Jeffery Deaver - Hard News

Rune paused outside the teak door. Bradford Simpson, who hadn't been invited to the meeting, handed her the files he'd helped carry from her desk. "Break aleg," he said and gave her a kiss on the cheek – one that lasted a bit longer than your standard good-luck •buss, she thought. He disappeared back to the lowly newsroom.

Rune looked inside. Lee Maisel and Piper Sutton sat at the table. Behind them was a map of the world with red stickers showing where the Network had permanent bureaus. No more than a couple inches of space separated any of the red dots, except in the oceans and at the North and South Poles.

This was a room Rune never thought she'd be in. When she'd applied at the Network for a job as assistant cameraman they'd told her there was no chance to move into news, producing stories herself; those slots were all reserved for newsmen with experience or star journalism school students.

But here she was, a line producer working for Lee Maisel, and holding in her nervous hands a draft script, one she'd actually written for Piper Sutton.

Rune fought down the assault of anxiety.

She shifted the huge stacks of notes and tapes from one arm to the other. Her heart was beating wildly and her palms left sweaty stains on the black cassettes she held. Sutton noticed her and nodded her in. "Come on," she said abruptly. "What're you waiting for?"

Maisel gave Rune a fast distracted glance.

"Let's get on with it," Sutton said. "Let's see the script. Come on."

Rune distributed them and they both read in silence, except for the tapping of Piper Sutton's gold Cross pen, impatient, on the table. Stone-faced, they skimmed the sixteen pages. First Sutton, then Maisel, slid the sheets into the center of the table.

"All right," Sutton said. "Why is it so important that you do this story?"

This was right out of left field. Rune hadn't expected a question like that. She swallowed, looked at Maisel but he didn't offer anything. She thought for a moment, and began to speak. Sheknew better than she couldsay (words, goddamn words again). As she responded to Sutton a lot of "uhms" and "what I means" slipped in. She corrected herself, said the same things twice. She sounded defensive. She tried to look into Sutton's eyes as she spoke but that just turned her mind to jam. Words came out, about justice and journalism's responsibility.

Which was all true but Rune didn't, of course, tell Sutton one tiny piece of the answer: She never once said, Why am I dying to do this story? Because part of me wants to be you. I want to be tall and have crisp blonde hair that stays where 1 put it, and walk on high heels and not look like a klutz. I want presidents of networks and corporations to look at me with envy and lust. I want a mind that's as cool and sharp as a black belt's body. I want to try your kind of power, not mine. Not like magic in fairy stories but the power to cast the strongest kind of spells – the ones that make it seem like you know exactly what to do every minute, exactly what to say…

But she talked' about the press, about innocence, about Boggs. When she'd finished, she sat back. Sutton must have been satisfied with the response. She said, "All right, let me ask you a few specific questions."

These were even worse, though, because they were about things Rune should have thought of herself. Did you interview the original crime scene team? (Good idea; never occurred to her.)Did you talk to any of Boggs's earlier lawyers? (Rune didn't know he'd had any.)Did he ever see a shrink about his criminal tendencies? (She never asked.)

The three of them debated for ten minutes and in the end both Maisel and Sutton nodded and said that the program should go forward as long as the show didn't claim Boggs was innocent – only that there were some serious questions about his guilt.

That left only the question of when the story should air.

They asked her opinion.

Rune cleared her throat, shuffled papers, then said, "Next week's show."

Maisel said, "No, seriously."

And the battle began.

"The thing is," Rune said, "he's got to get out of prison as soon as possible. They don't like him

in there. They've already tried to kill him, I told you that."

Sutton said, "They'? Who's 'they'?"

"Other prisoners."

Maisel asked, "Why?"

"I don't know. A guard told me he isn't popular. He's a loner. He-"

"Today's Friday," Maisel barked. "Rune, to air next Tuesday, the whole program should have been shot and edited by now. It has to be in the computer by Monday. That just can't be done."

"I don't think he'll last another week. They tried to kill him once, and they'll try again."

Sutton and Maisel looked at each other. Sutton looked back to her and said, "Our job is to report the news, not save anybody's ass. Boggs gets killed the story's still valid. We could-". "That's a horrible thing to say!"

"Oh, come off it," Sutton said.

Maisel said, "Piper's right, Rune. The story is the important thing, not springing a prisoner. And I don't see how we can do it. There just isn't time."

"The script's all written," she said. "And I've spent the last three nights editing. I've got everything timed to the second."

"The second," Sutton said in a tired sigh.

Maisel said, "Piper'd have to tape on Sunday night or Monday morning."

In a soft, spiny voice, Rune said, "I want the story to air next week." She folded her hands and put them in her lap.

They both looked at her.

Rune continued. "What's going to happen if somebody finds out that we could have saved his life and we just didn't get around to doing the story in time?"

Silence, as Sutton and Maisel exchanged glances. Maisel broke the tension, asking the anchorwoman, "What do you think?"

Rune felt her teeth squeeze together with tension. Sutton responded by asking. "What else was scheduled for that show?"

"The Arabs in Queens," Maisel said. "It's half edited."

"I never liked that story," Rune offered.

Sutton shrugged. "It's soft news. I hate soft news." She was frowning, apparently because she found herself agreeing with Rune.

"My story isn't," Rune said. "It's hard news."

Sutton said, "I suppose you'll want a credit."

For ten million people to see.

"You bet I do."

The anchorwoman continued, "But that name of yours. You'll have to change it."

"Not to worry," Rune said. "I have a professional name."

"A professional name?" Maisel was fighting to keep down the smile.

"Irene Dodd Simons."

"Is that your real name?" the anchorwoman asked.

"Sort of."

Sutton said, "Sort of." And shook her head then added, "At least it sounds like the name of somebody who knows what she's doing." She pulled her personal calendar out of her purse; the scents of perfume and suede followed it. "Okay, honey, first we'll get together and do a script-"

"A script?" Rune blinked. "But it's all finished." She nodded at the sheets in front of them.

Sutton laughed. "No, babes, I mean areal script. We'll meet at six-thirty tomorrow morning in theCurrent Events newsroom."

Rune's first thought was: Shit, a baby-sitter. Where'm I going to get a sitter? She smiled and said, "Six, if you want."

"Six-thirty'll be fine."

You don't have a right to talk on the phone but they usually let you. A privilege, not a right. (One day, Boggs'd heard some prisoner yelling, "Gimme the phone! We got rights." A guard had answered, pretty politely under the circumstances, "You got what we give you, asshole.")

But maybe because Boggs had been knifed or maybe because he wasn't a punk or just maybe because it was a nice warm day, the guard in charge of the mail and telephone room sent somebody to find him so he could take the call.

"Randy, how you feeling?" Rune asked.