The Best Laid Plans. Sidney Sheldon

They don’t realize how important you pressmen are to our newspaper.’

      He was studying her, puzzled. ‘But if they voted you down, how can we …?’

      ‘The only reason they voted me down is that they’re not taking your union seriously. If you want to avoid a long strike, and maybe the death of the paper, you have to show them you mean business.’

      ‘How do you mean?’

      Leslie said nervously, ‘What I’m telling you is very confidential, but it’s the only way that you’re going to get what you want. The problem is simple. They think you’re bluffing. They don’t believe you mean business. You have to show them that you do. Your contract is up this Friday at midnight.’

      ‘Yes …’

      ‘They’ll expect you just to quietly walk out.’ She leaned forward. ‘Don’t!’ He was listening intently. ‘Show them that they can’t run the Star without you. Don’t just go out like lambs. Do some damage.’

      His eyes widened.

      ‘I don’t mean anything serious,’ Leslie said quickly. ‘Just enough to show them that you mean business. Cut a few cables, put a press or two out of commission. Let them learn that they need you to operate them. Everything can be repaired in a day or two, but meanwhile, you’ll have scared them into their senses. They’ll finally know what they’re dealing with.’

      Joe Riley sat there for a long time, studying Leslie. ‘You’re a remarkable lady.’

      ‘Not really. I thought it over, and I have a very simple choice. You can cause a little damage that can be easily corrected, and force the board to deal with you, or you can walk out quietly and resign yourself to a long strike that the paper may never recover from. All I care about is protecting the paper.’

      A slow smile lit Riley’s face. ‘Let me buy you a cup of coffee, Mrs Chambers.’

      ‘We’re striking!’

      Friday night, at one minute past midnight, under Joe Riley’s direction, the pressmen attacked. They stripped parts from the machines, overturned tables full of equipment, and set two printing presses on fire. A guard who tried to stop them was badly beaten. The pressmen, who had started out merely to disable a few presses, got caught up in the fever of the excitement, and they became more and more destructive.

      ‘Let’s show the bastards that they can’t shove us around!’ one of the men cried.

      ‘There’s no paper without us!’

      ‘We’re the Star!’

      Cheers went up. The men attacked harder. The press-room was turning into a shambles.

      In the midst of the wild excitement, floodlights suddenly flashed on from the four corners of the room. The men stopped, looking around in bewilderment. Near the doors, television cameras were recording the fiery scene and the destruction. Next to them were reporters from the Arizona Republic, the Phoenix Gazette, and several news services, covering the havoc. There were at least a dozen policemen and firemen.

      Joe Riley was looking around in shock. How the hell had they all gotten here so fast? As the police started to close in and the firemen turned on their hoses, the answer suddenly came to Riley, and he felt as though someone had kicked him in the stomach. Leslie Chambers had set him up! When these pictures of the destruction the union had caused got out, there would be no sympathy for them. Public opinion would turn against them. The bitch had planned this all along …

      The television pictures were aired within the hour, and the radio waves were filled with details of the wanton destruction. News services around the world printed the story, and they all carried the theme of the vicious employees who had turned on the hand that fed them. It was a public relations triumph for the Phoenix Star.