Glenn Kleier - The Last Day

“They'd left him lying out in the storm?” Feldman gasped, incredulously.

“Yeah. Apparently with the sacred hour of midnight approaching and in the throes of the storm, everyone panicked. As the lightning got really bad, a number of people saw him illuminated out there, but before anyone summoned the courage to go out and get him, he suddenly stood up, shook off his bandages, walked into the enclosure, calmly drew water from the well and drank it. Then, with everybody yelling for him to get the hell out of the open, he began to walk slowly toward the old temple.

“Meanwhile, there was a big countdown to midnight going on from a large part of the crowd that didn't notice what was happening with the boy. But he just kept on walking, right up the steps, turned around at the top and raised his arms high.

“Then a shout went up celebrating the new millennium, yelling and cheering, and suddenly there was this shock of electricity. A bolt of lightning must have struck really close. Everyone claims it hit the boy and radiated out into the square. At the same time, as if the lightning set it off or something, the earth began to shake and you can see what happened.” Hunter brought up monitor G, which delivered a tight zoom on the base of the well.

Feldman saw the beginnings of a jagged fissure on the ground. The camera followed it away from the well, the fracture yawning as much as a foot wide in some places as it wandered along.

“They claim the ground just opened up as you can see here,” Hunter explained, “from the well clear to the base of the temple, up the steps, splitting them all the way to the top, right between the feet of the boy.

“And you see what's carved there on the top step?” Hunter could hardly restrain himself. The camera continued to travel along the fissure, up the stairs to close in tightly on the very last riser.

Worn, but clearly visible, were ancient Hebrew letters carved into the face of the step. The first two letters were bisected by the very end of the fissure, but were still legible, if indecipherable, to Feldman.

“Exactly where the boy was supposedly standing.” Hunter leaned forward and touched the screen with his forefinger. “There, that's the ancient Hebrew word for ‘Messiah,’ right, Erin?”

“Correct,” Erin confirmed. “The letters read right to left. The Hebrew pronunciation is ‘Moshiach.’ ”

“And to top it all off”-Hunter slapped his hands on the table-”there were over two hundred and fifty alleged infirm and handicapped people present who now claim to have been cured of their afflictions when the lightning struck. I tell you it's voodoo, Jon, but it's perfect. We've got a follow-up to end all follow-ups! The climax everybody's been looking for!” He sat back, luxuriating. “We've got ourselves a genuine, bona fide Messiah figure!”

Erin Cross anted up additional support. “I have to tell you, Mr. Feldman, it looks pretty good. We talked to a lot of people here who claim to hive been cured of everything from cancer to blindness. And some of the evidence is rather convincing. It'll make for a sensational feature.”

Feldman had sat silent through most of this, elbows on the table, chin resting on the heels of his thumbs, fingers laced and pressed against his mouth. But his eyes had betrayed a growing fascination.

“This is completely incredible, Breck,” he finally whispered. “Absolutely unbelievable. This boy, where is he? Have you seen him? Have you spoken with him?”

“No,” Hunter admitted. “The Samaritans are hiding him, protecting him they say. We don't even know if he's in Bethlehem anymore. But we're working on it.”

Filson, who'd added nothing to the conversation so far, finally contributed. “That presents a nice element of mystery to all this, of course,” he said in the flat voice of a third-generation accountant. “But without the boy, we lose the crux of the story. And we lose our scoop if and when some other network finds him first. I think we should sit on this development and allow ourselves more time to find the boy. Otherwise, we risk putting every other newshound on the scent.”

Feldman and Hunter exchanged glances. It was unclear whether Filson was attempting to assert himself or simply offering his opinion. But while they didn't yet know what authority Filson might or might not exercise over this operation, they were not about to let an interloper threaten the momentum.

“I've enough confidence in our team to move forward with this story right away,” Feldman replied in a straight, certain tone. “Particularly with the addition of your two crack WNN teams.” He was patronizing Filson, but Filson, apparently, was unaware.

“Not to worry, Filson,” Hunter assured him, “we've got the manpower, the nose and the inside track to get the job done.”

They didn't wait for an approval. As they rose from their chairs, Feldman clapped Hunter soundly on the back. “Brilliant work, buddy. Now, why don't you show me around outside and tell me how you see us putting this story together.”

Erin rose with them, and Filson, who appeared to have an objection, finally closed his mouth and said nothing.

Hunter grinned at Feldman. “All this is starting to make that ol’ presidential election look a tad tame, now isn't it?”

Feldman just smiled.

By the time a furious, anxious Bollinger and his crew arrived with the second Cairo team, Hunter and Feldman had worked out the sequence of shots and storyline for the newscast. Rather than allow the fuming bureau chief any sort of explanation, they simply sat him in front of a monitor along with as many of the crew as could squeeze into the RV, and played him a rough cut of their newscast.

With Feldman providing live commentary, the videotape methodically unveiled the entire bizarre tale. The final segment of their story focused on the beneficiaries of the miracles alleged to have occurred when the lightning struck. Especially poignant was one series of photos showing a paralyzed young girl from southern Alabama, the victim of a car accident some years before. The selected photographs showed the wreckage of the car in which she was injured, shots of her in a body cast and in a wheelchair.

And now, after the events of Millennium Eve, she was seen slightly older, her fresh face beaming as she walked haltingly on two wasted, but obviously functioning legs. The joy and religious rapture of her parents was extremely moving. Entirely convincing.

To counter any end-of-the-world misinterpretations this ‘’miraculous” happening might have fostered, Feldman had crafted a secular ending to the story. A positive message of hope and faith, and the extraordinary power of the mind to heal. A refreshing optimism that disavowed the Samaritans’ claims of miracles and the arrival of a new Messiah. But Hunter had insisted the story close with a slow zoom into the chiseled word “Moshiach.”

There was a momentary pause in the cramped RV, then a growing murmur of amazement, followed by an outburst of applause that included even Filson. Feldman bowed, extended his arms toward Hunter and deferred to his associate, who accepted the praise with a gratified grin.

Bollinger, his anger completely quashed, looked as relieved as he did pleased. “Breck,” he said, exhaling deeply, smiling broadly, “WNN has been on my butt all day for details on our follow-up, and all I could do was promise them ‘something big.’ Thank God you delivered, you asshole.” He had obviously known Hunter had been ignoring his calls.

“Now,” the bureau chief said, rubbing the palms of his hands together briskly, “let's see if we can find that boy!”

Bethlehem, Israel 7:17 A.M., Sunday, January 2, 2000

In a cafe early the next morning, Hunter and Feldman didn't even touch their breakfasts. They were absorbed with sections of today's and yesterday's London Times, electronically transmitted by satellite link directly to a copier in the WNN RV.