by Paul Lalonde
Kathy was running a tape of Macalousso when Helen arrived with sandwiches, coleslaw, and coffee from a nearby deli. With time pressures mounting, they had begun working through lunch. “Don’t say one word about Bronson Pearl to me,” Helen warned her partner. “If you have any questions, you can ask him yourself.”
“That serious, huh?” said Kathy, laughingly holding up her hands.
Helen scowled and got down to work. “Forgive my disrespect of Macalousso and the Women Who Witness.” Helen frowned. “The way he’s been courting them, it’s like he’s building a cult following,” she said.
“My, you are cynical,” replied Kathy, taking a bite from her sandwich.
Helen switched on the monitor speakers to hear the audio track Kathy had been assembling from Macalousso’s United Nations appearances.
“I firmly believe that these women are the vanguard of those who understand what is required for the return of the Messiah,” Macalousso was saying as he introduced the Women Who Witness during a press conference held prior to their appearance before the General Assembly. “The Middle East is a land where too many people look to the heavens for a peace only they can bring about. Many say that God holds the power of life and death, peace and war, justice and mercy. They claim God wants them to suffer, but if God’s will is behind every rock thrown, every grenade exploded, every shot fired, it is not to the heavens we should be looking but to ourselves. It’s our words that fan the flames of hatred between brothers and sisters. Our hands make the bombs and launch the rockets and fly the fighter planes. And mankind can do unspeakable violence while blaming some God in heaven, so he can bring about his own boundless joy. Only we can heal one another. Only we can nurture the weak and helpless. Women Who Witness understand that God is within each one of us. We are all gods. These anonymous women have chosen to accept the responsibility so many of us avoid. They have homes and families. They have tended the sick and the dying, nurtured the weak and helpless. They radiate the best of the God within and they stand as witnesses against those who would choose pain and suffering. It is fitting that they should have formed in the Holy Land, because their message is one that resonates around the world. They stand where the Messiah will stand; their witness will grace the pages of holy books yet to be written.”
“How can you argue with that?” asked Kathy, looking up from the monitor.
Helen didn’t reply, watching instead a series of interviews by a WNN field reporter who had taken several of the women aside at the United Nations. One of the women in the group, a Jew from Brooklyn, New York, seemed embarrassed by Macalousso’s comments. “He sounds like one of those New Age motivational speakers,” she remarked. “The ones that tell you good people deserve to be rich, that you don’t need a college education or a good job, or an inheritance. Instead they tell you to embrace the God inside you, buy their tapes and books, and attend their seminars. And if you don’t get rich, at least you know where your money went . . . into their pockets.”
Another, a Christian, thought her Jewish friend was being too skeptical. “I think he meant that we are partners with God, not gods ourselves,” she ventured. “Didn’t the Lord give us free will? We all know that we can nurture His creation or we can destroy it. I think Macalousso’s talking about personal responsibility as Jesus taught.”
“It doesn’t matter what he said or what he meant,” interjected a third. “He’s a very powerful man who has enabled us to maintain a witness to the world. We are all of different faiths, different backgrounds, but we stand together as sisters determined to bring about peace. If this man, who is not of my people, not of my religion, not of my culture, can end the violence that has brought us all such personal sorrow, I will follow him anywhere.”
“A cult,” snorted Helen as the tape concluded. “Next thing you know they’ll be wearing uniforms. I still don’t see what makes Macalousso so important that we should be putting this biography together. Bronson did a series on him when he joined the United Nations. It didn’t seem like that big a deal then, and I don’t see why it is now. He’s been lucky with his peace initiatives, that’s all. Sure, he’s center stage in the world’s crises, but maybe things will work out and Franco Macalousso will end up as next year’s game show trivia question. So what makes him so important to WNN?”
“Besides the fact that he is one of our employers, Helen?” Kathy asked.
“Are you serious?” Helen gasped.
“Fifteen percent share in the company, at least,” Kathy informed her. “And a whole lot of other properties that would surprise you. Macalousso’s business days were very successful, with lots of straw businesses seemingly independent of Macalousso Enterprises, each with a stake in what he wanted to buy. Unless you spent weeks tracing the paper trail, you’d never know what he was up to.”
“Is that legal?” asked Helen, surprised by how much she did not know about this man and his power.
“Just good business,” replied Kathy. “You don’t get to be a billionaire in communications by making mistakes that can get you in trouble. This is the guy who put together a powerful satellite network of third-rate independent television stations around the world. He’s also the guy who funded development of a two-way miniature voice pager, the one that allows multinational companies to keep track of their employees no matter where they’re traveling.”
“And now he’s president of the European Union,” added Helen. “What’s his next move going to be? Becoming pope?”
“He’d probably see being pope as a step to a higher calling.” Kathy laughed. “He seems to thrive on a pace that would kill the average person.”
“And now he’s our boss,” said Helen. “I hope you treat him nicely in the final cut of our documentary.”
“It’s not hard,” Kathy replied. “But the weird part about him is that he never seems to age. In fact, all the sags and wrinkles he started to get years ago seem to have smoothed out recently.”
“Plastic surgery?” ventured Helen, intrigued that Mr. Perfect might have a streak of vanity.
“I don’t think so,” replied Kathy. “This guy seems to thrive on work. I don’t think he’s got time for anything else. No wife or kids. Just a few billion dollars in the bank, and a leadership role in the United Nations, and Macalousso’s efforts have been succeeding in ways no one could have hoped. But despite his accomplishments, almost nothing is known about his background. He was born in a small village and tutored by the local priest. He went to a seminary for a while, began drifting, taking odd jobs while attending several different colleges to study business, electronics, political science, and psychology. But he was never much of a student. You have to look at his career in hindsight to see how brilliant he’s been all along. He took what no one else wanted, and linked it together into a global business. Macalousso Enterprises is run from Rome. But he has key people in every major city of the world. His communication network can reach three-fourths of the globe, and his investments in both the United States and the Third World have given him enormous political influence. The truth is, he could adversely affect the economies of more nations than anyone cares to admit.”
“But doesn’t the United Nations have rules about blind trusts and divestitures?” Helen asked.
“I think they wanted him to keep active in his businesses to maintain his economic influence,” Kathy explained. “Certainly he’s gotten the results they have wanted. I mean, who better than someone with a real economic stake in world peace and stability to lead them?” She paused and then continued, “But the really strange thing is how Macalousso suddenly went from being a minor-league player to a leading world figure. Most men would sell their souls for the success he’s had in just one field. But he’s done it over and over again. And now they’re saying peace in the Middle East is dependent solely upon his negotiating skills. It just doesn’t make sense to me.”
“It’s not our problem,” Helen interjected. “I’ve asked to have Bronson do the final interview with Macalousso
to wrap up the documentary. It will be his job to get answers to those questions.”
Chapter 6
FRANCO MACALOUSSO WAS ANGRY, an emotion he let few people ever see. Not even United Nations Special Agent Len Parker, the man who worked as his assistant now that Macalousso was president of the European Union, had ever witnessed such rage. They both knew that anger, appropriately directed, could be a strength, but it could also show a weakness, revealing things that truly mattered and thereby passing on knowledge to one’s enemies.
To Parker, his boss’s anger seemed misplaced. It was not Bronson Pearl’s fault that Macalousso’s rise to power sparked the interest of one of the world’s most important television networks. Bronson Pearl was not the enemy. Len Parker knew this interview was important, and its timing would be crucial to Macalousso’s master plan, a clarion call for the fulfillment of his destiny. The words and images Bronson Pearl and the WNN staff would broadcast to the farthest reaches of the world would make him the most familiar leader in history. The documentary would create the myth of his life and calling, allowing him time to take control before they at last knew the truth of who he was and with whom he had come.
But Macalousso felt as if he had waited long enough already. He wanted to be fully in control now, not dependent upon anyone else, especially a lowly TV journalist. To have come this far, from a peasant village to absolute control over the world’s largest communication consortium and to hold the reins of power in the U.N. and the European Union . . . Why should he have to submit to a man like Bronson Pearl?
Macalousso took a deep breath then exhaled slowly. The window of his penthouse apartment overlooked a lush public garden where butterflies flitted among the blooming flowers and mothers strolled with their children. How different life would soon become for all of them.
Soon, certainly no later than a few days after the scheduled airing of the eagerly awaited WNN special, he would assume his rightful place in the world, taking on the power he lusted for and, finally, find peace from the anger that overwhelmed him.
“You didn’t give him an answer?” Edna asked anxiously. She and her granddaughter were sipping coffee in a corner of the WNN commissary, when the subject of Bronson Pearl’s proposal came up. “Bronson Pearl has been chasing you for three years. He finally decides it’s time to make a commitment, and you don’t immediately say yes? Helen Hannah, I thought I raised you better than that. Don’t you know what is important in life?”
“Marriage may not be possible for everyone,” Helen said, setting down her coffee cup and taking her grandmother’s hand. “You had a very special relationship with Grandfather. Few people are as lucky as you two were.”
“Utter nonsense, young lady!” said the older woman, in an irate tone at her granddaughter’s misunderstanding. “What your grandfather and I experienced was normal, the way all marriages should be and can be! Because you’re afraid, you won’t reach out to the joy that you deserve.” Her voice softened. “I buried my daughter, Helen Hannah! She was your mother, yes. But she was also my child. I railed at God for that. I wept bitterly at the burden He had thrust upon me. What did He know about childcare and the stress of raising kids? Oh, I tell you, I gave the Lord a piece of my mind! And now I’m going to give one to you!” Helen sighed and braced herself. “Bronson Pearl finally got around to asking you to marry him and you let him go without an answer,” her grandmother continued. “Did you tell him you’re afraid of commitment? That you’re afraid of joy? Did you tell him you’re afraid to find love and happiness?”
“Not exactly,” replied Helen hesitantly.
“What then?” Edna demanded. “It’s not like you’re on a mission devoting yourself to the starving people of some isolated jungle. You’re a journalist and a very successful one. You’ve got to learn to open up and share your life. If Bronson finally got around to asking you to marry him, say yes.”
Helen looked down at her coffee cup, deep in thought. “It isn’t the first time he’s asked me,” she admitted. “Bronson told me there would be no one else for him six months after we met.”
“I knew I liked that young man for something other than his looks,” exclaimed her grandmother. She leaned forward intently. “Just say yes, Helen,” she begged. “Trust me on this. I’ve been through this. I didn’t always like your grandfather. We fought. He was stubborn. I was stubborn. But ultimately we worked through our differences. Ultimately we found compromise. Ultimately we kept going back to the love that is God’s gift to us. That’s what love can do for you. That’s what commitment can do for you. That’s why you’re going right back to your office to tell Bronson Pearl you will marry him.”
“He’s gone, Grandmother,” whispered Helen, tears welling in her eyes. “He’s back in the Middle East, in a place called Megiddo. It looks like if there’s going to be a war, Bronson will be right in the middle of it.” She began to weep.
Edna stood up, walked around the table, and took her granddaughter in her arms. She held Helen against her chest as she wept deeply, oblivious to her surroundings, oblivious to anything other than her grandmother’s comforting touch.
The change at first was subtle. Sporadic gunfire had been heard for days, and with snipers, tactical units, and civilian patrols swarming the area, it was impossible to tell who was shooting at whom or why. Each armed group seemed to have staked out its own territory, targeting its enemies, digging into entrenched positions. Initially the gunfire had been mostly small arms—handguns, rifles, the occasional shotgun or even a hand grenade. Many civilians maintained such weapons, especially the Israelis, who were subject to instant call-up for full military duty.
But the sounds were now louder and deeper as higher-powered arms were brought to the front, including antitank weapons, machine guns, and shoulder-fired rocket launchers. The distant sounds of collapsing buildings attested to the escalation. Aircraft flew around the clock, the sky full of reconnaissance planes, armored helicopters, fighters, and bombers. Meant as a show of force, the aircraft engaged in dangerous games of aerial “chicken,” resulting in fiery crashes throughout the region.
Journalists assigned to the area were prepared for every eventuality: injections to protect them against biological assault, gas masks, and bullet-resistant vests and helmets. Several had handguns in their tote bags, though most preferred to work unarmed, knowing that spies and assassins often pretended to be journalists, carrying counterfeit credentials from major networks. As a result, any journalist caught with a weapon was instantly suspect and marked for death, so only the inexperienced traveled with guns.
Bronson Pearl had flown directly to Israel following his interview with Franco Macalousso in Paris. The newsman was told the European Union president would next fly to the Middle East in order to continue his peace negotiations. It seemed likely, however, that an escalation into full-scale warfare would erupt before Macalousso could arrive on the scene.
Judith Shimowitz, the Tel Aviv-based videographer, had been assigned by WNN to accompany Bronson Pearl to an interview with Israeli general Moishe Alizar. It was conducted over a large table spread with maps showing the positions of dozens of different armies, totaling more than two million men and women. Of greatest concern to the general was a segment of Megiddo where the largest battle seemed likely to erupt, a section that allowed ground movement only through a narrow pass, centuries old and surrounded by water and mountains. The impending battle would depend entirely on the location of the opposing forces.
“General Alizar, to many of our American viewers, the name of the place where we are standing has deep significance,” commented Bronson. “It is said that the final battle between good and evil will begin here in Armageddon.”
“Is that what you believe, Mr. Pearl?” responded the general.
“I believe that when people are convinced that something is going to happen, they find a way to make their beliefs come true,” the reporter replied. “If they believe that this is the start of a war to end all wars, then it
may well come to pass.”
“Such talk does not matter to me or the state of Israel,” snapped the general. “I am a Jew and this is my land. For two thousand years we Jews have been a hated people. If we try to live among ourselves, raising our own food, making our own clothing, building our own homes, practicing our faith within our own territory, we are attacked. We have been declared blight on the face of the earth. Our land is coveted because we have made it productive. We have been despised, dispersed, and reviled for trying to live in harmony with our beliefs. We have been tortured and murdered, yet always God has been with us. He has reminded us that He is faithful, chastised us when we turned away from Him, and ultimately brought us into this land. It is a place of refuge, a place of opportunity, a reminder of what can happen if we keep faith with Him. We will fight because we can do nothing else. What we face is what we have always faced. The names change. The alliances are different. Yet always we have known that we must live as one and die as one.”
“The history of your people and this land is a tragic one,” agreed Bronson. “But isn’t this situation somehow different? If one of the extremist groups in this area acts irresponsibly, it will be like a lit match to a fuse. A full-scale world war might start before cooler heads prevail.”
