by Glenn Kleier
“Naturally, I was on the alert, and I played ignorant. I knew that my daughter who survived—Jeza—had to have been the one chosen for the military infusions because of her advanced mental development. I knew Goene would want her back. And, of course, I'd move heaven and earth to prevent that.
“Next, Goene asked if I'd seen the ‘so-called Messiah’ on TV, and if I thought she bore any resemblance to the Negev test subjects. I told him I saw no similarities what-soever, but I could tell he didn't believe me.
“He started getting short with me, and asked for photographs of Marie, which I refused him. Then, he asked if he could enter Marie's room to view her, and if one of his men could take snapshots of her. When I refused, they went into her room anyway. I tried to stop them, but another officer restrained me.
“Then, as he left, Goene told me, under penalty of treason and loss of my pension and Marie's health care benefits, that I must say nothing about what happened and report immediately to him any information I had regarding the New Messiah.
“And that's when I decided to call you, Anke. Knowing the danger Jeza is in, I must protect her somehow. The best way I know is through Jon's strong, clear voice on the television.”
“Exactly what danger do you think Jeza is in, Anne?” Feldman asked.
Mrs. Leveque fixed her eyes intently on Feldman's. “I put nothing past Shaul Tamin, Jon. He is a very cold and ambitious man. Because Jeza represents the living proof of secret, illegal experiments, I feel she's in grave danger. Tamin doesn't want the truth to leak out. Worse still, she carries inside her a priceless technology Tamin badly wants.”
“And in breaking this story through us,” Feldman summarized, “you believe Tamin will be preempted from doing anything to her?”
“Yes. I believe once the world knows about the connection between Jeza and the IDF, neither Tamin nor Goene will have the audacity to take any further actions against her.”
“Then, if I understand you correctly, Anne,” Feldman double checked himself, “you have no problem with us telling your story as long as we keep you and your family's identities confidential.”
“Yes,” she replied. “Other than ourselves, I believe the only people alive who know the complete truth about what was going on at that institute are Shaul Tamin and the IDF high command. And while Tamin will certainly suspect me when your report breaks, if you protect my identity, there's no way he can prove anything.
“But there are other conditions I must also set:
“I must insist that you not mention the existence of the neurochips or the extraordinary science behind the intelligence infusion. Exposing these proprietary technologies could result in serious criminal charges.
“I must also insist that you conceal the military aspects and objectives of the experiment, which were, of course, classified. Simply identifying the IDF as sponsoring illegal research should be sufficient to protect Jeza. Nor do I think it would bode well for her were the public to learn she may carry inside her some secret military directives.
“But beyond that, I have a greater worry. You see, Jeza has no awareness about the source of her unique abilities—the network of neurochips implanted within her brain. I shudder to think what effects such a revelation might have on her. Confronting the harsh reality of her artificial intelligence and those foreign devices inside her, alone and unprepared, this could be very devastating and dangerous for her.”
“I understand,” Feldman acknowledged. “But Anne, I think it's important that we include some sort of reasonable explanation about how Jeza developed her extraordinary mental abilities. There are millions of frantic people out there who believe her knowledge is divine. They need to know the truth. Would you have any problems if we were to cover the intelligence infusion in general terms only, without mentioning the neurochips? Let's say we describe it merely as some sort of passive, memory-building process—like with prerecorded audiotapes fed through earphones or the like—and we omit the details?”
“I appreciate your thinking here,” the widow replied, ruminating, “but I need to be assured that this will indeed be handled in only the most general terms.”
He nodded his understanding. “You can depend on me.”
Feldman paused before his next question, being very careful in how he phrased it. “Anne, there's just one more thing I'd like to clarify with you, please… In your mind, having met her, is there anything you saw or felt that might lead you to believe that Jeza could actually be a true Messiah, the promised one of the Old Testament? Or, in your opinion, is this messianic belief of hers entirely—delusional?”
Anne Leveque looked questioningly at Feldman, and he feared he'd upset her. “Are you asking me whether I think Jeza is insane?” She put it bluntly, but her tone did not suggest she was offended. “That's a question, I admit, that I'm wrestling with myself. And I don't know that I have an answer quite yet. But I can tell you this: the young woman I met last Friday morning is not the Marie I bore and raised. Even with all the physical similarities.
“Apparently Jeza believes herself to be a prophetess. And there are many, I'm certain, who consider that madness. Perhaps it is. How can we know what effect her unnatural development has had on her? What are the psychological results of extended isolation in those ungodly gestation tanks? All those hours of raw infusion and terrifying military encoding? What mental damage might she have suffered if her neurocircuits overloaded in the explosion? Any of these traumatic situations, I think, would have been enough to render her completely insane.
“I consider how all this must impact her. Here she is, thrust abruptly into the world. Born an adult, with built-in, but incompletely formed, memories. Displaying incredible, seemingly divine intellectual gifts. With no better explanation, why shouldn't she assume her special talents come from God? Perhaps that Samaritan cult implanted such thoughts in her impressionable mind.
“But then again, I keep thinking about all these amazing supernatural events that surround her. In meeting her, I myself felt something inexplicably spiritual and moving. So who is to say whether God reached out into that laboratory, in the midst of His just destruction, and touched this precious, innocent being to carry forth His greater purpose?
“As to whether she is mad or Messiah, Jon, I simply don't know. I pray to God she is neither. I pray that Jeza will return to me as simply a normal, sweet, caring child whom I can love and cherish.”
And a few more tears slipped from her eyes.
45
WNN news bureau, Jerusalem, Israel 10:19 A.M., Saturday, January 29, 2000
Nigel Sullivan had made the gutsy decision to sit on the incredible revelation of Jeza's true identity in order that the story might be developed to its maximum potential. Even Feldman had thought him foolish at first, fearful that the facts of Jeza's origins might leak. But now, a week later, the brilliance of Sullivan's plan was becoming obvious.
In order to preserve the secrecy of the project, the story had been scrambled into many pieces and disseminated to New York headquarters and to various WNN stations across Europe. No clues were given to the production staffs regarding sequence or storyline. All week long, as the many segments of the tale were independently developed, computer files, directions and information had been flying back and forth continuously across the Mediterranean via secret couriers to avoid Israeli Defense Force intelligence.
WNN's report would not contain any new video of the Messiah. However, thanks to the magic of electronic imaging, WNN's computer artists had created lifelike video footage. This was accomplished by borrowing real images of the Messiah from existing video and altering them to develop totally different sequences.
It would be a two-hour presentation, The True Origins of the New Messiah, an exclusive report by Jonathan Feldman and WNN News, the pieces to be assembled in final form at WNN's Jerusalem headquarters.
Under the tremendous deadline pressures, in the middle of a long-distance teleconference with the European bureau over missing graphic
sequences, an annoyed Feldman and Hunter were interrupted by an insistent Cissy McFarland.
“Dammit, Cissy, this had better be good,” Hunter fumed, already irascible over the dispute with the Europeans. “How in the hell do you expect us to get this damn thing done by tomorrow?”
“Well, you may not need to finish it, you big ass,” she shouted back, “if we don't deal with a much bigger problem first. The IDF is here and they're demanding we show them what we plan to air or they're going to shut us down and impound our equipment!”
Feldman and Hunter were dumbfounded. “Since when is Israel a police state?” Feldman wanted to know. “They can't do that!”
“Those damn promos,” Hunter continued his rampage. “Jon warned Bollinger not to reveal so much. Always gotta go for the big ratings,” he complained to no one.
“Forget it, Breck.” Feldman appreciated the seriousness of the situation. “You and Cissy better sound the silent alarm and get any sensitive tapes and information out of the edit suites and stashed, just in case. And you'd better move quick!”
Feldman hurried down to the conference room to find Sullivan, Bollinger and Robert Filson facing off against four militia and General Alleza Goene himself.
Sullivan, red in the face, was furious. “This is an outrage! Where's your court order? This is illegal!”
The general's brass nameplate and a chestful of decorations gleamed from the front of his taut, spotless military jacket. “I need no authorization. In matters of state security, the IDF has complete authority,” he asserted, turning as Feldman entered the room.
“Excuse me, General, I'm Jon Feldman, lead reporter on this sto—”
“I know exactly who you are.” Goene cut him short.
Feldman blinked.
“You are the one who's responsible for this fanatical millenarian craze. You are the one who whips the masses into a frenzy over this false Messiah, with no regard for the consequences, solely to build ratings for your network. But I'm the one who's been made responsible for restoring order. And I will do so with whatever means necessary.” He turned back to Sullivan. “Now, show me the program.”
Feldman looked to Sullivan for a clue.
Sullivan, controlling himself, addressed Feldman without taking his eyes from Goene. “The general here is under the impression that our upcoming newscast on the Messiah will reveal classified state secrets. But when I ask what prompts his accusations, he can't tell me.”
“General,” Feldman asked, trying to take the offensive, “are you saying that the alleged Messiah is in some way connected to the Israeli government or the Defense Force?”
Goene's face darkened and the veins rose in his thick neck. “You have exactly one minute to show me the program!”
“Arnie,” Sullivan instructed Bollinger, “I want you to call Levi Meir at the Knesset immediately and get a clarification on the general's request.”
“The Knesset has no say in this matter,” Goene retorted, livid. “You have forty-five seconds.”
Bollinger, Sullivan and Filson had gone pale, but they held their ground.
“General,” Feldman tried again, “you have to know that this story isn't being handled here. It's not a live report, it's a produced special, put together at our European headquarters and in New York to be broadcast worldwide. I recorded my segments days ago and the footage is gone to Europe. You need to take up these matters with our European headquarters.”
“Nonsense!” Goene reacted. “Our intelligence has intercepted no relevant broadcast transmissions or satellite feeds to Europe. You're producing the report here!”
“If you'd like, I'll take you around and you can see for yourself.” Feldman continued his ruse. “Our segment was finished and shipped by personal courier days ago. There's nothing to show you.”
Sullivan flashed Feldman a look of panic.
Goene wasn't backing off. “Then I will at least view your segments. You show me now!”
“I'll show you that there's nothing here, but I'm not going to reveal the contents of the story,” Feldman replied calmly and evenly. “And I'm the only one who knows the identities of my sources.
“Furthermore,” Feldman added, pushing his luck, “any actions you take against this office will most certainly be used by our international headquarters to substantiate our report—tying the IDF, Defense Minister Tamin and you personally to developments!”
Goene's face went purple with fury at this impertinent threat, and his four military guards instinctively assumed a more menacing posture. Sullivan grimaced at the riskiness of this gambit.
Nevertheless, despite his anger, Goene appeared to be considering this unanticipated downside.
Feldman sensed an opportunity to end the confrontation. “General,” he said in a conciliatory tone, “if you and your men will simply leave now, without further problems, I see no reason for us to acknowledge this incident. And you'll have our assurances there'll be no mention of you or this meeting in the broadcast. Agreed, Nigel?”
The general looked to Sullivan, who nodded supportively. Goene rubbed a hand roughly over his mouth, his eyes flitting about as if searching for a better alternative.
Feldman was gambling that the image-conscious Tamin had put Goene on a short leash. If the general had been given carte blanche to wield his force and was truly confident in his accusations, he'd likely have stormed the offices already, without notice.
Finally, Goene's eyes came to rest on Feldman's.
“I warn you, if WNN divulges any classified information or documents, or if there's any exposure whatsoever of sensitive government research in your broadcast, you'll answer to a higher authority than me. It will result in the immediate expulsion of all WNN personnel from Israel, and the confiscation of all WNN property in the state. Is that understood?”
Neither Feldman nor Sullivan said anything, and finally the general, with a surly scowl, signaled his men and stalked out of the room.
Back in the editing suites, Cissy and a relieved crew began emerging from their niches like woodland creatures after a storm, recovering tapes and other work-in-progress from hastily created hiding places.
A relieved Hunter pinched Bollinger's ample jowl. “Bingo! Struck another nerve, didn't we, Arnie?” he gloated, only too delighted to see the military thwarted.
But unfortunately, as Bollinger explained, the phone call to WNN's sympathetic connections at the Knesset was not reassuring. With the rise of the increasingly unstable millenarian movement, the dynamics of Israeli politics were changing. The perceived threat to public safety and security had created a vacuum in which Shaul Tamin had been successfully maneuvering. The defense minister had been quietly, steadily expanding his powers, asserting more independence, successfully usurping civil authority from the Ben-Miriam administration. Word was, WNN could well be on thin ice if this new report proved destabilizing.
Sullivan gathered the troops for a quick meeting, related the circumstances and informed them of the possible consequences should the program air as planned. The staff was unanimous in their support, with the exception of Robert Filson.
“I've got a bad feeling about all this, people,” Filson opined. “If the real issue here is rating points, consider what happens if they close us down. No future Messiah coverage means no ratings. Not to mention the extremely unpleasant consequences of dealing with the legal system in a foreign country on treason charges! I seriously recommend we delay the broadcast in order to study the situation.”
There was dead silence in the room for a moment, and then Hunter stood, held up his arm and said, “Everyone who thinks Filson is an anal-retentive chickenshit, raise their hand.”
Filson was the only one to abstain.
The crews went back to their work, continuing straight through the night, finishing up early Sunday morning. Tired but satisfied, Feldman, Hunter and Erin Cross returned to Feldman's apartment to rest fitfully and await the broadcast later that evening.
Despite her major contri
butions to the project, Anke, who drove in from Tel Aviv to join them, wouldn't be mentioned in the credits. Feldman, grateful though he was, didn't want to risk involving her, given the recent actions of the Israeli Defense Force.
Having viewed the report ad nauseam in editing, when the special program finally did air, Feldman and Hunter tended to judge it more from a technical standpoint and had lost some confidence in it. It could have been the lack of sleep, but it struck them as contrived and absurdly unbelievable.
They couldn't have been further from the truth.
The newscast would ultimately win WNN a Pulitzer. The heavily promoted, anxiously anticipated program would become the most watched, rewatched, listened-to, talked-about, studied, analyzed, debated, deplored and praised piece of television newscasting ever aired.
When the lengthy broadcast ended, the couples collapsed in Feldman's living room, too drained and numb to make the trek to the bedrooms. Feldman switched off the TV with his remote.
After a few moments, Hunter whispered out into the darkened room, “You know, if somebody was out to really mess up the world, he couldn't ’ve picked a better time than the millennium or a better vehicle than some pseudo-Messiah figure. Kinda makes you wonder, doesn't it? So what are we dealing with here, guys—Messiah, or Frankenstein monster?”
Maybe they were already asleep, but nobody answered.
46
Brookforest subdivision, Racine, Wisconsin Noon, Sunday, January 30, 2000
Ha! What did I tell you!” Tommy Martin taunted his sister from a far end of the couch as WNN's much-anticipated True Origins of the New Messiah TV special wound to its disturbing conclusion. “Jeza's nothing but a fraud! A hoax! Shelley, you are sooo gullible!”
“And you're the expert?” the daughter said, sneering. “Maybe if you read the Bible once in a while instead of surfing the Internet with your moron friends, you'd know better. That report doesn't prove anything. There was nothing in it that contradicted Old Testament prophecies about the Second Coming. It didn't say what Jeza is. All it told us is where she came from.”