Jeffery Deaver - Hard News

Who'd done it? she wondered.

Rune sat at the desk until sixp.m., when the first live Network newscast began. Everyone's attention was on the far side of the studio and not a soul noticed Rune walk up to a gaffer, a heavyset man in jeans and a white striped shirt. He wore a Mets cap. He was sipping coffee from a cardboard cup, watching the attractive Asian anchor-woman deliver a story about the mayor's press conference.

"Hey, Rune," he said, then looked back to the set. "Welcome back."

"Danny, I need some help," she said.

"Help?" he asked.

"You're on set here every day, right?"

"Yep. Working overtime to buy my boat."

"Somebody went through my desk recently. You see who it was, by any chance?"

He sipped more coffee, avoiding her eyes. "I'm off shift."

"Danny."

"Thought you were fired."

"I am. But I need your help. Please."

He stared at the newscaster, whose short-cut hair shone under the lights like a blue-black jewel. He sighed. "I saw."

"Who was it?"

"Oh, brother…"

Randy Boggs hadn't been on an airplane in years but he was surprised to find that they hadn't changed much. Seemed there were more men flight attendants and it seemed the food was better (though maybe that was just because of what he'd been eating off metal trays for the past thirty-three months, fifteen days).

He remembered what the United Airlines clerk who'd sold him this ticket had said about no one ever dying from getting asked out and he kept up that attitude on the plane, practicing a bit of flirting with the flight attendants.

He'd dozed and had had a dream that he couldn't remember now and then the weather got rough and the seat belt sign came on. He didn't mind flying but he hated the insides of airplanes. For one thing, the dry, close air bothered him. But they also cheated you. Here you were moving at five hundred miles an hour! But what did the airlines do but try their best to fool you into thinking you were in a restaurant and movie theater. Randy Boggs wanted the planes to have picture windows. Man, seeing the clouds go past like they were trees on the interstate!

Thinking too about his hundred ten thousand dollars. His nest egg. What his father called a "stake" (Randy used to think the old man meant "steak"). And now that he had one he was going to do something with it. Something real smart.

Boggs wondered if he should invest the money in a clothing store in Hawaii. He'd really enjoyed going into that place in Atlanta. He liked the smell – he figured it was aftershave – and he liked the even rows of clothes on the chrome racks. He liked the way the men who worked there stood with their arms folded in front of the shiny counters. If it was slow you could wander outside into the forever warm weather and have a cigarette while you paced the sidewalk under palm trees. He wondered how much it would cost to open a clothing store in Hawaii.

Buying a store. That would be the kind of investment he'd be proud of. Not like those other dumb-ass ideas: like lobster farming and selling amazing water filters and no-money-down real estate and computerized sign painting, all of which he'd tried.

But then again, maybe instead of a store he should invest the money in the stock market. He felt exhilarated, thinking of himself being driven to work, wearing his tan suit and alligator-skin loafers, riding in an elevator up to some penthouse office on Wall Street.

The pilot announced they were landing and he looked out the window again.

Hearing his father's words:

You listen to me, young man, you paying attention? If you're not I'll tan your hide. Come here, son, come here. You remember this: Don't work for any other man. Don't lien the house. Get paid in cash, not in promises…

Though the real advice from his father could be summarized much more easily. It was this: Don't be me.

Just then the plane banked sharply and the engines slowed to a growl. Randy Boggs shut out the overhead light and plastered his face against the window, looking into the night. In the distance he believed he saw a shoreline, he believed he saw water. He definitely saw the runway rising to meet him as if the land were rushing forward to greet him like a lover and welcome him to his new life.

The break-in took only five minutes.

The Network's personnel department was empty. Rune used a letter opener and fire hose nozzle to break the locks off two file cabinets. Inside, she found the bulky file she'd been looking for, examined it briefly then trotted out with it under her arm.

At an all-night coffee shop up the street she ordered take-out: a Greek salad – extra anchovies – and a large apple juice. (Which reminded her of Courtney and made her feel lonely. She canceled the juice and got coffee – the caffeine was a better idea anyway, she decided.) She sat at the counter, opened the stolen file and began reading. Her appetite faded by the time she was halfway through the salad. But she drank all the coffee. Then she looked up, squinting, walked to the phone and got Lee Maisel's number from Directory Assistance. She punched the numbers in, noticing only then that it was midnight.

Wondering if she was going to wake him up. She did.

The producer's voice cracked. "Yes, hello?" "Lee, it's Rune. I've got to talk to you. It's an emergency."

"Emergency? What d'you mean? What time is it?" "I've got to talk to you." "You're okay?"

"I'm all right. I found out something about Lance Hopper's killing. It wasn't an accident. Randy and Jack were hired to kill him."

"What are you talking about?" The voice was sharper now; his mind was in gear. He was a journalist probing for facts.

"It was a professional hit."

"But who'd want Lance dead?

"It was-" Now Rune's voice cracked too and the reason it did had nothing to do with being tired. She repeated in a whisper, "It was Piper."

That?" Maisel cleared his throat.

Rune heard the rustling of cloth. She pictured the producer sitting up, putting his feet on the floor, feeling for slippers.

"Piper hired them to kill Lance."

Again, a pause. He was waiting. She heard him clear his throat again then cough. "This isn't funny."

"It's true, Lee."

"Come on, Rune. Why would she want him dead?"

"Somebody took all the Randy Boggs files and tapes out of my desk. Everything was gone."

"Who?"

"Danny Turner, the head electrician on the set, told me it was Piper."

Maisel didn't answer.

Rune said, "And remember, she didn't want to do the story in the first place, she tried to get me to

stop? She was going to send me to London? To get rid of me."

Maisel snapped, "What I was asking waswhy she'd want Lance Hopper dead."

"Because he was going to fire her. I went through her personnel file-"

"You what? How?"

"I just did… Anyway, you know what I found? That Hopper tried to fire her a year before he died. Piper filed two EEOC complaints against him. They were both dropped but there's lots of memos – it was this huge war."

"Rune, people don't kill people for jobs."

"Maybe not usually – but you know Piper and her temper. You told me that her job was her whole life. And how much does she make? A million a year? That's enough to kill somebody for."

"But how is she going to find professional killers? This is just too-"

"What were some of her assignments?" She continued, "In Africa, in Nicaragua, the Middle East. She could've met some mercenaries. The fat guy – Jack -he looked just like a soldier. And he probably hired Randy to help him."

Maisel considered this. He was less skeptical than a moment ago. He said, "Keep going."

Rune felt like a juggler. It was tough to keep all the parts of the story in the air at once. "When Mr Frost, the new witness, died? It wasn't an accident at all. Piper knew his name. She saw it from my story. She sent that fat guy to kill him. And then what happens? All the cassettes disappear. And she knew where I'd put the duplicate cassette of Frost. And she'd know how to get into the computer and steal the master."