Arthur Hailey - Evening News

The whole thing was unfortunate, she would tell Theo, and she didn't want to make judgments, though could not help wondering: Had Fossie Xenos been careless about who he talked to, particularly in Peru? It did seem possible, based on what she had heard, that the enthusiasm Fossie was noted for had made him indiscreet.

She would also tell Theo that because of the activity among the Peruvian press, the matter had come to the attention of CBA News. But Margot had given definite orders that CBA would not report it.

With luck, she thought, by early next week any adverse attention would have shifted away from herself and landed on Fossie. Good!

During her ruminations, Margot did give brief thought to Harry Partridge. Should he be reinstated? Then she decided no. Doing that would only confuse things, and Partridge wasn't important, so let the decision stand. Besides, Theo would still want to make his phone call to Peru's President Castafieda on Monday saying that the troublemaker—to use Theo's word had been dismissed and banished from Peru.

Smiling, confident her strategy would work, she picked up the phone and tapped out the unlisted number of Theo Elliott's home.

* * *

The AeroLibertad owner and pilot, Oswaldo Zileri, had heard of Crawford Sloane and was appropriately respectful.

”When your friends arranged their charter, Mr. Sloane, I said I did not wish to know their purpose. Now that I see you here, I can guess it, and I wish you, and them, well.”

"Thank you,” Sloane said. He and Rita were in Zileri's modest office near Lima's airport.”When you left Mr. Partridge and the others this morning, how did everything look?”

Zileri shrugged.”The way the jungle always looks—green, impenetrable, endless. There was no activity, other than by your friends.”

Rita told Zileri, "When we talked about extra passengers coming back, we hoped there would be three. But now it's two.”

"I have heard the sad news about Mr. Sloane's father.” The pilot shook his head.”We live in savage times.”

Sloane began, "I was wondering if now . . .”

Zileri finished for him.”. . . if there might be room for you and Miss Abrams to go on the other trips—one, two, or more —to bring the people back.”

"Yes."

"It will be okay. Because one of the expected passengers is a boy, and there will be no freight or baggage, weight will not be a problem. You must be here before dawn tomorrow—and the next day, if we go.”

"We will be,” Rita said. She turned to Sloane.”Harry wasn't optimistic about making a rendezvous the first day after going in. The flight is a precaution in case they need it. All along, he thought the second day more likely.”

* * *

There was one other thing Rita felt she had to do. She did not tell Crawf, but composed a fax message to Les Chippingham, to be waiting for him Monday morning. Deliberately, she did not route the message to the fax machine in the news president's office, but to one at the Horseshoe. There it would be the reverse of private and could be read by others—just as Chippingham's letter dismissing Harry Partridge had been when it arrived at Entel Peru.

Rita addressed her communication:

L W Chippingham

President, CBA News

Copies: All Notice Boards

She had no illusions that what she had written would get on any notice board. It wouldn't. But it was a signal, which would be understood by fellow producers at the Horseshoe, that she wanted wide circulation. Someone would make a copy or copies, to be passed around, read, and probably copied again and again.

The message read:

You sordid, selfish, cowardly son of a bitch!

To fire Harry Partridge the way you did—without cause, warning or even explanation—just to satisfy your cozy crony, the Iceberg-woman, Lloyd-Mason, is a betrayal of everything which used to be fair and decent at CBA.

Harry will come out of this smelling like Chanel No. 5. You already stink like the sewer rat you are.

How I ever let myself go to bed with you regularly is beyond my understanding. But never again! If you had the last erect cock on earth, I wouldn't have it near me.

As for working for you any longer—ugh I With deep sadness for what you used to be, compared with what you have become,

Your ex-friend, ex-admirer, ex-lover, ex-producer,

Rita Abrams

Obviously, Rita thought, after that was received and digested, Harry was not the only one who would be looking for fresh employment. But she didn't care. She felt a whole lot better as she watched the fax leave Entel, knowing that a moment later it was already in New York.

It was 2:10 a.m. in Nueva Esperanza.

Jessica had been restless for the past several hours, drifting in and out of sleep, dreaming at times—the dreams becoming nightmares merging with reality.

Moments earlier, certain she was awake, Jessica had peered through the roughly cut window opening facing her cell, and what she thought she saw in dim light reflected from inside was the face of Harry Partridge. Then the face disappeared as suddenly as it came. Was she awake? Or could she still be dreaming? Hallucinating, maybe?

Jessica was shaking her head, trying to clear it, when the face appeared again, rising slowly above the lowest window level, and this time it stayed. A hand made a signal which she didn't understand, but she studied the face again. Could it be? Her heart leaped as she decided: Yes, it could ! It was Harry Partridge.

The face was mouthing something silently, the lips making exaggerated movements, attempting to communicate. She concentrated, trying to understand, and managed to grasp the words "the guard.” That was it: Where was the guard?

The guard at the moment was Vicente. He had come on duty an hour ago—apparently very late—and there had been a heated argument between him and Ramon, who had the earlier duty. Ramon had shouted angrily. Vicente, in arguing back, sounded drunk—at least his speech was slurred. Jessica didn't care about the dispute and, as always, was glad to see Ramon go; he had a vicious streak, was unpredictable, and still insisted on the silence rule for the prisoners which, by now, none of the other guards enforced.

Turning her head, Jessica could see Vicente. He was seated in the chair which all the guards used, beyond the cells and out of sight of the window. She wasn't sure, but his eyes seemed closed. His automatic rifle was propped against the wall alongside him. Nearby a kerosene lamp hung from a beam above, and it was by the lamp's reflected light she had seen the face outside.

Being careful, in case Vicente should suddenly observe her, Jessica answered the silent question by inclining her head toward where he was seated.

At once the mouth on the face at the window—Jessiea still had trouble accepting it as Harry Partridge's—began to form words again. Once more, she concentrated. After the third time she understood the message: " Call him! ”

Jessica nodded slightly, intimating that she understood. Her heart was pounding at the sight of Harry. It could only mean, she thought, that the rescue they had hoped for for so long was finally happening. At the same time, she knew that completing whatever had been started would not be easy.

”Vicente!” She raised her voice no louder than she thought was needed, but it was not enough to penetrate his dozing. A touch more strongly, she tried again.”Vicente!”

This time he stirred. Vicente's eyes opened and met Jessica's. As they did, she beckoned him.

Vicente shifted in his chair. He started to rise and, watching him, Jessica had the impression he was organizing himself mentally, trying to sober tip. He stood, started to come toward her, then quickly turned back to collect his rifle. He held it in a businesslike way, she noticed, clearly ready to use it if required.