Cover-up (3 page)

“And the league can't say no?”

“They can tell us how many reporters we can send but not
who
we can send.”

“I don't know if my parents will go for it.”

“I'll talk to them if need be. But my guess is they'll go for it. How mad did you say your dad was at USTV?”

He was right. And Stevie'd already been cleared by his teachers to go. “You sure about this?”

“Never been more sure. Pack your bags, Stevie. You're going to Indy and you're going as a real journalist.”

Stevie wanted to scream “yippee!” but that wouldn't be a real journalist thing to do. He settled for “thanks.”

“Don't mention it,” Kelleher said. “Now, tell me exactly what happened.”

3:
PUNT RETURN

BY MONDAY MORNING,
everything was set.

It took a phone call from Kelleher
promising
to keep an eye on Stevie and make sure he stayed out of trouble—“for once,” his father had said—to convince Bill and Carole Thomas that it was okay for Stevie to make the trip to Indianapolis. He already had plane reservations, and Kelleher said the newspaper had booked extra hotel rooms in case the Ravens and the Redskins—who had lost to the California Dreams in the NFC final—made it to the Super Bowl. As soon as Susan Carol heard that Stevie was making the trip, she agreed to stay on the job for at least one more week—partly because she wanted to go to the Super Bowl and, she said, because getting paid to work that week would make quitting a lot less painful financially if that was what she ultimately decided to do.

“Plus, I can't let you be wandering around out there by yourself,” she said. “I don't care what Bobby promised your parents, you
will
get into trouble.”

“As if being with you at the Final Four and the Open kept me out of trouble?” he responded.

“Good point,” she said, laughing. They had come a long way since Friday night.

The only thing Stevie hadn't thought about was what would happen once the news of his firing got out—which it did on Monday morning in Kelleher's column.

“So now USTV is firing fourteen-year-old kids,” he began. It got worse for USTV after that. “Let's pretend for a minute that Steve Thomas did terrible work, just wasn't right for the job,” Kelleher wrote. “This would still be a cruel move, three months after the show went on-air. Given that he happened to be very good at the job, this is completely inexcusable on every level. Bottom line: Steve Thomas got fired because he's not six feet tall and doesn't sing in a boy band. When did USTV decide to become MTV?”

Shupe was quoted in the story. “On a personal level, we liked Stevie very much,” he said. “He just wasn't right for TV.”

Kelleher's response to that quote was direct: “Shupe's right. Steve Thomas has far too much class and smarts to waste his life in front of a camera. He'll be at the Super Bowl as a working journalist. He should be proud of that. It is his former employer that should be ashamed.”

Stevie loved reading the column. What he didn't love was that the phone started ringing at 6 a.m. with calls from TV and radio stations and from print reporters all wanting him to comment or go on their shows.

And then he had to go to school. When he got off the school bus, there were no fewer than six TV camera crews waiting for him. The school principal, Mr. Bates, was there too, telling the TV people they could not come onto the school grounds.

“You walk with me from here to the front door and they can't do anything but film you walking,” Mr. Bates said.

Stevie wished he had consulted with his father or Kelleher, but he hadn't anticipated being stalked at school. He made a snap decision.

“Let me talk to them for a minute,” he said. “Maybe that will get it over with.”

“It might,” Mr. Bates said. “Until you get to Indianapolis.”

Stevie cringed. He didn't like
being
the story, but he didn't feel right ducking other reporters—whether they were TV or radio or print.

Mr. Bates found a spot a few yards away from the bus drop-off point and told the crews Stevie would talk for no more than five minutes. Stevie could see all the local stations were there, along with Comcast Sports and CN-8. There were a couple of other people with tape recorders he didn't recognize.

A blond woman wearing a good deal of makeup asked Stevie the first question as soon as everyone had trained their cameras on him.

“Steve, are you crushed by what USTV has done to you?”

Stevie shook his head. “You know, I was stunned on Friday night,” he said. “And I'm hurt because I thought Susan Carol and I were good together. But I'm going to the Super Bowl to write for the
Washington Herald,
and I know I'll enjoy myself.”

“Was it fair what they did?” asked someone else, whom Stevie couldn't see because of the lights now shining in his face.

“I don't think so,” Stevie said. “But I'm a little bit biased.”

That got a laugh from everyone.

“Any thoughts of suing?” someone else said.

“Not as long as they pay me what they owe me,” Stevie said with a smile—bringing another laugh.

Mr. Bates, who had been standing off to the side, decided that was enough. “Stevie's got to get to class,” he said. “His science teacher does not consider doing interviews an excuse for being late.”

That reminded Stevie: he never
had
finished that chapter about rocks.

Even if Stevie had done the reading, he probably wouldn't have remembered a word of it. Fortunately, none of his teachers was in the mood to pick on him. Everyone in school appeared to be on his side. Andrea Fassler even stopped by his locker to tell him she would
never
watch that show again if he wasn't on it.

Stevie couldn't resist. “So you aren't a fan of Jamie Whitsitt?” he said.

She gave him a big smile—not a Susan Carol smile, but a pretty one nonetheless—and said, “I'm a fan of
yours.
”

Whoo boy! Stevie was flattered—and a little scared.

The rest of the day whizzed by, and before he knew it, his dad was driving him to the airport.

“Call us as soon as you land,” he said.

“Don't worry, Dad.”

“I know, I know. I just hope you don't get jumped on by the media in the airport the way you did at school this morning.”

“Dad, it's the Super Bowl. The media out there have better things to talk about than me.”

“You would think so, but given the frenzy here today, I'm not so sure.”

“Dad, this is my hometown. People in Chicago or Miami or Houston aren't going to care.”

Bill Thomas was quiet for a minute. “Stevie, just promise me you won't get into any trouble this week.”

“I'll do my best, Dad.” He smiled in the darkness of the car. “I doubt there will be any blackmailings or fake kidnappings this week.”

“We can only hope,” his father said.

Stevie's flight was—thankfully—uneventful. His father's worry had made him a little paranoid, though. As the plane was landing, he had a sudden vision of walking off the Jetway into a barrage of TV lights.

There were no lights, but plenty of action with people everywhere. As he walked through the concourse, he turned on his cell phone and called his parents. Then, as instructed, he called Kelleher, who had arrived earlier in the day.

“It'll take you a while to get out of the airport,” Kelleher said. “Get a taxi and I'll meet you in the lobby of the Marriott in about an hour. There's a lounge right there in the lobby when you walk in. Tamara and I will be there waiting for you. We'll get you a hamburger before you go to bed.”

That sounded good to Stevie. He had eaten dinner at five o'clock before leaving for the airport, and the bag of pretzels he'd had on the flight hadn't exactly filled him up.

It took him a solid forty-five minutes to make his way through the terminal to baggage claim and then to the taxi line. Standing in line, he heard someone calling his name—although it was obviously someone who didn't know him well, because he kept yelling, “Steve, Steve!” His friends called him Stevie, though he was thinking it was getting to be time to ask people to switch.

He scanned the crowd and finally saw someone waving at him. He had no idea who it was. The man walked over and put out his hand. “Sorry to startle you,” he said. “I'm Sean McManus.”

Stevie had no idea who Sean McManus was, although the name sounded vaguely familiar. The look on Stevie's face clearly told McManus just that. “We've never met,” he continued. “But I'm a big fan of yours. I'm with CBS Sports. We're televising the game on Sunday.”

Stevie knew it was CBS's turn to televise the Super Bowl. And when he heard CBS, he knew exactly who McManus was from the sports pages. He wasn't just
with
CBS Sports, he was its president—and president of CBS News too, if Stevie was remembering correctly.

Stevie shook hands with McManus. “Of course. It's nice to meet you.”

“Where are you staying?” McManus said.

“The Marriott,” Stevie said.

“We're at the Canterbury,” McManus said. “It's only a couple of blocks from the Marriott. Come on, I've got a car here. I'll give you a ride.”

Stevie recognized the hotel name because that was where he
had
been staying when he was still working for USTV. He remembered Tal Vincent saying, “It costs about twice as much as the chains, is twice as nice, and best of all, the only people staying there are NFL hotshots and the important people from CBS, ESPN, and USTV. No media riffraff.”

Now Stevie was back at a chain hotel with his fellow media riffraff and glad of it. Still, a ride from CBS sounded good, since Stevie was about twentieth in the cab line. “Are you sure?” he said.

“Absolutely,” McManus said. “To be honest, you were high on my call list for tomorrow. This will save me some time.”

He followed McManus and a young woman, whom McManus introduced as his assistant, to a waiting car. Once they were inside, Stevie's patience gave out. “Did you say you wanted to talk to
me
?” he asked.

“I did,” McManus said. “I'd like you to work for us this week.”

“Me, work for CBS?” Stevie said. “Doing what?”

“Doing what you do,” McManus said. “I'd send you out with a crew each day and see what you come back with. You seem to have, as the old saying goes, a nose for news. We have a late-night show each night here starting Wednesday and we have a four-hour pregame show Sunday with lots of time to fill.”

Stevie was staggered. He had just been fired by USTV—a major cable network, but still cable—and now the president of CBS Sports was recruiting him to work for him during Super Bowl week?

“Well, um, wow. I mean, I'm really, really flattered, but…”

“You're here to work for the
Washington Herald,
” McManus said. “I know. I've read all the stories. I think we could work things out so you could do some work for us in the morning and then have time to write in the afternoons. I don't want to push you, but give it some thought.”

“Well, I'd have to talk to my parents,” Stevie said. “And to the
Herald.
” He wasn't all that sure he wanted to jump back into any kind of TV work after what had just happened. But McManus was only talking one week, and he was already here….

The car pulled into the circular driveway in front of the Marriott. Stevie got out and went around to the trunk to retrieve his bags, and McManus got out with him. Stevie spotted Bobby Kelleher walking out the front door. When he saw Stevie standing with McManus, a smile crossed his face.

“Stevie, what have I told you about accepting rides from strange men—especially strange men who work in TV,” Kelleher said, walking over to shake hands, first with Stevie, then with McManus. “Hey, Sean, trying to steal my reporter?” Given the way Kelleher felt about people who worked in TV, Stevie was surprised that he seemed so friendly.

“I'm not stealing—just borrowing,” McManus said. “You may be a hack, Bobby, but you are very good at spotting talent—look at who you married.”

He was smiling at Tamara Mearns, who had walked up behind Kelleher. She gave McManus a hug, then gave Stevie a bigger hug. The collegiality of it all confused Stevie.

McManus took out a card and handed it to Stevie. “Talk to your parents,” he said. “You should talk to Bobby too. Give me a call tomorrow. Or, if you prefer, have your dad call me.”

Kelleher's smile faded a bit. “You're serious, aren't you, Sean? You
are
trying to recruit him.”

McManus smiled. “Yes, Bobby, I really am.”

He clapped Stevie on the back, and before Stevie could even thank him for the ride, he jumped back into the car.

Stevie looked at Kelleher for a reaction. “Come on,” he said. “Let's get you checked in. Then we'll get you something to eat
and
we'll have a talk.”

Stevie nodded. He was suddenly very tired. There had been an awful lot of talking going on the last few days.