At three o’clock that afternoon, when Dana walked into the White House entrance, the guard said, “Mr. Tager would like to see you, Miss Evans. I’ll have someone take you to his office.”
A few minutes later, one of the guides led Dana down a long corridor to Peter Tager’s office. He was waiting for her.
“Mr. Tager…”
“I didn’t expect to see you so soon, Miss Evans. Won’t your station give you any time off?”
“I didn’t want any,” Dana said. “I—I need to work.”
“Please sit down.” She sat across from him. “Can I offer you anything?”
“No, thanks. I just had lunch.” She smiled to herself at the recollection of Jeff Connors. “Mr. Tager, I want to thank you and President Russell so much for rescuing me.” She hesitated. “I know the Tribune hasn’t been too kind to the president, and I—”
Peter Tager raised a hand. “This was something above politics. There was no chance that the president was going to let them get away with this. You know the story of Helen of Troy?”
“Yes.”
He smiled. “Well, we might have started a war over you. You’re a very important person.”
“I don’t feel very important.”
“I want you to know how pleased both the president and I are that you’ve been assigned to cover the White House.”
“Thank you.”
He paused for a moment. “It’s unfortunate that the Tribune doesn’t like President Russell, and there’s nothing you can do about it. But in spite of that, on a very personal level, if there’s anything the president or I can do to help…we both have an enormous regard for you.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.”
The door opened and Oliver walked in. Dana and Peter Tager stood up.
“Sit down,” Oliver said. He walked over to Dana. “Welcome home.”
“Thank you, Mr. President,” Dana said. “And I do mean—thank you.”
Oliver smiled. “If you can’t save someone’s life, what’s the point of being president? I want to be frank with you, Miss Evans. None of us here is a fan of your newspaper. All of us are your fans.”
“Thank you.”
“Peter is going to give you a tour of the White House. If you have any problems, we’re here to help you.”
“You’re very kind.”
“If you don’t mind, I want you to meet with Mr. Werner, the secretary of state. I’d like to have him get a firsthand briefing from you on the situation in Herzegovina.”
“I’d be happy to do that,” Dana said.
There were a dozen men seated in the secretary of state’s private conference room, listening to Dana describe her experiences.
“Most of the buildings in Sarajevo have been damaged or destroyed… There’s no electricity, and the people there who still have cars unhook the car batteries at night to run their television sets…
“The streets of the city are obstructed by the wreckage of bombed automobiles, carts, and bicycles. The main form of transportation is walking…
“When there’s a storm, people catch the water from the street gutters and put it into buckets…
“There’s no respect for the Red Cross or for the journalists there. More than forty correspondents have been killed covering the Bosnian war, and dozens have been wounded… Whether the present revolt against Slobodan Milosevic is successful or not, the feeling is that because of the popular uprising, his regime has been badly damaged…”
The meeting went on for two hours. For Dana it was both traumatic and cathartic, because as she described what happened, she found herself living the terrible scenes all over again; and at the same time, she found it a relief to be able to talk about it. When she was finished, she felt drained.
The secretary of state said, “I want to thank you, Miss Evans. This has been very informative.” He smiled. “I’m glad you got back here safely.”
“So am I, Mr. Secretary.”
Friday night, Dana was seated next to Jeff Connors in the press box at Camden Yards, watching the baseball game. And for the first time since she had returned, she was able to think about something other than the war. As Dana watched the players on the field, she listened to the announcer reporting the game.