“You have quite a reputation. People don’t like working for you. I think the word they use most is ‘ruthless.’ I don’t need that. This is a good newspaper, and I hate to leave it, but I have more job offers than I can handle.”
“How long have you worked here?”
“Fifteen years.”
“And you’re going to just throw that away?”
“I’m not throwing anything away, I’m—”
She looked him in the eye. “Listen to me. I think the Tribune is a good newspaper, too, but I want it to be a great newspaper. I want you to help me.”
“No. I don’t—”
“Six months. Try it for six months. We’ll start by doubling your salary.”
He studied her for a long moment. Young and beautiful and intelligent. And yet…He had an uneasy feeling about her.
“Who will be in charge here?”
She smiled. “You’re the editor in chief of Washington Tribune Enterprises. You will be.”
And he believed her.
12
It had been six months since Dana’s Land Rover had been blown up. She escaped with nothing worse than a concussion, a cracked rib, a broken wrist, and painful bruises. Jovan suffered a fractured leg and scrapes and bruises. Matt Baker had telephoned Dana that night and ordered her to return to Washington, but the incident had made Dana more determined than ever to stay.
“These people are desperate,” Dana told him. “I can’t just walk away from this. If you order me home, then I quit.”
“Are you blackmailing me?”
“Yes.”
“That’s what I thought,” Matt snapped. “I don’t let anyone blackmail me. Do you understand?”
Dana waited.
“What about a leave of absence?” he asked.
“I don’t need a leave of absence.” She could hear his sigh over the phone.
“All right. Stay there. But, Dana—”
“Yes?”
“Promise me that you’ll be careful.”
From outside the hotel, Dana could hear the sound of machine-gun fire. “Right.”
The city had been under heavy attack all night. Dana had been unable to sleep. Each explosion of a mortar landing meant another building destroyed, another family homeless, or worse, dead.
Early in the morning, Dana and her crew were out on the street, ready to shoot. Benn Albertson waited for the thunder of a mortar to fade away, then nodded to Dana. “Ten seconds.”
“Ready,” Dana said.
Benn pointed a finger, and Dana turned away from the ruins behind her and faced the television camera.
“This is a city that is slowly disappearing from the face of the earth. With its electricity cut off, its eyes have been put out… Its television and radio stations have been shut down, and it has no ears. …All public transportation has come to a halt, so it has lost its legs…”
The camera panned to show a deserted, bombed-out playground, with the rusty skeletons of swings and slides.
“In another life, children played here, and the sound of their laughter filled the air.”
Mortar fire could be heard again in the near distance. An air raid alarm suddenly sounded. The people walking the streets behind Dana continued as though they had heard nothing.
“The sound you’re hearing is another air raid alarm. It’s the signal for people to run and hide. But the citizens of Sarajevo have found that there is no place to hide, so they walk on in their own silence. Those who can, flee the country, and give up their apartments and all their possessions. Too many who stay, die. It’s a cruel choice. There are rumors of peace. Too many rumors, too little peace. Will it come? And when? Will the children come out of their cellars and use this playground again one day? Nobody knows. They can only hope. This is Dana Evans reporting from Sarajevo for WTE.”
The red light on the camera blinked off. “Let’s get out of here,” Benn said.
Andy Casarez, the new cameraman, hurriedly started to pack up his gear.
A young boy was standing on the sidewalk, watching Dana. He was a street urchin, dressed in filthy, ragged clothes and torn shoes. Intense brown eyes flashed out of a face streaked with dirt. His right arm was missing.
Dana watched the boy studying her. Dana smiled. “Hello.”