“Too soon, sir,” the general said shortly. “We’re still at the deception stage. Sure, shots have been fired, but the fog of war is too pervasive right now. We know what’s happened, but they don’t know we know. Sir, lay low for now. See if they make the first move. After all, it looks like they’re the ones who attacked. They ought to be the ones calling us. We stay in our fortress, don’t come outside. Not yet.”
“I see,” the president said. “Very well, then — what do I tell the media when they start calling? And call they will, you can be sure of that.”
“Nothing. You tell them nothing.” The general was very firm on the point.
The president sighed and shook his head. “That won’t work long. It just won’t.”
“It doesn’t have to work for long, Mr. President. Not long at all. Buy yourself some time to get that gal up in New York to find out what’s going on from her perspective. Never ask the Russians a question you don’t know the answer to.”
Gal. I wonder if I will tell Sarah Wexler that the chairman of the joint chiefs of staff calls her a “gal.” If I do, I think I’ll make sure I’m out of arm’s reach. Then again, I get the feeling that may be about the highest compliment he ever pays a woman.
“What you need, Mr. President, is time.”
“Time to find out what happened, I suppose.”
To his surprise, the general shook his head. “No, sir. Enough time to get reelected.”
Now, that was a puzzler! Who would’ve ever thought the general gave a damn about the election? I don’t even know what party he is. Or how he votes.
But it’s not like I really care.
“Thank you, sir,” the president said slowly, in the unusual position of being enormously flattered by the compliment he’d been paid. Heady stuff for the young Army captain who was now president of the most powerful nation on the earth.
“I want what is best for this country,” the general said bluntly. “Right now, that means you sitting in that chair.”
“This has the potential to cut both ways, though,” the president said, his mind racing. His national security council — he had to have them in on this. “We run the risk of looking soft on this. And that’s the one thing I can’t have happen.”
“I realize that, sir. And you’ll have people who can better advise you on that point. But I consider it critical that you be reelected next month, and I don’t want this incident to keep that from happening.” The general stood abruptly. “If I hear anything else, Mr. President, I’ll let you know immediately.”
“Thank you.” The president stood and walked the general to the door. “And I will take your take on this to the security council. I appreciate your candor.”
After the general had gone, the president turned to his chief of staff and said, “Mike, get Sarah Wexler on the secure line. No, better yet — get her down here. Within the next couple of hours if possible.”
When Hank Carter stormed into the ACN newsroom, he made his presence felt immediately. Carter was one of the two old-style journalists who’d successfully made the transition to the twin paradigms of computers and international coverage. At heart, he was the stereotype of a hard-drinking, cigar-smoking, out-of-shape, cynical reporter turning out tight, elegant prose on a manual typewriter. But Carter had decided that was not who he wanted to be, and thus he wasn’t. In his early fifties, he was trim, muscular, and in excellent shape. There was not an ounce of fat on his lean body.
Carter was slightly taller than average, but his build made him look well over six feet tall. His hair was steel gray and close-cut, and tended to spike even without gel or mousse. His face with smooth, deeply tanned, with only a few lines around his eyes. He glowed with good health. His eyebrows were heavy and deep, hanging over a set of piercing gray eyes. The rest of his features were strong, jutting planes and acute angles, with an unexpectedly full and generous mouth.
Carter was originally from Alabama, and he retained the smooth vowels and consonants of his youth. Whether or not it was an act Drake had never been able to figure out, but she’d seen more than one person underestimate him based solely on his accent. She had never made that mistake herself, and she considered warning Winston against it, but then thought better. Carter had been a prime force in Winston’s hiring, and not just for her looks.
When Drake had been informed of his decision, she had immediately assumed that he had hired her for appearance only.
Now Carter’s Southern accent dropped away as he responded: “I’m going to forget you said that, Drake.” His eyes were cold, a Northern Sea during winter. She could almost see the ice creep over the rest of his face, and could hear it in his voice. “Of all people to assume that — what, are you having flashbacks to your own first days here?”
“That’s not why I was hired,” Drake said, her voice level.
Carter drove his point home. “No, it wasn’t. You were hired because my bosses could see the way things were headed. We had no women on the staff, not in the on-air department. In order to make sure we stayed in step with the times, we had to have a female presence on the front lines. And we picked you to be that person.” His gaze never waivered as he delivered this brutal assessment.
“So you say.” Drake was just as implacable.
Carter conceded gracefully, his point made. “But whatever the original reasons, they hardly matter now, do they? When it comes to delivering a headline story, you beat the pants off of everyone — male, female, everyone. You’re a pro, Drake. One of the best, as you well know. If you weren’t, you’d never get away with half the shit you pull in the field.”
“I deliver the story. That’s what matters, right?”
Carter sighed. “At least half the time, you’re part of the story. Cuba, Greece, Turkey,” he ticked off the different conflicts on his fingers. In Cuba, she’d been held hostage as a human shield by renegade militia forces. In Greece, she’d been personally involved with the leader of the rebel forces. And in Turkey, she’d forced the United States Navy to conduct an at-sea rescue in order to get on board the carrier to get the story. That little incident had almost resulted in charges being filed against her, but ACN’s massive legal team, coupled with a not insignificant legal budget, had finally bailed her out.
“I don’t start these wars.”
“And it doesn’t matter,” Carter said, ignoring her protest. “Because our audience bit, and they bit big. They love you. All they see is this stunning woman caught up in the middle of things. They don’t think about whether or not you violate any sort of journalistic ethics by getting involved with these people. All they do is identify with you. The men in our audience see somebody they need to go rescue, and they’re cheering on the rest of the world as they do that. The women identify with you even more, like your life is some sort of action-adventure romance story.” He held up one hand to forestall protest. “I’m not blaming you. The people love that — they love you. And that means an increased market share.”
“So why did you hire her?” Drake asked. There was too much truth in what he said.
“Because she’s good,” Carter said, gazing at her steadily. “If you want, take a look at her tapes.” He fished around the bookcase behind him and produced two videocassettes. “One hard news, one human interest. She did the research, put the whole thing together. You look at them and then come back and bitch about my decision.”