"You know them?" Tom Hardy asked.
Jonny Lee Miller shook his head. "Looks familiar. That Matthew Horner reminds me of someone I used to know."
He couldn't recall the name of the Red Penguin driver, but Matthew Horner was the spitting image; how could a lowly chauffeur land a role in Ridley Scott's shoot?
Seeing Tom Hardy keep glancing back, Jonny Lee Miller pulled out his phone and dialed. "It's me. Call Red Penguin and get Lister on the line—I want a list of every driver they've ever sent me."
The more he thought about it, the more certain he became the man looked just like that former driver.
After clearing security, Matthew and James McAvoy entered Edwards Air Force Base, reached a rally point, and were driven by military transport to a special dormitory area.
Although still barracks, the rooms were decent—doubles and triples. The only downside: tiny bathrooms, no showers; if you wanted a Shower you had to use the communal bathhouse.
But this was a military base, nothing to complain about, and the accommodations had been set up specially for the production.
According to the well-informed James McAvoy, The Pentagon had long-term partnerships with Hollywood's Big Six and even maintained an office dedicated to Tinseltown, bankrolling major productions with troops, weapons, and bases—provided the film portrayed the U.S. military in a positive light.
Hearing that, Matthew immediately thought of the countless times he'd watched transformers: the American Soldiers practically stole the show from Optimus Prime; Megatron and the Decepticons were cannon fodder in front of them.
The black hawk down production had likewise accepted Pentagon support: professionals served as consultants and trainers, and the military supplied Black Hawk helicopters and a trove of other hardware for filming.
The Pentagon even dispatched a five-man Delta Force team to train the actors and help shoot the demanding fast-rope sequences.
The movie would naturally sing the military's praises; in the script Matthew had seen, every American Soldier was a saint, but such nonsense was above his pay grade.
Frankly, he was still a struggling bit-player scrambling out of the underclass; the truth of whatever happened in Africa didn't interest him in the least.
The day after moving into Edwards, nearly a hundred actors began training. This regimen differed sharply from Matthew's band of brothers experience: more than a dozen military instructors plus the five Delta operators, no preferential treatment, and no grueling PT.
The ten-day course focused on U.S. combat movement, small-unit tactics, and weapons handling.
Some might find it tough—holding a shooting stance under blazing sun is no picnic—but to Matthew and James McAvoy, veterans of quasi-military boot camps, it felt like a holiday.
With their prior experience, the two sailed through the sessions.
By the third day of training,
Matthew could already field-strip the CAR-15 carbine the on-screen Delta team would use.
"Pity…"
When live-fire practice wrapped and they sat in the shade, Ben Foster—an acquaintance from arrival—said to Matthew, "No real bullets allowed."
Matthew itched to shoot, but he knew you couldn't mess around on base. "Probably for safety."
"Easy fix," James McAvoy replied, popping the empty mag from his M16A2. "Hit a gun club and blast away, or just apply for a firearms license."
"Right!" Matthew realized—this was the country with sky-high gun-crime stats and legal ownership. "James, how do you get a license?"
Leaning against the wall, James McAvoy shrugged. "I'm British—U.S. law's beyond me."
Ben Foster chimed in, "Back in L.A., walk into any legit gun store and ask. Guns are cheap—an ordinary piece costs less than a phone."
"When this job wraps, I'll hit a club and pop off a few rounds," Matthew declared. He'd never fired a shot, and it was every guy's dream. "Then I'll get my license."
"I'll buy a whole arsenal!" he boasted.
James McAvoy snorted. "Guns are boring. Get yourself a high-explosive bomb—stick it in your house and… boom…"
While the three of them shot the breeze, not far away Jonny Lee Miller finished an iced drink, lifted the brim of his sun-hat, and fixed his gaze on Matthew.
He was certain: this was the very driver from Red Penguin who had once delivered a model to Malibu.
Jonny Lee Miller's eyes narrowed, turning sharp and cold.
After he called his assistant that day, the assistant quickly pulled up the résumé of a little-known actor named Matthew Horner—a résumé that left him utterly… speechless.
What grabbed him most: the very first film Matthew Horner ever acted in.
"girl, interrupted"! girl, interrupted—the film that won Angelina Jolie the Oscar for Best Supporting Actress!
Jonny Lee Miller remembered it clearly; shooting had coincided with the ugliest stretch of his divorce from Angelina Jolie. According to the intel his assistant passed on, Matthew Horner had landed the part through Angelina's pull.
Angelina Jolie! girl, interrupted! A Red Penguin Company chauffeur—able to drive onto his estate delivering party girls… It took him no effort to connect that to the videotape in Angelina's possession, the secret recording that had cost him a fortune in the divorce.
At first he'd assumed she'd hidden a camera somewhere in the Malibu house, but an exhaustive search turned up nothing. Now it was obvious he'd been wrong.
A Red Penguin driver, after shuttling in girls for one of his orgies, had suddenly latched onto Angelina Jolie's coattails—going from wheel-man to well-paid Hollywood bit-player and even scoring a slot in Ridley Scott's hundred-million-dollar production.
He couldn't help connecting the dots: what could Matthew Horner possibly have done to make Angelina Jolie slip him into the girl, interrupted cast? Ninety-plus percent odds said Horner was directly tied to that videotape.
The more Jonny Lee Miller looked at Matthew, the angrier he got—how had a sleaze like this weaseled into black hawk down as a key supporting role?
"That guy's a bastard!" Tom Hardy strode over and planted himself beside Jonny Lee Miller. "Back when we shot band of brothers I nearly decked him in a bar."
"You two have history?" Jonny Lee Miller asked.
Tom Hardy didn't even hesitate. "He cost me my screen time—got my scenes cut."
Jonny shifted his gaze to Tom; the man's eyes were openly hostile toward Matthew Horner.
Sharing the same Agent, Jonny knew Tom well enough: cushy background, swollen ego, convinced of his own brilliance—classic young-and-stupid.
"So you're just letting it slide?" Jonny folded his arms. "Pretending it never happened?"
Tom snorted. "Hell no."
Jonny's eyes narrowed; he clapped Tom on the shoulder. "Straight talk, mate—I've got a major beef with him too. If you need backup, count me in."
Tom scratched his head, recalling Jonny's boasts. "I've got an idea. Aren't you pretty good at that particular game? Maybe we can run it on Matthew Horner."
Jonny shook his head at once. "He's a bloke."
Sure, he threw wild multi-girl parties at the Malibu house, but they were always women.
He understood Tom's drift; he'd bragged about it on purpose and wasn't worried about rumors—without hard video, anything Tom leaked would stay gutter gossip.
"Hear me out, John!" Tom knew he was outgunned alone; dragging Jonny Lee Miller in would tip the odds. "You only need to run the opening act on him—no need to take it to the final curtain…"
Jonny weighed it, thought of that videotape, and finally nodded.
Two schemers, one accord.
As the break neared its end, James McAvoy slapped in a blank mag and warned Matthew, "Tom Hardy's been eyeing you for the past five minutes—Jonny Lee Miller too."
Matthew snapped his stripped M1911A1 back together. "I noticed."
"Bad blood between you and Jonny Lee Miller?" James asked.
"Hard to say for sure." Matthew kept it short. "When Jonny and Angelina Jolie split, I helped her out."
Judging by the way Jonny kept glancing over, Matthew figured he'd started connecting the dots.
He knew his résumé listed girl, interrupted; half the crew back then knew he'd come in via Angelina. Add the Red Penguin driver angle and anyone with a brain would do the math.
The story wouldn't hold up under scrutiny. He'd hoped avoiding Jonny would keep things quiet—only to end up shooting black hawk down shoulder-to-shoulder with him.
He holstered the pistol, grabbed his CAR-15, and called to James McAvoy and Ben Foster, "Let's roll—training time."