The Best Laid Plans (17 page)

Matt had seen it. "Yes, it's just " "In the old days it was called a scoop, Matt. Where were you and your reporters when the Post was getting the news?" The headline in The Washington Post read: SECOND

LOBBYIST TO BE INDICTED FOR GIVING ILLEGAL GIFTS TO SECRETARY OF

DEFENSE.

"Why didn't we get that story?" "Because it isn't official yet. I checked on it. It's just " "I don't like being scooped." Matt Baker sighed and sat back in his chair. It was going to be a stormy session "We're number one, or we're nothing," Leslie Stewart announced to the group. "And if we're nothing, there won't be any jobs here for anyone, will there?" Leslie turned to Arnie Cohn, the editor of the Sunday magazine section. "When people wake up Sunday morning, we want them to read the magazine section. We don't want to put our readers back to sleep. The stories we ran last Sunday were boring." He was thinking, If you were a man, I'd "Sorry," he mumbled. "I'll try to do better next time." Leslie turned to Jeff Connors, the sports editor. Connors was a good-looking man in his mid-thirties, tall, with an athletic build, blond hair, intelligent gray eyes. He had the easy manner of someone who knew that he was good at what he did. Matt had heard that Leslie had made a play for him, and he had turned her down. "You wrote that Fielding was going to be traded to the Pirates." "I was told "

"You were told wrong! The Tribune is guilty of printing a story that never happened." "I got it from his manager," Jeff Connors said, unperturbed. "He told me that " "Next time check out your stories, and then check them out again." Leslie turned and pointed to a framed, yellowed newspaper article hanging on the wall. It was the front page of the Chicago Tribune, dated November 3,1948. The banner headline read: DEWEY DEFEATS TRUMAN. "The worst thing a newspaper can do, Leslie said, "is to get the facts wrong. We're in a business where you always have to get it right." She glanced at her watch. "That's it for now. I'll expect you all to do a lot better." As they rose to leave, Leslie said to Matt Baker, "I want you to stay." "Right." He sank back into his chair and watched the others depart. "Was I rough on them?" she asked. "You got what you wanted. They're all suicidal.

"We're not here to make friends, we're here to put out a newspaper.

She looked up again at the framed front page on the wall. "Can you imagine what the publisher of that paper must have felt after that story hit the streets and Truman was president? I never want to have that feeling, Matt. Never." "Speaking of getting it wrong," Matt said, "that story on page one about President Russell was more suitable for a cheap tabloid publication. Why do you keep riding him? Give him a chance."

Leslie said enigmatically, "I gave him his chance." She stood up and began to pace. "I got a tip that Russell is going to veto the new communications bill. That means we'll have to call off the deal for the San Diego station and the Omaha station."

"There's nothing we can do about that."

"Oh, yes, there is. I want him out of office, Matt. We'll help put someone else in the White House, someone who knows what he's doing."

Matt had no intention of getting into another argument with Leslie Stewart about the president. She was fanatic on the subject.

"He's not fit to be in that office, and I'm going to do everything I can to make sure that he's defeated in the next election."

Philip Cole, chief of correspondents for WTE, hurried into Matt Baker's office as Matt was ready to leave. There was a worried expression on his face. "We have a problem, Matt." "Can it wait until tomorrow I'm late for a " "It's about Dana Evans." Matt said sharply, "What about her?" "She's been arrested."

"Arrested?" Matt asked incredulously. "What for?" "Espionage. Do you want me to ?" "No. I'll handle this." Matt Baker hurried back to his desk and dialed the State Department. Fifteen.

She was being dragged, naked, out of her cell into a cold, dark courtyard. She struggled wildly against the two men holding her, but she was no match for them. There were six soldiers with rifles outside, waiting for her as she was carried, screaming, to a wooden post hammered into the ground. Colonel Gordan Divjak watched his men tie her to the post. "You can't do this to me! I'm not a spy!" she yelled. But she could not make her voice heard above the sounds of mortar fire in the near distance. Colonel Divjak stepped away from her and nodded toward the firing squad. "Ready, aim " "Stop that screaming!" Rough hands were shaking her. Dana opened her eyes, her heart pounding. She was lying on the cot in her small, dark cell Colonel Divjak was standing over her.

Dana sat up, panicky, trying to blink away the nightmare. "What what are you going to do to me?"

Colonel Divjak said coldly, "If there were justice, you would be shot Unfortunately, I have been given orders to release you."

Dana's heart skipped a beat.

"You will be put on the first plane out of here." Colonel Divjak looked into her eyes and said, "Don't ever come back."

It had taken all the pressure that the State Department and the president could muster to get Dana Evans released. When Peter Tager heard about the arrest, he had gone in to see the president. "I just got a call from the State Department. Dana Evans has been arrested on charges of espionage. They're threatening to execute her." "Jesus! That's terrible. We can't let that happen." "Right. I'd like permission to use your name." "You've got it. Do whatever has to be done." "I'll work with the State Department. If we can pull this off, maybe the Tribune will go a little easier on you." Oliver shook his head. "I wouldn't count on it. Let's just get her the hell out of there."

Dozens of frantic telephone calls later, with pressure from the Oval Office, the secretary of state, and the secretary-general of the United Nations, Dana's captors reluctantly agreed to release her.

When the news came, Peter Tager hurried in to tell Oliver. "She's free. She's on her way home."

"Great."

He thought about Dana Evans on his way to a meeting that morning. I'm glad we were able to save her.

He had no idea that that action was going to cost him his life.

When Dana's plane landed at Dulles International Airport, Mart Baker and two dozen reporters from newspapers and television and radio stations were waiting to greet her. Dana looked at the crowd in disbelief. "What's ?" "This way, Dana. Smile!" "How were you treated? Was there any brutality?" "How does it feel to be back home?

"Let's have a picture." "Do you have any plans to go back?" They were all talking at once. Dana stood there, overwhelmed. Matt Baker hustled Dana into a waiting limousine, and they sped away.

"What's what's going on?" Dana asked.

"You're a celebrity."

She shook her head. "I don't need this, Matt." She closed her eyes for a moment. "Thanks for getting me out."

"You can thank the president and Peter Tager. They pushed all the buttons. You also have Leslie Stewart to thank."

When Matt told Leslie the news, she had said, "Those bastards! They can't do that to the Tribune. I want you to see that they free her Pull every string you can and get her out of there."

Dana looked out the window of the limousine. People were walking along the street, talking and laughing. There was no sound of gunfire or mortar shells. It was eerie.

"Our real estate editor found an apartment for you. I'm taking you there now. I want you to have some time off as much as you like. When you're ready, we'll put you back to work." He took a closer look at Dana. "Are you feeling all right? If you want to see a doctor, I'll arrange "

"I'm fine. Our bureau took me to a doctor in Paris."

The apartment was on Calvert Street, an attractively furnished place with one bedroom, living room, kitchen, bath, and small study.

"Will this do?" Matt asked.

"This is perfect. Thank you, Matt."

"I've had the refrigerator stocked for you. You'll probably OTA want to go shopping for clothes tomorrow, after you get some rest Charge everything to the paper."

"Thanks, Matt. Thank you for everything."

"You're going to be debriefed later. I'll set it up for you."

She was on a bridge, listening to the gunfire and watching bloated bodies float by, and she woke up, sobbing. It had been so real. It was a dream, but it was happening. At that moment, innocent victims men, women, and children were being senselessly and brutally slaughtered. She thought of Professor Staka's words. "This war in Bosnia and Herzegovina is beyond understanding." What was incredible to her was that the rest of the world didn't seem to care. She was afraid to go back to sleep, afraid of the nightmares that filled her brain. She got up and walked over to the window and looked out at the city. It was quiet no guns, no people running down the street, screaming. It seemed unnatural. She wondered how Kemal was, and whether she would ever see him again. He's probably forgotten me by now.

Dana spent part of the morning shopping for clothes. Wherever she went, people stopped to stare at her. She heard whispers: "That's Dana Evans!" The sales clerks all recognized her. She was famous. She hated it.

Dana had had no breakfast and no lunch. She was hungry, but she was unable to eat. She was too tense. It was as though she were waiting for some disaster to strike. When she walked down the street, she avoided the eyes of strangers. She was suspicious of everyone. She kept listening for the sound of gunfire. I can't go on like this, Dana thought.

At noon, she walked into Matt Baker's office.

"What are you doing here? You're supposed to be on vacation."

"I need to go back to work, Matt."

He looked at her and thought about the young girl who had come to him a few years earlier. "I'm here for a job. Of course, I already have a job here. It's more like a transfer, isn't it? ... I can start right away...." And she had more than fulfilled her promise. If I ever had a daughter... "Your boss wants to meet you," Matt told Dana.

They headed for Leslie Stewart's office.

The two women stood there appraising each other. "Welcome back, Dana."

"Thank you."

"Sit down." Dana and Matt took chairs opposite Leslie's desk.

"I want to thank you for getting me out of there," Dana said.

"It must have been hell. I'm sorry." Leslie looked at Matt. "What are we going to do with her now, Matt?"

He looked at Dana. "We're about to reassign our White House correspondent. Would you like the job?" It was one of the most prestigious television assignments in the country.

Dana's face lit up. "Yes. I would."

Leslie nodded. "You've got it."

Dana rose. "Well thank you, again."

"Good luck."

Dana and Matt left the office. "Let's get you settled," Matt said. He walked her over to the television building, where the whole staff was waiting to greet her. It took Dana fifteen minutes to work her way through the crowd of well-wishers.

"Meet your new White House correspondent," Matt said to Philip Cole.

"That's great. I'll show you to your office."

"Have you had lunch yet?" Matt asked Dana.

"No, I "

"Why don't we get a bite to eat?"

The executive dining room was on the fifth floor, a spacious, airy room with two dozen tables. Matt led Dana to a table in the corner, and they sat down. "Miss Stewart seemed very nice," Dana said. Matt started to say something. "Yeah. Let's order." "I'm not hungry.

"You haven't had lunch?" "No."

"Did you have breakfast?"

"No."

"Dana when did you eat last?"

She shook her head. "I don't remember. It's not important."

"Wrong. I can't have our new White House correspondent starving herself to death."

The waiter came over to the table. "Are you ready to order, Mr Baker?"

"Yes." He scanned the menu. "We'll start you off light. Miss Evans will have a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich." He looked over at Dana. "Pastry or ice cream?"

"Noth "

"Pie a la mode. And I'll have a roast beef sandwich."

"Yes, sir."

Dana looked around. "All this seems so unreal. Life is what's happening over there, Matt. It's horrible. No one here cares."

"Don't say that. Of course we care. But we can't run the world, and we can't control it. We do the best we can."

"It's not good enough," Dana said fiercely.

"Dana..." He stopped. She was far away, listening to distant sounds that he could not hear, seeing grisly sights that he could not see They sat in silence until the waiter arrived with their food.

"Here we are."

"Mart, I'm not really hung "

O '1 A

"You're going to eat," Matt commanded. Jeff Connors was making his way over to the table. "Hi, Matt." "Jeff." Jeff Connors looked at Dana "Hello." Mart said, "Dana, this is Jeff Connors. He's the Tribune's sports editor." Dana nodded. "I'm a big fan of yours, Miss Evans I'm glad you got out safely." Dana nodded again. Matt said, "Would you like to join us, Jeff?" "Love to." He took a chair and said to Dana, "I tried never to miss any of your broadcasts. I thought they were brilliant." Dana mumbled, "Thank you." "Jeff here is one of our great athletes. He's in the Baseball Hall of Fame." Another small nod. "If you happen to be free," Jeff said, "on Friday, the Orioles are playing the Yankees in Baltimore. It's " Dana turned to look at him for the first time. "That sounds really exciting. The object of the game is to hit the ball and then run around the field while the other side tries to stop you?" He looked at her warily. "Well " Dana got to her feet, her voice trembling. "I've seen people running around a field but they were running for their lives because someone was shooting at them and killing them!" She was near hysteria. "It wasn't a game, and it it wasn't about a stupid baseball."