extraordinary effort from Feldman to convince the WNN hierarchy. And that was only after Cissy trained her big green eyes on Feldman and swore a blood oath that the devil himself couldn't provoke her to another incident.
Feldman also had to wrest a solemn pledge from Hunter not to say or do stupid things during the trip that could possibly antagonize Cissy. But Feldman realized this was not an issue under Hunter's control. So the reporter had a few other worries to occupy his mind as the hatch to the jetliner was sealed and he and the prophetess took their plush seats near the midsection of the fuselage. The jet was immediately cleared for takeoff and they were soon hurtling down the runway off into a cloudless blue sky to begin their long journey to America.
66
The White House, Washington, D.C. 7:20 A.M., Saturday, March 4, 2000
Over an early breakfast meeting in the first family's sun room, White House campaign advisors Brian Newcomb and Edwin Guenther were having a difference of perspectives about the day's presidential agenda. They'd already been informed that the prophetess Jeza was in the air and their ambitious plan was under way. The president, who had intended to join them, was delayed by a phone call and had insisted they start without him.
“This gambit had better pull in some major support from the millenarians,” Newcomb was warning as he attacked a plate of bacon and scrambled eggs, “ ‘cause we're sure pissin’ off the rest of the media by only allowing WNN to cover the dinner tonight.”
“It's all right here,” Guenther responded confidently, tapping his fork on the top of a large bound document “Five separate, independent research reports. This Jeza's so hot with the millenarians, all Al has to do is stand next to her and we're gonna pump his ratings seventeen to twenty percent.”
“All the more reason we should have stuck to the game plan,” Newcomb pointed out. “Bringing her in for lunch would have been just fine, but a formal dinner and reception? Overnight? There's too much time to kill. Too many opportunities for things to go wrong. We just don't know enough about her. Hell, I've heard reports she's a certified wacko. I mean, shit, the girl thinks she's a female Jesus Christ, for chrissakes!”
“If she's wacko, she's no more wacko than some of the other religious nuts we've paraded through the Oval Office.” Guenther was not above talking with his mouth full. “And none of ‘em have done us an iota of good. Besides, a quick in-out isn't gonna get the job done. She's too damn important Having her come all this way for a fast lunch and then packing her off again would make Al look like a superficial vote panderer. Hell, the public thinks she's God, and we damn well better treat her like one!”
“I guess I'm getting cold feet,” Newcomb confessed, rubbing his face. “Let's just make sure we keep Jon Feldman close. At least he seems to be able to exercise some control over her.”
“Yeah. He's a good man. Gave us everything we asked for.”
“Not that he had much choice, now did he?” Newcomb added, laughing.
Guenther laughed with him. “The power of the presidency!”
“But I hear he did make one demand on us,” Newcomb mentioned.
“Oh yeah? What was that?”
“He made us promise we wouldn't put her on the spot or try to get her to perform any miracles.”
“Damn!” Guenther feigned disappointment “I was gonna have her take off twenty pounds around my middle and give me another four inches on the ol’ sausage!”
They both laughed heartily.
67
The skies over the Atlantic 10:10 A.M., Saturday, March 4, 2000
The large four-engined jet that WNN had specially chartered for this journey was the private property of a Saudi oil sheik. In addition to offering plush, oversized leather seating, the jet had been converted to house a large forward stateroom with king-size bed, elegant dining room, and all the accoutrements of the incalculably wealthy. Feldman had been curious about how Jeza might react to all this indulgent extravagance, and saw the flight as a special opportunity to gain important insights into her nature. He was not disappointed. But he was surprised.
From the onset of the trip, Feldman had been kept off-balance by Jeza's inexplicable awareness and understanding of her surroundings. Intending to assist her with her seat belt as they had prepared for takeoff, for example, he found she needed no instruction. The same held true with adjusting her electronic seat controls, regulating her air conditioning, turning on her overhead light, or manipulating the armrest dials to listen to music on her headset. She had handled all these things easily and perfunctorily, requiring no assistance.
Relatively early in the flight Feldman had also discovered, in attempting to point out some of the more notable sites and cities over which they passed, that Jeza was well up on her geography, too. After waxing professorial to her about various regions of the Mediterranean, he'd mistakenly identified the island of Sardinia as Sicily. She had casually corrected him, and he was suddenly aware, to his great chagrin, that all this time she'd been politely tolerating his amateurish stint as tour guide. Once again, he'd seriously underestimated this fathomless woman.
Ever mindful of his duty to WNN, and with the world desperate to know more about the mysterious Messiah, Feldman turned his efforts toward drawing Jeza into revealing discussions. With mixed results. At first, she answered most of his questions with a simple yes or no, and seemed preoccupied, uncommunicative. Given that there would be plenty of time and opportunity for Feldman to attempt further conversation, he felt it best not to press, and finally allowed her some peace.
During this time period, Hunter and Cissy dutifully kept their distance at the front seating section, allowing Jeza and Feldman privacy. Occasionally, and discreetly, Hunter would turn around and shoot a little footage of the prophetess with a zoom lens. While Jeza could not have avoided noticing some of these occurrences, she tolerated them.
It wasn't until almost five hours of flight time had elapsed that a clumsy, but fortunate accident eventually opened the door to an anecdotal insight into the Messiah.
Well out over the Atlantic now, Jeza and Feldman were dozing in their seats next to each other. Cissy was curled up with a pillow and blanket beside Hunter, who'd been staring vapidly out the window, bored.
Deciding this was a perfect opportunity for some candid close-ups of the prophetess, Hunter slipped past Cissy and crept out into the aisle, stealing slowly toward the back of the plane. This was the nearest to the Messiah he'd yet dared since first being introduced to her.
Although Hunter was absolutely silent in his approach, Jeza, like a cat, sensed him and shifted upright in a flash, freezing him with her ice-blue eyes. Feldman was jarred from his nap. He knew instantly what had happened, but had no idea how the Messiah would react to this rude intrusion on her valued privacy.
Before Feldman could decide what to say or do, Hunter recovered from her gaze, and searching to ad-lib his way through the incident, clumsily blurted out, “Miss Jeza, I was just wondering, uh, if you wouldn't mind, uh- showing me how you make yourself disappear in the middle of a crowd the way you do. I, uh, I won't tell anyone, I swear to God.” He winced at his profanity.
The panicked look on Hunter's face was so pitiful, Feldman cycled uncontrollably through flashes of embarrassment, fear and amusement.
From her seat down the aisle, Cissy McFarland was more certain in her emotions. She'd been watching all this develop with nervous curiosity, and now she buried her face in her pillow, mortified.
Through all of this, Jeza sat stone-still. Slightly frowning, her lips pursed, her emotions undiscemible.
At length she leaned forward in her seat and deliberately, slowly, drew an arm up in front of her until the full, hanging sleeve of her robe completely obscured her face, like a magician drawing a scarf over an object that was about to be vanished.
