The Evening News (98 page)

Margot didn't answer. Wondering if she had hung up, he asked, "Are you
still there
?
”

"Yes.,'
"Are you wishing, by chance, that you hadn't done what you did to Harry
Partridge
?
”

"No
.”

The answer seemed disembodied, as if Margot's mind was far away
.”
No
,”
she repeated, "I was thinking of other things
.”

"Mrs. Lloyd-Mason"--Crawford Sloane employed the cutting tone he used
occasionally for repulsive items in the news"
has anyone told you lately
that you are a cold-hearted bitch
?
”

He replaced the red phone.

Margot, too, hung up as her phone went silent. One day soon, she decided
,
she would find her own way to deal with the
self-important Mr. Crawford Sloane. But this was not the time. Right now, other things were more important
.
The news she had just been given about Globanic and Peru had severely
jolted her. But she had been jolted in the past and seldom stayed that
way for long. Margot had not climbed as high and fast as she had in the
world of business without serious setbacks, and almost always she
contrived to turn them to her advantage. Somehow she must do so now. She
paused, weighing initiatives she could take
.
Without question, she must call Theo Elliott today. He never minded being
disturbed about important business matters at any time, weekends
included
.
She would tell him she had information that word was circulating in Peru
about the Globanic deal, that a Peruvian reporter had somehow obtained
a copy of the draft agreement and was about to publish it. It had nothing
to do with CBA or, for that matter,
any other U.S. network or newspa
per;
it was a local Peruvian leak, though a bad one
.
The whole thing was unfortunate, she would tell Theo, and she didn't want
to make judgments, though could not help wondering: Had Fossie Xenos been
careless about who he talked to, particularly in Peru? It did seem
possible, based on what she had heard, that the enthusiasm Fossie was
noted for had made him indiscreet
.
She would also tell Theo that because of the activity among the Peruvian
press, the matter had come to the attention of CBA News. But Margot had
given definite orders that CBA would not report it
.
With luck, she thought, by early next week any adverse attention would
have shifted away from herself and landed on Fossie. Good!
During her ruminations, Margot did give brief thought to Harry Partridge
.
Should he be reinstated? Then she decided no. Doing that would only
confuse things, and Partridge wasn't important, so let the decision
stand. Besides, Theo would still want to make his phone call to Peru's
President Castafieda on Monday saying that the troublemaker-to use Theo's
word
had been dismissed and banished from Peru.
Smiling, confident her strategy would work, she picked up the phone and
tapped out the unlisted number of Theo Elliott's home.

The ' AeroLibertad owner and pilot, Oswaldo Zileri, had heard of Crawford
Sloane and was appropriately respectful
.”
When your friends arranged their charter, Mr. Sloane, I said I did not
wish to know their purpose. Now that I see you here, I can guess it, and
I wish you, and them, well
.”

"Thank you
,”
Sloane said. He and Rita were in Zileri's modest office near
Lima's airport
.”
When you left Mr. Partridge and the others this morning
,
how did everything look
?
”

Zileri shrugged
.”
The way the jungle always looks-green, impenetrable
,
endless. There was no activity, other than by your friends
.”

Rita told Zileri, "When we talked about extra passengers coming back, we
hoped there would be three. But now it's two
.”

"I have heard the sad news about Mr. Sloane's father
.”

The pilot shook
his head
.”
We live in savage times
.”

Sloane began, "I was wondering if now . .
.”

Zileri finished for him
.”
. . . if there might be room for you and Miss
Abrams to go on the other trips-one, two, or more -to bring the people
back
.”

"Yes.,
,
"It will be okay. Because one of the expected passengers is a boy, and
there will be no freight or baggage, weight will not be a problem. You
must be here before dawn tomorrow-and the next day, if we go
.”

"We will be
,”
Rita said. She turned to Sloane
.”
Harry wasn't optimistic
about making a rendezvous the first day after going in. The flight is a
precaution in case they need it. All along, he thought the second day
more likely
.”

There was one other thing Rita felt she had to do. She did not tell
Crawf, but composed a fax message to Les Chippingham, to be waiting for
him Monday morning. Deliberately, she did not route the message to the
fax machine in the news
president's office, but to one at the Horseshoe. There it would be the reverse of private and could be read by others-just as Chippingham's letter dismissing Harry Partridge had been when it arrived at Entel Peru
.
Rita addressed her communication:

L W Chippingham President, CBA News Copies: All Notice Boards

She had no illusions that what she had written would get on any notice
board. It wouldn't. But it was a signal, which would be understood by
fellow producers at the Horseshoe, that she wanted wide circulation
.
Someone would make a copy or copies, to be passed around, read, and
probably copied again and again
.
The message read:

You sordid, s
elfish, cowardly son of a bitch!
To fire Harry Partridge the way you did-without cause, warning or even
explanation-just to satisfy your cozy crony, the Iceberg-woman
,
Lloyd-Mason, is a betrayal of everything which used to be fair and
decent at CBA
.
Harry will come out of this smelling like Chanel No. 5. You already
stink like the sewer rat you are
.
How I ever let myself go to bed with you regularly is beyond my
understanding. But never again
!
If
you had the last erect cock on earth
,
I wouldn't have it near me
.
As for working for you any longer-ugh I
With deep sadness for what you used to be, compared with what you have
become
,
Your ex-friend, ex-admirer, ex-lover, ex-producer
,
Rita Abrams

Obviously, Rita thought, after that was received and digested, Harry was
not the only one who would be looking for
fresh employment. But she didn't care. She felt a whole lot better as she watched the fax leave Entel, knowing that a moment later it was already in New York.

It was 2:10 a.m
. in Nueva Esperanza
.
Jessica had been restless for the past several hours, drifting in and out
of sleep, dreaming at times-the dreams becoming nightmares merging with
reality
.
Moments earlier, certain she was awake, Jessica had peered through the
roughly cut window opening facing her cell, and what she thought she saw
in dim light reflected from inside was the face of Harry Partridge. Then
the face disappeared as suddenly as it came. Was she awake? Or could she
still be dreaming? Hallucinating, maybe?
Jessica was shaking her head, trying to clear it, when the face appeared
again, rising slowly above the lowest window level, and this time it
stayed. A hand made a signal which she didn't understand, but she studied
the face again. Could it be? Her heart leaped as she decided: Yes, it
could! It was Harry Partridge
.
The face was mouthing something silently, the lips making exaggerated
movements, attempting to communicate. She concentrated, trying to
understand, and managed to grasp the words "the guard
.”

That was it: "ere
was the guard?
The guard at the moment was Vicente. He had come on duty an hour
ago-apparently very late-and there had been a heated argument between him
and Rarn6n, who had the earlier duty.
Ramon
had shouted angrily. Vicente
,
in arguing back, sounded drunk-at least his speech was slurred. Jessica
didn't care about the dispute and, as always, was glad to see
Ramon
go;
he had a vicious streak, was unpredictable, and still insisted
on the silence rule for the prisoners which, by now, none of the other guards enforced
.
Turning her head, Jessica could see Vicente. He was seated in the chair
which all the guards used, beyond the cells and out of sight of the window
.
She wasn't sure, but his eyes seemed closed. His automatic rifle was
propped against the wall alongside him. Nearby a kerosene lamp hung from
a beam above, and it was by the lamp's reflected light she had seen the
face outside
.
Being ca
reful, in case Vicente should suddenly observe her, Jessica
answered the silent question by inclining her head toward where he was
seated
.
At once the mouth on the face at the window-Jessiea still had trouble
accepting it as Harry Partridge's-began to form words again. Once more, she
concentrated. After the third time she understood the message: "Call him
!”

Jessica nodded slightly, intimating that she understood. Her heart was
pounding at the sight of Harry. It could only mean, she thought, that the
rescue they had hoped for for so long was finally happening. At the same
time, she knew that completing whatever had been started would not be easy
.”
Vicente
!”

She raised her voice no louder than she thought was needed, but
it was not enough to penetrate his dozing. A touch more strongly, she tried
again
.”
Vicente
!”

This time he stirred. Vicente's eyes opened and met Jessica's. As they did
,
she beckoned him
.
Vicente shifted in his chair. He started to rise and, watching him, Jessica
had the impression he was organizing himself mentally, trying to sober tip
.
He stood, started to come toward her, then quickly turned back to collect
his rifle. He held it in a businesslike way, she noticed, clearly ready to
use it if required
.
She had better have an excuse for summoning Vicente, Jessica reasoned, and
decided she would ask by gestures if she could go into Nicky's cell. The
request would be refused, but at this point that didn't matter
.
She had no idea what Harry had in mind. She only knew, while her anxiety
and tension grew, that this was the moment she had dreamed about, yet
feared might never come.
Crouched low beneath the window, Partridge gripped his nine-millimeter
Browning pistol, the silencer extending from the barrel. So far tonight
,
everything had gone exactly as planned, but he knew the most difficult
and crucial part of the action was about to begin
.
The next few seconds would offer him limited alternatives, one of which
he would have to choose in an instant's decision. The way it looked now
,
he might be able to hold up the guard, using the Browning as a threat
,
after which the guard would either be bound securely, gagged and left
,
or taken with them as a captive. The second choice would be least
preferable. There was a third possibility-to kill the guard, but that was
something he would prefer not to do
.
One thing was working in his favon Jessica was resourceful, quick to
think and understand--exactly as he remembered her
.
He listened to her call twice, heard minor noises from somewhere out of
sight, then footsteps as the guard walked over. Partridge held his
breath, ready to slump below the window level entirely if the guard was
looking in his direction
.
He wasn't. The man had his back to Partridge and faced Jessica, which
gave Partridge an extra second to assess the scene
.
The first thing he recognized was that the guard was carrying a
Kalashnikov automatic rifle, a weapon Partridge knew well, and from the
way it was being handled, the guard knew how to use it. Compared with the
Kalashnikov, Partridge's Browning was a peashooter
.
The conclusion was inevitable and inescapable: Partridge would have to
kill the guard and get his shot in first, which meant surprise
.
But there was an obstacle. Jessica. She was now exactly in line with the
guard and Partridge. A shot aimed at the guard could hit Jessica too
.
Partridge had to gamble. There would be no other chance, could be no
other choice. And the gamble would be on Jessica's fast thinking and
instant action.
Taking a breath, Partridge called out loudly, clearly, "Jessica, drop to
the floor-now!
”
Instantly, the guard spun around, his rifle raised, the safety off. But
Partridge already had the Browning raised and sighted. A moment earlier he
had remembered the advice of a firearms instructor who taught him to use
weapons: "If
you want to kill a person, don't aim for the head Chances are
,
no matter how gently you squeeze the trigger, the gun will rise and the
bullet will go high, perhaps clear over the head So aim for the heart, or
slightly below. That way, even if the bullet's higher than the heart, it
will do a lot of damage, probably kill, and if it doesn't, you'll have time
for a second shot
.”
Partridge squeezed the trigger and the Browning fired with a near-silent
"pfft
!”