Ron Rivera had taken over Sam Jackson’s show a week before and it had not been a gratifying experience so far. He knew that the audience he’d inherited wasn’t his. They were used to a certain something from Sam Jackson and even if Rivera wanted to accommodate them, which he did not, he didn’t have the bombast and tone to pull it off. So he’d been mostly concentrating on the election, hauling in whatever candidates they could find, Fox pass-overs for the most part, but he was aware that many of the pieces they’d done had been lightweight at best, standard exchanges of vague promises and typical partisan sniping. The numbers had fallen significantly day by day. Bobby Holmes had told him to anticipate that and not to let it worry him. That didn’t stop it from worrying him.
At least tonight was different. Instead of taping five hours earlier they were going live and Rivera had Sam Jackson sitting across from him. Not only that, but he had a story. A genuine story, one that was being talked about across the country, and even the world.
“You’re not used to sitting on that side of the table,” he said to begin. “And I can’t say how sorry I am that you are, under these trying circumstances.”
Sam nodded but made no reply. He hadn’t shaken Rivera’s hand when he arrived, just spoken to Kevin, his old producer, as if Kevin was the one who’d be asking the questions. Rivera wasn’t overly surprised; he’d been in Sam’s presence before and been treated the same way. It could have been a racial thing, but Rivera wasn’t so sure that it was true. It seemed to him that Sam Jackson was truly democratic. He lorded his superiority over everyone.
“Let’s begin with an update. What’s the latest on the investigation?”
“Ongoing,” Sam said curtly.
Thanks for elaborating, Rivera thought. It’s only live TV. “Do we know anything further regarding your daughter’s whereabouts at this time?”
“We do not.”
“Have you heard anything from the kidnappers?”
“No.”
Rivera nodded. It was like pulling teeth. “Do you have any theories on who might be behind this?”
“I don’t need any theories,” Sam told him. “I know who’s behind it.”
“You do?”
“Terrorists.”
“Terrorists?” Rivera repeated, surprised at the word. “Who specifically?”
“I can’t answer that,” Sam said. “I’m a lightning rod. I piss off a lot of people. On the international level—Iran doesn’t like me, China hates me, Kim Jong-un would like to gut me like a fish. At home, I’m despised by the anti-gun faction, the pro-choice people, the idiots who supported Obamacare. So, it would be a futile exercise to try to identify here tonight the cowards who choose to attack me by abducting a ten-year-old girl. And even if I could, I would not speak their names in public. I don’t give cowards recognition.”
“But what would they be trying to accomplish by abducting your daughter?” Rivera asked.
“They want publicity, I assume. And I suppose money too. They’re not going to get either from me.”
“So you don’t intend to negotiate?”
“With terrorists? No.”
Rivera looked at the notes he’d made. None of them were going to help. “Let’s get back to the investigation. We know that the FBI is involved. What can you tell us about the incident itself? Is it true that the car used to pick up Vanessa from school was hijacked?”
“That’s true.”
“The driver tied up and put in the trunk?”
“That’s true too,” Sam said. “The man’s name is Sean McIlroy. He’s a drunk who I should have fired months ago. Apparently the kidnapper cozied up to him in a bar and bought him a few beers and the next thing I know; my daughter is missing. A few beers—today’s version of thirty pieces of silver.”
Rivera decided to change the subject before Sam announced McIlroy’s home address and phone number. “How is your wife holding up? I’m sure she’s beside herself.”
“She’s fine,” Sam said. “She has no interest in surrendering to terrorists either.”
“Is there anything else you can tell us about the investigation? Are there any leads at all?”
“Even if there were, I wouldn’t tell you,” Sam said. “I’m a hundred per cent certain that the people responsible for this are watching me right now. I just hope they realize who they’re dealing with.”
“Do you have a message for them?”
“Yes. My message is—no surrender.”
Rivera got a prompt from the booth. “I want to thank you for coming here under these difficult circumstances. We’ll be back.”
“What are you doing?” Sam asked when they were clear.
“What do you mean?”
“You just gave me the bum’s rush, pal. We’re doing another segment.”
Rivera was confused. “Was there something else you wanted to say? I mean, you haven’t revealed a hell of a lot so far. Although I’m thinking your limo driver’s going to have a tough time finding a new job.”
Sam ignored the slam. “We haven’t talked about my campaign. We need to do that.”
Kevin walked into the studio. He’d obviously been listening. “We’ll do another segment, Ron. Touch on the Wyoming race, get an update.”
Rivera, with no say in the matter, said nothing.