“I said I don’t know what you’re talking about. But there are a lot of heavies around here if you need them. There are always new bodies to take the places of the fallen.”
“Yeah, and the Third Reich will last a thousand years. Can your world takeover be stopped with Raid?”
“Look, Cooperman. You’re persona non grata. Need a translation? I don’t like it when there are too many players on the floor. Even the cops would be happier if you went home. I know that for a fact. Why don’t you just do that?” I shrugged. It only irritated him. “For God’s sake, this isn’t some sort of game! This is my life you’re playing around with. My fucking life!”
“This isn’t a life. This is a delusion. You think you’re delivering the news. You’re a pap merchant. At least be an honest one. It’s not all the news that’s fit to print; it’s all the news that fits. It’s not news if you’ve got no pictures. A two-week war is a week too long. It needs editing.”
“You’ll never understand what we’re trying to do here.”
“Right, because I won’t smoke the stuff you’re smoking. Writing the news is honest work. But you puff it up like it’s a blast from Mount Sinai.”
“I want you gone, Cooperman, and gone fast. This place is filled with serious professionals. We know our business. Why don’t you mind yours? If you don’t, as I keep telling you, you could get hurt. You’d be surprised how little that would bother me.”
“For a newsman, you’re behind the times. Things have been happening under your nose in the last few hours. You’ve got some catching up to do. There have been some moves since you stopped watching the board. See you around.” I turned to go. I was sorry I couldn’t get more from him. Just for the hell of it, I turned to see him still watching me as I headed for the door. I called across to him, “At the sound of the tone, the time in Tokyo will be exactly four, seventeen and a half.” For a moment the only sound you could hear in the newsroom was the sound of electric clocks.
I left him intrigued, I think. Trebitsch was the sort whose shoes pinched when he wasn’t in the race. I didn’t want to tell him that shortly the cops and I would be talking again-that would only prompt another call to the Chief’s office-but it gave me a good feeling to see him looking just a little uncomfortable.
It proved to be a little premature for me to feel smug about the tenuous hold I had over Trebitsch. I discovered this as I reached the halfway point between News and my office.
“Mr. Cooperman!” It wasn’t a greeting, a sign of recognition, but a command to stand still. I did that. When I turned around, I could see three men in uniform coming along the corridor after me on the double. For a moment, I thought of running for it, but I gave up the idea. This wasn’t my own briar patch. I was certain to find a deadend corridor or try to cut through a broom closet. If I was to get the better of these three, it would have to be through other means.
“Mr. Cooperman, you’d better come with us.” The trio in uniforms marked NTC Security blocked my passage. There was nothing to do about it but to shrug and go with them. At least they weren’t the Horsemen. I tried to engage them in chat, but it didn’t work. One guard pushed the elevator button with a deeply concerned brow, as though it signalled the destruction of civilization as we know it. Inside the elevator, I got no answers to my many questions. I made a reference to Mr. Dunkery, which made one of them blink. So, I was guessing right about who wanted to see me.
They led me down a trail of turns and ins and outs until we entered a room clearly marked SECURITY on the door. At least they weren’t trying to keep that a secret. I was left seated on the civilian side of a counter for about five silent minutes-I was getting used to silence-and then I was told that Commander Dunkery would see me now. My three playmates saw me to the door, where they were dismissed by a nod from the man behind the desk.
Dunkery’s office was designed to intimidate. It was part war room and high-command post. I thought of officers being briefed, and smoking if they liked, and synchronizing their watches, and not having any questions. There were more photographs of Dunkery shaking hands with well-known figures than you’d ever want to see. Citations and diplomas covered what was left of the wall space that wasn’t given over to floor plans of the NTC building. A big brass globe with the network’s owl on top sat on a shelf near his right hand, so he could stroke it maybe if he started feeling insecure. An abridged Bible, not printed on smokable paper, lay open on the desk blotter. Several of the texts were underlined in colour. I thought of George trying to get past the Commander. Dunkery sat behind his desk, which was lifted up on a platform of some kind, so that I sat below him looking up. For a moment I thought I’d try the play from The Great Dictator and sit on the edge of Commander Dunkery’s desk, staring down at him, but I decided against it.
“Well, Mr. Cooperman! So, we finally meet. You should have come to me a week ago.”
“I didn’t know you were looking for me. You know where I work?”
“Yes, and we know who you’re working for and why.”
“That makes it unanimous, I guess. What can I do for you?”
“You can get the hell out of here and let professionals deal with what is clearly none of your business.” I nodded at this, as though giving it serious thought. On the subject of my getting out of town, this silly network was a bloody theme park.
“What gives you the monopoly at NTC? I saw local cops on the twenty-first floor last week. Maybe there are Provincial Police on the third or Mounties on the sixteenth. Are you planning to tell them to shove off too?”
“I won’t answer that or any other foolish questions. I want to see the back of you, Cooperman, and I want you gone this afternoon.”
“Sure you do. And when Vanessa Moss gets shot because you won’t put a man on her door, you’re going to look terrific. Especially when they find out that you chased away her babysitter. I can’t see that I’m queering your pitch, Commander.”
Commander Dunkery was a brown man. I’m not talking about skin pigmentation, I mean he was wearing a brown suit with a military cut to it, his sparse hair was brown, and his shirt and tie looked brownish as well. A brownish moustache tried but failed to underline his authority. His face was florid. I guessed that he was having trouble with blood pressure as well as with unwanted private investigators. “This afternoon!” he repeated.
“Just how are you going to arrange that? I’m working on the staff of Vanessa Moss, head of Entertainment. I guess she can hire whom she wants. Or are you going to limit her to the grandsons of Desert War veterans?”
“You’re being irrelevant, Cooperman.”
“Sorry. Ms. Moss wields a lot of weight on the twentieth floor. She usually gets what she wants.”
“Not for much longer. She’s nearly finished at this network.” I got the feeling that he wanted to go thwack with a swagger stick against the side of his boot.
“But, alas for you, not quite yet. I understand that she will be back in the building within the hour with all of her titles intact. If that’s so, why don’t you tell me what’s really on your mind. You must have seen rent-a-cops before? You probably have hired quite a few in your time.”
“You have been insulting to my staff on several occasions. It has been reported to me, and I will not stand for it!”
“I don’t like wearing stick-on labels, Commander. They’re hard on my clothes.”
“You were told to get proper identification.”
“I’ve been too busy trying to stop Vanessa Moss from getting murdered.”
“Nobody’s trying to kill Ms. Moss.”
“Can I quote you? What about Renata Sartori? Were you looking after her too?”
“That happened off the premises. I’m not responsible-”
“That does sum it up, doesn’t it? Now, if you’ll-”