Arthur Hailey - Evening News

Judging by Dolores's gratitude, she neither understood nor cared about the explanation. Partridge was sure that as soon as they had gone the empty gin bottle would be quickly replaced.

Now his mind was free to move on to essentials—planning a rescue expedition to Nueva Esperanza as quickly as he could. At the thought of it his excitement rose, the old addiction to danger, guns and battle stirring within him.

Crawford Sloane's instinct during every day of waiting was to telephone Harry Partridge in Peru and ask, "Is there anything new?” But he restrained himself, knowing that any breaking news would come to him speedily enough. Also, he realized, it was important to leave Partridge un-distracted and free to work in his own way. Sloane still had more faith in Partridge than anyone else who might have been sent on the Peru assignment.

Another reason for holding back was that Harry Partridge had proved to be considerate, calling Sloane at home in Larchmont during some evenings or early mornings to fill him in on progress and background.

It had been several days, though, since the last call from Peru and while disappointed at not hearing, Crawford Sloane assumed there was nothing to report.

He was wrong.

What Sloane did not and could not know was that Partridge had decided all communication between Lima and New York—telephone, satellite or written—was no longer secure. After the interview with General Ortiz, during which the chief of anti-terrorism police made plain that Partridge's movements were being watched, it seemed possible that telephones were tapped and perhaps even mail examined. Satellite transmissions could be viewed by anyone with the right equipment, and using a different phone line than usual carried no guarantee of privacy.

Another reason for caution was that Lima was now crowded with journalists, including TV crews from other networks, all competing in covering the Sloane kidnap story and searching for new leads. So far, Partridge had managed to avoid the media crowd, but because of CBA's successful coverage already, he knew there was interest in where he went and whom he saw.

For all those reasons Partridge decided not to discuss, especially by telephone, his visit to the Huancavelica Street apartment and what he had learned. He ordered the others in the CBA crew to observe the same rule, also cautioning them that the expedition they were planning to Nueva Esperanza must be veiled in total secrecy. Even CBA in New York would have to wait for word of that.

Therefore, on Thursday morning in New York, knowing nothing of the breakthrough in Lima the day before, Crawford Sloane went to CBA News headquarters, arriving slightly later than usual at 10:55.

A young FBI agent named Ivan Ungar, who had slept at the Larchmont house the night before, accompanied him. The FBI was stifl guarding against a possible attempt to kidnap Sloane and there were also rumors that anchor people at other networks were being protected too. However, since the original kidnappers had been heard from, the twenty-four-hour listening watch on Crawford Sloane's home and office phones had been discontinued.

FBI Special Agent Otis Havelock was still involved with the case, and after Tuesday's discovery of the kidnappers' Hackensack headquarters had taken charge of FBI search efforts there. Another subject of FBI scrutiny, Sloane had learned, was Teterboro Airport because of its closeness to the Hackensack locale. An examination of outgoing flight records was being made, covering the period from immediately after the kidnap until the day it was known that the kidnap victims were in Peru. But progress was slow because of the large number of flight departures during those thirteen days.

At CBA News, as Sloane entered the main-floor lobby, a uniformed security guard gave a casual salute, but there was no sign of a New York City policeman, as there had been for more than a week after the kidnap. Today the usual stream of people was moving in and out of the building and although those entering were cleared at a reception desk, Sloane wondered if CBA security had slipped back into its old, easygoing ways.

From the lobby, accompanied by agent Ungar, he took an elevator to the fourth floor, then walked to his office adjoining the Horseshoe where several people looked up from their work to greet him. Sloane left the door of his office open. Ungar seated himself on a chair outside.

As Sloane hung up the raincoat he had been wearing, he noticed on his desk a white Styrofoam package of the kind used by takeout restaurants. There were several such establishments in the neighborhood which did a brisk business at CBA, delivering snacks or meals in response to telephone calls. Since Sloane had not ordered anything and usually had lunch in the cafeteria, he assumed the delivery was a mistake.

To his surprise, though, he found that the package, tied neatly with white string, had "C. Sloane” written on it. Without much interest, he took scissors from a drawer and snipped the string, then eased the package open. He pulled out some pieces of folded white paper before the contents were revealed.

After several seconds of staring in dazed disbelief, Crawford Sloane screamed—a tortured, ear-splitting scream. Heads shot up among those working nearby. FBI agent Ungar leapt from his chair and raced in, drawing a gun as he moved. But Sloane was alone, screaming again and again, staring down at the package, his eyes wide and crazed, his face ashen.

Others jumped up and ran to Sloane's office. Some went inside, a dozen or more blocked the doorway. A woman producer leaned over Sloane's desk and looked into the white box.”Oh, my god!” she uttered, then, feeling sick, went back outside.

Agent Ungar examined the box, saw two human fingers, flecked with dried blood, and, swallowing his revulsion, swiftly took charge. He shouted to those in the office and crowding the doorway, "Everyone out, please!” Even while speaking, he picked up a phone, pressed the "operator” button and demanded, "Security—fast!” When there was an answer, he rapped out, "This is FBI Special Agent Ungar and I am giving you an order. Advise all guards that no one is to leave this building, as of this moment. There will be no exceptions and if anyone resists, use force. After you've given that order, call the city police for help. I am going to the main lobby now. I want someone from Security to meet me there.”

While Ungar had been speaking, Sloane collapsed into his chair. As someone said later, "He looked like death.”

The executive producer, Chuck Insen, elbowed his way through the growing throng outside and asked, "What's all this about?”

Recognizing him, Ungar gestured to the white box, then instructed, "Nothing in here must be touched. I suggest you take Mr. Sloane somewhere else and lock the door until I come back.”

Insen nodded, by then having seen the contents of the box and noting, as had others, that the fingers were small and delicate, clearly those of a child. Turning to face Sloane, he asked the inevitable question with his eyes. Sloane managed to nod and whisper, "Yes.”

"Oh, Jesus!” Insen murmured.

Sloane seemed about to collapse. Insen put his arms around him, then still holding the anchorman, eased him from the room. Those at the doorway quickly cleared a path.

Insen and Sloane went to the executive producer's office; on the way, Insen fired orders. He told a secretary, "Lock Mr. Sloane's office and let no one in except that FBI man. Then talk to the switchboard; there's a doctor on call—get him here. Say Mr. Sloane had a bad shock and may need sedation.” To a producer, "Tell Don Kettering what's happened and get him up here; we'll need something for the news tonight.” And to others, "The rest of you, get back to work.”