Nowhere to Run (36 page)

Thanksgiving Day, November 27

“We’re missing the parade, Mommy,” whined the tiny figure in the hospital bed.

“No, we’re not. We’re watching it on TV.”

“That’s not the same,” said Thomas, pouting.

“Next year, honey. Next year. I promise.” Annabelle closed her eyes and kissed the child’s forehead, thanking God that there would be a next year. The doctors were confident Thomas was going to make a full recovery.

“Look, Thomas, there’s Clifford the Big Red Dog.” Annabelle pointed to the television set mounted on the wall of the hospital room.

The child was diverted from his disappointment as he counted the giant balloons that floated down the parade route. Yesterday’s storm had left a crystal clear morning sky in its wake, a perfect bright blue background for the vibrant balloons. Clowns ran in circles, stars waved from floats, cheerleaders cavorted, and marching bands played—it all seemed to Annabelle to be a celebration of the fact that her little boy was going to be all right.

The turtleneck she wore covered the bruises on her neck. Yelena was in police custody, and the incredulity that she had snapped so completely and inexorably was already giving way to intense speculation on who would succeed her as president of KEY News. Mental illness, a menopausal breakdown, an empty personal life, and blind ambition were all being discussed as possible reasons for Yelena’s bizarre and vicious behavior. Annabelle could imagine the frenzy at the Broadcast Center, but she couldn’t have cared less. Just as long as the police and FBI could build an airtight case against Yelena, a woman so driven and sick that murder seemed a reasonable solution to her.

Annabelle answered her cell phone, expecting her husband’s call. Tara, fretting about her brother, had awakened crying from a bad dream last night, and Annabelle and Mike had agreed that it would be best if he stayed with their daughter at home while Annabelle went to the hospital to be with Thomas.

“Mike?”

“No, Annabelle. It’s Wayne Nazareth. I just wanted to see how your son is.”

Annabelle was touched by the gesture of the young man, a twin himself. Wayne knew too well what tragedy was, how life could change in an instant, that a single event could send out ripples that affected the many lives that had to continue onward.

“Thomas is doing very well, Wayne. Thanks so much for calling.”

“Can I do anything, Annabelle? Bring you anything?” he offered.

“That’s so sweet of you, Wayne. But I think we’re all set here.”

“Okay, Annabelle. Take care of yourself…and your son.”

“I will, Wayne. I will.”

Santa Claus and his reindeer brought up the rear of the parade as the phone rang again.

“How’s it going over there?” Mike asked.

“We’re fine. Just fine.” Annabelle’s hand brushed the top of Thomas’s head. “How are you and Tara?”

“We’ve been watching the parade, thinking of you. Mrs. Nuzzo called, and she’s bringing over some turkey and stuffing later.”

“This was one way to get out of cooking a Thanksgiving dinner,” Annabelle joked feebly. “We have so much to be thankful for, don’t we, Mike?” she whispered, feeling her throat constrict. Thomas was going to pull through, and Annabelle was sure that Mike too was going to be all right.

She listened as her husband answered with the old steady confidence in his voice. “Yes, baby. We do.”

It was her idea and I thought it was an exciting one. When Laura Dail, my agent, suggested that I write something that featured a lockdown at KEY News, a situation where neither victim nor killer could escape, I pounced on the idea. Laura’s fertile idea was full of possibilities for suspense.

By the time the ten-page synopsis was delivered to my editor, Jennifer Enderlin, a little anthrax had been sprinkled into the story mix. Jen gave her palpable enthusiasm to the proposal along with excellent suggestions about the potential characters and the things that might happen to them along the way. Once Jen gave the green light, there was really nowhere to run. I had to write the book.

Enter Elizabeth Kaledin. How many people are lucky enough to have a friend who sticks with them through thick and thin and who also has a reporter’s notebook full of information on a weapon of mass destruction? Elizabeth does, as medical correspondent for
The CBS Evening News
with Dan Rather, and she willingly shared both her research and recollections with me. When I worried that I may have bitten off more than I could chew, Elizabeth reassured me and supported me, as she has so many times over the years.

Time frames, symptoms, and treatments for anthrax exposure had to be accurate. Dr. Angelo Acquista, Medical Director of the New York City Office of Emergency Management and author of
The Survival Guide: What to Do in a Biological, Chemical, or Nuclear Emergency,
helped me as well, gracious and generous with his time and expertise.

As he has done before, Stan Romaine, Director of CBS Corporate Security, came to my rescue. Stan listened to my fictional scenario and, over lunch and perhaps more phone conversations than he had counted on, offered myriad possibilities for tension and intrigue in my besieged TV news world. Thank you so much, Stan. You were very patient with me and your input added so much to the story.

I am constantly amazed at and grateful for the people who step up to the plate when asked. CBS News friends freely contributed. Terri Belli, B.J. D’Elia (another B.J., not the one in the book), Jerry Mazza, and Jim Murphy each supplied facts and color I hungered for and devoured.

Roberta Golubock, childhood friend and real estate maven, dropped everything at my call one Sunday morning and took me on a tour of Greenwich Village, pointing out some of the places that ended up in this book. Doing research with Roberta makes work fun. This wasn’t the first time Roberta has been there to guide me, and I am confident and glad it won’t be the last.

Walter Timpone, former Assistant U.S. Attorney, filled me in on the legal ramifications for the actions of one of my misguided characters. Walter immediately grasped the situation, quickly assessing the consequences and explaining them well to this unlawful mind.

At St. Martin’s Press, along with my dynamo editor, Jen Enderlin, there is a wonderful team willing and eager to help. Allow me to thank Sally Richardson, Matthew Shear, Ed Gabrielli, John Karle, and John Murphy for all they have done and continue to do. A special thanks to Anne Twomey for keeping at it until this cover was just right.

Colleen Kenny,
gracias, amiga,
for your creation of and conscientious work on our website:
www.maryjaneclark.com
. You continue to surprise and delight me, Col.

Father Paul Holmes, what can I say? You have a mind that does not quit and I am the beneficiary of it. You are a stickler for detail and help make sure that I leave no thread dangling. Until the very end, your tireless support is crucial. Thank you, thank you, Paul.

And now, the work is done. To the family and friends I have neglected, I am free to run now, anywhere we choose.