“That’s why I’m offering you a way out,” said O’Reilly.
Armstrong grimaced as he looked down at the latest work sheets. “And what about Bugs Bunny, Jimmy Carter and O.J. Simpson, not to mention forty-eight other well-known personalities who signed on for yesterday’s late shift? And I’ll bet the only finger any of them lifted all night was to stir their coffee between hands of poker. And you expect me to agree that every one of them, including George Bush, has to be included in your redundancy package?”
“Yes. It’s just our way of helping him with his campaign contributions.”
Armstrong looked toward Russell and Peter in desperation, hoping to get some support from them, but for different reasons neither of them opened his mouth. He turned back to face O’Reilly. “I’ll let you know my decision later,” he shouted. “Now get out of my office.”
“Were you still hoping that the paper will hit the streets tonight?” asked O’Reilly innocently.
“Is that another threat?” asked Armstrong.
“Sure is,” said O’Reilly. “Because if you are, I suggest you settle before the evening shift comes on at five o’clock. It doesn’t make a lot of difference to my men if they’re paid for working or not working.”
“Get out of my office,” Armstrong repeated at the top of his voice.
“Whatever you say, Mr. Armstrong. You’re the boss.” He nodded to Russell and turned to leave.
Once the door had closed behind him, Armstrong swung round to face Peter. “Now you can see what I’m up against. What do they expect me to do?” He was still shouting.
“To close the paper down,” said Russell calmly, “as you should have done on the first day of the seventh week. By now they would have settled at a far lower price.”
“But if I’d taken your advice, we’d have no paper.”
“And we’d all be getting a night’s sleep.”
“If you want a night’s sleep, you have one,” said Armstrong. “I’m going to settle. In the short term it’s the only way out. We’ll win them round in the end, nothing’s more certain. O’Reilly is about to crack. I’m sure you agree with me, Peter.”
Peter Wakeham didn’t say anything until Armstrong turned to face him, when he began to nod vigorously.
“But where are you going to find another $320 million?” asked Russell.
“That’s my problem,” said Armstrong.
“It’s mine too. I’ll need the money within minutes of O’Reilly putting his signature to the agreement, otherwise they’ll come out on strike just as we’re about to print the next edition.”
“You’ll have it,” said Armstrong.
“Dick, it’s still not too late…” said Russell.
“Settle, and settle now,” shouted Armstrong.
; Russell nodded reluctantly and left the room as Armstrong picked up a phone that would put him directly through to the editor. “Barney, it’s good news,” he boomed. “I’ve managed to convince the unions that they should settle on my terms. I want a front-page story saying it’s a victory for common sense and a leader on how I’ve achieved something no one else has ever done in the past.”
“Sure, if that’s what you want, boss. Would you like me to print the details of the settlement?”
“No, don’t bother with the details. The terms are so complicated that even the readers of the Wall Street Journal wouldn’t understand them. In any case, there’s no point in embarrassing the unions,” he added before putting the phone down.
“Well done, Dick,” said Peter. “Not that I was in any doubt that you’d win in the end.”
“At a price,” said Armstrong, opening the top drawer of his desk.
“Not really, Dick. O’Reilly caved in the moment you threatened to close the paper. You handled him quite brilliantly.”
“Peter, I need a couple of checks signed,” said Armstrong, “and as you’re the only other director in New York at the moment…”
“Of course,” said Peter. “Only too happy to oblige.”