“I’ll think about it,” Cole conceded.
Hanna knew that “I’ll think about it” meant: the patented Cole Sage way of politely saying no.
“I’ll even help you set up your page,” she said. “I think you’ll love the site if you’ll just give it a chance.”
Cole knew he was beat’ “OK, but can we keep it simple?”
“You’re the boss!” Hanna replied victoriously.
“You’d never know it,” Cole grumbled, still unconvinced.
It only took a few minutes to have Cole up and running on Facebook. Hanna “friended” him then he sent a “friend” request to Erin and Kelly. Hanna took a picture of Cole sitting at his desk and used it for his profile. She typed and he answered the profile questions. Per his request, she kept the information to a minimum, and blocked anyone from posting anything to his page. The search feature intrigued Cole, and Hanna showed him how to locate old friends. Together they sent several “friend” requests, and to Cole’s amazement, almost instantly got back three accepted requests.
“Anyone else?” Hanna asked.
“There are a bunch people I’ve lost track of over the years that might be nice to hook up with.” Cole was starting to get the bug.
Within ten minutes, he found an old colleague from the Wall Street Journal, a high school classmate, and three or four other people he always wondered about. To his delight, he found Olajean Baker and sent her a “friend” request. Maybe I will enjoy this, Cole admitted to himself.
“Welcome to the twenty-first century, Mr. Sage!” Hanna proclaimed, as she triumphantly returned to her desk.
A message popped up on Cole’s screen:
Roland Thompson used your phone number to reach you.
Soldier at U.S. Army
Lives in Aleppo, Syria
11:01AM
“That was fast,” Cole said softly at the monitor.
RT: Hello
Cole stared at the pop-up window of the “private message.” Now what do I do? he thought. Frantically looking over the pop-up menu, he saw the pale gray text “Type a message…” in the box at the bottom of the message window.
CS: Greetings.
Cole leaned toward the monitor.
RT: Hi how are you
“I guess we don’t use punctuation,” Cole mumbled.
CS: Well, thanks.
RT: And I’m Roland, and you?
RT: And tell me more about yourself
CS: I’m a journalist. Live in the USA. And you?
RT: I’m a US military man and I’m in Jordan on a peace keeping mission
That’s cool, Cole thought, my first new friend. Before he could respond another message popped up.
RT: And are you male or female?
CS: Who’s that working out?
“Oh, crap,” Cole muttered. Typo.”
CS: How’s
CS: Sorry
“Note to self, don’t hit the return key.” Cole was now speaking out loud.
“Did you need something?” Hanna called from her desk.
“No, just stumbling through a message,” Cole replied.
“You’ll get the hang of it,” Hanna said.
RT: Why sorry
CS: Misspelled How’s
There was something not quite right about this conversation. For an American, this guy’s grammar was really weird. Cole was starting to see red and yellow flags going off in his head.
CS: How is it that you are writing me if you don’t know who or what I am?
RT: I’m looking for a good friend who i can trust
RT: And be a good friend to
RT: And tell me are you single?
RT: And how old are you?
CS: I make a poor friend…sorry.
RT: Why did you say that?
RT: I will make you rich okay
RT: Tell me more about yourself and your family
CS: No thanks. Goodbye
RT: Why good-bye?
Cole put the cursor on the X in the top corner of the monitor and clicked the mouse. Facebook was gone. How did that guy choose me? Cole wondered.
The idea of a fun place of reunions and catching up with old friends was replaced with uneasiness, of being spied on. Someone, somewhere picked Cole to run a scam on. It wasn’t the Nigerian Prince of the spam e-mail. This was a living, breathing person, sitting at a computer who knows where, just pretending to befriend him. Hey, little boy would you like some ice cream? Just get in my car, Cole thought. There was something so perverse about the experience that made Cole shudder.
“That was weird,” Cole muttered.
“Line one. Kelly,” Hanna called.
“Finally, a ray of sunshine!” Cole said brightly into the phone.
“Maybe not.” Kelly’s mood was obviously low and her voice near trembling.
“What’s going on?”
“That’s what I would like to know. I am so freaked out. I just want an end to this. I don’t understand why they are doing this to me.” Kelly’s voice was a mix of anger and panic.
“Who? What? Slow down, sweetie. Now slowly, what’s the trouble?”
“I was just sent a picture. It’s me! It’s me naked in the shower at the gym. What am I going to do? Who did this?”
Cole could hear Kelly sobbing.
“Who sent it?”
“The return says anonymous.”
Cole’s mind flashed back to Chicago and the day Tom Harris brought an intercepted envelope of kiddie porn to his office that was found shoved into his mailbox. The revulsion of the material combined with the detective’s suggestion that Cole could be on some pervert’s mailing list terrified him. Terry Kosciuszko, the twisted sadist, who held Cole captive for over a month in his cellar, planted the horrific pictures to discredit, humiliate, and terrorize Cole.
The propensity of evil being to shatter the lives of innocents never left Cole. A photo, in the days of Facebook, Twitter, and Snapchat could destroy the reputation and privacy of the unsuspecting, right along with the foolish. Cole’s first thought was to get Randy Callen to identify the sender, then call Leonard Chin.
“We need to identify the sender,” Cole said. “My research guy, Randy, could hack the President. He can find who did this. I’ll see if he can delete it. Then we’ll call Leonard Chin.”
“I’m not showing this picture to anyone!” Kelly said.
“Kelly, it is a crime. You need to report it.”
“No.”
“You want another one? You want this on the Internet? I understand your embarrassment. The only one who will see it is Randy. I won’t, Chin won’t. Randy will give the, whaddaya call it, IP address to Chin. He’ll know what to do. This must be done for your own safety and peace of mind. Please don’t argue. There’s no room for discussion.” Cole was afraid he was coming on too strong. “I love you Kell, please, let the authorities do their job.”
“Alright, but please don’t look at the picture. I would be mortified.”
“I bet it’s lovely,” Cole said gently.
“Please don’t say that.”
“We’ll talk later.” After giving Kelly the personal email address of Randy Callen, they hung up.
Cole quickly dialed Randy’s extension.
“Research.”
“It’s Cole. Don’t talk, listen. There is an e-mail coming to you, a picture. I need you to promise to not forward it, post it, or whatever you guys do. Do I have your word?”
“Of course. What is the picture?” Randy asked.
“A friend of mine. It was taken while she was showering at her gym. I need you to find who sent it, track it, destroy any postings if they exist, then send me the address of the sender. Can you do that?” Cole pressed.
“Of course I can do it. It is illegal as hell. Are you good with that?” Randy was surprised at the force of Cole’s request, and anger in his voice. The sense of urgency was something new, even the touchiest of inquiries were normally tip-toed around by Cole.
�
��I don’t care. I want whoever did this burned at the stake. Infect their computer, erase their hard drive, make their life a living hell.”
“Who is the picture of?”
“Don’t ask…now or ever. You got me? When you’re done destroy the picture. Do I have your word?”
“Have I ever let you down?” Randy pushed back.
“Do I have your word?”
“Of course. You wouldn’t ask if this wasn’t something beyond important. I swear.”
Randy’s phone vibrated on the desk. It’s here. Cole, have you seen the photo?”
“No. How bad is it?”
“If it were me, I wouldn’t give it a thought. It is the back side of a tall, thin woman. No face, just a nice figure and wet hair. You still want the nuclear treatment?”
“Yes. People can’t do this kind of thing and get away with it.”
“What will you do with the address? When I’m done there will be nothing left.”
“Nothing? This is just between us.”
“Tell Kelly not to worry. I got this,” Randy said reassuringly.
“How did you…?”
“You two are useless at being sneaky. The sender’s name and address are on her e-mail.”
Cole took a deep breath. “I guess we are. Later.”
“I’ll let you know what I find out.”
The phone rang almost immediately. After the third ring, Cole looked out at Hanna’s desk. Empty.
He picked up the phone. “Cole Sage.”
“Mr. Sage, my name is Jim Tamarance, I am the chair of the Journalism Department at Stanford. Do you have a minute to chat?”
“Sure. What can I do for you?” Cole said fumbling for a pen and notepad.
“Media is changing, Mr. Sage.”
“Don’t I know it? Please, call me Cole.”
“Thank you. You and I have seen a monumental shift in the way that Journalism is approached and, quite frankly, the shift disturbs me. Our program here focuses on multimedia, data-intensive, entrepreneurial, influenced by design thinking.” Tamarance paused for effect. It got just the one he wanted.
“In English, please,” Cole said, not hiding his aversion to academic speak.
“No need, since it is to my point. You are one of America’s greatest journalists, in the old-school tradition of beat the bushes, find the story, ruffle a few feathers along the way, and print the truth. More than that, you are a great writer. We are losing the journalism battle to Internet research—slanted, phone it in, or rather, e-mail it in, unsophisticated writing. Not to mention that our students, some of them, really have a spark for words, phrases, and the beauty of language.”
“You sound like an English professor.” Cole responded. “I appreciate the kind words but…” Cole’s words drifted off.
“Let me get to the point,” Tamarance jumped in. “First congratulations on your Ph.D.”
“What?” It was Cole’s turn to butt in.
“No need to be coy, Cole. Academia is a small place, really. I have a friend who has a friend that you know. My old roommate is at the University of Chicago, and he told me about you getting the honorary degree. I think it’s brilliant. Anyway, before it really gets into the wind, we wanted to make you an offer. I know it’s early, but there are rumblings already.”
“I’m not sure I…” Cole stammered.
“I understand you’ll want to explore your options, but, hear me out. You are a West Coast guy, born and bred, working in the east doesn’t make you Ivy League any more than sleeping in the garage makes you a car. You know what I mean?
We want you on our team. According to what we pulled together, your son-in-law is at UCSF Medical, and you have a lovely daughter and granddaughter that are in the Bay Area. Being a grandfather myself, I know I wouldn’t dream of leaving them. Oh, and I understand that congratulations are in order, with number two on the way? So you see, we’re the home team.” Tamarance chuckled at is remark.
“Look, mister, uh, Jim, I am a bit surprised at all this.”
“I appreciate that and I knew it was a gamble but I wanted to be ahead of the curve. We need a strong writing element here that we are currently lacking, Peter Chase is retiring in a few weeks, and we think his spot is perfect for you. As far as money goes, I know our offer more than doubles what you are currently earning, not that money is everything. I realize that there is “the love of the game.” We offer a place for you to share your vast knowledge with the next generation of journalists, and instill a love of writing, truth, and the high ethical standard we need to instill.”
“Can I be frank, Jim?” Cole gave a nervous chuckle, at the sound of the request.
Tamarance got the pun and replied, “You can be anyone you like.”
The laughter the men shared momentarily relieved the tension both felt. Cole was literally dizzy at the news this unexpected call brought. Stanford? Ph.D.? U of Chicago? Thoughts were jumping synapses and making their own blurring connections.
“I am flattered, and very honored, that my work over the years has garnered this kind of attention. To be truthful, I’m really kind of thrown off balance by your offer.”
“Please don’t feel any pressure. I, we, want you to be comfortable with your decision. I kind of came on a little strong. It’s just the idea really is an exciting one for us.”
Cole looked down at the name he scribbled on the notepad in front of him, “I tell you what, Mr. Tamarance, you have my word I will not make any decision lightly and not without conferring with you and your colleagues. Is that fair?”
“It is all I could wish for. We would like to meet with you as soon as we can for an informal gathering to introduce you to our staff and let you see if we are a good fit. May I call your secretary later to make the arrangements?”
“That would be fine. Let me ask you something.” Cole cleared his throat and took a long moment to gather his thoughts. “If I decided to join you, would there be, that is, could I bring my secretary, and key researcher with me?”
“Secretary without a doubt. Researcher is the magic word around here. I can almost guarantee it. But, let’s save that for next time.”
“Well, this has be most enlightening. I look forward to our getting together,” Cole offered.
“As do I. Until then…” With that Tamarance was gone.
Cole put his hands on top of his head and leaned back. He was having a hard time breathing. Did that guy just offer me a job at Stanford? Cole played out a hoax scenario in his head. He didn’t know the voice. Who would do such a thing? It’s just too random to be a joke.
“I’m back! Had to run to the Ladies Room.”
Cole was too deep in thought to respond for a moment and then: “Did I miss any calls?”
Hanna approached Cole’s door. “Are you OK?”
Cole sat up and looked at her. “Why?”
“I don’t know, you look kind of funny.”
“Clown funny?” Cole tried to shake off his shock.
“You’re fine.” Hanna rolled her eyes. “You just look pale.”
“I’ve had a bit of a surprise and I’m still trying to process it.”
“I’ll leave you to it then.” Hanna smiled. “You’re sure you’re OK?”
“Never better. Truly, never better.” Cole reassuringly returned her smile.
For more than an hour after the call, Cole daydreamed, doodled, and thought about what it would be like to teach the thing he loved most. Oddly, the thought never entered his mind before. Over the years when he got really fed up, with a boss, or the assignments he was given, and especially during the dark years before Ellie came back into his life, he sometimes plotted running away and becoming a beach bum or hermit. Even then, writing was always the heart of the plan.
He rehearsed in his head how to break the news to Kelly. He thought about taking her to the reception at Stanford and making it a surprise. Bad idea was his almost immediate second thought. Call her and tell her? Not after her day today. He wanted a
nd needed to tell someone. It couldn’t be Hanna, although she would be the most convenient, then he’d have to explain why she got to know first. Ugh, women.
He dropped the whole line of thought and shifted to Chicago. When were they going to tell him? How did Tamarance’s friend know? Was he on the selection committee? It was several month’s to graduation. He would worry about it then, he thought.
“Hey, Hanna! Come here for a minute.”
“What’s up?”
“I’ve never been to your place. Do you like it?”
“It’s OK. What is going on? You are being just plain weird.”
“I wasn’t fishing for an invitation. I just wondered if you liked living where you live.”
“Are you considering buying an apartment building?” Hanna quizzed.
“What, with my good looks?”
“You’re right, it would have to be really little. Seriously, why do you ask?”
“I got some really incredible news earlier. I can’t tell you because, if I told you before Kelly or Erin, I’d get killed. But it might involve you, if you’re interested.”
“Are we moving to Hawaii?”
“No.”
“Well, then it depends.”
“Full circle: Do you like where you live?” Cole asked again.
“Not especially. It is nice for what I can afford.”
“Thank you. So, if the right set of circumstances occurred you would not be opposed to relocating?”
“No. You want to stop playing games and tell me what’s on your mind?
“I can’t. But, if there is an opportunity coming up…”
“I’m in.” Hanna interrupted.
“Awesome, I think you’ll like Bakersfield.” Cole laughed at his joke. “Relax, when the time comes I’ll tell you. There is no sense getting excited about something that might not happen. I just wanted to know how settled you were.”
“What about Lindsey?”
“She’s the big X in the equation.”
“Where is that bus?” A thin black woman wiggled on the bench and resettled her purse and shopping bag. She turned and looked up at the bus schedule with a scowl. “Ten minutes late. I ain’t got all day ta be sittin’ on this damn bench.”
Heart of Cole Page 9
