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The Reluctant Disciple

By Jim O'Shea

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“ABSOLUTELY NOT.” RYAN KATES SLAMMED his fist on the large oak desk and had to suppress a wince. “It’s all that ghost and UFO nonsense, as you call it, that got us here in the first place.”
“Hey, hey, hey.” Tyra Wiggs leaned back in her chair and with her hands in front of her face. “Relax, Ryan,” she said. “I’m not suggesting we scrap the format.”
Ryan shook his head. Not only did the subtle inflections in his General Manager’s voice give her words their true meaning but, if given a chance, she was more than willing to conduct both sides of the conversation, wearing him down like a river forming a mighty canyon.
He pulled a glass test tube from his desk drawer, flicked off the lid, and slid a single cigarette into the palm of his hand. He dragged it under his nose inhaling as he spun his chair around, then stared at the blue expanse of the Atlantic Ocean out his office window.
“You’re trying to make me smoke the White Whale again,” he said.
“You’ve had that so-called last cigarette for as long as I’ve known you,” Wiggs said. “Do yourself a favor and just smoke the darn thing and be done with it.”
“Then I’d have to buy another pack.”
“Because?”
“Because . . . you know because. I never gave up smoking. It’s just been a long time since I had one.”
Ryan suppressed a grin at the sight of Wiggs rolling her eyes in the window’s reflection. He spun the chair back around to face her. “It’s easier for me this way, knowing I’ve got one more left.”
“Whatever.”
Ryan carefully returned the flimsy cigarette to its glass cocoon, breathed warm, moist air into the tube and replaced the cap. He set it gently in the center drawer, clasped his hands, and rested them on the desk.
“You’re supposed to be my advocate with corporate, Ty, but I’m beginning to think you agree with them and want to turn our show into another Nightline or 60 Minutes. The missing persons epidemic has the attention of the whole world, but the mainstream media refuses to connect it to the huge increase in UFO sightings. This is despite the fact that the U.S government released a video last week of one of these so-called unidentified flying objects from the cockpit of a Navy F-18, an object that defied all known laws of aerodynamics. Can you explain that to me?”
“Enough,” Wiggs said, crossing then uncrossing her legs. “I’m tired of arguing, so let’s net this out.”
Ryan pursed his lips to keep from smiling. Finally.
“Granted, the Nielsen ratings for your show are off the charts. News4th is doing far better than we ever dreamed. In fact, you were knocking it out of the park even before the current crisis. However, corporate feels we need more social and political content in the program to take advantage of what’s going on—to gain additional market share.”
Wiggs leaned forward and exhaled. “Why are you being so obstinate?” she said. “You don’t believe in any of this paranormal baloney anyway.”
“True. I don’t think Elvis is living on the top floor of Graceland, I don’t believe NASA faked all the moon landings, and I’m fairly certain aliens aren’t using our corn fields for their kids’ artwork. But, you know this.” He pointed his index finger at her, “It’s not about what I believe in. What our listeners believe is all that matters.”
When Wiggs’ eyes softened, he knew what came next. Compromise.
“Corporate only wants to make sure your show stays relevant.” Her voice had a gentler tone. “Viewer calls into the show aren’t coming from a bunch of backwoods nutcases like they were a couple of years ago.”
“I kind of miss them,” Ryan said with grinning. “The callers have been getting too dark for my tastes lately.”
“The missing person situation is real, we know that based on the Interpol data we’re receiving. But the UFO situation isn’t due to little green men like most of your callers think.”
“Grays,” Ryan said,
Wiggs cocked her head.
“The little green men are actually gray. They are commonly referred to as Grays.”
Wiggs rolled her eyes again.
“The U.S. is claiming the Chinese have a new form of advanced aircraft and are taking major liberties inside our airspace. They claim to have proof. The Chinese are blaming us for the same thing and the Russians are blaming everybody. I heard this morning there are rumors our military might go to DEFCON 2 in the next few days. It will be the first time since the Cuban missile crisis.”
“I’m in the news business,” Ryan exhaled. “Which means I also know the Israeli’s new temple being built on the Mount in Jerusalem right next to one of holiest mosques in Islam is just the spark needed to start World War III. What’s your point?”
Wiggs folded her arms across her chest and let out a deep breath. “My point is, the market share we’re trying to reach out to doesn’t believe any of this is being caused by space aliens. Our target market thinks one of the major world powers are up to no good, and they’re the viewers we want.”
“I beg to differ.” Ryan dragged the palm of his hand across a stubbled chin. He forgot to shave again. “I agree with the fact that today’s News4th viewers are much more mainstream than they were a few years ago, but many of those same viewers are convinced they’re seeing space ships, ghosts, demons, fairies, and who knows what else. Much more than when we started years ago.” “Corporate is concerned one of the mainstream network talk shows will gain ground if we don’t make some changes,” Wiggs said. “Eventually, they’re going to acknowledge what’s really happening. We’re ahead of the curve right now on all things paranormal and we want to take it to the mainstream.”
Ryan stared at Wiggs as an uncomfortable silence settled in his large office. She should trust him after all these years, but it was clear from her penetrating stare that wasn’t the case.
“In case you haven’t noticed, the mainstream is coming to us, Ty.” “I’m amazed you don’t see that.”
“How about a one-hour special focused on the missing persons epidemic?” Wiggs nudged a framed, black and white photo of Ryan’s mother to one side, leaned forward, and planted both elbows on his desk. “Use some stock footage of the UFO sightings and point to alien abduction as a possibility, but emphasize the more likely causes like state-sponsored terrorism or some form of experimentation. Most important—focus on the impact it’s having on global stability.”
She leaned back in the chair, and Ryan carefully straightened the delicate porcelain and silver frame. It needed dusting.
Wiggs stood and leaned over his desk. “This is me talking, Ryan,” she said. “I’m on your side, but even PNN is telling us we need additional social and political content in the show, and we both know where the bulk of our revenue comes from. Without the Phili*Dor News Network, we wouldn’t have the success we’ve had.”
She was right, as usual, which is what annoyed him the most. Ryan clasped his hands as if in prayer and leaned back in his plush leather chair. “I feel like I’d be abandoning my base if I steered News4th away from the paranormal, Ty. I’m afraid I’d lose them, and we’d simply be trading old viewers for new viewers.”
“We’ve researched this, and it will work if it’s done properly.” Wiggs pulled a spiral-bound document from her briefcase. “As long as we continue to maintain a possible paranormal link to all the political and military activity, we believe the viewers will embrace it. Read through this when you get a chance.” She set the thin document on the edge of Ryan’s desk and nudged it toward him.
“Wider audience? We’re already the fourth largest syndicated cable TV program in the country. How much wider can we get?” Wiggs formed a fist with her right hand with the thumb pointed up. “Much wider,” she said. “My message to you today is to think about it. Please. We need you on board.” Ryan sighed. The truth was he’d been considering it for months, but didn’t like the idea thrust down his throat.
“I have to run.” Wiggs grabbed her briefcase and pushed the chair to the side with her knee. “Keep it to yourself,” she said, “but ownership met with senior Phili*Dor management in New York last week about a potential expansion of our relationship.”
“Senior?” Wiggs nodded. Ryan leaned forward grinning. “Did they meet with Mr. Phili or Mr. Dor?”
“Mr. Dorchester died last year, Ryan. You should pay more attention to things like that. I’m not sure if Mr. Philips attended the meeting, but I do know he’s a big fan of the show.”
“PNN’s going to put us on more stations?”
“We have our fingers crossed. They think . . . ”
Wiggs’ words trailed off and her mouth gaped open, her attention suddenly focused over his right shoulder. Ryan spun around in his chair and squinted against the glare of the morning sun. What the . . . He stood up slowly as his heart skipped a beat, maybe two. Above the thin line where the morning sky and sea formed the eastern horizon was a triangular-shaped object that looked very familiar from the many video clips he had seen over the past year. Silver in color, the massive object moved rapidly to the north, perhaps only a hundred yards above the deep blue waters of the Atlantic Ocean.
His body became rigid and he squeezed his fists together, confronted firsthand by precisely what he had scoffed at for years. Ryan Kates, host of the most popular paranormally-focused TV talk show in the world, found himself staring at something that did not fit his personal worldview. “Blimp?” He sounded weak and hollow, even in his own ears.
“They aren’t shaped like that.” Wiggs normally strong voice was now a raspy whisper. “And they aren’t anywhere near that big or fast.”
“Listen, Ty,” he said as his heart raced, eyes still glued to the horizon, “you may need to—”
“I know,” Wiggs said in a shaky voice. “We need to rethink some of these changes.”

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