The Whisper Box (11 page)

John Harris now felt like he was doing his part. He immediately led Mac to his office in the back. The park ranger had a hell of a computer setup. John got Mac on-line, opened an e-mail screen, and left Mac in privacy. Mac began to type:

Grant,

I know this may seem absurd, but I can assure you that all you are about to read is true. I have, in my possession, some serious evidence that incriminates the President of the United States in a number of ways. Laura Green is dead. I was in the same car with her when it happened. I have everything that she had (audio, video, you name it….) With the recent death of the First Lady, the information I have gains even more significance. At this point, I can trust no one, including members of law enforcement agencies. The people involved in the crimes know that I have the evidence. They have made several attempts to kill me. I trust you because I know you are always looking for the “BIG” story and I know you'll cover it honestly and accurately regardless of who is involved. I have more than enough evidence not only to support my accusations, but also to take down Farnsworth and many others. I tried to contact you by phone but the operator wouldn't transfer me to you. I must speak with you directly and very soon, considering I am in hiding about 300 miles North of your present location. You must help me, sir. This is not a request. I need you to survive and, I'm telling you, you need me to ensure this information is made public. This will, I assure you, be the greatest moment of your career.

Please help.

GMH3

Mac clicked the send button on the screen. When he went back into the other room, he explained to John Harris that he now needed to spend the night. John obliged. He had to work the graveyard shift anyway. There would be no one there until eleven o'clock the following morning. John Harris built a fire and grabbed some doughnuts for Mac from the kitchenette. They periodically checked for a response to the e-mail. As they waited, they exchanged various stories, talked about their families and things that they had done in their lives. John went over his entire job description to Mac. They talked for hours, which made for great therapy for Mac. He needed the company and the diversion, even if he had only known John for a few hours.

9

Grant Winchester sat on his jet, scanning the Internet for any information he could find about the stories that were swirling around in Washington and the rest of the world. As intrigued as he was, he felt guilty about leaving a man who was sitting in an airport in Columbia, South Carolina waiting for him. He felt guilty. When the story about the First Lady broke Grant had no choice but to go to Washington. His employers paid him well, so his flight had to be turned around to get him there quickly. Hopefully, the stranger would page him again and he would have the chance to explain. He figured he should at least check his e-mail to see if the man who called himself “AA” had sent him another frantic message. Unfortunately, he had no way of contacting the stranger.

When Grant entered Outlook Express, his e-mail program, he noticed a new e-mail in his box. He hoped it was from JohnnyM80, but it was not. It was from an address that he was unfamiliar with, [email protected]. He clicked on the e-mail and began reading.

After reading it he could not quite determine what was really happening. Two different people had contacted him about some tremendous cover up in the White House. Could this be a 'hacker'? Could this be some kind of crazy joke? He had to look deeper. Every reporter has always been trained to look deeper, to believe the unbelievable unless they could prove that it was not real. Grant had known for at least a decade that Farnsworth was crooked and was hoping that the day had finally arrived for him to get his revenge. There had been so many bogus stories in the past, though. Grant always believed that Farnsworth would slip up sooner or later. Maybe this was the slip.

His professor at Villanova University, Dr. Eric Whitmire, always said that when you are not an Investigative Reporter in title, you are, nonetheless, an Investigative Reporter. Grant could picture his professor holding up two fingers on each hand to mimic quotation marks every time he stared across his classroom and preached to his students. Every lead had to be followed to the utmost extent. If you hit a dead end, you turned around and followed the next lead. If your lead panned out you “came out of a rose bush smelling like roses, the thorns just made you look all the more tougher,” according to Whitmire.

He studied the e-mail over and over. Obviously, he had to reply to JHRanger, signed by GMH3. Grant thought about how his response would begin and end and wondered if he should let the sender know about the other e-mail regarding the same thing. He finally decided that letting GMH3 know about JohnnyM80 might strengthen GMH3's commitment to him. Grant began:

GMH3,

I took your message seriously. Actually, you are the second person who has emailed me within the last 24 hours regarding possible criminal conduct by President Farnsworth. Like you, he also, feared for his life and had been threatened as well. I was supposed to meet him at an airport in Columbia, South Carolina today. With the death of our First Lady, I was forced to miss my engagement with him. However, your e-mail has led me to believe that the both of you have some very serious information that needs to be brought to the public's attention. I appreciate your faith in me. I will not let you down. Please page me and enter your phone number so that I can arrange a time to have my jet pick you up. I will be on the jet so please do not fear boarding it. My beeper number is 201-555-6441
.
BEEP ME SOON!

Sincerely,

Grant Winchester

Grant sent the message and kept his computer on, hoping to get a reply soon. He switched his beeper from vibrate mode to the loudest mode as he could not take any chances. As he was closing Outlook Express, he saw another e-mail downloading. Grant shook with anticipation when he saw who it was from. He opened JohnnyM80's message.

Mr. Winchester,

I have returned to my hotel unharmed. Sir, I know you think I must be crazy but I swear to you, this is HUGE news. My life is in danger Grant! I am calling out to you for help. People are going to kill me, and I do not know who to turn to or where to go. I am going to beep you. I need you to get in touch with me immediately!!!!! I know why Paula Farnsworth died. IT WAS NO ACCIDENT! In a sense, I almost witnessed it.

AA

Grant's career was about to soar to limits no reporter had ever seen. He knew it. He also knew he had to meet with both of these people immediately. Suddenly, the shrill pitch his pager was emitting interrupted his thoughts. The number came through with a 911 attached to the end of it. The CNN jet, fully equipped, was an office in the sky. When they had flown President Farnsworth to the state of Washington on it about two years ago, he told Grant that it was as nice as Air Force One. He reached for one of the eleven phones aboard the jet and called JohnnyM80 in his hotel room.

Aaron answered the phone in a gruff, disguised voice. “Hello?”

“Well, this is who you beeped again, I'm assuming you are Mr. Double A.”

The unmistakable voice of Grant Winchester seemed to calm Aaron’s tone. “Yes, you didn't show.”

“Sir, it has been a busy few days. When things come up about President Farnsworth or, in this case unfortunately, the First Lady, I have to move. That is my job. I hope you can understand. Let's try and set this up again.”

Grant’s informant seemed to loosen up more every time he spoke. His voice was calmer as he continued, “Same airport, same time tomorrow?”

Grant was more than happy to oblige. He would see to it that his jet was there this time, and that he would be on it. After “AA” was on board, they would fly to Newark Airport in New Jersey to pick up the other informant, GMH3, who stated he was approximately three hundred miles North of Grant’s current location: Washington.

Grant hung up the phone and thought about how he would handle this with his bosses, specifically Barry Stienham, President of CNN. He would have to contact Barry at his home. Barry did not like to be awakened in the middle of the night. On more than one occasion he had emphasized, “Do not wake me up at night until the Russians push the button.”

Grant felt like this story was more important than the Russians, and potentially more devastating. The Cold War was over anyway; Mr. Stienham needed a new reason. This could be it. Grant placed the call.

Barry Stienham had worked in the media for thirty-five years. He was an attorney who had graduated from Yale. He went back to school forty years ago and received a second degree in Business Management. As for big promotions, he had been skipped over time and time again over the last thirty-five years. In 1995, the President of CNN, Patrick J Littlejohn, died in his sleep one night. Two days later CNN made a formal offer to Michael C. Calcott, which reportedly infuriated Barry Stienham. Many journalists and analysts were surprised when Barry was passed over for Calcott.

Two days after Michael C. Calcott took over the Presidency of CNN, he was found dead in his
New York penthouse. A prostitute had placed a call to 911 when Michael started foaming at the mouth and shaking. When the authorities arrived, they found the drugs and the drug paraphernalia all over the living room and the bedroom. The prostitute was missing. The autopsy made it official; he had died of a drug overdose. One week after CNN had finished grieving as a family, the job was offered to Barry Stienham.

The old man with the gray hair that was whipped up into a tremendous “comb over” to cover his baldness appeared happy about his promotion but at the same time, was deeply saddened about the loss of his friend. Barry had become a militant, hardened man over the years. His leathered skin, square jaw, and thick eyebrows gave the impression that he was constantly squinting through his round metal eyeglass frames. The squinting made him appear to be eternally unhappy with the work of his employees. He settled for nothing but the best and gained a lot of respect in the business as a true professional that knew about a quality product. CNN had received its highest revenues with Mr. Stienham at the helm.

************************

Placing the call to Barry's house at eleven o'clock at night still scared Grant. Grant was a powerful person and knew everyone in the industry. He was well respected by all of his peers, but he was a nobody compared to Barry.

“The Russians better have dropped the bomb!” said Barry as he answered the phone.

His voice was deep and choppy. Grant had definitely interrupted his sleep.

“No sir, no bomb, no Russians, but I do have the biggest story here that any of us will ever hear in the news industry and I need clearance from you before I take some action.” Grant waited for some kind of reply.

“Is this Winchester?” The angry voice was getting louder.

Grant felt like he was about to get screamed at. “Yes sir, just trying to earn a living and keep CNN at the top of the ladder sir.”

Barry answered immediately. “Grant, my boy, I've done a pretty good job keeping our little television station at the top. That's why I'm here. You're wherever you are because you are a reporter. Go report.”

Grant swallowed hard as he answered, “Sir, I am reporting. I am reporting to you exactly what's happening while you are sleeping. Once you deem it newsworthy, I am going to act on it.”

Barry laughed at the young reporter. “Grant, you are gonna' be around for a while in this business, go ahead boy, tell me what news you have that warrants this phone call.”

Grant's defenses went down immediately. Barry Stienham was a bully of a man in the business world, but he was a little old man with a sweet heart when you caught him out of his element. Grant knew this and went on to explain. He told Mr. Stienham about the initial e-mail, then the corresponding one from a totally different source. He tied them in to the Greene woman, and her disappearance, the death of the First Lady and all of the other loose ends that had come from Washington recently. He told him about the confrontations both of the mystery men had experienced with sources that seemed to be protecting the President Of the United States, both of which involved, at the very least, the threat of violence.

Barry Stienham let out a low groan, as if to tell Grant, “You let me down, son.”

He then went on to tell Grant how this business was filled with pranks and false alarms. He carried on, telling Grant things that he already knew.

“Grant, if we went on wild goose chases every time someone laid an egg, we'd never get a damn thing done son. You know that. I'll be damned if I'm going to have the top reporter in the country hunting down two mystery men while the First Lady is being laid to rest. Forget it Grant. It's out of the question. I want you in Washington now, and all next week.”

Grant's displeasure with the decision was obvious, but Barry never swayed from his ranting. He was a hardened veteran of the news world who knew when to punch the gas and he knew when to apply the brakes. A lot of people thought he was a meddlesome, lucky man but an equal number of people thought he was a genius.

“Grant, son, I know this upsets you. It sounds like you really were excited about uncovering some major story. I promise you that in a few weeks these two mystery men are going to disappear and you are going to be THE guy that anyone and everyone wants in this business. You will be offered a fat raise, and you'll be glad I forced the issue.”

Grant hung up the phone in total disbelief. He understood Barry's point and the importance of the ongoing story. The death of the First Lady was as big a story as any since he had been involved with CNN, but still there was a chance he was missing out on the biggest fish in the pond. He kept telling himself to trust his instincts, that he knew Farnsworth was crooked. Of course, he had no proof yet, but he knew it. Now, the proof was being offered to him on a silver platter. He had been waiting for this day for over a decade.

If this story turned up empty, Grant would go from top of the ladder to the bottom. He would be embarrassed in all the wrong circles. This was a career changing decision. He would become either a hero or a zero in the next couple of days. Unlike many people, he relished risks like this. Grant always told friends in college that he could never go to Vegas because he would lose everything. He had a sweet tooth for taking a gamble.

Grant walked up into the cockpit of his jet and told the pilot his plans. The pilot refused and said there was no room for negotiations. The pilot made a salary of seventy two thousand dollars a year. He told Grant that his family had benefited from his hard work. His wife did not have to work and they lived in a house that they had dreamed of. They had one son who always had whatever he wanted. The pilot stated that he could not do something that would jeopardize all of this. Grant respected his decision. When they landed at Washington-Dulles Airport, Grant would exit the plane, walk down to the charter area, and charter a jet out of his own pocket.

Barry Stienham had a knack for calling the bluffs of just about anyone he ever met. He knew from the tone and determination in Grant's voice that even his best sales job ever would not keep his top reporter from the wild chase. Barry knew he had already set his mind on what he was going to do. Barry's job was to keep his star player in line.

Mr. Stienham picked up the phone and called a friend of an old fraternity brother. “I don't care what the outcome is. You do not let this kid step out of line. If this kid uncovers anything, the sky is going to fall on me, you, the White House, everyone. If this kid cracks this story you will be in a morgue by morning. You hear me? I'll say again, I DO NOT CARE WHAT THE OUTCOME IS, THIS KID DOES NOT CRACK THIS STORY! If you have to involve Anderson, it's fine by me.”

With that, Barry hung up the phone and tried to go back to sleep. He twisted and turned as he lay in his bed, knowing this was not over yet. If Grant moved forward, the outcome could be devastating to Barry.

The airport personnel at Washington Dulles were not easy to work with. They were all searching for a reason why the biggest reporter in the country, traveling in one of the biggest and most impressive jets at the airport, would want to charter some small used aircraft to go to Columbia, South Carolina in the middle of the night. Grant had no time for questions and answers.

He took his American Express card out of his pocket and spoke, “You get me a fucking jet right now. I don't care about the cost and I don't care about your fucking questions. That's all you need to know. If you ask me one more fucking question that has nothing to do with this transaction right here, I will have you strung up by your balls. You'll be in the unemployment line tomorrow morning. Don't take it personal, kid. You have no idea what's going on. Now get to work.”

The young man he was speaking to stared back at Grant moving his lips from side to side. Surely, what had promised to become a nice story to tell his girlfriend, about how he spent time talking to
the
Grant Winchester, had just turned into a story about how Grant Winchester was a complete ass who cursed him the entire time. The young man would predictably tell the story from his perspective. He would make definitely make Grant out to be a stuck up news reporter who had obviously been spoiled by his fame. Grant could hear the story already. He no longer had time to chat with the 'little people' who worked so hard just to earn a living. Grant knew this and did not care at this point. He needed a jet to Columbia and he needed it immediately.