Live to Air

by Jeffrey L Diamond

  “Is there a problem?” he said, furrowing his brow.

  “There’s always a problem. You know that. Gloria Jimenez changed the ground rules on us this morning.” Mindy handed him an email. “Everything’s the same except for this.” She pointed to a paragraph on the second page. “It says right here that she plans to open every case of equipment we bring into the complex. Each and every one of them. When I told her how much stuff we had, she said that it’s all part of the special security for the interview. That there’s no way around it.”

  “Shit,” Ethan said, scanning the email. “It’ll take hours to go through everything. We’re bringing tons of camera and sound equipment. Call her back and get her to change her mind,” Ethan said furiously.

  “Already did that. She won’t budge on the security. Says it’s too risky.”

  Ethan rubbed his temples. He was getting another headache. “Even if we bust our humps and only unload what we think we’ll need to build the set, there won’t be enough time to get ready for Sampson. And you know how he gets. He won’t want to wait for us.”

  “Neither will the jail. Jimenez is giving us one hour to shoot the interview beginning at eleven o’clock sharp. She’s agreed to let us tape Feodor walking onto the set and leaving after we’re done. We can follow him to the first security checkpoint and that’s it. We can’t go down to his cell.”

  Ethan wheeled around and gazed out his window, his mind spinning as he tried to figure out the best way to get everything done. “We’ll have to use both crews to shoot the walking sequences,” he said, “and to shoot Sampson and Feodor meeting and greeting before the interview starts. That’ll give us the images we need at the prison.” He grabbed the hard copy of the production schedule Mindy had slid under his door earlier that morning. “What time do we have to be wrapped and out of there?”

  “Two p.m. No later. It’s in the new itinerary.”

  “Let’s move up the start time,” he said, reading through the document. “We should meet here at six instead of seven. That should give us a cushion to drive out to Rikers, sort through the equipment with security, shoot the visuals, build the set, and do the interview. Can you change the schedule in the computer, call the crew, and make sure they know?”

  “Right away, Ethan.”

  “And fax a copy to Sampson. He needs to be kept in the loop.”

  “Will do,” she said, adding it to her checklist on a yellow pad. She finished her coffee and dropped the cup in a trash can, then looked up at Ethan sheepishly. “Are you and David still planning to shoot the still pictures tonight?”

  “Come on, Mindy, we’ve been through this,” he said, annoyed. “I haven’t changed my mind.”

  “Don’t you already have enough on the Russians?” she said, not backing down. “You’ve got them on tape in Brighton Beach.”

  “Yeah. But I don’t have the guy who’s been harassing me, and I need his picture to ID him. There’s no way around it.”

  “Ethan, you’re as stubborn as they come.” She got up and started to leave, then turned and said urgently, “I hope you know what you’re doing. I have a real bad feeling about tonight.”

  • • • • •

  Ethan spent the rest of the day taking care of last-minute details for the interview before turning off the lights and heading out of the building. A specially designed backpack containing the hidden camera was slung over his shoulder as he began the three-block trek to Madison Avenue and the uptown bus to his apartment. He’d just gotten off the phone with David Livingston, who was hiding in Central Park snapping pictures of a black Lincoln Navigator as it cruised by his apartment, circled the block, and parked on the northwest corner of Madison and Ninety-First Street.

  All the pieces were in place.

  Soon he’d have all the proof he needed to go to Paul.

  He hurried down Fifty-Seventh Street, stopping for a red light on the corner of Seventh Avenue, when Sarah called. “Hey, babe. Sorry we haven’t talked today. Got caught up in a lot of unexpected shit on my story.”

  “Where are you?” she said pointedly. “You sound like you’re on the street. Are you walking Holly?”

  “No. I’m on my way home from the office,” he said, searching for any sign of a black Lincoln. “Are you and Luke okay?”

  “We’re fine, Ethan. There’s been nobody watching my sister’s house since we got here. No bad guys with guns. Are they still following you?”

  “I haven’t seen them all day,” he said, not mentioning that he and David were about to snap a series of still pictures of two men sitting in a Navigator parked up the street from their apartment.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Sarah said, worried.

  “I’m fine, babe, really.”

  “When can we come home? Luke and I miss you. We’re tired of hiding here.”

  “Maybe in a couple of days. As soon as I’m sure—”

  Ethan stopped suddenly in his tracks. There was a black Lincoln parked about fifty feet up the block.

  “Sarah, I’ll call you back in a little while. I love you.”

  “Ethan, what’s goin’ on?”

  “I can’t talk anymore.”

  He clicked off the phone, then checked to make sure the hidden camera was rolling and approached the Navigator, straining to see who was inside. There were two men he’d never seen before. Adjusting the shoulder bag, he aimed the camera at their faces, and without warning, the man in the passenger seat flipped a burning cigarette out the window. Ethan winced in pain as it bounced off his cheek.

  The two men smiled malevolently, and as they swung open the doors, Ethan took off running, overwhelmed with fear.

  • • • • •

  The Russian in the driver’s seat pulled out a burner and punched in a telephone number. It was answered immediately. “Hello, Anatoly, it’s me, Grigori. He just left the office and walked by us. We scared the shit out of him. He hauled off down the street, freaking out.”

  “Where he go?” Anatoly said in his heavy Russian accent.

  “He just crossed Fifth Avenue. I think he’s headed to the bus stop on Madison. Do you want us to follow him?”

  “Da. Make sure he gets on bus. I want to be ready when he gets here. What Benson do now?” Anatoly said, salivating into the telephone.

  “Hang on a minute. Boris, can you still see him?”

  “He just got to Madison Avenue and is pushing his way through a crowd of people,” Boris said, watching him through a pair of binoculars. “He’s definitely getting on the bus. Should be up at his apartment in fifteen minutes.”

  “Did you hear that, Anatoly?” Grigori said.

  “I hear. Good. I wait. About to become worst nightmare. Go after him.”

  Grigori hung up the phone and threw the car into drive. “Hold on, Boris. I don’t want to lose him.” Then he screeched away from the curb, hung a U-turn, and began weaving in and out of traffic, trying to catch up to the bus.

  • • • • •

  Ethan was panting heavily as he made a mad dash down Fifty-Seventh Street, dodging a young couple holding hands and enjoying the warm summer night, his arms pumping up and down, his feet pounding the pavement. He ignored a red light at Sixth Avenue and was almost hit by a taxi as he sprinted through the intersection, bumping an old woman who was inching along in front of him. She waved her cane furiously, but he kept on running, never hearing the obscenities she was screaming. When he reached the corner of Fifth Avenue, he dropped his briefcase, spilling out his research. A circle of people gathered around him as he knelt down to pick up documents blowing across the sidewalk in the cool breeze. “Out of my way. Out of my way,” he said, losing control. “They’re comin’ after me. I gotta get away.” He glared at a young man who was laughing, fire in his eyes, then pushed through the crowd and sprinted to the corner. Approaching the bus stop, he turned and looked back for the black Lincoln as it pulled away from the curb and gunned down the street toward him.

  This was it.r />
  They were going to hurt him—real bad.

  His imagination running wild, he cut the line of people waiting for the bus, shoved his way to the back, and sat down in the corner. Out of breath, he looked out the window, the black Lincoln now stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic, and slowly began to calm down. Grabbing his iPhone, he punched in David’s number. “It’s me,” he whispered, not wanting to be overheard. “I just had one of the worst experiences of my life.”

  “What happened? You sound terrible.”

  “Two guys were waiting for me outside the office. They threw a cigarette from their car. It burned my face.”

  “Are you all right?”

  He rubbed his cheek. “It hurts, but I’ll be fine.”

  “Where are you now?” David said, concerned.

  “On the bus heading uptown.”

  “Are they following you?”

  Ethan looked out the window again. “I don’t see them,” he said, his voice trembling. “They got stuck in traffic.”

  “Did you get them on the hidden camera?”

  Ethan unzipped his backpack and checked the recorder. The red light was blinking. “It’s running. Hopefully I got it all on tape.” He closed the bag. “Are you still in the park, David?”

  “I’m here, hiding behind the stone wall, just as we planned.”

  “Is the Lincoln still there?”

  “It hasn’t moved in the past hour.”

  “Can you see who’s sitting in the car through the lens of your camera?”

  “Yeah. It’s parked under a street lamp. I’ve already made dozens of great pictures. I’ve got wide shots of the car and tight shots of two guys in the front seat. You can clearly make out their features.”

  “Is one of the guys real big?”

  “The guy in the passenger seat is huge. His neck and shoulder muscles are bulging out of his shirt. He looks mean as hell.”

  “And you’re sure the camera’s picking up details of his face?”

  “I keep checking the images. The pictures are exactly what we need.”

  “Look, David, it sounds like the big guy is the same asshole who’s been following me. He’s dangerous. Shit, all these guys are dangerous. Don’t let him see you. He’ll come after you.”

  “Do you want me to pack up and leave?”

  Ethan paused and debated whether they had enough to make a positive ID. He wasn’t sure without seeing the pictures. “Let’s finish what we planned,” he said reticently. “I’m just about there. Can you see the bus yet?”

  “The front end just creeped into my shot. The Lincoln’s in the foreground.”

  “Keep shooting. I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”

  “Don’t worry, Ethan. I’ll get the sequence.”

  Ethan waited for the bus to pull to a stop, pushed open the backdoor, and stepped onto the sidewalk. He quickly crossed the street and headed down Madison, the overhead street lamps casting macabre patterns up and down the deserted avenue. Steeling himself, he approached the black Lincoln, hoping David was snapping away a series of shots. Then he stopped and aimed the hidden camera through the front window. There was only one man behind the steering wheel, staring at him like a guard dog ready to pounce. Shit, that’s not the guy who’s been tailing me, he said to himself. Where the hell is he? Puzzled, he let the hidden camera roll a moment and then hustled down to the corner, where he stopped and turned back to the Navigator.

  The man was still watching him.

  Where was the second guy?

  He was supposed to be sitting in the passenger seat.

  Eager to get away, Ethan hurried down the block, and when he reached his apartment building, a big, muscled man dressed in black like a wraith leaped out of the shadows and clubbed him on the head with the butt end of his handgun, sending him crashing to the pavement. At first, Ethan didn’t know what had happened. He was lying flat on his back, a searing pain coursing through his body, a large lump welling up at the base of his head. Then, after a moment, he saw the man standing over him—the same man who’d been harassing him for days.

  Anatoly Gennadi leaned over and waved his handgun. “I watch you, Ethan Benson. Know where you live. Know where you work. Know all about story. My boss, he a very important person, very powerful, and he don’t like one bit what you’re doing. Do you understand, Ethan Benson?”

  Ethan nodded, too frightened to speak.

  Gennadi leaned closer and placed the nose of his Beretta in the middle of Ethan’s forehead. “I want you listen carefully. I want you stop shooting story. I want you cancel interview with Pavel Feodor. And I want you go to boss and make project go away.” The Russian grabbed Ethan by the chin. “This is little warning. So listen up real good. If you fuck up again, I find you and family.” Gennadi paused, smiled, then said in a cold, steely voice, “And if we talk again, things get much worse for you. Don’t force me to pull trigger and blow off head. Kill pretty wife. Kill little boy. Nothing give me more pleasure. But your choice. Vy mena panim Ayete? Am I clear, Mr. Ethan Benson?”

  Ethan blinked but didn’t move.

  “Good. I think you understand,” he said, sneering. Then he kicked Ethan in the stomach for good measure. “As much as I enjoy beating you,” he continued, “I hope we don’t meet again. That would be big shame. Don’t you think? Now, have nice evening, and don’t tell anybody about our little talk.” Then he kicked Ethan one more time and slowly headed back to the Lincoln, turning and glaring every few steps before jumping into the passenger seat and speeding away.

  Ethan held his breath, then climbed to his feet, dizzy and disoriented, his cell phone ringing in his pocket.

  “Ethan, are you all right?”

  He’d all but forgotten about David, still hiding in the park taking pictures. He rubbed the ache in his side and said, “I don’t think anything’s broken.”

  “You need to call the police,” David said hysterically. “That guy almost killed you.”

  “I’m okay. Really. Were you shooting when he beat me?”

  “I got the whole thing. It’s terrifying. I don’t suppose you wanna take a look, do you?”

  “Not tonight. I need to go home and figure out what to do next,” he said, fingering the lump on the back of his head.

  “Maybe I should go with you to your apartment,” David said. “We can call the police together.”

  “No,” Ethan said snappishly. Then he lowered his voice. “Those two guys could still be in the neighborhood. I don’t wanna risk them seeing us together. Pack up your camera and go home.”

  “But Ethan, you shouldn’t be alone. It would be better if I spent the night with you.”

  “No, David. I’ll be fine.”

  “All right. All right. But I don’t feel good about this.”

  “Stop worrying. And David, don’t leave the park until you get down to the Metropolitan Museum. You should be safe there. It’s well lit, and there are plenty of taxis.”

  “Okay, Ethan, but for God’s sake, be careful.”

  “Goodnight, David.” He punched off the phone and walked into his building. The lobby was deserted, the doorman asleep in the package room. “What if the guy comes back?” he thought as another wave of fear rushed over him. “What if he jumps me right here in my building?” Panicking, he rushed pell-mell into an elevator, rode up to his floor, then sprinted down the empty hallway, fumbling for his keys when he got to his apartment. After pushing into the foyer, he bolted the door behind him and made his way down to his study, flipping on all the lights and checking all the rooms. Then he staggered over to his desk, dropped the hidden camera bag on the floor, and poured a stiff drink.

  He downed the scotch and poured another.

  He downed that one too.

  Then, before he could call Sarah or Paul or the police, he put his head on his desk and passed out.

  CHAPTER 27

  THE TELEPHONE BEGAN RINGING, sounding like a fire alarm ripping through his head. He opened his eyes and groped for
his iPhone, knocking it to the floor, picking it up, and finally managing to answer, “Hello.”

  “Ethan, it’s me, Mindy. Where the hell are you? It’s after ten o’clock. We’ve been calling you for hours.”

  He grabbed a pack of Marlboros and pulled out a cigarette, taking a long drag before exhaling the smoke through his nose. Thinking a scotch might help, he reached for the bottle, then put it down on his desk, rubbing his temple, willing away the familiar pounding in his head.

  “Ethan, are you still there? I can hear you moving around. Talk to me.”

  “Give me a second, Mindy,” he said, his voice raspy.

  “Ethan, you sound really hungover. Pull yourself together. Paul wants to see you right away.”

  “What do you mean?” he said, surprised.

  “David called me late last night and told me what happened. He emailed me some of the pictures. It was the same guy we saw the other day. He beat the shit out of you. Did you call the police? Did you call Paul?”

  “No. I’ve been too out of it.”

  “Well, David and I knew you wouldn’t. So we called Paul ourselves, just after midnight. We tried conferencing you in, but we couldn’t reach you.” Ethan listened quietly, Mindy talking a mile a minute. “We told Paul the whole story. He was pissed you hadn’t said a word to him about it. First thing this morning, we went up to his office and showed him the pictures. Paul wants to meet with the whole team right away and decide what to do. He wants to make sure these guys don’t get to you again, or to any of us for that matter. How fast can you get here?”

  Ethan opened a bottle of Motrin and chewed three tablets, gagging at the sour taste as he swallowed. “Give me an hour.”

  “Paul’s sending a car service. He’s already hired a private security firm called AAA Protection. It’s the same company GBS uses at the Broadcast Center. There’ll be a guard waiting for you in the car.”

  “I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “The hell you don’t. Paul doesn’t trust you. Those are his exact words. You don’t go anywhere without security.”

  Ethan closed his eyes. “All right. Sounds like I don’t have a choice. I’m gonna shave and shower and eat a little breakfast. Then I’ll leave.”