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especially one they’d never actually seen on the air.
    When the clapping started, Sydney politely joined in. She thought Vonner looked like a men’s store mannequin, stiff and attractive in a cardboard cutout way.
    “Hunz will be observing our operation here at KSMJ for a week,” Rosenthal said. “He will meet in turn with anchors, reporters, production personnel, and advertising. My secretary will coordinate with your schedules. Let’s do everything we can to make his stay in America a memorable one. I’m confident you will give Mr. Vonner every courtesy. Treat him as you would treat me.”
    There was a smattering of laughter. Sol looked puzzled. He thought everyone loved and admired him.
    The assembly dispersed. Everyone returned to work, but not too quickly.
    “Helen, it’s a crime scene!” Sydney said, louder now.
    Sol Rosenthal interrupted her. He horseshoed his way between her and Helen. “Hunz, I’d like you to meet our assignment editor, Helen Gordon.”
    Helen offered her hand. Vonner gave it a quick pump and turned to Rosenthal with a what’s next expression.
    “Helen will be joining us and the coanchors for lunch; you two can talk then,” Rosenthal said. He took Vonner by the arm, directing him toward Grant and Cori, who were standing nearby. “And over here we have .”
    Vonner broke away. He turned to Sydney. “And you are?” He raised an eyebrow and gave her a smooth, easy smile.
    Maybe it was because Hunz Vonner shared nationalities with the famous brothers Grimm, but Sydney got the distinct impression she knew how Little Red Riding Hood felt when greeted by the wolf.
    Helen made the introduction. “Mr. Vonner, this is Sydney St. James, one of our reporters.”
    “Miss St. James,” Vonner said, taking her hand with a slight bow.
    Sydney had seen the bedroom-eyes expression on a hundred different men. The European version was no different from the American version. His voice, however, was impressive. Rich, smooth, confident, it was an instrument uniquely suited to news broadcasting. It could deliver stories of graphic violence while assuring viewers thatdespite what they’d just heard, everything would be all right. And his English was impeccable, not a trace of an accent.
    “Yes, well,” Sol said. He was ready to move on. “Over here we have. ”
    “Helen, did you hear me? It’s a crime scene!” Sydney said the instant he was gone.
    “Our guest seems quite taken with you,” Helen said, looking amused.
    Sydney dismissed the comment. She wasn’t interested in Hunz Vonner of EuroNet. She wanted to tell Helen about her news story.
    “The accident outside?” she said for the third time. “Not an accident. It’s a crime scene, though the police are trying to keep it under wraps.”
    Finally, Helen was listening. Sydney told her about the unattended vehicle, the telegram, getting caught, Officer Pollard’s blunder, and the resulting disclosure.
    “Exactly what did the telegram say?” The newshound within Helen Gordon stirred. Sydney had seen it happen before, but this was the first time she was the one poking it to life. It was exciting.
    “I wrote it down.” Sydney flipped open her notepad. “It said, ‘You have been selected for death. Stop. Precisely forty-eight hours from the time of this transmission you will die. Stop. This is an official death watch notice. Stop.’”
    A voice came from behind her. “What did you say?”
    Sydney looked up to see Hunz Vonner turning his back on Cori Zinn, who was in the middle of telling him there was a vacancy in the prime-time broadcast and how she was being considered for the slot. Vonner wasn’t listening.
    “What was that you said?” he said again to Sydney.
    He looked at her notepad. Reached for it. She pulled it away, pressing it flat against her chest.
    “Did you pick that up off the wires?” Vonner’s eyes were sharp, demanding. His voice had an edge to it that a television audience would never be allowed to