Bindle looked at the rows of tanks and jeeps. They were much more organized here. Lined up in perfect order as if ready for an actual invasion.
Throwing themselves into their roles, the Arab extras Mr. Koala had brought with him from Ebla were seeing to it that the war vehicles were in perfect operating condition.
Hank Bindle had to admit it. At least on some level the dedication of these extras was to be lauded. But not being creative, they couldn't possibly know what they were really in store for.
Bindle was being driven past what seemed like the two hundredth desert-camouflaged tank and was rounding a cluster of curving palm trees when he spotted his partner walking toward him from the abandoned Summit office complex.
Ordering his driver to stop, Bindle got out of the cherry-red, open-topped studio jeep. He walked over to meet Bruce Marmelstein.
"Cutthroat Island, anyone?" Hank Bindle wailed to a passing Arab, loud enough for Marmelstein to hear. The man was oblivious. "Geena Davis in a pirate movie! And Matthew Modine. Who in the hell is Matthew Modine? Gawd, this is a disaster waiting to happen. For three hundred million we might as well dig up Irwin Allen."
He and Marmelstein met in front of a brown-and-tan-painted tank. The Arab tank crew labored diligently around what looked like an actual working machine gun.
"Um, it's not quite three hundred million anymore," Bruce Marmelstein said to his partner. The financial expert at Taurus appeared sheepish. "What are you talking about?" Bindle asked. "Well, you knew those new desks weren't free. And you know we couldn't bring in new furniture without remodeling the whole office."
"Tell me something I don't know," Bindle snarled.
"For one thing we've gone through almost fifty million so far," Marmelstein said.
Bindle scrunched up his face. "How long ago did Koala unfreeze the sultan's account for us?" Marmelstein looked at his brand-new, solid-gold, diamond-encrusted wristwatch. His own smiling face replaced that of Mickey Mouse. He had dispatched one of his assistants to Switzerland to have the watch created to his specifications the previous day.
"Twenty-two hours if I read my hands correctly," he said.
Bindle frowned. "Obviously this project is going to be more expensive than originally budgeted," he said somberly. He waved a hand at the nearby tank crew. A new gold charm bracelet clattered against his bronzed wrist. "I can't possibly create with these insane limitations. We're going to have to tell Koala to loosen the sultan's purse strings."
Marmelsteut glanced at the nearby Arabs. They weren't so close that they could hear the two studio executives. Still the financial expert pitched his voice low.
"Actually Koala seems to have made a slight error with the business accounts. Either that or it's a mistake on the Ebla end."
"What sort of mistake?" Bindle asked. A horrible thought suddenly struck him. "Don't tell me I have to bring this in under three hundred million!" he demanded angrily. "I couldn't possibly. I will not compromise the artistic integrity of this film studio because some old skinflint can't be understood through a mouthful of dentures and couscous-"
"Hank," Bruce Marmelstein interrupted.
"It's an outrage!" Bindle raved.
"Hank."
"I won't let them do it!"
"Hank, the mistake is in our favor," Marmelstein whispered. He shot a nervous glance at the Arabs. They weren't paying any attention to the pair of studio executives.
Bindle's eyes became instantly cunning. His voice dropped to a breathy whisper. "We can get more?" he asked.
"A lot more," Marmelstein said quietly. "They don't have much finance sense over in Ebla. The sultan's people tied his personal accounts in with his business and state accounts. I guess when you're a sultan they're one and the same. Anyway, by buying the studio and giving us power over discretionary spending, he's set it up in such a way that we can tap into everything."
"What do you mean, everything?"
"I mean everything. Every last rupee or kopeck or shekel or whatever the hell currency they use over in Ebla. Every account the sultan has belongs to Taurus."
"Is it legal?"
"Is our little videotape venture legal?" Marmelstein countered.
Bindle grew confused. "Is it?" he asked.
"No."
He grew concerned. "Is it prosecutable?"
"Gray area," Marmelstein said. "Probably not."
"Can we set Ian up to take the fall?"
"Absolutely."
Hank Bindle's eyes lit up like a kid's on Christmas.
"I'm finally going to get to make the movie I've always wanted to make!" he exclaimed.
"How much do you think you'll need?" Marmelstein asked.
"Seven hundred million at least," Bindle said. "But we could go as high as a billion if I need reshoots. And forget about Koala directing. This baby is all mine. C'mon, let's get over to Taurus. We have a lot of work to do before Oscar night."
Bindle's jeep had remained close by. The two men climbed rapidly aboard. Leaving the rows of military hardware in their dust, they hightailed it out of the main gate of the old Summit lot.
The tanks waited solemnly behind them, their silent turrets angled in the direction of Beverly Hills.
TAURUS'S HOLLYWOOD LOT had once been the property of Manco, Blomberg large grinning hyena known the world over as the MBM symbol had for years hung proudly above the studio gates. But in these days of high-stakes studio mergers and buyouts, the hyena had given way to the bull. The star-cluster symbol of Taurus now adorned the walls of the venerable old film studio.
Remo had an easy time finding his way back from Long Beach by taking the Harbor Freeway up to the appropriately labeled Hollywood Freeway. He'd been ready to stop to ask someone where he could find the Hollywood annex of Taurus, but before he did he spied the familiar studio logo.
He found that this Taurus lot was easier to get on than the first. The guard at the front booth waved him through without even looking up from his magazine. There had been so many people driving on and off the complex all day long that he'd given up checking IDs a little before noon.
Once inside, Remo came to the rapid conclusion that Taurus Studios should probably begin scouring the night sky for a camel constellation to replace its current bull. The substitute would be a better representative of the studio considering the huge number of the animals the filmmaking company had imported for its latest production.
There were camels everywhere. Arab wranglers had pulled them into something resembling disciplined lines. Still, the stubborn creatures were not completely cooperative. Men with whips and riding crops patrolled the ranks, lashing out whenever an animal broke from the line.
The strangest thing about the sight was that it was far from unique. In fact, on his way here, Remo had noticed similar activities in many of the other studio lots around town. Taurus had obviously rented space from nearly everyone for Sultan Omay's film.
He was surprised by the harsh treatment the animals were receiving. As he watched the cruel men going from line to line he began to doubt the "no animals harmed" disclaimer he'd seen for years at the ends of motion pictures.
He spied Hank Bindle and Bruce Marmelstein chattering animatedly near one of the canvas-topped studio jeeps. The vehicle was parked near the first in a line of faux-adobe bungalows near soundstage 3. As he approached, Remo thought he recognized the two people the executives were with.
Remo pulled in behind Bindle and Marmelstein's jeep. He left his rental car and wandered over to the small group.