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"Yeah."
"They were here. They helped hustle the President off as the shooting
started."
"Where did he go? The President, I mean."
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"Did you hear that dull thump a moment ago?"
"I did."
"No one's saying, but we think it was Marine One. It blew up."
"I'm shooting toward the Washington Monument right now. I think I was the only
guy smart enough to sneak off. Everyone else started taping Thrush Limburger's
corpse and asking idiot questions."
"There's no such thing as an idiot question in the pursuit of a story," Pepsie
snapped.
"I caught Marine One flying off," Buck said breathlessly. "Then it blew apart
and dropped straight down like a flaming sack of potatoes. I'm filming the
wreck right now."
"Was the President aboard?"
"He was supposed to be."
"Then he's dead," Pepsie breathed. "He's really dead this time. We've got to
go on the air with this."
"They'll never let us. Not after the last time you said he was dead over the
air."
"Hold on," Pepsie said. Turning to a technician in the cramped broadcast van,
she said, "Can you snoop in on the Secret Service transmission frequency?"
"We're not supposed to."
"That's not what I asked," said Pepsie.
The technician handed Pepsie a set of earphones.
Clapping one earphone to her head, she heard an ominous white noise. There
were absolutely no Secret Service transmissions. All was static.
"Buck, what's going on?" Pepsie said into her walkie-talkie.
"White House staffers are booting us off the grounds. They look kinda
scared."
"Okay. Meet me at the van."
"You got it."
Grabbing her cellular phone, Pepsie dialed ANC News. "Greg. I'm at the White
House. Something big just happened."
"I though you were barred from the ceremony."
"That's why I'm hiding out in the news van. But my camera guy slipped in. Get
this, Thrush Limburger just tried to kill the President. But the Secret
Service got him first."
"That's what CNN is reporting. Do we have film?"
"Do we ever. But there's more. Marine One lifted off from the South Lawn not
two minutes ago and blew up. Isn't that great?"
"CNN didn't report that."
Pepsie burbled excitedly, "I think we have an exclusive."
"Was the President aboard?"
"He was supposed to be," Pepsie said evasively.
"Supposed to be doesn't cut it, Pepsie. You know that."
"Look, we can do a live remote on the crash while the competition is still
stuck on the 'cased Santa' angle. This is my big chance."
"This is career suicide if you go out on another limb."
"Trust me on this one. I have film."
"Start feeding the raw tape, and we'll see."
"You won't regret this," said Pepsie, hanging up.
She came out of her seat at the first knock on the van door.
"Hand it here," she said, grabbing the tape out of Buck Featherstone's
fingers. She loaded it, hit Rewind, then told the technician, "Start feeding
this as soon as it's racked."
Then she clapped the headphones over her ears, telling Buck, "We can't go on
the air until we have proof the President's dead."
"From where I stood, it looked like the Secret Service snipers might have been
trying to shoot the President."
"Are you sure?"
"No."
"What the hell," said Pepsie. "It'll make a better story that way. We can
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always air a retraction later. It's all coming together." Pepsie pushed one
earphone tighter to her head. "Wait a minute. Something's happening."
A thin voice over the Secret Service frequency said, "Tin Woodman enroute to
Crown. Repeat, Tin Woodman enroute to Crown."
"They just said the Tin Woodman is coming here. That's the Vice President.
Maybe they're going to swear him in!"
FIVE MINUTES LATER a black Lincoln Continental limousine slithered through the
West Gate and stopped before the diplomatic entrance in the South Portico of
the White House.
The press continued to pour out of the East Gate, oblivious.
Then the hearses arrived. There were three. They remained in the White House
garage less than a dozen minutes and then wound back out in a sedate line.
"Three hearses," Pepsie whispered. "Three bodies."
"The President, the First Lady and maybe Thrush Limburger," said Buck.
"Or the First Daughter." Pepsie dialed ANC again. "Greg. The Vice President
just went in. Then three hearses left."
"We're still reviewing film," Greg told her tensely. "The other networks are
still sorting out the shooting. They report the President has left for Andrews
Air Force Base and Air Force One."
"The hearse traffic has been coming in and out of the West Gate. I think we're
the only ones to spot it. We own this story."
"Hang on, Pepsie."
"By my fingernails." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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