The reporters began to queue up in single file as two uniformed men examined their credentials. His heart pounding, Alan let the line carry him forward. All the doors were guarded. If he could not get in this way, he could not get in at all.
Finally, he was saying: "Adams, New York Times."
"Your press card, Mr. Adams?"
"I left it at the hotel."
The guard shook his head. "Sorry. You'll have to get it."
"I don't want to miss the press conference."
The guard looked up and shouted, "Anyone else from the New York Times here?"
A man behind Alan nodded.
"You know this fellow?"
The man studied Alan, then shrugged. "Don't think so. I never forget a face."