But Sutton didn't even hear her. She and Maisel hurried off and Rune stayed behind, in her cubicle. She curled up in her chair, the way Courtney did sometimes, drawing her legs up. She thought of all the work she'd have to do over again. She felt numbed, stunned, like somebody had died.
Uh-uh, she thought. Like someone was about to die.
Randy Boggs.
AT 7:58 P.M. LEE MAISEL WAS SITTING IN THE HUGE CONtrol booth overlooking the Current Events set. The booth was filled with three times its normal staff (most of whom were from the Jim Eustice crew and had experience with the rare and demanding art of live production).
Maisel hadn't done live producing for years and he sat forward, sweating and uneasy, like the captain of a torpedoed ship still doing battle with an enemy destroyer. He was holding an expensive digital stopwatch in his hand, gripping it tightly.
Maisel and Sutton had managed to write half the Guardian Angels piece and get it, handwritten, into the TelePrompTer, but at 7:56 they'd had to break off. So Sutton had said, "I'll ad-lib."
Maisel called over the loudspeaker, "You got a ten-second countdown and a five-second cheat...."
Sutton, in full makeup, under the hot lights, gave him a fast nod and sat down in the black leather chair behind the desk bearing the Current Events logo. A technician clipped the lavaliere mike onto her lapel and inserted the small earphone into her left ear, the one hidden under the flop of hair (where it was less visible and no one would absently think she was wearing a hearing aid).
Maisel called, "All right, this is it."
She gave another nod and fixed her eyes on the TelePrompTer that a floor producer pointed at.
In the control booth Lee Maisel shut off the loud speaker and began talking into the microphone that would carry his words to Sutton's and the rest of the crew's earphones. He glanced at the big clock on the control room wall and began counting down. "Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one ... Graphics up now ... Theme running...."
Exactly four seconds later, he said, "Graphics dissolve, camera one fade in ... Theme down ... Okay, Piper, you're ... on."
chapter 22
PIPER SUTTON'S EYES LOCKED DIRECTLY INTO THOSE OF ten million people. She gave a sincere smile and said in the low comforting voice that so many people had come to trust more than that of their own spouses, parents, children and friends, "Good evening. Welcome to Current Events for Tuesday, April twentieth. I'm Piper Sutton...."
The program began.
Exactly fifty-six minutes later, the credits rolling at a breakneck pace, viewers around the country stood or stretched, arguing about some of the stories or critiquing Piper Sutton's fashion selection of the week or wondering which sitcom to turn to now, all unaware that they'd just seen TV history.
Morrie Weinberg oversaw the passing of the scepter back to the computer and the fifty-million-dollar system began sending the spurious art of television advertising into American households.
As soon as the studio mikes were shut off, the newsroom applauded. Sutton was far too diplomatic to ignore it and she gave a brief smile and offered a bow--not a curtsy--to her audience.
Maisel left the booth and walked straight up to her, hugging her and kissing her on the cheek.
Both Dan Semple and Jim Eustice had been watching from the control booth. They now joined her. Eustice shook her hand formally and complimented her then left with Maisel. Semple kissed Sutton quickly and the two of them walked into the corridor.
Not a single one of them glanced at Rune, who sat in her desk chair and stared at the monitor where her program would have run.
THE NEXT MORNING, COURTNEY WOKE HER UP BY CLIMBing into bed.
"Can we go to the zoo?"
Rune had collected the girl just after the program was over the night before. They'd gone home, had tuna sandwiches for dinner and Raisin Bran for dessert. They both went to bed at ten.
Rune rolled over and sat up. "The what?"
"The zoo."
"First, coffee, then we'll think about the zoo."
"I want some juice. Coffee's icky."
Rune was feeling better now that she'd gotten some sleep. The horror of last night had faded. True, the tapes had been stolen but there were some upsides to what'd happened. For one thing, it was clear proof that somebody else had killed Hopper. Randy obviously hadn't stolen the tapes; the real killer must have. Also, there was now another dimension to the story: Somebody's breaking into a major television network studio and stealing a news program--that was a story in itself.
Anyway, it turned out that the damage wasn't as bad as she'd thought. All that was missing was the master tape and the dupes and the tape of Bennett Frost. Bradford, bless his heart, had managed to find copies of almost everything else. The program could be remixed from that material although she'd have to retape Bennett Frost.