It was a warm August Monday in New York. Nobody liked Mondays. JC was no exception. But whether it was a Monday or a Friday, or even if it was a rainy day, he would have to move his arse and go to work. At twenty-six, life was just okay with a job as an international correspondent for the Asia region. Okay because he had no responsibility of raising kids and building a home yet.
He strolled to his office along Eighth Avenue, about twenty-eight blocks down south of Manhattan. Thirty minutes was enough to spare and be at the office on time. He crossed Columbus Circle toward the other side and took the left side of the road. Today he liked to walk. The excellent summer weather and the sight of some familiar big names along the way made it seem shorter, for it gave him the chance to admire their greatness. Under the competent management of people who made them move all over the world, he repeated their names one by one as he padded along: there was an international bank, a department store sometimes referred to as TJ, a hamburger counter with a big 'M' at the corner, and an image of a girl with a 'W' that sold hamburgers and chicken, too. Normally he would have taken a long round route by car. Coming back was shorter and direct through 8th avenue, which was one way, but today he decided to walk.
His office was a gleaming new tower at six hundred twenty, Eight Avenue between West 40th and 41st Streets, in downtown Manhattan, directly across from the bus terminal. The skyscraper was the headquarters of the newspaper, unofficially called the new Times Tower by many New Yorkers.
By the time he arrived, the office was buzzing with activities, with the shuffling of voices and the clicking of the keyboards. He strode the narrow aisle to his desk passing some cubicles where most of his friends were snugly seated and already working. There had been a big fire in Mexico and some people were trapped inside their homes. Jerry was occupied doing the report on this.
"Good morning, Jerry," he greeted him, in his usual jovial way. Jerry was his buddy at the office, or better said a confidant.
Wearing plastic-rimmed glasses, short and stocky Jerry was in his early thirties. "Good morning, JC." He looked up, picked up the plastic cup, and sipped his coffee, "Did you check your messages? I called."
"Yeah, I did. What was it all about . . . on a Sunday?"
"Did you hear about your subject?"
"Yeah, he was in the papers."
Jerry rubbed his temples with his forefinger. "It's Monday and I still have a hangover," he said. "I need an aspirin."
JC was about to comment on what was happening to his friend on a Monday. He too had a hangover. He only stifled a smile and lowered himself down to start work. He opened his drawer and picked up a small bottle. "Here take this."
"Hmm . . . Thanks," Jerry said while turning the bottle over and over to find the expiration date. "I saw it too. That's why I called," he said.
"A rumor is circulating that something will happen to him if he goes back. Some opposition stalwarts are advising him to stay put where he's safe."
"What does his family say?"
"They're afraid the rumor would be carried out."
"Who would ever do that? It would become too obvious if the people up there ordered it."
"I don't think the ailing man had the heart to do it. They had been together in fraternity and had shared some early memories in politics, although they disagreed over certain issues. It must be coming from the military or the business community. They have more to lose if he comes home and revives the opposition. The top officials of the military had amassed hidden wealth, and greed naturally would come in the way to protect their interests."
"I have a differing opinion. If they were friends, he wouldn't have accused him of being a communist and locked him in prison for seven years and seven months."
"That's because he's afraid of him. This guy has all it takes to lead the country and is well-respected by the people. So far, he stands out as their only frontrunner, one who has ever had the guts to put up strong opposition. The administration and the military are afraid that he would take over and change the status quo, the ambitious wife most especially who has been dreaming of taking over."
"We've got a communiqué from our Hong Kong bureau that he's on the plane now," Jerry said.
"Oh, my goodness, I would be missing this."
"Don't worry, he's in Singapore, will stay in Kuala Lumpur, then Taipei before he proceeds to his final destination on Sunday. If you follow him, you still have time."
"If the boss doesn't say anything today, I will have to go and talk with him. I shouldn't miss this out."
JC took his seat. He saw the manual on his desk which Tom Beck left for him to check. He clicked open his computer. The screen was blinking and before long he saw Kate's face over the cubicle division.
"I will also be leaving for Mexico City to cover that big fire. I guess we'll be seeing each other for another week," said Jerry.
"Hey! JC dear, the boss wants to see you," Kate, the ever-sweet and dependable secretary, broke up his conversation with Jerry.
"I'll be right there, Katie. Thanks." Without wasting a second, he followed Kate to the boss' office at the end of the corridor. Does he already know? I bet he does. He wouldn't miss this event for the world, JC thought.
The chief editor's office was at the far end of the hall, and JC had to pass by some cubicles of other office workers, clerks, and journalists, greeting everybody along the way. He paused at the doorsill. The boss' name he saw posted on the wall had a certain aura of authority on it. Indeed, he was authority personified. His greyish hair and the thick plastic framed glasses gave the impression that indeed he was a man of power. JC maintained a certain kind of respect for him, if not for his complete grasp of events, then for his equal and fair treatment of his people.
He listened before knocking, to avoid interrupting his phone calls. He heard no chitchat so he turned the knob and pushed his way inside.
"Good morning, Mr. McMillan," he started.
"Good morning, please sit down, JC." He put down the report he was going over and looked up.
JC took a seat and waited for his words. He speculated this would be no other than a follow-up to what he had been doing. Everybody knew the boss well enough. If he wanted someone urgently and for some very important matters, he would have the individual summoned by his secretary. Only if he was incensed or discontented with a report would he directly contact anyone of them personally.
Once seated, JC wanted to tell him about what was on his mind- that by this time his subject, the senator, had taken a plane on his way home. But before he could say anything the boss opened up.
"This is hot news. I told Kate to get a ticket for you. You'll fly immediately to get the story first. I want you to follow up on what you have been doing," Mr. McMillan said.
He had read my mind. "How long would it be this time?" JC asked.
"As long as there's story streaming in, you'll have to stay. I don't want the other papers to be getting ahead of us. I guess this would mean you renting your flat to somebody. I'm afraid you'll be staying as long as it takes, JC."
"I understand. Do I have a nice place to stay? The last time was in a tent." He was kidding, but getting better accommodation was one of the perks a correspondent enjoys on a trip, and this time he hoped he would be lucky.
"Our people in the bureau have arranged that for you. On your first day, you'll have a better one of course, in a hotel. Then you'll proceed to your condo unit."
"I'm looking forward to that, boss. Thanks."
"Get everything you need from Kate. And please don't miss a thing at this event. Go on. See you and don't miss to call regularly on updates."