story will never break,” Jack muttered. “MI6 won’t let you write it.”
“I’m sure they’ll try to stop me. But this is the twenty-first century, Jack, and it’s not so easy anymore. You think the Americans wanted anyone to know about the torture practices carried out in the Abu Ghraib prison in Iraq? Or what about all the British members of Parliament who were trying to hide their crooked expenses? There are no secrets these days. If they stop me from going to the newspapers, I can put it on the Internet, and once the story’s broken, the press will come running. You’ll see. And if we keep it exclusive—if we go to the Sunday Times or the Telegraph —we’ll clean up.
“But it’s not just about the newspapers. The way I see it, there’s a book in this. It shouldn’t take more than three months to write, and it’ll sell all over the world. Tony Blair was offered six million for his memoirs, which nobody even wants to read. I reckon we could make ten times that amount. Then there’ll be syndication in the world press, exclusive interviews—Oprah Winfrey will pay a million alone—and almost certainly a bidding war for the rights to make a major Hollywood film. You’re going to be the most famous person in the world, Alex. Everyone is going to want a piece of you.”
“And who gets the money?” Jack asked. She already knew the answer.
“We’ll come to an agreement, Jack. Whatever you may think of me, I’m not greedy, and there’s going to be more than enough to go around. Fifty-fifty! Alex will tell me the full story and I’ll write it down. I’ve got all the contacts . . . publishers, lawyers, that sort of thing. In a way, I’ll be Alex’s manager, and I promise you I’ll look after him. Like I said, I’m a fan. And after what he’s been through, he deserves to rake it in. From what I hear, MI6 hasn’t even paid him a regular salary. Now that’s what I call exploitation.”
“Suppose I’m not interested,” Alex said. “Suppose I don’t want the story to be told.”
Bulman drank more of his beer. The chewing gum was still in his mouth. “It’s too late for that now, Alex,” he explained. “It’s going to happen anyway. The story’s out there and someone’s going to write it, even if I don’t. If you sit back and refuse to cooperate, it’ll only make it worse. You’ll have to live with what people say about you and you won’t get a chance to set down your own side of what happened.
“But in a way, if you don’t mind my saying so, you’re lucky that you’ve got me in the driver’s seat. You think anyone else would offer you equal partnership? In fact, most other journalists would have just gone ahead and broken the news without even coming here. I can imagine you’re probably a bit confused right now, and I’m sorry I pulled that stunt on you in the cemetery. But believe me, once you get to know me better, we’re going to be friends. I’m a professional. I know what I’m doing.”
Bulman finished his beer and crumpled the can. Alex didn’t know what to say. Too many thoughts were going through his head.
Fortunately, Jack was never at a loss for words. “Thank you for being so frank with us,” she said. “But if you don’t mind, we’d like a little time to think about what you’ve said.”
“Of course. I can understand that. You have my number. I can give you one week.” Bulman stood up. “I reckon it’ll be quite fun, Alex. I’ll come here every evening and we’ll talk for a couple of hours. Then I’ll write it up the next day while you’re at school. You can read it over for accuracy on weekends.” He gestured at the photographs. “You can hang on to those. I’ve got copies.”
He went over to the door, then turned around one last time.
“You’re a real hero, Alex,” he said. “I hope I made that clear from the start. There aren’t many boys your age who actually believe in their country. You’re a patriot and I respect that.
“I’m sure they’ll try to stop me. But this is the twenty-first century, Jack, and it’s not so easy anymore. You think the Americans wanted anyone to know about the torture practices carried out in the Abu Ghraib prison in Iraq? Or what about all the British members of Parliament who were trying to hide their crooked expenses? There are no secrets these days. If they stop me from going to the newspapers, I can put it on the Internet, and once the story’s broken, the press will come running. You’ll see. And if we keep it exclusive—if we go to the Sunday Times or the Telegraph —we’ll clean up.
“But it’s not just about the newspapers. The way I see it, there’s a book in this. It shouldn’t take more than three months to write, and it’ll sell all over the world. Tony Blair was offered six million for his memoirs, which nobody even wants to read. I reckon we could make ten times that amount. Then there’ll be syndication in the world press, exclusive interviews—Oprah Winfrey will pay a million alone—and almost certainly a bidding war for the rights to make a major Hollywood film. You’re going to be the most famous person in the world, Alex. Everyone is going to want a piece of you.”
“And who gets the money?” Jack asked. She already knew the answer.
“We’ll come to an agreement, Jack. Whatever you may think of me, I’m not greedy, and there’s going to be more than enough to go around. Fifty-fifty! Alex will tell me the full story and I’ll write it down. I’ve got all the contacts . . . publishers, lawyers, that sort of thing. In a way, I’ll be Alex’s manager, and I promise you I’ll look after him. Like I said, I’m a fan. And after what he’s been through, he deserves to rake it in. From what I hear, MI6 hasn’t even paid him a regular salary. Now that’s what I call exploitation.”
“Suppose I’m not interested,” Alex said. “Suppose I don’t want the story to be told.”
Bulman drank more of his beer. The chewing gum was still in his mouth. “It’s too late for that now, Alex,” he explained. “It’s going to happen anyway. The story’s out there and someone’s going to write it, even if I don’t. If you sit back and refuse to cooperate, it’ll only make it worse. You’ll have to live with what people say about you and you won’t get a chance to set down your own side of what happened.
“But in a way, if you don’t mind my saying so, you’re lucky that you’ve got me in the driver’s seat. You think anyone else would offer you equal partnership? In fact, most other journalists would have just gone ahead and broken the news without even coming here. I can imagine you’re probably a bit confused right now, and I’m sorry I pulled that stunt on you in the cemetery. But believe me, once you get to know me better, we’re going to be friends. I’m a professional. I know what I’m doing.”
Bulman finished his beer and crumpled the can. Alex didn’t know what to say. Too many thoughts were going through his head.
Fortunately, Jack was never at a loss for words. “Thank you for being so frank with us,” she said. “But if you don’t mind, we’d like a little time to think about what you’ve said.”
“Of course. I can understand that. You have my number. I can give you one week.” Bulman stood up. “I reckon it’ll be quite fun, Alex. I’ll come here every evening and we’ll talk for a couple of hours. Then I’ll write it up the next day while you’re at school. You can read it over for accuracy on weekends.” He gestured at the photographs. “You can hang on to those. I’ve got copies.”
He went over to the door, then turned around one last time.
“You’re a real hero, Alex,” he said. “I hope I made that clear from the start. There aren’t many boys your age who actually believe in their country. You’re a patriot and I respect that.
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