Remember. Barbara Taylor Bradford
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pens, reading glasses, sun glasses and a packet of gauze surgical masks to protect against tear gas.
As long as she had the bag with her Nicky knew she could survive anywhere in the world without any other luggage and, just as importantly, do her job efficiently and effectively. But she did not need the bag with her tonight, only a few of its contents. These she now took out and locked the carryall. Her passport and press credentials, the cellular phone, reading glasses, notebook and pens, gauze masks, some of the US dollars and local yuan were the essential items, and she popped them into a much smaller shoulder bag made of brown leather.
Slinging the small bag over her shoulder, she pocketed the door key, picked up the carryall and returned it to the closet. She then left the suite, glancing at her watch as she did. It was just ten twenty.
Despite her sense of urgency, and her need to be outside in the square, Nicky nevertheless headed for the ATN suite a few doors away from her own, just in case Arch Leverson had returned to call New York. The time difference between China and the United States was exactly thirteen hours: it was nine twenty on Friday morning back home. This was about the time Arch generally checked in with Larry Anderson, the President of News at the ATN network.
The suite served as a makeshift newsroom-office for them, and when she got there it was her cameraman’s voice she heard faintly echoing at the other side of the door. She knocked lightly.
A second later the door was wrenched open and Jimmy flashed her a huge grin when he saw it was she. ‘Hi, honey,’ he exclaimed, then walked back towards the desk, adding over his shoulder, ‘I won’t be a minute … just finishing a call to the States.’
Closing the door behind her, Nicky followed him into the room, placed her bag on a chair, and stood with her hand on the chair back, waiting.
At fifty-two Jimmy Trainer was in his prime. He was of medium height, slim and spry, with greying dark hair, rosy cheeks in a merry face, and a twinkle in his pale-blue eyes. An ace cameraman who had won an endless number of awards, he loved his work and being part of Nick’s team; his job was his life, even though he had a wonderful wife, a happy marriage and two children. And, like Luke and Arch, he was totally devoted to Nicky Wells. To Jimmy she was a dream to work with, and he would have put his life on the line for her.
Jimmy picked up the phone, resumed his conversation, talking in a low, fast tone, bringing the call to his wife to an end. ‘Nicky just came in, Jo honey. I gotta go. Duty calls.’ After listening a moment or two longer, he finally said an affectionate goodbye to her and broke the connection. Turning to Nicky, he remarked, ‘This is the best damned phone system. Got to hand it to the Chinese, they certainly installed the most up-to-date equipment. Joanna sounded as if she was in the next room, instead of on Eighty-Third and Park, and she -’
‘It’s French,’ Nicky interrupted. ‘The phone system, I mean.’
‘Yep, I guess I knew that. Jo sends her love.’
Nicky smiled at him. ‘How is she?’
‘Sounds fine. But she’s watching the news on television, listening to the same news on the radio and worrying about the four of us. She seems to be handling it well, though, as she usually does.’ His brow furrowed. ‘But hey, kiddo, you’re supposed to be grabbing a few hours’ shut-eye, not hovering around here obviously anxious to start planning tonight’s newscast.’
‘I know, I know, but I couldn’t sleep. I have a premonition something … no, everything, is going to blow tonight. My gut instinct tells me there’s going to be a crackdown. Probably around midnight, or thereabouts.’
Catching the tension in her voice, noting her worried expression and the seriousness of her words, Jimmy looked at her alertly. After five and a half years of working with her in the trouble spots of the world, he trusted her intuition implicitly. Her judgement had rarely been flawed.
‘If you say so, Nick, and you know I’m with you all the way. But look, I gotta tell you this, it is pretty quiet out there. At least it was twenty minutes ago.’
Nicky focused her eyes on him, the look in them quizzical. ‘Nothing’s happening in the square?’
‘Not really. The kids in the tent encampment were starting to come out of their tents, mingling with each other and chatting, sort of sharing experiences, I suppose, as they appear to do every night.’ For a moment he was thoughtful, before he went on, ‘To tell you the truth, I was reminded of Woodstock tonight, without the drugs, of course. Or, if you prefer, one of those summer street festivals we have in New York. Everything was very relaxed, friendly, easygoing I’d say.’
‘It won’t be for much longer,’ Nicky announced with quiet vehemence, and sat down heavily in a chair. ‘I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, analysing, and I believe that Deng Xiaoping is at the end of his tether. He’s been provoked and frustrated by the students for some time, and I’m sure he’s about to make his move. It’ll be a bungled move, just as he and the government have bungled the whole Tiananmen Square affair ever since it began. He’ll have no compunction, you know. He’ll order the troops to move on the students.’ She sighed, finishing in a low, saddened voice, ‘There’s going to be a bloodbath, Jimmy.’
He stared at her. ‘Not that, Nick, surely not! Deng wouldn’t go so far. He wouldn’t dare. He’d hardly risk condemnation from the world and its leaders.’
She shook her head. ‘You’re wrong, James. He’ll do it all right. And I’ll tell you something else, I don’t think Deng gives a damn about the rest of the world, its leaders, or what they think of him.’
The magnitude of her words struck him forcibly, and Jimmy exclaimed, ‘Oh God! Those kids are so young, so idealistic!’ His voice rose as he rushed on, ‘And they’re so peaceful. All they want is to be listened to … they just want to be heard.’
‘That’s never going to happen,’ Nicky replied. ‘You know as well as I do what the students call Deng and his cohorts … the Gang of the Old, and they’re absolutely right. Deng is eighty-five and far, far too old to understand the way it is today. He’s completely out of touch with this generation, all he’s interested in is clinging to power. We know the students are not making unreasonable demands, and anyway, wanting freedom and democracy is a pretty normal thing, wouldn’t you say?’
Jimmy nodded. He took a deep breath. ‘Okay, so what do you want to do, Nick?’
‘I want to be out there, right in the middle of it when it happens. That’s why we’re here, isn’t it? To report the news, to bring the news to the people, to tell the outside world the way it is in China on this Friday night, the second day of June, in the year 1989.’
‘We’ve still got one big problem, honey, we can’t film out there,’ Jimmy reminded her. ‘The minute we appear, the police will smash the cameras and the sound equipment. What’s more, we could get hauled in for questioning, like some of the other foreign correspondents have been. We could be detained, flung into jail -’
Jimmy broke off, glancing at the door as it opened to admit Arch.
Nicky’s producer did not seem surprised to see her as he entered the room. ‘And why might we be flung into jail?’ he asked, focusing his attention on the cameraman.
‘If we try to film in the square,’ Jimmy answered.
‘Only too true. Nothing’s changed since yesterday,’ Arch Leverson declared, and came to a standstill next to Nicky. He put a hand on her shoulder, squeezed it, gave her a warm smile, which she returned.
Always elegantly attired wherever he was, Arch was tall and thin, had a saturnine face, prematurely silver hair, and light-grey eyes behind steel-rimmed glasses. Forty-one years old and a veteran of the television news business, he had been lured away from another network by ATN three years ago. Quite aside from the hike in salary they offered, the most exciting inducement they dangled in front of him was Nicky Wells. The man who had produced her shows for several years had retired, and the job was open. There wasn’t a producer in the television news business who didn’t want to take