37

Saturday morning started with the religious rituals of the contestants: Kareem with his loud prayers. The Swami practicing yoga while Finney sat reading Scripture in a beach chair near him. Dr. Ando meditating inside someplace. The Swami had responded with a signature shrug to Finney’s decision to suspend his yoga exercises. “Whatever works for you, Judge O. But you’ve got to give it more than a few days to get any benefit.”

When Victoria Kline finished her run, she and Finney enjoyed a relaxing sail around the bay. Today the sun burned bright in a cloudless eastern sky, yesterday’s thunderstorms a distant memory. After sailing, Finney decided to add a couple of laps of walking around the premises to clear his head. After one, he decided his head would clear just fine in a lounge chair next to the ocean.

He still had more than an hour before he had to be in court. He took off his shirt and lay back on the lounger, pulling his hat down over his eyes. He listened to the gentle rhythm of the ocean, smelled the salt water, and tried to sort things out.

Finney was a visual guy. He needed a yellow legal pad with a line down the middle and little boxes drawn on the page around important facts. But here, on Paradise Island, the cameras recorded everything except the thoughts in your head. So Finney had to sort this all out in the catacombs of his mind, building block by building block, solving this reality show like a complex encryption.

What did he know for sure? Whom could he trust? Were some seriously bad things going to happen, or was this all just part of the reality show hype?

One thing he knew for certain: this was not the reality show he had signed up for.

The producers seemed to push everything to the edge and beyond—the lie detector test, the cross-examination about his speedy-trial cases, the upcoming Chinese water torture, and the way they exploited the terminal diseases of the contestants. The one thing that Tammy had promised on camera, but that Finney had not yet faced, was temptation. What did the show’s producers have in mind? What could they possibly tempt Finney with, especially knowing he would be on his guard against it?

And then a thought hit him. Maybe they weren’t going to tempt him while his guard was up. Maybe they had already done it. They had already demonstrated that they knew a lot about Finney’s past. Who could say that they had limited the show to the confines of Paradise Island?

Finney thought about one rather bizarre temptation that came his way shortly before he left for the show. William Lassiter, a representative from the governor’s office, had presented Finney with a once-in-a-lifetime offer. Could it have all been staged? There was one way to find out. Nikki. Finney’s own “windtalker.”

It was becoming clear to Finney that this show would not be won or lost in the courtroom. He could only guess at some of the other stunts the producers would throw his way in the days ahead.

But it was quite a leap from staging those kinds of reality show gimmicks to physically harming one of the participants. Could Dr. Kline be playing mind games with him, trying to keep him from pushing for the finals?

His instincts told him otherwise. Just this morning she had agreed to go back to Bryce McCormack’s condo one more time to troll for more information. Finney could tell from her body language that she didn’t relish the task. Plus, the picture Horace gave him seemed to confirm Kline’s story. Maybe, on the other hand, McCormack was playing mind games with Kline. It seemed unlikely, given the fact that the first piece of information gained by Victoria came when she overheard a conversation and McCormack didn’t know she was listening, but Finney supposed it was a possibility.

Why would the producers seriously hurt or even kill one of the finalists? Finney knew that television shows lived and died with buzz. And what could generate more buzz than a freak accident—an “act of God”—happening to one of the contestants? Or maybe even a finalist dying an accelerated death from his or her terminal disease?

Yet Finney had tried enough cases to know a thing or two about motive. And it didn’t seem as if a whole group of television executives would agree to kill somebody just for the sake of ratings. It could be that one or two executives hatched a plot, and McCormack found out about it surreptitiously. Still, murder for ratings didn’t seem plausible.

Religion was another possible motive. Maybe Murphy or McCormack or one of the other higher-ups was sympathetic to a certain religion, and the fix was in. Game show rigging had happened before when a lot less was at stake. But it didn’t seem to Finney as if any of the bigwigs involved in filming this show were particularly religious people. And even if they were, they didn’t have to kill somebody in order for their religion to win.

That’s why he kept coming back to the speedy-trial cases. A young woman dead—perhaps even a daughter or sister of somebody involved with the show. That would be a powerful motive to go after the judge whose negligence had allowed it to happen. Maybe one of the other speedy-trial defendants had done something equally reprehensible, and they purposefully didn’t show Finney a picture of that victim. There wouldn’t have to be a lot of people involved. It could be that just one person was targeting Finney, and somehow McCormack found out.

But if they were after Finney, why would McCormack have warned Dr. Kline not to make the finals? Maybe McCormack knew only part of the story. Maybe he overheard some plans about something bad happening to a finalist but didn’t realize they were talking about Finney. It was the only thing that made sense from a motive perspective.

But then again, things hadn’t been making sense on Paradise Island from day one. Why should Finney assume they would start doing so now?

Later that morning, as Javitts spelled out the contestants’ assignments for the next few days, Finney passed on a critical message to Kareem Hasaan. Finney assumed that Dr. Kline was doing the same for both Hadji and Ando.

“Tomorrow,” Javitts said, “each of you will be conducting a cross-examination by satellite uplink of an esteemed scientist whose name will not be revealed until he or she takes the stand. You will each be allowed ten minutes of cross-examination to see how well your faith coincides with the best-known scientific evidence. Dr. Kline, since you advocate a scientific worldview that is devoid of any particular religious belief, we’ll let you go first.”

Finney looked over as Victoria nodded. He watched her write a few notes, which Hadji appeared to be studying.

“Since tomorrow’s theme is Faith and Science, we will also be conducting a series of medical tests on each of the faith advocates,” Javitts announced. “This will allow a few days for any necessary biopsy results to be returned prior to next Thursday.”

Kareem Hasaan stiffened but held his tongue. Finney made a few more marks on his notes.

They were communicating using the pinprick cipher that Finney had explained to Dr. Kline while sailing. It was a centuries-old trick and one they could use even though their papers were being searched every day.

The key was to place a tiny dot under each letter that formed part of the message. The uninitiated eye would not even notice. If it did, the dots would look like stray pen marks scattered around the page. But to somebody who knew the secret, the pinprick cipher could create an effective trail of breadcrumbs for most any message.

“In addition to the upcoming faith-and-science emphasis, we will also be trying to determine how well your faith holds up under pressure. Does it allow you to endure things that life throws at you without stressing out?”

Javitts glanced down at some notes and then back to the contestants. “As we all know, we tend to stress out more when pushing our bodies to the limit—when we’re tired and hungry. Yet all of your religions seem to suggest that self-denial, though it may be tough on the body, is good for the soul. Jesus fasted forty days and forty nights. Muslims are called to fast during Ramadan. Buddha almost starved himself over the course of six years, claiming that the skin of his belly came to be cleaving to his backbone. And the Hindu religion teaches an ascetic lifestyle, which, for many adherents, translates to extended periods of fasting.”

Finney casually placed some more dots and waited until Kareem nodded. Then he turned to a new page of notes and placed dots there as well.

meet us in the ocean after prayer tomorrow morning all contestants are going snorkeling so we can ditch our microphones and talk

“Therefore,” Javitts said, “during our second week on Paradise Island, each of you will be asked to engage in a fluids-only fast. Food will no longer be provided, only beverages. You are not necessarily required to fast. But if you want to eat, you will be responsible for catching and preparing your own food. Are there any questions about that?”

“Is this Faith on Trial or a POW survival camp?” Kareem asked.

Javitts hesitated before responding. Finney could sense that Javitts didn’t want a widespread revolt. “You knew up front that this show was going to push you to your physical limits, Mr. Hasaan. You signed a release that stated as much.”

Kareem just stared back.

“I’m assuming this doesn’t include me, since I don’t have any religious beliefs that require fasting,” Kline said.

“No, that’s not correct,” Javitts replied. “The whole purpose is to see if religious faith somehow allows individuals to handle these kinds of things better. You’re our control group, so to speak.”

“Maybe we ought to broaden the control group,” Finney suggested. “Include the judge and the set director.”

“Very funny, Judge Finney. Are there any other serious questions?”

Kareem frowned, then started placing a few stray dots on his page of notes. Finney shifted in his seat so he could see without being conspicuous.

“Tuesday should be a very interesting day in court,” Javitts said, thankful to be changing subjects. “Each of you will be conducting an examination by satellite uplink with an expert member of your own faith group. Dr. Kline, of course, will not participate in this exercise.”

Finney pieced together Kareem’s message thus far: I do not . . .

“The only catch is that this expert from your own faith is somebody who sees things differently than you. It may be somebody from a different sect or different denomination or someone who doesn’t believe that your holy books should be taken literally . . .”

I do not swim, Hasaan’s message said. Finney had to smile. His big, strapping, tough adversary couldn’t swim. Finney now knew why he had never seen Kareem in the water.

“You will not know who it is until you begin your examination on Tuesday,” Javitts continued. “And just so you’ll know exactly where they’re coming from, we’ve given them ten minutes to share their views before you begin your cross-examination.”

Wonderful, Finney thought. I’ll probably get some liberal scholar from the Jesus Seminar.

But he wasn’t too worried about that right now. He was having too much fun dotting out his next message to Kareem.

Don’t worry if you start drowning I’ll save you

It didn’t take Kareem long to reply.

Will not be necessary I am only going in waist deep