The Journalist (29 page)

Jim, behind him, kicked the door shut. “What
are we doing here?”

Zack slammed the newspapers on the sofa,
walked to the apple basket and read the card taped to the
side–
Complimentary
.

“Figures.” He looked at the small coffee
maker and accompanying two packets of coffee. “Jim, how ’bout
making some water?”

Jim walked to the kitchen. “Complimentary
fruit basket, huh?”

“Small,” Zack said.

“Hungry?”

“Yeah.”

“Me, too.”

“Why don’t we just go to my place, I’ll fry
us some eggs.”

“It’s bugged.”

“How do you know that?”

“Have an apple.” Zack pitched him one, took
the other and took a large bite.

Jim put his apple on the counter and rummaged
through a kitchen drawer.

“Looking for a bug?”

“Paring knife.”

“What for?”

“I’m going to peel this apple.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“No.” Jim found a small knife and began
paring. “I would have thought you would at least wash that apple of
yours.”

Ignoring him: “So is
The Boca
, betcha.
Veracity
, too.”

“What?”

“Bugged.” He wiped his lips. “That’s why I
told Ted to keep his mouth shut on board
Veracity
. I wanted
them to think it was me on board bumping around.”

Jim closed his eyes and shook his head. “You
need to get hold of yourself.”

“Eat your apple.” Munching, looking around,
Zack went to the sofa. “You think this place could be bugged,
too?”

“That’s crazy. Who knows we’re

? I think this whole thing is a figment of your and
Joe Case’s imagination.”

Chewing, Zack said, “You still doubt, don’t
you, after all this, what we’ve been through the past five hours?
You amaze me.”

“Just think about it. What if the Channel 10
video is legit and your wacko Bimini pal is faking it?” Jim
finished peeling his apple and took a bite. “I’m betting on Channel
10.”

“Were you betting all this between
pukes?”

“I’m eating.”

“Sorry.”

Jim pointed his apple at Zack. “Think about
it. Joe Case versus the leader of the Western World.”

“Jim, the proof is in the pudding.”

“It doesn’t prove who made the pudding.”

Zack picked up the
Times
. “Look at
that headline. CITIES UNDER SIEGE: RACE WARS SPREADING. Look at the
Herald
: PRESIDENT DECLARES MARTIAL LAW. You think all this
stuff is a movie?” Zack said.

“I think it is what it is. You don’t believe
it, either, do you?”

Zack wiped his hand across his face. “Maybe
it’s more that I don’t want to believe.”

“Let’s face it, it’s damn hard to believe.”
Jim chomped.

“Okay, so let’s go over the facts. What have
we got?”

“You tell me, Bwana.”

Zack began with an index finger, “One, we’re
under martial law, I know that. Two, violence in this city, I’ve
seen that firsthand. Three, you’ve seen the television coverage.
Four, I have this recording.”

Jim frowned. “Right, and the only thing that
confirms that recording is Joe Wacko’s theory

some Pi lady plant. Give me a break. It comes down to
who do you believe—President Armstrong or fruitcake Case.”

Zack thought a minute. “I think you’re
letting your negative feelings for Case cloud your thinking.”

Jim contemplated. “What about you? Maybe your
animosity for Armstrong is getting in your way.”

“Sometimes you have to go with your gut. And
my gut is telling me Armstrong is a sonofabitch. Meanwhile, how
about going down to
The Boca
, see what’s going on,
and

”

“What?”

“I was going to stay, post a story on our web
page

”

“Lots of luck, internet is out.”

“Anyway, I’m going to try to get Hoffman or
Lockman, somebody at Channel 10, persuade them to broadcast this
audio recording we got from Case.”

“Ditto lots of luck on that, Bwana, like
fishing without a hook. And, like I said, what if you’re wrong, and
it’s a fake?”

“I’ll look like what everybody in this town
thinks I am, so what? And besides, it’s not a fake. You’re wrong.”
Zack finished his apple and sat at the video phone. “How about
making some coffee.”

“With two packets?”

“Never mind.” He looked at the keyboard.
“This is a new one, how do you work this thing?”

“Turn it on first.”

“Right. How?”

Jim reached and pressed a button on the side.
“What do you want, TV, phone, computer . .”

“Phone.”

“Type in ‘phone’ at the blinking cursor, or
just click on the phone icon.”

“Amazing. What about how you turn on the boob
tube first. Let’s get the latest installment of news.”

“Click the TV icon.” Jim moved the mouse
under Zack’s hand, clicked and the screen came to life, along with
another TV set in the far corner of the room.

“Amazing,” Zack said. “How do you change
channel?”

“See where it says ‘TV, up, down?’”

“Genius, and how about going to
The
Boca
.” Zack looked at him. “And please take that tie off.”

Jim stepped back to the kitchen area. “I
worry that we’re jumping to conclusions.”

“Will you stop that? We’re not jumping to
anything.

“Go to
The Boca,
put a story together,
might as well keep our reputation spotless.” Zack surfed the muted
channels.

“CNN is interviewing Sam Hawkins from
Arizona. [click] Bloomberg has Marilyn Whetly...who is Marilyn
Whetly?”

“Head of Transportation.”

“Interesting.” Zack continued to click. “ABC
has Senators Schultz and Tackio, and there’s that infamous Channel
10 video again. [click] There’s some Chef’s new grill. [click] NBC
is interviewing Mayor Carranza—Hey, our mayor is back.”

He pressed the volume up.

Wearing a red dress, looking vivacious, big
hair, Mayor Carranza talking: “

and I
returned from my trade mission to Rome as soon as I could. I simply
don’t have all the facts yet. But I call on the citizens of Miami
to please let us sort this all out.”

Latino female reporter: “But, Mayor, it’s a
little late for that, isn’t it?”

Carranza: “It’s never too late, dear. Right
makes right.”

“Genius.” Zack clicked to another channel.
“Jim look, Beno

”

“I see.”

Zack increased the volume another notch.

Gray business suit, hair pulled back in a
bun, Beno was well into a sound bite, “

I’m
certain of one thing. We must get control of this situation.”

Jim said, “She needs to do better than
that.”

“Shut up.”

White male reporter, his name, Rod Reed
superimposed over his chest, along side a BBC logo superimposed
over the lower third of the screen: “But, Senator, the question
was, what do you think of the President’s handling of this
situation?”

Beno: “This is not a time for partisan
politics. We must all come together on this and restore order. As
you know, the President will address the nation tomorrow
morning.”

Rod: “Well, thank you for talking to us,
Senator. Back to you, Bruce.”

Shot of Bruce, white male, crew cut red hair,
at anchor desk beside a TV monitor. Bruce smiled. “Thank you, Rod,
and we now switch to Cairo for a report from our bureau chief, Meg
Scott. She has more on the conspiracy theory reported by Egyptian
Ambassador Kadid.”

On the monitor winsome blond Meg stood beside
a short brown man in a blue suit.

Bruce: “Meg, so what is the latest in the
land of the Pharaohs?”

Meg: “We have Ambassador Kadid with us.
Ambassador, what is the charge you just announced?”

Ambassador Kadid looked like he wanted to
kick something. “This is all a fabrication, no terrorists, this is
a plot, lies, all lies, mother of lies, camel dung.”

Meg: “But why would

”

Ambassador: “Ask your President.” The
ambassador stomped off-camera.

Meg turned to the camera, raised her eyebrows
then continued. “When contacted, White House sources were swift in
denouncing the allegations as heinous lies.”

Zack punched mute. “Amazing. Get this thing
back on phone.”

“Just click the little phone icon.”

Zack moved the mouse and clicked it. “From
what Beno just said, I don’t think she knows what’s going on.”

“Maybe nothing is going on.”

Zack stared at him. “Take that tie off, it’s
cutting the oxygen to your brain. Maybe things will get clearer for
you.”

“It’s too far-fetched.”

“Like Kadid said, camel shit, how do you dial
a phone number on this thing?

“Keyboard.”

Zack started punching at the keyboard and,
without looking at Jim, said, “Like I said, take that tie off and
go to the office, time is short.”

“Somebody said that.”

“Me. Anyway, better get going. Call Mary and
Ted then start working on a special edition on this recording. When
I get back we’ll do a full transcript.”

“A special edition? Zack, it’s Sunday, Labor
Day weekend.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that.” Zack lit a Camel.
“I’ll be there shortly. Maybe see if you can get City Hall and call
the mayor, tell her about our meeting with Joe Case, the audio
recording.”

“And what do I say? ‘Mayor, ah, this is Jim
Roberts,
The Boca
. We have come into possession of a
recording, I don’t happen to have it on me right now, made by a
group called Pi and a former restaurant owner—you may know of
him—Joe Case, he’s been arrested twenty or so times, the city
health department closed his dump, The Bimini Road, three
times

” He tipped his head toward Zack.
“Think about it.”

“When you get to
The Boca
don’t use
any offices, especially mine. Don’t say anything to anybody. Use an
outside pay phone. Makeshift an office in that first floor storage
area. I’ll be there soon as I get Channel 10 squared away.”

Jim placed his hands on his hips. “I’m not
believing this.”

“Me, either, but you see how easy history can
get screwed up. Get hold of Mary and Ted; tell them about the audio
recording.”

Jim threw his apple core in a wastebasket and
picked up a packet of coffee. “You wanta just chew the coffee?”

“Yeah, throw it here.”

Jim threw him the packet.

“Thanks.”

Walking to the door, Jim said, “By the way,
you need a shower.”

“Please take that tie off.”

“Bye.” Jim started to close the door behind
him.

Zack said, “Oh, massa, I’m gonna need your
car.”

Jim stepped back into the room. “And what am
I supposed to do, walk?”

“Take a cab. When you get to
The Boca
,
call Ted—he’s probably there anyway, but if not he’s on
Veracity

No, on second thought, if
he’s not there, don’t call him. Take the cab over to
Veracity
. He’s got my keys, you can use my Subaru. Fill it
up, bring Ted back with you to
The Boca
.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“I’ll see you in a bit, throw me your
keys.”

Chapter Forty Six

10:30 a.m.
EST

Ignoring a no smoking sigh, Zachary lit a
More and finally getting a video phone dial tone, mumbled, “What
was that Channel 10's number?” He chewed some coffee then, “how
could one forget, 555-1010. He entered the number. After two rings,
canned video of that same familiar blond receptionist appeared. He
listened to her mechanical voice: “Hello, this is the SUN in Miami.
Thank you for calling WSUN TV-10. Our regular office hours are
eight-thirty to five-thirty Monday through Friday. If you have
urgent information please call the news hotline at 1-800-555-1010,
and be sure to join Steve Eaton every weeknight at six and eleven
for the latest news as it happens. Have a SUN day.”

“Do you believe that?” He entered the news
hotline, lit a Camel and chewed coffee.

A WSUN logo appeared; then the video switched
to a young, casually clad, model-thin female. She looked into the
camera.

“SUN newsroom hotline.”

“This is Zackary Stearn, editor of
The
Boca
. I need to talk to Hoffman.”

“Oh, you do. Well, this is Kay Barto, and I
need a day off.”

“What?”

“Hoffman isn’t here.”

“Look, I’m the editor of
The Boca
. I
must speak to Hoffman, it is imperative.”

“Mr. Hoffman is not here.”

“I thought he was personally directing this
tragedy.”

“What?”

“Look, I must speak to Hoffman.”

“Like I said

what’s
that in your hand?”

“A cigarette.”

“Oh, my God

You’re
committing suicide.”

“Please give me Hoffman’s home number.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Look, who’s in charge there?”

“Who’s in charge
there
?”

“Ms., please

”

“Who’d you say you were?”

“Zackary Stearn,
The Boca
.”

He watched her yell away from the phone.
“Hey

Anybody know Zackary Stearn from
The Boca
?”

A male voice answered, “I do,” and a young
shirt-and-tie male squeezed beside Kay. She left.

The male smiled. “Hello, this is Frank
Fitello, weekend producer. May I help you?”

“Hi, I’m Zackary Stearn, editor of
The
—”

“Yes, I know, we talk about your paper
regularly

strange perspectives.”

“I’m glad you like it. Who is in charge
there?”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Who’s in charge there?”