Hosts

FRIDAY

1

Sandy found Beth in the kitchen making fresh coffee when he burst into the apartment with the morning edition.

"Ta-daaaa!" he cried as he held up the front page.

Beth shrieked and ran to him. She'd moved some of her clothes into his apartment yesterday; she was barefoot in tight little shorts and a T-shirt and she looked so good Sandy wanted to grab her and hug her, but she snatched the paper from him and held the tabloid at arms length, staring at the three-word headline large enough to read from a block away.

THE

SAVIOR

SPEAKS!

"'An exclusive interview for The Light by Sandy Palmer'!" she said, reading the italic refer ru

"I know, I know! Isn't it awesome!"

"Totally! I've so got to read this!" She opened to page three. " ' "Call me anything you want," the man known as The Savior said. "The one thing I'm not telling you is my name." ' " She looked up at him and smiled. "What a great opening line!"

While Beth stood there reading, Sandy wandered about the front room, unable to sit or even stand still. Every giddy nerve in his body was singing a joyful tune and his stomach tingled, almost to the point of nausea. Today was without a doubt the best day of his life, and the best moment of this day was when he'd stopped in front of the newsstand and gaped at that front page. For a full minute at least he'd stood frozen, couldn't even reach into his pocket for the change to buy a copy. And during that minute he'd seen one person after another pass up the Times and the News and the Post and go for The Light.

Mine. My Light.

He'd sure as hell earned it. Yesterday he'd thought he was home free after weathering an intense grilling by George Meschke and the other editors; then McCa

"Am I on trial here?" he'd finally shouted. "All I did was answer the goddamn phone! Since when is that a crime?"

And that had brought Meschke to his rescue. He'd told McCa

"Well, at least we know he was a SEAL," the big detective had said. "Or at least he says he was. That's a boost. Only so many guys make it all the way through SEAL training. We'll get the Navy on this."

He'd extracted a promise that the make and model of the Savior's pistol would not be mentioned, then stormed off.

But beyond the front page, beyond the interview, was the fact that The Light, for the first time in its fifty-year history, was putting out a second issue in the same week. They'd contacted their advertisers, pulled out all the backlogged restaurant and book and theater reviews and packed them into the back pages to fill out the count. Then they'd contacted their distributor for delivery of a Special Edition that would be four times their usual run.

All because of moi, he thought. I'm making this paper go.

"Awesome!" Beth said, lowering the paper and fixing those big brown eyes on him. " 'We're all alive today because of a criminal act.' Totally, totally awesome!"

"You like it? You think it was well written?"

Sandy hung on her answer. Beth admired him, she made love to him, but he wanted her respect, too.

"Absolutely! But it must have been so weird talking to him on the phone. I mean, he saved our lives. I wish 1 could remember what he looked like, don't you?"

The question put Sandy on alert, blunting his high. He'd been dying to tell Beth about his meeting with the Savior, and a couple of times last night he'd caught himself just as he'd been ready to blurt it out. He was afraid he'd explode if he didn't tell someone soon.

But he couldn't risk it. Not even with Beth. If she let it slip, he would come under relentless pressure. Maybe he could tell her later, after things cooled down a bit. Or maybe he'd save it for his book on the Savior; what a great hook to be able to reveal that he'd actually sat and talked face to face with the mystery man.

"What would you do if you could remember?" Sandy asked.

"You mean, like if someone hypnotized me and suddenly I could see his face?" Her eyes lit. "Hey! That might be something I could use in my film!"

She jumped to the cluttered table he used as a home desk and jotted a few lines on a pad.

"But if you could remember," he repeated, "what would you do?"

She looked at him. "Tell you the truth, I'm not sure. Yesterday I would have told the world. But just a few minutes ago, while you were out, I was cha

"This guy's not harmless," Sandy said. "And no way anybody's going to mistake him for a mockingbird."

"Maybe not, but…" Beth shrugged. "What's he sound like?"

"Like a regular guy. No real accent I could identify." No lie there. He glanced at his watch. "I'm expected at the office."

Sandy had decided to get down to The Light so he could bask in the buzz. He expected some of the other reporters, especially the older ones, to be jealous, but he hoped most everybody else would be happy for him. Another round of handshaking and backslapping would be in order. And this time, without an interview to write up, he could relax and enjoy it.

And leaving now also meant he wouldn't have to tell Beth more lies.

"Okay," Beth said. She gestured to his desk. "Do you mind if I use your computer to start the treatment for my film?"

"Sure." Sandy considered the chaos of notes, newspaper clippings, envelopes, folders, and CD cases that littered the surface. "If you can find the keyboard."

Beth giggled as she started to sift through the mess. "I'm sure it's in here somewhere." She lifted a manila envelope and peered inside. "This anything important?"

"Yes!" Sandy said, louder and quicker than he wished. He knew that folder: the remaining Savior printouts. He tried to laugh it off as he reached out with forced casualness and eased it from her hand. "Notes for an article I'm pla

Beth looked mildly offended. "I wouldn't let anything happen to them."

"Only kidding." He crossed his arms, trapping the envelope against his thudding heart. "The place is yours. Really. Rearrange that stuff any way you want."

The Savior had been right. These printouts were a liability. Sandy's session with McCa

No question—the printouts had to go. He couldn't see any further use for them anyway. If he ever needed another copy all he had to do was call up the Identi-Kit file from The Lightfs system and print it out.

Beth picked up the newspaper from the desk and stared again at the headline.

"I still can't believe how lucky we were that a man with his training was on that train and in that car with us. I used to think I'd love to meet him—you know, give him a hug and say thanks—but after reading this I'm not so sure."