Jack Adair stared at the empty detonation box in silent consternation. He had wired the dynamite himself—he never left a task like that to a subordinate—at eleven the previous night and then carefully covered it with the pile of prepared stuffed animals. It had been patrolled and guarded all night by Doyle’s security people.
He knelt and pulled up the ending of one of the copper wires, examining it up close. The end gleamed in the light: Someone had cut it with wire cutters.
It was incredible. Someone had actually stolen the dynamite.
“This is fucked up!” he heard Doyle yell behind him. “Check the other boxes!”
Adair had worked with many movie directors. He didn’t like Doyle, but the man was his best customer, and that meant putting up with a lot. But this was too much. This put at risk the reputation of his company. Something had gone wrong here, and he was pretty sure it was someone else’s fault—not his.
Without saying a word, he straightened up and walked over to the next pile, gesturing for his assistants to follow, including the guys with the Hurt Locker suits.
“Uncover the box.”
They swept away the toys and pried open the lid of the detonation box. It too was empty, showing nothing but cut, dangling wires.
“Son of a bitch!” Doyle cried. “Who the fuck messed with my movie set?”
Adair turned and, collecting his thoughts, said, “You had overnight security assigned to the set, correct?”
“Of course I did!”
“And who was in charge?”
Doyle looked around and pointed. “It was Rodney. Rodney Hammer. Hey, Hammer, get over here!”
Hammer came over. He was sweating. He was scared.
“What the hell happened? You fall asleep or something?”
“Mr. Doyle,” said Hammer, “I was here all night with three people. I swear to you—all night. Nothing happened. Nobody entered the set—nobody.”
“Which three? Get them over here now!”
Hammer turned. “Susan, Tom, and Sunil.” The three security personnel edged out of the growing crowd of crew, gathering openmouthed and whispering.
“Come forward!” said Doyle. “Get over here. I’ve got questions! And the rest of you, what the hell are you gawking at? This isn’t a car accident!”
The three stepped forward. Adair stared at them. If they had been smoking pot or drinking, they didn’t look it. They looked competent and alert—if nervous as hell.
“Look at this set!” Doyle yelled at them. “A million fucking dollars, and now it’s ruined! How do you explain this? You!” He jabbed a finger at one of them. “What the fuck were you doing last night when you should have been guarding the set?”
“I was here all night,” Sunil stammered. “Nothing happened.”
Adair held up his hand. “Perhaps Mr. Hammer might care to explain the security setup last night as they were guarding the train.”
“I will,” said Hammer. “I placed Tom at the north end of the train; Sunil was at the south. I was on the east side and Susan on the west. We had the train in view on all sides. It was fully illuminated, with the generator and area lights on the entire night. We were in constant communication by radio. Nobody as far as I know fell asleep or was derelict in their duty.”
“So it was you, Mr. Hammer, who was on the side where the dynamite was?” said Adair.
“Yes.”
“You didn’t see anything unusual?”
“Nothing. As I said, we had the area lights on all night, and it was brilliantly lit up. I just don’t see how anyone could have gotten in there, uncovered and opened the boxes, clipped the wires, and stolen the dynamite. I can guarantee you that did not happen on my watch.”
“Fuck if I believe you!” Doyle yelled.
Adair stepped forward and asked quietly, “When did your watch end?”
“At sunrise.”
“And who took over then?”
“That was when the film crew arrived and started to set up.”
“And then?” Adair asked.
“And so we left.”
“What time was that, exactly?”
“Around six thirty.”
Adair turned to Doyle. “When did you arrive with your crew?”
“I arrived around six forty-five, maybe seven. Some came earlier, others later. I don’t recall.”
“When you left,” Adair asked Hammer, “had anybody arrived?”
“Oh yes. They were starting to come in, and as I said, they were setting up their cameras and preparing for the shoot.”
Adair said, “Allow me to point out that the dynamite was hidden behind the train, on the far side, opposite the side where the cameras were being set up and people were arriving. So that side of the train was not visible to the arriving crew after you left—is that correct?”
After a hesitation, Hammer nodded. “I guess so.”
“And so, during that moment of transition,” Adair went on, “when the security team believed their watch was over and had left, and others were just arriving, the dynamite on the far side of the train was unguarded and unwatched.”
Hammer stared at him, saying nothing.
Adair turned to Doyle and said, “For the record, that’s when it happened.” He was determined not to be blamed, and he intended to establish immediately that it was not the fault of him or his group but of Doyle’s security people. Now he had done so.
Doyle stared at him. “So you’re saying it was my fault?”
“I’m establishing the facts,” said Adair firmly. “And the facts are these: I set up the pyrotechnics last night, ending at midnight. It was the production’s responsibility to guard the set until the shoot. Now we know there was a lapse in that process—a gap—that had nothing to do with me or my team, and everything to do with your security team. That’s what I’m saying.”
“Don’t snow me under with your bullshit!” Doyle cried. “It was your dynamite that was stolen, not mine. You’re in charge of pyro. You got robbed, not me. Someone’s gonna pay for this—it’s not my problem!”
Adair gazed at him steadily. “You realize this is only the beginning of your problem, right?”
“What do you mean, only the beginning?” Doyle said.
“This has to be reported to Erebus security right away,” Adair said firmly. “You’ve got to tell them that there are now people in this valley with a hundred pounds of live dynamite.”