Hard news - Jeffery Deaver [17]
Maisel sighed. “This’s the oldest trick in the book. Jesus, Rune, you fucked this one up. Stevens is a beat reporter for the paper. He covers the government agencies. When he sees a reporter who’s new and doesn’t recognize him he finds out what their assignment is then scoops them.”
“You walked right into his arms.” Sutton lit a cigarette and slapped the lighter down on the desktop. “A fucking babe in the woods.”
“He seemed like a nice guy.”
“What the hell does ‘nice’ have to do with anything?” Maisel asked, exasperated. “This is journalism.”
All ruined. My one big chance and I blew it, right out of the gate.
Sutton asked Maisel, “Damage assessment?”
“None of the other nets are that interested.” He touched the tabloid. “Even Stevens didn’t follow up on Boggs. The focus of the story was that we’re trying to get him released. So we look like idiots if it doesn’t pan out.” He toyed with an unlit pipe and stared at the ceiling. “The story’s hit some syndicated news services but so far all we’ve had are a couple of junior reporters call Publicity for statements. Nobody on Wallace’s or Rather’s level. Nobody from Media in Review. It’s a pain in the ass but I don’t think it’s critical.”
Sutton kept her eyes on Rune as she said, “I’ve already gotten a call from Semple.”
Maisel closed his eyes. “Ouch. I thought he was in Paris.”
“He is. The Herald Tribune picked up the story in their third edition.”
Dan Semple was the current head of Network News. He’d taken over when Lance Hopper was killed. He was, give or take a few miracles, God. One of the reasons that Hopper was so sorely missed was that he was an angel compared with Semple, who was known for his vicious temper and cut-throat business practices. He’d even punched a junior producer who’d carelessly lost an exclusive to CNN.
Maisel asked, “What was his reaction?”
“Not fit for human consumption,” Sutton said. “He’ll be back in a few days and he wants to talk about it.” She sighed. “Corporate politics … just what we need now. And with the budgets coming up in a month …” Sutton looked at the newspaper, gestured at it then glanced at Rune. “But the big danger of this is what?”
Maisel was nodding. But Rune didn’t get it.
“I …”
“Think,” Sutton snapped.
“I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
Maisel supplied the answer. “That another magazine or feature program’ll pick up the lead and bring out the story at the same time we do. It’s a news policy—we don’t spend time and money on a story if there’s a chance we’ll be preempted.”
Rune rocked forward in the chair. “It won’t happen again. I promise. I’ll be so skeptical you won’t believe it.”
“Rune,” Sutton began.
“Look, what I’ll do is ask people when I interview them if anybody from any other station has been asking them questions. If they have been I’ll tell you. I promise. That way you can decide if you want to go ahead with the story or not.”
Maisel said, “The only weapon journalists have is their minds. You’ve got to start using yours.”
“I will. Just like the Scarecrow.”
Sutton asked, “The what?”
“You know, The Wizard of Oz. He wanted a brain and—”
“Enough.” Sutton waved her hand, managing to make her face both blank and hostile at the same time. Finally she said, “All right. Keep on it. But if anybody beats us to the punch—I’m talking anybody: a rap station, MTV, Columbia’s student station—we drop the project. Lee?”
“Okay with me,” Maisel said.
Lighting another cigarette, Sutton nodded and said, “All right. But this was your last strike, babes.”
“I thought you got three,” Rune said, standing up, retreating to the door.
Sutton tossed the lighter onto her desk; it skidded into a crystal ashtray. “We play by my rules around here. Not the American League’s.”
THE CHAMELEON SAT ON THE WALL, AT AN ANGLE, FRO-zen in space, hardly breathing.
Jack Nestor lay in bed and watched it.
He liked chameleons. Not the way they changed color, which wasn’t so spectacular when it came right down to it. It was more the way they were fragile and soft. He sometimes could get up real close to them—the ones around the Miami Beach Starlite