67
“Scandal rocks a popular reality show,” said the woman at the WVAR anchor desk. “More from reporter Byron Waterman, live outside the Norfolk courthouse, right after this break.”
On Paradise Island they were pulling the live feed down from a satellite. Murphy, McCormack, and Victoria Kline hunched around one of the many monitors in the master control room. They had spent much of the last thirty minutes on the phone trying to calm down Preston Randolph.
The news resumed with a shot of a serious-looking Byron Waterman. “Monica, WVAR has learned from confidential sources close to the show that several contestants appearing on the Faith on Trial reality show, including Norfolk’s own Judge Oliver G. Finney, have been put in fear for their lives on Paradise Island.” As Byron talked, WVAR ran video clips from prior Faith on Trial episodes, most of them involving Finney.
“Just today, WVAR learned that this man—” Preston Randolph’s face flashed on the screen—“billionaire trial lawyer Preston Randolph, is behind many of those threats. Mr. Randolph, who has recently been diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor, has apparently provided much of the funding for the reality show. In a WVAR news exclusive, we obtained confirmation of Mr. Randolph’s involvement through use of a hidden video camera.”
The station cut to grainy footage of Preston Randolph sitting in the truck stop. Waterman provided a voice-over. “In a phone call that occurred during this videotaped meeting, Mr. Randolph admitted that it was his idea to fool contestants into thinking their lives were in danger. He claims that the real test of any faith is how well its adherents can deal with facing death.”
They ran a short audio clip from Randolph’s phone call, the transcribed words scrolling across the bottom of the screen. Next, they cut back to Byron Waterman silhouetted against the Norfolk courthouse. He shook his head with a forlorn look, as if Randolph had lost his mind. “In addition, WVAR was able to obtain copies of e-mails sent to an account on Mr. Randolph’s computer from a person code-named Azrael.” B-roll of select e-mails ran while Byron continued talking. “Though the e-mails are vague, they do reference ‘the island’ and discuss a confidential plan that would culminate on Saturday, tomorrow, the final day of taping for the show.”
The special report ended with a close-up of Byron. Of course. “Mr. Randolph does not deny that the show intentionally made contestants believe they were in danger. However, when we contacted Mr. Randolph after making our decision to air tonight’s segment, he emphasized again that in reality the contestants are not now and never have been in any real danger. He also pointed out that the contestants signed waivers at the beginning of the show where they assumed the risk that the show might mislead them about certain facts. Mr. Randolph said this is not at all unusual for reality shows, and he cited as an example My Big Fat Obnoxious Fiancé, where the show misled the family of a young bride by making them think she was marrying a total loser.” Waterman shook his head again. “Just when you thought you’d seen it all . . . Monica, back to you.”
The picture went to a split screen with Waterman on one side and the anchor on the other. “Do we know if all the contestants are in fact okay?” Monica asked, looking concerned.
“Yes, we do. I checked with the network that sponsors the show, and they assured us that every contestant is fine.”
“Okay, thanks, Byron. Let’s hope it stays that way.” The anchor turned to the camera on her right as her headshot went full-screen. “In national news . . .”
Murphy stepped away from the screen and pursed his lips. McCormack braced himself for the explosion. And judging from the look on Victoria Kline’s face, she expected the same.
“Every news outlet in the country will be running that tonight at eleven,” Murphy stated, his words slicing the air with deadly intensity.
“Probably,” McCormack said.
“We can expect the usual storm to erupt over whether we’ve pushed the envelope too far,” Murphy continued.
McCormack nodded. “We’ve weathered worse.”
“And that publicity would be worth what? Five million? Ten million? Twenty?”
The questions allowed McCormack to relax. There would be no explosion. Murphy had immediately zeroed in on the silver—make that the gold—lining of what they had just seen. Just when the controversy from the Anti-Defamation League and conservative Christians was dying down, they had been blessed with another firestorm. “I know Randolph is going ballistic,” Murphy said, a self-satisfied smile curling at his lips, “but he’s not looking at it logically. We were already planning a final show where he tells the audience about his brain tumor, why he financed this show, and who he thinks won. This just lets the cat out of the bag a little earlier.”
“I agree with you,” McCormack said, “which worries me.”
“The only reason Randolph is upset is because he’s been upstaged by a small-town reporter,” Murphy said.
Kline had been noticeably silent, and both men turned to her at about the same time. “Who is Azrael?” she asked.
Murphy motioned to McCormack as if he was supposed to know. “Don’t look at me,” McCormack said. “I figured it was one of the e-mails on your computer that Kareem was supposed to find that night they raided our apartments.”
“Those e-mails were from me to Seeker,” Murphy said. “I’ve never heard of Azrael.”
The unthinkable seemed to hit them all at the same time. “You don’t really think there’s anything going on,” Dr. Kline said. But it sounded more like a question than a statement.
“Where are Finney and Hasaan now?” Murphy asked.
“On their solos,” McCormack said. “They left about an hour ago.”
Victoria’s face went pale. “Should we send the security guards to check on them?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” McCormack replied. “Nothing’s going on. If somebody on the island wanted to harm a contestant, he would have acted by now.”
“Who vetted the security guards?” Kline asked, concern creeping into her voice. “They have access to every part of the island and carry weapons right under our noses.”
Murphy and McCormack both shrugged.
“We’re talking about two or three bogus e-mails,” Murphy said. “I’m sure there’s a perfectly plausible explanation.”
“Why take any chances?” Victoria asked. “If there’s even a slight possibility of any real danger, Finney and Hasaan are entitled to know.” She hesitated and sucked in a deep breath. “I came all the way back to the island just so I could be here to explain my actions to Finney when the show’s over. Why don’t I talk to him tonight? It’s not like it’s going to affect the finals.”
After a brief discussion, they agreed that the point of making the contestants fear for their lives had been accomplished. Both Kareem and Finney had voted for themselves to make the finals, even if it meant danger and possibly death. Not knowing who else could be trusted on the island, they agreed that Victoria would check on Finney.
“I’ll check on Kareem,” McCormack volunteered.
“I’ll get some background on this security outfit,” Murphy said.
“And handle Randolph’s irate calls while you’re at it,” McCormack said.
As if on cue, Murphy’s phone rang. He hit Ignore. “Maybe he’ll call you next,” Murphy said to McCormack.
Three minutes later, Azrael received a text message.
As Finney prayed, he felt the sweat beading his forehead and sticking his shirt to his back. A fever rose within him, accompanied by a sense of urgency, a strange foreboding about upcoming events. On his knees, he listened more than he talked, feeling the presence of the Holy Spirit and that still, small voice he had learned to recognize. And follow.
This evening the voice was a distant siren, both warning him and drawing him forward. He felt fatigue deep in his bones, but he also sensed that this might be his most important hour. Maybe it was the tension of the week’s events, the death threats, the pressure of national television, the lack of food—who knew? But maybe it was something more. A chance to rise above the ordinary, to beat back the flesh and strike a final blow for the Kingdom of God that would be seen around the world.
He tried to understand this dark premonition that haunted him in this beautiful place. He had done what he could to ensure the safety of every contestant. He had smuggled messages to Nikki. Confronted Murphy and McCormack. Befriended Horace and others. Yet still he felt the presence of danger.
He asked God to forgive him for the pain he had caused Tyler. For putting work ahead of family too often. For not taking care of his own body, killing himself one cigar at a time. For failing to do his job properly when innocent victims were counting on him for justice—speedy justice. He asked God to comfort those who had been harmed because of one judge’s negligence.
He looked up and saw the orange hues forming on the horizon—another brilliant sunset taking shape, the faithfulness of God. The sight calmed him and lifted his spirits, like a fresh gust of wind filling an open sail, pushing him forward. He steeled himself for the next twenty-four hours, said “Thank You, Lord,” and prepared to stand.
Just before he did, he felt a hand on his shoulder.