"I demand to speak with the hospital director," Pepsie demanded.
"Sorry."
"I demand some information."
"You know what we know."
"Is the President alive or dead?"
"Unknown."
"Is there a cover-up going on here? Is that it? Has the cover-up already begun?"
"There's no cover-up," the second trooper said, tight-upped.
"How do you know unless you know more than you're saying?"
"No fucking comment," said the first and second state troopers a beat apart. Then they sealed their lips and looked stony eyed over Pepsie Dobbins's head at nothing.
Pepsie Dobbins struggled her way to a pay phone and dialed the Washington bureau of ANC News and said, "The President has died."
"You have that confirmed this time?"
"Marine One touched down on the hospital roof and took off again before the wheels bit gravel. It's on its way to Logan Airport."
"Have you confirmation the President's body is aboard?"
"You saw the footage. No one could have survived that shot. Mass General Hospital is one of the best in the nation. If he were alive, they wouldn't dare move him."
"This is too important to put on the air without corroboration, Pepsie."
"You idiot! Do you want CNN to beat us again?"
"Do you want to look like a fool to all America again?" the news director countered.
"This morning wasn't my fault. It was that screw-up technician."
"Hold the line."
Pepsie held. She tapped her toes impatiently, counting the seconds. She wasn't going to be scooped again. Not if she had to march up to a local camera crew and seize a microphone.
The news director came back on the line. "The White House has put out a statement," he said.
"Yeah?"
"They say the President will address the nation later this afternoon."
"That's crazy! We all saw the top of his head come off."
"They're hinting he's alive."
"My God! It's a cover-up. Do you realize how big this story just got?"
"Pepsie, get a grip. Maybe they mean the Vice President. If the worst has happened, he's President now."
"What are the call letters of our local affiliate?"
"Don't you dare go over my head and air this story like that time in Baltimore."
"There's a cover-up going on. And I'm on ground zero."
"Look, we'll sort the pieces out on this end. Everybody's at the hospital, right?"
Pepsie scanned the crowd with her wide feral eyes. "Right. Of course. I see MBC. BCN. And Vox."
"Go back to the shooting scene. See what you can pick up there."
"But the story's here. "
"No, the story's on Marine One heading for Air Force One. "
"Maybe I can sneak on board ...."
"Fat chance. But if there's a cover-up brewing, that story's back at the Kennedy Library."
"You'll hear from me," said Pepsie, hanging up and sticking two fingers into her mouth. She blew a whistle shrill enough to derust the Lusitania.
Looking like a chocolate-milk carton on wheels, a brown-and-white Boston taxicab stopped briefly and whisked her away.
"Kennedy Library," she snapped, shoving her cameraman in ahead of her.
The driver stared into his rearview mirror in surprise. "Aren't you Pepsie Dobbins?"
"None other."
"Can I get your autograph? I think you're the funniest newswoman on the air."
"I'm not supposed to be funny," Pepsie snapped.
"That's why you're so funny."
"Shut up and drive," fumed Pepsie.
Chapter 6
In the hothouse control room under Sam Beasley World, Remo Williams blocked the animatronic stainless-steel hand that clutched at his throat.