Free The Last Hostage by John J. Nance Page A

and local news, and, well, I want the job. Hire me right here, right now on the terms we discussed for the money you advertised, and the story is yours."
     
    "That's a form of blackmail, Mr. Billings. I don't appreciate--" "Please, Ms. McNair! It's not blackmail, it's called bargaining power.
     
    I didn't have it the other day. I do now. I could call the other nets and make the same offer, but I dearly want to work for CNN." "The other nets would tell you to go to hell."
     
    "I don't think you really believe that, and neither do I. I'm not selling a story, I'm selling me. Look, I'm a damn good reporter, but I haven't had the chance to prove it at network level. Have you looked at my tapes?"
     
    She sighed. "No, frankly, I've been too busy with interviews." "Okay.
     
    Hire me right now for a six-month trial. Your word will be good enough. If you really like what I do for you on this story, waive the trial period and bring me on in full. But please give me a shot." "Or you walk with this story, right?"
     
    "Ms. McNair, you're a professional broadcast journalist, too. What would you do?"
     
    Julie McNair ran it over in her mind. She'd always loved making decisions under pressure. Network broadcasting was a highwire act without a net, so what the hell. Even if she screwed up she could bury him for six months and hire someone else. "Okay, Mr. Billings, you got a deal." "Chris."
     
    "Chris. You're hired, Chris. Now can we get this story on the air before it gets stale?"
     
    "I'm your man, Ms. McNair. I'm standing by."
     
    AirBridge Airlines Dispatch Center, Colorado Springs International Airport. 11:30
     
    Within twenty minutes, the senior executives of AirBridge Airlines had come together to form a crisis management team, taken over a glassed-in conference room adjacent to the dispatch center, and summoned the chief pilot and his boss, the vice president of operations. With several of the executives milling around in animated conversations on desk phones, two others using cellular phones, and the company president huddled with the corporation's general counsel in the far corner, only the chief pilot was looking up when the director of flight control entered the room wearing an ashen expression.
     
    Judy Smith caught the eye of the tall, distinguished-looking senior pilot and moved quickly to his side.
     
    "Steve? Got a moment?"
     
    The captain looked haunted. He had been chief pilot during a hellish year of constant financial pressure and management demands to keep the airline running with a minimum number of pilots. Even if his pilots worked for free, they'd be costing too much money in the eyes of the company, or so he'd complained at every opportunity. The job was wearing him down, and cumulative fatigue was underscored by the dark bags under his eyes.
     
    "Something new, Judy?" he asked.
     
    She inclined her head toward the hallway. "Could we... talk out there?"
     
    Captain Steve Coberg satisfied himself that the others in the room were all occupied before following Judy into the hallway and around the corner out of view.
     
    "What's up?" he asked.
     
    She looked him squarely in the eye and said nothing for a few seconds.
     
    "Steve, how well do you know Ken Wolfe?"
     
    Coberg cocked his head suspiciously.
     
    "Well, he's one of my pilots, of course. What are you getting at?"
     
    "I think you already know, Steve. I think we both know there are some real concerns here. I know Ken fairly well in an over-the-counter way. I respect him, but there's no avoiding the reality that Ken Wolfe is a very stressed man, and I do not understand why."
     
    He spread both his hands in the air in a constrained gesture. "Judy, Wolfe went through hell before he hired on here. Let's just leave it at that, okay?
     
    There are things that aren't really material to this discussion that make him the way he is."
     
    "What things, Steve?"
     
    He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and snorted as he raised his hands in a gesture