Trial By Fire (7 page)

Listening to Molina, Guajardo nodded in agreement. Yes, he thought, this made perfect sense. But what did that have to do with him?

Seeing the quizzical look on Guajardo’s face, Molina continued. “After the decision to keep the interview had been made, the next question was who would be the best person for the task. As you have pointed out, Barreda, who is responsible for foreign affairs, should do it. Unfortunately, Barreda does not speak English and physically, he does not present the kind of image we want the Americans to have of us.”

The last part of Molina’s statement was surprisingly blunt, but true.

Barreda’s ancestry was heavily Indian, giving him dark skin and features that could best be described as chiseled. To say that Barreda was not photogenic would have been an understatement.

“Besides, Barreda is unknown to the Americans. You, on the other hand, my friend, speak English like a yanqui, attended their staff and war colleges, and you are almost pure Spanish.”

Guajardo did not like how or where the conversation was going. ‘ ‘None of those things should make a difference. We had a plan of action and methods of dealing with such things. I see nothing that indicates that we need to . . .”

Putting up his right hand, Molina cut Guajardo off. “You, of all people, know that in any operation, plans seldom survive initial contact with the enemy. We must continuously assess the situation and alter the plan to take advantage of opportunities that were unseen when the plan was created. This revolution, our revolution, is no different.”

Resting his elbows on the arms of the overstuffed chair, Molina settled back a little deeper into its cushions and put his hands together, with his fingers interlocked and held just below his chin. “This interview, and your presence in Mexico City, is one such opportunity. By having you do the interview, the American public will see a member of the council who looks like them, talks like them, and uses terms that they are used to.

Your experience with the Americans and knowledge of their culture will be invaluable in a free-flowing interview. In addition, the American intelligence community will be able to access your files with their military and quickly see that you are both intelligent and reasonable. As you were trained in their staff and war Colleges, they may believe that there is the possibility of influencing the council and its decisions through your training and association with Americans. While all this is merely a hope, we must do everything that we can to keep the American government and public neutral while we consolidate power and institute our reforms.”

As Molina spoke, Guajardo watched his friend’s face and expression.

By the time Molina had finished, Guajardo knew there was no point in arguing or protesting his new assignment. It was not so much the words and logic Molina had used, although both were convincing in their own right. Rather, it was Molina’s expression and the manner in which he presented himself. In his mind, there was no other solution. He had seen a problem, considered it from all angles, and evolved a remedy. Besides, Guajardo thought, when you’re in his home waters, it’s pointless to argue with a shark. Shrugging, Guajardo indicated his acceptance of the task.

“So, my leader, when and where do I meet my fate?”

Relieved that Guajardo was agreeing without further protest, Molina smiled and leaned forward, patting his friend’s right arm. “It’s not so bad. It will definitely be more enjoyable than sticking a pointed stick in your eye.”

Caught up in Molina’s lighthearted mood, Guajardo chuckled. “Obviously, my friend, you have never worked with American women. I have a chance of controlling a sharp stick.”

“Don’t worry, Alfredo. Jan Fields is a beautiful and spirited woman.

Treat her like a thoroughbred.” Molina, holding his hands as if he held the reins of a horse’s bridle, moved his body ever so smoothly as if he were riding. “You must make sure you are in control, using a gentle hand and soothing voice to control your mount.”

Shaking his head and smiling, Guajardo stood. “You could sell the devil ice in July. But unfortunately, my fearless leader, you know nothing about American women. If I try to handle her like a horse, she will bite my arm off up to here, or worse.”

Molina laughed. “In that case, keep your hands in your pocket and your legs crossed.”

Truth can never be told so as to be understood, and not be believed.

—William Blake

Mexico City, Mexico

0700 hours, 29 June

Throughout her years as a correspondent, Jan Fields had been asked many times, “What is the secret of your success? How did you make it in such a demanding business?”

Jan enjoyed playing down her considerable success, answering that question using the same charming and graceful style that she used to disarm people she interviewed. With a slight, almost imperceptible flick of her head, she would toss her long brown hair to one side. For a moment she would pause while she looked from the corner of her eye at the person talking to her. Turning her head slowly back toward the other person, a simple, almost mischievous smile would cross her face. For a moment, she would avert her eyes, looking down at her hands as if to ponder the question before answering. When she did respond, her tone was soft, almost shy. “Well, I’ve just been lucky, I guess, very lucky.”

Then, quickly glancing up, she would look at the questioner, her big brown eyes wide open now, a broad smile lighting up her face. Throwing her hands out to the side, palms up, she would repeat her response:

“Luck, nothing but dumb luck.”

Those who worked with her, however, knew better. If there was any luck involved in Jan Fields’s success, it was because she made it. Her current assignment was a good case in point. Sent to Mexico City to do a story on the impact of American investments and American-controlled business in Mexico, Jan had worked sixteen hours a day for three days scheduling interviews. By wrangling invitations to several cocktail parties and affairs, including a formal state dinner, Jan was able to meet people who consented to being interviewed by the charming senorita with the dancing brown eyes.

In arranging for interviews, and while doing them, Jan worked like an artist selecting the proper brush and color, employing a variety of skills and talents to get what she wanted. When talking to one official, she would be all business. With another, all smiles and charm. And with yet another, shy, almost timid. Jan was not to be taken lightly, however.

When hacking through the layers of bureaucracy, she could be as determined and tough as she needed to be when someone stood between her and a story.

As to the technical side of her profession, not only was Jan dedicated and a perfectionist, she demanded no less from those who worked with her. Yet she could be professional without being impersonal, in control without being overbearing, by using the same charm and graceful manner on her camera crew that she used to put her subjects at ease. She understood that the process of putting a story together was a cooperative effort and acted accordingly. By making everyone a member of one team, Jan was able to extract the best from those who worked with her and for her.

When she was preparing for an interview, no detail was too small and no angle was left unconsidered. As part of her advance study of the interviewee, Jan made it a point to study how the person dressed. If the person was a man, she would examine photos of his wife, noting the style and even the color of her clothing in an attempt to find out preferences.

Anything and everything was used to put the subject at ease.

There was an aspect of Jan Fields’s work, however, that most people in her profession would frown upon. Jan, for all her technical skills, yas, first

and foremost, an artist. She did not simply cover a story, she created.

Everything—the lighting, angle of the shot, her attire, the background—

was considered against an overall concept, an image, an idea that she wanted to communicate. Of all her skills, her ability to take abstract thoughts and images and translate them into images that could be captured by the camera was the most difficult to define, yet the most important.

Still, there was no denying that luck did play a part. June 29 was to be the last day of shooting. After an interview with the president in the morning, Jan and her Austin-based camera crew had been scheduled to leave for Texas. The death of the president, however, changed all that.

The morning started when her “fixer,” a Mexican hired to make arrangements for hotels and transportation, as well as to deal with government bureaucrats, called her at 6:30 and told her that the president was dead. With rumors of a coup, he warned her that it was important to leave the city immediately. Naturally, Jan would hear nothing of that. Instead, she insisted that the fixer, an elderly man named Juan, arrange for an interview with a spokesman from the new government. Juan, not wanting to leave his home, let alone become involved with the new government, tried to talk her out of it. Jan, however, hung tough and demanded he try or lose his commission. Reluctantly, Juan agreed.

No sooner had she hung up the phone and turned to begin dressing, than it rang again. Without waiting for Jan to respond, a male voice, in impeccable English, identified himself as a captain in the Mexican Army calling on behalf of a Mexican Army colonel Jan had never heard of. In a very crisp yet polite voice, he informed Jan that in reviewing the president’s daily schedule, his colonel had discovered that Jan was listed for an interview at the Palacio Nacional later that morning with the president. Jan, a little leery about where this conversation was going, paused before answering. Caution, however, was not one of her strong points. “Yes,” she responded, “that’s right. I am, I mean, I was scheduled for thirty minutes.” Then, as an afterthought, she decided to push her luck and see what she could get the captain to confirm. After all, he didn’t know how much she knew. “Is there something wrong with the time or the length of the interview, Captain? I have a very flexible schedule and can easily change it in order to accommodate the president.”

Now

the hesitation was on the other end of the line, while the captain thought before responding to Jan’s probing questions. Finally, in a hushed voice, he informed Jan that President Carlos Montalvo’s plane was missing and that an assassination attempt was suspected. He then went on, stating that, in order to ensure public safety and internal security, as of five o’clock that morning the Mexican Army had declared a state of emergency and imposed martial law.

Jan was becoming excited. She had confirmation, from an official source, of Montalvo’s death. Furthermore, she knew that an Army captain, representing a colonel, wouldn’t be calling her at a time like this if there weren’t something that they wanted. Deciding to push a little further, she asked, in a soft voice preceded with a slightly audible sigh,

“Oh, how tragic. I don’t know what to say.” Then, before the captain could respond, Jan added. “I guess that means there is no point in my coming to the Palacio Nacional.”

Jan’s ploy worked. When the captain responded, he spoke quickly in order to soothe her fears. “Oh no, Miss Fields. On the contrary. My colonel has instructed me to advise you that it would be his pleasure to meet with you at noon, if that time is suitable for you. He will provide you with a summary of the past twelve hours and actions being taken by the Mexican Army to deal with the current crisis.”

Pausing for dramatic effect before responding, Jan informed the captain that it would be a pleasure to meet with his colonel at noon. After a few pleasantries, they both hung up. Jan, excited by the manner in which the morning was developing, smiled and leaned over, pumping her right arm up and down and shouting, “Yes, yes.” Fame and fortune, she knew, belonged to the lucky.

Once she was off the phone, Jan roused her crew, informing them of the news and getting them ready to go out into the street to shoot whatever they came across. There was no sense, she thought, of wasting the valuable time before her interview with the colonel. Next she called World News Network, her employer. When she informed them that she was still in Mexico City and had been contacted by people who claimed to be in charge, they were all ears. Though
WNN
already had two camera crews and a full production team, with direct feed capabilities, preparing to fly in from Dallas, Jan knew it would be hours before they were there and longer before they were ready to start covering the story. With some deft negotiating, she managed to get them to agree that she would be their chief correspondent in Mexico for the duration of the current crisis, with the right to edit her own material before beaming it back to Washington.

With that settled, Jan called back to Juan to check on his progress. His news, presented in a rather unconvincing manner, was discouraging.

According to him, he was unable to contact anyone who knew what was going on. “Everything is in chaos, Senorita Fields. Everyone is very uncooperative. No one knows who’s in charge.”

Without hesitation, Jan fired back. “Then I guess we need to go down to-the government offices and find someone who is in charge.”

“No! No! We can’t do that, Senorita Fields. This is a coup, a revolution.

There may be trouble. That is no place for a woman to be.”

Juan’s last comment tripped a harsh response. “Listen, mister, that’s what I’m paying you for. Either you take me down there and do your job, or kiss your commission, and your reputation, goodbye.”

There was a moment’s pause while Juan pondered his choices. Jan wondered which threat was more damaging, the loss of money or the loss of prestige. Not that it mattered much to her. All that mattered right then was getting a story, any story, shot and on the air.

Finally, Juan answered, “Si, yes. I will take you. But we must discuss my salary. Things have changed. This is now a very dangerous time, senorita. You understand.”

Softening her tone, Jan responded. “Yes, Juan, I understand. What would be fair pay for a man of your talents in the current crisis?”