Carolyn Bechter couldn’t believe her good luck. The old mojo was back. While covering the murder trial of the terrorist, she’d casually asked Zehra Henning for an on-camera interview. To Carolyn’s surprise, she’d agreed.
Carolyn would film a killer interview that, combined with what facts she was already gathering, would kick ass all over the country.
She shook out her hair and straightened her back. It was almost too good to be true. Only an old pro like her could handle the whole story. Carolyn thought of Schmidt. She’d kick his ass but good.
They met in the late afternoon in the common room of Henning’s condo building. Luckily, Carolyn had been able to snag Ray for the camera work. The interview had started well, although nothing new was coming up. Henning was dressed casually and had beautiful eyes. She was photogenic in an ethnic way, smart, and Carolyn could sense a toughness underneath. A passionate young woman. Carolyn was confident Ray could pick up all of this on film.
She also sensed fear underneath Henning’s façade. Years of interviewing people had given Carolyn the skill to read people perfectly.
As for herself, Carolyn was in Oscar-like form. She fluffed her hair more than usual and wore an off-white linen jacket with a teal blouse that opened down the front as far as she could risk without causing Reggie to pull the piece. Carolyn was particularly good at pausing mid-sentence to keep the audience’s attention until the end of the question.
As they worked, Carolyn knew parts of the interview would have to be cut. The long statements Henning made about how most Muslims weren’t terrorists and were not opposed to Christians wouldn’t sell to Channel Six’s demographics. Ray got some nice close-ups of Henning’s face when she was most passionate about those beliefs. Instead, they’d splice those shots with her words about the rights of all accused people to have a fair trial. This is fucking America, after all, Carolyn thought. A little of the flag-waving would sell better.
Because of her own suspicions, Carolyn pushed Henning hard about what else was really going on behind this murder. Henning acted like she didn’t know.
In twenty minutes, the interview was over. Henning said she’d forgotten her car in the public lot, so she walked out with everyone else. They all moved into the parking lot. Henning told them she was driving to her office. Carolyn watched her get into the car. Ray started to pack the camera and tripods into the Channel Six TV van. Henning tried to start the old wreck of a car. The engine just clicked.
Ray noticed too, set the camera down, and went over to help her. He opened the hood and ducked his head down, poked around, and came back up without an answer. Then he stretched out on the ground to slither underneath the car. Come on, Ray, Carolyn thought. Reggie’ll have my butt with all the time and money we’re wasting.
Ray shot out from under the car. His black skin was bleached white with fear. “Bomb!” He screamed again and again.
They all turned to run when the clicking sound got louder until a flat whump behind them and a blast of scalding wind knocked them all to the ground. Carolyn sprawled across the grass, pissed that it probably stained her linen jacket. As she twisted around, she saw the front end of the car explode into an orange ball with black edges of smoke. Her head felt like it was squeezed by a pair of large, hot hands.
Ray, always the professional, was rolling toward his camera, still on the ground by the van. He hefted it onto his shoulder and kneeled on one leg. He shot footage of the flames from several angles as dead leaves fluttered down around all of them. Black, stinky smoke billowed into the sky.
Carolyn’s ears rang, and she couldn’t hear much. People started to gather, gawking. She struggled to stand. She checked her jacket and smoothed the front, knowing she’d have to go back on camera soon. Actually, it would be great—a smudged jacket, a little smoke on her face, and her hair tousled in a sexy way. Carolyn Bechter—survives a bombing to be the first to report it. She steadied Ray and pointed to the shots she wanted. Great stuff. Shocked people. Scared. Now there were sirens wailing—perfect audio.
Carolyn remembered to get Henning’s face also. Ray swung the camera on his shoulder to find her. The confident, controlled woman of ten minutes before was gone. Zehra stood, leaning against a tree next to where the car had been a minute earlier, motionless, her face black with smoke. Shocked. She started to shake. How had she made it out of the car without getting blown up?
“The eyes, Ray,” Carolyn screamed at him over the noise surrounding them. “Get the eyes.” She pushed Ray in for a closer shot. Yes—the perfect expression for the ten o’clock news.