people are going to want to know the circumstances. What are you going to do? You don't have a backup plan.”
“What are you talking about,” I said, turning out of the Albertson's parking lot and towards the 10. “Of course I have a backup plan.”
“Really,” Joshua said. “Why don't you share your backup plan with your studio audience, Tom.”
“Sure,” I said. “If this doesn't work, I'll be fresh out of ideas. We'll have failed. The Yherajk will have to go back. By way of compensation, you can take us back with you.”
“I like it,” Joshua said. “It's desperate and half-baked, but with a certain pathetic charm.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I just thought it up.”
“I'm wondering what Miranda might think of it,” Joshua said.
“Shhhh,” I said. “I'm saving it for a surprise.”
We got on the 10 and headed east to the 15, towards Baker.
 
“
I
can't see a damned thing,” I said.
“That's the point, Tom,” Joshua said. “If you can't see anything, no one else is going to see anything, either. Now shut up and turn left … now.”
I swerved left onto an unpaved road that I would have missed if Joshua hadn't pointed it out. The ambulance bounced as it slipped into the ruts left behind by years of ranchers' trucks.
“Could you try to drive a little more carefully?” Miranda yelled, from the back. “I don't want to think what this is trip is doing to Michelle.”
“It's not exactly paved road, Miranda,” I shouted back. “We left that world behind about a half-hour ago. I'm going as carefully as I can.”
The ambulance descended as I hit a ditch that wasn't there two seconds before.
“I think I just trashed the shocks,” I said to Joshua.
“Tom!
Carefully!
” Miranda yelled.
“Sorry!” I yelled back. “Are we there yet?” I asked Joshua.
“No,” Joshua said.
“Are we there yet?” I said.
“No.”
“Are we there yet?”
“No.”
“Are we there yet?”
“Yes,” Joshua said. “Stop the car.”
I stopped the ambulance.
“Thank God,” Miranda said, from the back.
“I can't see anything,” I said.
“You've said that before,” Joshua said.
“Well, it's still true,” I said.
“There's nothing to see,” Joshua said. “They're not here yet.”
“When are they getting here?” I asked.
“What time is it?” Joshua asked.
I looked at my watch.
There was a very large
whump
. The ground rattled. A wave of dust pelted the ambulance.
“Just after midnight,” I said.
“Well, then, they should be here,” Joshua said. “And there they are.”
The cube was exactly as Carl had described it—black, featureless, nondescript in every way except that it had just dropped out of space into the middle of nowhere.
Miranda stopped her hovering over Michelle long enough to peer out from the back. “
That's
our ride?” she said.
“It doesn't look like much, I know,” Joshua said. “But it gets incredible mileage.”
“Do we just drive into it?” I asked.
“Yep,” Joshua said.
I started the ambulance and inched it forward, cutting the fifty yards separating it from the cube. Then we were inside.
“When do we leave?” I said.
“In just a minute, I'd expect,” Joshua said. “Here, let me out. I've got to go help pilot this thing.”
I opened my door and got out, followed by Joshua. Joshua went over to the overhanging ledge on the other side of the cube, where the pilots were; a portion of the ledge descended and allowed him to get on. I went to the back of the ambulance and opened the doors. Miranda peered out at me.
I nodded at Michelle. “How is she doing?”

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