Arthur Hailey - Evening News

The heat was even more intense than in the hut. Perspiration streamed from everyone. So where were they? Jessica's notion about being in the general area of New York State seemed less plausible every minute. Nowhere she could think of would be as hot at this time of year. Unless . . .

Was it possible, Jessica wondered, that she and the others had been unconscious, drugged, much longer than she first believed? And if so, could they have been taken to someplace much farther away, farther south, like Georgia or Arkansas? The more she thought about the type of country they were in, the more it resembled the remoter parts of those states, and it would be hot there too. The prospect dismayed her because, if true, the hope of imminent rescue had just receded.

Still seeking clues, she began listening to snatches of speech between the men with the guns. She recognized the language as Spanish and while Jessica didn't speak it, she knew a smattering of words. . . .

” Maldito camion! Me hace dano en la espalda. 'Por que no te acuestas encima de la mujer? Ella es una buena almohada.” . . . Some raucous laughter . . .”No, esperare hasta que termine el vidje. Entonces, ella debe tener cuidadol”. . .”Los Sinchis, esos cabrones, torturaron a mi hermano antes de matarlo.”. . .”El rio no puede llegar tan pronto como yo desearia que llegara. La Selva ve y oye todo.”. . .

Hearing them, she supposed they were recent immigrants; so many Hispanics nowadays were flooding into the United States. Abruptly she remembered the man who first accosted her in the Larchmont supermarket. He spoke English with a Spanish accent. Was there a connection? She couldn't think of one.

The thought of Larchmont, though, reminded her of Crawf. What torment he must be going through! There was something that Angus had said to Nicky in the hut.”Your Dadllfind us.”For sure, by now, Crawf would be moving heaven and earth in the search for them, and he had plenty of influence, lots of friends in high places who would help. But would they have any idea of where to look? Somehow she must discover where they were and devise a way to get word back to Crawf.

Something else Angus had said to Nicky was that they had been kidnapped. Jessica hadn't thought that through before there hadn't been time--but she supposed Angus was right. But why kidnapped? For money? Wasn't that the usual reason? Well, sure the Sloanes had money, but not in huge amounts, not the kind Crawf sometimes talked about as "industrial or Wall Street money.”

And how incredible, Jessica thought, that only last evening -if it was last evening; she was losing track of time-Crawf had spoken of the possibility of being kidnapped himself . . .

Her thoughts were distracted by the sight of Nicky. Since the truck began moving, Nicky had had trouble keeping his body upright and now, because of his tied hands, had slid down horizontally so that with every bump his head was hitting the floor.

Jessica, frantic and unable to help, was about to break silence and appeal to Cutface when she saw one of the gun-toting men take notice of Nicky's plight and move toward him. Partially lifting Nicky, the man moved the boy so his back was against a sack and his feet touching a box, ensuring that he wouldn't slip again. Jessica tried to thank the man with her eyes and a half smile. In return he gave the slightest of nods. It was small reassurance, she thought, but at least there was someone among these brutal people who had feelings.

The man continued to sit near Nicky. He mumbled some words which Nicky, having recently begun Spanish lessons at school, seemed to understand. As the journey continued, there were two more exchanges between the man and the boy.

After about twenty minutes, at a point where the track they had been driving on disappeared and there were only trees, the truck stopped. Jessica, Nicky and Angus were again partially shoved and lifted off the truck. When they were standing, Miguel came around from the front and announced curtly, "From here we walk.”

Gustavo and two other armed men led the way through thick foliage over an uneven, barely discernible trail. Leaves and branches pressed in on either side and though the trees overhead provided shade, the incredible heat persisted amid a constant buzz of insects.

At moments, the three captives were close together. At one point Nicky said in a low voice, "This leads to a river, Mom. Then we're going in a boat.”

Jessica whispered back, "Did that man tell you?”

"Yes.”

Soon after, Jessica heard Angus murmur, "I'm proud of you, Nicky. You're being brave.”

It was the first time Jessica had heard Angus's voice since leaving the hut. She was relieved the old man was at least coping, though she dreaded the effect of this awful experience on him and, for that matter, on Nicky too. Jessica still kept wondering about rescue. What were their chances? When and how would help arrive?

Nicky awaited an opportunity, then answered Angus softly, "It's the way you told me, Gramps. When you're really scared, hang on.”

With sudden emotion Jessica remembered the conversation at breakfast-the four of them, including Crawf, talking about that bombing raid on Germany . . . Schweinfurt? . . . What Nicky had said just now was almost exactly Angus's words then. And how long ago was that breakfast? . . . Today; yesterday; the day before? . . . Again she realized she had lost all reckoning of time.

A little later, Nicky asked, "Gramps, how about you?”

"There's life in this old dog.” Another pause, then, "Jessie -how is it with you?”

At the next opportunity she said, "I've been trying to guess where we are. Georgia? Arkansas? Where?”

It was Nicky who supplied the answer.”They took us out of America, Mom. The man told me. We're in Peru.”

"Earlier this morning,” Teddy Cooper told the rows of attentive young faces in front of him, "I was planning to stand here and spin you a cock-n-bull story about why you've been hired and what you'll be doing. Like a real smart-ass, I had what I thought was a convincing cover story all worked out. But a few minutes ago, after talking to some of you, I realized you're all too smart to be taken in. Also, I believe that when you know the real facts, you'll leave here keen, tight-lipped and caring. So sit up straight, lads and lassies. You're about to be trusted with the truth.”

The approach was rewarded by some smiles and continued attention.

It was 9:30 A.M. Monday. Within the past half hour exactly sixty young men and women, the sexes almost equally divided, had reported for temporary work at CBA News, Uncle Arthur having persisted with his telephoning through Sunday evening to make up the full complement required. All were now assembled in the CBA auxiliary building a block away from news headquarters, which the preceding Thursday had been used for the press conference conducted by Crawford Sloane. On the same sound stage, folding chairs had again been set up, facing a lectern.

Most of the recruits were about twenty-two years old and recent university graduates with good scholastic records. They were also articulate, competitive and anxious to break into the TV news milieu.

About a third of the group was black and among these was one Uncle Arthur had drawn to Cooper's attention—Jonathan Mony.”You may want to use Jonathan as a supervisor,” the older man advised.”He's a Columbia Journalism graduate who's been working as a waiter because he needs the money. But if you're as impressed as I am, when this is over maybe the two of us can somehow bring him into CBA.”

Mony, who had been one of the earliest to report this morning, had the build and agility of a professional basketball player. His features were finely cut, with compelling, confident eyes. Mony's voice was a clear baritone and he spoke without jargon in concise sentences. His first question to Cooper after introducing himself was, "May I help you set this up?”