9

At least the show is transporting us in style. Finney climbed on board the network’s Gulfstream G450 with the other Faith on Trial contestants, preparing to leave Teterboro Airport in New Jersey for a top-secret set location that the producers took great pains to conceal. Cameron Murphy joined them a few minutes later.

He introduced himself to the contestants and collected watches, cell phones, computers, and PDAs. He cleared his throat and made a few curious announcements.

“You’ve got a long flight ahead of you, so relax and get some sleep,” he said, looking from one contestant to the next. “You’re going to need it.

“We’ll explain the official rules of the game when we’re on location, during our first day of shooting, which is when the game starts. However, from this point on, pretty much everything you do or say will be recorded on camera. You need to wear your microphones at all times, except when you’re sleeping or in the bathroom.” As Murphy spoke, a couple of cameras were already running, one focused on him and one scanning the contestants. “Everything we catch on film is fair game for the show. And I do mean everything.”

At this, Murphy looked at the younger contestants, including a young female scientist named Victoria Kline. She had introduced herself to Finney with a firm handshake and a hard gaze. Apparently, Murphy felt no need to lecture Finney about extracurricular activity.

“While we’re shooting, you’ll be prohibited from interacting with camera or audio crews or your director, Bryce McCormack, or myself. It will feel awkward at first, but after a while, you’ll get used to ignoring us and you’ll feel like the cameras are not even there.”

Murphy hesitated for a moment, as if he wasn’t sure how to phrase this next part. “As you know, you’ll be required to defend your faith over the next two weeks, and I think all of you will be very persuasive. But you need to know that Faith on Trial is not just about defending your faith; it’s also about living your faith under the most stressful circumstances imaginable. So if you’re not ready to do that . . . this is your last chance to opt out.”

None of the contestants moved, including Finney. He knew how reality shows worked. He would be ready for anything they threw at him.

“I’m scheduled to leave on another plane a little later, so I’ll see you on location,” Murphy said. “I’m not going to ask if you’ve got questions because I know you’ve got a ton of questions I can’t answer. That’s something you’ll just have to get used to.”

The man had an arrogance that Finney didn’t like. What was it with these TV people? A cocky producer. A surly director. And Finney thought lawyers were bad!

Murphy turned toward the door, but Finney blurted out his question anyway. “Is this a nonsmoking flight?”

Victoria groaned and the others looked at Finney as if he’d just proposed a suicide mission.

“Yes, Judge Finney. I’m afraid it is.”

At forty-one thousand feet, Finney met his match in the person of the young man sitting across from him—Skyler Hadji, or Swami Skyler Hadji, as the kid called himself. Finney almost laughed when they first shook hands. The guy couldn’t have been a day over thirty. With his shaggy blond hair, light-blue eyes, slender build, and serious tan, the “Swami” had California surfer dude written all over him.

“I’m not a real swami,” he confessed almost in a whisper. “It’s just a nickname my friends gave me.”

Turns out the Swami was the chosen advocate for Hinduism, a passionate convert who embraced the faith after his acting career hit the rocks. He legally changed his name and traveled to India for two years to study with a leader of the Bhakti sect of Hinduism, then returned to California enlightened and focused. He attended the University of Southern California Law School and graduated near the top of his class. His goal, he said, was to represent the workers in India being abused by corporate America. As soon as he won this reality show.

After a few hours of boredom on the flight, the Swami suggested a few hands of Texas hold ’em. He talked two cameramen into playing and, after the other contestants refused, Judge Finney as well.

A half hour later, the chips were piled high in front of the Swami, who always seemed to know just when to hold and when to bet. Finney started chewing on the stub of a cigar, but it was apparently no match for the Swami’s serious card karma, as he called it. Though Finney was losing, he couldn’t help but like this kid. The other contestants seemed to be taking themselves seriously, but the Swami was obviously intent on going with the flow.

“All but one,” Finney said as he pushed a large pile of chips to the middle of the table. The two cameramen each raised an eyebrow and folded, but the Swami barely moved. He closed his eyes, cards held in front of him, and hummed in a low voice. He uttered Vishnu’s name a few times—something he had done on every major hand (“You ought to try it, Judge O”)—and then opened his eyes to glance at Finney and the cameraman standing behind Finney, one of two who had been filming the entire game.

The Swami smiled and started counting Finney’s chips. “I’ll call,” he said, shoving a big pile of his own chips to the middle of the table, “and raise you one.”

Finney flicked his last chip in as well. The only reason he had held it back in the first place was so that the Swami would have to reveal his cards first. It would make the look on the kid’s face that much sweeter.

Finney liked his chances. There were five cards showing on the table: two aces, a jack, a ten and a deuce. In his hand Finney held another ten and a useless six, meaning that the Swami would have to beat two pairs—aces over tens—or lose the biggest hand of the night.

The Swami laid down the cards in his hand—two queens. His aces and queens were more than a match for Finney’s hand. The Swami raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “You’ve been a good sport, Judge O.”

But before Finney could reveal his own hand, he started coughing. He pulled the cigar out of his mouth and placed it on the table, covering his mouth with his free hand as he turned his head and hacked. His other hand, the one holding his cards, dropped down near his lap.

“You okay?” the Swami asked. “I’m not real good at CPR.”

“Fine, fine,” Finney said as he brought the coughing under control. He cleared his throat a few times. “Where were we?”

The Swami pointed to the table. “You were just about to concede defeat, Judge O.”

“Oh yeah,” Finney said. He laid down the cards in his hand. An ace and a ten! A miraculous full house. The useless six was nowhere in sight.

“Whoa,” one of the cameramen said.

“Nice play, Judge O,” the Swami said. Finney had just outcheated the Swami, and the Swami knew it. But the Swami’s face gave nothing away, not even a flicker of surprise or annoyance.

As the Swami started shuffling for the next hand, Finney smiled and fessed up. “I can’t take your money,” he said, pulling the six of hearts from under his leg and placing it on the table. “When I figured out that you were looking into that camera over my shoulder and reading my cards, I slipped an ace out of the deck and waited for just the right hand.”

The Swami matched Judge Finney’s smile with his own, a much brighter smile with the perfectly aligned teeth of an actor. “I know,” the Swami said. “You pulled it out four hands ago.”

Finney tried not to show his own surprise. And it was at that moment, looking directly into the Swami’s eyes, that Judge Oliver G. Finney knew he would be up against a formidable opponent in the days ahead.

“I was still planning on making a little comeback, Judge O, before we called it a day.”

Then, still smiling, the Swami reached down next to his own leg and placed a pair of kings on the table.

“Whoa,” the cameraman said again.

“Sometimes Vishnu needs a little help,” the Swami explained.