Prophet (73 page)

Tina crossed her arms and smirked at John and Leslie. Had she been a schoolgirl she would have been sticking out her tongue.

John and Leslie just waited to see what direction Harris was going.

Harris continued, “So, ladies and gentlemen, I now find myself in a substantial bind, caught between the ideals of journalistic freedom and . . . the higher ideals of friendship, decorum, restraint . . .”

“Pragmatism,” Ben suggested.

Harris didn’t like the contribution but couldn’t disagree. “Perhaps.”

Ben was ready to push it, and he did. “The governor’s your friend, you voted for him—” He shot a glance at Tina. “—like most of the news
staff did—and the only bias that ever gets caught around here and condemned is bias against Slater and his kind of politics. Couple that with the bucks he’s pouring into this station for all that slick advertising, and you’ve got yourself a Teflon governor we don’t want to stick anything to. Excuse my frankness, sir, but that’s the way I see it.”

Harris didn’t receive that well. “I take it you think we should run the story, Ben.”

“You’re darn right I do. This is a big story. It has everything to do with Slater’s credibility as a candidate, the sincerity of his agenda, whether he has any respect for the public’s ability to think!”

Tina wasn’t about to let this slide by. “Mr. Harris, I think the real bias here is obvious! This . . . this is utter madness! It isn’t news!”

Ben shot back, “It’s news! Get used to it.”

“It’s trash! It’s . . . it’s slanderous and damaging, and what purpose could any of it possibly serve anyone? So the governor’s daughter died from one unfortunate accident! He’s already revealed that! He’s freely admitted it to the world!”

“Freely admitted!” Leslie jumped on that. “Mr. Harris, he only went public with that information because he knew we were about to, and he didn’t tell the whole story, not at all!”

“He told enough! It’s his life, his privacy. Why drag it all out again? What’s the point?”

“I think the point is obvious! If present policies and laws allow this to happen—”

“There is nothing wrong with the present laws! The laws are in place to protect privacy!”

Fortunately, there was a table between them, though Leslie seemed about to jump over it. “You mean to protect that clinic and Dr. Huronac and any other quacks out there!”

“All right, ladies . . .” Ben cautioned.

“Well, so much for objectivity!” Tina shouted without reserve. “This is a hatchet job!” She turned to Harris. “This is a hatchet job! It’s sleaze, pure and simple!”

“Tina!” Ben cautioned more loudly.

She was virtually screaming for help. “Mr. Harris, you’ve got to do something!”

“QUIET!”

It was Loren Harris who shouted that. No one could believe it. They all fell silent immediately.

Harris began to tap the table with his finger rapid-fire as he spoke slowly and deliberately. “This . . . is what . . . we are up against, people! A story that inflames, divides, tears the scabs off old wounds, that disrupts my News Department—”

“But a story that is true,” said John.

“You haven’t sold me,” Harris retorted.

“What’s to sell?” Ben fumed. “You’ve seen the video. We’ve got a governor who cares more about politics than the safety of his own family, or anybody else for that matter. There’s another girl dead because he tried to bury this, and another girl who’s been virtually scared into silence!”

Harris had heard enough. “Ben . . .”

“And you’re gonna stick up for this guy? You’re gonna bury this just for him? If you bury this, you’re just as bad as he is!”

“BEN!”

Ben stopped.

“That will be more than enough!”

John raised his hand. “Sir, there’s something we haven’t brought up yet, and that’s the matter of the Brewers. They were simply trying to find out the true cause of their daughter Annie’s death when this station did a story on them that virtually portrayed them as pro-life invaders of privacy trying to weasel their way around the laws. It was a terrible injustice toward them—”

“It was a factual and reliable piece!” Tina objected.

“Oh, right,” Leslie said with a leer, “totally objective and unbiased!”

Tina spat right back, “I’m sorry if the story did not favor your position!”

“Oh, that reminds me!” Leslie dug through the notes on the table and produced Dr. Mark Denning’s autopsy report. “Here, Executive News Producer!” She slapped it down on the table in front of Tina. “I still remember how you made such a big deal about the Brewers having no bona fide autopsy report to prove what killed their daughter. You may consider this bona fide autopsy report shoved up your nose!”

That brought a long enough silence from Tina for Harris to interject, “John, your point?”

“As I told Ben, we owe it to the Brewers to finish their story. The first time they came up dry—they didn’t find out anything. Now all the facts are assembled. Their daughter died on May 26th after undergoing an abortion at the Women’s Medical Center on May 24th. We have a witness, we have documents, we have a pathologist, and . . .” He nodded toward the autopsy report Tina refused to look at. “. . . a complete autopsy report. We can prove it all.”

“And this is the second victim of the clinic, Hillary Slater being the first, is that right?”

John gave a deep, emphatic nod.

Tina cut in with, “I strongly object to the use of the word ‘victim.’”

“They’re both dead, aren’t they?” Ben asked.

Harris seemed to be softening. He was obviously thinking about it.

Tina spoke in desperation. “Mr. Harris, please don’t let them run this story. It just isn’t worth the horrible damage it will do!”

“Tell that to Hillary and Annie!” Leslie was quick to say.

Tina lashed back with, “If you don’t stop—!” Her hand actually raised as if it would strike. She stopped herself, settled back in her chair, and covered her eyes with her hand.

“I’ll hear what you have to say, Tina,” said Harris.

When Tina lowered her hand from her face, her eyes were watery. She looked at Leslie and John, her eyes burning with anger . . . and pain. It was as if her hardened emotional armor had worn thin from the onslaught and something deeply human was finally showing through. “You . . . you people keep talking like somebody did some horrible thing. Mistakes can happen . . . But women have a right to do what they have to do, and it simply is no one else’s business.”

Ben asked, “Tina, do you need a break?”

“No, thank you.”

“You sure?”

“I said no, thank you!”

John caught her eye. “Tina . . . for whatever this is worth, I want you to know I understand. I really do. I know where your pain is coming from.”

She cursed him. “You religious bigots are all alike. What right do you have to judge me?”

Harris intervened. “No one is judging anyone—we are trying to
judge the newsworthiness of this story—that is, if we can keep our own feelings separate from the deliberations!”

Tina didn’t seem to hear him. She was still looking at John with both hurt and hatred in her eyes. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”

John knew he’d heard her say it herself, the outward Tina, the one sitting across from him, and both of them knew what Tina was talking about.

A tear escaped her eye and ran down her face as she said it again, looking directly at John. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”

Ben broke in, not realizing her real meaning. “Nobody’s saying anybody did anything wrong! I authorized that story, and we ran it. It was all in a day’s work, and hey, you win some, you lose some, but you keep trying.”

Tina gave Ben a quick, obligatory glance as she recovered quickly and deliberately, getting her armor snugly back in place. Then, upon wiping her eyes and nose with a tissue, she summarized her position. “The story . . . the information . . . is inflammatory and prejudicial. It is long, long after the fact, lacks currency, and is therefore irrelevant. And as executive news producer I consider it far outside the bounds of propriety. For these reasons, and others, I do not consider it news, and I see no way that a story of this nature would be in the best interests of Channel 6.”

Harris seemed affected by Tina’s words, and perhaps by her emotion. “I would tend to agree with that.”

Ben countered, “So we’re just going to look the other way and let the governor lie, is that it?”

Tina found fresh rage. “We are not here to judge the governor’s character! We are here to report what has happened—”

Ben jumped all over that. “What’s happened, Tina? What’s happened? So all right! Let’s run the story.”

Harris offered, “Ben, now wait a minute. Don’t you think the governor’s met us halfway on this? He’s come out in public and revealed some very sensitive information on his daughter. He’s essentially opened the bedroom doors of his home for public viewing—pardon me, but isn’t that about it? In all honesty, people, isn’t that enough? Hasn’t the governor opened himself up enough and borne enough pain? It seems to me he’s answered every reason you want to run this
story. He’s revealed how his daughter really died, and he’s promised to look into the safety of abortion clinics.”

Leslie reiterated, “He’s running. I’m convinced of it. He’s trying to cover his tracks by getting the jump on us.”

“Which in itself is another reason not to run this story,” said Tina. “This is still another way in which the story is after the fact. It’ll be old before it gets on the air, and . . . really, after everything the governor has already done to make the whole matter public, we’re going to sound like we’re eating sour grapes, like we’re flinging mud at his backside now that he’s passed us in doing the right thing.” She appealed to Harris. “Really, I think the dignity and credibility of Channel 6 are at stake here.”

John insisted, “But we’re overlooking the whole matter of the Truth, Mr. Harris. The Truth is at stake here! To be silent is tantamount to maintaining the lie. I agree with Ben—if we help Slater cover his tracks, we’ll be just as bad as he is. He covered it all up for political reasons, and won’t we be doing the same thing? It wouldn’t be right.”

Harris leaned toward him. “John, you can moralize about the proper path for this station to take, but you need to remember, it’s part of my job to be sure this station survives. And in that light, the governor’s public confession may have to be adequate for us.”

“Yes,” Tina almost whispered, just barely pounding the table with her fist. “Yes, yes!”

“He’s confessed nothing!” John argued. “He’s taken a shameful and regrettable situation and turned it into a symbol, a rallying point for his political agenda! There’s no remorse, no regret, no confession of wrong. He’s not being truthful, sir, and if we let this go we won’t be truthful either! We have an obligation to the Truth, whether we like it or not, whether it hurts us or not, whether it benefits our own pocketbooks or not.” John drew a breath and delivered his next words with extra punch. “We have to do the right thing.”

Leslie agreed, repeating the phrase, “Yeah, the right thing.”

Harris unbuttoned his suitcoat. It was getting a bit stuffy in the room, and he was definitely getting hot under the collar. “Mr. Barrett, freedom of the press means we have just as much freedom to remain silent as we have freedom to speak.”

John had the strange sensation he was mimicking his father as he
replied, “Sir . . . I don’t have that freedom.” He could sense he was saying too much, pushing his bounds, but the words seemed to jump out of him. “It’s . . . it’s hard to explain, sir, but . . . I’ve been through a lot this past month or so, and . . . if you can accept this, sir, I feel an obligation toward God to be as honest as I can. I’m human, sir, and I’ll admit the Truth can be painful at times, and even a little elusive, but . . . as best as I can, I must speak the Truth and address things as they are. I don’t feel I have any right to take the Truth and cut it up, rearrange it, select what I want and delete what I want just so it’ll align with my politics or my Accounting Department.”

“Mr. Barrett . . .” Harris had heard enough, and now he was leaning with his hands on the table, casting the shadow of disfavor over John as only the Boss could do. “In the interests of bringing this meeting to a conclusion, I think it’s time you remembered who you really are. You may think you’re a celebrity—a household name—a famous face. But you’d better remember, you are only those things because this station, this business entity, made you those things, and not for your benefit, but for ours.
Our
benefit,
our
ratings,
our
advertising dollars,
our
profit margin. Mr. Barrett, regardless of your obligations to God, you need to keep in mind that first and foremost you are an employee of this organization. An
employee.
And I expect all employees to have not their own nor God’s but this station’s best interests in mind at all times.”

He stepped back from John to address them all. “We all have our convictions and our ideals. We all have our feelings about what journalists have a right to print and say. We all like to spout about the First Amendment and freedom of the press. But let me introduce you to the real world. Freedom of the press belongs to him who owns the press, and Mr. Barrett—and the rest of you—that’s
me.
I run this press. As long as you work for this press, freedom of the press stops . . .” He pointed at his nose. “. . . right here. It stops with your boss, your paycheck. In the final analysis the Truth doesn’t call the shots here. The Truth doesn’t matter. I call the shots, and what I want matters. Right now, that’s the only truth you need to deal with.”

Ben cut in before anyone else could. “Loren, Mr. Harris, sir, perhaps we’ve heard John and Leslie’s positions clearly enough, and the afternoon’s getting on. Why don’t we let them go back to their work while the three of us finish this?”

Harris looked at John and Leslie with an expression that indicated he was quite tired of their company. “I think that would be an excellent idea.”

The doors to the viewing room closed behind John and Leslie as they went out to return to their work—and to wait.