He took her by the arm, aimed her toward the door. "You think you're just going to walk into Piper Sutton's office?"

"I'd knock first."

"Uh-uh. Let's go, sweetheart. Double time. You can visit the lion's den after we get back and wrap the edits."

A figure stepped out of the corridor, a young man in jeans and an expensive black shirt. He wore his hair long and floppy. Bradford Simpson was an intern, a Journalism-School senior at Columbia, who'd started out in the mailroom his freshman year and was by now doing slightly more glamorous jobs around the station – like fetching coffee, handling deliveries of tapes and occasionally actually assisting a cameraman or sound crew. He was one of those madly ambitious sorts-Rune could identify withthat part of him-but his ambition was clearly to get his degree, don a Brooks Brothers suit and plunge into the ranks of corporate journalism. Sincere and well liked around the O amp;O and the Network, Bradford ("Don't really care for 'Brad'") was also cute as hell -in a preppy, Connecticut way. Rune had been shocked when he had actually asked her out a few days ago.

But while she appreciated the offer, Rune had found she didn't do well dating people like Mr Dockers TopSider and, instead of his offer for dinner at the Yale Club, she'd opted to go film a fire in lower Manhattan for theLive at Eleven newscast. Still, she wondered if he'd ask her out again. No invitations were forthcoming at the moment, however, and he now merely looked at the screen, saw Randy Boggs's lean face on the monitor and asked, "Who's that?"

"He's in jail," Rune explained. "But I think he's innocent."

Bradford asked, "How come?"

"Just a feeling."

Rune," said the Model. "We don't have time. Let's go"

She said to them, "That'd be a pretty good story-getting an innocent man out of jail."

The young man nodded and said, "Journalists doing good deeds-that's what it's all about."

But the Model wasn't interested in good deeds; he was interested in ammonia. "Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, Rune," he said like an impatient professor. "Now."

"Oh, the tanker truck," Bradford said.

"See?" the Model said to Rune."Everybody knows about it. Let'smove."

"It's a goddamn traffic accident," Rune protested. "I'm talking about an innocent man in jail for murder."

Bradford said. "Thereis something about him…" Nodding at the screen. "He looks more like a victim than a killer, if you ask me."

But before she could agree, the Model took Rune's arm and led her firmly to the elevator. They descended to the ground floor of the four-story building that occupied a whole square block on the Upper West Side. The building had been an armory at one time then had been bought by the Network, gutted and rebuilt. Outside it was scabby and dark and looked like it ought to be housing a thousand homeless people; inside was a half-billion dollars' worth of electronic equipment and TV celebrities. A lot of the space was leased to the local O amp;O station but most of it was for the Network, which recorded a couple of soap operas here, some talk shows, several sitcoms and, of course, Network News.

In the equipment room beside the parking garage Rune checked out an Ikegami video camera with an Ampex deck and a battery pack. Rune and the Model climbed into an Econoline van. She grabbed the lip of the doorway and swung up and in, the way she liked to do, feeling like a pilot about to take off on a mission. The driver, a scrawny young man with a long thin braid of blond hair, gave a thumbs-up to Rune and started the van. Explosive strains of Black Sabbath filled the van.

"Shut that crap off!" the Model shouted. "Then let's move-we've got ammonia on the BQE! Go, go, go!"

Which the kid did, turning down the tape player and then squealing into the street hostilely, as if he was striking a blow for classic rock music.

As they drove through Manhattan Rune looked absently out the window at the people on the street as they in turn watched the van, with its sci-fi transmission dish on top and the call letters of the TV station on the side, stenciled at an angle. People always paused and watched these vans drive past, probably wondering if it was going to stop nearby, if something newsworthy was happening, if they themselves might even get to appear in the background of a news report. Sometimes Rune would wave at them. But today she was distracted. She kept hearing Randy Boggs's voice.

The first thing you think is Hell, I'm still here…

I'm still here…

I'm still here.

"So, why can't I just walk into her office and talk to her?"

The Model snapped, "Because she's the anchor."

As if nothing more need be said.

Rune trudged beside him through the scuffed corridor that led from the elevator back to the newsroom. The worn carpet was sea-blue, the parent company's corporate color. "So what //"she's an anchorwoman. She's not going to fire me for talking to her."

"Well, why don't you quit talking about it and make an appointment." The Model was in a bad mood because, yes, it had been an ammonia truck and, yes, it had tipped over but no one had told the station that the truck was empty. So, no spill. It had even had the courtesy to roll over onto the shoulder so that rush-hour traffic wasn't disrupted much at all.

They arrived in the studio and Rune replayed the tape she'd shot of the truck. The Model looked at the footage and seemed to be trying to think of something unpleasantly critical to say about her work.

She said enthusiastically, "Look, I got the sunset. There on the side of the truck. That ridge of red, see-"

"I see it."

"Do you like it?"

"I like it."

"Do you mean it?"

"Rune."

As the tape was rewinding Rune said, "But Piper's like ultimately my boss, isn't she?"

"Well, in a way. She works for the Network; you work for the local owned-and-operated station. It's a strange relationship."

"I'm a single woman living in Manhattan. I'm used to strange relationships."

"Look," he said patiently. "The President of the United States is in charge of the Army and Navy, okay? But do you see him talking to every PFC's got a problem?"

"This isn't a problem. It's an opportunity."

"Uh-huh. Piper Sutton doesn't care diddly-squat for your opportunities, sweetheart. You have an idea, you should talk to Stan."

"He's head of local news. This is national."

"Nothing personal but youare just a camera girl."

"Girl?"

"Cameraperson. You're atechnician."

Rune continued cheerfully. "What do you know about her?"

"Her with a capital H again?" The Model looked at Rune for a moment in silence.

Rune smiled coyly. "Come on, please?"

He said, "Piper Sutton started out where I am, right here-a reporter for the local O amp;O in New York. She went to the University of Missouri Journalism School. Anyway, she did beat reporting, then she moved up in the ranks and became head of radio news, then executive producer for radio. Then she got tapped as a reporter for the Network.

"She was overseas a lot, I know. She was in the Mideast and she got an award for covering the Sadat assassination. Then she came back here and anchored the weekend program then moved on toWake Up With the News. Finally they tried to move her into the parent. They offered her something pretty big, like executive VP in charge of O amp;Os. But she didn't want a desk job. She wanted to be on camera. She finagled her way intoCurrent Events. And there she is. She makes a million dollars a year. Lives on Park Avenue. That lady is ground zero in the world of broadcast journalism and ain't gonna want to spend time having a confab with the likes of you."

"She hasn't met me yet," Rune said.

"And she devoutly wants to keep it that way. Believe me."

"How come everybody talks about her like she's some kind of dragon lady?"