«What’s the problem?»
«Routine but urgent is the best way I can describe it. The papers you filed with us in May for Standard’s news division were incomplete.»
«What?» John remembered something F.C.C.’s Cranston had said to him a few weeks ago. He also recalled that Cranston had said it was unimportant. «What’s missing?»
«Two signatures of yours for one thing. On pages seventeen and eighteen. And the breakdown of projected public service features for the six-month period commencing in January.»
John Tanner did remember now. It had been Cranston’s fault. Pages seventeen and eighteen had been missing from the folder sent from Washington for Tanner’s signature—a point which the network’s legal department had made to Tanner’s office—and the service feature blanks were to be left open for another month, pending network decisions. Cranston, again, had agreed.
«If you’ll check, you’ll find your Mr. Cranston omitted the pages you refer to and the specific service features were postponed. He agreed to that.»
There was a momentary pause from Washington. When Fassett spoke his voice held a touch less politeness than it had previously.
«In all deference to Cranston, he had no authority to make such a decision. Surely you have the information now.» It was a statement.
«Yes, as a matter of fact, we do. I’ll send it out Special Delivery.»
«I’m afraid that’s not good enough. We’ll have to ask you to get down here this afternoon.»
«Now, wait a minute. That’s kind of short notice, isn’t it?»
«I don’t make the rules. I just carry them out. As of two months ago Standard Mutual Network is operating in violation of the F.C.C. code. We can’t allow ourselves to be put in that position. Regardless of who’s responsible, that is a fact. You’re in violation. Let’s get it cleared up today.»
«All right. But I warn you, if this action is in any way a harassment emanating from the State Department, I’ll bring down the network attorneys and label it for what it is.»
«I not only don’t like your insinuation, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.»
«I think you do. The Woodward Show yesterday afternoon.»
Fassett laughed. «Oh, I heard about that. The Post did quite a story on it… And I think you can put your mind at ease. I tried to reach you twice last Friday.»
«You did?»
«Yes.»
«Wait a minute.» Tanner pushed the hold button and then the local. «Norma? Did this Fassett try to get me Friday?»
There was a short silence while Tanner’s secretary checked Friday’s call sheet. «Could be. There were two calls from Washington, an Operator thirty-six in D.C. for you to reach if you returned by four. You were in the studio till five-thirty.»
«Didn’t you ask who was calling?»
«Of course I did. The only answer I got was that it could wait until Monday.»
«Thanks.» Tanner got back on the line with Fassett. «Did you leave an operator’s number?»
«Operator three-six, Washington. Till 4:00 P.M.»
«You didn’t give your name or identify the agency…»
«It was Friday. I wanted to get out early. Would you have felt better if I’d left an urgent call you couldn’t return?»
«Okay, okay. And this can’t wait for the mails?»
«I’m sorry, Mr. Tanner. I mean I’m really very sorry, but I have my instructions. Standard Mutual’s not a small local station. This filing should have been completed weeks ago… Also,» here Fassett laughed again, «the way you keep stepping on exposed toes, I wouldn’t want to be you if some wheels in the State Department found out your whole damn news department was in violation… And that’s no threat. It couldn’t be. We’re both at fault.»
John Tanner smiled at the telephone. Fassett was right. The filing was overdue. And there was no sense risking bureaucratic reprisals. He sighed. «I’ll catch the one o’clock shuttle and be at the F.C.C. by three or a little after. Where’s your office?»
«I’ll be with Cranston. We’ll have the papers, and don’t forget the schedules. They’re only projections, we won’t hold you to them.»
«Right. See you then.» Tanner pushed another button and dialed his home number.
«Hi, darling.»
«I’ve got to hop down to Washington this afternoon.»
«Any problems?»
«No. ‘Routine but urgent’ was the description. Some F.C.C. business. I’ll catch a shuttle back to Newark by seven. I just wanted you to know that I’d be late.»
«Okay, darling. Do you want me to pick you up?»
«No, I’ll get a cab.»
«Sure?»
«Very. It’ll make me feel good to think Standard’s paying the twenty bucks.»
«You’re worth it. By the way, I read the reviews on the Woodward Show. You’re a regular triumph.»
«That’s what I wrote across my jacket. Tanner the Triumph.»
«I wish you would,» said Alice quietly.
Even in jest she could never let it go. They had no real money problems, but Alice Tanner forever thought her husband was underpaid. It was the only serious argument between them. He could never explain that to seek more from a corporation like Standard Mutual meant just that much more obligation to the faceless giant.
«See you tonight, Ali.»
«Bye. I love you.»
As if in silent deference to his wife’s complaint, Tanner commandeered one of the news cars to take him to LaGuardia Airport in an hour. No one argued. Tanner was, indeed, a triumph this morning.
During the next forty-five minutes, Tanner tied together a number of administrative loose ends. The last order of business was a call to Standard Mutual’s legal department.
«Mr. Harrison, please… Hello, Andy? John Tanner. I’m in a hurry, Andy; I’ve got to catch a plane. I just want to find out something. Do we have anything pending with the F.C.C. I don’t know about? Any problems? I know about the public service features but Cranston said we could hold on those… Sure, I’ll wait.» Tanner fingered the telephone cord, his thoughts still on Fassett. «Yes, Andy, I’m here… Pages seventeen and eighteen. The signatures… I see. Okay. Thanks. No, no problems here. Thanks again.»
Tanner replaced the phone and got out of his chair slowly. Harrison had added fuel to his vague suspicions. It all seemed just a bit too contrived. The F.C.C. filing had been complete except for the final two pages on the fourth and fifth copies of the document. They were merely duplicates, important to no one, easily Xeroxed. Yet those pages had been missing from the file. Harrison had just commented:
«I remember, John. I sent you a memo about it. It looked to me as though they had been deliberately left out. Can’t imagine why…»
Neither could Tanner.
3
Monday—3:25 P.M.
To Tanner’s amazement, the F.C.C. sent a limousine to meet his plane.
Cranston’s offices were on the sixth floor of the F.C.C. Building; at one time or another every major network news director had been summoned there. Cranston was a career man—respected by the networks as well as the changing administrations—and because of this Tanner found himself resenting the unknown Laurence Fassett, who could say with indignation, «… Cranston had no authority to make such a decision.»
He’d never heard of Laurence Fassett.
Tanner pushed open the door to Cranston’s waiting room. It was empty. The secretary’s desk was bare—no pads, no pencils, no papers of any kind. What light there was came from Cranston’s office door. It was open and he could hear the quiet whirr of an air conditioner. The window shades in the office were down, probably to keep out the summer sunlight. And then, against the office wall, he saw the shadow of a figure walking towards the door.