Prophet

by Frank Peretti

  “Undaunted by how well his challenger is doing in the polls . . . Even though Bob Wilson . . . Even though the polls show Bob Wilson coming on strong . . . uh . . . show Bob Wilson gaining support . . .”

  “We’ve got about ten minutes,” her earpiece crackled.

  “Okay,” she replied, and went back to rehearsing. “The governor has proven he has supporters too, as you can see by the vast crowd behind me . . .” And then she waxed sarcastic just to vent herself. “—which you could have seen better if we’d stayed up on the stairs instead of moving down here.”

  She adjusted her red suit jacket and tried to think her report through again. That guy standing on the planter behind her wasn’t helping much.

  “The Word of God says, ‘Before you were formed in the womb, I knew you!’” he cried.

  Oh brother. Now he’s going to bring up that subject!

  “I LIKE IT,” said Tina Lewis, executive news producer. She was in the Channel 6 control room for this one; she knew it was going to be interesting.

  Above the console where the show producer, director, and video switcher sat, the monitors on the wall flickered a visual three-ring circus with different things happening everywhere all at once so fast you could hardly keep up with it. Monitors One, Two, and Three showed the views from the three studio cameras on the news set below; the Preview Monitor framed whatever view would be next; the On Air Monitor showed what people at home were seeing; the news anchors were still in the middle of NewsSix at Five Thirty, pushing news stories through like cars on a speeding train.

  “Camera Three, head-on to John,” said Susan the director.

  Camera Three moved in. Monitor Three and the Preview Monitor showed a tight head-and-shoulders shot of handsome, fortyish anchorman John Barrett looking into the camera.

  “Pan for box.” The camera moved to the right. “Box.” The video switcher hit a button, and a nicely drawn beer can in a frame appeared in the upper-right corner of the screen.

  “More trouble brewing for Bayley’s Beer,” said John Barrett. “Ever since the Bayley Brewery in Tobias contracted its aluminum can recycling to Northwest Materials . . .”

  “Stand by Cassette Two.” Cassette Two appeared freeze-framed on the Preview Monitor.

  “. . . environmentalists have been hopping mad and foaming up a real storm . . .”

  “Roll Cassette Two.” Button pressed. Cassette Two began to roll.

  “. . . that could be coming to a head . . .”

  Cassette Two counted down—Three, two, one . . .

  “. . . Ken Davenport has the story.”

  On Air, Cassette Two: a shot of the brewery. Bayley Brewery title across bottom of screen. Ken Davenport’s voice over the picture.

  “Board Members of the Bayley Brewery met today in a closed meeting to determine what action, if any, they will take . . .”

  “Stand by Camera Two, head-on to Ali.”

  In Monitor Two, Ali Downs, co-anchor, a former model with jet black hair and almond eyes, sat ready to begin the next story.

  In a black-and-white monitor near the ceiling, Leslie Albright stood before the remote camera, microphone, earpiece, and hair in place, waiting her turn to report. Behind her a fracas was growing.

  “Look at that!” said Tina Lewis, almost awestruck. “Will you look at that!”

  “YOU HAVE TURNED your eyes from the slaughter you have championed! You have robbed the innocent of their lives!” said the man on the planter. “The Lord formed our inward parts. He wove us in our mother’s womb, and we are fearfully and wonderfully made!”

  That was all some of the crowd needed to hear. Hiram Slater was a pro-choice governor, and this was a pro-choice crowd. Things started getting quite vocal.

  “You’re at the wrong rally, bub!”

  “Keep your bigoted views away from my body!”

  “Would somebody pull him down from there?”

  And through all the shouts and threats “Hi-yo, Hiram!” never missed a beat.

  Leslie thought she heard a question through her earpiece. She held her hand over her other ear. “Say again please.”

  It was Rush Torrance, producer of the 5:30 newscast. “John still needs a scripted question to close your package.”

  “Um . . .” Leslie looked behind her at the crowd coming to a rapid boil. “Things are changing kind of fast around here. He might want to ask me about the abortion issue . . . you know, how that might be affecting the climate of the rally.”

  “So . . . how do you want it phrased? You want him to—” The man on the planter was shouting something, the crowd was hollering louder than he was, and all of them were louder than Rush’s voice in the earpiece.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t hear you!”

  “I’ll have him ask you about the hot issues, all right? He’ll ask you how it looks from where you stand. What’s your outcue?”

  “Um . . . I’ll end with, ‘This campaign could be an exciting roller coaster ride for both candidates, and the whole thing begins in just a few minutes.’”

  “All right. Got it.”

  Leslie was getting nervous, anticipating an elbow in her ribs or a projectile on her head any moment. She asked Mel the cameraman, “You think we ought to move back a bit?”

  “NO,” SAID TINA Lewis. In the studio they could hear everything Leslie was saying. “Stay right there. We’re seeing everything. It looks great.”

  Rush Torrance passed the message along through his headset.

  In the monitor Leslie cringed a little but stayed where she was while the crowd behind her became more dense and noisy. Fists were waving in the air.

  The man on the planter was clearly visible above the crowd, gesturing and shouting, “Hear me! Volume and chanting and numbers and repetition and television coverage will not make a lie true!”

  Then some coat hangers appeared, waving in the air above the crowd.

  Tina chuckled. “They know they’re on-camera.”

  Rush informed Leslie, “You’re on after the break. Stand by.”

  ON TELEVISION SCREENS all over the city and beyond, Ali Downs finished up a story. “Legislators hope the move will help displaced timber workers in time, but the timber workers say they’ll believe it when they see it.”

  Two-shot: John Barrett and Ali Downs seated at the expansive, black-and-chrome news desk. In the upper background NewsSix in large blue letters. Center background: false TV monitor screens with faces, places, titles frozen in photographs. In the left background, through a false window, a false city skyline.

  John Barrett started the tease: “Coming up next, Governor Hiram Slater’s campaign for re-election starts with a citywide rally tonight. We’ll go to the Flag Plaza live for an update.”

  Ali finished the tease. “And iguana lizards running for your health? See it for yourself!”

  The screen cut to the teaser video: lizards pawing and licking at the camera lens.

  Commercials.

  “All right, Leslie,” said Rush. “We’re coming to you in two minutes.”

  THE GOVERNOR SCANNED his notes. If things kept going the way they were, he might have to change his text a little. “Sounds like things are heating up out there,” he hinted to Martin Devin.

  Devin had just returned from a reconnaissance peek. “Mr. Governor, you’ve got the crowd, you’ve got the camera. I think we ought to take advantage.”

  “You have something in mind?”

  Devin lowered his voice. “I think we can get things a little rowdier. It could stir up some emotions, really get the crowd on your side, and it’ll get the attention of the TV viewers.”

  The governor looked at his watch. “It’s close to 6. When is Channel 6 going to carry us?”

  Devin looked at his own watch. “Any minute. I think they want to close the 5:30 show with a live teaser and then come back at 7 to pick us up again.”

  The governor mulled it over, then smiled. “Okay. I’ll be ready.”

  Devin smiled and hurried awa
y.

  In a tight little area behind some trees, out of sight, he dialed a number on his cellular phone. “Yeah, Willy, he went for it.” He looked at his watch. “Keep your eye on that blonde reporter down there. Go when she goes.”

  “FIFTEEN SECONDS,” SAID Mardell, the attractive, black floor director standing behind the cameras. “Leslie will be to your right.”

  John Barrett looked to the right unconsciously. At home viewers would see the anchors looking at a large screen with Leslie Albright on it. In the studio John and Ali would be looking at blank space, pretending a screen was there.

  Mardell counted down with her fingers silently. Five, four, three, two, one . . .

  IN THE CONTROL room Leslie had jumped from the black-and-white monitor to the large, color Preview Monitor, and the picture was impressive. There she was, her tension showing and her hair tousled despite her best efforts, holding her ground as a sea of enraged humanity boiled and bubbled behind her and one lone man continued his struggle to be heard above the tumult.

  On air, John Barrett intro’d the story, looking into Camera Three and reading the teleprompter script mirrored on the glass over the camera’s lens. “Well, today is Day One of Governor Hiram Slater’s campaign for re-election, and Leslie Albright is at the Flag Plaza right now for the big kickoff rally.” Both he and Ali Downs turned and looked toward the wall. “Leslie?”

  On televisions at home, there she was on what looked like a three by four foot screen propped on the end of the news desk.

  LESLIE LOOKED RIGHT into the camera and started her report as rehearsed. “John, this is where it all begins for Governor Hiram Slater. Even though the polls show Bob Wilson gaining support, the governor has proven he has supporters too, as you can see by the vast crowd behind me.”

  As viewers at home saw the shot of Leslie jump from the screen that wasn’t there to the full television screen, it wasn’t clear just what that vast crowd was indicating, other than an impending riot.

  But as John glanced sideways at his own monitor hidden in the top of the news desk, his attention was drawn to that one lone character sticking up above the crowd, his mouth moving, his hands gesturing. It seemed he was leading this mob.

  “ROLL CASSETTE ONE,” said Susan the director, and Leslie’s prepared video report began to play on the screen with Leslie’s prerecorded voice narrating.

  Video: the governor meeting folks, shaking hands, waving to the crowds.

  Leslie’s voice: “Governor Slater admits it will be a tough campaign, but insists he is ready for the battle and will pull no punches.”

  Video of the governor being interviewed. Sound up. The governor: “I think we have a head start, really. The past four years are a clear record of our accomplishments, and I stand on that record. We’ve moved ahead on education, employment opportunities, and women’s rights, and we’re going to keep after those issues.”

  JOHN’S FACE WAS getting redder, and it showed, even through the makeup. As he watched the live camera monitor showing what Mel’s camera was seeing at that very moment, he could still see that rabble-rouser standing above the crowd. The monitor had no sound, but he could easily imagine what the old man was shouting. He dared not curse—he might be on the air. At least Leslie’s video was still running on the air and people weren’t seeing what he was seeing right now.

  LESLIE WAS DUCKING her head and looking behind her, at least while the video report was running. She kept trying to hear her next cue through her earpiece.

  The crowd was starting to chant, “Pro-life, that’s a lie—you don’t care if women die!”

  JOHN GRABBED HIS desk phone to talk to Rush Torrance. “Can’t we get that kook off the screen? Rush? You there?”

  No answer. Leslie was coming back on.

  MEL THE CAMERAMAN nodded furiously. “Yes! You’re on, you’re on!”

  Leslie straightened, held the mike in a trembling hand, and almost shouted her cue line. “So, John and Ali, this campaign could be an exciting roller coaster ride for both candidates, and the whole thing—” Someone screamed. “—the whole thing begins in just a few minutes!”

  THE OLD MAN on the planter couldn’t believe it. Suddenly two characters he’d never seen before, one with stringy hair and a bald spot on the back of his head, the other black-haired, hulking and tattooed, came from nowhere and started throwing punches at his audience, hitting men, women, anybody—on his behalf!

  “Dirty baby killers!” shouted one.

  “Hallelujah!” shouted the other.

  “No . . . no! Don’t do that!”

  Too late. Some of the audience were switching from shouting to slugging.

  “No! This won’t solve anything!” Oof! Something—it sounded like a can—bounced off the man’s head. Hands were grabbing at his legs. He started pulling away, dancing on the planter.

  JOHN COULD SEE it all on his news desk monitor, as could every viewer watching the news at that moment. He’d been given his cue, but his mind went blank. He searched his script and found the question he was supposed to ask, scribbled in at the last minute. “Uh . . . Leslie . . . this . . . uh . . . campaign seems to be loaded with a lot of hot issues . . . how does it look from where you stand?”

  LESLIE JUST ABOUT said, “How do you think it looks?” but simply replied, “I guess you can see for yourself, John and Ali. And if you don’t mind, I think we’ll move a little further away so we can keep covering it from a safe distance.”

  “NO!” SHOUTED TINA Lewis. “Don’t lose it!”

  “Stay on it,” Rush instructed through his headset.

  Leslie ducked sideways out of the picture. If she heard the instruction she wasn’t indicating so. The picture wiggled, tilted, jostled. Mel was moving the camera.

  “Stay on it!” Tina ordered. “Mel, stay there!”

  The camera came down solid again. Mel had planted the tripod.

  No Leslie on-camera—only the crowd, the scuffle.

  Producer Rush Torrance barked the order into his headset as he yanked pages from the show’s script and dropped them on the floor. “We’re bumping 480, Boy Pilot, and 490, the Running Lizards. We’ll stay with this!”

  “OH TERRIFIC!” John moaned.

  FROM BESIDE THE planter a big black man, his eyes full of fire, leaped into the crowd. “You wanna fight, I’ll teach you to fight!”

  He was after those two intruders who’d started the fight in the first place. He found the first one, the weasel with the stringy hair and bald spot, and put him out of commission with one well-placed haymaker to the jaw. The big guy with the tattooed arms was a little more of a match, and they both went down to the pavement, taking several other bodies with them.

  Three big college jocks finally got their paws on the old man and wrestled him from the planter, locking him in a painful hold with his arms behind his back. “Come on, old man! Party’s over!”

  His face was etched with pain and fear as they began forcing him along, almost carrying him from the plaza, two holding him from behind, one pulling him by his hair, the prophet’s body bent forward, off balance, tripping, stumbling. He cried out.

  Suddenly—it looked like a violent, tumbling play from a football game—the black man burst through the crowd, pushing bodies aside until he could reach the old man. With his tremendous weight and powerful arms he grabbed the first two men by their necks and smacked their heads together like melons. They went limp, falling backward, releasing their hold. The third let go of the old man’s hair right away and only wanted to defend himself, holding his arms in front of him.

  “No, Max, don’t—” cried the old man.

  But Max did, grabbing the young man by his hair. “See how it feels, sucker!” He flung him into the crowd, where several people fell like bowling pins.

  MEL KEPT HIS camera on the whole scene, capturing the grappling bodies, the flying KEEP ABORTION LEGAL signs, and the whipping American flags. There was no telling who was on which side or who was winning, but it was exciting foo
tage, no question about that.

  JOHN COULDN’T SAY a word, so Ali jumped in. “Leslie? Leslie, are you still with us?”

  Leslie’s voice came from off-camera somewhere as the camera captured the first police arriving on the scene. “Yes, Ali and John, we’re a safe distance away now and as you can see, the police are intervening, so this should clear up quite soon.”

  “Do you have any idea what started this?” Ali asked.

  John knew; he never would have asked that question.

  Leslie answered, “Well, uh . . . you may have seen that man in the background, the one yelling at the crowd . . .”

  “Yes, and I think our viewers did.”

  “Well, he was obviously anti-abortion, and as we all know, that’s one of the hot issues in this campaign, and I think there was a pretty strong disagreement back there.”

  “Thirty seconds. Close it,” came Rush’s voice in their earpieces.

  Ali closed with, “Well, hang in there, Leslie, and we’ll get more from you tonight at 7. Be careful.”

  “Oh, I’ll be here, on the scene.”

  John was happy enough to tell Camera Two, “And that’s NewsSix at Five Thirty. Stay tuned for the CBS Evening News, and we’ll see you again at 7 o’clock.”

  “Good night,” said Ali.

  Theme music. Wide shot of studio. Credits. The anchors engage in unheard small talk with the weather and sports announcers, gathering and shuffling their scripts. Commercials.

  “MEL,” SAID TINA Lewis, “you hear me?”

  “Yeah, you’re still coming in,” Mel’s voice came back. It sounded a little high with excitement.

  “Keep the picture steady now. Keep rolling. We’ll use some of this at 7.”