Deadline (8 page)

“
Of course, Braden. That’s
a given.”

Young smiled and gathered up his
papers.

“
Well, boys and girls
that’s all for now. We’ll finalize things at the late afternoon
meeting when we see how things come together. Now go out there in
true journalistic fashion and raise some shit!”

Chapter 20

Afghanistan –Pakistan
Border 5:55 PM

THE LADA suddenly started to slow
down.

It emerged from the treacherous
mountain passes into a low-lying valley. Trevanian could see some
signs of civilization ahead. They were approaching a small border
crossing.

There were warning signs, a small hut
by the side of the road and a transverse metal bar across the road.
This must be Pakistan, thought Trevanian.

“
Please stay quiet, Mr.
Trevanian. Let me handle this,” said Dharwal.

The vehicle pulled up to the hut and
stopped. A lanky border guard emerged holding a Kalashnikov AK-74.
He cautiously approached the car.

Dharwal opened the door and got out.
He greeted the guard with a friendly hug, speaking in a language
Trevanian didn’t understand. It appeared as if they knew each
other.

Dharwal chatted briefly with the
guard. Then Trevanian saw him draw his hand out of his pocket with
a fistful of cash. Money was exchanged. The guard laughed and waved
them through.

The journey continued. Soon they came
to a small village. The road sign read Zhob.

Trevanian knew the road they were on
was an approach to the tribal areas in northern
Pakistan.

It was an area the Taliban and
al-Qaida controlled. They were protected and sheltered by the
tribal chieftains and their people. It was an autonomous region.
The Government of Pakistan did not rule in this area. Any
government forces venturing there did so at grave risk to their
lives.

Trevanian was puzzled.

Why take him to this desolate area?
What did Dharwal mean when he said Trevanian had been specially
picked for this assignment? What could this high honor for an
infidel be?

Trevanian was nudged from his thoughts
and saw that Dharwal now held the black hood again.

“
You must wear this again
for this stage of the journey, Mr. Trevanian,” explained Dharwal.
“It will not be for long -- only another hour or so. It is a
security measure. You will not be harmed, I assure you.”

Reluctantly, Trevanian allowed Dharwal
to replace the hood over his head. Darkness descended once again.
Hopefully soon the light of this mission would become apparent.
Trevanian could only hope it was all worth it.

He also hoped he would survive
it!

Chapter 21

Andrew Chase’s Office 10:15
AM

THE PHONE rang as Chase checked his
e-mails on the computer at his large desk.

“
Mr. Chase, I have Mr. Rob
Nelson from RBC Financial on the line,” said the clipped, stylish
English voice of his administrative secretary.

“
Thanks, Mrs. Johnston.
Put him through right away,” replied Chase with a sense of high
anxiety.

This was a call he had been expecting
from the country’s largest bank and the paper’s major creditor and
financial backer. Chase had put through a request for a major loan
and extension of credit to keep the paper running.

“
Certainly, Mr. Chase.
I’ll connect you immediately.”

Mrs. Joan Johnston was the epitome of
efficiency. Chase had been impressed with her credentials from
their initial interview.

She had been born in the small seaside
town of Cleethorpes, England, on the North Sea coast. Johnston
started her secretarial career in the nearby fishing centre of
Grimsby after leaving school as a 16-year-old teenager. She started
as a junior secretary for a fishing company and survived the German
blitz of the town in 1940.

Later in the war, she moved to London
and worked her way through a series of office jobs to become a
senior corporate secretary.

She met and married a young Canadian
airman in the RAF stationed at an airfield near London. After the
war, the couple moved to Canada. Johnston fared even better when
they moved to her husband’s home city of Toronto.

She served as chief secretary to a
couple of high-powered financiers before taking the job with Chase
and the Daily Express. Her husband passed away several years ago,
but she continued to work long past normal retirement age. Chase
could never imagine her retiring voluntarily – her work was her
life.

Mrs. Johnston was an
obsessive-compulsive perfectionist who expected everyone else to be
the same. She didn’t suffer fools lightly and many people had felt
the lash of her tongue. If she had a major fault, it was a lack of
diplomacy and tact. Johnston believed in calling things as she saw
them. She could be like an English bulldog at times.

But her major strength was extreme
loyalty to those for whom she worked. She would protect Chase like
he was her own son.

“
Rob, nice to speak with
you,’ said Chase into the phone. “I’ve been waiting to hear back
from you. I hope the word is good from the loans
committee.”

Chase held his breath as he stared at
the heavily book-lined wall directly across from his desk. His
shelf contained mainly non-fiction volumes by writers such as Bob
Woodward, David Halberstam, Walter Cronkite, Katherine Graham, all
giants in the field of journalism. His fiction taste tendered to
favor thriller espionage writers such as John LeCarré, Frederick
Forsyth, and the James Bond novels of Ian Fleming.

Next to it was a wall with several
contemporary paintings that Chase had collected throughout his
travels. He was an ardent bibliophile and art
connoisseur.

“
Always a pleasure talking
to you as well, Andrew,” replied Nelson. “I just wish I had better
news to pass on to you.”

“
Oh come now, Rob. Don’t
tell me you’re turning down our loan request. We’ve been good,
solid customers over the past three years.”

“
No doubt about that,
Andrew. I presented your financial restructuring proposal to our
loans committee yesterday. They gave it a thorough review being
that you are one of our major clients. Unfortunately a majority of
the committee is opposed to your plan. The committee feels a $50
million extension of credit is too great a risk and would put us
out on a limb here.”

Andrew felt exasperated. “Rob, you
know the paper is worth the investment. I will even put up some of
my own personal financial resources as collateral if
necessary.”

“
Sorry, Andrew the loans
committee won’t budge on this. But all is not gloomy. In view of
your status as a top client and your good financial background, we
are prepared to offer you a $20 million loan on top of the amount
you already owe us. Perhaps that will keep you afloat.”

“
For a while, Rob but it’s
not enough. I need time for our restructuring efforts to pay off
and for the initiatives to boost advertising revenue to gel. I need
that $50 million that would keep us going for another five years at
least and hopefully the paper would be in the black by
then.”

“
I’m sorry, Andrew. The
committee feels it’s too risky. I did my best coming to bat on your
behalf being the charming, persuasive rake that I am. But charm
only carries so far with these guys. These are hard-line moneymen
who live for the bottom line. I’m afraid many think you are doomed
to fail. Perhaps you should consider putting the paper up for sale
and getting out before she sinks.”

“
I have no intention of
allowing the Daily Express to sink, Rob. I think it can be a viable
operation given the right financing and business plan. I already
have a serious offer to buy, but I would prefer to ride this crisis
out. I am not a quitter and this paper was a lifelong dream of
mine. Perhaps I’ll look elsewhere for financing.”

“
Well, I wish you luck,
Andrew. But I think you’ll find it a hard sell in the marketplace
just now. Just give me a call if you decide on the $20 million and
I’ll draw up the papers. Goodbye.”

Chase slowly replaced the phone
receiver. He felt depressed. The weight of the world was on his
shoulders. Time was running out. He needed new financing right away
or he would have no option but to sell.

Right now Rupert White’s offer seemed
the only hope.

Chapter 22

Daily Express Newsroom
10:37 AM

KATIE CANNON sipped a can of Coke Zero
as she transcribed her notes on the latest Wolfman
killing.

His e-mail was unnerving, but she was
not unduly worried. She could not see how he possibly could get at
her. There was no way he could know where she lived and she spent
most of her time at the paper. It was a busy place and there were
always lots of people around.

Detective Moon offered her police
protection, but she didn’t want to be followed around by a
bodyguard. It would only crimp her style as a journalist and hamper
her efforts. Cannon had always been very strong-willed and
independent minded.

As a child, when people opened doors
for her she would stubbornly insist on using another one. She could
bloody well open her own doors. She’d been a tomboy as a child and
often preferred playing with the boys than hanging out with the
girls.

As Katie matured, she found the boys
even more interested in being with her, but for different reasons.
She learned rather early on that her striking physical assets could
be a plus in getting her way. She found it easy to wrap boys and
later men around her finger.

But it proved to be a double-edged
sword because she had difficulty getting men to respect that she
also had a brain.

Katie was as smart as a whip and
earned good grades in university. She worked as a volunteer on the
Silhouette, a campus student paper at McMaster University in
Hamilton.

The field of journalism appealed to
her and she often cut classes to spend more time at the paper. She
eventually worked her way up to news editor in her final year
before graduation.

After a stint as an intern at the
Hamilton Spectator, Cannon was hired full-time and built a
reputation as a crime reporter. Her hard-hitting reports drew the
attention of Toronto media. Braden Young lured her to the Daily
Express a year ago.

The big city had the attraction of
bigger and better stories and the chance to build a national news
reputation. Cannon dated occasionally but there was no one
seriously in her life until the day she met Andrew Chase at a
cocktail party.

She was immediately attracted to his
rugged handsome looks. Even though he was much older than her, he
was a charming man, with a good sense of humor. At the time she
didn’t know he was the Publisher of the paper and her boss. He’d
just said he was in management.

The next day a dozen red roses were
delivered to her desk in the newsroom. Attached was a small note:
“How About Dinner Sometime? Andrew.”

Cannon took a lot of razzing from her
news colleagues about the flowers. There was considerable interest
in finding out more about her secret admirer. But Katie wasn’t
talking and kept the identity of the sender to herself.

Two nights later, a long
romantic dinner at Sotto
Sotto
was capped off with a
pitcher of vodka martinis and conversation well into the night.
They left as the restaurant was closing. Chase took her back to his
place.

One look at his opulent condo
apartment and she knew he was in an entirely different league from
her.

He then admitted his true identity as
publisher of the Daily Express and her first instinct was to flee.
But she’d had too much to drink, she really did find him sexy and
charming and it had been a few months since she had been laid. What
the hell!

It was a night of passion and
tenderness, as Katie had never before experienced.

Chase was an infinitely patient lover
who gently kissed her. He started nibbling at her neck and worked
his way down her body slowly. He caressed her with nimble fingers
and built a wave of passion that caused her to shudder to the core
of her very being.

Then, as the wave began to build to a
crescendo of desire, he would ease off. The wave receded. She cried
out for more. He started again and the wave returned stronger than
ever.

Their bodies melted together. The
frenzy built until they were both spent and fell asleep amid a glow
of warmth, sexual glow, and satisfaction.

Katie felt sure that this would just
be a one-night affair for Andrew.

She was resigned to the fact that when
she left the following morning she would probably not hear from him
again. That was fine with her because a long-term relationship
could never work between them. They were from two different worlds.
Besides, he was her boss after all.

The next day at work she was surprised
to receive another delivery of two dozen roses with a note from
Andrew thanking her for a great evening and asking for another
date.