the Plan (1995) (47 page)

IF THEY HAD LANDED AT NEW YORK'S KENNEDY AIRport, it would have been over, but they touched down at
Levit Field in New Jersey, where the customs contingen
t c
onsisted of two old men in a shed waiting out their retirement. Nobody had been into the fax room for hours t o l ook at recent transmittals. The customs officials boarde d t he private jet, steaming coffee mugs in hand, looked a t t he passports, asked a few routine questions, and stampe d e verybody's reentry forms. In ten minutes, the four of the m w ere in a taxicab, heading into Trenton.

They pulled up at a Days Inn, and while Ryan held the cab, Cole went inside to make sure there was a vacancy. The big television in the lobby was on CNN. As Cole moved to the desk and told the clerk he needed two rooms, he heard Wolf Blitzer mention his name.

". . . fired news correspondent Cole Harris."

Cole turned and saw an old UBC employee photograph of himself filling the screen. In the picture, he needed a shave and looked like an ax murderer.

The clerk was trying not to register shock that the man being called a violent terrorist on TV was standing right in front of him.

Wolf Blitzer continued: "Allegedly, Mr. Harris and an unemployed television producer named Ryan Bolt and the sister of New Jersey underworld kingpin Michael Alo are involved in a plot to assassinate presidential candidate Haze Richards."

"Son of a bitch," Cole said and ran out of the lobby to where Ryan was standing next to the cabbie, talking.

"They're full. Let's go." He all but pushed Ryan into the cab. Cole told the cabbie to get going and take them into Trenton. They pulled out of the parking lot and down the road. Ryan and Lucinda started to protest, but Cole grabbed Lucinda's arm and shook his head in silent warning. Naomi had been on enough dangerous stories to know enough to shut up and play along. A few miles farther on, they passed two New Jersey state police cars with red lights and sirens, speeding in the opposite direction.

When they finally got to the outskirts of Trenton, it was almost eleven P
. M
. Cole pointed to a bus stop. "Pull up here. We can take the bus to Virginia," he said for the driver's benefit.

They got out, taking their suitcases from the trunk while Ryan paid the fare.

"The bus to Virginia? What's going on?" Ryan asked after the cab pulled away.

"We're on the news . . . not Naomi, but the rest of us. They're saying we're trying to kill Haze Richards." "We're what?" Ryan said, astounded.

"Yeah. There's an FBI manhunt or something. . . It sounds big. The clerk back there had his mouth fall so far open, I was counting fillings. I figured I'd better get outta there."

"What'll we do?" Lucinda asked.

"That cabbie will have the cops heading to Virginia and there's a hotel back up this street. Naomi can get us a room . . . make sure it's got a TV. We gotta find out how bad this is."

The hotel was a woodsy, four-story fishing lodge on the outskirts of town called The Angler. Naomi checked herself into a suite under an assumed name, then went down the back stairs and let them in a side door.

Ten minutes later, they were watching the whole, awful story on CNN. It was much worse than they expected.

"Ryan had been very irrational for months," Marty Lanier was saying from the NBC boardroom where he was doing an interview with a glamorous CNN field correspondent. "He had become sort of . . . well, I hate to say it, but anti-Semitic. He attacked me in the screening room and security had to be called to remove him." Ryan thought he detected a slight smile under Marty's grave demeanor. The CNN correspondent turned to the camera.

`The police in Los Angeles now suspect there may be a connection between Mr. Bolt's increasingly violent behavior and the shooting death of his former secretary. Elizabeth Applegate, just three days ago. Ms. Applegate was found in the bathtub of her apartment where she'd been shot in the head with a twenty-two-caliber dumdum bullet"

Ryan dropped his head into his hands. When he looked up, his expression was a mask of agony. Then he went into the bathroom and closed the door.

As they sat in silence, the TV shot switched back to Wolf Blitzer.

"We now have a report from the U
. S
. Customs Service that the three fugitives arrived from Israel tonight on a private jet belonging to Reuters News Bureau. The pilots are currently being interviewed. They landed at a small airfield in New Jersey. Also aboard was Naomi Zur, a photographer for Reuters."

"Welcome to the club," Cole said grimly as Naomi's picture hit the screen.

Blitzer droned on. "This is all somehow linked to the explosion in Israel yesterday that claimed the life of ex
-
FBI agent Solomon Kazorowski and three unknown Israelis. Rental car records are being checked to ascertain the identities of the other parties. The three fugitives and Solomon Kazorowski had contacted the widow of the late Israeli prosecutor Gavriel Bach yesterday, lied to her, and told her that they were doing a story for Time magazine, and needed to gain access to some old records Bach had apparently saved. They went to Mrs. Bach's house outside of Tel Aviv, where they broke in and were later involved in a shootout with the three Israelis. Justice Department sources close to the investigation say that this appears to be part of a very serious plot to kill the Democratic nominee for President of the United States."

They channel-surfed. There were background stories on all of them, including Naomi and Lucinda.

Ryan came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, sat on the bed, and said nothing. When the stories started to repeat themselves, Cole turned off the set.

"Ain't this a bitch?" he said. "But I got an idea that could get us where we wanna go."

"This I gotta hear," Naomi said.

"I want you to hear this all the way out because I've been giving it a lot of thought. We kidnap the UBC feed. Put our story up on the satellite ourselves. Broadcast it the way we want it. We'll use C. Wallace Litman's own network to destroy his plan. We've got enough evidence and the know-how. . . . All we need is a little guts and Ingenuity."

"What're you smoking?" Naomi said.

"They were going to use the network to accomplish their plan. We'll use it to destroy them. We broadcast this, then the other networks are gonna have to pick up on it. They'll force Justice to trace Litman's records.

"If we produce the right broadcast, we can bring them down. . . . It's not impossibly hard to kidnap a TV signal. It's doable."

"I still think we should take it to Brokaw, Naomi said flatly.

"Nobody is going to believe us now. We're crackpots. They're going to spend all their time indicting us. Nobody is going to look at what we have."

"You don't know that," Lucinda said.

"I know it. Come on. . . . I was one of those arrogant jackals for thirty years." He spun on Ryan.

"And you gotta come to the party, Ryan. I know you just got a helluva shock, but snap out of it. I can't have you sitting there looking at your shoes."

"Go fuck yourself, Cole."

"I'm just saying we need your help."

"Elizabeth was a friend. She came to my rescue when I was hurting. Now she's dead because of me."

"I'll tell you who shot her . . . that mook in the baseball cap. This is hardball, Ryan."

Ryan moved across the room, and pulled Cole to his feet. They stood there with fistfuls of each other's shirt. "If you warm swing at me, go ahead," Cole said.

"All you want is to get back at those guys for kicking you out," Ryan yelled. "That's all this means to you. Kaz and Elizabeth were killed because of this. This is about a hell of a lot more than your bullshit career."

`This is about the fourth estate. It's about the hijacking of high-tech communications by a bunch of grease stains. By the time anybody starts listening to us, Richards will be in the White House," Cole shouted back.

Ryan let go of him and turned to the window, still breathing hard and struggling to get control.

"Believe me, we can steal this signal. But we gotta stick together."

Ryan finally looked at Cole.

"We'll need an engineer, and I think I know just the guy to help us," Cole said, seizing on Ryan's renewed attention.

"He won't turn us in?" Lucinda asked.

"I don't think so. UBC threw him out two weeks before he was to get his pension. They claimed he stole engineering equipment from them."

"Did he?"

"Well, kinda . He was working at home on a new switching device. They did a random trunk search one night and found all this equipment in his car. He tried t
o e
xplain but they tied a can to him anyway. Guy's name is John William Bally. Everybody called him Babbling John 'cause he's the quietest son of a bitch you ever met."

"You can still get out of this, Naomi, " Ryan said. "We could say we kidnapped you."

`Thank you, Ryan. I was wondering who was going to suggest that."

"I didn't because I've worked with you. We'd have to kill you to get you off this story," Cole said.

"He's right, but thanks for the suggestion."

The moment seemed to bring them together again and Cole sat at the phone and pulled out his tiny leather pocket phone book, looked up John William Baily's number, and called him.

Baily answered on the second ring.

"I suppose you've seen the TV," Cole said after identifying himself.

"Yep."

"Look, John, were onto something big. But we need help." Nothing came back from John Baily, so Cole plunged on. "We need to put a big story out."

"How?" Baily asked.

"We need to access the Galaxy Four transponder. Take it over." There was a pause. "You know what I'm saying?"

"Yup."

"But before you meet with us I have to tell you that a lot of people are trying to catch us and it could get dangerous."

"Fuck 'em," John Baily finally said. He agreed to be on a street corner in Westchester in an hour.

Cole informed them that they needed to steal a car, but he had no idea how to do it. Lucinda said, "I do. My brother taught me."

Ten minutes later, Lucinda pulled up to the side entrance of the small hotel in a gray Ford Falcon.

Naomi and Cole drove off to meet John Baily, while Lucinda and Ryan waited at the hotel.

Chapter
65.

JOHN BAILY STOOD ON A CORNER IN A DIMLY LIT SUBURB
outside Manhattan. It was almost midnight when he saw a gray Ford cruise past with a woman behind the wheel.

John remembered Cole Harris from UBC and couldn't stand him. Cole had been demanding and brusque and treated the people in engineering like servants. But hatred obeys the law of relativity, and John hated the brass at UBC worse than bleeding hemorrhoids. He relished the chance to show them how vulnerable they were. He'd told them that they didn't have adequate security at Hertz Castle, which is what he had named the roof parking lot adjacent to the thirty-story Black Tower. The lot, reserved for visiting executives, was loaded with rental cars all parked right in the shadow of the huge ten-meter dish that was the network's main East Coast link to the Galaxy Four geosynchronous satellite UBC used to rain its signal across the United States. "The bird" was one of the new hybrid satellites that could broadcast C-band as well as K-U band uplinks.

"John, over here," a voice whispered from the darkness, breaking his thought. He turned and saw Cole Harris standing in the shadows away from the streetlight. Joh
n w
alked over to the IR. He noted, with some satisfaction, that time had not been kind to Cole Harris. He had lost some hair and had the sallow, undernourished look of a racetrack lout, but he still wore the yuppie uniform. Tie and suspenders over pleated pants and lace-up wing-tip shoes.

"Great to see you," Cole said, grinning, slapping the tall, skinny engineer on the back, hoping to elicit a response. He didn't get one. The gray sedan pulled up, and Cole opened the back door to usher the engineer into the car.

"This is Naomi," Cole said, introducing the woman behind the wheel.

"Pleased to meet you," she said.

"Yep," he replied and that about covered it, all the way back to The Angler.

They arrived back at the hotel around one o'clock in the morning. Cole introduced John Baily to Ryan and Lucinda.

"John knows all about the network's technical facilities. He's the RF engineer."

"RF?" Lucinda asked.

"Radio frequency," Cole explained.

"So, how do we do it? How do we kidnap the signal?" Ryan asked.

John had one topic on which he was willing to speak in full sentences and that was the physical plant at UBC. He'd designed it, or most of it. He'd kept it running. He'd devoted his life to it. He had repaired, rebuilt, and juryrigged all of the equipment in the early days when money had been short. The switching panel he decided to make at home would have allowed the network to go from the main uplink to the backup with absolutely no phase jitter or flutter. Currently, you had to shut one system down and then turn on the other, waiting for the forty-five seconds of black that was scheduled between each hour of broadcast. That time was used by affiliate stations for local ads and station IDs.