The Laid Plans

A clerk said, "Can I help you?"

"Yes. I want to buy a jacket for a friend of mine." She looked at Kemal. "He’s about his size."

"This way, please."

In the boy’s section there was a rack of jackets. Dana turned to Kemal. "Which one do you like?"

Kemal stood there, saying nothing.

Dana said to the clerk, "We’ll take the brown one." She looked at Kemal’s trousers. "And I think we need a pair of trousers and some new shoes."

When they left the store half an hour later, Kemal was dressed in his new outfit. He slid into the backseat of the car without a word.

"Don’t you know how to say thank you?" Jovan demanded angrily.

Kemal burst into tears. Dana put her arms around him. "It’s all right," she said. "It’s all right."

What kind of a world does this to children?

When they returned to the hotel, Dana watched Kemal turn and walk away without a word.

"Where does someone like that live?" Dana asked Jovan.

"On the streets, madam. There are hundreds of orphans in Sarajevo like him. They have no homes, no families…"

"How do they survive?"

He shrugged. "I do not know."

The next day, when Dana walked out of the hotel, Kemal was waiting for her, dressed in his new outfit. He had washed his face.

The big news at the luncheon table was the peace treaty and whether it would work. Dana decided to go back to visit Professor Mladic Staka and ask what he thought about it.

He looked even more frail than the last time she had seen him.

"I am happy to see you, Miss Evans. I hear you are doing wonderful broadcasts, but – " He shrugged. "Unfortunately, I have no electricity for my television set. What can I do for you?"

"I wanted to get your opinion of the new peace treaty, Professor."

He leaned back in his chair and said thoughtfully, "It is interesting to me that in Dayton, Ohio, they made a decision about what is going to happen to the future of Sarajevo."

"They’ve agreed to a troika, a three-person presidency, composed of a Muslim, a Croat, and a Serb. Do you think it can work, Professor?"

"Only if you believe in miracles." He frowned. "There will be eighteen national legislative bodies and another hundred and nine different local governments. It is a Tower of political Babel. It is what you Americans call a ‘shotgun marriage.’ None of them wants to give up their autonomy. They insist on having their own flags, their own license plates, their own currency." He shook his head. "It is a morning peace. Beware of the night."

Dana Evans had gone beyond being a mere reporter and was becoming an international legend. What came through in her television broadcasts was an intelligent human being filled with passion. And because Dana cared, her viewers cared, and shared her feelings.

Matt Baker began getting calls from other news outlets saying that they wanted to syndicate Dana Evans’s broadcasts. He was delighted for her. She went over there to do good, he thought, and she’s going to wind up doing well.

With her own new satellite truck, Dana was busier than ever. She was no longer at the mercy of the Yugoslav satellite company. She and Benn decided what stories they wanted to do, and Dana would write them and broadcast them. Some of the stories were broadcast live, and others were taped. Dana and Benn and Andy would go out on the streets and photograph whatever background was needed, then Dana would tape her commentary in an editing room and send it back on the line to Washington.

At lunchtime, in the hotel dining room, large platters of sandwiches were placed in the center of the table. Journalists were busily helping themselves. Roderick Munn, from the BBC, walked into the room with an AP clipping in his hand.

"Listen to this, everybody." He read the clipping aloud. "’Dana Evans, a foreign correspondent for WTE, is now being syndicated by a dozen news stations. Miss Evans has been nominated for the coveted Peabody Award…’" The story went on from there.

"Aren’t we lucky to be associated with somebody so famous?" one of the reporters said sarcastically.

At that moment, Dana walked into the dining room."

"Hi, everybody. I don’t have time for lunch today. I’m going to take some sandwiches with me." She scooped up several sandwiches and covered them with paper napkins. "See you later." They watched in silence as she left.

When Dana got outside, Kemal was there, waiting.

"Good afternoon, Kemal."

No response.

"Get into the car."

Kemal slid into the backseat. Dana handed him a sandwich and sat there, watching him silently wolf it down. She handed him another sandwich, and he started to eat it.

"Slowly," Dana said.

"Where to?" Jovan asked.

Dana turned to Kemal. "Where to?" He looked at her uncomprehendingly. "We’re taking you home, Kemal. Where do you live?"

He shook his head.

"I need to know. Where do you live?"

Twenty minutes later, the car stopped in front of a large vacant lot near the banks of the Miljacka. Dozens of big cardboard boxes were scattered around, and the lot was littered with debris of all kinds.

Dana got out of the car and turned to Kemal. "Is this where you live?"

He reluctantly nodded.

"And other boys live here, too?"

He nodded again.

"I want to do a story about this, Kemal."

He shook his head. "No."

"Why not?"

"The police will come and take us away. Don’t."

Dana studied him a moment. "All right. I promise."

The next morning, Dana moved out of her room at the Holiday Inn. When she did not appear at breakfast, Gabriella Orsi from the Altre Station in Italy asked, "Where’s Dana?"