"I read it all."
"And I have a life to lead, and this is only one story."
"If what we overheard is true, this isn't just a story. It's the story. Maybe the story of the twentieth century. If Oswald or Hidell is still alive and he's trying to take out the President, that proves beyond a shadow of a doubt there was a conspiracy. And we're in the perfect position to blow it wide open. You and I could be the next Woodward and Bernstein."
Pepsie rubbed book dust off her immaculate fingers. "I heard about them. I think my news director plays golf with one of them or something."
"They're the guys who cracked Watergate wide open, which was nothing compared to this."
"Come on. Let's put this to my news director."
WHEN PEPSIE DOBBINS entered the ANC News building, no one said hello.
"Looks like they're giving you the cold shoulder," undertoned Buck.
"They're probably still upset over the assassination attempt. It would unnerve anyone. And a lot of these people actually vote."
The news director of ANC News's Washington bureau accosted Pepsie in the corridor, biting out his words between clenched teeth, saying, "In my office."
"Wait outside," Pepsie told Buck.
In the office Pepsie Dobbins said, "I have evidence of a conspiracy to assassinate the President."
"By Lee Harvey Oswald?" the news director said dryly.
"Well, his name might be Alek James Hidell. We're not sure."
"We?"
"My assassinologist and I."
"My proctologist!"
"Huh?"
"That's a nice way of saying my ass. Now, do you have any reasonable explanation before I consign you to whatever local news organization will have you?"
"You can't fire the reporter who's sitting on the biggest story of the century."
"You have nothing."
"Listen to this tape."
Pepsie produced her cassette recorder and rewound it.
A squeaky voice began speaking when she depressed the Play button.
"Smith has ignored all my entreaties to snuff out the puppet and set him on the Eagle Throne."
Pepsie's recorded voice asked, "You want the President dead?"
"It will bring stability-"
"Who's that speaking?" the ANC news director asked.
"He said his name was Chiun. I met him on the plane. He told me the President's a puppet and America is under the control of a man named Smith."
"A man you met on a plane?" the news director said.
"Yes."
"And a man named Smith controls everything?"
"Yes!"
"And I'm supposed to let you run amok with this story?"
"Look, I know I'm right about this. You can't turn away the next Steinway."
"Who?"
"The guy you play golf with." Pepsie snapped her fingers anxiously. "You know. He broke the old Whitewash story. Floodgate, or whatever they called it."
"You mean Bernstein?"
"Whatever, I'm him. The next him. Some day you could be playing golf with me. "
"No sale, Pepsie. The network president told me I could keep my job as long as you lost yours."
"I'm telling you a man named Smith is important to this story."
"Do you realize how many Smiths there are in the world?"
At that point a news writer poked his head in the door and said, "We just noticed something funny about the President when he went jogging."
"Can't it wait? I'm trying to fire somebody here."
The news writer noticed Pepsie for the first time. "Oh! Hi, Pepsie. Good luck in your next job."
"Hi," Pepsie said disconsolately.
"What is it?"
"The President was wearing a cap that said Eat Granny Smith Apples," the news writer said.
The news director pointed to Pepsie and roared, "Have you been drinking from the same water cooler as this one?"