"No, he's also a reporter."
"A reporter?" Sorenson gasped. "For what paper?" He breathless- ly prayed that it was a local high school journal, but his gut told him otherwise.
"The New York City Times," Duncan said, confident that Scott could handle himself and that the First Amendment would help if all else failed.
"Thank you very much Mr. Duncan." Sorenson rapidly rose from his chair. "You've been most helpful. Have a good flight back."
* * * * *
Tuesday., December 1
New York City
The morning commute into the City was agonizingly long for Scott Mason. He nearly ran the 5 blocks from Grand Central Station to the paper's offices off Times Square. The elevator wait was interminable. He dashed into the City Room, bypassing his desk, and ran directly toward editor Doug McQuire's desk. Doug saw him coming and was ready.
"Don't stop here. We're headed up to Higgins." Doug tried to deflect the verbal onslaught from Scott.
"What the hell is going on here, Doug? I work on a great story, you said you loved it, and then I finally get the missing piece and then . . .this?" He pushed the morning paper in Doug's face. "Where the fuck is my story? And don't give me any of this 'we didn't have the room' shit. You yourself thought we were onto something bigger . . ."
Doug ignored Scott as best he could, but on the elevator to the 9th floor, Scott was still in his face.