Prophet (6 page)

And with that, Rush went back to consulting with Pete as if John weren’t even standing there.

TINA LEWIS, A
sharply dressed professional, removed her designer glasses as her gold bracelets jingled, then gawked at John with incredulous eyes. “John, come on, we’ve got forty minutes until the Seven O’clock and you’re telling me you want the lead story changed?”

“Well . . .” John was frustrated and angry. Time, only a few minutes, had degraded his original concerns from possibly legitimate to silly and outlandish. “I had no idea what Leslie was going to be shooting. Had I known I would have said something earlier, and now . . . of course, it’s too late and my concerns no longer have merit and . . .” He threw up his hands in surrender and turned to leave her office. “I’ve got a promo
to do.”

“John . . .” She sank into her chair and leaned her elbows on her desk. “I’m sorry if the situation is awkward for you. But when news happens, it’s our job to report it. You know that.”

John turned toward her and took a purposeful breath to control himself. He spoke slowly and carefully. “Tina, I have worked in the news business for twenty-four years. Please don’t use that line with me. I’ve used it all too often myself. I know that line.”

Now came the contest to see which of them could remain a collected and controlled professional the longest.

Lewis spoke slowly, in carefully measured tones. “I wouldn’t think of using a line with you, Mr. Barrett. And I’m a little disappointed that someone with twenty-four years experience still can’t separate his profession from his personal concerns.”

“You chose to put him in the background,” John said flatly. “You could have shot the platform, the banners, the flags on the plaza, any number of backgrounds, but you chose to show him. Isn’t that right?”

She grimaced and wagged her head as if she’d never before encountered such idiocy. “John, I wasn’t there, and as far as I’m aware, he never called us and said, ‘Hey, I’m going to be preaching to the crowds over by the 4th Street entrance, come and get me on television!’”

John pointed his finger at her, a sign he was losing his temper. “You were in the control room. You were calling the shots. You made the decision.”

She let out a disgusted sigh and said, “Okay. You’re embarrassed. Is that my problem? Is that even any concern of the business we’re in?”

John saw the clock on the wall. Time, the boss of all bosses, was ordering him out of the room. “I’ve got to do that promo.”

The last word was hers. “I’m sorry we can’t resolve this for you. But really, it’s your problem, you’re the only one in a position to do something about it, and if I were you I would.”

He just turned his back on her and walked out.

HE WENT INTO
the makeup room to check his face in the big, illuminated mirror. The makeup was still good from the Five Thirty. It was the expression on his face that needed some work.
Come on, guy, loosen
up. Nobody wants to look at that.

Back in the newsroom he took off his suit jacket and hung it on a hook just as Pete Woodman handed him the script for the promo. He glanced over it as he sat in the stool in front of the flashcam, a small television camera set up just behind the rear wall of the news set. This was where all the live-from-the-newsroom shots were done. It was a handy arrangement, almost a one-man television studio: a remote-controlled camera, some lights, a remote-controlled teleprompter.

John checked the monitor and tilted the camera up slightly with the remote control. Now he was centered in the screen. The teleprompter in front of the camera was cued and ready. He planted the flashcam earpiece in his ear so he could hear his cue from the control room.

Okay. An on-the-air monitor showed the
CBS Evening News
just ending. Then two CBS news promos.

“Five seconds,” came Pete Woodman’s voice.

Network identification: “This is CBS.”

“Two, one . . .” Theme music.

John appeared on The City’s television screens in shirtsleeves and loosened tie, looking like he’d been hard at work in the newsroom visible behind him. Title across the bottom of the screen: John Barrett, NewsSix.

John went right into it, his eyes smoothly scanning the teleprompter script. “This is John Barrett. Coming up in a half hour on NewsSix at Seven, Governor Slater’s campaign kickoff rally . . .”

Video rolled. A jerky, groping camera scene of grappling bodies. The old man fighting off his assailants and then being yanked off the planter and into the crowd.

“The governor came out fighting, and some fights broke out. We’ll have a live update at 7.”

John on the screen again. “We’ll also have more on those two high schoolers lost in the mountains. They’ve been missing for twenty-four hours now, they were not dressed for weather, and in the mountains there is
weather.
Those stories and an update on the rest of the day’s news ahead on NewsSix at Seven tonight.”

Commercial.

Well, that was that. Twenty-five seconds. Now to proofread the
script for the Seven O’clock and hope the governor had something interesting to say, something that would draw attention back to him and his campaign.

“‘The governor came out fighting . . . and some fights broke out,’” John repeated mockingly, settling at his desk and calling up the script on the computer. “I’m gonna kill him!”

CHAPTER 3

THE RALLY WAS
over. The plaza was now empty except for small clusters of party boosters who still wanted to talk politics with their fellow diehards. Clean-up crews worked around them, sweeping up the paper cups, candy wrappers, and fallen placards. The big blue platform was coming down piece by piece, and the chrysanthemums had been adopted by whoever grabbed them first.

The governor had left the moment the rally ended, rushing away in his limousine and heading back to his mansion. He’d left everything in good hands.

Martin Devin’s hands. Chief of staff Martin Devin. Yes, the governor had finally made up his mind which man would get that distinguished job description, and Devin was floating, buoyant with joy, satisfaction, and in a way vindication. So the gov finally saw the light! Yeah, results, the kind Devin could provide, were effective persuaders.

The rally could have gone well, but it went
great.
The news coverage could have been matter-of-fact and routine, but now it was sensational; it got noticed. The governor could have just spoken on the issues from his prepared speech, but instead, spurred on by . . . certain unexpected conditions, he verbally fought, clawed, and snapped for his views on the issues to a crowd fired, inspired, and ready. Devin had to laugh in delight. By the time that crowd went home, they would have thought it was the end of the world if Hiram Slater failed to be reelected.

Devin made the rounds quickly, slapping backs, congratulating the hardworking volunteers and the once harried, now relieved Wilma Benthoff, still carrying that clipboard. Special thanks from the governor went through him to all of them.

There was one item left on his list, and then he’d be out of there as well: Ed Lake. Now where was he?

Ah, there he was, walking across the almost-empty plaza, carrying four helium-filled Hi-yo, Hiram! balloons and looking like a convalescent celebrating his ninetieth birthday. Well, looking at his rival, Devin had to admit to himself that the governor’s choice had been all too easy to make.

“Ed!”

The old man looked his way and smiled broadly, quickening his step.

How old was he really? Sixty-something at least.
Old enough
, Devin thought.

“Quite a rally, eh?” said Lake.

Devin smiled and laughed. He was laughing at how stupid Lake looked carrying those balloons, but he didn’t say so. “Great rally, Ed. The governor was quite pleased.”

Lake shook his white head. “Well, I’m glad we managed to survive despite the disturbances.”

Devin put his arm around Lake’s shoulders and gave him a brotherly, wrestling squeeze.

Lake hated that kind of thing. That’s why Devin did it.

“Oh, we did more than survive, Ed. We capitalized on the disturbances. We were prepared.”

“It’s getting to be a dirty world.”

“Well, one man’s dirt is another man’s capital. If it’s there, you find a way to use it. That’s how you survive.”

Lake looked toward the concrete planter where the old man in the blue coveralls had stood. “That old prophet fellow gives me the willies.”

“He gives us free publicity, that’s what. Our side gets noticed, the other side looks . . . like him: stupid, backward . . .”

“Oh, don’t be too sure about that. I understand he’s a respected businessman, and isn’t his son—”

“He’s nothing but a blue-collar kook,” Devin said with a smirk. “He
belongs on First Avenue carrying a sign and passing a hat.”

Lake scowled in harsh disagreement. “But he was here, wasn’t he? And at the opening of the hospital, and then at the state teachers’ convention. And each time the message was the same.” He paused to reflect on it. “To hear what he had to say—and then know how the governor—and his staff—have been conducting themselves, I would not be shocked to someday find out he was right all along.”

“That’s the problem with you, Ed. Guys like that can get to you.”

Lake scowled at him. “So what’s wrong with having a conscience?”

Devin laughed heartily and deliberately at the question. “He did get to you!”

Lake was annoyed. “Oh, come on . . .”

“Well, hopefully he got some sense knocked into him. I don’t think he’ll be back.”

Lake only looked glumly at Devin. “It was a disgusting show, Martin. Deplorable behavior on everyone’s part. Even the governor. I hope I never see it again.”

Devin nodded knowingly. “Well, Ed, maybe you won’t.” Dramatic pause. “I was going to wait until tomorrow, but tonight’s as good a time as any, I suppose. The governor’s appointing me chief of staff.”

Lake froze. He stared blankly at Devin as if hearing of his own death.

Devin just kept cutting into him. “The gov will tell you all this tomorrow, of course. I imagine he’ll tell you how valuable you’ve been to his administration and how your knowledge and experience will always be appreciated, but . . . I think you and I both know that when it comes down to job descriptions, what the governor needs right now is fresh blood, people with the guts to go after and get whatever the governor needs, no holds barred. You’re a good man, Ed, maybe a little too good. You’re too timid at the wrong times.”

Lake answered in a mutter that was barely audible, “I thought we had a good combination, Martin . . . your aggressiveness and my experience . . .”

Devin shook his head. “We just don’t have room for two heads at this level, Ed. The gov says we have to cut back, so that’s where it stands.”

“So you’re in . . .”

Devin looked straight at Lake. He wanted the blow to be direct, not glancing. “And you’re out.”

Lake was resisting believing all this. “Out?”

“You’re retiring, if that’s what you’d like to call it.”

Lake struggled. “But . . . by whose order? Whose decision? The governor didn’t say—”

“My decision. I’m chief of staff now. The gov says to trim back, and quite frankly I can’t think of any job description on the staff that would fit your qualifications.”

Lake had to take time to let it all sink in.

Devin continued, “You can come in and clean out your desk tomorrow. Hey, look at it this way—you can start a new life now, get out of the rat race—”

“As if I don’t know exactly what you’re doing!” Lake snapped. “You’ve wanted this job all along, and you’ve never missed an opportunity to try to muscle me out!”

Devin didn’t deny it. He just nodded and replied, “You prepare, you make your move, you survive.”

Lake waited to reply. He’d gathered some new thoughts. “But you’re not prepared, Martin.”

“I’m in.”

“But I’m not out. Not yet.”

“It’ll sink in. Just give it time.”

“You think I didn’t see you working on this ever since you came on staff? You think I didn’t do some preparing myself?”

Devin thought for a moment, then chuckled derisively. “Hey, take it easy, Ed. You’re scaring me.”