Nowhere to Run (3 page)

The president of KEY News sat at her kitchen table, drinking her second cup of black coffee and scanning the OpEd page of
The New York Times
while keeping an ear on the television set playing in the background.

“…What I have here is a test tube containing weapons-grade anthrax. I can’t tell you how I got it, but if I could get it, so could other people.”

Yelena Gregory’s head whipped around to view the medical correspondent proudly displaying his booty. Linus had gone too far this time. She grabbed the telephone and punched in the numbers of the Broadcast Center control room.

“Gregory for Nazareth,” she barked. It took three seconds for the executive producer to get on the line.

“Linus, damn it, what’s going on? Why wasn’t I informed about this?” she demanded.

“Don’t worry, Yelena. Don’t worry. We have everything under control here.”

“So that means you approved this?”

There was a momentary pause on the line as the executive producer pondered his response.

“Linus?” Her anger grew as she watched the diaper commercial that was playing on the screen.
That’s nice. Real nice.
All those mothers at home, scared out of their wits that any nut could get ahold of a tube of anthrax. The diaper company sponsor should love having its commercial airing right after this piece of happy news.

“No, I didn’t know Lee was going to do this, Yelena,” he answered.

“Then you
don’t
have everything under control, do you, Linus?”

“Yelena, I think you’re overreacting.”

“Oh you do, do you? That’s rich. Do you have any idea the headaches this is going to cause? The police and feds are not going to be amused at our antics with a weapon of mass destruction, and our employees are going to freak out with worry that they’ve been exposed to spores of death. But that’s nice, Linus, I’m overreacting.”

Linus was calm. “I’m sure Legal can deal with the cops and the feds, and everyone at the Broadcast Center will take their cue from you, Yelena. If you reassure them that they are in no danger, that will go a long way.”

“I’m glad you know what I have to do to clean up your mess, Linus. That’s mighty smart of you.” Yelena knocked over her coffee cup, its contents spilling across the newspaper. “Who the hell was the producer on this segment anyway?”

“Annabelle Murphy.”

“Did she know about this?”

“I don’t think so. At least she never told me about it.”

“Well, she should have.”

Clara Romanski lay beneath her soft handmade quilt, trying to concentrate on the television as a distraction from how miserable she was feeling. The fever was getting worse. But it would pass, surely it would pass. Her immune system wasn’t all it should be. She could count on getting sick several times over the winter months. Cleaning all those houses and being exposed to everybody’s germs contributed to her illnesses, but she had no choice. She had to make a living somehow.

Actually, she liked all her jobs. The people she cleaned for were usually at their own jobs and their children were in school when she came to vacuum, dust, and polish their homes. She could work at her own speed, with no one watching over her shoulder. It suited her just fine.

Sometimes, though, as she iced her sore back or sat in a hot tub at night to warm the ache out of her bones, she wondered how long she could go on doing housework. After all, she was fifty-eight years old. But with no husband or children and no Social Security to look forward to, she had to depend on her savings to support her in her old age. She took any extra work she could get to add money to her retirement account.

Last week, she had overdone it. Now she was paying for it. Yes, that was it. She’d taken on three extra cleaning jobs, shifting her schedule around to fit them all in. By the time she got to Mr. Henning’s house on Saturday, she had been exhausted. Fortunately, the bachelor was quite neat and there wasn’t much to do at his place compared with the other houses, the ones with children. Mr. Henning was fastidious. She’d noticed he even threw out his birthday cards right away, not keeping them propped up on a table for weeks as she would. She found several cards on top of the kitchen trash, and another one in the basket near his desk. That one had been messy; tiny silver confetti sprinkled out when she opened it to see who it was from.

It was nice to think that Mr. Henning had a secret admirer. He should be married with a family of his own. After all, Mr. Henning had a good job. He worked at KEY News, deciding which authors and books were featured on the network’s morning program. Clara liked to watch
KEY to America
to see if she’d spot his name on the credits at the end of the show. But this morning’s show was too depressing. All this talk about anthrax and weapons of mass destruction only made her feel worse.

She pushed herself up to turn off the television set but sank back against the pillow, her breathing labored. Clara worried about all the work she was missing as she sank into unconsciousness.

As Annabelle approached the Broadcast Center, lights flashed from the large blue-and-white HAZMAT truck and the police squad cars that were parked at the curb. Annabelle flashed her KEY ID to get past the bright yellow police tape that cordoned off the sidewalk.

“Is it all right to go inside?” she asked the uniformed officer who guarded the heavy revolving door. Those hazardous-material guys with their bubble suits were intimidating.

“You go in at your own risk, lady, but we think it’s all right. The studio is closed off while it’s checked out. So is that clown Dr. Lee’s office. Some doctor.” He shook his head in disgust.

Annabelle could understand the cop’s reaction. In fact, she shared it. She knew John Lee and was sure his motive for bringing that anthrax into the studio wasn’t the altruistic one of informing the nation that weapons of mass destruction were available for the taking. Lee wanted the attention, the acclaim, the notoriety this stunt would bring. And from the look of things, he was getting his wish. Camera crews from ABC, CBS, NBC, and CNN were clustered on the sidewalk.

Taking a deep breath, Annabelle pushed through the revolving door.

The portable coffee-and-Danish trolley that was set up in the lobby each morning was strangely absent, and the hallways were quieter than usual. Had employees seen Lee’s segment on the morning show and decided to stay home?

Annabelle took the elevator to the seventh floor, rehearsing what she would say to Yelena and Linus to convince them she had nothing to do with all this. Passing Jerome Henning’s office on the way to her own, she stuck her head through the doorway, glad to see her friend was back after the two sick days he’d taken.

“Welcome back. Feeling better?” she asked.

“Somewhat,” he answered, looking up from the press kit he was perusing and beckoning her to come inside.

“Close the door,” he whispered.

Annabelle obeyed.

“Sit down for a minute,” he instructed, shoving a stack of books aside on the couch to make a space for her.

“What’s all the secrecy?” she asked, unbuttoning the top of her coat and throwing her gloves into her canvas tote bag.

“Did you know Lee was going to pull this, Annabelle?”

“Are you nuts? Of course, I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have the stomach for a stunt like this.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,
really
.” She emphasized the second word. “Come on, Jerome. You know me better than that. Lee had proposed a possible scenario at the morning meeting after he got back from his shoot at the lab. A ‘what if’ about stealing weapons-grade anthrax as proof that you can get it, and wanting to go on the air with it live, remember? You were there that morning.”

Jerome nodded. “Yeah, and our beloved executive producer vetoed the idea. Lee wasn’t very happy about that.”

“Well, apparently Lee went ahead with his crazy plan anyway. But I knew nothing about it.”

“Well that’s good, because the Department of Health and the CDC are here, and the FBI are down the hall looking for you. They have some questions they want to ask you. I’ll bet Yelena Gregory has some questions too.” Jerome walked behind his cluttered desk and sat down while he waited for her to digest the information.

Annabelle closed her eyes and tilted her head back to rest against the top of the sofa. “Swell. That’s just what I need right now,” she groaned. “I can’t decide which inquisitor frightens me more.”

“Yelena, definitely.” Jerome shrugged, and the corner of his mouth pulled downward. “Just tell them the truth. You didn’t know what Lee was going to do. You don’t know how he got ahold of the anthrax.” He paused. “Right? You don’t know how he got it.” His voice trailed off, making the statement a question.

“Right, Jerome.” She was adamant as she rose. “Look, I have nothing to hide. Nothing at all.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Annabelle. Because this is going to be a mess.” He pulled open the desk drawer and took out a white plastic bottle, snapping open the red lid.

“I thought you were feeling better,” she said as she reached the door.

“I was, but I’m beginning to feel lousy again.” He popped the Tylenol into his mouth. “I guess this flu is hanging on. I ache all over. I should have stayed home another day, but I have so much work to do. I’ve got to get through these and weed out the ones that aren’t going to make it on the show.” He gestured to the large containers of books that covered most of the office floor. “Speaking of which, did you get my last e-mail? Have you finished reading the manuscript? You’ve had the damned thing for two weeks. You’re one of the best writers I know, Annabelle, and I value your opinion.”

Annabelle grimaced in embarrassment. “It’s right here, Jerome.” She patted the tote bag. “I brought it home with me to finish last night, but I didn’t get to it. You know, the kids and everything…”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” He was clearly disappointed.

“I’m so sorry, Jerome. I want to read it, I really do, and I will. I promise.”

“I understand. Your family has to come first.”

Annabelle wanted to reach out and take hold of his arm, but she knew that probably wasn’t a good idea. Instead, she suggested they have lunch together.

“Can I let you know later?” he asked. “I might go home after the meeting if I don’t feel any better.”

“Sure, but I have one thing to say, Jerome. You better be sure you have no desire to work at KEY News anymore because, from the bit I’ve read, if you publish this book, you’ll never be welcome here again.”

In a locked examining room staffed by workers wearing respirator masks and nitrile gloves, every envelope, every package that came into the Broadcast Center was opened and inspected to make sure that neither anthrax nor any other dangerous substance made its way into the network news headquarters. But this danger had not been mailed in from the outside. It had been hand-delivered by one of KEY News’s very own.

Security Director Joe Connelly was furious. Of all the lamebrain stunts, this one took the cake. And now he would have to pay the price, dealing with the New York City Police and Health Departments, the Centers for Disease Control, and the FBI. Not to mention the fears of the KEY employees that would need to be allayed.

That idiot Lee may have claimed that the container of anthrax had remained sealed, and there was a good chance that was true, but security demanded that they make no assumptions. The office and studio had to be closed off and tested to make sure none of the deadly spores had escaped. The NYPD “hammer team” was up there doing what needed to be done right now.

Joe scanned the dozens of video monitors along the wall of the security command post. Sixteen cameras on each chain were timed to record views of the various locations. Though not every inch of the Broadcast Center could be covered, cameras were trained on all entrances and exits, along hallways, outside each elevator. He spotted the grainy black-and-white images of the HAZMAT workers in the
KEY to America
studio; they looked like spacemen in their cover-alls and helmets as they methodically took samples around the set.

Preliminary test results would be back in a few hours, though more accurate testing would take longer. But scores of people’s lives would be disrupted and stressed today at a cost of who-knew-what for the police and health officials, the federal agents and lab testing, because Dr. John Lee had taken it upon himself to enlighten the public.

Thank you, thank you, Dr. Lee.