The Twelve by William Gladstone Page B

received from embassies around the world, allowing the filming to take place in the various countries.
    To Max’s surprise, George didn’t seem too concerned, and he expressed confidence that everything would fall into place. Max wasn’t so sure, but within days he was on his way to Lima, Peru, where he checked into the Sheraton Hotel, the tallest and most luxurious hotel in Lima.
    It turned out that George always traveled in style—five-star hotels and the best restaurants wherever he went—and he expected his crew to be treated the same way. Years in the entertainment business had taught him that a content film crew made for a happy film set, he told Max.
    Since Max was now a member of the crew—the advance guy—he also reaped the benefits of deluxe accommodations. Yet he still had a Herculean task ahead of him: The rest of the crew would be arriving in five days, and he had to make sure that all their needs were met.
    The first step was a meeting with the Undersecretary for Peruvian Cultural Affairs, Señor Altamontana, and it did not go well. Altamontana, a short, bespectacled man moved with intense energy, and as he greeted Max he revealed that he knew nothing about the film production.
    Max was stunned, but he recovered quickly.
    â€œBut didn’t you get my letter ? ” he asked. “I sent it more than two weeks ago.”
    The undersecretary replied that he had certainly not received the letter, and even if he had received it, along with the application to clear equipment through customs and film in the country, the turnaround for such approvals was at least twelve weeks.
    As Max became increasingly concerned, Altamontana explained calmly that a new law had been created just that year to protect the Peruvian film industry. In accomplishing its mandate, it was making it impossible to secure permission any sooner.
    â€œThere will be no exceptions,” the undersecretary told Max in a matter-of-fact tone.
    Max was stumped.
    Now what ? he thought, his mind racing.
    At that moment the undersecretary’s assistant entered the room with a small stack of envelopes perched on a silver tray—the day’s mail.
    There, on the top of the stack, Max spotted a familiar object. The letter he had sent with extra postage for speedy delivery
    â€œThere’s my letter,” Max cried jubilantly. “Please, just open it. You’ll find everything you need right there.”
    Though wearing an expression of doubt, the undersecretary opened the envelope and read the letter typed under the Future Films banner.
    Although impressed at the timing of the letter and having confirmed the validity of the project, the undersecretary was adamant that it was impossible to grant permission on such short notice. He explained to Max that the special committee for cultural affairs would need to review the shooting script and petition. He reiterated that the soonest they could process the requests would be September.
    It was now June.
    â€œBut my crew arrives in five days,” Max protested.
    â€œBe that as it may, neither they nor their equipment will be permitted to enter,” Altamontana responded firmly. “So you’d better tell them not to come.”
    The meeting was at an end, and Max left dejected. His meteoric career in show business seemed to be ending before even getting started.
    George was scheduled to join him in Lima, but he couldn’t wait for him to arrive. He immediately called one of the producers and his point person, Dan Brandon in Los Angeles, and told him “there is a problem.”
    â€œDon’t worry,” came Dan’s cheerful response, and Max’s brow wrinkled with confusion. “We anticipated that when the schedule had to be accelerated, we might have a problem with the Peruvian officials. Fortunately, one of Ralph Cohen’s close friends from USC is Julian Jasper.”
    When Max didn’t recognize the name, Dan