‘What happened to you?’ Kelso asked.
Girling shrugged. He knew he looked terrible. It would wear off.
Kelso didn’t look so good himself. He snapped only when he was tired and angry. And the loss of their story to the early editions of an American newspaper had made him furious.
He began shuffling a sheaf of papers, until the rustle of pages was the only sound in the room. When he had everyone’s attention, Kelso got to his feet.
‘We’ve all heard the news. Last night you lost a colleague and this morning we lost an exclusive. I know some of you have worked with Cramer.’ He paused. ‘So here’s some good news. Whatever the speculation last night, Cramer’s alive.’
Kelso could do that sometimes. He had a way of breaking news to people who were paid to gather it, day in and day out. It was one of the things that had kept him in the business through the years.
‘I was called to an editors’ meeting at the Ministry of Defence this morning,’ Kelso continued. ‘Among other things, they told us he’s safe.’
‘But his pictures went off the air,’ Mallon said. ‘We thought — ’
‘I know what you thought. That’s what all of us were meant to think. The fact is, Cramer’s pictures had become useful.’
‘So someone pulled the plug,’ Girling said. ‘That’s pretty extreme.’
‘The Government is asking for the media’s co-operation. They’ve asked us to hand over any information that might be relevant or useful before publication. That was the gist of the meeting this morning.’
‘Washington must be leaning on its allies pretty hard,’ someone said.
‘Are we going to play ball?’ Carey asked.
He had a point. Requests for media co-operation were not binding.
‘That depends,’ Kelso replied, resuming his seat. ‘We’ve still got a bloody magazine to get onto the streets by tomorrow morning. And there’s no obvious lead. What did we get through last night?’ His gaze fell on Carey.
The news editor looked at his clip-board. He had a list of stories that had been ‘dropped’ into the electronic mailbox by their stringers and correspondents around the world during the night.
‘Gilpatrick’s filed her political sketch, plus a short piece on last night’s press conference at the White House.’
Kelso, like most of his staff, had seen the President speak on the late news. ‘Did she manage to get anything beyond all that shock, horror, and outrage?’
‘She checked her sources on the identity of the terrorists, who might be behind them, and possible military retaliation. No comment. If they know, they’re not saying.’
‘Jesus, how much are we paying that girl?’ Kelso demanded under his breath.
‘Come on, Bob,’ Carey said. ‘This is a tough one.’
‘It seems that the CIA, or whoever checks these things, has no more idea who carried out this attack than we do.’ Moynahan, their diplomatic editor, said. ‘That’s a fair assumption, isn’t it?’
Girling saw the tic pull at Kelso’s right cheek. Moynahan, his words as ponderous as his gait, irritated Kelso. Girling knew that the editor had been seeking an excuse to sack him for months. No one would be sorry to see Moynahan go. He spent more time at the Press Club than he did in the office, which made his gibe about Stansell all the more odious.
‘I don’t want fucking assumptions,’ Kelso said. ‘I want facts.’
‘But the hijackers and hostages have disappeared into thin air. You heard the news, didn’t you?’
‘Doesn’t mean to say no one knows where they’ve gone,’ Kelso said. ‘Maybe that’s what the CIA wants us — and the terrorists — to believe.’
Moynahan slumped back into his chair. He looked exhausted, eyes lacklustre in reddened sockets.
‘Bob’s right,’ Carey said. ‘We can’t make any assumptions, especially with a story of this complexity. We shouldn’t simply assume that Washington is groping in the dark.’
Kelso cut him off. There was a wild look in his eyes. ‘Listen, all of you. We’re going all the way on this one. I want us to break the identity of these bastards. Find out who these terrorists are, and who’s behind them. It’s got to be our very own story. Our exclusive. Screw the Washington Post. We’re going to get our own back.’
Girling thought there was more to this outburst than pure indignation. He heard the rustle of money behind Kelso’s words. All he could see was Kelso standing before Lord Kyle and attempting to justify the magazine’s profile against the latest circulation and advertising figures.
‘Time’s running out, Bob,’ Carey said. ‘We’ve got ten hours, maybe twelve tops, if we’re to bury that story for this week’s edition. It doesn’t look too promising.’
There was a look of desperation on Kelso’s face. ‘What’s Stansell filed? He’s closer to it than any of us. He’s got to know something.’
Carey produced the clip-board again and rummaged through the reports until he found the page with the Cairo dateline. ‘He’s sent in a piece setting out the background to Islamic terrorism — ’
Kelso brought his palm down on the table. ‘Background, background. That’s all I’m hearing. Hasn’t anyone got any news, for Christ’s sake?’
Carey grabbed his coffee before it swilled over the edge of his cup. ‘Stamen’s still working the news angle. Along with a few other people.’ The news editor looked sidelong at Moynahan for a sign that he had managed to turn up something during the night. The old hand shook his head.
Carey grimaced. ‘I think it’s worth pointing out what we could be dealing with out there, how these terrorist groups co-operate, their aims, beliefs, and so on. Stansell has done that. I think people will want to know.’
Carey had a knack for keeping a straight head when things got bad. And, just as important, he knew how to play Kelso’s temper.
Kelso’s anger subsided. ‘Give us the short version.’
Carey pulled Stansell’s copy from the clip-board. ‘There are two principal threats, the Palestine Liberation Organization and Hizbollah.’ His eyes ran down the page. ‘Each is an umbrella organization, overseeing dozens of groupings — small armies in some cases — all of them as committed to the cause today as they ever were, whatever their more moderate leaders say.’
‘The cause?’ Mallon asked.
‘Clear in the case of the PLO — the annihilation of Israel and destabilization of the Mid-East peace process. Less so with Hizbollah, but essentially the establishment of a pan-Islamic Shiite state.
‘Behind the two umbrella groupings are a number of sponsor nations, the most prominent being Libya, Syria, and Iraq for the PLO, and Iran for Hizbollah.’
‘I thought the PLO and Hizbollah hated each other,’ Kelso said.
Carey nodded. ‘Luckily for the rest of us they spend more time fighting each other than they do their own traditional enemies. Stansell points that out somewhere,’ he added, putting the copy down.
‘All right,’ Kelso said, ‘pass it over to the subs’ desk.’ He turned to the senior sub-editor. ‘Box it up on the spread. And dig out a picture of the bombing of the Marines’ complex in ‘83. That should show people what we’re dealing with out there. Now all we need is some news.’
Kelso paused a moment, letting his gaze brush each of them. ‘What happened after the terrorists slipped away from the beach? Somebody’s got to know. Somebody we have access to.’
Girling felt a nest of insects stir in his stomach.
Kelso swung round to face him. ‘Well?’
Girling managed to keep the strain from his voice. ‘Tech-Int would know.’
‘What?’ Kelso’s forehead creased.
‘Technical Intelligence. The MOD’s technical analysts — the people who do nothing but assess the bad guys’ hardware. I deal with them all the time.’