Cover-up (19 page)

The next few hours crawled by. They rewrote a few paragraphs and took a few calls from the editors at the
Herald
asking questions. Susan Carol went briefly to the Canterbury to pick up some things—they'd agreed she should stay with them at the Marriott after the news broke. Tamara came back to report that the highlight of the Hall of Fame press conference had been the announcement that Tony Kornheiser, one of Stevie's heroes in journalism, had been voted into the writers and broadcasters wing.

“I guess
they
know who he is,” Stevie said, remembering an incident in New Orleans when a hotel clerk had not known who Kornheiser was—much to Tony's dismay.

“More important, I talked to Joe Browne,” Tamara said. “He was pretty baffled by the whole thing, but he promised that the commissioner would call here at six o'clock. He said he'd only have about five minutes.”

“When he hears what the story is, he'll have more than five minutes,” Kelleher said.

“How are we going to do this?” Stevie asked.

“We'll put him on speaker—and we'll do the same thing if we get Meeker—and let him know there are three
Herald
reporters on the call. I will simply read the first few paragraphs of the story, and then we'll let them comment.”

“It's all a little bit scary, isn't it?” said Susan Carol, making Stevie feel better about his case of nerves.

“Uh-huh,” Kelleher said. “I hope you aren't having second thoughts, because it's too late to back out now.”

“Second thoughts?” Susan Carol said. “No way. We're reporters. We have a story. We have to tell it.”

“Even if it
is
frightening,” Stevie said.

“That's exactly right,” Kelleher said. “You guys will be fine. We're the good guys. Always remember that.”

Stevie didn't feel like such a good guy when he got his parents on the phone. He tried to downplay the story, telling them he and Susan Carol had stumbled on another scandal—a cover-up involving the Dreams—and that the story would be in Sunday's
Herald
and they would probably be hearing their names on TV again later that night.

“What kind of scandal?” his father wanted to know.

“It involves HGH,” Stevie said.

“Guys testing positive?”

“Yes.”

“And the team is covering it up? And you can prove it?!”

“Yes.”

“Oh my God. Let me talk to Bobby.”

He passed the phone to Kelleher, who was alternately apologetic and firm, telling Bill Thomas he should be very proud of Stevie and assuring him he would be in good hands until he got home to Philadelphia. A few minutes later, he had a similar conversation with Don Anderson.

“When the two of them talk to one another, which they will,” Susan Carol said, “we're both going to be in a lot of trouble.”

“I suspect we'll
all
be in a lot of trouble,” Kelleher said. “But we'll deal with that in a day or two. For now, we still have to get the story into the newspaper. We can deal with the fallout later.”

They took a walk to get some fresh air and then watched a college basketball game between Indiana and Illinois on TV.

“I love that orange jacket that Bruce Weber wears,” Tamara said when the Illinois coach came on camera wearing a jacket that looked a lot like an orange Creamsicle to Stevie.

Beyond that, there wasn't much chatter, except for Susan Carol saying quietly, “Thank goodness,” when the Duke–Florida State score flashed on screen, showing that Duke had pulled out a 77–73 victory at home.

Stevie had just looked at his watch for perhaps the thousandth time when the phone rang. Even though it was exactly six o'clock and the phone was supposed to ring, the sound was almost jarring.

Kelleher picked up the phone. Joe Browne had placed the call for Goodell. “We're ready to go on this end, Joe,” Kelleher said.

Goodell was obviously standing right there, because a second later Stevie heard Kelleher say, “Commissioner, I know how busy you are tonight, so I'm going to put you on speakerphone right away and let Steve Thomas and Susan Carol Anderson say hello to you too.”

Kelleher laughed. “No, not ganging up on you. But they actually wrote the story we need to ask you about. I'm just sort of the on-site editor.”

Stevie was consistently amazed by Kelleher's willingness to give up the spotlight. All week he had been setting Stevie up with stories that he easily could have written himself, and now, on a story that would no doubt make huge headlines, he was doing everything he could to make it happen—while taking none of the credit for it himself.

Kelleher hit the speaker button and said, “Roger, can you hear me?”

“I can hear you,” Goodell said. “Steve, Susan Carol, I've been watching your work all week—it's been terrific.”

Stevie and Susan Carol both said thank you and brief hellos.

“You might not enjoy this piece of work as much,” Kelleher said. “But they've done a great job nailing this story down, and I think it's important you be aware of it before it breaks in a few hours, because you're going to be bombarded once it's out.”

“Joe told me it was something like that. I'm listening.”

“I think the easiest thing to do is to read you the first few graphs. You'll understand where we're going pretty quickly.”

He proceeded to read the first five paragraphs to Goodell. At one point, Stevie thought he heard Goodell say, “Oh holy…” When Kelleher got to the point where he was going to start explaining how the NFL's drug-testing rules worked, he stopped. “Do you want more?” he asked.

“No,” Goodell said. “I've heard enough.”

There was a lengthy silence on the other end of the phone. Stevie was going to say something, but Kelleher put a finger up to indicate he should stay quiet. Stevie noticed Kelleher was looking at his watch. He realized what he was doing—timing how long it took Goodell to say something.

“I'm honestly not sure I can say anything or should say anything,” Goodell said finally. “Bobby, can we go off the record for just one minute?”

“Why?” Kelleher said.

“I just want to ask you one question.”

Kelleher was silent for a second. “Okay,” he said. “But you know we need an on-the-record response from you.”

“I know that,” Goodell said. “My question's simple: Are you absolutely, one hundred percent certain about this? The story's been lawyered—everything?”

Kelleher smiled. “That's a reasonable question. Yes, we're sure. And so are our lawyers.”

“You've seen the test results, then. Someone didn't just tell you what was in them?”

“Commissioner, the story says ‘documents obtained by the
Washington Herald.
' We've got them here with us right now.”

Goodell sighed. “Okay. You know I'd like to consult with Joe before I answer.”

“And you know we don't want an answer crafted by Joe. We want your answer. You're the commissioner.”

More silence. “Ready?” Goodell said.

“Been ready,” Kelleher said.

“The allegations made in this story are, of course, stunning and frightening for a number of reasons. Clearly, we must undertake a full and thorough investigation, and I can only hope that the story proves to be untrue. If it is true, the league will act swiftly and thoroughly to punish anyone found guilty of wrongdoing.”

He stopped. They waited for more.

“That's it,” Goodell said. “That's all I've got.”

“But what about the game?” Susan Carol asked, echoing the exact five words flashing through Stevie's mind.

“What about it?” Goodell asked.

“You're going to let them play?”

“As of this moment, I've got absolutely no proof that anyone is guilty of anything,” Goodell said. “I can't take action against people based on a newspaper story—all of you know that.”

“What if someone turned over the documentation to you?” Kelleher said.

“That's still just the first sample. Until there's a B sample, no one can be considered guilty.”

“But there
is
no B sample
because
of Meeker's cover-up,” Stevie said, then realized he was yelling when Susan Carol and Kelleher shot him looks.

“That's your allegation, Steve,” Goodell said. “It may prove true. It may not. But again, I can't take any action based on it.”

“So the five guys play tomorrow night,” Kelleher said.

“I've got no evidence that could lead to a suspension.”

“I've got a question, Commissioner,” Susan Carol said. “Hypothetically, if someone took a drug test the day after the conference championship games and tested positive, would there be time to get results back from a second sample before the Super Bowl?”

“Absolutely,” Goodell said.

“And if someone came back positive on both samples, you would suspend them for the Super Bowl?”

“I would have no choice under the collective bargaining agreement,” Goodell said. “They would be suspended—period.”

Kelleher followed up. “So, if an owner or a coach had a player test positive, and he wanted him to play in the Super Bowl, covering up the A sample and stalling on the B sample would be the way to go.”

“You know I didn't say that, Bobby. What I will say is this: we can't suspend a player until we get both samples back. It's exactly the same as the Olympic drug rules.”

Kelleher looked at Stevie and Susan Carol to see if they had any more questions. “Commissioner, thank you,” he said.

“Bobby, Steve, Susan Carol, you just ruined my weekend.”

“That's
on
the record,” Kelleher said.

Goodell laughed. “That's fine. It happens to be true.”

He hung up.

“Okay,” Kelleher said. “One more call to make.”

“I suspect this one won't be nearly as pleasant,” Susan Carol said.

“That may be the understatement of the week,” Kelleher answered.

He picked the phone back up and started dialing.

19:
TOUCHDOWN!

STEVIE WAS HALF HOPING
they would get voice mail on Don Meeker's cell phone, although Kelleher had already said that if they did, they would have to call Dewey Blanton, the Dreams' PR guy who had been so helpful to Stevie earlier in the week. Stevie knew he was right.

There was no need, as it turned out. Meeker picked up on the second ring.

“Donald Meeker,” he said.

“Mr. Meeker,” Kelleher said, intentionally being formal, Stevie knew, because of the gravity of the situation. “This is Bobby Kelleher. I'm here with Steve Thomas and Susan Carol Anderson.”

He had put the call on speaker when dialing because he knew that, unlike with Goodell, courtesy would be pointless.

“What the hell can you three possibly want?” Meeker said. “How did you get this number?”

“You gave it to me the other night, sir,” Susan Carol said, jumping in.

“I'll have it changed about five minutes from now,” Meeker said.

“All well and good,” Kelleher said. “But we're calling you as a courtesy because Steve and Susan Carol have written a story that is going to appear in tomorrow's
Washington Herald,
which will be on the streets in about three hours.

“I'm just going to read you the first few paragraphs and let you comment. Then we'll be done.”

“We'll be done when I say we're done,” Meeker said.

“That's fine,” Kelleher said. He started to read.

He was two paragraphs in when Meeker began screaming. “You———! Why, you little———! Are you———kidding me! I will sue your asses for so much money, I'll not only own the newspaper, I'll own you and your families for the rest of your lives! No way can you prove a word of that, you lying little———!”

Stevie had heard a fair amount of profanity at school, but nothing quite like this. Kelleher's voice was as soft and calm as Meeker's was shrieky and out of control. “Mr. Meeker, I'm going to remind you we're on the record, and on tape—which is legal since this call is not across state lines. I will then point out to you the phrase ‘has obtained documents.' We've got the test results. We've got not one source, but three. So, if you want to leave your profane rant as your comment, that's fine, but be aware of what you're dealing with here.”

There was silence for a moment. “When exactly are you publishing this crap?”

“The first edition of the Sunday papers will be out in a little less than three hours. The
Herald
will publish a bulletin alerting people to the story on its Web site at eight o'clock.”

“That means I have ninety minutes to get a court order stopping you.”

“Good luck.”

“——you, Kelleher, and your two little friends too. I'll take you all down—I guarantee it.”

“Thanks for your time, Don.”

The phone clicked on the word
for
.

Stevie looked at Kelleher. “Can he get a court order?”

“On what grounds?” Kelleher said. “Even if he could find a judge on a Saturday night, no one can order us not to publish a story unless national security is at stake. The only one whose security is at stake here is Meeker.”

“And ours,” Susan Carol said. “At least judging by his tone.”

“Don't worry,” Kelleher said. “We'll make sure there are plenty of people around you at all times.

“Okay,” Kelleher continued. “We need to phone these quotes in for the story. It'll be closing on the desk in about fifteen minutes. So. First person to dig a printable quote out of what Meeker just said wins a prize.”

When neither Stevie or Susan Carol laughed, Bobby studied the two of them. “Are you okay?”

They both nodded.

“Good,” he said, picking up the phone. “Because there's no turning back now.”

Once Kelleher had phoned in the quotes from Goodell and Meeker, telling the desk where to put them in the story, they decided they were entitled to a fast trip to St. Elmo. They called Mike D'Angelo, who said he had one table left that could handle them if they came over right away. “Perfect,” Kelleher said. “We should have just enough time to eat and get back here before the story breaks. I want you both under wraps by eight.”

They all put on their coats, but before they left, Bobby put the drug-test results back into their envelope and slipped them in his pocket. “We should keep these with us at all times.”

The sun was down and the air had that pre-snow feel again when they walked outside. They decided to take a cab to save time and to stay warm. The restaurant was, of course, packed. D'Angelo looked a little tired. “It's a great week having the whole world in town,” he said as he walked them to a booth. “But I can't say I'll be sad when everybody leaves.”

“You've probably done enough business that you can shut down for the next month,” Kelleher said.

D'Angelo smiled. “More like a year. The amount of money some people spend is mind-boggling.”

The food was delicious, but Stevie noticed that Susan Carol wasn't eating very much.

“Nervous?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “But I'm not sure why. We know the story is right.”

“Perfectly natural,” Tamara said. “You've written a very, very explosive story that the people accused
have
to try to deny. They have to try to make you and Stevie the bad guys. Everything will be fine in the end, but they're going to take some shots at you and you know it's coming.”

Kelleher's cell phone rang. He looked at the screen and then at Tamara. “It's Wadkins,” he said.

“Whoo boy,” Tamara said as Bobby flipped open the phone.

“Who is Wadkins?” Stevie whispered.

“He's the executive editor of the paper,” Tamara said. “He doesn't call a reporter unless he's unhappy about something.”

Wadkins was talking and Kelleher listening.

“Mr. Wadkins, the story couldn't be more solid,” Kelleher finally said. “We have the test results in hand. And they were given to us by one of the team's own doctors.”

There was a pause while Wadkins talked some more. “What would you expect him to say? That's his MO anyway, trying to intimidate people.”

Stevie could now hear Wadkins's voice coming through the phone. “No, sir, I'm not saying you can be intimidated. I'm saying this is what Don Meeker does.”

Wadkins talked some more. “Put it this way,” Kelleher said in response. “I'd trust them with my job and my reputation. That's what we're talking about, right?

He paused again. “Yes, sir, I understand. And I'm comfortable with that.”

He closed the phone. “Wyn getting cold feet after a call from Little Donny?” Tamara asked.

“The problem with Wadkins is he's more one of them than he is one of us,” Kelleher said.

“What's that mean?” Susan Carol asked.

“He sees himself as part of the Washington elite. He likes to run with the rich and the famous a lot more than with any of his reporters. So when Meeker calls screaming that his reporters are unfairly trying to do him in, Wadkins would be inclined to listen.”

“But he's running the story, right?” Stevie asked.

“He's running it, but he said if one word is wrong, he'll expect my resignation.”

“Sounds like a wonderful guy to work for,” Susan Carol said.

“A peach,” Kelleher said. “A real Georgetown peach.”

“Don't you mean Georgia peach?” Susan Carol said.

“No, I meant Georgetown peach: spoiled and rotten. All you need to know about the guy is that he loves sitting in Dan Snyder's box at Redskins games.”

“I bet he won't be sitting there much next season after this story,” Stevie said.

“I bet he's thinking exactly the same thing,” Kelleher said. “Come on, let's get out of here. It's coming up on eight o'clock.”

They walked back to the hotel even though it was cold, because Tamara pointed out they probably weren't going to get much chance to go out the next day once the story broke. When they walked into the lobby, Stevie was immediately blinded by the lights of a TV camera.

“Uh-oh,” Kelleher said. “We didn't get back here soon enough.”

Stevie counted at least a half dozen camera crews and, from what he could see, a number of radio reporters, coming in their direction. He looked at his watch. It was 8:15. Could the news have traveled that quickly?

“Steve, Susan Carol!” he heard several voices calling.

Kelleher put his arms around both of them. “All you say is, ‘We're going to let the story speak for itself,' okay?” he said.

They nodded. The cameras rushed toward them.

“Are the two of you aware that Don Meeker has put out a statement categorically denying the charges in your story?” someone in the crowd said as the cameras and lights shone on them.

Stevie was still trying to put on some semblance of a poker face when he heard Susan Carol respond coolly, “What would you expect him to say? We'll just let the story speak for itself.”

“Are you aware he says he'll sue the paper and the two of you?” someone else asked.

Susan Carol smiled this time. “As I said before, would you expect anything different from Mr. Meeker?”

Stevie noticed his legs were shaking. Susan Carol's voice could not have been calmer.

“So you still say that five Dreams tested positive for HGH and Meeker is covering it up?” another voice said.

This time Susan Carol looked disgusted. “Why in the world would we write a story saying that if we weren't one hundred percent sure it was true?”

Stevie heard Kelleher's voice behind him. “Okay, guys, I think you've got what you need. We're going now.”

“Who died and put you in charge, Kelleher?” someone holding an ESPN microphone said.

“No one. But I'm their editor on this and I'm responsible for them.” He smiled at the guy with the microphone, whom Stevie had seen before but didn't recognize. “I can't wait to see how you guys try to somehow take credit for this story.”

He and Tamara began pushing Stevie and Susan Carol in the direction of the elevators. People were still shouting questions. It reminded Stevie of something out of a movie. He heard one voice shout, “You kids better have it right!” That made him shudder.

“Why would they doubt us like that?” he said once they were safely at the elevator bank and the horde had turned away.

“Because
they
didn't break the story,” Kelleher said. “Happens all the time. Be prepared. It will be like this all day tomorrow.”

Stevie took a deep breath. Judging by the last ten minutes, tomorrow was going to be a very long day.

Kelleher's cell phone rang incessantly for the next couple of hours. He answered it a couple of times when he saw a number or a name he recognized. “The story's right,” he kept repeating. “Read it; they've got it nailed.”

They were all in Mark Maske's room, figuring that was the safest place to be for a while since no one was apt to look for them in the room of a
Washington Post
reporter. Bobby and Tamara agreed that Susan Carol should stay with Tamara in their room and Bobby and Stevie would stay with Mark, who had graciously offered to share his room with colleagues in need.

Stevie answered his phone twice. The first time it was his parents, saying they were being bombarded with calls from people wanting to know how to get in touch with him.

“
Meet the Press
called,” his dad said. “They're ready to re-plan their whole show if you and Susan Carol will come on in the morning.”

“What'd you tell 'em?” Stevie asked.

“I told them my sense was you wanted the story to stand on its own merit.”

“Perfect. We want to lay as low as possible tomorrow.”

“That might not be easy.”

“I know.”