Combat Photographer Under Siege

CHAPTER 1

There was always that little stab of sorrow when Grace Alcott woke up.

That instant when she didn’t want to open her eyes and see the expanse of empty bed beside her.

Aya’s dead, and Joseph Alden.

It had been nearly five years since her partner and child had died in the accident, but it was still her first thought of the day.

The shock had worn off, the breathtaking pain, the numbness.

Nowadays, Grace was trudging through the featureless landscape that her life had become, thinking that if she just kept going surely the terrain would improve, surely someday she would feel like her old self again.

So get up, she ordered herself. And make something of this day.

Throwing aside the bedcovers, she set her bare feet on the hardwood floor.

Today of all days, she had to focus. Her boss at the Educational Broadcasting System was trying to saddle her with Brenna Rease as Director of Photography for the pilot of the new documentary series she was producing.

Brenna Rease, for heaven’s sake! The spectacularly debauched daughter of the U.S. Special Envoy, she was variously known as the Queen of the Billiard Ball, the Preying Mantis—and, granted—the Pulitzer Prize Winner.

Still annoyed by his meddling, Grace stumbled through the walk-in closet to the bathroom.

Sam Chisolm had shown up in her office late last night, settled into a wing chair, and announced: “I had Mildred re-schedule your eight o’clock appointment tomorrow morning so we could meet Miss Rease first thing and pitch the job to her.”

Grace had flinched at Sam’s use of the term ‘Miss.’ But to be fair, at almost seventy years of age, Sam sincerely tried to be a 20th Century man. Back when Grace had started working with him, he wouldn’t have considered hiring a female combat photographer—much less promoted her so vigorously.

“I had lunch with a few of the guys at the club—”

The National Press Club was Sam’s favorite haunt in Washington, D.C. He loved rubbing elbows with the press corps.

“—and they said that Brenna Rease was in town. The minute I heard it, I knew we needed her. She’s a pro, been covering the siege of Kav?ak all along. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me sooner.”

The old man paused, eyes narrowing at Grace’s lack of enthusiasm.

“You do know who I’m talking about, don’t you?”

“Of course,” she replied. Who didn’t? The woman was infamous and Grace wanted nothing to do with her. “I hear she’s difficult to work with.”

“But brilliant. And fearless. She accepts assignments most won’t touch.”

“She wrecks her gear.” A state-of-the-art digital field camera cost nearly as much as a compact car.

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Stop sparring with me, Grace. She’s an attachment.”

Someone she could associate with the project to make it more salable. Grace knew the drill.

“There isn’t a person in this country who didn’t see her Pulitzer photograph,” Sam said.

Admittedly, it had been astonishing. Agony and ecstasy in the face and body of a dead Israeli soldier.

Her lover, allegedly.

“That was three years ago,” she said.

“Yeah, and the Marines landed on Iwo Jima in 1945, but everyone remembers that picture, too.”

A note of impatience edged Sam’s voice. “We’ve got the budget for the pilot but still need sponsors for the series. And to get that corporate buy-in, we need the woman with the household name and the Pulitzer Prize, not some obscure DP. Brenna Rease is a star, Grace. People love stars.”

Grace shook her head, thinking of the management nightmare that a ‘star’ like Brenna Rease represented.

“And you need to put aside your personal feelings. What she did to her lover—if he was her lover, and no one’s had the stones to actually ask—has nothing to do with you. Nothing to do with this project. Let it go. I’m not asking you to marry her. I’m telling you to hire her.”

Sam had let the point sink in. “I want her on this project, and I want you to sign her. Have I made myself clear?”

Loud and clear, Grace thought, stepping into the steaming shower. Loud and clear.