The Broadcast

by Liam Fialkov

  Sarah regretted that Jonathan was not present in the pleasant gathering, and she thought that he would have liked it. But she knew he made the right decision when he chose to spend the holiday with his brother and his family.

  At night, Sarah laid awake in her bed and looked at the moon that reflected through the window. Her thoughts took her to the Golden Gate Bridge. Now she couldn’t understand the despair that took hold of her, and grabbed her so tight that just a tiny step separated her life from death. If Heidi hadn’t called me, I wouldn’t be here, she thought. Suddenly she remembered something… a scene that flickered for a split-second while she was on the bridge. During the last few seconds, her whole life flashed through her mind, and in those seconds, she saw… she knew what happened in St. Louis when she was sixteen. She perceived who drove the car. Once again, she made an effort to remember. It was important for her to know who the villain that had taken advantage of her was. Moreover, she thought that she must know what had happened on that distant day, so she could liberate herself of the scars that the harsh experience had left in her. But the window that opened on the bridge was once again closed, and she didn’t have access to that piece of obscured information.

  The following day was Black Friday, the big shopping day that she had no intention of partaking in. She didn’t understand the madness that takes hold of people and makes them push their way and cram into the stores for a sale that would save them just a few dollars.

  She slowly drank a cup of coffee, while contemplating the two points in time: the event that took place in St. Louis, many years ago, and the occurrence on the bridge. An idea Sparked in her mind, and she knew what she should do. She knew where she would find the answer to what had been bothering her and agonizing her for so long. She didn’t understand how come she hadn’t thought about it previously because the solution was laid right in front of her. Or maybe she had been unknowingly waiting for a time when her husband was away from the house.

  She ate her breakfast. In a small bag she packed a sandwich, some fruit and a bottle of water, and she headed for the site.

  Jonathan’s site? It was also hers. They had discovered it together, and it was within their shared property. She remembered that Jonathan had once said that the place had served as an ancient relay station, and he said that at the site, he could observe any event from his life with outstanding clarity; Irene too, Sarah recalled, was exposed to an incredible revelation when she visited the place.

  Sarah entered the forest and went down on the trail leading to the creek, accompanied by her three loyal dogs. She crossed the creek, leaping on rocks and tree trunks that protruded above the water, trying not to get wet, and continued in the direction that she remembered. A few years had passed since the day that they discovered the site, and since then, she had gone through so many upheavals. She didn’t have a problem finding the strange hill that was conspicuous with its unusual density of the trees. At the bottom of the hill, the dogs stopped and refused to continue along with her. Bono looked at her with his smart-looking eyes that told her: we will wait for you here, we are not going anywhere.

  She made her way up the hill, and once again she wondered at the uncommon concentration of the trees, which grew in such proximity to one another as if trying to protect, interrupt, and prevent entrance to the site from anyone who was not meant to be there. There were points on the way where the trees completely blocked the passage. She squeezed through in some places, going around the denser spots. She shifted the last branches out of her way and entered inside, into the glade on top of the hill, immersed with a feeling of reverence.

  She looked around and was astonished. The place was very different than she remembered. She knew that Jonathan had put time and effort into excavating the site, but she didn’t know to what extent. Now she realized that he must have invested countless hours of hard labor, which gave the spot a look of an archeological site.

  She saw two circles of large rocks chiseled to flatness on the side facing the center of the circle. When she had visited the place before, there was only one such rock protruding above the ground. She recalled photos she had seen of Stonehenge, in England. During their visit to England, Jonathan, who was very curious about Stonehenge, had made a trip to the place, while she preferred to stay in London. Still, she was familiar with the photos of the famous site.

  She saw that their spot looked similar to the known site, just much smaller in dimensions. Additionally, she noticed the square rock at the center of the rings; she didn’t remember such a rock in the Stonehenge photos. Sarah vaguely remembered things that her erudite husband had said, when he talked about similarities and common traits between civilizations that were far away from each other, and even on different continents.

  Now what? she asked herself. She walked slowly, examining the site. The sun got closer to mid-heaven, the place was immersed in stillness and silence, and only a slight rustle of the wind passing through the treetops was heard.

  She then sat on the low, flat rock, at the center of the circle, which looked like an ancient altar. She closed her eyes and waited.

  Nothing happened. She concentrated on her breathing, attentive to her surroundings. The earth shook slightly and made a terrifying low rumbling sound. She kept sitting and didn’t open her eyes. She focused on the question that bothered her, on the gap in her recollections, desperately needing to know what had happened on that distant day when she was sixteen, young and innocent—the event that flickered in her consciousness on the bridge. She sat with an erect spine and waited.

  Some time had passed, and she felt like the stillness of the place was intensifying. After a while, she started to wonder if the site would provide the longed-for answer. Maybe this was just an ordinary glade that for some reason, a primitive tribe had hauled big rocks to, out of belief in supernatural phenomena. She continued to sit and wait, determined not to give up.

  A flap of wings was heard behind her, but she didn’t turn her head and didn’t open her eyes to watch the birds. The rustle of the wings continued, increased, and got closer to her. For a moment she felt the slight airstream that was created by the bird’s wings, fluttering so close to her and almost touching her.

  Then, she answered the call, turned around and opened her eyes. She saw a car driving behind her at a slow speed. She identified the driver right away, and his look sent shivers throughout her body. He was dressed in a long black robe. She knew him and was even fond of him. Although she was not lured by religion, she liked listening to the priest when she visited the local church with her family. He had an authoritative and pleasant voice, which emanated compassion and caring toward his listeners as he enticed them to follow in God’s way. She liked watching him. One day when she talked to her friend Megan, she said that Father Buckner was really handsome and he reminded her of a Greek god.

  “So what, you would sleep with him?” Megan giggled.

  “No way!” Sarah was appalled. “You are really disturbed, you know that? He is a religious man and a married man, and probably vowed all kinds of vows, not to mention that he is as old as my father.”

  “I was just checking,” Megan smiled.

  “I would never do it with him,” Sarah expressed herself decisively.

  He rolled down his window.

  “Father Buckner?” She was curious. “What are you doing in our neighborhood?”

  “Hi Sarah,” he said in a friendly manner. “Would it be possible for you to help me on a project that I’m doing?”

  “Now?” She was surprised.

  “Just for a little while,” he said. “I am coloring eggs for the Easter egg hunt tomorrow, and it seems to be taking longer than I thought. It would be wonderful if you could come and give me a hand. I know that you are good at this kind of work, while I . . . Well, the good Lord has not bestowed me with an artistic talent.”

  “OK,” she agreed, “but I must be home before 11:00 p.m.”

  “No problem,” the priest said. “You’ll pain
t as much as you can, and I’ll make sure that you’ll be home on time.”

  She got into his car, and they drove to the church, just a few blocks away.

  And indeed, on a wide table in a back room, where she had never been before, there were eggs, paints of many colors, and small paintbrushes. A stereo system played religious music, and the atmosphere was relaxed.

  Both of them proceeded to the task at hand, leisurely painting the eggs, and Sarah allowed her creative imagination to guide her. She found that she enjoyed the mission.

  “Sarah, sweetie, would you like a glass of wine?” Father Buckner asked.

  “Sure,” she replied.

  He stepped over to a nearby cabinet, opened a door, and pulled out a bottle of wine. Then he brought out two wine glasses, poured the wine into the glasses, and handed her one of the glasses.

  “Cheers,” he said, and they raised a toast together. She took a small sip from the wine and started to wonder if it was a proper situation that she and the priest, who was a grown-up, married man, were by themselves at such a late hour.

  Afterward, she didn’t see anything, as if the continuation of the occurrence was completely erased from her consciousness. She tried to resume observing the images—and nothing showed up, like a movie that had reached its end. Sarah understood that she received the vital information she had to have, and she didn’t need to see anymore.

  When she opened her eyes, the sun was already behind the trees, which were gently swaying in the calm breeze. The site was very silent, the large rocks stood still, and the evening chill started to penetrate her body.

  Now she recognized who the villain that had taken advantage of her naivety was. She finally managed to see the wicked and contemptible person that abused her—the father of her son.

  Chapter 40

  The Broadcast

  Walter Lindsey was a humble person, who didn’t let success go to his head. When he was young, he wanted to become a film director, and so he went to study filmmaking at UCLA, in Los Angeles. But during his studies, he became aware of the fact that he didn’t possess the needed skills, and he would never be a great film director. He then quit filmmaking and transferred to the University of Pennsylvania, where he studied business management and accounting. That’s where he met a young student named Monica, who in time would become his wife.

  After finishing his studies, he wanted to integrate between the profession he’d acquired and his old love for the cinema. He looked for work as a producer of movies and TV programs and managed to get several small projects, in which he exhibited significant talent in managing and logistics. He knew how to get results from his people, but did it in a friendly and non-arrogant way, and his subordinates respected him and worked hard to satisfy his requests. He advanced slowly and patiently, and with time, he received a permanent position as a producer at the TXB network. But without a doubt, his most noteworthy project, the one that brought him a national reputation and enriched his bank account, was the program The Broadcast.

  With all of his accomplishments, he remained humble and even shy, and did his best to avoid the limelight.

  Lindsey was a good-looking man, although not as handsome as his younger brother. At the age of forty-seven, his hair was receding, and he had put on some weight. He tried to maintain his health, and so he used to go to a spa to swim in a heated swimming pool, whenever his busy schedule allowed.

  The network’s CEO, Colin Ingram, liked Walter and saw him as an honest man who was dedicated to his work. Ingram defended him when other senior managers thought that he ought to reveal his sources. But when the pressure on the network mounted, and public opinion leaned toward those demanding that the show exhibit increased transparency, Lindsey received an invitation to come for a personal meeting in Ingram’s office.

  When the producer entered the CEO’s lavish office, he was received in a cordial manner.

  “Look,” Colin Ingram said, “you know that I support you, and I understand the ethics by which you are loyal to your sources. However, in these times, we must be attentive to public opinion’s sentiments more than in the past, and we must not appear as if we are using the principle of ‘confidentiality of sources’ in order to hide our sources without justification.”

  “So what are you saying?” Walter asked. He was sitting uncomfortably in his place. “As you know, I’ve promised my sources not to reveal them, and I have no intention of breaking my promise.

  “I suggest that you’ll call a press conference,” the CEO said. “Don’t expose your sources, but explain your motives. At least they would see that we are using a policy of transparency, we are attentive to our viewer’s concerns, and we don’t ignore them. That way I’m hoping that they will get off our back a little.”

  And that’s what he did. Lindsey called a press conference in which he would talk and answer questions about his show. He scheduled the event to take place at 6:00 p.m., intentionally not at a prime viewing time. The conference attracted mostly entertainment reporters, but in the hall, there were also reporters who dealt with other current issues.

  “Good evening everyone,” Walter Lindsey opened, and it was apparent that he was hesitant and nervous. “I would like to talk to you about The Broadcast, to tell you how the show was created, and I’ll do my best to answer your questions.” Lindsey examined those present in the hall and noticed Stewart McPherson, his face expressing doubt and disbelief.

  “Two-and-a-half years ago,” Lindsey started to expound, “I was fortunate when I was offered access to an amazing technology, with which it is possible to observe events from the past.

  “I immediately saw immense potential in the technology; however, I was skeptical. I suspected it was too fantastic, and I had a hard time trusting that the films the technology would produce would be authentic, and not some fictional or faked reality.

  “In order to test the technology, I challenged its operators. I remembered how I was mesmerized, along with many in the American public, by the news reports during the Pedro Gonzales trial, many years ago. I remembered that when the trial took place, I thought to myself that if there were only a video clip that documented the event, then law enforcement would not be groping in the dark; the truth would come to light, and the guilty person punished.

  “This is why I asked for a film that documented the event. I assumed that it would take about a week to prepare such a film, but much to my surprise, I received it in a little over an hour, definitely not enough time to make a comprehensive research of the incident.

  “I handed the clip to be examined by the people of TXB, and they consulted experts who were familiar with the case, including police specialists, who meticulously studied every detail of the footage.

  “The conclusion was unequivocal: the footage was an authentic real-time display of the occurrence. Following that determination, TXB decided to air the film, when it was clear that we were accepting the explicit conditions of the source of the information. The well-defined demands were that we wouldn’t—under any circumstance—disclose any information regarding the origin of the film and those behind it. To that, I personally obligated and gave my word of honor.

  “At that stage, I thought that it was a one-time exclusive; rare, unique, and sensational, but still, a one-time deal. As we expected, the film generated enormous interest, but we didn’t expect what followed next: appeals from police officers from all over the country asking us to assist in unraveling their unsolved cases. That’s how The Broadcast was born, the program that I assume everyone in this room has seen.”

  Lindsey paused and looked at the crowd of reporters that gathered to listen to him. “I spoke to you briefly about The Broadcast,” he said, “and I hope that I managed to clear up some of the questions that were asked in different media forums. Now I’m prepared to answer your questions.”

  “Does the source of the films operates from New York?” asked a young reporter, who covered the event for a local Manhattan paper.

  “As
I made clear,” Lindsey responded, “I won’t be able to say anything about the source of the films.”

  Stewart McPherson raised his hand, and when Lindsey nodded toward him he said, “I understand that you can’t tell us anything about the people who are behind the technology, but could you elaborate on the technology itself?”

  “I’m sorry,” Lindsey answered, “In accordance with my obligation I can’t satisfy your curiosity. However, I can refer you to the excellent article that Professor Takeshi Nishimura published in the New York Times.” Lindsey saw the skeptical expression on McPherson’s face and added, “A few weeks ago The Broadcast dedicated time to Christopher Columbus. To sail on his exploration’s journeys, which yielded startling revelations, Columbus was required to accept a concept that, according to most of the people of his time, was completely irrational and unacceptable—the idea that the earth is round and not flat. In my opinion, the technology by which the films are received is based on breakthrough knowledge of great magnitude, which is not less revolutionary than the idea by which Columbus went on his expeditions.” Lindsey shyly smiled at McPherson.

  “I noticed,” said a reporter for the magazine New Explorations, “that your history pieces focus on the Western world, as if the rest of the world didn’t exist in previous centuries. What about significant events that took place in the Far East, South America, and Africa?”

  “You’ve brought up a good point,” Walter Lindsey responded. “I hope that in coming programs we’ll be able to show events from other places on the globe.”