The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [211]
“I'm a reporter, not an editor,” she growled and lit another cigarette.
She kept working, and by midnight it was done. They exported two copies out to tape. One for Ferraro, and one for the rest of them. In addition, Deirdre duplicated the disk. After they were done, Travis looked at Ferraro.
“So, do you think this will save your career?”
The reporter picked up one of the tapes. “Screw my career. This will save lives.” She slipped it into her camera bag.
“I'm sorry in advance for bringing it up,” Anders said, “but what's going to happen to the doc here?” He glanced at Larsen, who sat motionless on the couch. “After all, she took part in some illicit activities herself at Duratek.”
“Immunity,” Ferraro said, turning toward Larsen. “The government will give you immunity in a heartbeat if you promise to testify for them. You'd be wise to take it.”
Larsen's eyes were frightened; she nodded.
The weekday edition of Carson's show, Hour of Salvation, aired in the afternoon. However, tomorrow's show was the Saturday edition, which was broadcast in the evening. Ferraro made a phone call—she was jobless, but she still had friends in the business—and scored five tickets to the production.
“Thank you,” Travis told her before she left, not knowing what else to say.
She hesitated at the door. “Air that tape. Tell the truth about those bastards. That's all the thanks I need.”
Then the door shut, and she was gone. Ferraro had taken Dr. Larsen with her. The two women were going to hole up in Ferraro's apartment, then they were heading straight to the police once the story broke. If the story broke.
The five of them reached the doors of the Steel Cathedral. Spires of glass and metal soared overhead, like claws raking the darkening sky. They waited their turn in line, held out their tickets, and passed through.
As they entered the cathedral, Travis kept waiting for an alarm to sound, for a voice to blare over the loudspeaker. Alert! Unbelievers! Infidels! Alert!
However, nothing happened, and they moved along unnoticed with everyone else. It was a varied crowd. Upscale, working-class, jobless. Small children in strollers and elderly hobbling on canes. The only common denominator was the look on their faces: desperate, empty, searching. These were people who needed something, anything to believe in, and Sage Carson had given it to them: hope, salvation. Too bad all of it was a lie.
Travis craned his neck as they passed through the soaring lobby, trying to see if there was any sign of Marty and Jay. By now the two men probably thought he had abandoned them, and he supposed he had. However, he wanted them to know why, to know how important this was.
There was no sign of them. Travis sighed, letting the crowd jostle him forward. He was being swept toward the doors that led to the auditorium. Beltan gripped his arm, pulling him aside. He found himself and the others pressed close to a wall, behind a group of potted trees.
“Well, we made it in,” Deirdre said, her smoky jade eyes serious. “Then again, that was the easy part.”
Their plan was simple: get to the control room that housed the show's production facilities, take over, put in the videotape, and play it on the gigantic television screen that dominated the back of the stage where Sage Carson preached. There was just one problem with simple plans—they never seemed to stay simple for long. According to the blueprints of the cathedral, the control room was backstage; there were bound to be security guards. Besides, there was something else Travis intended to do while he was here.
“You've got the radios?” Anders said to Vani and Beltan. “And you're sure you know how to use them?”
Vani's eyes flashed gold. “We know.” The assassin wore slacks and a loose-fitting blouse, but Travis could hear the faint creak of her leathers beneath.
Anders held up his hands. “Just checking, sweetheart. No need to think about stabbing anyone.”
“Vani doesn't need knives to kill people,