He was two paragraphs in when Meeker began screaming. “You———! Why, you little———! Are you———kidding me! I will sue your asses for so much money, I’ll not only own the newspaper, I’ll own you and your families for the rest of your lives! No way can you prove a word of that, you lying little———!”
Stevie had heard a fair amount of profanity at school, but nothing quite like this. Kelleher’s voice was as soft and calm as Meeker’s was shrieky and out of control. “Mr. Meeker, I’m going to remind you we’re on the record, and on tape—which is legal since this call is not across state lines. I will then point out to you the phrase ‘has obtained documents.’ We’ve got the test results. We’ve got not one source, but three. So, if you want to leave your profane rant as your comment, that’s fine, but be aware of what you’re dealing with here.”
There was silence for a moment. “When exactly are you publishing this crap?”
“The first edition of the Sunday papers will be out in a little less than three hours. The Herald will publish a bulletin alerting people to the story on its Web site at eight o’clock.”
“That means I have ninety minutes to get a court order stopping you.”
“Good luck.”
“——you, Kelleher, and your two little friends too. I’ll take you all down—I guarantee it.”
“Thanks for your time, Don.”
The phone clicked on the word for.
Stevie looked at Kelleher. “Can he get a court order?”
“On what grounds?” Kelleher said. “Even if he could find a judge on a Saturday night, no one can order us not to publish a story unless national security is at stake. The only one whose security is at stake here is Meeker.”
“And ours,” Susan Carol said. “At least judging by his tone.”
“Don’t worry,” Kelleher said. “We’ll make sure there are plenty of people around you at all times.
“Okay,” Kelleher continued. “We need to phone these quotes in for the story. It’ll be closing on the desk in about fifteen minutes. So. First person to dig a printable quote out of what Meeker just said wins a prize.”
When neither Stevie or Susan Carol laughed, Bobby studied the two of them. “Are you okay?”
They both nodded.
“Good,” he said, picking up the phone. “Because there’s no turning back now.”
Once Kelleher had phoned in the quotes from Goodell and Meeker, telling the desk where to put them in the story, they decided they were entitled to a fast trip to St. Elmo. They called Mike D’Angelo, who said he had one table left that could handle them if they came over right away. “Perfect,” Kelleher said. “We should have just enough time to eat and get back here before the story breaks. I want you both under wraps by eight.”
They all put on their coats, but before they left, Bobby put the drug-test results back into their envelope and slipped them in his pocket. “We should keep these with us at all times.”
The sun was down and the air had that pre-snow feel again when they walked outside. They decided to take a cab to save time and to stay warm. The restaurant was, of course, packed. D’Angelo looked a little tired. “It’s a great week having the whole world in town,” he said as he walked them to a booth. “But I can’t say I’ll be sad when everybody leaves.”
“You’ve probably done enough business that you can shut down for the next month,” Kelleher said.
D’Angelo smiled. “More like a year. The amount of money some people spend is mind-boggling.”
The food was delicious, but Stevie noticed that Susan Carol wasn’t eating very much.
“Nervous?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “But I’m not sure why. We know the story is right.”
“Perfectly natural,” Tamara said. “You’ve written a very, very explosive story that the people accused have to try to deny. They have to try to make you and Stevie the bad guys. Everything will be fine in the end, but they’re going to take some shots at you and you know it’s coming.”
Kelleher’s cell phone rang. He looked at the screen and then at Tamara. “It’s Wadkins,” he said.
“Whoo boy,” Tamara said as Bobby flipped open the phone.
“Who is Wadkins?” Stevie whispered.
“He’s the executive editor of the paper,” Tamara said. “He doesn’t call a reporter unless he’s unhappy about something.”
Wadkins was talking and Kelleher listening.
“Mr. Wadkins, the story couldn’t be more solid,” Kelleher finally said. “We have the test results in hand. And they were given to us by one of the team’s own doctors.”
There was a pause while Wadkins talked some more. “What would you expect him to say? That’s his MO anyway, trying to intimidate people.”
Stevie could now hear Wadkins’s voice coming through the phone. “No, sir, I’m not saying you can be intimidated. I’m saying this is what Don Meeker does.”
Wadkins talked some more. “Put it this way,” Kelleher said in response. “I’d trust them with my job and my reputation. That’s what we’re talking about, right?
He paused again. “Yes, sir, I understand. And I’m comfortable with that.”
He closed the phone. “Wyn getting cold feet after a call from Little Donny?” Tamara asked.
“The problem with Wadkins is he’s more one of them than he is one of us,” Kelleher said.
“What’s that mean?” Susan Carol asked.
“He sees himself as part of the Washington elite. He likes to run with the rich and the famous a lot more than with any of his reporters. So when Meeker calls screaming that his reporters are unfairly trying to do him in, Wadkins would be inclined to listen.”
“But he’s running the story, right?” Stevie asked.
“He’s running it, but he said if one word is wrong, he’ll expect my resignation.”
“Sounds like a wonderful guy to work for,” Susan Carol said.
“A peach,” Kelleher said. “A real Georgetown peach.”
“Don’t you mean Georgia peach?” Susan Carol said.
“No, I meant Georgetown peach: spoiled and rotten. All you need to know about the guy is that he loves sitting in Dan Snyder’s box at Redskins games.”
“I bet he won’t be sitting there much next season after this story,” Stevie said.
“I bet he’s thinking exactly the same thing,” Kelleher said. “Come on, let’s get out of here. It’s coming up on eight o’clock.”
They walked back to the hotel even though it was cold, because Tamara pointed out they probably weren’t going to get much chance to go out the next day once the story broke. When they walked into the lobby, Stevie was immediately blinded by the lights of a TV camera.
“Uh-oh,” Kelleher said. “We didn’t get back here soon enough.”
Stevie counted at least a half dozen camera crews and, from what he could see, a number of radio reporters, coming in their direction. He looked at his watch. It was 8:15. Could the news have traveled that quickly?
“Steve, Susan Carol!” he heard several voices calling.
Kelleher put his arms around both of them. “All you say is, ‘We’re going to let the story speak for itself,’ okay?” he said.
They nodded. The cameras rushed toward them.
“Are the two of you aware that Don Meeker has put out a statement categorically denying the charges in your story?” someone in the crowd said as the cameras and lights shone on them.
Stevie was still trying to put on some semblance of a poker face when he heard Susan Carol respond coolly, “What would you expect him to say? We’ll just let the story speak for itself.”
“Are you aware he says he’ll sue the paper and the two of you?” someone else asked.
Susan Carol smiled this time. “As I said before, would you expect anything different from Mr. Meeker?”
Stevie noticed his legs were shaking. Susan Carol’s voice could not have been calmer.
“So you still say that five Dreams tested pos
itive for HGH and Meeker is covering it up?” another voice said.
This time Susan Carol looked disgusted. “Why in the world would we write a story saying that if we weren’t one hundred percent sure it was true?”
Stevie heard Kelleher’s voice behind him. “Okay, guys, I think you’ve got what you need. We’re going now.”
“Who died and put you in charge, Kelleher?” someone holding an ESPN microphone said.
“No one. But I’m their editor on this and I’m responsible for them.” He smiled at the guy with the microphone, whom Stevie had seen before but didn’t recognize. “I can’t wait to see how you guys try to somehow take credit for this story.”
He and Tamara began pushing Stevie and Susan Carol in the direction of the elevators. People were still shouting questions. It reminded Stevie of something out of a movie. He heard one voice shout, “You kids better have it right!” That made him shudder.
“Why would they doubt us like that?” he said once they were safely at the elevator bank and the horde had turned away.
“Because they didn’t break the story,” Kelleher said. “Happens all the time. Be prepared. It will be like this all day tomorrow.”
Stevie took a deep breath. Judging by the last ten minutes, tomorrow was going to be a very long day.
Kelleher’s cell phone rang incessantly for the next couple of hours. He answered it a couple of times when he saw a number or a name he recognized. “The story’s right,” he kept repeating. “Read it; they’ve got it nailed.”
They were all in Mark Maske’s room, figuring that was the safest place to be for a while since no one was apt to look for them in the room of a Washington Post reporter. Bobby and Tamara agreed that Susan Carol should stay with Tamara in their room and Bobby and Stevie would stay with Mark, who had graciously offered to share his room with colleagues in need.
Stevie answered his phone twice. The first time it was his parents, saying they were being bombarded with calls from people wanting to know how to get in touch with him.
“Meet the Press called,” his dad said. “They’re ready to re-plan their whole show if you and Susan Carol will come on in the morning.”
“What’d you tell ’em?” Stevie asked.
“I told them my sense was you wanted the story to stand on its own merit.”
“Perfect. We want to lay as low as possible tomorrow.”
“That might not be easy.”
“I know.”
Susan Carol fielded a similar call from her father. And she chose not to answer a couple calls each from Tal Vincent and Mike Shupe at USTV. But she did take the call from Jamie Whitsitt.
“Susan Carol! Dude, what a story! No wonder I haven’t seen you in a while! You should lay low, though—reporters are totally staked out in the hotel lobby. And Tal’s about ready to pop a blood vessel….”
“Thanks for the warning, Jamie,” Susan Carol replied. She listened for a minute more, laughed, and then clicked off.
“What did he say?” Stevie asked.
“He said, ‘Rock on, dude!’”
Stevie’s next call was from Sean McManus. Stevie was afraid for a moment that he was going to be upset Stevie hadn’t given the story to CBS. If he was, he didn’t mention it. “We can’t ignore the story, even though I’m sure the league would like us to,” he said to Stevie. “Don Meeker is going to come on the pregame show to give his side. I’d like you and Susan Carol to come on and give yours.”
“With Meeker?” Stevie asked.
McManus laughed. “Absolutely not. For one thing, Meeker insisted on coming on alone. For another, we don’t want a riot on our hands.”
Stevie asked McManus to hang on for a moment and explained the situation to Kelleher. “That’s the one you should do,” Kelleher said. “Meeker’s going to spend all day shooting you guys down. That’s the spot to respond. Plus, you owe it to CBS. Tell Sean there’s just one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“You go on after Meeker.”
Stevie nodded. McManus agreed. “What we’ll do is read the basics of the story on the air and let Meeker respond. We’ll play you the tape of what he says and you can respond to it.”
“What time do we do this?” Stevie asked.
“Meeker is coming to our compound at three o’clock,” McManus said. “So I need you both to come at about four so we’ll have time to get you set up to tape with Jim.”
“Nantz?” Stevie said. “Doesn’t James Brown host the pregame show?”
“He does. But this is a huge story and Jim’s our number one guy. In fact, given the hard-news implications, I may bring Bob Schieffer in to do the interview. We’re still talking about it.”
“Okay,” Stevie said. “I guess we’ll see you at four.”
“Sounds good,” McManus said. Stevie thought he was about to hang up, but then he apparently had another thought. “Stevie?”
“Yes.”
“This is really a bad thing for the NFL if it’s true,” he said. “We’re partners with the NFL—I’m sure you understand that.”
“I do.”
“We’re obligated to be skeptical.”
“I understand.”
“I know you do. But I want you to know something.”
“What?”
“I hope you’ve got it right.”
Stevie nodded, even though McManus couldn’t see him nodding. “Mr. McManus?” he said, realizing he couldn’t be seen.
“Yes?”
“We’ve got it right.”
20: FUMBLING
BY ELEVEN O’CLOCK THAT NIGHT, every TV channel was reporting the story and Meeker’s denials, many of them putting excerpts from the story on their screens, while mentioning that the bylines on the story belonged to the two fourteen-year-old kid reporters who had become famous for helping break major stories at both the Final Four and the U.S. Open tennis tournament in the past year. There were quick flashes from the impromptu lobby press conference and a lot of tape of Stevie and Susan Carol on camera together back in what now felt like the long-ago days of their co-employment on USTV.
Both USTV and ESPN had on experts who shook their heads sadly and said they thought perhaps the two kids had overreached this time, that they could see no way the Dreams could have successfully covered up five separate players testing positive for HGH.
“I’ve been in a lot of locker rooms in my time,” said an ex-NFL player on USTV. “This kind of thing can’t stay secret for long. I actually feel sorry for these kids. I think they’re going to be in a lot of trouble when the truth comes out.”
Kelleher said, “These TV guys will just keep shooting the story down until they’ve got no choice but to admit that it’s right.”
Tamara had been in contact with her desk early in the evening and had written a column quoting the Herald story, saying the story was undeniably true and it was a shame that the league couldn’t stop the five players from playing.
“The bottom line,” she had written, “is, of course, the bottom line. The NFL doesn’t want to see its showcase event turned into a rout because the entire Dreams’ offensive line is suspended—even though they would have been suspended if not for the cover-up. If the Dreams win the game it will re-prove a sad truth about professional sports: frequently, crime does pay.”
When they couldn’t stand to watch the TV any longer, Bobby and Stevie walked Susan Carol and Mearns upstairs. “I just want to make sure no one’s lurking outside the door,” Bobby said when Tamara tried to insist they didn’t need an escort. “And Stevie needs to pick up his toothbrush.”
Mark Maske arrived in the room soon after Kelleher and Stevie had returned unscathed and reported that everyone in the business was trying to either find a way to confirm the story or shoot it down.
It was after midnight when they all tried to go to sleep. Stevie tossed and turned on the cot they’d had brought in, conjuring up different scenarios for the next day. Finally, exhausted, he fell asleep. He woke up to
the sound of the phone ringing. He squinted at the clock on the bedside table. It was just after eight. Maske answered the phone.
“Susan Carol,” he said, pointing the phone at Stevie. “She says she needs to talk to you right now.”
Stevie’s first thought was that her father had called to order her home right away. Undoubtedly, the Andersons had been subjected to the same kinds of calls his parents had received.
Stevie crawled out of bed and took the phone. “What’s up?” he asked.
“Plenty,” she said. “Eddie just called.”
“Whaa? Why?”
“He says Meeker pegged him as our source.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. He just said, ‘I’m dead. Gotta go—watch your backs.’ Look, Tamara and I will be down there in fifteen minutes. We’ll fill you in.”
She hung up before Stevie had a chance to object.
“What was that?” Kelleher asked, sitting up and blinking sleep from his eyes.
“Eddie Brennan called Susan Carol and it sounds bad. She and Tamara are going to be down here in fifteen minutes.”
“I’ll take a fast shower,” Kelleher said.
Mark Maske had gone to the door and picked up the local newspaper. “Late edition,” he said. “You guys are stars.”
Stevie looked at the front page and gasped. A huge banner headline proclaimed: “Super Scandal?” Underneath were photos of Meeker and all five accused linemen. Below that were photos of Stevie and Susan Carol with a caption that said “Kid reporters accuse players, owner.” The story was basically a rewrite of the Herald story, beginning with the words, “According to a story in this morning’s editions of the Washington Herald, tonight’s Super Bowl will be tainted by both a drug scandal and a cover-up.”
“Cuts right to the heart of the matter, I’d say,” Maske said, reading aloud to Stevie.
Mark left a few minutes later, saying he’d let Tamara represent the Post on this one. Stevie got dressed and read the paper while Kelleher showered. He was just pulling his shirt on when Susan Carol and Tamara arrived.
Each of them was carrying two coffees. “Figured you guys would need these,” Mearns said.
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