27
Freddy Hagerman kicked the chrome trashcan hard enough to send it spinning end over end, spewing its contents across the kitchen and into the living room of his East River apartment. He hadn’t wanted to kick the garbage can. He had wanted to kick the flat-panel TV set. But even with his newfound notoriety and big job with the New York Times, he couldn’t afford to be doing that.
Shit. Now he’d have to clean up the fucking mess.
His gaze returned to the television screen as the president continued his press conference. Freddy watched as the man worked his way through his talking points and then began taking questions. Unbelievable. After the press feeding frenzy that had engulfed the White House these three weeks, you would think the entire executive branch would be making plans for life after a failed and foreshortened presidency.
After all, Freddy’s story had nailed their collective asses to the wall, exposing the ill-conceived and illegal testing being conducted on the alien nanotechnology. Then the botched FBI raid in Los Alamos had produced the single worst day in FBI history. Although they had managed to kill several of the rogue agents, the leader of the group and his female accomplice had disappeared. Although the FBI director had been promptly sacked, the president’s already battered image had worsened, something that didn’t break Freddy’s heart, not one little bit.
Freddy shook his head. He should have known some shit like this was bound to happen. Everything had been going a little too perfect. Stepping over a trail of coffee grounds, Freddy picked up his cell phone and pressed five on his speed dial.
His boss’s high voice sounded smug. “Hello, Freddy. I guess you’ve got your TV on.”
“Yeah, Charlotte, I’m watching it.”
“Sort of throws the conclusion from your big story into question.”
“Not at all. I know bullshit when I smell it. This is a cover-up.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. The president’s people have cooked this whole thing up.”
“Good luck proving it.”
“I’ll be needing travel authorization.” Freddy ignored the editor’s annoying chuckle. “I’ll be leaving tomorrow for California. I want to take a look into that clinic in Santa Barbara. After that I’ll be heading back to Los Alamos.”
The silence from the far end of the line lingered, but Freddy waited. He knew this power trip. First one to speak loses.
Charlotte’s voice broke the tension. “Okay, Freddy. But I stuck my neck out giving you this job ahead of some damn fine reporters. If you don’t come up with something good, don’t bother coming back.”
The line went dead before he could respond. The bitch.
Stepping across the refuse trail, Freddy paused just long enough to give the garbage can one more good kick, then walked into the bedroom to pack his suitcase.