Where Vice President Cannon had talked about business, Oliver Russell took a humanitarian approach and talked about emotions and opportunities. By the time he was through, Russell had managed to make Cannon sound like a cold-blooded politician who cared nothing about the American people.
The morning after the debate, the polls shifted, putting Oliver Russell within three points of the vice president. There was to be one more national debate.
Arthur Cannon had learned his lesson. At the final debate, he stood before the microphone and said, "Ours is a land where all people must have equal opportunities. America has been blessed with freedom, but that alone is not enough. Our people must have the freedom to work, and earn a decent living...."
He stole Oliver Russell's thunder by concentrating on all the wonderful plans he had in mind for the welfare of the people. But Peter Tager had anticipated that. When Cannon was finished, Oliver Russell stepped to the microphone.
"That was very touching. I'm sure we were all very moved by what you had to say about the plight of the unemployed, and, as you called him, the 'forgotten man.' What disturbs me is that you forgot to say how you are going to do all those wonderful things for those people." And from then on, where Vice President Cannon had dealt in emotions, Oliver Russell talked about issues and his economic plans, leaving the vice president hanging high and dry.
Oliver, Jan, and Senator Davis were having dinner at the senator's mansion in Georgetown. The senator smiled at Jan. "I've just seen the latest polls. I think you can begin redecorating the White House."
Her face lit up. "Do you really think we're going to win, Father?"
"I'm wrong about a lot of things, honey, but never about politics. That's my life's blood. In November, we're going to have a new president, and he's sitting right next to you."
Chapter 10
"Fasten your seat belts, please."
Here we go! Dana thought excitedly. She looked over at Benn Albertson and Wally Newman. Benn Albertson, Dana's producer, was a hyperkinetic bearded man in his forties. He had produced some of the top-rated news shows in television and was highly respected. Wally Newman, the cameraman, was in his early fifties. He was talented and enthusiastic, and eagerly looking forward to his new assignment.
Dana thought about the adventure that lay ahead. They would land in Paris and then fly to Zagreb, Croatia, and finally to Sarajevo.
During her last week in Washington, Dana had been briefed by Shelley McGuire, the foreign editor. "You'll need a truck in Sarajevo to transmit your stories to the satellite," McGuire told her. "We don't own one there so we'll rent a truck and buy time from the Yugoslav company that owns the satellite. If things go well, we'll get our own truck later. You'll be operating on two different levels. Some stories you'll cover live, but most of them will be taped. Benn Albertson will tell you what he wants, and you'll shoot the footage and then do a sound track in a local studio. I've given you the best producer and cameraman in the business. You shouldn't have any problem."
Dana was to remember those optimistic words later.
The day before Dana left, Matt Baker had telephoned. "Get over to my office." His voice was gruff.
"I'll be right there." Dana had hung up with a feeling of apprehension. He's changed his mind about approving my transfer and he's not going to let me go. How could he do this to me? Well, she thought determinedly, I'm going to fight him.
Ten minutes later, Dana was marching into Matt Baker's office.
"I know what you're going to say," she began, "but it won't do you any good. I'm going! I've dreamed about this since I was a little girl. I think I can do some good over there. You've got to give me a chance to try." She took a deep breath. "All right," Dana said defiantly. "What did you want to say?"
Matt Baker looked at her and said mildly, "Bon voyage."
Dana blinked. "What?"
"Bon voyage. It means 'good journey.' "
"I know what it means. I - didn't you send for me to - ?"
"I sent for you because I've spoken to a few of our foreign correspondents. They gave me some advice to pass on to you."
This gruff bear of a man had taken the time and trouble to talk to some foreign correspondents so that he could help her! "I - I don't know how to - "
"Then don't," he grunted. "You're going into a shooting war. There's no guarantee you can protect yourself a hundred percent, because bullets don't give a damn who they kill. But when you're in the middle of action, the adrenaline starts to flow. It can make you reckless, and you do stupid things you wouldn't ordinarily do. You have to control that. Always play it safe. Don't wander around the streets alone. No news story is worth your life. Another thing..."
The lecture had gone on for almost an hour. Finally, he said, "Well, that's it. Take care of yourself. If you let anything happen to you, I'm going to be damned mad."
Dana had leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
"Don't ever do that again," he snapped. He stood up. "It's going to be rough over there, Dana. If you should change your mind when you get there and want to come home, just let me know, and I'll arrange it."
"I won't change my mind," Dana said confidently.
As it turned out, she was wrong.
The flight to Paris was uneventful. They landed at Charles de Gaulle Airport and the trio took an airport minibus to Croatia Airlines. There was a three-hour delay.
At ten o'clock that night, the Croatia Airlines plane landed at Butmir Airport in Sarajevo. The passengers were herded into a security building, where their passports were checked by uniformed guards and they were waved on. As Dana moved toward the exit, a short, unpleasant-looking man in civilian clothes stepped in front of her, blocking her way. "Passport."