Evening News

by Arthur Hailey

  Margot said reasonably, "The other networks and the New York Times have been taking much the same line we have, Theo.”

  "Don't tell me about others! I'm talking about usl Besides, President Castafieda seems to think what's happening right now is that CBA sets the pace and others are following. He told me so.”

  They were both standing. Elliott, glowering, had not asked Margot to sit down. She asked, "Is there anything specific?”

  "You're damn right there is!” The Globanic chairman pointed to a half-dozen videocassettes on his desk.”After the President's call last night I sent one of my people to get tapes of your evening news programs for this week. Now I've seen them all, I can see what Castafieda means; they're full of doom and gloom—how bad things are in Peru. Nothing positive! Nothing saying Peru has a great future ahead, or that it's a wonderful place to go for a vacation, or that those lousy Shining Path rebels will be beaten very soon!”

  "There's a strong consensus they won't be, Theo.”

  Elliott stormed on as if he had not heard.”I can understand why President Castafieda is furious—something that Globanic can't afford to have happen, and you know why. I warned you about that, but you obviously weren't listening. Another thing —Fossie Xenos is fuming too. He even thinks you may be jeopardizing, deliberately, his big debt-to-equity deal.”

  "That's nonsense, and I'm sure you know it. But perhaps we can do something to improve what's happening.” Margot was thinking quickly, realizing the situation was more serious than she had thought at first. Her own future in Globanic, she realized, could easily be at stake.

  ”I'll tell you exactly what you'll do.” Elliott's voice had become steely.”I want that meddling reporter—Partridge is his name—brought back on the next airplane and fired.”

  "We can certainly bring him back. I'm less sure about firing him.”

  "Fired, I said! Are you having trouble hearing this morning, Margot? I want the bastard out of CBA so that, first thing Monday, I can call the President of Peru and say, 'Look! We threw the troublemaker out. We're sorry we sent him to your country. It was a bad mistake, but won't happen again.”

  ‘Foreseeing difficulties for herself at CBA, Margot said, "Theo, I have to point out that Partridge has been with the network a long time. It must be close to twenty-five years and he has a good record.”

  Elliott permitted himself a sly smile.”Then give the son of a bitch a gold watch. I don't care. Just get rid of him, so I can make that phone call Monday. And I'll warn you about something else, Margot.”

  "What's that, Theo?”

  Elliott retreated to his desk and sat down behind it. He waved Margot to a chair as he said, "The danger of thinking writers or reporters are something special. They aren't, although they sometimes believe they are and get exaggerated ideas about their own importance. 'The fact is, there's never a shortage of writers. Cut one down, two more spring up like weeds.”

  Warming to his theme, Elliott continued, "It's people like me and you —who really count in this world, Margot. We are the doers!—the ones who make things happen every day. That's why we can buy writers whenever we want and—never forget this!—they're two-a-penny, as the English say. So when you're through with some worn-out hack like Partridge, pick up a new one—some kid fresh out of college—the way you would a cabbage.”

  Margot smiled; it was evident that the worst of her superior's wrath had passed.”It's an interesting point of view.”

  "Apply it. And one more thing.”

  "I'm listening.”

  "Don't think that people at Globanic, including me, are not aware how you and Leon Ironwood and Fossie Xenos are jockeying for position, each of you hoping one day to sit where I am now. Well, I'll tell you Margot, as between you and Fossie this morning Fossie is several noses out in front.”

  The chairman waved a hand dismissingly.”That's all. Call me later today when the Peru thing is all wrapped up.”

  * * *

  It was late morning when Margot, back in her office at Stonehenge, sent a message to Leslie Chippingham. The news president was to report to her "immediately.”

  She had not appreciated being sent for this morning, preferring to do the summoning herself She found herself pleased at the current reversal of that situation.

  Something else Margot had not liked was Elliott's reference to Fossie Xenos as being "several noses out in front.” If that relative position was true, she thought, she would revise it promptly, Margot had no intention of having her own career plans disrupted by what she was already regarding as a minor organizational issue, capable of being quickly and decisively resolved.

  Therefore, when Chippingham appeared shortly after noon she came as speedily to the point as Theo Elliott had with her.

  ”I don't want any discussion about this,” Margot stated.”I'm simply giving you an order.”

  She continued, "The employment of Harry Partridge is to be terminated at once. I want him out of CBA by tomorrow. I'm aware he has a contract and you'll do whatever we have to under it. Also, he's to be out of Peru, preferably tomorrow but no later than Sunday. If that means chartering a special flight, so be it.”

  Chippingham stared at her, open-mouthed and unbelieving. At length, having trouble finding words, he said, "You can't be serious!”

  Margot told him firmly, "I am serious, and I said no discussion.”

  "The hell with that!” Chippingham's voice was raised emotionally.”I'm not standing by, seeing one of our best correspondents who's served CBA well for twenty-odd years, thrown out without any reason.”

  "The reason is none of your concern.”

  "I'm the news president, aren't I? Margot, I appeal to you! What's Harry done, for chrissakes? Is it something bad? If so, I want to know about it.”

  "If you must know, it's a question of his type of coverage.”

  "Which is the absolute best! Honest. Knowledgeable. Unprejudiced. Ask anybody!”

  "I don't need to. In any case, not everyone agrees with YOU.”

  Chippingham regarded her suspiciously.”This is Globanic's work, isn't it?” Intuition came to him.”It's your friend, that cold-blooded tyrant Theodore Elliott!”

  "Be carefull”she warned him, and decided the conversation had gone on long enough.

  ”I don't plan to do any more explaining,” Margot said coldly, "but I'll tell you this: If my order has not been carried out by the end of business today, then you are out of a job yourself, and tomorrow I'll appoint someone else acting news president and have them do it.”

  "You really would, wouldn't you?” He was looking at her with a mixture of wonder and hatred.”Make no mistake about it—yes. And if you decide to stay employed, report to me by the end of this afternoon that what I wanted has been done. Now get out of here.”

  After Chippingham had gone, Margot realized with satisfaction that, when necessary, she could be as tough as Theo Elliott.

  * * *

  Back at CBA News headquarters, knowing he was procrastinating, Les Chippingham attended to several routine matters before instructing his secretary, shortly before 3 P.m., that he was not to be disturbed and to hold telephone calls until further notice. He needed time to think.

  Closing his office door from inside, he sat down in the conference area away from his desk, facing one of his favorite paintings—a desolate Andrew Wyeth landscape. But today Chippingham barely saw the painting; all he was aware of was the crucial decision he faced.

  He knew he had reached a crisis in his life.

  If he did as Margot had ordered and fired Harry Partridge without apparent cause, he would forfeit his self-respect. He would have done something shameful and unjust to a decent, highly skilled and respected human being, a friend and colleague, merely to satisfy another person's whim. Who that other person was and whatever was the whim, Chippingham didn't know, though he was sure that he and others would find out eventually. Meanwhile, all he was certain of was that Theodore Elliott was somehow involved—a thrust which, judgi
ng by Margot's reaction, had gone home.

  Could Chippingham live with having done all that? Applying the standards he had tried to live his life by, he ought not to be able to.

  On the other hand—and there was another side—if he, Les Chippingham, didn't do it, someone else would. Margot had made that clear. And she would have no trouble finding someone. There were too many ambitious people around, including some in CBA News, for it not to happen.

  So Harry Partridge was going down the drain anyway—at least at CBA.

  That was an important point: at CBA.

  When word got around, as it quickly would, that Harry Partridge was leaving CBA and was available, he need not be unemployed for fifteen minutes. Other networks would fall over themselves vying for his services. Harry was a star, a "Big Foot"—with a reputation as a nice guy, too, which didn't harm him.

  Nothing, absolutely nothing, would keep Harry Partridge down. In fact, with a new contract at a fresh network he would probably be better off.

  But what about a fired and fallen news president? That was a totally different story, and Chippingham knew what he was facing if Margot kept her —word—as he knew she would—assuming he did not do as she wished.

  As news president, Chippingham had a contract too, and tinder it would receive roughly a million dollars in severance payments, which sounded a lot but actually wasn't. A substantial amount would disappear in taxes. After that, because he was deeply in debt, his creditors would attach most of the remainder. And whatever was left, the lawyers handling Stasia's divorce would scrutinize covetously. So in the end, if he was left with enough for dinner for two at the Four Seasons, he would be surprised.

  Then there was the question of another job. Unlike Partridge, he would not be sought out by other networks. One reason was, there could only be one news president at a network and he had heard no rumor of an opening anywhere else. Apart from that, networks wanted news presidents who were successes, not someone dismissed in doubtful circumstances; there were enough living ex-news presidents around to make that last point clear.

  All of which meant that he would have to settle for a lesser job, almost certainly with a lot less money, and Stasia would still want some of that.

  The prospect was daunting.

  Unless—unless he did what Margot wanted.

  If he expressed in dramatic terms what he was now doing, Chippingham thought, he was peeling away the layers of his soul, looking inside and not liking what he saw.

  Yet a conclusion was inescapable: There were moments in life when self-preservation came first.

  I hate to do this to you, Harry, he attested silently, but I don't have any choice.

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes later, Chippingham read over the letter he had typed personally on an old, mechanical Underwood he kept—for old times' sake — on a table in his office. It began:

  Dear Harry:

  It is with great regret I have to inform you that your employment by CBA News is terminated, effective immediately.

  Under the terms of your contract with CBA . .

  Chippingham knew, because he had had occasion to review it recently, that Partridge's contract had a "pay-or-play” clause, which meant that while the network could terminate employment, it was obligated to pay full benefits until the contract's end. In Partridge's case, this was a year away.

  Also in the same contract was a "non-compete” clause under which Partridge, in accepting the "pay-or-play” arrangement, agreed not to work for another network for at least six months.

  In his letter, Chippingham waived the "non-compete” clause, leaving Partridge with his benefits intact but free— to accept other employment at once. Chippingham believed that in the circumstances, it was the least he could do for Harry.

  He intended the letter to go by fax machine to Lima. There was a machine in his outer office and he would use it himself He had decided earlier that he could not bring himself to telephone.

  About to sign what he had written, Chippingham heard a knock at his office door and saw the door open. Instinctively, he turned the letter face down.

  Crawford Sloane entered. He was holding a press wire printout in his hand. When he spoke, his voice was choked. Tears were coursing down his cheeks.

  ”Les,” Sloane said, "I had to see you. This just came in.”

  He proffered the printout which Chippingham took and read. It repeated a Chicago Tribune report from Lima. describing the finding of Angus Sloane's dismembered head.

  ”Oh, Christ! Crawf, I'm . . .”Unable to finish the words, Chippingham shook his head, then held out his arms and, in a spontaneous gesture, the two embraced.

  As they separated, Sloane said, "Don't say anything more. I'm not sure I can handle it. I can't do the news tonight. I told them outside to call Teresa Toy . . .”

  "Forget everything, Crawf!” Chippingham told him.”We'll take care of it.”

  "No!” Sloane shook his head.”There's something else, something I must do. I want a Learjet to Lima. While there's still a chance . . . for Jessica and Nicky . . . I must be there.” Sloane paused, struggling for control, then added, "I'll go to Larchmont first, then to Teterboro.”

  Chippingham said doubtfully, "Are you sure, Crawf? Is this wise?”

  "I'm going, Les,” Sloane said.”Don't try to stop me. If CBA won't pay for an airplane, I will.”

  "That won't be necessary. I'll order the Lear,” Chippingham said.

  Later, he did. It would leave Teterboro that night and be in Peru by morning.

  * * *

  Because of the sudden, tragic news of Angus Sloane, Chippingham's letter to Partridge did not get signed and faxed to Lima until late that afternoon. After his secretary had left, Chippingham sent it to a fax number he had for Entel Peru, from where it would be delivered to the CBA booth in the same building. He added a note to the transmission, asking for the letter to be placed in an envelope addressed to "Mr. Harry Partridge”and marked "Personal.”

  Chippingham had considered informing Crawford Sloane about the letter, then decided Crawf had had all the shocks he could handle in a single week. He knew the letter would outrage Crawf, as well as Partridge, and expected indignant telephone calls with demands for explanations. But that would be another day and Chippingham would have to cope with it as best he could.

  Finally, Chippingham telephoned Margot Lloyd-Mason who was still in her office at 6:15 P.m. He told her first, "I have done what you asked,” then gave her the news about Crawford Sloane's father.

  ”I heard,” she said, "and I'm sorry. About the other, you cut it fine and I was beginning to think you wouldn't call. But thank you.”

  14

  Away from the highway where the Cheyenne II had landed, the trek through the jungle for Partridge and the other three was difficult and slow.

  The trail—if it could be called that—was often overgrown and frequently disappeared entirely. Faced with a dense and tangled mass of vegetation, it was necessary to hack a way through using machetes, hoping for a clearer space beyond. Tall trees formed a canopy above their heads, under an over- cast sky which hinted of rain to come. Many trees had grotesquely twisted trunks, thick bark and leathery leaves; Partridge had read somewhere that eight thousand known species of trees existed in Peru. At lower levels, bamboos, ferns, lianas and parasitic plants were everywhere intertwined—the result described by the same source as "green hell.”

  "Hell” was appropriate today because of the sweltering, steamy heat from which all four men were already suffering. Sweat streamed from every part of them, their condition made worse by swarms of insects. At the beginning they had soaked themselves with mosquito repellent, applying more along the way, but as Ken O'Hara put it, "The little devils seem to like the stuff.”

  Fortunately, when contact with the trail was reestablished, there were areas where overhead shade from closely growing trees had made ground growth less prolific, therefore it was easier to move ahead. It was obvious that without the trai
l, progress would be nil.

  ”This route isn't used much,” Fernandez pointed out, "and that's to our advantage.”

  Their objective was to approach Nueva Esperanza, but to stay well clear of it while locating a position on higher ground. From there, hidden by the jungle, they would observe the hamlet, mainly during daylight hours. Then, depending on what was seen and learned, they would devise a plan.

  The entire surrounding area for a hundred or more square miles, broken only by the Huallaga River, was dense jungle over an undulating plain. But the large-scale contour map acquired by Fernandez showed several hills near their objective, one of which might work as an observation post. Nueva Esperanza itself was about nine miles from their present position—a formidable distance under these conditions.

  One thing Partridge had memorized was the second message Jessica managed to convey while making her videotape recording. As reported to him by Crawford Sloane, in a sealed letter which Rita hand-carried to Peru, Jessica had scratched her left earlobe to mean: Security here is sometimes lax. An attack from outside might succeed. Sometime soon that information would be put to the test.

  Meanwhile, they labored on through the jungle.

  It was well into the afternoon, when everyone was near exhaustion, that Fernandez warned them Nueva Esperanza might be near.”I think we have covered about seven miles,” he said; then cautioned, "we must not be seen. If we hear sounds of anyone coming, we must melt into the jungle quickly.”

  Looking at dense brush and thorns on either side, Minh Van Canh said, "Makes sense, but let's hope we don't have to.”

  Soon after Fernandez's warning, the going became easier and several other trails crisscrossed their own. Fernandez explained that this whole area of slopes and hills was laced with coca fields, which at other times of the year would be bustling with activity. During a four-to-six-month growing season, coca bushes needed only minor care, so most growers lived elsewhere, coming back and occupying hilltop shacks during harvest time.