Jack Cavanaugh - Death Watch

A moment later the girl was in Cheryl’s arms being cleaned with a tissue.

“I sent Skip Hirshberg and his fellow barracuda on an errand,” Hunz said. “I hinted Stacy was partial to pistachio ice cream. I think they went to find her some. Then we found the cafeteria .

While Cheryl was occupied cleaning her daughter, with an amused Josh looking on, Sydney pulled Hunz aside. “I don’t have time to take you back to the hotel,” she said. “I have to get Cheryl to the airport. You can call a cab, or perhaps Josh can drop you off.”

Hunz turned serious. “What are your plans?”

Sydney shrugged. “Get them on a plane to Chicago any way I can. Medical emergency. Hardship case. I’ll use my press credentials. Beg. Plead. Bribe. Whatever it takes.”

“Use your feminine wiles,” Josh said, grinning. Apparently he could watch Cheryl and listen at the same time.

“Private joke,” Sydney said to Hunz.

Hunz wasn’t laughing. He turned and walked away. Just before he disappeared around a corner, he pulled out his cell phone. Sydney caught a few words.

“Sol. This is Vonner

She winced. She could expect another angry lecture from Sol in the morning. It angered her that Hunz was acting like a child. Tattletale! Tattletale! But she’d didn’t have time to worry about that right now. She had to get Cheryl and Stacy to the airport.

Cheryl was looking for a trash can to stow a couple wads of chocolate-stained tissues. Stacy’s face was presentable, though there were still a few stubborn smudges on her chin.

Josh offered to take the tissues. Cheryl thanked him and grabbed Stacy’s hand. “We’re ready now,” she said.

Sydney led them toward an exit. “I’ll bring the car around,” she said. “Wait for me at the top of the steps.”

“Can I go with you?” Josh asked. Then, his gaze resting on Cheryl, he added, “That is, if you don’t mind.”

Cheryl smiled shyly. “I’d like that.”

Their gaze lingered noticeably. Under different circumstances, Sydney would have interpreted the exchange as romantic. Reality bludgeoned that thought. Neither Cheryl nor Josh had a future beyond two days. Whatever passed between them was more likely that of two victims sharing a common fate.

All because some egomaniacal Russian general had planted microscopic killing machines in their bloodstreams. To make a statement? To flex his political muscles?

Sydney felt a rage such as she’d never felt before. It was as though she was standing at ground zero of the World Trade Center on 9/11. She could see the planes approaching. She knew what was going to happen, but she was powerless to do anything to stop it. No amount of screaming, no amount of shouting, no amount of anger or rage or tears could prevent the tragedy from happening. And Cheryl and Josh were on the ninety-first floor.

They reached the exit. Sydney shoved the crash bar harder than what was necessary to open it.

In the next instant, a multitude of lights flashed in her face. Camera lights blinded her. A crush of reporters pressed, thrusting microphones in her face. Everyone shouted at once, demanding information about Cheryl, who hadn’t stepped from the building yet, who wouldn’t step from the building if Sydney could help it.

She backpedaled, nearly bowling over Josh and Cheryl, pulling shut the door with all her might. Several hands tried to stop her and got their fingers smashed.

“What do they want from me?” Cheryl cried.

“You’re a hot news story.” Hunz walked up behind them. “Popular game show winner and expectant mother who is also a death watch victim. Sells papers. Raises ratings.”

Cheryl turned to Sydney. “Is there another way out of here?”

“All the exits are covered,” Hunz said.

Josh frowned. “We need a plan.”

“Already taken care of,” Hunz said.

The studio door flew open. As before, a staccato burst of lights hit with force. His arm around a red-haired pregnant woman, Hunz lowered his head and plunged into the sea of reporters.

“This isn’t going to deceive anyone,” Sydney said.

“Keep your head down and keep moving,” Hunz shouted over the din.

She did. She was hunched over a well-placed pillow and outfitted with dark glasses and a green scarf, compliments of the studio prop department. A red wig flared with every camera flash.

Hunz straight-armed everyone in his way like a running back headed for the end zone with a faux Cheryl tucked securely under his arm as the ball.

A black limousine split the crowd, its horn blaring, warning foolhardy reporters that they’d better think twice about challenging a couple of tons of metal to a head-on competition. The back door opened just as Hunz and Sydney reached it.

Hunz assisted his charge into the limo, but instead of following her, he turned to face the stormy tide. Looking like Moses parting the Red Sea, Hunz raised both hands over his head. He identified himself.

With someone to record and shoot, the rabble quieted.

“My name is Hunz Vonner, newscaster with EuroNet operating out of Berlin, Germany. Some of you undoubtedly recognize me.”

He couldn’t help himself. Good newscasters have healthy egos, and Hunz Vonner’s was making a public appearance.

“As a guest in your country,” he shouted, “it has been my privilege to observe your media at work, and compare it to the way we do things in Europe. Where I come from, there is an unwritten code of professional courtesy. Accordingly, as a professional courtesy, I request that you honor the exclusive agreement station KSMJ has made with Ms. Cheryl McCormick. I appeal to your sense of honor and dignity as journalists and trust that your example tonight will forge a new era of cooperation between our respective countries. Thank you.”

His speech was a drop of sanity in an ocean of chaos. Hunz ducked into the limo, and it sped off to a chorus of shouts and catcalls.

Beside him, Sydney took off her glasses.

“What was that all about?” she said:

“You didn’t like my speech?”

“Professional courtesy in the media? Really?”

Hunz howled. “Are you kidding? They’re jackals!”

“You lied.”

“And I suppose you never lied to get a story,” Hunz said.

Sydney stared at him.

“No, I guess you never have, have you?” he said. “Doesn’t matter. But I didn’t lie tonight. I said there is such a thing as professional courtesy where I come from, and there is. Just not among journalists.”

“What did you hope to accomplish?” Sydney asked.

“Look out the back window.”

She turned. A serpentine line of vehicles sped after them from the studio parking lot.

“You taunted them into following us,” she said.

Hunz laughed. “Asking for professional courtesy from a pack of reporters is like throwing meat into a shark tank. But that’s not why I did it.”

“Why then?”

Hunz stomped both feet on the floor gleefully, pleased with himself.

Sydney laughed at his exuberance. This was the second time today Sydney saw a hidden side of Hunz Vonner, the first being when he hit it off with Stacy at the hotel.

“There was always the chance some of them would not take the bait,” he said, “that they would suspect some kind of sleight of hand. I know I would. That’s why I instructed Josh and Cheryl to slip out right behind us, during the moment of deception, and not wait for the coast to clear.”

“And your little speech . ,” Sydney said, catching on.

“Extended the moment of deception. It also put me in position to watch them make their getaway. I had to make sure they got away safely.”

“And did they?”

Hunz sat back with a grin. “As they say in the movies, worked like a charm.”