The Broadcast

by Liam Fialkov

  But now he saw that his striving to understand himself and find out who brought him to the world, did not contradict his love for his adoptive parents, and must not be interpreted as if he was not grateful for them.

  Michael looked out through the airplane’s window. He saw the clouds below him, and he knew that all his life he was on this one-way journey taking him to the important meeting awaiting him, and there was no turning back.

  The meeting at the airport was an emotional experience, especially for Michael’s mother, Rose, who couldn’t stop crying. She looked at her son, whom she hadn’t seen for two years, and through the veil of tears, she tried to perceive what changes had transpired in him. Did he look older, now that he was living with a woman?

  His father was more restrained than his wife, but he too was overcome by emotions when he hugged his beloved son. From the airport, they drove to their house in the suburbs, and Michael was glad to see that the neighborhood had hardly changed, and that he’d left New York’s cold weather behind him.

  “I was hoping that you’d come with your girlfriend,” his mother said during their dinner, “I would really like to meet her.”

  “This time it didn’t work out,” Michael responded, “I hope she will come next time, and also Lily.”

  “Do they know each other?” His father was interested.

  “Yes, they met at a restaurant in New York.”

  “And how is your sister?” his mother asked, “Lately she doesn’t say much about her life, and just sends short text messages.”

  “From what I hear, she’s fine,” Michael answered. He thought it was not his role to talk about his sister’s problems. He realized that after years of debating within himself, Lily’s words were those that swayed him, when she said that his adoptive parents wouldn’t get hurt, and would understand the need embedded in him.

  After dinner, Michael went to meet a few of his old friends, including members of his high school band, who still lived in the area. They were amazed when he told them he worked at TXB, and expressed their disappointment about the fact that The Broadcast had gone off the air.

  Before going to bed, Michael called Melanie and told her that the flight went well, and she encouraged him to pursue his plan and to bring up the questions that were on his mind. “I love you,” she said, and her words warmed his heart. He knew that Melanie only expressed her loving feelings when she felt them with all her heart.

  Since he came for a short visit, Michael thought that he couldn’t postpone the conversation he’d delayed for so long. On the following morning, he told his parents he wished to discuss a very important matter with them. So, the three of them entered the living room, where they sat down on comfortable couches.

  “Yes, Michael,” his mother said. She thought she knew what the purpose of the meeting was, and essentially the purpose of the whole visit. She still hoped that Michael would want to discuss an upcoming wedding, or anything else. But deep inside, she understood that there was only one reason for his wish to talk with them: the reason she’d been afraid of since the day they’d received him.

  “Mom, Dad,” Michael opened, feeling uncomfortable. “It is important to me that you know that I love you with all my heart.”

  And his parents, who knew him so well, recognized that he was having great difficulty, and they already perceived where the conversation was going. In fact, they’d prepared for it all his life.

  Michael took a deep breath and continued, “For years I’ve been wondering who my biological parents were, and now I’m feeling more ready than I ever was, and I would like to look for them. I hope you can give me a lead from which I could start my search, but I must clarify that my wish to meet my biological parents does not diminish my love for you.” Michael stopped speaking.

  A weighty and burdensome silence infiltrated the room. His parents looked at him and at each other. A car passed on a nearby street, and sounds of children playing penetrated through the window. Michael looked at the familiar furniture in the room, which hadn’t changed over the years. He saw the large and dark cabinets, made of solid wood, filled with books that no one read anymore. Here—exactly here in this room when he was six years old—that conversation took place, when they told him he was adopted, and after which, nothing was the same.

  Now he looked at his parents, and for a moment he wondered whether he’d done the right thing, or perhaps he should have delayed his plea.

  His mother’s eyes became moist. She got up, walked over to him, leaned in and embraced him with love. “I’ll be right back,” she said, and walked out of the room.

  His father kept a composed facial expression. Michael looked at him and remembered his first flight. When he was four years old, the family flew for a vacation in the state of Colorado, and little Michael, who was always somewhat a mother’s boy, got scared during takeoff, so on this occasion he chose to cling tightly to his strong father.

  “We knew the day would come, Michael,” his father said, “and we think that it’s your birthright.”

  His mother returned to the room after a few minutes, carrying a large brown envelope. “It’s not much,” she said, “but that’s all the information we have. I believe it will help you on your quest of finding your biological mother.”

  Michael received the envelope from her hands feeling grateful. He noticed that his adoptive mother said that he’d be able to find his biological mother, and didn’t mention his biological father.

  “I’ll forever be your son; I hope you know that,” Michael said.

  “We know,” his father said, and his mother wept a tear and nodded in agreement.

  After the meeting, he went to his bedroom. He was immersed in a storm of emotions, and in his heart, he felt grateful to the wonderful people who had adopted him, had been so good to him throughout his life, and now they granted his plea without hesitation.

  He sat on the bed, spread out the content of the envelope, and looked at the documents with a pounding heart. There were a few old and yellowing papers. According to the documentation, he was born at a hospital in Phoenix, Arizona, on the fifteenth of April in 1998, about twenty-four years ago. The name of his mother was Sarah Sanders.

  Chapter 51

  Howard Hensley

  Howard Hensley examined the two issues of the New York Times laying on his desk with great interest. In the Tuesday edition, there was a short item at the bottom of the first page that said that the TXB network was canceling its popular show The Broadcast, and the episode that was planned to be the season finale wouldn’t air. The reporter wrote that the reasons for the cancellation were probably pressuring from Christian groups, which were opposed to a program that might show Jesus in a different light than in the Bible, and fear of Islamic factors that oppose the showing of the Jewish temple on the Temple Mount in Jerusalem.

  On the Thursday edition of the same newspaper, Hensley had found a short item on the last page. It said that an Internet news site called Uncensored News announced that it had achieved exclusivity to the films that were initially scheduled to air on TXB’s season finale. The footage would be transmitted online, in a special live broadcast, one week after the original set date. ‘Uncensored News’ promised a fascinating show that among other items would show the Roman soldiers breaking into the Jewish temple in Jerusalem. They didn’t mention whether they would show Jesus and the crucifixion event.

  About three years earlier, reporter Stewart McPherson brought the story to Hensley and revealed his suspicions as to the authenticity of the films. Already then, HH’s gut feeling told him that this was not just another routine investigation. His intuition told him that this case had the potential of a more significant gain for him, although he didn’t know how it would come about.

  Most of HH’s investigations were not really interesting for him. They typically involved monitoring unfaithful spouses or following business competitors. He conducted his investigations in a thorough and discreet manner, meticulously tracking even the t
iniest details. But he always waited for the bigger, more significant cases, those through which he could prove to the higher-ups of the ungrateful establishment, that they could not function effectively without him and that he was the best in the business.

  He liked to feel that he was at the center of matters that most people didn’t even know existed. He enjoyed meddling in dark affairs, and manipulating those righteous hypocrites who pretended to be honest, respectful citizens, when in reality they were driven by ego and greed, like everyone else.

  Like McPherson, Hensley assumed that Walter Lindsey was producing the films with the help of his friends, members of his band. But unlike the journalist, HH thought that another factor was involved in the scheme: Lindsey’s brother who lived in California.

  That’s why he had sent there a spy, Willie Fowler, the young felon he’d managed to free from jail. Fowler, who succeeded in getting accepted as a tenant of the little trailer park, supplied him with information on the activities and occurrences on Jonathan and Sarah Lishinsky’s land.

  According to Hensley’s instructions, Willie Fowler broke into Jonathan’s computer room, which was inside the barn that served as a car repair shop. Fowler examined the contents of Jonathan’s computer and transferred the relevant electronic correspondence to HH.

  When Hensley inspected the email, he had found letters from Jonathan to a woman named Irene, whom Jonathan related to as if she were a big sister, although Hensley didn’t know of such a sibling in the family.

  And there was also correspondence between Jonathan and his brother. HH was particularly interested in the emails that contained encrypted attachments. He didn’t succeed to decipher the code of those attachments, and he wondered if these files could have been the materials that TXB aired in The Broadcast.

  In his many years as a private investigator, Howard Hensley learned that it is possible to convert vital information into financial gain and power. It was clear to him that in order to extract benefits from the case on hand, it was particularly important to whom he would transfer his findings.

  He considered turning to the media, to try to sell the scoop: the sensational information that The Broadcast is based on falsification. The trouble was that he lacked proof of his assumption. On further consideration, it occurred to him that his profit could be much greater if he didn’t only expose the source of the films, but he’d be the one who could stop the broadcast of the last films altogether. He would be the only one to prevent the transmission of those films that harbored controversial revelations, which worried the religious factors. He must find a way to stop those films that were the reason for TXB taking The Broadcast off the air, those that dealt with Jesus and the temple.

  If he could get to Jonathan and Sarah’s land on time, he’d find a way to stop the broadcast of the films that were scheduled to be transmitted over the Internet. But for whom? What organization would want his services so much that it would be willing to pay a large sum of money?

  He deliberated within himself. Would he offer his services to the vocal religious people, those who published manifestos against the show?

  He suspected that he would have a hard time convincing them to invest their money for their cause. Time wasn’t on his side.

  Hensley had sources within the police, and also in the FBI. Between him and his contact people, there had been relationships that benefited both sides, especially in gathering information on large and small criminals.

  From his sources, he discovered that the FBI had indeed shown interest in The Broadcast, and tried to prevent the showing of the last episode. HH learned that the name of the officer in charge of the case was Donald Russell. He called Russell’s office and asked to set up a meeting.

  “What is it about?” Russell asked. He was familiar with the name Howard Hensley, as a seasoned private investigator who had a wide net of connections, who could get beneficial information within a short time. But Russell also knew that HH was a convicted criminal, a former cop who served time in jail, and he employed violent and controversial methods to get his objectives.

  The Broadcast, Hensley replied.

  Russell was not happy to consent to the unexpected request, but he agreed to it because he saw that time was running out. He knew that if he wanted to prevent the transmission of the films and avoid the unrest that they could cause, especially in Islamic territories, he must use every element that might be able to assist. Donald Russell wasn’t one of the law enforcement people who thought that the end justifies the means, but he learned from his experience that when there was an important goal, sometimes he should use factors that operate in the shadows and grey areas.

  The secretary at the reception desk of the bureau’s branch examined Hensley with a piercing look, lingered on the scar on his face, and while her facial expression showed her aversion, she told HH that Russell was waiting for him.

  As Hensley made his way down the long corridors, which were saturated with fluorescent lights, toward Jenkin’s office, the formality of the place reminded him of the days when he was an officer of the law. He saw that he wouldn’t agree to return to such a job, since his independence was vital to him and because he disliked obeying orders from superiors. Just because they outranked him didn’t mean he could trust them.

  Hensley knew that most of his former colleagues viewed him as a cop gone astray, but he was determined to prove them that they were wrong when they turned their back on him. He was going to show them that he was the best detective around, and that the cumbersome and ungrateful system, couldn’t make it without him.

  “What do you have to offer?” Russell asked in a businesslike manner, so as to be clear that he was not interested in wasting time.

  “I can stop the transmission of the films,” Hensley replied, even though he was not sure he could succeed in such a mission.

  “You know that transmitting the footage over the Internet won’t have the same impact of their broadcast in an institutionalized television network,” the FBI man said.

  “The extremists and the fanatics will still see it as an American conspiracy and provocation. They will look for revenge, instigate riots, and harm innocent people,” Hensley claimed.

  “I’m afraid you are right about that,” Donald Russell said while examining the man standing in front of him. “I understand you want payment for your services.”

  “Of course; I don’t work for free.”

  “What do you want?”

  “In my line of business, I need information from time to time,” Hensley said.

  “Do your job, and I’ll see to it that you get compensated generously,” Russell said, “Just don’t kill anybody.”

  After the meeting, Howard Hensley drove home, packed a small suitcase, and headed toward the airport, on his way to California.

  Chapter 52

  Michael

  With the new information, Michael set his mind on finding his mother. Right after the meeting with his adoptive parents, he started to conduct an extensive search on the Internet, using the laptop he’d brought with him. He looked for someone named Sarah Sanders, who would likely be in her forties. But his Internet search, thorough as it was, didn’t yield valuable and relevant results. He assumed that she had gotten married and changed her name.

  Michael saw that he would have to be patient, and he might have to hire the services of a private investigator. In a telephone conversation, Melanie said that he need not be in a rush, and if he’d waited for so many years, then a few more days, or even weeks, were not going to matter all that much. “The important thing is that you made the first big step,” she said.

  But despite the logic in her words, Michael remained impatient.

  He then had the idea of calling Stewart McPherson. Michael had not heard anything from McPherson since the day he told him that he was not going to continue spying on Walter Lindsey. He knew he had disappointed the esteemed journalist. But they parted as friends, and McPherson even left him with the superb Martin guitar
.

  He still had McPherson’s phone number in his contact list, and when he called, he was glad to hear McPherson answering him cordially.

  “What a surprise!” the veteran journalist said.

  Michael was a bit embarrassed, but he continued with the reason for which he’d called. “I need a favor,” he honestly said.

  “Tell me what it is, and I’ll see if I can help,” McPherson said in a friendly way.

  “There’s someone I’m trying to locate,” Michael said, “and I have her birth name, but she has probably gotten married and changed her name.”

  “And who is the lady?” McPherson inquired.

  “My mother.”

  “That is indeed a worthy matter,” McPherson said solemnly. “What do you know about her?”

  “Only her name, Sarah Sanders, and the fact that she had me at a hospital in Phoenix, on the fifteenth of April, 1998,” Michael answered.

  “It’s not much,” the journalist said. He wrote the details in his notebook and added, “But with my resources, I could check in the archives of hospitals and the main adoption agencies in Arizona. I think that won’t be too complicated, though I hope they saved the information.”

  “Thank you, Stewart,” Michael said, feeling grateful and appreciative.

  On the following day, which was Michael’s last visiting day with his parents in San Diego, he received a call from McPherson.

  “It seems you are in luck,” the journalist said. “My people had no difficulties in penetrating the data bank of several hospitals in Phoenix. We’ve found that Sarah Sanders came from St. Louis, Missouri; she was sixteen when she had you.”

  “Did you find out what happened to her?” Michael’s excitement was mixed with apprehension.