Read Someone Else's War: A Novel of Russia and America Page 83
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Rebecca Taylor’s bureau chief finished scanning her draft. “I have to say, this is awfully shaky stuff. Are you sure you want to put your name to it?”
“Yes, Howie.”
“And who’s your friend?” he asked, pointing through the glass of his office at the small white-haired man reading everything in her cubicle.
“The guy who brought me the information.”
“The guy got a name?”
“CC Cooper. Retired Army colonel, teaches at Carlisle. He’s here for a year as a visiting professor at Voroshilov.”
“And he’s your anonymous source?”
“Actually, he’s two anonymous sources. His idea.”
“Rebecca, even by the standards of how we throw together Russian stories, this is really questionable. You’re not only using a source with no firsthand knowledge of anything, you’re splitting him into an American and a Russian.”
“At least we’ll make the FSB boys work to figure out who they are.”
“You can bet your next book deal, they’ll be working.”
“CC calls it a reconnaissance by fire. Shoot into the bushes, see what shoots back. Once this comes out, the Russians will have to respond one way or another. Publicly or privately. CC thinks it’s best if we continue to motivate them with a second piece the day after.”
“On what?”
“An op-ed under my byline. A thought piece on what it means for this woman to be here and what the Russians are doing to her.”
“If they’re doing anything.”
“This is Russia. They’re doing something.”
“They’ll deny it.”
“Around here, you learn what’s going on by means of denials.”
“Just like DC. OK, I’ll send it along. We’ll see what the homies do with it.”
“Page one, Howie. Above the fold. And major on the website.”
“Out of my hands. You know that.”
“This won’t work if it’s buried.”
“I’ll suggest it. You know, they read this, they just might call you home on psychiatric leave. Come to think of it, who don’t you just file, then get yourself to Paris or someplace for a few days? Once this hits the fan, the FSB’s really going to want to know where you got this.”
“Zakuska says he’ll protect me.”
“Zakuska?”
“The man in my cubicle. It’s a long story. Is we in or is we ain’t?”
“Huh?”
“That man out there speaks colorful. It rubs off.”
“I’ll send it in. You get packed and get out of here. You can write your op-ed on the plane.”
“No.”
“That’s not a suggestion.”
“I’m not going. If I did Chechnya for over a year, I can handle this.”
“This is different.”
“It sure is. Friends don’t let friends sit in the Lubyanka alone.”
“You could end up keeping her company. Well, OK. But let’s just hope your Pulitzer isn’t posthumous.”
“Don’t worry. Like I said, Zakuska says he’ll protect me.”
“And you believe him?”
“Yes,” Rebecca Taylor said with a small cheerful smile. “I do.”