The Prophet

Minutes before a CIA briefing in the Oval Office. 

Subject: Charles Finney 

Attendees: CIA Director James Hanley, Chief Analyst Nancy Burgess Smith, Bill Mitchell, Bud Singer, Sandy Collins, the President 

“I'd like to clarify something.” Sandy stepped into the Oval Office, wearing a knee-length floral dress and a faintly puzzled expression.

Jack was reclining in the chair behind the Resolute desk, the phone pressed to his ear. He motioned for her to sit. 

Sandy strolled to the couch and sat with a swish of her dress.

The President put the phone to his chest and gazed at her with appreciation. “You look like a spring day in pink.” 

Sandy smiled. “Thank you for noticing.” 

Jack straightened in his chair and thumped the receiver down on the phone’s cradle. “Hanley will be here any minute.”

 “Anyone else joining us?” Sandy settled herself into the center of the couch, smoothing her skirt and facing the grandfather clock.

 “Bud. Finney is his idea. I asked Bill to join. I need him to be ok with this.” 

Her smile dropped away. “Is Daphne coming?” 

 “No.” 

Sandy rolled her eyes. “Good. What could she possibly add?” 

Ignoring the slight, Jack stood up and began to pace. “Regardless of what we hear, I don't want Finney anywhere near the Oval.” 

Sandy rubbed her midriff and then gave it a pat. “My gut tells me he'll be polarizing.”

Jack nodded. “If everything checks out, we'll visit him in Maine. Daphne will handle the press for us up there.” 

 “So, you've decided she's coming?”

 “Yes.” He paused in his pacing and raised an eyebrow at her. “You had something to say?” 

She stood up and faced him directly. “Yes. Before everyone arrives, I want to clear the air. We're always honest.” Sandy waved her finger between them. “I wasn't truthful about my feelings the other morning.” 

 “For Timlin? I think you...”

 “Despise her?” Sandy interrupted. “Yes. I want you to admit that she didn't want to promote me. I'm certain you coerced her.” 

Jack shrugged and leaned back against his desk. “I wanted to help you be a movie star.” 

 “I imagine you had to promise her the moon?”

 “Only that I would spend a couple days with her...business,” Jack protested.

 “Oh, my goodness, Timlin has manipulated you. Oooh, she's jealous of us and she overexposed me, knowing it would hurt me.” Sandy clutched at her heart in a gesture of mock injury.

 “You think she'd spend millions...?” 

Sandy's face flushed red and her hand dropped from her heart. “Yes. You don't see it, do you? Unconsciously, maybe you wanted me to experience the same notoriety you have.” 

Jack sighed and crossed his arms. “You did make her money.” 

She scoffed. “All the easier to keep me in her clutches. The film made her richer. She wanted fame to make me miserable.” 

 “Bud says, give a man what he needs; he'll be happy. Give him what he wants, he'll want more.” Jack pushed off from the edge of the desk.

 “Yeah, give him everything and he'll kill himself. Bud loves to watch the rich and famous crash and burn.” Sandy dropped back down on the couch, her skirt puffing up with air for a moment.

 “He enjoys watching their children cope with all the advantages.” 

 “Do you agree with me, then? Timlin overexposed me to hurt me?” she demanded.

The President took a seat on the couch beside Sandy. “You’re reading into it. It wasn't diabolical. You're a new talent; the movie was on fire. The PR people pushed. Everyone in Hollywood loves a hit.” 

 “Speaking of which, I never told you. The PR people wanted me to get an OUI. They said my mugshot would help with publicity. Apparently, fans love celebrities with drinking problems.” 

Bud’s laughter floated in the from the outer hallway. A jovial smile split his face as he pushed through the door and led CIA Director Hanley and Chief Analyst Smith into the Oval. “Good morning, Jack. I found these two spies lurking in the hallway.”

Jack and Sandy both stood to greet the trio.

 “Good morning, Mr. President.” Hanley stuck out his hand, his fingers stretched wide apart. He was taking no chances on a wimpy handshake with the leader of the free world. “You know Nancy.” 

 “Sure do. Great to see you. Sit.” Jack motioned to the couch.

Sandy greeted the pair, first placing her palm in the director's hand. “Nice to see you, Jim.” She turned furtively to Nancy. “I'd say my curiosity is piqued, but that would be an understatement.” Sandy held her dress and sat back down, as Hanley and Smith took a seat on either end of the couch.

 “Bud, give Bill a holler, would you? See where he is,” the President said.

 “No need,” Bill said, bolting through the door. He plopped himself down in the middle of the couch next to Sandy, “The President's busy. Let's get right to it.” He nodded to his subordinates. “What have we got?” 

The CIA, FBI, and NSA reported directly to Bill. Improved communication was the hallmark of the Canon White House. 

Nancy pulled some papers from the briefcase at her feet when she sat down. Spreading them on the coffee table in front of the couch, she said, “Mr. President, I'll get straight to the point. The agency pays Finney for his silence.” 

Jack sat heavily in the chair at the head of the coffee table. “We pay people for that?” 

 “In his case, we do,” Hanley answered. “Finney's ideas are dangerous.” 

“Dangerous ideas?” Jack frowned at the spread-out papers on the coffee table. “This is unexpected. Start from the beginning.” He looked over at Hanley.

 “Mr. President, Nancy is the foremost expert on Finney. If it's alright with you, she'll continue the briefing.”

Jack nodded, waving a hand to Nancy. “Please continue.” 

Nancy rolled her wheat-blonde hair into a bun and produced an elastic from her briefcase to secure it. “Finney's IQ is in the 150 range. Orphaned at 11, he was raised by his brother before running away from home. He survived in the woods for several years, resurfaced, met an older woman, married her, then disappeared.” She pushed her glasses off her nose. “Sir, we're talking about a compelling personality. One of the most charismatic people I've ever met.” Nancy cleared her throat. “Full disclosure. I was involved with Charles Finney for a brief interlude after one of our interviews.” 

Sandy choked back a surprised noise and looked sharply at Nancy. “You mean personally? How did it happen?”

Nancy blushed. “Charles is beautiful. His views may be radical, but the man himself.” She sighed. “Have you ever run in the rain, then warmed yourself in front of a raging fire? Meeting Charles gave me chills. Being near him is comfortable, like a fireplace.” 

Sandy gave her an incredulous look but remained silent.

Jack glanced at Sandy and then looked back at Nancy. “Disappeared? You mean he went off-grid?”

 “No, sir. I mean from 1970 to 1992 we have nothing,” Nancy said.

 “Nothing? Nothing at all?” Jack raised his eyebrows. “No receipts or medical visits? No DMV records, nothing?”

Nancy looked to Hanley for help.

Jack pressed on. “No one remembers seeing him in local stores? He didn’t pay taxes or have a job? Help me out here. Help me out, Jim. This isn’t like the agency.”

 “Jack, we’ll do some more checking,” Hanley said.

 “Ok, do that.” The President sighed and ran a hand over his face. “Let’s move on. You said he had dangerous views.”

Nancy looked sheepish. “Sorry, sir. Finney refers to America as ‘the Empire.’ He claims that slavery is more pronounced in real terms now than it was in the time of Lincoln. Says schoolchildren are brainwashed to believe that slavery was abolished.”

The President leaned back in his chair. “Interesting. What else have you got?” 

Nancy busied herself with organizing the papers on the coffee table, but her quick movements couldn’t hide the embarrassed blush that crept up her neck and cheeks. “Finney claims the military-industrial complex survives on subsistence wages, undervalued labor, and outright slavery. Through the indoctrination of children, the masses are kept toeing the line. The rich get richer. His teachings are dangerous to the elite.”

 “So, if Thomas Jefferson were alive today, he'd be considered dangerous?” Bud asked.

Nancy removed her glasses and looked at the President. “Finney's views could start a revolution in this country. He believes labor is undervalued, overtaxed, and exhaustive, while capital is undertaxed, deemed worthy and deserving.”

Jack picked up a few of the papers and glanced at them. “How so?”

 “Think about it. A poor man can only give his labor while a rich man's capital never sleeps. It's patently unfair that the wealth of the top eighty billionaires equals the income of the bottom 60 percent of the rest of the world. Finney postulates that by reducing the eighty to the middle class, three billion people could be lifted from poverty. Starvation would be a thing of the past.”

 “So, seeing as I’m not an economics professor, how would that work?” Jack shuffled the papers in his hands.

 “Sir, we've worked the numbers. Equity payment for labor means everyone in America would be middle class. Finney argues that middle means spending thousands per year on clothes, electronics, and stuff at the mall. New cars, homeownership, eating out at fancy restaurants, access to education and healthcare. Forty-five million lifted from poverty in the U.S. alone. Imagine how compelling this would sound to the working masses.” Nancy’s voice rose, filled with passion at the idea.

The President stood. “I want to know more about this Finney. Bud, plan a visit as soon as possible. We're going up there.” 

Daphne pushed open the door to the Oval. Her eyes were wide with alarm and one hand covered her mouth. “Mr. President, I have awful news. There's been an earthquake.”