CHAPTER 8

JUST AFTER 10 a.m., Cal headed downstairs for Media Day. Reporters jammed into every available space on one of six charter buses destined for Reliant Stadium. The scene entertained Cal more than any Super Bowl ever could. Veteran sports writers engaged in a game of one-upmanship. Television reporters bragging about the hottest celebrity’s party they attended. Cameramen boasting about their clients. Photographers detailing how they landed their latest magazine cover shot. The egos contained in this 45-foot metal box would have given Freud a lifetime of research.

Cal enjoyed listening to the banter for a few moments. But he snapped back to the reality once he saw a missing child billboard anchored along the side of Highway 59. How would Noah react when he told him? What would he say? Would Noah instruct other players to not grant him any interviews? It would be out of character for Noah to get enraged, especially publicly. But this situation would test anyone.

Though it was Cal’s first Super Bowl, Media Day was exactly how he envisioned it: a 50-ring circus without the animals. Everywhere he looked there was a Seahawk player being swarmed by media members. Even the punter, Patt Ott, was worth five reporters and a cameraman.

One woman even parachuted in wearing nothing but a bikini and a helmet with a camera attached to it. Security personnel quickly descended upon her to remove her from the stadium before she flashed her credentials. Cal could only guess what her story angle would be—herself.

If only that was the craziest moment of Media Day. But it wasn’t. Some reporter brought his accordion and tried to get players to sing a ridiculous polka song he had written about the Super Bowl. His gag was received about as well as replacement officials. Other reporters lustily booed his act when he interrupted their serious interviews, effectively ruining the shtick.

There were plenty of reporters on hand trying to be serious about their jobs. They asked pertinent questions about the season, the game, the opponents. It was refreshing. But any rapport building between a small crowd of reporters and the player disintegrated when a knucklehead would ask them if they’d ever done it on the 50-yard line or which lineman could drink the most beer in one sitting.

Despite the chaotic scene, Cal managed to locate Telvin Hayes and get a few quiet moments with him to discuss the Seahawks’ quarterback. Hayes put his big ego aside when talking about Noah. Maybe it was because he was a veteran, but Noah had the respect of every player on the team—even the unlikely candidates such as Hayes. Even though Hayes’ miracle catch was a result of his own physical ability and a fortuitous tip, he refused to say anything negative about Noah’s pass.

Ricky Johnson, Seattle’s leading rusher, handled Cal’s interview the same way. Nothing but class in his responses about the team’s undisputed leader.

“How do you feel about your chances Sunday?” Cal asked.

“With Noah at quarterback, you know we’re going to have a chance to win the game,” Johnson said. “He has an amazing ability to take this team on his back and carry it when necessary. There’s not a guy in our locker room who wouldn’t trust him with his life.”

Cal scribbled down a few more answers on his notepad before turning off his recorder and scanning the field for Noah. Dark clouds gathered overhead, replacing the bright sunshine. The stadium lights began flickering on. There were only five more minutes left before Seattle players yielded the field to Miami’s. Where was Noah?

Cal suddenly lurched forward as someone hit him square in the back. Accident or on purpose? Cal couldn’t tell, but it sent him flailing a few yards down the field.

“Oh, hey, Cal.” said the familiar voice. “Sorry about that.”

Cal spun to see Associated Press sports writer Damon James standing behind him.

“No worries,” Cal said.

“You know those pushy cameramen, gotta get the shot of that latest faux reporter trying to upstage the real celebrities,” James said, referring to the reason for bumping into Cal in the first place. “So, how are you?”

“Oh, you know how it is. Same old, same old,” Cal replied.

“Well, I saw you this morning … and getting an exclusive with the Seahawks’ quarterback a few days before the Super Bowl isn’t exactly ‘same old, same old.’ ”

“True. I’ve got a good relationship with Noah. He was nice enough to do an exclusive,” Cal said, playing coy as he kept scanning the crowd for that same quarterback.

“You keep this up, Cal, and you’ll be dragging one of those cameramen around with ESPN.”

“I doubt that,” Cal said.

“Well, keep it up. Good to see you. I gotta run.”

“OK. See ya, Damon.” Cal nodded and watched the writer walk off before continuing his search for Noah Larson.

In the east corner of the end zone, he saw a large crowd of reporters begin to disperse around Seattle’s star quarterback. A Seahawks media relations personnel motioned that the interview was over and begin ushering the reporters toward the center of the field. Cal hustled toward Noah, fighting the stream of reporters, most of them unwilling to cede any space to Cal.

“Noah!” Cal called.

Noah turned around.

“I’m sorry. He’s done for the day,” the Seahawks’ employee said.

“No, it’s all right. I’ll talk to him for a minute,” Noah said. He motioned for privacy from his handler.

“Are you going to stay quiet about this, Cal?” Noah asked quietly.

“Look, Noah, the FBI called me, and …”

Noah didn’t let him finish.

“You didn’t tell them, did you?”

“I had no choice. They know the game is being fixed and asked if I knew anything. I couldn’t lie to them.”

“I trusted you, Cal!” Noah said, raising his voice. “You told me you wouldn’t say anything!”

“I said I’d consider it, but I didn’t have a choice.”

The commotion in the end zone suddenly became a focal point for all the media. By the time the cameras began rolling, Noah held a handful of Cal’s shirt with his fist.

“If they kill my son, I’m holding you responsible,” Noah whispered.

“Look, the FBI wants to help you. They’re not going to let your son die. They need to talk to you to find out who took him. They’ll get him back.”

“You don’t know that,” Noah said, releasing Cal’s shirt and pushing him away.

“I know my friend Agent Anderson is working the case, and he promised me he would do all that he could. Please call him.”

Cal felt the cameras burning a hole in him by this point. He discreetly put a card with Anderson’s number on it into Noah’s hand. “They’ve got a lead on a guy placing wild bets in Vegas. But they need more information from you. Do the right thing, Noah. They’ll help get your son back.”

Noah took the card and stormed off.

Cal sighed and looked down at the freshly painted grass. He felt like the dirt beneath it. Rain began pelting him. He looked up and saw the media members scattering across the stadium in search of cover. He slid his notepad and recorder into his bag and walked off the field.

Cal didn’t desire to stick around for interviews with any of the Dolphins players. He especially didn’t want to hear Miami quarterback Hunter Newton drone on about his heroics in the AFC championship game. Everyone knew the Dolphins were in the Super Bowl because of their defense, not their quarterback. Newton grated on Cal like nobody else. Maybe it was the fact that he was a media darling while playing on a traditional powerhouse college team from the South—and that his success was always due to someone else, like his Heisman Trophy running back. Or maybe it was because he never praised his teammates. But Cal never liked him. Hunter’s father even asked colleges to pay a large sum of money for his son’s services. The NCAA investigated and they never found enough evidence, but anyone with half a brain knew they were guilty. And while he was an athletic player, Hunter was a living, breathing Me-Monster and Cal despised him.

But Cal didn’t need to stay behind, not today. The Times’ lead columnist was focusing on the Dolphins, releasing Cal from writing mundane stories that didn’t interest Seattle readers. Cal found a media charter bus and returned to the hotel with a small group of reporters. The rain streaming down the bus windows blurred the view of the Houston skyline. Cal disappeared into his thoughts.

Did he do the right thing? Did he lose Noah’s trust forever? Would his decision cost Jake his life?

He needed to talk with someone about what was happening. He needed Kelly.