True Believer Read Free

Diane Sawyer and Jeremy, sitting across from each other once again.
“So nothing Timothy Clausen said was true?” Diane asked.
“Not a thing,” Jeremy said. “As you already know, my name isn’t Thad, and while I do have five brothers, they’re all alive and well.”
Diane held a pen over a pad of paper, as if she was about to take notes. “So how did Clausen do this?”
“Well, Diane,” Jeremy began.
In the bar, Alvin’s pierced eyebrow rose. He leaned toward Jeremy. “Did you just call her Diane? Like you’re friends?”
“Could you please!” Nate said, growing more exasperated by the moment.
On-screen, Jeremy was going on. “What Clausen does is simply a variation on what people have been doing for hundreds of years. First of all, he’s good at reading people, and he’s an expert at making vague, emotionally charged associations and responding to audience members’ cues.”
“Yes, but he was so specific. Not only with you, but with the other guests. He had names. How does he do that?”
Jeremy shrugged. “He heard me talking about my brother Marcus before the show. I simply made up an imaginary life and
broadcast it loud and clear.”
“How did it actually reach Clausen’s ears?”
“Con men like Clausen have been known to use a variety of tricks, including microphones and paid ‘listeners’ who circulate in the waiting area before the show. Before I was seated, I made sure to move around and strike up conversations with lots of audience members, watching to see if anyone exhibited unusual interest in my story. And sure enough, one man seemed particularly concerned.”
Behind them, the videotape was replaced by an enlarged photograph that Jeremy had taken with a small camera hidden in his watch, a high-tech spy toy he’d promptly expensed to Scientific American. Jeremy loved high-tech toys almost as much as he loved expensing them to others.
“What are we looking at here?” Diane asked.
Jeremy pointed. “This man was mingling with the studio audience, posing as a visitor from Peoria. I took this photograph right before the show while we were talking. Zoom in further, please.”
On-screen, the photograph was enlarged and Jeremy motioned toward it.
“Do you see the small USA pin on his lapel? That’s not just for decoration. It’s actually a miniature transmitter that broadcasts to a recording device backstage.”
Diane frowned. “How do you know this?”
“Because,” Jeremy said, raising an eyebrow, “I happen to have one just like it.”
On cue, Jeremy reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out what appeared to be the same USA pin, attached to a long, threadlike wire and transmitter.
“This particular model is manufactured in Israel”—Jeremy’s voice could be heard over the camera close-up of the gadget—“and it’s very high-end. I’ve heard it’s used by the CIA, but, of course, I can’t confirm that. What I can tell you is that the technology is very advanced—this little microphone can pick up conversations from across a noisy, crowded room and, with the right filtering systems, can even isolate them.”
Diane inspected the pin with apparent fascination. “And you’re certain that this was indeed a microphone and not just a pin?”
“Well, as you know, I’ve been looking into Clausen’s past for a long time now, and a week after the show, I managed to obtain some more photographs.”
A new photograph flashed on the screen. Though a bit grainy, it was a picture of the same man who’d been wearing the USA pin.
“This photo was taken in Florida, outside Clausen’s office. As you can see, the man is heading inside. His name is Rex Moore, and he’s actually an employee of Clausen’s. He’s worked with Clausen for two years.”
“Ooohhhhh!” Alvin shouted, and the rest of the broadcast, which was winding down, anyway, was drowned out as others, jealous or not, joined in with hoots and hollers. The free booze had worked its magic, and Jeremy was deluged with