Cover-up by John Feinstein Read Free Book Online Page A

was
massive.
    It was also, he noticed, kind of cold out on the field. He knew the game-day temperature would be seventy-two degrees inside, but that would be with 82,000 people in the place. Now, with a couple thousand people milling around on the field and no one in the stands, it was considerably cooler. Since only a few of the lights were turned on, the floor of the Dome felt almost bleak. It was chilly and overcast—not much different from the weather outside.
    Everywhere Stevie looked there were people with microphones, tape recorders, and TV cameras. He had done some research when he thought he was going to be doing a daily TV show from the Super Bowl, and he knew that the NFL credentialed more than 2,000 media members for the game. Doing the math, Stevie realized that meant there were about forty media members for each of the fifty-three players from each team. The numbers got a little worse when you figured that only forty-five of the fifty-three players on the roster would actually be in uniform for the game.
    Platforms had been set up for some of the Ravens’ bigger names—Coach Brian Billick; Ray Lewis, the star linebacker; Steve McNair, the starting quarterback; and Todd Heap, the tight end. Other players were in roped-off areas while some others—the nonstars—were seated at tables with name cards in front of them. Stevie was trying to figure out exactly where he should start when he heard a familiar voice behind him.
    â€œWhy, Stevie Thomas, look at you with not one but
two
credentials. You
really
are a star!”
    It was, predictably, Susan Carol. Only she wasn’t alone. In fact, she had what amounted to an entourage. There was a cameraman, a guy carrying sound equipment, someone he didn’t recognize in a suit, a makeup woman, a couple of large men he guessed were bodyguards of some sort, and, walking with a young woman he guessed was
another
PR person, someone who could only be Jamie Whitsitt. He was about six feet tall, and had sandy blond hair, blue eyes that Stevie figured most girls would consider dreamy, and a bored look on his face.
    Turning to face Susan Carol and company, Stevie smiled. “At least I work alone,” he said.
    She twirled his CBS credential to get a better look and laughed. “Not if you’re working for these guys, you won’t be,” she said. “I guess you said yes.”
    â€œThey made me an offer I couldn’t refuse,” he said. “I don’t start till tomorrow, though.”
    â€œSusan Carol, I’m sorry, but we need to get you guys to work here,” the suit said.
    â€œRight,” Susan Carol said. She turned toward Whitsitt and said, “Jamie, I want to introduce you to my friend Steve Thomas.”
    Whitsitt didn’t look all that eager to meet Stevie, but he walked over, hand extended. “Hey, dude, no hard feelings, I hope,” he said.
    At least, Stevie thought, he knows who he replaced. “None where you’re concerned,” Stevie said, accepting the handshake. “Just make sure you’re nice to Susan Carol.”
    Whitsitt grinned. “I don’t think that will be too painful, huh, dude?”
    Stevie wondered if Whitsitt could complete a sentence without the word
dude
. He was tempted to keep the conversation going to find out, but the suit was frowning and the PR person was waving at someone upfield to get their attention.
    â€œGotta go, kids,” the PR guy said, unwilling or unable to look at or acknowledge Stevie.
    â€œHey, nice talking to you too,” Stevie said to the PR guy and the suit, who looked at him blankly and started walking.
    â€œI’ll talk to you later,” Susan Carol said quietly.
    â€œOh yeah, absolutely, dude,” Stevie said.
    She half made a face at him. “He’s not a bad guy.”
    That surprised—and disappointed—Stevie. “Yeah, he’s great. But, dude, are you sure English is his native