Remember

Nicky put down the brush, pulled her hair straight back into a pony tail and anchored it firmly, before reaching into her makeup kit for a lipstick. Once she had outlined her mouth in pink, she leaned closer, grimacing at herself. She looked washed out, pallid, without makeup, but she was in too much of a hurry to start applying it. Besides, she was certain she would not be on camera tonight. When martial law had been declared on 20 May, almost two weeks ago now, the Chinese government had turned off the satellite; furthermore, television cameras had been banned in the square. No more live-spot location shots without that satellite feed or Jimmy behind his camera. At least not in Tiananmen Square, and that’s where the story was - at the centre of the action. Once again, she would have to make do with a phoned-in report.

Swinging away from the mirror, Nicky returned to the bedroom, where she dressed rapidly in the clothes she had shed only a brief while ago: loose, beige cotton trousers, a blue cotton T-shirt, and a short-sleeved safari-style jacket which matched the pants. This was her standard uniform when she was abroad on assignment in the summer; she always packed three identical safari suits, plus a selection of T-shirts and man-tailored cotton shirts to add contrast colour to the suits, and for the benefit of the camera.

After she had slipped her feet into soft brown leather loafers, she went to the closet and took out her big shoulder bag, brought it back to the table. This was a commodious carryall made of some sort of sage-green waterproofed fabric; it contained what she laughingly referred to as ‘my entire life,’ and she rarely went anywhere without it when she was on foreign assignment. Now, as she always did before going out, she unlocked it, double-checked that her ‘life’ was indeed safely inside the bag. Passport, press credentials, plastic money, real money including US dollars, Hong Kong dollars, English pounds and the local yuan, door keys for her Manhattan apartment, world address book, a small cosmetic bag containing toothpaste, toothbrush, soap, makeup, eye drops, makeup mirror, hairspray, hair brush and a packet of tissues. All were neatly stashed in several separate compartments within the interior section of the bag; in the two large outside pockets were her cellular phone, tape recorder, notebook, 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 over her newscasts, not to mention the documentaries she was famous for, and for which she had won several Emmys. His agent had negotiated a good contract for him and he had changed networks, had never once regretted doing so. He and Nicky had hit it off immediately; she was a real professional who had his utmost respect, not to mention his affection.

Nicky looked up at Arch, and said, ‘There’s going to be a crackdown … most probably tonight.’

Arch returned her quiet gaze with one equally steady, but he did not immediately respond. After a moment, he said slowly, ‘You’re not often wrong, Nicky, and I’m inclined to agree with you, military intervention is inevitable.’

‘According to Jimmy, it was peaceful in the square earlier this evening. Has the atmosphere changed?’ she asked Arch.

‘Not really. In fact, I’d go as far as to say it’s positively festive out there. Nevertheless, rumours are rife, mostly about troop movements seen in different parts of Beijing again. I just ran into one of the guys from CNN in the hotel lobby, and he told me he’d heard the same rumours.’

Arch moved across the room and sat down behind the desk, glanced from Nicky to Jimmy, looking considerably worried. ‘We’d better prepare ourselves. I think it’s going to be a rough weekend. Tough in every possible way.’

‘I’m sure of it,’ Nicky muttered.

Jimmy made no comment, nor did he react to the producer’s dire prediction. Instead he paced up and down the room, looking preoccupied, fingering his chin. Finally he stopped, addressed Arch. ‘Since we can’t manage any live-shot locations in the square, I’m going to have to film Nick doing her standups in another part of town, the way we did at the beginning of the week.’

‘I don’t think we dare risk that again,’ Arch exclaimed swiftly, shaking his head. ‘The city’s teeming with police, and we wouldn’t get two steps before we were in deep trouble.’

‘I was thinking of one of the districts on the edge of the city,’ Jimmy explained, ‘not anywhere remotely near Tiananmen. It’ll be quieter out there.’

Arch shook his head again. ‘No. It won’t be safe, Jimmy. It’s putting Nick at risk, and needlessly so. I’m not going to take that chance -’

‘Oh come on, Arch!’ Nicky cut in peremptorily. ‘I’m a war correspondent, remember. I’ve been in harm’s way for years. I think we ought to do what Jimmy suggests -’

‘But I don’t!’ Arch shot back, rather sharply for him. ‘I just told you, I’m not putting you at risk. I’m not going to put any of us at risk, for that matter. Not here in China for this story.’

‘Listen, Arch, I’m sick and tired of doing these phone narrations with my cellular from the square!’ Nicky exclaimed. ‘And I’m just as sure New York’s sick of running stills of me to go with the narrations. Please, Arch, let’s attempt to do at least one newscast live on camera tonight, no matter where we actually film it. I realize we can’t feed it to New York via the satellite, that it’ll have to be shipped, but even so the network would have it on time to run it Sunday or Monday.’ Turning to her cameraman, she asked, ‘There’s no problem getting the moving film out by courier, via Hong Kong and Tokyo, is there?’

‘The couriers are still operating,’ Jimmy assured her. ‘I suppose we could film you in your suite, even though you’ve been dead set against that, Nicky…’ Jimmy broke off, hurried over to the window. Pulling it open, he went out onto the balcony, stepped back inside, and stood gazing at the balcony from the room for a moment. He swung to Arch and said, ‘I think there’s a way to film Nick out there, with Changan and Tiananmen in the background. It’ll be a tight squeeze, but it’s worth a try.’

Arch sat up in the chair, looking suddenly more cheerful. ‘Sure, Jimmy, why not! We’ve talked about it before, but always dismissed it. Now we don’t have any choices left. In any case, out there on the balcony we’ll be able to convey a sense of on-the-spot reporting. I hope. Which is what we’re about, after all.’

‘I’ll start planning it,’ Jimmy said.

Nicky went to the open window and surveyed the balcony, then, turning, she said to Jimmy, ‘I’m sure it’ll work, and I’m all for it.’