Cover-up (24 page)

Did he hold on long enough for it to be a catch? The back judge signaled touchdown. Bedlam broke out around Stevie and Susan Carol. Brennan was being mobbed by his teammates, who had left the bench. The score was tied at nineteen. Five seconds were left. Only the extra point stood between the Dreams and the Super Bowl title.

“Hang on a second,” Susan Carol said, shouting into Stevie's ear to be heard. She pointed at the referee, who was huddling with the other officials. The Ravens were screaming that the call was wrong, that the ball had never been caught. The referee turned on his mic: “The play will be reviewed,” he said. “The ruling on the field is a touchdown.”

From behind where they were standing, boos erupted from the blue-and-gold-clad Dreams fans. On the other side, where most of the crowd was dressed in Ravens purple, there were cheers. Stevie could see people pointing at the replay board as if to say, “Look at this replay.”

“Wow,” Susan Carol said. “Can you imagine if they overrule this call? There might be a riot.”

The referee trotted almost directly past where they were standing, with security people all around him, to get to the camera position where he would look at the replay. “Has to be indisputable evidence that the call on the field is wrong,” Stevie said.

“Check it out,” Susan Carol said, pointing at the giant board. The replay showed Brennan's pass landing in Arlington's hands just as McAlister collided with him. The ball popped loose instantly. The fans on the Ravens' side began screaming as soon as they saw the replay.

“Oh my God,” Susan Carol said. “I don't think he ever had possession.”

“If he did, it was for about point zero, zero one seconds,” Stevie said.

They showed the play over and over. Each time, the crowd on both sides screamed. The referee remained under the camera hood, looking at the play over and over.

“Maybe he's hoping if he stays under there long enough, everyone will go home,” Susan Carol said.

Stevie, whose stomach was tied in knots, though he wasn't sure why, smiled. “Brian Billick hates replay,” he said. “He calls this a ‘peep show.'”

“He's either going to really hate it or change his mind in the next few seconds,” Susan Carol said.

The ref finally emerged, trotting slowly back onto the field. The stadium buzzed, then went almost quiet when he opened his mic and began talking. “After further review, the receiver did
not
have possession of the ball….” Stevie couldn't hear the rest because the stadium had erupted. All of the Dreams people were going crazy, screaming.

Stevie saw Kaplow signal for time-out. It was now fourth down. The Dreams had one last chance and he wanted an extra moment to calm his players and talk to Brennan about what play he wanted to call. It would probably be too loud to check at the line. They would make their choice and then either win or lose the game on this play.

Stevie took a step to try to get close enough to hear Kaplow, but it was impossible. He was talking directly into Brennan's ear, and Brennan was nodding. He started toward the field and Kaplow pulled him back to say one more thing. Inside the helmet, Brennan was smiling.

The ref signaled that the time-out was over, so Brennan stepped into the huddle and called the play. Stevie looked around and saw that everyone in the stadium was standing. One play to decide a Super Bowl.

“I really don't know who to root for,” Susan Carol said, voicing the same conflict Stevie felt.

The Dreams broke the huddle. Brennan pointed a finger at Troy Slade and made some kind of signal. A decoy, perhaps? He pointed both right and left, ducked under center, took the final snap of the season, and dropped back. He held a moment, seemingly looking for a receiver. The Ravens had rushed wide—trying to force him out of the pocket before he had time to set up and pass. The middle was wide open except for Ray Lewis, but just as Lewis started toward Brennan, Slade came in from the side and knocked him off his feet. Brennan tucked the ball under his arm and raced into the end zone completely untouched.

Touchdown!

Stevie looked at Susan Carol. She had an “are you kidding me?” grin on her face.

“They ran E-D Special!” Stevie screamed. “I can't believe it!”

Brennan was being mobbed—this time for real. Around them, players and coaches were hugging one another. The clock was at zero.

“Extra point, extra point!” Kaplow was screaming. The Dreams still had to kick the extra point. The score was 19–19. The Dreams' kicking team trotted onto the field. Billick used his last time-out. No sense saving it now. Extra points were pretty much automatic, but Billick could at least try to shake the kicker's confidence by making him think about what was at stake.

“How crazy would it be if he missed,” Susan Carol said.

“That last play was beyond crazy,” Stevie said. “I don't know what this would be.”

The teams lined up, the ball was snapped, and Jason Covarrubias kicked it right down the middle.

Fireworks began exploding the minute the ball hit the net behind the goalpost. The Dreams had won, 20–19. Everyone on both sides was moving toward the center of the field for handshakes and hugs.

Stevie saw Eddie Brennan heading for Darin Kerns. Cameras were everywhere.

They saw Kerns, dressed in Ravens purple, race up to his friend. “You ran E-D Special, you crazy SOB!”

“Still works!” Stevie heard Eddie yell. “I didn't even tell Kaplow!” he screamed. “Just Troy! I knew it would be open.”

He had tears in his eyes. So did Kerns. Stevie understood. The media had now been allowed on the field, and cameras and microphones began to descend on both of them.

“Let's get out of here,” Susan Carol said. “I have no desire to see Meeker with the trophy.”

“I know,” Stevie said. “But he won't get to enjoy it for long.”

They headed to the tunnel. They had work to do.

24:
GAME OVER

IT TOOK THEM SEVERAL MINUTES
to work their way to the massive interview room because security checkpoints had been set up every ten yards—or so it seemed—along the hallway. Kelleher was waiting for them at the back of the room.

“Where's Tamara?” Susan Carol asked.

“She went straight to the locker room,” he said. “She's going to write about the HGH Five, and none of them are going to be brought in here, that's for sure.”

“You think they'll say anything?” Stevie asked.

“No, but sometimes a column about people not saying anything is just as good.”

“Bobby, we need to talk—alone,” Susan Carol said.

“That may be difficult right now,” Kelleher said. He pointed to the back corner of the room. Most of the media people pouring in were trying to find seats close to the front. There had to be at least fifty camera crews set up on a riser that was two-thirds of the way back in the room.

They got as far away from other people as they could. “What's up?” Kelleher said.

“We've got Meeker nailed,” Susan Carol said.

“I thought you nailed him pretty good this morning….”

They both shook their heads emphatically. “No,
really
nailed,” Susan Carol said.

She took the tiny tape out of her pocket and held it up for Kelleher to see. “On this tape, we've got Meeker and Mike Shupe talking about Eddie's benching and, more important, Meeker admits to paying off the head of the lab to say there was a problem with the testing and that the documents we have aren't valid.”

Kelleher's mouth was hanging open. “How…?”

“We'll tell you the whole thing later,” Stevie said before Susan Carol could start to answer. “I think right now we need to let Meeker and the commissioner know we have the tape.”

Kelleher nodded. “Is that the only copy?” he asked. They nodded. “Okay, then we need to get copies made right away.” He paused, clearly trying to decide what to do. Then he snapped his fingers. “Okay. My column is going to be on all of this anyway. It's the only story—especially with what you've got here. I'm going to take the tape upstairs to the media work area, listen to it, and see if I can make copies. Someone must have a dual tape recorder. Lots of guys use these micro tapes.

“Stevie, you're going to the Dreams' locker room. Meeker will be in there taking bows. When you get an opening, you tell him exactly what you've got.”

“What if other people are listening?”

“Don't worry about it. It's already after ten o'clock on the East Coast, and we're the only ones with the tape. Everyone's going to have to write off our stories. In fact, make sure there
are
people around. Who knows what Meeker may do when he hears you've got him.”

“I'm ready for him,” Stevie said.

“Yeah, well, keep your cool, slugger,” Kelleher said. “You aren't in there to fight, you're in there to report. If he's crazy enough to take a swing at you, you step out of the way, let others intervene, and report it that way. You understand?”

“Yes,” Stevie said, knowing Kelleher was right.

“Susan Carol, I'm going to get you to Joe Browne, who can take you to Commissioner Goodell. He should know about this and we need a response—even if it's a ‘no comment.'”

“What about Eddie?” Susan Carol asked.

“Eddie will be in here. He's going to be asked about the first-half benching. So will Kaplow. I'll try to be back in time to see what they say. Worse comes to worst, we'll call Eddie later on his cell to tell him what happened and get a comment from him that way. Okay, let's meet back in the main press box and decide what else we need when we've got all this.”

He paused and looked at them both. “Are you sure you've got this right?” he said.

“We're sure—go listen.”

Kelleher nodded. “You're right. Stevie, you need to get moving to the locker room. It's a long walk from here. Look for Tamara when you get there.”

Stevie had to wait behind a barricade with other media members while the triumphant Dreams came through their tunnel following the awards ceremony that had just ended on the field. He spotted Brennan but couldn't catch his eye. Once all the Dreams had gone by, security people pulled the barricade back and the media began charging toward the victors' locker room. Stevie hung back, not wanting to get whacked on the head by a stampeding cameraman. He walked in a couple of minutes later and saw complete bedlam. Champagne was being sprayed everywhere. Players were pouring champagne, beer—anything they could get their hands on—on their own heads, on the heads of the media, on any heads they could find.

Eddie Brennan, Troy Slade, and Skyler Kaplow were being led by security and NFL personnel out the door to be taken to the interview room. Stevie knew the Ravens would already be there by now. The losers went first while the winners were on the field for the awards ceremony.

Brennan spotted Stevie, said something to one of the NFL people, and sprinted over to him.

“Can you believe it?!” he said. “Did you see? We ran E-D Special! Kaplow is actually upset!”

“Just like in high school!” Stevie said, and Brennan laughed.

“Eddie—we've got a tape,” Stevie said, shouting to be heard even though he was talking right into Brennan's ear. “We've got Meeker on tape, talking about the whole conspiracy. We've got him, Eddie.”

“You're
sure
?”

“One hundred percent.”

Brennan let out a whoop and hugged Stevie, drenching him in sweat and champagne. “My God,” he said. “What started as the worst day of my life may end as just about the best.”

“Except the o-line guys shouldn't have played.”

He sobered for a second. “You're right. But ruining this for Meeker helps a lot.”

He was gone then, pulled away by someone in a blue blazer. “People waiting for you on the golf cart, Eddie,” he said.

“Talk to you later,” Brennan said as he left.

Stevie took in the locker room scene for a moment. He spotted Tamara in a corner with several other writers, talking to Bill Bryant. He decided not to interrupt.

“You looking for someone specific?” asked a helpful person wearing an
NFL PUBLIC RELATIONS
credential.

“Meeker,” Stevie said.

“All the way in the back,” he said.

Stevie squared his shoulders and walked through the locker room, getting sprayed as he went. Not surprisingly, Meeker was surrounded by cameras, tape recorders, and notebooks. Even in the chaos, he could hear Meeker clearly.

“…This is the last time I'm going to say this. All the questions raised by that story will be answered in the next day or two. The people who wrote it will end up apologizing to us—or they can apologize to our lawyers. We've done nothing wrong.”

“I don't think that's true,” Stevie said, shouting to be heard.

Almost by magic, the cameras in front of him seemed to pull back, giving him a clear path to Meeker, who was still holding the Lombardi Trophy. Meeker's face turned into an angry snarl when he saw Stevie.

“Here's one of the reporters who got duped into writing a story that's one hundred percent wrong,” he said. “Why don't you ask him about it?”

Stevie noticed several cameras turned in his direction. He was now pouring sweat—or maybe it was champagne. “I came down here to give you a chance to comment on the story we're writing for tomorrow,” he said.

“Dreams win the Super Bowl? Kid reporters exposed as fools?” Meeker asked.

“Not quite,” Stevie said. “More like, ‘
Herald
acquires tape recording of Meeker explaining cover-up plot to Mike Shupe of USTV.' Would you like to comment?”

Meeker stared at him for a second. “You're a liar.”

“We'll find out soon who the liar is,” Stevie said.

For a moment, he thought Meeker was going to lunge at him. “There's no way you have a tape,” Meeker said, his voice now shaking. “Shupe and I were the only ones in that room….”

He stopped, realizing what he had said. The cameras were now turned in his direction. Meeker's voice was getting very high-pitched. “I met with Shupe to discuss my interview today. You all saw it. That's all it was. The kid is bluffing.”

“Fine,” Stevie said. “If that's your comment, I've got a story to go write.”

“Get him out!” Meeker screamed. “Get him out of
my
locker room right now!”

“Don't worry, Little Donny,” Stevie said, feeling very secure now. “I'm leaving. I've got all I need.”

Stevie could hear Meeker still screaming—on camera, no doubt—as he turned and walked away.

Susan Carol and Kelleher were already writing when Stevie returned to the main press box. There was plenty of room to work, since a lot of the other writers had opted to write from the downstairs workroom.

“I just thought I should get us started since it's so late,” Susan Carol said.

Kelleher filled him in on the plan. He had transcribed the key parts of the tape—“never heard anything like it in my life”—and sent it to the paper. He was writing a column calling for the league to force Meeker to sell the team. “They won't call the game a forfeit, so the win stands,” he said. “But Goodell told Susan Carol that if it was all true, the other owners could vote to compel Meeker to sell the team.”

Tamara returned just after Stevie and they brought her up to date too. “Just beyond amazing,” she said, shaking her head.

Once Stevie and Susan Carol started writing—she sat at the computer, he made suggestions over her shoulder—Stevie understood the term “a story that writes itself.” Kelleher had told them to just write and not worry about length, and they wrote close to 3,000 words. Kelleher, who finished his column just as they were wrapping it up, read it through quickly before they sent it to the
Herald.

“Unbelievable,” Kelleher kept saying. “I thought New Orleans was unbelievable. This is beyond that. And the best part is, you've got 'em cold. This story almost doesn't need to be lawyered. It's all right there on tape.”

He folded his arms and looked at the two of them. “Okay, now tell me just how you got this tape,” he said.

Susan Carol smiled. “We have to protect our source on this, Bobby,” she said.

Kelleher's eyes narrowed. “Come on. Just tell me enough so I can tell the lawyers I'm completely sure it's legit.”

“Dude, it's all good,” Stevie said, smiling. “Our favorite dude came through, okay?”

Bobby looked at them for a minute, then smiled. “If you're saying what I think you're saying, don't tell me any more,” he said. “It will all be too strange for me to understand anyway.”

“Works for us,” Susan Carol said, flashing the smile. Stevie had almost forgotten what it looked like, it had been so long.

They still had to answer some questions from the lawyer and from the editors, but it was all pretty basic. It was hard to argue with a recorded confession.

It was well after one a.m. by the time they packed up their computers and walked out of the press box.

Tamara had called Mark Maske, who was working downstairs, to alert him to the
Herald
's story, which she had referred to in her column. “Scooped by children again,” she said, laughing.

They walked back to the hotel with snow falling steadily. The streets were still crowded, mostly with Dreams fans, celebrating their victory.

“The amazing thing is, none of these people care that their team won a tainted Super Bowl,” Tamara said. “None of them care that the team owner is an incredible sleazebag.”

Bobby nodded. “We could write a million stories like the one you guys wrote tonight and most fans will just shrug and say, ‘Yeah, but we won.'”

“So why do we bother?” Stevie said.

“Because the truth matters,” Kelleher said. “The truth will bring the bad guys down. Meeker is going down, and the players will be penalized. And maybe other players won't think they can get away with cheating in the future. The truth always matters.”

They contemplated that and what lay ahead as they walked. The story would take on a life of its own now, one with far-reaching ramifications. But Stevie and Susan Carol wouldn't be on the front lines of it anymore—they were going home.

Bobby and Tamara left Stevie and Susan Carol alone to say goodbye in front of the Marriott. Susan Carol was going to take a cab back to the Canterbury—she had a seven a.m. flight.

“You going to be okay on four hours' sleep?” Stevie asked.

“I'll be fine. I sleep well on airplanes,” she said.

He was trying to figure out what to say or do next. After spending so much time together, it was strange to think he wouldn't see her tomorrow.