On Gennargentu in Sardinia, all the actors were present except Dr. Lecter.Mason turned his attention to filming the death of the Doctor, for posterity's enjoyment and his own enjoyment.He has already made arrangements, and now it is time to issue a warning order.
He directed this sensitive enterprise over the phone.The call was routed through his legal gambling desk in the Castaway neighborhood of Las Vegas.His phone was just a thin line that got swamped amid the flood of calls over the weekend.Mason's radio-quality voice, free of plosives and fricatives, jumped out of the national forest near the Chesapeake Coast, flew to the desert, and then turned back across the Atlantic Ocean, first reaching Rome.
In the apartment on the seventh floor of the building behind Archimedes Hospital on Archimedes Road, the phone rang.There was a hoarse Italian conversation on the phone, a languid voice in the dark.
"cosa? cosac'e (what? what?)"
(All foreign languages in the text are in Italian unless otherwise noted)
"Accendi la luce, idiota (turn on the light, idiot)."
The bedside lamp was on.There are three people on the bed.The young man near the phone picked up the receiver and handed it to the older man with the belly.On the other side was a blonde in her twenties.She raised her sleepy face to the light, and fell down again.
"Pronto, chi? Chiparla? (Now, who? Who's talking?)" "Oreste, my friend, I'm Mason."
The fat man collected himself and signaled the young man to bring him a glass of mineral water.
"Oh, Mason, my friend, I'm sorry, I was sleeping. What time is it in your place?"
"It's late anywhere, Oreste. Do you remember what I said about what I intended to do for you and what I wanted you to do for me?"
"Ah, of course I do."
"My friend, it's time. You know what I want. I want two cameras, I want better sound than your porn movies. You also have to generate your own electricity, so I want the generator far away from the cameras. We were editing Need some continuous nice natural footage and bird sounds. I want you to go check out the site tomorrow and set up the camera. You can put your stuff there and I'll keep you safe. Then you can go back to Rome, Wait until filming time. But be prepared to shoot within two hours of word. Do you understand, Orest? There's a check waiting for you at Citibank, have you got it?"
"Mason, but right now I'm—"
"Aren't you going to do it, Orest? You said you were tired of making porn and horror and stupid historical films for other people, didn't you? Do you really want to do feature films, Orest?"
"I really want to."
"Then you go today, Citibank has cash. I want you to go."
"Where to, Mason?"
"Sardinia. You fly to Cagliari and someone will meet you."
The next call, to Port Torres on the east coast of Sardinia, was short and needless to say, as the establishment there was as efficient as Mason's portable guillotine and ecologically more beneficial, Just not as fast.
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Notes: