Evening News

by Arthur Hailey

  ”I suspect I know what you are thinking,” Acevedo said, "You are wondering if your kidnapped friends are somewhere in that circle.”

  Partridge nodded without speaking.

  ”I do not believe so. If it were the case I think there would have been some rumor. I have heard none. But our church has a network of contacts. I will send out word and report to you if anything is learned.”

  It was the best he could hope for, Partridge realized. But time, he knew, was running out and he was no closer to knowing the whereabouts of the imprisoned Sloane trio than when he had arrived.

  The thought had depressed him while in the Archbishop's Palace. Now, in his hotel room, remembering that and the other events of the day, he had a sense of frustration and failure at his lack of progress.

  Abruptly, the bedside telephone rang.”Harry, is that you?” Partridge recognized Don Kettering's voice.

  They exchanged greetings, then Kettering said, "Some things have happened that I thought you ought to know about.”

  * * *

  Rita, also in Cesar's Hotel, answered her room phone on the second ring.

  ”I've just had a call from New York,” Partridge said. He repeated what Don Kettering had told him about discovery of the Hackensack house and the cellular phones, adding, "Don gave me a Lima number that was called. I want to find out who’s it is and where.”

  "Give it to me,” Rita said. He repeated it: 28-9427.

  ”I'll try to get that Entel guy, Victor Velasco, and start him working on it. Call you back if there's any news.”

  She did in fifteen minutes.”I managed to get Velasco at home. He says it isn't something his department handles and he may have a little trouble getting the information, but thinks he can have it by morning.”

  "Thanks,” Partridge said and, soon after, was asleep.

  9

  It was not until mid afternoon on Wednesday that the Lima telephone number relayed through Don Kettering was identified. Entel Peru's international manager was apologetic about the delay.”It is, of course, restricted data,” Victor Velasco explained to Partridge and Rita, who were in CBA's Entel editing booth where they had been working with the editor, Bob Watson, on another news spot for New York.

  ”I had trouble persuading one of my colleagues to release the information,” Velasco continued, "but eventually I succeeded.”

  "With money?” Rita asked and, when he nodded, she said, "We'll reimburse you.”

  A sheet torn from a memo pad contained the information: Calderon, G-547 Huancavelica Street, 10F

  "We need Fernandez,” Partridge said.

  ”He's on his way here,” Rita informed him, and the swarthy, energetic stringer-fixer arrived within the next few minutes. He had continued working with Partridge since his and Minh Van Canh's arrival at Lima airport and now assisted Rita in a variety of ways.

  Told about the Huancavelica Street address and why it might be important, Fernandez Pabur nodded briskly.”I know it. An old apartment building near the intersection with Avenida Tacna, and not what you would call"—he struggled for an English word—"palatial.”

  "Whatever it is,” Partridge told him, "I want to go there now.” He turned to Rita.”I'd like you, Minh and Ken to come along, but first let me go inside alone to see what I can find out.”

  "Not alone,” Fernandez objected.”You would be attacked and robbed, maybe worse. I will be with you and so will Tomas.”

  Tomas, they had discovered, was the name of the burly, taciturn bodyguard.

  The station wagon Fernandez had hired, which they now used regularly, was waiting outside the Entel building. Seven people including the driver made it crowded, but the journey took only ten minutes.”There is the place,” Fernandez said, pointing out of the window.

  Avenida Tacna was a wide, heavily traveled thoroughfare, Huancavelica Street crossing it at right angles. The district, while not as grim as the barriadas, had clearly fallen on bad days. Number 547 Huaricavelica was a large, drab building with peeling paint and chipped masonry. A group of men, some seated on ledges near the entrance, others standing idly around, watched while Partridge, Fernandez and Tomas stepped out of the station wagon, leaving Rita, Minh Van Canh and the sound man, Ken O'Hara, to wait with the driver.

  Aware of unfriendly, calculating expressions among the onlookers, Partridge was glad of Fernandez's insistence that he not go inside alone.

  Within the building an odor of urine and general decay assaulted them. Garbage was strewn on the floor. Predictably, the elevator wasn't working so the men had no choice but to climb nine flights of grimy cement stairs.

  Apartment F was at the end of an uncarpeted, gloomy corridor. At the plain slab door Partridge knocked. He could hear movement inside but no one came to the door and he knocked again. This time the door opened two or three inches only, halted by an inside chain. Simultaneously a woman's high pitched voice let loose a tirade in Spanish—her speech too fast for Partridge to follow, though he caught the words, ".animales! . . . asesinos! . . . diablos!”

  He felt a hand touch his arm as Fernandez's heavyset figure moved forward. With his mouth close to the opening, Fernandez spoke equally fast, but in reasonable, soothing tones. As he continued, the voice from inside faltered and stopped, then the chain was released and the door opened.

  The woman standing before them was probably around age sixty. Long ago she might have been beautiful, but time and hard living had made her blowsy and coarse, her skin blotchy, her hair a mixture of colors and unkempt. Beneath plucked, penciled eyebrows her eyes were red and swollen from crying and her heavy makeup was a mess. Fernandez walked in past her and the others followed. After a moment she closed the door, apparently reassured.

  Partridge glanced around quickly. The room they had entered was small and simply furnished with some wooden chairs, a sofa with worn upholstery, a plain, cluttered table and a bookcase roughly fashioned out of bricks and planks. Surprisingly, the bookcase was full, mainly with heavy volumes.

  Fernandez turned to Partridge.”It seems that just a few hours ago the man she lived with here was killed—murdered. She was out and came back to find him dead; the police have taken the body. She thought we were the people who killed him, come back to finish her too. I convinced her we are friends.” He spoke to the woman again and her eyes moved to Partridge.

  Partridge assured her, "We are truly sorry to hear of your friend's death. Have you any idea who killed him?”

  The woman shook her head and murmured something. Fernandez said, "She speaks very little English,” and translated for her.”Lo sentimos mucho la muerte de su amigo. Sabe Ud. quien lo maffo?”

  The woman nodded energetically, mouthing a stream of words ending with "Sendero Luminoso.”

  It confirmed what Partridge had feared. The person they had hoped to see—whoever he was—had connections to Sendero, but was now beyond reach. The question remained: Did this woman know anything about the kidnap victims? It seemed unlikely.

  She spoke again in Spanish, less rapidly, and this time Partridge understood.”Yes,” he said to Fernandez, "we would like to sit down, and tell her I would be grateful if she will answer some questions.”

  Fernandez repeated the request and the woman replied, after which he translated.”She says yes, if she can. I have told her who you are and, by the way, her name is Dolores. She also asks if you would like a drink.”

  "No, gracias, “Partridge said, at which Dolores nodded and went to a shelf, clearly intending to get a drink for herself But when she lifted a gin bottle she saw that it was empty. She seemed about to cry again, then murmured something before sitting down.

  Fernandez reported, "She says she doesn't know how she will live. She has no money.”

  Partridge said directly to Dolores, "Le dare dinero si Ud. tiene la informacion que estoy buscando.”

  The mention of money produced another fast exchange between Dolores and Fernandez who reported, "She says ask your questions.”

  Partridge
decided not to rely on his own limited Spanish and continued with Fernandez translating. Questions and answers went back and forth.

  ”Your man friend who was killed—what kind of work did he do?”

  "He was a doctor. A special doctor.”

  "You mean a specialist?”

  "He put people to sleep.”

  "An anesthesiologist?”

  Dolores shook her head, not understanding. Then she went to a cupboard, groped inside and produced a small, battered suitcase. Opening the case, she removed a file containing papers and leafed through them. Selecting two, she passed them to Partridge. He saw they were medical diplomas.

  The first declared that Hartley Harold Gossage, a graduate of Boston University Medical School, was entitled to practice medicine. The second diploma certified that the same Hartley Harold Gossage was "a properly qualified specialist in Anesthesiology.”

  With a gesture, Partridge asked if he could look at the other papers. Dolores nodded her approval.

  Several documents appeared to concern routine medical matters and were of no interest. The third he picked up was a letter on stationery of the Massachusetts Board of Registration in Medicine. Addressed to "H. H. Gossage, M.D.,” it began, "You are hereby notified that your license to practice medicine has been revoked for life . . .”

  Partridge put the letter down. A picture was becoming clearer. The man who had lived here, reported to have just been murdered, was presumably Gossage, a disgraced, disbarred American anesthesiologist who had some connection with Sendero Luminoso. As to that connection, Partridge reasoned, the kidnap victims had been spirited out of the United States, presumably drugged or otherwise sedated at the time. In fact when he thought about it, yesterday's discoveries at the Hackensack house, described by Don Kettering, confirmed that. It seemed likely, therefore, that the former doctor, Gossage, had done the sedating. Partridge's face tightened. He wished he had been able to confront the man while he was alive.

  The others were watching him. With Fernandez's help he resumed the questioning of Dolores.

  ”You told us Sendero Luminoso murdered your doctor friend. Why do you believe that?”

  "Because he worked for those bastardos.”A pause, then a recollection.”Sendero had a name for him—Baudelio.”

  "How did you know this?”

  "He told me.”

  "Did he tell you other things he did for Sendero?”

  "Some.” A wan smile which quickly disappeared.”When we got drunk together.”

  "Did you know about a kidnapping? It was in all the newspapers.”

  Dolores shook her head.”I do not read newspapers. All they print is lies.”

  "Was Baudelio away from Lima recently?”

  A vigorous series of nods.”For a long time. I missed him.” A pause, then, "He phoned me from America.”

  "Yes, we know.” Everything was fitting together, Partridge thought. Baudelio had to have been on the kidnap scene. He asked through Fernandez, "When did he come back here?”

  Dolores considered before answering.”A week ago. He was glad to be back. He was also afraid he would be killed.”

  "Did he say why?”

  Dolores considered.”I think he overheard something. About him knowing too much.” She began to cry.”We had been together a long time. What shall I do?”

  There was one important question left. Partridge deliberately hadn't asked it yet and was almost afraid to.”After Baudelio was in America and before returning here, was he somewhere in Peru?”

  Dolores nodded affirmatively.

  ”Did he tell you where that was?”

  "Yes. Nueva Esperanza.”

  Partridge could scarcely believe what so suddenly and unexpectedly had come his way. His hands were shaking as he turned back pages in his notebook—to the interview with Cesar Acevedo and the list of places where Sendero Luminoso had ordered the Catholic medical teams to stay out. A name leapt out at him: Nueva Esperanza.

  He had it! He knew at last where Jessica, Nicky and Angus Sloane were being held.

  * * *

  He was still first and foremost a TV news correspondent, Partridge reminded himself as he discussed with Rita, Minh and O'Hara the video shots they needed—of Dolores, the apartment, and the building's exterior. They were all in the tenth-floor apartment, Tomis having been sent down to bring the other three from the station wagon.

  Partridge wanted close-ups too of the medical diplomas and the Massachusetts letter consigning Gossage-cum-Baudelio to the medical profession's garbage heap. The American ex-doctor might have gone to his grave, but Partridge would make sure the vileness he had done the Sloane family was forever on record. However, even though Baudelio's apparent role in the kidnapping was important to the full news story, Partridge knew that releasing it now would be a mistake, leading others to the information that his CBA group possessed exclusively. But he wanted the Baudelio segment pre-packaged, ready for use at a moment's notice when the proper time came.

  Dolores was videotaped in close-up, the sound recording of her voice in Spanish later to be faded out and a translation dubbed in. At the conclusion of her taping Fernandez told Partridge, "She is reminding you that you promised her money.”

  Partridge conferred with Rita who produced a thousand dollars in U.S. fifty-dollar bills. In the circumstances the payment was generous, but Dolores had provided an important break; also Partridge and Rita felt sorry for her and believed her statement that she knew nothing of the kidnap, despite her association with Baudelio.

  Rita instructed Fernandez, "Please explain it is against CBA policy to pay for a news appearance; therefore the money is for the use of her apartment and the information she gave us.” It was a semantic distinction, often used by networks to do exactly what they said they didn't, but New York liked producers to go through the motions.

  Judging by Dolores's gratitude, she neither understood nor cared about the explanation. Partridge was sure that as soon as they had gone the empty gin bottle would be quickly replaced.

  Now his mind was free to move on to essentials—planning a rescue expedition to Nueva Esperanza as quickly as he could. At the thought of it his excitement rose, the old addiction to danger, guns and battle stirring within him.

  10

  Crawford Sloane's instinct during every day of waiting was to telephone Harry Partridge in Peru and ask, "Is there anything new?” But he restrained himself, knowing that any breaking news would come to him speedily enough. Also, he realized, it was important to leave Partridge un-distracted and free to work in his own way. Sloane still had more faith in Partridge than anyone else who might have been sent on the Peru assignment.

  Another reason for holding back was that Harry Partridge had proved to be considerate, calling Sloane at home in Larchmont during some evenings or early mornings to fill him in on progress and background.

  It had been several days, though, since the last call from Peru and while disappointed at not hearing, Crawford Sloane assumed there was nothing to report.

  He was wrong.

  What Sloane did not and could not know was that Partridge had decided all communication between Lima and New York—telephone, satellite or written—was no longer secure. After the interview with General Ortiz, during which the chief of anti-terrorism police made plain that Partridge's movements were being watched, it seemed possible that telephones were tapped and perhaps even mail examined. Satellite transmissions could be viewed by anyone with the right equipment, and using a different phone line than usual carried no guarantee of privacy.

  Another reason for caution was that Lima was now crowded with journalists, including TV crews from other networks, all competing in covering the Sloane kidnap story and searching for new leads. So far, Partridge had managed to avoid the media crowd, but because of CBA's successful coverage already, he knew there was interest in where he went and whom he saw.

  For all those reasons Partridge decided not to discuss, especially by telephone, his visit to the Huancavelica
Street apartment and what he had learned. He ordered the others in the CBA crew to observe the same rule, also cautioning them that the expedition they were planning to Nueva Esperanza must be veiled in total secrecy. Even CBA in New York would have to wait for word of that.

  Therefore, on Thursday morning in New York, knowing nothing of the breakthrough in Lima the day before, Crawford Sloane went to CBA News headquarters, arriving slightly later than usual at 10:55.

  A young FBI agent named Ivan Ungar, who had slept at the Larchmont house the night before, accompanied him. The FBI was stifl guarding against a possible attempt to kidnap Sloane and there were also rumors that anchor people at other networks were being protected too. However, since the original kidnappers had been heard from, the twenty-four-hour listening watch on Crawford Sloane's home and office phones had been discontinued.

  FBI Special Agent Otis Havelock was still involved with the case, and after Tuesday's discovery of the kidnappers' Hackensack headquarters had taken charge of FBI search efforts there. Another subject of FBI scrutiny, Sloane had learned, was Teterboro Airport because of its closeness to the Hackensack locale. An examination of outgoing flight records was being made, covering the period from immediately after the kidnap until the day it was known that the kidnap victims were in Peru. But progress was slow because of the large number of flight departures during those thirteen days.

  At CBA News, as Sloane entered the main-floor lobby, a uniformed security guard gave a casual salute, but there was no sign of a New York City policeman, as there had been for more than a week after the kidnap. Today the usual stream of people was moving in and out of the building and although those entering were cleared at a reception desk, Sloane wondered if CBA security had slipped back into its old, easygoing ways.

  From the lobby, accompanied by agent Ungar, he took an elevator to the fourth floor, then walked to his office adjoining the Horseshoe where several people looked up from their work to greet him. Sloane left the door of his office open. Ungar seated himself on a chair outside.