Prophet

by Frank Peretti

“I’ll do that. Any other suggestions?”

  “None at this time except keep your &$#@! yap shut!” Gray slammed down the receiver, thought a moment, and then picked it up again.

  MISS RHODES, GOVERNOR Slater’s secretary, answered the phone at her desk. “Governor Slater’s office.” Upon hearing who the caller was, she put the call right through.

  Governor Slater picked up the receiver and then swiveled his big chair toward the window, the high back hiding him from the rest of the office. “Yes, Lee.” He listened intently for a few minutes, his face turning grim, his hands making and unmaking fists on the arms of the chair. Looking out his window toward the capitol dome, he suddenly felt naked before the world and swiveled toward his desk again. “Thanks, Lee.”

  Less than three minutes later Devin rushed to the governor’s office, strode in fast enough to kick up a breeze across Miss Rhodes’s desk, and closed the door behind him.

  “Sit down, Martin,” said Slater.

  Devin knew from the governor’s face that there was trouble. The governor couldn’t even come around to speaking for a moment, but brooded and steamed and then slammed the desk with his fist as he barked out a curse.

  “Sir, what is it?”

  Slater flopped back in his chair, his hand over his mouth, his eyes scanning the desktop as if it were covered with tiny pests he wanted to squash. “Martin . . . I’m afraid our wall has been breached.”

  Devin felt a spear go through his stomach. He knew what was coming. “What is it, sir?”

  “I just got a call from our family doctor, Dr. Gray. As you know, he was there when Hillary died. He determined the cause of death and filled out the death certificate. He did what he could to protect my family’s privacy.”

  Devin nodded. He’d been a party to all this.

  The governor was seething and trying very hard to control his voice. “All it takes is an election year!” He cursed, and not too quietly. “Of all the years for her to die, and die this way, it had to be an election year!” Then he winced at his own words and backed down a little. “Aw, Hillary, I’m sorry.” He seemed to be praying, addressing his daughter through the ceiling. “It wasn’t your fault, I know.” He looked at Devin. “But sometimes I can’t believe my bad luck.” He leaned over the desk and delivered the news. “Dr. Gray just got a call from the pathologist who did the autopsy—what was his name . . . ?”

  “Uh . . . Matthews, I think. I have the records in my office—”

  “Matthews, that’s right. Matthews says a reporter from Channel 6 came by to see him. She was asking questions about Hillary’s death and seemed to know what the real cause was!”

  Now the spear in Devin’s stomach twisted painfully. “Oh no . . .”

  The governor just kept leaning over the desk with fiery eyes, so Devin had to ask the question. “You did say Channel 6?”

  “Channel 6.”

  “Which reporter?”

  “Albright. Do we know anyone named Albright?”

  Devin nodded. “Why . . . yes . . . She was the one at the rally. It was her report that we . . . spiced up a little.”

  Slater reared up on his haunches and gestured widely. “Martin, how in the world did she find out? No one was supposed to know! Not even my wife knows!”

  “I . . . I don’t know, sir!”

  “Well, I want you to find out, and I want you to kill whatever they’re working on at that station. This is my business, my family’s own personal business, and it is not for public consumption! You make them understand that!”

  “Well, sir, I can’t just—”

  “You have friends there, Martin! Don’t tell me you can’t!”

  “Tina Lewis has some influence, but she isn’t the top power there. What about Loren Harris, the station’s general manager? I thought you were friends with him.”

  Slater shook his head. “No, no, that’s a last resort. Loren’s too big, too visible, too . . . Well, don’t you see the problem? If I lean on him, it will look like I’m trying to kill a story, like I’m trying to use my influence to cover up something, and if that gets out . . . !” He rolled his eyes at the very thought of it and took some time to pronounce fiery judgment on the whole situation. “I don’t want to look like I’m doing anything about any of this. I want this handled quietly, under wraps, nothing visible, you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The governor brooded some more, glared some more at the pests on his desk, and then appeared to spot one pest in particular. “Lake!”

  Devin looked horrified, because he was. “Lake? But . . .” His voice stuck in his throat, and he had to clear it. “We didn’t . . . we didn’t share any of this with him. How would he even know about it?”

  The governor sneered at the memory of Lake’s old, conniving face. “He could have found out if he really wanted to. He’s not above anything if it’ll give him power over his enemies. Well, we’re his enemies now, Martin. I should have seen that coming.”

  Devin admitted, “Lake did leave here quite angry, that’s true, sir.”

  The governor held up one finger to count. “I want you to find out what’s going on, and then . . .” He held up two fingers. “I want you to stop it, if at all possible.” And then the next thought. “And I think you ought to track down Mr. Lake and have a talk with him. Come to an understanding if you can.”

  Devin rose from his chair, not expecting his legs to be so wobbly. “Consider it done, sir. And don’t worry.”

  “I’m worried, Martin,” said the governor quite sternly.

  “I’m worried too,” Devin mouthed to himself as he went out the door.

  Devin settled just a few other matters—made a few phone calls, implemented some office policy changes, and forwarded some speaking invitations to Wilma Benthoff, the governor’s campaign manager. Then he buried himself in his office, the door closed, without a word to anyone. He was careful to make it look official—serious business, confidential, urgent, big stuff, only he could do it, don’t ask, I won’t tell you, it’s only for us special people to know these things, especially me, the governor’s most trusted confidant.

  Once he was in his chair, behind his desk, behind his closed door, he had a chance to grope, curse, fume, worry, fret, and try to sort out what was happening. There had to be a way out of this. He’d taken too long, worked too hard, stepped on too many people to get where he was. There had to be a way out, an answer, a solution to the puzzle.

  And he would find it. That was part of his job, wasn’t it, to keep the governor on a smooth, even road, to keep his boss clean above all else? Well, he hadn’t failed yet, and he had no plans to start failing now.

  Okay, let’s get it down, he mused, let’s get it organized.

  He scribbled some names on a piece of paper and then flipped open his desk directory for the phone numbers. Information was the first step. He was going to know what was going on, and once he knew, the next step would be control—lots of control, as much as he could muster.

  First on the list: Dr. Harlan Matthews, the pathologist. He would have to hear directly from the governor’s office; it would remind him of the gravity of his duty . . . and the consequences should he fail in his duty.

  “Dr. Matthews,” came the voice on the line. Devin had a pen poised over a yellow legal pad, ready to scribble notes. “Dr. Matthews, this is Martin Devin, chief of staff and special assistant to Governor Slater.”

  “And what do you want?” He didn’t sound too impressed by Devin’s title.

  Devin dove in, undaunted and ready to put the leash on this guy. He spoke rather curtly. “It’s come to our attention that you’ve been speaking to a reporter from Channel 6. I’ve called to verify that.”

  Matthews was even less impressed. “Yes . . . yes, I have been talking to a reporter. I even sent her home with a kidney and a gall bladder.”

  Devin did not take kindly to being toyed with. “Excuse me, doctor, I believe I asked you a question.”

  “Not yet you
haven’t.”

  “Have you been talking to a reporter?”

  “Turn it around, Devin. A reporter came to see me, uninvited, unexpected. I turned her away and went about my business.”

  “Did she ask questions about the Situation?”

  “She did, and she received no answers.”

  “How can we be sure of that?”

  Now Matthews was mad. “Because I’m a professional, Mr. Devin. I operate according to certain ethics.”

  Devin hadn’t written anything yet. He drew back a little and tried a gentler approach. “Well . . . of course you understand that the governor and his family will appreciate your continued cooperation in keeping the whole matter in strictest confidence.”

  “The governor’s wishes are none of my concern, and his worries are ill-informed. Listen, I do between ten and twenty autopsies a week, all of them according to the same procedures and protocol. The results are confidential, the information is not released to the public or the press, and it never has been. The governor’s daughter was one case among many; I view it no differently, nor have I treated it any differently. Now either the governor is overestimating his own importance or he’s underestimating me, and either way I’m more than perturbed.”

  Now Devin eased way down. He still needed information, and he was beginning to fear Matthews would hang up before he got it. “I understand, sir. But for my own information, could you tell me who the reporter was?”

  “Leslie Albright, from Channel 6. She claimed to be here on her own and not as a reporter, but of course I couldn’t trust that.”

  “Of course. But what questions was she asking?”

  “What do you think? She wanted to know about the Situation. She already had all the basics.”

  That felt like death to Martin Devin. “Uh . . . did she say how she found it out?”

  “Oh . . . she talked to one of our transcriptionists, but I’m sure she knew before that. She knew just what to look for and whom to ask.”

  “Did she mention John Barrett at all?”

  “The anchorman?”

  “Yes.”

  “No mention of John Barrett.”

  “And you told her nothing?”

  Matthews was getting short of temper. “Hey, don’t worry. I protected you, I protected Gray, I protected all of us. I know how the game is played, Devin. A thing like this could give the medical profession a bad image, and I don’t want my neck on the block. I did my job, I filed an accurate and truthful report, I followed professional ethics, and I’ve kept my mouth shut. Whatever happens beyond my control . . . hey, it’s your problem, and none of my doing.”

  “Well, I’m sure the governor will appreciate—”

  Matthews cursed the governor and then said, “Just leave me alone, all right?”

  Click.

  CHAPTER 23

  MARTIN DEVIN SLAMMED down the phone and took a moment to recover his resolve—and his ego. Okay, Dr. Bigstuff Matthews, be a jerk. There were other sources, the prime one being Tina Lewis herself, executive news producer at Channel 6. If there was anything going on of any consequence, she would know, and she would be willing to tell him about it. He’d helped her out in the past; he had no qualms about calling in a favor.

  He tapped out the number, and Tina answered.

  “This is Tina Lewis.”

  “Tina . . .” Devin felt like busting a few heads over at that station, but he knew he had to maintain a good relationship, especially in an election year. He used his old-buddies-from-way-back tone of voice. “Martin Devin here.”

  She was glad to hear from him. “Well, Martin, how are you?”

  “Well, I’m quite all right.”

  Tina stepped over to her office door and closed it.

  “So what are we going to do for each other today?”

  “Well . . .”

  Tina sat down and spoke in a lowered voice. “Sounds like we might have a problem.”

  “Yeah, we just might, and I knew you’d be the one to ask about it. The governor and I spoke this morning, and Tina . . . he’s concerned about his personal privacy, his family’s privacy.” That was a cue, a hint about the problem.

  But Tina didn’t pick up on it. “Mm-hm. Hello?”

  Come on, Tina, don’t act so innocent! “Well, listen, I think we’ve had a good relationship with you and with other members of the press. You and I have always been open and straightforward with each other . . .”

  Well, she didn’t think he was being straightforward right now. “Martin, I’m not clear on what the problem is.”

  He couldn’t help the cutting edge on his voice. “Then of course you’re not aware of your reporters snooping around for private information on Hillary Slater, the governor’s daughter?”

  This was news to her. “What?”

  “Hey, if you’re after a story, just tell me what you need, Tina. Just come to me and let’s talk about it. I gave you that camera opportunity at the governor’s rally, I’ve tried to be a reliable source for you—”

  She wasn’t following him. “Martin—”

  But he was rolling and didn’t hear her. “—and as always, if you people want to know something or if you’re planning a story, don’t be afraid to let me know, or contact Wilma Benthoff. We’ll give you what we have.”

  “Martin!”

  “Do you follow me?” He was not asking but demanding.

  Now Tina felt free to be angry herself. “No, Martin, I don’t. Now suppose you back up a bit and tell me what’s going on.”

  “Well, correct me if I’m wrong, but we happen to know that one of your reporters has been prying into some of the governor’s private concerns.”

  “And did I hear you say something about Hillary Slater?”

  Devin gave an exasperated sigh. “Yes. I’m talking about the governor’s daughter Hillary and the details surrounding her death. I think we covered that sufficiently when it happened, and there’s nothing more to be said about it.”

  “All right. You’ve finally made yourself clear.”

  “So let’s hear about it.”

  “Well, hang on . . .” Tina reached for the latest Outlook Sheet, the computer printout that kept the newsroom up to date on who was doing what where and when. “How about a few details, or do I have to guess those too?”

  Devin drew back to think. He had to decide what he could tell her. He knew a lot, but that didn’t mean it was available. Sure, they had a good professional relationship, but the emphasis was on the word professional. Professionally speaking, Hillary Slater died from a warfarin overdose, and that’s how the media had covered it. Professionally speaking, Devin wanted it to stay that way.

  “I can give you a name. Leslie Albright.”

  That was the right button to push. It got Tina on Devin’s side immediately. “Leslie Albright! What’s she been up to?”

  “We understand she was snooping around Bayview Memorial Hospital today trying to dredge something up on Hillary Slater’s death. It was all very tasteless. I thought maybe you would know about it.”

  “I wouldn’t know about that, Martin. If I knew about it, it wouldn’t be happening.” Tina quickly perused the Outlook Sheet, muttering, “Of course, with Leslie there’s no guarantee.” Then she found Leslie’s name. “I see here she was assigned to a story on automotive emissions.”

  “Now, Tina—”

  “Hey, I’ve given you some good information in the past, and I’m not about to lie to you now. That’s what the printout says, and to the best of my knowledge that’s what she was covering today. So whatever she’s up to, we didn’t assign it. I’ll just have to ask her. She might be researching a possible story on her own and we haven’t heard about it yet. Reporters do that all the time. The station encourages it.”

  Devin took a moment to decide whether he believed that or not. “What about John Barrett? Is he involved in this?”

  Tina looked out through the glass partition and surveyed the newsroom. Well, what do you know!
There were John and Leslie right now, at Leslie’s desk, having their own little private conference. “He . . . might be. I can ask both of them. But first I need to know what you know.”

  Devin hesitated a little. How much could he tell her? “I think . . . well, I think Albright, and maybe Barrett, are after something they hope will damage the governor. Albright was bothering a pathologist at Bayview Memorial Hospital this morning, trying to get him to reveal the contents of Hillary Slater’s autopsy report, which, as you know, is confidential. It was a tasteless thing to do. I might even say it was vicious. It’s the kind of thing you’d expect in an election year, I suppose.”

  Tina knew he was trying to rile her, to get her defensive and wanting to prove him wrong. She knew what he was up to, but it was working nevertheless. She could feel her anger rising as she spoke. “I don’t think that kind of thing would be condoned by the management of this station, Martin. I know I would not condone it.”

  “Well, I certainly hope not.”

  “So what else? Anything more?”

  Devin hesitated to answer. He didn’t want to tell her.

  And she knew it, which made her all the more curious. “Come on—I can’t hang them without charges. Just what deep, dark secret are they trying to pull into the open?”

  Devin took a moment to decide he could trust her to handle the information correctly and then settled on a half-truth. “Well, Tina, for some reason Albright seems to want to blame Hillary’s death on a legal abortion.”

  “What!”

  Ah, good, Devin thought. She’s mad but in the right direction. “It’s a preposterous notion, really, but this is an election year, and you know how the muck gets dredged up, whether it’s there or not.”

  It’s the Brewer thing, Tina thought. Albright and Barrett are eating sour grapes because they couldn’t get around the law. These people never rest! “All right, Martin, I think I see what might be happening here. I’ll check into it.”

  “I would appreciate hearing back from you right away.”

  “You will.”

  Devin hung up on Tina Lewis and went to the next person on his list, the principal at the Adam Bryant School where the Slater children were once enrolled.