Jeffery Deaver - Hard News

"What does Lee think?"

"He's given me the job of filling the spot. I haven't mentioned you to him but he'll go with whoever I recommend."

"This is pretty wild. I mean, I never thought that's what you were going to say. How long would I be over there?"

"A year minimum. If you like it, something more permanent might be arranged. That would be up to

Lee. But usually we like to shift people around. It could be Paris or Rome after that. You'd have to learn the language."

"Oh, I took French in high school.'Voulez-vous couchez…'"

Sutton said, "I get the idea."

Rune asked a passing waiter for a glass of milk for Courtney. "And a straw? The kind with the bend in them." He didn't grasp the concept and Rune let it drop. She said to Sutton, "I don't want you to think… I mean, I'm grateful and all – but what about Randy Boggs?"

"You said yourself you don't have any evidence."

"I still know he's innocent."

No emotion in Sutton's face.

Rune said, "Somebody tried to kill him in prison. They stabbed him. If we don't get him out they'll try again."

Sutton shrugged. "I'll assign a local reporter to pick up for you."

"You would?"

"Uh-huh. So how 'bout it?"

"Uh, would you mind if I thought about it?"

Sutton blinked and seemed about to ask, What the fuck is there to think about? But she just nodded and said, "It's a big decision. Maybe you should sleep on it. I won't ask the other people I'm considering until tomorrow."

"Thanks."

Sutton motioned for the last of her wine. A young waiter scurried over and, with alternate glances at her freckled chest and the crystal glass in front of her, emptied the bottle. She looked at her watch. She said, "And the check, please."

Outside the restaurant the three of them paused.

"That is one amazing car," Rune said as a glossy midnight-blue stretch Lincoln Town Car turned the corner and slowed. "Don't you wonder who rides in those things?"

Sutton didn't answer.

The car eased to a stop in front of them. The driver hopped out and ran to the door, opened it for Piper Sutton.

Oh.

Sutton said, "You'll give me your answer tomorrow?"

"Sure."

"Piper, we're late," a man's voice called from the limo.

"Good night," the anchorwoman said briskly to Rune and started toward the Lincoln.

A man leaned forward to help her in. It was Dan Semple himself, in a beautiful gray double-breasted suit. He glanced at Rune, then kissed Sutton on the cheek. They disappeared into the blackness of the car.

"Thanks-"

The door closed and Rune and Courtney were left looking at their mirrored images for the few seconds it took for the driver to get back inside and speed the limo away from the curb.

"-for dinner."

London was the problem. Ever since she'd readLord of the Rings (the first of four times) Rune'd wanted to go to the United Kingdom! the country of pubs and hedgerows and shires and hobbits and dragons. Whoa, and Loch Ness too.

She'd thought about it for a couple hours and decided that any sane person in the world would accept Piper Sutton's offer in ten seconds flat.

So Rune was a bit curious why she was dropping Courtney at one of her loyal, expensive baby-sitters and then giving the cabdriver an address on the Upper East Side.

He took her to an old apartment building, dark brick with lion bas-reliefs in dirty limestone trim. She walked into the immaculate lobby, hit the intercom and announced herself. The door opened. She took

the elevator to the fourteenth floor. When she stepped into a tiny corridor, she realized there were only four apartments on the whole floor.

Lee Maisel opened the door to one, waved and let her into a rambling, dark-paneled apartment. He didn't shake her hand; he was dripping wet.

She followed, noticing an elephant's foot in the corner; inside were a half-dozen umbrellas and canes. Several of them ended in carved faces: a lion, an old man (Rune thought he was a wizard), some kind of bird.

Maisel had been doing dishes. He was wearing a blue denim apron, water-stained with Rorschach patterns and taut over his belly.

"When I called… Well, I hope I didn't interrupt anything."

"I'd have told you I didn't want to be interrupted." Maisel returned to the cumulonimbus of suds. "The bar's over there." He nodded. "Food?"

"Uhm, I just ate."

Maisel dove into the dishwater again. Surrounded by implements – scrapers, sponges, metallic scrubbers like tiny steel wigs. A typhoon crashed over the granite countertop. A pan surfaced and beached itself on the Rubbermaid, and he examined it carefully. His face was pure contentment. She envied him; cooking and cleaning were loves that Rune knew she would never cultivate.

In the living room, a projection TV set was showing an old movie, the sound low. Bette Davis. Who was the dude? Tyrone Power maybe. What a name, what a face! Whoa, men looked good back then. She could watch him for hours.

Finally Maisel wiped his hands and said, "Come on."

They walked into the living room.

Rune paused, looking at a framed newspaper article on the wall. From theTimes. The headline was: "TV Correspondent Wins Pulitzer."

"Excellent," Rune said. "What was it for?"

"A story in Beirut a few years ago."

She asked, "ACurrent Events segment?"

"No. It was before we developed the show." He looked at the article slowly. "What a beautiful city that used to be. That's one of the crimes of the century, what happened there."

Rune skimmed the article. "It says you got an exclusive."

But he was troubled. "It was a mixed victory," he said. "We did what journalists should do – we looked under the surface and reported the truth. But some people died because of that."

Rune recalled the incident from the information Bradford had brought her. Remembered too that Lance Hopper had stood up to the criticism and defended his news team.

"Come here," Maisel said, his face brightening. He led Rune down a long corridor, lit by overhead spotlights. It was like an art gallery.

"Hey, this is pretty cool."

There were dozens of framed maps, most of them antique. Maisel paused at each one, told her where he'd found it, how he'd dickered with the booksellers and vendors how he'd been taken by some and gypped others. She liked the New York maps best. Maisel pointed to a couple of them, describing what buildings were now on the spots that the maps showed as just fields or hills.

Her favorite was a map of Greenwich Village in the 1700s. "That is fantastic. I love old New York. Doesn't it just do something to you? Okay, you're out on the street eating a Nedick's with onions – I really love those pickled onions – and you suddenly think, Wow, maybe I'm standing right on the very spot where they rubbed out a gangster or where two hundred years ago there was an Indian war or something."

"I don't eat hot dogs," Maisel said absently and she caught him glancing at his watch. They walked into a lowlit den, filled with leather furniture and more maps and framed photos of Maisel on assignment. They sat. He asked, "So what's up?"

Rune said, "I got an offer for something and I don't know what to do about it."

"Publishers Clearing House?" he asked wryly.

"Better than that." She told him what Piper Sutton had said.

Maisel listened. She got almost all the way through before she realized that his face was growing a frown. "So she offeredyou the Brit spot, huh?"

"I was kind of surprised."

She could see in his face that he was surprised too. "Rune, I want to be honest. No reflection on you but it's a tough assignment. I had a couple people more senior in mind. I'm not saying you couldn't get up to speed but your experience is…"

"Like pretty much not there."