Arthur Hailey - Evening News

Sergio threw up his hands.”Well, my dear Harry, why not? Perhaps the greatest thing America instilled in me was a passion for free speech. I have been speaking freely here on radio, though at times I wonder how long they will let me go on. Neither the government nor Sendero like what I say and both have guns and bullets. But one cannot live forever, so yes, Harry, I will do it for you.”

Beneath the gross fat, Partridge acknowledged mentally, was a person of principle and courage.

* * *

Before reaching Peru, Partridge had already decided there was only one way to go about locating the kidnap victims. That was to act as a TV news correspondent would in normal circumstances—meeting known contacts, seeking out new ones, searching for news, traveling where he could, questioning, questioning, and all the while hoping some fragment of information would emerge, providing a clue, a lead to where the captives might be held.

After that, of course, would come the greater problem of how to rescue them. But that would have to be faced when the time arrived.

Unless some lucky, sudden breakthrough happened, Partridge expected the process to be demanding, slow and tedious.

Continuing the TV correspondent routine, he next visited Entel Peru—the national telecommunications company with headquarters in downtown Lima. Entel would be CBA's base for communication with New York, including satellite transmissions. When crews from other U.S. networks arrived, as seemed likely in a day or two, they would use the same facilities.

Victor Velasco was the busy, harried international manager of Entel whom Fernandez Pabur had already contacted. In his forties, with graying hair and a permanently worried expression, Velasco was clearly preoccupied with other problems as he told Partridge, "It has been difficult to find space, but we have a booth for your editor, his equipment, and we've run in two phone lines. Your people will need security passes . . .”

Partridge was aware that in places like Peru, where politicians and military leaders strutted and got rich, it was lowprofile managers like Velasco—conscientious, overworked and underpaid—who really kept the country running. Back in his hotel suite, Partridge had put a thousand dollars in an envelope which he produced and discreetly handed over.

”A small thank-you for your trouble, Sefior Velasco. We'll be seeing you again before we leave.”

For a moment Velasco looked embarrassed and Partridge wondered if he might refuse. Then, glancing in the envelope and seeing U.S. currency, Velasco nodded and put it in a pocket.

”Thank you. And if there's anything else..."

There will be,” Partridge said.”That's the only thing I'm sure of.”

* * *

"What took you so long, Harry?” Manuel Leon Seminario inquired when Partridge phoned from the hotel shortly after 5 P.m., having just returned from Entel Peru.”I've been expecting you since our little talk.”

"I had a couple of things to do in New York.” Partridge was reminded of his phone conversation ten days earlier with the Escena magazine owner-editor; it had been at a time when Peru involvement in the Sloane family kidnapping was a possibility, though not a certainty as now. He asked, "I was wondering, Manuel, if you've a dinner engagement tonight.”

"I have indeed. I shall be dining at La Pizzeria at eight o'clock and my guest will be one Harry Partridge.”

It was now 8:15 and they were sipping Pisco sours, the popular Peruvian cocktail, piquant and delicious. La Pizzeria was a combination of bistro and traditional restaurant where the movers and shakers of Lima were often to be seen.

The magazine chief, slightly built and dapper, with a neatly trimmed Vandyke beard, was wearing high-fashion Cartier spectacles and a Brioni suit. He had brought with him to the table a slim burgundy leather briefcase.

Partridge had already reported why he was in Peru. He added, "I've been hearing that things around here are pretty bad.”

Seminario sighed.”It is true, they are. But then, our life has always been a mixture. We . . . how did Milton put it? . . . 'Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.' Yet we limefios are survivors, something I try to reflect with Escena's covers.” He reached for the briefcase and opened it.”Consider these two our current edition and the artwork for next week. Together, I believe they say something.”

Partridge looked at the printed magazine first. Its cover was a color photograph of a tall downtown building's flat roof. The roof contained a mess of debris, obviously from an explosion. Central in the picture was a dead woman, on her back. She appeared to have been young; her face, not badly damaged, might have been beautiful. But her stomach had been blown away, with bloody entrails strewn around the body. Despite his familiarity with scenes of war, Partridge shuddered.

”I'll save you reading the story inside, Harry. A business convention was in session across the street. Sendero Luminoso, in which the woman was an activist, decided to mortar the convention center. Fortunately for the convention, but not the woman, the mortar was homemade and exploded before she could fire it.”

Partridge glanced at the picture, then away.”Sendero is increasingly active in Lima, I believe.”

"Exceedingly so. Their people move around freely and this bombing, which went wrong, was an exception. Most are successful. Nevertheless, consider next week's cover.” The editor passed across the artwork.

It was sex and cheesecake, only a hairbreadth away from pornography. A slim young girl, perhaps nineteen and scantily clad in the briefest of swimsuits, was leaning against a silken pillow, her head thrown back, blond hair tumbled, lips parted, eyes closed, legs partially spread.

”Life goes on and there are always two sides, even in Peru,” the magazine man said "Speaking of which, let us order dinner, then I will make suggestions, Harry, to ensure that your life goes on too.”

The food was Italian and excellent, the service faultless. Near the end of the meal, Seminario leaned back.

”One thing you must realize is that Sendero Luminoso may already know of your presence here; their spies are everywhere. But even if not, they will learn of it shortly, probably after your CBA broadcast tomorrow, which will be repeated widely. So beginning at once, you must have a bodyguard accompany you, particularly if you go out at night.”

Partridge smiled.”That seems to have happened already.” Fernandez Pabur had insisted on collecting Partridge from the hotel and bringing him here. Accompanying them in the Ford station wagon had been a silent, burly man who looked like a heavyweight boxer. Judging by a bulge under his jacket, he was armed. At their destination, the new man alighted first, Fernandez and Partridge remaining inside the vehicle until signaled to come out. Partridge had not asked questions, but Fernandez told him, "We will wait while you have dinner.” Presumably the retinue was still outside.

"Good,” Seminario acknowledged. ”Your man knows what he is doing. Are you carrying a gun yourself?”

Partridge shook his head.

”You must. Many of us do. And to quote American Express, 'Don't leave home without it.' Another thing: Do not go to Ayacucho, a Sendero stronghold. Sendero would learn of your being there and you would be committing suicide.”

"At some point I may have to go.”

"You mean if I, or others trying to help you, learn where your friends are being held. In that case you will have to ensure surprise by going in fast and getting out the same way. There will be no other way and you will have to use a charter airplane. Some pilots here will do that if you pay them enough risk money.”

When they had finished talking, most other diners were gone and the restaurant was preparing to close.