Prophet

by Frank Peretti

  John raised a finger to be recognized and suggested, “Uh, Ben . . . why don’t we just not run the story, or at least wait until we know more?”

  Tina was right on top of that. “Ben, Marian is at the clinic right now, she’s on location, and we’ve got a microwave truck out there. Besides, John is involved with this story personally, we know that. His father was a friend of Max Brewer, and it’s obvious that he’s been pursuing this with Leslie. The right thing, the professional thing, is to run the story despite personal conflicts. Besides, the other stations are going to run it, and the candidates are talking on the abortion issue. If we don’t run the story, the question’s going to come up why we didn’t. Not running it will be more politically biased than running it.”

  Ben closed his eyes, shook his head, and put his hand to his forehead, muttering something about the sacredness of manure. Recovering—slightly—he asked Tina, “The other stations are running it?”

  “Yes sir, both 8 and 12.”

  Leslie demanded, “And just how do you know that?”

  Tina actually got cocky then. “Hey, that’s part of what I get paid for.”

  John tried once more. “Ben, it really isn’t that big a story . . .”

  Ben snapped back, “Then act like it. All of you. Run the story . . . Tell it like it happened . . . Cover both sides . . . Let the chips fall where they may. Isn’t that the job we all signed up for?” He saw John about to say something and cut him off. “And you, Mr. Anchorman, you’re on the spot, you follow me? You’ve cost us a lot of money this week and you’d better be worth it. Got it?”

  John got the message loud and clear. He nodded resignedly. “Got it.”

  “Now get back to work, all of you.” Ben turned and went back into his office.

  Tina made sure John and Leslie could see her triumphant smile before she went back into hers.

  Leslie wanted to say something to John and he wanted to say something to her, but neither could think of a word. They returned to their desks in silence.

  CHAPTER 18

  FOUR FORTY-FIVE. John checked his face in the huge, illuminated dressing room mirror, brushing on his makeup, straightening his tie, making sure he would look good for the cameras. Keep smiling, John, whether you feel like it or not. Smile for all those people out there who trust you. You’re the professional, you know, the man people trust to bring them the news, to show them what’s really happening out in that big old world.

  In the newsroom Leslie sat at her desk, tapping out a tighter version of the Gullywump story for the Seven O’clock. It wouldn’t take long, and then her shift would be over at 5, and she could go home . . . although she was planning on sticking around for a while.

  Four fifty. John went onto the news set, its floodlights now coming to life and the camera operators rolling silently into place as they got their orders from Susan the director up in the control room. Mardell the floor director was there, headset in place, ready to take charge, and high atop the boom one technician readied the robotic camera for the big swoop-down shot.

  Four fifty-two. Ali Downs took her place in the chair to John’s left, looking over her script, making circles, underlines, and arrows to clarify late changes.

  John had gone over the script, first in the computer and in the printout before him. He was ready. The candidates were going to be the top story tonight, followed by the sidebar story about the ongoing abortion battle. After he’d read Marian Gibbons’s package he’d tried to swap stories with Ali Downs so he could do the candidates story and she could do the abortion sidebar, but she didn’t like last-minute changes, and, not surprisingly, Rush Torrance wasn’t tolerant of the idea either.

  So now it was up to him to do the lead-in and the scripted question, professionally and objectively. He had no doubts that Ben Oliver would be watching to make sure he did. He even wondered if Ben had already ordered that John Barrett, the costly news anchor, would do the story and no one else.

  But the Brewers would be watching as well, not to mention Carl. He would have some explaining to do, and it was not going to be easy.

  If they’d only been here, he thought. If they’d only seen all the factors involved, all the forces and interests and circumstances . . .

  Four fifty-four. Weatherman Hal Rosen joined them at the right end of the news desk, while sportscaster Bing Dingham took his place at the left end.

  Four fifty-six. Time for the teaser that played right after the syndicated controversial talk show.

  Mardell counted down, then pointed.

  Busy music. Camera Two, four-shot of John, Ali, Hal, and Bing sitting at the news desk, ready to go. They were on the air.

  John started. “Good evening. Coming up on NewsSix at Five . . .”

  A videocassette began to roll. Governor Hiram Slater in a rather animated speech, followed by challenger Bob Wilson, even more animated.

  John’s voice over the video: “The race for governor is heating up over the abortion issue.”

  Video: The Women’s Medical Center, followed by a close-up of Deanne Brewer talking on her front porch.

  Ali read the copy over the pictures: “And the abortion battle rages on as parents try to break through the privacy barrier at a local clinic.”

  John intro’d Hal Rosen. “And Hal will have our weather, what there is of it.”

  Camera Three on Hal, close up.

  He laughed apologetically. “Hey, what can I say? More of the same cool gray stuff, typical for this time of year, but the weekend does look better, so there is hope!”

  Ali intro’d Bing Dingham. “And Bing Dingham will tell us what in the world happened to Billy Graylark.”

  Camera One, head-on to Bing.

  “Billy’s nursing his wounds, and so are his promoters. We’ll have highlights of the bout, and reactions from Graylark and Bengal. It sounds like they’re still fighting!”

  “In and out of the ring,” John quipped. Bing answered, “Most definitely,” and John chuckled at Camera Two as the camera got all four of them in a wide shot. “All those stories and more coming up on NewsSix at Five.”

  The monitors in the news desk cut to a commercial, and they knew they were off the air.

  Up in the control room Rush Torrance stood at his post, headset in place, nervously paging through his script. “Brother, we’re still too tight. Marian’s package on the abortion parents is . . . what? Two minutes! That leaves . . .”

  Susan the director leafed through her script. “We’re full up to the first break. We can move 199, the Lanford trial, ahead and open up another thirty, but that crams the second section.”

  Rush found a solution. “Okay, go to section three and we’ll pull 399, the Gullywump story. Then move the dead body from section two to section three.”

  Susan found the Gullywump story and pulled the pages. “Okay, 399 is out.” She pressed her intercom button and advised the anchors. “John and Ali, pull 399, Gullywump, and move 299, the dead body, up to the first place in section three, right ahead of 301, car dealer protest.”

  Susan dropped 399, Gullywump, on the floor.

  Rush pulled out 399, Gullywump, and tossed the pages in a trash can.

  On the news set, John pulled the pages. “There goes your story, Leslie.” He dropped them to the floor.

  “Ready . . .” said Mardell.

  Show time. They struck a busy pose, checking their scripts, looking serious. In just a few seconds viewers everywhere would be able to soar out of the sky, crash right through the roof of the NewsSix broadcast house, and land in front of John Barrett and Ali Downs, ready to hear the day’s news.

  CARL BARRETT WAS one of the viewing public this night, sitting beside his easel in his grandfather’s shop, watching the little portable television on the workbench. He’d set up a new canvas on his easel for his next project, an expression of order in the universe even in the midst of chaos. Sure, it was a lofty goal, but he was excited about it and excited about being excited. Excitement about anything
had been far from him for years, but this work he could actually see finished from the beginning, before he’d even started. He knew what he wanted, in a way he’d never known it before, and though he still needed to find which direction, which approach would best get him there, he knew where he was going.

  But now he paused, set down his brushes, and turned on the television, feeling uneasy. He hadn’t heard from his father all day, and that bothered him. When he finally called Deanne Brewer that afternoon, he got bad news and perhaps good news. The Request for Medical Records had turned up nothing, and yet it seemed the story—or a story of some kind—was going to run anyway. Somehow John and Leslie were going to have something on the air. He’d called Rachel Franklin to make sure she knew about it.

  But something didn’t feel right.

  DEANNE BREWER WAS too nervous to sit still, which made Max edgy too. “Babe, now sit down, you gonna wear out the carpet.”

  Deanne had called Max at the shipyard and told him about her day, so he hurried home to be there, and now he, Deanne, and the three kids, Rebecca, Victoria, and George, were all gathered in front of the tube, waiting to see Mom on television.

  AFTER RACHEL FRANKLIN heard from Carl that the story might run on NewsSix at Five, she tried to keep an ear tuned to the wide-screen TV in the restaurant’s lounge, now tuned to Channel 6. Her boss said she could take her break early if that would help, and she was ready to take him up on it.

  MARILYN WESTFALL HAD no idea the story would be running until she’d closed up the Human Life Services Center and gone home. The phone was ringing just as she came in the door.

  “Marilyn! Turn on Channel 6 . . . they’re going to say something about the Women’s Medical Center!”

  Oh, goodness! Had the Brewers actually found out something?

  She clicked on her set before taking her coat off.

  Music. Big music that sounded like news, rushing along, charging along, sounding the call, News is happening, happening, happening.

  Video: Moving, aerial shot of the city, the Adams Tower, downtown. Traffic rushing back and forth, ferries pulling out from the dock.

  Deep, sandy, booming voice: “This is Channel 6, The City’s Premier News and Information Station, your number one source for up-to-the-minute news.”

  Pictures, fast pictures: a cameraman runs toward a fast-breaking story, zooming in, focusing; a female reporter stands in front of more news, hair blowing, microphone ready; a male reporter scrambles from a NewsSix car, his eyes locked on an off-screen event; Chopper Six lands with a bump as technicians bang switches in the control room . . .

  New video: The city skyline from high above, the picture rocking, dipping a bit with the helicopter as it banks over the skyscrapers, catching the glint of the evening sun off the vast panes of glass . . .

  Voice still going: “And now, from the NewsSix newsroom, this is NewsSix at Five, with John Barrett . . .”

  As the camera flies through the air, circling over the I-5 freeway where the traffic flows like blood through an artery, a box appears at the upper left: John Barrett, new, fresh, improved, flashes a knowing smile at the camera.

  “. . . and Ali Downs . . .”

  Box at lower right. She has a new hairdo and a new look and delivers a shining smile.

  The boxes disappear as the camera drops toward an imposing tower of glass adorned with a big red 6.

  “Bing Dingham with sports . . .”

  A box containing Dingham’s face leaps out from the tower and slams into the upper-right position. Bing Dingham looks at the camera and cracks up as always.

  “And Hal Rosen, weather . . .”

  His box flies out of the tower and comes to rest at the lower left as he looks at the camera and winks.

  The boxes disappear. Here comes that tower, closer, closer, we’re coming in for a landing, the big red 6 filling the screen, closer, faster, closer, faster . . .

  “The NewsSix News team. NewsSix at Five!”

  Crash! We’re inside the building, sailing past rafters, cables, floodlights, and then, like a roller coaster going over the top, we nose over, dropping down past rigging, wires, lights, monitors, into the open expanse of the NewsSix set, heading for the floor and the news desk where John Barrett and Ali Downs are ready and waiting to inform us, accepting with ease that we have fallen from the sky and through their ceiling to get there.

  TWO-SHOT: John and Ali at the desk, looking into Camera Two.

  “Good evening,” said John, “and welcome to NewsSix at Five.”

  Camera One, head-on to Ali. A graphic of Slater and Wilson nose-to-nose appears over her left shoulder.

  “The gloves came off again in the race for governor as Hiram Slater and challenger Bob Wilson exchanged verbal punches over the issue of parental consent and this state’s reproductive privacy laws. Todd Baker has that story.”

  Todd Baker’s prerecorded package begins to roll.

  Video: Governor Hiram Slater addressing a huge luncheon crowd.

  Todd Baker’s voice over the pictures: “Addressing the National Freedom League, Governor Hiram Slater minced no words in defending the pro-choice legislation he has championed during his administration.”

  Sound comes up as the governor speaks: “Bob Wilson claims he wants to protect families, but what he really wants is to tear away a woman’s right to control her own body. I’d like to remind Mr. Wilson that you, the people, spoke when you approved the Reproductive Privacy Act and guaranteed every woman’s fundamental right to abortion, free from interference by the state, the church, the family, anyone. And I think you should remind him as well and tell him where you stand when you go to the polls in November!”

  Cheers, cheers, cheers.

  Video: Bob Wilson addressing another crowd, a huge BOB WILSON FOR GOVERNOR banner behind him, framed by red, white, and blue balloons.

  Todd Baker’s voice: “But at a rally today at the Pendergras Hotel, Bob Wilson called for a moratorium on the privacy law, insisting that the law comes between parents and their children.”

  Sound comes up for a Bob Wilson sound bite: “A child needs her parents’ permission just to receive an aspirin from the school nurse, and yet she can be driven to a clinic by that same nurse to undergo a risky medical procedure without her parents’ knowledge or consent. And what if there’s a complication? The abortionist can hide behind Hiram Slater’s favorite law while the parents are left to bear the pain and expense of repairing the damage. If this is the law of the state, then we need to have another law; if this is what our governor stands for, then we need to have another governor.”

  Cheers, cheers, cheers.

  Todd Baker, standing in the lobby of the hotel, microphone in hand: “And it isn’t over yet. With less than two months before the election, the candidates are going to get all the mileage they can out of this issue as if emotion meant votes, and right now there is plenty of emotion. At the Pendergras Hotel, this is Todd Baker for NewsSix.”

  Camera Two, head-on to John, close up.

  With a deep, quaking pain in his stomach, John pushed himself objectively onward and read the copy from the teleprompter in front of the camera lens. This was it.

  “Well, as if to underline the debate over parental consent, one family confronted that issue head-on today in an unsuccessful attempt to pierce the veil of privacy at a local clinic. Marian Gibbons is live in front of the Women’s Medical Center . . .”

  Mardell held her hand out to the anchor’s right, and they turned their eyes in that direction. On television screens all over The City they appeared to be looking at a large, rectangular screen perched on the end of the news desk. Marian Gibbons was on that screen looking back at them, microphone in hand, the Women’s Medical Center behind her.

  “. . . and has the latest on that. Marian?”

  Marian went to full screen and began her package. “John and Ali, this was another case of anti-abortion sentiment still at work even in the face of strict laws protecting reproductive privacy.�
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  A cassette began to roll.

  Video: Head-and-shoulders shot of Deanne Brewer standing on her front porch, the front door just behind her.

  THE BREWER KIDS knew better than to talk over the TV when Mom was on the screen, but they still jumped, pointed, and squeaked in excitement.

  MARIAN’S VOICE OVER Deanne’s talking head: “Max and Deanne Brewer lost their daughter to toxic shock syndrome in May of this year, but they are convinced the Women’s Medical Center is to blame.”

  Deanne’s voice comes up to volume: “. . . we saw part of the autopsy report, and it said Annie died from a septic abortion, and we didn’t even know she was pregnant . . .”

  Video: The Women’s Medical Center.

  Marian: “The Brewers had themselves appointed as personal representatives of their daughter’s estate in order to gain access to confidential records at the Women’s Medical Center.”

  Video and sound of Alena Spurr, director, Women’s Medical Center, her office walls in the background: “Mrs. Brewer presented us a legal request for her daughter’s records, so of course we cooperated, and of course we didn’t find anything . . .”

  Video: Alena Spurr going through the files in the back office of the clinic, thumbing through hundreds of folders. A reenactment.

  Alena’s voice over the video: “We do keep thorough records, and there is simply no record of Annie Brewer ever being here, ever receiving our services.”

  Video and sound of Deanne Brewer on her front porch: “I went and talked with a young lady who was there at the clinic, who saw Annie get an abortion there, and that’s how we found out who was responsible.”

  Video and sound of Alena Spurr in her office: “We have offered our services to hundreds of patients over the years, and not one of them has ever complained of mistreatment.”

  Video: The pro-lifers out on the sidewalk holding their signs and stopping patients to talk with them.

  Alena’s voice over the video: “What’s really tragic is how these people are being used by the enemies of choice. The anti-abortionists are grabbing at anything they can find now.”